259: The End

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

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

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

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

With that... THE END!

258: Extra, Extra

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

And then there were crickets.

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

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

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

257: OMG, I'm in LOVE

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



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

256: Memory Lane

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

Whatever.

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

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

Eh, I'm full of shit.

255: Weirdness

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

Moving on.

I had an unusual experience last night.

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

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

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

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

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

Weirdness!

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

254: Based On..?

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

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

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

It was that one night...

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

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

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

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

I feel like boozing!

253: ...

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

252: Crossword Puzzle

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

251: Resuscitation

I guess it's time to resuscitate this blog.

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

I am who I am.

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

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

So, I'm back.

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

250: "Touch Me"

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Where the winds sigh
Where the winds sigh

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

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

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

Shit.

I am a ball of unhealthy neurosis.

249: Relaxation 101

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

Laters!

248: Legacy

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

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

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

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

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

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

And I'll miss him.

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

247: Are You Awake?

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

246: Lay Your Hand on Me

Many people have prophesied over me.

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

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

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

Maybe I won't go there.

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

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

Whole in parts? Love's indivisible!

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

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

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

Let's waft the charged air,

In and out.

Addendum: Edits are in red.

245: May I...

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

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

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

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

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

244: Untitled

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

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

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

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

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


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

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

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

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


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


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

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

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


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

243: Um...

PEEP... ?!?!

242: Surviving

I'm... overwhelmed.

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

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

But more on that later... hopefully.

241: Not the Only One

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

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

My money was on him supporting Bush.

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

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

But wait, did I just call the Germans normal?

Yikes.

240: Winter Wonderland

I was away. Now, I am back.

Where was I? I was at Whistler.

What was I doing? Skiing, of course.

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

That's me. Mr. No-Humor.

I had a fun time.

But, I'm a bit annoyed at myself.

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

Who the fuck am I?

Sorry. I'll stop.

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