Ramblings of a 5-Year Old

Mrs. RoSA and I teach the 5-year olds at church. G is the one boy in the class who consistently comes, and -- perhaps feeling there is an alpha dog feud to be settled -- is constantly threatening me. The first couple of weeks it started out as veiled threats couched in rhetorical questions (all of the below quotes are said with his face six inches from mine, in what I can only surmise is an attempt to stare me down into submission):

 G: "Do you have any idea how strong I am?"

G: "Do you have any idea how hard I can punch you?"

G: "Did you know that I'm a billion strong? You can't stop me."

This past Sunday, G cut out the rhetoricals and went straight for the direct threats:

G (hand in karate chop shape): "I can karate [sic] you in half...from head..." (moves hand from my head to my feet as if bisecting me) "...to your toes."

The girls have some one-liners, too. Here's one Mrs. RoSA got from one of them:
Girl (referring to me): "Are you in marriage with him?"
Mrs. RoSA: "Yes."
Girl: "He looks like a Chinese man."
(Mrs. RoSA futilely attempts to explain the difference between China and Japan to a 5-year old)

Oh, the joys.

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For Sale: Bunker -- Photo of the Week 29 March 2010

I haven't explored www.survivalrealty.com as much as I would like, but any website that describes itself as "a directory of listing agents, agencies, and property owners specializing in survival retreats" is worth some perusing. Especially if the listings are anything like this one from Utah:

As a Mormon who has been told by church leaders for years to prepare food storage for unforeseen disasters, this bunker would be the perfect purchase. A highlight:

There are hidden caves which I will show to the new owner. These caves have not likely seen any humans besides myself and my boys.

You know, I always pictured that my future house would have a nice deck/patio on which I could BBQ, a nice study in which I could keep my library of books, etc, but I suppose that a place capable of holding off an invasion of zombies and/or that facilitates training for Thunderdome-like hand-to-hand combat is what I would call a good investment in your future.

I have no idea what the towers are for...controlling the Hubble Telescope?


Happy new week, all!

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Weekly Selects #9

This week featured a handful. Enjoy

-Via TXT from White Josh; while watching a session of our church's worldwide General Conference in which the speaker, a man of the Asian persuasion, Korean flavor, spoke about some men whom he knew when they were young and "rowdy." After the speaker threw up a picture of them, Josh sent:

That was the aewesomest picture of asian bad a's i have ever seen !!!!!

Don't worry; I hunted down a still capture of the photo:


I need some pleated jeans and a sleeveless t-shirt.

-Via IM with Josh M, when I pointed out that one morning I heard the squirrels that have invaded the walls of our apartment:

you should have captured them and THROWN THEM ON THE GROUND

This, of course, was based on an SNL music video we saw last Saturday. Its connection with coherence, much like Lindsay Lohan and sobriety, is tenuous at best -- in honesty, absolutely non-existent. But I suppose therein lies the hilarity:



Whenever something frustrates me now, I see the object in my mind's eye slamming into the ground in slo-mo. Granted, the slow-motion filming of a squirrel being thrown to the ground would be excessively graphic, like watching a Michael Vick-hosted documentary on the torture methods of the Spanish Inquisition, and would no doubt elicit some sort of inane lawsuit from PETA. At the very least it would get their celebrity spokesmen to strip naked in some form of ineffectual protest.

-Via Email from DougC, whom I wanted to guest blog but is working like a slave and has no time. With regards to an important test results he is awaiting, he petitioned:

Maybe if you have a ancient Japanese ritual you could perform on my behalf it would help...or if nothing else a Mormon-style prayer.

It's rare that someone places enough faith in me to importune my help with something that actually matters, so consider it done, Doug: Incense sticks have been lit, ancestors have been importuned, stomachs have been slit. You get the idea.

-Via Email link from JMill, to this article:

Some dude made a coffee table based on an NES controller -- nerdy, right? Well, dig deeper into the story's goldmine of dweebdom, you'll discover the bonus: The controller is fully functional. This reminds me of back when my old roommates, Jay and Johnny, had a multi-week de facto pissing contest via Contra proxy. They were competing to see who could beat the game in the least amount of time. Good luck entering the 30-life bonus code with this size controller.

