Weekly Selects #47

Weekly Selects again. Let's. Do. This.

--Via Email from Saree, an article about the Chinese air force:

Chinese air force drill looks awfully similar to ‘Top Gun’

Basically, to make a live exercise look good, the Chinese stole footage from Top Gun. I can't say I'm all that surprised -- the Chinese virtually steal all of their technology anyway, so stealing movie footage just seems a matter of course. But if you're going to steal from a movie about fighter planes, why settle on something from the 80's? Why not a more modern one, like Stealth? Case, any rebuttals?

--Via Google Reader. We all know I love the new Batman movies, so this comic was just too funny:

(from here)

And lastly...

--Via email from Jay, about a BYU student who wrote in to the school's newspaper (The Daily Universe) to complain about the campus-wide mania surrounding Jimmer Fredette, star basketball player, and did the foolish thing of 1) writing in under her full name, and 2) posting about it on her publicly-viewable Facebook account. Her Facebook Wall has now been bombarded (quite hilariously):

That poor girl has no idea what she started

So, first off, The Daily Universe is in the running for "Printed Materials That Are Most Painful to Read," alongside the chapter on STDs for my college health class (pictures included!), and anything written by Stephanie Meyer. It's just awful. But that's not really the point. More to the point: writing into the BYU school newspaper and saying you don't want to hear about the school's latest sports star is like living in the Soviet Union and writing into Pravda to say you're sick of hearing all this crap about Lenin. Do you have the right to your opinion? Absolutely. Do you have the right to express it? Absolutely. Should you? Now that's a different question altogether, and this girl's FB Wall is evidence of that.

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Weekly Selects #36

Sorry 'bout missing last week. Let's do this:

-Via Google Reader, and email from White Josh:

Headline: Biker's corpse propped on motorcycle for three-day wake

So this dude was murdered (sad, and unfortunate), but his last wish was to be propped up on his bike.

Well, this makes me think about a few things, besides the obvious "Huh?" that some of you may have on the tips of your tongues. It got me thinking about what worldly possession I care about enough to be buried with, propped up on/against, or put in my hands in the casket. Root beer? Bacon? A good book? An awesome chrome Barbecue grill? I have no idea.

White Josh chimed in with:

You can prop me up with my racquet and goggles. Yacquetball for lizife.

Yacquetball is a story for another time, but let's just say it was a game we made up at college involving racquetball equipment, eye and/or crotch protection, and caused $800+ damage to the basement of our dorm hall.

-Via Google Reader:

cupcakes flying out of a 120psi cupcake cannon and into people's faces.

I don't know why that's so awesome. But it is.

-Via Email from White Josh, from Williams & Sonoma:

Speaking of BBQ'ing...

Why brand something that you're just going to stuff in your face? Someone needs to explain the relevance of this to me. I mean, yeah, it's cool because it feeds the ego -- I won't deny that seeing 'JD' branded onto a steak would be awesome -- but still...

-Via Email from Case, LOST-inspired Bentos from www.aibento.net:

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Meeting the Sports Guy -- Photo of the Week 2 Nov 2009

The Sports Guy, Bill Simmons, who is one of my favorite writers, is touring to promote his new book, The Book of Basketball. DC's ESPN Zone was his first stop, so I got down there to meet the man. He skipped dinner to shake hands and chat, and was congenial and expressed gratitude to us as the readers. Maybe he doesn't realize that his columns get working Americans in the 18-35 male demographic through their tedious work weeks. It is we who should be thanking him.

Going to the book signing was an interesting study of celebrity worship in America. The person behind me in line was visibly nervous, and began vocally brainstorming something "funny" he could say to Simmons. He was running his ideas by everyone in line around him. Nobody in line was helping him, but it was probably because every other frat boy in line was trying to come up with witticisms of their own with which they could impress Bill. It was as if The Sports Guy were holding auditions for a new best friend. Yup, an intelligent writer like Bill Simmons is as pathetic as Paris Hilton, everyone!

Also, in case you were wondering, I'm convinced that the portrait in the background is Brigham Young -- mostly because I can picture Brother Brigham toting a baseball glove, bat, and disproportionately LARGE head around with him. (I understand caricature, but that's "like an orange on a toothpick!")


Happy new week, all. As much as you can, enjoy your Monday.

