186: Goals

People change; we all change.

Time is like a constant force that shapes and molds us, without any pre-planned expectations of the end result. So it's in the way we use time where we have the most control. Growing into the person who I want to be tomorrow, in a week, a month, a year, or until the day I die, lies with me.

But of course the old serenity prayer still holds true. I'll need to accept the things I can't change, I'll need courage to change the things I can, and most certainly I'll need the wisdom to know the difference.

The wisdom teaches me that action is better than inaction. Failing is better than not trying. Being rejected is better than staying anonymous. Living is better than existing.

So here I stand, without any irony or sarcasm, weary and vulnerable, calling on anyone, from those who might give a damn to those who might be mildly curious, to bear witness in my quest to be someone.

Goals:

1. When I'm in my death bed, I want to look back at my life and pray, "Dear God, thank you for my life's abundant riches." (Monetary riches would be an added bonus, but not required. Those who know me should know that I've never equated my happiness to material gain.)
2. One of my long term goals is for those who've invested their time to me to know me as kind and good, reliable and loyal, generous to a fault, and loving, but strong enough never to take shit or abuse from anyone.
3. As for short term goals, by next year, I want to hold up a medical school acceptance letter to my boss and quit my job.
4. In six months time, I would like to have made two more new friends, not acquaintances but true friends. It sounds cheesy, but I'm no longer ashamed to say, I need to be supported and I need to support. Fuck pride, I need to belong!
5. By the end of October, I'll have submitted at least 15 copies of my resume to prospective employers, and interviewed with at least one, since I do need a contingency plan, should the medical path does not pan out. But I concur, the said numbers are far too low. But I need to be realistic: I'm lazy. But then, I guess you can say one of my long term goals is not to be so damn lazy, or rather is to be diligent.
6. Following in line with the goal to be diligent, I want to gain at least 10 pounds of lean muscle by then, which means going to the gym will have to become a habit. I hate feeling tired and unfocused. My body is seriously craving some good stresses and endorphin rushes.
7. By the end of August, I'll have submitted the AMCAS (the American Medical College Application Service) application.
8. By next week Monday, I'll have an outline of the AMCAS essay I need to write, and perhaps even a paragraph I can post here to be critiqued.
9. And by next week Monday, I'll have gone to the gym at least once! One has to start somehow, even if the start is slow, you know?
10. And also by next week Monday, I need to come out with some sort of exercise and diet regiment that I'll follow, so that I can achieve my goal in gaining at least 10 pounds of lean muscle by the end of October. If any of my readers have suggestions, I'll love to hear them.

I'll routinely amend my goals and post my failures and accomplishments. I'd like to see how I'm growing, and I want you to see my progress. I'm excited!

185: Seen on the Subway

If you'll give up your seat for a pregnant woman...

You are a Mitchum Man.

If you're careful who you assume is pregnant...

You are a "sensitive" Mitchum Man.

Where's my camera when I need it?! Bah.

184: I Totally Flew Over the Cuckoo's Nest

I *heart* Steven for bringing this wonderful site into my life.

It starts out innocently enough. While Steven and I are IMing, he randomly declares that he might be "possibly mildly depressed" and sends me a URL for this test. I take it, and what joyous news, I am depressed; I'm so depressed, I'm four points away from being "severely depressed!"

Seriously? Seriously?! Seriously!

The wheels in my depressed head start turning: 'I refuse to believe I'm only unipolar!' I declare, 'if I believe there's a yin, then there's a yang. I should be bipolar!'

And lo and behold, I am manic. Well, I have a manic tendency that ranges from mild to moderate. So, I'm slightly more depressed than manic, but I'm bipolar nonetheless.

But I'm still left feeling empty. I should be more fucked up than what this wonderful site is telling me. So, I click and click away, like a man possessed with the urge to pick his nose when he thinks no one's looking.

Anxiety disorders? Maybe... There are several kinds! Agoraphobia? Nope, it's not me. Panic attacks? Never had them. Come on, I should have some sort of anxiety disorder. Social phobia?

"A marked and persistent fear of one or more social or performance situations in which the person is exposed to unfamiliar people or to possible scrutiny by others. The individual fears that he or she will act in a way (or show anxiety symptoms) that will be humiliating or embarrassing."

Oh my God, that's me! I bounce up and down, gleefully clasping my hand. And I suffered worse in the early 90s when I was a mere dental floss instead of a stick.

What else? What else?

Any personality disorders? Let's see... there aren't any tests for them. Okay, it's okay, I'll just read what the symptoms are.

Antisocial? Dependent? Histrionic? Narcissistic? No, no, no, and no. But I will work on them.

Avoidant? (1) Avoids occupational activities. Hmm... There was a trip to a Yankee game that I first said I'd go and then at the last moment had back tracked. (2) Is unwilling to get involved with people unless certain of being like. Wait, people don't normally do this? (3) Shows restraint within intimate relationships because of the fear of being shamed or ridiculed. What? That's not the right thing to do? (4) Is inhibited in new interpersonal situations because of feelings of inadequacy. "Killing me softly with his song!" Totally. (5 & 6) Views self as socially inept, personally unappealing, or inferior to others, and Is unusually reluctant to take personal risks or to engage in any new activities because they may prove embarrassing. A new realization bathes me... Yes, this is so MEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEE!

And the icing on the cake is I'm also Borderline.

I'm totally fucked up!

More, more, more... I want more!

ADHD? They've a test for this one. And great news people, I'm... Hold on...

Why are "Homosexuality and Bisexuality," "Adoption,""Irritable Bowel?" "Irritable Bowel" in this Mental Help site?

And you know what? I think I have Irritable Bowel.

What was I talking about before? Oh, no, wait... oh yes, ADHD.

Ooo, there's an Alcohol & Substance Abuse test and Anger Management test... And, and, and, and, and there's also a video of penile pump implant surgery!!!

I've died and now I'm in glorious dysfunctional heaven.

Hallelujah!

***
By the way, I'm totally freaking angry, have a slight ADD, and I don't need the implant, which by the way is great news. But, but, but... I'm not an alcoholic. Me, sad.

183: Debbie Downer, Me? Never!

This summer brings the unbearable 100 degree heat, and the networks aren't doing any better to distract me from thinking, 'Oh my God, I'm melting.' Yes, the prime time line-ups are laden with some atrocious reality shows (except for So You Think You Can Dance, thank you very much) and uninspired reruns (except for Grey's Anatomy). But thank goodness I'm a dork (as my friend has aptly pointed out in her e-mail to me), because I can rely on cable TV for brand new gamut of shows. Yes, tonight, I'm gravitating towards SciFi channel, like how a horned up dog seeks a leg to violate, with unbridled glee, because of him:

Colin Ferguson. Woof!

Colin stars in a new series called Eureka...

It looks promising.

But anyhoo...

***

"Eureka!" exclaimed Archimedes, as he leaped out of his bathtub, and I, too, am exclaiming the same. You think of me as Debbie Downer! But, really, people, I'm an optimist.

Consider my last post. I started the post writing about how I'm addicted to smoking and about my craving for a good, long drag from a fag, which serves only to perpetuate the nasty habit. Then I segued into my addiction to self-pity. But, instead of stating that I crave to dawdle in its misery and continue on the downward spiral of negativity, I stated the opposite.

