259: The End

As I sit here at Long Beach Airport waiting for my flight back home, I look forward to ending this year up in the sky. Most likely I'll cross some time line at the most inopportune time missing the start of 2008. And I'm okay with that.

This past week, I've journeyed from San Francisco to San Diego. I've met for the first time a blogger and his boyfriend, both of whom I have only known through e-mail correspondences (It was awesome to meet you!), and reconnected with a few friends from my Japan years. So, I feel like I'm ending 2007 on a high note.

I'm excited about 2008. I don't know what the new year will bring me, but i open my arms wide expectantly and eagerly.

I wish you all the best for the coming new year.

With that... THE END!

258: Extra, Extra

Extra, extra, read all about it: fullofhype is alive!

And then there were crickets.

Let's see what's been going on with me.

1. I went on a lot of dates with this one guy. I think I'm in love. Before the stagehand strike, we went to see "Avenue Q" and "The Ritz." Both shows were fabulous. At one point in "Avenue Q," the cast members were trying hard not to burst out laughing. It was so cute to see them out of character, trying desperately to return to the zone. It was like in SNL of few years back when you could rely on Jimmy Fallon to crack up at what his cast members did on practically every sketch. And how can you not *heart* "the Ritz" with Rosie Perez in the show. I couldn't understand what she said half the time, but her star sure shone bright that night. Of course, the constant display of men-flesh didn't hurt the show at all. Oh yes, good times, good times... Where was I? Yes, I went on dates. I'm in love. Broadway shows. The date is one demanding bitch. Wait, did I mention that? I guess I didn't. Moving on.
2. I'm obsessed with facebook. You should be too. Well? Go join. Here's my profile.
   
3. I've been meeting a lot of gay Asians lately. It's amazing. They exist!
4. My boss informed me that by the end of February the office will be moving to... brace yourselves... to New Jersey! I know, I know, I vomited too.
5. One of my cousins, whom I had lived with as a wee boy in his oppressive home, is getting hitched during the holiday season. So, I'm representing his father's sister (mi madre) and his senile abuela by flying out to sunny, but fire scorched, California. Did I mention I don't like his family? Oh, and I *loathe* his older brother. The status of my affection for him was lowered from passive dislike to active loathing when in the course of a phone conversation he took the tactic of self-aggrandizement through condescension with me. I so look forward to seeing him and his family at the wedding. But it's not all a loss, because I'm going to holiday in San Francisco for a few days, and then drive down to LA. So, one bad day out of 9 potentially good days isn't so bad at all. I'm looking forward to my California Trip. For those of you who would like to stalk me (and please feel free to do so, but only for this trip, m'kay), I will fly to SFO on the 23rd and will stay at Hotel Nikko. Then, I'm going to get in a rental car and drive down on the 26th to the Los Angeles area. Maybe make a couple of detours on the way, and I am going to stay with a friend. Because she cares about her privacy, I can't divulge her location. Sorry, my stalkers.

One last thing, you wanna see a picture of my date? This is he:
Wait, don't let his cute, laid-back disposition fool you, he's a total bitch. But I love him. Let me have a moment. *sniff, sniff* I love him. I do.

257: OMG, I'm in LOVE

I give you permission. You can swoon too. I think his name is Ranbir Kapoor.



Update: The video has been taken down by the Man.

256: Memory Lane

As it is true for the moon, my mind's propensity to thirst for the printed words waxes and wanes. How opportune, then, the discovery of a certain book coinciding with the fulling thirst of my mind. By the bye, this literati waxes lyrical his ability to craft stylized sentences adroitly, revealing a certain something he is full of, a four letter word that begins with "s" and ends with "t."

Whatever.

Reading NYTimes.com lead me to find a book written by a journalist with the Washington Post, Alec Klein, who went back to his alma mater high school, which by the way happens to be mine as well, and wrote about what he observed in the span of one Spring Term. The book is called, "A Class Apart."

The students he profiled resembled so many of the people I knew at school that I couldn't help but feel a bit nostalgic. I was also shocked to learn about what happened to a teacher I was fond of and greatly respected. She was briefly mentioned, but the impact of learning her fate was great. But then, I got to thinking about the power of books. This book that captures the lives of a handful of students and teachers joins a vast library that can endure for many generations to come. When a hand of a person in the future grabs the book, the lives of the written people will have life again. My AP Bio teacher will live again. And in a way, until I leave a mark more profound, I, too, can live again...

Eh, I'm full of shit.

255: Weirdness

As a rule, I don't talk about my job here on this blog. And I don't intend to change that. But I'll share that I'm dealing with a serious issue. Hopefully, as many politicians have said in regards to America's current situation in Iraq, I too would like, in regards to mine, to see a light at the end of the tunnel.

Moving on.

I had an unusual experience last night.

After Colbert, I turn the TV off and lie down to go to sleep. As soon as my eyes are closed, I feel a strong urge to burp. So, I force myself to release the noxious, trapped gas. But instead of the gas climbing up my esophagus, a little bit of last night's dinner storms up. I taste the bitterness in my mouth. I get up and run towards the bathroom. I feel another bout coming.

