Ode to LCDs

Can anything outshine a large LCD screen? 14 inches is cute, 15.4 inches is readable, but 17 inches, what a delight. Laptop, how your glossy face dazzles the eyes, and envelopes the senses! Full sized LCD, may your descendants grow in stature beyond the 30in limit! Child's hands adjusted my first cathode ray tube. A teenager's touch graced his first flat screen monitor. And now two man hands desire a infinite LED plane. 

Why such a large monitor? First reason, because I can buy one. Second reason; is a bachelor pad beautiful? Does it demand praise? A single man's apartment demands at most, a sneeze, if not a fart. With such drab decor plaguing the walls, a digital landscape soothes the soul. 6 Different chat windows, 3 word processing panels, an army of spreadsheet cells; is there any disadvantage?

Are video games an enveloping experience? Electronic entertainment, addicting? Only portrayed on larger-than-life screens. Only idiots succumb to small weenie windows. So why lob your gaze on small portions of the digital age, when you can jump in!

I'm choking in a sea of anglo-saxon sarcasm. Maybe higher education breeds them. Maybe little custom cafes attract them. Maybe all the glitz and glamour of hollywood magnetizes the school, but rich people candor abounds here in UCLA.

Different mannerisms construct most of my childhood. Conversations were funny and clever because they sounded amusing. Unlike my bubble gum days, college humor is funny because the content is hilarious.

For instance:

"You talk to me?" - uttered in a high squeal, or a burly man voice, this little phrase is an instant classic. Used around UCLA, this earns quizzlical looks, and questions about active drug participation. Looking for jokes is a black room with no lights, and a spiked carpet. Ouch, but many times over. So what IS funny in my demographic?

Sarcasm. Sarcasm isn't the whole story. Wit is a cousin; cleverness its ally. Perhaps some examples would help. Keep in mind, these phrases are intended to be absent of tone, excitability, and any resemblance to cartoon characters.

"Why is it that everytime you're single, all you are see are couples? And then why is it everytime you're in a couple, all you see are hookers?"

A dreamcatcher works, if your dream is to be gay.
-- Demetri Martin

Every fight is a food fight when you’re a cannibal.
-- Demetri Martin

Make crime pay - become a lawyer.
-- Will Rogers

At close examination, my head hurts. My chinese american genes begin to throb. How do I craft sentences or phrases in the same vein? Can I? Chinese Americans have absent history in comedy. I indict my shortcomings. Even reading the sentences now, a mist clouds my eyes. I KNOW these humor people.

It's almost as if I need to plan what I am going to say. Planned words? Sounds smartish, another quality which is lacking. Well thought out speech is similar to reading comprehension; it doesn't happen.

Summary: Maybe they were right after all, reading does help?

Hear-say

A majority of my knowledge is fake. Through the scientific method, knowledge accumulates from study, observation, hypothesizing, and formulation. Experiments that Tim has done? Zero. Information stuffed in my head? Lots. 

I've heard "Objectivity" tossed around. The center of this "objectivity" is unbiased information. The great thing about that term is "unbiased" is the criteria. How does one really define unbiased? 

Can you have a bias for being unbiased? We assume that the emotionless recording of events and interactions is objectivity. But wait, we forgot to record emotions, is that not necessary? Ok, so if we continue and record emotions, wait, who can record them? Can we the external scientist record them? Or does the person themselves have to write and express them? And what is true, what is spoken by the subject, or what is perceived by listeners?

Before the knot gets any tighter, the point is, we live in a mess of knowledge. Minds of the people desperately search for some solid ground, only to see that the foundational rock is upheld by something even more mysterious. Questions lead to questions, an unending dance of searching and desire.

The human mind is amazing in that it can picture itself. Is it all the better for it though? The animals suffer for the same genetic animalistic behaviors over and over again, but do we really gain all that much from being cognitive? More questions to lead to other questions.

All this to say, I have much information, but know very very few things. God tells me much. The bible becomes my fill, my substance. For those of you who claim textbooks, research papers, long dead philosophers, may your eyes be lifted, and see you stand on a floating platform, and you have not hte ability or vision to see the supports.

Writer's block

I plugged up my creative hole. The two villains are World of Warcraft and Movies. Recently, I think i've taken in so much media, my brain is topping out. When did I become such a media fiend? My snout continually enlarges as I camp out in a vacated university library. Wallowing in my pool of horrid apparel, I bounce through the internet. "Internet" is not the correct description, but "torrent of advertising" seems to fit. My brave laptop mines this world wide web of crap for some hope of a new frontier. The results: lots of igneous crap, lacking the gold.
Searching for "free" digital delights leads me down the rabbit holes to mordor, with the promise a secret treasure, only to leave me with a haunting hunger.

How much stuff is on this "internets"? Many a lonesome author has made web display of all the sites he devours, but yet posts no new text, no new images; no he is a mirror, and a dim and broken one at that. A humble common search for material will often bring up more hits than McDonalds has burgers, but the real content behind it would fit in a children's book. Link to link to link to link, to come back to the original place you started. A mobius life this has become; searching for elusive pleasures on the internet, link by link, hopes revving up and down, tires pressed to the floor with each click, only to find that highway to freedom never appears.

This is my net experience

Opposite

I often wonder what Opposite Tim would do. Regular Tim penny pinches and eats sandwiches contemptible by refugee standards. Regular Tim reads books to fight that darned Alzheimer's disease. (Gotta stay agile in the brain sonny!)

Opposite Tim would worship Blizzard, the video game company. The rituals would not be complete without playing excessive amounts of Warcraft, World of Warcraft, and StarCraft two. Opposite Tim also likes himself. A lot. too much. Opinions would be ignored, warnings met with water balloons, and rebukes met with puke. Life is too good to be bothered with obstacles, much less ugly annoying people.

I think that our alternate opposite egos represent desires that never see daylight. The desire the pump shotgun shells into annoying administrative assistants should not be exercised. No one would receive their paychecks, or enjoy the pleasure of screened phone calls. Likewise the curiosity towards one's capacity for oreos does not add to the homo-sapien legacy. Still, these secret cravings lurk beneath the skin.

Are they us, or aren't they? Maybe Batman's Harvey dent lived freer than batman. No cowl. No cape. Only the both sides of his nature in clear view.

Summary: Luckily opposite Tim would have made a terrible criminal.

Electro-leech?

Yesterday I got a frantic call from my roommate. Murder? Theft? Lambasted(just wanted to use that word)? Marooned? The power is out. Roommate turned it off, and didn't tell us. Gracias, compadre.

My evening planned emptied out. Was that much of my evening electric centric? What should I do instead? I walked. I used my legs. My legs were happy. The calves long hated the thighs for collecting dorito and donut fat. The calves swelled to the gauge of artillery, supporting the despised excess blubber.

Air is good. Lungs need air. Sun is good. Scalp needs sun... i think... Anyways I napped on the grass for an hour, then proceeded to do some reading. Life is really really different without electricity. I suspect if the city browned out, drinking would exponentially increase, and slip n slide would immediately come back in style. Maybe both. Slip n slide in budweiser, perhaps?

Either way, I went to bed at, get this ... 10:30. Mainly because the lights were out too. In theory i would have grabbed a book, stuffed myself in a sofa, and read a billion pages. In a more realistic hypothesis, i would grab systematic theology half way into bed, and go 0 to zzzz in 15 secs. Beat that toyota.

Maybe we do make life a lot more complicated than it needs to be.

Need.

More and more I don't understand that word.

Summary: I'm convinced I'm 75% electric dependant.

Weakness

Weakness is despised by humans. Weakness is also adored by humans. Which is it?

20 year old complainers deserve spite. These are those who complain about hair in their food, complain about the weather, complain that their large apt is too big, and never make enough money. That's weakness right there, folks.

Then there are kittens. Kittens are prey to dogs, babies, disgruntled uncles, and the wind. Yet kittens steal the love of many a hot chick. Those mini felines rob the male population of back-rubs and vacations (we can't just leave the cat alone, we have to come back, or bring it with us).

See the disparity? Both are spoiled. Both are weak. Both always need hand holding and spoon feeding. Both are unaware of their huge deficiency. Yet one is a societal bruise, and the other is cherished in calendars in kitchens across the world.

I don't believe the solution is for 20-year olds to grow hair to look like kittens. But I do think admission of weakness is the key. Kittens are expected to be ignorant blocks of fur. Cat brains are as big as yesterday's dukie. But people know better.

I know i suck at kick ball. I know I suck at talking in straight lines of thought. I'm trying to get over it. I'm sure someone out there dislikes me. still feel like hating me?

Anthrax Value Meal

Americans eat fries not fruit. We chose burritos over berries. All people know this. Ask high school scum; he jumps punks for fried chicken, not for bananas. Not only do we eat greasy wagon mutton, but we eat it at speeds up to 100 mph.

And we are afraid of death.

Aside from the skydiving, base jumping, driving in traffic, and football with out cups, danger is everywhere. And we still don't care what we eat. And average people eat on a tri-daily basis. Even seclusion from moving objects and sunlight will still require food.

I have yet to see a food saying 100% death free. Eating apples is taking a chance at choking, or maybe diabetes because of the sugar. Each time the mouth opens, the dice are rolled on our lives. Roll a six and you die. If you eat KFC, you flip a coin. Heads, your dead, tails you are on pump.

And we are still afraid of death.

