Champion of the West

I've been playing fantasy football with (nearly) the same nine guys for seven or eight years now. The crazy thing is that I barely know most of them outside the realm of fantasy sports. However, I'm probably in more daily contact with them -- mostly via AIM conversations -- than most of my non-fantasy friends. It's a nice little set up. I love being able to geek out and talk to people who are really into the same thing I am. There's very few people in my ordinary day to day life whom I can talk sports with so I gotta get my fix somewhere right?

Half the guys in the league are friends of mine from Michigan, the other half are my childhood friend Evan's friends from Stanford. Plus two guys from UCLA, one whom I've known since way back in middle school but never talk to now, and the other whom I've met just once but I talk to all the time. It's crazy how these things work out right? Friendships formed over the Internet and around a common hobby. I love it.

Typically speaking, the fall months are amazing for me as football Sundays are in full gear and the NBA is just taking off. This fall in particular was spectacular as my keeper fantasy team, The Dirty Birds, finally won a championship. For so long I've been shut out of the championship circle (since 2002) that I had to tell the whole wide world about my biggest accomplishment this year. Yes, fantasy football is that serious to me.

I used to play fantasy football with Evan back when there were hardly any computers and we had to rely on the newspaper every Monday in order to tabulate scores. I feel like I was there at the beginning of fantasy sports and I've seen it grow into a behemoth. Now, it's become a dependable source of joy in my life and I can't wait to order my Jostens championship ring and flash it for all the world to see.

The craziest thing about this win is that my Michigan roommate and fellow team owner, Greg, is the co-champion. Get this: In the Super Bowl game, we tied! It's rare enough to see a tie but to have the championship game between two really good friends go down to the wire and then end up tying, that's pretty much miraculous. A recap of the final game is located on our league's blog -- Catch the Damn Ball -- and I couldn't be prouder to share a championship with someone.

Parents Just Don't Understand

Today at 10:45 pm: Picking up my other half. Insert "better" in there if you really must.

Did you know that much of James Dean's appeal, and iconic status, is due to his androgynous sex appeal? I thought he was an icon just because he's the ideal of old school cool with his leather jacket, poofed up hair, and lazy cigarettes but apparently Dean devotees admire him for his experimental lifestyle and much has been made of his sexual orientation. When asked whether he was gay, he once replied enigmatically, "Well I'm certainly not going through life with one hand tied behind my back."

I recently watched Rebel Without a Cause and while the movie is certainly dated and somewhat of a disappointment, it's impossible to ignore Dean's powerful charisma. The movie makes no sense and is, to contemporary eyes, heavy handed and lacking in nuance but as a part of cinematic history, it plays a powerful role I guess. Sal Mineo stars as the most effeminate sidekick in history and is often credited with portraying the first homosexual teenager on-screen. It's odd to think that this was over fifty years ago.

How much further have we come since then? Not a whole lot I'd say. I mean, Brokeback Mountain was recently hailed as a breakthrough but really, that shit was watered down and took no chances. Plus, Heath mumbled his way into an Oscar nomination, which was probably the most controversial thing about the film.

As a skinny, frail-looking guy with a penchant for jewelry, I'm often assumed to be gay. I can't tell you how many times I've been cornered by some random guy as my friends die laughing from just off-stage. I mean, I certainly don't mind it, aside from the momentary uncomfortability, but I feel like it must be horrible to have this one thing play such a prominent role in the way people perceive you. Forever and ever, you'd be known as "the gay guy" or "the lesbian girl." Yada yada.

Then again, what's the difference between that and ethnicity? I'm always asking "So, what ethnicity is he/she?" in order to achieve some context. (It helps with my stereotyping if I can get a quick tip-in as to the person's skin color.) In the right circles, I'm sure sexual orientation trumps everything else as an identifier.

I feel like there must be some taxonomy order of operations for this kind of thing. Like how Kingdom, Phylum, Class, Order, etc. works you know? Before I meet someone, for example, I'd like to be able to identify them according to: Ethnicity, Sexual Orientation, Age, Where from, Job, Significant Other?, Economic Status, Religion, Interesting Errata, Name.

E-SO-A-W-J-SO-ES-R-IE-N. Somebody come up with a mnemonic for that...

Bonus: Check out these fun "gay-themed" scenes from Chasing Amy and Reality Bites (apparently PFLAG is a real organization?!).

Where the Heart Is

Well, I'm having a hell of a week. It's amazing how much time you've got when no regularly scheduled programming interrupts your life. In a rush to move on and out of LA and to re-insert myself into San Diego, I tried to see as many people as possible, to do as much as possible, and to get things cleaned up as fast as possible. Snowboarding, a Christmas party, an old fashioned sleepover, and one hasty move out later, I'm back and already arguing with my mom. Maybe moving back home wasn't such a great idea. She thinks I don't care about my health because I don't eat lunch. I think she's overbearing and motherly. After all, what have I been doing for the past few years? Slowly dying due to lack of lunch? Hardly.

You know Jack Kerouac often spent down time at his mother's house? In-between cross country drives and raising general ruckus, he would regularly take extended stays with her in New York (or later, Florida). I wonder if they clashed over his habit of staying up late and never rising before noon. Did they fight over when he ate or which bathrooms he chose to use? How about this one: Did they have issues with him falling asleep on the couch as the TV droned on? Or how bad staring at a computer screen all day would be for his eyes? I bet they did. No wonder he was on the road so damn much.

All Quiet on the Western Front

Driving in California is such a relaxed experience. Wide open roads, well behaved pedestrians, expansive freeways. Just hop onto any street and it's cruise cruise cruise. Manning a car in New York is, in comparison, like going from a walk to a trot on a horse -- your ass is in the same seat but it's a totally different ride.

Going up and the down the streets of Manhattan, I felt like all my spider senses had to be on. Don't bother me, don't bust the music, stop squirming in the backseat; I need to concentrate. In my rented (bright yellow) Aveo, otherwise known as the smallest car ever, I felt like a toy waiting to get smashed. Or I was certain I'd kill someone as they haphazardly stepped out onto the street.

My death defying stunts this weekend were all worth it though, as one of my best friends from college got married. In a small way, I feel somewhat responsible for Greg and Caroline getting together since it was through me they met. Basically, I used to hang out with Caroline a ton her freshman year and one day she called for me but Greg picked and said I wasn't there. That was how they started talking. When they read "their story" at the wedding and I was name checked, I swelled with pride. I feel like I got to befriend both of them separately and equally before they were a couple and that's something rare and special.

I was also there at the beginning of their romance. Ever since we were freshman, Greg and I had planned to visit the Natural History Museum together. Well, we finally got around to it the summer before senior year but during our day long excursion, I couldn't get Greg to match my enthusiasm looking at all the (dead) animals. He kept on hanging back, waiting, sitting, talking with Caroline. I couldn't figure out what the hell was going on. Only later that summer, when I was told that they were kind of going out did I realize that I'd been an unwitting third wheel yet again. The two of them even took me to this make out spot in Queens that night, one that beautifully overlooked the city. I was totally clueless.

At least it was all for a good cause.

During the wedding, Caroline's brother was bawling. He's twenty three or something and looks like a typical New York ruffian. The two of them are super close and he's got the same New York - FOB accent as Caroline (even though neither are FOBs; it's just a very particular accent). He used to always call Wilmot and ask "Iws Cawoline thwere?" Anyway, Andy really seemed heartbroken to see Caroline leaving the house. He was a fountain of tears the whole night and during his speech -- which he had written on his Sidekick -- he was alternately tearing up and saying the funniest things of all time.