As I'm heading towards the bathroom, I feel my surrounding move erratically. It's like this one camera shot where the camera is mounted on to the actor: he moves, and on the screen you see him centered and steady, whereas everything else is jerky and shaky.

All the while, I'm fighting against the current of an on-coming spew. But it's a losing battle. As the emulsified content of my stomach exits the oral and nasal cavities, it effervesces. Like how Coke effervesces when it's poured into a glass. I feel the bubbles strike my face everywhere.

I'm gagging. I need air; I need to breathe. But I can't. I'm still upchucking a Coke-like, bitter and acidic liquid-mess. I panic and feel my eyes watering.

Then, suddenly, I force myself to open my eyes. I'm still in bed, all tensed up, gasping for air.

Weirdness!

I guess I had stopped breathing for some reason. My heart rate felt slow to normal. And for the next hour, I had to consciously regulate my respiration rate. When I didn't think about breathing, I drifted into sleep and my breathing seemed to slow down. That in turn would wake me up. I took several deep breaths, in and out, slowly. I don't know. I'm not a doctor. But maybe I should be, so that I can figure out what happened to me.

254: Based On..?

It's supposed to be fun. When you first start seeing someone, there inside you is a chemist's delight, cascades of reactions upon reactions, leaving you giddy, good, and god-damned spiritual. But when your or his personal life gets in the way, mostly his, really—well, what do they say?—that's a perfect recipe for failure. To fail before anything starts just sucks!

I hate being here. Granted my lack of experience regarding the matters of the groin and a little bit of the heart, precludes me from being objective. Especially since I'm in the thick of it. But still. I know I should just count my loses and just move on. But why is it so hard to say good bye. And why is it so hard to convince myself to say, "step forward, don't look back?" I can relate to Lot's wife!

It's so easy for other guys to fuck and be done with it. Why can't I? I tell myself that sex can be devoid of any emotional tie, but I can't help myself weaving a thread, however thin it is, that binds me to him.

It was that one night...

He has on the cutest grin on his face. "I'm a bit drunk," he says. And like him, my face is flushed. I blame the Cosmo and my infatuation. One moment I'm giggling at a Tivo-ed episode of "Little Bush" with him, then the next he has his tongue down my throat. Just as quick, I'm off the couch and on his bed naked. "What do you want?" he coos and asks it again and again, one pleasurable moment after another. He wants to give me what I want. It's a pleasure I can get lost in.

After we said our goodbyes the next morning, he texts me to ask me how I was and to tell me that the night we spent was hot. We stay in touch and we talk about hanging out again. But whenever we try, the plans get rearranged. If the Universe wasn't governed by the all random Chance, I'd swear it was warning me, as Kelly Clarkson advised, to walk away.

I may have been his trick and he may have wanted to play with me again...at his convenience. You know what, I was. I was his trick. I need to consider him mine. File him away in my memory.

It's supposed to be fun. But now it's not. And I feel like if I dwell any longer, I'll turn into a pillar of salt.

I feel like boozing!

253: ...

... stale, stuffy, and smoldering ... the air wafts, with the fan's gentle gale ... click and clack and hum ... its aged neck cranes left and lingers ... the musk of virility, of sweat and stain ... of him ... assaulting and haunting my nose ... the vestige of bachelorhood on his breath; the fragrance of his final hurrah ... mixing with my adolescent curiosity ... the moon-ray columns rise up on his naked back ... a sacred pagan temple ... my fingers, like a pilgrim awed ... flits, pirouettes ... clumsily down the great hall to the hidden sanctuary ...

252: Crossword Puzzle

Considering that I am not very good at puzzles and that I am not a wordsmith, I am ecstatic over something I did this morning. I finished a crossword puzzle! Granted it's not a New York Times one, but still. Like Rachel Green, I need a hug. And apparently, "unlet" (28 down) is a word.

251: Resuscitation

I guess it's time to resuscitate this blog.

I thought about renaming this blog to give it a new start and to infuse it with a more positive outlook. I had started this blog, in reality, to come in terms with who I am. Am I there? Not really. Although my skin feels less alien and more well fitted to me. I am not a non-entity, nor do I need my identity defined by others. Then again, I don't need to define who I am.

I am who I am.

Good. I didn't get struck down by lightning.

With that said (and without God's wrath), I figure there really isn't a need for a cosmetic alteration to this humble forum for my voice.

So, I'm back.

I feel refreshed and ready to share again. So you bitches had better read this shite!

250: "Touch Me"

Where I go, when I go there
No more memory anymore
Only men on distant ships
The women with them, swimming with them to shore

Where I go, when I go there
No more whispering anymore
Only hymns upon your lips
A mystic wisdom, rising with them, to shore

Touch me – just like that
And that – o, yeah – now, that’s heaven
Now, that I like
God, that’s so nice
Now lower down, where the figs lie

Where I go, when I go there
No more shadows anymore
Only men with golden fins
The rhythm in them, rocking with them, to shore

Where I go, when I go there
No more weeping anymore
Only in and out your lips
The broken wishes, washing with them, to shore

Touch me – all silent
Tell me – please – all is forgiven
Consume my wine
Consume my mind
I’ll tell you how, how the winds sigh

Touch me – just try it
Now, there – that’s it – God, that’s heaven
I’ll love your light
I’ll love you right
We’ll wander down where the sins cry

Touch me – just like that
Now lower down, where the sins lie

Love me – just for a bit
We’ll wander down, where’s the winds sigh

Where the winds sigh
Where the winds sigh

The lyric is from the musical, "Spring Awakening."

