Ice Ice Baby

Shave (shaved?) ice! Nothing quite like it on a hot summer day, especially if the bowl holds that magical fluffy stuff that I saw for the first time in Hawaii (forget those sizable chunks that would make a better snowball than a bowl of shave ice). Flavored syrups are fine, but what really makes it great is some vanilla ice cream right in the center. The texture of air-infused frozen particles of water paired with creamy ice cream goodness is nothing short of glorious.

My grandmother's house is one giant time capsule. It's so easy to uncover layer after layer of life (I love looking through old magazines and advertisements), as well as many things that really should just be thrown away (cake mix from the 80s?). I asked her today if she had a heating pad, and she dug out this old box from her magical linen closet. If the Gillette copyright on the bottom is any indication, it is a good 30 years old! What's even better is that after three decades, it still works well. They just don't make 'em like they used to.

On an unrelated note, I'm pretty sure that's Justin Bieber on the right. He must be a robot.

Oatmeal Disappointment

A couple months ago, oatmeal was on sale. Sure, it was those individual, pre-seasoned packets that are usually on the sweet side, but I figured I would indulge myself. I bought a box, took it home, busted one open and much to my dismay, I found it was a low-sugar version, meaning it had sugar substitute (curses!). The taste is somewhat unbearable, like eating an apple right after brushing your teeth (guess what I did around 7pm yesterday).

Since then, I've tried to mask the flavor by adding stuff like yogurt, nuts, honey, ice cream, and peanut butter. The additives were good, but I couldn't enjoy them because the taste of artificial sweetening still lurked underneath, surfacing full force in an unforgiving aftertaste. I gave up for about a month, and then tonight I decided to give it another go. This time, I tried to rinse off the oats before nuking (worked out better than I expected), but then I remembered that the only milk that I had was chocolate soy milk (worked out worse than I had hoped). It ended up a soppy, unappealing, ugly mess as seen in the picture above.

I'm well on my way to ruining oatmeal for life.

Trimming Troubles

Last week, I decided to trim my grandmother's rose bush in the front of her house.  If you'll notice, the monstrosity above is no normal bush.  Its tallest tendrils were about the height of the roof.  I trimmed it down last year to about the height of the white wall behind it, but it took on a life of its own since then (also, it doesn't help that her gardeners don't do anything to help me).  Anyway, I got there at about 10:45 a.m., and I started trimming away the longest branches first.  Those actually are the easiest to deal with since they can easily be removed.  The harder ones by far are the ones that become twisted and tangled with each other or with the wall because I have to pull hard to get them free, and anything can happen when they come loose.  In other words, thorns become a huge threat (as if they aren't already enough of a threat).

In the end, I found that I really underestimated how much work was necessary to get the bush into a manageable form.  I finished cleaning up at around 4 p.m., and I was exhausted.  It probably wouldn't have been so bad if I didn't have to trim down the branches so they'd fit in the trash can.  That probably added twice as much work for me.  Regardless, I felt like I put in a hard day's work, and that felt good.  What didn't feel good were the cuts and splinters from the thorns.

Hospital Horrors

When I was little, hospitals were a terrifying place. I'd like to blame my first early impression on the book, Madeline, where the heroine gets appendicitis and has to get it removed. Sure, Curious George Goes to the Hospital presented a scary scenario as well, but I specifically had fears of having a bum appendix whenever I had a stomach ache, and I debated whether it would really be all that bad if I let it explode just so that I wouldn't have to go to the hospital for surgery (not that I ever had appendicitis, but that was the only hospital-worthy medical problem that was even remotely looming/threatening in my young mind).

The second early impression was when I was in elementary school and I went with my mother to the hospital to pick up some stuff for her work. We passed by a dark room that had the door slightly ajar; I peered in as we walked by, and the light from the hall gave a hint of a huge apparatus that practically filled the entire space. It left such a strong impression on me that that image is still burned into my mind today. Shortly after I saw it, I had nightmares about it, and I dreaded going back to the hospital for fear of having to even look at the stuff. Who knew what kind of unspeakable, scary things medical machinery could do to you! I was sure bodies would be hooked up to their menacing, gleaning arms, and they would just suck the life force from your helpless, tortured frame until there was nothing left or until you were transformed into a horrible monster! If I had the opportunity to actually see the machines in action, to understand how they worked and why they were so big, I'm sure the fear would have been mostly dissolved (I think that first traumatizing machine doled out good ol', harmless x-rays). Unfortunately, I remained a coward for many more years, my imagination running wild with a combination of fear of the dark plus fear of the unknown.