People, please! Let me quote Hedwig:

(Tear Me Down)

I was born on the other side
Of a town ripped in two
I made it over the great divide
Now I'm coming for you

Enemies and adversaries
They try and tear me down
You want me, baby, I dare you
Try and tear me down

I rose from off of the doctor's slab
Like Lazarus from the pit
Now everyone wants to take a stab
And decorate me
With blood, graffiti and spit

Enemies and adversaries
They try to tear me down
You want me, baby, I dare you
Try and tear me down

On August 13, 1961,
A wall was erected
Down the middle of the city of Berlin
The world was divided by a cold war
And the Berlin Wall
Was the most hated symbol of that divide
Reviled, graffitied, spit upon
We thought the wall would stand forever
And now that it's gone
We don't know who we are anymore

Ladies and gentlemen
Hedwig is like that wall
Standing before you in the divide
Between East and West
Slavery and freedom
Man and woman
Top and bottom
And you can try and tear her down
But before you do
You must remember one thing:

There ain't much of a difference
Between a bridge and a wall
Without me right in the middle, babe
You would be nothing at all

Enemies and adversaries
They try and tear me down
You want me, baby, I dare you
Try and tear me down

While I have Colin to ogle at, there's really nothing that tears me down.

Debbie Downer, me?

Never!

182: Withdrawal

Really, it all started when I was in Japan. It's not that I haven't tried it pre-Japan, but it was while I was there it became a habit. And honestly, it was more of a social thing: you're at a bar with your buddies drinking a few screw driver here and gin & tonic there, and to counteract the alcohol's tendency to depress, you light one up. The smoke flushes down to your lungs, the heat prickling, and the blood races up to your brain, the head rushing. A nicotine fix that's always never enough, soothes, alerts, only for a short moment, but again, it is never enough, and you hunger, you crave, for more, for more, more, more, Dear Lord, just one more drag.

And the thing is, let me just say, I don't have an addictive personality, period.

I don't.

Let's just say that I've been clean for the whole month of July thus far. Then again, I go through days, weeks, or months without smoking, but I'll admit that, yes, I have fallen off the wagon many times before, and there's no guarantee that this time around I won't fall.

And today, this sweltering day, I feel the craving...

This craving has me thinking about what other "things" I am addicted to.

Most of you, if you are reading this, I guarantee, are first time readers. Welcome, and I'm sorry for what's to follow, because you'll be reading a theme I absolutely love to write about, and if this theme were a person, I'd have swung a bat at him over and over again until he lost consciousness, then I'd have thrown a bucket full of ice cold water to revive him only to beat the life out of him.

I think, or rather, I know I am addicted to self-pity.

I'm ugly because I'm born a Korean, and you know what they say about Asian men (...that we're Mongoloids, a term that also can be used to describe people with Down Syndrome; you thought I'd say something else, right?); and I've a body that resembles a chopstick, that's why I'm unattractive. I'm boring because I'm shy; and most times I've nothing to say, that's why I'm dull. I'm lonely because I'm alone; and God hates me, that's why I'm unloved.

I'm an outcast; I always have been and I always will be.

And on and on I go...

But then again... Why do I continue to believe in hurtful lies of my own fabrication; why do I believe that I can't be loved? How is it that I continue to dismiss those who comment and praise this blog; how is it that I believe these people to be delusional for thinking that I've something to contribute to an on-going discourse on life? What kind of twisted ego must I have that I feel self-conscious about what strangers might say when they see me struggling to bench not even a quarter of my body weight; what twisted pride prevents me from going to the gym when I know the end result for hardwork is so much rewarding than the status quo?

Yes, I feel the craving. I crave to ride high in life, seeing the true beauty in me, fostering the joie de vivre (I must still have some and I must be brewing with some charisma, because if I did not, then the friends I have should be no more than a passing scenery one sees on a train, and the friends I have would not be called loyal); I crave to grab life by its balls, to intertwine, to mesh, to belong... I to you, you to me.

Yes, I feel the craving.

181: Can One Become Too Gay?

So...

I think I found one of the many Nurture's contributions to my gayness. Ladies and Faeries, I present to you Allison and Ivan:



Maybe it's just that they were dancing to Annie Lennox, but last night when I saw Allison and Ivan dance, I was moved almost to tears. So, tonight, after the result show, I did a search to find the dance on-line. And thank goodness for Veoh YouTube! Now, I can be moved over and over again.

Okay, I've no punch-line. But to answer my question: if you enjoy and watch So You Think You Can Dance, then yes, one can become too gay.

**
ADDENDUM (7/20/06) - YouTube has also removed the video. Oh, well.

180: We Lost

The Empire (State) is indeed siding with the Dark side.

Maybe the critics are right. If we are granted equal rights, then one day, as one of the most rational critics from FOX News has claimed and reported by the great Mr. Colbert (a rerun episode which aired last night), some Americans will want to do what some Indians do.

So, good for you, Empire, for striking back to progress and basic human rights! I say, BRAVO!

179: Travelogue, "The Rain in Spain Does Not Fall Mainly in the Plain"

*From my journal

5/21/06 4:49 AM

Feliz cumpleaños.

It's my birthday, and I'm in Spain. I'm in Spain!!! To be more specific, I'm in Madrid, back in my room. God, I'm exhausted, but even this tiredness feels good.

I fly out of New York on the 19th, arrive here early afternoon on the 20th, find lodging at a hostal, not a hostel, in Chueca. Chueca is a neighborhood near the main city center, Sol, Km 0; Chueca flows, bustles, and pulsates: cervezas, wines, cocktails, and tapas; fags, dykes, punks, fashionistas, slobs, snobs, and gypsies; energetic, vibrant... (I can still hear people down on the street, shouting, singing, laughing. It's fucking awesome.)

As soon as my backpack is thrown down, I jump into the shower washing away any semblance of fatigue, dress down to a T-shirt and shorts, and fly out onto the narrow Calle de Hortaleza. Without a guidebook and certainly without a camera, but with a cute Ben Sherman bag I bought just for this trip, I wander around feeling the vibe of this foreign yet familiar barrio. For the rest of the late afternoon and for the entire night, I stroll to and fro, I go in and out: boutiques, bars, and bodegas, there are no rocks left unturned. I get lost. I get found.

But even so, I don't know...

Is it the excitement of stepping across the starting line? Or is it the anxiety of encountering, hopefully, an unexpected, great adventure? Maybe it's just the discretely located but blatantly obvious "saunas" that I've passed by. Perhaps I'm Tony from West Side Story singing "Something's Coming."

Sufficiently imbibed and incredibly stuffed—the inhibition wanes—I feel my body craving to bid my 20's adiós with THE DANCE. The Saturday has joined with history. With a flyer I picked up at Mama Inés, a gay owned café, I navigate through wide streets and narrow alley ways to a club called Cool. While there, I learn a valuable lesson in Spanish time: half past 12 is still unfashionably early for a club to be hopping, let alone crawling. I find myself literally at a party of one. The affable hostess informs me to come back a little later. Tony is certainly right: something indeed is coming.

I trudge my way back to the hostal, somewhat discouraged, but unwilling to end the night just yet. I'm supine on the bed for a disco nap, legs elevated, knees close to the chest, prohibiting REM sleep from finishing me off. After a brief respite, a jolting shower, freshly moisturized and coiffed, and a cup of European Joe (or rather, José), I strut my best to make John Travolta proud.

It's a few minutes past 2 at Cool, the hostess smiles me in. I walk up the neon blue lighted corridor to a cool white art deco lounge overlooking the spartan dance floor below; the music is thump-thump-thumping, but it's still too early. I order a gin and tonic at the bar; the husky bartender hands me a tall ice-filled glass with some gin and a bottle of tonic water. I sit down near the balcony, light a cigarette and sip my drink, hoping to regain the buzz from a couple of hours before, and I longingly look at the dance floor for it to fill up.

Men, bois, toys, and hags, slowly but surely stream in. Some glance over to me; I glance over to some. They shake and I bake. Yet with each passing moment, I cannot but think how much the scene here is the same as in New York. Chueca bois are clones (or is it the other way around?) of Chelsea bois: tight fitting t-shirts, wife beaters, jeans, bulging upper body muscles, the latest designer accessories... My enthusiasm cools precipitously and I stumble out the door.

I think: 'You know what? None of these Spanish bois came to chat me up because (1) they don't speak English or they don't think I can speak Spanish or English, (2) they rarely encounter exotic specimen like moi and they were intimidated by my hotness...

'BWAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA,

'God, I kill me.'

Tony is right: something has come, the expected, the same old same old. Contrary to what people believe, the rain in Spain does not fall mainly in the plain.

Happy birthday, you old dog! Hello, my first night in Spain.

178: Oh, What a Night!

Boy, my feet are hurting.

I've just returned from volunteering at Dance 20, the Gay Pride week's grand finale. Even the wet weekend didn't stop this event from being a success. Actually, the party gods must have smiled on us, because we only got lightly sprinkled on. By the time J. Lo finished performing, the clouds started to dissipate, the black night sky was a great backdrop for the spectacular fireworks that followed. There were definite oohs and aahs.

I can definitely volunteer for this every year. Free access to the thumpa-thumpa and a fabulous diva performance, who can say, "No thanks," hmm? Not to mention the hot men and the pretty boys proudly displaying their strength and beauty.

I'm full. And the two bananas kept my energy up!

Oh, what a night!

177: A Chat

It's a private chat conversation I had with a close friend, a friend I've known since high school. I'm making it public, with her permission.

Please forgive my grammar and spelling mistakes.

Click and Ye shall enlarge.

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176: 100TAM 2.0 (Work In Progress #2)

The list has been updated. Please go here.

175: ...Sigh

I've the utmost unfortunate displeasure and regret to report and inform that fullofhype has returned from his vacation.

The official mourning period, which has started at 1:10 in the afternoon, on the 29th of May, in the year of our Lord 2006, will last as long as when the world was without Light, 'til it was greeted with the glory of Easter. The first day is reserved for the bereaved. The second and the third days are opened to the public. Please convey to the bereaved your heartfelt condolences.



A little j-pop to lighten the graying sky.

174: See You Laters, Alligators!

I'm off!

I shall be travelin', travelin', travelin' through Spain.

I shall also be celebrating this Sunday in Spain my Big "Three-Oh!" Birthday.

So wish me "Bon Voyage" and "Happy Birthday."

I'm off!

173: "If I Lay Here"

Chasing Cars - Snow Patrol

We'll do it all
Everything
On our own

Ever wonder if you are truly alive?
In times of reflection, I find I've let life pass me by.
Too often. With a shrug. Saying, one day it'll be different.

We don't need
Anything
Or anyone

Living vicariously through movies and TV dramas*,
through books and blogs, always through someone else's life...
I need it to stop. I must stop.

If I lay here
If I just lay here
Would you lie with me and just forget the world?

Do I stay here?
Do I remain the same?
Where's the flash of electricity up my spine?

I don't quite know
How to say
How I feel

Have you ever given up everything?
Pushing on, forward ho! To forget the consequences;
To not look back; to never say sorry.

Those three words
Are said too much
They're not enough

Afraid and alone; complacent and stagnant;
What is there to lose?
What is there to lose?

If I lay here
If I just lay here
Would you lie with me and just forget the world?

Do I stay here?
Do I remain the same?
Where's the sudden hold, the quick gasp of breath?

Forget what we're told
Before we get too old
Show me a garden that's bursting into life

Have you ever felt free,
Like the common cliché we've all heard before?
Are you flying, soaring, lifted up, up, up and above?

Let's waste time
Chasing cars
Around our heads

Why is it that a junction with many paths
Feels more enslaving
Than a lone, single path?

I need your grace
To remind me
To find my own

I'm ready to burst out,
To make things happen,
To stake out a place of my own.

If I lay here
If I just lay here
Would you lie with me and just forget the world?

Do I stay here?
Do I remain the same?
Where's the rush, the fast beating of the heart?

Forget what we're told
Before we get too old
Show me a garden that's bursting into life

Have you ever lost yourself,
Forgetting the power that's within you,
Killing the divine within?

All that I am
All that I ever was
Is here in your perfect eyes, they're all I can see

I stand, stand tall and proud,
Ready to fight, ready to fly,
'Cause I need to sacrifice all!

I don't know where
Confused about how as well
Just know that these things will never change for us at all

I may not know where and I may not know how,
But if losing myself is to find myself,
I shall let myself get lost.

If I lay here
If I just lay here
Would you lie with me and just forget the world?

I won't stay here.
I won't remain the same.
I shall travel far and wide

...for LOVE

* Please note the irony: this post has been inspired by the song and the season finale of Grey's Anatomy.

TAGS: chasing cars snow patrol grey's anatomy lyrics

172: Meat-Free Monday

I'm participating in VUBOQ's Meat-Free Monday. I took this picture with my cellphone. I'm having pasta for lunch. Doesn't it look yummy? In it, there's onions, mushrooms, zucchini, peppers, basil, olives, and garlic. Mmm... Garlic.

TAGS: meat-free monday vuboq pasta

171: 엄마에

To Mom,

...

Happy Mother's Day.

Love,

Your Son

170: David, David, David...

...You crazy jackass!

So after spending a whole week under water inside a giant sphere, breathing through a regulator, feeding and peeing by tubes (hopefully not the same ones), tonight, David Blaine will... wait for it... hold his breath! For NINE minutes!!! Oh, and he'll be chained up and he has to free himself. Within NINE minutes!!!

Yippee!

I can't wait!

If David can't free himself... I want to see the emergency rescue team jump in to save him. I want to see a hot paramedic do a CPR on him. I want to see the pads of the defibrillator touch his chest: the electricity flowing, his body convulsing.

Now, David's holding his breath.
It's been four minutes.
He's starting to free himself.
It's the six minute mark... He's got his second cuff off. Was it his second one?
Soon after the seven minute mark, divers jump in and take him up (7:08).

He has failed!

But he lives.

And he's crying.

He ain't dead.

...

Too bad.

Sunday, around 5PM

TAGS: david blaine drowned

169: It's a Phase

Okay, okay. It's just a phase. It's an obsession. What can I say? But, this is the last one for tonight. You really have to check this one out, yo!



TAGS: immigration youtube native americans pilgrims humour

168: Equal Opportunity

Last time, it was this.

Now, for those of you who've chosen the heterosexual lifestyle, I bring you this:



I *HEART* YouTube.com.

TAGS: safe sex youtube france humour

167: Heart's A-Pumpin'

My God, I so needed it.

I have my arms swinging, my legs flailing. My skin's oozing salt and water, my heart's squeezing blood and air. Inhale, exhale. Huff, puff. I pant, pant, pant. Now, my body throbs with pain and pleasure.

What a great workout!

Tomorrow I may pay for the long overdue workout, and might I add, a strenuous workout. But for now, I lie in the afterglow.

I shall make it a routine in my life.

166: Parade

I like parades.

Like this one that came down my street:





All they want is a chance for a better life. If they are hard-working, if they can contribute to this society for the better, why, then, deny them the chance? Besides, how can I enjoy myself at a Korean restaurant without the Mexican busboys busing dirty dishes? I don't do dirty, and certainly I don't do slow restaurant service.

165: QueerTube

Confession 1: Initially, I've clicked onto QueerClick for the men. (Not work safe)

Confession 2: Um... I still do.

Confession 3: Now, I click on to watch the video. (Totally work safe)

Like this one:

164: To Lust Or Not To Lust

I think I've made the wrong choice in deciding to go to Spain, when in fact I should be heading down under. To him. Forget the art of literacy. Give me the art of lust. Oh, Brodie Holland.

163: "The Smithy Code"

Apparently there's humor in the British justice system, and thank God for it.

In Today's New York Times, there's an article about the recent copyright ruling of the lawsuit filed by two of the three writers of Holy Blood, Holy Grail against Dan Brown, the writer of The Da Vinci Code. The justice, Peter Smith, who is now my new hero, embedded a coded message, a puzzle, as the article reports, in his ruling. Throughout the 71-page ruling, he italicized certain letters. In the first 13 1/2 pages of the text, the first ten of those abberant typefaced letters spell out "Smithy Code." The next thirty are jumbled; and further clues hidden throughout the ruling are needed to crack the mystery. The fact that, as the article reports, "nobody seemed to notice anything unusual about it when it was first released," would have been "probably [a] disappoint[ment] for Justice Smith."