I've read somewhere that a baby needs the loving touches of her mother to development into a happy adult. But inappropriate touches, obviously, could be detrimental. As a teenager, I avoided any sort of touches because I felt the stain of sin covering me, defiling me... Well, here I am now, a bit fucked up...

A little more than a week ago, this cute guy I've met told me that he wanted me to come over to his place to have sex. He wanted to "play" with me. And instead of listening to a fundamental biological imperative, I continued on, literally, packing to go fly away. When I returned from my trip, his invitation was still open. But the universe finds way to punish my moment of fear. I got sick. The booty call never happened.

Shit.

I am a ball of unhealthy neurosis.

249: Relaxation 101

I'm in Fire Island.
I'm going to relax and enjoy the sun and the beach.
Which means I shouldn't be blogging now.
Hmm...

Laters!

248: Legacy

On Friday early evening, around fifteen minutes after six, the man I called Hallabuji, or Grandpa, was pronounced dead.

Late Monday night, he took a cab to go to the emergency room because he hadn't been able to use the toilet for three days straight. Tuesday morning, he rang one of his daughters-in-law to inform her that Halmuhni, or Grandma, is home alone and needs to be checked in on, and as an aside, that he's at the hospital.

Hallabuji was devoted to Halmuhni. When Halmuhni had a stroke about a year ago, it was Hallabuji willing her to health, his unceasing love and dedication to her, that brought Halmuhni back to us. She saw her birthday again today, albeit in a sad circumstance. Tuesday afternoon, while Halmuhni was being looked after, Hallabuji, alone at the hospital, had a myocardial infarction. He was resuscitated, but his condition remained critical.

Wednesday morning, his eldest child and her family arrived in New York to learn of his critical state. Their original intent to celebrate Halmuhni's and Hallabuji's birthdays (he would have celebrated his 83rd birthday this coming Tuesday), had turned upside down. For three days his sons and daughters kept vigil, but one brief moment on Friday early evening, when he was left alone, Hallabuji quietly passed away.

I got a phone call that night of his passing. I didn't even know that he had been at the hospital since Monday or that he had a heart attack. I felt like I had been punched in the stomach.

You see, there have been three men in my life who have left an indelible mark on me and contributed to the person I am now. One for his absence in my childhood life, my Dad, and two for their presence, my Uncle KT, while I lived in Korea, and Hallabuji, while I grew up here. Although my relationship with Hallabuji was impossibly formal, he was still like a father figure for me. He instilled in me the importance of family, of duty and responsibility, and most importantly, of love. He taught me to walk the walk, not just talk the talk. And always to listen. I admit his lessons were at times infuriating and traditional. But I'll miss them terribly.

And I'll miss him.

He is survived by his two sons and two daughters, and four grandsons and six granddaughters. And in some way, by me.

247: Are You Awake?

On the day the Tony nominations were announce I saw Duncan Sheik perform. The audience, including I, enthusiastically congratulated him and his small show-that-could getting eleven nods. Tonight, the little musical was greatly honored, and I think it's fantastic. Congratulations Duncan and Steven Sater. Here's to you John Gallagher Jr. Bravo to everyone at "Spring Awakening."

246: Lay Your Hand on Me

Many people have prophesied over me.

I remember there was this one girl
Who handed me a mark saying, "You shall seek
Only the face of God."

Like those few before me, I walked towards the Light
Shunning the Sun's tender ray tickling my bare skin.

But my eye sights have gone.
I can no longer see what's close to me.
Focus too long on what's afar
Or what's not there...

Maybe I won't go there.

There was a shaman vision, too,
Foretelling that my happiness is not for now.
Her love that I want will have to wait,
Also.
When the time is right,
"Just you wait," she said.
Her love that I crave will be mine to eat,
When time and our souls shiver.

But stay upwind from me.
A pauper accumulates more than grime,
The stench is tangible; I wear it thick.

Whole in parts? Love's indivisible!

To touch the sweet fragrance,
You must smell the rose.

Lastly, shall I speak in tongues,
Creating something brand new,
From now, till here, for me?
Will you then come?

Stand above me and lay your hand on me.
It's the touch I crave,
More than any words heard and unheard.

Let's waft the charged air,

In and out.

Addendum: Edits are in red.

245: May I...

May I, I may did then,
Or now, or never to still,
But yet, when he did call,
I may hope for faith again.

Thirty-one passes may,
On this day to walk to be sent
Alone, by one and two tens,
None find a hand-pair to cloy.

Confusion may it tie
With prickling sense, I am
Of blood to boil and balm,
I may yet sound a sigh.

Jittery jigs of amusement,
Splendid in frailty,
Reassures the shell its fullness.

May I, I may, may I,
Hand to hand, lips to lips,
Pulsate the two 'n one.