Some of it, paraphrased:
"Caroline sniff sniff thank you so much for everything. Scroll scroll. Thank you for teaching me how to be the man of the house, because you always were. Thank you for driving me around that one time when some boys jumped me and you took me to go look for them. I'll miss hearing you scream during Knicks games. And Yankee games. Thank you for teaching me how to...sob sob...curse!

Greg, I don't have much to say to you because all you ever said to me was 'Hi' and 'Bye.' I think Buster (the family dog) talked to me more."

All in all, the wedding was really fun, with the best wedding food and catering I've ever experienced. It was like a mini-college reunion and laughs were had all night. Greg always said that college would likely be the best part of our lives but as he and Caroline will prove, there's some good stuff after that too.

Pictures: 1, 2, 3, 4, 5

Dancing With Myself

Apparently a date with myself costs twenty bucks. Movie, popcorn, taquitos, and horchata. I have no clue how people date. Imagine doubling the bill. Probably more since no girl would be happy with just taquitos for dinner and a medium popcorn, right? Can't look like a cheap bastard and get the medium when clearly two people need a large bucket with free refills. Dating (other people) could be quite an expensive habit. I think I'll stick to personal movie nights.

I walked into tonight's movie as the previews were running. Not a soul was in the theatre (I checked the back row for hideaways) and I sat there thinking I paid ten dollars to sit by myself in a theatre? I wanted to light up a cigarette for the novelty but then decided against it because that would be so immature. Instead I took the best seat in the house and pretended like this was my personal theatre located in the catacombs of my soon to be had big baller mansion.

In unrelated news, today was my last day at the office -- I guess buying that mansion will have to wait. I officially quit Monday I guess but I was in there the last couple of days settling things. Long story short, many of the managers also quit and though parts of me wanted to stay, I think it was a good time leave. Sad really, how this story has played out. I was really thinking I would be doing this particular job for awhile. But things as they are, the company veered off in a different direction, lots of people came and left, and my heart just isn't in it anymore.

A large part of any work experience is the people and in that particular respect, the job was amazing. Everyone, from managers on down, was really great. So many interesting characters, perspectives, and life stories. I'm sad about leaving my team behind and I'm going to miss "my kids" but I think they'll be okay.

For me, the next move is just get back home, reconfigure a few things, and see what I want to do next. This weekend is New York for Greg and Caroline's wedding, which has been a long time coming. And then after that I think I'll move back to San Diego, and then possibly go to San Francisco and crash with George for awhile. I'm hoping that I can avoid normal work for a few months until summer hits and I can start traveling again. Winter is no time to be visiting the Midwest and East Coast, that's for damn sure.

I'm a little fearful I'll slip into the days of doing nothing again but I think I'll be motivated enough to try my hand at real freelancing, plus I have the book to revise and finish up. Ideally I'll just read, write, watch movies, and prepare for whatever comes my way next. So, who's got an open couch? I'm an excellent squatter.

(Save) The Last Dance

Yesterday at 5:32 pm: Negotiating safe passage for my crew. We'll rendezvous at the bar around two.

Nobody said leaving was easy right? So many times when we're trying to get out of a sticky situation, the first instinct is to kid-glove it, to say the right things, to soft-pedal a reason, any reason. While that occasionally works, reasons that don't have the ring of truth too often sound hollow and unauthentic. Plus, when people ask you to give the real reason, they aren't generally asking for the (whole) truth. They're really looking for a reason that satisfies them. "Okay, that makes sense. Sounds logical. I understand."

It's much easier to give a reason when you present it as just your decision, independent of any outside forces. But that's never the truth is it? The classic line is, of course, "It's not me, it's you." Problem is, it's always me plus you plus us plus whatever but it doesn't always help to tell the whole truth and nothing but the truth right?

There's no happy divorces, just the happily divorced.

I always have a problem leaving though. To me, the past is always golden and there's perpetually the promise of another rainbow over the horizon. I'm learning though, that some things just aren't meant to be. As we get older and as time ticks that much faster off the clock, we learn that it's far worse to slowly waste away than to just cut the cancer out with one burning swipe.

Anyway, it's typically better to leave a bit early as opposed to too late. Last one out turns off the lights... There's a certain time allotted for everything and when that time is over and done with, it's time to pack up and move on. Isn't it?

"When the beating of your heart
Echos the beating of the drums
There is a life about to start
When tomorrow comes!"
-Do You Hear the People Sing, Les Mis-

Gotta Catch'em All

Today at 3:03 pm: Attempting to sing songs without using any words from the song's title.

You know what I like most about games? Aside from winning them of course. Games bring people together. In this day and age when there are so many things to suck your time away but every activity seems less communal by nature, it's fun to play games. I can't understand why games aren't enjoyed more (by adults I mean). Perhaps they're tainted by the association that games are for children.

Many people I know insist on throwing money or alchohol into games in order to make them fun. I don't understand why just playing to win isn't stakes enough. Who needs to put money on something in order to take it seriously? I'd play tic-tac-toe and want to cream you just for kicks -- and I'm hardly an ultra-competitive person. I hate it when people add the "...with drinks" to any suggestion of a game. It's so juvenile. Like adding "...in bed" to the end of every fortune cookie. It's not fun, or funny, get over it.

Richard Garfield, game designer and inventor of Magic: The Gathering, said that any game can become ultra-fun as long as you create a ladder for organizational and competitive purposes. I've long believed this and would like to ladder everything in my life if I could. I'd like to create some sort of meta-game you could play over years and years; one with a complicated scoring system and many different ways to win. I guess that could just be life but that's not really exciting enough. Plus, in real life, as opposed to board game Life, it's very possible for everyone involved to end up losing.

Personally, I prefer trivia games or games where a maximum of strategy and tactics is involved. The more people who can play at once the merrier. Now that I'm thinking about it, I know lots of people who love games. I just don't happen to hang out with them. Maybe I need to move.

Favorite Board Games
Squabble
Clue
Trivial Pursuit
Monopoly
Diplomacy

Favorite Group Games
Music Game
Mafia
Catchphrase
Animal Game
Buzzword/phrase

Wishing on the same bright star

Today at 7:31 pm: Aiming ten feet high and missing.

November fifteenth was supposed to be my D-Day, instead I've got an extension till Monday. I'm worried a bit. I had always hoped that my first novel would be something life changing, something that said what I wanted to say to the world, something that represented me. I was hoping for an auto-biography or a memoir but to be honest, it's much harder to write a memoir than a fictional work. You gotta be an engaging story teller to write a good memoir, which I'm not. Plus, I don't think my life up to this point has warranted a memoir. Maybe next year.

During my most recent trip to New York, we hit upon the idea of titling personal stories like Bible verses. For example, "Jon 3:14" might be the tale of how a three year old George would bring me my slippers during our childhood visits with each other -- we lived in different cities for awhile. The beauty of this system is that if you've heard a story over and over, you can just exit and not miss a thing. "Oh, it's George 6:2, I've heard this one a million times. I'm going to get a drink." Convenient no?

When this book is finally done -- this is just the first draft -- I think it'll be as close as I get to fatherhood for awhile. It's 100% my words, it's (sort of) my idea, it's anything I want it to be. I'd also have been working on it for almost exactly nine months by the time it's finalized. To make an analogy, I think I'm in the second trimester now. I've just seen the sonogram and I'm worried that the kid will be misshapen and ugly. Will it have a face that only a mother can love? I sure hope not because I'm banking on this thing being very popular with the masses.

Joelle. Isaiah. Ethan. Aubrey. Sage. Nathaniel. These are the names of children my friends have brought into this world. The list is going to grow pretty quickly I'm sure. Notice there's no "Jonathan" yet, but there's still plenty of time. I'll sign your baby's butt if you name your firstborn after me. Exclusive offer.

