finish your food

finish your food

i have many asian friends. i also live with two asian people, one boy, one girl. so i can say with confidence that i have eaten with asian people plenty of times.

one thing i’ve picked up on, is what i like to call “the ritual of the last piece”. this phenomenon occurs only when food is being shared aka family style. everyone has their own personal plate, but the food is dished from main serving plates located at a central location.

when the food portions start to dwindle, i’ve noticed that the plate with the most food is attacked first, and the plates that are just about finished are left alone.

if there’s one dumpling left on a huge plate, it will sit and sit while everyone eats at the fried rice plate that’s still heaping. soon we’re left with 4-5 plates with very little food left on each.

this is what kills me. then my asian friends will cut things in half, claiming that they can only eat half of the dumpling that’s left. then that half will be halved by someone else, leaving a quarter of a dumpling.

being the perceptive person that i am, i finally picked up that it’s deemed somewhat rude to finish the last piece/bite/morsel of some dish when everyone is sharing. if you ate 25 dumplings and there were only 30 to begin with, no problem. if you eat the last dumpling without halving it (even if it’s your first one) then disgrace on your house and may your crops fail next year!!

now there is a way that you can get around finishing a that last bit of food. someone has to instruct you. “frank, here, eat the last won ton”. frank is in the clear! may sunshine forever follow him on his worldly journeys, frank had permission to eat the last one!

this game was invisible to me for many years. i was the rude cleanup king. i’d just pick up the last dumpling and shove it in my mouth before it could sit and get cold, then halved, then quartered.

i feel that since i wasn’t raised asian, i can get away with breaking the rules. i claimed ignorance up until now. now i am aware, and declare myself exempt from “the ritual of the last piece”.

maybe back in china 2000bc food was scarce and everyone needed to eat just one dumpling or else they’d starve or die. in 2005 soon to be 2006, i can’t name a friend who hasn’t said to me that they feel they could stand to lose a pound or ten. so what is this tradition still doing around here?

it’s like people who call mobile phones, ‘cell phones’. the cell phone is dead, it died with zack morris’s brick-for-a-phone. all phones are digital now, hence my reference to them as mobile phones. but cell phone is still the preferred name by 99% of the population. but the name stuck and stays with us here today, as does “the ritual of the last piece”

what do you do?

what do you do?

a conversation with lilly yesterday unveiled a social interaction technique which i’ve been unaware of. after a bit of reflection, and analysis i now know what’s really going on..

at a party, or somewhere mingling with people i’ve never before met, i discovered a set of questions any and all ask.

in college it was
#1: “what’s your major?”,
#2: “where’s your hometown?”,
#3: “where do you live now?”

if nothing sparked from those three questions, chances were you were probably having the first and last conversation with that newly met person.

post-college a.k.a. the real world (or as i refer: “high school again”) there is only one question that people ask.

“what do you do?”

i told lilly that i dodge the question like neo in the matrix. there’s multiple reasons i do this. first reason: 9/10 chance that the next question from this newly met person is “oh, what is that, what do you actually do as a ____?” short story shorter, i end up talking about work. i talk about work at work, not at parties, bbq’s, clubs, bars, parking lots, kitchens, bedrooms, or street corners.

second reason: the categorization effect. as soon as you find out that someone is a harvard law graduate and works at the hottest law firm in the big bold city you live in, your mediocre ____ job just feels smaller. sometimes i’m the person feeling small, other times i’m the one making people feel small. regardless, i don’t like the situation either way. it kills the conversation, and upsets the comfort level.

third reason: david deangelo says not to. i wrote a blog about guys reading and watching videos in order to learn how to date/meet women. david deangelo was one of the guys selling the secrets to unlocking a woman’s wild side. i read a few of his posts and recall a few of his concepts. a key one was to avoid being boring. when a girl asks you what you do, don’t say you’re a computer engineer, she’ll yawn. tell her that you’re an underwear model!!!

deangelo’s technique was to be different. break the routine, be someone that she hasn’t met 14 times in the last six minutes.

point is, with “the question” on the table –you’re stuck talking about it. you’re making judgments/assumptions and so are they. basically you’re shooting down that fun, memorable, interesting interaction’s chance of happening between you and the newly met person.

i dodge. and dodge. and if they whip out the armor piercing bullets and ask “what job do you do for a living” i hit the trap door button and watch them fall down a shoot emptying into a pool full of hungry oversized crocodiles.

“hi i’m ____”
“hi. ameer, nice to meet you _______”
“so ameer, what do you do?”
“i normally eat, stand around, sometimes i have been known to talk to people”
“you eat? no i mean where do you work?”
“oh, work. well i’m working on growing a beard… how’s my progress”
“your beard looks…. errr *strange look* it’s growing”

from here i can tell if this person needs that ‘where in society does this person fit it’ feeling, or if they are willing to let go and hold the conversation that i feel should be held at parties, sidewalks, grocery stores, clubs, bars, lebowski fests, etc…

another pet peeve is the fact that everything reverts back to that job if it’s revealed.

“well, i like watching movies”
“oh, well since you’re an interior designer, you must like watching drama movies”

“i like fishing”
“ah yes, most of my friends in construction like to fish too. do you have a boat like they do?”