244: Untitled

A month ago—no, a few weeks ago—no, however long ago, I declared to my friend that I’m going through the five stages of grief. She took the bait and dutifully asked, “who died?”

“Hope!” I proclaimed. “Hope is dead; I killed hope!”

“…” She recognized my penchant to unleash the bad thespian in me.

“For a long while I believed in hope; I believed I had hope,” the lights are cued to dim. And as the sad violin music starts to play, “I held on to hope, because without it I would know only darkness, in me, around me, covering me. But I realize that it was denial. Now, I’m just angry, because I am made to be alone, without ever experiencing love’s beauty, entanglement, agony, and joy.”

A pause; then followed a fit of mocking laughter, from her and from me. Still though, I was being serious.


A week ago—no, a few days ago—no, however long ago, I met, not one, but two boys. Okay, they were meetings held within the confines of cyberspace, but nevertheless, I met two boys. M and J.

M, on his profile picture, had a sweet smile. I also liked what he had to say, so I replied back to his “wink.”

J radiated warmth and light. It’s safe to say that I was smitten. Taking a chance, I sent him a “wink.” A few hours later, he sent a “wink” of his own and wrote, ‘I liked your pics.’ Something within me jolted.

After a few email exchanges, M and I scheduled to meet face to face last night. But on that day, J called me, while I was at the dentist, to ask if I would be available to meet him that night. We chatted… well, mostly he talked and I stammered, and we both realized that yesterday night was the only time we could meet. Which, by the way, is odd, because I’m rarely busy. But this weekend, I’m gone and next week J’s entertaining a friend who is visiting him from Australia. So, we ended the phone call with my promising him that I’d call him back later. Depending on how my first encounter with M went, I’d call J to schedule to meet then or for some other time.


It’s 10 minutes away—no, it’s 2 minutes away—no, it’s exactly 6 o’clock. I turn on Prince and there standing in front of the shop is M. I’m taken aback. The full ugly face of my vanity rears out and I feel my skin being pulled back. Retreat, turn back, run! M is small! He’s no taller than a 5th grader. He’s tiny. My shallowness trounces his gentle spirit. He seems to be a lot like me, and I dislike him for it too.


It’s 7:23—no, it’s 7:32—no, it’s 7-something. I fiddle through the contact list on the phone until J’s name is highlighted. I push “send,” and two long breaths later, J answers. My usual discomfort on the phone is slightly hidden by my mortifying nervousness in speaking with him, and I pray he doesn’t hear it in my voice. And within an hour, I’m in front of his place. He walks out the door as the light radiates out from behind. It’s the same warmth and light. He makes me two cosmos and dinner, some Asian-esque concoction he made just once before. We eat; we drink. And while playing with his two little munchkin puppies, we chat about my family, his career goals, my dating inexperience, and his bitter-sweet, Romeo-and-Juliet-like relationship with a Japanese boy.

Then I see it. A phantom of this Japanese boy chained heavily to J’s heart. It’s a burden that I understand, but it’s also a heavy load I’ve never known nor had to carry. With that realization, I see the frightening face of beauty, leaving me forlorn and exhilarated. I wonder: is he seeking out another Asian boy to replace the love he lost? Or, is he seeking to impress the pain on to some other as it has been done to him? Either way he chooses, I determine that experiencing either of the scenarios would be exactly what I need.

But the last thing I want is for him to not start this strange, alluring walk with me.


It’s now 2:30. I think I know what I need to do.

243: Um...

PEEP... ?!?!

242: Surviving

I'm... overwhelmed.

But I felt I should check in to let you know I am still alive, surviving.

It's been crazy, y'all! Britney crazy!

But more on that later... hopefully.

241: Not the Only One

Awhile back, I posted something about the upcoming movie, 300. And apparently, I wasn't the only one thinking about the movie potentially having a political message.

"Mr. Snyder, who said he intended neither analogy when he set out to adapt the graphic novel created by Frank Miller with Lynn Varley in 1998, suddenly knew he had the contemporary version of a water-cooler movie on his hands. And it has turned out to be one that could be construed as a thinly veiled polemic against the Bush administration, or be seen by others as slyly supporting it."

My money was on him supporting Bush.

"Shortly after his press-junket grilling Mr. Snyder -- an established commercials director, whose best-known previous credit was a remake of George Romero's "Dawn of the Dead" -- ran into some surprising reactions at the Berlinale film festival in Germany. Some attendees walked out of a screening there, while others insisted on seeing its presentation of the Spartans' defense of Western civilization in the face of a Persian horde as propaganda for America's position vis-à-vis Iraq and Iran. (By contrast it drew applause at a Los Angeles screening last month.)"

I'm weirded out that the Germans agree with me, that the movie may be construed as Bush's propaganda. And I'm definitely not surprised that the LA people think different than how normal people do.

But wait, did I just call the Germans normal?

Yikes.

240: Winter Wonderland

I was away. Now, I am back.

Where was I? I was at Whistler.

What was I doing? Skiing, of course.

I just got back. And boy, are my arms tired. Har-har-har, not funny.

That's me. Mr. No-Humor.

I had a fun time.

