Smile, Bitch.
i can never be happy. it's a strange virus. i'm always unhappy, and then i think of a goal that would make me happy. i work and work to achieve that goal, and once i achieve it-- i'm happy for two seconds. then i'm unhappy again. i start thinking, "gee, this isn't as great as i thought it would be," and then i start working towards another goal of happiness. it's a torturous cycle of unhappiness and i don't know how to stop. even moreso, i don't know how to be happy. maybe that's why i take drugs.
Kobe: Congratulations, You Selfish Bastard.
Kobe scores 81... teammates feel 100 points of hatred... American Idol Returns... greatest show on earth... tap my phones Mr. Bush... guaranteed best phone sex you'll ever hear... Palestinian election takes place... Hamas loses, plans retaliation attacks... Gerald Ford leaves hospital... coulda sworn he was dead... Seahawks, Steelers Super Bowl... tune in for the commercials... South Korean scientist admits faking first cloning... South Korea's becoming Americanized after all... Bush tries to subpoena Google searches... I'm not worried unless he tries Limewire... Brad and Angelina adopt more kids... poor, poor kids... even Woody Allen fears worst... Colin Farrell sextape banned from trading... got it three weeks ago on Limewire... Rosario Dawson in Alexander was hotter... mega-massive titties... George Bush says has not seen Brokeback Mountain... Dick Cheney's daughter says she's living it... Roman Catholic priest convicted of molestation freed... come repent your sins, kids... Michael Jackson to join clergy...
Daniel Martin: The Most Amazing Thing
Starting my new job, I met my first client today. His name is Daniel Martin: 63, blind in one eye, slightly autistic, and deaf. I knew this job would be a change of pace from the world of corporate sales and promotion, but I didn't really know what else to expect. After one week of watching videos and reading, I was prepped to go to work for my social services center and work with the disabled. But meeting Daniel Martin was nothing like what I expected. Daniel was standing outside waiting for us when we arrived. For the day, I was Chris' "shadow," just following him and meeting his clients as if they were my own. Chris knew some sign and had little trouble communicating with Daniel. Apparently they have formed a bond. Chris taught me a little sign, but I have a long ways to go. I managed to say a few words and phrases to Daniel, and it seemed he approved. But the real amazing part of meeting Daniel was when we went up to his apartment, to see how he lived. Chris told me that Daniel was fascinated by glass and reflective objects. He said Daniel spent a lot of time looking through glass and playing with the prisms that reflected through it from the sunlight. I thought it was a minor detail about Daniel until I took one step into his room.
Daniel's apartment was covered in glass. There was a coffee table in the center of the room that I noticed first. It was covered, across in all ways, with little trinkets, statues, and geometric shapes-- all formed with glass. There were glass picture frames on his walls. Glass cups, wands, a magnifying glass, and other reflective objects all around the room. It was like one giant prism. As we continued in, Chris asked Daniel to show me a glass picture frame hanging on the wall. Daniel was more than happy to oblige. He hit a switch and the piece illuminated, animating a fake waterfall. I asked Chris how to sign "beautiful" and he showed me. I told Daniel it was. As we continued, Chris showed me the minor duties I would have to do once I was on my own: check Daniel's glucose log(I forgot to mention Daniel is also diabetic), check his medicine supply, and make sure Daniel's living quarters are in order. I listened, but turned to watch Daniel. Daniel had taken a seat in his recliner and picked up a cylindrical glass piece, holding it up to his good eye. He put it up right against it, entranced by the prism he was seeing out the other end. Chris continued talking but I couldn't hear him anymore. I was too focused on Daniel. It was amazing.
bloggabloggaboo
to everything, turn, turn, turn... don't burn the vegetables... bringin' da noise, bringin' da funk... po' boy sandwiches... alicia keys the side of my car... bringin' da grapefruit, bringin' da jelly... whatever happens, happens... t.v. keeps burning out... flagstaff! flagstaff!... psycho-shock therapy... depressed? need to get over it... call me, i'm larry h. parker... nice tie, shmucko... hey! hit it here!... dodgin bullets, raisin babies... mah jong, motherfucker, maaah jooong... make sense, not dollars... you're privvy to information you shouldn't be privvied to... unbelievable underwear stains... pie pie pie... aroma-therapy for the blind... picking your nose is an innate ability, nobody teaches you... sam i am green eggs and ham... publish this... picture this... promote promote promote...
