Wise Words:
When life gives you lemons -- PUCKER UP!
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Tuesday, June 25, 2002
birdshit: an allegory in the making
I stared at the car and sighed, for the automobile that had once been so loved and cherished had become a two-door sedan splotched with avian excrement of times both recent and past. Sorrowfully I dragged my well-worn sneakers to the garage where I found the hose decorated with years of cobwebs. With my right hand I lightly brushed away the thin threads laid by spiders and the dust laid by the still, stale air, and with my left I began to uncurl the green tube from its corner by the family van. The water burst through the tube; the snake spewed the clear liquid at the car as I held it carefully and sagely behind its head, fearful that its fangs might snag my arm wet.
So the hose worked. I took a deep breath and dived back into the dustiness of the garage; floating through the coral reefs of chemical weed killer and ammonia, I uncovered an upturned empty bucket used in its past life as a soy sauce container (as evidenced by the “Jadine” label printed on its side). Diving deeper, sneezing bubbles towards the ceiling, I also found an ancient bottle of auto cleaner and a well-worn rag. These I brought with me to the surface and took to the car. I filled the bucket with water, poured the cleaner into the bucket, and got ready to get dirty.
But then I noticed the Furman University parking sticker on my back windshield; seeing as I 1) used that sticker two summers ago, not anymore and 2) have graduated from college altogether, I decided to get rid of all the parking stickers on my car. After a quick run through the jungle known as My House, I returned with a spatula. Scrape, scrape scrape; little by little the Furman sticker came off, leaving its mark behind – over the years, the glue on the back of the stickers had melted, further and further pressing the Paladin insignia onto the fiberglass. No problem, I thought; I can wipe away the history when I start scrubbing. And lo and behold, the glue vanished along with some of the grime on the windshield.
The DC stickers of course would be a challenge, I reasoned, simply in terms of number: whereas I had spent only one summer on Furman’s campus, I had spent four years at DC, and, with 2 stickers for each year (one on the front windshield, another on the back), there were quite a few to remove. I picked up the spatula and started scraping away, but unlike the Furman sticker the DC ones just wouldn’t budge. After a few moments of high-intensity friction between the windshield and the spatula, only one inch of one sticker was removed. And that made me think about how I constantly and repeatedly tell others that no matter what I do, no matter how much I scrape my windshield, I shall be forever tethered to the instifucktution known as DC. Call me Lady Wildcat Macbeth.
Call me fucked for short.
The biggest obstacle to cleaning my car was the bird shit on the engine hood; the creature that used the car as its personal latrine ought to be very happy it has wings, for it had splat its shit in a nasty stain which ran down the front and flanked the right turn signal. I scrubbed; the water in the bucket slowly turned from toilet blue to river water brown … then, just as the bucket once held soy sauce, so it contained a murky, thick substance similar to its previous contents in color. And although the caked-on shit was rinsed away with the venom of the hose, a faint outline remained… And that brought me back to the whole DC issue…
I have yet to vacuum the interior.
19:58
Sunday, June 16, 2002
People, it's been a while, so here's a long update. Read at your leisure.
Contents (very interesting stuffs!):
I. Surgery
II. Neon Circus
III. Japanese mummies
IV. Grad presents
I. Surgery
The Tam patriarch, ie my dad, had surgery on Friday. He's been checking up regularly; doctor noticed a hard spot near his groin and it turned out to be a hernia. The family trudged on over to the hospital around 8 am (never a good time in the Tam family book) and by 930 Dad was in full patient regalia, complete with hair net. Surgery was to commence around 1015 and started slightly early. Surgery was to finish in half an hour and ended right around 11. The hard part done, Mum and I waited for Pop to wake up while we sat in the waiting room. Having read through 4 magazines and the day's edition of the local paper, yours truly was getting pretty bored by noon. Mum, having watched through half of a random talk show, all of Rosie, the local news and part of the Young & the Restless, AND having read through the day's paper too, was getting pretty bored shitless herself. Add to that the 2 Cokes, blueberry muffin, Almond Joy, and cafeteria lunch we had, we were ready for Pops to wake the fuck up. But nooooooooo, it takes him TWO HOURS after the surgery to rouse from his slumber. I'm surprised the nurses didn't kick him out of the room because he normally snores so loud you can hear him throughout the house. And then we couldn't leave until he went to the bathroom, to make sure his urinary tract was working properly; we waited for an hour and a half just so that he could piss. And worse yet, they weren't looking for him to piss a lot, just a little, but by the time he got around to the toilet he had to stand there for a good HALF A MINUTE before he flushed. Dad's doing fine now; the day after surgery proved to be nothing: he woke bright & early as was his custom, went to the potty all by himself, and is currently walking around the house as if he owns it. (He does.)
