Sly fox stands on grass,
survey prey to tempt "fowl" play --
will strike, when ready...
Friday, October 13, 2006
Oh, Canada! - The Vacation 2006 **Bonus Pics**
Here's some pics that didn't really fit anywhere, but I thought I'd share them anyway!
I don't wanna go!!!!... ;)
I don't wanna go!!!!... ;)Thursday, October 12, 2006
Oh, Canada! - The Vacation 2006, Part 4: So Long, For Now...
Orig. August 8, 2006 - The Return Home...
5:30 AM - Wake up, wondering where I am, and then I remember I'm still not in Kansas. God, I need to pack.
6:45 AM - Check out of hotel. Finished packing my stuff and it feels lighter - how does that happen?
6:47 AM - One the road to the airport. It's still sunrise, the scorching ball of light only burning small holes in our retinas - but we'll live.
7:04 AM - Got lost again and missed the interchange. Exited at this giant mall, where I barely saw the sign to point us back to the right freeway. Sun still shining in our faces, increasing the level of difficulty. Dad says "Don't panic." I keep mine from showing.
7:41 AM - Dropped off the rental car, now using "Canadian R2-D2" to do check-in. Lines are long and insane this morning.
7:53 AM - Start lining up for customs. It too is long. Still haven't checked in bags yet, which sucks. A lady from the airline starts yelling at us like we're cattle, which, we are sort of herding like.
8:34 AM - Clear customs - Customs Agent was friendly and glad to see my father and I. Oh joy! Also pass through security screening without hassle. The Screening inspector thought my PSP was "bitch'n". ***SIDE NOTE FOR JJ4: I cleared customs through window "4"***
8:46 AM - Find breakfast joint to enjoy "American breakfast". The irony isn't lost on my father either.
9:19 AM - Waiting at the gate. There's an older brother tossing his little brother up and down in the air. HIs mother tells them to stop, but the brothers continue. Mother takes out camcorder and films them. What you gonna do, huh?
9:22 AM - An old lady in a wheelchair is being wheeled to her plane. She is crying and looks disoriented - aren't we all?
9:40 AM - Boarded the plane, sitting in the aisle again. But I sacrifice elbow hits for less claustrophobia.
9:41 AM - My seatmates arrive. It's a complete sausage fest - the Window Guy is an I.T. Tech, and the Middle Guy is a real estate agent. They bond like white on rice.
9:43 AM - Asian underage hotties sit across from me. They exude the energy of a Jessica Simpson/Lindsay Lohan music video. I can feel my I.Q. dropping. Requisite cockblocking/boyfriend accompanies said party - he seems "N-Synch"-ish as well, but not so much Lance Bass.
9:49 AM - Sitting by the galley, the smell of hot maple syrup is drowning my senses. I breathe syrup now. I'm now surrounded by families with babies and toddlers, evoking total deja-vu'...
9:54 AM - Still haven't left the gate. Seatmates are gonna start making out soon. The Asian hotties are excited about watching the in-flight movie "Over the Hedge". Their "bubblyness" is irritating. My air knob is a little screwy, so cold air blows on me whether I like it or not.
9:59 AM - I make "baby faces" with a baby across from me. She is really cute. I hope she doesn't cry.
10:07 AM - As usual, no one is paying attention to the safety video. I at least read the safety card, but hey, whatever... the baby's making faces again. She calms me.
10:10 AM - Captain tells us that our bags were delivered to the plane late, which has caused our late take-off. As if there was someone we can yell at now.
10:11 AM - Flight attendant mistakes my earbuds for iPod, yet I'm not plugged into anything. I take off my buds reluctantly so I "don't make a scene" - I think I've had enough rebel rousing in Canada.
10:50 AM - Fell asleep before take-off. Baby didn't cry a bit. That's good. I'm sure take-off was lovely...
10:55 AM - I keep drifting in and out of wakefullness, asses and elbows pressed near my face, some good, most not. I'm starting to rethink my sitting in the aisle philosophy.
11:51 AM - I'm so bored that I'm watching a "Winnie the Pooh" movie playing on a personal DVD player two rows in front of me. The kid watching is glued. So am I.
11:57 AM - Kid changed the DVD to "Sesame Street" just as I was getting into the Pooh. Oh, Pooh!
12:00 PM - Inflight movie starts - "The Sentinel", not "Over the Hedge" - Asian girls are disappointed. My Window Guy refuses to pull down his shade. A fellow rebel...
BACK IN LA...
3:05/12:05 PM - Wake up, flight attendant screamed again about our descent (yeah, I think "The Sentinel" helped me to pass out). I wish they would stop doing that. Of course, I was in the middle of dreaming about Eva Longoria, but alas, that is another story.
12:32 PM - Arrive in LA. Landing, again, was as smooth as sandpaper. Yeah, like I could do better...
1:08 PM - Out of the terminal! Got our luggage after finding out it went to the wrong claim carousel! Stepping out into the airport, the air is dirty and dry, the noise is loud and obnoxious.
It's good to be home.
5:30 AM - Wake up, wondering where I am, and then I remember I'm still not in Kansas. God, I need to pack.
6:45 AM - Check out of hotel. Finished packing my stuff and it feels lighter - how does that happen?
6:47 AM - One the road to the airport. It's still sunrise, the scorching ball of light only burning small holes in our retinas - but we'll live.
7:04 AM - Got lost again and missed the interchange. Exited at this giant mall, where I barely saw the sign to point us back to the right freeway. Sun still shining in our faces, increasing the level of difficulty. Dad says "Don't panic." I keep mine from showing.
7:41 AM - Dropped off the rental car, now using "Canadian R2-D2" to do check-in. Lines are long and insane this morning.
7:53 AM - Start lining up for customs. It too is long. Still haven't checked in bags yet, which sucks. A lady from the airline starts yelling at us like we're cattle, which, we are sort of herding like.
8:34 AM - Clear customs - Customs Agent was friendly and glad to see my father and I. Oh joy! Also pass through security screening without hassle. The Screening inspector thought my PSP was "bitch'n". ***SIDE NOTE FOR JJ4: I cleared customs through window "4"***
8:46 AM - Find breakfast joint to enjoy "American breakfast". The irony isn't lost on my father either.