Now, many hospital trips later, these institutions are a-okay in my book. Machines are classified in my mind as being mostly harmless. Having always been on the visiting side of things has certainly helped too- by now, being hospitalized is such a distant threat on my radar of potentially horrible situations that it is behind losing my left hand while driving with my arm out the window or waking up with a spider on my face.

Oh-bone

I don't remember ever going to obon festivals while growing up. My family wasn't too into the temple scene, and I guess I grouped it into the same mental category of generic JA community gatherings, along with Nisei Week and the Chibi-K Fun Run. The only stuff that registered in my mind about these events was that there was food booths and game booths, and it usually meant a lot of time walking around.

When I started getting exposed more to Japanese American culture in college, obon became an actual celebration, an experience I could share with friends. We would go "obon-hopping" to different festivals throughout California, eating teriyaki and udon and taiyaki, soaking up the evening sun, taking in taiko performances, and dancing into the night. My favorite time during obon was definitely during the odori: as they lit the lanterns while dusky tones settled in close to the horizon, everything just seemed so beautiful. From the bright colors on yukata and hapi coats to the families just sitting and watching from the sidelines to the summer breeze gently meandering between all the dancers, it all culminated in this moment that I wanted to freeze and keep with me.

I guess that moment stood out to me initially because of the sensory experience of it all, plus the good memories I had made, but now I think it's starting to signify something else. While obon festival traditionally honors one's ancestors (thank you Wikipedia), I see a lot of folks honoring the families and friends that are still present. The feeling of community and shared experiences at obon is unlike anything else I've seen, and it spans across generations and ethnic backgrounds. I can only wonder, then, what it's like to attend obon at a temple you've grown up with, where you actually belong to that community year round instead of just popping in during the summer months with your own group of friends. Or beyond that, what is it like to go to festivals in small towns in Japan, where all the folks are your neighbors and you know everyone's names? I want to find out.

Passing Time

At Disneyland, pin trading has grown from something completely ridiculous sounding to a very legitimate hobby (and huge source of profit).  Lots of people come specifically just to trade pins.  They scour the merchandise stores and the internet to find the rarest of the rare.  These are not the people whose company I enjoy.  They're kind of like people (like my parents) who were obsessed with Ty Beanie Babies back in the day--invested a little too much into an expensive, pointless hobby.

However, one thing that appealed to Aimee and me about pin trading is trading with cast members (Disneyland employees).  Most wear lanyards with pins on them, and the employees are apparently obligated to trade any of their pins for whichever pin a guest is offering.  This seemed like a cool idea to us because sometimes they have pins that aren't for sale anymore and even ones that are only given to cast members.  So we decided to get a bunch of pins cheap off of eBay just to trade.  The whole point will be to try to get unique, visually appealing pins and to only keep the ones that we really can't do without (which is none of them; I guess it's really only if the pin is super-rare).  Our hope is that this will give us one more thing to do at the park to further enrich our experiences there.

By the way, we purchased the sealed pin pictured above and the others were given to me by my cousin, Rebecca.  They'll provide us with starter material to supplement the eBay pins (which I got for under a dollar each, and that's pretty good considering they sell for $7 at the cheapest in the stores).

Womanly Wallet

I used to have this small and pink Hello Kitty wallet that I bought during high school and thought it was cute. Chris had always complained about how impractical my wallet. Due to the fact that I had tons of cards stuffed in there, so much that the seams were ripping. I couldn't even put this wallet in my pocket comfortably. Chris thought I should get rid of this "little girls wallet" and find a new one.

So last week I went shopping at the Santa Anita Mall originally on a mission to find a dress. I had spent about an hour looking for a dress when I came upon a store and found this Hello Kitty Wallet. I had been dying to to buy this wallet since I had seen it on the Sanrio website. This wallet had more space therefore being a practical wallet. Plus, I did not sacrifice the fact that it was a Hello Kitty Wallet, a more "womanly" wallet. I am so pleased with how functional it is. I love to pay for things primarily because I love wiping out the wallet!