There was a time when I wished for twenty children. I wanted to have a big house, a wall-sized white board to organize everyone's activities, and make the kids march down for breakfast together every morning. I also wanted Captain Von Trapp's whistle. Tweet tweet. As a teenager, I had read an article about Pat Williams, then general manager of the Orlando Magic. Pat and his wife had 19 children, 14 of whom were adopted from various countries. It was inspiring.

Then reality, economics, and life kicked in. My worst fear nowadays is to father a child. Can you imagine? I think Child Protective Services would just take "it" away at the hospital. Preemptive strike.

I've been blog surfing tonight and catching up on Eric's adventures in parenting. Reading his words is enough to make anyone feel the sheer joy (however derivative) of having kids -- check out the blog Eric and Anna are doing for Isaiah and Ethan, it's such an awesome idea.

I envy the family life that exists out in Michigan. Everyone we know there hangs out together. They go fishing, they have bible studies, they have sports leagues, they have family (in all senses of the word). My West Coast friends are at a different stage in our lives. But when we hit that stage -- the one with wives, husbands, and families -- I wonder if we'll hang out together. Maybe we can fly Eric and Anna out for a seminar when that time comes.

I think I may eventually have to resort to borrowing a kid, sort of like in Hornby's "About A Boy", in order to crash family gatherings. Where's the nearest rent-a-child facility located? Do I just pick one out at the local Gymboree?

Five Alive

I've been going back through my archives recently, to piece together what I've been doing for the past five years. Last year I was in Fremont, having moved up there about a girl. We were settling in nicely. I was working a steady job, exploring suburbia, and paying some honest to goodness bills. Joining the land of adults more or less.

Two Novembers ago, a friend had just eloped. She did it in grand style too, taking her vows in a hot air balloon while dressed like Minnie Mouse. I was living with James at his condo located not five miles away from my house house. Why didn't I just live at home? Because my mom didn't want to promote my slackerism. I had also just quit a dream job (video game testing) that was more nightmare than memorable in order to write the blog book. It was also the beginning stages of my most recent ex-relationship. That was 2005.

2004, I voted for the very first time. For my participation, I got a celebratory speeding ticket not five minutes afterwards. I gave up my foreign citizenship for this? I think I'll walk to the polls next November, just to be safe. Three years ago, I got my second tattoo. I've averaged 3.33 tattoos a year since. I feel like that means I've been commemorating a lot of things, or maybe I just got bit by the ink bug.

Four years ago, we took a boys only trip to Vegas. Of course, a girl ended up going, since we're hardly real men, but the trip was novel and fun. Since then I've been to Vegas far more times that I'd like to count. I believe I was also about to start my first post-collegiate relationship after a two year girl-iatus. Along with that, I was starting my first real job. Like one with defined hours and you know, pay. Technically, I was scheduled for a quarter-life crisis but clearly, there was no crisis at hand. Other than me being years out of college and just then getting a job. Nope, no crisis at all.

A full five years ago, I was taking classes at UCSD, living at home, and exploring life back in San Diego after four years in Michigan, one and a half in New York, and another year or so split between China and England. Home sweet home they say.

Looking over the lot of it, I can't tell if I'm ahead or behind.

Six Novembers ago, I was presented with the idea of sticking around my father's company (he had just passed away) to learn the ropes and maybe eventually take over. I was twenty two and shown a five year blueprint for my life and future success. If things had gone a certain way, I could have been an integral part of the family business by twenty seven, perhaps even heading it.

That plan would have given me worldly success by any definition. I balked however, because five years seemed like such a long time. I didn't want to lose my mid-twenties. They seemed like they would be the time of my life.

Were they?

I'm now twenty nine, with my thirties around the corner, and clearly not in charge of a globally successful woodwind instrument mafia. I'm a little lost actually, career wise. Then again, what else is new? As a co-worker said to me today (paraphrased), "I don't see you doing this, to be honest." The good news is that I'm working on my second book, the first draft of which is due like basically right now. Five steps back, one step forward?

Hi Dad!

Sky High

Today at 11:41 pm: Suffering from a severe case of writer's block.

How does one go almost thirty years without ever witnessing a keg stand? Apparently, I'm not very worldly at all. I had thought that a keg stand described someone literally doing a handstand on a keg. I'm not sure why anyone would do such a thing but I imagined it was an acrobatic feat done while drunk -- thus the raucous cheering. Little did I know that a keg stand involved drinking beer upside down while being supported by your buddies. Frat culture is so weird. Keg stands, beer pong, rampant dating and sex. What the hell is this stuff? All I ever did at frat parties was stand around and try to not look like a loser. Obviously, mission failed!

Do you even remember the first time you encountered all this stuff? There's this whole culture you have to immediately grasp without asking anyone around you, lest you out yourself as a social retard. I had no idea what a keg looked like, much less how to tap one. Is that even the right way to use that in a sentence? I'm so confused and it's not even freshman year.

Actually, I'm a little confused about drug terms too. Can you use "high" in relation to any drug? Like, if someone is on any type of drugs they're high? And is it to "snort" or to "sniff" cocaine? Are they synonyms perhaps? D.A.R.E. didn't teach much of anything did it?

This weekend, I drove home to attend my very first thirtieth birthday party ever. Despite a schedule that demands I put everything aside but my writing (due in ten days!), I had to go down because without Lilly, I would have nothing to write anyway. I know which side my bread is buttered on. Plus she's super special and this was a night not to be missed.

It was probably the best house party I've been to in the past five years. Alchohol, food, music, lots of room to lounge. No chance of cops busting in because it was in La Jolla and totally parentally supervised. In addition, there were a whole bunch of budding couples to watch. It was fantastic walking around and observing the actions of so-and-so to figure out if maybe they were interested in each other, etc. It reminded me of middle school when at school dances -- okay "dance," I've only ever been to one -- me and my friend tried to play Cupid. I feel like we only succeeded in solidifying our dork status but it was quite a magical time as I recall.

In related unrelated news, I saw an ex-girlfriend at Yogurt World this weekend. She was my very first "real" girlfriend, meaning like our parents knew about us. Actually, that's not a good barometer for what constitutes a "real" girlfriend because she was the first and last girlfriend to admit to her parents that we were dating. Hum, maybe something's wrong with me? Nah...

During our mainly long distance relationship (I was in Michigan, she was in Santa Cruz), we racked up huge phone bills, sent each other sweet things in the mail, missed the heck out of each other, and I even got a job to support us. Yes, I took a job to support our relationship; a dime a minute long distance ain't cheap. Anyway, she ended up marrying a friend of ours and they're perfect together and now they have a beautiful baby boy that I didn't even know about until very recently. I, on the other hand, had strawberry tart with white carob chips, lychee, and a mound of mochi.

Number 12

Fleur-de-lis
[ Oct 13, 2007 ] - Left Ring Finger
So I got another tattoo recently. It's unhideable so I'm committing myself to a lifetime of non-corporate jobs. It's going to be a real shame when I'm on the verge of becoming a CEO at some Fortune 500 company and they reject me due to a finger tattoo. Guess I'll just choose the path of the poor and downtrodden right now to save future me some grief.

I was a bit concerned that my fingers were too thin to get the symbol I wanted but it worked out and it's beautiful. As usual, it's got some religious significance and other such mish mash.

"Other scripture and religious literature in which the lily symbolizes purity and chastity also helped establish the flower as an iconographic attribute of the Virgin. In medieval England, from the mid-12th century, a noblewoman's seal often showed the lady with a fleur-de-lis, drawing on the Marian connotations of 'female virtue and spirituality.' The three petals of the heraldic design reflect a widespread association with the Holy Trinity, a tradition going back to 14th century France, added onto the earlier belief that they also represented faith, wisdom and chivalry."

