Tag: rage

Can white folks let the body get cold before they start picking at it???

~ dannyhong ~ Leave a comment

It wasn’t even a month ago when I saw Bong Joon-ho’s coup de grace, Parasite.  It was one of the best movies I’d seen in a long time, and I say that not just because I want to support films made in the Motherland, but because it was also just a good movie.  The plot was fairly simply and linear, the acting was superb, and I’m no cinematography buff, but the visual storytelling was at times, breathtaking.

If white people weren’t so fucking white, then there’s an off-chance that Parasite should win the Oscar for Best Picture, but let’s be real here; it’ll probably go to Marriage Story or The Irishman, because they’re in English, and all of Hollywood is trying to get in bed with Netflix these days.

But speaking of white people, one of the more infuriating pieces of news I’ve heard lately was that the rights to an adaptation of Parasite were won by HBO.

And let’s be real here, the phrase “adaptation” is a gentler, whiter way of saying “replace all the gooks with American-speaking whiteys”

All I know is that I lost my shit when I read this article about Parasite already being prepared for adaptation.  And knee-jerk reactions is probably about 75% of the shit I write about on my brog in the first place, but they’re usually coming from the most passionate, heart-felt emotions.

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I try not to wish death unto others

~ dannyhong ~ Leave a comment

As we get older, sometimes we try to be a little more cognizant of the things we say, even in knee-jerk reactions or the heat of moments.  When I was a moody teenager who hated everything, I was pretty quick to wish death unto others, for the most minor and inconsequential of circumstances.  Cut me off in traffic?  I hope you blow a flat and crash to your death.  Take my parking space?  I hope you become collateral damage to an MS-13 drive-by.  Beat me in Street Fighter by chip damage?  I hope you have heart attack and keel over you fat cheap fuck.

Yeah, death is a little bit extreme when it comes to momentary lapses in judgment of gauging the value of life.  I’d really be kind of disappointed if I ever wished death unto another human being, and then it actually happened.  And although the chances of such are microscopically minuscule and would obviously be the perfect storm of freak circumstances and not because I mentally wished it upon them, it really does make me think twice about even absent-mindedly, wishing death unto others, especially for overall trivial matters.

These days, I just wish diarrhea unto people who piss me off.  Like, really bad liquid shits, that alter an afternoon, or ruin a night’s sleep; just a temporary dull pain with inconvenient side effects.  It seems like an adequate amount of comeuppance to mentally wish to inflict on other human beings who piss me off.  Take too long to order at Willy’s?  Clog up the self-checkout at Publix?  Aggressively whip around four lanes of traffic to ultimately end up one car length ahead of me?   Be the shitheads sitting in row 25+ on a flight that rushes up to row 23 to get off ten seconds sooner, and ruin the entire deplaning process?  Yeah, I wish diarrhea unto all these asshole motherfuckers.  The more severe shits depending on how insufferable their actions are.  One really bad episode, or nuclear shits that come back several times.

However, there are admittedly still some instances where my frustration bubbles over, and I still fantasize about some horrific death occurring, as much as I don’t really want to admit it.  One is very specific, to when the perfect storm of human beings all spawning on every single toilet in the gym/office when I really have to go; seriously I rarely feel as enraged as I do when I feel the need to relieve myself, but every single stall in the numerous bathroom options I have are all occupied, regardless of the fact that it’s sometimes very early in the morning at times in which I deliberately choose to workout, banking on the early time reducing the amount of people that are present.

The last time this happened, I wanted to a meteor to fall onto the building.  If I can’t use a crapper, then nobody should. 🙁

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WWEShop fail

~ dannyhong ~ Leave a comment

In 2000, the WWE changed from the WWF to the WWE because the World Wildlife Fund out in Europe kept suing them over the acronym WWF, or something along those lines, I don’t really care to cross-research the whole story in order to sound smart.  Either way, the WWE ran this whole campaign for about a month afterward, where they showed all these bumpers about how the WWE was “getting the F out” on a sophomoric play on words, but also literally, explaining that they were eliminating the F from the company’s name effective immediately.

Well, if it were up to me, I’d like to give the WWE their F back, mostly as it pertains to WWEShop.com, because their selection of replica title belts, fucking fails.

Despite the fact that the number of championship belts in my collection continues to grow and mythical wife continues to ask me how many more belts I need, there’s one belt in particular that I would really like to get my hands on: an NXT UK Tag Team championship belt.  It’s the one belt in all of NXT UK that I like the most, and it would kind of put a nice cap on my collection of NXT belts in general, as I have the NXT Championship, the NXT North American Championship, and the NXT UK Tag would represent the one tag title for the NXT brand outright.

