Cherry Blossoms at Sunrise -- Photo(s) of the Week 17 May 2010

Washington DC takes pride in the cherry blossom trees that Japan gave as gifts back in 1912. (History books tell us it was a gesture to signify the growing relationship between Japan and the US, but I think getting the trees was a last-ditch effort by President Taft to be remembered as "the dude that got us the trees" and not "wait...wasn't that the fat president?")

At any rate, there is about a two-week window in April where the blossoms are in bloom, and this year I dragged AM with me Easter morning so we could catch some sunrise photos down at the Tidal Basin. So sure, I suppose they're over a month old, but I still like them:

This one was taken with a fish-eye lens I borrowed from the man next to me because he basically shouted: "Anybody have a Nikon who wants to take a few shots with a fish-eye lens?" I basically snatched the lens out of his hand before he had finished his sentence, took a few shots, and was immediately filled with a consuming, covetous* Lens Lust (photographers out there know what I'm talking about). I reluctantly returned the lens. But don't think that I didn't start visualizing scenarios -- think Holmes while he's brawling in the latest Sherlock Holmes movie -- about how I could incapacitate the lens-owner and his buddy in four swift blows or less and run away with the lens.**

*(Yup. Guilty of breaking the 10th Commandment)
**(Go ahead and tack on breaking the 8th Commandment, as well)

Anyway. I'll send you off with a Happy Monday and three more that I felt turned out well (which of course you can click on to embiggin'):

Publish Post

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STOP ISLAND THEFT! -- Photo of the Week 15 March 2010

With an upcoming trip to New York City, I was reminded of this ad from 2008, and wished I could have seen this beauty in Times Square:

A life-sized figure of a thief wearing a Japanese imperial flag as a mask with a caption that reads: "STOP ISLAND THEFT. Japan attempts to steal Asia's islands by distorting history." South Korea and Japan are still disputing with each other over the sovereignty of the Dokdo / Takeshima islands (read: pebbles in the middle of the sea between the two countries).

Oh, but there's more this picture. Pan out a bit:

People always say "location, location, location," and the marketers in charge of this campaign took this advice to heart when placing this statue. When seeking support for the Republic of Korea's campaign against the resurgence of Japan's neo-imperialistic aspirations, what better demographic to target than those likely to be interested in Chorus Line, starring Mario Lopez? None, I tell you. NONE. The two groups are basically the same.


Happy Monday, all. "Losing" an hour sucks.

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The Pauly Shore-Jean Claude Van Damme Follow-up...And What Have You

If you'll recall, connecting Pauly Shore and Jean Claude Van Damme required a tedious 9 steps to complete. As one of the Framers of The Solution, Butz got all drunk on delusional possible-glory -- I believe his words were "this belongs in the national archives...next to the reimann hypothesis" -- and insisted I post it. I was thinking of keeping it secret, but I have decided to relent and give the school solution. I don't think you're ready for this jelly.

Jean Claude > Street Fighter w/ Raul Julia > The Addams' Family w/ Christine Ricci > The Legend of Sleepy Hollow w/ Johnny Depp > Edward Scissorhands w/ Winona Ryder > Little Women w/ Christian Bale > The Dark Knight w/ Morgan Freeman > Invictus w/ Matt Damon > School Ties w/ Brendan Fraser > Encino Man w/ Pauly Shore

You might also remember that I issued a challenge for anyone to come up with a better solution. I was secretly hoping that you all would just unquestionably accept my word as law and not humiliate me by coming up with something better.

Unfortunately, I vastly overestimated the amount of authoritativeness my statements carry with the readers. You took me up on my challenge. This came in from Lex:

Jean-Claude Van Damme was in Street Fighter with Kylie Minogue who was in Bio-Dome with Pauly Shore
That is probably as close as you'll get

/hanging head in consuming shame/

Well, yes, I foolishly threw down the gauntlet. Little did I know that someone would pick up that gauntlet, load it into a howitzer, and promptly shoot me in the face with it. So much for the National Archives and all of its associated glory. Sorry, Butzy.

