When Ranier and I were together, one of the things I looked forward to the most was his trip down to San Diego during Memorial Day weekend for a junior dance competition on the Sunday. Even after we broke up, I told myself I was going to go see him in his competition, but now here I was, three days before the competition with no ticket. I figured I was going to see the same set at Sockhop, a showcase on Saturday, June 19th, so I could save myself some money by not going to the competition. But later that night, I found myself not giving enough of a shit to go to Sockhop anymore.
I sat at my desk in my apartment brooding over my Facebook wall-to-wall exchange with Ranier. I had asked him about getting me a presale ticket for twenty-five bucks, which were five bucks cheaper than the non-pre-sale, and Ray wrote back saying, “This weekend is actually the last weekend to get pre-sale. It’s 25 buh starting next week it’s 30. Buh yeah you know Imma be in SD buh I know Sang will be in the bay this weekend so maybe you can ask him.”
I actually forgot and missed the part about him being in San Diego—I was tired; Thursdays were my days of sitting through nearly four back-to-back nonstop one-and-a-half hour classes on four hours of sleep—so I replied, “That’s why I’m asking you. Can you buy ‘em for me and I’ll pay you back? You already owe me like 8 bucks anyway.”
One minute later he replied back, “Buh what I’m tellin’ you is that I’m not gonna be able to pay ‘cause tomorrow we’re getting’ ready and I’m not comin’ back ‘til Monday.”
That was when I decided, fuck this. Fuck Ray for giving me that tone. Fuck this and that. Fuck Sockhop and the Funkbrella teams all suck anyway. I’m not going to pay a fucking five extra bucks because twenty-five is already a fucking waste in the first place.
Looks like I wasn’t going to Sockhop, good riddance. I’d have more fun jacking off on that Saturday night anyway.
With that on my mind, I logged onto xtube.com.
I sat fuming on the trunk of my car, which was parked in the middle of a vast empty parking lot outside the Oracle Arena in Oakland. Ray danced only a few feet away. Ipod in hand, he was choreographing to pass time. We were three hours early for the big event: Ray dancing with the Funksters for the Warriors game half time show.
I could hardly pinpoint what I was mad about. I just knew, I was mad, and that meant I had to do what I always did when I got mad. What a great way to start my spring break; we were only three days in.
Every few minutes, Ray performed a small part of his choreo for me and ask what I thought about it. “It was good,” I’d tell him, but really, I was focusing on texting Trung about the possible reasons for why I was having such a shitty day.
“Are you okay Bay?” Looks like Ray finally noticed.
“I’m fine. I’m just tired.” I told him.
Ray knew those were lies, and he knew that I knew that he knew those were lies. This wasn’t the first time we played this game.
A game. I was a pro at it. Piss off a special, close friend who makes himself vulnerable to you until he is nearly on the brink of tears. I kinda got a kick out of it, and what always sucked was that my conscience would eventually kick in and I’d feel like the lowest shit for the next few days, or at least until I felt like playing the game again.
An awkward three hours passed, and now the two of us sat together in the arena, away from the rest of the Funksters. There was one behind us, but Ray probably texted her to ask her to give us some privacy because he was still trying to figure out why I was giving him the silent treatment.
He pried. I had probably never said “I’m fine” so many times in my life before. He gave up after fifteen minutes, and we continued to watch the game in pure silence. Make him stop caring enough to ask? 50 points. Make him feel like shit on a day when he should be having fun with the rest of his teammates? 100 points.
When half time came, he followed the rest of his teammates down to the basketball court to perform their set. I watched, and that was when my conscience finally started to kick in. Ray definitely made some mistakes, and each one made me wince. Each one made my heart pang a little bit deeper than the one before. What the fuck did I do—this was a performance during a half time show at a Warriors game in front of thousands of people, and I probably just ruined it for Ray.
I remembered the first time I played this game with Ranier. I talked to Trung about how upset I was about it. Ranier and I did manage to settle the problem, but what upset me was the fact that I still hadn’t given up my old tactics, the same ones that clawed away at my relationship with Trung. I was supposed to have matured, grown up, and learned from my past mistakes. But the only thing I learned was that I couldn’t learn.
While Ray and I managed to take care of some surface issues that initially pissed me off that day, we never actually settle the main underlying issue. We talked about it later that night, but we decided that it was best to push it to the back of our minds for now because we really wanted to make this relationship work. And we did enjoy plenty of successes after that night. However, the issue would eventually resurface—two and a half weeks later.
Every Game has a Sequel
Sunday, June 13, 2010
Tags:
dancing,
flashback,
norcal,
ranier,
relationships,
socal,
trung,
winter spring 2010
I’m Fucking Awesome
Saturday, June 12, 2010
“DINOBRIAN NOO!!!”
Trung pulled the leash until he felt every tendon in his arms tear apart. No amount of strength could turn around the giant green monstrous fifty-foot, twenty-five-ton brontosaurus as it crushed yet another chunk of the rainforest with its giant feet. The leash clung to its neck like the loose strands of thread on Trung’s safari outfit. He stood no more than five yards from the monster’s feet, trying to direct it away from the habitats of many indigenous and endangered South African animals.
“DINOBRIAN, COME THIS WAY!”
It was no use. The monster didn’t listen. It was no use. The monster continued to destroy. It was no use. It was no use...no use...
“DINOBRIAN!” Trung sprung from his bed and tossed his sheets to the side. He panted. He sweated. The sunlight shined through his window on his face. He wince, and he panted a little bit more, but he let his eyes adjust as he slowly realized where he was, and when he was. It was a November day during his first year at UCLA in the year 2008, and last night, he nearly cried himself to sleep.
Five feet and two inches. He couldn’t quite pull his boxers off the top of his dormroom bunk bed, but he stood with a sturdy stupefying demeanor, one of a formidable but respectable presence. All voices fell silent and all heads turned to him as he poised himself and adjusted his glasses. The candidate, nervously pulling at her skirt, stood at the front of the room in front of forty students, but when he stood up, everyone else disappeared and mattered no longer. He spoke:
“As internal vice president of the Khmer Student Association, you will be expected to further reach out to other clubs under joint projects and demonstrations. What are your plans for integrating the club with the Coalition of Asians and Pacific Islanders for Empowerment?”
She answered, and, feeling satisfied with the answer, he sat back in his chair and continued filling every blue line of his spiral-bound college ruled notebook. Such furious, vigorous scrawling only ceased when his cell phone sent him shocks through his jeans. A text message, received at 8:32 PM.
He retreated from the classroom and outside into the dark cold air, a frigid air that felt good on his sore legs, his sore back, and his sore neck, all sore from a slew of dance practices and workshops only two nights ago. He and his dance team had been practicing to create a fourteen-minute dance set to celebrate a strenuous year of hell week practices, sleepless nights, and dance routines that exhausted all short term and long term memory.
He met another man who stood at an astounding five feet and eleven inches, nine inches taller than himself, but he knew to feel anything but afraid. He said to the man:
“Happy twentieth birthday Brian! So what’d you do today?”
This is how the tall man responded:
“Today I got sushi with Lawrence and Sang and afterward we went to Tapioca Express where I got a grass jelly milk tea with boba and that was a total surprise because I thought there would only be boba in it but there was also a bunch of chunks of grass jelly in it and that plus the boba took up way too much space in my drink so there was hardly any actual milk tea but rather a bunch of chewy substance which I totally did not expect because the drink was called not milk tea with grass jelly but rather grass jelly milk tea which is really misleading because I thought it would be milk tea flavored by grass jelly and not milk tea with actual chunks of grass jelly and if I had realized this I would not have ordered the grass jelly milk tea with boba because I would know better than to have a cup that was seventy percent chewy stuff and thirty percent actual liquid because that combination makes like some kind of soup not a drink so I wanted to complain but there wasn’t much to complain about except that if I were in France I probably would not even have had this confusion because in French a tomato salad is called une salade des tomates which means a salad with tomatoes in it because des in une salade des tomates means with while une glace au chocolat which means ice cream of chocolate because the au means of so this means that it is ice cream flavored with chocolate but if the name of it in French was une glace des chocolates then it would be ice cream with actual pieces of chocolate and the ice cream itself might not even be chocolate flavored so if Tapioca Express branded their grass jelly milk tea as thé du lait des grass jelly I would know that it would be milk tea with chunks of grass jelly and if it was named thé du lait au grass jelly I would know that it would be milk tea flavored by grass jelly extract or whatever and I should also mention that I am full of problems so when can you fix them for me Trung?”
Trung smiled and nodded, and feeling his presence required back at the elections, he rushed inside, dropped Brian off in an empty classroom, and resumed his position among the members of the Khmer Student Association. The woman at the front, now a different candidate for a different position, spoke no more for a minute before Trung’s hand protruded from the audience. He posed a question no less than of great importance and relevancy to the club’s very foundations. This is what he asked:
“In what way does the Khmer Retention and Outreach in Education program address issues of student retention?”
Satisfied with her answer, he sat back down in his seat and subjected the last remaining sheets of his notebook paper to the pressure of his ballpoint pen. Finished, he flipped his notebook and revealed an agenda, worn and flooded by the black ink of the same ballpoint pen. He turned to the week of May 9th and reviewed to himself the items listed in the agenda. These are the thoughts that flowed through his mind:
Research and comb through all California community colleges for contacts to their Asian American or ethnic studies deparments—check. Dance practice for upcoming performance—check. Mentorship meeting—check. Second mentorship meeting—Check. Submit evaluations of Southeast Asian admit weekend—65% done. Contact incoming Fall 2010 freshmen, meet with coordinators, assemble transition binders, email templates—Check, check, check, check. Elections for officers of Association of Vietnamese American Students—was there an hour ago. Elections for officers of Khmer Student Association—almost done. Plans for Thursday and Friday—party and get fucked up, yeeah. Gonna beat my last shotgun record, two beers under ten seconds.