No doubt.

In this day and age of eletronic media, where we see less of allegories and parables, where we're too busy to read between the lines, I think, we've lost the fun in the art of literacy. 'We want clearly spelled out information NOW,' as the unspoken mantra goes. Where's the fun in that? A while back, I read a post in this one blog where the writer purposely chose not to use a certain letter, I don't remember which, but I think it was a vowel. Genius! Clever! I'd like to see more creative writing in blogs.

But then again, what do I know?

162: 100TAM 2.0 (Work In Progress #1)

The list has been updated. Please go here.

161: Appa

Our eyes are glued to the television set.

And the AC hums.

He is on his side, his hand propping up his bald head, his thumb caressing gently the ridges of his ear, him, lying on the tatami mat. Me, I'm sitting. The loose straws tickle my bare calves. I hug in my out-stretched legs, towards my body, as my hands caress the itch away; and I rest my chin on the kneecap, and glance, if for a fleeting moment, at the very first man I have ever loved... and hated, Abeoji, Father.

"You go fuck yourself," he yells. On the TV screen, Sam, Hayden Christensen's character, pleads, no, demands, that he'd not be sent away to his father's place for the summer. "I hate you," he growls.

But inside my Japanese bungalow, the cool air wafts; the AC hums.

The trace aroma of mapo tofu, a meal share between father and son, a meal prepared by the son... (was it a gesture of devotion from the son to his father?) the aroma, a trace of what once was, it seems to linger. Ephemerally. Transiently.

Our eyes are glued to the television set.

As father and son watch a movie about a father and a son, the both of us watching the both of them, fighting to reconnect, fighting to make right, us, we.., I... I think...

...About the man who was never there for me, about the man who made me see my mom's tears flow continents away, about the man who chose this country and his other family over ours. I think about my heart breaking.

Sam again rages at his father, George, played by Kevin Klein, "You are unbelievably stupid!"

I steal a glance. 'Does Abeoji realize the same rage is inside me?' I wonder. 'I hate Japan, I hate my sister, I hate him!'

But the beautifully calligraphed washi paper hanging down from a furin, a wind chime, flutters; the cool air wafts; the AC hums.

George is playing with his baby boy out in the ocean, bouncing up and down with the waves; I am hiding in the attic. The doorbell has rung, and this little boy is ready to surprise. The waves hit them both. Sam embraces George hard, too overjoyed to have his father near; I hear him ask for me. I throw open the trap door and jump. Into his embrace. Too overjoyed to have my Abeoji near.

That moment, George explains, was the happiest he had ever been. That moment, I recall, was my fondest memory of him.

And it's the last time I remember calling him, Appa, Dad. Just plain old Dad.

The furin chimes; the washi flutters; the cool air wafts; the AC hums.

And our eyes are glued to the television set.

160: Weekend Update

Enjoyable. (Stomach grumbling.) Exciting. (Stomach grumbling.) Exhausting. (Stomach grumbling.)

Those words pretty much sum up my weekend here in D.C. Oh, yes, by the way, I'm in my hotel room in D.C. ready to turn in, because, well, I'm exhausted. But before I do, let me give you the highlights.

Yesterday, I arrived in D.C. to an overcast sky, and took the Metro over to my old place. While I was away, a new Korean restaurant with a nice decor and delicious foods, something you'd find in NYC or in LA, had opened up, according to my roommate, and he took me there. What a vast improvement in Maryland's Korean food scene. While we ate our Soondubu Chige, we caught up. He regaled me with a story about his recovery from his recent addiction to on-line gambling; I bored him with a tale about my addiction to a masochistic tendency to take on more work than I should take on.

After my late lunch, I metro-ed back to D.C., through the wind and rain, to have the pleasure to meet a fellow blogger, Steven. We went to Halo for their happy hour, 2 for 1, special. Steven graciously bought my drinks. I had the caramel apple martini, which was very caramel-ly and not very apple-ly, for my first drink; and for my second one, I had the appletini, which was very 'tini-ly and not very apple-ly. Steven's friend, Robert, who is also a blogger joined us. The three of us later moved on to Logan Tavern for a late dinner, where two other friends of Steven, Ray and Joey, joined to make a Party of Five. The food was sumptuous, but I guess the alcohol had taken over too much room in my stomach, I barely finished half the plate. Yes, all in all, it was a sunny rainy night.

On my return home, my other roommate was waiting for me. We hung out for a bit, made a run to a 7-11, hung out a little bit more, and then I crashed.

This morning, my stomach was unhappy. And my drinking a god awful Mocha Latte didn't lessen my stomach's unhappiness. But we had made plans for lunch, so the three old roomies found ourselves at a Japanese restaurant eating raw fish. My uncooperative stomach prevented me from enjoying the goodness that was laid before us. But as is the rule, a good conversation can make any meal absolutely yummy.

After lunch, I trekked my way to the hotel. As soon as I got to my room, the porcelain goddess beckoned and I offered her up a sacrifice. I crashed. Again. Then, I woke up a couple of hours later, only to find my troublesome stomach grumbling for food. So, I went outside and walked around looking for a quick dinner. As I was walking around, I realized I was very near to Halo, Logan Tavern, and the Whole Foods Market! A healthy, light dinner from Whole Foods! Dinner, done.

Now, I must go to sleep. Work awaits tomorrow morn.

159: Breathe Me

(Breathe me by Sia)

Sigh...

I swear my iPod can sense my mood. It's like a mood ring. Hell, my iPod is a moodPod. An evening spent chatting with a friend leaves me from being greatly melancholic to slightly melancholic.

Help,
I have done it again
I have been here many times before,
Hurt myself again today,
And the worst part is there's no-one else to blame.

Why is it that when one part of your life goes well another part falls apart?

Be my friend,
Hold me, wrap me up,
Unfold me.
I am small, I'm needy,
Warm me up,
And breathe me.

Seriously, breathe me. I don't smell bad.

Ouch,
I have lost myself again,
Lost myself and I am nowhere to be found,
Yeah, I think that I might break,
Lost myself again and I feel unsafe.

Maybe MyHeritage.com has a point when it says I resemble Asahara. I do suffer from some sort of messianic complex, where I feel I must take a lot more responsibility for events that, even though they're out of my control, somehow affect me, where I become a martyr. Seriously, if I hadn't coughed after I've returned home from a private lesson class I taught at back in Japan and turned on the TV to see the Twin Towers on fire, those towers would still be standing! I'm sorry. I am horrible. It was in bad taste. I take full responsibility for being so stupid. See, even my personality DNA, Part Deux, tells me that I've a high agency, "agency" defined as "how much you believe you determine your own outcomes. High means you believe that you have control over your life. Low means you believe that other factors—such as chance, fate, and powerful others—influence your life."

Be my friend,
Hold me, wrap me up
Unfold me.
I am small, I'm needy,
Warm me up,
And breathe me.

Seriously, breathe me. I don't smell bad. Well, maybe my breath.

158: My Personality DNA

So, I took a personality test, and at this very moment in time and space, I'm a...

Generous Artist

It's telling me that I ain't confident, that I am shy, and that I'm a stereotypical woman! You know what? This gurl ain't happy. I'm going to take the test again, and get back to you. But you can read My Personal DNA Report in the meantime.

Okay, I took the test again. And I agree with this one. I'm a...

Considerate Creator

And this is what My Personal DNA Report Part 2 says I am. See! I ain't confident and I am shy. But you know what? I'm more stereotypically masculine than before. That's important.

