I'm slightly miffed with this year's Emmys. Not only was Lost, the winner of best drama last year, get ignored, my other favorite-est ABC show, Grey's Anatomy, which had a whole bunch of nominations going into the show, came out with NADA. The injustice of it all!
In other news, I'm losing the battle to gain muscle mass. This morning I weighed myself, and to my contentment, the one which makes one jump up and down, dancing like a foolish maniac, the one which makes people want to hurt you, I weigh less than I did when I wrote up my goals. Sigh. Then I went to the bathroom to do my morning bizniz, the one that requires much time and many abdominal contractions. And when I weighed myself again, I lost more than a pound! The injustice of it all!
Peeved is my middle name.
Monday, August 28, 2006
Sunday, August 27, 2006
Sunday, August 06, 2006
187: No, I Can't Get No Rise...
...Not from a Mister Nice.That, and I might be totally shallow.
Okay, let me channel my 16 year old girl's voice to tell this tale of... of... of something. I need a bubble gum.
So like, a few weeks ago, I sign up for this, like, on-line personals, and like, you know how I love, like, being pro...laxative or whatever, cuz, you know, a gurl needs something to sink her teeth into, right? like, especially when it involves, like, jewels and the man they're attached to, and so like, I'm sitting and waiting, but like brushing my hair, too, cuz, a gurl has to work to get all the jewels she wants, because Heather, who's had all kinds of jewels, said to Heather, who's into long, thick pendants and who then told Heather, who has a thing for pearl necklaces and who then told me, that only hot girls can get as many jewels as they can possibly want, and some girls are born pretty, but even they got to work hard to get, like, hot, and so like, I have to work hard, too, and like I think Heather's soooo right, cuz like, Oh my God, a guy re-spon-si-ated back! Brushing my hair worked! So like, we exchange e-mails, right? and he's like, "you're cute," and I'm like, "hee hee hee," and like, we decide to meet.
Okay, there weren't any Heathers, brushing-the-hair's, you're-cute's, or hee-hee-hee's, but we did decide to meet...
I'm early. I'm fifteen minutes early, so I decide to walk around my favorite temple, the Barnes&Noble at Union Square, and I think, while I wait, I might as well find a potential read to buy. I'm on the fourth floor, leafing through a photo book of Japanese youths in their bizarre anime-inspired fashion get-ups, dreaming like Fantine dreaming a dream in time gone by, when life was worth living. But I have a task at hand. It's almost six, I send a text message telling the guy that I'm on my way down. It's 6:10, and he has yet to respond. "Whatever," I think, and continue on with my other task of finding a book. It's a good thing that I haven't heard back from the guy, because I did find another Augusten Burroughs's book, "Dry." I'm in line and I decide that after paying for the book, I'd just go because it's 6:25 and the fool most likely ditched me. But as soon as the money has exchanged hands, I get a text message. And there, just a few yards away, is the guy.
(Unfiltered and unadulterated) First Impression:
He's tall, around six feet, and... his mid-drift needs some work... Yeah, He's a bit... chubby. FAT!!! But his face picture matches the real face. Cute-ish. He's got a gentle face. He's not a fashion crazed queen, and not a slob either. He seems like a down to earth, regular Joe. That's never a bad thing, right? FAT!!! Okay, fine, he's got a stomach, but it's not like I've a body men and women would drool over. FAT, FAT, FAT, FAT!!! But, but, but... he's got a kind aura about him... (and I hear an echo...) faaaaaaat... (I'm a horrible person.)
To prove to myself that I am not a horrible person, I shall get to know this guy. It's a vow I'll keep even if it means my body ends up chopped up and thrown into the lovely waters of the Hudson, and besides, like I said before, he has a kind aura about him, he seems nice, truly, so my ending up as fish food is highly unlikely. I walk towards him and extend my hand, and he extends me a Sunflower. A sunflower, people! Last time I checked, I didn't have a vagina. What would make any guy think it would be a good idea to give a flower to a guy? But, I admit, it is a sweet gesture.
Since we had agreed beforehand to walk around to find somewhere to imbibe some caffeinated goodness, walk around we do. We head towards... somewhere. I have no preference and I don't think he does either, so we walk aimlessly. I had hoped he'd be more assertive and suggest a place to go. But I guess not. So, while conversing about little things, I veer and steer our way to Bleecker, and I hint at various locales good for drinking coffee. But to no avail, he does not make any suggestions. So I decide we'll walk. Maybe, it'll be good for him to walk and walk and walk. He does need to lose some weight! (God, I'm evil.)
Okay, now, I know, some of you may say that I should have been the one wearing the pants, but remember, I was the one who received the flower. Which to me means that he expected me to be the demure one, defering to the wisdom of the dominant one, him. And besides I'm Asian, so I'm supposed to be passive. (I'm so lame.)
