For You, I Remember

We tend to look out for our own.

The 4500 dead in Indonesia sent shockwaves to my own heart. The Afghan violence that hasn't been this high since the Taliban regime was disbanded five years ago is unsettling. Day after day, there are reports of soldiers who die this way and that way in the streets of Iraq, but I do not think it has hit this close to home for a while.

No relative, close friend, or role model was a victim of the war, neither is the attack anywhere within 1000 miles of where I am. But like how my Christian friends anguish over missionaries who are killed by those they are merely trying to love, I was the same way when I heard about the deaths of three more journalists working for CBS News. The cameraman, soundman, and correspondent for CBS News hit a roadside bomb in Baghdad. Paul Douglas, 48, and James Brolan, 42, died form the attack, and Kimberly Dozier, 39, the correspondent sustained serious injuries and now, doctors are "cautiously optimistic about her progress." An American soldier and Iraqi interpreter, also died in the attack.

It is a little fitting that on a day meant to mourn and remember the bravery of our soldiers, that in between our football games and barbecue chicken dinners, we still cannot escape the incessant violence in times of war. Anderson Cooper says it best in his new book, Dispatches from the Edge, as he remarks, "Human beings are essentially optimistic creatives." But in our optimism, smiles, and reverberating presidential calls to "return to normalcy," it is hard when we are looking at our own sons and daughters. I do not know many of us who know someone who has died in this recent war or know many people close to us who are actually fighting in it. So there is no wonder that we can distance ourselves through political theory and Bush ranting as some sort of an intellectual exercise, choosing when to cry and when to feel.

In this attack, however, they have become my own family - my own family of courageous men and women who has could not see themselves anything close to that. They, like me and countless other journalists, merely have an itch or addiction that no one can comprehend. When people are running away, we want to run towards the story. When I hear of the genocide in Sudan, it makes me want to take every adventurous route to get inside that country. The fact that death is a possibility makes it even more enticing. And so I told BJ that I "would love to be in these places of danger, and who knows, I might even die doing it" with a large grin across my face, both BJ and the other listeners around me thought they I have turned into a sick lover of pain. I'd rather see myself as painfully loving the sick in the world.

With these two casaulties, 71 journalists have died since the beginning of the Iraq War. On a day that focuses on the soldiers who courageously fight for our freedom, I will stand on my newspaper-covered room, put my hand against my forehead, and salute the men and women, who only had weapons that shot stories that captured the necessary tragedies and events we all want to know, but are too afraid to discover.

Political Funny

This has really unified both parties, House Speaker Dennis Hastert has attacked the F.B.I. for raiding a congressman's office, saying it was an abuse of power. Imagine the nerve of the F.B.I. — treating members of Congress like they were regular Americans.
-Jay Leno

Yesterday, the Senate voted to make English the national language of the United States. The vote drew protests from several immigrant groups and one governor of California.
-Conan O'Brien

The Last Stand: Thank God

Let me preface by saying that I am not an avid reader of the X men comic books, neither did I enjoy too much of the previous two movies. But that being the case, I just may be a better critic of this movie because of that. I came in with extremely low expectations, as I only bought the ticket to spend some time with some old friends, albeit it was in front of a screen for a couple of hours. All I desired was an enjoyable experience, a somewhat sensical plotline, and even explosions could do the trick. But as I should have learned from my background in summer movies, coming in with little expectations is never enough. We must always push our extremes into coming in with none at all.

Much like Ocean's 12, Hollywood has once again substituted a comprehensible narrative for a collection of celebrities, hoping that their names as the credits roll will be the consolation prize for the 10 dollars paid at the theater. But audiences do not pay to see the credits roll. I can make that happen with the iMovie software. Audiences pay to get lost in the characters who for a split second, we fail to remember that they are people like we are, playing the game of pretend. We cry and laugh with the person we see in the film because they are so often like us, and many times, not. Did I cry and laugh? Sure! At the unintentional ridiculousness of a script so predictable and cheesy that I felt like its producers and screenwriters were in the back of the crowded theater, laughing at us. With soap opera-like lines like "I'm not doing it for them, it's for you" and "You have to let go! You love her?!", I do not blame them.

