Another epic monday.

Following my previous Epic Monday, today was another quite epically Monday Monday.

1) Having to deal with an English bank. Long distance.

You still suck. Even with your accent.

First of all, Europeans in general already suck at being efficient and having practical, common sense customer service. Take the time when I was in Paris, waiting at the ice skating rink in front of Hotel de Ville. The line for the skate rentals was maybe 8 persons long, but 15 minutes passed and nobody had moved an inch. Oh, why is that, Chieh? Well, you see, the lady manning the rentals booth decided to take a 15 minute smoke break and just LEFT with no replacement. And since she's French, and everyone else is French, they were all doing their oui oui, I'm le tired I don't vant to work so le hard nonsense. So I ended up waiting 20+ min to get some damn skates.
Anyway. 7:30 AM, I wake up, already disgruntled. I call Lloyd's. Let me first make it clear that I already hate dealing with Lloyds. If they're enough of a bitch to deal with when I lived in London, then it can only be that much better dealing with them from San Francisco with an 8-hour difference and crappy Skype transmission. Basically, it went like this:

"Hi, can I help you?"
"Hi I'm calling to close my account and discuss this charge I have posted to my account."
(repeat 3 times because they can't hear me)
"Can I have your password please."
*Gives password*
"I'm sorry that is incorrect."
"Okay, look, this account is over a year old and I just want to close it and discuss the fees so can we get around this somehow?"
"You'll have to call back tomorrow to discuss the fees ma'am as it is a bank holiday here."
"SO HOW ARE YOU TAKING MY CALL?"

I didn't actually blurb out the last sentence. I just kind of grunted, and said "Okay. Thanks." But seriously. Why are you, as the Bank representative, taking my call on a bank holiday to tell me you can't handle any bank-related issues. ????? BECAUSE YOU'RE ENGLISH. And you blokes are great at looking smart, being keen on gigs and getting pissed off pints but just can't handle customer service. Which is why you'd make me send a letter by mail including all my personal bank information to a PO box in the middle of bumfucking Isle of Man just to close my account.
Don't get me wrong, I love Europe and I love Europeans (the English included). They're great at being cultured and beautiful and making beautiful things. But they are just not practical people.

PS, I image searched "beautiful Europeans" and this came up:



2) Dicks.

Not penis, duh. But people who seem to lack common courtsey and annoy you.

They're really just douchey guidos, but I really like this picture.

So, having already had to miss my early shuttle to make my call to Lloyds, I had to take the 9:00 AM shuttle. When the shuttle arrives, I spent like 10 minutes helping to make sure this guy's bike could fit behind mine in the lower compartment. By that time, everyone else had boarded the shuttle, and I let him board before me. I get on last, and it turns out, the shuttle is full. Some other guy decides to be awfully nice and volunteers to take the next shuttle because "these two have their bikes down there." The guy who I was helping quickly plopped into the newly empty seat and I had no choice but to get off, fetch my bike to wait for the next shuttle, also realizing that the guy had forced his bike in so hard that he had gotten bike grease all over my white bar tape and knocked loose my brakes. Thanks, asshole. Dick. Asshole. Then, as we stand there joking about, "Oh I hope it doesn't rain because that'll really suck especially because I don't have a bike lock with me so I can't go anywhere," it starts pouring. We manage to find some shelter under a MUNI bus stop. Then, previously mentioned nice man comes out of a cafe and hands me a bag of banana bread. "If it's any consolation," he said. Thank you, bread man. Then we went on to talk about hipsters in the Mission, Nepal, bike theft and how lame UFC fights are.

So those are the only two things on my Epic Monday list today, but two of those are enough for me. English banks and dicks on the same day is like getting punched in the face and balls at the same time. By a kid. Or so I'd imagine. If I were a man.

Here's an awesome rant for you to top it off.

Ho's and shows.

So, people never really (try to) get in my face, but when it does, it's usually pretty funny. Take yesterday.