The Little Things

I like Souplantation a lot.  Like, a whole lot.  A ton.  Some might even say that I love Souplantation.  Who could blame me?  They offer an almost infinte amount of fresh, healthy meal possibilities, and their frequent buy one meal get one free coupons make it a great deal.  Anyway, a few months ago, my grandma and I were having dinner there, and I noticed that they were offering a cheese soup.  This excited me because it presented itself like many of the great things at Souplantation do:  as a blank canvas.  The soup tasted good, but it was clear that it'd taste better with some additions.  So I got to work.

I filled a bowl about two-thirds of the way with soup, put green onions, bacon bits, and extra shredded cheddar in, grabbed a baked potato, and went back to our table.  Then, I scraped out the baked potato a bit and put it into the soup.  The end result was a delicious loaded baked potato soup.  Sure, it took a bit of work to put together, but it was well worth it just to eat something special that no one else (except my grandma) got to have.  In any number of times I've gone since, they haven't offered the cheese soup so that I could recreate the loaded baked potato soup.  All I have are fond memories of that fateful night and bowl.

World of Waiting

Aimee and I went to Disneyland on Friday with one specific goal:  to see "World of Color," the new water show at Disney (no possessive anymore for some odd reason) California Adventure.  From what we had heard, it would be necessary to come hours before the park opened so we could wait to get the fastpasses for the show.  So we did that.  We were there at 7:30AM and had to wait for the parking structure to open at 8.  Then, after a short tram ride, we camped ourselves in line in front of the DCA gates until 9:30.  They attempted to herd us like cattle up to Grizzly River Run to get the fastpasses, but some people (mostly adult males) insisted on breaking the rules and sprinting through crowds of people to get there first.  After that, we waited until 10 for the park to actually open so we could go on Toy Story Midway Mania.  So roughly two hours of waiting.

Fast forward to 7PM.  Aimee and I finished dinner and decided to go early to see if people were lining up (the fastpass said to return between 7:30 and 8:30).  Turns out probably half of the people were already there.  We stood around not quite knowing where to go or what to do, so we just stood there.  Around 7:25, they let us into the viewing area.  We were in the blue section, and we decided not to go right to the front level since you get we there.  However, we found our view blocked by a lamp, so we moved into the splash zone. Once there, we spent almost the entire time standing while waiting 9PM to roll around.  So, roughly another two hours spent waiting, this time mostly standing.  One bright spot was that we were standing next to some cool people who made the wait a lot more tolerable.

In the end, after all the waiting and confusion, the show just didn't feel worth the wait.  The technology was amazing, don't get me wrong, but a lot of things took place low to the water, so we were blocked by taller people in front of us.  Some people were forced to put their kids on their shoulders, which I'm sure made it harder for people in back to see.  Mainly, though, the show's content is where we were let down.  Even though the show was planned with little organization in mind, the attempts that they made at structuring the show did not feel very effective.  For example, they included two songs from "The Little Mermaid" (probably to get people excited for the ride) yet only a short medley of songs from "Pocahontas."  Also, they spent a good portion of the show building up tension by showing evil characters, but the end catharsis was extremely brief.  We didn't leave feeling satisfied, not like we do after seeing "Fantasmic" or "Remember:  Dreams Come True."  On the whole, it wasn't an experience I'd recommend to anyone.  Pay extra for reserved seating or wait until the crowds thin out.

Fruity drama

Man, grapes are so tricky.
"We're juicy and delightful," they said, "like nature's candy!"
I was all stoked, ready for my taste buds reap the benefits of summer.

BAM!
SOUR

I feel betrayed.

Struggling on a Saturday

I was going to post a picture of quite possibly the fugliest piece of vector art known to man, an incredibly self-deprecating photo of myself made only more horrible as I have spent the last hour or so applying reckless chunks of color in not so strategically planned places in hopes of teaching myself how to do vector stuff in Photoshop. I'm a little flummoxed.