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Sleep Drooling -- Photo of the Week 17 Aug 2009

This one was taken a while ago. However, no other image conveys what I would rather be doing right now. And no, "drooling on your friend's mother's leather couch" is not what I meant. Sleep. Sleep is what I meant.

It was a fun weekend, but after lots of driving, chasing my nieces around, taking calls from work at 2am, and my sister Juli taking me on a "jog" (read: Bataan Death March) through some perilous jungle, I am exhausted today.


Regardless, Happy Monday to you. To temporarily distract your minds from the restrictive, fluorescent-bulbed hell that is your work cubicle, I have created a survey on the right to get your take on the Bourne movies.

Origins of survey: After listening to a lesson at church, BiL Ben was insistent on conveying the following principle to me: If you're in a brawl with someone, always have something in your hands to fight with. He cited the rolled-up magazine in The Bourne Supremacy. Don't ask me how this related to the lesson topic in any way -- I know for sure the lesson wasn't about Samson and the ass's jawbone -- but I'm sure it was related. If Ben has taught us anything, it is that his mind is unfailingly logical. Enjoy.

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More Perm Photos -- Photo(s) of the Week 10 Aug 2009

Well, many of you asked for more details/photos on the permed hair. Anne M posted some photos on Facebook:


Since this took place about three weeks ago, the hair continues to grow in volume, autonomy, and epicness (don't argue -- it's a word). I'm not talking Trojan War epic, but on my own personal epic scale it ranks somewhere between beating Midge at Speed Scrabble and that one time I was in the middle school jazz band and had a saxophone solo.

People ask me what I "do" with the hair -- I'm assuming they are asking how I style it, and not wondering if I spend hours planning hair-centric activities -- and the answer is nothing. Since the perm, I'm now honestly convinced that my hair has become self-aware. It just does whatever the hell it wants, and I have to acquiesce and learn to live with it. It's wearing the pants.

It is also a Kobe Bryant-like polarizing figure, having caused an irreconcilable splintering of my friends into two camps: There are those who embrace it and lobby for its continued existence, while there are those who want to go all Delilah on it and shear me like a sheep. Hopefully the hair doesn't continue the Kobe-trend and end up getting accused of rape in Colorado or being a selfish player who scowls at his teammates.

Powered by Perm®, people.




Happy Monday. My shoulder's sore after a full Saturday of intense wiffle ball.

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Follow-up to 8 June PotW

Thanks to some heads-up camera-phoning, I got the answer to my question about the 8 June PotW, and it wasn't as black and white as I thought it was. The Mennonites are neither smarter nor dumber than I thought; they are just less original:

Sent from an unknown cell phone number, with a cryptic message: "nyc boyer." So I'm using my amazing deductive skills and saying that it was taken in NYC by my high school buddy, JB. Well done, brotha.

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Mennonite Wit -- Photo of the Week 8 June 2009

Up in Elizabethtown, PA.

I'm still trying to figure this one out. Either the Mennonites are a lot wittier than I think, or a lot dumber.


Happy Monday, all. I need a nap already.

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Reflecting on Sunday

Question.

Is it a bad sign if the highlights from my fast Sunday were the following?

NB walking into class with a glorious/heinous mustache:


AM's stomach vocally protesting the fact that it was fasting. I'm trying to pinpoint the voice. The closest approximation I can come up with is when "20/20" interviews a key witness for a huge criminal case, but they use that voice distorter to disguise their voice; the difference here being that this witness, instead of sounding passive and scared, had demands that needed to be met. AM took it all in stride.

The closest personification Google
Images allowed me to find

DJA, Josh M and I quoting Will Ferrell movies ("I hope you have sons! Young, beautiful, articulate sons!" "Boy...that escalated quickly"):

That's about it.

So, to recap my Sunday: A mustache, a growling stomach, and quoting Will Ferrell.

I think I just answered my own question.

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One Man's Trash... -- Photo of the Week 30 Mar 2009

Our church does this thing called "Gifts of the Heart" semi-consistently, where members drop off all of their Goodwill-worthy items at the church, the stuff gets organized in our gym, and then less fortunate people from the community have free reign to come in and take what they need.