Who: Me + friends + other fans + randoms
When: 12:30 AM
Where: Mezzanine
What: Kode9 & Flying Lotus show
Mood: CRUNK AS FUCK



So, having been bassed out and thrashing to Kode9 for over an hour, I move closer and closer to the stage. Maneuvering through a crowd to get to the stage at a show can be a very tricky thing, but I'm pretty sure I've got it down, especially at bass-heavy shows like this:

1. You gotta show that you're really into the music. I do so by nonstop dancing, thrashing head, pumping arms. This appeals to other real fans. They know you're not going to waste space near the stage. This also shows the average female show-goer who is just there with their boyfriend that you're not fucking around so they can leave you alone.

2. Be polite, but not too polite. If I have to touch someone to move in front of them, I'll put my hands lightly on their arms or back, smile and say, "excuse me."

3. Be able to spot out spaces that you can fit and get to them quickly. But don't force yourself in a space that's too small. That's just annoying.

4. I'm a girl.

So there I was, navigating towards the stage successfully, with David trailing behind. Fist pumping, head bobbing, feet shuffling. Kode9 is throwing out some heavy tracks, so I'm getting more amped by the second. I see a girl, somewhat grinding up on her boyfriend, who is not moving a single muscle. I see a big space in front of her, right in front of the stage. I move. I slide. I'm in.

I'm not quite mosh girl, but I'm aspiring.

Without turning around, I could just feel the discontent from behind me. I vaguely hear words like "pusher," "this girl," "push her." I don't bother turning around. The thrashing continues.
Then, the girl decides to "accidentally" dance into me with her ass and hips, quite hard. She was a "jolly" ol' girl, if you get my drift. Oh, hell naw bitch. Several attemps in, I accept her invitation to a ass-force competition. I win. I continue thrashing. Girl should be ashamed of herself, having an ass 5x as large as mine and can't booty bump me outta nowhere.

Then, for the next 10-15 minutes or so, she has 3 of her friends send me continuous invites to more ass-force competitions. I accept. I don't turn my head around at any point, I'm focused solely on Kode9, and I am thrashing some mad shit -- head, hands, ass. I don't do kickboxing and hella squats and bikram yoga to not stand this bullshit. Fuck this noise. By the end of 15 minutes, I still stand, victorious. Ass in tact, pulse pumping, and still throwing my weight to the music.

A little while later, I notice that David is standing awkwardly and uncomfortably away from me. "Why don't you come closer?"
"This girl keeps pushing everyone."
So, this time, I turn around, face the ho, and ask, "What's your problem. Why are you pushing everyone."
"You're in front of me."
"....Yes. This is a show. People get in front of you. If you don't want people in front of you, don't leave a space. I didn't even touch you."
"I think you should move." Her boyfriend remains completely still. Completely silent.
"Well... I don't really want to."
"Well, I think you should move."
"Hm. Well... I disagree. And now I'm going to continue enjoying this show."

Damn right. I was that close.

So I do exactly just that, continue thrashing the shit out of myself to Flying Lotus, screaming my head off, having a grand old time, with nobody bothering or touching me. Meanwhile, ho way back is still complaining to her boyfriend, who's probably thinking "God damn why's she such a bitch all the time. NEVER taking her to another show." All in all, it was a great night. Except David got gum in his hair, which we're going to assume that it was from ass-bump girl, who had to formulate some type of revenge once she realized that her and her friends' assing were inadequate.

There's no other way to end this post other than to post some tracks from Kode9 and Flylo.

--

Flying Lotus/ Lil Wayne - I feel like Dying (via Cosmogramma)
Flying Lotus - Parisian Goldfish; Flying Lotus - Tea Leaf Dancers (via NeuMagazine)
Kode9 - Time Patrol (via Dancefloor Mayhem)
Junior Boys - Double Shadow (Kode9 Remix) (via gottadancedirty)

--

For those of you who aren't familiar, Kode9 is a UK DJ who owns the Hyperdub label. He's got a good balance between the cleaner, more minimal sounds of drum&bass and the dirty, heavier grime of dubstep.


Flying Lotus (aka Flylo) is a DJ hailing from LA that creates some of the most experimental electronic fusions that I have ever heard. And honestly, having seen him live... damn. It's probably best to describe it as what I'd imagine to be drugged out mental intercourse, where all the endorphins and serotonin drip down to your fingertips and toes. Believe that.