But for whatever reason, the WWE and WWEShop have yet to make the NXT UK Tag Team championship belt available in their shop of replica belts.  As it stands right now, it is the only active championship belt in all of the WWE that they are not selling replicas of currently, and I don’t really know why.  The excuse of it being the newest belt doesn’t apply anymore, since the WWE introduced the 24/7 Championship, which once R-Truth isn’t in the picture holds any importance, but WWEShop is selling replicas of it already.

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Fuck companies that phone ghost

~ dannyhong ~ Leave a comment

Recently, I’ve been in an unfortunate position where I’ve had to deal with businesses where I’ve needed to get in contact with them in order to resolve legitimate issues.  In a perfect world, this doesn’t happen, but as we all know, this world sure as shit ain’t close to perfect.

In the past, I’ve often times felt fairly confident that if I can get a live human being on the phone, I can typically make it to a satisfactory solution.  Given the circumstances of my latest scenarios, I felt good about my chances at being able to get resolution, provided I could get someone on the phone.

The problem is, that in both instances, both companies have made it impossible to get human beings on the phone that are remotely capable of providing any sort of resolution.  And I’ll go ahead and name them, I’m talking about RunDisney and IKEA here, as prime examples of businesses that operate in what I’m calling phone ghosting, or the act of making it impossible for customers to even have the opportunities to resolve their issues over the phone.

So let’s start with RunDisney; as anyone who’s ever done a Disney run in their lives knows, registering for RunDisney events are expensive, frantic, chaotic, and tend to happen in the blink of an eye.  Every run they produce inevitably sells out, and they always need to be registered for, months in advance.

Mythical wife and I both registered for the Dine & Dash Wine & Dine Two-Course Challenge; back in March, because we go to the Food & Wine Festival every year anyway, and we’re both runners, and we’ve both developed this taste for collecting Disney run medals.  But I reiterate the March part, because the run itself doesn’t take place until November.

Naturally, a lot of things can change over eight months, like getting married and knocking up my new wife and having a baby on the way; and we both are astutely aware of RunDisney’s pretty iron-clad rules and regulations when it comes to no-refunds/no-transfer of run registrations.  But even those have some flexibility in them, especially when it comes to medical things, like being pregnant and being not medically cleared to run 13.9 miles over two days in Florida.

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No good deed goes unpunished

~ dannyhong ~ Leave a comment

I feel like I’ve written this exact post before, with very similar context, and I know for certain that I used a picture of Poison Ivy the Batman villainess when I did.  But long story short, I did some manual labor for Habitat For Humanity on behalf of the company that I work for, which is a good thing.  But in doing so, I managed to get some nasty poison ivy on my arms despite the fact that I barely spent any time outside, and even when I was, I did not come into any contact with any poison ivy, oak or sumac, which is very much, a bad thing.

I don’t regret participating because of the eventual results of the work I contributed towards, but I do regret participating in the fact that I’m apparently very allergic to poison ivy and I’m basically receiving punishment for having done a good thing.  I abhor the existence of poison ivy, and in my idle bitterness, I googled “why does poison ivy exist,” and aside from some bullshit fluff at how every plant has some potential for medicinal purposes, I frankly didn’t find a single fucking justifiable reason to why this shitty plant and its urushiol-producing relatives exist on this planet other than to troll humans who are susceptible to them.

What really aggravated me was the fact that when I got to the house in question, I didn’t have to look at the property for more than two seconds to know that I should probably work indoors.  The front yard was pretty overgrown, and the back yard looked like Tarzan’s jungle.  I could already see poison ivy, and the vines that were growing on the side of the house was very likely sumac.  And in spite of the precautions I took and the avoidance I exhibited, I still have arms that look like raw hamburger, weeping liquid endlessly no matter how many caladryl or calamine I spread on them.

So I have to suspect that the culprit in question has to be the gloves I used, which came from a generally communal bucket full of gloves, provided by Habitat.  Obviously, I’m not going to accuse and proclaim Habitat For Humanity for maliciously and deliberately supplying urushiol-slathered gloves for their volunteers to use and get afflicted by, but it’s no secret that ivy oil can stick to things for months if not cleaned, and agencies like Habitat have a lot on their plates already, so making sure gloves are kosher doesn’t seem like a likely high priority for their volunteers.