Fear glazes every phase of our day. Fear of car crash on the highway, fear of lead poisoning in the water, fear of bearded men being terrorists, and that's not even accounting for the psychological time bombs stuck in our sub conscious. Who can sleep?

I can, once I eat some BBQ ribs.

So apparently people are afraid of dying quickly, not dying slowly. This would explain cigarette addiction, consumption of anything fried, football, bloody knuckles, and a slew of other human activities that have no logical evolutionary function. And we call our species logical.

Maybe chemicals wouldn't be so bad if we put them in food. Lead based chicken. Asbestos beef. And of course, the Anthrax value meal. The glass chips burger comes with a side of tranquilizer shake (it's strong enough for any cow). These things won't kill you..... well right now at least.

Summary: You laugh, but your extra value meal isn't far off.

I can't identify zombies

Everyone knows that zombies smell bad, but I beg to differ.

Sure, there are the "stereotyped" zombies from every horror film. They have the matted hair, the ugly dental work, and the waistline that is the envy of all the super models. But I suspect there are more types of zombies than these.

For instance, there are work-addict-zombies. These zombie grow in a garden of underpaid overtime work in a poorly ventilated office. Late at night, groaning erupts from carpeted cubicles as zombie co-workers wander the halls.

Video game zombies now appear during the day. Back in the day video games were great late night entertainment. Can't play tennis when its dark, but now.... you can play pong! Once the daylight returned, games were set aside and the real thing was played. These days, the games are BETTER than real life. Ok ok, this is not completely true, but you must admit, graphics are good. Would you like to think about your 1 bedroom studio apt, or fight in a huge castle with orcs, trolls, and treasure? Which sounds more fantastic. Ok this question only works on guys. Girls would be saying "i have my own place? How much money do i have to decorate? Is it near a mall?"

And now there are mainstream Zombies. These don't smell, these don't dress drabby. These zombies eat, go to work, and drive normal cars.

So what is zombie about them? Well, talk to any of them, and see how many of these people really think for themselves. I am one of these people. Last time i checked a lot of my thoughts, or talking points, it wasn't pretty. My topics would often bounce from simple materialism to plain re-hash of internet stories. I'm a regular repeating news board. When was my last original thought? Isn't life more than buying new computers, getting HD everything, and saving up for a house to hold it all?

Are there no other choices?

So as in all things, pharisee or not, don't let appearances fool you. The movies got that much right. The hot chick is the vampire, the dead guy is alive, and chances are your friends are under mind control from the internet. Just look for the little plug for the cable in the back of their heads :)

Summary: Live a little. No, live a lot.

Thoughts from the Savon

The regular racks of crap at savon are aluminum. The nicer name brands try to cover the sheet metal with fancy tags. But the really nice products are something else entirely.

Ok, its the woman's products. I must admit I was entranced by the display. The shelf is a sheik white plastic, and get this: has lights underneath the semi-opaque material. This slight of shelf gives the products a glow similar to aliens exiting their space ship. Why IS it so bright in there? Clearly earthly standards are insufficient to sell this product. Only heightened intelligence will sell this girly smell accessories.

Wouldn't it be great to have those lights everywhere in your house? No more ikea lamps crowding your living room, if your floor glows. There's no shadows to scare the kids if the walls have embedded fluoresces. But someone beat me to the punch. Go to San Francisco union station and grab a bite to eat. The tables and some of the dividing walls all have this alien glow. At this rate everything will either look like TRON or Star trek in about 3 years.

I'm just waiting for my light cycle.

Too much fun?

I enjoy a good dinner with great friends.

Sometimes though, you have too many great friends showing up. How is this possible? Ok, if i hang out with cool friend one, life is good. But once there are, say, 6 cool friends at this particular dinner, I start spazing. As each friend slowly arrives at dinner, there's this snowballing expectation that this will be the most awesomest dinner ever. And just like great rollercoasters; they always let you dow. Hard.

I can only imagine the problem getting worse. Dinner with one friend? Great! Dinner with 2 friends: ok. Dinner with 6 friends: getting really high expectations. After a few years, then Wedding : all your friends. I expect that to be the saddest day of my life, my expectations skyrocketing to the tip of pluto.

Expectations are a funny thing, no matter how hard you chant they never seem to go away. Fairly soon you start expecting expectations. Then you start anticipating expecting expectations. Then you predict you will anticipate expecting expectations. Soon you start making no sense at dinner, and dressing in odd colors to psych yourself out.

The solution is as mysterious as the problem. The answer I've come up with? Have a bad time. Have a really really bad time. This isn't reverse psychology. That stuff doesn't work. You can always pull a anticipated reverse psychology on yourself. So, really. Just have a bad time. Life is full of bad things, may as well take some of them over a friendly dinner instead of some foreign war, or at work with top 3 least favorite people.

Summary: Maybe bad isn't that bad after all. Sorry this isn't a funny entry.

Proof that I am Behind

I haven't posted. I know, it has been an eternity, everyone is waiting.

I run like a starship. In the presence of debris, alien attacks, or severe Warp Engine Diahrrea, I have emergency procedures. Any regular situation can evolve into extreme awkwardness. This requires going to "red alert".These situations emerge from bad birthday parties, social mixers, blind dates, or eating too many tacos.

1. Shields up - For star wars, a sciency bubble pops up and bounces back evil laser blasts. In real life, any kind of cover will do. Books, walls, tombstones; these will all work. Get some solid material between you and that pesky chatterbox, deflecting annoying stories about corn or nephews.
2. Crewmen in their Quarters - Minimize your damage. Don't talk about important life changing issues in hte presence of a threat. Financial woes, relational problems in the hands of a gossiper will destroy your reputation. If conversing with a social leech, serious issues signal a tender area. This slimy person will claim the name of "friend" for years to come. Stick to topics like "cotton sure looks a lot like cotton candy. mm!"
3. Arm the Torpedos - There times when other people in the conversation have your secrets. Keeping your own mouth shut is easy, but commanding the trap of another proves very difficult. Sometimes you have to blow the other person out of the water to save your secrets. Hold nothing back.
1. (to the group) Squealer: "Hey tim, remember when we were with the guys and you ..."
2. Me: "Dude, My little pony is the lamest thing ever. Dancing ice cream colored ponys with powers? HA... Did your mom forget you were a boy?"
3. Squealer: " .... but Fizzy and the beauties were so cute...
4. Shutdown unnecessary functions - Niceness, politeless, being logical; these are all unnecessary. All you need to do is make this awkward situation Stop. Make it stop
1. Leech: You know tim, sometimes in small group, I think of you as a pretty girl, and i start to fall in love...
2. Me: Ok waste for brains, giraffes are nothing like zebras, except that your momma likes both of them more than you.
5. Warp 9 - No matter how cool you are, there is always someone lamer than your coolness. Don't be prideful. GET OUT. MOVE IT.

Summary: Girls will find this post boring. I have just discovered these things, whereas Girls have been teaching these things since they had two moving lips. Ask a girl to teach you.

My 1000 dollar threshold

I’ve clicked though the dell website at least 100 times in the last 2 months, configuring a laptop. I think it’s purely because a laptop costs over 1000 dollars. When a product costs over a thousand dollars, I’ll scrutinize my choice like a dog looking for his own poop in the backyard. If its 900 dollars, I’ll accidentally buy it in the middle of a casual AIM conversation.

Money tolerance is weird. Here’s my price index

• <$5 – (Don’t think about it): It’s cheap. Buy it, unless it’s a gallon of OJ
• $5-$10 – (walk around the store 2 times): Well, I really wouldn’t spend on money on it, but if I have to, then so be it. Probably a 5 for 5 beef sandwiches, or a really big pizza
• $10-$30 – (Spend at least 2 hours reading reviews): This better be a book, or a cheap video game. A REALLY good book
• $30-$100 – (Just pay it, you will have to): Gas, Treating people out to dinner
• $100-$500 – (Waste 100 hours, literally, on researching this thing) This thing better be a guitar, a huge monitor, extreme dental work, or car repair
• $500-$1000 – (Buy immediately if it says ‘Fender’, ‘Gibson’, or ‘taylor’, else, gouge out eyes): This is a lot of hamburgers/ice cream, I better have a darn good reason for buying something in this range
• $1000-$2000 - (Only buy if you receive sign from Divine power) – If this guitar hasn’t been played by at least 1 super star, I don’t want it. Maybe I might spend this money on a computer.
• $2000+ I hope she’s worth it.

There are the drawbacks, of course. I bought about 300 dollars worth of Amazon books, priced about 6-15 dollars. Yes, I know. It’s a LOT of books. I have actually finished most of them. For example, I’m currently reading Dave Barry. If you don’t think Dave Barry is funny, I don’t think you are a fellow human.

So I’m thinking about a new policy:

• Buy things that put you to sleep
• Food – always induces a nap
• Books – always induces a coma
• Cars – you don’t have to walk to places, you just drive there, more time and energy to sleep
• Beds – increased sleeping capacities
• Girlfriends - *ahem* I’ll leave the explanation to your imagination
• Don’t buy things that aggravate you
• Bad movies
• Mexican food
• New ethnic food from far off country
• Root Canals
• Doctor’s checkups
• Jobs – this makes sense, they pay YOU
• Computers that go obsolete 10 mins after you buy them

Summary: I’m starting to invest in bed and sleeping accessories. My first one is a dictionary.