10 PM. Elections adjourned. Trung found Brian in an empty neighboring classroom working on everything but the essay that he drove up to UCLA on his birthday to finish. Trung would not have expect any less typical of Brian. They retrieved from the dining commons a smorgasbord of foods to withstand an enduring night of hungry stomachs, ones that could only be satisfied by the rich palette of flavors they purchased: Chili cheese burgers with a thousand island sauce, lightly salted curly fries, warm turkey sandwiches with strawberry jam, and double dutch dark chocolate gelato.
Once settled in a study room two floors above the floor on which Trung resided, Trung set up his Macbook Pro and Brian set up his Sony Vaio. Ignoring Brian’s pleas for the password to UCLA’s Internet access, Trung silently sifted through his Gmail inbox, where a certain email caught his attention. This is what the email said:
Hey Tom and Trung! My name’s Tanya and I went to your high school conference workshop last Saturday. I still remember the title of it: ABCD LGBT - Understanding the Sexuality Alphabet Soup. So, for my English class I’m writing a satire like “A Modest Proposal” where I state a social problem and find a completely absurd solution. I thought it’d be interesting to satirize how some people view the gay community and how they think they can “fix” them.
However, I think my satire is lacking some flare. My ideas aren’t ridiculous enough besides the crazy things that have already been done to confine the gay community, such as “treatment clinics,” ban of gay marriage, etc. So if either of you can give me any tips on ANYTHING, maybe something crazy someone has told you like homosexual people can “turn straight” or something...
Oh...and I’m sorry I’m still typing but I just wanted to let you both know that your workshop was AMAZING! And it really motivated me to want to become a gay-rights advocate. And I’d like to start small by enlightening the people at my school. You two are the reason I decided to write this essay! THANK YOU!!!
This is the one line that ran through Trung’s head:
I’m fucking awesome.
His lips curled and his eyes tightened, and he submitted himself to the blissfulness of the warmth that washed over him. This was what he worked for. Unfortunately in his state of elation, he unsuspectingly asked Brian what his essay was about. This is how Brian answered:
“I am writing about absurdism which is this ridiculous philosophical idea based in philosophy or some shit like that and it basically says that while there may be a meaning or purpose in life there is no way that mankind will ever discover it and if they do all their attempts will fail or they will find a false purpose or meaning and because they are always guaranteed to fail these attempts are considered absurd and so that is how the name and the idea came along for absurdism and since it was such a great idea a bunch of playwrights decided to abuse it in the twentieth century when this one playwright by the name of Samuel Beckkett wrote Waiting for Godot which I have to write my paper on while including themes of absurdism and fate and also metatheatre which is a concept of theatre that is so trippy and ridiculous because while I understand the different types of meta theatre such as a play within a play or roleplaying within a play I do not understand how this is supposed to make the audience think from the perspective of what this one guy Richard Hornby called the drama/culture complex which is one of the many concepts that make me wish that I did not sign up for this tragedy and comedy class but I had to because I needed it to change my major but if I had known what this class was about I would not have signed up for it but I did because I did not realized that tragedy and comedy meant nothing but tragic and comedic plays and I did not even realize that we were only reading nothing but plays until after we already finished Oedipus and Hamlet and after we started on Waiting for Godot which by the way is a play where nothing happens twice as in two guys spend two acts waiting for a person who does not even fucking show up but I am now realizing that that is probably the point because these two guys think that waiting for Godot is the purpose of their life and since he never shows up that makes their purpose meaningless thus fulfilling all ideas of absurdism so I guess I get it now and I should start working on my paper but first I should also mention that I am full of problems so when can you fix them for me Trung?”
Trung smiled and nodded. With an unfinished flyer opened in Adobe Illustrator on the left side of his screen and Tanya’s paper opened in Microsoft Word on the other side, he pounded on his touch pad and his keyboard, creating a symphony of clicks and keystrokes, a symphony that carried him and Brian through a night that would last until 5 AM.
Dino dino dino dino dino... Dino. D-I-N-O, dino. Dinos. Trung lay in his bed after having just woken up for a nap. His phone rested at his side. It was 2 AM, and he still hadn’t received a call. He decided that he had to be the one to do it.
The voice on the other end was coarse, and the dialogue was terse. “Hello?”
“Hi Dinobrian! It’s uh, 2 AM and you haven’t called yet.”
“Sorry, I’ve been busy.” Sincerity—completely devoid.
“So uh, can we talk about last night?”
“No I think I’m still too busy. Sorry.”
“Just for a little bit?”
“There’s nothing to talk about. I was tired. I’m fine now.”
“Can I ask you about your day then?”
“Classes. Danced a little. Homework. Yours?” Brian only asked because the question was an obligation.
“Well, class ended at noon, and then I went back to my dorm for a bit. Then I woke up and waited for your call Brian. I waited. I got hungry but I didn’t eat because I thought you would call but then I guess I fell asleep again. I woke up and I still felt hungry but that didn’t even matter. You still didn’t call yet, so I decided to call you.”
“You pretty much napped from noon to 2 AM?”
“Yeah.”
“Look, I gotta go because I’m still working on my shit. You should find something to do with your life at UCLA. It’s your first god damn year. Bye.” Click.
Brian just sank the entire South African rainforest into the mantle of the earth.
Trung pulled the leash until he felt every tendon in his arms tear apart. No amount of strength could turn around the giant green monstrous fifty-foot, twenty-five-ton brontosaurus as it crushed yet another chunk of the rainforest with its giant feet. The leash clung to its neck like the loose strands of thread on Trung’s safari outfit. He stood no more than five yards from the monster’s feet, trying to direct it away from the habitats of many indigenous and endangered South African animals.
“DINOBRIAN, COME THIS WAY!”
It was no use. The monster didn’t listen. It was no use. The monster continued to destroy. It was no use. It was no use...no use...
“DINOBRIAN!” Trung sprung from his bed and tossed his sheets to the side. He panted. He sweated. The sunlight shined through his window on his face. He wince, and he panted a little bit more, but he let his eyes adjust as he slowly realized where he was, and when he was. It was a November day during his first year at UCLA in the year 2008, and last night, he nearly cried himself to sleep.
Five feet and two inches. He couldn’t quite pull his boxers off the top of his dormroom bunk bed, but he stood with a sturdy stupefying demeanor, one of a formidable but respectable presence. All voices fell silent and all heads turned to him as he poised himself and adjusted his glasses. The candidate, nervously pulling at her skirt, stood at the front of the room in front of forty students, but when he stood up, everyone else disappeared and mattered no longer. He spoke:
“As internal vice president of the Khmer Student Association, you will be expected to further reach out to other clubs under joint projects and demonstrations. What are your plans for integrating the club with the Coalition of Asians and Pacific Islanders for Empowerment?”
She answered, and, feeling satisfied with the answer, he sat back in his chair and continued filling every blue line of his spiral-bound college ruled notebook. Such furious, vigorous scrawling only ceased when his cell phone sent him shocks through his jeans. A text message, received at 8:32 PM.
He retreated from the classroom and outside into the dark cold air, a frigid air that felt good on his sore legs, his sore back, and his sore neck, all sore from a slew of dance practices and workshops only two nights ago. He and his dance team had been practicing to create a fourteen-minute dance set to celebrate a strenuous year of hell week practices, sleepless nights, and dance routines that exhausted all short term and long term memory.
He met another man who stood at an astounding five feet and eleven inches, nine inches taller than himself, but he knew to feel anything but afraid. He said to the man:
“Happy twentieth birthday Brian! So what’d you do today?”
This is how the tall man responded:
“Today I got sushi with Lawrence and Sang and afterward we went to Tapioca Express where I got a grass jelly milk tea with boba and that was a total surprise because I thought there would only be boba in it but there was also a bunch of chunks of grass jelly in it and that plus the boba took up way too much space in my drink so there was hardly any actual milk tea but rather a bunch of chewy substance which I totally did not expect because the drink was called not milk tea with grass jelly but rather grass jelly milk tea which is really misleading because I thought it would be milk tea flavored by grass jelly and not milk tea with actual chunks of grass jelly and if I had realized this I would not have ordered the grass jelly milk tea with boba because I would know better than to have a cup that was seventy percent chewy stuff and thirty percent actual liquid because that combination makes like some kind of soup not a drink so I wanted to complain but there wasn’t much to complain about except that if I were in France I probably would not even have had this confusion because in French a tomato salad is called une salade des tomates which means a salad with tomatoes in it because des in une salade des tomates means with while une glace au chocolat which means ice cream of chocolate because the au means of so this means that it is ice cream flavored with chocolate but if the name of it in French was une glace des chocolates then it would be ice cream with actual pieces of chocolate and the ice cream itself might not even be chocolate flavored so if Tapioca Express branded their grass jelly milk tea as thé du lait des grass jelly I would know that it would be milk tea with chunks of grass jelly and if it was named thé du lait au grass jelly I would know that it would be milk tea flavored by grass jelly extract or whatever and I should also mention that I am full of problems so when can you fix them for me Trung?”
Trung smiled and nodded, and feeling his presence required back at the elections, he rushed inside, dropped Brian off in an empty classroom, and resumed his position among the members of the Khmer Student Association. The woman at the front, now a different candidate for a different position, spoke no more for a minute before Trung’s hand protruded from the audience. He posed a question no less than of great importance and relevancy to the club’s very foundations. This is what he asked:
“In what way does the Khmer Retention and Outreach in Education program address issues of student retention?”
Satisfied with her answer, he sat back down in his seat and subjected the last remaining sheets of his notebook paper to the pressure of his ballpoint pen. Finished, he flipped his notebook and revealed an agenda, worn and flooded by the black ink of the same ballpoint pen. He turned to the week of May 9th and reviewed to himself the items listed in the agenda. These are the thoughts that flowed through his mind:
Research and comb through all California community colleges for contacts to their Asian American or ethnic studies deparments—check. Dance practice for upcoming performance—check. Mentorship meeting—check. Second mentorship meeting—Check. Submit evaluations of Southeast Asian admit weekend—65% done. Contact incoming Fall 2010 freshmen, meet with coordinators, assemble transition binders, email templates—Check, check, check, check. Elections for officers of Association of Vietnamese American Students—was there an hour ago. Elections for officers of Khmer Student Association—almost done. Plans for Thursday and Friday—party and get fucked up, yeeah. Gonna beat my last shotgun record, two beers under ten seconds.