“i wrote a postcard to my friend when i was in france”
“oh, since you’re a journalist, do you, like, write everyone postcards when you travel”
“no, i thought the topless sunbathing woman with hairy armpits on the postcard was hilarious”

sure it aids in putting a memorable tidbit with a name, but c’mon. there’s thousands of other tidbits that can distinguish your acquaintances.

bottom line: what i do is not restricted to my occupational title. i blog too, and that’s just the ice berg’s tip.

drill

drill


$40.00 for that drill bit. gotta milk it for all it's worth.

coffee

brown energy


i don't drink coffee so much. when i do, i feel a difference. ambition, motivation, and creativity start to ooze from my fingertips. unless i'm not aware that coffee simply induces sweaty palms.

i wrote this small ode to coffee while high on the brown bean.

it’s not called frisco

i’m a self declared californian. california has 3 major parts to it. southern california (aka socal), central california (aka the armpit of california), and northern california (aka norcal). i’ve lived in san diego, orange county, los angeles, san jose, and san francisco. i have not lived in every city of the golden state, but i have lived in the largest three, plus some.

with credentials like these, the following opinions should be taken as fact, not simply the ideas of a califor. just as california is referred to as cali, cal, and the golden state, cities in california have more than one name.

these cities that i’ve resided in are also referred to by more than one name. some of these names are deemed ok by the people who live in the nicknamed cities, other names produce an immediate grimace.

starting with san diego (my initial city of residence): there’s names for san diego that us san diegans use, and other names that may get your face beat in if you say them with a serious face. why this phenomenon occurs is beyond me, maybe i’ll discover it someday and compose a book on why this happens. “sd” is an acceptable and used nickame for “america’s finest city”. if you have a bad taste in your mouth, saying “daygo” is a great way to have someone slap that taste right out. the fact that i just typed “daygo” on my blog almost upsets me.

next in my order of california residence is orange county. before the hit tv show, the o.c., orange county was referred to as o.c., “the” was added for emphasis. i’ve heard people talk about the orange curtain, describing the wall that keeps the orange county residents from pesky los angeles folks, or is it to keep those snooty orange county-ites in?

after living in orange county, i moved on up to los angeles. i didn’t live in the hip cool beach cruising part of la that rakes in brownie points for the city. i hung my hat in east la and south central. los angeles is known as la, and referred to by these two letters most often. the city of angels, to my knowledge, does not have a disliked nickname. angelic however i think not?

i then moved to san jose, also known as san jo (pronounced: san ho). i don’t know how people react to the one nickname of this dreadful place. i heard one person call it man jose, due to lack of females. i called it suck jose, cause i just hated this portion of the silicon valley. end of that.

and now i’m in san francisco. of all the cities i’ve lived in, san francisco holds the torch for most nicknames. san fran, frisco, sf, the city, and city by the bay are the ones that come to mind. i’ve even heard tales of a laundromat in san francisco that held the name “it’s not called frisco” which sounds about right to me since i’ve seen a place called brain wash – a bar/laundromat in south of market.


do people call dallas -dal? new york –n’ork? france -fran? all i know is what i’ve lived and seen. and personally acronyms are my favorite. sd, oc, la, sf, stupid san jose just doesn’t sound good as sj. i’m already over it.

picasa2

i have downloaded, installed, and enjoyed google’s picture management program: picasa2. it’s great! fast, smooth, easy, intuitive, and you can add names to the images. why is that a good feature? because it makes searching and sorting reall fast and easy.

for example, when i see a picture of james, hong, gene, and jon i simply put their names down. then whenever i look for a picture that has hong in it, i type his name in the search box. bam! i’m bombarded with portraits of the worst fisherman known to…. well man.

it’s great, but the labeling process is tedious since my photo collection is 10gb! (quick breakdown: 1 picture is ~600kb, 1024kb is 1 mb, 1024mb is a gb) that breaks down to 12,556 pictures and short video clips. i’ve got my work cut out for me.

one thing i noticed as i’m going through my many digital photos are the people in the photos. some of my photographed friends have very different expressions/looks/faces. and some people look the same, regardless. i’ve made a few examples-

efrain is very much case one:



james is very much case two:

sidekick on some entropy

i lost my sidekick a few months ago. i loved my sidekick, moreso than batman loved robin. and you know batman loved robin!

just a week ago, me and my sidekick were re-united! farewell to the fish phone!

with sidekick, i have found the path i so abruptly lost. it’s safe to say that i am back to my objective: conquering the world. how does one conquer the world with a mobile phone? easy! start a blog!

yes worthy blog reading enthusiasts, i have yet another blog in which i have given life. this blog is special. the blog is called sidekick on some entropy, and all posted to via my sidekick!!!

i can write and post pics straight from my phone. this means that anywhere i have tmobile’s gprs reception, i am blog ready! consider me a loaded gun. loaded blogger gun that is =)






LINK TO MY NEW SIDEKICK POSTED BLOG

big lebowski

dude? dud!

when it comes to fashion, i’m a dude. i mean i’m a dud. is there a difference?

i’ve been a huge fan of the big lebowski since i saw it weeks ago, and if anyone knows what i’m talking about when i refer to his wardrobe for that movie, you’ll catch my ‘dude’ humor. (his alias is ‘the dude’.)

i was looking at clothes the other day. i was looking at my clothes. a person’s clothes represent the person inside. a person’s clothes tell you who and what the person inside them are. appearance plays a much larger role than we let on. i’ve been rejected by girls who would otherwise throw themselves at my feet begging for my attention and affection, simply because of my appearance. yea, i kid you not!

as i was looking at my clothes, i meandered the path each garment had traveled to wind up hung and wrinkled in my closet. how did they get there? who bought these? what do these clothes say to people who don’t wear them, the people that have to see them.

mother buys most of my clothes. yes, still. i looked at my shoes –mom. the shirt i had on my back –hand me down from my younger brother. pants, mom. socks, mom. boxers, xmas, mom.