Roommate e-mails, by Chieh. Subject line: SHIT

First e-mail: December 2009

Hi guys,

Sooo since lifting the toilet lid once yesterday in our main bathroom, I've been too horrified to even get close to it. Whoever left the present in the toilet, please just clean it up so that you don't make somebody else do the dirty work we can continue using that toilet. I don't care who it is, I just want to use that bathroom. And if the toilet is already clean and for some reason the lid is just closed... great!

Thanks.


---

Second e-mail: March 2010

Alright guys,

I cleaned the toilet two nights ago, and now there is shit splatters all in it. This isn't the first time. So, please, don't be a dick. If you have explosive shit, it's not like you don't know you're having an explosive shit. Take a looksee in the toilet and see maybe if any babies got left behind. If they did, scrub it, so nobody else has to scrub your poop. It takes 2 minutes. Clean toilets should last more than 3 days. Seriously.

That is all.

Thanks.

---

They should have a "most un-passive aggressive notes" coffee book. I'll be all up in it.

24 years old and what else is new.

When the fuck did I get to 24 years old? No, seriously. Time's not meant to go this fast. And I guess it's only natural to start feeling minor pangs of panic regarding my life and the path I'm taking. You know, same old shit that people go through each birthday from age 20 to like 29. These days, extend that to 35. What else is new.

I'm just about halfway there. Can't wait.

"Panic" is probably too exaggerated of a word. I guess "doubt" is more appropriate. I am not panicked about where I'm going, but I am all of a sudden no longer sure that going to law school will make me the happiest camper I can be. Not to say that I no longer want to go, but there is suddenly a undeniable voice in my brain repeatedly questioning my motives. I knew for a good, long while why I wanted to apply for law school. I loved my law concentration, particularly the materials in Constitutional law. I loved the arguments, the human elements, the application of theories, the palpable substance that seemed to resonate in everything I read, heard and argued for. It meant something solid, it felt like something I should be striving towards. I was 99% sure that this was for me. That 1% is because I don't ever like to say I'm 100% sure about future plans.


The realization that Constitutional law is too limited (by national jurisdiction and often, pay) brought me to reconsider my options. I was and still am a travel bug who cringes at the thought of immobility. In comes London, UBS, and the potential of doing compliance in a business setting. Along with the experience came horror, violent episodes of boredom and a strong distaste for investment banks. Potential job at Google. Enters the thought of cyber law, and tech law in general. Here's something that is internationally relevant (and increasingly so) and not easily defined by national territory. Now that I am working at Google and have seen a lot of the action up close, I've become increasing attracted to the idea of being an in-house advisor to tech companies, moreso than litigating, which was what first attracted me to the idea of law.

So what's changed?
Hm.

I'm not sure. But I'm pretty sure the following play a fairly considerable role:

1) Entrepeneurial roommates
Stanford grads. Always talking new opportunities. Business. Start ups. Independence. Self-fueled projects. Discovering new talents. Networking.
The biggest "project" I've going on right now is getting into Bikram yoga, building my run to 6 miles, and balancing work with class. The Roommates make me feel like I could be doing something more with my life than submitting to a pre-existing system that annually pumps out lawyers at an astonishing rate. Am I not living to my potential? Could I really be doing something food-related (corn salsa guru) or music-related and just simply haven't ventured out?




2) Age
Whoever says that you can always live your 20's is full of shit. You can live your 20's when you're in your 20's, and no other way will ever be how it's meant to be. Once I submit to law school (yes, submit), the debt starts mounting, the stress begins growing, and the inflexibility creeps in and settles. Maybe I'm not ready for all that. Maybe I need to fully live out my 20's, flaunt my shit, have my cake and eat it too, then enter this lock-down. Hustle, play, live a little. Law school is something I can always do. Everything else? Not so much.

Pretty sure life/pizza isn't going to be this enjoyable later down the road.

3) The goddamn LSAT
I'm not stressed about the test. I've come to accept it as a strategic challenge. A matter of discipline. A battle of the mind against this monster institution that's set out to destroy me and every other person in my position. I really don't care to talk to anyone in class, make friends, or get all fucking insane about the process. I'm in, out, getting it done. I want it isolated from the rest of my life as much as possible. But still, I fucking hate the fact that I have to take it. I'm so over (standardized) tests. I'm so over studying for the sake of studying and not for the material. And I also don't enjoy having to go to 4-hour classes after a 8-9 hour workday. My general aversion towards this test is probably spilling over and clouding the ultimate reason of why I'm taking it in the first place.