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Football Season One Month Away -- Photo of the Week 3 Aug 2009

This week's PotW isn't all that humorous, but it is one of joy and hope:


It's August, meaning that football season is CLOSE. Unbearably close. Can you feel it? Here's what I'm looking forward to:

1. College Gameday and swearing at Lee Corso for being a front-runner
   
2. Lou Holtz and his cotton-mouthed delivery
3. The woman commentator with the suspiciously masculine voice on ESPN2 doing 2nd tier games.
   
4. Buying this book and reading it.
   
5. The smell of BBQ and the stench of alcohol in my apartment as I make beer brats.
6. Playing counselor as friends call me upset about what our teams are doing wrong, and reassuring them that, yes, they could coach football much better than any of those idiots.
   
7. Let's strike out item #3. I'm so ecstatic that I got confused.
8. Talking strategy and about all the subtleties of football that make it absolutely beautiful (see above picture)
9. Mocking the media for slobbering all over Tim Tebow as demigod, creator of the avian flu vaccine, broker of a peace deal in Kashmir, stopper of tectonic plate shifts to prevent all future earthquakes...ech. You get the idea.
10. Fostering my love for the NFL that began during the past year's playoffs.

What'cha got on your list of things to look forward to?


Happy Monday. If talk of football doesn't get you amped for the week, nothing will.

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The Ripped Shorts -- Photo of the Week 29 Dec 2008

This is from Spring '06 at BYU, I believe.

Nothing quite like getting your shorts completely ripped off of you while playing some intramural flag football. Remember when Bush 41 puked in the lap of the Prime Minister of Japan at that state dinner? Pretty embarrassing, right? This is on that same level.

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Name That Plate

I hate traffic. Hate it. Like Michael Scott hates Toby. The only thing that elicits more profanity from me is watching BYU football games.

Last year I wrote about my attempts to stay entertained in the car. In Virginia, the best way to do this is attempting to decipher the overabundance of vanity plates that drivers decide to hang on their cars. Recently, I found this CNN article, which claims that 1 out of 10 vanity plates in America belong to my fellow Virginians.

After two years of being a VA driver, I have found there are three types of plates, and that I have three distinct reactions to each kind:

--Type 1 - The Paris Hilton Plate: It is obviously a customized plate and grabbing for/needing attention. Its message is -- 99% of the time -- oversimplistic, annoying, and of no benefit to humanity. The only redeeming quality is that its message is clear: You don't need to think deeply in order understand what it's trying to say. I can tolerate these. Did I just semi-compliment Paris Hilton? I sure hope not.

Example: Remember that "Seinfeld" where Kramer gets "ASSMAN" as his license plate because the DMV accidentally swapped his plates with a proctologist's? See, those kind of Type 1s make this type tolerable.

--Type 2 - The Kanye West / Tom Cruise / Rosie O'Donnell Plate: These plates are obviously customized, so you know the owner wants attention. But unless you know the owner, the message they are attempting to convey is complete drivel. Incomprehensible gibberish. These annoy me to no end. I just don't understand why you would put such an esoteric message in so public a place. It's like preceding a speech with "What I am about to say is of importance" and then delivering the speech in Klingon.

--Type 3 - The Normal Plate - These are the ones that were randomly assigned numbers and letters. There is no deeper meaning or hidden message.

The problem is, thanks to Type 2, I already KNOW these have no meaning, yet I still look for them. And then I'll start conjuring up crazy things to make them fit.

Example: I saw a plate, "KBL-6602." I thought to myself "Oh, I see. The guy probably lived in Kabul from 1966-2002, then he moved to the US." I KNOW. I told you. CRAZY. This whole looking for non-existent clues, coupled with my interpreting of messages that aren't there, reminds me of why I was perpetually horrible at "Where in the World is Carmen Sandiego?"

Therefore, I am enlisting your help. I need your help with the Type 2 Plates! I will try to get pictures of what I see on the road and provide my best guess. I need you to provide your best guesses in the comments -- decipher the meaning.

"Dented Jeans"? I have no clue.

At least this should provide some amusement.

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ChildHood -- Photo of the Week 1 Dec 2008

I was blogging about something having to do with my childhood and remembered this poster that one of my old college roommates, Jason, received as a sort of gag gift. Even though he claimed he didn't like it, he held on to it for some reason, had it in a nice frame, and hung it in our kitchen.

I would just like to draw your attention to Tom's distinctive Asian features.

Apologies PoTW has been semi-lame as of the last couple of weeks... Been busy. I will rededicate myself.