9:19 AM - Waiting at the gate. There's an older brother tossing his little brother up and down in the air. HIs mother tells them to stop, but the brothers continue. Mother takes out camcorder and films them. What you gonna do, huh?
9:22 AM - An old lady in a wheelchair is being wheeled to her plane. She is crying and looks disoriented - aren't we all?
9:40 AM - Boarded the plane, sitting in the aisle again. But I sacrifice elbow hits for less claustrophobia.
9:41 AM - My seatmates arrive. It's a complete sausage fest - the Window Guy is an I.T. Tech, and the Middle Guy is a real estate agent. They bond like white on rice.
9:43 AM - Asian underage hotties sit across from me. They exude the energy of a Jessica Simpson/Lindsay Lohan music video. I can feel my I.Q. dropping. Requisite cockblocking/boyfriend accompanies said party - he seems "N-Synch"-ish as well, but not so much Lance Bass.
9:49 AM - Sitting by the galley, the smell of hot maple syrup is drowning my senses. I breathe syrup now. I'm now surrounded by families with babies and toddlers, evoking total deja-vu'...
9:54 AM - Still haven't left the gate. Seatmates are gonna start making out soon. The Asian hotties are excited about watching the in-flight movie "Over the Hedge". Their "bubblyness" is irritating. My air knob is a little screwy, so cold air blows on me whether I like it or not.
9:59 AM - I make "baby faces" with a baby across from me. She is really cute. I hope she doesn't cry.
10:07 AM - As usual, no one is paying attention to the safety video. I at least read the safety card, but hey, whatever... the baby's making faces again. She calms me.
10:10 AM - Captain tells us that our bags were delivered to the plane late, which has caused our late take-off. As if there was someone we can yell at now.
10:11 AM - Flight attendant mistakes my earbuds for iPod, yet I'm not plugged into anything. I take off my buds reluctantly so I "don't make a scene" - I think I've had enough rebel rousing in Canada.
10:50 AM - Fell asleep before take-off. Baby didn't cry a bit. That's good. I'm sure take-off was lovely...
10:55 AM - I keep drifting in and out of wakefullness, asses and elbows pressed near my face, some good, most not. I'm starting to rethink my sitting in the aisle philosophy.
11:51 AM - I'm so bored that I'm watching a "Winnie the Pooh" movie playing on a personal DVD player two rows in front of me. The kid watching is glued. So am I.
11:57 AM - Kid changed the DVD to "Sesame Street" just as I was getting into the Pooh. Oh, Pooh!
12:00 PM - Inflight movie starts - "The Sentinel", not "Over the Hedge" - Asian girls are disappointed. My Window Guy refuses to pull down his shade. A fellow rebel...
BACK IN LA...
3:05/12:05 PM - Wake up, flight attendant screamed again about our descent (yeah, I think "The Sentinel" helped me to pass out). I wish they would stop doing that. Of course, I was in the middle of dreaming about Eva Longoria, but alas, that is another story.
12:32 PM - Arrive in LA. Landing, again, was as smooth as sandpaper. Yeah, like I could do better...
1:08 PM - Out of the terminal! Got our luggage after finding out it went to the wrong claim carousel! Stepping out into the airport, the air is dirty and dry, the noise is loud and obnoxious.
It's good to be home.
Wednesday, October 11, 2006
Oh, Canada! - The Vacation 2006, Part 3A: So, CN Tower, Anyone?
So, who still wants to see some more of Toronto, huh? I know, I know, it's been awhile (again).
When we last left off, I was returning back to the city after a crazy morning visiting Niagara Falls:
Ah, the CN Tower - but first, a few more stops before we make our way there...
Here's the Old City Hall. The giant clocktower reminds me of Big Ben.
This is the new City Hall. Man, it was a bitch to get all those people to
look like they were doing something!
This is the Historic Campbell House - The Last Brick Home
From The Town Of York. At least, that's what the sign at the
front read. Oh yeah, it's open Tuesday thru Friday, 9:30-4:30.
The Speakers Corner - on the left side of the picture, is this really cool booth
where you can leave a video message and stuff for all the people of Canada to
see(if they choose your message). Barenaked Ladies was discovered from this
thing, so it's got some pretty cool roots. But mostly women flash
their boobs in there for a chance at 15 seconds of fame.
Yeah, just a pic of me chill'n. That's about it.
Ah, the Friar & Firkin, my favorite watering hole in all of Toronto.
I spent many a Canadian dollar in there. It's definitely a don't-miss
for anyone visiting from out of town. The place is decked out in red velvet,
old wood, and, well, alcohol - hello!!! What more can you ask for!
Let's go inside...
...This is a Creemore. There are many like it, but this one was mine.
Yes, it was a special day, so I chased my lager with an old stand-by!
A tough part about being Asian is that everyone can tell when you're getting
a buzz. Yeah, I've only had two drinks and I look like I'm ready for my
close-up on COPS.
Tadaaaaaaa!!! The Canadian Space Needle!
I rode up on the lift with a bunch of nice old ladies. I tried to get a shot so I could
show you all the view from the elevator, but alas, we were packed in like
sardines. I'm not sure, but I think one of the old ladies grabbed my ass. Is it possible
to be spooked, flabbergasted and flattered all at the same time?
This is one of the see-through floors on the Observation deck. There's a video down
in the lobby showing these kids jumping up and down on it, to illustrate that it's
perfectly safe. I walked on it, but I didn't stomp. However, two minutes after
I walk away a 300 plus man had no qualms about it and decided to see if he could
crack it. Luckily, he didn't, but I think I heard a "creak".
Pretty self explanatory.
The view from the top was great. This was from the Restaurant deck.
And apparently, one of the few shots I could take without getting a
WHOLE REFLECTION of me in it!
I don't know if they put the decal there on purpose, but I thought it was
kinda neat.
Just so you know I was there!
When we last left off, I was returning back to the city after a crazy morning visiting Niagara Falls:
Ah, the CN Tower - but first, a few more stops before we make our way there...Here's the Old City Hall. The giant clocktower reminds me of Big Ben.This is the new City Hall. Man, it was a bitch to get all those people tolook like they were doing something!
This is the Historic Campbell House - The Last Brick HomeFrom The Town Of York. At least, that's what the sign at the
front read. Oh yeah, it's open Tuesday thru Friday, 9:30-4:30.
