New Toy!

I am happy :) Thanks Santa!

Now, get back to work old man...

P.S. wouldn't mind getting a new strat to match it

________________________________________________________________________________

Dear Dashbored,

Shut the hell up, you ungrateful bastard.

Love,
Santa

Are You A Late Merger Or Early Merger?

Did you all have a good thanksgiving? Good. Oh you want to hear about my thanksgiving? Good.

Let's hear about mine.

First of all, let me just say that I love driving. Doesn't matter if it's a go-cart, sports car or minivan. It doesn't even need to have four wheels (but must be designed to not have four wheels). This is the one glaring personality trait that keeps me from achieving official honorary sierra club tree hugger status. Well, that is until I can afford a Teslar roadster.

Anyway, I spent my thanksgiving near D.C., which means I had to drive in pretty respectable holiday traffic. But this year, the pretty respectable became down right retarded.

The retardedness contains multiple facets. Allow me to explain. There's the senseless accident/let's slow down and render aid with our eyes facet (8 encountered). Then there's the slow car in the passing lane syndrome. Many times, it's both lanes (may anubis have mercy on their slow asses). But this year, the traffic gods, along with the NC and VA DMVs, decided to add something new - entire northbound side of highway closed for one too many mile fiaso.

Sprinkle a little cheap gas and everbody and their mother came out for a drive (literally, probably), and you have a perfect storm of traffic hell.

So, on black friday afternoon, while I was browsing through the super-gigantic shopping center's barnes & nobles, a book in the new release section caught my eye. It was about how traffic patterns are really defined by each driver's personality. Since the female members of the family were just getting started with their patriotic shopping duty, I picked up a copy and started reading. The book was actually fairly interesting. The author opened with the hypothesis that traffic jams are results of the limited forms of communication between drivers. Namely, honking and the finger. The book then started to BS about how we take it personally when someone comes into our lane, even if we're not cut off. Chapter one ended discussing the significance of being an early or late merger, when confronted with a traffic situation.

Interesting stuff, I remember saying to myself. Maybe I'll look for a copy when I get back.

But I had to get back first, and oh my buddha it was a trip. Started out with some light rain. No problem, just a little car wash, I can handle that. But when I saw the traffic backed up on the on ramp to I-95 south... "Crap", I said.

One hour later, I've covered maybe 25 kilometers. But then it speeds up a bit, giving me enough wiggle room to bust out of the pack. The culprit? Two SUVs post fender bender were by the side of the road. The popo had his crown vic's popo lights flashing, and that was it. Nothing actually blocking traffic, per se. I became even more pissed.

But all clear, right?

Nah. Repeat this three more times. And hurray! I've just made it past Richmond.

But the true dilemma was when the "EXPECT EXTREMELY LONG DELAYS" signs popped up, and traffic started to jam like a busted toilet. Should I follow the authority and be an early merger? It's the polite thing to do, after all.

Seven+ hours later, I was home. From a trip that should have taken less than half the time if I could set my cruise control to 83.

Oh and... I was a late merger.

You?

Second This Motion For Me?

I move that the inventor of traffic jams be brutally stoned with empty gas tanks and/or gallon milk containers filled with urine...

The Naked Man, Prison Break and Turkey Day.

Ho ho ho...

Too soon?

As we all celebrate the senseless killing of trillions of possibly guilty turkeys, I just want to wish everybody safe holiday travels and quality family time. And tons and tons of delicious food. And of course, many many hours of boob tube time.

I am not a big tv watcher, mostly because I don't have a big ass HDTV. But I have been watching Prison Break since its caesarean section, and it managed to keep me interested so far, even after they busted out of their prison in season one. And again in season three. Trust me, it's good stuff.

Thank you, my beloved torrent-powered DVR-laptop! And also Neil Patrick Harris, for your expert lesson on how not to pull off a naked-man. Brilliant.

I'll be sure to kill an extra turkey in your honors.

Yep, I Am A Moron.

So I got this email ad from HP. It's about their new laptop that lasts 24 hours. Pretty cool, no doubt, but I was a bit disturbed with the ad itself. It said in big cool letters, "Dude, your dad died 5 hours ago!" followed by "HP breaks the 24-hour battery barrier."

Or so I thought.

Now, a normal non-moronic person probably will do a double-take to make sure, but this is me we're talking about. My lightning-fast mind immediately connected the logical dots:

1. death of dad is traumatic
2. missing it by 5 hours is fucking messed up
3. summary - I should buy this HP 24-hour laptop NOW to avoid this tragedy

I was this close to writing HP about their insensitive ad campaign, especially with what I went through with my grandpa and what my sister's dealing with right now. Fortunately, I took one more look at that email, and I started laughing uncontrollably, peeing all over myself and all.