But, I'm a bit annoyed at myself.

Eh. Whatever. I'll let these feelings of negativity wash over me, through me, and away from me. Then, only memories of the fun time shall remain.

Who the fuck am I?

Sorry. I'll stop.

Ooo... Snow, powdery snow. Fantastic sceneries. Good dinners. Cute village. Etc. Etc. Etc.

239: Awake, O Spring!

To say that I tend to have unbridled bouts of obsession would be an understatement. As I mentioned in my previous post, on Valentine's Day I ventured out in an ice storm to be awaken with Spring Awakening. The chain of events that lead me to the Eugene O'Neill Theater went something like this:

On Friday the 9th...
Being bombarded with the TV advertisement of the said musical every late night for nearly the entire week leads me to finally seek the iTunes store for the cast recording. Sampling a few songs inevitably lands me to open my wallet. The night peaks and reverberates with purple sounds of Duncan Sheik and blue lyrics of Steven Sater. And I just realize, I don't know what the previous sentence really means.

In the early hours of Saturday the 10th...
Having listened to the album a few... hundreds of times and having read several reviews, I buy into the hype. I'm sold faster... yes, I am had quicker than Renée was with Tom Cruise's hello. The homepage announces that there are seats that are on stage. Stage seats! I click the link to Tickets. They are affordable. And before I lay myself to sleep, one seat is eventually mine. The crazed, red eyed monster is appeased.

On Sunday...
As God decreed, I rest.

On Lincoln's Birthday...
Feelings of agitation, anxiety, and anticipation ascend to a fever pitch, because April 25 is too far away. And behold, a friend of mine informs me that her company, unlike my cheap ass one, provides their employees with perks, such as discounted theatre tickets. Should I use it? Should I try to see the show earlier than April 25?

On Valentine's Day...
I'm in row B, four seats in from the right aisle. And I get to see every saliva projectile launched out of Jonathan Groff's mouth, and not to mention, his bare ass, TWICE.

Today...
I'm still obsessed with the show... and the cast... and the music... What can I say, I am a fan. But like all my other obsessions, this too will fade, and I'll be back to being normal. But in the meantime, I'm going to watch David Letterman tonight to watch the cast perform.

Oh, for the funniest synopsis of the musical, click here.

238: Loveless in New York

A friend of mine suggested that I go to a Valentine's Day party hosted by the good people of lovetastic.com. Well, I didn't go. But I did check out the site and read a few funny profiles. So, I was inspired to write one too. And I decided that I would share some of what I wrote. Here it is:

The Essay

Simply put, I’m a sap. It’s in my blood. But don’t worry, you don’t need to pass me the tissue. Because the thing is, I tend to pit my heart against my head for a battle royale.

I’m a believer of action speaks louder than words. But the thing is, talking is an action, isn’t it? So, now I feel conflicted.

Oh, if ignorance is bliss, why do they say the unexamined life is not worth living? I don’t know, I still think bliss is found in ignorance. Come on, do we really need to know that Britney shaved her head?

I’m a glass is half full kind of a guy. But I once heard a comedian (I forget his name) say that glass being half full might not be a good thing. That it depends on what’s in the glass. And seriously, he makes a valid point. I sure don’t want a glass half full of sh*t. In fact, I know I don’t want that glass at all.

It’s important to know what one wants in life. But is it really dumb to say, "I’ll know it when I see it!"? Eh, I guess I have to quote George Michael by saying, "I gotta have faith," and be done with it.

Anyways, can I ask beg you, Dear Readers, to join as well? Because if you do, we, as in you and me, get, uh, whole two weeks of free subscription. Supposedly the subscription lets you email the members. If you don't have it, you'd have no way of letting the guy know you are interested in him, and then have the guy tell you to f*ck off, or worse, ignore you. So use this link, https://lovetastic.com/friends/TIAQU and sign up! Do it for me. Because you want me to be happy, right?

Right?!

237: Bah, Humbug!

Reliable sources inform me that today is some special day for couples. I hear that these couples exchange gifts with one another, like flowers, candies, chocolates, cards, etc., as a demonstration of their love for one another. This bizarre behavior goes further: some couples go out to town for a romantic night out.

Well, on this stormy day in New York, I wish for these couples to not... I don't know, get splashed with cold murky water by a cabby aiming to zoom down the street with the intent to hit every puddle he can. No, we certainly wouldn't want that. Besides, it's snowing. Oh wait, I know. I wish for these happy couples to NOT slip on a patch of ice and fall, cracking their heads, resulting in a trip to the emergency room and having to wait for hours to see a disgruntled doctor to suture their gashed heads. No, we most definitely don't want that. No, we don't.

But you know, I'm not going to be sad about my single-hood. I'm not going to go home and waste away the night watching TV feeling sorry for myself.

Cuz ya’ know
I don’t do sadness
Not even a little bit
Just don’t need it in my life

Yes, what I intend on doing is trek on over to the Eugene O'Neill Theater to watch the boy who sings that refrain. Yours Truly will go alone to watch a Broadway Musical, Spring Awakening! And you know what? It's going to be awesome. Some may even say, FABULOUS. And I'd have to agree. So, YAY me!!! YAY to the single me!!!