10 PM. Elections adjourned. Trung found Brian in an empty neighboring classroom working on everything but the essay that he drove up to UCLA on his birthday to finish. Trung would not have expect any less typical of Brian. They retrieved from the dining commons a smorgasbord of foods to withstand an enduring night of hungry stomachs, ones that could only be satisfied by the rich palette of flavors they purchased: Chili cheese burgers with a thousand island sauce, lightly salted curly fries, warm turkey sandwiches with strawberry jam, and double dutch dark chocolate gelato.
Once settled in a study room two floors above the floor on which Trung resided, Trung set up his Macbook Pro and Brian set up his Sony Vaio. Ignoring Brian’s pleas for the password to UCLA’s Internet access, Trung silently sifted through his Gmail inbox, where a certain email caught his attention. This is what the email said:
Hey Tom and Trung! My name’s Tanya and I went to your high school conference workshop last Saturday. I still remember the title of it: ABCD LGBT - Understanding the Sexuality Alphabet Soup. So, for my English class I’m writing a satire like “A Modest Proposal” where I state a social problem and find a completely absurd solution. I thought it’d be interesting to satirize how some people view the gay community and how they think they can “fix” them.
However, I think my satire is lacking some flare. My ideas aren’t ridiculous enough besides the crazy things that have already been done to confine the gay community, such as “treatment clinics,” ban of gay marriage, etc. So if either of you can give me any tips on ANYTHING, maybe something crazy someone has told you like homosexual people can “turn straight” or something...
Oh...and I’m sorry I’m still typing but I just wanted to let you both know that your workshop was AMAZING! And it really motivated me to want to become a gay-rights advocate. And I’d like to start small by enlightening the people at my school. You two are the reason I decided to write this essay! THANK YOU!!!
This is the one line that ran through Trung’s head:
I’m fucking awesome.
His lips curled and his eyes tightened, and he submitted himself to the blissfulness of the warmth that washed over him. This was what he worked for. Unfortunately in his state of elation, he unsuspectingly asked Brian what his essay was about. This is how Brian answered:
“I am writing about absurdism which is this ridiculous philosophical idea based in philosophy or some shit like that and it basically says that while there may be a meaning or purpose in life there is no way that mankind will ever discover it and if they do all their attempts will fail or they will find a false purpose or meaning and because they are always guaranteed to fail these attempts are considered absurd and so that is how the name and the idea came along for absurdism and since it was such a great idea a bunch of playwrights decided to abuse it in the twentieth century when this one playwright by the name of Samuel Beckkett wrote Waiting for Godot which I have to write my paper on while including themes of absurdism and fate and also metatheatre which is a concept of theatre that is so trippy and ridiculous because while I understand the different types of meta theatre such as a play within a play or roleplaying within a play I do not understand how this is supposed to make the audience think from the perspective of what this one guy Richard Hornby called the drama/culture complex which is one of the many concepts that make me wish that I did not sign up for this tragedy and comedy class but I had to because I needed it to change my major but if I had known what this class was about I would not have signed up for it but I did because I did not realized that tragedy and comedy meant nothing but tragic and comedic plays and I did not even realize that we were only reading nothing but plays until after we already finished Oedipus and Hamlet and after we started on Waiting for Godot which by the way is a play where nothing happens twice as in two guys spend two acts waiting for a person who does not even fucking show up but I am now realizing that that is probably the point because these two guys think that waiting for Godot is the purpose of their life and since he never shows up that makes their purpose meaningless thus fulfilling all ideas of absurdism so I guess I get it now and I should start working on my paper but first I should also mention that I am full of problems so when can you fix them for me Trung?”
Trung smiled and nodded. With an unfinished flyer opened in Adobe Illustrator on the left side of his screen and Tanya’s paper opened in Microsoft Word on the other side, he pounded on his touch pad and his keyboard, creating a symphony of clicks and keystrokes, a symphony that carried him and Brian through a night that would last until 5 AM.
Dino dino dino dino dino... Dino. D-I-N-O, dino. Dinos. Trung lay in his bed after having just woken up for a nap. His phone rested at his side. It was 2 AM, and he still hadn’t received a call. He decided that he had to be the one to do it.
The voice on the other end was coarse, and the dialogue was terse. “Hello?”
“Hi Dinobrian! It’s uh, 2 AM and you haven’t called yet.”
“Sorry, I’ve been busy.” Sincerity—completely devoid.
“So uh, can we talk about last night?”
“No I think I’m still too busy. Sorry.”
“Just for a little bit?”
“There’s nothing to talk about. I was tired. I’m fine now.”
“Can I ask you about your day then?”
“Classes. Danced a little. Homework. Yours?” Brian only asked because the question was an obligation.
“Well, class ended at noon, and then I went back to my dorm for a bit. Then I woke up and waited for your call Brian. I waited. I got hungry but I didn’t eat because I thought you would call but then I guess I fell asleep again. I woke up and I still felt hungry but that didn’t even matter. You still didn’t call yet, so I decided to call you.”
“You pretty much napped from noon to 2 AM?”
“Yeah.”
“Look, I gotta go because I’m still working on my shit. You should find something to do with your life at UCLA. It’s your first god damn year. Bye.” Click.
Brian just sank the entire South African rainforest into the mantle of the earth.
Tags:
dancing,
flashback,
gay,
relationships,
schoolwork,
socal,
trung,
winter spring 2010
Brian Goes to Korea
Sunday, June 6, 2010
“Teachers Facing Weakest Market in Years”
Written May 19th, 2010 by Winnie Hu, from the New York Times (Excerpted)
PELHAM, N.Y. — In the month since Pelham Memorial High School in Westchester County advertised seven teaching jobs, it has been flooded with 3,010 applications from candidates as far away as California. The Port Washington District on Long Island is sorting through 3,620 applications for eight positions — the largest pool the superintendent has seen in his 41-year career.
The recession seems to have penetrated a profession long seen as recession-proof. Superintendents, education professors and people seeking work say teachers are facing the worst job market since the Great Depression. Amid state and local budget cuts, cash-poor urban districts like New York City and Los Angeles, which once hired thousands of young people every spring, have taken down the help-wanted signs.
In New York, where the Success Charter Network is hiring 135 teachers for its seven schools in Harlem and the Bronx, some of the 8,453 applicants have called the office three times a day to check on their status. Veteran teachers have also offered to work as assistant teachers.
“It’s heartbreaking — there’s much more desperation out there,” said Eva S. Moskowitz, a former councilwoman who is the network’s founder and chief executive.
At the University of Pennsylvania, most of the 90 aspiring teachers who graduated last weekend are jobless. Many had counted on offers from the Philadelphia public schools but had their interviews canceled this month after the district announced a hiring freeze.
“People will come in here begging for anything,” said Dennis R. Lauro Jr., the superintendent [of Pelham Union Free School District], who started closing his office door this year because out-of-work teachers would drop in unannounced to hand him résumés. “We’ve never seen these kinds of numbers before.”
Along with five other former teachers, Jade Stier, 27, finally gave up and enrolled in a nursing program last fall, after three years of looking for an elementary school job. She sent out hundreds of résumés, only to land one interview a year. She settled for working as a substitute teacher, earning $85 a day with no benefits.
“Spending $50,000 for an education you can’t use is really frustrating,” Ms. Stier said. “I definitely miss teaching, but I felt like I had no other choice.”
---
We had a guest speaker talk to us teachers during my first summer at Breakthrough Collaborative in 2008. She was some chick from the district office or from the government—I don’t remember—and she told us, “In light of the failing education market, the fact that you young students are still working toward your dreams of becoming teachers shows how you are all courageous.”
Now I just think we’re fucking stupid.
All I heard throughout Breakthrough was how, don’t worry, the market sucks now but in four years, all the oldies are going to retire and the market will open up again. I was able to convince myself of this, and what also helped was the fact that I tried to avoid looking too far into the future. I’ve always had the habit of sitting back and thinking, “Things will get better later, and I won’t have to do anything.”
Now I feel like this whole idea of old teachers retiring all at once and the market blossoming like vagina lips was some false encouragement trying to keep us aspiring teachers from losing hope. I don’t see the market opening up any time soon. I got two more years in college, and I’ll probably do a one-year credentialing program of some sort. Teaching jobs opening up by Fall 2013? I don’t think so. Not like this.
The biggest question facing me is, what the fuck am I going to do? I’m still going to pursue teaching, but I now need a backup plan, which will probably be more like the only plan.
My education professor, a young guy in his late twenties, told us about what he did after he graduated from college. While his friends tried to stay around their hometown to find teaching jobs, he went out to teach in England and Asia, and years later, once he came back to America to find a more stable teaching job, teachers hired him because he had built up a very solid resumé.
I think that’s going to be my plan: grab at any kind of teaching job, no matter where it is. There are always ads in the school newspaper to Teach English in Korea for a year and earn like $1500 a month (plus living expenses, too). Bitch pay, but it’d look good on my resumé. Hopefully this offer will still be around when I graduate. I don’t think I’ll hesitate to take it.
Plus, hot Koreanzz oh NOM NOM NOM.
Written May 19th, 2010 by Winnie Hu, from the New York Times (Excerpted)
PELHAM, N.Y. — In the month since Pelham Memorial High School in Westchester County advertised seven teaching jobs, it has been flooded with 3,010 applications from candidates as far away as California. The Port Washington District on Long Island is sorting through 3,620 applications for eight positions — the largest pool the superintendent has seen in his 41-year career.