The ad really said "Dude, your Dell died 5 hours ago!". You know, because Dell had just announced a 19-hour laptop.

I hope you're laughing with me...

Folks, Stop Downloading So Much Porn!

Alright... guys & gals, giants and midgets (oh sorry - monsters and little people), barely alive to barely legal - of my local high speed internet service area...

PUT. THE. PORN. DOWN.

Apparently there's so much internet traffic in my area, the coyote finally caught my "high-speed" roadrunner. Yep, he tore that roadrunner limb-from-limb before eating him, feathers and all. We're talking close to dial-up speed on a 7mb connection. That just ain't right.

Folks, at the very least try to download your porn at non-peak hours, mmmkay? That way I can actually check emails, scour Craigslist for deals on guitar amps and catch cool youtube clips when I get home.

Your consideration is greatly appreciated :)

Joe Six-Pack No More

There was one good news from last night's final presidential debate.

Joe Six-Pack found him a nice whatyoumacallit, job! He's a plumber now! Good for him. He must have done his research - plumbers get to drill all the desperate housewives they could handle. Can we say, drill baby drill? Especially with that six-pack - the ladies simply won't have no chance to resist.

When I saw how McCain was emotioning with his face, I thought oh no, now the all-powerful pundits are gonna tear him up like sharks having sunday brunch at Captain D's. I dunno... I don't think showing your true emotions is necessarily bad. Well, I suppose it is if that other guy is sitting within kissing distance, and your face is bouncing through satellites and TVs everywhere. D'oh!

But then again, Obama wasn't so hot when he dodged the question about what he would cut given how fucked up the financial universe has been. I am guessing the correct answer was all-of-the-above, but that would've been unacceptable. For now. Give 'em another week, when he has triple digit lead, and he can say whatever the hell he wants as long as he says it in his perfect voice (according to that body language show on History Channel).

What do YOU think about all this?

Personally, I am just happy we got "cheap" gas again...

Concrete Shoes, Cyanide, TNT...

So, I was on a little hiatus from this blog thing. Brooding time, if you will - not unlike batman. Well you know, except for the gazillionaire status and a batmobile that doesn't leak heavily concentrated atmospheric moisture.

I guess a lot of shit went down since my last blog post. Couple of presidential debates, Knight Rider coming back in a friggin' Mustang (fine, shelby, whatevah), New York City crashing and burning (don't worry, NBA season opens soon, and them knicks will surely pick your collective new yorker spirit right up), oh and somewhere another polar bear is drowning. Probably because he lost his pension when lehman brothers screwed the pooch.

But we need to give credit where it's due - to the veepee debate committee, for their daring decision to divide up the only VP debate into segments and host them as SNL opening sketches. Now that's leadership!

You know I gotta put in the obligatory political rant sometimes before this whole election thing blows over. Hell, I even bothered to registered my neutral ass to vote! I gotta voice my neutrality somewhere. So, the way I look at it, we can choose CHANGE, especially based on the past two years of the inactive Demo (Emo?) Congress, or apparently OLD grumpy man with a surprisingly hot wife. You know it's true.

I suppose I am one of those highly sought-after creatures called undecided indie voters. Not fake indie like Apple & iTunes, but real indie like linux & opera browser. Okay, also XP Pro at times for when I want to blow the shit out of some Nazis/monsters/people who enforce speed limits. Actually, now that I think about it, maybe XP Pro most of the time...? Anyway, after catching the second half of the second presidential debate, I honestly think I am gonna vote for whoever has the hotter wife. Right now, I think the blonde's winning, although I tend to prefer redheads and brunettes. Oh well, time will tell.

There, my journey to the dark side is complete. I believe I've mildly insulted just about every facet of us. If you feel I left you out by accident, please leave a note below and I'll gladly call you names only you deserve.

Or not. I could care less.

Or is it couldn't?

Ahh screw it, time for bed...

[Expletive Deleted]... You Remind Me Of My Mom.

Last week, when I saw the music video for Ur So Gay for the very first time, I had another one of those deja vu moments.* Sure, the song was pretty close to comedy central funny (for my retarded sense of humor anyways). But I swear I had seen Katy Perry from somewhere else.

And no, it wasn't a Katy Perry concert.

It turned out she bears a somewhat decent resemblance to... (drum roll please) yes, my mom.

You see, when I was back home for my beloved grandpa's funeral, grandma pulled out tons of old, OLD photos of her daughters, one of which eventually became mom. I saw for the first time that parents actually were young a long time ago, in a galaxy far far away.

It took my brain a week to make the random eureka connection. Sure, it would be a young version of mom (oops sorry mom, I meant younger). And also more asian. But there is resemblance there. Oh snap, did I just come up with a palindrome sentence? Anyways, it was the same with Perry's I Kissed a Girl video.