II. Neon Circus
Okay, I admit it -- I went to a country music concert. Dwightette dragged me into participating in the Neon Circus tour, featuring, among others, the "great" (not my word) DY himself. What's worse, we spent a full SIX hours at the amphitheater because poor Dwightette couldn't figure out that the time featured on our tickets (330) was not the same time as when the show started (6). So not only did I have to endure FOUR HOURS of twanging guitars, friends, but I also had to endure being as bored and as out-of-place as a banana during a pre-country music concert could be.
We were welcomed by the emcee, a guy by the name of Judd-- no relation to either Naomi or Winona (not in name but maybe in waist size). His parody of Faith Hill's "Breathe" was superb; that alone was worth the price of drowning in a sea of cowboy hats. Chris Cable, the first act, was full of gratefulness and patriotism: he thanked us repeatedly for coming out while I thanked event management that I only had to stare at the Stars-n-Stripes backdrop for 40 minutes. After that rampant show of American pride, we were forced to witness the fashion emergency known as Trick Pony (great name, eh? Ride 'em, donkey!), complete with a pair of striped tights that nearly made me puke. The lead singer's Stars-n-Stripes top didn't help much, either. We then enjoyed profoundly, respectably, in the most bored manner possible, Gary Allan's shitworthy performance. And then we basked in the glow of Dwight (not the way I would describe it).
I admit I enjoyed "the Bakersfield Biscuits Hour," but to what extent I can't say. The DY band was a much classier group; their vintage suits definitely had one up on the striped tights of Trick Pony (yeah boy, ride'em!). And the honky-tonk-derived "Bakersfield sound," which I never heard before, left me craving red-eye gravy grits and country-smoked ham.
In conclusion (out of 5 stars):
Judd's "I Can Smell Your Breath": **** lovely parody, video included! Nice overall presentation
Chris Cable: * tearful showing of gratitude, would?ve been ** without the patriotism
Trick Pony: ** merely for the striped tights and the flashing-lights upright bass guitar
Gary Allan: ___ snoozeworthy
Bakersfield Biscuits Hour: *** nice set, nice costumes, nice sound, * for each
III. Japanese mummies
A couple weeks back I watched an ultra-gross show about people who mummified themselves--while they were still alive. These individuals were (or are, depending on if you're Buddhist or not) Buddhist monks in Japan; the Shingon sect in Yamagata prefecture was one group mentioned, but there were others in other prefectures too.
Scientists first took X-rays of the mummies and found that the internal organs were still inside the bodies, so that led them to believe that the people were mummified without dying. They also found it strange that the bodies hadn't decomposed at all -- flesh intact, internal organs not damaged or corroded at all. They dicsovered that one monk ages ago came up with a regimen that monks had to go through to mummify themselves -- mummification being desirable because the monks believe that by mummifying themselves they can be around when the big Buddha comes down (like Jesus's second coming). The priests undergo tough physical experiences, like climbing up a snowy mountain in what little garb they wore and then standing naked under a waterfall to chant and meditate; the scientists found they were losing body fat that way so their bodies would have less moisture. The monks basically stopped eating real food, eating instead certain nuts and the bark of a certain tree, the bark helping to clean out the intestines (they also ate pine needles, there being a scientific reason for this but can't remember what). Essentially the monks were slowly starving themselves and losing weight, and of course they were meditating so they lost muscle mass since they didn't move too much. When they were finally ready, after years and years of this regimen and diet, they finally would start mummifying themselves. One thing they did was drink some tea made from the sap of a urushi tree, the same stuff used to decorate pots in japan-- it's very lethal so they drank only a little bit but that helped to kill bacteria in the intestines that would cause the body to decompose. The finishing touch were bits of some rock that came from a sacred spring, which they ground and added to the tea; the rocks had a heavy concentration of arsenic. Very cool, but very eerie. These mummies have been around for centuries.
IV. Grad presents
I know people mean well when they give presents. I'm sure they do. But a close friend of the family couldn't have been more wrong then to give me a framed copy of a drawing of CHAMBERS LAWN. What the [censored] am I to do with something like that? Can't burn it, because if the friend doesn't see it up on the wall they'd be upset. Can't keep it, it's against my religion. Can't sell it, because they're ain't nobody who'd by it. Christ, all I ask for is a check, preferably with x>50, x= dollar amount written on said check. Is that too much to ask? Christ.
At least Lynn had the right idea: her present was DUH! The Stupid History of the Human Race by Bob Fenster. Couldn't have done better myself. Excerpts:
* In 1999 two Milwaukee teenagers were playing a game of fast draw with family pistols. Before starting the game, they checked the clips to make sure there were no bullets inside. They didn't check the chambers.
They drew. They shot. One boy was killed, shot through the head. The other boy took a bullet through the neck that severed his spinal column and left him paralyzed. He was then charged with murder.