my clothes aren’t me, they don’t say ‘i am this-type-of-person’ to the world. my clothes serve the sole function of covering me and keeping me warm. my clothes say ‘these are the clothes that my loved ones think i’ll most likely wear’ i am not making a personal statement, nor am i giving a clear image of my persona via wardrobe.

i judge people based solely on their clothes daily, yet act as though i should be granted immunity by the fashion gods. thou can’t judge me!

maybe, just maybe, i should look into spending more of my money on clothes, and less of my money on computers i don’t need. sure it’s great to have all your mp3’s and .avi’s in a pc that runs in your car on a 7” touch screen. but the right brand of jeans will do me wonders.

video and music

audio/video memories

i loved rap. my mom and dad hated the ‘glorification of ghettos’ that rap implanted into my young and impressionable head. why do you like to listen to people talking about bitch this, fuck that, shoot you in the face, fuck fuck fuck. it really was gold hearing my parents mimic cypress hill and nwa.

nobody over 23 years old knew who lords of the underground, blackmoon, pete rock, south central cartel, masta ace, or a tribe called quest were. these groups were huge, but huge within in a small demographic. at least they were in my local suburban high school world.

flash forward to today, they renamed rap to hip hop and made eminem and 50cent international superstars. i’ve been to technology seminars where 50 year old men in suits talk about downloading the latest 50cent songs off the net. wft? only 10 years prior i was being grounded for buying rap crap with parental advisory stickers for uncensored lyrics.

rap was what i liked, it was cool. hearing witty rhymes, the creative use of words, and of course the raw emotion that rappers conveyed drew me in. my friends liked rap too, but i don’t think they liked it as much as i did. i wanted my driver’s license solely for the fact that i could go to wherehouse music stores and dig through used cd sections

each rapper had his own style, each producer left a fingerprint on his beats, and each album has a nostalgic feel to it.

i liked rap so much, that i’d get home from school as soon as possible in order to catch rap city, on b.e.t. i’d tape the music videos on vhs tapes and share with my friends. if we only had broadband internet and p2p filesharing back when i was 14 years old, i would have been glued to my computer. ha, i currently am glued to my computer.

the music videos directly affected how i felt about the songs. some music videos were so fun, so magical, and so memorable that i would grow an affinity to the song. i’d play the song and remember the video in my head. i’d relive how cool i thought it was (example: dr. dre’s nothin’ but a g thang i wish i was in that video! bow wow wow yippie yo yippie yay.)

some songs were opposite. i’d like the song, watch the video, and start to dislike the song. i.e. wu tang clan’s m.e.t.h.o.d. man, they could have done so much better, and i’m not knocking the lowbudget. it was just a poor vid.

i’ve come to love videos with music. not just music videos, all video with music over it.

almost every movie has that scene in it. i call it the music scene. it’s the part of the movie where time goes really fast, things happen. it’s not just a song with a scene, its many quick scenes. daniel san learns karate, two people get to know eachother, the team starts playing many different games and starts winning. sometimes it’s just a slow motion walk from the club to the car like in swingers, etc. these scenes are what i live for. that and electronics =)

i have done some stabs at video editing and such, and plan to stab more and more. imagine that ‘reeeh reeeeh reeeh’ sound and the motion made famous by alfred hitchcock.

songs resurface the memories you have tied to them. if that song was used over an awesome bit of video, then that memory of the video will resurface when you hear the corresponding song. i recently watched a movie that i can’t stop talking about, survive style 5. it’s japanese, yet uses the cake song ‘i will survive’, in a musical scene. after watching the video with that song playing, i immediately felt a need to hear that song again. a song i didn’t really like, is now marked with five stars on my itunes playlist.

i look forward to making more of these video audio treats that i appreciate so much. i hope you are too.

aa

aa
(setting) alcoholics anonymous:

hi, my name is _____. and i’m an alcoholic.



is this backwards to only me? anonymous? the thoughts that come to me while cooking spam and eggs over rice!?

"sitting, wishing, waiting"
- jack johnson

mom and dad never really pushed me to meet girls. a girlfriend wasn’t high on mom and dad’s priority list, in fact it didn’t make the list. focus for our hero was: grades, health, extra curricular activities, keeping promises, telling the truth, helping others, grades again, and all the other goodies that parents want their children to do while growing up. i’ve never heard my mom or dad say, “why don’t you have a girlfriend? when are you going to have a girlfriend? when are you planning on getting married? am i to expect grandchildren anytime soon?”

when i hear my friends talk about their parents asking these questions, i can’t relate.

on a few occasions when the subject has popped up, mom simply told me “it’ll just happen”.

i’ve blindly fallowed my mom’s advice. i sit at the bus stop. unsure if there is a bus to come pick me up.

let’s take a step to the side, and look back upon my ‘big things’ (job, friends, school, etc…). getting a job was no cake walk. finding a job is a full time job. school also didn’t just come to me, school required lots of work and sacrifice. friends require effort as well. it took work and elbow grease to establish the friendships i’ve built.

so why then, do i sit on my ass and let the woman of my dreams come wallowing into my arms? does this happen?

why are other parents pushing school, grades, a good job, and the fact that being married at 26years of age is rather common, even in california. more so, my posed question is, why aren’t my parents pushing the significant other panic button?

living organisms exist basically to procreate. passing the genes on, and keeping life going is the only thing left when you boil away life’s bs. and i’m suppose to just sit on my hands? cause it’ll just happen?

have i been going about life entirely backwards? has everyone been pushing for and pursuing that which i’ve just sat and waited for? i couldn’t have attained a degree by just letting it come to me, nor a job. how do i expect to find myself in a relationship?