I was unloading a box that had just been dropped off, and this is what greeted me:

Unused, granted. But I guess this just lends credence to the ol' "one man's trash is another man's treasure" maxim. Or something.

Happy Monday to all (I tried for at least 10 minutes to muster an exclamation point, but couldn't).

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Pre-Concert Checklist

I knew that to get the most out of my Beasties' concert experience and to guard against unforeseen contingencies, I needed to plan ahead. I made a pre-concert checklist; just to make sure I didn't miss anything. By 27 Oct, I must:

--As I am scheduled to work 28 Oct, place threatening and anonymous middle-of-the-night phone calls to co-workers until someone swaps shifts with me... check. This was the first attempt in my life at being intimidating, but I made sure my phone call verbiage contained phrases like "bottom of the river," "bust your head open," "broken kneecaps," and "say 'hi' to your mother for me." It worked. I got the day off.

--Go to a Halloween party donning large sunglasses, a 'fro wig, and bright orange jumpsuit a la Beasties 1998 tour, and bring the house down while rapping "So Whatcha' Want" on Rock Band II... check.

The megalomania that "Rock Band" brings
is unprecedented.

--Print Google Maps directions... check. I know many of you are saying: "Josh, you just bought a nice GPS;" and I'm saying: "Yeah, but what if China decides to shoot down some satellites that day? I'm not risking it."

--Find the correct person to take my second ticket... check. This was extremely important. It would be like picking the godfather for my firstborn child, minus the fact that I'm not Catholic. Regardless, I considered having people submit a 250-word essay outlining the reasons they should attend the concert with me...

...then I realized I'm ridiculous.

--Obtain forged prescription from a doctor for anti-anxiety pills and start treatment during the week preceding the 28th... still working on it.

So I guess the list remains a work in progress.

Now if only I could apply this kind of thorough preparation to things that matter, like, say, the food storage that my Church leaders have advocated for so long...

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Putting Chuck Norris in Perspective -- Photo of the Week 27 Oct 2008

I find the most random things when searching for photos to supplement other entries. I can't remember what sort of search keywords led me to this one.

With all of the hype that's been made of Chuck Norris in the Chuck Norris Facts, I figured this would serve as a nice reminder (although quoting God is a bit of a risky proposition). I love these readerboards outside of churches; they crack me up. I'm sure my friends who have lived down South for any period of time (Nartker? Anything off the top of your head?) can recall some amusing ones. I wonder what LDS chapels would do with them if we had them out in front of our buildings?

Remember how Chuck Norris was Mike Huckabee's biggest endorser for the Republican ticket? That was funny on a lot of levels.

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The Story With the Charmin -- Photo of the Week 20 Oct 2008

A quick, secondhand story that kills me every time, and demonstrates the power of what my group of friends has come to term "the one-liner." Admittedly, I haven't actually heard this story directly from the horse's mouth (where did this idiom come from?), so the story could have gained stature of its own over time.

When he was younger, my Mission President worked security at Temple Square in Salt Lake City. One night, a man was harassing a couple, waving anti-Mormon literature at them, and becoming quite animated. My Mission President approached the man, stated that he was on private property, and told him that he should leave. The man waved some pamphlets in his face and yelled: "What do you think of this?!? What do you think of this??"

Without missing a beat, my Mission President calmly replied: "I prefer Charmin."

"What??"

"I prefer Charmin. It's softer and gentler on my butt."

The man stormed off in a rage.

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Random Hobby #2 -- Ping-Pong

Feeling some guilt after attending the AAA Conference and realizing that my Asianness was probably wavering at a running-on-life-support 3 (it was all those summer BBQs; what a non-Asian activity), I needed to pick up something new in order to bolster my Asian half:

This is a picture of my ping-pong blade.

In response to your impending and incessant questioning:

"Yes,
...I just referred to my ping pong paddle as 'my blade.' It's proper terminology. Using 'paddle' and 'racket' automatically label you as a know-nothing wannabe.

...our blades have protective cases.

...it was custom-made in and brought back from China (thank you, Dave, for bringing it back -- I owe you any vital organ you stand in need of in the future). I may or may not claim that it contains carbon fiber / ancient magical powers...

...my fellow pongers and I have matching uniforms.

...I remove the plastic coverings from the paddle when I play, then replace them to preserve stickiness.