The Speakers Corner - on the left side of the picture, is this really cool boothwhere you can leave a video message and stuff for all the people of Canada to
see(if they choose your message). Barenaked Ladies was discovered from this
thing, so it's got some pretty cool roots. But mostly women flash
their boobs in there for a chance at 15 seconds of fame.
Yeah, just a pic of me chill'n. That's about it.Ah, the Friar & Firkin, my favorite watering hole in all of Toronto.I spent many a Canadian dollar in there. It's definitely a don't-miss
for anyone visiting from out of town. The place is decked out in red velvet,
old wood, and, well, alcohol - hello!!! What more can you ask for!
Let's go inside...
...This is a Creemore. There are many like it, but this one was mine.Yes, it was a special day, so I chased my lager with an old stand-by!A tough part about being Asian is that everyone can tell when you're gettinga buzz. Yeah, I've only had two drinks and I look like I'm ready for my
close-up on COPS.
After pulling myself away - kick and screaming, mind you - from the F&F, we took off to see...
Tadaaaaaaa!!! The Canadian Space Needle!I rode up on the lift with a bunch of nice old ladies. I tried to get a shot so I couldshow you all the view from the elevator, but alas, we were packed in like
sardines. I'm not sure, but I think one of the old ladies grabbed my ass. Is it possible
to be spooked, flabbergasted and flattered all at the same time?
This is one of the see-through floors on the Observation deck. There's a video downin the lobby showing these kids jumping up and down on it, to illustrate that it's
perfectly safe. I walked on it, but I didn't stomp. However, two minutes after
I walk away a 300 plus man had no qualms about it and decided to see if he could
crack it. Luckily, he didn't, but I think I heard a "creak".
Pretty self explanatory.The view from the top was great. This was from the Restaurant deck.And apparently, one of the few shots I could take without getting a
WHOLE REFLECTION of me in it!
I don't know if they put the decal there on purpose, but I thought it waskinda neat.
Just so you know I was there!Thanks for coming along, and stay tuned for the exciting conclusion --
of how I got outta Dodge!
Super Winks!... ;)
of how I got outta Dodge!
Super Winks!... ;)
Monday, October 09, 2006
Saturday, October 07, 2006
Piece for PictureSpeak XIII: When Leaves, Leave
Oh, why oh why do you
bother to leave, you leaves,
only to return a few months
later for another quick fling
with me?
Do we not have splendid
days in the park, naps beneath
your shady arms, then reading
Austen 'til to dusk --
just stay, what do you say?
Alas, your shade changes,
you pack your bags and go
without saying goodbye, as if
our time together never
really happend...
...But I know we did, and though
you've left, you never intend to
leave for long
In a few months, when you
knock on my door,
I'll foolishly embrace our love affair
once more - me, the fool that can't
leave you.
bother to leave, you leaves,
only to return a few months
later for another quick fling
with me?
Do we not have splendid
days in the park, naps beneath
your shady arms, then reading
Austen 'til to dusk --
just stay, what do you say?
Alas, your shade changes,
you pack your bags and go
without saying goodbye, as if
our time together never
really happend...
...But I know we did, and though
you've left, you never intend to
leave for long
In a few months, when you
knock on my door,
I'll foolishly embrace our love affair
once more - me, the fool that can't
leave you.
Friday, October 06, 2006
Beacon...
Out at
sea, a white squall
reigns chaos, threatening
to tear me apart... I hear you,
ever so faint, my safe
harbour, calling
me home...
sea, a white squall
reigns chaos, threatening
to tear me apart... I hear you,
ever so faint, my safe
harbour, calling
me home...
Wednesday, October 04, 2006
And She Doesn't Look A Day Over 30...
Happy Birthday Mom!
Hope you liked the carrot cake --
**Uh-huh, call me a Momma's Boy. You know you want to... ;)**
Hope you liked the carrot cake --
I bought it myself!...
**Uh-huh, call me a Momma's Boy. You know you want to... ;)**
Tuesday, October 03, 2006
Uni-versal...
College
days are long gone -
I miss sleeping 'til noon,
shooting pool... and going to class?
It all went by so fast!
Quite the mindscape,
college...
days are long gone -
I miss sleeping 'til noon,
shooting pool... and going to class?
It all went by so fast!
Quite the mindscape,
college...
Monday, October 02, 2006
Tanti Auguri A Te!
It's not uncommon to hear "Happy Birthday" sung at a restaurant - most people like to spend their special day with friends and family at some dining establishment, getting the free desert, and enjoy being serenaded by a bunch of waitstaff that would no sooner tear out their own vocal chords than to have to sing that song for the millionth time.
However, what I witnessed goes beyond what I've ever seen before, and just like Halley's Comet, I'm sure I won't be seeing again any time soon.
On Saturday night, I was out at this Italian place, when this waiter walks over to a nearby table, claps to get everyone's attention, and belts out the "Happy Birthday" song - in Italian. Yep, it was gonna be one of those "subtitle moments" in life.
Tanti auguri a te, otherwise translated as "Many wishes to you", is a staple among Italian eateries. At this place it was sung by one of the waitstaff, usually male, and depending on their vocal training could either sound like Andre Bocelli or Andre the Giant.
This guy, I will admit, was not half bad. He didn't get too off key, everyone laughed and clapped, and I thought he was done. As I'm digging into my wheat penne, I'm startled by a loud sounding TAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA!!!!!
He's at it again, this time 4 tables down. Sweat is on his brow. His voice quivers but he belts the tune out again. Everyone stops in their tracks, as they too realize that they are witnessing an act rarely seen at a restaurant - a rapid succession of the Happy Birthday song. In Italian!
For the next hour and a half (or at least how long I was there), this waiter - God bless his soul - sings the B-Day song 6 times. It is around the 4th time when I start questioning the philosophy of having too much of a good thing.
On the 5th time, you could kind of hear his voice crack at the high notes, which only made him sing louder. But wouldn't you know it, he still finishes the song as the round of applause brings him on home. My food is getting cold, but I'm so wrapped up in this guy's plight that I could care less if my Eggplant Parmesan was getting soggy.