The recession seems to have penetrated a profession long seen as recession-proof. Superintendents, education professors and people seeking work say teachers are facing the worst job market since the Great Depression. Amid state and local budget cuts, cash-poor urban districts like New York City and Los Angeles, which once hired thousands of young people every spring, have taken down the help-wanted signs.
In New York, where the Success Charter Network is hiring 135 teachers for its seven schools in Harlem and the Bronx, some of the 8,453 applicants have called the office three times a day to check on their status. Veteran teachers have also offered to work as assistant teachers.
“It’s heartbreaking — there’s much more desperation out there,” said Eva S. Moskowitz, a former councilwoman who is the network’s founder and chief executive.
At the University of Pennsylvania, most of the 90 aspiring teachers who graduated last weekend are jobless. Many had counted on offers from the Philadelphia public schools but had their interviews canceled this month after the district announced a hiring freeze.
“People will come in here begging for anything,” said Dennis R. Lauro Jr., the superintendent [of Pelham Union Free School District], who started closing his office door this year because out-of-work teachers would drop in unannounced to hand him résumés. “We’ve never seen these kinds of numbers before.”
Along with five other former teachers, Jade Stier, 27, finally gave up and enrolled in a nursing program last fall, after three years of looking for an elementary school job. She sent out hundreds of résumés, only to land one interview a year. She settled for working as a substitute teacher, earning $85 a day with no benefits.
“Spending $50,000 for an education you can’t use is really frustrating,” Ms. Stier said. “I definitely miss teaching, but I felt like I had no other choice.”
---
We had a guest speaker talk to us teachers during my first summer at Breakthrough Collaborative in 2008. She was some chick from the district office or from the government—I don’t remember—and she told us, “In light of the failing education market, the fact that you young students are still working toward your dreams of becoming teachers shows how you are all courageous.”
Now I just think we’re fucking stupid.
All I heard throughout Breakthrough was how, don’t worry, the market sucks now but in four years, all the oldies are going to retire and the market will open up again. I was able to convince myself of this, and what also helped was the fact that I tried to avoid looking too far into the future. I’ve always had the habit of sitting back and thinking, “Things will get better later, and I won’t have to do anything.”
Now I feel like this whole idea of old teachers retiring all at once and the market blossoming like vagina lips was some false encouragement trying to keep us aspiring teachers from losing hope. I don’t see the market opening up any time soon. I got two more years in college, and I’ll probably do a one-year credentialing program of some sort. Teaching jobs opening up by Fall 2013? I don’t think so. Not like this.
The biggest question facing me is, what the fuck am I going to do? I’m still going to pursue teaching, but I now need a backup plan, which will probably be more like the only plan.
My education professor, a young guy in his late twenties, told us about what he did after he graduated from college. While his friends tried to stay around their hometown to find teaching jobs, he went out to teach in England and Asia, and years later, once he came back to America to find a more stable teaching job, teachers hired him because he had built up a very solid resumé.
I think that’s going to be my plan: grab at any kind of teaching job, no matter where it is. There are always ads in the school newspaper to Teach English in Korea for a year and earn like $1500 a month (plus living expenses, too). Bitch pay, but it’d look good on my resumé. Hopefully this offer will still be around when I graduate. I don’t think I’ll hesitate to take it.
Plus, hot Koreanzz oh NOM NOM NOM.
Tags:
breakthrough,
future,
guestwriter,
repost,
socal,
teaching,
winter spring 2010
Two Sons
Saturday, June 5, 2010
I was sitting at the living room table with laptop when my mom walked in, on her way upstairs to head to bed.
“So how have you been, Brian?”
“I’ve been good.”
“How are you and R...ra—the one from San Francisco?”
“Ranier?” No point in hiding it. “We broke up a little less than two months ago.”
“Oh, honey I didn’t know!” I felt my mom’s hand brush softly up against the back of my head.
“Y’know,” she sighed. “That’s life. This happens. Don’t be sad okay?” She rubbed my head, kinda roughly actually. “Guys, they just come and go. There are more out there. Be patient ok?”
I rolled my eyes. Oh god, please don’t let this become another wear-protection conversation.
I nodded.
“So is Trung coming to dinner with us tomorrow?”
“Yeah, and I’m going to go hang out with him in a bit tonight.”
“Oh, what are you guys doing?”
“We’re just going to hang out with some friends and eat. Nothing special.”
I stood at the front door, my backpack and two baskets of clothes beside me, and I slowly checked items off a mental list. Cell phone charger, tooth brush, his present to me—check check check.
I tried to take in the living room around me one last time, my memories of home, but my eyes fell on something that I didn’t notice until now: a pot of yellow tulips sitting on the living room table. The pot was dressed with gold wrapping paper, which reflected patches of golden sunlight over my house’s white walls.
My mom came walking into the living room to ask me if I remembered everything. I nodded yes, but before leaving, I had to know about the tulips. I pointed at them and asked her, “Where did those come from?”
“Oh, Trung came by yesterday night when you were out to drop them off and wish me and Dad chúc mừng năm mới. Aren’t the tulips beautiful?”
Yesterday night? Yesterday night at 9 PM I got a text from Trung saying, “Stop having sex.” I was with Ranier at the movies watching Dear John for Valentine’s Day. We had been talking about ways that Ranier could win over my parents and outshine Trung, and now factoring in points for the tulips, it looked like the scoreboard read Ranier: 2, Trung: 999.
For my belated birthday celebration, my parents, my brother, Trung, and I went out to eat in downtown San Jose at Vung Tau, my mom’s favorite Vietnamese restaurant, which also happened to be my entire family’s favorite restaurant, which also happened to be pretty much the only Vietnamese restaurant we ever went to. Prices had gone up over the last fifteen years to ridiculous rates. (I don’t know why. The restaurant was kinda fancy, but not that fancy, like not fancy enough to merit formal attire. My mom wore an orange t-shirt with a black hoodie and jean shorts, my dad sported a striped polo and tennis shorts, I dressed like a failed wannabe hype beast, my brother looked like the typical nerd, and Trung was Trung.) I had pushed Trung to order something very cheap, and he already felt bad enough that my parents were treating him out. He ordered the cheapest thing on the menu: four eggrolls for six bucks. At least the eggrolls were pretty big.
My family dinners were always quiet. (Trung would later tell me that he felt uncomfortable because he thought the silence was awkward silence, but no, it was just our normal, regular silence.) We were focused on our food, but what mattered was that we could all take breaks out of our own individual lives and be together again for, at the very least, dinner. Every once in a while though, conversations popped up. Was Jack Bauer going to die in the 24 series finale? What the fuck is going on in Lost? Have I been losing or gaining weight? My mom also brought up Trung’s dance performance and dramatic performance in UCLA’s Vietnamese Culture Night show (I had shown my mom a DVD of the show earlier in the day). I remember one of her particular remarks (in Vietnamese): “Trung, your group’s dancing was actually very fun to watch. It actually looked clean. Remember Brian’s students at Breakthrough?” She chuckled.
Yes, we remember, mom. Thank you.
The bill came out to seventy-nine dollars, so Trung’s six-dollar eggrolls didn’t have that much of an impact on the bill. Once we got back to my house, we all gathered in the living room and my mom brought out a cake on which two giant candles resided. The candles read “2” and “0.” The cake was the same mocha cake with almonds we got every year, except smaller. Even though my relatives didn’t come down this year for a birthday party, my mom still couldn’t resist twenty-year-old traditions. She lit the candles, backed up, and counted down, “3, 2, 1, everybody! Haaappy birthday to you...”
My dad, brother, and Trung all joined in as I sat in front of my cake, totally not embarrassed at all. My mom started to clap along to the song, and Trung enthusiastically joined in as he continued to enthusiastically sing “HAPPY BIRRRRTTHHDAY DEEEEARR BRIIIIAN.” I blew out the candles as my brother took pictures on his cellphone. The yippies and yays and hoorays died down within five seconds, and my mom pulled out a knife.
We all each got slices from the cake, and as we finished our cakes, we slowly dispersed: my dad into the family room to watch the Sharks on TV, and my brother upstairs to his room. Trung, me, and my mom remained. Trung and I were anxious to leave to Trung’s house for his sister’s graduation party, but my mom kept us behind with some stories. She pointed out pictures of some ancestors we had in our display case.
“That one is your dad’s step-mom, the one that burned herself to death.”
I knew about the self-immolation, but I didn’t know that it was my dad’s step-mom and not his biological mom. I learned that his biological mom died when he was only two.
“Your dad came from a rich, famous family, which is why the communists took everything from them when they invaded Phan Thiet. Your dad’s mom burned herself in her own house out of despair and protest. Because of this, your dad and his family became even more well known. If you go back to Phan Thiet today and ask around about her or your dad, everyone should be able to tell you at least one thing about them. Your dad’s mom haunts the house that she burned herself in. No one, including communist soldiers, has ever lived in it because they knew this.”
I rolled my eyes at that last part, just a little bit.
My mom delayed us by about twenty minutes, but the rich history lesson was worth it.
After my mom joined my dad in the living room, Trung and I drove over to his place to catch the last few hours of his sister’s graduation party. I mainly wanted to go because there were always oysters at Trung’s family parties, and they were always delicious. (I’m typing this entry while hungry right now and it’s making me regret that I didn’t eat more than one oyster.)
Cars filled Trung’s driveway and the street, so I had to park around the corner. The place I parked at was certainly a parking space of many memories. Lots of interesting things happened here. But, I digress.
We barely stepped foot into Trung’s house before a wave of body heat washed over us, before Vietnamese chatter and commotion filled our ears and perfume and cologne cocktails filled our noses. From wall to wall stood laughing, gossiping guests, who looked like they were here to celebrate an Asian production of The Great Gatsby, them being extras within the play. Lighting was dim; their faces glowed orange and blurred with each angle change as the guests cheered and chortled.
Shuffling through all the guests felt like going through a maze blind. Trung and I found the backyard, where his sister and her friends took refuge and where the oysters dwelled inside the barbeque grill.