Another reason I'm attracted to the symbol is that on many maps, the fleur-de-lis is used to to indicate north on the compass rose. The Boy Scouts adopted the symbol because it "points in the right direction (and upwards) turning neither to the right nor left, since these lead backward again."

There's also a reference to the fleur-de-lis in Alexandre Dumas' The Three Musketeers as an old custom of branding criminals with the sign. Rebecca De Mornay's character sports it in my favorite version of the film.

For the most part, this tattoo, attached to a finger that holds extreme (if overblown) significance, is there to remind me what I should be looking for, what I am looking for, and what an asshole I am. All on one little finger.

Methuselah

Yesterday at 1:03 pm: MySpacing. Yeah, seriously.

I think I'd make a pretty good vampire. I've been reading Stephenie Meyer's Twilight and I feel like I could be quite happy "living" as an immortal blood sucker. Vampires are so dapper aren't they? Definitely the best dressed of the undead. I guess they don't have much competititon though.

My biggest challenge would be convincing people I wasn't out to harm them. I'd have to emulate Casper as much as possible; grow a pot belly, become more cuddly. Being a vampire would give me a good reason to remain a night owl too. And I wouldn't have too many responsibilities other than curbing my appetite around humans. Plus I could ask friends "Are you with me or against me?" in total seriousness -- and with deadly implications. Somebody bite me already.

I've been hanging out more with people at work. A dinner here or there, a group gathering once in awhile, a movie or two. Plus, because we're around each other all the time, the opportunity for personal conversations is ever present. The main thing that I find surprising is how not different we are (we meaning the managers), even with an age gap of up to ten years. I went to have some drinks with my kids this weekend and realized some of them were literally in middle school when I was in college. Think about that for a second. And it's not as if hanging out with them makes me feel old. I mean, I feel like I'm just about their age. We can relate to most of the same things, the conversation revolves around the same topics as with my other friends, it's pretty much all the same.

The biggest difference I'd say is that their life stories are a lot more truncated. I mean, they've been on Earth eight years less so that makes logical sense. Some of our young employees have been working longer than I have though. I got my first real job maybe four years ago? Some of these guys have been working full time since they got out of high school.

There's still a significant gap there though. It's like beneath their veneer of near absolute maturity lies a wide expanse of immaturity. Not literal immaturity but just things that indicate they're still really young. Then again, I feel this gap with lots of people even my age, as I wonder how old they really are, lifestyle and mindset wise, as opposed to biologically. I feel like I'm really only about 24. Like I've got some experience under my belt but I'm still new to the adult world.

Sadly, I'm really five years older than that so maybe I'll perpetually be behind my real peers. Which is weird because isn't losing a parent supposed to age you faster and rush you toward full fledged adulthood? Or maybe I did age faster and I would be even more behind if nothing had ever happened. Scary thought hunh?

A friend told me that her sister married a guy fifteen years her senior. That large of an age gap would normally make me disbelievingly wonder what the two could possibly have in common; but then I look around the table on Friday night and I'm the oldest person by at least six years and I stop wondering quite as much.

I do wonder when I'll start to relate more to people a decade older than me as opposed to a decade younger. Maybe when I get married, have a family, buy a house, have a savings account, start taking responsibility for others.

So basically, never.

Ashes to ashes, dust to dust

Today at 1:32 pm: If A likes B but thinks C also likes B, does A and C then not get along?

Here's the aftermath of the fire. I say aftermath like it's over but it's still raging and could conceivably get worse I guess. I stopped paying attention to the updates after it dawned on me that we really can't do much anyway. After I confirmed with my mom that we had fire insurance, I mentally checked out. It got to be almost a game, seeing which houses were still standing, which probably weren't. It's much easier to make fun of disasters from afar isn't it?

At work, we're collecting canned goods for the people down in San Diego. One empathetic character quipped: "I'll collect the ash from my car and send it back to them." It was in jest, really.

I kept on thinking how rich Storm would be if she existed in the real world. She could charge bazillions to halt disasters like this. She'd vault instantaneously to the status of "most useful person on the planet." Al Gore would propose to her on the daily.

Anyway, everyone I directly know is okay. By "directly" I mean one degree away or people who are within our circle of friends. I'm sure most people are just relieved it's not their house up in smoke. There's quite a few second-degree people whose homes are possibly gone. Sorry guys.

Check out this lucky bastard. Hong, the luckiest man on Earth, lives on Valladares Drive, which had a whole bunch of homes burn down. We were checking his house address all day and his reverse lotto ticket never came up. James went for a photo drive-by and guess what? The Hotel Pan stands! In fact, it looks positively pristine compared to its neighbors. Three of the houses on his cul-de-sac burned straight to the ground. Like nothing left but charred remains. Hong's newly installed lawn is as green as St. Patty's Day and makes his house look like it's mocking his more unfortunate neighbors. Hong must have been Ghandi and Mother Theresa rolled into one in a previous life.

Happy Happy Purple Hippo

Gaga got married this past weekend! After years of waiting, after years of living in Hong Kong and just recently moving back, she's married the man of her dreams and her boyfriend from freshman year of college. She's the last of us that was a lock to get married. Gene, Ryan, and Gaga were the only ones with potential marriages lined up and now that they're all hitched, the betting can begin anew. It'll be hard to choose who's next out of the rest of the San Diego losers though; nobody else is even close. Or are they?!

Shockingly, out of the many weddings I've been to, this was the first wedding with an open bar all night long. Top shelf liquor for hours on end. People were toast by seven o'clock, which made for a pretty fun time. This was also the first wedding I'd been to with little to no religious affiliation. The "pastor" was licensed by an Internet site and the speech he gave was both hilarious and brief. It was like a best man speech posing as a wedding ceremony. Fabulous stuff. The venue looked like it was an Oscar awards show and everything was classy and beautiful.

Nancy and Eddie rented a photo booth and that turned out to be a super hit. Photo booths should be de rigeur for all group functions. My wedding will have a sticker picture booth, a blogging station, boba on tap, a yogurt machine, free toy dispensers to distribute party favors, and oh so much more. Apparently my wedding will be held in Convoy. You're all invited. Bring your swimsuits too.

My favorite moment of the night? James stepping up and busting out "She's Your Queen To Be" (video). If you need to ask where that's from or why it's funny, we probably shouldn't be friends. Actually, I was possibly the only person in the crowd who could really appreciate the moment. It's been a dream of ours to have this sung at a wedding. Yeah, we dream big. Sadly, Victor and Ameer weren't in the room so James will have to perform at least once more. Maybe at my wedding after he finishes cooking the kalbi.

The best part is that James went the whole nine yards and Sexual Chocolated that shit and dropped the mic at the end. The DJ wasn't a very happy guy and said that if the mic broke, he'd have to be reimbursed. Loser. There was no question in my mind (or James') that the mic would be dropped at the end of the performance. Didn't everyone see it coming?

Here's to inevitabilities.

She's your Queen-to-be. A Queen-to-be forever. A Queen who'll do whatever his highness desires. She's your Queen-to-be. A vision of perfection. An object of affection to quench your royal fire. Completely free from infection. To be used at your discretion. Waiting only for your direction. Your Queen-to-be.

Erica Jong

I used to be deathly afraid of the roller coaster drops that accompany certain flights. No more. There was a time when I was flying around so much and gripping arm rests so often that I decided that I just had to stop caring. Accepting possible death in order to truly live -- or something like that.