For the most part, I don't find simple vector art visually appealing (do a Google image search for "vector art," and I think you'll see examples of what I'm referring to). It fascinates me since I don't know how to make it, but on the other hand, it's so clean and precise and devoid of mistakes that would otherwise indicate an imperfect human hand, some artifact of action or emotion, anything. It's easy to take in, digest with your eyes, and appropriate for your own uses. It's like eye candy that pops off the screen, an empty carb with no nutritional value but tastes delicious.

Why bother? I think it'd be a useful skill set to have, and I guess it's a little enjoyable, like some weird, computer-based version of color by numbers or something.

Why the picture of my feet? It's a beautiful, breezy day outside, so I think I'm going to turn off the computer for a bit and enjoy some summer weather.

Redemption

My dad got me this t-shirt shortly after the Lakers lost to Boston in the NBA finals two years ago.  Apparently it was on sale and for good reason, obviously.  I still wear it for two reasons:  because I don't believe that wearing it is bad luck since we lost in those finals and because I seriously lack a wide selection of Lakers apparel.  In fact, I wore it on Tuesday (Game 6), and some dude told me I was going to jinx the team.  I just laughed it off, but in my head I was thinking that the Lakers were going to have to make their own luck if they wanted to move on to Game 7 and a chance at the NBA championship.  And they did.  So from here on, I think I'm allowed to wear this shirt without any mention of bad luck.

Food Philosophy

We had lunch at Father's Office on Sunday, which was long overdue in my opinion.  I've wanted to go ever since I read about it in Los Angeles magazine and saw the owner on Top Chef.  Anyway, I seem to have had the wrong idea about it the whole time.  I thought it was a restaurant but instead found that it's an upscale bar with fancy food.  Now, while I do pretend to be a foodie, I'm really not much for expensive food.  Cool flavor combinations and cooking methods amaze me, but so does eating said food at a reasonable price.  Take, for instance, the four shrimp depicted above.  Regardless of how delicious they were in their bacon-wrapped glory, they cost $14.  For four shrimp.  I may be showing my cheap side, but paying so much for so little food is just a little bit beyond me right now.  Perhaps I'll be able to really enjoy dishes like this when I've got a full-time job and can afford to indulge in fine dining exploits without worrying about money.  Perhaps I never will.

Hercules: The Legendary Marathon

The other day Chris and I had watched Cloudy with a Chance of Meatballs on my Nintendo Wii thanks to Netflix. Chris was looking on my computer to see what else we could put on the Instant Queue when he stumbled upon season one of Hercules: The Incredible Journeys. I was ecstatic primarily because it was one of my favorite shows as a kid, although it was violent and at times overtly sexual. I even knew the whole intro by heart as well as having a schoolgirl crush on the actor who played Hercules, Kevin Sorbo. I asked Chris if we could watch it, but it was already late and he had to head home. Instead, I watched the intro, it was very nostalgic. I actually I wasn't willing to wait for a chance for Chris to join me to watch it. I actually got the perfect opportunity the following day.

Chris and his parents were taking his sister down to San Diego, I figured I probably wouldn't get to see him the whole day. I cleaned my room while I watched the whole season one of Hercules, the whole day. There were 13 episodes about 45 minutes each. I didn't sit the whole thing, I took breaks of course. I was so entertained by all the fighting, the gods, and the mythical beasts. Each time Hercules helped a person in need he was always up to the task. He is the kind of character who is not only handsome but a virtuous, kind and, altruistic; that was part of the appeal. I actually finished the two last episodes this morning and continued to season two. Chris says I am ridiculous, but lets see if he could resists watching Hercules.

Seeing is believing

The windows in my house have an old layer of film-tinting-type stuff, effectively making them a one-way mirror when it's daytime outside. For well over a month now, this over-sized bird has been visiting the bird in the sliding glass door every single day - sometimes, even multiple times a day.

Each visit, it lands on the balcony, folds up its wings, and fluffs its neck feathers a bit. Then it makes a clicking noise from its throat, and pecks at the glass quite forcefully, loud enough for me to hear regardless of where I am in the house. After making a bit of a ruckus, it struts away quite satisfied with its efforts, and then takes to flight.

I don't know why it participates in this ritual time after time. Is it trying to be friendly with its counterpart? Does it have a concept of self, and thus returns out of narcissism? Does it fancy the other bird a potential mate, forever aloof and unattainable?

