To wit, I do things because I am a selfish bastard. I think people write blogs for several motives: (1.) The author is completely egotistical and wants to talk about himself, (2.) The author likes a particular subject matter so much, that he thinks the world will be a better place if everyone shared his interest, (3.) the author has a lot of free time and blogging is way of improving one’s writing skills. The blog could be about one’s political views, budgeting, scrapbooking, religion, sexcapades but ultimately, it is about the blogger. Dear Reader, I am 1 … 2 … and 3. I often think my #2 is often ridiculous and doesn’t make for good reading. Who really wants to read about some Gaysian’s love of all things Batman and how JokerFish restrict the “Production Possibilities Frontier.” But in the past two months, I actually received six emails from strangers (one who is actually my brother’s friend and whom I have never met) asked me questions about my blog. It is an unnerving thought really, to see people in Alaska read and send me a message about my blog, when most of my friends have not. So this Dear Reader is for you – and for me.
It has been an odd and difficult week. There have been much turmoil in my personal life, and it leaked into my professional. I made a terrible mistake on Monday where I sent off an urgent email to a co-worker to inquire about $96,000 in net operating losses that were never utilized. For the uninitiated, Net Operating Losses (NOLs) are losses that a corporation accrues over the tax year. If they have losses, they can apply it to a previous years income to get a nice refund. If there were no profits, you apply it to income in the future. I spent a good 15 mins looking for the NOL worksheet – it was akin to the Ark of the Covenant. Since it was not there, I thought it was not utilized. My boss found it in 30 seconds. I was a wreck, I apologized profusely to my boss and his partner. I told him abut my awful week and asked for forgiveness. He seemed to listen with a certain amount of ennui that only a heterosexual man can, “It was not a big deal." I felt like a chastised Chinese wife telling her husband that the parasitic organism in my womb is a girl.
My life is kind of a wreck right now. I spent the good part of the week in disbelief. By Thursday I was a storm of outrage and contempt. Friday was a bit better, I had a 2,000 calorie dinner with Jason and Ashley. Saturday was fun too, 8 hours of playing Infamous, and a birthday/house warming party with happy couples, but if there were babies I would have euthanized myself. Today, was a bit weird, I went to church, and ate lunch at Joy’s while reading Julie and Julia.
I was at sea amongst floatsam and jetsam all week. With the exception of Thursday, I felt nothing. It was only at lunch when I read the dedication that the tears started running:
“For Julia, without whom I could not have done this, and for Eric, without whom I could not do at all.”
What makes that Eric different than this Eric. How did that one change another's life so much that he eclipsed Julia child. And how did this one whose only claim to fame is having two monster cats. Motivations ... I want to be that Eric.
Sunday, October 3, 2010
Sunday, June 6, 2010
Review Avatar
Like many people in Arizona, I was beginning to wear my ignorance as a source of pride. As if I was in state of constant innocence and bliss, I knew nothing about Avatar. Oh sure, I knew that a bunch of blue-cat humanoids were involved, and that a scene involving cross-species coitus were to occur, but I tried to navigate the shoals of all things James Cameron with a sense of mental dexterity. After missing the proverbial boat several times (I was ditched on two occasions), I thought: Fuck it, I am not going to watch it. It was a state of blissful ignorance really. I didn’t have to engage in the prattle about 3D effects; nor, did I have to participate in the water cooler talk of a new found environmental evangelism. But one day, I bit the proverbial blue apple. I saw Avatar. Where many have commented about how Cameron was the founder of a new renaissance in movie making, I see something much more apocalyptic. My prediction, we are going to have more movies with cacophonous explosions and scenes that will assault our eyes. Our visceral reaction will be to watch agog as our senses are assaulted with CGI, but unfortunately Dear Reader, our souls will be unfed, because the characters and script are empty. As one of the last lines in Avatar ends with two star-crossed lovers mutter in a nauseating way “I see you.” It is most unfortunate because all we see is a blank fancy canvas.
I will try to reduce the story into three lines. Corporation wants ore on land that indigenous people lives on. People won’t leave, so corporation takes the land with violence. Flawed character becomes a messianic character and rallies the peoples; consequently defeating the venal corporations and ignorant military. If you think you have seen this script, well you have, think: Fern Gully, Pocahontas, Star Wars, Star Trek: Insurrection, Hero, Underworld, and X-Men. Instead of spending all this money in generating every brick and branch, Cameron should have spent some time in not plagiarizing Disney or every other summer blockbuster.