I'm truly impressed by the amount of abuse this guy was taking. I'm not sure what was going through his mind - perhaps the large tips he might get for doing all these solo acts, or maybe he truly did like his job so much that he didn't mind doing his Pavarotti impersonation in front of 100 total strangers.
By the 6th and final one I witnessed, I could definitely see that he was tiring of all this a-cappela serenading. He had grabbed a water a few moments before, downed it, went to serve another table (yeah, he was still managing all his tables on the floor), and jumped up on a chair.
He really didn't look like he could do it, but he had a flash of brilliance that I won't forget. The table he was singing for was this party of 15. I guess he figured that since we had all heard the song a few times that we'd have no problem singing along with him.
So he claps and shouts, "Everyone! I'm gonna need your help. Okay?" He starts with TAAAAAAAAA...
Amazingly, everyone in the restaurant, myself included, fake our way through the Italian B-Day song. We stayed in unision, note after sour note. It was a thing of really "Beauty meeting the Beast" kind of experience, a total car wreck that is grotesque, yet you couldn't dare to look away.
No one cared. The large party was busy slapping themselves on the back and applauding the waiter. He stood for a few seconds on that chair before descending back down to the masses.
On the drive home, I couldn't help wondering if there's someone that does something like that for him on his birthday.
If there were, I bet he'd asked them to sing it in English... ;)
However, what I witnessed goes beyond what I've ever seen before, and just like Halley's Comet, I'm sure I won't be seeing again any time soon.
On Saturday night, I was out at this Italian place, when this waiter walks over to a nearby table, claps to get everyone's attention, and belts out the "Happy Birthday" song - in Italian. Yep, it was gonna be one of those "subtitle moments" in life.
Tanti auguri a te, otherwise translated as "Many wishes to you", is a staple among Italian eateries. At this place it was sung by one of the waitstaff, usually male, and depending on their vocal training could either sound like Andre Bocelli or Andre the Giant.
This guy, I will admit, was not half bad. He didn't get too off key, everyone laughed and clapped, and I thought he was done. As I'm digging into my wheat penne, I'm startled by a loud sounding TAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA!!!!!
He's at it again, this time 4 tables down. Sweat is on his brow. His voice quivers but he belts the tune out again. Everyone stops in their tracks, as they too realize that they are witnessing an act rarely seen at a restaurant - a rapid succession of the Happy Birthday song. In Italian!
For the next hour and a half (or at least how long I was there), this waiter - God bless his soul - sings the B-Day song 6 times. It is around the 4th time when I start questioning the philosophy of having too much of a good thing.
On the 5th time, you could kind of hear his voice crack at the high notes, which only made him sing louder. But wouldn't you know it, he still finishes the song as the round of applause brings him on home. My food is getting cold, but I'm so wrapped up in this guy's plight that I could care less if my Eggplant Parmesan was getting soggy.
I'm truly impressed by the amount of abuse this guy was taking. I'm not sure what was going through his mind - perhaps the large tips he might get for doing all these solo acts, or maybe he truly did like his job so much that he didn't mind doing his Pavarotti impersonation in front of 100 total strangers.
By the 6th and final one I witnessed, I could definitely see that he was tiring of all this a-cappela serenading. He had grabbed a water a few moments before, downed it, went to serve another table (yeah, he was still managing all his tables on the floor), and jumped up on a chair.
He really didn't look like he could do it, but he had a flash of brilliance that I won't forget. The table he was singing for was this party of 15. I guess he figured that since we had all heard the song a few times that we'd have no problem singing along with him.
So he claps and shouts, "Everyone! I'm gonna need your help. Okay?" He starts with TAAAAAAAAA...
Amazingly, everyone in the restaurant, myself included, fake our way through the Italian B-Day song. We stayed in unision, note after sour note. It was a thing of really "Beauty meeting the Beast" kind of experience, a total car wreck that is grotesque, yet you couldn't dare to look away.
No one cared. The large party was busy slapping themselves on the back and applauding the waiter. He stood for a few seconds on that chair before descending back down to the masses.
On the drive home, I couldn't help wondering if there's someone that does something like that for him on his birthday.
If there were, I bet he'd asked them to sing it in English... ;)
Saturday, September 30, 2006
Treading (Aintu)...
The road
less traveled by
seems desolate and cold,
but perhaps it only needs a
small step to light its warmth,
inviting you
to go...
less traveled by
seems desolate and cold,
but perhaps it only needs a
small step to light its warmth,
inviting you
to go...
Thursday, September 28, 2006
Finger Lick'n Good (Aintu)
Juicy
roasted chicken,
I eat with my bare hands,
so hot, wait -- the phone is ringing!
No napkins in my reach!
Too late, rings stop -
oh well...
roasted chicken,
I eat with my bare hands,
so hot, wait -- the phone is ringing!
No napkins in my reach!
Too late, rings stop -
oh well...
Wednesday, September 27, 2006
Life at the Driving Range: The Fat Guy, The Short Guy, and the Thin Guy
As most of you know, and to those that are just getting to know me, I am a crap golfer.
I can admit that without being too proud too admit it, and the guys below me I almost hit each week could testify to my claim whole-heartedly. Although I am but a naive dilettante when it comes to this crazy sport, I do require certain things that all golfers need: A decent swing, a good short game, and above all, silence.
I got none of that last night.
I arrive at the range late, and thus, run into the Tuesday night log jam of Pros, Wannabes, and Posers, such as myself. We're a motley mix of various degrees in skill level, coordination, and recreational hazards waiting to happen. Yeah, I should be heading out with a helmet and body armour - but I sooooo do love to live dangerously.
I spot the line for an open patch to hit, and lo and behold, I run into The Fat Guy, The Short Guy, and the Thin Guy. Picture this: Fat Guy is by himself, followed by the empty spot, then Short Guy and Thin Guy hitting next to each other. I'm not exactly sure why they didn't just hit together, but people were coming up behind me, so I grabbed the open spot regardless.
Big, BIg, BIG MISTAKE on my part.
I settle my bag down, grabbing my 3 Iron. I take a few practice swings, stretch, and throw down a golf ball. Wind is blowing from the North, I adjust my weight, pull into my backswing
and --
"HEY! DO YOU GUYS WANT TO PLAY A GAME? LET'S PLAY A GAME!!!!!"