*Sashays away from the computer*
*Looks back*
*Blows a kiss*

157: Meryl Streep and Bob Marley

A few days ago, I was watching GMA as I was getting ready for work, and Diane Sawyer, Charlie Gibson, and company were talking about MyHeritage.com. Then today I see in my friend's Xanga site that she's gone into the site, uploaded her picture, and reported what the site told her she resembled. I've gone and done the same and here's what it reports (the linked names are people I don't know):

Picture #1:

MyHeritage.com tells me I most resemble...

Meryl Streep 61%
Hilary Swank 59%
Antonio Saboto Jr. 58%
Brooke Shields 58%
Madonna 54%
Bae Yong-Joon 54%
Nicolas Tse 54%
Gwyneth Paltrow 53%
Sammi Cheng 53%
Yasmine Bleeth 52%

Yes, yes, I know. The list reads like a line-up of drag persona I can take on, that is, should I ever do drag on Halloween, at Pride, or at work. But, you have to agree, those are some good iconic figures. And who am I to argue when they tell me I look like Antonio, Yonsama (the Korean actor who flamed the Hallyu boom in Japan), and Nicolas.

Picture #2:

My Heritage.com tells me I most resemble...

Bob Marley 68%
Forest Whitaker 63%
Missy Elliott 60%
J. K. Rowling 54%
Shoko Asahara 53%
Margaret Cho 51%
Janica Kostelic 50%
Wu Yi 50%
Matthew Broderick 50%
Ben Affleck 49%

I think I like how this list reads better. it's a good mix: you have those who are hot (Bob) and those who are not (Ben), you have the talented (Rowling) and the talent-less (Ben), you have the fat one (Moran, I love you!), and yes, yes, yes, you have the messianic figure who ordered the deadly sarin gas attack on the Tokyo's underground (Asahara). Isn't that interesting?

156: I Needs Me a Vacation

Today, I booked my flight for a long overdue vacation to the land of Flamenco, the bulls, the tapas, and el Sol.

Can I tell you how excited I am about this?

Now, the extensive planning shall commence. The budget, a loose itinerary with a plenty of room for deviation (because you know, you don't want to be too anal and plan for every second of the trip), what I need to take with me, etc., I need to figure them all out.

Although... just throwing a couple of T-shirts, a swim trunks, and the Lonely Planet in my bag, having nothing really planned out, and just taking off on a jet plane... that, THAT, appeals to me so much more.

But who cares?! I'm going to SPAIN, people! I'm going to SPAIN!

155: Life, the Universe, and Everything

Firstly, I want to thank goblinbox and vuboq/enviroboi for their suggestions. I am currently crafting something to post, something personal. So, stay tuned. To be honest, I've kept myself from posting anything personal; but it became clear to me that if I don't share anything remotely personal, I have nothing, absolutely nothing, to write about. Seriously, blogging is indeed a very narcissistic exercise, and I would not have it any other way!

Secondly, while on a business trip to sunny SoCal, I've had a chance to hang out with an old friend at Downtown Disney. While we both bemoaned the fact that we were so close to the magic that is Disneyland, and were unable to partake in hugging Mickey Mouse due to budgetary and, especially, time constraints, we did, however, manage to share our own unique perspectives on life, the universe, and everything. She bitched about her stressful work life, I questioned my purpose in the universe, and we moped about everything. I tell you, it was somewhat depressing. No, no, no, I kid. It was absolutely depressing. I'm kidding. You know I'm kidding, right? Seriously, it was absolutely fantastic to catch up and hang out. I think it's truly amazing that, even though the number of friends I have, I can count with my two hands and, even though they are scattered in these U.S. of A., I can totally rely on them, and I hope, they, on me. So, here's to good friends!

Thirdly and lastly, I am going on another business trip towards the end of this month to DC. Hopefully, I'll reconnect with my old buddies, and most importantly, I'll get to chill out with a fellow blogger! I'm embolden by this blogger's invitation to meet and greet. So, if any of you, dear readers, in the DC area are inclined to favor and grace me with your presence, you will not find a naysayer in me; rather, you will find someone eager to meet and make new friends. I'll be in town on the 22nd. So, here's to new friends!

154: Tag Me!

Can anyone tag me to do a meme? I'm at a point where I just can't seem to get myself to write. It's not that I don't have anything to write about, but... well, maybe I don't have anything to write about... Dear Lord, I'm letting this blog die a slow death by neglect. That won't do. No, that just won't do. So, tag me, PLEASE!!!

If you don't want to tag me, tell me what I should write about. Don't say, "write anything that is in your mind;" because, isn't it obvious that I have nothing in my mind?

Dear Lord, what is going on here?

Should I worry? Should I care?

153: Oops!

Oh my dear blog, I have neglected you!

What contrition can I make to appease you?

I had hope to have a life outside of my job, but suddenly I find myself engulfed more by the Man's suffocating grip.

Oh, how I wish I could have told you about my recent Best Buy runs and reflected on the significant meaning those runs had for me. And of course, I would have loved to bore you about the time a co-worker fondled me, and once again reflect on how meaningless it was. Yes, it is important that you should have heard about how my on-going celibant lifestyle is coming along, or rather not cumming along. Not to mention, you needing to hear a useless thought that crossed my mind about reality, mathematics, and God, which I briefly shared with another blogger via AIM, and thus giving him one helluva headache. Also, I wanted to share with you, my dear blog, how I was contemplating attending this year's Black Party. But realizing that this weekend I travel to LA for work, the option to attend is gone and I'm left slightly peeved.

Alas, indeed, my life now equals my job. Can anything be more pathetic?

So, my dear blog, I have neglected you. But don't fret. I have not forgotten you, nor will I ever lose you to oblivion.

152: Oscar Is Gay, Hopefully?

Okay, people, I'm going to do a live blogging to... um, celebrate the 78th Annual Academy Awards. Just because I'm bored, and goddammit, this is important! *lol* So, at every important point, I'll pipe in with my observations. Sit back, relax, and enjoy.

7:48PM
People are entering the Kodak Theater. Critics are weighing in on which film will take the big price. It's either BROKEBACK or CRASH. I have to agree. And Keira Knightley looks hot; Felicity Huffman has just gotten va-klempt because her Desperate Wives co-stars wished her good luck. Wow, the girl can act!

8:00PM
The show has started and I'm watching it on my HDTV. I think it was a smart choice for the Academy to get Jon Stewart to host the show. It's not just about returning to the old glamour and glitze of Hollywood, but about exposing Middle America to the diversity and beauty of life. George Clooney (SYRIANA) won the first award of the night for Actor in a Supporting Role. George, I have to agree with you, there goes your chance of winning Best Directing. But you know what? Your speech is right on! Sure, Hollywood is out of touch with the rest of the country. But when the rest of the country is backward, we need Art to tell us the truth. Although, Hollywood really isn't a bastion for Art.

My score: 0/1

8:29PM
Ben Stiller cracks me up! KING KONG wins for Visual Effects! My first prediction that turn out true! But it's a category I don't care much about, hence it's useless, so blah, blah, blah... Now, Reese Witherspoon is announcing the winner for Best Animated Feature: WALLACE & GROMIT wins. Nice bowties! Now, Dolly is singing. "From Dollywood to Hollywood!" Groan. But I'm kind of liking "Travelin' Thru." OMG, what's wrong with me?

My score: 2/3

8:42PM
C'mon people! Jon Stewart's Scientology joke was funny. You need to laugh more! Okay, back to the awards. For Live Action Short, who did I choose again? Who cares! So, SIX SHOOTER wins. Oh, I didn't pick this one. Moving on. As for Animated Short: THE MOON AND THE SON: AN IMAGINED CONVERSATION wins. Hmm, none of the choices won. But, an NYU guy won and he's gay, so I won't complain then. Jennifer Aniston is working it! She's announcing the winner for Best Costume Design. MEMOIRS OF A GEISHA! Yeah, I got one right! She just thanked the people of Japan. Wow, the entire people of a country gets a thank you. That seems like a first, no? What's the point of Russell Crowe's spiel? Historical figures portrayed in movies? I don't get it.

