The serious business of pumpkin carving

One of my friends throws a pumpkin carving party every year, and for the most part, I try to participate in it every year I can.  The impetus of the party is the belief that it’s simply nice to have traditions; and I for one could not agree any further.  That being said, regardless of who, or how many people actually participate in the act of carving pumpkins, I have always taken it pretty seriously; probably to a magnitude where my effort can make up for the lack of effort on someone else’s part (I’ve carved two pumpkins a few times now).

Because I’ve had a difficult time of finding content as well as motivation of things to write in the absence of my brog, I figured I would write a little bit about my process when it comes to preparing for pumpkin carving.

For starters, I am a tryhard, and I do not care to use any generic stencils or ideas that come available in a commercially available book or website.  I prefer to strive for unique ideas, or things that really hit home to my personal preferences.

This year, I got the idea for High Five Ghost from Regular Show. I know he’s more or less a secondary character behind Mordecai and Rigby, but he’s a freaking ghost with a hand sticking out of its head.  Something so absurd and yet well run with, drew me to him.  And naturally, Fives can’t be complete without his own bro from the show, so I decided to make a Muscle Man pumpkin as well.  Frankly, I find Fives and Muscle Man’s broship more entertaining than Mordecai and Rigby’s anyway.

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When being right sucks

Back in early September, when the Dodgers knocked the Giants out of the division lead, I told a friend of mine that he had better hope that they don’t manage to get into the Wild Card game.  Because if the Giants got into the playoffs, then it was pretty much worth not having the playoffs, because it was a foregone conclusion that the Giants were going to win the World Series, by virtue of absolutely nothing other than the fact that the Giants always win on even-numbered years now.  His team, the Nationals, getting bounced along the way would merely have been collateral damage.

I enjoy when I’m right with predictions, because it’s often times a gratifying feeling to be seen as someone with good intuition, luck or simply the mental fortitude to make educated guesses.  But last night, despite the fact that my prediction most certainly did ring true, as Giants players hoisted the Commissioner’s Trophy high into the Kansas City night for the third time in the last five years, there was no gratification, no joy, and definitely no enjoyment in the fact that I was right.

I try and not let the outcomes of inconsequential sporting events dictate my moods, and frankly I’m not going to lose any sleep over the Royals failing to win it all despite coming oh-so close, but god damn was I disappointed that the Royals didn’t win the World Series.  I hadn’t wanted to see a team win a World Series this badly in forever, and this wasn’t so much watching because I enjoy watching baseball, as it was the fact that I was actively pulling for the Royals, despite playing against the team of destiny.

Good on the Giants, however.  I still dislike the team, their fans even more, and am not even that fond of their overrated city, but they basically earned it.  They shrugged off an embarrassing garbage time defeat in game 6, and then enacted a cruel tactic of pitching Madison Bumgarner on short rest to basically twist the knife into a Royals squad that just couldn’t solve his barrage of high fastballs.  I wanted to be frustrated watching Royal after Royal go down to this predictable pattern, but I’d be the first to admit that if the roles were reversed, I’d be punching my fist with every strike for the good guys.

The bottom line is that despite the fact that hit the nail on the head with my prediction that the Giants were going to win World Series again, I had never wanted to be so wrong than in this instance.  The Royals winning would have been the Cinderella of Cinderella stories coming to fruition, and basically provide a narrative that sports fans would devour like fresh pie for decades.

There is no joy in being right.  This is most certainly an instance where being right, simply sucks.

Happiness is ambivalence

I can say pretty comfortably that I’ve been in fairly high spirits lately, in spite of the fact that my brog is still down, and the out-of-sight, out-of-mind game is playing wicked tricks on me and sapping my overall compulsion to write for hobby like I’d been doing fairly consistently for well over a decade.  But really, things are going well, and I’d venture to even say that I’m quite happy with the way things have been overall.

A large part of it has to do with the fact that simply put, ignoring just about everything that’s going on in my small little world that it popularly called our social media circles.  I don’t really know, or care to know about the details of this thing called GamerGate that a lot of people I know, as well as the geeky-techy sites/blogs I read are all up in arms over.  I don’t care about what people think about Renee Zellweger getting a boatload of plastic surgery done.  I don’t care about the massive explosion of comic book movies and the nerd rage they incite by so-called purists and those who love to compare films to printed media.  And I frankly don’t care about anything else that I see people incessantly debate and clearly let themselves get emotionally involved in with other volatile, emotionally involved people.

And it makes me happy that I simply don’t give a shit about any of it.

That’s kind of the ironic thing about it too, it’s like without knowing of the existence of these things would make the world boring and mundane, but the fact that I’m innately aware that there are topics out there that are getting people up in arms, miserable, and curmudgeon, that it makes me happy to know that I’m exercising my right to simply ignore them.  Funny how things work out like that.