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My Public Defacement -- Photo of the Week 3 Nov 2008

...and clear, runaway leader for Photo of the Year, I might add.

Context: This photo was sent to my sister by her friends who were riding the University of Utah line of TRAX (public transpo system in Utah). Click the photo to get a larger view.

The humiliation. The crushing blow to my self-image. The instant I saw this I collapsed and pulled a Nancy Kerrigan: "Whyyy?!? Whyyyyyyy?!?" I wouldn't be surprised if Tonya Harding herself -- who happened to be riding the TRAX, was consumed by jealousy of my celebrity amongst the narrow BYU Independent Study-demographic -- hired Jeff Gillooly to do the job with a permanent sharpie.

I'll tell you why I find this offensive and reprehensible. First of all, my mustache doesn't grow like that: We all know it would never get that long. Second, I'm offended that the person didn't draw in a Fu Manchu beard. Where's the racial stereotyping? Why did they see fit to give me a creepy cowboy mustache from the 19th century? If they chose to go that route, they could have at least put in the extra effort and drawn in a hat, a trenchcoat and me brandishing some six-shooters. I'm deeply offended.

"I'm sorry, I can't be your huckleberry."
I think what hurts the most is that if someone would
have put in a little more effort, I could have
been running with Kurt Russell and Val Kilmer. Lame.

But in all honesty, this picture makes me laugh every time I see or think about it. I hope to get back to Utah soon so I can dress in the same shirt, take a textbook with me, and sit right next to the poster for like an hour. Just to see if people notice.

Thanks to Jenny and Steve for their vigilance against defamation and vandalism.

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WNBA Lameness -- Photo of the Week 6 Oct 2008

Location: Verizon Center, Washington DC

Not to go all sexist on you, but...

I saw this banner hanging from the ceiling at the Verizon Center and had to take a picture. "Attendance Champions"? Really?? I don't think there is a stronger statement about the condition of the WNBA than having an award based on fan attendance.

Reminds me of the tactics they had at BYU to get people to attend women's basketball games. In order to get tickets to the biggest basketball game of the season -- the home BYU-Utah men's game -- you had to attend a women's game. Sad.

I can watch women play sports like soccer, volleyball, tennis, etc. But I think I'd rather repeatedly watch the torture scene from Casino Royale in slow motion than watch a WNBA game.

Women: Commence unrelenting tirades on my lack of sensitivity and my "outdated" thinking.

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A Vacation From Myself

You need to watch this clip in order to understand the title of this entry:



About three weeks ago, my friend Josh M and I were discussing facial hair, and lamenting the fact that our half-Japaneseness left us severely handicapped in our ability to grow any sort of respectable beard, goatie, etc.

Long story short, we decided to have a mustache-growing contest -- just for the hell of it. I think we settled on mustaches because: 1) the sparseness of Josh's facial hair wouldn't allow him to grow a beard of any sort; 2) we are both huge Tom Selleck and Burt Reynolds fans; and 3) neither of us had filled our mistaken-for-someone-caught-on-Dateline's "How to Catch a Predator" quota for the year.

In essence, we needed "a vacation from ourselves."

(No, this was not one of those "I was restricted by the Honor Code at BYU from growing facial hair so now I am going to exercise my individuality by growing facial hair" decisions)

Needless to say, it was a hard, lonely road that we walked. Remember in Field of Dreams where Ray initially builds the baseball field and everyone thinks it's a joke, but then they realize how serious it actually is when he can't make the mortgage, and accuse him of being crazy? This was something like that. People joked during the first week, then realized that we were actually trying to grow them.

Here are the sad, pathetic results:

(Josh M - Took the Creepiness Prize)


(Me)



By Week 2 1/2, the growth of both of our faux-staches'* plateaued. In one last ditch effort to accentuate his, other Josh bought some "Just for Men" and tried to dye what he claims were "tons of blond hairs" in order to make it look thicker. A "game-changer," as one of my friends put it. Unfortunately, I have no pictures of his dyed upper lip.

The stats under what I came to term the "Faux-stache Era":
0 - Phone numbers received by women
18 - "What the hell is that??"s
8 of 10 - # of people capable of looking me in the eye during a normal conversation
3 - Number of neighborhood watch lists I was placed on
1 - Pulled over by a cop and asked way more questions than I should have been for, in his words, "no observed erratic driving behavior"

I shaved it on Sunday -- thank goodness it's over. A burden has been lifted.