...my friends and I scoured craigslist for ping-pong tables, drove around the Washington Metropolitan Area to scout the quality of prospects, bought a table for $35, and now store it on the stage at our church.

...I have referred to ping-pong time as "our equivalent to the black man's barbershop." A huge appeal of our ponging is being able to sit around and talk about whatever, however we want. I guess the only drawback is that Ice Cube and Cedric the Entertainer aren't around to shoot the breeze with. The upside is that there will be no crappy sequel.

...I do bring my gym clothes with me everywhere, just on the off-chance I will need to suit up to play some pong.

...at any given time if you glance in my direction, you may see me swinging my arm in a methodical motion...that's right, practicing my swing...

...we know we take ourselves too seriously."

A quick illustration of how ridiculous we are. My buddy Dave and I were cleaning the inside of the church one Saturday morning. Bryan ("Banker") -- also a ponger, but who we didn't expect to see that morning -- comes storming into the church and gets a relieved look on his face when he sees us cleaning.

Banker says: "Man, I saw your guys' cars out in the parking lot and I thought: 'Those SOBs came to play without me!' I was so pissed!"

We're sort of intense. But you probably realized by now that me being intense about random things is pretty standard.

More stories to come on the ping-pong front, I'm sure.

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Seven Years Later...

It doesn't happen very often, but I get this way every once in a while. You know, sentimental.

Anybody who has read the blog long enough to suffer through my Pamplona gibberish and mourning of the passing of President Hinckley has figured out that on the rare occasions that I get this way and write about it, it is self-serving; for me, I find my scattered thoughts take on the semblance of something cohesive as I write them. This guy's article also may have been part of the impetus (if you don't want to read further, at least read the article).

Stick with me here for a second, if you don't mind. This won't get political (as I hate politics).

On 9/11/2001, I was in the MTC (Missionary Training Center for the LDS Church) preparing to serve in Japan for two years. That day was a blur -- but not for the same reasons that it was for most Americans. All days in the MTC are a blur of classroom instruction, lectures, cafeteria food, etc.

The only news we received in the MTC that day was a brief announcement from the Mission President: That the WTC and the Pentagon had been crashed into and nobody knew much else. That was it. Rumors abounded,* but in my information vacuum of an environment I got nothing tangible. I mean, technically, my geographic location was in the United States, but the life of a missionary is so detached from the world of media (no TV, news, phone calls, or internet) that you're as informed about current events as someone living in the jungles of the Amazon. I went from the MTC to Japan in October. I didn't see images or video of the 9/11 attacks until Aug 2003, when I got back from Japan. Almost two years removed. That, combined with my teenage naivete, prevented me from fully grasping the significance of what happened that day.

I wasn't here to witness the tragedies of that day and what came in their wake. How it affected Americans. I guess I have a decent grasp of the "big picture" effects 9/11 had on America, but I have no personal perspective -- I just don't feel it to the extent that those who watched it all unfold do. In some (perhaps strange) way, I want to. I want to feel more, because I feel I owe it to those who were victims, and to every American that was so deeply affected by that day. But I can't. I was too far removed to ever form a strong personal connection.

Maybe that's why any opportunity I get, I try to form one. Maybe it's why I made sure to go to Ground Zero on a visit to NYC, and why I bought and (partially) read the 9/11 Commission's report. Maybe it's why I constantly ask people "What do you remember about 9/11?" and I listen, fixated, as their eyes go out of focus and look off into the distance as they vividly recall where they were, what they saw, and, most importantly, what they felt that day.

Maybe it's why at midnight this past Friday, I found myself at the Pentagon 9/11 Memorial, hoping maybe this time I could feel some stronger connection.

I think it came as I sat next to the bench -- there is one for each victim who died at the Pentagon -- of the youngest victim. He was born in 1998. I just sat there, silent, staring at nothing, finding myself fighting back tears for this child and all of these victims that I didn't know. More than that, though, I was saddened by a different realization: That the building of this memorial -- as beautiful as it was -- was even necessary in the first place. That hatred was the driving force behind 9/11 attacks. That that hate still exists today. That 9/11 seems to be exploited to divide us rather than unite us. That we forget more easily, seven years later... (half the articles I wanted to read off of news sites were gone by the next day)

As I dragged myself away from the memorial, I resolved that I would try harder to remember that day. Up until last Friday I found it difficult to, both because I wasn't here for that day, and because each day further removes me temporally from 9/11/2001.