Considering the vast majority of my rashes are on my wrists and arms, precariously where the gloves would have been, it’s an easy guess to believe that I had to have been using some gloves that at some point had done some handling of brush removal or landscaping work, and had come into some pretty significant contact with poison ivy or sumac.  Just my luck.

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Dannyspeak: Overpopulated Days

~ dannyhong ~ Leave a comment

Like most people out there, we tend to have our own personal vernaculars.  Phrases that we use, mostly in private, but sometimes out in the wild, which occasionally requires explanation.  Most of the time, people scrunch their eyebrows and are dubious about the use of particular phrases, but occasionally others adopt such things, and introduce it into their own vernacular.

I don’t know why, but I’ve often felt the compulsion to write about my use of the general term “overpopulation;” it’s sat in my drafts file as a topic to write about on more than one occasion, but I’ve never actually taken the time to actually write about it.  Seeing as how my writing habits have become quite strained throughout the last few weeks and months, mostly due to work trying to suck the ever-living life out of me, I’m always trying to improve my motivation and capability to write, and no matter how bad things get, writing is the one hobby and outlet that I really do not want to let fall too far off the rails, and much like being able to run a mile at any drop of a hat, I always want to be able to write whenever I feel like it.

There are two places in which I most frequently decide that the world is too overpopulated: the parking lot at work, or at the gym. 

Being the creature of habit that I am, it shouldn’t be much of a surprise that I wish to park in the same parking spot every single day.  In order to accomplish that, I realize that I need to pick somewhere that isn’t necessarily rockstar parking, right next to the entrance of the office, but somewhere where I could (hopefully) reliably get the same spot on a regular basis.  That being said, my preferred spot is one floor up from the main entrance, but fairly close to the stairs, so I can traverse one flight of stairs and be at the aforementioned rockstar entrance.

For a while, it was pretty nice, getting the same spot on a daily basis.  I knew I could be five minutes earlier or five minutes later than the usual arrival time, and it would be there, and I took comfort in knowing that I basically had a consistent place to park.

But then, much to my dismay, I rolled into the parking lot one day, and there was a fucking pickup truck in my spot.  It pissed me off royally, and I hoped this was a one-off occurrence.  But then the truck was there the next day, and several other days in which I happened to be off by a few minutes.  Even after I rattled off a nice little streak of getting my spot back for several consecutive days, this fuckface would still take my exact spot whenever they managed to get there before I did.

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Henry Golding, the gateway Bsian

~ dannyhong ~ Leave a comment

Impetus: GQ Magazine names Henry Golding as one of their men (and women) of 2018

I think I’ve made it pretty clear that I’ve got this love/hate idea of Henry Golding.  I love that he’s helping debunk the crippling stereotype that Asian men are the neutered weaklings of the gender by association of their ethnicity; but I hate that it’s a guy that barely is/looks a quarter Asian that is usurping all the credit in the world for advancing perception of Asians.

It’s not at all surprising, given how flagrantly and blatantly racist Hollywood is, and of course baby steps and all that rhetoric.  But why couldn’t it be a guy like Daniel Dae Kim, or like BD Wong, Asian men who are fearless pioneers amongst Asian actors, to get any sort of national nod above a practically white guy like Henry Golding?  Kim stuck to his convictions and walked away from a fairly successful show because he was getting financially stiffed.  Wong is openly gay, plays some of the most flamboyantly outrageous roles out there, and is still thriving in spite of having two less-than-socially-accepted-by-white-America strikes against him. 

What the fuck has a guy that looks like a bug-eyed Pierce Brosnan with gapped teeth done remotely in comparison?  Just be lucky enough to have grabbed the fascination of some producers to get spoon-fed the role of an Asian guy in a social commentary of a blockbuster film, and now he’s being credited by circle-jerk Hollywood of being some sort of groundbreaking talent? 

Frankly, if there’s absolutely anyone from Crazy Rich Asians who should be getting this kind of praise, it’s Constance Wu, the obvious hard carry of the entire film.  GQ could have made bigger waves had they actually strived for any sort of equality, and gone 2-and-2 with men and women as “men of the year” and had Wu take Golding’s place, and had her stand along with Serena Williams as women of the year.

But ultimately, I’m criticizing GQ.  They’ve been as relevant in the publication industry as like, MySpace during the era of Facebook, or HD DVDs in the world of Bluray.  A garbage rag like them picking a tool like Henry Golding is pretty much pathetic attempts to garner cheap pops from the lower-standards Asian community who are so desperate for any accolades to an Asian guy, that they’d even settle for a plant like him.