I had like, a billion good ideas for tonight's blog, but i forgot them all.
I am looking forward to seeing Henry Cho perform. The asian community in sf seems hyped up about it, but yet again, these are the guys that like dat phan and margaret cho. That's why I hate asian people. They think that they're so cool because they're asian. But they're not. Dragonboat, taking chinese, watching dat phan and margaret cho. Those aren't necessarily cool, they're just sheltering themselves like immigrants. they need to get out of their boxes and do things that americans do. and not just white americans. americans! i know tons of asian people who live in the mission and know nothing about mexican cultures. chinese people hate anything that isn't east asian or white american. goddamn chinks. get fucking lives. DAT PHAN IS NOT FUNNY! MARGARET CHO IS ONLY SLIGHTLY FUNNIER!
Henry Cho, the dignity of your chinky race is at hand. You BETTER be funny.
Trouble in ISRAFGHYIANONANAQ. What if it is WWIII? I hope they blow themselves up before they get the rest of us into it...
Wednesday, July 19, 2006
Tuesday, July 18, 2006
Worst Day, Ever Quothe the Comic Book Guy
Man today sucked. My car broke down on the freeway with no shoulders yesterday and it was towed to a garage on Stanyan and Oak. So i had to wake up early, do chores, and then get down there. then we had to wait for the car to be towed to the garage we usually get work done through. they told us that the transmission was kaput even though we just got it replace a year point five ago. it's like, motherfucker, you should have fixed my fucking car. then after it was towed, my mom yelled at teh guy for a while cos he fucked us over. i got done at 4pm and was about to go down to the beach when catherine, my coworker called. she was having an emergency so i basically had to go down to the shop for 4 hours. jackson personnel called me on the way and offered me a job for 5 days that paid 25 bucks an hour, but i couldnt take it seeing as how i had company during that time. fuck company man. that hella would have paid like 1-2000 dollars for 5 days. mother fucker. so i work for 4 hours and im late for the bonfire, so i call yoongi and she's at her house with jeena. and then they do the normal girl thing and fuk around for 2 hours before we can leave then it takes us almost 2 hours to get home and then to the beach. we finally get to the bonfire and find out that the bonfire had been over for an hour already. then i have to get the girls to a 1 california stop and, consequently, had to walk through the park to get home. it took me an hour. now im here and my finger is burned because the wick of my firework sparked and hit me in the finger.
25 bucks per fucking hour. fuck company
fuck today man. fuck today
25 bucks per fucking hour. fuck company
fuck today man. fuck today
Sunday, July 16, 2006
Hi Morgan
I'm tempted to only address these posts to you because you're the only one who reads this. Even with the high irregularity of my posts, you're still hungry for Mhmm. Oh well. This is a story I wrote during my Ireland trip between sophomore and junior year. It was during the first or second day in Dublin, or on our trip as a whole. I'm not that much of a writer and I certainly wasn't then, but I still hope you like it.
Dublin Taxi - Aug 3
We were already waiting for him when the taxi driver pulled up in front of Kinlay House. He pulled up with half of the car on the sidewalk; the engine was still running. When he stepped out of the cab I could see he was about thirtyfive. His face was slightly red and his hair was gelled slightly back. I stepped toward the trunk to put my suitcase in when he came up to me.
"Wahr ya headed" he asked. He smelled of cigarettes. I mumbled something about the Dublin Docks or Port and when it became apparent to him that I wasn't going to answer his question, he asked my parents. They told the man when we were going to Dublin Port. I was more of less right. I was just too afraid to let my kinsman know I had an accent.
After we put everything in the trunk, we piled in the car. Not surprisingly, it also smelled like cigarettes. I glanced over at what I thought was the driver's seat and raised my eyebrows when Dad popped in. When I looked over to the right, I realized that I made the usual mistake of a foreigner in Ireland. I knew Irish people drove on the wrong...left side of the road, but i guess it takes more than a day to fully kick in.
The cab driver stepped in teh car and put it into drive. We were about a block away from out hostel when he honked his horn at some jaywalker. I wasn't really paying attention, though. For some reason I started staring at his shirt. It was white, with yellow and blue squares. I bet it smelled like cigarettes. Then out of the silence, my dad spoke.
"So how'd you spend your Bank Holiday? We just figured out about it yesterday and were wondering why all the shops were closed." He was stuttering a bit.
"Wa's thaht?" the cabbie asked. I think it was a combination of my fathers inarticulation and the driver's simply not caring that allowed the question to be repeated.
"I said 'How'd you spend your Bank Holiday?'" Dad repeated.
