Sunday, November 13, 2005

moved

MOVED HERE

Friday, November 04, 2005

smoke the for-loop

You know you've been programming/smoking too much when you think things like, "It's really hard for me to quit smoking because the periodic injection of nicotine described by:

int time;

for( time = 0 ; time != bedtime ; time += 45 )
{
smoke( "marlboro" );
}

...is hard-coded into my body."

Sunday, October 30, 2005

Shin Splints

I have shin splints. Thomas, being the kind roommate that he is, sat down in front of the computer to learn more about shin splints.

T: "Should I go to rice.edu, or foot.com?"
E: "rice.edu"



We laughed for a solid 30 seconds.

Sunday, October 16, 2005

Where's My Quarter?!

Today at Royal Grounds Cafe, I had a total of three twilight zone-ish encounters. While I was smoking outside, this homeless guy came up to me and asked if I could sell him a cigarette for $0.25. Now, I usually tell people, "Don't worry about it dude, here you go." But at that moment in time, on that corner of Shattuck and Channing, I felt, for a split second, that I might somehow insult this man if I were to refuse the shiny quarter clenched inside his withered fist. After the cigarette changed hands, he put the quarter into his pocket, lit up, and walked away. I was a little pissed.

About 2 hours later, another homeless guy walked up to me and showed me, in cupped hands, his pile of change. I nodded my head in agreement, while trying to decide whether I should also be rubbing my chin in deep contemplation, as he proceeded to explain to me which coins he thought looked pretty. He had scabs on his nose where a pair of eyeglasses might rest. After about 30 seconds, he drifted off down the street. I was more confused than anything.

About 3 hours later, I was smoking outside again when a black kid came up to me and asked me if I had an extra smoke. As I reached into my pocket, he asked me, "what kinda cigarettes you got?" I told him they were Marlboro Reds. Then, he flashed me a really annoyed look and walked away as I was pulling them out of my pocket. After watching him walk down the street with a twinge of of rejection prickling at my ego, I decided to call it a day.

Saturday, July 16, 2005

GGNNNNNUHHHHHAAAAEE

Been working out regularly this summer. So far I've managed to go from 171 to 182. My goal is 189 by the start of next semester. I need that extra buffer so I won't look so skinny after I lose the 7 or so pounds I lose every semester. These days, I can wear my old clothes that I bought a few years back when I used to weigh 185, without looking like a rap superstar. Who lives large, and has a big house and 5 cars.

I was at the RSF on Thursday morning, and I nearly passed out. I was on my second set of squats at around 340, and I managed to squeeze out 12.

(On the 12th rep, I almost became one of those guys who grunt really loud at the gym)

My heart was pounding, and I had to crawl out of the squat machine. As soon as I stood up, I began to see sparks and my vision went out. I was sitting against the wall for almost a full minute before I could get up. That was crazy.

My CS project partner lives on the same block as Soda Hall, two buildings away. We were working on our project the other day, and he went home to take a shit and came back. I envy him.

I am procrastinating right now. I'm supposed to be working on a Poli Sci paper about gay marriage. Which is pretty ironic since one of my old posts mentions how I don't understand any of it. I should get back to work.

Friday, July 15, 2005

Daddums

My parents don't embarrass me anymore. I think pretty much everyone hated going out in public with their parents during their teenage years, right? Those days are long gone for me. About the only time I get embarrassed is when my mom is driving at 25 mph in a 45 zone where everyone else is going 60. When I find myself in this situation, I like to direct my gaze--past all the people giving us the finger as they whiz by--far away into the beautiful California sky.

There's this coffee house called Royal Grounds on Shattuck and Durant, about 3 blocks from my apartment where I like to go to study. It's a nice place with a bunch of tables and power outlets, and wireless internet to boot. I go there so often that I can recognize the regulars, and the workers know my usual order. A few days ago, I took my dad there (he was visiting from Japan) since both he and I needed to get some work done. I acknowledged a few of the regulars with The Nod, and sat down with my dad. After an hour or so, he was done with his work, and seeing that I still had a lot to do, he decided to go for a walk.

"Okay dad, I'll see you later. Call me if you get lost...or something."

He had caught me in the middle of a proof, so I promptly focused back to what I was working on. I almost didn't hear the click, but the accompanying flash that filled the room, reflected off the glossy pages of my Data Structures textbook.

I looked up and saw my dad disappear through the glass doors. I looked around the room, and people immediately turned away.

Man... It's been awhile.