Obviously this game is a spinoff of Six Degrees of Separation from Kevin Bacon, an actor so pervasive in modern cinema that he supposedly can be linked to any actor in six steps or less. I had my reservations about this theory until Butz introduced me to oracleofbacon.org, which uses "databases" and "technology" to prove that rarely does it take more than three steps for any actor to be connected to Mr. Bacon.

This is revolutionary.

Sure, the Greeks had the Oracle at Delphi. But if you ask me, the Bacon one is an upgrade. All Delphi did was spout some prophetic gibberish about Oedipus's inevitable patricide and incest /shudder/. Look: I'm don't want to ponder upon the topics of Free-will or fate, or the place of humanity in this world -- IT'S THE 21ST CENTURY GET OVER IT. I want straight facts, son, and if I want to know how Alfred Hitchcock is connected to Kevin Bacon and in how many steps, I'm not going to Delphi. I'm going to Bacon -- the Oracle that will change Western Civilization as we know it.

In related news, I have a theory about who is heir apparent to the Mr. Bacon throne. It HAS to be Nic Cage. So much so, that a new blog has crept up called niccageaseveryone.blogspot.com, where Cage's face is photoshopped onto other movie characters', world leaders, etc. My personal favorite, Nic Cage as Gandalf:

Submitted by Colin Bridgeman

But really. Is there a movie role that Nic Cage will not turn down? I imagine sitting down with him in a coffee shop...

Me: Yo, Nic. Thanks for coming to lunch. Have a seat.
/Nic Cage sits/
Me: Now, I have a screenpl--
Nic: Done. I'll take it.
Me: ...but I haven't even told you what the movie is about.
Nic: /shaking head dismissively/ Doesn't matter. Talk to my agent about the details.
Me: Well, I think you should know what the movie is about first.
Nic: Really? /looks around nervously/ Alright, fine.
Me: I want to do a biography about an actor who started out strong, doing some quirky films, winning an Oscar for a movie called...oh, let's see...let's just call it Leaving Las Vegas... He's at the top of the acting world. He can have his pick of roles. But his agent tells him he needs to show 'diversity' and 'get his face out there,' so he starts accepting every single role thrown at him. Anything. As an extra in an Indie film. As a stand-in for a 5-year old at a daytime soap opera. As Ghost Rider. His reputation plummets. He becomes a laughing stock. This will explore his precipitous fall.
Nic: That's a deep storyline, man. Deep. I like it.
Me: You should know we have approached other actors about this before you. Christian Bale. Hugh Jackman. Matt Damon. Even Pauly Shore turned it down. Said it was beneath him.
Nic: No. I want it. My agent's been telling me for years that I need to show diversity, and get my face out there. I'll take it.


So, to recap lessons learned:

• Pauly Shore + Jean Claude Van Damme = still funny
• Kevin Bacon = omnipresent
• Nic Cage = possibly more omnipresent
  

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A Clash of Cultures?

Halloween has come and gone. And while as an adult I may not always be ecstatic about the holiday, I'm at least fascinated by it. It's the holiday that offers us the chance to NOT be ourselves. So really, if you're already having some sort of identity crisis; or delusional visions of your own grandeur; or are just generally confused about your place in this world, here is the opportunity to exacerbate the problem and further separate yourself from reality! You know, really mess with your own head. It's good for the mental health.

There are always interesting costumes, and even more interesting couples:

Mary Poppins from the magical world of Disney paired with a cold, heartless, "cut first, let God sort them out later" samurai from a feudalistic island-nation. How do you describe that combination? The most fitting parallel I can think of comes from Seinfeld stand-up: "To me, it's like combining swimming and strangling a guy. That makes just as much sense to me."

So maybe we were an odd couple. But I think Halloween would be more fun if couples -- instead of coordinating their outfits to be matching (lame) -- went for costumes that were the most dissimilar. It would make things a lot of interesting, and avoid the cutesy lameness I just mentioned..

It's alright. Maybe I should have listened to the pleadings for me to stick with my group's Disney theme and been Mowgli from The Jungle Book, but for some reason, walking around in a loincloth all night just didn't appeal to me. At least my ancestors were happy with the decision.

And how 'bout this combination of friends?

The Boy Who Never Ages, a samurai, and the World's Most Wanted Terrorist? A bit of a culture clash -- but damn, we looked good doing it.