The key to flying without fear is just to ignore it all. Blast music and relax. There's worse ways to die than screaming your lungs off as you drop 20,000 feet to Earth. Not too many worse on my personal list, but a few. I once read that more people are killed annually riding donkeys than airplanes. The math on that makes no sense to me but whatever, it helps.

Despite the high winds buffeting our plane and the fires spreading over much of Southern California, I was more afraid of what it says about our society that our flight was jam packed with Raiders fans who day tripped up to Oakland for the game. I'd really like to distance myself from sports since it seems like the true opium of the people but I have three fantasy leagues to run and people depend on my recapping skills. I have a devoted and rabid fan base of at least five people. At least.

Nothing makes me feel more unproductive than sitting around on a Sunday trying to figure out who's going to change the world by catching (or dropping) yet another touchdown. Having said this, I've got more sports knowledge than the common bear and it disgusts me when I have to small talk to a self-professed fan who says shit like, "Yeah, so when Vince Young played for the Vikings..." Seriously? Why are we even talking right now? It makes me highly suspect about them as a person. Does this sort of craptastic fact retention seep into other areas of their life? It must right? Can I possibly trust anything else that comes out of their mouth?

Anyway, I thought for sure that if we died tonight it would be as inglorious a death as I could have imagined. Falling out of the sky with a bunch of crazed football fans while clutching onto Shopaholic Ties the Knot (I'm reading it for research, really). Death by donkey, burro, or ass was starting to look pretty respectable in comparison.

Sir Yes Sir

Aren't my kids cute? They got me ballons, stickies, and other assorted things for National Boss Day. What? No, it's true, I'm a boss. Like I tell people to do things and they do them. Shocking yeah? In my normal life, I tell people to do things and they ignore me, or make a few disparaging comments. However, between the hours of whenever to whenever, I can pretty much tell these kids to do anything. And when I say "kids" I mean they're a whole generation removed from me.

Most of the managers here are upper twenties to low thirties. The employees we boss around are anywhere from eighteen to twenty three. There's nary an adult in sight except for the investors and CEOs. To say we have an unique work environment is a huge understatement. Most of the time, we feel like we're babysitting more than anything else.

The amount of drama we endure on a daily basis can't be encapsulated by words alone. You just need to be around for a day or two and you'll understand. It's unbelievable. And the gossip! The speed of gossip in this office is twenty minutes, give or take a few. Sometimes a rumor will get back to us and it makes no sense whatsoever. And since everyone's essentially an overgrown teen, most of the rumors are scandalous by nature. It's pretty hilarious.

The best thing about the job is that everyone who works here is wonderfully cool. While it's not a requirement per se, it's nice when you can get along with your co-workers. My team, for example, is the happy center of the office. Since they aren't subject to rapid fire changes and personnel shifts, they've been able to build up quite the camaraderie.

My first few weeks with this team, we had celebrations for birthdays, celebrations for my joining the team, celebrations for people leaving the team, celebrations for just about any occasion. Pretty fabulous right? Now they've gone into ultra-competitive mode in order to win the Halloween decorating contest. They're also trying to figure out a team theme for Halloween. I suggested invisibility but that might not fly with upper management. Maybe next year.

Get back to work!

Turn the radio up for that sweet sound

We slow crawl down the PCH, adhering strictly to the speed limit. Driving with no purpose is a pleasure I haven't had in awhile. Journeys have tended to have destinations recently. Not a lot of down time for aimless wandering. Having the opportunity to do so -- in a car, with coffee, music, conversation, and open windows (tragically no cigarettes) -- it brings back memories you know?

With new friends, you tend to talk about the past a lot. I mean, there's not much present to cover and the future is unknown so you talk about where you've been and what you've done. Make enough new friends and you're constantly rehashing your life story like it's a performance act. You know which parts of your story are the most applicable or interesting so you talk about those things exclusively. This verse coming six times rehearsed. Once in awhile you'll get a question that's never been asked of you before and that breaks you out of the monologue. And you realize therein lies the fun.

Dumbledore Mifflin

Today at 3:03 pm: Staring at a giant Tigger balloon while waiting for ice cream cake

At work I'm a one man peer-to-peer music distribution center. When Ameer left, he gave me the gift of his PC. It's the fastest computer in the office and most importantly, it's armed with a CD burner. I had a co-worker buy me a spool of fifty blanks and a month later I'm down to four. That means I should probably start looking over my shoulder for the RIAA, or charging. Music sharing is like a sickness for me. If someone listens to a particular genre and I know I have a great album they'd probably like, I have to give it to them. It's my way of generating good karma. Now let's hope that positive karma translates into winning McDonald's Monopoly game. I'm looking for everything but Continental. We can split the winnings 50-50.

Top five albums I've been burning for people
Lauryn Hill (J.Period & Best of)
Jason Mraz - Live
Feist
Blue Eyes vs Bed-Stuy (Biggie and Sinatra mash-up)
Colbie Caillat

I'm a bit ashamed to admit it but when another friend quit the company this past Monday, I immediately raided her office. Well, after being shocked and sad of course. My intention was to secure some mementos that I think she should have but I also took the opportunity to swipe a red Swingline stapler off her desk. I might have also dug through her drawers looking for other assorted goodies. Maybe.

Office raiding is an important survival skill in a corporate environment. I learned that at Rockstar. Whenever someone was fired or quit there, they had their mouses, keyboards, game controllers, speakers, headphones, chairs, everything jacked before they had even pulled out of the parking lot. It's also totally within the rules to anticipate a firing and start stealing things as they're being called to the big office. In the art of office raiding, it's best to be a Ranger and lead the way.

I've also been using my access to people's iPods to evaluate them. Since I only get to see people in the work environment, it's very important to judge people on their musical tastes. However, what I've learned is that I'm way behind the times. Half the music on their iPods I don't even recognize. I did manage to steal some fun new music but to be honest, I've never felt so out of touch with the younger generation. Who are these bands? What are these genres of music? Luckily my immaturity makes me seem younger than I am. Thank goodness for that.

I've decided that I need to start blogging more again. Putting off blogging in order to concentrate on the book is actually killing me. It's like now I avoid writing in any form because it's got the same connotation as working. So I need to make writing fun again -- emails, blogs, whatever. I need to trick my mind back into thinking of writing as something I like to do.

The other reason I've stopped blogging frequently is because life is pretty routine. I work, I go home, I write, I work again. I had wanted to avoid writing about work but to be honest, so many amusing things happen here that not to blog about it would be a sin against humanity. I feared public scrutiny and having work and life intermix but really, who cares? So yeah, there might be lots of work related stuff going up here. Sorry. One day I hope to write a tell all about this job but until that day comes, this will do. Sorry if I make fun of anyone and you're reading this. Don't take it personally, I'm just looking for inspiration.

One band, one sound.

U.S.S. Entrepreneur

Growing up, most of my parents' friends were hustlers. They had ideas, they researched markets, and then they launched businesses. Some of them succeeded, many of them failed, but at the end of the day, somehow, everyone made it. Sure, some fathers (and mothers) were relatively much more successful than the others but everyone succeeded -- they got the American dream as it was originally conceived. They went from nothing to something. Something being defined as middle class, or upper middle class. It's quite an achievement and one most immigrant children are familiar with. It's no big shocker when generation 2.0 children are most proud of their parents. They work hard for their money.

As a kid, I wanted to be an entrepreneur. By my definition it was like being a business man except more varied and exciting. Tragically, there's no training to become an entreprenuer. I guess, at the minimum, you need smarts, dedication, and a willingness to engage in some risk. But what beyond that? A college degree, a partner, a plan, does any of that really matter? There's no formula for success here and it's not something anyone can just do. I wonder now, if given the chance, I would still want to be an entreprenuer. I'm not so sure.