My score: 3/6

8:57PM
Will Ferrell and Steve Carell are up and they've entered the stage wearing some ridiculous make up. Nice make up job. Ha ha ha, I get it, you're here to present the Best Make Up award. THE CHRONICLES OF NARNIA wins! Yeah, although I didn't pick you to win. Now, I'm below 50% here. Oh, they're going to talk about the Geek awards, now. I'm going to take my bathroom break now. I almost missed it. The winner of Actress in a Supporting Role is Rachel Weisz (THE CONSTANT GARDENER). Since, a Brit won, all the rest of acting awards will be given out to Americans now, right?

My score: 3/8

9:15PM
I'm ignoring the whole black and white movie montage thing... I love the negative campaign ads for the Actress for a Leading Role. The winner for Documentary Short goes to A NOTE OF TRIUMPH: THE GOLDEN AGE OF NORMAN CORWIN. Something I'll never see, ever. Yawn. Charlize, what are you wearing? The puffy thing is not speaking to me at all. She's announced the winner: MARCH OF THE PENGUINS for best Documentary Feature. Thank you. Finally, I get something right. They've brought cute penguin dolls; I want one. Why did they show Morgan Freeman looking lost and confused while the French people were saying their thank you's? Hiya, J.LO. Damn! She's introducing "In the Deep," the song I've picked to win Best Song. But can I change my choice? Even though, I think this will win, because it's a safe Oscar choice, still, can I change my choice?

My score: 4/10

9:32PM
It's the "I know Kung Fu" guy and Miss Congeniality here to announce Best Art Direction. I think I've picked a loser, looking at the set designs from other movies. Let's see who'll win. It's MEMOIRS OF A GEISHA. The love affair for Japan continues. Will the entire people of this island nation get thanked again for having their not-so-unique architecture? Guess not. Anyways, ah, a jedi master! Sam Jackson enters and is now talking about how Hollywood tackles big issues that ail our society: racism, sexism, agism, feminism, anti-semiticism, another montage-ism. Sigh. Let me just ignore the President of the Academy who'll probably talk about why movies matter. Let me work on my entry... I'm back. Oh, oh, oh, it's Salma Hayek and Itzhak Perlman. Damn, that man can play the violin! C'mon, give me a hit! Best Score goes to... BROKEBACK MOUNTAIN. Gracias! I get another right! Wow, this time, the winner just thanked his whole country, Argentina. First, it was a people of a country that got thanked, and now, it's a country.

My score: 5/12

9:56PM
We're at the half way point, hopefully. Oh, Jake~y!!! I can't quit you, too. This time, it's about the epics. Yes, Hollywood loves to make epic films. Must I suffer yet another montage? Thank you, Jon Stewart, for making fun of the montages. OMG, Jessical Alba is hot, hot, hot! Of course, Eric Bana, the Hulk, in a hunk. They're giving the Oscar to KING KONG for best Sound Mixing. They're the team that won for THE LORD OF THE RING. But must you guys need to make a Kiwi reference? Dumb Kiwis. It's Meryl Streep and Lily Tomlin. I love them. Their banter has to be the highlight of this show. They are such great actors and they're giving a tribute to Robert Altman. I'm happy that Robert Altman is getting an Honorary Oscar. I think his movies are great studies of human behaviors and conditions. Oh, I didn't know he had a heart transplant. I thought he was going to thank the family of the dead woman and the dead woman for giving him a new lease in life. Guess not! Use your heart wisely, Robert Altman.

My score: 5/13

10:17PM
It's Ludicris! And for the first time, a rap song is going to be performed on an Oscar stage: "It's Hard Out Here for a Pimp." Again, can I change my safe bet choice and go for the hard edge one? Seriously, for an industry that celebrates diversity, so far all the winners have been... white! Maybe Ang Lee will be the token minority to win an award. Every Oscar award show needs one token minority... But wait, Ang Lee's not American, is he? Sure, foreigners tend to win Oscars, but when I talk about minorities, I mean, those Americans of the hyphenated persuasion, m'kay? When, Lord, will Asian-Americans be represented? The Queen is here to bestow an Oscar. It goes to "It's Hard Out Here for a Pimp" (HUSTLE & FLOW). So, I get it. They're the token minority to win an Oscar. Yeah. Diversity wins one. Jon Stewart is showing another campaign ad. I love those ads. Now, here comes Jennifer Gardner and she's almost got knocked out/tripped? Anyways, KING KONG wins Best Sound Editing. Peter Jackson's team is yet again racking in the technical awards. Mr. Academy Award winner Clooney is on stage to introduce the In Memoriam montage. You know how I'm feeling about the montages now, so here I am polishing my post notes.

My score: 5/15

10:38PM
Fresh Prince just said, "What happens in Bangkok stays in Bangkok?" Are you kidding me? Well, at least, my pick for Best Foreign Film, TSOTSI, won. By the way, We're really loving our countries and continents tonight, aren't we? The whole entire continent got thanked! And what a passionate thank you. Long Live Africa, indeed! Best Film Editing goes to CRASH! Another win for yours truly. Here's Hillary Swank. Will there be a big surprise in the Actor in a Leading role category? Philip, I'm rooting for you, man. Although, I sorta want Heath to win. But you've had the better gay role. Hillary is opening the envelope and... Philip (CAPOTE) wins!
Will he bark? I heard from somewhere that he said that if he were to win, he would bark. Maybe I'm misinformed, but will he?

My score: 8/18

10:54PM
It's still not over yet? I'm dying here. John Travolta just announced the winner for Cinematography: MEMOIRS OF A GEISHA? Seriously? What? That's a surprise. Well, it did win best Art Direction. You need beautiful scenaries to capture beautiful images, I guess. Stll, wow. Mr. Foxx crowns Reese Witherspoon (WALK THE LINE) with Best Actress in a Leading Role. I love Reese. As predicted, she wins. And can I tell you, I was nervous that she might forget to thank her cute hubby, Ryan Phillippe.

My score: 9/20

11:07PM
This live blogging thing is hard. It's hard to come up with witty things to say, especially when there's nothing funny happening in this show. It's so subdued. Well, Dustin Hoffman... It's Dustin Hoffman. Let's give it up to the losers: I'm paraphrasing. Yessir, you won't be asked back. Whatever! You're Dustin Hoffman, the Academy will always need you. Anyways, the Oscar for best Adapted Screenplay went to BROKEBACK MOUNTAIN. I didn't pick it, but I'm stoked that BROKEBACK MOUNTAIN takes it for writing. Uma Thurman. What can I say about Uma? Well CRASH wins best Original Screenplay. No surprise there.

My score: 10/22

11:19PM
I think the show will end before midnight. OMG! That's a first, no? Tom Hanks need to cut his hair or something. Ang Lee (BROKEBACK MOUNTAIN) wins Best Directing. That is truly awesome! He made a nice speech in support of love, even gay ones. And yet again, more countries get thanked. I want to be a country, so that I'd be thanked. Okay, here we are: Best Picture. It's been a long night. Jack Nicholson will announce the winner. Will there be a huge surprise? Like last year's upset, MILLION DOLLAR BABY's triumph over THE AVIATOR? Apparently, Yup! CRASH wins! CRASH wins! As social issues go, racism trumps gay struggle. Apparently, Oscar is not gay.

Well, this concludes my live blogging. I'm beat. My score card didn't fair well either. Anyways, good night. Less than 50%.

My final score: 11/24

151: My Picks

Go here for the list of nominees.

Without further ado, here are my picks:

#Actor in a Leading Role: Philip Seymore Hoffman (CAPOTE)
Somebody who played gay has to win!