*I use "faux-stache" because there's no way it could be considered a real one. Also, much like the faux-hawk, it wouldn't surprise me if a bunch of guys living at Belmont Condos in Provo started growing a faux-stache; not because it actually looks good, but because they saw some Abercrombie ad-guy with one.

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My Claim to (Limited) Fame -- Photo of the Week 1 Sep 2008

Title: "Do I Really Look Like That?"
Location: Provo, UT
Year: Aug 2006

I know, posting a picture of myself is only encouraging my Napoleanic megalomania, but at the insistence of Jason Tanner, it's time for clarification on this picture of myself that anybody who gets the BYU alumni magazine might have already seen.

(for Jason Tanner's take on it, click here).

My campus job at BYU was working for BYU Independent Study (IS). IS usually has an annual photoshoot for their advertisements. Normal enough, right?

But here's the deal when you go to BYU: If you're not white, you are esteemed as a symbol of the University's diversity, something the school covets more than a lot of things. Enter my Japanese half. The Director of IS approached me one day at work before the photoshoot, and very delicately and gingerly asked me: "I, uh...don't mean to be offensive or insensitive...but Independent Study is having its photoshoot...and uh...we are looking for some...uh...cultural diversity--"

"Sure, I'll do it." The motivations were simple: I would get two movie passes and a gift certificate to Red Robin. For a poor college kid, that's a paid-for date right there. All I had to do was sign a waiver form granting permission to use my image any way they want. In retrospect, I should have asked for a royalty check each time they used my picture.

Regardless, my "diversity" got me the gig.

Think that's an oversimplification on my part? Perhaps.

But you didn't see the marketing people freaking out on the morning of the photoshoot when the black girl that was scheduled to model hadn't shown up yet. The closest comparison I have is what the White House must have been like the day the Kennedy administration discovered the Soviets were putting nukes in Cuba. People running everywhere and yelling. Pure, unbridled chaos.

Another comparison would be the scene in Ocean's 11 after they throw the Pinch and the casino breaks out into complete bedlam (that waitress getting clothes-lined is still priceless). Whichever comparison works for you. I'm sticking with the Missile Crisis.

Endnote: To be honest, I think they doctored my Asianness here. If you go into Photoshop, click on the Edit > Ethnic Doctoring, there should be options that say "Exclude Whiteness" and "Enhance Minority-ness." They might have used both here.

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PotW Launch -- Photo of the Week - 28 July 2008

Completely unoriginal, I know, but I've decided to start a "Photo of the Week" entry for the blog. Something more regular than the I'm a Moron series (to the readers' disappointment, I have remained surprisingly stupidity-free as of late) and the name-verbs.

I figured since normal entries require more time to tap out, and I don't always have the time to post something I am going to be satisfied with as consistently as I would like, this would allow me to make my normal comments in a regularly-run format -- minus consumption of my time.

The photos won't necessarily have been taken during the week that I'm posting them under; they may be photos that revolve around current world events, a picture that reminds me of a funny anecdote, something that I saw sometime during the week that was amusing. Basically anything I stumble across. Feel free to e-mail me any photos that you think would make a nice addition.

Here is this week's photo:

Location: The Elms Apartments, Provo UT (The stories that came outta this place...hilarious)
Year: 2003-2004

When* I write a children's book, it will be titled "Casey and the Broken Key," and it will be based on this story. Casey, much like myself, was a poor college student that needed transportation, so he bought a 1982 Nissan Sentra for $100 (There are no zeroes missing in that figure). The thing ran decently for having costed less than my chemistry textbook. It's all relative. Anyway, THE DAY that he bought the car, he took the tan beauty to Wendy's. The key busts in the ignition as he's turning off the car. He has laptops in the car, so he has to lock the car while he walks the half-mile back to the Elms to get the spare. He continues to use the butt of the key to start the car for a few months.

I don't really know what the moral of my children's book would be (perseverance, maybe?), but something tells me I'll have time to think about it.

*"If"

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My Introduction to the Competitive Eating World

"I swear I've seen a lot of stuff in my life, but that... was... awesome."

Yes, the sheer awesomeness of what I witnessed firsthand this 4th of July has reduced me to incoherence of the I'm-quoting-Tommy Boy-in-order-to-express-myself variety. Sad day.