!!!CRINK!!!! I shank the ball about 2 feet from me, scratching a ton of astro-turf. Short Guy yelled through my swing.
With no other spots available, I go into my "happy place" as my ears are subjected to the worst conversation a-la "Who's on First" along with the inability to speak below 6 decibels:
Fat Guy: I'M AIMING FOR THE YELLOW FLAG!
Short Guy: WHICH YELLOW FLAG?
FG: THE YELLOW FLAG! NEAR THE RED ONE!
Thin Guy: THE RED ONE WITH THE GREY STRIPE?
FG: NO, THE OTHER ONE! WITHOUT THE STRIPE!
TG: I DON'T SEE IT!
FG: IT'S RIGHT OVER THERE!
SG: WHERE?
FG: OVER THERE! WHERE I'M POINTING!
TG: I STILL DON'T... OKAY, YOU MEAN "THAT" RED FLAG!!!
You starting to get the idea?
So the "Boys from MENSA" are trying to hit for distance, keeping score in a fashion that even Stephen Hawking can't calculate. In between turns, Fat Guy grabs a sip of his Big Gulp sized chocolate milkshake - that is dripping, mind you, all over the concrete - and burps while alternating between his sand wedge and 6 Iron - yeah, I should know: HE WAS ANNOUNCING IT EVERY SINGLE TIME!
Their balls were flying all over the place. Thin Guy had such a hard swing that his balls flew over the safety net. I could hear the "clink" of roof tiles where the balls impacted (the range is right by a residential neighborhood). When they weren't talking, they were laughing at each other like a band of hyenas doped up on Ritalin. The "cackling" sound from the Short Guy made me grate my teeth.
Again, all this felt like an eternity, and when they were quiet, I could squeeze in a few strokes that were right on. But alas, their presence was added Kryptonite to my mediocre golf swing. I was being pushed to my mental limits for sure. My muscles were tensing, and my grip was in a strangle hold. But I pushed on.
When they finally finished hitting all their balls (Thank the Lord!), I thought I'd finally be free.
Not yet.
As they're packing up their gear, they stop right behind me and have this wonderful, intellectual discussion about what they want to do later:
SG: What do you wanna do tonight?
FG: I don't know but I want to head to the gym first.
Stop right there - let me repeat that: Fat Guy with his own gravitational orbit that still has chocolate on his chin wants to hit the gym? Who does this guy think he's fooling?
TG: Yeah, but wherever we go, I want to grab a shower first.
SG: That means we have to back-track!
TG: So? He wanted to go to the gym!
FG: So what are we gonna do later?
TG: I still want to head home first.
SG: Then I think I might hit the gym too.
TG: When do you guys want to meet back up?
This exchange lasted about 10 minutes or so, but what really blew my mind was that they couldn't walk and talk about this, but instead HAD to stand 3 feet from me debating this as if they were trying to solve peace in the Middle East. Then, Short Guy couldn't stop yammering about his damn new iPod which Thin Guy REALLY couldn't get enough of... but soon, they drifted off in the distance.
And I was left with a lot of pent-up hostility.
I wanted to lose my cool, but since I didn't, I was left searching for a way to channel my "Range Rage". So I looked down, grabbed my 3 Wood, and started knocking the crap out of the golf balls. Screw the zen of golf, I needed to vent!
WHACK!
THWACK!
BAM!
Surprisingly, I'm driving balls about 170-190 yards out - very much to my chagrin. I took out the 5 and 8 Wood, and started bashing those about 150 yards (even rage doesn't make me improve THAT much).
As the rage subsided, I was finally left with the calm I seeked. I had purged the volcanic anger that was festering in me, and boy did I feel better.
My golf swing saved me last night.
And those 3 idiots.
They should thank my 3 Wood.
Super Winks... ;)
I can admit that without being too proud too admit it, and the guys below me I almost hit each week could testify to my claim whole-heartedly. Although I am but a naive dilettante when it comes to this crazy sport, I do require certain things that all golfers need: A decent swing, a good short game, and above all, silence.
I got none of that last night.
I arrive at the range late, and thus, run into the Tuesday night log jam of Pros, Wannabes, and Posers, such as myself. We're a motley mix of various degrees in skill level, coordination, and recreational hazards waiting to happen. Yeah, I should be heading out with a helmet and body armour - but I sooooo do love to live dangerously.
I spot the line for an open patch to hit, and lo and behold, I run into The Fat Guy, The Short Guy, and the Thin Guy. Picture this: Fat Guy is by himself, followed by the empty spot, then Short Guy and Thin Guy hitting next to each other. I'm not exactly sure why they didn't just hit together, but people were coming up behind me, so I grabbed the open spot regardless.
Big, BIg, BIG MISTAKE on my part.
I settle my bag down, grabbing my 3 Iron. I take a few practice swings, stretch, and throw down a golf ball. Wind is blowing from the North, I adjust my weight, pull into my backswing
and --
"HEY! DO YOU GUYS WANT TO PLAY A GAME? LET'S PLAY A GAME!!!!!"
!!!CRINK!!!! I shank the ball about 2 feet from me, scratching a ton of astro-turf. Short Guy yelled through my swing.
With no other spots available, I go into my "happy place" as my ears are subjected to the worst conversation a-la "Who's on First" along with the inability to speak below 6 decibels:
Fat Guy: I'M AIMING FOR THE YELLOW FLAG!
Short Guy: WHICH YELLOW FLAG?
FG: THE YELLOW FLAG! NEAR THE RED ONE!
Thin Guy: THE RED ONE WITH THE GREY STRIPE?
FG: NO, THE OTHER ONE! WITHOUT THE STRIPE!
TG: I DON'T SEE IT!
FG: IT'S RIGHT OVER THERE!
SG: WHERE?
FG: OVER THERE! WHERE I'M POINTING!
TG: I STILL DON'T... OKAY, YOU MEAN "THAT" RED FLAG!!!
You starting to get the idea?
So the "Boys from MENSA" are trying to hit for distance, keeping score in a fashion that even Stephen Hawking can't calculate. In between turns, Fat Guy grabs a sip of his Big Gulp sized chocolate milkshake - that is dripping, mind you, all over the concrete - and burps while alternating between his sand wedge and 6 Iron - yeah, I should know: HE WAS ANNOUNCING IT EVERY SINGLE TIME!