* Billiard champion Louis Fox was playing a big money match in upstate New York in 1865 when a fly landed on his cue ball. Unable to shoo the fly away, Fox miscued, lost the game, fled the hall in shame, jumped into the river, and drowned.
* To offer thanks for his fiancee's healthy recovery from a life-threatening illness, a Brazilian man walked penance halfway across the country, carrying a large cross on his back.
While he was gone on this spiritual trek, his fiancée married another man.
13:34
Thursday, June 06, 2002
Yes, I’m still here. Yes, I’m at home. Yes, while STD’s in NYC and while Rann’s running all over Africa, where the hell am I?
Gawd, I hate you people. Especially since my house is literally hell – we had a huge thunderstorm last night, which knocked out our air supply. We’ve got electric fans running like mad, but they’re not helping yours truly, sweaty and sticky.
But at least I have an audience! I have people reading this! Specific mention of Krammer (Brentie’s baby) and Allie (who should be crunching numbers in NYC but might be “sweet and sour your ass”ing it instead) is necessary.
Yes, I’m back Fi (Lee Something Something?)… wo xiang ni too, whatever the hell that means. Hope your “funk” isn’t too sticky to get out of. Oh, I’m hard at work at your CD, but I need some help finishing it off (see previous post, hint hint).
--what’s been going on with me--
Chineseness: This past Sunday my dad and I drove down to Easley (a couple hours away) because a family friend’s daughter graduated from high school and, in true Chinese fashion, they threw a big feast. We arrived at the “Sorry, we’re CLOSED (but only for today!)” restaurant to find Mom click-clicking away at a mahjong table. My parents have had a long history with mahjong; suffice it to say that I was surprised, but not shocked, to find her there. I was also surprised to find the people that I did there, because I thought my parents stopped associating with them. But I’m glad they didn’t; what you would’ve seen there was basically the Chinese(-American) population of upstate SC, give or take a few. It’s quite neat to be part of a smaller, tight-knit ethnic community like that.
Occasions like those, although socially frustrating (since I hardly see these people), are always quite fun and intriguing for me; they’re times for me to get back in touch with my Chinese side. The hosts invited some close white friends to the dinner, too, but the food was definitely oriented towards us. (Like the unidentifiable cow parts...) And at the end of it all we uncorked 2 lovely bottles of Martini & Rossi Asti… that’s some bee-you-tiful stuff there. I had 3 glasses myself. And they were good.
Getting older, eating blue food: My dad took me to this new burger place in town, Jack in the Box. It was all right, but…sure, the Jumbo Jack may seem like a good deal at 99 cents, but does anybody really want to find something blue in their meat for that price? Didn’t think so. People, be warned: don’t EVER get the ultimate cheeseburger. Not only are you asking for a heart attack, but you’re upping your chances of getting some seriously sketchy minced cow parts.
While we were there we ran into my aunt and uncle, on my mom’s side of the family. I haven’t seen these people in years -- the last time I got a good look at them was before I went to college. My little cousin, whom I last remember as a toddler, is now a very skinny 6th grader. What a way to feel old.
I had an orthodontist appointment earlier this week. I should’ve gotten braces years ago, but the ortho I was seeing back in the day was a nasty fellow – those people moved from patient to patient without washing their gloves. (Can somebody say DISEASES?) So I just went to this other place right down the road. They’re certainly a lot more informal down there… very Southern, in a way. But all the relaxed atmosphere might be a little too much if one of those nurses gets distracted and does something wrong and yanks the wrong molar…
Anyway, my short discussion with the pair of doctors told me that yes, I need both braces and surgery and that yes, it’ll take years to get myself back together. Years. God, my life keeps getting shorter with every day – but by more than a day. Life sucks. Anybody agree? (Nod head now.)
Wildcats read here: A cool thing about the appointment was that both of the doctors were impressed that I went to DC. The older one, Higginbotham, said something about “this guy’s smart” and the younger one (with the thicker accent) said he never met somebody from the school. I was about to tell him to be glad he hasn’t…
SDS: Yes, I plan on attending the graduation tomorrow morning (if I can wake up that early)… I know I’m crazy to return to my high school and see all those teachers that I simply can’t stand, but Johnson IS retiring and he DID teach both me and my brother. It’s the least we here at the WHoB can do, no? Besides, I’d love to see my former music teacher and fill her in on what happened this past semester. To think, she was actually going to meet that bitch. Harumph.
If this post isn't long enough, I plan on doing some webstuff soon. I have nothing to do but read White Teeth by Zadie Smith anyway -- it's a great read, btw. And now I shall close with my favorite quote from the book:
"This place halal. Kosher, understand? If you're going to die around here, my friend, I'm afraid you've got to be thoroughly bled first."
22:21
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