With a generic plot comes the dreaded generic-character. I hate stock characters, and Avatar is filled with them. We have the stern environmentalist who becomes the matron figure of the movie. There is the love interest that initially approaches the hero with open contempt, but ends with open loins. Let us not forget the craven corporate suit (played by Giovanni Ribisi out of all people) willing to kill for all who stands against him in his pursuit of a promotion. Cameron would be remiss to omit the Jesus figure. Oh, and let us not forget the real villain, an ignorant military general who is willing to destroy an entire civilization because he has some masculine desire to engage in cinematic masturbation.
What a villain he is, so evil – oh the horror - that he is drinking coffee when he blows up a tree. It is the villain I take most cause with. Oh sure, Cameron wants us to get mad at Dick Cheney, Rumsfeld et al. and we are suppose to leave the movie with a certain disgust over our involvement in the Middle East. But the problem with the villain, is that I don’t hate him – at all. In fact, I am just really annoyed. He is a loud-mouthed frat boy I would punch in the face, but I don’t hate him like I do other classic villains. Dear Reader, I posit, there are only two good archetypes for villains. One is the purely evil. And what I mean by this is essentially the Biblical sense. We are talking about Satan, or the Antichrist, some character that really exemplifies the destruction of not just what we believe in, but the obliteration of ourselves. Three years ago, Joe Morgenstern of the Wall Street Journal made an interesting point, not since the Exorcist have we had a real villain. He pointed out correctly that even Emperor Palpatine, and Sauron were not really evil, they just wanted to take over the world thinking their form of government was vastly superior. Now, I do take some cause with Morgenstern’s article, I thought Ralph Fiennes in Schindler’s List was evil enough. Regardless, the audience needs an evil character, because it makes the triumph of good all the more satisfying. A similar vein of the absolute evil archetype, is the “Entertaining Evil, the one we like more than the hero, such as Heath Ledger’s “Joker.” I concede that one could make an argument that the Joker is evil personified, but what makes him different than say Satan in the Exorcist is the level of entertainment the Batman villain provides. Nobody roots for Satan, but I know many who wanted to see the Joker kick Batman off the building in the end. The villain in Avatar, was neither, he might not have even been evil. If he entered my parent’s restaurant, I would tell him to leave. If the Joker came in, I would run.
The villain is exactly what is wrong with Avatar. The audience would be bombarded with scene after scene meant to make us awe in wonder. But where is the awe in the story telling? I fear that more movies are going to be like Avatar; just a bevy of fancy empty vessels. “I see you.” God, how I wish I didn’t see.
Grade: C-
Last weeks grade for Sex and The City 2 was a D.
I will try to reduce the story into three lines. Corporation wants ore on land that indigenous people lives on. People won’t leave, so corporation takes the land with violence. Flawed character becomes a messianic character and rallies the peoples; consequently defeating the venal corporations and ignorant military. If you think you have seen this script, well you have, think: Fern Gully, Pocahontas, Star Wars, Star Trek: Insurrection, Hero, Underworld, and X-Men. Instead of spending all this money in generating every brick and branch, Cameron should have spent some time in not plagiarizing Disney or every other summer blockbuster.
With a generic plot comes the dreaded generic-character. I hate stock characters, and Avatar is filled with them. We have the stern environmentalist who becomes the matron figure of the movie. There is the love interest that initially approaches the hero with open contempt, but ends with open loins. Let us not forget the craven corporate suit (played by Giovanni Ribisi out of all people) willing to kill for all who stands against him in his pursuit of a promotion. Cameron would be remiss to omit the Jesus figure. Oh, and let us not forget the real villain, an ignorant military general who is willing to destroy an entire civilization because he has some masculine desire to engage in cinematic masturbation.
What a villain he is, so evil – oh the horror - that he is drinking coffee when he blows up a tree. It is the villain I take most cause with. Oh sure, Cameron wants us to get mad at Dick Cheney, Rumsfeld et al. and we are suppose to leave the movie with a certain disgust over our involvement in the Middle East. But the problem with the villain, is that I don’t hate him – at all. In fact, I am just really annoyed. He is a loud-mouthed frat boy I would punch in the face, but I don’t hate him like I do other classic villains. Dear Reader, I posit, there are only two good archetypes for villains. One is the purely evil. And what I mean by this is essentially the Biblical sense. We are talking about Satan, or the Antichrist, some character that really exemplifies the destruction of not just what we believe in, but the obliteration of ourselves. Three years ago, Joe Morgenstern of the Wall Street Journal made an interesting point, not since the Exorcist have we had a real villain. He pointed out correctly that even Emperor Palpatine, and Sauron were not really evil, they just wanted to take over the world thinking their form of government was vastly superior. Now, I do take some cause with Morgenstern’s article, I thought Ralph Fiennes in Schindler’s List was evil enough. Regardless, the audience needs an evil character, because it makes the triumph of good all the more satisfying. A similar vein of the absolute evil archetype, is the “Entertaining Evil, the one we like more than the hero, such as Heath Ledger’s “Joker.” I concede that one could make an argument that the Joker is evil personified, but what makes him different than say Satan in the Exorcist is the level of entertainment the Batman villain provides. Nobody roots for Satan, but I know many who wanted to see the Joker kick Batman off the building in the end. The villain in Avatar, was neither, he might not have even been evil. If he entered my parent’s restaurant, I would tell him to leave. If the Joker came in, I would run.