Anyway, some friends and I went to NYC for the 4th of July weekend. I told them that if I was going to make the trek, my list of demands needed to be taken care of: (1) Go to Coney Island to cheer my boy Takeru Kobayashi on his quest to reclaim the championship at the annual Nathan's Hot Dog Eating Contest, and (2) Track down the Beastie Boys' recording studio and get my picture taken in front of the building. That was it. They accepted.

While the latter of the demands went sadly unfulfilled, we did get down to Coney Island* for the contest, and the drama and hype surrounding the competition made watching it that much more exciting.

*(For more of my thoughts on the unbelievably creepy, Stephen King-inspired alternate universe that is Coney Island, I refer you to chapter 2 of my future book, "8 Things That Creep Me Out to No End"; it's sandwiched between chapter 1, "Drunken Clowns," and chapter 3, "Sober Clowns")

By way of context: Kobayashi -- considered by many (me) to be the Roger Bannister of competitive eating -- revolutionized the 12-minute competition in 2001 by eating 50 hot dogs, obliterating the previous year's winning number of 25. He continued his dominance until last year. In 2007, however, Kobayashi was suffering from jaw arthritis -- no surprise, really... the guy's gotta have the jaws of a 95-year old at this point -- and was dethroned by Joey "Jaws" Chestnut from San Jose.

Kobayashi was going to be back to compete in 2008, but could he reclaim his title from Chestnut? This, and many, many, many other questions (ie "What's the atmosphere in the locker room like a few hours before a competition?") about the Competitive Eating World plagued me as I rode the subway to Coney Island.

The windup to this contest was like rolling the plots of several movies into a dramatic whole: Cinderella Man (inspirational comeback); Rocky IV (inspirational underdog movie, minus the element of Kobayashi's best friend being killed by a Russian); Karate Kid (the Japanese element), and Supersize Me (for the grotesque amount of processed food to be eaten). Hollywood doesn't write better scripts than this. But, amidst all of the excitement, my dual identity had come back to haunt me: Do I cheer for the Japanese comeback kid battling against an injury, or for the American on Independence Day?

After delays and stalling from the perverted MC, the competition began. Here's how my inner monologue / vocal shouting unfolded during the next 10 minutes:

*****
Should I cheer for Kobayashi? Or is some drunk New Yorker gonna kick the crap out of me on the 4th of July for cheering for a foreigner? Wait, I see a Japanese flag waving. OK. Kobayashi it is.

"GO KOBAYASHI!"

Who handed out these stupid thundersticks? I can't see a damn thing. Hey, Rat-Tail! Move you and your nasty hair out of my line of sight. Wow, the crowd is really into this. OK. The first minute is up. Wait, did the announcer just say that Chestnut ate 10 hot dogs in the first minute? I think I'm going to have a sympathetic throw-up.

"C'MON, KOBAYASHI!"

Oh great. Kobayashi's fallen to third. It's over. It's so over. Why did I put my faith in this guy? After all I've invested in him, he totally betrays my trust and lets me down.

Wait. Wait. Kobayashi looks like he's gaining. He's back in second now... Now he's catching up to Chestnut. Oh, man. What a surge! He's tied! I still hate thundersticks.

"GO KOBAYASHI! GO!"

Kobayashi has taken the lead! Oh man, I haven't been this amped since BYU beat Utah in football last year. Now he's putting space between himself and Chestnut. I'm visibly shaking. This is amazing! He's eating like... like... I have no proper sports analogy for this...

"GO SEABISCUI--!! こばちゃん！がんばれ--"

WTF?!? I'm so excited I'm getting famous movie-horses mixed up with Kobayashi, and Japanese with English. Whatever. Kobayashi is taking a three hot-dog lead into the final minute! There's no way Chestnut is gaining three dogs on him in the last minute. It's impossible...The buzzer rings. And what?!? Chestnut has shoved his face full of everything he possibly could. They're calling it a tie if he swallows everything... And he does.

*****
The "dog-off" overtime was the first in the competition's storied history, and Chestnut ended up winning (the first to eat five more hot dogs -- talk about worst OT ever for competitors). It was appalling, gripping, and poignant all at once; more than I could have dreamed.

As I rode the subway back into Manhattan, more questions about Competitive Eating came to me...

>How many years did these people just shave off of their lives?
>Would there be scandals? I mean, would we find Kobayashi testifying before Congress in broken Engrish about Chestnut taking stomach-expanding drugs?
>How many hours do the competitors spend on the toilet afterward? (Scratch that; I don't want to know)
>Is Under Armour going to end up sponsoring these guys?
>Would referees be accused of "throwing" the competition?
>Do these guys have groupies?



