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After re-reading my article on racism at Vanderbilt (here), I can’t help but to feel like I overstated my case.

Racism is a very strong word. The Ku Klux Klan murdering 197 and assaulting 548 blacks within an 18 month period in 1867  is racism. Plessy v. Ferguson standing for over 50 years is racism. I don’t know if I can use the same word to describe my experience here. Perhaps the words “racial insensitivity” are closer to what I meant than racism.

Since last writing, my closest friends are no longer all minorities. I have understood that as minorities we are more sensitive about our race and think more about race than the average person. I think the whole first month of my time here, I was under the impression that people did not approach me because of my race or that if someone wasn’t as nice as they should be, that it was because I was asian. The reality is that there are millions of other reasons why someone can be an asshole and race is only one of them.

I think the way I reacted was because of my experience in Argentina. There was no sense of “politically correctness” growing up in Argentina. My nickname was chino wherever I went, even as I tried to explain that there are at least 2 billion other eastern asians who shared these slanty eyes.  I am planning to go back to Argentina this summer to hopefully find some answers on why people act that way and if Argentina really is as bad as I remembered. More in this later.

My mission: I have two weekends, exactly ten (1-0)  days to find a quality girl amongst the hoard of morally depraved that rot the classrooms and luncheon areas of lower Eastside Pittsburgh to go on a date with me.

If I fail, a friend of mine shall use his authority and 55 inch pectorals to transform me into the biggest man-slut this side of Gabriel de los Reyes.

With loving despair,

Moo

Dear Fans,

The blog is back. Summer 2009. Get excited.

-Dave

There was something amidst in the air as I was seeing my family off in the airport. And that something told me that I forgot to feed the cat. Waving my hand farewell, I grinned hesitantly and impatiently until they were out of sight. One whole week on my lonesome- the American Dream- family in Barbados, basking in sunlight and sipping margaritas, and I would have the entire house for myself and my girlfriend, Laurie. These thoughts fueled me as I took off from the airport; my seat belt not so securely fastened as I menaced a poor elderly couple with devastating whiplash spinning them around so violently that they swapped dentures in mid air.

In a dastardly attempt to get my girlfriend to agree to living with me for this next upcoming week I had bought her a kitten. It was a striking little creature, with tender white paws and an orange striped face, a pair of eyes so green and vivid they almost matched hers. She would love it, who wouldn’t? But the poor little thing had got nothing to eat for over a couple of days with well my family of five, not including me, getting ready to depart and then driving them to the Fort Worth airport (an appalling three hour drive from our homely suburban home)- at worst this kitten would probably be starving.

I drove rabid, taking turns and rushing yellow lights; I even made an Asian-woman driver tremble, I grinned, revenge. After reducing the drive to a mere two hours I ran into the house, meowing and cooing, trying to find the kitten and that’s when I saw it, sprawled across the kitchen floor, dead.

Before the ensuing panic rushed in I let out one final meow. This one hung in the air, a cloud, resonating throughout the walls, a treble cry that sent shrills through the silverware.

Jesus H. Christ, I thought to myself. What now?

I bent over his body- the little thing looked so peaceful. It died with his tongue slightly hanging out from his mouth, barely grazing his little new-born teeth. Even I couldn’t interrupt these few moments of silence that had found its way over my house. But enough was enough and I bent over the little man and started analyzing the best possible way to get his body out of the house and into the dumpster out back.

Aluminum foil wrap him and then toss? Too down and dirty. Sweep him into the dustpan and then shake him out? Too impersonal and harsh. Roll him onto a towel and then bury him out back? Bingo.

It was game time. But as I lifted myself up and brushed some unsightly dust off I saw my girlfriend’s red Hyundai drive right up into my driveway. You know those moments in life when everything kind of reaches to a halt, like some clandestine celestial force accidentally pushed pause on that magic VCR tape that is your life and you’re free to move within the space-time continuum free of fourth dimensional consequence?