Their balls were flying all over the place. Thin Guy had such a hard swing that his balls flew over the safety net. I could hear the "clink" of roof tiles where the balls impacted (the range is right by a residential neighborhood). When they weren't talking, they were laughing at each other like a band of hyenas doped up on Ritalin. The "cackling" sound from the Short Guy made me grate my teeth.
Again, all this felt like an eternity, and when they were quiet, I could squeeze in a few strokes that were right on. But alas, their presence was added Kryptonite to my mediocre golf swing. I was being pushed to my mental limits for sure. My muscles were tensing, and my grip was in a strangle hold. But I pushed on.
When they finally finished hitting all their balls (Thank the Lord!), I thought I'd finally be free.
Not yet.
As they're packing up their gear, they stop right behind me and have this wonderful, intellectual discussion about what they want to do later:
SG: What do you wanna do tonight?
FG: I don't know but I want to head to the gym first.
Stop right there - let me repeat that: Fat Guy with his own gravitational orbit that still has chocolate on his chin wants to hit the gym? Who does this guy think he's fooling?
TG: Yeah, but wherever we go, I want to grab a shower first.
SG: That means we have to back-track!
TG: So? He wanted to go to the gym!
FG: So what are we gonna do later?
TG: I still want to head home first.
SG: Then I think I might hit the gym too.
TG: When do you guys want to meet back up?
This exchange lasted about 10 minutes or so, but what really blew my mind was that they couldn't walk and talk about this, but instead HAD to stand 3 feet from me debating this as if they were trying to solve peace in the Middle East. Then, Short Guy couldn't stop yammering about his damn new iPod which Thin Guy REALLY couldn't get enough of... but soon, they drifted off in the distance.
And I was left with a lot of pent-up hostility.
I wanted to lose my cool, but since I didn't, I was left searching for a way to channel my "Range Rage". So I looked down, grabbed my 3 Wood, and started knocking the crap out of the golf balls. Screw the zen of golf, I needed to vent!
WHACK!
THWACK!
BAM!
Surprisingly, I'm driving balls about 170-190 yards out - very much to my chagrin. I took out the 5 and 8 Wood, and started bashing those about 150 yards (even rage doesn't make me improve THAT much).
As the rage subsided, I was finally left with the calm I seeked. I had purged the volcanic anger that was festering in me, and boy did I feel better.
My golf swing saved me last night.
And those 3 idiots.
They should thank my 3 Wood.
Super Winks... ;)
Tuesday, September 26, 2006
Monday, September 25, 2006
Harmony Found While Driving With The Window Down...
The only thing I like about my long commutes in the morning are the ones where I've just bought new music and pop in the CD, letting it rip on the drive in.
Though I don't broadcast it much, I am a closet Jazz fan, and just so happened to pick up the new Diana Krall album "From This Moment On". Okay, so she might be a bit on the mainstream, and some might argue her stylings aren't pure jazz, but hey, I love the way she croons.
Anyway, weather in LA was pretty fair, so I rolled down the window, letting the breeze blow through my scruffy hair as she hits the keys and serenades through what I think is a pretty darn good interpretation of "It Could Happen To You." Now, instead of taking a series of freeways that are absolutely congested, I drive along this street route that gets me pretty close before I have no choice but to get on the on ramp.
Stopping at a red light on an intersection, I pull up next to a car on my left that also had it's windows down - and blasting out something that sounded like a cross between 50 cent and Ludacris, but I can't say for certain. But to say that he was loud would be like saying the Grand Canyon is a tiny gorge in the ground. I mean, the subwoofers reverberated on the pavement so much I thought it'd trigger the San Andreas at any second!
Now, I'm not exactly sure why I did what I did next, but for some reason, I reached over to my volume knob and turned it a couple notches up. Diana is now screaming at the top of her lungs, sort of drowning out the Hip-Hop Video that is emanating from the car beside me.
The driver turns down his volume and screams out toward me. I turn to him, and couldn't make out what he asked me. I turn down my volume, shouting back,"What?"
The driver leans closer to the passenger side window. "I said, 'Who the hell is that?' "
"It's Diana Krall."
He looks at me for a sec, then replies back with something that I would have never expected:
"That shit's pretty tight."
Light turns green. He blasts out in front of me at near light-speed, his volume clearly cranked back up as he "thumps" away in the distance. I never catch back up to him.
I continue on my way to the on ramp, turn up Diana, and watch the world drift by. A smile crosses my face as I wonder about the harmony that drives us all... ;)
Though I don't broadcast it much, I am a closet Jazz fan, and just so happened to pick up the new Diana Krall album "From This Moment On". Okay, so she might be a bit on the mainstream, and some might argue her stylings aren't pure jazz, but hey, I love the way she croons.
Anyway, weather in LA was pretty fair, so I rolled down the window, letting the breeze blow through my scruffy hair as she hits the keys and serenades through what I think is a pretty darn good interpretation of "It Could Happen To You." Now, instead of taking a series of freeways that are absolutely congested, I drive along this street route that gets me pretty close before I have no choice but to get on the on ramp.
Stopping at a red light on an intersection, I pull up next to a car on my left that also had it's windows down - and blasting out something that sounded like a cross between 50 cent and Ludacris, but I can't say for certain. But to say that he was loud would be like saying the Grand Canyon is a tiny gorge in the ground. I mean, the subwoofers reverberated on the pavement so much I thought it'd trigger the San Andreas at any second!
Now, I'm not exactly sure why I did what I did next, but for some reason, I reached over to my volume knob and turned it a couple notches up. Diana is now screaming at the top of her lungs, sort of drowning out the Hip-Hop Video that is emanating from the car beside me.
The driver turns down his volume and screams out toward me. I turn to him, and couldn't make out what he asked me. I turn down my volume, shouting back,"What?"
The driver leans closer to the passenger side window. "I said, 'Who the hell is that?' "
"It's Diana Krall."
He looks at me for a sec, then replies back with something that I would have never expected:
"That shit's pretty tight."
Light turns green. He blasts out in front of me at near light-speed, his volume clearly cranked back up as he "thumps" away in the distance. I never catch back up to him.