“Oh my god, this is your graduation party right? Who are all these people?” Trung cried immediately upon greeting his sister.
“I have no idea!”
Apparently, Trung’s relatives were here earlier in the afternoon and evening—Trung was there for that; he was in the middle of his sister’s graduation party before I picked him up to go eat with my family—but once night fell, Trung’s parents brought over all of their friends. Adult friends.
I had to venture back inside eventually to find Tobasco sauce for my oyster. Alcohol and dishes of Vietnamese food littered the tables. Everyone was trying to grab at something.
I slipped back out, Tobasco in hand. Trung followed me out, a Corona in his hand.
“Look! They didn’t run out of my favorite!” Trung had his sister’s friend pop off the cap of his Corona, and he downed a several gulps.
I doused my oyster in Tobasco sauce and sucked the oyster off its shell.
I was enjoying my oyster very much when roars of applauses erupted from inside the house. Trung and I ran inside to investigate the commotion: Trung’s mom, looking more glamorous than ever, floated down the hall in a pink, laced bodice and an equally pink billowing tutu.
Trung’s dad appeared beside her in a suit, and he managed to seek me out among his wife’s crowd to tell me, “‘Ey boy!”—his (and sometimes Trung’s) usual greeting to me.
Trung and I eventually escaped to his room, but, his room being on the first floor, it didn’t offer much protection. An ice chest sat next to his door, and every few minutes a guest popped in to dig out a beer.
I planted my ass on Trung’s bed. I felt so dazed. I wanted more oysters but I didn’t want to go back out there. I reached around Trung’s bed and found a source of comfort and relief: Dinoblanket, my gift that I made for Trung for Christmas 2008. It was a blue cloth blanket sewed (mostly fabric glued) with differently colored fabrics. They depicted a large green dinosaur standing on a flower bed with brown mountains in the distance. Three clouds floated in the sky, and each cloud had a checklist item: Eat (checked), Poop (checked), and Sleep (unchecked). Shutting all the noise and commotion away, I huddled underneath the blanket and let myself fall into a deep, soothing nap.
Trung, who sat at his desk with his laptop, woke me up half an hour later. The party was still going on, but at least my mind felt clearer and less overwhelmed.
“You’re going home now?” he asked.
“Yeah. Fun party.”
“You want a beer?”
“I’m g—”
“Just kidding I don’t want you to crash and die. No beer for you.” He patted my head.
“—I’m good, thanks.”
I stood up for a hug, and shortly after he walked me out to my car. Back down the street around the corner, here in this parking space underneath some trees and a street light.
It was where, a very long time ago, I would park so Trung and I could, over the course of nearly two years, make out, argue, have naked fun, almost break up, steam up the windows, actually break up via me reading my break-up letter aloud to him, and have a long conversation about the future ahead of us. Good times. But, I digress.
“So how have you been, Brian?”
“I’ve been good.”
“How are you and R...ra—the one from San Francisco?”
“Ranier?” No point in hiding it. “We broke up a little less than two months ago.”
“Oh, honey I didn’t know!” I felt my mom’s hand brush softly up against the back of my head.
“Y’know,” she sighed. “That’s life. This happens. Don’t be sad okay?” She rubbed my head, kinda roughly actually. “Guys, they just come and go. There are more out there. Be patient ok?”
I rolled my eyes. Oh god, please don’t let this become another wear-protection conversation.
I nodded.
“So is Trung coming to dinner with us tomorrow?”
“Yeah, and I’m going to go hang out with him in a bit tonight.”
“Oh, what are you guys doing?”
“We’re just going to hang out with some friends and eat. Nothing special.”
I stood at the front door, my backpack and two baskets of clothes beside me, and I slowly checked items off a mental list. Cell phone charger, tooth brush, his present to me—check check check.
I tried to take in the living room around me one last time, my memories of home, but my eyes fell on something that I didn’t notice until now: a pot of yellow tulips sitting on the living room table. The pot was dressed with gold wrapping paper, which reflected patches of golden sunlight over my house’s white walls.
My mom came walking into the living room to ask me if I remembered everything. I nodded yes, but before leaving, I had to know about the tulips. I pointed at them and asked her, “Where did those come from?”
“Oh, Trung came by yesterday night when you were out to drop them off and wish me and Dad chúc mừng năm mới. Aren’t the tulips beautiful?”
Yesterday night? Yesterday night at 9 PM I got a text from Trung saying, “Stop having sex.” I was with Ranier at the movies watching Dear John for Valentine’s Day. We had been talking about ways that Ranier could win over my parents and outshine Trung, and now factoring in points for the tulips, it looked like the scoreboard read Ranier: 2, Trung: 999.
For my belated birthday celebration, my parents, my brother, Trung, and I went out to eat in downtown San Jose at Vung Tau, my mom’s favorite Vietnamese restaurant, which also happened to be my entire family’s favorite restaurant, which also happened to be pretty much the only Vietnamese restaurant we ever went to. Prices had gone up over the last fifteen years to ridiculous rates. (I don’t know why. The restaurant was kinda fancy, but not that fancy, like not fancy enough to merit formal attire. My mom wore an orange t-shirt with a black hoodie and jean shorts, my dad sported a striped polo and tennis shorts, I dressed like a failed wannabe hype beast, my brother looked like the typical nerd, and Trung was Trung.) I had pushed Trung to order something very cheap, and he already felt bad enough that my parents were treating him out. He ordered the cheapest thing on the menu: four eggrolls for six bucks. At least the eggrolls were pretty big.
My family dinners were always quiet. (Trung would later tell me that he felt uncomfortable because he thought the silence was awkward silence, but no, it was just our normal, regular silence.) We were focused on our food, but what mattered was that we could all take breaks out of our own individual lives and be together again for, at the very least, dinner. Every once in a while though, conversations popped up. Was Jack Bauer going to die in the 24 series finale? What the fuck is going on in Lost? Have I been losing or gaining weight? My mom also brought up Trung’s dance performance and dramatic performance in UCLA’s Vietnamese Culture Night show (I had shown my mom a DVD of the show earlier in the day). I remember one of her particular remarks (in Vietnamese): “Trung, your group’s dancing was actually very fun to watch. It actually looked clean. Remember Brian’s students at Breakthrough?” She chuckled.
Yes, we remember, mom. Thank you.
The bill came out to seventy-nine dollars, so Trung’s six-dollar eggrolls didn’t have that much of an impact on the bill. Once we got back to my house, we all gathered in the living room and my mom brought out a cake on which two giant candles resided. The candles read “2” and “0.” The cake was the same mocha cake with almonds we got every year, except smaller. Even though my relatives didn’t come down this year for a birthday party, my mom still couldn’t resist twenty-year-old traditions. She lit the candles, backed up, and counted down, “3, 2, 1, everybody! Haaappy birthday to you...”
My dad, brother, and Trung all joined in as I sat in front of my cake, totally not embarrassed at all. My mom started to clap along to the song, and Trung enthusiastically joined in as he continued to enthusiastically sing “HAPPY BIRRRRTTHHDAY DEEEEARR BRIIIIAN.” I blew out the candles as my brother took pictures on his cellphone. The yippies and yays and hoorays died down within five seconds, and my mom pulled out a knife.We all each got slices from the cake, and as we finished our cakes, we slowly dispersed: my dad into the family room to watch the Sharks on TV, and my brother upstairs to his room. Trung, me, and my mom remained. Trung and I were anxious to leave to Trung’s house for his sister’s graduation party, but my mom kept us behind with some stories. She pointed out pictures of some ancestors we had in our display case.
“That one is your dad’s step-mom, the one that burned herself to death.”
I knew about the self-immolation, but I didn’t know that it was my dad’s step-mom and not his biological mom. I learned that his biological mom died when he was only two.
“Your dad came from a rich, famous family, which is why the communists took everything from them when they invaded Phan Thiet. Your dad’s mom burned herself in her own house out of despair and protest. Because of this, your dad and his family became even more well known. If you go back to Phan Thiet today and ask around about her or your dad, everyone should be able to tell you at least one thing about them. Your dad’s mom haunts the house that she burned herself in. No one, including communist soldiers, has ever lived in it because they knew this.”
I rolled my eyes at that last part, just a little bit.
My mom delayed us by about twenty minutes, but the rich history lesson was worth it.
After my mom joined my dad in the living room, Trung and I drove over to his place to catch the last few hours of his sister’s graduation party. I mainly wanted to go because there were always oysters at Trung’s family parties, and they were always delicious. (I’m typing this entry while hungry right now and it’s making me regret that I didn’t eat more than one oyster.)
Cars filled Trung’s driveway and the street, so I had to park around the corner. The place I parked at was certainly a parking space of many memories. Lots of interesting things happened here. But, I digress.
We barely stepped foot into Trung’s house before a wave of body heat washed over us, before Vietnamese chatter and commotion filled our ears and perfume and cologne cocktails filled our noses. From wall to wall stood laughing, gossiping guests, who looked like they were here to celebrate an Asian production of The Great Gatsby, them being extras within the play. Lighting was dim; their faces glowed orange and blurred with each angle change as the guests cheered and chortled.
Shuffling through all the guests felt like going through a maze blind. Trung and I found the backyard, where his sister and her friends took refuge and where the oysters dwelled inside the barbeque grill.
“Oh my god, this is your graduation party right? Who are all these people?” Trung cried immediately upon greeting his sister.
“I have no idea!”
Apparently, Trung’s relatives were here earlier in the afternoon and evening—Trung was there for that; he was in the middle of his sister’s graduation party before I picked him up to go eat with my family—but once night fell, Trung’s parents brought over all of their friends. Adult friends.
I had to venture back inside eventually to find Tobasco sauce for my oyster. Alcohol and dishes of Vietnamese food littered the tables. Everyone was trying to grab at something.
I slipped back out, Tobasco in hand. Trung followed me out, a Corona in his hand.