I think I almost shattered its delusions today when I took this picture; when I moved in to get a closer angle, it must have seen my shadowy movements because it suddenly froze, feathers flattening and eyes searching warily for more signs of danger. It left abruptly, cutting the visit short.

The Desk

My desk is finally a desk...again. This morning I decided to clean and reorganize my room, but mostly my desk considering it was the eyesore of the room. Essentially the desk was not being used as a desk rather it was a place to put folded clothes, a few books and an array of papers ranging from old receipts to old homework. It took me the whole day to clear out, throw out and reorganize my desk. Chris had even come over and I had no time to spend with him really. While I was being the busy bee he was taking a long nap. I was so pleased when he woke up because he saw the before and after. He apologized for taking such a long nap but I told him it was okay that he would have been a distraction anyway! So after I vacuumed the room and dusted the rest of my room. I was very productive today, which I should be everyday but am not. The reward for the job today was watching Cloudy with a Chance of Meatballs with Chris. The best reward ever.

Gravity

I have no picture to go along with this blog, but I just wanted to write about something I noticed this afternoon. It all started when I was downloading music onto my iTunes list and I stumbled upon a picture that I took a few weeks ago with the current object of my affection. haha. Interestingly enough, the song that he continuously plays when he is studying popped into head. I decided to download it and listen to it. Unfortunately, I am unable to stop listening to it. I keep listening to it over and over again and each time I hear it it sends me a different messsage. Thanks to the things that Chris and Esteban would tell me before I realized what Ifelt for this guy I keep obsessing about what he does and says around me. One of the things being that he always plays this song. Now, I have come to the conclusion that this song signifies the impossible solution to my dilemma; so the soap opera story continues. This gravity is truly pulling me down.

The Red Bandana

About two weeks ago I decided that it was time for Jack to have a haircut. His hair was so unruly and long, he sort of looked like Chewbacca from Star Wars. My dad and I decided on taking him to Petco in Pasadena on Arroyo Parkway.

We made this decision based on the fact that the last time when we decided to take him somewhere to get a haircut it was not a good experience. The people who worked at this certain place said Jack didn't stay still, didn't behave and that they needed extra people to hold him. Which was funny to me considering he is not a big dog. Plus they charged us 35 dollars more than the original price 64 dollars. Plus when I walked into this place I did not get a good feeling, it was very cold and technical. Jack didn't seem to like the groomer very much either. So thats why my dad and I decided that this time around we would not take him to the same place.

When I had walked into Petco I was received by a warm welcome from the manager. The grooming assistant gushed over Jack and gave him a dog treat. He took down all of Jack's information and set me up with an estimate, it was about 64 dollars. Then the groomer walked in and I showed him a picture of what kind of haircut for Jack I wanted. To get to know Jack's condition he sat down on the floor to look at Jack's coat and Jack instantly sat on his lap, which was a good sign. When I left I felt like I left Jack in good hands. When I came back Jack had the exact haircut I wanted and they had explained to me how friendly and behaved he was. I only paid the 64 dollars no surprise 35 dollars extra, plus the grooming assistant gave me a free bootle of "dog body spray" and he unwrapped a brand new red bandana for Jack. Jack is wearing the bandana in the picture above. When I look at that bandana it represents something more. It represents the friendly people at that Petco. I felt like they truly loved dogs. The next time Jack needs a haircut I will make sure to take him there again.

Meaty Mistake

On my birthday a few weeks ago, Aimee's family took me out to Robin's Wood Fire BBQ and Grill in Pasadena.  They know that I like meat and that I especially like barbecued meat.  We had been there once before, and the first time we ordered their family meal whose name escapes me, something to do with a garbage pail since it's served on a garbage can lid.  There was a fair amount of food.  Aimee, on the other hand, ordered chicken and waffles the first time, and her chicken portion was pathetically small.  So I got it in my head that the portion sizes were only average to small with relatively high prices.