I continue on my way to the on ramp, turn up Diana, and watch the world drift by. A smile crosses my face as I wonder about the harmony that drives us all... ;)
Sunday, September 24, 2006
Sundays: When All I Really Wanted To Do Was Do Nothing...
Ah, Sunday - day of rest, day of church, day of football. I've lived by two rules pertaining to what I consider a relaxing Sunday:
1. Never run errands or go shopping for supplies on Sunday.
2. Follow Rule Number 1.
Gee, guess what rules I broke today?
Realizing that I wouldn't be able to live off of Diet Coke and Sun-Chips all week (but I did once back in college), I got my ass off the couch and hit the road to the local Costco, which I believe is Navajo for "Land of the 5 Gallon Mayonnaise."
You see, the reason why I hate shopping on Sundays is because EVERYONE shops on Sundays. I blame this on the theory of relative behavior: People tend to spend Saturdays out and about, and naturally, putting off shopping until the very last second. With this similar mentality of procrastination, we converge at Costco all at the same time. God help you if you grab the last copy of Grey's Anatomy Season 1 and someone else wants it too. Seriously, it's like "Lord of the Flies" out there.
Parking is always the first challenge - everyone wants to park close, and no one likes to park far. Cars literally stalk shoppers like prey - pouncing on a potential parking spot the first chance they get. Turn signals are used, but some people steal other people's spots anyway. This usually causes some sort of Jerry Springer-ish behavior from the drivers involved in the argument over a spot, but luckily, I avoided this by parking only slightly farther away from the store.
Shopping carts are always scarce, so I usually just pick one up from the Cart Return area. Again, not a lot of people do this, so they wait at the front of the store until one of the workers brings back a whole ton of carts from the parking lot. Then it's like a whole feeding frenzy as people elbow each other for their own carts, hopefully one with wheels that work and don't squeak. Yeah, a little planning goes a long way.
Navigating the store is a lot like navigating rush hour traffic - there are lanes that move well, and then there are those shoppers that just stop in the middle of an aisle, and drift off somewhere as if they're cart ran out of gas. I just wish people could apply their driving skills to their cart pushing skills, but I believe some people really do drive like they push their carts, and that makes me worried and sad.
After getting the essentials I need - basically, Diet Coke, Sun Chips, and some deli meat (I got other stuff too), I proceed to checkout, which is an entirely different zoo-like setting all together. For some strange reason, the people in the checkout lines at Costco start behaving like Lemmings - usually people will stick to a lane unless someone else points out a lane that is not so busy. I wanted to move to an emptier lane, but the lady in front of me wouldn't budge, and I was nudged between the Snickers Bars and the Assorted Nuts section. Then, when I had the chance to move out, a worker passes by and says "Hey, you can also use this lane." Gee, you think?
Now, Lemmings or not, I think people are afraid of switching lanes because they believe they'll be saddled with the one that looks short, but ends up being the line that takes the longest - bad signs, such as old people pulling out checkbooks, or people with a fist-full of double coupons in their posession, become valid concerns. In fact, the lane that I was in before had all of these, so I was sad for the unsuspecting people behind me that did not see this.
As I am putting my items on the conveyer, the couple behind me are ramming my cart forward, as if they're kinetic energy could move my actions and their exit out of this madhouse faster. One nudge, I could take, but they almost rear-ended my ass with another push, their faces unapologetic - then they looked at me as if I just told them to go f--k themselves. Go figure.
Now, when it comes to checkout clerks, I usually encounter two kinds: Either they are the "how are you doing?" kind where they strictly look at their monitors and scan your items with laser-guided missile proficiency, or they are the "Chatty Cathy's" that tend to make an effort of connecting with you as if our exchange was akin to a round of Speed Dating.
Of course, guess which one I got?
The checkout person and her partner were both cute women, but the checkout girl was talking to me as if she was trying to make a love connection. Frankly, any other day I would have indulged her, but with the impatient couple uncomfortably next to me and giving me the worst Evil Eye I've had in 3 months, I was a little off my game. Her equally cute partner noticed that I also picked up the new John Mayer CD and started giving me her "Rolling Stone critique" of it. Again, any other day, I would have indulged her too, but was glad that she didn't comment on any of my other purchases, like my wart cream.
Yes, I'm kidding about the wart cream.
And finally, making my final approach out of the store, you usually have to pass through these people that look at your receipt to make sure that what you bought matches the amount of items in your cart. As always, there are two kinds of workers that do this: There's the kind that takes it seriously enough to glance at the items and move you along, and then there's the kind that look at your receipt and count EVERY SINGLE ITEM in your cart as if you were going through the Customs Inspection at the U.S./Mexico Border.
Is it even worth guessing which one I got?
Just because I got distracted for a brief second, I got stuck with Mrs. I.N.S. who was checking my cart as if I was packing explosives or something. She looks at my receipt not, once, but TWICE, and then carefully scans through my cart. I watch people in the lane next to me cruise on by, one guy even gave me a look that said "Tough luck bro, I feel for ya." I gave him the "Thanks Bro" nod back, and after an excrutiating 3 minutes later, I was finally out of there.
If you made it to the end of this tirade, I thank you kindly. I know, I could be trying to write something more prolific, but hey, sometimes you just gotta vent, and that's what makes America, great.
Super Winks!... ;)
1. Never run errands or go shopping for supplies on Sunday.
2. Follow Rule Number 1.
Gee, guess what rules I broke today?
Realizing that I wouldn't be able to live off of Diet Coke and Sun-Chips all week (but I did once back in college), I got my ass off the couch and hit the road to the local Costco, which I believe is Navajo for "Land of the 5 Gallon Mayonnaise."
You see, the reason why I hate shopping on Sundays is because EVERYONE shops on Sundays. I blame this on the theory of relative behavior: People tend to spend Saturdays out and about, and naturally, putting off shopping until the very last second. With this similar mentality of procrastination, we converge at Costco all at the same time. God help you if you grab the last copy of Grey's Anatomy Season 1 and someone else wants it too. Seriously, it's like "Lord of the Flies" out there.
Parking is always the first challenge - everyone wants to park close, and no one likes to park far. Cars literally stalk shoppers like prey - pouncing on a potential parking spot the first chance they get. Turn signals are used, but some people steal other people's spots anyway. This usually causes some sort of Jerry Springer-ish behavior from the drivers involved in the argument over a spot, but luckily, I avoided this by parking only slightly farther away from the store.