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Beasties Bracketology

Disputes and disagreements have always been a part of human history, and will continue to be.

As for the best way of settling those disputes -- well, everyone has an opinion, and that is dictated by a combination of factors: religion, education, nationality, occupation. It's a long list.

For example, you ask a surfer how to settle a disagreement, he'll say to "chill, brah" and then burn down a joint. A baseball manager will tell you that throwing a tantrum involving, but not limited to, the following actions will solve things: Kicking dirt; yelling angry stuff two inches from an umpire's face; taking a tazer to said umpire once his back is turned (my philosophy: strike first, ask questions later). And then, if you could ask him I'm sure Aaron Burr would have told you a good ol' fashioned pistol duel; Alexander Hamilton also seemed to be of the same opinion until he had a lead ball stuck in his chest. Anyway, you get the idea.

I have a discovered a foolproof way of resolving disagreements: Brackets. Maybe the 100 Years' War wouldn't have lasted so long if they'd sat down hashed things out, bracket-style. Who knows.

I bring this up because after three weeks and 171 emails of vigorous debate, Boyer, Jay Z, J2K and I have settled the mother of all disputes -- the greatest Beastie Boys' song ever -- via a 64-song tournament bracket. You all care, I know. The winner: Shadrach, a lesser-known song from an even lesser-known album called Paul's Boutique.

Eventually reaching that consensus was much harder than any of us ever imagined it would be. At the outset, none of us knew what we were in for. Had I known, I would have given some deep, profound pre-tourney pep-talk, channeling Friday Night Lights: "We will be tested. We will be tested to our very souls."

Granted, Coach Taylor said the above in the context of his star quarterback having just suffered a paralyzing injury, but whatever.

See, the tournament presented no clear-cuts, no black v. white, no right v. wrong -- just awesome v. awesome. Every single matchup featured two songs that we grew up loving, so pitting them against each other and having to pick a winner between them created intense internal conflict -- like that scene in Spartacus when Spartacus and Antoninus are forced to duel each other to the death. Both are guys you like and you don't WANT to cheer for a winner, because that also means there will be a loser.

Having to pick only one to come out of it alive twisted us all up in knots. Kept us up at night. Found us crouched in the corner of the shower, weeping because we'd never been so lost and conflicted in our lives.

But we pushed on. And here is the end product; our finalized bracket (click to enlargin'):

I will be making a commemorative CD featuring the tournament's final 16 songs. Let me know if you're interested in having a copy.

And now, some testimonials from the participants.

Boyer:

Quite the undertaking we all got on board for...I don't think anyone (certainly not myself) thought things would be this massive or this involved... Perhaps this is a life lesson about our place in the universe and the value in futility. The Beasties still teach us things about ourselves to this day.

Jay Z:

Having recently completed my role as a voter in the greatest musical tournament of all time, I have a few reflections.  I learned more about the Beastie Boys, as well as myself, than I thought possible.

J2K was unavailable for comment, as he is currently planning the massive corporate takeover of yet another company, Donald Trump-style, only he's doing it with better hair.


Sending you off with the greatest music video ever. Enjoy, and be safe over your Halloween weekend.

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The Squirrel Sign -- Photo of the Week 26 Oct 2009

Remember the squirrel that somehow got stuck in our wall, and kept us awake by clawing all the time? Probably not. Anyway. Squirrel stuck in the wall.

I wasn't here for it last year but Josh M says something similar happened, and that after a week or two the clawing stopped because, well -- because the little dude died. The real problem arose when management -- oblivious to the well-established fact that unburied corpses tend to reek -- took forever to come bust the wall open and take him away.

Well, our most recent squirrel stopped moving a week or so ago. Now this sign is taped to that same wall.

Maybe it's some annual thing the squirrels have decided to do? Probably not. We have annual things we do, but those are called holidays, and usually involve less mortalities and more celebration, I believe.

Management hasn't come yet. Nor has the stench. Yet.

Coincidentally, I just did a Ghost Tour up in Gettysburg, learning about places haunted by previous inhabitants who died in their homes, on battlefields, etc. I just hope the spirits of the dead squirrels don't permanently haunt the place. This approximates my worst-case scenario:

Yup. You guessed right. The feared Clown-Squirrel.


