Racism
Regarding Martin Luther King, Jr. Day, I wasn’t aware that it had acquired another nickname.
I realize that forty people out of nearly seven billion is a meager few, but still.
I scrolled through the comments and found one from another Chinese kid. It read, “HAPPY NIGGER DAY GUYS.”
I commented, “You’re making all of us look bad.”
Here’s the rest of our conversation: Read the rest of this entry »
Why I’m Divorced
(Darryl Leung found this story.)
Last week was my birthday and I didn’t feel very well waking up on that morning.
I went downstairs for breakfast, hoping my wife would say, “Happy Birthday!” and possibly have a small present for me.
As it turned out, she barely said good morning. Let alone “Happy Birthday.”
I thought, “Well, that’s marriage for you. But the kids… They will remember.”
My kids came bounding downstairs to breakfast and didn’t say a word. So when I left for the office I felt pretty low, and somewhat despondent.
As I walked into my office my secretary Jane said, “Good Morning Boss. And by the way, Happy Birthday!” It felt a little better that at least someone had remembered.
I worked until one o’clock, when Jane knocked on my door. She said, “You know, it’s such a beautiful day outside, and it is your birthday. What do you say we go out to lunch, just you and me?” I said, “Thanks, Jane! That’s the greatest thing I’ve heard all day. Let’s go!”
We went to lunch. But we didn’t go where we normally would go. She chose instead at a quiet bistro with a private table. We had two martinis each and I enjoyed the meal tremendously.
On the way back to the office Jane said, “You know, it’s such a beautiful day. We don’t need to go straight back to the office, do we?”
I responded, “I guess not. What do you have in mind?” She said, “Let’s drop by my apartment. It’s just around the corner.”
After arriving at her apartment Jane turned to me and said, “Boss, if you don’t mind, I’m going to step into the bedroom for just a moment. I’ll be right back.”
“Ok,” I nervously replied.
She went into the bedroom and, after a couple of minutes she came out carrying a HUGE birthday cake… followed by my wife, my kids, and dozens of my friends and co-workers, all singing “Happy Birthday.”
And I just sat there.
On the couch.
Naked.
I Love Joe Blobs
See what I did there? My sense of humor is amazing. I’m the best at being humble.
Remembering
Here is my eulogy. It feels strange reading these words again after I first did a couple weeks ago. I feel as if these are no longer my words. They no longer belong to just me.
The poet Emily Dickinson once wrote, “Unable are the loved to die. For love is immortality.” Love is why I am standing here today, to share with all of you the love that my grandmother, Janice Wong, shared with me. My earliest memories with her are those of her babysitting me after preschool. I would walk into the kitchen and tell her stories from my day, what I learned, or whom I played with. She would look up from what she was doing and say, “Oh yeah?” with a knowing look. Everyday I would strive to have something new to tell her, for as wide as the gap in life is between a five year old and his grandmother, during those moments, I felt as though I could share a small part of my world with her, as she shared hers with me.
Grandpa was always the character, and Grandma always the composure. Grandma would often cook up delicious meals for our family and afterwards, we would sit around the dinner table exchanging stories and smiles. Grandpa would invariably share one of his own and I would always sneak a glance at Grandma, to see her amused smile and the ever-present twinkle in her eye. I treasured those fleeting moments because I knew, in those instances, all of our collective troubles and worries were gone, if only for just those split seconds. When Grandpa passed away, Grandma became the emotional backbone of our family. Her strength and resilience became our strength and resilience, and we grew closer than ever before.
Grandma and Grandpa raised four children, two sons and two daughters. Her children raised five grandchildren in turn. I am thankful Grandma was able to see us all grow and blossom into young adults. I am thankful that we have reached an age where we are old enough to recognize every sacrifice she made for us, for our entire family. We are her legacy and I know that within us , we each carry her love and spirit. We share her with every person we come into contact with. We share her with each other, recognizing the integrity of the common bond that holds us together, family.
Grandma was one person. We are many. Yet she was able to reach all of us in some way, shape or form. Her capacity to give was boundless, never asking anything in return. She demonstrated her love for us through her actions. These included every hug, and every smile, every laugh and every conversation. One could say she became more than just a person to us. She became an ideal for us to continually aspire to, a person who provided unfailingly, gave generously, and loved, loved unconditionally.
