A little bit of reality

In spite of the fact that I have a tendency to try to not entirely get too personal with what I write on my brog, there comes times in which frankly I don’t feel like there’s anyone I can really talk to and actually feel like I’m getting any modicum of empathy or support.  And I can’t really say that people are obligated to provide such, since we all have our own problems in our lives, and some most certainly more severe than others, especially compared to someone else’s problems.  I think we live in a pretty screwed up times right now, everyone is a little bit more jaded, everyone is a little bit more hardened, and it’s hard to be sympathetic towards others when the world around just ourselves isn’t entirely the best it could possibly be.

It’s times like this in which, where sometimes it really feels like all I can do to not feel so bottled up is to just write it out, throw it up on the brog, and leave it to random chance to who reads it or not, and whether or not they want to do their best impression of an ear to speak into, despite the fact that I’ll likely be writing out everything I’d be saying anyway.  Nobody wants accountability anyway, so there’s no obligation, and I don’t track who reads what I write, let alone sees or acknowledges that I write, because I’m long beyond the days of obsessively tracking hits and analytics, since I always felt that such research took something away from the exercise of simply writing.

For the past two years and change, my parents have been having some marital issues.  I’m old enough to understand the situation, and not fall into the clichéd fallacy of believing that it’s by any fault of my own or my sister’s, but it still doesn’t really make it any easier to know that the relationship between my own mother and father is deteriorating, and despite their bullshit claims, is not getting better.  At this point, for the sake of their sanity, as well as for my sister and I’s as well, divorce looks to be the best possible option, and it’s got to be pretty bad when divorce is seen as a positive option.

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Koreans can be so full of shit sometimes, too

I’m in a bad, foul mood today.  I feel like writing with a little venom.

I don’t exactly remember what prompted me to think about this story, but it came into my head earlier today, and I felt like writing about it.

Koreans are notorious racists.  This probably isn’t much of a surprise to anyone reading this, considering how often times I get accused of being racist, which is probably kind of true, but I also believe that everyone alive is a racist too, whether they want to admit it or not, but the more important thing, if they act detrimentally on their feelings or not.  I don’t believe I do, so I think there are far worse people in the world than me, who finds amusement and ironic humor from the occasional tasteless remarks.

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Was the Clock King really a villain?

It makes me happy when things go the way they are supposed to, when things run smoothly.

This statement implies that the vast majority of times, things are not going the way they are supposed to, and that things are not always running smoothly, because I am not happy on a more regular basis.

Case in point: just the other night, I had a sequence of tasks planned: stop at Goodwill and drop off donation bags, eat BBQ, clean house.  Simple enough.  I get to Goodwill well within business hours, but the doors are locked and there’s a handwritten note on the door saying “BACK IN 15 MIN” as if it were a fucking lemonade stand.  I didn’t even wait 15 seconds before I left, feeling disgusted at the simple fact that there were people so incapable of doing their menial job, that they had to close shop temporarily.  As a result of this component not going the way it was supposed to go, the remainder of my tasks had to be altered somewhat, and my agenda post-errands were delayed by 15 minutes.

15 minutes doesn’t sound like a whole lot of time, but I fucking treasure my time.  That was 15 minutes I could have spent getting ahead of schedule, so that I could have more time for myself later on.  15 minutes of extra sleep in the morning goes a long way throughout the course of a day.

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Ironic double standards

I get accused of being a racist a lot, but to be perfectly honest, I deserve it.  I derive an immense amount of humor out of politically incorrect things, and I love to point out when things seem racist in my opinion.  I say a lot of politically incorrect things around those I have confidence around, but when the day is over, I’m not going to act on my racism, because that would be bigotry, and that, I do think is pretty wrong.

But today was an example of why I get the impression that I’m generally disliked by my fellow Koreans, in an ironic case of I guess, self-racism.  There are a lot of Koreans that work in my building in general.  I’ve made their smoking habits the subject of my observations of people, but for the most part, I have no ill-will towards them.  I don’t necessarily think it goes the other way though; the impression I get from these Korean people are about the same as I tend to get from most other Koreans who have immigrated to the United States; an overwhelming desire to stay away from me.

I’m a very observant person, if it’s not well known to those I know.  Whether I like to or not, I tend to recognize faces, recognize patterns and tendencies of people, whether I know them or not.  Especially with a building where everyone sees everyone on a long enough timeline, I’m fairly good at remembering little, inconsequential and unsubstantial details on a sporadic basis.

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R.I.P. Springfield Mall, 2012

Around this time last year, I went to Springfield Mall, and took a stroll down memory lane. It wasn’t much of a stroll, because 70% of the mall was closed, and the whole place was this cemetery of drywall monuments, where all the stores were like tombs and mausoleums of what was once a bustling place of commerce and social gathering. But at least back in 2011, it was still a place where I could actually go inside, walk around, and reminisce about older times.

The photo above is Springfield Mall as of November 2012.

Springfield Mall, for all intents and purposes, is dead.

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Desperately Seeking Shay

Whatcha reading?” she asked, coming down the lobby steps behind where I was sitting.

The voice was mostly unfamiliar, but I had an inkling of whom it could possibly be.  I looked up, and she was now in front of my table.  She smiled, and asked if anyone was sitting with me.  I said no.  She asked if I minded if she hung out for a little bit.  I smiled this time, and said by all means.  She sat down, drinking a strawberry daiquiri.  A waitress came by, and she ordered another.  I ordered another Bloody Mary.

We met briefly the night before.  Her table was next to mine during dinner.  She was in a party of three, with another couple.  When my table’s food arrived, both our tables got quiet, and all eyes were on the entrees brought out to us.  She glanced over and said to me that I should let her know how my entrée was.  I smirked and said will do.  In all honesty, despite thinking it was good initially, the more I think back to it, I didn’t really think it was all that great.  I ended up forfeiting half of it, because I was full on snack bar junk food, and the far superior seafood ceviche not too terribly long ago, and I simply didn’t want to finish this fish.

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HEY CHING CHONG CHANG

A street merchant actually yelled that out to me.

Instinctively, I laughed.

Something NOT lost in translation down in Mexico – Racism

Other things said to me as I walked down 5th Street in Playa del Carmen:

“Are you Japanese??” I say no.  “Are you . . . Filipino??” Seriously?  He went from Japanese to Filipino?  Is it possible to go to such complete different ends of the spectrum?  Filipinos don’t even like being lumped in with Asians anymore.  They’re Pacific Islander. It’s like asking a dog if they’re a lion or a Dodge Stratus.

KONNICHIWAAAA!!!

Hey chino, want some weeeeeed?”  I say no, I don’t smoke.  “Eets not too late to staaarrrt, amigo!”  Persuasive argument.  Be that as it may, I still say no, gracias.

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