Happy Monday, all. Good to be back.

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Weekly Selects #10

A few ridiculous products to be plugged this week. I feel like I sold out to the home shopping network or something.

-Via Email from Josh M, who found this in SkyMall magazine on a planeride home:

i came across this gem on the airplane

THAT'S RIGHT, my friends! BODY FIGURE ENHANCING PADS! From the ad: "Just place them inside your pants or undergarments to create extra curves instantly...they adapt to body temp and mold to body shape. They stay put even when dancing or exercising."

This is pathetic. Everyone these days wants a quick fix. If you want to put some real curves on (in? What's the proper preposition here?) your butt, I suggest double-fisting donuts every half hour, washing down with undiluted egg nog. Repeat said pattern for at least a two week period, all whilst keeping yourself sedentary by watching every possible Law & Order rerun that NBC and TNT have to offer -- basically what we're going for here is eating like a voracious pregnant lady while slowing your metabolism to a molasses. like. crawl -- and you've got yourself a formula for a figure that will "stay put" in spite of all your "dancing or exercising."

-Via Email from Jay, who I'm convinced is on some private crusade against the Japanese. He likes to send articles describing some ridiculous Japanese product and make me defend them:

Josh,
You need to speak up for your countrymen again...

This particular treasure was a Japanese suit that is resistant to the swine flu. I honestly don't see what there is to defend here. Looking professional while warding off illness? It's not only feasible, it is an act of civil service by stopping a pandemic cold in its tracks.

I think Jay feels the Japanese contribute little to the international community besides ridiculousness -- efficient and technologically-advanced ridiculousness. But ridiculousness, nonetheless.

Look. The Japanese have plenty to offer. How 'bout you consider upon these contributions, Jay: Allowing a warrior class to rule an impoverished peasant class for centuries; sneak attacks that forever live in infamy, escalate world wars, AND further complicate a cliched love-triangle between Kate Beckinsale, Josh Hartnett, and Ben Affleck; beating baby seals; hunting whales to near-extinction; Godzilla. Yo, we own these things, son.

...Actually, on second thought...Let's just stick with the easy answers: Hondas, the Wii, and camera lenses.

-Via Google Reader, just to further emphasize Jay's point. This is a show that tries to make people have the "best" panicked face. Someone should go to jail for this. Is this even funny?



Someone needs to go to jail, methinks.

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The Addiction and Teacher That is Speed Scrabble

Thanks to a scarring game of Risk ("Ukraine is not weak!!") back in 2000 I tend to avoid board games; the exception, of course, being the occasional game of Mah-Jongg. Who doesn't want to place vital organs as collateral for a $10,000 bet every once in a while, am I right?? Anyway, regardless of my professed dislike for board games, I have recently become addicted to Speed Scrabble.

What's Speed Scrabble, you ask?

Speed Scrabble (SS) is to nerdy board-gamers what cocaine was to 80s celebrities: It is fast-paced, exhilarating, addictive, and the source of numerous unnatural nosebleeds. In the case of SS, the reason is either because the game got so intense participants came to fisticuffs, or the breakneck pace and overexertion from the game melted their brains. (***If you're bored enough to read the rules, I will put those at the bottom***)

Let's just leave the Speed Scrabble-Cocaine analogy there.

One friend, whom I will anonymize, put it this way:

This is utterly ridiculous to admit, but I dreamed about Speed Scrabble last night. I actually awoke to myself arranging words beginning with "q". Kinda weird.

Lessons Learned

SS has even taught me some valuable life lessons. The two that come most readily to mind are "pride cometh before the fall" and "those who forget history are doomed to repeat it."

Let me share a story that illustrates both. In the first game of what would become a 3-hour SS marathon, I came storming out of the blocks -- jumping out to a quick lead and catching my opponents at unawares. I foolishly declared:

"I guess you could call that my Pearl Harbor."

I guess it seemed like an apt analogy at the time, what with the quick strike and my Japanese heritage and all. For all of you not familiar with the Pacific Theater of WW2, however, here's the major problem with my poorly thought-out analogy: Japan LOST WW2! It was decimated!! Japan may have "won" Pearl Harbor, but even Admiral Yamamoto said afterward: "I fear all we have done is awakened a sleeping tiger." And he wasn't talking those pansy circus tigers that jump through hoops. He was talking the mean ones that want to tear your limbs off and eat you (avid PETA supporters being no exception). Pearl Harbor was really just the beginning of the end for Japan.