So there it is. 1, 2, 3. All bitching aside, I don't really think I'm all that doubtful. I think I'm just afraid I'm going to be missing out on something great once I submit. Maybe it's just a matter of timing, and being ready. Maybe I'm still not ready. Maybe I need to wait it out. Defer. Something.

And maybe that's okay.

?

In the past 24 hours...

I've managed to:

1) Mistakenly transfer $2000 to a basically dead credit card instead of my savings account.

One full roll is probably $2000.

2) Replace regular saline contact solution with hydrogen peroxide solution (because was out of the former) thinking that it was okay if I didn't use the instructed case. Upon putting the contacts in my eyes this morning, I thought I was fucking going blind, and that someone had put acid in my contact lens as some form of sick revenge.

Wikipedia says,
"Hydrogen peroxide solution - Used for disinfecting the lenses, and available as 'two-step' or 'one-step' systems. If using a 'two-step' product, one must ensure that the lens taken out of the hydrogen peroxide is neutralized before it is worn, or else wear will be extremely painful (FUCK YES IT IS). Saline must be used to rinse away the peroxide. If you get this solution in your eyes, it is highly recommended that you go to the Emergency Room and get your eye(s) irrigated."

Yeah. This shit in your eyes? Not ideal.

3) Overlook a splinter in my big toe for over 24 hours, realize it in the morning right before work and thus miss my morning shuttle in an effort to extract it. I got the splinter from frolicking all day on a ranch and looking at animal corpses, so It's cool.

No splinters. Just a dead ass shark.

4) Wear my dress backwards for half the day at work until I figured it out at lunch.

My dress? Backwards? YOU DON'T SAY.

Monday. Monday, indeed.

"家"

I often find myself returning to this subject, and often for the same reasons -- to discuss my deepest gratitude towards my parents, to express this immense pride that I have to have come from my family, which I can't seem to openly communicate to them.

I guess communication, especially with my dad, faltered ever since some dramatic episodes during high school that were mainly caused by my first "boyfriend," aka first super-douchebag-experience-that-fucked-up-my-grades-and-made-me-a-mess. It's not easy to maintain the same relationship between daughter and father after he discovers the details on how you lost your virginity, having a pregnancy scare and just how much of a shithead the boy really was. It can't be easy having two daughters 12 years apart -- raising one to tweenage chaos and then having to start all over again.

I seem to find myself in these weird situations with my dad. My mom got upset at me one time, claiming that he found a (unused) condom in his car after letting me borrow the car. I walked in my house one day and saw a green condom in its wrapper lying on the kitchen counter. Talk about passive aggressive. Imagine what I must've been thinking. I denied to my death that it belonged to me (because it didn't), but I was never sure if he believed me. My mom didn't seem to. To this day, I still don't know which fucker friend of mine left it in there and never owned up to it. I didn't get in trouble, but that was one of several awkward confrontations I've run into with my dad -- such as the other time when my mom found a condom wrapper in my bathroom and proceeded to sit me down in front of the both of them: "Chieh, I'm very glad that you and Kevin care very much for each other and that you are safe. But please, do not do it in our house." And that was that.

When it comes to the subject of sex, my dad never speaks a word. He neither approves or disapproves. He just sits in silence, most likely pained and broken hearted by having to confront the fact that I do what I do. Since the high school episode, he hasn't warmed up to any of my boyfriends except for Kevin. It took him over two years to reach that point.

If I really think about it, I don't know much about my dad. I've heard of his crazy party days back in the 80's and how he immediately took to quit drinking and smoking shortly after my birth. I know he's worked incredibly hard my whole life, never forgetting to bring me presents on every business trip until I was thirteen -- CD's, VCD's, hair bands, jewelry, stuffed animals, comics, and any obsession that I maintained at that point. I know that he specifically waited until I was done with middle school to move our family to America, simply because I asked him to. I also know that he was an incredibly fun and humorous man when I was younger, always full of (slightly inappropriate) jokes and air-tosses until I started weighing too much. I'm not really sure when exactly this all changed. I occasionally witness parts of his inner clown surface, more often in large social gatherings, but apart from that, he seems to remain (at least to me) an incredibly serious and stern figure. He lightens up so much more around my younger sister, and it's those times that I'm so glad he has her around.