...and so very many more...

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Sports Blog

Oh yeah, some friends and I started a sports blog. Depending on who's writing, we'll write or post interesting articles on various things going on in the sports world. Bookmark, if you so wish, or enter it into your Google Reader. Make comments, so we know someone's reading. Here's the initial entry from 10 June that I made for the site:

I haven't followed the NBA closely in years. There's something about overpaid, whiny adults that doesn't appeal to me as a spectator. I do acknowledge, however, that this could simply be a personal preference, considering the popularity of unbearable shows like "Grey's Anatomy" and "The Real World" (Granted, I don't know if the perpetually-longing-to-return-to-my-frat-boy-glory-days individuals on "The Real World" get paid, but if it's anything more than -$200, or the highly-inflated currency of a foreign country, it's too much).

This NBA post-season, however, I have been glued to each playoff game.

I attribute this to a few factors. And yes, while one of them is definitely "the elimination of the Spurs," they are just as (if not more) boring to write about as they are to watch. I'd rather talk about Kevin Garnett.

This has nothing to do with me jumping on the Celtics bandwagon once they got good this season. I am still contemplating jumping on, given the age of the team. It has everything to do with having grown up and loved watching KG in all of his raving, ranting glory. I've never seen anyone play sports with his passion, or the barely-bridled enthusiasm that so many of the pros lose as they view playing ball as a chore -- a multi-million dollar chore, mind you -- and not something to be loved. Garnett loves it, and you can sense that watching him play. You can hear it in interviews with him.

Admittedly, it is that same intensity that sometimes scares me a bit. It almost reminds me of that one spelling bee girl from about ten years ago, who would talk to herself during the competition like she was possessed. Anyone remember her? ...Bueller?



KG's intensity is almost like that. Minus the social awkwardness and overall dysfunctionality. And eventual ostracization by society and peers. Man, that was a really poor analogy. Apologies to the Big Ticket on that one. But seriously. Have you seen him do stuff like this?



Whatever. My point: I love to watch this guy. Especially when he makes big plays--

--Yes, the big plays that are inevitably followed by his requisite swearing tirades. I know I haven't renewed my lip-reading certification (come on, if they have a Beer Judge Certification Program, this is not outside the realm of possibility), but I would liken watching him swear to the urge that non-Spurs fans get to knee Bruce Bowen in the crotch -- it's not so much the frequency that surprises you, but the intensity with which it happens. You ever wonder why KG, often the biggest superstar on the floor, is never mic'ed up during the games? It's because the NBA would automatically be banned from the networks and relegated to HBO and Showtime.

My only concern is what will happen to KG if the Celtics do win the Finals. He may explode. Or it may be like an Indiana Jones and the Raiders of the Lost Ark-type thing. I dunno.

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How I Ended Up with a B.A.

A lot of people talk about "defining moments" in their lives; where it all became clear and they made a critical decision, turned their life around, [insert optimistic fluff]

I can point to a couple of those in the route I chose to take in my college education. I mean, how did a kid that did Knowledge Bowl [Captain my senior year] and Science Olympiad in high school, and seemed destined for some sort of hard science degree in college (not to mention the obvious-- Asian!), end up with a liberal arts degree?

Two anecdotes.

I had a great friend in high school, Warren, who was one of the popular kids. His only quirk was that he was a serious conspiracy theorist. I'm talking "Big Brother is out to get me" -type stuff; he had read all kinds of books. One day he came with me to my computer networking job (like I said: nerd) because he wanted to see what I did. Apparently, I did something to impress him...although I didn't know until later the extent.

I walked into class the next day and a mutual friend of ours, Neil, came right up to me.

-"Dude, you'll never believe what happened with Warren in CWP (Current World Problems) last period."
-"What'd he do this time?"
-"We got onto some topic and everybody was yelling back and forth the room at each other. This went on for a couple of minutes and in the middle of it all, Warren stands up and yells: 'It's not going to matter. You want to know why?! Because when we grow up, and Josh D [we'll leave my last name out of this] owns all of you, you're all going to be nothing but a bunch of barcodes. So you'd better get used to it!' It was unreal. The class was speechless."

So was I.

-"...So, Josh. When you take over the world, I've got a spot as a favored minion, right?"
-"Uh, sure, Neil. Yeah."