The villain is exactly what is wrong with Avatar. The audience would be bombarded with scene after scene meant to make us awe in wonder. But where is the awe in the story telling? I fear that more movies are going to be like Avatar; just a bevy of fancy empty vessels. “I see you.” God, how I wish I didn’t see.
Grade: C-
Last weeks grade for Sex and The City 2 was a D.
Tuesday, June 1, 2010
Movie Review - Sex and the City 2
Sex and the City 2
Dear Reader, I rarely show enthusiasm for anything. I like to blame it on my heritage and upbringing – because being stoic is considered a virtue. But in all fairness, being stoic does not appeal to me; for example, if I was really a stoic, I would be even tempered. No, I rarely show enthusiasm because I am afraid that once when the world learns of my excitement, the world – like a cruel lover, takes it away and sends me an invoice for the balance. But even operating under such a paradigm, I had to admit, I was damn excited for Sex and the City. So excited, that I even tried to corral legions of fans to a watching with me. Like a lovesick teenager waiting in homeroom for her crush, I was eagerly anticipating the sexual exploits of Samantha, the Pollyanna chirps from Charlotte Dubai
I have two rules with movies: make me care, and the characters must be consistent. The first rule is probably a universal rule between all moviegoers. If you don’t care about the characters, you don’t care about the movie. A recent example where I stared at the screen agog with adoration for its characters was Pixar’s “Up.” The movie had me at its first fifteen minutes. I was particularly invested in one character that had ten lines for a brief period. When she exited the stage, I was an emotional wreck. The dust and cobwebs that clogged my tear ducts were actually washed away. My body was warm, my chest heaved in anticipation. Please live. Please. "Up" made me love.
On a more personal rule, and one that I am sure not everyone holds in high regard, is that the characters of a story must be consistent. Now you think this would be a universal rule, but Dear Reader, please explain the inane popularity of “Will & Grace.” Karen was usually the greedy harlot with very little redeeming quality, until the writers need a plot foil, and then she was as pious as Christ. Or Will, the level headed attorney who always placed profession before romance. Unlike Jack, Will was the stoic homosexual who could never get a date because of his social awkwardness. Well, that is Will, until he consciously makes a bevy of poor professional decisions and seems to get a date betwixt every episode.
These are my rules. Oh sure there are other things, like my disdain for cookie-cutter plots (See anything Michael Bay ), or illogical plot devices (See another Michael Bay
I just don’t care about characters' problems. I don’t care if Miranda has a bitch boss. I don’t care that Samantha is having menopause problems. I don’t care about Charlotte Charlotte is having all these problems at home, so she goes to Dubai Elizabeth
Yes, the writers could have fleshed out the lives of the girls we loved so much. We haven’t heard from them in years. But instead of catching up with dear friends at a coffee shop, the writers tried to give us sexual rendezvous between two horny homosexuals. And what a fag’s wet dream this movie was. Liza Minnelli inexplicably spent a good 5 minutes singing “All the Single Ladies” at a stereotypically gay (there were fucking swans!) wedding. Five jokes were puzzlingly wasted on Samantha’s servant, an ever increasing effeminate one at that. And the most gag inducing were the countless times men were enigmatically seen waving at the girls whenever the camera would pan out. I understand the spirit of “Sex and the City.” Its qualities naturally appeals to the gay aesthetic: Gucci, abs, bitchiness, and sisterhood. But when you sacrifice the important things, when bitchy comments are sacrificed in lieu of what an adolescent homosexual would consider entertaining, we no longer have “Sex and the City;” we have “Queer as Folk.”
And consistency – my God! Carrie, mysteriously changes. She doesn’t want to stay at home. She wants to maintain the “sparkle.” Forget the fact that she selfishly wants Mr. Big to go to a party on a MONDAY night, she doesn’t even want to stay at home with him at all. Forget Seasons 1-3, 5 and 7, where all she wanted was for him to spend the night. Or what about Charlotte, who finally gets the children she wants, but then finds out it is kind of tough being a mother. So what does she do? She agrees, after 30 seconds of goading from the other girls and goes to ever woman-friendly Dubai
Thursday, April 1, 2010
My Thoughts on Being Sick
Dear Reader, I am sick. Not so sick where getting out of bed becomes an Odyssey, but sick enough to wipe out my calendar. Sick enough where all well thought out plans become null and void. Check cashed, funds withdrawn, sorry, you are not going to drop off dry cleaning, you are not going to workout, you will sit on the couch and get rid of this sickness. Like a bystander in the bleaches, you hope for the home team - white blood cells to wage war and defeat the cross team rivals. You can't do much.