the thing is, mom and dad have never steered me wrong. they have 75+ combined years more experience than i do on this planet.

i ask myself how did they meet? did they find each other while focusing on the other “important things”? did mom and dad experience a freak occurrence by meeting and falling in love by simply waiting for it to just happen? have they passed me down advice that only works for 1 in 1,000 people?

maybe she will read this post, feel the electricity tingle her spine, and fall into my arms with the ease and confidence that mom and dad have raised me with. if not, then i’ve got a lot of not-doing-anything to do.

fun at the park

big sur

big sur weekend






(click the pic to watch the vid)

crossing the bridge

crossing the bridge

dark and stormy: 1/2 dark rum, 1/2 ginger beer

I brainstorm all the time. Imagine hurricane Katrina times 40 billion going on inside this thick skull I carry around. The storm is usually so rough, with waves so big that most of my thought boats end up sinking before delivering their cargo. This is why I carry a pen almost everywhere I go with exception to the three s’s (showers, swimming, and sleep). Other than that, one or more writing utensils can be found in my possession at all times.

What kind of storms am I talking about? What goes on inside my head when I’m not puking out too many words to describe a simple idea? Reading my blog is a small documented timeline of some of my written brain hurricanes.

This past Wednesday, I walked into taco bell for lunch. I sat alone, and ate my ½ lb spicy chicken burrito supreme with both hot and mild sauce. The thought came to my mind in an instant, triggered by an event that I’ve since forgotten. I pulled out the pen, a pad of paper, and started writing. My sailboat had been adrift, when all of a sudden, a huge gust of wind caught my sails and started pulling me in a direction that I just went with.

I had the punch line in my sights, so I started backtracking up to it. I was simply jotting down short handed notes in the most legible handwriting possible. The idea was to start my dear reader with some background info, link those facts to other facts and then arrive to some tie-up conclusion. All the while I focused only on these introduction factoids.

Come time to lay down the punch line, drop anchor, tie up to the pier, take the sails down and call it a day, I forgot. My storm had sunk the ship of thought. I forgot the punch line. How did all of these ideas come together? I have no clue. Here’s what I have written on my piece of scratch paper:

“i have lots of friends from chinese school -> it all started back in high school.
Now I have lots of friends who went to school in Michigan. I may as well have…-> the Michigan folks are all buddies & dancers. So, I’m always watching dance ish & listening to hip hop. Which I don’t like all that much. So I’m watching this movie_”

That’s where it stops. And that’s where I stopped. Putting both types of hot sauce into my spicy chicken 1/2lb burrito supreme broke concentration enough for me to lose and never regain that moment’s thought.

Tragedy? Yes. It was to be a blog. I decided that this boat sunk so close to shore that I’d drag it onto the pages of high-entropy and display what could have been.

grub club #3

grub club #3: corya all you can eat hot pot & bar-b-q. this clement street restaurant was visited by the grub club this past tuesday 8/30/05.



chooser: gemma (she called in and made reservations. we saw the yellow sticky note and it said ‘jama’)
attendants: gemma, jon g, george, abby (for a sec), and me.
best dish: the meat, lots of it. the hot pot was good, but the marinated meat was everyone’s favorite.
honorable mention: gemma, she picked it.
geek of the week: lloyd, cause he can just never show up.
restaurant rating: gemma, jon g, and george said 7. although in the picture george only held up a 6 (she’s an accountant too, makes you wonder).
super bonus: we got the cool corner seat, and a picture from the outside was needed.

shake it like a polariod picture

i met a guy from argentina. he said that americans felt rude upon introductions. at home, when he saw a friend, he would hug them, and kiss each cheek. us americans don’t kiss on cheeks, us americans shake hands.

the handshake itself is a very interesting beast. the handshake used to be like a signature, a guarantee. “shaking on it” was as good as a written contract in a court of law. the handshake is now simply our form of greeting. people say that a handshake is very important. a proper handshake gives the greeted person an impression of your character.

there’s many different types of handshakes. the professional handshake is firm, eye contact is made, and a bit of shaking must go on. this is the handshake that both men and women in a professional environment must have in order to give off the “i mean business” impression.

back in the days, two men would shake hands firmly, as the above noted professional handshake. women would shake hands with men, but it wasn’t really a ‘shake’. the woman would hold out her hand, palm down, fingers pointed towards the ground, and then the man would bring his hand up underneath and simply hold her hand. this lasts just as long as a man to man handshake would last. once in a while i encounter a shake like this, but it’s not so common anymore. personally, i’m not a fan of it either.

then there’s the dreaded wet noodle. i hate these shakes. it’s when a man to man handshake turns out to be a woman to man handshake with two men. that’s right, i go in with a firm handshake and they simply stick out a dangling hand. i end up squeezing the crap out of their hand, and it’s now an awkward state for both parties.

speaking of powerful handshakes, there’s always that one guy who does the python grip handshake. you give him a firm, ready to shake hand, and he comes in with 400psi of bone crushing “hello, nice to meet you”.

the wet palm handshake needs no explanation, and no example.

my most hated handshake is the no look. i hate the no look. people should get slapped for the no look handshake. let me paint the picture: you meet someone for the first time, extend the hand, say your name, listen to –and then forget their name, when your hands meet, they look away. they look away. it’s horrible that they don’t give me 10 seconds of attention upon the first time of ever meeting me. i should slap them, and want to at times.

no look handshakes are ok if it’s not the first time meeting someone. with buddies, chums, friends, or acquaintances a different handshake is then used. all different versions of the second handshake exist. some include hugs, punches, snaps, claps, you name it, it’s been done.