Confidence is more dangerous than a gun, in the hands of some.
verbal diarrhea
wish people would stop inviting... drink less... drink more... turn off the static... there's more under the napkin... winner beware... unleash the beast... oj finds real killers... robert mitchum... derelict's swagger... perfume-mace attack... rubbing nipples in ecstasy... hit him in the breadbasket... today is the greatest... day i've ever known... fat kids wearing glasses... punch-drunk love... married and contemplating suicide... dermot mulroney... goonies are good, they're good enough... peacocks... oops, i crapped my pants... attache-case filled with bubble-gum... bringin' da noise, bringin' da funk... stewart appleby and his magic green testicle... nazi werewolves from hell... beware of the pinchmaster... smoking weed increases mcdonald's sales... bad habits feel so good... turning over a new leaf... rebuking alcoholism... i took four ecstasy... tablets and i can't feel my face... bringin' more funk dan noise... silly rabbit, acid tabs are for kids... if you ever meet a midget with vampire teeth, make sure your penis is not long enough to bite... acid... fourth drug... reference... stimulants... barbituates... depressants... downers... methadone... brickhouse... k.c. and the sunshine band... wearing band-aids over your eyes... bringin' da noise level up, to match da funk... hobo's shit their pants and walk around in it... k.c. armstrong... black lungs, white death... viva la revolucion... sir bob saget... every day is like sunday... get that shit out of my face... martina hingis... dashboard confessional... bat to the face... broken clavicles... poirot... for me to poop on... as you wish... hermaphrodite heaven... apple fritters... paint that shit on my face
Video Games.
Whatever happened to video games.
Not those complicated, computer-online driven $50 to $100 cd-rom's you find in aisle after aisles at your local bulk electronics franchise, I mean arcade video games. In my youth, you couldn't go into a convenient store without seeing two or three or them lined up against the front, interior wall. There'd always be a kid playing one, and the next best thing to playing one would be to stand behind that kid and watch him play. Those games were the greatest. Every few months one would be changed, and you'd get excited about the possibility of starting a new twenty-five cent adventure. That's all it cost-- twenty-five cents. Sometimes even free, if you'd happen upon a slug or one of those quarters with a hole drilled into it. You remember those quarters: some ne'er do well kid drills a hole in it, ties a string through it and plays endless hours of free video games by dipping it into the coin slot and pulling it back out. Innocent genius.
Nowadays video games are too complicated. There is no real sense of enjoyment. Back in my day, there was more enjoyment than complexity. Sure, the games were challenging, but you didn't need an advanced math degree to figure out how to get to the end. You just needed to beat up seven opponents, or jump across mystical landscapes, or shoot down a bunch of enemy fighter planes. There were no "play online" options or multi-faceted wireless controllers. There was a big box with a joystick sticking out of it, along with a few buttons. There was a "start", and a "two player start." There was no "enter code to play last saved game."
It was a social setting, too. Nowadays, video games mean playing in a home, shut out from the outside. There is no conversation or meeting of new friends. Back in my day, after standing there for hours watching that kid play, he'd turn around and make a comment to me after losing all his lives.
"I never know how to beat him," he'd say.
"You have to block, block, block, then low kick," I'd say.
"Oh yeah?" he'd reply, as if I'd just endowed him with a well-kept secret.
"Yeah, watch-- lemme play, I'll show you."
Then I'd stick my quarter in, advance to his level, and show him the secret to defeating the opponent that someone had once shown me. He'd laugh exuberantly, I'd smile, until I got to my part where I was unable to defeat the opponent. I'd repeat the same thing he'd just said to me and he'd agree, admitting that "that part is tough."
We'd part ways in a friendly way, comrades united against a common enemy. I'd see him again, because game locations were a spot for frequenting, specifically to play the game. Next time maybe we'd play two player, and defeat the enemy that way. It was unifying, it was bonding. I think most of my childhood friends were made over video games.
Street Fighter marked the decline of the video game. It was a hot game that attracted many a player to it, and it started the trend of placing your quarter up on the screen to signal your turn. It was the beginning of the end for arcade video games, because once it came out, the following trends were all about "turbo'ing" it up, or adding more high-speed options. It was the last video game to draw crowds into convenient stores and supermarkets. Since then, arcades have become something completely different.
I went into a large arcade the other night and didn't recognize one game. They were all highly-advanced, souped-up versions of already highly-advanced, souped-up versions. There were dancing games, shooting games, driving games, and a lot of games that were impossible to understand just by looking at. I saw one that had a keyboard instead of a joystick. A keyboard.