Well it wasn’t quite like that but as I stood still in sheer dread she had already gotten out of the car and closed the door and was well on her way to knocking as she fumbled through her electronic lock and keys. Luckily with a few mental urges my feet started moving and began my search for the nearest towel.

“Tap, tap,” her gentle hand struck my door.

Damn it, I had only taken three steps. “Ummm honey, I’ll be right there I’m kind of indecent at the moment.”

“Well that never stopped you before,” she quipped.

I half-grinned, knowing that her remark was hiding some type of sexual connotation; good or bad I couldn’t tell. Instead of turning to the door and letting her in, I rushed upstairs for the towel. There was no way I was going to let her see that cat. I mean giving her a living, beautiful kitten would have pretty much catapulted me to the top of boyfriend echelon but presenting her with a lifeless kitten that wasn’t stuffed, well that might very well mark the worst present since giving her a power chord for our 6 month anniversary.

“Tap, tap,” she continued her knocking. “Come on it’s one leg in and the other follows.”

Grabbing the towel out of the closet and turning around to head back down stairs, I realized I wouldn’t have enough time to wrap up the kitty and then go out back to throw it out. She’d probably hear the screen door opening and start imagining all sorts of unnecessary shenanigans. Quickly going to plan B, which was conjured instantly, I sprawled down alongside my fallen comrade and wrapped him in the blue Malibu towel.

“Tap, tap,” once again. “I’m two seconds away from leaving.”

Shit. I had him in my arms now barely out of sight from the kitchen’s large windows. I knew I couldn’t take him out, so where to stash him? I looked around the kitchen and there it was, shining in off-white glory I opened the refrigerator and stuffed him right in the center tray where there was the most space. I closed the refrigerator door with a thud.

Walking to the door I said, “Hey babe what’s the hurry? A man can’t take a shower and grab something to eat anymore?”

“Only you can enjoy peanut butter in the nude,” she shook her head, mockingly disgusted. “So how’s the big boy feeling all alone for the first time?”

“Ha well you know it gets kind of lonely after a while…” I let my sentence trail for a little added effect. Maybe I wouldn’t need the kitten after all.

I could feel it now; it was about to come, her admission that she was sorry that I felt so lonely and maybe the every-guy-should-hear-this-once-in-his-life offering of ‘is there anything I can do?’ But instead I got a chuckle and only, “Oh Eric, you and your jokes.”

She crushed me. And then she squeezed a little tighter.

“By the way, I’m really thirsty what do you have in this thing?” She said as she reached over to the refrigerator door handle and began her pull.

“NOOOO,” I leaped at her, “You can’t open that.”

“Why not?”

“It’s broken…” I stammered, “It’s been broken for a while now, the cold air barely stays inside and if you open it then it just pours out and the food will go bad.”

“Now that is the silliest thing I’ve ever heard, I was here the other day helping your mom cook the going away cake she left you and it was working just fine,” she replied.

This girl will just not quit today, jeeze. “Haha well I just wanted to get your drink for you. When should my little princess have to pour her own drink when her prince is in the house?”

“Oh Eric, shut it and get me some lemonade.”

I went over to the cabinet to grab a fresh glass first; trying to minimize the chances she would catch a glimpse of the old fur-ball and brought it with me to the refrigerator. It might have seemed odd but it was either that or her seeing it and catastrophically ravaging our relationship- and my rear end. I opened it slowly, trying to block the tray that it rest on with my body. I got out the carton of lemonade and I stood at the door facing in while I poured.

“Ugh what is that god-awful smell?” she asked.

“Ah it’s probably nothing I actually don’t smell anything,” I got out a little too fast as I closed the door.

“Eric, please whatever that thing was it reeked. I think something died in your refrigerator. Maybe something went bad or sour. Let me check,” she said and the irony of her statement was not lost on me. She tried to nudge her way past my arm but I wouldn’t budge. I couldn’t think of anything to divert her attention now, it seemed like she would be staring straight into the little kitten’s deceased eyes any second.

But then heaven itself opened up… and called my house.