"Drank mostly.. Typical thing to do, eh?" I guess it was.
"Well, which pub did you go to?" Dad asked. "Normally," he added. the cabbie thought about it for a second.
"The Dogs Bollox, or whichever has the loudest singing." It sounded like fun. "No offence, but at least if Americans are there, they got some big balls...I mean guts." He honked at someone on the sidewalk. "Friend o' mine..."
"So who do you usually drive around? Who are your usual sutomers?" Dad was an obvious American. He asked too many questions; ones that he certainly wouldn't ask an American cabbie.
"Oh, you konw. Families like you. Umm... Stags and hens.." He wasn't used to these kinds of questions.
"Oh..yea. And a hen.. would be..?"
"A married lady."
"Of course, of course." After a couple seconds of silence, the cabbie's cell phone rang. It was a blue Samsung. My cousin Joe had one of those fresh off the market from Japan the last time I saw him. Four years later, this cabbie had the same model. He picked up the earpiece from the ashtray and plugged it in the appropriate orafice.
"Oy, yea?"
"Sean, wahr ye goin? You fookin honk me down and zoom by!" The phone was quite loud and I could hear ever crackle quite clearly.
"Stop corsin!" he chuckled, "I've got pahssengers!"
"Speak louder! I cahn't fookin 'ear you."
"I said stop your corsin! I got fookin..I got pahssengers."
"Oy. I'll call ye back later then. Cheers."
"Cheers, mate" He looks sheepishly back at us. "Sorry about thaht"
"No problem," said my dad. My mother looked unamused. We drove in silence for another six or seven minutes before we reached the Port. We got out and boarded the ferry. It was a long way to England.
Meh. My story ended prematurely so i had to remember what happened for the last couple lines. But it's done.
Dublin Taxi - Aug 3
We were already waiting for him when the taxi driver pulled up in front of Kinlay House. He pulled up with half of the car on the sidewalk; the engine was still running. When he stepped out of the cab I could see he was about thirtyfive. His face was slightly red and his hair was gelled slightly back. I stepped toward the trunk to put my suitcase in when he came up to me.
"Wahr ya headed" he asked. He smelled of cigarettes. I mumbled something about the Dublin Docks or Port and when it became apparent to him that I wasn't going to answer his question, he asked my parents. They told the man when we were going to Dublin Port. I was more of less right. I was just too afraid to let my kinsman know I had an accent.
After we put everything in the trunk, we piled in the car. Not surprisingly, it also smelled like cigarettes. I glanced over at what I thought was the driver's seat and raised my eyebrows when Dad popped in. When I looked over to the right, I realized that I made the usual mistake of a foreigner in Ireland. I knew Irish people drove on the wrong...left side of the road, but i guess it takes more than a day to fully kick in.
The cab driver stepped in teh car and put it into drive. We were about a block away from out hostel when he honked his horn at some jaywalker. I wasn't really paying attention, though. For some reason I started staring at his shirt. It was white, with yellow and blue squares. I bet it smelled like cigarettes. Then out of the silence, my dad spoke.
"So how'd you spend your Bank Holiday? We just figured out about it yesterday and were wondering why all the shops were closed." He was stuttering a bit.
"Wa's thaht?" the cabbie asked. I think it was a combination of my fathers inarticulation and the driver's simply not caring that allowed the question to be repeated.
"I said 'How'd you spend your Bank Holiday?'" Dad repeated.
"Drank mostly.. Typical thing to do, eh?" I guess it was.
"Well, which pub did you go to?" Dad asked. "Normally," he added. the cabbie thought about it for a second.
"The Dogs Bollox, or whichever has the loudest singing." It sounded like fun. "No offence, but at least if Americans are there, they got some big balls...I mean guts." He honked at someone on the sidewalk. "Friend o' mine..."
"So who do you usually drive around? Who are your usual sutomers?" Dad was an obvious American. He asked too many questions; ones that he certainly wouldn't ask an American cabbie.
"Oh, you konw. Families like you. Umm... Stags and hens.." He wasn't used to these kinds of questions.
"Oh..yea. And a hen.. would be..?"
"A married lady."
"Of course, of course." After a couple seconds of silence, the cabbie's cell phone rang. It was a blue Samsung. My cousin Joe had one of those fresh off the market from Japan the last time I saw him. Four years later, this cabbie had the same model. He picked up the earpiece from the ashtray and plugged it in the appropriate orafice.
"Oy, yea?"
"Sean, wahr ye goin? You fookin honk me down and zoom by!" The phone was quite loud and I could hear ever crackle quite clearly.