“Look! They didn’t run out of my favorite!” Trung had his sister’s friend pop off the cap of his Corona, and he downed a several gulps.
I doused my oyster in Tobasco sauce and sucked the oyster off its shell.
I was enjoying my oyster very much when roars of applauses erupted from inside the house. Trung and I ran inside to investigate the commotion: Trung’s mom, looking more glamorous than ever, floated down the hall in a pink, laced bodice and an equally pink billowing tutu.
Trung’s dad appeared beside her in a suit, and he managed to seek me out among his wife’s crowd to tell me, “‘Ey boy!”—his (and sometimes Trung’s) usual greeting to me.
Trung and I eventually escaped to his room, but, his room being on the first floor, it didn’t offer much protection. An ice chest sat next to his door, and every few minutes a guest popped in to dig out a beer.
I planted my ass on Trung’s bed. I felt so dazed. I wanted more oysters but I didn’t want to go back out there. I reached around Trung’s bed and found a source of comfort and relief: Dinoblanket, my gift that I made for Trung for Christmas 2008. It was a blue cloth blanket sewed (mostly fabric glued) with differently colored fabrics. They depicted a large green dinosaur standing on a flower bed with brown mountains in the distance. Three clouds floated in the sky, and each cloud had a checklist item: Eat (checked), Poop (checked), and Sleep (unchecked). Shutting all the noise and commotion away, I huddled underneath the blanket and let myself fall into a deep, soothing nap.
Trung, who sat at his desk with his laptop, woke me up half an hour later. The party was still going on, but at least my mind felt clearer and less overwhelmed.
“You’re going home now?” he asked.
“Yeah. Fun party.”
“You want a beer?”
“I’m g—”
“Just kidding I don’t want you to crash and die. No beer for you.” He patted my head.
“—I’m good, thanks.”
I stood up for a hug, and shortly after he walked me out to my car. Back down the street around the corner, here in this parking space underneath some trees and a street light.
It was where, a very long time ago, I would park so Trung and I could, over the course of nearly two years, make out, argue, have naked fun, almost break up, steam up the windows, actually break up via me reading my break-up letter aloud to him, and have a long conversation about the future ahead of us. Good times. But, I digress.
Tags:
family,
flashback,
norcal,
ranier,
relationships,
trung,
winter spring 2010
Proud Skank
Thursday, May 27, 2010
La Vic’s, San Jose’s most authentic Mexican food joint, closed at 3, so I sped down the empty streets at 2 in the morning to get there. The streetlights passed overhead in succession, and with each succession, Trung tried to get a clear picture of me in the light. He examined me closely.
“Is that a hickey on your neck Brian?”
I glanced in my rearview mirror. A faint hickey disappeared and reappeared under the streetlights. “Aw fuck.” I rubbed my neck. Cold and sticky with sweat. “We’re eating dinner with my parents and brother tomorrow!”
“I’ll make sure to point it out to your parents. ‘Oh, my, Brian. Did a really big spider go crazy on your neck?’”
I scoffed and rolled my eyes.
“He pretty much was a spider,” Trung went on. “Seriously, he was all over you as much as you were all over him. You guys looked pretty skanky compared to the couples dancing around you.”
“Tonight was a good night at Fuz for me.”
“You remember Rual?”
“Yeah.” Rual was a guy who Trung and I occasionally hung out with along with a few other guys during summer of 2008.
“I was sitting at the bar talking with some friends and watching you make out with that guy when Rual came up to me and said, ‘Oh my god Trung, I’m so sorry. Brian is such a pig!’”
“Oh my god, haha. What’d you say to that?”
“Oh I laughed. I told him, ‘Don’t worry about it. We’re not together anymore.’”
“Man that’s great. Me, a pig?”
“No Brian, but youz a skank!”
I shrugged my shoulders. “I’m pretty proud of that. I’ve always wanted to make out with a cool, cute guy at a club, so I accomplished one of my goals today.”
“Are you really proud?”
I nodded. “Yep.”
“Y’know, Brian, we went out for twenty months. I think by the third month I could already tell whenever you were lying.”
“You think I’m lying?”
“You are.”
I shrugged. I reached for the nearest empty water bottle, twisted off the cap, and managed to shake out four or five drops of water into my mouth
“And now you’re doing the drinking thing again, which you always do when you don’t know what to say after I’ve won the argument.”
“This wasn’t much of an argument.”
“Nope.”
We drove in silence for another minute, and then Trung piped up, “Can I tell you a story?”
“Yeah sure,” I said.
“Now, this story may or may not be related to only tonight. I’m just telling you now because I feel like after all the things you’ve been through, you’re at the right time of your life now to hear this story. I’m going to tell it to you with the bare minimal amount of details. I’m giving you the skeleton of the story, basically, and, when you think about the story, I want you to fill in the missing details—the setting, the histories, the emotions and the motivations, and the adverbs and the adjectives—okay?”
I nodded.
“Alright, here’s the story. A teenage boy wants to go drink with his friends at a party, so he asks his dad for permission. The dad asks him, ‘Oh, so you want to drink, is that it?’ The boy nods. So the dad takes out a handle of whiskey, and he tells the boy to drink. The boy does. He doesn’t get through more than half of it, and now he’s spending the entire night vomiting into the toilet. The dad is observing, telling his son, ‘You wanted to drink, so you got to drink.’ End of story.”
I turned and stared at Trung blankly. He sat poised in the passenger seat and returned my stare with a sharp, confident grin. “What,” I said, “what the hell does that story have to do with anything?”
“Is that a hickey on your neck Brian?”
I glanced in my rearview mirror. A faint hickey disappeared and reappeared under the streetlights. “Aw fuck.” I rubbed my neck. Cold and sticky with sweat. “We’re eating dinner with my parents and brother tomorrow!”
“I’ll make sure to point it out to your parents. ‘Oh, my, Brian. Did a really big spider go crazy on your neck?’”
I scoffed and rolled my eyes.
“He pretty much was a spider,” Trung went on. “Seriously, he was all over you as much as you were all over him. You guys looked pretty skanky compared to the couples dancing around you.”
“Tonight was a good night at Fuz for me.”
“You remember Rual?”
“Yeah.” Rual was a guy who Trung and I occasionally hung out with along with a few other guys during summer of 2008.
“I was sitting at the bar talking with some friends and watching you make out with that guy when Rual came up to me and said, ‘Oh my god Trung, I’m so sorry. Brian is such a pig!’”
“Oh my god, haha. What’d you say to that?”
“Oh I laughed. I told him, ‘Don’t worry about it. We’re not together anymore.’”
“Man that’s great. Me, a pig?”
“No Brian, but youz a skank!”
I shrugged my shoulders. “I’m pretty proud of that. I’ve always wanted to make out with a cool, cute guy at a club, so I accomplished one of my goals today.”
“Are you really proud?”
I nodded. “Yep.”
“Y’know, Brian, we went out for twenty months. I think by the third month I could already tell whenever you were lying.”
“You think I’m lying?”
“You are.”
I shrugged. I reached for the nearest empty water bottle, twisted off the cap, and managed to shake out four or five drops of water into my mouth
“And now you’re doing the drinking thing again, which you always do when you don’t know what to say after I’ve won the argument.”
“This wasn’t much of an argument.”
“Nope.”
We drove in silence for another minute, and then Trung piped up, “Can I tell you a story?”
“Yeah sure,” I said.
“Now, this story may or may not be related to only tonight. I’m just telling you now because I feel like after all the things you’ve been through, you’re at the right time of your life now to hear this story. I’m going to tell it to you with the bare minimal amount of details. I’m giving you the skeleton of the story, basically, and, when you think about the story, I want you to fill in the missing details—the setting, the histories, the emotions and the motivations, and the adverbs and the adjectives—okay?”
I nodded.
“Alright, here’s the story. A teenage boy wants to go drink with his friends at a party, so he asks his dad for permission. The dad asks him, ‘Oh, so you want to drink, is that it?’ The boy nods. So the dad takes out a handle of whiskey, and he tells the boy to drink. The boy does. He doesn’t get through more than half of it, and now he’s spending the entire night vomiting into the toilet. The dad is observing, telling his son, ‘You wanted to drink, so you got to drink.’ End of story.”
I turned and stared at Trung blankly. He sat poised in the passenger seat and returned my stare with a sharp, confident grin. “What,” I said, “what the hell does that story have to do with anything?”
Tags:
norcal,
relationships,
trung,
winter spring 2010
20
Tuesday, May 25, 2010
This is a two week late entry about my birthday. I turned 20 on May 12th, but nothing too special happened that day since it fell on an otherwise normal Wednesday in the middle of the week.
In the afternoon, Sang, Lawrence, and I got some sushi at Sushilicious. I didn’t even like sushi that much, but this place had a special for birthdays, a free $20 gift card for the birthday diner. Twenty bucks is a fucking lot.
At lunch, we discovered that I had no manners, but else was new?
We discussed our housing situation for next year, but we reached the same conclusion that we had reached many times before: “Let’s figure it out later.” It was going to be the three of us, plus Leland (who I auditioned with for MCIA auditions) living in the same place. I was pretty damn excited. I’d be doubling up with Sang, and Lawrence with Leland—Vietnamese vs. Filipinos! I thought wouldn’t it be awesome if each of us represented a different team? Sang would have CADC, Leland would have BBoys Anonymous (or possibly MCIA?), and Lawrence and I would have something else. Rivalries? Freestyle sessions in the living room Monday nights? We weren’t going to need furniture; that’d only take up space.
After getting sushi, Lawrence, Sang, and I drove down to Tapioca Express to get some Boba Tea, something that I only recently started to enjoy. I tried ordering a grass jelly milk tea with boba, and to my surprise, the drink had actual chunks of grass jelly in addition to the Boba.
“I thought it would be flavored by some grass jelly extract or whatever. I didn’t think there’d be actual chunks of grass jelly in the drink.”
Sang sighed. “HAHA, you’re a dumbass.”