I woke up several times in the early morning and I felt like shit. By 7:30, I knew I had to make a decision, do I call in sick, or do I just tough it out and go to work? The cogs were turning, and I thought to myself "I will make a decision while I take a piss." It came out a dark yellow and smelled like the River Styx. I was going to vomit at that moment. I called in sick and went to bed.
Pets are interesting really. For hours my cats laid with me. Sometimes they would stick their noses in my face. The realistic part of me thinks they want me to get up, but the romantic side - well I like to think they want to know if I am ok. There is nobody else to really check up on me, just Frodo and Sam.
It is 2:30 and I am hungry. Which is ironic because I am also on a diet. I am beginning to rethink this diet. I mean I already have a 100 things on my proverbial plate, do I really need to diet. I get up from my stupor and look in my cabinet. I have a ton of Lipton Prepackaged Rice kits. Yesterday, when I was feeling well, God, it seemed like years ago, I ran a nutrition count on these things, apparently they have tons of sodium. Thinking I probably need more water in my system, I take a pass.
I go through the shelves. I do this all the time really, the harder I look - maybe there is something I forgot that I purchased, maybe I will discover a little treasure trove of oil packed tuna or a tin of almonds. I come up with nothing, I have a can of tuna (packed in spring water) and a bunch of Lipton packets. I also have four avocados in my fridge, so I take two and decide to make myself some odd guacamole mixing it with the tuna. Cutting avocados and removing the pit is not a difficult process. But try doing it when you are half awake, and mad at yourself for being sick. You can't do anything, you are just a spectator. Go team. I also remember some capers in the fridge, so I dump a spoonful of it into my mixture. Olive oil is good for you right? Tea spoon of it too. Mash away. It becomes this odd green bolus flecked with tuna.
I start eating. Like some unearthed vampire feasting on some intrepid archeologist, my hunger grew. As I simultaneously watched some History Channel special regarding the Battle of Jericho and spooned my concoction into my maw, my stream of consciousness woke up.
Avocados are good for you, I think that is what Alton Brown said. They also have a lot of fat.
Tuna is good for you, protein and all that jazz. BTW, there is a lot of mercury.
This meal still cost you $3.00. If you ordered from the McDonald's Dollar Menu it would have been cheaper.
You can't stay sick. Healthcare is expensive.
Why am I sick. Rapists and murderers are not sick. Job was sick. Is this a test?
This is what it feels like to be sick. Strip away all the years of education, remove all the fancy books on your shelf, close the closet with all your suits - you are just a spectator. Sam and Frodo are watching, and you sleep.
I woke up several times in the early morning and I felt like shit. By 7:30, I knew I had to make a decision, do I call in sick, or do I just tough it out and go to work? The cogs were turning, and I thought to myself "I will make a decision while I take a piss." It came out a dark yellow and smelled like the River Styx. I was going to vomit at that moment. I called in sick and went to bed.
Pets are interesting really. For hours my cats laid with me. Sometimes they would stick their noses in my face. The realistic part of me thinks they want me to get up, but the romantic side - well I like to think they want to know if I am ok. There is nobody else to really check up on me, just Frodo and Sam.
It is 2:30 and I am hungry. Which is ironic because I am also on a diet. I am beginning to rethink this diet. I mean I already have a 100 things on my proverbial plate, do I really need to diet. I get up from my stupor and look in my cabinet. I have a ton of Lipton Prepackaged Rice kits. Yesterday, when I was feeling well, God, it seemed like years ago, I ran a nutrition count on these things, apparently they have tons of sodium. Thinking I probably need more water in my system, I take a pass.
I go through the shelves. I do this all the time really, the harder I look - maybe there is something I forgot that I purchased, maybe I will discover a little treasure trove of oil packed tuna or a tin of almonds. I come up with nothing, I have a can of tuna (packed in spring water) and a bunch of Lipton packets. I also have four avocados in my fridge, so I take two and decide to make myself some odd guacamole mixing it with the tuna. Cutting avocados and removing the pit is not a difficult process. But try doing it when you are half awake, and mad at yourself for being sick. You can't do anything, you are just a spectator. Go team. I also remember some capers in the fridge, so I dump a spoonful of it into my mixture. Olive oil is good for you right? Tea spoon of it too. Mash away. It becomes this odd green bolus flecked with tuna.