Friday, July 08, 2005

random stuff

a few nights ago at around 4am, i woke up because i had to use the bathroom. in my semi-unconcious state, i failed to notice that the toilet seat was up. picture a toilet, used by 3 guys, that hadn't been cleaned for so long that the rim looks lemon-chiffon-yellow. i wasn't sure if i had wiped off all of the pubes that were sticking to my butt, so i ended up taking a shower. i couldn't go back to sleep.

there's a laminated sign by the elevators on the 2nd floor of soda hall that reads: "these elevators may not be used to travel forward or backward in time. please use the stairs for this purpose."

speaking of the elevators in soda... last sememster, our 61a professor told us about an underground passage that connects the 2nd floor of soda hall and an exit onto hearst in etchevery hall. the computer labs are on the 2nd floor of soda, and if you didn't know about that passage, you would naturally take the elevators up to the 3rd floor and walk down the hill past etchevery to the northside foodcourt. apparently, the elevators are really slow during lunchtime because a lot of students do this. after telling us about this shortcut, he told us:

"you know those cameras by the elevators? you might think they're there for security. the reason why we put them up is so that we can monitor the students who use it to go up to the 3rd floor and then walk down the hill past the 2nd floor from where they came. these students - we don't let them into the cs major."

there's a cherry tree right outside our living room window that faces the street. we've been planning to set up some booby traps because we see so many people stopping to pick cherries. the other morning, i saw a monk, fully decked out in an orange robe, chillin' on a rock while puffing on a cigarette. he was eating a cherry.

got a pair of jeans at target for $14. they're the best-fitting jeans i've ever bought. haven't washed them yet lest they shrink. might not ever wash them.

constructed a bookshelf out of cardboard boxes. got my mattress from off the street, and my trashcan and my nightstand are also made from cardboard boxes. am currently working on a cardboard shoerack. i will have an easy time moving out.

Wednesday, June 29, 2005

3 Measly Points

Here's the situation.

I have 13 points as a member of the Southwest frequent flier program, and I need 3 more before 8/23 to get a free roundtrip ticket to any domestic location - that's 3 one-way flights.

A roundtrip ticket to NY costs an average of $275.

I want to go to NY sometime in the next year (which is how long the free ticket is valid for).

My choices:

Purchase tickets from Baltimore to Long Island, from Long Island to Baltimore, and finally, (you guessed it) from Baltimore to Long Island. The total cost for this trip, on 3 airplanes which will each have at least one empty seat during their respective flights, is $120.

Fly from LA to Phoenix to grab lunch with my buddy Steve, from Phoenix to Vegas to play some slots at the airport, and from Vegas to LA just in time for dinner. Total cost: $150 +/- whatever I lose/win on the slots.


Do I minimize the amount of money spent by going with the first option, or do I become a big spender so that I can say that I actually went somewhere this summer?


P.S. Summer school Blows.

Friday, June 24, 2005

if you're ever attacked by a leopard...

NAIROBI (Reuters) - A 73-year-old Kenyan grandfather reached into the mouth of an attacking leopard and tore out its tongue to kill it, authorities said Wednesday.

Peasant farmer Daniel M'Mburugu was tending to his potato and bean crops in a rural area near Mount Kenya when the leopard charged out of the long grass and leapt on him.

M'Mburugu had a machete in one hand but dropped that to thrust his fist down the leopard's mouth. He gradually managed to pull out the animal's tongue, leaving it in its death-throes.

"It let out a blood-curdling snarl that made the birds stop chirping," he told the daily Standard newspaper of how the leopard came at him and knocked him over.

The leopard sank its teeth into the farmer's wrist and mauled him with its claws. "A voice, which must have come from God, whispered to me to drop the panga (machete) and thrust my hand in its wide open mouth. I obeyed," M'Mburugu said.


One word: Unfuckingbelieveable.

Noteworthy points:
1. He is SEVENTY-THREE years old.
2. The leopard let out a blood-curdling snarl that made the birds stop chirping. LOL.
3. This guy dropped his machete to free his hand so that he could thrust it into the leopard's mouth and rip out it's tongue.

INSANE.

INSANE IN THE MEMBRANE.

Wednesday, June 22, 2005

AAAAAH.

Recently I've been noticing how my ideals change over time. I'm not sure whether these changes are a result of an accumulation of life experiences, or a form of doublethink where I justify taking a certain path over one I previously assumed to be 'right.' The right path is usually the harder path, no? The one that causes you to think things over? Who's to say which is 'right' anyway? Is what your gut tells you, always right? Does coming to a different conclusion after thinking it over constitute doublethink? I don't believe in universal truths, per se, but that causes me to hit the wall where it feels as though if there does not exist some sort of reference point, it's pretty much impossible to detect the act of doublethink.