time and place also determines the type of shake you get. with girls, in a fun, party, or nightlife environment, a kiss on the cheek is more normal than a simple hug or handshake. with guys, people you normally wouldn’t give the shake-hug to, get it.

yea, this is what’s racing thru my head as i greet someone. normally all of these ideas contaminate my mind and that’s why i forget the name i just met.

grub club #2



grub club #2: emmy’s spaghetti factory. no the old spaghetti factory, emmy’s. this gem was located in the south-most parts of the mission district on mission. for 9.50 i got 3 meat balls the size of my fist, and a healthy plate of spaghetti. i had the leftovers for dinner today. the food was good, the booth was comfy, and i killed the carafe of water just as we were about to leave.



chooser: me (grub club president, founder, co-chief executive to the western branch, and straight up pimp-daddy-restaurant-chooser)
attendants: jon g, george, victor, ameer
best dish: we all ordered spaghetti, some with meat balls.
honorable mention: jon g’s risotto
geek of the week: three way tie between michelle, gemma, and lloyd (although he’s not even a member yet –you have to at least attend a grub club to be a geek, but lloyd we make exceptions for.)
restaurant rating: i say a healthy 8.5-9, nobody really came up with a number this time? so much for tradition.
super bonus: the spray paint sign, ‘a touch of class’.

"he want's to accomplish one thing, and that is: to get to the future"

-mickey the rat

asphalt

metaphors for hikes



i’ve been hiking with my friend, 'mv killer', for about two months. each weekend we travel 30 miles south of san francisco’s concrete streets and shade casting skyscrapers. woodside had shade casting sequoia trees and dirt paths. we hike about 10 miles, up to 2000 ft above sea level, which takes roughly 3 hours.

at first i was timid on accepting my friend’s invitation to hike. i was in boy scouts, i know what it’s like to hike around in the woods. i didn’t move to the city just to leave it and walk up some trails. my friend and i share many similar interests, maybe i’ll like it now? conclusion: hiking is pretty badass.

i invited a few other friends, some have come along, others have given me the ‘are you crazy’ look. one of my friends says she only hikes to waterfalls. she explained that a hike needs a payoff, like a waterfall.

my good friend, the rat, says (and i misquote) “part of the fun to drinking, is the journey to get drunk”

here’s my life/hike metaphor: i like the hike, not the waterfall.

(i apologize, i hate copy paste aim conversations in blogs, but this one is short and sweet i swear)

him: but after everything, like say you get a job
him: and do well
him: what will it be for?
him: i don't want you to always want more
ameer says: haha
ameer says: i'll always want more
ameer says: there's always more to want
him: i suppose
ameer says: want to learn more, experience more, do more,
ameer says: lose my hunger for more, lose my reason for living
ameer says: *am i wrong? to hunger!
ameer says: =)

i don’t hike for waterfalls, i just like the hike.

gift horses


"you don't look a gift horse in the mouth"

i just learned:
looking at a horse's teeth will reveal the horse's age, common knowledge that obviosly isn't so common these horseless days. that's where the saying comes from. all along i was thinking that horses have to eat, thus a free horse means you still have to pay for the horse's food.

Grub Club




my friends in san diego eat at a cheap, fun, large portion restaurant called sushi deli every wednesday. shine or shine, (cause there is no rain in san diego) deli night will happen.

i’ve always been jealous of this reoccurring event. going to eat with friends on weekdays really smoothes out the monotony of a 9-5. so georgette and i decided to start a nor-cal grub club. the founding members: me, george, jon g, gemma, and michelle.

our mission: to eat at a different restaurant each time we meet (biweekly). the location is chosen by one of the members, anyone can attend, and everyone must eat and discuss the cuisine. we rate the restaurant, and take pictures for the blog post. i am the designated scribe, and will document the experience.

grub club #1: burma superstar clement and 4th ave
chooser: georgette
attendants: georgette, me, jon g, gemma, and michelle
best dish: tie between me and michelle (firey chicken and tofu and tower of tofu)
honorable mention: george’s pork curry
geek of the week: gemma with her appetizer
restaurant rating: 7 fingers up (as you can see george and gemma’s pic)
super bonus: ice cream afterwards at toy boat dessert cafe


interesting event: jon g riding the horse

with a bit of time, an old picture with frame (free), and a cool magazine spread, this is what i do to my walls.

disclaimer: i am not a political blogger nor a terrorist, but i do have something to say about this london incident, so read on only if you want my uneducated opinion of this whole ordeal.

let’s recap the events that took place. london was hit by 4 separate bombs, in the morning during rush hour traffic. every bit of media turned its full attention to the bombings and deaths. administrators around the world reacted to the bombings by beefing up their security measures. and everyone went to sleep safe, sound, and ok.

now i’m going to make some assumptions here base off of what i like to refer to as uncommon sense (aka deductive reasoning). most terrorists don’t have down syndrome. using 4 bombs capable of destroying a bus, strategically placed, that only kills 56 people is more than a hopscotch jump further than pathetic. killing people was not their intention. why then?

again, two weeks later what happens? 4 more bombs are detected, or go off in the same city. london goes up in panic, nobody gets hurt. cnn spends all day showing british leaders examining the incidents. george bush tells the americans that we’re not afraid and that we’re going to tighten up and fight for our freedom.

8 bombs, a few killed, and tons of coverage later, where are “the terrorists” at after all of this?

new york subways have tightened security, they got twice as many security guards manning the subways. from a terrorist perspective, new york just showed us it’s weakness, and plans to guard it. but who’s guarding it? does the government have a huge task force of anti-terrorist subway searchers, or do they have doughnut dunking police men who get paid a boatload to work overtime hours. in my opinion, we just exposed our weakness to the “terrorists” and then proved that we can’t even cover them up.