I start eating. Like some unearthed vampire feasting on some intrepid archeologist, my hunger grew. As I simultaneously watched some History Channel special regarding the Battle of Jericho and spooned my concoction into my maw, my stream of consciousness woke up.
Avocados are good for you, I think that is what Alton Brown said. They also have a lot of fat.
Tuna is good for you, protein and all that jazz. BTW, there is a lot of mercury.
This meal still cost you $3.00. If you ordered from the McDonald's Dollar Menu it would have been cheaper.
You can't stay sick. Healthcare is expensive.
Why am I sick. Rapists and murderers are not sick. Job was sick. Is this a test?
This is what it feels like to be sick. Strip away all the years of education, remove all the fancy books on your shelf, close the closet with all your suits - you are just a spectator. Sam and Frodo are watching, and you sleep.
Wednesday, March 31, 2010
The Scariest Thing in the World
Pistons and gears.
When applying the proper amount of pressure, a "Click" is heard echoing in the hall. The machine's last victim let out a horrifying wail, "It can't be!"
As I entered the cold and neglected alcove, I saw the dreaded machine. The last victim was a husk of her former self. I started to lose my vision; it was beginning to be hazy, as if the machine's dark fingers were starting to cover my eyes. I got on.
"Click."
Its fingers repelled.
169 lbs.
So starts my diet.
When applying the proper amount of pressure, a "Click" is heard echoing in the hall. The machine's last victim let out a horrifying wail, "It can't be!"
As I entered the cold and neglected alcove, I saw the dreaded machine. The last victim was a husk of her former self. I started to lose my vision; it was beginning to be hazy, as if the machine's dark fingers were starting to cover my eyes. I got on.
"Click."
Its fingers repelled.
169 lbs.
So starts my diet.
Thursday, March 25, 2010
Throwdown at Work
I have joined a diet challenge at work. I think the prize is a mani(pedi)cure. The person to lose the most percentage of weight, wins. Now I know this test is over and underinclusive, but I need to lose weight anyway - I have some advantages going into this contest, namely I am competing against three very skinny co-workers; hence, I can lose a lot more. So when I am done with the postings about 30 bars, this is going to be a posting about my diet and what I consume. Be warned. I may sound very angry.
I joined Calorie Count, and since I weigh 165, I needed to think of a reasonable weight within two months that will seal my victory. I decided that 150 lbs is most ideal: 1. I will be crazy sexy, 2. It will be a 10% loss. In order to hit 150, I most consume 1,524 calories a day (assuming no exercise). But since I workout this will cause a distortion in my optimal caloric intake.
If you have any suggestions, please let me know.
I joined Calorie Count, and since I weigh 165, I needed to think of a reasonable weight within two months that will seal my victory. I decided that 150 lbs is most ideal: 1. I will be crazy sexy, 2. It will be a 10% loss. In order to hit 150, I most consume 1,524 calories a day (assuming no exercise). But since I workout this will cause a distortion in my optimal caloric intake.
If you have any suggestions, please let me know.
Wednesday, March 24, 2010
A Russian, a Korean, and a China Man Goes into a Restaurant.
San Soo Gab San
5251 N Western Ave
Chicago, IL 60625
(773) 334-1589
Dear Reader, I am sure that through my writings you are able to deduce that I approach disappointment with a certain amount of equanimity; I am perceived as the living embodiment of grace. But sometimes, I know, you need not file a dissent, I can have a temper. Depending on the situation, time, and person, what would be perceived as a mild injury can often be turned into an act of war. I am first to stipulate that this is my major character flaw, I internalize too much, every mistake is perceived as an affront to me. But running parallel to this is my recovery time. I may not forget, but I usually forgive quite easily. San Soo Gab Son injured me, and quickly it made reparations.
While milling about a bookstore, I received a most fortuitous message from Vladimir (aka Dr. Liarski) inquiring to my evening plans. Originally I was going to go home and eat a jar of peanut butter while read the Omnivore’s Dilemma. Scratch those plans I thought, Vladimir wants to hang out! But like a summer romance, happiness is often fleeting, Vladimir suggested we do Korean bbq. Back to peanut butter. I am not a fan of Korean bbq, mainly because it makes my clothes smell like meat. Every time I take a whiff of the cashmere in my closet, I go into a carnivorous frenzy.
“Are you paying for my dry cleaning?” I asked.
“No. Sam wants to go.”
“What? He just got back from Los Angeles. There is plenty of Korean food and bbqs over there? What, he didn’t get his fill of drive by shootings?”
“Nice. Attorney, he wants Korean.”
