265: Live Blogging "American Idol"

It's the first day of competition, the guys are up. Let's see who'll win my heart. The first commercial break of the evening... By the way, I'm sick as a dog, and I've been holed up in my room for the past few days, and I'm angst-y, so I'm going to blog about "American Idol."

We're back and Ryan should die. It's just a thought. Anyways...

David Hernandez

Single mom, blah, blah, blah... ZZZ... Simon didn't like him during the audition round. Big surprise. He's got a good tone. But I don't think his voice is unique. And he's a bit too stiff. The end was not good. He crashed at the end. Randy agrees. Simon sez... and I agree. Good beginning, okay middle, bad ending. Stiff. I give him a 6.

Chikezie

I like him. I don't know why. Yikes, the lower register is a bit shaky. It's a rough start. He's not recovering well. His high register is good. I don't know... It didn't blow me away. Randy? Old fashion? I would have to agree. What's Paula saying? Something about losing weight? Gah. She just called him fat! Simon sez... and he hated the entire performance. You're gonna critique him on his suit? Chikezie is fighting back! That's hot. It's a 6. Only because he fought back. I didn't like the performance.

David Cook

A rocker is up. Let's see... I love this song. He looks really confident. Good tonality to his voice. I would listen to him. "Happy to Together," He's rockin' it! I loved it. Solid performance. 8. He's going to be back next week. Simon sez... "Almost made it believable"??? Whatever Simon, it's was good.

Jason Yeagar

He's a dad. He's doing it for his son. Yawn. "Moon River." Ooo... It's a good song, but... He's got a good look, though. I know exactly what Simon is going to say... Some Vegas Lounge Act! It so is. It's a 6. Simon sez... "Cruise ship!" It's very close to what I thought he would say.

I'm a bit underwhelmed thus far. Someone has to blow me away. Who's next?

Robbie Carrico

Another rocker, who used to be in a boy/girl band. He toured with Britney Spears. That's not going to win you points. "One." Another good song, but... No. I don't like it. A bit screechy. 5. Randy liked it. Really? Paula liked him. Did they really hear him? Simon likes him too? What? I guess I'm alone here.

David Archuleta

He stood out during the audition week for me. He's a bit breathy. The boy has soul. I'm going to give him an 8. Simon sez... "Best performance of the night." He'll be back next week. He's so goofy. He does the "Oh Shucks" shtick well. I likes him.

Danny Noriega

He's soooooo gay! He stood out too. He's got attitude. I can't believe he's doing an Elvis song. He's no King, and he'll be reminded of that by the judges. He stands out though, so he'll be back next week. I'm going to give him a barely 7. He performed it well, and the American judges say the same thing. Simon sez... Grotesque. Hideous. Destroying Elvis's song. LOL. That was brutal. He needs to bring the vocal. That's the consensus among the judges. So G.A.Y.!!! He's going to be back.

Luke Menard

He's hot. 'Nuff said. Bring him back next week. There are some sour notes. Did I mention he's hot? Hmm... I don't know. Randy said it was pitchy. It's going to be a 5 for me. Simon sez... and I agree, it wasn't memorable. I think he's in the weakest spot now.

Colton Berry

Gay! Hmm... Interesting; where is that voice coming from? It's very mature. Wow. I like his voice. He's a bit too theatrical, though. I like it. I'm going to give him a 7. Simon sez... OUCH. "A complete waste of time," he said. I guess we disagree.

Garrett Haley

He needs to shave; that fuzz of a mustache needs to go. He's not memorable for me. I don't like the tone of his voice. But he performed his song well. I have to give him a 5. Simon's cruelty continues.

By the way, CNN projects that Senator Obama wins Wisconsin!

Jason Castro

Dreadlocks? Really? He's going to play the guitar. Wow. That's an interesting voice. Simon, there's your recording artist. I don't like his look. But he has a good voice. Yet, he needs to bring up his confidence. It's an 8. Simon gushed. Ewww. He'll be back. I like him.

We're almost near the end. I have to repeat, I'm underwhelmed.

Michael Johns

I remember this guy! The "Bohemian Rhapsody" guy. He was awesome. The Doors! I don't know. That's ambitious. But he's rockin' it. It wasn't as great as what he did during the audition week. But still... 8!

The two guys going home for me are Luke Menard and Garrett Haley.

I hope next week will be better. Maybe I'll return tomorrow to critique the girls.

264: "Tommy" and "The Giving Tree"

See me, feel me, touch me, heal me.
See me, feel me, touch me, heal me.

The naturalness in the progression of this refrain appeals to me a lot.

There's the physical aspect: The light that bounces off of the object, the me, stimulates the photoreceptor cells, thus activating the vision center of the brain of the you to see the me. Then perhaps taking the visual cues, the you activates the other senses, maybe with a gentle kiss or with soft caresses; the me feels all this. It gets hot and heavy at this point. The hands rub and knead, the body wraps and embraces; the me is simply... tactilely stimulated. Touched. Does it not sound therapeutic for the me? The me is healed; "Thank you," the me whispers...

