do you remember?

i saw a movie this past weekend that had been extremely hyped up and created a lot of buzz in recent weeks. people had been talking and writing about it for months, internet sites devoted to it for years and in the midst of all this was a great deal of controversy. some were simply aesthetic (the casting was all wrong, the dialogue was awful) while others were more philosophical in nature (would they stay true to the story already made so popular in print form?) in the end, you could sense the tension in the theater as the lights began to dim. the packed house whispered excitedly as they were finally witnessing a movie years in the making, a movie that many people out there, including my mom, probably didn’t want us to see. that’s right, this past weekend, i watched “X-Men III”. and it was glorious.

for all of you expecting a movie review of X-III, i’m sorry. i can’t talk about it right now. my feelings are too conflicted. so instead, i’ll celebrate this memorial day by talking about some of my fondest memories of my life.

age 0. i’m born. holler world. the nurse checks me out. she so wants me.

age 2. i’m the fattest i’ll ever be in my entire life until 20 years later when i begin a career in investment banking where my daily meals consist of some variation of chicken nuggets, french fries, pizza, and buffalo wings. this is not a punch line, this is a fact.

age 3. on a hot day by my cousin’s pool, i down a glass of what i believe is water but what really is my uncle’s vodka. my body turns purple as i have my first experience with asian glow. my parents begin to notice that i’m drunk when i start stumbling around, slurring my ABCs, and telling everyone how i used to be the man in high school and how much i love them. i also begin telling a nearby garden hose how pretty it looks today.

age 4. i almost drown in my cousin’s pool when i tell myself, “i don’t need a tube” and slip out of it while floating in the deep end. at this point, i discover that i do in fact need a tube. fully clothed, my dad jumps in to save me. after i finish puking 15 gallons of water, i giggle at the sight of him soaking wet in a lacoste shirt and purple corduroy pants. gosh, dad, you’re supposed to change before you go into the water. even i know that and i’m only 4! he looks at me like he wants to hurt me. hilarity ensues.

age 5. i accidentally drive my dad’s car into a neighbor’s lawn. i can see him running after me with a rake in his hand, not because he was raking the leaves but because he’s getting ready to kick my ass. hilarity ensues.

age 6. my doctor informs me i need glasses. i punch the doctor in the testicles and run out of the office.

age 6 and a half. i move to new jersey to avoid a lawsuit from said doctor and begin my development as a street fighting machine in the hard edged streets of “northvale, nj”, a town famous for 2 things: they filmed the tv show “ed” here and… ok just 1 thing.

age 8. my sister is taller than me. she’s 6.

age 12. my sister is still taller than me. she’s now 10. constant references to the height disparity in addition to my mother’s friends telling me how pretty i’d be as a girl encourage thoughts of ending myself with my he-man sword. the fact that i still have a he-man sword compounds my misery.

age 14. my friends and i begin a secret career as a ruff ryderz tribute band. this quickly ends as embarrassing rumors and inexplicable photographs begin to surface.

age 16. i finally begin to sprout some hair on my legs, stopping the increasingly annoying habit of girls telling me they “wish they had my legs.” possible homicidal killing spree is subdued.

age 17. one of the hottest girls in my HS tells me i make her feel hot. i quickly regale the story to my friends only to have them tell me this has more to do with the fact that it’s late june and i’m still wearing my asian gangster jacket than any sort of hormonal effect i have on women. i vehemently disagree and continue to tell the story to this day.

age 18. i enroll in uva. i feel like tim robbins in “shawshank redemption” getting sent to prison for a crime i didn’t commit. my roommate is extremely hairy.

age 20. i tear my ACL in a vicious scrimmage with the uva football team. apparently enraged that jackie chan’s cousin is making fools out of future nfl prospects, a cheap hit ends any chances of a career in the nba. after careful consideration of future job prospects, i shelf modeling and acting for the time being to become an i-banker. hilarity ensues.

age 22. i gradutate uva and begin working in ny. i feel like tim robbins in “shawshank redemption” when he escapes prison and is crawling though a pile of filth to taste freedom. except the only thing i taste is still filth because there is no freedom, david. there is no freedom.

age 22 redux. it’s memorial day and i’m at work writing a blog entry. i hate my life.

i work hard for the money.

for the unaware, i work in an office. and in my office are certain characters, or caricatures i should say, that i will outline here. many of you may be familiar with such people. some of you may even be such people. if so, i recommend you cease and desist your current activity immediately. why? because people are laughing at you, you idiot.

