The most memorable moment of 2002
Carlos’ Mom: Carlos, why don’t you cook some rice? Cook some rice for your Chinese friend. (turning to me) You like rice, don’t you?
Carlos: Jesus Christ, mamae.
Archive for December, 2002
Know thyself
Far too often at work, my coworkers say to me, “you look tired.” But let’s be honest…we all know that’s just code for, “you look like hell.” I’ve always been the kind of guy that wears his heart on his sleeve, but I’m kind of surprised at how easily people can read my mood and my current state while I’m obliviously going about my business. I wonder if all the difficult customers I deal with can sense just how precariously close they come to being beaten while they’re busting my balls. They probably can. But either way, I’m not all that concerned.
The more I think about it, the more it occurs to me that I’m such an open book. The existence of this blogger should be proof enough. It’s funny, the things you learn about yourself so late in life. I just found out yesterday that I like writing. Who knew?
Just kidding, Shari Lewis
From my conversation with Mike B earlier tonight at dinner
Kevin: I’m going for it. The Moroccan Flavored Lamb Chops.
Mike B: Sweet.
Kevin: You know, I don’t eat enough lamb. I gotta kill me as many as possible from now on.
Mike B: Bastards. They have it too easy. (looking at the menu) Especially in Morocco.
The fine line between sentimentalism and nosiness
One of the highlights of working in retail during the holiday season is finding people’s discarded Christmas shopping lists. There’s something oddly exciting about coming across somebody’s folded gift list, riddled with crossed out names and gift ideas, laying in between two rows of candles on a shelf. I see it as an invitation to meet and learn about somebody new. Invariably there are gaps to fill; and the imagination happily obliges. In a way, it’s kind of like coming across a random blog and realizing that the author is somebody you’d love to get to know. I’m not sure what kind of insight I’m hoping to find when I study a Christmas list or scan a stranger’s blogger. All I know is, that seemingly trivial and time-consuming act can often prove to be one of the most rewarding pursuits. Three cheers for voyeurism.
A little bit of “humbug” for the holiday season
So there’s this reindeer named Rudolph, whose nose, by some cruel mutation of a birth defect, glows bright red. His peers make fun of him his entire life merely because they’re too narrow-minded to accept the differences of others. So one day, after all these years of persecution and mistreatment, Santa all of a sudden finds a use for Rudolph. Apparently bright red noses make effective beacons to lead sleighs in stormy weather. And all of a sudden everybody loves Rudolph. And why? Because they can actually get something out of him. That’s all well and good for Rudolph, since everything worked out for him. But let’s say he was crippled and he was unable to help fly the sleigh. If that were the case, then Santa would have probably never asked Rudolph to tag along, and everybody would have gone on making fun of the poor old shiny nosed reindeer until his dying day. So what’s the moral of the story? If you’re mistreated because you’re different from everybody else, you’ve gotta learn to be “useful” to your persecutors before they start to love and accept you. Great lesson for the holidays. Don’t buy into the hype, Rudolph. There’s so much more to you than just your shiny red nose.
Shelter
Finals are finally over with, though I have a bad feeling that there will be repercussions from this last quarter into the following year. But until I know for sure, I’ll stop worrying as much and try and forget for a good while that I’m just a lowly student. Heh, I already feel like a real person again. Oh sweet, blissful vacation.
Unicorns
I just had a long and ridiculously involved debate over the existence of unicorns. Jack was on the affirmative, and I was on the negative. I got Jack to concede, but it took some doing. There’s a part of me that’s glad that practicality and common sense have prevailed, but I admit to feeling the slightest bit of guilt. It breaks my heart, deconstructing the hopes of dreamers. At the end of our conversation, Jack proposed a question that I might have asked once, were I not so jaded. “The only thing that I wonder about,” he said, “is why so many default to disbelief rather than belief.” Well Jack, despite your best efforts, I’m no more convinced that unicorns exist than I was before. But at the very least, you’ve made me wish that I could believe.
Public speaking woes
I used to be on the debate team in high school, but these days, I can’t say anything worth listening to when I’m standing in front of an audience. It’s so frustrating having the words flow so easily when I commit my thoughts to an empty page, and yet not being able to express myself through spoken words. I feel kind of like Moses. He was a poor speaker himself, you know. The only differences between us are, (1) I’m literate, (2) God didn’t choose me to save His people, and (3) I don’t have any magical powers.
Okay, I guess I’m not much like Moses at all. But sometimes I think it’d be great if, when one of my class presentations started to go sour because I was jumbling all of my words, all I’d have to do is wave my hands, and then huge tides of the Pacific Ocean would swoop in and tear into my audience. Nobody would ever drown, of course. They would all just get good and wet and plenty disoriented, leaving me plenty of time to escape. Nobody would ever suspect that I was behind the faux-apocalyptic tides, either. If you ever tried to implicate me to one of the audience members, they’d probably look at you and say, “Nah, that kid just has bad luck. Huge waves of water always come crashing in during his presentations.”
Dude…
Do hot chicks have some kind of mind reading ability or maybe eyes on the backs of their heads, or do I just lack the ability to check them out without being caught?
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