“Rrrrrring-rrrring-rrrrrring,” my house phone chirped.

My grin now reaching from ear to ear I asked her, “Babe could you get that for me? I’ll check what’s inside this nasty thing but it might be my mama.”

She went over to the next room where the phone lay and I quickly opened the refrigerator and brought the bundled cat back out. I looked around the room once more, realizing, eerily that I was in the same position just about a few minutes ago. I didn’t want to put it in the oven, nor the cabinet, and I wasn’t going to put the little guy in the garbage bin we had in the house. So when I looked at the kitchen window that led to the flat of our house, the same one we shared with the neighbor, I immediately opened it up with my free hand, raised the window plane up, and just heaved the little sucker outside.

I’d make amends with him later, I promised myself.

“So it was just another one of those stupid telemarketers asking if you wanted to join some crazy hooha medical plan,” she came back into the kitchen evidently annoyed.

I took a deep breath and realized I had just gotten out of the stickiest situation harm-free. “Well don’t worry about it but thanks for getting it for me,” and I tried to put the kitten as far away from my mind as possible. I had my girlfriend here, in my own house, alone. “I cleaned out the fridge; I think it was just some fruits that had gone bad so don’t even worry about it. Do you want to watch a movie or something in my room?” I crossed my fingers.

“Fine as long as you don’t make me watch Star Wars for the 700th time,” she replied. Well I guess something is better than nothing. As I put my arm slyly around her waist and began to lead her upstairs…

“Tap, tap,” who could it be?

I walked back up to the door with my girlfriend in tow and I looked out the peephole to see my neighbors. Oh how thoughtful of them, probably checking up on me knowing this was my first time alone. So I opened the door and there they were, a nice elderly couple probably married for at least half a century and in the husband’s hands was a muddy blue Malibu towel and barely leaning over his wrists was the head of the long dead kitten, tilted and with the tongue now cascading down from his mouth. Somehow one eye was opened and it was staring directly at me, pleading, wondering, accusing, oh the cutest little dead thing in the entire world. I stifled a shriek.

“Young man, we saw you throw this poor thing out into our flat, what is the meaning of this?” The husband took the towel off of the kitten and it uncovered him so you could easily see that there was no life left in him, nothing but dirt and a few frostbitten fur marks.

I couldn’t think of a word to say and suddenly my face and tongue matched his exactly.

And my girlfriend, as the reality of the situation slowly sank in, let off a battle cry that surely startled the poor kitten’s soul past its ascendance up past the clouds.

What influences someone to record their thoughts on paper and to be crazy enough to let other people read them? Even as I sit here now I wonder if anyone would actually find my incessant ramblings slightly interesting. But alas I do not care. At all. And in that somewhat paradoxical statement, ladies and gentlemen, lies my greatest accomplishment and my most regrettable flaw.

I do not listen to what people say – I measure intent. Other people’s opinions are rarely high on my list of cool stuff to think about. The thought processes that stumble around the immense void that is my consciousness are my closest friends and most trusted guides. I live for the feeling and thrive off of emotion. I ponder, I calculate, and I accomplish.

I don’t see myself as witty, clever, charismatic, or terribly funny and I don’t play sports or do amazingly well in school. I am stubborn and unmotivated but I try hard and the slightest failure kicks my ass faster than Kimbo ever could.

So, what drives me to write, besides the influence of my English professor, whom I have a slight crush on? You do, my most trust worthy and opinionated (or bored) reader, you do. If I can offer you a different perspective, change your mind, make you think, or just make you smile, I have served a purpose on this blog. And that, my friends, is why I sit in front of the keyboard (other than to kill time between classes).

Quite a girl isn’t she? Well if you were watching the team women’s gymnastics in the 2008 olympics you would’ve witnessed one of the saddest tragedies in recent memory.

Even before the olympics began, people buzzed about the rivalry between the Americans and the Chinese. Even though the U.S. has taken the gold for the past few olympics, this year China assembled a dynamic new team. It was believed to be the greatest battle of gymnasts since the U.S. and Soviet days.