1) the FIGJAM.

this is a recently learned word, even for such a learned employee as myself. (btw, you must pronounce the word “learned” with 2 syllables for intellectual respect. if not, all the monocle-wearing, handkerchief-toting, pipe-smoking people in the world will laugh at you. and if there’s a more horribly embarrassing fate than that, i am unaware of it) anyway, the FIGJAM stands for what a typical FIGJAM thinks as he goes about his normal FIGJAM day: “F*ck, I’m Good, Just Ask Me.” the FIGJAM holds himself on a pedestal above his peers because nobody else will. he believes that he and he alone is the sole reason for his company’s success and no one quite as smart as him has ever graced the hallways of his corporation. in fact, we’re all lucky to have FIGJAM here to run to with tears brimming in our eyes because we just can’t figure out how to do our jobs as well as FIGJAM. to which FIGJAM will sigh, come over to your desk, and not only do your job for you, but tell you the whole while how easy this is for him. FIGJAM, we salute you.

2) the Dentist AKA D.D.S.

dentists Don’t Do Sh*t. (not real dentists, they do a lot, like scrubbing the decaying meat out from between my teeth and dealing with my horrendous burrito breath. seriously, everyone’s so scared of dentists but shouldn’t they be scared of you? YOU can choose to brush your teeth or not. YOU can choose to stuff your face with garlic-laced pizza before your appointment. YOU can choose to fart in your own mouth. and then HE has to deal with it. he should be scared. not you. think about that. i’ve just empowered you for your next dental visit. send me money.) your office dentists are the guys who walk around all day, schmoozing with people but they don’t really do any work. they just try to act like they’re busy. in fact, you could’ve sworn you heard him typing away furiously in the middle of the afternoon. surely, he must have been doing some work, right? no, you moron, he just has a blog. ummm…. ok let’s just move on to the next guy.

3) the trust fund brat.

this is the guy who got his job because his father is friends with the CEO of the of the company. and btw, it’s always “father” with these people, never “dad”. if it’s a girl, it can be “daddy” but come on, these types of girls don’t work in offices! they work in charities during their non-traveling/shopping time where they raise money for the poor by hosting $5,000 plate dinner galas where rich people come together to eat and drink and celebrate the fact that they’re rich and you’re not and isn’t life grand hohohoho. but anyway, these guys have a certain swagger to them, an arrogance. you know when you’re little and you say to your friends, “my dad can beat up your dad?” well these guys used to say “my father is worth 2 Microsofts and 1 Starbucks more than your father.” and then swing their burberry scarf at you. their names also almost always have roman numerals afterwards. like Preston Winston Chattingham III or Chauncey Worthington V. they’re like sequels to bad movies. and just like bad movies, they usually have hot girls. dammit! (hehe hi mina)

4) the weirdo.