And so it was with me; my initial victory accomplished very little except to "awaken the tiger" (read: gave Mitch a reason to shut my gloating mouth up and decisively trounce me and everyone else under her feet). It became a self-fulfilling prophecy. I doomed myself to suffer the same fate as the Empire did in WW2 because I declared victory too soon.

So, chalk one History Comparison FAIL for me. Sigh.


***Speed Scrabble Explained***
You lay all of the scrabble tiles facedown in the middle of the table, everyone takes seven, then tries to build their own set of words as quickly as possible, using all tiles. Once they have used the seven tiles in their own hand, they say "go" and everyone draws two from the pile and so on until all the tiles are used up. Then you count up points based on the points on each tile, subtracting points for the tiles left over.

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Axis Powers -- Photo of the Week 27 July 2009

White Josh, the Frizzle and I -- well, let's be honest, just White Josh and I -- often joke about how our collective heritages could serve as a reunification of the Axis powers: Japan, Germany, and Italy.

When they visited in March, we were in the American History Museum in DC, and this setup was too good to pass up on:

Again, I place especial emphasis on the fact that this is just a joke, mainly because there are so many dissimilarities that separate us from these dudes: White Josh lacks the greasy hair for a nasty Hitler-esque combover; the Frizzle, while capable of dropping the hammer at times, cannot deliver fiery fascist speeches in Italian; and me... well, let's be honest: I lack the requisite ambition and intelligence to overthrow an existent government and run a new one.

Oh yeah, not to mention none of us three are detestable and soulless bastards. I forgot about that minor dissimilarity.

'manders was with us. To her credit, as soon as we turned the corner and saw this display, she immediately recognized what I wanted, patiently refrained from shaking her head disappointedly at me, and simply beckoned for me to hand her the camera so that she could take the picture. Dear girl.



Morning, all, and a Happy Monday. The sooner we get started, the sooner it'll be over. Or something. Blogging has been few and far between lately because I have found that Writing is a fickle mistress-- it comes and goes, and I haven't been feeling it. Stay tuned.

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Cheese Abe -- Photo of the Week 6 July 2009

It would be presumptive of me to guess the innermost thoughts and desires of the great minds of history, but my guess is that the Great Emancipator would not want to be immortalized in the following way:

See, some friends -- not the Asian kids pictured here; I stole this from Reuters -- went downtown the past weekend to scope this 1/2-ton abomination of cheddar that is a sculpture of Mr. Lincoln. They said "it smelled horrible."

Granted, a bobblehead is not much better, but something about a cheese sculpture is just insulting. And using the argument "Maybe Abe was a huge cheese-lover...?" isn't going to fly with me. There are lots of foods I love, but if someone suggests that a likeness of me be fashioned out of bacon, Twix bars, or panang curry, they are getting punched in the face.


Happy post-4th of July Monday, everyone. Hope you ate much BBQ, watched fireworks, and watched made passing reference to that age-old classic, Independence Day. Something about Bill Pullman giving an inspirational speech before going off to fly an F-18 and save the world is comical.

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A Crumbling Empire

Last year, I witnessed firsthand the unrestrained gluttony that is the Coney Island Hot Dog Eating Competition; my boy Kobayashi lost in a five hot dog eat-off to American Joey Chestnut.

This year, I wasn't in NYC, nor was I close to a TV, so White Josh and the Frizzle fed me text updates. Kobayashi lost. Again.

The Frizzle observed that WW2 history seems to be repeating itself. Indeed, it appears the rising power that was Japanese competitive eating between the years of 2001-2006 is in decline. In retrospect, Kobayashi's initial loss in 2007 is going to serve as the Battle of Midway for another crumbling Empire. Too bad.

Celebrate your 4th well, everyone. It's a beautiful day.

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Wish I Was There

Time for a new addition to the repertoire that I am going to call "Wish I Was There." Quite simply: Talk about some events that I wish I could have witnessed firsthand. Easy enough, right?