The sad part of all this is the potential the X-men series had from the start that it failed to achieve. A larger-than-life budget. Competant directors (Bryan Singer opted out of the third for a take on the new Superman movie, though Brett Ratner is not bad himself, directing the Rush Hour movies). A comic book story of some of the most imaginative and haunted super heroes of our time. And a cast that is second to none. Patrick Stewart (he's like a grade B Ben Kingsley, but I'm still comparing him to Kingsley). Hugh Jackman (expect a much better display of his talents when he finally runs away from this Xmen debacle to take on The Fountain, opening in August). Halle Berry (Oscar winner, I know it was for her getting naked, but still, Oscar winner). Ian McKellen (Oscar winner for playing Gandalf, and as one friend said, "he saved the Da Vinci Code movie"). Anna Paquin (easily one of the more talented and beautifully dark actors in our age - see 25th hour and squid and the whale). Kelsey Grammer (To be honest, I hated him in Cheers and even more so in Frasier, but his acting skills are more than TV). Add in a few pretty faces in Janssen, Romijn, and the Notebook's James Marsden. Mix in a former "24" costar in Shohreh Aghdashloo, rinse and repeat. Shouldn't you have a solid blockbuster that measures up to the Spiderman movies?

No. Much like my last paragraph of parathesis and quotation marks, it becomes nothing more than a jumbled mess. I see these actors pretend to cringe and literally "think" people to death, when the millions of dollars spent on special effects take over the screen. But as the cheesy special effects in Al Gore's global warming movie "An Unconvient Truth" shows, special effects are overrated in making a decent film. They are nothing more than an lousy attempt to visualize what our mind actually imagines and often falls short.

Instead, we desire to be heartbroken, spun around, tickled, and rolling. I've seen Wolverine's claws come out in the first one. I've seen Mystique's figure change from character to character in the second one. I've seen Storm gather up clouds in the sky 19 times. I'm done with these movies showing me something. I want them to make me feel something. If only the producers spent as much money, time, and energy in writing a script as they did in casting fine actors who deserve better, it just might break "not bad."

Dreams of a Little Fatty

NY Times "journalist" or what I'd call a little fatty goes on a 9 day tour of America's best fast-food restaurants. Forget going to Africa. Forget Cancun. Forget a missions trip. Who's up for this massive fest.

For full article, go to http://www.nytimes.com/2006/05/24/dining/24note.html

LL THE STOPS MADE AND RESTAURANTS VISITED 1. Piscataway, N.J. McDonald’s 2. South Plainfield, N.J. White Castle 3. Fogelsville, Pa. Yocco’s 4. Mechanicsburg, Pa. KFC 5. Morgantown, W.Va. Wendy’s 6., 7. Parkersburg, W.Va. Rax, Hardee’s 8., 9. Georgetown, Ky. Gold Star Chili, Sonic 10. Knoxville, Tenn. Sawyer’s 11. Athens, Tenn. Burger King 12., 13. Calhoun, Ga. Krystal; Checkers 14. Atlanta The Varsity 15. Douglasville, Ga. Mrs. Winner’s 16. Birmingham, Ala. Chick-fil-A 17. Clinton, Miss. Popeyes 18. Tallulah, La. McDonald’s 19., 20. West Monroe, La. Raising Cane’s, Captain D’s Seafood 21., 22., 23. Shreveport, La. Whataburger, Dairy Queen, Taco Bell 24. Rockwall, Tex. Culver’s 25., 26., 27., 28. Dallas Taco Bueno, Taco Cabana, Sonic, Burger King 29., 30. Fort Worth Whataburger, Jack in the Box 31., 32., 33. Odessa, Tex. JumBurrito, Taco Villa, Bush’s Chicken 34., 35. El Paso Chico’s Tacos, Jack in the Box 36. Tucson McDonald’s 37. Guadalupe, Ariz. Carl’s Jr./Green Burrito 38. Ontario, Calif. Baja Fresh 39. Santa Monica, Calif. Tommy’s 40., 41., 42. Torrance, Calif. In-N-Out Burger, Carl’s Jr., El Pollo Loco.

Fleeting

I sometimes wish that I had a device with me at all times so that I could blog about issues and events and thoughts the minute I have or see them. Instead, I store up the tiny details that make the moment absolutely poetic till a more convenient time when I have the energy to reminisce. As proven by the lack of blogging, that time has not come.

So here I am, the remnant of a hopeful writer that could bring you my beautiful life in slow motion, now empty of anything to offer except for the same mediocrity every struggling artist with writer's block does: write about themselves and their experiences with writing.

I had hoped to write about the excruatingly awkward, sentimental, and anti-climatic goodbyes of my last week of junior year. I wanted to explain how if I were to put a relationship status on my facebook, I would say that it is complicated with God. There was that week of my third and final year at Chapter Camp, an annual event that went from life-changing encounter to relaxful and this year, fitting. I will never forget the 24-hour Greyhound bus ride back to New York from Atlanta, with single black mothers holding a Jekyll and Hyde personality holding consistency with their love for their child, Harley Davidson fanatics, the entire American Hispanic population who got lost on their way to Emory, and then...me.