Fast forward to the event. After excellent performances by the Americans, and subsequent flawless performances by the Chinese, the score was almost even with the Chinese with a hair above the Americans.

The second to last event for the Americans was balance beam. Alicia was first to go on the balance beam. The balance beam was one of Alicia’s best events and she had proved her consistancy in this event in the trials and there was no doubt she was gonna give the Americans the head start they needed for their last event.

“Alicia typically has an very aggresive style, just watched her warm up.  She was attacking the beam looked extremely confident and right off the top she’ll mount the beam with a difficult mount and you can typically get an idea of how she’s feeling from that first skill

The three Americans need to be great to pass China”

Her reaction
Her reaction immediately after the fall

Her reaction immediately after the fall

As she mounted the beam, the announcers went quiet. She fell. Shawn Johnson and Nastia Liukin tried to hold it together. It would, however, not be enough. Sacramone fell again during the floor exercise and a demoralized Nastia and Shawn messed up on their routine.

Right after her first fall

Alicia knew in her mind that she was to blame for the women’s losing the gold to the Chinese. After years and years of landing the same mount on that same balance beam, she missed it when it counted most. To make it worse, she let her whole team down when she is the one that is supposed to be the experienced one and the most consistent. That’s without mentioning that all the folks back home and everyone in the U.S. are watching and knowing that she messed it up for the country.

After the medal ceremony, when they interviewed the team, Alicia stood in the back, hiding behind Nastia’s head, trying to avoid any questions that the reporter asked.

Now I don’t think she was to blame for the loss. But I can tell by her expressions she believed she lost it for the U.S. It was really sad seeing someone go through the humiliation. How sad is it to see someone work really hard for something and not reach their goal because of an uncontrollable force? Do you know of anyone, famous or not, who this has happened to?

As you may or may not know, the mastermind of our blog, CStair , has left for a religious pilgrimage…. sort of. The details are hazy to even the SConnoisseurs but we know that it was planned months in advance and that he will not be able to contribute to the blog during this period.

He will have limited blog access for the next year or so, so this may very well be the death of the blog. The rest of us will have a tough time making up for Chris’s insightful and humorous blog posts. This, however, does not mean we plan to abandon the blog. We will post diligently and hope you continue to read us.

Now I’m by no means a fan of Micheal Moore and his tactics of humiliation to get a point across, but the events that unfolded last night have convinced me that something has to be done.

Last night, my sister and I prepared a pleasant dinner for my family- sans my mother, who was out of town. We prepared the traditional Korean style course— rice, kimchi, doenjang soup, fish, freshly chopped tomatoes mixed with cilantro and a tad of vinegar. We were excited that we had a chance to prepare dinner and we made more than we probably should have.

When my father came back from work, we dined peacefully in the well-lit dining room. Everyone in the room seemed relaxed… maybe a bit tired from the day’s work. We spoke about Obama’s visit to Afghanistan … well I did, my family isn’t really interested in politics.

“Obama’s time with Petraeus hasn’t changed his mind on…” I paused and ate the rest of what remained on my plate.

That’s when an acute pain stabbed into my tongue. I screamed in agony as I quickly ran from the table. My dad asked what was wrong and when I tried to answer my tongue exploded with pain. My mind was reeling from from this excruciating feeling and I raced to the bathroom to see what had happened. Though my mouth was full of Korean food, I was able to see that the bottom of my tongue (The frenulum) had caught to a bracket (braces) on the side of  my mouth.

Someone once told me that the penis was the most sensitive area in the body and I took their word for it… but I can tell you that the tongue is pretty damn sensitive. Speaking of penises, apparently the frenulum is a part on the penis.  It was my unfortunate privilege to Google frenulum and find that Google posts pictures of the results on the very top. Don’t Google it… just take my word for it.

The psychological damage from those pictures will be added onto the pending lawsuit.

What pending lawsuit you say? Well let me continue with the story where I left off.