Alright. Let's do this.

--Samson and the Jawbone
I don't revel in gore, but how crazy would it have been to watch a man kill a thousand others with the jawbone of an animal? If jazz is the penultimate of improvisation, and MacGyver is the golden standard for resourcefulness, then Samson -- in choosing to take on an entire army with, of all things, the jawbone of an ASS -- solidified his status as some sort of Miles Davis/MacGyver hybrid of ancient hand-to-hand combat. Braveheart, Maximus: Get out the way, yo.

--The Battle of Marathon
The Persians tried to invade Greece, blah blah blah. Not really what I'm concerned about. What would concern me is stopping that stupid messenger from running the ~26 miles between Marathon to Athens. Stopping him would have done myself and humanity a favor, because marathons as we know them would not exist. (And yes, most of this is myth & legend, but this is my blog -- and dammit, fictional events are just as fun to speculate about being a participant in as real ones)

I haven't decided if "stopping" the messenger involves me mugging him or explaining to him the concept of a relay. I'll mull it over.

--Jimi at Woodstock, 1969 (suggested by JH)
Hopefully we're all familiar with Hendrix's improvised rendering of the "Star-Spangled Banner" at Woodstock. It is legendary. I personally would have been slightly uncomfortable around all of the "free love," drug-smoking/injecting/snorting, and overall lack of proper hygiene at the festival, but to see Jimi in his element would have been other-worldly -- with or without the drugs.


Thanks to those who have already submitted suggestions for future "Wish I Was There"s. Keep sending me events -- real or fictional; historical, literary or cinematic -- that you wish you would have been there for.

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The Complete Idiot's Guide to Identifying Butt Rock

Readers and friends often ask me: "What exactly is 'butt rock?' And if it is the musical equivalent of the Black Plague, as you claim, why do you keep bringing it up? That's just stupid."

First off, calm down. Insults are hurtful.

Second, you know the reason I bring it up is because back in high school I found some old butt rock concert t-shirts at Goodwill and started collecting them. Why the butt rock fixation when I know it sucks? Not quite sure on that one. I guess my counter to that question is: "What the hell is wrong with Mike Tyson?" See, both are good questions, but ones that we may never know the answers to.

Regardless, as a result of the strange draw that Butt Rock (BR) has on me, I have acquired some knowledge about the genre over the years and wish to impart it. Let's get down to the nitty gritty.

BR (aka "glam rock" "hair metal") was a musical product of the 80's -- and if the 80's were the modern Dark Age of movies, fashion, and music, then BR was indeed the accompanying Black Plague. Much like the Black Plague that scourged Europe in the 1300s, BR was the omnipresent scourge of its time; both nearly toppled western civilization; both thrived in unsanitary conditions; both had lasting, detrimental effects years after their peak -- and lastly, the prospect of either returning in a newly mutated form is terrifying enough to be a Stephen King novel.

Let me first list what is not needed in BR:

1. Musical talent
2. Good looks
3. Intelligence
4. Shame
5. Dignity

Still with me? Good.

Now, to the must haves.

Everything that is BR can be illustrated with a good BR concert t-shirt. I have one of the best:

This shirt tells us a lot about BR. First, you need a stupid band name, like Judas Priest, Def Leppard, Cinderella, Quiet Riot, Whitesnake, etc. Big hair and leather are absolute musts. I cannot emphasize this enough: BR without big hair and lots of leather is like Tony Stark without his Ironman suit. And when I say lots of leather, I'm talking the band should be wearing the equivalent of at least 50-60 entire cows' hides worth of leather. Songs about women and struggles with drug/alcohol addiction are essential -- as is the occasional "power ballad" to show the groupies that the band has a sensitive side.

What else? Let's flip that concert t-shirt over for more clues:

Need I say more?

I should teach a Music History class.

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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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Inside Jokes

In college, roommates are a roll of the dice. They can become best friends because you share all kinds of experiences with each other -- shooting ducks with paintball guns, playing Mariokart until 3am -- just to name a few. The flip side to that, of course, is you can end up getting your own personal Newman.