Most of my peers are the same age -- if not older -- than my parents' friends were when they left their home countries to come here and make a life. They were saddled with a language barrier, a wife, kids, little (if any) savings, and a whole bunch of things I can hardly conceive of. Yet they made it. Restaurants, liquor marts, random retail stores, furniture outlets, everything under the sun. I doubt most of these young men chose their path to success, they just took whatever opportunities presented themselves. They didn't really have a choice right?

Any time that the Chinese dads got together, at a party or other social gathering, all they did was sit around and talk business. They exchanged ideas, helped introduce contacts to each other, and generally talked money, money, money. It seemed so boring then. Much more exciting was the social gossip that the moms engaged in. Now though, I wish I could rewind to that time to see if these dads knew what they were talking about and to maybe glean some knowledge. Perhaps even an informal manual of "This is how we did it." Or better yet, "This is how you do it."

Fish Out of Water

Last week, I found myself at the Chinese supermarket waiting in the express line and literally preparing to revert to my "single diet." "Single" meaning living alone and not having the company or the energy to bother eating anywhere or anything except steamed white rice topped with a can of tuna and corn niblets. Pepper to taste. I had four items in my basket: a rice cooker, tuna, corn, and a personal sized bag of rice I almost managed to leave behind.

My heart really goes out to single guys when I see them at grocery store check outs. It's so obvious. And really pathetic. Like, "Wow, so this is what you eat every night? Seriously?" It's similar to watching teachers eat lunches. It's so disheartening that this is what lunches and dinners have been reduced to for adults. Microwave meals, soda, and sandwiches. With the occassional side of fruit or dessert. You would think that as you move up in life, lunches get better. Definitely not the case for most jobs.

The times I've reverted to my single diet aren't times when I've necessarily been single. In fact, most of the time, I've been in a relationship at the height of this particular diet, meaning I should probably call it something else entirely. Or re-examine my relationships. Or both.

This kid tested mother unapproved diet was invented when I first lived in New York (ok, fine, New Jersey) with Hong and Lynn. They went out to eat a lot together and Angie usually worked late, leaving me without dinner partners. So in the late afternoons when I woke up, I'd make two cups of rice, crack open a can of corn and a matching one of tuna, and then use that to roll through lunch and dinner. Simple, right?

The big advantage of the single diet is that I hit the basic food groups, it's easy to make, and the clean up afterwards is non-existent. When I'm on this diet, I feel like I'm either buckling down to do something important -- in this case cutting out extraneous time spent at sit-down meals -- or I'm lonely and unable to justify going to a restaurant by myself.

Either way, it doesn't seem like this loner diet is particularly good for me. But damn it's tasty.

What's funny is that tuna also plays a big part in Hong's single life. When Hong starts eating cans of tuna and doing sit-ups at random times during the day, you know he's about to launch into another one of his "I'm Hong and I'm single" periods in his life. Tuna must have magical powers for single men. Or for un-single ones in my case.

Heart of the City

It's happened again. Just as I move to a city, Ameer moves away. A year ago, I shuttled up to the Bay and before he could take me to the Korean restaurant located in a garage, he jetted down to LA. Now, he's U-Hauling his way back to San Francisco and leaving me behind. It's not personal, he assures me.

In our short time here, we've managed to set up a nice routine of places to eat after work. The sticky rice noodles at Dragon, the boba at Little Bean, the late night standards, Asian Denny's and Carrows. And of course, the one burrito place up here that serves an acceptable carne asada. All of these places may never be the same. Then again, maybe I'll be getting a real room out of the whole deal.

The good news is that I (and we) can all follow along on Ameer's new adventure through the power of moblogging. I'm a little jealous that Ameer's moblog is about to get a thousand times more exciting. West Covina and Rowland Heights can't compare to the sights of the city. People come and go but with iPhone in hand, nobody is ever very far away.

(on living in san jose, too far away from san francisco)
"it's rough to be so close, and so far at the same time... i go see her weekly and there's a tingle in my spine from the bottom up to the back of my neck that gives me goose bumps and forces my hands to shake when i drive up the freeway and see the noble lights of the financial district buildings next to the lights of the bay bridge... i will prove my love to her, and we will be together one day."
-high entropy-

Walk the Line

Here's the thing about work friends: I usually avoid them. In just about every job I've ever had, I've kept a safe distance from any co-worker. Not because none of them have been cool or worthy of knowing as people, but because it's just weird to get close to co-workers. I mean, doing the drink thing after work, talking about your personal life, mixing business with pleasure, that's just all weird.

However, with my current job, by the nature of it, we're allowed to be a little more relaxed as far as our relationships with co-workers go. For one thing, my fellow managers are amazingly cool -- inside or outside of work. And since everyone spends 12+ hours a day together, it's natural to want to get along when each day feels like a lifetime.

However, when there are heads to butt, or business type things to deal with, it can become a barrier when you're friends on the side. It's not that separating friendship and business is difficult but it's definitely a different way of approaching things. I'm naturally inclined to befriend everyone around me, mainly because it's better (not to mention more fun) to be around people you like. But when you have to judge people on their work personas versus their regular personas, it can kind of get mixed. A great person doesn't necessarily make a great worker.

Especially when you get into the area of supervisor versus supervisee. While being friendly with your superiors is never a bad thing, there's always that cloud hanging over your relationship that when it comes down to it, one person can dramatically alter the "friendship" by firing the other party. Usually this isn't a problem at all. With most co-workers, it's usually safest to get close to those you trust and respect anyway. The distance is there for people who aren't likely to be around, or for individuals who aren't that savory in either respect.

But to have this artificial barrier of work hanging over a potential friendship is strange for me. Where's the separation? Does hanging out after work make sense if you're just going to see them again in eight hours? Is it possible to build a relationship that isn't work related? Of course, many normal people consistently find their friends through a work place so clearly the answer is "Yes".

I just don't really like having to evaluate someone based on the normal factors plus this weird grey area of "are they good workers?" It certainly adds a new dimension to the term "value add," which we use to judge people in a typical social circle. It may be time to bust out the friendship report card and make some work-centric modifications in order to create the "Are you my perfect co-worker?" test.

Number 2

Kokopelli
[ Nov 1, 2003 ] - Right Calf
Sometimes, you get attracted to a symbol or an image and then find out that, for whatever reason, that symbol is a good representation for you. I guess that's how people pick their totems -- their favorite colors, animals, cars, constellations, everything. You're mysteriously attracted to something and then bend your preferences around it. For me, one of those symbols has always been Kokopelli -- a Native American deity commonly seen in the Southwestern United States. The quick description for him is that he's the god of fertility and trickery. Like Loki with an endless supply of Viagra.

Kokopelli is typically depicted as a hunchback playing the flute. The hump is there for him to carry unborn children, which are then distributed to women. This would logically imply that Kokopelli is some sort of Casanova, or at least, a Travis Henry, but as we all know, that's the direct opposite of me. Hell, my greatest single fear in life is probably having children. If I woke up one day and was suddenly responsible for the care and upbringing of a child, I'd freak out big time. Thus, having a god of fertility on my leg highly amuses me.

Since I was highly attracted to Kokopelli before I even knew what he was all about -- a god of fertility that doubles as the god of trickery -- hopefully that's the universe's way of telling me that I'm sterile. Hopefully.

"Known to some as a magician, he is known to others as a storyteller, teacher, healer, trickster, or god of the harvest and is often credited as being the 'original' journalist.

Believed to bring fertility and good fortune to whomever he met wherever he chose to roam, Kokopelli, with his hunchback and flute, was always welcome.