Whatever happened to video games. I guess they fell victim to that bottomless pit of missing things known as nostalgia. Such a shame, really. These young generations of kids will never know what it was like to spend hour after hour, quarter after quarter, and go through blood, sweat, and migraines to try to accomplish that one claim to glory that everyone who graced that section of the local liquor store hoped of doing: entering your three-letter moniker into the high-score ranking hall of fame.
My Own, Private Hell
I loved senior year of high school. Mostly, because I never went. One of my closest friends and I literally ditched about seventy-five percent of our senior year. We would write ourselves notes, saying that we had to leave campus at a certain time for a dentist's appointment, or a doctor's check-up, or a funeral, or whatever came to our minds that day. We'd then exchange notes and he'd signature as my mother, and I'd signature as his. This is what we usually did, or sometimes-- we just wouldn't go to school at all.
However this one day, for whatever reason, my partner in crime absolutely insisted he had to stay in school that day. Perhaps it was a test or some other reason, but whatever it was I found myself in desperate need to ditch Chemistry without anyone to do it with. See, I absolutely abhorred chemistry. I didn't get it. To make matters worse, I began to discover there was math involved. Learning about molecules and science is one thing, but why did I have to use quadratic equations to determine molecular weight? I wasn't going to be a damn scientist.
Anyway, I decided that day that I was just simply going to wander campus for the hour. I had it all planned out: I would place all of my belongings in my locker, then simply walk around school with a book in my hand. If I were to be stopped by a teacher or a hall monitor asking to see my pass(you needed a pass to leave a classroom, for whatever reason: i.e.,. bathroom, locker visit, etc.,.) I would simply show them my book and say, "Oh, I just went to my locker real quick to get a book." It was genius.
Chemistry class was in the middle of a brand new building. You could enter the building from numerous entrances, but the main one was also the entrance to Mr. Sismondo's office. Mr. Sismondo was the Vice Principal, and as soon as you opened the building door-- his office was directly to your right. Straight down the hall was Chemistry class.
I walked around campus for a good twenty minutes. I began to get nervous about my plan, and decided I'd wait out the remainder of the hour in the school bathroom, located just across the main entrance to the chemistry building/Mr. Sismondo's office. I went in and prepared to lock myself in a stall. As soon as a took a few steps in, I saw Mr. Sismondo taking a piss at a urinal. In my mind, I froze, but physically I never stopped for a beat as if I had done nothing wrong. Mr. Sismondo gave me an angry look, and it made the butterflies in my stomach furious with flight. Never stopping in stride, I walked directly past him, into one of the last bathroom stalls and decided to take a leak. He won't ask me, I hoped, he has better things to do. As I stood there taking a leak, I could feel his eyes on me. I don't think he was a gay, sexual predator, I just think he was an angry man looking to traumatize a student.
As I finished my leak, I turned and walked away, book in hand. Sismondo was at the sink, washing his hands. I didn't bother, I headed straight for the door anxious to get out.
"Hey!" he yelled.
I froze.
"Your parents never teach you how to flush a toilet?" he bellowed.
"Huh?"
"Come here."
Mr. Sismondo called me over to the stall I had just used. In my anxiety, I had forgotten to flush the toilet.
"You see that lever over there?", he yelled, pointing to the flushing lever, "you push down on that to flush!"
"Oh, sorry," I whimpered out, hands shakingly reaching out to push down.
I pushed down on it and watched the pool swirl away.
"The way they're made, you don't have to use your hands. You can just push down on it with your foot after!" he yelled in my face.
"S-sorry!" I managed.
I was about to break. He was yelling in my face and he was a huge, freakin' man.
"Where's your hall pass?" he yelled.
That was it. Time to test my plan. I raised my book so he could see and tried to build my voice with confidence.
"I didn't get one, I just went to my locker really quick--"
"Well, obviously you didn't! What class was it?"
"Chemistry."
"Who's the teacher?"
"Mr. Parks."
He gave me one more daunting look and told me to get back to class and get a pass. I nodded in fear.
He and I headed toward the exit, but I took the lead with a more ardent stride. I knew we were both heading to the same area, and I had a feeling he was going to visit my Chemistry class and chew out Mr. Parks for "allowing me to leave class without a pass." I couldn't imagine what was going to happen: the confusion, the look on Mr. Parks' face, and finally-- the realization that I had never gone there. I practically sped walk to the entrance door of the building and saw Mr. Sismondo's reflection not far behind me in the glass.