Holy hybrid-powered Batmobile.

You can see this brings up a host of issues. Namely, a) I thought Katy Perry was kinda hot in those videos and b) does this make me Oedipus reincarnated, after realizing what I just realized?

Oy vey, motherf*ers. Oy vey indeed.

*see Love Guru/Mika incident below

Love Guru, Get Yourself To The Butterfly Lounge.

Finally, Eureka!

This started when I saw the Love Guru. There was this weird deja vu moment when Mike Myers sang and played his sitar at the start of the movie. I swear I've heard that melody somewhere before. But alas, my brain cells kept giving me attitude and I just couldn't figure it out.

Until now.

Yep... it's Mika's Big Girl. Boy I am good.

Finally I can sleep like a baby tonight.

Tumor Redux.

Good news, everyone! Over the weekend, my sister's doctors got back to us with an initial conclusion of benign. Regarding the tumor, that is. There are still some doubts which will be further investigated, but for now she can relax for just a little bit.

I was so happy as I cleaned the aftermath of my car's sporadically leaky t-tops. Hooray, hooray beer!

Tumor. You Motherfucking Cocksucker.

Apparently, 2008 isn't done with me yet.

Apparently, there's a tumor in the brain case of my younger sis. Not sure benign or malignant, yet. So far, I've tried my best to stay strong for her. We should know when she goes back to her doc tomorrow morning. But on this night before, I suddenly and finally find myself unable to sleep. My intuition is it's benign, and not because she's my sis.

Goddamnit, 2008.

Homecoming.

At last, I am back home.

Took a while, including a delayed flight, but I finally got back home for grandpa. It's still very much surreal to me - grandpa is really gone? He had just gone on a vacation back in June! I feel like grandpa is just gone on an extended grocery run and could show up any minute now, and we'd all laugh about what a big misunderstanding it turned out to be.

As much as I would love for that to be true, I know better.

So, I asked for his forgiveness for my broken promises. I gave him a quick update of my life. And with tears flooding my eyes, I punched the wall as I walked down the stairs in my grandparents' house.

That last part, I've learned not to repeat because a) grandpa would probably smack me on the head if I put unsightly holes on his wall and b) my hand kinda hurts afterwards.

Grandpa, You Fuckin' Rocked.

The past 24 hours has been an roller coaster of emotions.

It started with me filled with happy happy joy joy feelings for all. All was good!

I had no idea what was waiting for me.

When my baby sis unsuccessfully tried to set up three-way calling with dad and me, at 12:55 am, I was blissfully clueless.

When my dad insisted on calling me after the unsuccessful attempts, still I suspected nothing.

When dad's impromptu call turned to discussing some dude who claims to have foreseen 9/11 and promises the coming of cures for AIDS & cancer before the year's over, I thought nothing more - dad's been watching too much TV.

I was getting sleepy. Still a little high from the day.

When dad started to go on about how mysteriously random cancer could be, and that humanity should do what we can to fight it, I thought he must be on a sugar high.

Then...

I finally picked up that something was up when dad ask me if I was sitting while reminding me that life is, well, life. Good and bad, he said, we need to take it in strides.

"Dad, what's going...?"



"Son, please forgive me for keeping you in the dark, but grandpa passed away yesterday afternoon."

"The cancer was just too aggressive. The rare form made it all but untreatable, even if caught early."

"Son, you know Grandpa would have wanted you to do your very best. He was a strong man all his life, and nothing changed at the end."


Stunned. Surprised. Dreaming. No, wait - NIGHTMARE?


Turns out, the entire family kept me in the dark. They didn't want this to affect my performance at this crucial career junction. Turns out, grandpa had a run of the mill fever that quickly escalated over 4th of July weekend to a rare carcinoma of the bile duct. Turns out, it was metastatic upon diagnosis.

Suddenly, it all became clear. I remembered why sis was stalling about emailing me the new family photos from her recent trip home. I remembered why mom told me she was sick and was at the hospital picking up drugs for herself. I remembered why grandma started calling me past midnight, chatting about me being a slacker. I remembered why the FEW times I called the grandparents, grandma always told me grandpa was in the shower.

Suddenly, this strange sensation surged through my nose like an out-of-control freight train. A big, honkin' super bullet freight train.

And just like that, I was crying. Am, actually. Will, most likely.
_______________________

My laptop decided to play Foo Fighters' "Learn to Fly" and "Times Like These" in loop. Or was it me?
_______________________


You know, I had promised grandpa I'd visit this summer. Soon. After I am more settled down with work, career, you know the deal. I had so much to share with him. I had it all planned out.

I promised.