Monthly Archives: May 2006

Dreams For Cash

Thumbnail: March of the elephants
Thumbnail: Floor design
Thumbnail: Grass angels
Thumbnail: Iron circle
Thumbnail: Journey tablet
Thumbnail: Ring table
Thumbnail: Paper bird

There’s something about these small-town stores. They carry everything; books, art supplies, furniture, candy.

The baubles, the African statues, the organic catnip tins, the esoteric wire sculptures, they all go home with someone. Some of them will be thrown out in less than a year, others become heirlooms passed from generation to generation.

In all their tiny beauty, they make a difference.

The people who work there are never the same, but there’s always one thing that’s consistent. You can see the innocence in their faces, a warm feeling of rustic integrity. They all say hi, and go back to what they were doing, never minding your wandering presence in the store. I think I’d like to be one of these people some day. Maybe when I retire.

Selling dreams.

Sex Drugged

Man does not live by words alone, despite the fact that sometimes he has to eat them.

—Adlai E. Stevenson Jr.

It’s after dinner, and while her parents are putting the dishes away downstairs, she’s going down on me, lying on her pink sheets, pants pulled down to my knees. Her brother’s in his room next door, and I’m pressed up against the wall that separates us. In my quickened breath she hears that I’m on the verge of moaning, and keeps me in check with an embarrased shush.

Without a means to express my pleasure, all I can say is that I love her.

It wasn’t true. I was just lost in the moment, addicted to the heat of her tongue.

A week later, we broke up.

This is why they have the insanity plea. When you catch your wife in bed with another man. When you tell someone that you love them, because you’re intoxicated, getting the best head you’ve ever had in your life.

And to this day what I regret the most wasn’t the conflict I caused in her family with my eventual absence, or the taking of her virginity, or dating someone else the day after we broke up.

It was that I couldn’t control my words for those ten little minutes.

This Is How They Love Me

Thumbnail: Shirt and tie

With presents that come folded to perfection, boxed in white wrapping paper, and special washing instructions. This is the safest gift for someone my age, unlike the guessing game that music, toys, or games has become.

This specially processed, pure cotton fabric is designed for easy care and a crisp, confident look that lasts. The softness, absorbency and breathability of cotton, enhanced with innovative care features, ensure optimum wearability. Engineered for no-fuss, express handling. Requires almost no ironing. Today’s quintessential business shirt: time-saving, energy-saving, travel friendly.

We recommend using a mild detergent. Spin briefly, then hang to dry. Gently pull collar, cuffs and seams into shape. Touch up with a medium iron.

Not that I’m complaining. If it’s one thing my parents have been able to give me, it’s financial freedom. Never having to worry about how I’m going to pay for rent, or board, or education. It’s not easy for Chinese parents to show affection, an influence of the culture they grew up in, so they buy me things instead.

I’m the family pet.

The dog they can love and take care of and want around, but not have to actually talk to or spend time with.

These are my treats.

Thanks, And No Thanks

I’ve officially switched from Movable Type to WordPress, the latter of which I’ve decided is a far superior platform. This involved manually copying content from the old database, including every entry, comment, timestamp, and ip address logged. Even though it took me nearly a month, I was able to go through my old entries and make the thumbnails, links, quotes, and formatting consistent.

Thanks to the experiences of every day life, for the people I hate, the people I love, the ones I respect, and the ones who inspire me to do more. It’s these that make sure I never run out of things to say.

Thanks to Trolley, who reminds me with his comments that I always have at least one reader.

Thanks to Aaron and Pat, for showing me that they care when they tell me that they keep up-to-date with my life through this.

Thanks to Bronwen, with whom I’m the person I’ve always wanted to be.

Thanks to Number18, for giving me hope with her daily life, and her über cool input jacks.

Thanks to Tina and Aurora, for their enigmatic entries that inspire me to write better.

Thanks to Winston and Barb, for letting me know that I, in turn, could inspire someone to start writing for themselves.

Thanks to Sikander for being the guy who shares music with me, even though we’ve never met in real life.

Thanks to Sophia, for introducing me to music like CocoRosie, and quoting my own old archived entries back to me.

Thanks to Dru, a design artist I’ve admired for years, for unofficially stealing from me, an unspoken compliment I hold dear to my heart.

No thanks to the stalkers, who say they’ll never visit, yet continue to read on a daily basis. The ones who hide behind services like Anonymouse, naively believing that all their http requests are masked. The self proclaimed hypocrites, who have the FUCKING AUDACITY to tell me about the vices of blogging, yet blog themselves. The exact reason why I never answer my phone anymore.

No thanks to the sequacious commentors who say stuff but don’t say anything, or those who comment for the sake of personal advertisement.

No thanks to the hotlinkers, who continue to steal my images, and in turn, my bandwidth and money.

When I was converting my database and going through the old entries, I could recall each and every emotion that drove them. My writing has become less rambling, less depressing, less cryptic since I started back in 2002. As time goes on and the entries become more recent, there seems to be a subtle, burgeoning hope, a reflection of the experiences I’ve gone through and a changing worldview.

And from the beginning of this blog to the entries I write now, the most important thing is that I always have more people to thank.

Moving And Growing

Thumbnail: Aaron and Karen at their threshold
Thumbnail: Bronwen's belt design
Thumbnail: Pat's bird
Thumbnail: Bronwen smiles
Thumbnail: Lacey licks herself
Thumbnail: Glass shower stall
Thumbnail: Hot chili oil
Thumbnail: Karen's corner
Thumbnail: Chaos in the shelf
Thumbnail: Staples
Thumbnail: Toy guns

Moving is often a task I avoid at all costs. The mess of packing, booking elevators, organizing rides, and physically shifting dirty boxes around becomes a lot more complicated than I care for. Being approached to help move by a close friend is a different story, however, as it becomes one of the few times that I can prove how much I’m willing to do for them.

It thus becomes a rather galvanizing scene to arrive with a party of friends at a doorstep, ready to help bring someone else into another phase in their life. This weekend was no exception, when helping Pat and Jen settle into their new place, a newly built four bedroom house out in the west end. Through most of last week, Pat and Jen had already moved the small items themselves, so the only things that were left were the bulky furniture. There were only eight of us, but we were finished before we knew it.

Pat and Jen paid us in beer, pizza, and wings, but given the fact that they had already done most of the work, we hardly deserved it. The rest of the day was spent playing Mario Power Tennis, Donky Konga, and table tennis.

Helping them moving was a reminder of how we’re all growing up. Getting married, getting old.

I once asked Darren, the only other male cousin with whom I share a Generation name, whether he thought we’d end up like our fathers, two brothers who also share their own. Our fathers who are moody, wasted old men who work too hard, and don’t get enough sleep. Before we realized it though, we had already turned into them, surviving the days on mostly restless sleep.

Look at us now. Pat and Jen are engaged, starting their family here. Aaron and Karen are one block away.

And the couples take home leftovers the way the parents do at all the Christmas parties during the holidays.