Later in the evening, I drove up to UCLA to do homework with Trung. I had a really huge paper due the next day that I was no where close to finishing, and I knew that if I tried to work on it at UCI, I would’ve been too distracted because I had wireless Internet at UCI. So the most logical option was to drive 50 miles up north to escape the reach of UCI’s wifi. But I guess you could say I mainly went up so I could get some free food off of Trung and annoy him all night long.
I got there around 8, Trung and I had dinner and some ice cream, and I started my paper at 11. I wouldn’t get back to Irvine until 6 AM, where I would continue finishing up my paper until it was time to go to the class that it was due in. The hard work paid off though, because I got a B+, which was my goal. What sucked though was that I had to spend my birthday working on this paper, and the all nighter made a cold I had even worse.
My persistent cold didn’t stop me from going back up to Norcal on the 20th though! On the following Friday night, Trung and I went clubbing at Fuz. It was established (again) that I could not club (freak) dance (or in general). This one gay guy thought my dancing so “SO ADORABLE!!!” Adorable, not sexy. Ugh.
On Saturday, I went out to a family dinner, and then we had some cake afterwards. No relatives this time because they were “busy,” as in they were too cheap (or poor) to feed my greedy ass their money this year, and probably for the rest of my life. Oh well.
Ok, that’s my overview of all the things I did for my birthday. Time for some reflection! Cue the swoosh sound from Lost! SWOOOOOOOOOOOOSH.
---
“A Dramatic Post about Turning 16”
Written May 23rd, 2006 (Excerpted)
I started this LiveJournal when I was 13, and back then, when I was 13, I was straight... Well, mostly, but besides that, I looked at life rather simply because to me, life just seemed like keeping up my A’s in junior high. On the side of school, I had DDR, which I played all day every day at home and then went out to the arcade once a month to tone up my DDR skills. All that mattered to me was that AA, and I remained shy and aloof to the other DDR players. And getting with girls (or getting into a relationship) was one of the things that I least thought about, and I was that kind of guy (weirdass) that was like, “Virgin until marriage!” The future seemed simple, probably because it was the future that my parents had planned for me: Go to a University of California, get a good job, raise a family, and live happily ever after.
Now here I am, three years later, at age 16... School is still important to me, but now I have started to juggle other things in my life that have become as equally as important in my life, such as dealing with my parents, dealing with boys, dealing with friends, and dealing with living a life that is fulfilling enough. (Though I guess some would say that I tend to drop the balls when I “juggle.”)
And now, with DDR/ITG, the only thing that is stopping me from quitting is the awesome community. It sounds pretty pathetic, but I’ve changed and have become more sociable and friendly because of a four-paneled stomping video game. Making out with another ITG player in front of a bunch of other ITG players at a busy arcade also says a lot about how I’m not as shy as I was three years ago.
And yeah, all that crap about staying a virgin until marriage...? I’ve slept with a guy on a first “date.” I’m still a virgin now, but I’m pretty sure I won’t be by the time I’m age 17. Don’t get the wrong impression though, because I’m not trying to lose it as quickly as possible, unlike a lot of people who seem to be in a hurry to mindlessly lose their virginities, probably influenced by brainwashing media and movies like “Friends” or “The 40-Year-Old Virgin” (but I loved watching both of these). I’m saving it for someone “special,” even if that means I die a virgin, but with the way that I tend to rush into things so quickly, yeah, I wouldn’t be surprised if I lost my virginity by the time I turn 17. I’d hate to regret losing it.
And gah, the future. It’s still all the same stuff that my parents have hoped for from me, but while they make everything seem easy, I’m realizing, “Wow, this shit is hard.” Because, well, getting into a UC? That means keeping up good grades at school; fuck, that’s hard. Getting a good job? That means spending more of my life at school to get a better education, learning to do taxes, spending endless days going through newspaper ads, going through job interviews... fuck, that’s all hard. And god, raising a family? That means finding a lover (preferably), going through adoption agencies, waiting, dealing with bitchy bigots, and actually raising the kids right so that they grow up to be happy; that’s all very hard and will even be heart-wrecking at times. And living happily ever after? Well, I have the basic outline of my future planned out, but now that I’m older and I actually have my own desires, I’m going to need to fit a lot more stuff into my life to live happily ever.
But now I’m just playing with the boundaries of age limits again and concerning with myself with things too far off in the future. This is one the reasons why I still have to remind myself, “I’m 16.”
I’m 16, bitches.
This Wednesday, my Dad’s finally going to let me get behind the wheel and drive around the block, and all this week, I’m anxiously waiting by my phone for American Eagle Outfitters to contact me to set up a date for a job interview.
---
Get into a UC? Check.
Get a job? Check. (Not at American Eagle, thank god.)
Lose virginity? Check.
To someone special? Blank.
Only having sex with someone special? Blank.
Fulfilling life? Blank.
In the afternoon, Sang, Lawrence, and I got some sushi at Sushilicious. I didn’t even like sushi that much, but this place had a special for birthdays, a free $20 gift card for the birthday diner. Twenty bucks is a fucking lot.
At lunch, we discovered that I had no manners, but else was new?
We discussed our housing situation for next year, but we reached the same conclusion that we had reached many times before: “Let’s figure it out later.” It was going to be the three of us, plus Leland (who I auditioned with for MCIA auditions) living in the same place. I was pretty damn excited. I’d be doubling up with Sang, and Lawrence with Leland—Vietnamese vs. Filipinos! I thought wouldn’t it be awesome if each of us represented a different team? Sang would have CADC, Leland would have BBoys Anonymous (or possibly MCIA?), and Lawrence and I would have something else. Rivalries? Freestyle sessions in the living room Monday nights? We weren’t going to need furniture; that’d only take up space.
After getting sushi, Lawrence, Sang, and I drove down to Tapioca Express to get some Boba Tea, something that I only recently started to enjoy. I tried ordering a grass jelly milk tea with boba, and to my surprise, the drink had actual chunks of grass jelly in addition to the Boba.
“I thought it would be flavored by some grass jelly extract or whatever. I didn’t think there’d be actual chunks of grass jelly in the drink.”
Sang sighed. “HAHA, you’re a dumbass.”
Later in the evening, I drove up to UCLA to do homework with Trung. I had a really huge paper due the next day that I was no where close to finishing, and I knew that if I tried to work on it at UCI, I would’ve been too distracted because I had wireless Internet at UCI. So the most logical option was to drive 50 miles up north to escape the reach of UCI’s wifi. But I guess you could say I mainly went up so I could get some free food off of Trung and annoy him all night long.
I got there around 8, Trung and I had dinner and some ice cream, and I started my paper at 11. I wouldn’t get back to Irvine until 6 AM, where I would continue finishing up my paper until it was time to go to the class that it was due in. The hard work paid off though, because I got a B+, which was my goal. What sucked though was that I had to spend my birthday working on this paper, and the all nighter made a cold I had even worse.
My persistent cold didn’t stop me from going back up to Norcal on the 20th though! On the following Friday night, Trung and I went clubbing at Fuz. It was established (again) that I could not club (freak) dance (or in general). This one gay guy thought my dancing so “SO ADORABLE!!!” Adorable, not sexy. Ugh.
On Saturday, I went out to a family dinner, and then we had some cake afterwards. No relatives this time because they were “busy,” as in they were too cheap (or poor) to feed my greedy ass their money this year, and probably for the rest of my life. Oh well.
Ok, that’s my overview of all the things I did for my birthday. Time for some reflection! Cue the swoosh sound from Lost! SWOOOOOOOOOOOOSH.
---
“A Dramatic Post about Turning 16”
Written May 23rd, 2006 (Excerpted)
I started this LiveJournal when I was 13, and back then, when I was 13, I was straight... Well, mostly, but besides that, I looked at life rather simply because to me, life just seemed like keeping up my A’s in junior high. On the side of school, I had DDR, which I played all day every day at home and then went out to the arcade once a month to tone up my DDR skills. All that mattered to me was that AA, and I remained shy and aloof to the other DDR players. And getting with girls (or getting into a relationship) was one of the things that I least thought about, and I was that kind of guy (weirdass) that was like, “Virgin until marriage!” The future seemed simple, probably because it was the future that my parents had planned for me: Go to a University of California, get a good job, raise a family, and live happily ever after.
Now here I am, three years later, at age 16... School is still important to me, but now I have started to juggle other things in my life that have become as equally as important in my life, such as dealing with my parents, dealing with boys, dealing with friends, and dealing with living a life that is fulfilling enough. (Though I guess some would say that I tend to drop the balls when I “juggle.”)
And now, with DDR/ITG, the only thing that is stopping me from quitting is the awesome community. It sounds pretty pathetic, but I’ve changed and have become more sociable and friendly because of a four-paneled stomping video game. Making out with another ITG player in front of a bunch of other ITG players at a busy arcade also says a lot about how I’m not as shy as I was three years ago.
And yeah, all that crap about staying a virgin until marriage...? I’ve slept with a guy on a first “date.” I’m still a virgin now, but I’m pretty sure I won’t be by the time I’m age 17. Don’t get the wrong impression though, because I’m not trying to lose it as quickly as possible, unlike a lot of people who seem to be in a hurry to mindlessly lose their virginities, probably influenced by brainwashing media and movies like “Friends” or “The 40-Year-Old Virgin” (but I loved watching both of these). I’m saving it for someone “special,” even if that means I die a virgin, but with the way that I tend to rush into things so quickly, yeah, I wouldn’t be surprised if I lost my virginity by the time I turn 17. I’d hate to regret losing it.
And gah, the future. It’s still all the same stuff that my parents have hoped for from me, but while they make everything seem easy, I’m realizing, “Wow, this shit is hard.” Because, well, getting into a UC? That means keeping up good grades at school; fuck, that’s hard. Getting a good job? That means spending more of my life at school to get a better education, learning to do taxes, spending endless days going through newspaper ads, going through job interviews... fuck, that’s all hard. And god, raising a family? That means finding a lover (preferably), going through adoption agencies, waiting, dealing with bitchy bigots, and actually raising the kids right so that they grow up to be happy; that’s all very hard and will even be heart-wrecking at times. And living happily ever after? Well, I have the basic outline of my future planned out, but now that I’m older and I actually have my own desires, I’m going to need to fit a lot more stuff into my life to live happily ever.