55 deaths in one day is the equivalent of bill gates losing 55 cents in the wash. an organized, covert terrorist group that now knows the weakest points of the main arteries in most 1st world nations is like me getting bill gate’s bank account.

once again, i’m no political person. i watched cnn for, 2 hours at work, during the first bomb fiasco, and then 30 mins of today’s bombing incident. personally, i don’t think that the way we handled this was the right way. if i knew the right way, then i would most likely be a political person, and try to do something about it. instead i think i’ll just post this blog and drink my coffee.

know where i'm comin from

i was playing with a friend's camera, and it had this feature that takes panoramic photos. well, how could i resist? snap snap snap. before you know it, i'm sharing the experience with all. geeking out is fun stuff, i don't care what mtv says. (click on the pic to see my entire desk.)

a week or two ago georgette calls me. she's having itunes technical difficulties. her library is > 4GB thanks to music donations of jon and jon g. her issue is with itunes and her ipod. the ipod can only store 4GB of songs, and the music library on her comptuer is now much larger than that. in this case itunes was designed to pick songs for you, and load the ipod to capacity. she was unsatisfied with the selection itunes had given her. "how do i change it ameer!"

i'm a firm believer in the phrase "give a man a fish, feed him for a day. teach hong to fish, feed your ego for life". taking the easy way out, (just telling her the step by step instructions to turn off the autosync fxn) would have resulted in more service phone calls down the line, hence more tech support for our hero.

i learned her all about playlist syncing, manual updating, ejecting the ipod, managing playlists, drag and drop, sorting, searching, and all the other phenominal features of itunes.

after 20 minutes or so, i had her saying "oh wow, i kinda like this, it's actually pretty easy!"

that's when i told her, and she finally understood: "yea it is hu? now just imagine, every program on your computer working just like this. that's how macs are."

her response, "OH MAAAAAANNN!!! i just bought this compaq~!"

i sat back in my chair and smiled. i love my mac, don't you?

Typed Voice

I’m new to the literary world. In fact I’m a newborn to this place. I’ve been learning more and more each day that passes. A concept that I’ve noticed lately is the writer’s “voice”. This term voice is an interesting concept to me. The word voice gives me a mental picture of something auditory. I don’t read a voice, I hear it. Maybe I’m not using my imagination as much as I should be. When I read something, I hear a voice in my head say the words. Sometimes the words are being read in a big 300lb man deep voice, and other times by a skinny geek with glasses. I suppose that’s the voice that we are talking about.

This makes me wonder, what is my voice? I read certain blogs that have no pictures of the writer. My intuition to put a gender, age, build, and even hair color to the person writing is instinctual. The person who blogs with sentences such as “then we just like, told them I don’t think so. Cause, like, we don’t even like her and her friends”, is automatically 15 years old and female in my mind.

Some people write the words that they speak. Others write as if they have a dictionary and thesaurus holster on their belt. These authors create a certain feel. Reading their work creates a detailed picture and essence of the person.

I wonder what I look like to other people. I have a voice as a writer, and as I reread this I see/hear myself. But all the voices in your head always sound different to someone else.

I wonder how I sound to the reader? What physical characteristics would I conjure up inside the brains of others?

Leggo My Logo

Everybody is different, How different am I?

Everyone is special, and different, and blah blah blah. However,
there are certain topics where most of the population can be
generalized. I fall into the majority, the majority of the time.
For the 18-34 year old demographic, I am your typical Californian
male. I enjoy music, drinking, food, attractive girls, and most of
all computers.

I love logos. We all do.

Most of my clothing is designed around some company logo. Puma
shirt, Adidas shoes, Volcom belt, Quicksilver Beanie, Kenneth Cole
jacket, Hurley blue jeans, Lucky Brand boxers… a simple Saturday
afternoon outfit. But there’s more to this outfit. The logos!

The leaping puma gives me an urban underground party-goer feel


Brown Superstar Adidas shoes yield a retro-hipsterness vibe.


A red Volcom belt proves I’m down with the new, younger trends –older yet still hip.


That Quicksilver beanie shows my old-skool-ness. I was there during
quicksilver’s hay day.


My Kenneth Cole jacket shows that I can afford to buy stuff at Macy’s.


Acid washed Hurley brand blue jeans displays the fact that I did or
still do skateboard and snowboard.


Lucky Brand boxers, although only people at the Laundromat will ever
see these boxers and I won’t be wearing them when they do, show that
I can afford to spend money on boxers that display the logo of a
‘brand name’ company. (They also have a tag that says “lucky you”
sewn on the inside of the button up fly.)


My clothing displays 7 logos, all of which I wear proudly. I like
the logos; Adidas’s timeless flower, the sleek puma, and Lucky’s
clover all draw me in with their mystery and coolness.
Clothing brands is my example.

What wears who (or vice versa if
you’re of that mindset) is not my focus today.

Instead I’m
dissecting logos in general. Because IMHO (internet chat slang for
In My Humble Opinion) a logo makes or breaks whoever it represents.
To me logos are the physical appearance. People are judged solely on
how they appear, hence my brand name descriptors earlier noted. An
establishment or company doesn’t have a physical appearance, their
logo is their appearance. I judge these places simply by looking at
their logo. Since I fall into the majority, I’m assuming that
everyone else does this as well.

Let’s pull an example for this one. Tacos.
Here are three taco shop logos that I found on the net, without
looking at the menu, restaurant, location, or prices I bet you’ll
judge which place is a sit down, which place is quick and cheap, and
which place I would never be caught dead eating Mexican food in.