(Okay people, stop snickering. It's very unbecoming.)

But I think, it's the other meanings behind the refrain that capture my imagination. For instance, I posit, within the refrain lies the nature of man:

"See me," the speaker implores—it's an imperative that demands everyone around his vicinity to "see" him; it's an expression of his need for acknowledgment and recognition. Here he makes a stand. Present is he in time and in space; he eats and sh*ts—he lives... He is. This man, this insignificant speck among many specks, on this tiny Earth, hurling around this vast, enormous Universe, demands the whole of creation and its Creator to "see" him.

Revealed in the second imperative a deeper longing of humankind rings out. It's not enough to be seen, the humankind needs to be felt. "Feel me." Being acknowledged is just a start; the next step is for them to be understood. They cry out, "Understand me." They demand their inner world to be given shape and form, and perhaps be measured deep and precious. That's why art is created and that's why wars are waged.

Probing and inquisitive was she, the loquacious and gregarious one, who interrogated the perfect stranger for any juicy details of his life. Reticent and guarded was he, the introspective stranger, who later saw within her a desire to be touched, a desire to empathize with him. "Touch me," her heart calls out. And without fail, her eyes turn misty when she hears stories of struggles, of conquered adversities, or of happily-ever-afters.

We seek to be seen, to be felt, and to be touched, because perhaps we suffer from loneliness. And so we cry out, "Heal me." It's some sort of connection that we seek. With others or with our own selves. Let's face it, maybe it's not only me who defines who I am. It is you, too, who gives me form.

Listening to you I get the music.
Gazing at you I get the heat.
Following you I climb the mountain.
I get excitement at your feet!
Right behind you I see the millions.
On you I see the glory.
From you I get opinions.
From you I get the story.
Listening to you I get the music.
Gazing at you I get the heat.
Following you I climb the mountain.
I get excitement at your feet!

Now I have sufficiently bored you with my obtuse musing of something a bit abstract. Nah! I'm sure, because of my pedestrian and trifle rumination, you were beyond agonized. Therefore, either way, I offer my heartfelt apology. I mean it. Accept it!

Thank you.

Now, if you may, please see me, feel me, touch me, and heal me.

The true intent of why I began my post with a few lines from "Tommy" is because lately I've been thinking a lot about a book I've read as a child. It's called "The Giving Tree." And ever since February 14th has come and gone, I've been thinking about the book more so.

If you don't know anything about the story, it's about a Boy and a Tree. The Tree loves the Boy so much that she gives the Boy anything he wants, like a branch to swing from and some fruit to eat. But as the Boy grows older, the things he requests of the Tree become sinister. He wants the branches to build a house and he wants to cut the Tree down to make a boat. The story comes to an end with the Tree now reduced to a stump and the Boy ravaged by old age and arthritis: They meet again. The Tree apologizes saying that she doesn't have anything to offer him anymore. But the Boy says that's all right, all he needs is to sit down and wait for death. And to the Tree's delight, she has something more to give to the Boy and lets him sit.

Strange as it may seem, but I remember identifying myself more with the Tree than with the Boy. Don't get me wrong, it's not because I found myself to be very loving or very giving. It was more aspirational; I wanted to be more like the Tree. Maybe, I still want to be more like the Tree. What's more noble than unconditional love? I'll gladly sacrifice myself, if that means they'll see and feel me... Then they can touch me... And, and, and eventually they can heal me; Yes, they'll find me so invaluable that they can't afford to part with me. They'll make me whole. But in the meantime, I'll wait and wail until they'll realize it. And in the meantime, I'll do anything for them, even though it may cause me bodily harm. Hey, if the Tree can allow the Boy to cut her down, I can, I can, I can die for them.

I know... It's truly f*cked up.

Look, I've made mistakes. Maybe I'll pay. I don't know. But I know I can't be the Tree. I don't need to be the Tree to find love. I don't need to die to prove my love. But I expect the Boy to value me. He can ask for my fruits and my branches. He can even ask for my trunk. But he won't necessarily get them all. Hell, he might not get anything. Nothing. But he'd better be fine with it. And he'd better not judge my love based on what he gets or doesn't get from me.

See me, feel me, touch me, and heal me.

"Because I'm good enough, I'm smart enough, and doggonit, I like me."

263: I Should Have Studied Interior Design

Behold the fruits of my labor:



Don't let Viggo distract you. Focus on the pretty patterns. I spent the entire night yesterday covering my windows with Japanese rice paper.

Now, shower me with your praises.

I'm waiting.

262: Why None of the Republican Candidates Should Be Our President.