I decided then and there that if I continued on my nerd/science track, I would end up being a dictator. I wasn't going to let that happen. That set the stage for my complete break with science. The complete break would come a few years later.

*****

I took Chem 105 my sophomore year at BYU. While I don't doubt the professor's PhD status (ok, I sometimes do), our ability to learn was severely hindered by his completely Battlefield Earth teaching. Almost every single concept he "taught" to us could, in his mind, be demonstrated by blowing up a hydrogen balloon at the end of class. Apparently explosions and mayhem are really solid, proven pedagogical techniques. Demonstration of the Law of Entropy? Redox reactions? Only thing I remember about these concepts is explosions. My roommate who had class in the same room after mine would be waiting for me afterwards, and as I walked out he would just say, "Another hydrogen balloon today, huh?" It was like witnessing the Hindenburg go down 12 times in a single semester.

One day in this class we were discussing electron clouds and orbits. The dialogue between the professor and a student went something like this:

-"Professor X [no, sorry "X-Men" fans...the "X" is for purposes of anonymity], the textbook says that the orbit is where the electron has a 99.99% chance of being."
-"That's correct."
-"So where is it the other 0.01% of the time?"
-"It could be anywhere, really. The room next door, Mars, another solar system..." I remember slamming my chemistry textbook shut. Science sure does a great job of explaining things. "...now if you'll allow me to demonstrate with this balloon. Could somebody turn off the lights...?"

I think that could be the defining moment when I gave up on science.

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Tagged - Enjoy, Sis

So my sister, Juli, virtual 'tagged' me from her blog, because she was "interested to see where [I'll] take this." I think you're supposed to list five things about yourself and then tag five people, or else you will be cursed with your secret crush not liking you, or the plague, or alcohol addiction...something like that.

Listed below are six -- how's that for taking things somewhere, huh, Juli?!? -- that you might not (and didn't care to) know about me.

1. Talk to me after I wake up - I don't always say everything that's on my mind, but if you want to catch me without a filter, do it after I wake up. I'll say exactly what I'm thinking. Anecdotal illustration: Back at the Y on a Sat morning, some friends I was planning on going to go paintballing with called me at 9am (I had forgotten):

-"Hello?" (italics in this narrative indicate dazed and confused)
-"Josh, hey, are you coming?"
-"Huh?"
-"Paintballing. We're waiting for you."
-I start crawling out of bed in my underwear: "Can I play with no pants?"
-"What? Uh...I guess...you could do that...you know, if you wanted..."

2. I punched a girl once - Casey was our FHE dad back at the Elms. For the activity he brought two pairs of boxing gloves and some slips of paper. We were to write who we wanted to see box each other on the slips. I ended up being pitted in The Octagon against a girl that had broken up with my roommate a few months back. I insisted I didn't want to fight her, but she kept coming at me, and the last time she did she swung with her left, I grabbed it, gave her a little tug to the ground, and gave her a little love tap to the right cheek. When I got home, the roommate asked "How was FHE?" "It was fine. I boxed your ex." slight pause -- "Sounds about right."

3. I clubbed a kid with my lunch pail - We might as well get the violent stuff out of the way. I had a sweet plastic Voltron lunch pail in Kindergarten. This kid on the bus ride home kept bugging me, so I smacked him over the head with it. The bus driver guaranteed me I was getting a ticket. When my stop came, I slid right off the bus. She probably mistook me for the other Asian kid on board.

4. I’m a contrarian – For some reason I like to make conversation difficult for people – but not in a confrontational way. I can’t explain it. Two illustrations:

Illustration 1

Friend: “Josh, you know you don’t always have to be contrarian.”
Me: “Yes I do.”

Illustration 2

Friend: “I ran 10 miles yesterday and I am sore.”
Me: “No you didn’t, and no, you’re not.”
Friend: “I’m pretty sure I know what I did and how I feel.”
Me: “Uh huh”
Friend Reconsidering Friendship: “I can’t believe I’m arguing with you about what I did yesterday.”
Me: “Believe it.”

5. I like baby food – Believe it. When I played in all-day soccer tournaments those little gerber glass jars of fruit puree (not that veggie puree…gross) had tons of nutrients needed to get some quick energy. Maybe that’s why I love those Naked and Odwalla smoothie drinks so much. They taste the exact same and cost about the same per ounce.