the weirdo comes in many shapes and forms. in the 70s, he came to the office on casual days in a tie-dye shirt, had grateful dead posters in his cube, and smelled of marijuana. in the 80s, he tried to talk like tony danza, wore leather jackets on occasion, and smelled of marijuana. in the 90s, he dressed like a goth every now and then to throw people off, would softly play Nine Inch Nails at his desk, slowly turning up the volume throughout the day until someone would come over and be like “ummm….yea… about your music…could you turn it down a little bit? i’m on the phone with a client and he’s wondering why someone at my office is screaming about fornicating like animals”, and also smelled of marijuana. today’s weirdo is a little more subtle. he usually wears clip-on ties with the short-sleeved dress shirts, has staring problems (especially with females in the office), tends to be a mouth breather, oftentimes wears glasses that were fashionable when the beatles were considered as controversial as eminem, and smells of marijuana. he also leaves the weirdest food in the community fridge. beans and potato sandwich? salad with peanut butter and ketchup dressing? this dude is so weird, he makes my friend chris look normal. and chris is far from normal. he once rubbed his face in a bowl full of scallions in the middle of a korean restaurant. he once dropped his cell phone in a public toilet, took it out, tried to WASH IT, and continued to use it for months afterwards. he also thinks everything causes cancer, is a hypochondriac, and likes to make up his own words to pop songs in chinese and he doesn’t even speak chinese. ok enough embarrassing chris (happy birthday, buddy. i know it’s not today, relax)

5) the inappropriate topic broacher.

this is the guy who you swear is going to get fired. he brings up totally inappropriate topics for a work setting, constantly makes non PC comments/references to ethnicities, genders, etc., and always has the latest racial/sexist joke handy. in other words, he’s the funniest guy in the office outside of work, but inside, everytime he opens his mouth, you try to take a step away and give people walking by a look like “who is this guy? he’s crazy. i don’t know why i’m standing here listening to him.”

6) the crazy secretary.

it’s an unwritten rule that in this day and age, all secretaries must be either old or ugly. this is a modern development given the evolution of our legal system that allows anyone to get rich by suing someone with a lot of money for sexual improprieties that my or may not have occurred. but not only do most of these secretaries’ physical appearance discourage sexual harassment/advances, but they’re freakin crazy, man! one secretary flipped out on me for clicking a pen. it’s one thing to ask, “hey, can you stop that, it’s kind of irritating, like your face”, it’s quite another to stand up with a wild, crazed look in your eye and demand “who’s that clicking? where’s that clicking coming from? stop the clicking!” and jam your fingers in your ears while screeching at the top of your lungs. another one went ballistic because myself and a colleague were bouncing a ball back in forth about 2 feet away from each other, apparently afraid that the rubber foam source of our joy would somehow in a flubber-esque horror scene jump into her cube and destroy all her pens and colored post-its. then there’s another secretary who has the most inappropriate conversations on her phone so loud that everyone can hear her telling her girlfriends about last night when she went out and… uhhh… did bad things with boys. btw, she’s like 45.

so these are your basic types of people at work. of course you have others, the office ho (male and female versions), the consummate professional, etc. and then of course, you have your normal people who are, well, you know, normal and don’t fall into any of these categories, but they’re boring. but yeah, i have to get back to pretending like i’m doing something now in case anyone realizes that i’m a dentist. who said that?

love is in the air.

what is it about the spring air that makes people want to get jiggy? even animals are not immune to cupid’s influence when the weather warms. walk by any local park and you’ll see dogs, squirrels, and various other types of asian delicacies engaging in public acts of indecency that would land any normal human being in jail. (on a side note, i’m sick of these double standards for animals. if a dog can pee anywhere, i should be able to too. i refuse to pay that fine and i will never apologize to those schoolchildren.)

without question, spring is the season of love. weddings, spring flings, the blooming of flowers, everything related to love seems to coincide with the year’s first emergence of warm weather. the sun is shining, the sky is blue with the only visible clouds being of the fluffy cotton candy variety, and love seems so easily accessible at this time. can anything go wrong in spring?

the answer is, “YES, you idiot.” lucky for you, here is my guide to “how not to act a fool this spring in your relationship or lack thereof.” if this were a movie, it would be starring kate hudson and johnny depp. kate hudson because she thrives in these types of movies and johnny depp because he resembles me most after brad pitt but i didn’t want to seem too conceited or anything. (it’s difficult managing good looks, brains, and a good heart all at once. sigh, my life is so hard.)