Shopping carts are always scarce, so I usually just pick one up from the Cart Return area. Again, not a lot of people do this, so they wait at the front of the store until one of the workers brings back a whole ton of carts from the parking lot. Then it's like a whole feeding frenzy as people elbow each other for their own carts, hopefully one with wheels that work and don't squeak. Yeah, a little planning goes a long way.
Navigating the store is a lot like navigating rush hour traffic - there are lanes that move well, and then there are those shoppers that just stop in the middle of an aisle, and drift off somewhere as if they're cart ran out of gas. I just wish people could apply their driving skills to their cart pushing skills, but I believe some people really do drive like they push their carts, and that makes me worried and sad.
After getting the essentials I need - basically, Diet Coke, Sun Chips, and some deli meat (I got other stuff too), I proceed to checkout, which is an entirely different zoo-like setting all together. For some strange reason, the people in the checkout lines at Costco start behaving like Lemmings - usually people will stick to a lane unless someone else points out a lane that is not so busy. I wanted to move to an emptier lane, but the lady in front of me wouldn't budge, and I was nudged between the Snickers Bars and the Assorted Nuts section. Then, when I had the chance to move out, a worker passes by and says "Hey, you can also use this lane." Gee, you think?
Now, Lemmings or not, I think people are afraid of switching lanes because they believe they'll be saddled with the one that looks short, but ends up being the line that takes the longest - bad signs, such as old people pulling out checkbooks, or people with a fist-full of double coupons in their posession, become valid concerns. In fact, the lane that I was in before had all of these, so I was sad for the unsuspecting people behind me that did not see this.
As I am putting my items on the conveyer, the couple behind me are ramming my cart forward, as if they're kinetic energy could move my actions and their exit out of this madhouse faster. One nudge, I could take, but they almost rear-ended my ass with another push, their faces unapologetic - then they looked at me as if I just told them to go f--k themselves. Go figure.
Now, when it comes to checkout clerks, I usually encounter two kinds: Either they are the "how are you doing?" kind where they strictly look at their monitors and scan your items with laser-guided missile proficiency, or they are the "Chatty Cathy's" that tend to make an effort of connecting with you as if our exchange was akin to a round of Speed Dating.
Of course, guess which one I got?
The checkout person and her partner were both cute women, but the checkout girl was talking to me as if she was trying to make a love connection. Frankly, any other day I would have indulged her, but with the impatient couple uncomfortably next to me and giving me the worst Evil Eye I've had in 3 months, I was a little off my game. Her equally cute partner noticed that I also picked up the new John Mayer CD and started giving me her "Rolling Stone critique" of it. Again, any other day, I would have indulged her too, but was glad that she didn't comment on any of my other purchases, like my wart cream.
Yes, I'm kidding about the wart cream.
And finally, making my final approach out of the store, you usually have to pass through these people that look at your receipt to make sure that what you bought matches the amount of items in your cart. As always, there are two kinds of workers that do this: There's the kind that takes it seriously enough to glance at the items and move you along, and then there's the kind that look at your receipt and count EVERY SINGLE ITEM in your cart as if you were going through the Customs Inspection at the U.S./Mexico Border.
Is it even worth guessing which one I got?
Just because I got distracted for a brief second, I got stuck with Mrs. I.N.S. who was checking my cart as if I was packing explosives or something. She looks at my receipt not, once, but TWICE, and then carefully scans through my cart. I watch people in the lane next to me cruise on by, one guy even gave me a look that said "Tough luck bro, I feel for ya." I gave him the "Thanks Bro" nod back, and after an excrutiating 3 minutes later, I was finally out of there.
If you made it to the end of this tirade, I thank you kindly. I know, I could be trying to write something more prolific, but hey, sometimes you just gotta vent, and that's what makes America, great.
Super Winks!... ;)
Friday, September 22, 2006
Piece for PictureSpeak XI: Ascent
Miles still left to traverse through
vast terrain of rocks and trees,
each step harder than the last -
my body grows weary,
yet my faith, does not
as it pushes me over and
beyond what I thought
were my limits -
standing at the summit
I should be looking out
but instead look within,
wondering what good
is any of this without you
here to share it with...
vast terrain of rocks and trees,
each step harder than the last -
my body grows weary,
yet my faith, does not
as it pushes me over and
beyond what I thought
were my limits -
standing at the summit
I should be looking out
but instead look within,
wondering what good
is any of this without you
here to share it with...
Thursday, September 21, 2006
Wednesday, September 20, 2006
Tuesday, September 19, 2006
Apparently, I look like a Movie-Star Goddess...
In the most random comment I received last night during tennis, a woman - who we shall call "Rachel" - said, "Hey, you look like Angelina Jolie."
Okay, I'm gonna let you soak this comment in for a moment.
Enough time?
No? Still need a couple more seconds?
My sarcasm was revved up in those nano-seconds: Is it because of my pouty lips, sultry eyes, or my perfectly formed ass? Or the curve of my hips? No, it's probably my contoured-ample bosom that gives me away...
I was confused and curious at the same time. "Really? Why do you think I look like her?"
Rachel looks at me and says, "Well... what you're wearing... it's all black. Just like Angelina."
Apparenty I was to infer that my all-black outfit consisting of athletic shorts and micro-knit sweat shirt made me look like Lara Croft from "Tomb Raider."
Sadly, a part of me wishes that it was my ass that gave me the "Jolie Quality"...
Okay, I'm gonna let you soak this comment in for a moment.
Enough time?
No? Still need a couple more seconds?
My sarcasm was revved up in those nano-seconds: Is it because of my pouty lips, sultry eyes, or my perfectly formed ass? Or the curve of my hips? No, it's probably my contoured-ample bosom that gives me away...
I was confused and curious at the same time. "Really? Why do you think I look like her?"
Rachel looks at me and says, "Well... what you're wearing... it's all black. Just like Angelina."
Apparenty I was to infer that my all-black outfit consisting of athletic shorts and micro-knit sweat shirt made me look like Lara Croft from "Tomb Raider."
Sadly, a part of me wishes that it was my ass that gave me the "Jolie Quality"...
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