6. I make up words - As you all know from my B.E. entry, I make up words. This isn't all that unique, though, because I think a lot of people do. I do, however, specialize in verbs that represent a tendency that someone has, and base it on their name. Some examples:

• "Go ahead, just James Joyce me." JJ is an author famous for employing stream of consciousness. If I'm talking with someone but they keep getting tripped up b/c they can't seem to organize their thoughts, this is the phrase I use. (trans. "Just spew out everything on your mind and we'll sort it out later.")
• "He/she totally Paul Walker'ed that." I use this with actors and movies a lot, mostly with The Fast and the Furious franchise -- correction, let's call it a debacle -- in mind. (trans. "He/she took a movie that already looked horrible based on previews and made it even worse with their horrible acting.")
• "I just got my trash Shigeko'ed." I love my mom. One of the many loving memories I have of my childhood, I remember her always licking her thumb and aggressively scrubbing something off of my face. I didn't like it. (trans. "I was just treated in a rough manner by an otherwise well-intentioned individual.")

And the list goes on.

I break the mold and end the tagging here. I’m more of a reformer than any of the presidential hopefuls claim to be.

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The Closest I'll Get to a Doctoral Dissertation

I don't like to brag, but I'm going to seize the opportunity of having my own blog and do so anyway.

A while back, I submitted a paper for publication to an Asian studies student journal at BYU called The Rice Papers. A few edits, some critique, and 1 1/2 years later, I found out that I was actually going to get published in said journal. If you are bored enough, as in considering watching a rerun of Full House-bored, click here to read. Trust me, I won't be insulted if you don't.

Thanks to Josh & Fran for seizing as many hard copies as they could get their vicariously (on my behalf) greedy hands on and mailing them to me for distribution. Thanks to Dr. Stoneman for mentoring. I will be heading downtown to the Smithsonian to magnanimously donate a copy for their keeping. Maybe I'll go to the National Archives. I don't know.

My only complaint -- you knew I couldn't do an entry without one, didn't you -- is the title: The Rice Papers. I don't know. You would think if you're going to go for a blanket stereotype of something, you would go strong. My suggestion was The Yellow Pages, but I suppose that that's more offensive than insinuating that all Asians live in houses with rice paper walls.

It's all subjective.

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Football by the NUMB3RS

I love this time of year. It starts to cool down a bit, the leaves are changing colors, the chaos of summer vacation and travel are winding down. It's the perfect time to kick back and really enjoy what fall is all about: College Football. Yes, my friends, the greatest 4 months of the year are already upon us, and I hope you're enjoying it as much as I am. Granted, I could be in Provo for BYU home games, but I've got the next best thing at my place: A sweet bachelor-pad setup that allows me to view two football games simultaneously.

Since a pasttime of college football fanatics is looking at the box score and all the numbers after the game, let's breakdown the setup in my condo by the numbers:

84: The combined number of inches of viewable television screen between the two TV's in my condo. The specs: 52-inch ol' skool rear-projection TV with a 32-inch HD-LCD placed on top. We call it "Picture-on-picture". And lest we forget, this coincidentally is also the year that Lavell's passionless scowl and our troops donning midriff-revealing 80's jerseys brought home the National Championship.

2: Number of cable boxes in my apartment; # of X-Box's (one ol' skool and one 360); # of speakers taller than 6 feet

7: The presumed number of remote controls in my living room.

4: The amount of remote controls in my living room that can be found at any given time.

8: Number of speakers hooked up to our surround sound. What is it with us (guys) and surround sound? We have to have it because it "enhances the experience," which I find ironic because we spend most of the game complaining about how we would like the commentators to just SHUT UP with their idiotic, uh, commenting.

65: Percent chance that I will have an epileptic seizure based on sensory overload thanks to the continuous combined exposure to the aforementioned devices.

Some approximates:
~35-40: The estimated number of years that are shaved off of my life expectancy every time BYU has a close game. (Yes, I should be dead by now...but Asians have a long life expectancy)

~48: Cubic feet the love-sac is occupying in front of the TV.

Some inequalities:
<0: Probability that I will not be plopped in front of this sweet setup watching college football on a Saturday between the months of September and January; also, the amount of time left on the clock when Harline caught "the answered prayer" in BYU v. UT in '06 (Yes, I know that a probability of less than 0 is impossible... Asians aren't just good at math, we can use literary devices like hyperbole as well)

>5: Number of times I swear during a close BYU football game.

>200: Number of times I stop myself from swearing during a close BYU football game.

3: Number of hours spent in repentance following a close BYU football game.

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