Rule #1: just because someone pays attention to you doesn’t mean he/she likes you.

i cannot emphasize this rule enough. at first, i thought this rule only applied to guys because growing up, i knew so many guys that thought just because a girl talked to them, she was in love with them. honestly, why would you think that? let’s consider the facts: you have no redeeming qualities whatsoever and she only talks to you when she wants answers to yesterday’s chemistry quiz. do you really think she likes you? in the eternal wisdom of napoleon dynamite, “GOSH, IDIOT!” guys in general have big heads that are easily inflatable with the minimum of motivation. a simple smile from a girl walking by can convince them that she thinks he’s hot. listen, fellas, half the time, she’s just being nice/friendly. the other half? she was smiling at the guy behind you. get over yourself and move on.

however, this dynamic also applies to the females as well. i will admit that most of the times, guys are nice to/pay attention to girls only when they are attracted to them or are considering pursuing them, so you can’t really blame girls for thinking a guy likes them. the only problem with this is, guys are ALWAYS attracted to girls and will ALWAYS consider pursuing a girl if she shows even the remotest interest. so relax, you’re not that special. he bought you some of your favorite chocolates? he had some left over after he dropped off the 1st bag at some other chick’s place. he calls you every night at 11 PM? he’s driving home after hanging out with some other broad and is bored. he texts you before your tests and says study hard? he wants to cheat off you on the exam. he told he he likes you and wants to go out with you? he used the same speech last night with your best friend. ladies, don’t be fooled by his wily ways. actually, the word ‘wily’ belies some sort of cleverness or intent. while some guys are definitely like this, most guys are just stupid. the sooner you learn this, the better off you’ll be.

Rule #2: nobody wants to hear about the latest cutest thing your schnookums did.

first of all, there is a reason these monikers are called “pet names”: they are reserved for domesticated animals bred solely for your twisted pleasure only to die a couple of years later. don’t refer to your partner with embarrassing nicknames usually bestowed upon the family dog, especially in public. nobody needs to hear that your little “sugar bear” is the “bestest, westest, sweetest, tweetest” boyfriend in the whole wide world. in fact, i’m pretty sure that sugar bear doesn’t need to hear it either. sugar bear probably imagines himself taking a bath with a toaster everytime you mention how “cutesy wootsie” sugar bear looks when he chews his food. in fact, i’m ready to join sugar bear in his electric bath just from typing sugar bear so many freakin times. somebody shoot me. anyway, this leads straight to…

Rule #3: what you think is cute, nobody else does. NOBODY!

this speaks for itself and relates to the above note. keep your personal stories to yourself. seriously. i could be really mean and say this applies to all newborn baby/children stories as well but i won’t be that mean. at least not today.

also, it may appear that Rules #2 and 3 are directed towards the female audience. well that’s because females are the largest offenders of these 2 rules. if a male commits these egregious sins, he will most likely find himself (a) friendless (b) castrated (c) crying everytime “Beaches” or “The Notebook” comes on basic cable or d) all of the above.


ok well, that’s it for now. these are all the rules i could think of without offending the general public, which i probably did anyway, and this should be enough to avoid looking like the complete idiot you are. at least for a little while. but until then, stay classy. and thanks for stopping by. but mostly stay classy. thanks for stopping by.

the beach.

horizon. softest of yellows, gentlest of reds
meets ocean. deepest of blues, coldest of whites

how often i return here
to gaze upon your loveliness
to wander within your endlessness
to bask inside your timelessness

how often i long for escape
the sweet release of oblivion
floating through the empty abyss

the cry of the gull
the roar of the sea
the whisper of the wind
i hear nothing but the sound deafens my ears

the tide washes wasteless against the shore
cold water laps my ankles yet the sand sinks deep
drawing me ever deeper into its hold

i can feel the pull of the tide
lulling me into the soft ephemeral
instead of stepping back

i move forward, shifting water with my fingers
sifting sand with my toes
to enter is my only escape