“Doctor – fine, we will eat where Sam wants. Where?”
“San Soo Gab San.”
“Where is that?”
“I don’t know, use your iPhone.”
“What, this is ludicrous. You not only named the place, but now you want me to research?”
“This is why you are single.”
“Bitch. Ok, what time?”
“How is 8:00?”
I choked, “Wait, it is 5:30 right now. You want me to wait two and a half hours?”
“Well Sam is coming from downtown. He is teaching a class.”
A Filet-O-Fish, and a BigMac later, I arrive at San Soo Gab San at 7:30. I arrived early for two reasons: I had nothing else to do, and it was Friday, so I assumed there would be a wait. Well there was no line, so I told a waitress that I would have a party of three. She told me to wait near the door. This was most mystical to me considering the number of open tables in the restaurant. So I waited, between 7:30 and 8:00 there was a mad rush of parties. At first other parties asked if I was waiting, but I told them to go ahead because I was still waiting. Well by the eighth party I was getting irritated, and I started to notice one thing, middle aged Korean women (and woe to the ones who date the balding white man for a green card – oh yes, this is one of those restaurants) did not even give me the courtesy of asking why I was loitering near the door. They just clutched their Louis Vuitton and made a beeline for the waitress.
My temper started to rise, I was getting pissed. I immediately called Dr. Liarski and Sam, but neither one of them picked up. I was incensed. TWELVE, a dozen parties have already been sat and I have not. And what was most galling was that I got the perception that tables with White Men were getting better service; the waitresses seemed to have no problem in sitting anyone who came from an imperialist heritage even though their party did not fully arrive. I was eying them jealously. They didn't even order and they were already feating on a bunch of small dishes. I was being discriminated against because I hailed from the same continent as they did! Dr. Liarski and Sam arrived 15-20 mins late, and they saw the look in my face.
Dr. Liarski approached me with one foot near the door “Ummm… hi.”
“Sam go talk to them, they are your people. Koreans hate the Chinese. I have been waiting here for almost an hour. A fucking hour! I should bill them.”
“You don’t have billable hours.”
“Fuck you Sam, go talk to them.”
“I am afraid of them.”
“What? My god, you are a fag.”
At that point I resembled an eggplant, but luckily within another five minutes - they sat us near the bathroom.
Without missing a beat Dr. Liarski suggested we order a Soju. I just looked down at the menu and continued brooding. Beef Short Rib. Marinated Beef Short Rib. Broiled Specially Marinated Beef. Marinated Beef. Broiled Beef. How many meet dishes could they make from same cut of meat? The menu would have been a statistician’s wet dream.
Since Sam is Korean, we made the tactical decision of making Sam order. Big mistake. Sam is a fucking genius. He is an English professor and is going to release his first book this August. And no, this is not some self-published pamphlet on Amazon, this involves a real publisher, Borders and Barnes and Nobles. I feel like a literary troglodyte when I sit next to Sam. But even with Newtonian like ingenuity and Herculean effort, Sam had trouble ordering. Apparently Sam was born in Latin America and his accent is not Korean enough for the waitress. Seeing that Sam is a sellout, the service got even worse!!!
“How is this possible? I waited an hour for this table and all I want is water. Why couldn’t you be conceived in a proper continent? Dr. Liarski, you are White, tell them I need water.”
Dr. Liarski raises his hand.
“Don’t do that. That is rude.”
“These people made you wait.”
“Flag away.”
Well Dear Reader, guess what, it still took minutes to get my water. It was like Sam’s accent was a taint on our table. We were forever marked with his Latin stain. The Soju came, but I couldn’t get any water. Sam told me to drink the alcohol. In fear of criminal and civil litigation I waved it away. I just wanted water.
As I sulked and the others talked about the others talked about life, the universe, science, religion, politics, shopping and men, all I wanted was decent service.
Blap!
I snapped my head to the table, the waitress brought over some banchan. For the uninitiated, banchan are the cold dishes served in Korean restaurants that accompany your meal. They come in various forms and textures. Most are actually quite disgusting, like marinated mung beans, and weird pickled seaweed, but some banchan are quite resplendent. There were eight dishes, what the hell! Why did the other tables get so much more banchan than we did. People who have not ordered, got more banchan than we did. Sam was in a dark mood, he was getting pissed too. Being the Russian Buddha of the table, Dr. Liarski just ate away, but a cancer was eating at the Asians. You can discriminate against us, but do not give us less food. It was time for me to act. I raised my hand.
Sam scanned the room and he immediately tried to intercept me, “No she is the worst one. Last time I was here, she was so mean to me.”
“Wait, she was mean to you, and you still want to come here?”
“I wanted Korean.”
“You only date white guys, don’t you take them out to Asian food all the time.”