On my birthday, we all ordered separately.  Aimee's parents wanted beef ribs, Aimee wanted a hamburger, and I wanted baby back ribs.  Given my aforementioned mindset, I ordered a full rack of ribs.  When they came, I found myself with a monstrous amount of meat in front of me--fourteen or so super-meaty pork ribs. In addition, my meal came with cole slaw, baked beans, and a blueberry muffin (the best ever).  Apparently Aimee's parents hadn't heard me order, or they would have stopped me from getting the full rack. I find it strange how the range of portion sizes can differ so much at one restaurant, but suffice to say that I made a mistake in basing my conclusion on one previous event.  The sign pictured above was at our table, reassuring me that I could take my leftovers home and make up for my ill-advised choice the next day.

Heeeeere's Johnny!

I checked into my hotel just minutes before midnight, dead tired after several hours of San Francisco-ian exploration. I got my card key and stepped into one of four elevators to go up to the sixth floor, and then stepped out into the hallway leading to my room.

It was quiet. It wasn't quiet in the way where it's a large hotel and everyone is sleeping because it's late. It was more solemn, more weighted down by the sheer age of the building creeping out in small hints despite a recent makeover, more insinuating of a lack of life. It felt deserted. There was probably close to a hundred rooms on this floor alone, and there wasn't a single sign of a fellow guest staying here. No muffled sounds of TV dialog, no hushed voices from behind closed doors, no opening and closing of doors to go get ice or go down to the lobby.

Heebie jeebies. I'll let you know tomorrow if I see any ghosts...

Tangle Free is the Way to Be

So the picture is of my dog Jack and a dog brush, so I guess it counts as two things. Today, I decided to comb my dogs hair. Considering he recently was shaved, he really only has hair on his head, ears, and tail. Jack is a Goldendoodle that has hair on the curlier side. He is not too fond of being combed which was not such a good thing for me today because he had a few tangles on each of his ears. Its always a constant battle each time I comb his hair. The brush doesn't even have to touch his head to give me an Elvis-like snarl, warning me not to move the brush closer to his head. He isn't an aggressive dog, he has never once bitten me, it's all a show. After having brushed for about 20 minutes I gave him a break. The next time I tried brushing him, I showed him the brush and he went running throughout the house trying to find someone to protect him. It was like a comedy routine, each time I get near he slips from my grasp. I continued doing this throughout the day. Each time giving him longer breaks in between brushings to prevent the snarling or running. I do this until Jack was tangle free. I know Jack is grateful I stopped chasing him around the house with a brush, as well as having no more tangles.

Child Labor

Okay, so the time period we're talking about isn't exactly childhood.  It started there and continued to, well, occasionally now.  Since my dad did and still does pretty strenuous work as a mail man, he used to ask me to massage his back when he came home.  The problem is, when you're and eight year old kid, it's hard to do anything to very meaningfully physically affect an adult save for resorting to violence.  So one day, we were at the swap meet at the Orange County Fairgrounds (which is really not a traditional swap meet, more like an outdoor gathering of legitimate businesses), and we came across a booth with massage tables set up.  However, its proprietors weren't selling massages--they were selling Mr. Happy, the joyful-looking wooden character shown above.  The massages they gave that day were free, basically trials of how Mr. Happy could be used to give a deep-pressure massage without having to have fingers strong enough to crack walnuts.  Suffice to say that we gave them good business; I don't recall how many we bought that first day, but over the years, we bought one for every family member as a gift for some occasion.

As someone who used Mr. Happy, I can definitely say that he made rubbing my dad's back a lot easier since I could just put my body weight into it.  Not being a muscular child ended up being okay, and (presumably) the massages got better as I got older and stronger.  At some point, I stopped using it since I could give better massages without it, but I won't forget Mr. Happy or the Swap Meet, which is another story entirely.

Confounded Expectations

I was somewhat dreading the trip. Surely Texas was a place chock full of barbeque stains on white t-shirts, chewin' tobacco, and cowboy boots, and possibly overrun by giant bugs, minute men, and oppressive heat. Since it was the wedding of my close friend from high school, there was no way that I wouldn't make the journey out... but there were so many things to not look forward to in my mind.

Jump ahead two days' worth of succulent barbecue, endless lush scenery, epic blue skies and huge fluffy clouds, a fantastically sweet wedding reception, and oodles of hipster sightings.