Isn't it Ironic?

Sorry. I can’t stand misuse of English techniques. It provokes a mild-chili level of annoyance. Someone will misuse the term “paradox” in a joke. Other people will uproariously laugh at the joke. Meanwhile I’ll be fuming, praying for a falling brick to end my misery.

So here’s the story. The details have been changed so readers will not guess if this situation is about them. While driving from church, one of my riders made a passing comment. For their sake, I have modified the comment: “ I brought a jacket today because it looked good. It happened to be really cold today, and I was all warm! How about that? How Ironic!” I wanted to stab myself.

• Irony - the use of words to convey a meaning that is the opposite of its literal meaning: the irony of her reply, “How nice!” when I said I had to work all weekend.
• Sarcasm - harsh or bitter derision or irony. – “Of course I would like to go shopping with you” (while doing a Gagging/lynching impression)
• Catch-22 - A paradox in a law. An example of this is wanting a wife. Getting a wife requires you not wanting them, lest you be called “desperate”, and thus we have a paradox.

I, out of all people should have compassion on those lacking intelligence. I mean, let’s face it, I AM from Oakland public schools. Education was not the priority. Diversity was. We had all kinds of stupid from every ethnicity. It was so bad, we have our own check box on a lot of forms for federal aid, immunizations, and scholastic scoring. For goodness sake, if you don’t know the meaning of the word, don’t use it! Here are some other examples of mistaken usage:

• Paradox - a statement or proposition that seems self-contradictory or absurd but in reality expresses a possible truth.
• Analogy - a similarity between like features of two things, on which a comparison may be based: the analogy between the heart and a pump.
• Allusion – Alluding to; indirect reference
• Metaphor - a figure of speech in which a term or phrase is applied to something to which it is not literally applicable in order to suggest a resemblance, as in “A mighty fortress is our God.” Or “Kevin is corpse ever since he started playing warcraft.”
• Simile - a figure of speech in which two unlike things are explicitly compared, as in “she is like a rose,” “Mitchell is like a manatee”, or “love is like a lot like wrestling”
• Illustration - a comparison or an example intended for explanation or corroboration. Example – Tell a story about incarceration. Then use the principles of prison and parallel marriage. See? Marriage makes much more sense now.

Summary: Go Forth and be Language-awesome!

Internet is the new TV

I wasted 3 hours on the internet yesterday. Skipped a meal, held in my pee. For 3 hours.

It’s not hard to do. Internet is everywhere. Wireless is seriously being emitted magically from all spaces and bounces everywhere. It’s the new buried treasure. Every 20 feet, if there is a chance for email, I’ve seen people looking for wireless in the middle of the street, fishing with their laptops. Not that there is anything wrong with free wireless internet, I am completely grateful to the idiots next door. By the way, no one cares if you name your wireless “I eat bears” or “I date models”. The pirate is hacking is going through YOUR IP.

How is the internet addicting? It feels good to get mail. Everyone checks mail every half hour. The email high leads to addiction. Addiction then leads to desperation. An email will do. Desperation gets high enough that people even start reading the ads emailed to you. Lower Mortgage, free LCD panels, etc. etc. I’m sure in some cubicle in circuitville, someone gets high every time Amazon confirms their order for the next Harry potter book. And how many people did the prince if Nigeria ask for help?

The other top time sinks are: (drum roll) social sites. Facebook is friendser, xanga, AiM, etc, etc. It’s all the same. The internet has only allowed more goofballs and nutjobs to proliferate their own narcissim, and to “add friends” to do the same. All the people worth any pile of beans aren’t online, because they are busy doing something that doesn’t massage their own ego.

I’m waiting for the next big website. There was MySpace and FaceBook. I’m waiting for My-Shrine-ToMyself.Com. Instead of “poke” you can have “Give alms” and “Idolize”. You’ve got 1000 people idolizing you!

People who stared at the mirror all day used to be called “Vain”. But now the mirror has a few different faces, and it also reflects your words, personality, and other useless facts. No one cares who your top celebrity look-a-likes are. No one cares what book you would read on a desert island. (Most people can’t even name a book, short of Harry Potter).

Summary: Read a book.

I fear the Shower

I’m pretty sure I will die in the shower. One quiet day, I’ll be a little too rough with the temperature dial and one turn too far will gift me with a lake of fire experience. If that doesn’t do me in, I’ll fry my reproductive organs and lose the will to live and finish the deed myself.

The runner up fear to frying in the shower is falling down in the shower. To guard against shower falls, I now sit in the tub and wash myself. Can’t fall down if I’m already there. I now wash my big, fat, bearish self lounging in pool of soap and water. I use my left paw to slap myself with Dove bar soap. I use other my right paw to prevent drowning, propping my head out of the stream of water.

Yes, I struggle with life. In short rooms, I’ll bang my head. Corners on desks, coffee tables, boney people; they bruise me in all sorts of new ways. Rugs? Aren’t they safe? Nopes, go too skinned knees and elbows from tripping over shoelaces and the vacuum cleaner.

No, it won’t be bombs, anthrax, nor stray bullets that will be my ultimate demise. No, laziness will be my assassin, clumsiness his accomplice. Guess which method will do me in.

1. I’ll finish greasing a pig and slip up with a cleaver. Bye-bye throat.
2. I’ll try to iron a shirt in the shower for efficiency. Fried Chicken anyone?
3. On a newly waxed floor, I will bend over to pick up a chip that I coughed up laughing at my own joke, slip and break my spine.

Ironically one of these has already happened. Care to guess which one?

Summary: Life is rough.

A Horse! Of course!

I wish was a horse. Strong. Free. Glistening flowing mane.

Animals have it easy compared to humans. Well, let me correct that. Certain animals have it easy compared to humans. There would always be cows that accidentally show up next to Black Angus. They will have the same fate as the oreo next to the cookie monster.

But with squirrels, dogs, cats, and smart possums, life is great, playing in the trees. Dumb possums play dead in the middle of the highway. Playtime is over very quickly. But for all tree loving critters, who wants to be a human?

Here are human expectations:

1. Clean yourself
2. Don’t eat off the ground
3. Don’t be ugly
4. Don’t be sick
5. Pay your taxes
6. Respect your parents
7. Give money to poor people
8. Be nice to people you don’t know
9. And on and on…. “human” etiquette

For all other creatures under the sun, you have only a few expectations to meet:

1. Poop wherever you like
2. Eat anything weaker than you
3. Be dirty (if you see a really clean raccoon, you must admit, it’s real scary. Why would a raccoon be so clean)
4. Eat weak children
5. Snarling

Added bonus is there’s no child raising. Often times, you leave the kids in the sand and hope for the best. Come on now, you hoomans. If you could choose, what would you be?

Disclaimer: some people may say, “Tim, if you are a animal, you can’t girlfriends or boyfriends, so isn’t it obvious?

Depends on who you ask.

Summary: If I was an ugly horse. I would blame my master. Eat that Sea Biscuit.

On the top of my lap

Everyone has a laptop. Elmo has a laptop, my relatives have laptops; I expect even Juju the crack dealer to have a laptop.

The new thumb twiddling is the internet. Ok, so it sounds cliché. But its true! Every coffee shop seems to be low on the caffine bean and high on the anodized aluminum laptop casing. About 85% of people in coffee shops have a 15in glossy screen dazzling their faces. The other 15% just don’t have their laptops WITH them.

Laptop ownership has a certain look to it. Usually it’s a sling bag, tight pants, an oversized purse, or a hunch in someone’s posture. Shifty eyes, clammy hands, and untargeted stares cloth many a net junkie. Everyone is itching to check their email. I once heard someone “miss the warmth of my ‘top on my lap”

Business suits can be expected to have a portable computer. Bluetooth earpiece people are expected to be similarly equipped. Actually, that description sounds like an old shoplifting lady. Beyond laptop people, there are APPLE laptop people. They’ve got this smell, and this … aura. It’s a little pretentious.

Opening apple laptops is this slow process. They crack it open like a hard boiled egg. Then they wipe their screen/keyboard with their choice-yak-haired cloth. They give a little look around which slowly whistles, “this is cool. Everyone see? I am cool. This is expensive. But I can afford it. And I am all the more awesome.” That’s why bargain hunters who fish for macBooks seem a little bewildered when they get one.

I’m a little hesitant to join this crew of electronics hauling geeks. It’s another $2,000 accident waiting to happen. Or a $2,000 brick to be left on the bus, dropped on the floor. Or $2,000 worth of sprayed coffee guilt.

Knowing my track record with Gameboy, Cell phones, hot potatoes, fly balls, girls hands, and car keys. Maybe I better stay away.

Summary: Don’t give me small things

Peace

Peace is misunderstood. I often mistook peace for several days of online Gaming. Was I happy? The fantastic virtual victories overshadowed the constipation, incredible B.O., and voluntary fasting. The euphoria lasted only as long as the monitor was on. Once my aluminum tower shut down for the day, so did my gamer High. And after that crash came starcraft withdrawl and depression.

So what is peace?

Is it having a personal army of slaves to dote and protect you? Is it having a supermodel girlfriend? Is it owning a large software corporation built on thievery? Is it being president?

Anything mentioned here either can

1. Betray you
2. Steal from you
3. Make you a Target
4. Steal your Chicken McNuggets

And all of those things AREN’T peaceful. Especially number 4, (those bastards).