I will need memorials like this to help remind me...


______
You can see some pictures I took while there.

*My personal favorite was another missionary's far-fetched speculation that he heard "Salt Lake [was] going to be attacked next"; as Seinfeld says: "The egotism of the average human being is just astounding..."

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Church Couldn't Hold My Attention -- Photo of the Week 8 Sep 2008

Title: "2:30PM Church Doesn't Work"
Year: Aug 2008
Location: Mclean, VA

I felt bad sleeping through the lesson, because it was probably good. But 3-hour church that starts at 2:30 when you've been fasting for two meals is tough.

Dave Adams, on the right, just got back from the Beijing Olympics, so has an excuse (jet lag). I was up 'til 2AM watching TIVO'ed college football, because I was thinking "I don't have church until 2:30 tomorrow. I can just sleep in." Well, I didn't end up sleeping in, and this is what I have to show for it.

My friend, Christian, took the photo. Immediately after I woke up, he asked with Blackberry in hand: "What's your email address again?"

Another friend, Oliver, said Dave "looked like Father Time had died in the middle of Elders Quorum."

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A Quick Postal Anecdote

I walked into the Post Office the other day to mail some stuff.

(Of course I was mailing stuff when I went to the Post Office. Don't mind me. I'm a moron.)

I hadn't been in there for more than a minute when a guy came right up to me, held up a pen, and matter-of-factly said: "Here's your pen. Thanks for letting me use this." He seemed quite certain that I had lent him the pen.

I was quite certain that I hadn't.

"I'm sorry, this isn't my pen."

Now finding myself curious as to who he could have confused me with, I watched the man as he took the pen back and began scanning the room for the owner. I really should have guessed it beforehand; I knew it as soon as that look of recognition swept across his face and I saw who he was looking at. He crossed the room and handed the pen to the actual owner-- the other Asian man that happened to be there. When he saw me with a resigned smirk on my face, he shrugged his shoulders as if to say "well, you do look alike."

I don't see why I can't get away with this when I don't recognize a white person that I'm supposed to at church.

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My Mom Shigeko

This is crazy family / friends' birthday period for me. I promise I will get back to the guiding principles of this blog (sarcasm and-- well, I guess I should reword that as 'guiding principle') in due time.

My mom's (affectionately known by my friends by her first name, 'Shigeko' -- something I would never actually call her to her face) birthday is 5 May -- that's right, Cinco de Mayo. Which really would be a source of even more ethnic pride to me, only she is not Mexican, and neither am I. She is Japanese. We'll just chalk it up to the 1 in 365 chance that her birthday would fall on 5 May and leave it at that, I suppose.

I can not do this justice here, but I can give you the tip of the iceberg.

With some help, mom (along with pops, of course) played the largest role in raising me. For that I will always be grateful and indebted. Some of my first distinct memories were of mom sitting down with me and teaching me to do math -- surprise surprise -- and read. She wanted me to receive an education because she knew I would have opportunities growing up that she did not. She wanted me to succeed, and, like other Parents that I have, saw (and continues to see) potential in me that I lose sight of myself sometimes.

Mom was called as Relief Society President in my teen years. She probably doesn't know this, but it's watching her serve in that calling with total dedication and love for the people she had stewardship over that taught me the most about charity and truly caring for those around us. When I would get frustrated as a missionary in Japan, those unintentional lessons gave me perspective. Mom's courage to be the first member of the Church in her area of Japan as a teenager encouraged me to see each person I talked to in Japan as someone that had the same potential as my mom. That always gave me hope.

She is an excessive spoiler of grandchildren (and me, according to my sisters), a fixer of many of my various problems, service-oriented, a dedicated educator, a do-it-all stay-at-home wife/mom, a great listener, and a constant encourager.

Most importantly, mom tells me what I need to hear, especially when she knows it's not necessarily what I want to hear. Frustrating to me sometimes, but stepping back from it all, that is one of the truest signs of love that I will ever know of.

Thanks for everything, mom! Hope you have a great birthday.

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