I found myself sitting on a bench outside a small dive bar in Round Rock. Bats were flitting around in the darkness, barely illuminated by this light if they ventured too close to where I was sitting. A banjo and two guitars were serenading the night through the open door, and I found myself thinking that hey, maybe Texas (heck, maybe even country music) isn't that bad after all. Sure, it was so hot and humid that one needed a shower upon stepping out the door, and there were a plethora of cowboy boots (especially at the wedding), but there really wasn't much to not enjoy.

World Citizenship

Last March (2009, not this past one), my family and I went to the World Baseball Classic semifinal game featuring the United States versus Japan at Dodger Stadium (awesome location choice for the finals).  Now, as anyone can tell you, I'm not particularly nationalistic for either my Japanese or Chinese roots.  In international competitions, I hope they do well, but I mainly cheer for the US.  The World Baseball Classic was different, though.  What really turned the average American fan off is that the best players born in this country decided to stay home.  The problem with lack of American pride in players was that every other country brought its best, making them instantly easier to cheer for.

Japan was an easy choice for my affections.  Baseball runs deep in Japanese culture.  Heck, I grew up playing in Japanese youth baseball leagues.  Also, China wasn't very good even though they tried their best.  So we went, and it was unlike anything I've ever seen.  It was a different atmosphere than at a playoff game.  Sure, everyone wants their team to win, but this was more intense, as if people wanted to prove that their entire country was better than the other.  We got there early so we could take in the atmosphere, and it gave me enough time to buy my Team Japan hat.  Once we sat down, we found ourselves in a section filled with Japanese people (a lot of nationals, even), and the atmosphere was amazing.  We joined in their chants and cheered on the players (Yu Darvish!).  Japan won 9-4, and everyone went home happy (the fans for the USA didn't seem terribly disappointed).  However, since then, my cap's been in a kind of retirement since my hair is too long to support hat-wearing.

Considering that the World Cup is starting tomorrow, I've been contemplating bringing the cap out of retirement.  In fact, I might even get a hair cut tomorrow.  I would like to feel that same pride for Japan, but my heart really lies with the good old red, white, and blue.  What's more likely to be on tomorrow's schedule is a trip down to the Home Depot Center in Carson to pick up a Landon Donovan sweater.  Ah, the joys of being an enthusiastic sports fan...

In memoriam

The summer before I started the fourth grade, we got Ko Ko as a two month old puppy.  At the time, I didn't know that we only got her because tri (black, brown, and white) colored Shiba Inus are less expensive than the light brown ones you see in dog shows.  All I knew was that I loved her, and I wasn't alone.  I mean, it has to be love when you forgive a bite that's tough enough to pierce the foot through a shoe.  She started out as an outdoor dog during the day and an indoor dog at night but eventually became a purely indoor dog after we got Herman, who escaped more often than not when we left the two of them outside.  Since we couldn't just leave Ko Ko out there by herself, she gained access to the house full time, though it wasn't a big change.  Even when she just came in come sunset, she owned the house.  She jumped, sat, and laid on the furniture, slept on my parents' bed, and could often be found lying on the carpet in the central location for the whole house between the front door, kitchen, living room, and hallway.

The family and I said good bye to Ko Ko on Monday morning.  After about sixteen years with us, she hardly had the strength to stand or walk around.  When I petted her, I could feel every angle and curve of her now-bony frame that life once filled out.  She continued to sleep as I did so, further proof that she had lost the senses that would have instantly woken her and indicated that she should bite me.  I thanked her for the countless afternoons she spent by my side, keeping me company as I did homework or watched television or chasing after one of her favorite toys.  Her absolute favorite toy was a rubber seal that she had when she was a puppy.  Up until a year ago, she'd still carry that flat, grayed seal around as her prized possession.  Now, she just laid and slept.

We're left with so many reminders of Ko Ko's presence scattered around the house--plastic bags, flash lights, and sun hats near the front door for taking her out at different times of day, food and water dishes in the kitchen, and a leash and collar that some might say are too old and worn to give to someone who could make better use of them.  I would say that they've been loved so much that we could never bring ourselves to give them away.