Peace used to be a hard day’s work, marrying your high school sweetheart, or teaching your son the importance of zipping his fly. These days, peace is made up of cable internet, HD cinema, and a sound system that removes fillings in your teeth. And with all this new silicon driven ease, peace seems harder to find.

After being in the Ikea and S&M jungle, I envy my simpler friends that go to a regular job, have a small family, and take life slow. They smile bigger than us in the career rat race. Maybe it’s because they only get 4 channels of Television. Maybe its because their family dinners aren’t interrupted by cell phones. Maybe its because they don’t need Disneyland to have family time.

Maybe “less is more” (relient K).

Summary: Too bad less is less business, so we won’t see that slogan anytime soon.

I use too many words

Superfluous, inundating, overwhelming, tsunamic. Whatever you want to call it, so I am. I don’t summarize. I don’t approximate. I rarely overview. Once these two chapped lips start opening and closing, the mouth engages and trash begins to fly at startling speeds.

Here’s a typical Process

“Tim, what do you think of Jakey?”

Answer:

1. The history of Tim and Jakey, our rough relationship
2. The current policies between Tim and Jakey
3. My overall estimation of Jakey’s thoughts and Actions
4. A disclaimer of my limited brain and knowledge
5. My skewed imbalanced view of all those things, considering all those factors
6. Another disclaimer to secrecy and my idiocratic mood

I noticed I do that a lot. Sorry friends! I’m trying hard to summarize first, and give details later.

Where does this habit come from? My suspicions are many. The prime suspect is my relationship with my mother. Explaining my actions was like Law and Order Criminal Intent. I needed to explain every possible action.

“Tim, son, did you do your homework”

Answer

1. Yes

“But I don’t SEE you doing homework. (anger rising)”

Answer

1. The rest of the students are Stupid
   
2. Homework is a joke
3. The bus ride i have to take is a super long route. Plenty of time to do the homework
4. I do many things without her supervision. I save children, devise way to end hunger, clean my room and then mess it up again. A lot of stuff happens

Anger subsides. Tim’s hiney is safe again.

Summary: I guess you never really get away from home.

Focus, grasshopper! Focus!

dinho ooo: dang your xanga is crazy
me: ?
me: did you just find it?
dinho ooo: yeah
dinho ooo: its harder to follow than you are

I can’t blog about one idea. Remember the clown gag with a hankerchief? Once the hankerchief is yanked out, another one is tied to the end of it, and so on and so on till you have a laundry basket full of snot rags. That's exactly how my thinking works. Once one idea graces the journal, I find another idea tied to it, even another idea past that.

Focus. I need focus. I need to improve. I am tempted to try some techniques from Kung Fu movies and cartoons. It usually involves standing on one foot and balancing rice bags, or focusing all your chi on a single leaf. Hopefully at the end of the training, I will be able to focus like I'm on riddlin. If not, at least I'll come away with the exploding palm technique or something like that.

To get started, I googled for "focus" to get some pithy sayings.

"Concentration is the master key to all success. It is the fundamental law of achievement. The man who does not concentrate will be either a half success, a mediocrity or a complete failure".
-- Orison Swett Marden, Prosperity: How to Attract It, 1922

Ok, so this quote really doesn't do anything for me. "Concentration" could be replaced with any other word, say "Cinnamon Bits" or "Dwarves" and mean the same thing. My rating of this quote : 2/10

"I never hit a shot, not even in practice, without having a very sharp in-focus picture of it in my head."
-- Jack Nicklaus

What nutjob uses this quote to inspire himself? Focus and concentration is important. But not important enough to pick up sniper like tendencies. I can picture my xanga interview now - "Every time i blog, i think about a .50 caliber rifle, and I'm trying to center my red targeting laser on a head. That guy is an idea. I need to kill it to get it.....". Yeah, that isn't violent at all. Points to this quote for including guns and a cool German name : 5/10

"Concentrate all your thoughts upon the work at hand. The sun's rays do not burn until brought to a focus."
-- Alexander Graham Bell (Inventor)

This is actually a pretty cool quote. One, the author is Alex Bell. Two, everyone remembers burning ants or your mom with the magnifying glass. Heck, even MacGuyver started many explosions with glasses and a room of sun. And the quote isn't ridiculously long. Try quoting that first quote 6 times fast. I don't need the first sentence, the second sentence is good by itself. My rating: 10/10

If you hear me talking about the burning in the sun. I'm working on focus.

Summary: Why are all the good quotes pre-1900s? Are we that dumb?

I am unfit for wit

I want to be witty.

Since I said that first statement, let me say another: I’m not. It’s similar to any geek donning on some $500 and announcing “I’m cool!” No. You are not, and you will never be. In the same way, I can repeatedly announce my awesomeness, when it’s plain by my face, I am not.

The only way to be witty is … to be witty. My best definition of wit is using everything at surprising appropriate times. I may as well be random. Randomness is not wit. If I walked into a McDonalds and said, “Uncle Bernie has an dodo, and my sister is stapler,” that is not wit. That is the kind of crazy that you get from overdosing crack or COSMO mags.

Here’s an example of wit

“What is power? Power is getting an honorary doctorate from the university that expelled you your freshmen year. Power is living in a mansion for thirty years and never knowing where the kitchen is. Power is walking with your fly open and everybody thinking you’re a fashion leader. Power is the most sought after, addictive, seductive, abused drug there is. Compared to power, crack is Fruitopia.

I believe it’s the Bible that says “With great power comes great responsibility.” No, wait, that was Stan Lee in “Spiderman”

Now I don’t want to get off on a rant here, but let’s talk about power- how to get it, what to do with it, when to use it, and most importantly, where to store it at what temperature. Because make no mistake, power is a perishable good.”

Man. That’s gold. I was so amused, I dropped my poo poo prematurely reading on the toilet. Witty people can say the craziest things at the proper time to belt their point for additional points. Here’s another example:

Fear and insecurity touch many nutcakes ‘cross this great land of ours. Up in our Ivory Towers, white professors whose closest contact with real black people is James Earl Jones voice over on CNN are busy composing master treatises on the genetic deficiencies of blacks.

Meanwhile down the hall in the Afro-centric wing a learned Ph. D in mathematics is insisting that X = Malcom.

The main reason for this entry is an apology. Should a conversation ensue, and I rant like a Yeti with a yak-sized dose of redbull: I’m sorry. I’m probably trying to be witty, I’m just not there yet.

Summary: My uncle is crazy. I wonder if he’s also trying to be witty?

Identity Issues

Every show has it’s cool guy. Seinfeld had Kramer. Friends had Joey. Saved by the Bell had Zack, Smallville has superman (duh). Unfortunately I don’t relate to any of those people.

Cool comes in. Cool guy uses funny line. Cool guy gets girl. People laugh. Random crazy nutjob comes in with a crack pot idea for making action heroes out of melted crayons, and I start chuckling. Oh crap. I relate with the eat-too-many-cheetos guy. I relate with some odd things in entertainment.

One of the most painful movies I’ve seen is “My Best friend’s wedding”. No, I do not wish I was Julia Roberts. No, I do not want to steal away the groom. Basically girl and guy are friends. Guy decides to get married to new young chick. Girl goes and tries to break it up so she can finally get with Guy. Julia Roberts spends an hour and a half trying to say “I like you”, and lying her way out of deception.

I THINK most people like the movie. I’m not sure what they like about it. I start to get an ulcer around the 3rd lie. Each further deception takes me back through all the blackest things I’ve ever done to cover up. I leave that movie feeling really bad for the liar main character. I don’t see anything endearing in that movie. It’s trying to adore selfishness. In fact, selfishness done poorly (she gets caught).

So after relating with Screech, George, and the unnamed ensign that always gets killed on star trek, I’ve taken a break from Television and movies. Hopefully I can enshroud myself with the idea that I’m cool. Am I?

Summary: I once saw the hero get shot in an action flick. I felt sorry for the jacket that got messed up by all the blood. Maybe I’m heartless.

Burning Chicken Soup

Ouch. My stomach burns. The burning isn’t love, courage, or anger. I am suffering from fiery bathroom woes. Each visit to the bathroom sounds like adding chicken broth to a bubbling cauldron. After glancing in the porcelain, I can only name it Burning Chicken Soup. It feels like I accidentally sat on a Bunsen burner. Accidentally sat for 4 hours, ate some butane and now have a fire out my anus.

I never knew so much liquid could leave my body. I’ve deluged the toilet at least a dozen times. The pain horrifies me, and awkwardness unsettles me. The only good thought floating around is the hope of weight loss. Sickness always is a ferocious diet. I fear drinking. I fear eating. And here I lounge on the couch, stomach full of napalm like acid, envying the dead. My only joy is Ill be an Ally McBeal look a like in a few hours.

Stomach Flu never ranked high on my list of fears, but it's contending for the top spots now. It's up there next to root canals and shopping. Number 1 or 2 on the list is chronic writers block. Why? Well.....

Summary: Oh crap.

Where'd all the chips go?

I like visitors. Furniture revitalizes a living room, but people are required for great memories. My best memories and jokes are born from unexpected friendly drop-ins.

Not all visitors are sweet fragrances to the nose of life.

Health - Loki himself doesn’t like your happy life, nor your ugly mug. Whimsically, he sends crashers to annoy till crap fills your words and fills your pants. By definition, the nightmare visitor always has some viral disease. There’s no hope for health. Inject a whale-sized dose of airborne, but it’s over. Your body may fend off the disease, but the couch, the chair, and the favorite porcelain seat has no white blood cells.