Hmm, how about this? I can assume that there IS an objective right and wrong, but only within the confines of human evolution - as opposed to a right and wrong that reaches the far corners of this universe. This then gives it's objectiveness a shadow of subjectivity, and I can go to sleep tonight. It makes total sense now. Or maybe I'm just doublethinking? AAAAAH.

Most of us grew up thinking how our parents were so ignorant of our needs, when in fact, they were usually in the right (yet another subjective statement, but humor me in all it's generality). I grew up swearing that I'd do things differently with my kids. I would allow them to make their own decisions, and trust them and their friends with my car at 1am, even if they didn't have a driver's license yet.

Ha. Ha. Ha.

These promises to myself have been slowly whittled away at throughout the years, but at this time in my life, the core of the promise remains. I sincerely hope that when the time comes, I will give them the freedom to make their own choices and to follow their hearts in whatever they do - as long as a certain condition is met. I will allow them total freedom as long as they truly understand a little something called Responsibility. I will allow my son to aspire to become a...ballet dancer, as long as I know that he knows exactly what he is giving up for his goals. My daughter can skip high school and study art in France (or wherever it is that artsy people go), on the condition that she is certain that she will never regret it, regardless of the outcome. They must be responsible for their actions if they want the freedom.

Reading this post over, I've realized that this is the essence of what all parents mean when they say, "You're not old enough to decide for yourself." Fuck it, they're going to do exactly what I tell them to do, as long as they live under my roof!

Crap, this blog entry didn't get me anywhere. AAAAAH.

Thursday, June 16, 2005

Depends

I was at Costco today during their rush hour. Had a hell of a time maneuvering my cart through the crowd. People need to start moving out of LA because it's getting too damn crowded. They need to move out so housing costs can drop, and then I can buy beachfront property in Hermosa Beach for less than 4 million.

What's up with old ladies at Costco without any shopping-cart-ettiquette? They just park their carts in the middle of the aisle and walk off! Okay, fine. When this happens, I have no choice but to direct my anger at the shopping cart. What really bugs me is when they're stopped in the middle of the aisle (usually while mouthing out the nutrition contents of the box of Snickers in their hands), and we make eye-contact... and they look away... and they're still in my way.

MOOOVE! WHAAT JUST HAPPENED HERE? IT'S LIKE I'M IN THE TWILIGHT ZONE.

So I was maneuvering my cart around old ladies left and right, trying to get to the avocado section, when I was blocked by six unmanned carts blocking the aisle. I should have known better; it was the intersection where the Bagel Bites lady operated. She was working real hard. It seemed as though she knew that if she couldn't get those Bagel Bites out of the oven and into their mouths quick enough, they would start sucking the life force out of her.

I was patiently standing there, making useless eye-contact with the hungry vultures, when I crossed paths with The One.

A single cart, slowly but surely, plowed it's way from the other side of the blockade towards me resulting in a series of loud crashes. Powering it, with white knuckles wrapped around the handlebar, was an old lady in her 80s with golden eyeglasses, shimmering white hair, and tightly pursed lips. The dirty looks from the Bagel Bites mob had no emotional effect on The One. In fact, a quick, cold glance in their direction by their been-there-done-that counterpart, caused them to look the other way. I peered into her cart as she approached me. It was filled to the brim with boxes of Depends. My head tilted up as I raised my eyes to hers, only to meet the coldest stare of indifference that I had ever seen. I threw my head down in shame. Or maybe it was it in reverence. When her cart finally squeaked past mine, I finally regained control of my body.

Wow.

I pushed my cart slowly through the path of destruction left in her wake, towards the mountain of avocados from whence she appeared.

They were on sale, 5 for $5.

Foamy Dead Skin

I was picking at the dead skin on my toes, and I noticed that I have tarballs all over the soles of my feet. This led me to realize that I never wash my feet in the shower. Actually, I don't really pay attention to anything below my knees. I wonder if I'm alone in this.

Something else I've always wondered is how some people take showers with a single bar of soap, and nothing to scrub themselves with. Don't they need something to remove dirt other than the surface oil? I'm not talking about those soft, bunched up, flower-looking ones - those are weaksauce. I need those 2 foot long nylon towels that are rough enough to scrub pots and pans with. They're like a buck-fifty at your local asian grocery.