Tedious Tendencies

My mom supervises over a few skilled care facilities, and at the end of a few months, she has to calculate the number of miles she has driven between facilities. So a few months ago, my mom asked me to do a favor for her: to find out the miles are between each of these facilities and how many miles it is from our house to each of these facilities as well. When I first took on this task, I had thought it was not a problem because I had not realized how long it was really going to take simply because there were only about ten facilities on her list. I thought wrong. I started by going on to MapQuest and typed in each of the addresses, and listed them in the order they were given to me. This was difficult since some of these facilities have similar names and/or similar addresses. Then, I played around with the list and found out how many miles there were between all of them. I wrote them all down on a list. This took me about an hour and a half to do. I was so glad to be done with such a tedious task and hoped never to do that again. Until my mom had asked me two days ago, to do the same thing except with six new facilities!

That is how I get to the picture above. I had asked her if she was kidding. She said no, I was capable of doing it again, and that I have more time to do it since I don't have school. I really did not want to go through that again, but I had to since she gave me a guilt trip. Frankly, she is my mom and I do it because I love her. I reached for my favorite yellow note pad and thought that would at least make me feel better about creating this extensive list. I started to find out the miles between the first facility and realized I had laboriously procured the miles for this facility months before. I went to her room and asked her of she had the list I "constructed" before. She said that she had it somewhere and went to her car and found it. I was relieved. I told her that I was just going to create a list of miles for the new facilities. The list shown above is not the whole list there were two more pages about the same length. It took about forty-five to almost an hour to calculate the miles on Mapquest and to create the list. I gave it to my mom, and she was very grateful.  As for me I ended up with a cramp in my hand, but I was very pleased with how neat and organized my list was.

Voting Procedure

I like to vote.  It's a simple enough idea--the only time I actually feel like a citizen is when I vote.  I mean, sure, I live in this country, but it's hard to feel like a direct part of the construction of this country's foundation as a citizen.  The first time I voted, my mom suggested requesting a mail-in ballot, but, being the idealistic eighteen year old I was, I wanted to vote in person to get the complete experience (whatever that was supposed to be).  So I did it, and I regretted it greatly.  I had to wait for a voting booth to open up, I felt pressured to finish quickly because others were waiting, and I had to pee.

From then on, I've always requested a mail-in ballot.  However, I've rarely ever mailed it in (no pun intended).  I still like to take the ballot to my polling place.  That way, I still get to be in that voting atmosphere, I get one of those "I Voted" stickers, and I don't have to wait for anyone.  It's one of those little things that makes me happy.

Cup of Life

Sometime last week, maybe Wednesday, I developed a cough.  I thought nothing of it because, in all honesty, it's not particularly uncommon for that to happen to me.  My lungs are far too welcoming with visitors who want to take up residence.  Anyway, I did everything I would normally do--take my journalism final, go to work, go to sleep later than necessary, and things carried on this way for a few days.  In fact, on Friday, Aimee and I went to Disneyland as planned.  However, after walking around for a bit, the color completely drained from my face, which is pretty significant considering how dark-complexioned I am.  My blood went hot and cold, and my head went into the clouds.  We went back to Aimee's where she wanted to nurse me back to health.  My body wasn't having that.  I left with a splitting headache and a somehow worse cough than before.  The headache was so bad that it made me nauseous enough to vomit while I drove myself home.  This was bad because, along with our friends Jeannette and Nicolas, Aimee and I were supposed to participate in MouseAdventure at Disneyland on Sunday.  I began to think that I would likely have to miss it, and Aimee was certain that she didn't want to do it without me, which would have sunk the entire ship.  I needed a miraculous recovery if I wanted to make it.

The next day, Saturday, is when this cup came into play.  From the moment I woke up groggy and full of mucus, I knew that I'd do two things over the course of the day:  stay in bed and drink a lot of water.  I accomplished those tasks swimmingly.  Heck, I drank so much water, I might as well have been swimming.  I would fill this cup up to the top along with another bottle, drink it all, and repeat so I wouldn't have to walk up and down the stairs so much.  I drank so much water that I was having to . . . ahem . . . use the little boy's room every half hour.  The hope was that it'd help clean out my system, but it'd been so long that I forgot if that was just an old wives' tale.

In the end, I woke up Sunday well enough to go, and I made it the whole day, probably walking three miles throughout Disneyland and its surrounding areas.  Sure, I still coughed, but I had the energy to walk around in 80 degree heat, look at the little details, and solve puzzles.  The cup saved the day.