I opened the door and disappeared inside, quickly. I looked down the hall and saw my chemistry class: the door was open and I could see my classmates inside. I made eye contact with some of them, who gave me a curious look. I had no time to acknowledge their looks, for I knew it would be not two seconds before Mr. Sismondo came straddling in behind me. I approached the open door of the classroom, waited to hear the building door behind me open, then quickly made a left, down an adjoining hallway that would take me to another exit. A few steps down the adjacent hall and I heard the building door open. Mr. Sismondo had entered the building. As far as he knew, I had beelined straight into class. He couldn't see down the adjoining hallway, and I quickly(and silently) ran down the hallway and made a right. There, was another exit/entrance.
I bolted out the door into the sunlight fearing for my life. I was picturing what was going on in the classroom:
Mr. Sismondo: Hey, John[Parks]?
Mr. Parks: Yeah?
Mr. Sismondo: Next time you let one of your students out to go to their locker, make sure they have a hall pass. The kid you just let out made a pit stop where he wasn't supposed to.
(A long beat)
Mr. Parks: What kid?
I was imagining the situation being played out and all the confusion going on inside. I took off down a dirt road down to the P.E. (Physical Education) area. I didn't know what to do and I didn't know where to go, but something told me I'd be safe waiting out the remainder of the hour down by the basketball and tennis courts.
When I got down there, there were about two or three P.E. classes in session. The tennis courts were filled with gym-shorts wearing P.E. students, and so were the basketball courts. Shaking, I sat down just outside of them and began to look through my book. It was a history book. I realized I had never really read it. I tried to calm my nerves, not knowing my next challenge would come. Only a few minutes after I sat down, one of the P.E. Teachers blew his whistle, signaling the class had ended and it was time to head back up the stairs to the locker rooms to change. I didn't budge. I didn't have to. Mr. Davis came to me.
Mr. Davis was one of the P.E. Teachers. He walked right by me and stopped.
"Who are you?" he said, looking me up and down in my civies.
"Uh... Edgar Ma." I replied.
Edgar Ma was a dunce around school, and us both being asian, I had always intended to use his name in case of any academic trouble in school where I didn't want to receive the blame.
"Who?" he replied, stepping towards me.
By this time, the P.E. students had began passing us and heading up the stairs towards the lockers. I saw my friend Joe approaching, who somehow knew I was up to no good. I could see it in his eyes.
"Who's class are you in?" Mr. Davis questioned.
I racked my brain trying to think of the other P.E. Teachers' names. There was Mr. O'dell, Mr. Bryant, Mr. Roscoe, and Mr. Hardaway, but for whatever reason-- maybe the pressure and stress of the situation, I couldn't think of any.
"YOURS." was what came out of my mouth.
Mr. Davis took another step forward and opened his attendance book.
"What's your name?" he asked again.
"Ma," I said, knowing that the gig was up.
He opened his book right in front of me. Using his pen, he went down the list of names looking for a "Ma" last name. He couldn't find one. Fortunately for me, I did. There was a name in there, "Ma Yeh", a chinese kid who spoke little English. I knew who he was and decided to claim him as me.
"Right there!" I pointed, "Ma Yeh!"
I followed Mr. Davis' pen scroll across Ma Yeh's name. There, at the end of his checklist, was Ma Yeh... check-marked as absent. Son of a bitch. How lucky was I? The guy was absent that day.
"You have to let me know if you don't dress, okay?" Mr. Davis said. "See? I marked you as absent."
"Sorry." I said.
I watched as Mr. Davis erased the check-mark and re-checked Ma Yeh as "did not dress."
"Go on up," he said.
And with that, I was gone.
The period was over. In the locker room, I tried to explain to Joe what the hell had just occurred, but I was too exasperated to make any sense. I waited until the bell rang and went to my locker, got my stuff, and made my way over to my next class.
The next day I expected a mass of confustion in chemistry class but there was none. No one made any mention of anything, except the students with whom I had made eye contact with in the hallway. One of them told me Mr. Sismondo had come in after they'd seen me but didn't know what he talked to Mr. Parks about. The class ended and I was finally stress-free. You would think that would keep me from ditching chemistry again, but a few days later, a fellow classmate and I snuck out the open classroom door during class, while the lights were out and a video was playing. We literally crawled out of the classroom while the video was on, leaving all of our stuff on our desks. I never got in trouble for that day either, but it was another heck of an ordeal, another day of private hell, and another story for another time.