On a daily basis, my life has been fairly nondescript.  I go to work, hit the gym, come home, eat something, and play League of Legends, before going to bed too late.  Occasionally I indulge in television shows like the new seasons of The Walking Dead (excellent), American Horror Story: Freak Show (also excellent), wrestling and TLC train wrecks like 90 Day Fiance and Extreme Cheapskates (don’t judge me).  It doesn’t sound like the most exhilarating life on the planet, but doing such things on a regular basis, while acknowledging the existence of drama while deftly maneuvering around it, puts me in a good mood.

Rule #32: Enjoy the little things.

Truer words have never been spoken.

I love Jessica Lange

Quite often, I’ll develop these mock crushes on the most random girls seen in media.  And more often, I’ll ride them ironically, because I know it makes people roll their eyes, or there’s a sense of amusement in it for me.  Like for example Taylor Swift; she’s a beautiful young woman, who’s undoubtedly easy on the eyes, and I like to pretend like I enjoy her poppy music, because it makes every girl I know roll their eyes and chastise me for being such a basic guy.

But I don’t really care about Taylor Swift.  Or the cute brunette on the AT&T commercials that plays “Lily.”  Or Autumn Reeser, Alexandra Breckenridge or Emma Roberts.  Sure, they’re all aesthetically pleasing to me, but when the day is over, I don’t really care about any of them.

Jessica Lange, on the other hand, she is the actress that I love more than anything.  Like seriously, it’s hard to describe the admiration and love for her I have as a performer.  I’m enjoying American Horror Story: Freak Show as much as any other AHS fan should, but there was actually a moment in the earlier episodes where I voiced my displeasure that there frankly wasn’t enough Jessica Lange being shown to that point.

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The importance of Gawker

The out of sight, out of mind brogging tribulations continue, and in spite of my best efforts, I’m finding it difficult to want to write when there’s nowhere to post it.  I’ve honestly probably written more Yelp reviews over the last month than trying to write to a brog that at the time I’m writing this doesn’t technically exist, and it’s admittedly affecting my general desire to write at all.

That being said, another aspect of why my writing habits have dwindled as dramatically as they have is simply the fact that for all intents and purposes, October’s been a pretty eventful month for me, generally speaking.  There have been quite a few trips, out-of-town excursions, and I’d be lying if I also didn’t mention my foray into the ranked fields of League of Legends didn’t have something to do with it either.

However, whenever life can’t provide me with the motivation to write, I usually turn to the internet to see if I’ll come across anything that piques my interest, inspires me to jot some words down, or makes me thing that I might be able to write something funny.  Often times, there’s a story that happens locally in Atlanta that makes me shake my head and think there’s something ironically humorous to write about, and sometimes there’s something on one of the nerdy outlets that I occasionally browse that flips the switch.

I really hate give Gawker any credit, because when the day is over, I think their “staff” of writers are a bunch of talentless hipsters with veiled agendas that rely on clickbait headlines and hints of prejudice in their writing styles, but I have to admit that sometimes they write things that for better or worse, make me feel like writing myself.  And in times like now, when the motivation to write is at a low point, I have to say that any stimulation, is good stimulation, even if it means giving a little bit of a nod to a vapid outlet like Gawker or any of their network sites.

I admit, I took the bait, and clicked on the clickbait “article” about how those who groom stubble obviously have low moral character, and to absolutely zero surprise, found the entire thing to be complete and utter bullshit, and a waste of 76 seconds spent reading it.

Naturally, I object to this whole notion, because I fall into the category of being a person who grooms his stubble.  And frankly, I do not feel that I have low moral character, quite the contrary, I like to think that I have a fairly decent standard of honor and integrity (except when I play League).

My reasons for grooming my stubble aren’t nearly as convoluted or agenda-driven as Gawker wants to lead people to believe, but it really boils down to the fact that I have a large, round head, not to mention that in spite of how much I exercise and try and slim down, I’m not a skinny person, and I’m subject to the unfortunate multi-chin, when caught at the wrong angle.  Stubble helps negate and hide this less-than-attractive happenstance, and more or less gives my face a little bit of a boundary, that going baby-smooth contradicts.

Also, I do it, because as a Korean guy, at least me personally, cannot grow a beard.  Believe me, I’ve tried to neglect all facial grooming for several months just to see what happened, and the end result wasn’t particularly attractive, but it also wasn’t anything remotely close to an actual hipster beard that would make me look like I should be discussing microbrews and ideating the pairing of plaid shirts to vintage vests.

Ultimately, I do it, because I like the way it looks on me, and that’s all that really matters.  Clearly according to Gawker, it’s because I’m morally shifty and want to be a bad boy, but then again, I could’ve ignored the clickbait like I do the other 80% of the time, but I didn’t, because I’m a sucker that knew it was going to be bullshit and that it was best to be avoided, but I didn’t.  That’s fine, they got one on me, and I can settle with accusing them of having racist undertones or something, and some people might agree because Gawker is vapid and shallow and home to some of the worst shit on the planet, but exists nonetheless.