Cleanliness - Bad visitors fear the laundry machine. Well, maybe they fear soap in general, or they hope to season new food with old grease stains. Say good-bye to matching couches once one of these Crisco buffoons goes swimming in the leather cushions. A favorite saying is: “it’s been ….. since I showered”. Other remarks might be “I never knew sewers were so cramped and wet”, “the bayou feels weird on your skin”, or “I am the THING”.

Food - The secret to keeping away unwanted visitors is the pantry. Snacks are great becase of their taste, small sizes, and portable packages. Snacks are NOT great because of their taste, small sizes, and portable packages. Pringles, chips, and crackers invite visitors to crop dust rug and living room. Never have good leftovers. The scavengers will smell and feed off your refrigerator undesirables. Chinese or pasta leftovers have a 90% chance of leading to a NAP.

Nap – Naps are sweet gifts from a good God. Vagrants napping in your place are the one of the plagues of Egypt. Extended napping increases the chances for more nasty annoying antics. No matter how good a friend is, people that use stranger’s toothbrush and pajamas should be shot. Sure, you’ve never actually touched him. Then why does it feel like you’ve just had a 20 min broke-back encounter?

Summary: Buy a crappy place. It’s your turn to be the vagrant.

Coveting of every kind

• Laptop - looking at an Apple MacBook Pro, or a Widescreen thinkpad - basically will cost $2,500
  
• Cintiq Drawing tablet -if you don't know what this is. It's basically a huge 22 inch monitor you can draw on. The price tag is ONLY $2,500
  
• Taylor Guitar - I've always wanted one, and they've been too expensive. Finally, the prices have .....INCREASED! OMG. I'm tempted even more to buy one now, before the price inflates anymore. It's seriously increased about 20% in the last 3 years. The price tag is only $2,500

That's a lot of money. I can hear my mother now. "Tim, that's a lot of money, you should save it". I don't blame her or hate her. In about 20 years when I'm talkin to some youngster "I remember when I earned my first $100,000. You whipper-snappers don't appreciate anything ..... gahhh!"

I remember my first $1000 dollars. I wanted to buy a guitar with it. And I did! I had a Gibson Les Paul Studio ....for one day. They made me return it the next day. Ah, what a sweet 24 hours. How I still dream of the ebony body and rosewood fretboard.

Seriously though, what is the point of saving, if you can't spend it? Having a large bank account but no material goods is practically being poor. I believe this is called the Midas fallacy. Gold is great, but only as a means to get other things. Poor guy wanted gold, but realized he couldn't trade it for anything. He starved to death; you can't eat gold.

Summary: Maybe I should just get 2000 hamburgers. You can't eat a MacBook Pro.

Unidentified Brushing Object

UFO abductees claim to be subjects of various horrifying tests. Strange metal objects, knives, and strange sensations are common in all descriptions. Bright lights are often cited, coupled with strange murmuring and off tone music.

Sounds like the dentist to me.

First, a masked man comes in with goggles and a white coat. If his outfit is a hint of my diagnosis, I already feel like I have SARS. Actually, I’m not sure if it’s a man. My vision is blurred. Dominating my vision is a strange light that looks like the laser from ID4. It’s not strong enough to pop my eyeballs, but it’s definitely slow roasting my brain.

A lead vest is placed on my torso to protect my body from gamma rays, x-rays, or maybe even superman’s leering eye. Apparently my dentist assumes my head is made of lead, because I don’t receive any protective equipment for my skull. It’s ok to fry brains, but not my lungs.

They then proceed to stick that nasty film in your mouth, and take a picture with their *camera*. The *camera* has a barrel that could shoot photon torpedoes. By the way, the only way to know if the film is in the correct position, is for the patient to gag uncontrollably. If I don’t gag, Mr. White Coat will continually position the film till I do. To add to the joke, I have to hold the film in a gagging position. There’s probably a good joke here, but I don’t know what it is.

Then the horror starts. The tray next to my head platters orc weapons from the Lord of the Rings movies. Tools that the Dentist is happy to smile about. Apparently, my dentist is a sadist. I won’t go into the details, but it’s quite scary to see random iron hooks and blades enter your mouth and to see liquid explode from the lip line. By the way, they say it’s toothpaste they use, but I suspect its just Vaseline.

This begs the question: Aliens or the dentist?

I leave the office feeling like I’ve gnawed on cedar for 2 years. Some of my friends returned with “braces”. They say its for your teeth, but I suspect parents impose metal on your teeth to keep dating potentials low. I’ve never left the dentist feeling good.

I’ve never heard anyone complaining about bad dental work after being abducted. Sure, my new pimple has seeds of an alien race. And yes, I’m a walking biological time bomb. But you’d never know it with this great smile.

*ting*

Summary: At least you don’t remember much from the UFO

Disappointing Fajitas

Roughly about twice a month I crave good Mexican food. And, since I can’t find good Mexican food, I go out and get bad Mexican food. Who wants fresh fajitas? I most certainly reject large burritos. At baja fresh, this giant is called the “dos manos”; but who can eat that much food? That’s why I only go to small empty Mexican restaurants named after Spanish Aunts and Uncles. Who wants an abundance of grilled meat, beans, and cheese for only 5 dollars? And definitely I don’t want fresh guacamole. I need old guacamole to protect against disease with it’s killer mold.

Fajita-loving losers need to be put in their place. Fajitas cost 10 dollars and burritos cost 5. Basically, the people order a open faced burrito, and pay an extra 5 dollars for a sweaty high-schooler to bring it out on a sizzling plate. Show offs. I know, I’ve got an idea! Let’s put super crappy meat in the fajitas. All the carne asada fat collect from lunch can be covered with vegetables, and no one is the wiser. They will envy the burrito people! And when the customers look like they are going to hurl, keep giving them more salsa to kill the taste of your own food.

Anyways, if you can’t tell, me and Jon Chen ate at the WORST Mexican restaurant ever. Even the waitress was mysteriously nice. It’s the same mysteriously nice that seen in a dark evil-browed men in dance clubs. So what if he’s evil, and so what he’s offering you a drink with a eerie lookin pill at the bottom, free drink right? Right?

I’ve never had a discipleship interrupted with regurgitating food. We must have looked like two mother birds pre-chewing all the meat for our kids at home. People must have stared in disgust. Oh wait. There are no customers because the restaurant is empty. Probably because they died from the belly-busting fajitas.

Don’t eat at Sarape. I think sarape means “you’ll hate our beef”

Summary: Why is it so hard to find good burritos in LA?

80/20

How much recycled conversation do you have?

Today is Sunday. Often on Sundays I play time machine with the week. I like to recall the top events, favorite moments, and chores of the week. What did I talk about this week? Food, girls, money, church, work, books; the list goes on. How many times did I reuse conversation? A lot.

Grace on Campus has increased in popularity and the resulting numbers for the last couple of years. I kid you not, our numbers on Friday nights average at about 290 with deviation of about 10 people. Grace on Campus doesn’t fit in Rolfe anymore.

And Grace on Campus doesn’t fit into my head anymore.

Not to be a prick, but I can’t track that many cool people. And yes, that many of them are cool. I’ve got my small group, my old small group, some CBM alumni, and that’s not counting new visitors, or freshmen that could use a visit or two. Realize, kind reader, I haven’t scheduled time for my friends yet.

After this Sunday evaluation, I realize I spend about 80% of my time talking about what I do for 20% of my time. My illustrations and stories rerun several times a day. It’s like watching old episodes of Seinfeld. Now, the disease is worsening, causing me mix stories together. I’ll start the story at a nice restaurant and end up in the middle of a bad high school dance experience. There is a definite increase in the question “have I told you this before?” Reporting the daily news on my life has become my new recreation.

I wonder if Brian and Greg Gumble ever develop a iterating syndrome from retelling the same story excessive times. I’m sure they boozed a lot during the Olympics when Kerri Strug won the gymnastics Gold back in the day. The story was played over and over and over…...And in the future, watch. While reporting some tragedy in Scottsdale, Greg Gumble’s brain will burn out like an old Dell laptop battery.

I need to re-vamp my life somehow.

This needs to stop. Monday through Saturday are not made to be news sessions for what happened on Sunday. And my 30s aren’t made to retell everything that happened in my 20’s and childhood. Life is meant to be lived and seized.

Maybe less people and more of life?

Maybe less reporting, and more living?

Summary: I bet Dan Rather would rather bathe and lather than sit and chatter.

High Resistance Skills

I like to curl iron from time to time. There’s nothing better knowing you can curl a lot of steel with one arm. Who cares if you have no shoulders, show those ladies your nice biceps. My new human trick is crushing cans with my hand. I haven’t mastered it yet, but trust me, it’ll be astounding.

Feats of strength are what I call high resistance skills. Another high resistance skill is drawing or reading. The more difficult the book or art piece, the better the person becomes. I’ve also noticed over-eating is a high resistance skill. The more food a person eats, the better he becomes at imitating Shamu. I’ve been told that abstaining from motor oil and tune ups makes your car work harder; thus makes it stronger. The jury’s still out on that one.