Aside from a roommate who had a semi- to completely disturbing obsession for "That 70s Show" -- the irony of this was his uncanny resemblance to the Fez character in the show* -- I was incredibly lucky. My college roommates are still my best friends. We laugh and reminisce about experiences, and still share those inside jokes/handshakes/greetings that bond us together and annoy outsiders.

Here's one inside greeting that never really panned out.

A few years ago, one roommate, Tim, was telling me about how his dad meets with some Japanese businessmen at a big meeting every year. At the end of the meeting, his dad always asks the businessmen where they want to go eat, and they always yell in Engrish "Fuh-wuckas!!!" (Fuddrucker's). It was a funny story, and we both had a good laugh.

Me: "Oh man, that's funny..."
Tim: "...yeah... Hey, we should do that."
Me: "Yeah, sure... Wait, do what?"
Tim: "We should yell that to each other as like a greeting when we see each other on campus or walking home or whatever."
**Substantial Pause**
Me: "You mean yell 'Fuh-wuckas!!!' really loud? When other people are around?"
Tim: "Yeah. C'mon, it'll be sweet."
Me: "OK. Fine." (my common sense had apparently decided to check out at this point)

A few days later, I spotted Tim on my way home from campus about 50 yards ahead of me. I looked around, hoping that no one was around, but had no such luck. Oh well. "Fuh-wuckas!!!" I yelled. Tim continued walking; everyone else in the vicinity turned to stare at the crazy Asian yelling weird phrases.

He is up there a ways; maybe he didn't hear me, I thought. . "Fuh-wuckas!!!" I yelled again. Nothing from Tim. People around me started taking out their cell phones to text their friends about the kid with Turret's that just walked by.

I got to the apartment and walked in to see Tim sitting on the couch, pretending to watch TV while trying to shield his face from looking at me. I held out my hands as an appeal for explanation. Tim continued to try to ignore me. "Timmy, what was that?? Did you not hear me? I bet our neighbors have called the mental hospital to tell them one of their crazies escaped."

"I'm sorry, dude. I was too embarrassed. I just couldn't bring myself to turn around or reply."

"Wasn't this thing your idea?"

"Yeah... again, sorry."

The betrayal was akin to Caeser being stabbed in the back by Brutus.

*So much so that my other roommate, White Josh, accidentally called him "Fez" to his face a few times.

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A (Hopefully) Fortunate Series of Events

Last week, it all changed. The ball started rolling when I checked my Gmail Inbox.

--The Initial Tip-Off:

That's a screenshot of my Gmail Inbox. Yes, I understand the disturbing implications of me having daily Google Alerts on anything about the Beastie Boys sent to my inbox. Get over it.

--The What:
--The Details:
Richmond Coliseum, Richmond, VA Tues, Oct 28 2008 7:00PM. I seem to remember Richmond having one of the higher homicide rates in the nation. I hope they've taken care of that by the time I get there. It's a "Get Out and Vote" concert, so I will likely get an earful of political propaganda, but I've endured much worse for much less.

Anyone who wishes to see me scream like a 14-year old girl at a Backstreet Boys concert, tickets may still be on sale at ticketmaster.com.


--The Unknown Variable:
How long is the Beasties' set going to be? How long are we going to have to suffer through listening to these other losers? Correction, "losers" may be a little harsh; Jack Johnson's music has a kicked back, all-I-want-to-do-is-surf-and-smoke-pot charm to it, and Norah Jones is good Sunday music. Aside from being attractive for a 46-year old (a "Diane Lane All-Star Team" member, according to Bill Simmons) and having dated Lance Armstrong at one point, I know nothing about Sheryl Crow. All I'm saying is this mix of artists has me nervous that the Boys are going to pull a George Washington (don't give me this "written in the Constitution" crap. I'm not buying it.) and step down to make room for lesser performers. I would prefer that they pull an FDR.

--The Possible Obstacle:
I'm scheduled to work that day; a 10am-10pm shift. I emailed my supervisors to let me swap shifts with someone for that day, but haven't heard back yet. I realize planning usually goes in the reverse order (ie make sure you can go and THEN buy the tickets), but if tickets got sold out because I was waiting to hear back on work schedules, I'm pretty sure I'd commit seppuku right then and there.