Cuz ya’ know
I don’t do sadness
Not even a little bit
Just don’t need it in my life

236: Chill, Dude!

Chill, Dude! What's up?!
So it's chilly. So what?
Here have some chili.

Chili! It heats you up!

***
Obviously, I'm not in advertising. Anyhoo...

***
From a far yonder, a voice called out and it commanded, "Goeth forth and maketh chili."

"My Dear Queen," I replied, "I doeth not knowth the way of boiling beans, meat, and spices." Continuing on, "how can I, a humble servant, obey?"

"Seek and Ye shall find," reminded the voice. And like a puff of Glade® Wisp® Scented Oil, the voice disappeared. Shaking out of a foggy, yet fragrant, haze, I sprung into action, eagerly and earnestly, seeking, searching to savor the magical elixir of beans, meat, and spices. And like GE Edison™ light bulb, my mind illuminated.

Yes, I have found the perfect way to make my chili!

With my wallet, I ventured out to the cold. Weaving past the obstacles we, the royal "we," call stupid New York pedestrians, which by the way, I'm proud to be one, I ended up at an entrance where a red-headed girl smiles. At the counter, I exchanged my money (a little more than a Washington) for the ingredients for my special chili.

Recipe:
1 small Wendy's chili with cheese
2 packets of Hot sauce
1 packet of crackers

Directions:
Open the lid. Tear up the hot sauce packets and squeeze every drop into the cup. Keeping the packet intact, crumple the crackers with your hand. Open the packet and pour in the cracker crumbs. Stir with Wendy's plastic spoon, making sure to mix the chili, the hot sauce, the cracker crumbs, and the cheese thoroughly. Finally, partake!

And the tummy was satisfied, and all Queen's people said: Ah, chili.

235: Seriously?

Seriously!

I almost missed my anniversary. But I didn't! YAY

This blog is two years old. YAY

Although I've not been very consistent with my writing, this little site has entered its Terrible Two's. YAY

What does that mean? Will fullofhype throw frequent tantrums? Will fullofhype be petulant? YAY

Here's to another year of writing! YAY

Seriously!

***
Oh, today is when LOST returns with 16 new episodes. YAY

234: Deranged

Did you know that you're merely a product of an imagination?

Douglas Adams, in his second book of the "Hitchhiker's" series, "The Restaurant at the End of the Universe," speculates... Well, he doesn't speculate so much as asserts:

It is known that there are an infinite number of worlds, simply because there is an infinite amount of space for them to be in. However, not every one of them is inhabited. Therefore, there must be a finite number of inhabited worlds. Any finite number divided by infinity is as near to nothing as makes no odds, so the average population of all the planets in the Universe can be said to be zero. From this it follows that the population of the whole Universe is also zero, and that any people you may meet from time to time are merely the products of a deranged imagination.

I find comfort in the words. Before I elaborate, consider this:

Did you note that Douglas Adams does not specify of whose imagination the "people you may meet from time to time" are the products?

But there's really no sense in you trying to figure out whose imagination Douglas Adams was referring to, because I already know the answer. Isn't it obvious? It's my imagination. You are merely a product of my imagination.

And I find comfort. I'm comforted because everyone loves... no, worships me. But because I want to be humble, I imagined the vast majority of people to pretend not to worship me, and in fact, I imagined them to ignore me and treat me like a total stranger. Seriously, I can totally wipe everyone out. Even you!

There! You don't exist.

And voila! You exist again.

What will you do without me? Oh yes, nothing. Why? Because you are merely a product of my imagination.

Ah... I find comfort. I'm comforted because there's no true rejection, and conversely, there's no true acceptance. There's really nothing. Only I exist. I am. I just am.

Holy SHIT! I'm GOD!

Don't worry, peons. I will keep my powers in check until I die. You won't have to love me. You won't have to worship me. You won't even have to search me to find meanings to your little lives. Besides, most of you won't ever search. And for those of you who search, you'll most likely (in environmental scientists' term, that's 90%) ignore the truth. But that's A-Ok. I like my world this way. Besides, you are merely a product of my imagination. (Repetition helps. You'll retain it better.)

Yes, I find comfort. I'm comforted...

233: 100TAM 2.0 (Work In Progress #4)

This is the fourth installment of the second list. This one, let me tell you, is long overdue. And I promise it won't be as wordy as my other list.

1. I'll start with a secret. Shhh, don't tell anyone, but I'm... an American.
2. I don't look it, because, well, I come from a Korean stock. (It's a fancy way of saying I was born in Korea.)
   
3. So, I'm a Korean-American. Oh, by the way, did you notice the hyphen?
4. Since no one ever asks, I'll just go on and share: No. 3 is one of my many reasons for this barely noticed humble blog's moniker.
   
5. And it pains me to acknowledge this but... It's shocking... I've an accent.
6. But no, no, no. All but the first three years of my schooling from kindergarten to grad school was in these States.
7. It's just that (and let me use my favorite excuse) I've been for a good few months in the latter part of what I call "transition years" a mute. So the language center of my brain, undergoing a tremendous amount of stress (and I'm using my highly acute skill of diagnosis), failed to develop normally.
   