Even though no one will admit it, every group of friends houses one high resistance friend. There’s always one guy that exists just to make you funnier, nicer, smarter, etc. Simon was that friend for me. Simon had all the coolest electronics and toys, but was as boring as bricks. He had a mullet most of the time. The rest of the time, his hair was stylized for any early glam-rock bands. At least he made the rest of us cooler.

If you think that, “no, no that’s not true.” It’s probably because YOU are THAT friend.

My new theory is that Ugly company will give me the resistance I need to blossom to attractiveness. I am covertly conducting testing now. If you read my Xanga, you are not in the Uggo pool. (someone earlier was worried if they were my friend, because they wanted to be good looking. See earlier postings)

I used to think that blogging was also a High Resistance Skill, but looking at my earlier entries….

Summary: Guess not.

Centurions and April

When the the weather clears, the sun shines, and the grass is green, I rest in the Hills of UCLA. Reading in the Apartment dulls. Praying stales in closets. Perfect reasons and a perfect time to sit in some green.

For today’s devotional I looked at Matthew 8:

A centurion replies to Jesus: “I am not worthy to have you come under my roof, but only say the word, and my servant will be healed. For I, too, am a man under authority, with soldiers under me. And I say to one, ‘Go’ and he goes, and to my servant, ‘Do this,’ and he does it. – Matthew 7

A centurion speaks a command, soldiers obey. No pause. No questions. Consider God’s authority, a mountain to the previous centurion pimple. God is a marshal of all living, all created, and all natural ( for lack of a better word ) things. If a centurion commands men and wars, then God commands all, from molecules to storms, if not even time itself.

Why not speak me to perfection? A simple word would make me tall, buff, wonderful, and excellent at any skill. I would be very Spartan-esc. My current body on the other hand….

So, why am I the way I am? My shortcomings visit me daily performing any human task. Droughts of wisdom retard any hope of good judgment. The cavity in my skull has been filled with stupid. God made my inward parts. After the bathroom, sometimes I suspect they are used parts. My body is the envy of many circus-freaks. Long-arms, big nose, and thunder thighs don’t exactly earn me GQ cover shots. But, based on Matthew 8 God orders all things, so…..

It’ll have some purpose. Someday. It’s my only hope.

Summary: I’m not sure how pimples will be used. When they eventually play their part, I’ll laugh a lot.

Car Grunting

Car grunting

Home isn’t home without the sound effects. I am not referring to the TV, stereo, video games, or kitchen appliances. Let me explain a little history. The lee blood line is lax with adjectives. All topics and issues fall into four degrees of “Good”, “Bad”, “Terrible”, and Ugly.

“Good job on the Yardwork”
“The meat is bad”
“The car sounds terrible”
“Your (tim) grades are Ugly”

When adjectives prove insufficient, Lees will compensate with sound effects. Words can’t capture the incidental sound effects. Instead they will be written in. I will denote them in ( ).

Dad: “…. Yada, I backed up the car yesterday (eeeeeeeeerrrrrrrpppppphhhfff!!), and I hit a tree (kapooow!). Then the service crews came up to the tree and (bam bam bam bam) the tree is in pieces.”

Sister: “Well, that crazy story is nothing. Yesterday I forgot my computer for lab, I was like (wa-la-la-la-la-la) where is it? (ahhhhhhhhhr! Yybhhbyhply!).

And now I follow suit.

Employer: “Describe a difficult situation you have encountered. What solution did you apply?”

Me: “Once this guy would make me so (errrrrrrrrrrrrrrggggh!), you know? And he would always steal my pencils. His victory sound was like (muheeheheheeeheee!), pretty crazy, I know….”

Summary: I didn’t get that Job.

80/20

How much recycled conversation do you have?

Today is Sunday. Often on Sundays I play time machine with the week. I like to recall the top events, favorite moments, and chores of the week. What did I talk about this week? Food, girls, money, church, work, books; the list goes on. How many times did I reuse conversation? A lot.

Grace on Campus has increased in popularity and the resulting numbers for the last couple of years. I kid you not, our numbers on Friday nights average at about 290 with deviation of about 10 people. Grace on Campus doesn’t fit in Rolfe anymore.

And Grace on Campus doesn’t fit into my head anymore.

Not to be a prick, but I can’t track that many cool people. And yes, that many of them are cool. I’ve got my small group, my old small group, some CBM alumni, and that’s not counting new visitors, or freshmen that could use a visit or two. Realize, kind reader, I haven’t scheduled time for my friends yet.

After this Sunday evaluation, I realize I spend about 80% of my time talking about what I do for 20% of my time. My illustrations and stories rerun several times a day. It’s like watching old episodes of Seinfeld. Now, the disease is worsening, causing me mix stories together. I’ll start the story at a nice restaurant and end up in the middle of a bad high school dance experience. There is a definite increase in the question “have I told you this before?” Reporting the daily news on my life has become my new recreation.

I wonder if Brian and Greg Gumble ever develop a iterating syndrome from retelling the same story excessive times. I’m sure they drank a lot during the Olympics when Kerri Strug won the gymnastics Gold. The story was played over and over and over…... Reporting some tragedy in Scottsdale, Greg Gumble’s brain will burn out like an old Dell laptop battery.

I need to re-vamp my life somehow.

This needs to stop. Monday through Saturday are not made to be news sessions for what happened on Sunday. And my 30s aren’t made to retell everything that happened in my 20’s and childhood. Life is meant to be lived and seized.

Maybe less people and more of life?

Maybe less reporting, and more living?

Summary: I bet Dan Rather would rather bathe and lather than sit and chatter.

Reverse Showmanship

Showmanship - When in contact with other people, use your best stories, your best speech, and your best tricks. When its going good, leave, to make sure you end on a high note.

One of my apartment mates small group THINKS I'm hilarious.
They THINK so, but I KNOW better than them. Why do I seem funny? Here are some theories:

1. We interact freely after 4 hours of bible study
2. We interact after 11pm
3. I hate the world around 11pm. This goes on for an hour and begin my midnight rant.
4. I'm not their small group leader
5. I frankly don't care if I seem homeless or the king of england to their eyes. I say whatever i please.
   

I see this crowd about twice a month. They swear I'm better than ketchup on fries after 12. It would be an awesome feeling. If only I believed it too.

Now MY small group thinks I'm an idiot

1. They don't remember what i say after the first hour
2. I seem to wear the same clothing every small group (I have a rotation)
3. I mis-match faces and names
4. I give the "I'm clueless face" a lot.
5. I'm their small group leader

Small group is also the a serious time. I don't want to come to the end of my life and tell God that I used bible study time to try my new comedic stand-up routine. So once a week my small group gets serious Tim for 4 hours. Reverse showmanship. Not by choice.

I wonder what type of showmanship my parents get? My parents must suspect I have chronic mono, for my intense love of sleep. Maybe a rice addiction too.

I wonder what type of showmanship my friends get?

I is no write no good

I am reading a book called “Revised Prose”

6+ years ago I was liberated from the jail called High School English. Fast forward to the present, and I am writing again. I suck. My writing sucks. My prose is a suck. I lack many of the important components of English. I’ve lost my confidence. My fingers type the words, but my brain is divided. One half scans each letter and the other filters each word. Is this the right word?`

What is the big deal? Why fret over “just writing”?

I want to write about epic memories and monumental feelings. No drawing or song, or picture can capture fragile human moments. I want the capture to be clear, captivating, and, put simply, to be enjoyable to read.

So Why Fight? To fight sentences like this:

“It seems that I have no way to give quarter to the movements of my heart which are often captive to an over-sensitized standard of literary perfectionism for composition.”

And convert them to

“My perfection debilitates my written communication of emotion.”

I have a lot of sentence fat. Not solely in writing, but also in speaking. Here are my top useless phrases.

“I think” – Why say “I think?” There is a name on the paper. There is a body forming words. No one will have problems identifying who is talking or who is thinking. This phrase adds uncertainty to the following ideas. “I think I’m happy” sounds more shakey than “I’m happy”. “I’m uncertain” replaces “I think” as a good alternate.

“It seems” – Yet another phrase killed with overuse. The meaning of this particular phrase remains fugitive. The best paraphrase I can think of is – “I see something similar to X idea, but I’m not sure….

“is _____ed (past tense)” – “Is bettered”, “Is marked”, “Is used”, bah! It’s a present tense “to be” verb with a past tense modifier. All the previous phrases should be replaced with their active counterparts. This is called “who kicked who?” Keep the active verb, and place the object and subject in the correct places.

Any prepositional phrase. Of course, in all honesty with all respect, who could imagine an idea of such preposterous assumptions of pride above a statement so clear with clarity? Hee hee

Summary: This is why I hate journaling. I like my memories. I like having a complete record. I just don’t like the way I immortalized them with words.

New Kind of Profane

There are many things that should not enjoy. Many of them are on YouTube. Many of them are profane.

I am desensitized to profanity. It was used in the bathroom, in the classroom, in the gym, over lunch, and after school. Not all profanity is angry. Movies only show angry profanity. Profanity can be used for good. Here are some non-aggressive examples:

1. That is some funny (crude word for poo poo)
   
2. These fries are (foul language-ing) fantastic

This is the language of Oakland, my home town. Hearing someone getting cussed out in a funny video clip is just another warm memory of high school.

And now I am in Los Angeles.