It scares me that he's 60. It scares me that my grandparents are all 80+, and that I've probably only seen them a handful of times in the past 10 years. It scares me that I don't feel like I know him as well as I should, that we can't get over this barrier we both seem to have in communicating emotions with each other. I don't know when I last told him, "I love you."



I ought to go home more. I ought to spend more time with them and my little sister, instead of constantly being around friends and continually embarking on global adventures that my parents always so unselfishly support. I know I'm not giving enough or trying enough, and I'm not okay with that. I owe them too much, and I'm capable of doing so much. I just don't know why it's so difficult to change.

Well, whatever it is, I'm changing it. People may say that it's never too late, but at a certain point, it will be. It will be, and I will find myself back in my shoes when I was 10, incessantly beating myself up for the next decade plus for not having spent more time trying to take care of and know my grandfather better. Those lessons should only be learned once.

Life is too short to be afraid.

Plumplings

Monthly resolution to make dumplings? Completed.

Veggies: Carrots, cabbage, scallions, onion and ginger


Condiments: Soy sauce, sesame oil, and white pepper (not pictured)


Protein: Firm tofu!



Chop chop:


Mince mince:


Dice dice:


Pan fry:


Mash and mix:


Scoop and fold:

As the Chinese dumplings come into being, so do the Russian piroshkis..

Chop chop (onion, fennel):

Blend (cream, potatoes, fennel):

Roll and wrap:

And the beautiful creatures come into being:

Piroshkis are best paired with ketchup and sour cream. Really.


But we don't need much here other than some pan-fried crispness:

Pillow war.

As for February 14th, I participated in the annual San Francisco pillow fight by the Ferry Building on Embarcadero. It was more like a war.

A fellow fighter, David, and I rushed on our bikes 20 minutes before it struck fight time. As we locked our bikes into place to the setting sun, the clock struck 6:00 PM. As the last bell sounded, the whole street burst into a sprint, some swinging their bulging down pillows by their side, others hugging onto theirs tightly, stumbling as they ran with all their might. An older man with bottle-cap glasses and billowy white hair ran into the middle of the traffic, put up his hand to stop the cars and screamed at us, "GO! GO! GO!"
We ran for our fucking lives and dove head first into the masses in the plaza.

And then madness:

Pillows burst. People screamed, laughed, raged. Feathers exploded and flew. It was like rising snow.

A girl thought it would be a good idea to wear a helmet until she heard a team of vigilantes: "GET THE GIRL WITH THE HELMET!"
And they pummeled the shit out of her.

Wading into the midst of the action was like being a blind man finding his way through a turbulent sea of cotton, feathers and elbows. You swung left and right, upwards and downwards, really never knowing who or what you were hitting. You got a little thump in the face, or in the back of your head. It was what I'd describe to be... a comfortable moshpit.

You saw flirtatious lovers. You sensed intense teenage angst. You saw an adult world transformed into one of children. You witnessed children completely immersed in this fantasy land, riding on their fathers' shoulders, bopping people left and right. You saw those who came to play, those who came to watch and the few who came to hurt. People kissed, people raged and lashed, people tripped and fell and put their arms up in victory and defense.

It was epic.

I'll leave you with this video, which does the scene some justice.

Cleansing.

So my conscious effort towards abstinence has evolved to encompass more than just the physical. Maybe that was the underlying idea all along, or maybe it's a natural progression -- snip one problem at the bud and all associated thorns will also gradually die. Maybe it wasn't so much the act of hooking up as it is all the baggage that may come with it, as it always is when it comes to me.

Sex fucks things up. Anything leading up to sex can also fuck things up.