#Actor in a Supporting Role: Paul Giamatti (CINDERELLA MAN)
He didn't get one last year, therefore...

#Actress in a Leading Role: Reese Witherspoon (WALK THE LINE)
Somehow, this overlooked movie needs to be honored.

#Actress in a Supporting Role: Amy Adams (JUNEBUG)
This category is always a surprise. If not Amy, then Rachel Weisz (THE CONSTANT GARDENER)

#Animated Feature: WALLACE & GROMIT IN THE CURSE OF THE WERE-RABBIT

Art Direction: GOOD NIGHT, AND GOOD LUCK
Well, BATMAN BEGINS didn't get a nomination nod in this category as I had hoped.

#Cinematography: BROKEBACK MOUNTAIN
I'm glad, though, here in this category, BATMAN BEGINS was nominated.

Costume Design: MEMOIRS OF A GEISHA

#Directing: BROKEBACK MOUNTAIN
Ang will continue his winning streak.

Documentary Feature: MARCH OF THE PENGUINS
It will be a gay night indeed.

Documentary Short: GOD SLEEPS IN RWANDA
Because we all love a good genocide documentary.

Film Editing: CRASH

Foreign Language Film: TSOTSI
I've no idea. I'm just picking randomly here. And I like how the title sounds.

Makeup: STAR WARS: EPISODE III REVENGE OF THE SITH
Why not?

Music (Score): BROKEBACK MOUNTAIN
Because we've heard it so many times, the music's pretty much engraved in our heads, no?

Music (Song): "In the Deep" from CRASH

#Best Picture: BROKEBACK MOUNTAIN

Short Film (Animated): THE MYSTERIOUS GEOGRAPHIC EXPLORATIONS OF JASPER MORELLO or 9
It's either a long ass titled movie or a short and simple titled movie that'll win.

Short Film (Live Action): CASHBACK
"Inny-minny-miny-mo!"

Sound Editing: MEMOIRS OF A GEISHA

Sound Mixing: THE CHRONICLES OF NARNIA: THE LION, THE WITCH, AND THE WARDROBE

Visual Effects: KING KONG

#Writing (Adapted Screenplay): CAPOTE

#Writing (Original Screenplay): CRASH


# - The categories I count as being important!


***
I'll do my first ever live blogging when the gayest night in Hollywood starts.
B: My picks that won.

150: Bloody Hell

While I'm brushing my teeth last night, my nose decides that its own blood vessel will pop wide open, to release a copious amount of blood. You know, like the way an Ebola infected individual will just suddenly bleed and die. Well, maybe not exactly like that, since I'm still breathing. But you get the idea.

And, oh yes, my body parts do have a mind of their own; Masters of their own Determination and Will, they are. Sometimes they do stuff without my noticing. It's quite strange really. Waking up one morning to find your underwear wet and sticky. And just right now, this very moment, the muscles of my left butt cheek are starting to cramp...Ou, ou, ouuuu...Okay, I'm back. Think of the worst charley-horse you ever had and think of it happening to your ass. Not pleasant. Believe!

So, yes, back to my bloody nose. This doesn't normally happen to me. Last time I had an unprovoked (unprovoked, in a sense, your nose isn't picked so clean that you bust open the delicate lining of your nasal cavity) nose bleed was back when I was a sexually confused and horned up teenager. Spontaneous nose bleed, as Japanese manga teaches, only occurs in times of great excitement, to be more concise, when the male protagonist by happenstance observes a nude goddess bathing in one of Japan's many onsens or when some perverted old man peaks on a teenage girl changing out of her school uniform. I can assure you that I'm not, NOT, at the very least like either of those aforementioned manga figures.

I, however, having recently committed to a lifestyle, which I hope to, perhaps, share about in my next hype-cast installment, a life choice akin to the Masters, like Michelangelo, Da Vinci, and Walt Whitman, even Hans Chirstian Andersen, and the countless Saints, like the older version of St. Augustine, without whom the beautifully proportioned bell shaped standard deviation curve would be askewed to the side of rabid beasts, or rather, to those of whom we label whores or sluts, I am perchance experiencing something similar to a buyer's remorse. As my bloody nose has indicated.

But what do you do when you're committed? Should I give in by complying to my other brain's demand? Invite the two good Messieurs to play? But what do you do when you don't want to play with Mr. Right and Mr. Left anymore?

Bloody hell!

Oh, the cramp, the cramp!!! Shit, I'm bleeding again.

149: What's In A Name?

Last night, the new season of American Idol and the Olympics weren't doing much for me. So, I started randomly searching different things in Google, and I discovered that I may have some Indian blood in me. I may not be a purebred after all, but a mutt! I can't tell you how stoked I am about this.

My family had told me that we are descended from a king who ruled some part of Korea 2 millennia ago. What they failed to mention was that his wife might have been a princess from India. So, I have two royal bloodlines in me!

Well, since I don't know if or when I'll ever reach greatness, I'll settle for now with this little factoid. Yes, this will have to do.

Sure, there are 4 million people who supposedly belong to my Gimhae clan. But so what? Most of them just stole our name, just so that they can be considered "blue" blood. That just shows how great my clan is!

Yes.

So. Hear ye, near and far: I am a royal Prince of Korea and India.

Bow before me!

148: A Subcontinental Revelation

So, during my lunch hour, I walk a lonely road, the only one that I have ever known. I don't know where it goes, but it's home to me and I walk alone. Then, lo and behold, over yonder, I see before me a restaurant beloved yet not graced for over a six years time. Standing in front of it, I feel as if I made it through the wilderness. Yes, somehow I made it through and I didn't know how lost I was until I found it, again. Pushing through the door, I strut in. Seriously, you can tell by the way I use my walk. The aroma of spices fills this Indian restaurant and my stomach aches for the goodness. But as I lock gaze with the waiter, who is expectant for the information only I can provide and confirm, I realize I need to act. (Do I say it? Do I voice it? Help! I need somebody. I'm not so self assured.) But resigned, I raise my hand and lift the index finger up to let the good man know that I'd be a party of One. And I can't help but think that One is the loneliest number that I'll ever do.

But then I had the Rogan Josh and I didn't care. I was satiated. Hmm... Rogan Josh!

147: Exhausted

I'm just going to write this post as I would in my journal entry. I usually keep a separate journal, which is just a collection of my random thoughts strung together into one incomprehensible mess. So my advice is, skip it. Seriously, skip it.

Exhausted. Yeah, I'm exhausted. I feel as if I'll literally break apart... No, maybe a better way to put it is: I feel like a broken vase pieced together with glue. You can see the cracks and lines in me. Touch me the wrong way I'll just crumble a little bit more. Yeah! No, a more apt statement would be I am a vase broken and put back together many, many times. I took a half a day because I guess I'm still upset with what happened at work yesterday. With the asshole and the other guy, who I thought was a decent person, but turned out to be an asshole as well. I hate the blame game people play, pointing fingers, passing the buck. I hate it more when I'm called to play the blame game. So, I go into craigslist and check its job postings. Anywhere but New York. But it's a job; it's in the very nature of a job. So, whether I'm here or in London, it'll be the same. I know this. Maybe moving back to New York was a mistake. Maybe I should have found ways to stay in Japan. I had a car, I had the beaches, the mountains, I had my drunken revelries, I had laughters... I had a life... I had friends. God, I'm exhausted.

***
I was asked about the songs I had in my podcast. So here they are:

hype-cast episode 1:
(1) Clear Cut by Lani Pula
(2) Evacuating London from the Chronicles of Narnia: the Lion, the Witch, and the Wardrobe soundtrack.
(3) Just for Now by Imogen Heap

hype-cast episode 2:
(1) Hands by m-flo (original version)
(2) Song 6 by Daniel Powter
(3) Won't You Come Again by Susie Suh

146: So... Well...

Should you find yourself being...