“Unable are the loved to die. For love is immortality.” By sharing with each other the love that Grandma shared with us, her memory will forever live on in our hearts.
Caliber
I love Caliber, a group of four photographers based in my beloved San Francisco. Their work is always crisp and never cliche, often beautiful but always appealing. I was scrolling through their most recent pictures while listening to the latest Bat for Lashes album, Two Suns, and it was one of those rare moments in my life when two otherwise unrelated entities found themselves in perfect harmony. There is so much of The City that I haven’t seen and Caliber is opening up my eyes slowly, day by day, to what I’m missing out on.
Could It Be?
Could it be that I’m using more than one word in a blog title? Could it be that I might just go to bed before sunrise for the first time in a month? Could it be that I actually fulfill my academic potential this school year? Could it be that my band(s) actually make some music this year? The possibilities excite me.
Hmmm
So apparently, April was Asian and Pacific Islander Appreciation Month at school. I say apparently because I didn’t learn of it until now. Way to encourage diversity, Sonoma State. I halfheartedly expected a newsletter about upcoming celebrations and shit. Sike. I pictured in my head the entirety of the gargantuan 3.7% of the student population that is Asian/Pacific Islander crowding into a classroom and eating lumpia and spring rolls. My preschool was very diverse. My elementary through ninth grade years found me surrounded by about 95% Asian people. The last three years in public high school had a healthy 27% Asian. I suppose I should appreciate the variance? For all you mathematically gifted people out there, calculate the chance that I, a gorgeous 100% Chinese male, would end up with an Indian girl at Sonoma State.
I have a guilty pleasure. Two, rather. I stay up really late at night and watch fitness infomercials and Spanish soap operas. I can’t stay away from them. I watch fitness infomercials to keep up with the new gadgets and equipment people come up with and the clever ways with which they attempt to peddle their wares among the unsuspecting public. The main reason that I watch fitness infomercials specifically is probably because I lead a very typical American college student lifestyle and I need motivation to get off my ass. So far, no luck. But I do love analyzing the actors they hire for the infomercials and criticizing, for example, the lack of definition on an asscheek here or an abdominal there. I just know that I could end up better, is all. (See, there’s my self-confidence!) It’s kind of a mental hobby that I don’t share/do with anyone else. The irony is that I’m really fit but think that I’m not. I also find other infomercials to be usually entertaining but the pitchmen, I hate them so. Billy Mays (OxyClean) Vince Shlomi (ShamWow) are two men that I very much despise, but I am forced to admire their skill at their trade. Spanish soap operas are great. Who doesn’t want to fantasize about chesty non-English speaking 20-something year old Spanish women engaged in unnecessary but entirely amusing romantic drama with overly serious 30-something year old Spanish men with bad hair and worse acting skills? A tie in: I’ve found that the majority of Spanish language programming is very breast-centric. Even on daytime talk shows, many of the hosts are configured for the camera in as sexual a manner as possible, even if said hosts are, to put it lightly, just a touch past their primes. Seriously, watch some Spanish language programming and note the proliferation of boob. I’m fairly sure that this isn’t just my overactive libido talking as well. It’s a phenomenon!
At any rate, what is with me and these month-or-two-at-a-time blogging hiatuses? (Oh, and you don’t have to look that one up. I know that hiatuses is a proper plural form for hiatus.) It’s summer now, so no excuses.
Twilight
I watched about ten minutes of the movie. Somebody explain the appeal to me? Wooden acting and a distractingly indiscriminate accent make Robert Pattinson hard to like. Plus, apparently vampires sparkle like diamonds in the sun. Way to unveil their tell-tale flaw, Stephenie Meyer. Delish.
Gonzales
Click the link. Go to the page. Listen to the song. Move.
My Vitriol
I don’t know how it took me so long to stumble upon this band. From London, My Vitriol is at the forefront of the Shoegaze revival (mixed with a little Alt-Rock and Post-Grunge, of course). If you know me, you know I love my Shoegaze revival.
My Vitriol with Always: Your Way