First of all, I'm glad Fred Thompson is out of the race. He bored me. Then again, I think every Republican candidate in this year's presidential election is boring and crazy. It's sad that the once progressive party of Lincoln and (Teddy) Roosevelt was ruined with the likes of Nixon, Reagan, and Bush Jr.

But let's get back to the candidates. Here are my reasons why none of these white men should become our next president. Their names are NOT presidential.

Consider "Fred." Seriously! Can you really see our president with the name "Fred"? Fred's your obese buddy with acne issues from across the street, not your Commander-in-Chief.

And then there's "Rudy." ... Bwahahahahaha. 'Nuff said.

Can someone also please tell me what kind of name is "Mitt"? I did a search; and apparently, it's short for Milton. Last time I checked we live in the 21st Century, not in the 17th.

Now let's analyze the name "Huckabee." To me, this name says, "I'm a hick." But I guess it's a good name to write bad poetry with, because you can rhyme the hell out that name.

And then there's "Ron Paul." Or is it "Paul Ron?" He should get a real last name instead of using a first name as his last.

Then there was a time in our history when a guy whose name was McCarthy terrorized America with his fear-mongering. Although John's name isn't McCarthy, he still shares the "Mc" in "McCain." And Cain really isn't a good name either. Remember "Cain and Abel" from Sunday school? And we've had a McSomething in the White House already. I looked it up. On Wikipedia. He was a Republican too. Was he memorable? Obviously not, because I had to look it up.

So there you have it. We already had two presidents with the same, ridiculous name. I'll give you a hint: it's a type of plant or the hair around your swimsuit area. So, let's vote someone with a cool name.

261: Key

Dudes, like, dudes! Finally, I gets the keys to my new pad, y'all!

I'll share more later. Ich verspreche.

Let's all thank the Heavens for the bounty I am about to receive.

And this game rocks!

260: Lost in Translation

I want to share a song with you. I've first heard this song through watching Naruto a while back. I've tried to find the full version of it for many, many weeks without success. But a couple of days ago, I had the weirdest urge to go find it, and find it I did. YAY!



The song's called YURA YURA, and it's by a group called Hearts Grow.

By the way, I've tried translating the lyric, but I don't know how to connect seemingly two contradicting lines into something cohesive. (Oh, I apologize for this boring entry.) For example, there's "ずっと側にいたから / 空いた隙間大きすぎて." The former line translates to "Because I had always been by you;" the latter line, which ends in a gerund, says, "Being too big the opened gap." So, I look to the 3rd and the 4th line to see where the train of thought is going. But they don't give me much clue to understand the stanza. I don't know.

As I read the lyric over and over again, I get that it's very sappy with lots of clichéd imageries, like that of a wavering and distorted sky, of a night sky clearing of its clouds, or of shining and sparkling stars; but what can I do, I like it. I don't know.

I guess it just proves that I am a sap.

Here's the lyric:

※ユラユラと　歪んだ空へ
君の元へ飛んでゆけ
こんなにも　近くに感じてる
ふたつの想い※
※YURA YURA to yuganda sora e
kimi no moto e tonde yuke
konna ni mo chikaku ni kanjiteru
futatsu no omoi※

ずっと側にいたから
空いた隙間大きすぎて
生意気な君の素直な返事
「またね…」が淋しい
zutto soba ni ita kara
aita sukima ookisugite
namaiki na kimi no sunao na henji
"mata ne..." ga sabishii

見慣れない街で泣いてるなら
側にいなくても笑顔は届けたい
mirarenai machi de naiteru nara
soba ni inakute mo egao wa todoketai

(※くり返し)
(※repeat)

ひとり掛けのソファー
真ん中を取りあったね
いつまでも向き合っているために
ふたりは頑張れる
hitori kake no SOFAA
mannaka wo toriatta ne
itu made mo mukiatte iru tame ni
futari ha ganbareru

見上げた夜空は　雲が晴れて
夢に向かってる　瞳は変わらない
miageta yozora wa kumo ga harete
yume ni mukatteru hitomi wa kawaranai

キラキラと輝く星は
今も君を照らしてる
出会った日と変わらぬ空の下
ひとつの誓い
KIRA KIRA to kagayaku hoshi wa
ima mo kimi wo terashiteru
deatta hi to kawaranu sora no shita
hitotu no chikai

話すときに髪を触るくせがうつっている
ひとりきりで眠る胸の痛みさえ　きっと絆
hanasu toki ni kami wo sawaru kuse ga utsutte iru
hitori kiri de nemuru mune no itami-sae kitto kizuna

(※くり返し)
(※repeat)

キラキラと輝く星が
いつもふたり映してる
出会った日と変わらぬ空の下
ひとつの誓い
KIRA KIRA to kagayaku hoshi wa
ima mo kimi wo terashiteru
deatta hi to kawaranu sora no shita
hitotu no chikai

I found a translation I like, but I don't completely agree with it.

Here's the music video by Hearts Grow:

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.