Called into a small conference room,
By the Man of a company that you don't belong to,
But must treat him like he is your company's Man,
Just because of a special (read: shady) relationship the two companies have,

And

Sat down just so you'll be lectured to like a five year old,
Because you disclosed to a coworker last week,
A good thing that happened to you, like receiving a raise,
Which, by the way, the Man did not give you,

What do you do?
What do you do?

You get your coat, go down the elevator, walk around SoHo,
And come back with a cute, brand new hat, of course.

It's really cute. And I got it cheap!

(You have to know when to pick your fights. I chose not to fight, but I'm building up my arsenal.)

145: I Hate Love

Anyone want to speculate as to why?
Do I need to explain? Must I spell it out?

Today is the day I hate the most.

Today is the day I wish to skip.

Today is the day when this rings too true.

But...
Today, as always, I will hold on a little longer,
Keep the faith, sustain the hope, and believe
Love is Real,
Love is Tangible,
Love is for me.

But for now, let me love to hate Love.
I Hate Love.

144: Mumble, Mumble, Mumble

It's that time again when I enthrall you yet again with my sexy voice. Click, click, click away.

143: A Package

An adopted son of stoicism, made of skin thicker than the glacial sheet of Antarctica, impervious to true emotions, expriences a random and unexpected offering, a simple gift, from a true daughter of candle, innocent and incandescent. Ice melts, droplets gather, river forms, filling the recess of my soul with a deeper understanding. It whispers, you are not alone.

Thank you, YM.

142: There's Trouble A-Brewing, When You Start A-Thinking

There's trouble a-brewing, when you start a-thinking.

Not that I'm a thinker, nor a communicator, mind you. Because I believe most, if not all, great thinkers, being also great communicators, when illuminated with an idea, however abstract and intricate it may be, they know how to share that idea, provoking and expanding the minds of the feeble masses, with effortless ease. I mean, one reason among many that we think Bush is an idiot is that he can't speak English; no one understands him.

So, as I was saying: not that I'm a thinker, nor a communicator; but still... I'd rather not think.

You know, at this point, you are supposed to lie and say, "No, you are a great thinker and also a great communicator!"

No? Is it too tiresome and beneath you to stroke the ego of a self-proclaimed loser?

Well, FUCK YOU! I HATE YOU.
No! I love you; I LOVE YOU...
Fuck me instead. Cum on back, please.

So, yeah, I'd rather not think. I'd rather sit in front of a vanity and run a comb down my well-conditioned hair (it's not), counting each stroke (too lazy to do), up to a thousand (up to five is more likely), preening and primping (don't know what that entails), making myself pretty. Because when you are pretty, you are happy. And even if God decides to hate the pretty ones (highly unlikely), cursing them with trials and tribulations (oh no, his Gucci man-purse ripped), but if their beauty is intact, they still will be happy. Sure, they may suffer some. But ugly people suffer, too. And there are more ugly people in the world than there are pretty people. Pretty people intrinsically understand this, and their innate ability to see the world for what it is will give them this natural ability to be happy. Being pretty equals being superior equals being happy. So, I'd rather not think; I want to be pretty instead.

It's the biggest dilemma I have right now: How can I stop myself from thinking and be pretty instead, when any medical alteration, be it a lobotomy or a pectoral augmentation, is not an economically viable option?

But then I've heard it said "throughout your life, God will throw at you life's challenges that only you can handle." This "belief" seems promising to me. It says that there is a way for me to empty my head and fill my biceps, and I'd be better for it. I would have grown in wisdom—wasn't it Buddha who said everything is meaningless? Why then ponder about nothing?; and I would have matured in beauty—like a sole lotus blossoming in a garden pond.

Yet boredom finds me once in a while lifting a book (often drawn to biographies or memoirs), flipping its pages, and reading the words. But, damn it, the voices of the authors encroach my mind, and there's a rapid succession of electrochemical thunderstorms, which makes me see the world in a new light. I'd admire their shear bravado in overcoming difficult situations, the richness of their lives. And inevitably, I'd compare my life to theirs, realizing how easy I have had it. But then I'd find myself turning green, followed by the envious hue deepening, moving one spectrum down to blue.

My mind races: Does God not think that I'm strong enough to overcome more difficult challenges in life, so that I, too, can have a rich life, one that's admirable to others, or rather one that makes others jealous of me? Does he think me that weak that my only concern now in life is to be like Natalie Wood and to sing, "I Feel Pretty?" And WHY THE FUCK AM I THINKING?

GOD, WHAT AN ASS! I HATE GOD!
No, I love God; I LOVE YOU...
Don't smite my back!

Oh, how I am constantly reminded of the Japanese lady with two Master's Degrees who tried to work at a Korean deli! She philosophizes almost every night on Avenue Q how two polar opposite forces can inhabit an individual at the same time. I quote: "Love and Hate, they like two brothers who go on a date." Indeed they are like two brothers on a date, "where one of them goes, other one follows. You inviting love; he also bringing sorrows."

Let it be said that yours truly will explore this life's mystery. Why two contradictions exist at the same time and space. Why people have no problems with life's many paradoxes, while I do. And why I am a Gemini—the living embodiment of the two opposites, the wishy and the washy. Yes, I shall investigate why my desire to not think is provoking me to think.

It's a beautiful and ugly world!

***
This post was brought to you by the letter "V" for vapid; and the numbers "3" and "1," the number of comments I've got for my hype-cast and the number of fingers I'm holding up in response to the low number. Oh, and guess which finger. Just kidding—I don't really care... yet I do care...some. Ah, another paradox.

***
Pace ed Amore!
xoxo

141: Say Cheese

I am a point, click and shoot kind of a guy. In a way, my pictures lack a certain depth and sharpness you find in professional work. I've decided that I need to develop this artform; my goal is to be a good photographer, an artist!

So, when pictures are taken of me (self-portraits), they'll look good, or rather I will look fabulous! The next step is I will photoshop them and I'll look beyond fabulous, I will look hot! Then I can start posting my hot mug in some on-line personals. Yeah!

No, seriously, I need to do something creative. So, I've decided to try photography and signed up for a course. Tonight I had my first class. By May, I'll be an awesome photographer. And it's important that I get good by May... I'll disclose the reason why later on.

Yawn... I needs me my sleep.

140: A New Adventure

I dare you to click on the image. See where it'll land you. Only thing I'll say is I hope I'll get better at playing with my new toy... Well, at least for me, it's new. Usually I join in the fad once the interest in it has dissipated to nil, but why not change the paradigm a little, hm? Why the b!&%p not?!

Blogoliday Post: I'm Nauseous

I feel like hurling.
Oh God, here comes the upchuck.
Stand clear, I'm gonna spew.

Dear Commenters,

Thank you all for your kind words.

I'm feeling va-klempt... Oo-Uh... Talk amongst yourselves, I'll give you a topic:
"The writer of the this blog is neither a non-entity nor does he need an identity to define who he is."

Ok, that was not funny. But it's a truth that I'm going to stick with.

Truly, your words of encouragement have uplifted me. It's thrilling to know that what I have to say resonates with you. So, I'm going to vomit.

The fact that tomorrow's hyphenated non-IDentity's 1st blogiversary had no bearing whatsoever in my decision to come back. No siree, none! I mean, it's good a time as any to start writing again, right? Sure, it's lamely symbolic, for me, that I can mark tomorrow as a new beginning, but, hell, we all need a new beginning, sometimes we need as many as we can get.

So, here's to a new beginning!

Blogoliday Post: An Update

I've let myself be cut off from the blogging world.
I'm seeing a different world.
I'm almost tempted not to come back.
But that'd be my laziness talking.
You see, my mind's percolating with thoughts and stories I'd like to share.
And I don't care if no one listens!
My dreams, however lofty, seem vivid and real.
Only I can make them come true.
Perhaps my good friend YM is right:
I can see myself having massive, explosive, uncontrollable word vomit.

'Til then,