It’s a proven fact, that when I’m in a new town searching for food, I
will be drawn towards a cool logo above the door instead of “Taco
Shop” in block red letters.
I’m not limiting this to taco shop logos, all logos. I wanted to
work for Caterpillar because I liked their CAT logo. I don’t like
the Green Bay Packers because I find the green ‘G’ just doesn’t do it
for me. The Rolex crown logo is much more attractive than white
letters that spell casio.


To those who say “looks don’t count” should be blinded, and then
asked that same question. Looks do count, everything counts.

wash your hands?

i was out on friday night. hip-hop, ya don’t stop, dance until the something –op. going out to a hip-hop club is fun, but not that much fun. i like house music better. i’m a self diagnosed closet case music nazi. i really dislike hip hop clubs to be quite frank. but my friends enjoy it, and if they are having fun, so am i.

while visiting this hippity hopping extravaganza i found myself waiting in line to utilize the facilities. i usually drink a few extra drinks at hip hop clubs in order to repress my inner dj critic and enjoy the evening. there was a urinal to the left, sink in the middle, and to the right, a broken door stall with a toilet obviously was missing a sign that said “try not to make it in”.

the guy to the right was finished, did his little shake, zipped up, and left. i took his spot and started my business. the urinal user up and left and was replaced by another hip hopper. i finished, and started washing my hands. the second urinal user left just before i turned around to find that this no-door bathroom lacked means to dry one’s freshly washed hands. no paper towels, and no hot air dryer thingy.

in the time it took me to use the restroom and wash my hands, 4 other guys had used the bathroom and left sans washing their hands. club milk has no doors on the restroom, but in all the other restrooms i’ve been to, they have doors. those doors have handles that everyone touches. in my brief experience where 4 of 5 men didn’t wash their hands, i would have basically grabbed all their germs/diseases/bogusness when opening the door.

i recall a comic sketch, i don’t recall who the comic was, who asked the question: why wash your hands after going to the restroom? his point was that after the shower, his little soilder didn’t see anything but the inside of his tide fresh boxers. whereas his hands were touching shoes, door knobs, car handles, and many other dirty objects. with these unclean hands you go and touch your clean, most unexposed part of your body? and then you are supposed to wash your hands?

his point was pretty funny. but i did a bit of research online and found out that disease can spread due to lack of washing hands. different grody things can happen when people don’t wash their hands, and it isn’t pretty.

i always wash my hands. would i be writing this if i didn’t? i have to confess, it’s not because i’m afraid of dirty hands or spreading disease. i have clammy hands. and washing them every once in a while feels nice. i don’t take special trips to the bathroom just to wash my hands, unless i’m going to eat at a restaurant that has finger foods.

women are way more likely to wash their hands when going to the restroom. if i was a girl i’d feel a dirty gross feeling after visiting a public restroom, and most likely run to the faucet to wash my hands. women have to actually touch the restroom, yet us men don't normally come into contact with the public toilets.

regardless, i’m going to think twice before shaking someone’s hand from now on, especially at club milk.

i wrote this on LIVEdigitally, a site that i've been writing for since early march, it started out for them, then turned into something for high-entropy. and it ended up on both.


‘The music industry’. Enter that string of words into my brain’s thesaurus and I’d spit out: evil, greedy, selfish, money hoarding animals that have made me suffer therefore now it’s their turn.

I fantasized about a driver’s license in 1994, a year before I turned 16, so I would be able to drive to the different Warehouse Music stores in order to browse through the used CD sections. Paying $17.99 for a new CD was near impossible living off of $20.00 per week for lunch and allowance, used CDs were half the price but availability was issue.

The fact that those CDs I poured my high school savings into contained only 2-3 enjoyable tracks bundled in between ‘filler’ songs, often left me with a sour taste in my mouth. The late 90’s was ‘The Music Industry’s’ hay day, funded by suckers such as yours truly. Come to think of it, from the dawn of recorded audio until Napster, was the Music Industry’s hay day.

P2P (peer to peer) file-sharing, pioneered by Napster and followed by a slew of others such as Morphious, Limewire, WinMx, Kazaa, BearShare, etc…, put up a huge middle finger to $17.99 CDs and the record labels who took advantage of me. I downloaded songs day and night, skipping class to find a song that I had only heard once

my my my



i was talking to a friend about benny and joon, the movie. i have never seen it, but i know two very important aspects now. johnny depp is in the movie, and he has a cane.

those two bits of information i had not known prior to my friend telling me that he has the cane. he has the actual cane that mr depp used during the filming of benny and joon.

that’s just cool, movie props are great. i know thousands of geeks that would love to get their hands on the light sabre that luke used during the empire strikes back, ok even i’d like to have that.

as soon as he told me that he has the cane, i thought about what movie prop i would just love to have. the answer popped out in my head like a cartoon lightbulb appears in the comics.

i want willy wonka’s hat.

i wouldn’t wear the hat that gene wilder immortalized, well maybe around the house for a few days. i would just like to have that hat. willy wonka and his chocolate factory can be wrapped up in that weird fuzzy chocolate flavored hat.

maybe i thought about this because in the beginning of the movie, willy wonka walks with a cane –that’s my second most wanted prop, so i could have a cane duel with my friend.

don't worry be happy

happiness comes in spurts. regardless of who you are, everyone gets the same amount. rich people, poor people, single people and happily married with 2.5 kids and a dog people… each and every one of them get just as many happiness feelings each day.

happiness is an instantaneous feeling. happiness shows up, lifts your spirits, and then leaves you as quickly as it came. happiness doesn’t occur over an extended period of time.