I've known for some time that I have a tendency to associate myself with unnecessarily complicated people and situations. It wasn't that I didn't recognize them to be what they were -- I always know, pretty much from the start, but I was constantly willing to take them on as "challenges," forcing myself to believe that I could deal with anything and everything, seeing it as some type of test of character or resilience. I think it started when I was about 2+ years into my 3-year relationship. I got a little bored, a little restless. Then when I was newly single, I pushed my envelope further and further. The worst was when I spent my year in London, where I honestly think I did whatever the fuck I felt like with little to no control. The more emboldened I became from testing shallow waters, the more I threw myself into increasingly turbulent scenarios which I tried to convince myself that I could handle. Or that I didn't care. Some people have a problem with putting themselves out there, afraid of what might happen. I have a problem with not putting myself out there, fearful of what I might miss out on.

Pride and stubbornness have taken me very, very far -- far enough to the point of discomfort, to this recent point where I've sat myself down and said, "Enough with this shit and stop fucking around. Where has this shit taken you? Nowhere. You don't need to prove anything to anybody. Even yourself."

So I want to clarify that I'm not trying to be abstinent for the sake of being abstinent. If things come together right, if I can have the foresight to say that I really do want to be involved with someone, then anything goes. But having given myself that chance to be devoid of all and any potentially complicated relationships... I have come to accept that a simple, awesome and genuinely reciprocating relationship is going to take a long, long while to refine and build. That, I will have time for when it happens. What I don't have time for are all the people who, on the whole, add absolutely nothing substantive to my life. I know when you're going to be worth it, I know when you're not. I've always known. Friends and more-than-friends alike. The only difference now is that I actually act on it. Early.

This newly discovered clarity is kind of really fucking strange. All that restlessness and anxiety that I so often felt before has been replaced with a consistent, satisfying calmness. An intense focus on all things I want to develop, internally and externally. Probably also helps that I smoke and drink a hell lot less frequently and have upped the exercising and healthy eating... which makes my bad nights that much badder and that much more fun.

For the first time in a long, long time, I feel like I'm really treating myself well as a whole. And for the first time in a long time, I feel very whole. Yet this is the most single I've ever been.

And all it took... well. Yup. That's all it took.

Rambles and shambles.

What a fucking week, man. I thought last week was rough.

Just registered for the June LSAT's. $130.
New Asics running shoes because my old ones are 2+ years old and my arches are bitching and hurting quite a bit. $80 (with work discount).
Rent. $950.
In a couple weeks, I gotta pay for LSAT courses. $1450.

Fuck. Fuck fuck fuck.

This/next month is not conducive to saving money. But I'm also not traveling for at least until past June. I'm going to try to save like a fucking Chinaman during that time.

My anxiety to travel kicks in every couple of months. It's starting to kick in hardcore at the moment, but can't do much about that. I guess I'm thankful that there's a slough of visitors all throughout February and through early March. Then it's lock-down study time until June.

--

I watched this Emmy-winning documentary yesterday: Return to Africa's Witch Children
It describes the serious problem on how young children, as young as babies, are accused of being "witches" and "wizards" by Evangelical "pastors" in the Niger Delta. Led into believing that these "witches" are responsible for financial and familial woes, these children are shunned, tortured, and even killed by their villagers and their own families. "Pastors" charge fees for deliverance and exorcising these children. Parents pay. Sometimes by selling everything they own, which isn't much to begin with. For so many reasons, I seriously recommend this to everyone. It'll take you out of your element. And you can also help.

So many issues come to surface -- the importance of education. The abuse of religious authority and of human desperation. The lengths that people will go to climb out of a hole they were born into. Africa has always been a raw, mystic place that I've always doubted I could handle. An incredibly strong and stable friend of mine studied abroad in Africa, only to return early with serious psychological and physical damage, described his time as such: "Everything you have ever known or believed to be true, everything you valued -- it means nothing. Absolutely nothing."

--

Finished Middlesex today. It was fucking amazing. So rich and expansive, yet eloquently and simply put together. It was like a drawn out 5-course meal paired with the perfect bottle and an incredibly sophisticated dinner date. Considering buying Virgin Suicides. I'd like to start digging in to some technology/science-related material. Also books on the history and development of religion -- anything that's reasonably easy to read and objective (Hitchens is on my list, very open to other authors of differing perspectives). Considering going through some Bible parts.
Recommendations for anything related to the above are requested.

Note: wasn't very big on Freakonomics. It kind of bored me.

--

And now, slumber.
Sweet, sweet fucking slumber. Then... FRIDAY!!!