Kokopelli possessed a playful, carefree nature that seemed to be able to bring the good out in everyone. Cousin to the mythical gods of the ancient world, Kokopelli is believed to represent the fertility and the untamed spirit or nature. Because of this and his sexy, joyous, uninhibited ways, his wisdom, magic, and simple nature have often times been overlooked. This masculine casanova is famous for his prankster ways and one is often warned to beware for he is likely to trick you. It is all in good fun, though, for especially in today's world, his humor is refreshing and delightful.

The stories may differ depending on the storyteller and tales shall be told for many, many years to come. Yet through it all, Kokopelli shall remain an inspiring figure with a passion for life."

Putting It All Together

As we all know, sartorial splendor isn't easy to achieve. It's not like you can just go out and buy style, since style isn't readily available off the rack. If anything, the more money you have, the more likely you are to commit fashion seppuku. However, once you have style, it's yours. Forever.

It's like the fountain of youth, but more flashy and probably less invigorating. I'd probably pick admirable personal style over everlasting life anyway. Who wants to live forever but look like crap all day long? Not me.

Two people whose styles I greatly admire have now started an amazing blog. And when I use the word "amazing," I mean that they are amazing people, and that they have amazing style, and that they have an amazing blog. It's not often a blog comes along that actually makes you wait for its next update. That's so 2002, when blogs were hot and people were stuck in "I just got out of college" boring office jobs. Now you have to make yourself worthy of a read and fight for attention. Luckily, A Question of Taste is the answer to everything. Yeah, just everything.

A historical note: I was around when Betsy and Phat Tony first hit the New York scene. They were greenie sexy cool then but they've become incandescent pillars of Manhattan now. Phat Tony has been blogging for quite some time and we've ventured into some blog collaborations -- however brief. But Betsy is proving to be his perfect blog partner and I'm crazy excited to see the two of them blogging together.

I'd actually like to see them turn their powers toward analyzing the style of people we know in common, but that may have to be through a more personal form of communication. Or at least CC me on those emails since I know you two do it anyway.

"There's no one on planet Earth right now that personifies the phrase 'done lost her mind' better than Britney Spears. She's a baby-dropping, cheetos-eating, train wreck of an aging pop star and we all know she flipped out and shaved her head a few months back but we'd much rather see her sporting some kind of fierce GI Jane buzzcut rather than what she's been doing

The Britney Spears headscarf. This look says sloppy to us. We really hate it. We think it might be ok to and fro the gym or at the beach but really never else. And what's most disturbing is the idea that this trend is spreading."
-A Question of Taste-

These Boots Are Made for Walkin'

Some people are inherently interesting, some people buy/wear interesting. Then some people buy/wear interesting but somehow fall very far short of it. It's not the same as being a poser but at the same time, it's very close. Why is it some people can decorate themselves (literally or figuratively) with their interests and passions and have them become windows into their personality while others do it but seem entirely fake about it? It's amazing how within a few minutes time, you can determine whether or not someone is "legit."

I love people who decorate themselves with their personality. It makes it much easier to determine if I'll potentially enjoy speaking with them. I'm always looking for visual cues for something to talk about. So much the better if the person is wearing them and I don't have to explore their room, their car, or hack into their diary.

This, of course, calls into question who someone dresses up for. This is similar to the endless debate of if girls dress to impress guys or gals. For example, if I'm about to meet someone for the first time, I can bring my man-purse, wear my Blogger t-shirt, or pull out my iPhone at an opportune time. All of these are foremost choices for me but they are also for the benefit of others.

They're all essentially conversation pieces, but planted beforehand. Expand this out for every item you wear and you reach the current status quo of wearing what you believe in (may it be religion, brand names, or city affiliation). I've always been very wary of wearing labels or brands because there's hardly enough things I believe in to wear them across my chest. Plus my chest only fits a few letters across so anything longer than "Gap" would get cut off. "Sean John" would be very truncated.

Every time you step out to meet someone, you are projecting an image by the things you choose to wear. I mean, everyone does this right? Thus, it makes sense that you'd want to control the message by only wearing things that you're proud of, or are an accurate reflection of yourself (well, according to your perspective). Looking about it this way, then you can start to see what a person thinks of themselves. Essentially, everyone's wearing their own vanity, right?

But man, some people do it so much better than others.

It's Black, It's White

I'm trying to figure out the correlation between how long you haven't seen someone versus how much you talk to them. I think it's negative. You can easily not see someone for years, ask the casual "so what's been going on?" and get a two sentence answer. I find this very impersonal, deflating, and a bit off-putting. Then again, I hate playing the catch up game so really, shouldn't a two sentence response be ideal? Nobody wants to spend twenty minutes recapping the minutiae of each other's past lives. The goal is to move quickly from what you missed -- the last few years -- to what TV shows and movies you currently watch.

I've discovered that the most useful topic when meeting up with people (anyone outside of close friends status) is TV or movies. If they don't actively do either of those things? Then we're at an impasse. It's pretty sad really. Small talk has been reduced to what's on channel seven at 9pm.

The other thing I've noticed recently is that my small talk is highly racist. I know, that sounds pretty bad, but hear me out. There's a racial/cultural divide in our fine country and it's not just imaginary. Once I can get a look at someone I immediately change my small talk topics. I like to lead with family and personal history talk with Asians. I presume they're second generation or something, thus I can ask them about moving here and how strict their parents are. This tactic also works nicely with any recently immigrated peoples. Black people, I lead with some music or sports. White people, I kind of muddle around until I can figure out what type of white person I'm dealing with and then move along to the appropriate topic.

I have to do this because I like to avoid asking about work, relationships, or any of the other standard opening lines. It's like chess. Why play e4 when you can instead separate yourself and confuse the defense by playing the English (c4)?

I should probably take some time out to flow chart my small talk strategy. Has anyone ever used Microsoft Visio? It's a flow chart making program and it's amazing. I've been making a lot of work related flow charts recently and I'm thinking that I should go the extra mile and flow chart everything in my life. That way I can template out my "social plan" and have other people regurgitate it exactly.

Then we can all be bowling alone, together.

Carnal Carnival

Oh yeah, we went to Vegas recently. It was Razor Ramon's bachelor party; and Kat's bachelorette. It's the first real bachelor party I've been to -- and will probably ever go to. I mean, I'd normally decline bachelor party debauchery but for Ryan, I sucked it up. Did I mention I hate Vegas? Oh wait, I always say that. I find myself being a repeating record recently. I like to perpetually broadcast that I dislike something. Vegas, dim sum, crowds, people, all those in combination, etc. I should work on being more positive. The term "Daddy Downer" is really starting to apply to me. Except for that "daddy" part.

Anyway, since I can't reveal any details about the Vegas trip -- male code of honor, what stays in vegas, blah blah -- I must instead present my argument for why I'm anti-strip club. For some reason, certain people on the trip kept saying that I was anti-breasts. For the record, I'm not anti-breasts just because I'm anti-strip club. It's not an A plus B equals C kind of thing. Or double EE equals MC squared or whatever. I'm not even sure how this rumor started but I'll roll with it; I think they were joking about the whole fear of breasts thing anyway. I think.

To start, ever since I was a young boy, I've managed to consistently avoid certain potholes on the path to manhood. An obsessive need to see naked women for example. Or how to effectively lift jugs of water. Or how to use power tools without panicking. Completely swerved off the road when those stops came around. But let's not talk about my shortcomings and instead focus on the positives.

At sixteen (or eighteen or twenty one or anything) I wasn't trying to find the nearest naked lady and hang around her. This applied to paid or unpaid naked ladies. It's uncomfortable enough at that age being around girls who are splashing their assets all over the place; why put yourself into a situation where a roomful of guys are all lusting after the same thing? Unless it's tech or geek related, it's super weird. Nothing's gayer (excuse the term) than fifteen guys sitting around watching one girl get naked.