now, being content is a different story.

i see struggle everywhere, struggle and dis-content. at the grocery store i notice a clerk’s defeated eyes continuing a life of struggle. as i hand three dollars to the booth attendant i see struggle and dis-content in his face. sitting on a packed bus i observe and see very few people content with their lives. i am not mistaken those who just experienced one of their ‘happy moments’ for content people. the difference is subtle yet apparent.

i have discovered my quest: contentness, the absence of struggle.

its not easy. so tough that its too hard for most people to find, instead they band-aid their misery with something that half fills the void, those jolts of happiness. it’s enough to get by.

i'm not everybody, i'm that minority breed of human being who sees the attainable and pursues it until i die or succeed. repeat, it’s not easy, but nothing of worth is.

look down, move foreword, and keep the end result focused in your sights.

i've been searching for the content/struggle-free feeling all along, i just didn’t realize what set me apart from the rest.

what exactly do i mean when i say ‘feel content with my life’? my life is not all about one thing, or one person, or one place. it’s a package deal, one item does not give the contentness that i yearn for. i also need the job of my dreams, the home of my dreams, the kids of my dreams… the life of my dreams. life is made up of multiple entities, i strive to attain all of the ones i admire.

all of these aspects shall be poured together, add some ice, shake, and filter for the perfect mix. let’s call this drink, content. goal achieved.

I've been neglecting my blog, and she hates me for it. Nobody visits anymore, nobody comments either, and it's all my fault.

Someday I'll redeem myself to /hunger, but as of now I'm closer to being a deadbeat dad than anything. In hopes to revive my site I decided to post a pic of someone that I haven't seen in far too long. I feel that others haven't seen her either so here she is, the sight for sore eyes. nancy =)

girls are catching up

my roommate told me in a casual conversation “girls are catching up”, it stuck in my mind.

girls are catching up to what? what did she mean? and it hit me like a ton of bricks, dropped off the empire state building, and landing on a bike with no seat. ah ha! *points to the sky* girls are catching up.

with a little bit of time and space bending and we find ourselves back to the 50’s. women wearing plaid dresses, men working in suits, every family has a single income, the leave it to beaver-type household. a man is a man, he works and his wife cooks, cleans, and raises the children. women need to learn the household duties, and look pretty. men have to make the money, put that food on the table.

a man able to provide, and a pretty woman who can cook is the 1950’s formula for happiness.

women aren’t there anymore, women are men now. women make more money than men, women are ceo’s, managers, directors, women are your boss. a woman does not need to search for her provider anymore, she is it. women are independent today, they can pay for themselves, and in some cases, others.

women haven’t dropped the expectations conjured up in the 50’s. a woman actually thinks if herself as a degenerate if she cannot cook gourmet cuisine. this is not uncommon, yet that the same woman manages a group of 10 in a high tech consulting firm.

women wear uncomfortable shoes and revealing clothes, along with makeup (which is not cheap). men keep with their simple suits and jackets. these independent women aren’t in search for a provider, they are searching for a trophy. the former trophy is now a trophy hunter.

metrosexuals, and queer eye for the straight guy are huge because of this. women can afford to be picky when choosing a man. boys, we have to take a bit better care of appearance if we want one of these new breeds of women. i see it starting with men ‘caring’ more about their styles and appearance. am i forecasting that men will be wearing makeup in the near future? who knows, but in 20 years if mac for men is the hottest thing don’t say i didn’t call it.

after realizing this i think i’ll start cutting my hair every 2 months instead of every 4.

i’m just everybody


everyone on myspace.com or friendster.com has a dj profile pic. if they’re not a dj then they are a lead singer or a guitarist. being involved in music gets the girls.

speaking about the girls, if i was a girl i’d have a studio pic or 12 of me for my myspace/ friendster/ orkut/ iprocrastinate/ etc profile pic.

while mixing i usually look at my reflection in the record and think, this would be a cool picture. so the other day i went and captured the moment. i must say i haven’t seen this done before although i’m sure it has been.

i feel like it’s 1998 and i just got a pair of those nike air jordan’s that everyone had 4 years before me. i’m late but i’m comin up.

roomates and 26 years

one sentence, perfect timing, perfect tone, makes living with roommmates that more enjoyable.

"damn, french laundry and shit" -ka'le

my onions-mushrooms-hotdogs with pepper over rice.

i'm turning 26 tomorrow. tonight's agenda:
"celebrating" with a few friends at the element lounge. my bday wish is to flash back one year ago, and do my #25 birthday party all over.

let's reminisce:

-beautiful san diego weather
-persian food feast with my family and friends,
-hundred dollar bottle of scotch,
-live musical performers
-drunk parents
-bar hopping in gaslamp ($400.00 worth)
-friends travelled hours for the event
-and to top it off, the night prior was spent in la hopping venues with a different handfull of friends.

this year is different, a few corny cards in the mail compliments of the most important girls in my life have kept me in high spirits.

twenty six is here and i'm ready for it. i'll be eating/cooking french laundry style more often now that i'm approaching my late twenties.

26 times

i was asked "how old are you" yesterday. i answered "26". twenty six was a farce, i'm still 25... for 4 more days.


i want my birthday to pass undetected this year. better yet, post pone my bday for 6 months or so. i feel that celebrating after all of my time-wasting and procrastination just won't taste as sweet.

i also saw a man holding a cardboard sign that said "today is my 30th birthday and i'm homeless. please help." i didn't help him because at the rate i'm going... i will be him in 4 years.

there's only one thing to do in a situation like this: take a self portrait!!

the great vodka experiment: (click on picture)