After several failed attempts to disengage my tongue with a toothpick, I gave up and told my dad what happened.

My father rushed me to the emergency at Miami Children’s Hospital (Though I am 18, I am considered a child still by some standards so pedophiles stay away) and the whole way I was in agonizing gut-wrenching pain. You see, the tongue was stuck in such a way that I could not utter a word nor could I swallow.

The clerk in the emergency room casually asks my name and date of birth. She looks a bit bored and seems slightly amused by my panic. I ask her to hurry and let me see a doctor. She takes my info and after a few minutes I am called in. However, I’m not called in to be treated nonono I’m called in to fill out paper work. I AM DYING HERE AND THEY’RE ASKING ME TO SIGN SUPERFLUOUS PAPERS. I am calmed by security and told to wait in the reception area. Yeah… The irony of a reception area in an EMERGENCY ROOM.

After 2 hours of waiting, I am in a state of hopelessness. The searing pain had subdued and now it was just a constant throbbing stab. I sat there… drooling kimchi, rice and saliva out of my mouth in a busy reception room full of crying infants, unable to speak, unable to complain. Writing in capital letters to the hospital staff just isn’t the same as screaming at them. The drooling had caused me to be dehydrated… and I could not swallow water.  The lights in the hospital room where getting brighter, and my lips drier. They provided me a towel to drool on (thanks!) but insisted I waited to see the doctor. Thoughts started running through my head: “What if I couldn’t speak properly after this?” Oh boyyyy… I would sue them for everything they had.  My future depends on my speaking ability. “What if I couldn’t taste?” Oh I would lose my will to live.

Eventually it became clear the emergency room was the worst place to go for an emergency and my dad pulled a few strings to get the home number of my orthodontist (let the North Korean spy jokes begin). After another hour of waiting outside the orthodontists office and several mosquito bites to worsen my mood, he arrived and freed my tongue from its cage.

Today, my tongue feels very sore and my anger has burgeoned. How could the American health care system make it so that I had to wait 3 hours for a simple procedure of taking my tongue off my braces? Fortunately, my tongue is fine but If my speech or taste were impaired, I would sue in a heart beat.

Maybe Micheal Moore is right. Maybe we should all just move to Canada.

A picture says a thousand words, but frankly, a thousand words wouldn’t even begin to describe the prodigious amount of stupidity one would need to do something this dumb.

I know what you’re saying, “Hey Chris this might have just been a horrible ‘accident’.” Yeah it was horrible and it was an accident, but what makes it interesting is that the 28 year-old driving the vehicle -get this, fell asleep at the wheel.

OK, it’s like- what? broad daylight? Who the hell falls asleep at the wheel at 2 in the afternoon? Take the bus you drunk.

His car plowed into 11 bicyclists on a highway near the US-Mexico border killing one and injuring 10… There are natural disasters that don’t even get that kind of rap sheet!

Forget “don’t drive drunk”, don’t drive if you are moron who likes to take naps midday .

-Chris

I’m writing about this because packs of wild kangaroos have been running rampant in our suburban community these past months as a direct result of the cane toad embargo in Australia. Frankly, my heart is too damn big to go along with my life knowing that hourly, our suburban youth are being mauled by these Horribly vicious and slightly bizarre Australian marsupials.

Armed with deceptively comical boxing gloves and the ability to spit vast distances, it is no wonder that kangaroos are responsible for 100% of all kangaroo-related deaths.

Watch this short video to learn how to protect yourself. From the people who brought you dehydrated water and the helicopter ejection seat I give you, Kangaroo Repellent.

I edited out the portion in which the slathering on of the dingo urine occurs, just because it was pretty graphic and definitely gross, and that’s just not the kind of blog I’m trying to run here. I’m just trying to arm you with knowledge… and Australian canine body fluids, but if I can protect just one of our suburban youth from another feral kangaroo attack, I’ve done my duty as an American citizen and suburban connoisseur.

Stay safe out there.

-Chris

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