8. When I did regain my "voice," the Korean I spoke was tainted with an American accent, and I spoke it poorly. Compounding further my language impediment, as those who've met me will attest, Me don't speaks the Engrish very good.
9. Yes, growing up, I've been called by many snooty American-born Korean- and other Asian-Americans a FOB. And when you can't kill 'em, you join 'em. I am a FOB, I'll remain a FOB, I shall die a FOB. The irony is, though, a lot of them were homo-ethnics (a new word I am coining now; homo-ethnic [noun]: a person who tends to socialize exclusively with those of the same ethnic or racial background, out of convenience or out of racism.)
10. While we're on the subject of "homo," Je suis un homosexuel; Soy un homosexual; 私は同性愛者である；나는 동성애자 이다; I am a homosexual. (Eh! Sounded too formal...) I'm a fag. (Hmm... a little derogatory, no?) I'm a gay man. I am gay. (Ok, better.)
    
11. It seems when you're gay, you need to be able to disclose certain information like... like... like your sex life depends on it. Such as: "Hi, I'm 5' 10" (You say: Okay, that's a good height), 150 lbs (Ooo, a little on the skinny side), just turned 30 (Yikes! But that's okay, as long as... you know... just remember always to subtract 2"), and I'm a down-to-earth, average guy (What?!) looking for the same (*silence*)."
    
12. But the thing is, I'm not just gay. Okay, huddle in closer. Are you close? Okay, I'm not sure how to say it delicately, so I'm just going to say it. Oh, God. Okay, hoo-hoo-hoo. I'm ready. Here it goes. I'm... I'm... Imachrisyun. I'm one of those "Is Jesus your personal Lord and Savior?" Christian.
    
13. Hello?
14. You okay?
15. Did I lose you?
    
16. Well, I was. I am. Well, no. I should clarify: I'm a "Jesus is MY personal Lord and Savior" Christian. I would never impose my beliefs on anyone.
    
17. Look, it's not like I'm saying that I'm a Republican.
18. What?
19. No, no, no.
20. I'm NOT. I'm not a Republican. Believe me.
21. Speaking of the Republicans and their having moved this country in the wrong direction, I've been moved around a lot during the "transition years."
22. The "transition years," I've mentioned in #7, are the first two years I've spent in America, where I was constantly uprooted, living with my relatives instead with my own family.
23. At first, Mom and I fly from Seoul, Korea to Honolulu, Hawaii, to briefly settle with my maternal grandfather. But the stay is all too brief.
    
24. Mom and I find ourselves, next, in the armpit of America, New Jersey, where Mom is hired by her cousin to be the nanny for his two bratty, want-for-nothing children.
    
25. But as soon as I settle, Mom decides to send me to her brother's in Los Angeles. She doesn't join me.
    
26. My aunt grudgingly agrees to watch over me, provided that Mom take me back at the year's end. Yet Mom, finding herself incapable to hold her end of the bargain, sends me instead to my dad's sister's place in Tacoma, Washington.
27. I live there, practically ignored by my guardians and my cousins, until the end of school year. Soon thereafter, I rejoin Mom in New York, in our own place.
28. Mom tells me the boy I was before and the boy I became after the "transition years" are different. She wasn't talking about the height I gained or the number of childhood teeth I lost. Mom has apologized to me. Whenever she recounts our stories, she expresses how she still feels bad.
    
29. I believe Mom shouldn't feel bad at all. It was the situations and circumstances we were in. Hindsight: it's always better than foresight, isn't it?
30. I admit, my biggest fear in life is rejection.
31. So, I don't want to wish my worst fear onto others. It's the hardest thing for me to do, to reject anyone who has found a place in my heart.
    
32. That means, it takes a lot for me to let anyone get close to me.
    
33. But don't get me wrong. I want to be more open, more giving. I'm not an island. Hell, I can no longer stay to be one anymore.
    
34. I hope, though, that those who've gotten to know me find me as their loyal, reliable, and devoted friend.
35. Yes, I want to be known as Caring...
36. And Kind...
37. And Loving.
38. But not Nice. Let's never describe Yours Truly as nice, okay?
    
39. Did you know that the simple philosophy of paying it forward appeals to me.
    
40. If I practice it, live it, maybe I can say that I brought a little bit of Kingdom of Heaven to this world.
    
41. What can you say? I'm naïve enough to believe in world peace.
42. I blame my Christian upbringing.
    
43. Seriously, like the song says, all you need is love.
44. Are you laughing at me? Are you?
45. Eh. Moving on.
    

To be continued...

232: "LOVE"

I tend to fall on the strange side of life. Well, at least I think I do. Consider this:

A boy grows up in what essentially is a single parent household, yet the parents aren't divorced. They are separated by circumstances, or at least that's how the boy sees it. How can he see otherwise when the boy is told that the dad is away in a foreign country to garner income for his wife and son. And once in a while, the dad does come home to stay, with him, the whole family, together.

However, the man who was the boy can't remember if his dad and mom shared the same bed then.