When I'm staying at a hotel and am consequently forced to shower with nothing but a bar of (tiny) soap, I get friggin' frustrated because I don't feel clean. Taking a shower and not being able to watch all that foamy dead skin swirl into the drain makes me feel cheated. Like that one time my sister spent half an hour lining up dominoes and I held her down and knocked them all over. Wait - actually that felt pretty damn good.

Nevermind.

Wednesday, June 15, 2005

I'm Sexual

(strong intro/conclusion version)

(because that's what matters most, right?)


Once upon a time, many years before the dawn of the Metrosexual Liberation Movement, I was a fashion-concsious youth in search of his identity. Glossy men's magazines were unheard of in those days, and it was an unspoken understanding that the fashionable youth needed to achieve this status as naturally and as subtly as possible. Woe to the undercover metro who failed at this task, for his masculinity would undoubtedly be placed under scrutiny by an ignorant and metropressive society. Woe I say. Woe.

[smug smile of satisfaction for repeated use of cool word]

What gives? Why is it cool to be metro these days? I used to have to work my ass off to hide the fact that I cared about my appearance. I remember secretly using my girlfriend's facial scrub, followed by some kind of toner thing, along with a whole bunch of other "invigorizing" and "anti-wrinkle" stuff with mysterious labels on them. These days, all the skin care counters at the department stores have a little section for men's stuff. I no longer have a need for these products because I found a bottle of Shiseido "Youth Serum" in my mom's drawer, which I promptly stole and hid for future use. Got that base covered baby! Color matching my clothes used to be an exciting challenge that has deteriorated over the years into a closet full of boring colors that will match regardless of what is thrown together. I've lost what it takes to be a metrosexual before I ever felt comfortable enough to come out of the closet. Now, I'm just...sexual?

Today, when I see how society has opened it's arms in acceptance of metrosexuality, it is not without a sense of resentment that I recount my past struggles under a heavy-handed metropression. Kids these days have it so easy. Alas, the metrosexual fire that once burned so strongly within me, has been smothered to the point where there is no fight left in this old dog. Let my lifeless wardrobe of gray and blue (with a smidgeon of pink Hello Kitty) serve as a warning to future generations. Heed it's silent screams for a better future in which a rainbow of colors allows for a higher order of color coordination. After all, how can we possibly pave a road to a better future without full recognition of our shameful past?

Friday, June 10, 2005

NYC

I was born and raised in NYC. This technically makes me a New Yorker. As cool as this title sounds (hey, it beats Los Angelino anyday...*smirk*), I feel I no longer have the right to this claim. Here are a couple reasons why:
  1. I no longer have eyes in the back of my head. New Yorkers have this habit of making sure nobody is out to mug/jump/rape/kill them. In NY, a casual glance across the street or a quick, yes-I-AM-awesome check in a reflective store window, also consists of a quick peek to your 6 o'clock. This is done seamlessly and effortlessly through the corner of your field of vision. I don't do this anymore. Hell, I barely even walk anymore.

  2. I no longer lock shit up. My door in NY had 4 locks that were constantly engaged, and our car was always Clubbed. Today, after coming home from the beach with sand up my asscrack, I left my car unlocked (on the street) and strolled straight into my unlocked home. My mini-pincher trotted up to lick the salt off my legs, and my golden retriever lazily lifted her head and then promptly went back to sleep. One time, I jumped through the door wearing a Scream mask while yelling, "OOGA BOOGA!" but they just ran up to me with waggy tails. It's cute, but I think it's time I start outsourcing because they sure as hell ain't living up to the "watch out for dogs minions from hell" sign I was considering putting up. Because shit, how cool would that be?

  3. My wardrobe consists almost entirely of jeans, board shorts, flip-flops, skate shoes, and tshirts. I can't stand humidity, and I suffer from a (life-or-death) condition when subjected to cold weather. (It's my first sickness/disease ever, so you'll have to excuse me if I'm a little excited in bringing it up at every possible opportunity.)

  4. I no longer have a New Yawk accent, and I've forgotten the native slang. When I first moved here, everyone had a blast, imitating me. Funny thing is, I couldn't tell I had one even when it was pointed out. Now that I've lost it, I can totally hear it. For example, "how awe ya?" = "how are you?", "washda closendaws" = "watch the closing doors", and my personal favorite,"get da fuck outta my face" = "excuse me, thanks".
As long as I have a fast internet connection, a nearby Costco, kick-ass beaches, and cheap mexican food, I don't really care where I live. Sorry NYC, Jones Beach blows (you know this). Sorry Berkeley, your Bay doesn't even count. Now all I need is a jillion dollars so I can buy a run-down shack out in Hermosa Beach.