To write about these moments nonetheless would be a betrayal of the moments themselves, for to omit the details would be like trying to take out the special effects of King Kong or the camera work of Saving Private Ryan. The backbone would still be there, but a human being needs some flesh. But to write with embellished details would be a complete hijacking of the truth of what actually happened. So my only remaining option is to leave it as is: a fleeting moment in the past that I have some idea about, but not completely. It's like trying to remember the face of your best friend in middle school. I knew it well, almost too well, but now I really do not know it at all. I am simply clinging onto how well I knew it.

But the moments are gone. It's time to make some new ones. Besides, I'll probably take another one of these Greyhound trips again.

WA and I Posting Together

Oy. H...h....hey, hello world. SUP?!?!?!

WA: What chu wanna talk about?
Me: I want to talk about girls. Ooops. Women.
WA: SWEEET!
Me: So, WA, who do you have a fancy for?
WA: Let's just say...:::giggles:::...I hope she has a fancy for me.
Me: You know, WA, I haven't seen you this offbeat since Smashing Pumpkins had their reunion.
WA: You know it!
Me: So I like women too.
WA: Yea? Tell me about it. Let's talk about chu!
Me: Kay. You know. I like maybe a girl here or there. Maybe anywhere. But here's da ting, WA. I don't really have a car and I have never been on the highway. So what am I going to say? H...h...hey...you wanna take me out? What about the DUC? Two swipes and we aiite.
WA: All you have to do say is please and maybe you can drive das GERMAN CAR.
Me: Who do you think I should ask out?
WA: Impressionable freshmen.
Me: But it's the end of the year. Freshman girls have now become sophomores. Do I just wait for the new batch, or work on the new sophomores.
WA: Maximize your profits by working the old batch till the new step on campus. Maybe check on prospects on facebook.
Me: But they're in other states, and I'll be in New York. What if I like a girl who is let's say in Florida or Atlanta this summer. What do I do then?
WA: Absence makes the heart grow fonder.
Me: What can I do now?
WA: Kiss your fortune cookie pillow.

Alright, we are drunk. Not really. We're just high on other things.

-Two guys who need to be on Oprah.

Crush Band

So I was having a brief conversation with WA today on the ride back to the room, and we were listening to our mutual obsession these days: Weezer, especially Weezer's Pinkerton album, with my favorite line "Godamm you half Japanese girls do it to me every time" and WA's favorite line, "I'll bring home the turkey if you bring home the bacon."

And along the way, WA mentioned how it was his crush band, or the band that he most frequently listens to during the time of a crush. I foudn that to be quite the interesting idea, and didn't really think I had one. Until long behold iTunes party shuffle has does it again: Bruce Springsteen's "Secret Garden."

But while WA is basking the richness of Weezer's chords and how they remind him of this person and that person, my song only helps me relilve several painful memories of another relationship gone wrong. I only think back to dumb decision after dumb decision when it comes to the romantic field. Whether it was I went too far or I did not go far enough, I was always one move from success and one more away from insanity. But instead, I am in the median, hoping for another time when "Secret Garden" will make perfect sense to me again. For now, it's just another softcore porno song.

Here's to the day when Bruce's voice becomes a little less porno and a little more real.

Allow Me to Get Some Kelly Clarkson Out

And let me talk about love.

Love is hard. Love is a choice. That's what I read on some freshman's away message. I agree with her.

And I am more and more choosing not to love because it's hard.

Call me a jerk or a jackass, I do not care.

A prayer I said last night:
"Lord, I really do love you and you're amazing to me. And I really like the whole loving you part. But the love people part, that sucks. But you say loving them is the same as loving you. Why are you so complicated? Can I just love you without loving others? If you ever change your mind, call me back. Otherwise, I don't think i can love you with these non-negotiable rules."

I don't think God is changing his mind.

JESUS CHRIST!

Perfect Timing

There have been moments that I wished I could stay in Emory just a little bit longer, so that I could talk her for one more day in the stacks of the library or so that I could run around the relatively small campus and not care about any responsibility because heck, I am a college student. Then there are moments when the very stench of fresh air on this campus mixed with the redudant tunes played by the Cox Hall Clock Tower make me order two Air Tran tickets, just in case. I am feeling both and neither.