--The Context / Implications:

Until this week, life was an unsatisfying, burdensome, and hollow culmination of "life lessons," schooling, diplomas and degrees, working a real job, and relationships with friends and family.* The reason for this gaping abyss of unfulfillment that likely would have haunted me to my deathbed: I had yet to see the Beastie Boys in concert (see this entry for previous scarring attempts at attending a Beasties' concert), and based on their age, it seemed they would not tour again and my life would remain in the metaphorical toilet. This changes that. It was meant to be.

What I'm saying is as far as destiny and import are concerned, my attendance at this concert ranks somewhere between Frodo destroying the Ring and Luke Skywalker toppling the Emperor and the Dark Side.

Keep your fingers crossed that I can work my schedule out. If I don't, the mere fact that I had tickets at one point might serve as some sort of fulfillment for me.

Maybe.

*Relax, friends and family: I'm going for effect here.

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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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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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The Dora Incident -- Photo(s) of the Week 11 Aug 2008

Title: "The Massacre at Durham"
Location: Durham, NC
Year: Aug 2008

Took a much needed vacation this past week with the family. Young children are hilarious to me; it's always amusing to me how short kids' attention spans are, while they simultaneously retain so much.

One of my nieces, Elise, is absolutely obsessed with "Dora the Explorer" (I'm convinced that no one, since the Nazis in the 30s and 40s, has conducted a more successful brainwashing and propaganda campaign than the creators of this show.¹ Children are infatuated with this cartoon character who, in my opinion, lacks the complexity needed to be a lead character for a successful TV series), to the point that she has her cousin, Alice, saying "Dora, Dora" when I'm pretty sure Alice has no idea who Dora is. I'm telling you: Propaganda.

Fascist conspiracy theories aside, Elise got rewarded with five crayons shaped like Dora for doing something right.


Five minutes into playing with them, she accidentally handled one of the Dora crayons too roughly and snapped its head off. "We have to fix Dora. We have to fix Dora" she kept imploring me. "Get scissors, get scissors. We have to fix Dora."

I didn't know what scissors had to do with piecing Dora back together, but I convinced Elise to cut (hah!) her losses and play with the remaining four Doras that remained intact.

30 minutes later, this scene greeted me:


The carnage was harrowing.

So much so that I expected Elise to look at me with contempt like Russell Crowe does at the crowd in Gladiator after that one fight scene where he killed like six guys, and then yell "Are you not entertained?! Are You Not Entertained?!" and then spit disgustedly and throw her sword to the ground. Something like that.

Instead, she moved on to playing with something else.

(Green Dora will walk again, albeit with a limp. The other four weren't so fortunate)

1 - That's RIGHT. I made that analogy. Hyperbole strikes again. If I don't post within a week, the Dora Gestapo found me.

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My Thanks

Through a recent effort to inform myself about the world and its history, I've unfortunately found that in our world, war is not always avoidable.

In fact, it seems that wars are not just unavoidable on occasion -- they are inevitable. Conflict appears to engulf all global issues, and it is usually the result of indiscriminate hatred or some moron who feels they are entitled to more at the expense of the freedom of others... or some twisted combination of both. It is an unyielding disease of take, take, take, and it is more than a little depressing to read about day in and day out.

Lately, however, what has struck me more poignantly is that there is a flip-side to that coin: Giving, e.g. those who serve or have served in our Armed Forces. Their motivations for enlisting may differ slightly -- some fight to protect the freedoms of loved ones at home. Some, for the freedom of people in other countries. Others, to try and improve the world around them. I can't speak for each individual. When it comes down to it, the universal and unifying aspects to it all is their willingness to serve and sense of duty.

My heartfelt gratitude goes out to those men and women who, without hesitation, willingly go to distant and foreign lands to fight because they love their country and their fellow man.

I don't know why, but recently, every time I hear the National Anthem at a sporting event, or see uniformed servicemen walking through the airport, my eyes well up. It makes me grateful for what has been given by them and their predecessors, and makes me think about what I should be willing to give; not just to ensure the future freedoms of our country and the world, but also as a token of my gratitude for all of those unknowns that willingly served their country.

Happy Veterans' Day, everyone. Whether you agree with America's involvement in current conflicts or not, remember why we have it.

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