I didn’t care if the woman was a shebeast, she was going to answer to me. She spoke in almost perfect English, “Ok, ok. You dinner is coming out soon.”
Vladimir was watching this Kabuki theater with amusement. Sam tried to hide under the table.
“Oh that is ok. Don’t worry. I was just wondering if I could have more tofu.”
“Of course, but it will cost you $15.”
I started to flirt, “Oh don’t worry, please put it on his tab (pointing to Dr. Liarksi), the tofu is so good.” I batted my eyelashes.
“I will be right back.”
Dr. Liarski dug Sam out of a mountain of coats.
“Well, she wasn’t that bad.”
Dr. Liarski responded, “I think she likes you.”
“Well naturally, history of my life.”
Another five minutes later, no kidding, more than 20 plates hit our table – 2 of which were tofu.
Sam was flummoxed, “I don’t get it, you are Chinese, she should hate you the most.”
“It is my sunny disposition.” But that is the thing Dear Reader, my mood suddenly shifted. It was like a chorus had walked in and tried to sing above the noise of sizzling meat:
Mr. Blue Sky, please tell us why,
You had to hide away
For so long where did we go wrong.
Hey there Mr. Blue
We're so pleased to be with you
Look around see what you do,
Everybody smiles at you.
“Wait, why is there a sexy woman on the Soju bottle?”
Vladimir stared at me is disbelief “You just noticed that?”
“Sorry, I was in a bad mood. Hey, where is Dustin?”
“I told you he was sick. My God, don’t you listen?”
“I would have been listening if you were here on time.”
“This is why you are single.”
5251 N Western Ave
Chicago, IL 60625
(773) 334-1589
Dear Reader, I am sure that through my writings you are able to deduce that I approach disappointment with a certain amount of equanimity; I am perceived as the living embodiment of grace. But sometimes, I know, you need not file a dissent, I can have a temper. Depending on the situation, time, and person, what would be perceived as a mild injury can often be turned into an act of war. I am first to stipulate that this is my major character flaw, I internalize too much, every mistake is perceived as an affront to me. But running parallel to this is my recovery time. I may not forget, but I usually forgive quite easily. San Soo Gab Son injured me, and quickly it made reparations.
While milling about a bookstore, I received a most fortuitous message from Vladimir (aka Dr. Liarski) inquiring to my evening plans. Originally I was going to go home and eat a jar of peanut butter while read the Omnivore’s Dilemma. Scratch those plans I thought, Vladimir wants to hang out! But like a summer romance, happiness is often fleeting, Vladimir suggested we do Korean bbq. Back to peanut butter. I am not a fan of Korean bbq, mainly because it makes my clothes smell like meat. Every time I take a whiff of the cashmere in my closet, I go into a carnivorous frenzy.
“Are you paying for my dry cleaning?” I asked.
“No. Sam wants to go.”
“What? He just got back from Los Angeles. There is plenty of Korean food and bbqs over there? What, he didn’t get his fill of drive by shootings?”
“Nice. Attorney, he wants Korean.”
“Doctor – fine, we will eat where Sam wants. Where?”
“San Soo Gab San.”
“Where is that?”
“I don’t know, use your iPhone.”
“What, this is ludicrous. You not only named the place, but now you want me to research?”
“This is why you are single.”
“Bitch. Ok, what time?”
“How is 8:00?”
I choked, “Wait, it is 5:30 right now. You want me to wait two and a half hours?”
“Well Sam is coming from downtown. He is teaching a class.”
A Filet-O-Fish, and a BigMac later, I arrive at San Soo Gab San at 7:30. I arrived early for two reasons: I had nothing else to do, and it was Friday, so I assumed there would be a wait. Well there was no line, so I told a waitress that I would have a party of three. She told me to wait near the door. This was most mystical to me considering the number of open tables in the restaurant. So I waited, between 7:30 and 8:00 there was a mad rush of parties. At first other parties asked if I was waiting, but I told them to go ahead because I was still waiting. Well by the eighth party I was getting irritated, and I started to notice one thing, middle aged Korean women (and woe to the ones who date the balding white man for a green card – oh yes, this is one of those restaurants) did not even give me the courtesy of asking why I was loitering near the door. They just clutched their Louis Vuitton and made a beeline for the waitress.
My temper started to rise, I was getting pissed. I immediately called Dr. Liarski and Sam, but neither one of them picked up. I was incensed. TWELVE, a dozen parties have already been sat and I have not. And what was most galling was that I got the perception that tables with White Men were getting better service; the waitresses seemed to have no problem in sitting anyone who came from an imperialist heritage even though their party did not fully arrive. I was eying them jealously. They didn't even order and they were already feating on a bunch of small dishes. I was being discriminated against because I hailed from the same continent as they did! Dr. Liarski and Sam arrived 15-20 mins late, and they saw the look in my face.