"Stop corsin!" he chuckled, "I've got pahssengers!"
"Speak louder! I cahn't fookin 'ear you."
"I said stop your corsin! I got fookin..I got pahssengers."
"Oy. I'll call ye back later then. Cheers."
"Cheers, mate" He looks sheepishly back at us. "Sorry about thaht"
"No problem," said my dad. My mother looked unamused. We drove in silence for another six or seven minutes before we reached the Port. We got out and boarded the ferry. It was a long way to England.
Meh. My story ended prematurely so i had to remember what happened for the last couple lines. But it's done.
Monday, July 10, 2006
Smokey the Dolphin
I was thinking a really good think in the General MacArthur Tunnel, but now i forgot what my think was. So I got another one. I'm not ashamed to say that I thought of it in church.
I was remembering the guy who said he could see people's auras. The interviewer put a magazine in front of his face and asked 'can you see the aura around my head now that my face is covered?' and the guy said yes. then the interviewer went behind a wall that was just slightly taller than him and told the guy to find where he was based on the aura he gave off. the other guy said that there was a cosmic interruption or something. whatever he was a liar.
I think i see auras. Not in that hollywood sense, but like, hmmm. I remember playing kickball in middleschool and everybody had their own personal color. Max Mah was a deep fire red. Like that tshirt he always war. Alfredo Mendez was orange. Damon Hudson was blue, as was Nick Philliou. It was kinda like that. And it still is. i think that these auras i saw were representative of their personalities.
i can't use this ability too much these days. the gift doesnt come as easy as it once did. but i wondered, what if i could see the auras clearly and they were representative of their souls? it would make things a hell of a lot easier. i could pick my friends a little easier (lord knows i need help with that), but it could make things a hell of a lot harder. I might be responsible for people souls. I might be like joan of arcadia and have to help people achieve salvation. I might have to get people to turn their lives around. That would suck. But then maybe god would talk to me. And not that 'god is in me, and in the wind and in the world' bunch of crap. god actually talked to joan of arcadia. can't he just call me up and tell me he's real? this would be a nice sign. the power to see people's souls and help them change their lives. i wonder if babies would have clean auras or just no aura at all. they're just innocent.
oh the thinks you can think when you have to listen to the pianist at church talk about himself.
fuck this movie was depressing.
I was remembering the guy who said he could see people's auras. The interviewer put a magazine in front of his face and asked 'can you see the aura around my head now that my face is covered?' and the guy said yes. then the interviewer went behind a wall that was just slightly taller than him and told the guy to find where he was based on the aura he gave off. the other guy said that there was a cosmic interruption or something. whatever he was a liar.
I think i see auras. Not in that hollywood sense, but like, hmmm. I remember playing kickball in middleschool and everybody had their own personal color. Max Mah was a deep fire red. Like that tshirt he always war. Alfredo Mendez was orange. Damon Hudson was blue, as was Nick Philliou. It was kinda like that. And it still is. i think that these auras i saw were representative of their personalities.
i can't use this ability too much these days. the gift doesnt come as easy as it once did. but i wondered, what if i could see the auras clearly and they were representative of their souls? it would make things a hell of a lot easier. i could pick my friends a little easier (lord knows i need help with that), but it could make things a hell of a lot harder. I might be responsible for people souls. I might be like joan of arcadia and have to help people achieve salvation. I might have to get people to turn their lives around. That would suck. But then maybe god would talk to me. And not that 'god is in me, and in the wind and in the world' bunch of crap. god actually talked to joan of arcadia. can't he just call me up and tell me he's real? this would be a nice sign. the power to see people's souls and help them change their lives. i wonder if babies would have clean auras or just no aura at all. they're just innocent.
oh the thinks you can think when you have to listen to the pianist at church talk about himself.
fuck this movie was depressing.
Reno 911 Is My Only Friend
So. Wow. First there was orientation. And i met some really cool people. I ihad fun. And i feel better about going to sb. This weekend was company and superman and warped. warped was freakin awesoem. i had so much fun. i got like 15 cds and lots of tshirts. i also got to go to laurens party. and i had so much fun there. and yoongi got to sleep over for 2 nights. that was cool. track banquet wasnt even that bad.
but shit. today was a bad ending to a great weekend.
it sucks enough that people change. but its worse when people change people. it isnt fair. i find i'm hating lots of my friends. it sucks.
but shit. today was a bad ending to a great weekend.
it sucks enough that people change. but its worse when people change people. it isnt fair. i find i'm hating lots of my friends. it sucks.
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