The boy gets up one morning. Rubbing his goop encrusted eyes, he waddles towards the sound of a woman laughing. He opens the door and sees the dad lying on his stomach. Next to his languid body is kneeling a fully clothed lady, who broadens more her already wide smile. With a singsong voice she asks, "Did you get up?" Nodding yes, the boy waddles in for a hug. "Wanna see something?" she whispers into the boy's ear. As the boy nods, she yanks away the blanket, baring the dad's bottom. A gentle smack--her hand meets the flesh. The boy does the same, giggling uncontrollably. "Get up." The boy echoes the same, "get up, get up." And the room fills with Laughter...

Warmth.., and...

Light.

Yet, the man concedes that the memory of the heart may have colored the event with hues of a little stroll in the gentle spring rain or a bike ride through a crisp autumn's day. So, the man doubts and is unsure...

He's unsure if the word, "love," was ever exchanged between them...

God knows, I grew up without ever hearing it from them or using it to them. But I know it was there. Or is it again my heart's memory playing tricks on me?

I remember clearly, how the boy, while returning home from the zoo, held hands with both of his parents, urging them to lift him up, so that he could swing between them, like a little monkey he pretended to be.

231: Let's Whine a Bit, Shall We?

I like whining. Whining makes my day go by. I live to whine. Whining makes me feel like a winner.

So, imagine my whining voice, and in random order, I present you a list of what I whine about:

1. My life sucks.
2. I hate my job.
3. Why don't I have a boyfriend?
4. Why don't I ever get cruised?
5. Match.com hates me.
6. My life sucks.
7. I hate my body.
8. I think I'm losing my hair.
9. I hate my job.
10. I have no social life.
11. Why don't I have friends?
12. I'm getting a pot belly. But I'm still skinny as hell!
13. Dammit, I feel like a poster child for LiveAid.
14. That's too dated. I feel old now.
15. I hate my job.
16. I want a boyfriend!
17. My back hurts.
18. The world's against me.
19. God hates me.
20. Why am I still hungry?
21. Why didn't "Dreamgirls" get the Best Picture nomination?
22. I hate commuting to work.
23. It's so hard finding a perfect place to buy.
24. I wish I had more money.
25. I'm bored, bored, bored, BOOOOOOOOORED.

Seriously, why does my life suck?

WHY?~

230: Image

Take a look at this and let me know what you think:

I can't decide whether I agree with the filmmaker completely. He makes an excellent argument and I understand where he is coming from. Any positive images of minorities in commercials have been slow in coming. And more often than not, Madison Avenue has played into people's negative stereotypes of minorities. Though, his assessment of the last commercial troubles me. If I don't accept his last example, then there's a chance that I'm too ignorant to recognize hatred towards me. If I accept it, then there's a chance that I'm being too sensitive, finding hate where there may be no meaning whatsoever. I don't know. What do you think?

229: Spartans

Mine eyes have seen the hotness of the coming of King Leonidas and his 300 men. I am converted. I shall stand firmly with the warmongers now. Joining their chorus, I shall sing, "Stand and fight!" The American Republic must not rest on its laurels of conquering Babylonia. No, never! While there is radioactive evil lurking just across the border, we must press on and fight on. Yes, like King Leonidas and his 300 men, our warriors, too, must fight the Persians.

But a caveat—our brave warriors must dress like them:


and the must pose like him:


Only then, I give my support wholly and completely.

By the way, I don't know if the filmmaker is making any political statement regarding this current war through the movie, and I highly doubt that there is a commentary, seeing that the graphic novel predates Bush's presidency, but I like creating meanings out of nothing.

228: To Soar and to be Sore

I'm acquiring a new skill; I'm learning to snowboard. Yesterday I went with this gay ski group here in NY to one of their many day trips. I had a very modest goal in learning a new skill: to Toe Edge. Admittedly, acquiring this technique meant I'd spend most of the time coming down the bunny hill in a prone or a supine position. Yes, indeed the morning was discouraging, but due to my natural athleticism (HAHAHA!), by the end of the day, I've got the hang of edging my board with my toe. Yet true to form, I was reminded that in Life, nothing is easy. Pain comes hand in hand with the journey to meet a goal.

227: A "Good Morning" or A "F*ck You"

There are times, while I'm walking on the crowded streets, when suddenly someone starts honking at a taxi cab dropping off a passenger. Soon there after, expletives are exchanged between the offended cabbie and the impatient driver. "F*ck you," one yells. The other counters with the same, only louder. It's a comical display, which only confirms my cynicism, that this is mankind's true nature.

And then every morning, there's this one MTA worker on the platform of Grand Central's Downtown Lexington Avenue Line who greets passengers getting off the train. "Good morning, have a nice day," he says smiling. And every time I see him, my cynical mind tells me either MTA must have a program where they hire retarded people to lighten up the moods of the New York City's worker-drones or he must have found the secret of saying "F*ck you" with a smile and getting the listeners to smile back at him with genuine appreciation.

But if I soften my heart a bit, I can appreciate the MTA worker's daily ritual greeting for what it is. One human being making an effort to connect with another in a kind and sincere way. To bring to someone something positive, even if it's a small gesture of saying a greeting to a stranger. And I hope that this is mankind's true nature.

Or at the very least, my nature...