Apparently there are other words you just can't say around here. I am not talking about profanity. Foul and filth pepper my 9-5 workplace with laughter and smiles, but once I talk about having children late in life, or having too much weight, someone starts warming up the electric chair. I once made a comment about my co-worker eating a large volume of girl scout cookies. I almost saw the lord that day. Apparently Jane the co worker doesn't being mind being called a skank or a ho, but Jane hates being called Jane the mature, or Jane the chocolate lover.

I always assumed that the term Maturity is associated with honor, knowledge, and respectability. Somewhere down the line Maturity turned into a synonym for bloated undateable lady prune.

Summary: I can't use the o-word or the f-word (the 3 letter one).

I'm not built for Highways

The parking garage was the first sign that today was going to suck like a hole in the hull of the space shuttle.

Ever get in a panic trying to decipher freeway and high way cuneiform? Those pesky arrows point at random lanes, none of which lead to your destination. Bright yellow boxes saying “exit only” indicate your current lane will hijack the path of your car. The gangster off-ramp crosses 2 residential areas and drops you like a cocaine shipment in the middle of the ghetto. Right behind a taco truck.

I don’t know why people worry about terrorists. First, it is common knowledge that all terrorists will strike at night. If they ever hit LA at night, the main highways 405 and the 10 will either be chuck full drunken party traffic, or all the off/on ramps will be closed for maintenance. Accompanying the maintenance are more cones than all the car commercials of the 90’s combined. At this point Terrorist A says to Terrorist B: “Wa-La-la-la! Why did we make demands for midnight! The 10 is not moving! We will never make it in time to blow up the staples center! And this taco truck is going SO slow. Wa-la-la-la-la! I know i could be going faster! Look at that red car, its like 4 cars ahead now! I should have stayed in that lane. If I take Olympic, that’ll still take me forever….Wa-la-la-la-la!”.

Am I the only one that does psychological warfare with street signs and arrows? Everytime I see an sign like “Freeway ->” I can’t tell if it’s the closest right turn, or the next right turn? My mind starts doing battle with the imaginary sinister urban planner about which is the right turn? It's like a nasty trick. No matter what choice I take, and wah-la: again, I find myself in the middle of the ghetto behind a taco truck.

Don’t even get me started on downtown. Downtown’s streets were designed by a drunk factory designer. All those one way streets turn into a merging nightmare. Also, if a turn is missed, a simple U-turn transforms into a journey resembling an escape from the death star. And his time, Vadar shadowing you in fancy CEO sports car and is late for his 12pm sith lord lunch, assailing you with swearing torpedos, and horn laser blasts.

Summary: I’m wrote this entry because I missed the Garage, missed my ticket, missed my flight, and am squatting in the airport.

Edible Packaging

Fortune cookies are a marvelous man-made creation. The wrapper is edible and if the message was written on rice paper, the entire process would be waste-free.

The Chinese were on to something. It just needs to be finished. After a minor tax, all packaging would be woven structures of food. Dell computers would be packed with hard sugar and marshmallow contraptions. Your Nike Shoes would come with a burrito inside to help it hold shape, and the box would be made of graham crackers. You fancy Apple Mac computers would be shaped from Peppermint and white chocolate.

They could even use the basic fortune cookie and shape it for all sorts of uses.
“Sir, here is a delivery.” Hands larger cookie folder.
Munch Munch “Ack! It’s bitter! It must be a subpoena!” *Unroll* “Blast, they found my illegitimate cloned child!”

Or in a stock holder’s meeting –
“This year’s earnings are rolled up on rice paper in the middle of those large hostess ho-hos.”

And even best -
“Tom Cruise, here’s the secret codes. Here’s your secret mission. Proceed and destroy the evidence.” Munch munch “They gotta stop using MSG in the secret transmissions”

Flavors would be indicative of the mood of the message. “I got a message from my girl in California, it’s sweet like candy!”

“Really? I got a message from my mother in law, and I think I got food poisoning.”

Summary: I think that blogs would taste like Guacamole Chips.

I am a Pencil Snob

I picked up a Staedler the other day. Paid a healthy 6 dollars for led pencil and sharpener.

6 dollars for a pencil? Why would I do it? The answer starts with a Y. Youtube. I was browsing random videos like a drunk man checking bottles for booze. I clicked on a link to "Jim Lee".

At that time of day, "Jim Lee" didn't trigger any ideas. Haha, he has my last name, nothing to give a holler about. Then it struck me, Jim Lee danced with the stars! Not literally of course, he IS asian after all. Jim Lee is one of the finest comic book artists alive. His sketches have been over X-men for a while, and now he runs his own comic book studio, drawing and writing whatever his whimsical soy-sauced desires command.

In a low-resolution, homemade video, he sketches up a mean superhero in pencil. He literally makes it look like he waves a wand and the image appears for him to ink.

Now as every asian has done before, we try to emulate. This first involves imitating the master in every aspect possible. I'm chinese, he's korean, check one. He's a nerd, I'm a nerd. He has paper. I have paper. Check. So what is left? The pencil.

And that brings me to this moment. I'm finger rubbing and smelling this pencil like its a fine cigar. And my faith is that this is the missing component to my future comic book empire.

In harry potter fashion, I wave this thick pencil over my paper and wa la! A thick line. That's it? No fantastic adventure? No spirit of the paper? I feel cheapened somehow. It is as though I traded my soul for a gold statue, only to find that gold statue to be made of twinkies.

I guess as long as people thing equipment makes the artist, there will always be a huge market for useless products. How many people do you know that actually use the full capacity of their computer? Their laptop? Their fancy SLR? Their fancy instruments. How blind we are, how materialistic our view of commodities are.

When did skill fall off the charts?

Summary: What do you mean I can't buy skill?

Feelings?

When was the last time you cried?

For girls, it'll either be:
A. When your girlfriend got engaged.
B. When you got engaged
C. When you realized your diet wasn't working and you busted your favorite pair of pants.

For guys, naming the last crying instance isn't very easy. For me, crying transports me to a turbulent time. Transformers the movie opened in 86' (that just sounds old now). During Week Holy mass I watched the Autobots kick the screws out of the decepticons and loved every moment of it. But nothing could prepare me for the movie.

First of all, hi quality Japanese illustrations and colors replace the shoddy American work. In the opening scenes a driving rock track pulsed during a high speed driving scene of Hotrod. I almost coughed up candy from the previous week when i saw the animation. When combat ensued, I almost hacked up my innards. It was a frackin' war of 100s of robots !

Then it happened, some of the characters started to die. My eyes have been scarred by some bad horror flix, or slasher films, but nothing is burns in comparison to watching purple energy put holes through your favorite Autobot.

And then it happen. Frackin' Hasbro killed Optimus Prime. The movie didn't just killed him, they mutilated him. He got shot, punched, hacked, stabbed with electronic stalactite; it may as well have been my dad. That was just some plain sad gangster crap. I cried and cried for a whole day and a half. I think a friend accompanied me, but I can't remember who because of all the snot and tears I was shedding. He was crying too. What do you expect? they KILLED Optimus! KILLED HIM!

But that was years ago......*sniff* *sniff*

Summary: If I drank booze, I'd pour out some for you Optimus, rest in peace.

The Ultimate Album

My current crack cocaine goes by the name Itunes.

In theory it's great. Instead of buying 13 tracks of underproduced, over-packaged music, you can buy the 1 track of accidental genius from all your favorite artists. And let's face it folks, I estimate about 8% of all music made is good. How old is the music industry? You would figure they would have it down by now, at least 20% or 15%.

In light of all how we despise at least one song on every Album we buy, I submit to you the ultimate album.

The ultimate album would have 4 essential characteristics.

1. A Triple Platinum or Zirconium number 1 hit single - the single would have to be short, like less than a minute, and would induce vomiting and drooling. Crowds would be awed by its power and songbird qualities. By awed i mean vomiting for joy.

2. A sleeper hit - It would have to be a song about God, the moodiness of females, or some other left-wing, non-PC topic. The content would keep it banned from Television and radio, but it would be sugar to all those internet kiddies on YouTube and Myspace. The sleeper hit would have catchy phrases coined in all AIM conversations, like "hey now........... you're a rock star..." (how old is that song, I still here people chime in to that one)

3. An Awesome Live Track - This track would be a copy of the sleeper hit or the hit single. It would be packed with screaming girls screaming requests for love: "I love you!", or "you make me want to scream!" or "stop making me cry!" or "be the father of my kids!"

• The artist must swear once when describing the awesome city he's playing "What's up f****** (insert city name here)!"
• The crowd must sing along to the chorus or bridge of the song. The sound
  
• The solo by the gangster guitarist has to melt all the faces of the front row, and throw in other phrasing from other pop tunes.

4. A Guest Appearance Collaboration - For the widest appeal, the guest would be either Elton John or Paul McCartney. For sheer music epiphany, a cross-genre guest would work better. Guy girl combos would activate God-designed harmony. Just make sure you choose the right people. Having Norah Jones sing for Metallica will suck the testosterone out of any man.

5. The Bleeder - The bleeder has one purpose and one purpose only. To kill the listener. This is usually done with intense guitar work and searing licks for the solo. If its a piano, it has to slowly lead the listener into a voluntary coma. The only singer that could possibly do a bleeder track is Mariah Carey, whose high notes would shatter your bones and pop your eyeballs like the death star. (She hasn't done this yet because dead listeners don't buy your next hoochie album).

Summary: I'm scared of Mariah Carey.

The Man?