I'm at the stage of my college life where there are people that I will miss and have already begun to miss, but I swear. If I spend a week longer with him or her, I do not think I will be able to hold onto my sanity. I've had the right amount of conversations regarding race with white people, so I think I'm ready to go back to Asians in New York and recognize a silent understanding none of us need to explain and get all riled up about. I've had the right amount of conversations regarding dating and the lack thereof in our hookup culture, so i think I'm ready to hide in my single room in the corner of my house, where the only girls in my life are my mother, my sister, and Oprah. I've had the right amount of conversations regarding the same stories and jokes that my friends tell me and I tell them. I'm ready to hear new jokes and new experiences, or at least old ones that I haven't heard in four months.

Life during the college years is a lot like binge drinking, but since I don't do much on that, I probably shouldnt make too much analogies to it, as if I am badass enough to do so when my idea of consuming alcohol is drinking half a glass of Smirnoff Ice while watching The OC. So let me restate this.

Life during the college years is a lot like listening to Q100 (Atlantans) or Z100 (NY). There is a playlist that contains about 20 songs, and god, those top songs are good. Not good in the greatest songs of all time, but I will sing along, I will dance along, and I will forever be compelled to respect the catchiness of its tune. But past a certain time, it just gets plain annoying. In college, everything is to an extreme. I am rather pulling allnighters or doing absolutely...nothing. I am rather eating my heart out with 3 pizza pies and 2 tubs of ice cream per day, or looking up some random vegeterian's diet. So in the face of the extremes that dormitory life offers me, I am about two weeks away from going crazy.

Take me home, country road, to the place I belong.

And then in three months, bring me back, because 21 years of home gets rather annoying as well.

Mat Kearney

I just bought the Mat Kearney CD today. I do not know why. I only listened to 15 seconds of sample on the iTunes music store, and I wasn't all that impressed. Someone told me that it is a combination of Jack Johnson, Coldplay, and spoken word, three things that I absolutely love, but I'm not sure I want to hear all at once - which is a little bit of Yih: overload.

But I guess it's the closest I can get to thinking about . It's kind of like when my father asked me what I wanted to drink, and I said Coke Zero because I'm in some kind of weird diet phase. He bought 60 cans within two hours. He hated it. But drank it anyway, probably cause it was more than Coke Zero. It was me.

This isn't Mat Kearney I am listening to. It's . This isn't Outkast i'm listening to. It's . This isn't Dane Cook I'm listening to. It's . This isn't Metallica i'm listening to. It's . This isn't Jump I'm listening to. It's . This isn't Andy Lau I'm listening to. It's . You get the point.

The music isn't that bad. But that's probably cause I'm not listening to the melody or the lyrics. I'm listening to memories of that time when, and that then when, and this time when...it is more than some pseudo-Christian dude named Mat Kearney.

In Love With Words

I do not know who you are, but you write like me. I might venture out to say that you may even think like me, but for now, I will say that you write like me. And that is good enough.

Back in the romantic days, I wrote on wide-ruled paper with a papermate blue-ink pen or the carvings of a No. 2 pencil. But now, I type. I can't ever say anything poetic that uses computer terms as its lines.

I can still try.

In our search for nothingness, I hope that the pitter patter of my Times New Roman can meet the heartbeats of your Arial, and find a world where nothing is aiite.

That was horrible.
But you laughed.
Because you write like me. And I may even venture to say that you may think like me.
Too.

Sentimental

I feel like I just had the best night of my life for three years, and I can feel the warmth of the sun coming up.

I think going to a college and living the dorm life might just be the worse decision of my life.

Just leave.

I must take my mind off of things and try to focus on something other than people.

Call me selfish. Call me insane. Call me a loner. Call me irrational. Call me ambivalent. But now, you cannot call me hurt.

I'll never see you ever again. And if I do, it won't ever be as grand or great as we thought reunions would be. Romy and Michelle were liars in that movie.

I think the only reason why I want a girlfriend right now and find my wife here is so that I can have a souvenir to show from this place called Emory that is more than a piece of paper or a T-shirt.

If all I got is memories, give me Alzheimers.

"Maybe I'm being sentimental, but what the fuck is wrong with sentimental?!" - Beau Sia

My Beef With the Emory Wheel

Granted, this post has been delayed for a few days because my blog is like calling an old friend. Deep down, I want to do it and I even get excited for it, but when I have time, I won't pick up that phone.

In any case.

I am sicking of writing comprehensive material for the wheel and then having it dumbed down and edited by half its content. I'm okay with the editing actually, and I understand that I sometimes write too much and talk too much when I should just hide in the corner like one of the other Asians and speak when spoken to. But what makes me mad is the fact that my content isn't edited for a good purpose, but instead, for some lame ying-yang photo to attract readers to my story. I am looking for content all over the paper, but all I find is nice pictures. If I want to read pictures, I'll pick up a Playboy.