Nothing existentially screams "loser" more than knowing that the only way you could get this close to a super hot girl is by paying her. I prefer to keep the super hot girls in my life at a distance. Or maybe that's the other way around.

My main point is: naked people should be naked alone. It's like your intimate relationship with God. Everyone can know you have one, but is it really necessary to have an audience? Not really -- especially an audience of your guy friends? I'm losing my train of thought here. I almost wish I had a religious conviction to explain my stance on strip clubs. But I'm not religious so that easily defendable reason is out the window.

Jon's top reasons to avoid strip clubs and strippers
(1) It's degrading to women; but I have no real logical argument here, I just think it is
(2) It's gay; contrary to its manly connotation
(3) It's apparently very expensive
(4) You can't touch anything; I'm a tactile person, curiosity skins the hand and gets you slapped (or beat up)
(5) It's super uncomfortable; the situation and physically

I can't even really figure out the whole relationship ethics of strip clubs. Okay, so wait, I'm not allowed to talk to my female friends when they are -- and have always been -- fully clothed, but I am allowed to see random strangers strip for me? Where does this fit into the whole scheme of things? Are strip clubs allowed in relationships because it's a traditional thing? If I push cuddle buddies harder and market it better, would that become an acceptable relationship activity? Could married people then cuddle with strangers and have no repercussions? Where's the line here?

All in all, I had a great time in Vegas this time around. My favorite story is how we had to reject strippers that were hired to the room because they were too ugly. This happened twice. In a row. Ordering strippers ala carte from street ads is apparently a bad way to go; especially at 2am when all the "good" strippers are already out and about. I kind of felt bad for them actually. What kind of blow to the self-esteem is it for a girl to be rejected from taking her clothes off? Ouch.

"Trent, the beautiful babies don't work the midnight to six shift on a Wednesday, this is like the skank shift."
-Swingers-

Big Game Hunters

We've recently begun this new theory. Or rather, just a comparison. We like comparisons.

You can define a guy's dating style by assigned them animals. I probably don't need to explain further but I will. For example, we know a friend who has the (girl-)hunting style of a cheetah. Once he sees something he likes, he takes off running; tirelessly chasing (obsessing) until she exhausts herself. Then he catches up to her and suffocates her to death -- or into a relationship -- with a clench to the throat. The suffocation is necessary because the cheetah's jaws aren't strong enough to break the neck of the prey it hunts. That's one style.

Another one is the pack hunter, like a wolf or a killer whale. This guy needs his group to surround and envelope the "kill." Working in concert with a bunch of friends (often unknowingly), this hunter can strike from the blind-side and get dates by exclusively working with teammates.

Then we have the tiger. Designed for camouflage, powerful weapons of destruction, and always works alone. Hum, I wonder who that could be? The possibilities here are endless.

Of course, we also have the flip side. If men are animals -- instinctive dumb ones at that -- then what are females? Vegetation! Beautiful flowering plants if you prefer. Since most women are generally the chasee, it makes total illogical sense to assign them the stationary plant role. But it can get so much more complicated since plants are really predators too.

We all know about the cactus girl who's initially hard to get close to but then opens up after exposing her soft underbelly. Or the woman who charms by dazzlingly displaying her wares for all the world to see. Then there's the meantime girl, who can best be assigned the plant value of moss, hanging ivy, or weeds. Often it comes down to not "Why" in these cases but "Why not?"

Comparisons for roses, palm trees, and poppies are easily made for the females I know. And don't even get me started on venus fly traps, pitcher plants, and things of that ilk. "Girls are smart, don't throw yourselves at them!"

While this can't be the most original comparison point of all time, it sure is amusing when applied to your friends. Well, at least it's amusing to me.

Alternately, we had used the plant cycle of life to describe how a certain person patterns their dating life. Some people are evergreens, constantly dating; some are seasonal, blooming only spring or summer. And oh those perennials: live and die by the sword of love but always coming back for more. Some people date so rarely -- seemingly every three thousand years like the mythical udumbara -- or so quickly that it seems like whole relationships blossom and falter in just a few days (a corpse flower relationship).

?uestlove

Here's a list of questions a friend recently asked me:

a. Do you feel successful?
b. Do you feel fulfilled?
c. Do you feel bored?
d. Do you feel influential?
e. "In life, one must choose between boredom and suffering." Do you agree with this?
f. How do you measure success?

She requested "Yes/No" answers because she's traveling in Peru or something. Which leads me to believe that she's pondering these same questions herself. Keep in mind that she's hardly on a quarter-life crisis expedition. She's well on her way to graduating from the Woodrow Wilson School of Public and International Affairs at Princeton. Her first week on campus, she saw John Nash shuffling around. Yeah, he of the Beautiful Mind.

By many standards of traditional success, this particular friend is well on her way to a fulfilling and important life. This is after meandering her way from a liberal arts degree to a possible fine arts career, to hosting a NPR-style radio show in Taiwan. Life pushes you in funny directions but it always comes back to the same questions doesn't it?

Most of my conversations with Mary revolve around defining and finding happiness. I'm a puzzle to her because I'm consistently happy while also consistently achieving nothing. She's a go-getter who consistently achieves but is never consistently satisfied -- forcing her to reflect every step of the way.

Now that we're both "doing something," it seems like we're coming ever closer to achieving the Five Points of Success (Career, Friendship, Relationship, Health, General Happiness). But it hardly seems much different than before.

Many times, people assume you're doing well because your paper life is doing well. Great job, fulfilling relationship, wonderful friends, happy, etc. But many times, despite outward appearances, nothing's right at all.

Here's my question: Which would you rather have? Help or self-help?

The Funnies

Went to the Ice House to watch Brian perform last night. First things first, it's not easy to be a stand-up comedian. Think about it. You're in front of an audience trying to convince them that you're worth their time. Looking at the modes of persuasion blog from a few days ago, a stand-up comedian rarely has any of those three factors going for him off the bat. In fact, the crowd is more likely to be against you than be neutral.

If ever there was a measure of a man (or woman), stand-up must be one of them. Having said that, Brian did a very good job. He's funny. Yes folks, he's funny. Having only seen three of the other nine comedians performing, it's unfair for me to say that he was the funniest but he definitely wasn't the unfunniest. I mean, he didn't move all this way out here to pursue comedy and not be funny. Here's the video of his set, he easily got the most laughs per minute from the night.

I'd imagine it's hard to even aspire to be a comedian. I mean, the sheer mystery of how the comedy scene works and how to succeed in it would be a huge hurdle for me. What are the steps that turn one into a success? What does a successful comedian look like? I mean, it's that way with any artistic pursuit you're trying to turn into a vocation. You start to wonder what it takes to make X amount of money. It's no longer about the art but how to monetize that art.

You can write, dance, sing, stand-up, gyrate, or paint all day and be the best at it but you'll be nowhere without an audience. Like Brian mentioned as we ate tacos after the show, he didn't realize how much self-promotion it takes to get ahead. And it's true. You're not selling your talent, you're selling yourself to people. Big difference.

The general public is hardly capable of judging an artist based on artistic merit. People could care less if someone is original or not; they just want to be entertained. Getting booked for gigs mainly comes down to how many butts you can get in seats. Who cares if you suck? If you can get a thousand people to watch you suck, you're a success! It's not even about selling out; it's about trying to eat and pay rent.

I, myself, can't wait to sell out. It's one thing to appreciate art but quite another to capably create it. Cream rises to the top but (other people's) money stays put unless you go grab it.