Everyone wants to be the "man". The "man" has unbelievably good looks, good luck with women, and magically falls waist-deep into riches. Is there anyone who wouldn't want to be... the MAN?

I don't.

The MAN always has a great start. Some young country boy with rugged good looks charms his way into a commercial. Soon his innocence and quiet demeanor skyrockets him to the movie business. The MAN is wooed by fame and fortune and embraces it. Three wives will move in and out of his life, and then disaster will strike. He will either

A. Make a racist comment
B. Have illegitimate children
C. Start doing drugs
D. Try to play a professional drug

It will be an all time low. The crowd will not want him, no, more than that; despise him. the MAN has never faced rejection, he knows not how to deal with it. He will wallow in depression for years and gutter out in underground Has-been wrestling matches, begging for the attention and love of his pet animals.

Where will I be?

After getting rejected from stardom, high school girls, sports, and any type of muscle gang, I concede and accept my destiny as a Nerd. I sit myself in front of a computer. Confident in my calling and equipped with a thick skin of rejection, I dominate the world, gather riches, and marry the prettiest girl alive.

Summary: I'm in front of the computer, just waitin for the rest to kick into place....

Compensating for Idiots

I am an engineer. When designing anything, a large amount of time is spent on idiots.

Why is there rubber on the corners of your table? Idiots might hurt themselves.
Why do you have round-tipped scissors that can't cut s***? Idiots might hurt themselves.
Why do they make Macs? Idiots might hurt themselves.

That's right. Cross-walk signals. Instructions for hot pockets. An Entire industry feeds on the lack of intelligence from dum dum america. Idiots often sound like this:

"What I'm trying to say is..."
"That's not what i mean, what i mean is..."
"It's like a boat...."
"Ok, it's like when you were in kindergarden"

We don't live in a Democracy, we live in an Idiocracy. People even fear intelligence because "it'll make me and nerd", "it'll make my hair fall out", or "your head grows big when you get smart right? I like the Big-Alien look". Did you get that? People CHOOSE to be dumb.

My new business idea is to capitalize on idiots. My dad did. Every year he convinced into yanking the same set of weeds for $1/hour. Great ideas have already flourished under idiocracy: Bottled Water, Chicken in a Biscuit (how the heck did they pull that one off), Chick of the sea, anything made by Ore-Ida, Trans-fat, No-carb Cereal, fruit snacks, and the list of unnatural pointless projects goes on.

i think Electronics insurance would be a great field. I would sell insurance plans covering desktops, laptops, and mp3 players. Of course Idiots will flock to my great company, fearing separation from their internet addictions. Also, the protection from obselete technology would drive them to throw carts of cash. They would think they are getting a great deal.

But I would be much sneakier. I would get out of paying people their claims by adding loopholes in the paperwork not covering certain "patches and updates", or "new" hardware. It would sound all tech-ish in the documentation, obscuring any cognition of blithering idiot America. Basically anything that causes problems won't be covered.

But they won't know that, cuz they're idiots.

Summary: Fight Stupidity. Read a book

People are crappy.

Stress and fatigue are top two reasons for personality dysfunction.

Funny Bob suddenly isn't funny. And naturally Bob is asked "Why are you being a loser now, Bob?" Choose your favorite answer

A. I'm stressed out from _______
B. I'm very tired from _______
C. I ate at an odd hour
D. Maybe you suck.
E. Yo momma's a loser now
F. Yo face

"Yo face" is my current favorite. All my friends use this in all situations.

Interviewer: "Would you like this job, working for us?"
College Friend: " Yo face is working for us".

Dean: "You are in a very serious situation, mr. lee"
College Friend: "Yo face is a very serious situation."

Girlfriend: "My face has a lot of pimples"
College Friend: "Yo face has a lot of pimples"

For everything else there is VISA. And when VISA doesn't work. Stress is blamed. Bob is no longer funny. Bob isn't the reason stress over taxes is the culprit. Perhaps the criminal is fatigue from carrying the wife's many shopping bags from the marble outlet. It couldn't be Bob. Bob being uncool and not funny? Impossible!

So here's the new Utopia: no one has stress, and everyone has their maximium performance personality on display. All stress has been eliminated. There is no work, no marriage, no girlfriends, no boyfriends, no sales, no used cars, no broccoli, that's right; paradise. But wait? I just got rid of a lot of good things too.

When answers to questions start eliminating love, eating, and bargaining people to straw huts, the theory is pretty much poo poo.

Whatever happened to just being a crappy person? Apparently the next generation of mirrors broke, because a majority people's faces aren't exactly adding a lot of value to society. Foul mouthing is also driving contributions into the red.

Is there any reason to hide your hideous personality? Plenty of reasons. But if considered long enough, you will realize that everyone has a bit of medusa under their skin. The only loser will be the one who continually looks in the mirror and claims that he does not.

Summary: You think I'm wrong? Well, yo face is wrong!

Are they nice or are they dumb?

Ever wonder if people are giving you courtesy sounds? I remember giving several bad jokes with a lot of joy, and receiving a lot chuckles. Where they honest? or was I receiving social pity?

There are only 3 possibilities.

1. They are being nice.
2. They are being idiots.
3. They are idiots.

Now, considering that my friends could do stand ins for cave men, items 2 and 3 are actually very different. I am also not saying I shun those of the idioacracy, for it is a great nation which allows us to sue ladder companies for our lack of literacy, gives us In-and-Out drive throughs, and Amazon 1-click ordering. I am a just saying it would be nice to know who is stupid.

Simple question, right? Who is dumb, or who is smart? Homer or O.J. Simpson (this should be easy). Except that it isn't an easy question. For instance, what about our famous Nobel Prize-Winning Physicist who can't find the glasses on his very own forehead, or perhaps a better example is a brilliant chess prodigy who can't stop crapping in his pants?

Forget finding clean power, forget finding ways to habitate the moon. Idiots will always roam the earth, slowing down our DSL, growing on gym locker room floors, why don't we have better security against them? Anyone that looks remotely like the taliban is constantly harrassed yet Bobo who grew up eating yellow crayons thinking they were french fries gets to take care of your children for years at a time?

All I'm saying is, I'd like to know if the girl laughing with me is either being really nice at my obvious neanderthal heritage, or has breathed in too much hairspray.

Summary: I'd take the hairspray girl, she'd be easier to keep happy, and probably wouldn't lace my cereal with impotency pills to make sure I don't procreate. Implying? Me? Nawwwww

Eloquence from Afar

It's very frustrating that I can't write like my favorite writers. Gosh, I've read numerous accounts of their adventures in the everyday life. How can I not nab or grab part of their writing style? I'm still stuck in my mediocre block by block Ideas. Maybe if i start exegeting their work, I'll understand what it is that makes a great wit, or a great writer.

Some people say: "just write how you talk". Cowdung. Have you been to my hometown? Seems like people unanimously replaced the period and commas with "foo" or "sucka".

Some common Grocery Store language.

"how much are these tomatos foo?"
"Milanos are on sale Sucka!"
"There's a two for one sale, foo."
"I'm hungry Pete, come on foo."

Would that not increase you, the reader's chance for lowered IQ?

At the same time i find i have great difficulty keeping my sentences concise. I want to add an idea to an idea to an idea to an idea and so on. I'll also used "it seems", or "almost", or "similar to". I'm not sure what that is called. Is it passive-whatchamacallit? or Active tense-3rd observer?

Blast, i despise my lack of language. You know what great writing is? Great writing is this:

• What’s the longest you’ve ever worn a shirt backwards without knowing? I don’t mean inside-out. That happens all the time, and you can go all day like that. People might even think it’s intentional. I’m talking about backwards, where the little label in the collar ends up under your chin.
  
  I usually catch myself after the first five minutes of wearing a shirt backward. I call that my mean-time-to-backward-shirt-awareness, or MTBSA. I monitor that metric because once it hits 15 minutes I know it’s time to start wearing a fishing hat and driving slowly in the passing lane.
  
  My tennis partner once showed up for our match with his shorts on backwards. It didn’t make much difference except when he tried to put his balls in his pocket. [Insert your own joke here. But don’t use “That’s gotta hurt” because I just did.]

That's Scott Adams, my hero! Agggggggg! This lack of English literature and prose-sensing ability really gets on my nerves.

Summary: I hate my chinese genetic English language cap.

My body hates me

I'll be honest.
I started to find hair in the shower. I think it's mine.

My follicle buddies seem to think I'm done for, and they are jumping ship. My little snake hairs have decided to gather at the summit on my knees, waiting for UFOs to come and rescue them from impending doom.

I think my body hates me.

For most people, they have great relationship with their body. "I need to nap right now." or "This isn't going to sit very well, I can tell already". My body is not happy until I've been successful incapacitated or destoryed.

About a week ago I happily gave my body some traditional Sak's Teriyaki place. My body was resented me, but like many girls I know, it didn't tell me. It hinted and nagged with chest pains as I was eating delicious spicy chicken. For two hours, my stomach decides to store up some anger and unleash its revenge in middle of a big joke, out of range of any bathroom.

Also for you Wii-er's out there. Everything is all fun and Nintendo-y, for weeks at a time. Oh the joy of Wii bowling and tennis. Then one day you try to flip your LG phone to call back a Laurie, a hot date. Your wrist decides to give you a celebrity intense wrist sprain. It also remembers some thoughtless weight lifting and imposes and life-changing sprain.