Whilst in the midst of our energic power walk, our conversation's main topic turns to alcoholic beverage and food. I share that I can be a bit fickle when it comes to Japanese food, and he tells me that there's a fusion place he heard about where Japanese food takes on some Brazilian and Peruvian influences, and we both shudder. Then, lo and behold, there we are, standing in front of the very restaurant we were disparaging with glee. At this point, I just need some alcohol (just because it's a Friday and I had a long work week); the idea of coffee has passed and gone ten blocks ago. And here is as good as any place to drink. I suggest we look at their drink menu and see if we want to go in for drinks. I can't find the drink menu, but ask if we should go inside to see. He shrugs. Then, I don't totally recall what I exactly said, but it makes him make the decision for us not only to stay and drink but have a sitdown dinner at the restaurant we thought was... how do I politely say this... oh yeah, shit.
Maybe it's me. I think people have a hard time reading me.
Like, oh my God, I get to eat expensive sushi, which like, I wasn't really in the mood for! Like, yay!
Yet, I do sense a genuine kindness from him; he wants to accommodate my fickle whims. And I want to find out what he thinks of me.
To be continued.
Wednesday, August 02, 2006
The Essay In Progress
08/02/06
While waiting for the Beef Red Curry (it's either a Malaysian or an Indonesian dish) to arrive, I started jotting down some thoughts and ideas for the AMCAS essay. Here's what I wrote:
What's the purpose? Why am I writing this?
It's to show that I'm an excellent candidate to be a future physician.
How will I show the schools that they should take me on?
I must demonstrate that I have desirable qualities that fit, or at least fit closely, to what an ideal physician should be, writing some of my life experiences that speak to those qualities. I can write about teaching in Japan, interning in Uganda, studying at my grad school, etc. But I think I need specific events... Must dig deeper.
What are those desirable qualities?
Well, I think I'm passionate. I'm passionate about wanting to help people... mainly because helping others is much more fulfilling than helping yourself. Being selfish will only go so far in life, I think, in terms of one's happiness. But saying, "I want to help people" is such a bore!!! A passion for service? For what ends? To say, "I want to be a doctor to be fulfilled and happy," sounds like I'd be asking for trouble. But anyways, it's another "Must dig deeper" situation.
Compassion is another quality. Inquisitiveness is another...
Shit! I hate "selling" myself.
While waiting for the Beef Red Curry (it's either a Malaysian or an Indonesian dish) to arrive, I started jotting down some thoughts and ideas for the AMCAS essay. Here's what I wrote:
What's the purpose? Why am I writing this?
It's to show that I'm an excellent candidate to be a future physician.
How will I show the schools that they should take me on?
I must demonstrate that I have desirable qualities that fit, or at least fit closely, to what an ideal physician should be, writing some of my life experiences that speak to those qualities. I can write about teaching in Japan, interning in Uganda, studying at my grad school, etc. But I think I need specific events... Must dig deeper.
What are those desirable qualities?
Well, I think I'm passionate. I'm passionate about wanting to help people... mainly because helping others is much more fulfilling than helping yourself. Being selfish will only go so far in life, I think, in terms of one's happiness. But saying, "I want to help people" is such a bore!!! A passion for service? For what ends? To say, "I want to be a doctor to be fulfilled and happy," sounds like I'd be asking for trouble. But anyways, it's another "Must dig deeper" situation.
Compassion is another quality. Inquisitiveness is another...
Shit! I hate "selling" myself.
Monday, July 31, 2006
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:
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:
- 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.)
- 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.
- 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.
- 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!
- 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.
- 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.
- By the end of August, I'll have submitted the AMCAS (the American Medical College Application Service) application.
- 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.
- 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?
- 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.
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.
Wednesday, July 19, 2006
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?
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.
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.
Tuesday, July 18, 2006
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:
While I have Colin to ogle at, there's really nothing that tears me down.
Debbie Downer, me?
Never!
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!
Monday, July 17, 2006
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.
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.
Thursday, July 13, 2006
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 forVeoh 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.
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
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.
Thursday, July 06, 2006
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!
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!
Friday, June 30, 2006
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.
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.
Monday, June 26, 2006
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!
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!
Monday, June 05, 2006
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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Please forgive my grammar and spelling mistakes.
Click and Ye shall enlarge.
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Saturday, June 03, 2006
Tuesday, May 30, 2006
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.
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.
Friday, May 19, 2006
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!
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!
Tuesday, May 16, 2006
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?Everything
On our own
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*,Anything
Or anyone
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?If I just lay here
Would you lie with me and just forget the world?
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?How to say
How I feel
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;Are said too much
They're not enough
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?If I just lay here
Would you lie with me and just forget the world?
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,Before we get too old
Show me a garden that's bursting into life
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 pathsChasing cars
Around our heads
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 remind me
To find my own
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?If I just lay here
Would you lie with me and just forget the world?
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,Before we get too old
Show me a garden that's bursting into life
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,All that I ever was
Is here in your perfect eyes, they're all I can see
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,Confused about how as well
Just know that these things will never change for us at all
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.If I just lay here
Would you lie with me and just forget the world?
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
Monday, May 15, 2006
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
Sunday, May 14, 2006
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