Dr. Liarski approached me with one foot near the door “Ummm… hi.”
“Sam go talk to them, they are your people. Koreans hate the Chinese. I have been waiting here for almost an hour. A fucking hour! I should bill them.”
“You don’t have billable hours.”
“Fuck you Sam, go talk to them.”
“I am afraid of them.”
“What? My god, you are a fag.”
At that point I resembled an eggplant, but luckily within another five minutes - they sat us near the bathroom.
Without missing a beat Dr. Liarski suggested we order a Soju. I just looked down at the menu and continued brooding. Beef Short Rib. Marinated Beef Short Rib. Broiled Specially Marinated Beef. Marinated Beef. Broiled Beef. How many meet dishes could they make from same cut of meat? The menu would have been a statistician’s wet dream.
Since Sam is Korean, we made the tactical decision of making Sam order. Big mistake. Sam is a fucking genius. He is an English professor and is going to release his first book this August. And no, this is not some self-published pamphlet on Amazon, this involves a real publisher, Borders and Barnes and Nobles. I feel like a literary troglodyte when I sit next to Sam. But even with Newtonian like ingenuity and Herculean effort, Sam had trouble ordering. Apparently Sam was born in Latin America and his accent is not Korean enough for the waitress. Seeing that Sam is a sellout, the service got even worse!!!
“How is this possible? I waited an hour for this table and all I want is water. Why couldn’t you be conceived in a proper continent? Dr. Liarski, you are White, tell them I need water.”
Dr. Liarski raises his hand.
“Don’t do that. That is rude.”
“These people made you wait.”
“Flag away.”
Well Dear Reader, guess what, it still took minutes to get my water. It was like Sam’s accent was a taint on our table. We were forever marked with his Latin stain. The Soju came, but I couldn’t get any water. Sam told me to drink the alcohol. In fear of criminal and civil litigation I waved it away. I just wanted water.
As I sulked and the others talked about the others talked about life, the universe, science, religion, politics, shopping and men, all I wanted was decent service.
Blap!
I snapped my head to the table, the waitress brought over some banchan. For the uninitiated, banchan are the cold dishes served in Korean restaurants that accompany your meal. They come in various forms and textures. Most are actually quite disgusting, like marinated mung beans, and weird pickled seaweed, but some banchan are quite resplendent. There were eight dishes, what the hell! Why did the other tables get so much more banchan than we did. People who have not ordered, got more banchan than we did. Sam was in a dark mood, he was getting pissed too. Being the Russian Buddha of the table, Dr. Liarski just ate away, but a cancer was eating at the Asians. You can discriminate against us, but do not give us less food. It was time for me to act. I raised my hand.
Sam scanned the room and he immediately tried to intercept me, “No she is the worst one. Last time I was here, she was so mean to me.”
“Wait, she was mean to you, and you still want to come here?”
“I wanted Korean.”
“You only date white guys, don’t you take them out to Asian food all the time.”
I didn’t care if the woman was a shebeast, she was going to answer to me. She spoke in almost perfect English, “Ok, ok. You dinner is coming out soon.”
Vladimir was watching this Kabuki theater with amusement. Sam tried to hide under the table.
“Oh that is ok. Don’t worry. I was just wondering if I could have more tofu.”
“Of course, but it will cost you $15.”
I started to flirt, “Oh don’t worry, please put it on his tab (pointing to Dr. Liarksi), the tofu is so good.” I batted my eyelashes.
“I will be right back.”
Dr. Liarski dug Sam out of a mountain of coats.
“Well, she wasn’t that bad.”
Dr. Liarski responded, “I think she likes you.”
“Well naturally, history of my life.”
Another five minutes later, no kidding, more than 20 plates hit our table – 2 of which were tofu.
Sam was flummoxed, “I don’t get it, you are Chinese, she should hate you the most.”
“It is my sunny disposition.” But that is the thing Dear Reader, my mood suddenly shifted. It was like a chorus had walked in and tried to sing above the noise of sizzling meat:
Mr. Blue Sky, please tell us why,
You had to hide away
For so long where did we go wrong.
Hey there Mr. Blue
We're so pleased to be with you
Look around see what you do,
Everybody smiles at you.
“Wait, why is there a sexy woman on the Soju bottle?”
Vladimir stared at me is disbelief “You just noticed that?”
“Sorry, I was in a bad mood. Hey, where is Dustin?”
“I told you he was sick. My God, don’t you listen?”
“I would have been listening if you were here on time.”
“This is why you are single.”
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