But now I’m just playing with the boundaries of age limits again and concerning with myself with things too far off in the future. This is one the reasons why I still have to remind myself, “I’m 16.”
I’m 16, bitches.
This Wednesday, my Dad’s finally going to let me get behind the wheel and drive around the block, and all this week, I’m anxiously waiting by my phone for American Eagle Outfitters to contact me to set up a date for a job interview.
---
Get into a UC? Check.
Get a job? Check. (Not at American Eagle, thank god.)
Lose virginity? Check.
To someone special? Blank.
Only having sex with someone special? Blank.
Fulfilling life? Blank.
Tags:
family,
flashback,
future,
gay,
norcal,
oakridge,
relationships,
repost,
sang,
schoolwork,
socal,
trung,
ucla,
winter spring 2010,
work
What All Guys Want
Sunday, May 23, 2010
It was 3 AM in the morning on a Saturday night (May 15), which was apparently a really busy time for this particular restaurant in Garden Grove. Alex, Khoa, Daniel, Angela, and I—we were three single guys, a taken guy, and a taken girl, all crowded around a table over warm bowls of Pho. We were discussing one of our favorite subjects.
“It’s only the fat creeper girls that holler at me when I’m drunk. Why me?”
“Angela, tell me how to get girls! I want anything—hook up, one night stand, dating, or a relationship. Just help me get a girl!”
“Man Brian, you’re lucky. You can get sex any time you want because guys are always horny all the time, right?”
“Yeah,” I said as I tried to chopstick pho noodles into my spoon. “All the time, any time.”
“Man, I’m so envious of you.”
I smiled, nodded, and slurped on my Pho.
Chauncer Hien. New friend on downelink. I thought this was going to be another “whatever-I’ll-probably-never-talk-to-you” add until he actually asked to hang out with me. I figured, ok sure. It was only the third week of the quarter, so I had enough free time.
He came by my apartment on a Wednesday afternoon. I had thought he was only going to pick me up, but he actually insisted on coming inside. He had to spray paint a small wooden house for one of his classes, so I let him used my bathtub. While waiting for the house to dry, he lay down on my bed, and that was when I first suspected that he wanted some bang bang:
“Do you want a massage? I give really good massages.”
I raised an eyebrow. “Nah, no thanks.”
After hanging out for a little bit, I left to go to the library to watch Le Retour de Martin Guerre for French class. I didn’t talk to Chauncer again until later that night when I was standing outside the Mesa Parking structure waiting for Sang, ten minutes before the start of the make-up workshops for Common Ground auditions.
Chauncer texted me, and we started texting back and forth. Eventually, he made a corny joke, saying, “Wanna come over? I can show you something special. ;)”
His dick. I rolled my eyes and decided to play along. “What? Hahah lol.”
“You know what. LOLOL JK.”
I knew very well that, in the male dicksucker’s dictionary, “jk” meant “I wanna sit on your dick.” But I brushed it off and pretended to laugh along.
After getting back to my apartment, I chatted with Chauncer over AIM. At this point it was getting pretty late and I really had to do a write-up for the French movie I watched earlier, but Chauncer didn’t hesitate to extend one last poorly masked invitation for sex.
Chauncer:
I’m still working on my art project. Come over and help me!
bbq dinner:
I still need to do my French homework. D:
Chauncer:
Come do your homework here!
I sighed and glanced at the time. 2 AM. Did I want some? Was I that horny? Was I that bored? Was I that lonely?
One out of four questions, I answered yes, but it was the only question that ever mattered.
After finishing our Pho and dropping Angela off back at her place, the rest of us four guys headed back to the apartments. While walking back inside from the parking lot, I offered some helpful girlfriend advice: “It’s usually the upper half that’s the best. Concentrate there. Upper half, bottom side. Make sure she knows in advance to stay away from your piss slit once you’ve jizzed.”
“Aiight thanks Brian!”
Once we settled inside, we watched Daniel play Devil May Cry 3 and fashioned an apple bong so that some of us could go to space (not me).
In our conversations about girls, sex, and guys, basically things that all guys wanted, everyone would love to bring up my poor choices in the past. Tonight, we brought up—
“Chauncer Hien.” I said.
Alex looked up at me confused. “Who?”
“You know, Chauncer. French Homework!”
“Oh WAIT! CHAUNCER IS FRENCH HOMEWORK?”
“Wait, you didn’t know that?”
“No, you guys always referred to him as French Homework and I figured it was better that I didn’t know who it was. OH MY GOD YOU SLEPT WITH CHAUNCER HIEN.”
“You slept with Chauncer Hien last night. Wow.” Kevin sat back trying to get the images out of his head, and Alfonso was too busy laughing. I continued eating my steak. We were at the dining commons.
“Yeah, kinda literally,” I said. I was too eager to spill all the fun details. “I think at one point I fell asleep on top of him. My dick was pretty limp the whole night. Seriously, it was 5 AM. I had spent the last two hours writing up a French essay, putting it through an English-to-French translator and correcting the French.”
“Haha well damn Brian. Even at 5 AM in the morning, you can get sex any time whenever you want. I’m envious of you.”
I smiled, nodded, and worked on cutting my steak. This was too much of a fun dinner, so I didn’t wanna bring myself down by saying something that I really wanted to say: Don’t be.
“It’s only the fat creeper girls that holler at me when I’m drunk. Why me?”
“Angela, tell me how to get girls! I want anything—hook up, one night stand, dating, or a relationship. Just help me get a girl!”
“Man Brian, you’re lucky. You can get sex any time you want because guys are always horny all the time, right?”
“Yeah,” I said as I tried to chopstick pho noodles into my spoon. “All the time, any time.”
“Man, I’m so envious of you.”
I smiled, nodded, and slurped on my Pho.
Chauncer Hien. New friend on downelink. I thought this was going to be another “whatever-I’ll-probably-never-talk-to-you” add until he actually asked to hang out with me. I figured, ok sure. It was only the third week of the quarter, so I had enough free time.
He came by my apartment on a Wednesday afternoon. I had thought he was only going to pick me up, but he actually insisted on coming inside. He had to spray paint a small wooden house for one of his classes, so I let him used my bathtub. While waiting for the house to dry, he lay down on my bed, and that was when I first suspected that he wanted some bang bang:
“Do you want a massage? I give really good massages.”
I raised an eyebrow. “Nah, no thanks.”
After hanging out for a little bit, I left to go to the library to watch Le Retour de Martin Guerre for French class. I didn’t talk to Chauncer again until later that night when I was standing outside the Mesa Parking structure waiting for Sang, ten minutes before the start of the make-up workshops for Common Ground auditions.
Chauncer texted me, and we started texting back and forth. Eventually, he made a corny joke, saying, “Wanna come over? I can show you something special. ;)”
His dick. I rolled my eyes and decided to play along. “What? Hahah lol.”
“You know what. LOLOL JK.”
I knew very well that, in the male dicksucker’s dictionary, “jk” meant “I wanna sit on your dick.” But I brushed it off and pretended to laugh along.
After getting back to my apartment, I chatted with Chauncer over AIM. At this point it was getting pretty late and I really had to do a write-up for the French movie I watched earlier, but Chauncer didn’t hesitate to extend one last poorly masked invitation for sex.
Chauncer:
I’m still working on my art project. Come over and help me!
bbq dinner:
I still need to do my French homework. D:
Chauncer:
Come do your homework here!
I sighed and glanced at the time. 2 AM. Did I want some? Was I that horny? Was I that bored? Was I that lonely?
One out of four questions, I answered yes, but it was the only question that ever mattered.
After finishing our Pho and dropping Angela off back at her place, the rest of us four guys headed back to the apartments. While walking back inside from the parking lot, I offered some helpful girlfriend advice: “It’s usually the upper half that’s the best. Concentrate there. Upper half, bottom side. Make sure she knows in advance to stay away from your piss slit once you’ve jizzed.”
“Aiight thanks Brian!”
Once we settled inside, we watched Daniel play Devil May Cry 3 and fashioned an apple bong so that some of us could go to space (not me).
In our conversations about girls, sex, and guys, basically things that all guys wanted, everyone would love to bring up my poor choices in the past. Tonight, we brought up—
“Chauncer Hien.” I said.
Alex looked up at me confused. “Who?”
“You know, Chauncer. French Homework!”
“Oh WAIT! CHAUNCER IS FRENCH HOMEWORK?”
“Wait, you didn’t know that?”
“No, you guys always referred to him as French Homework and I figured it was better that I didn’t know who it was. OH MY GOD YOU SLEPT WITH CHAUNCER HIEN.”
“You slept with Chauncer Hien last night. Wow.” Kevin sat back trying to get the images out of his head, and Alfonso was too busy laughing. I continued eating my steak. We were at the dining commons.
“Yeah, kinda literally,” I said. I was too eager to spill all the fun details. “I think at one point I fell asleep on top of him. My dick was pretty limp the whole night. Seriously, it was 5 AM. I had spent the last two hours writing up a French essay, putting it through an English-to-French translator and correcting the French.”
“Haha well damn Brian. Even at 5 AM in the morning, you can get sex any time whenever you want. I’m envious of you.”
I smiled, nodded, and worked on cutting my steak. This was too much of a fun dinner, so I didn’t wanna bring myself down by saying something that I really wanted to say: Don’t be.
Tags:
alfonso,
dancing,
flashback,
french,
gay,
kevin,
relationships,
sang,
schoolwork,
socal,
winter spring 2010
Recap
Friday, May 14, 2010
One thing that makes this blog really different from other blogs, besides the obvious fact that my entries are just soooo fucking long and that almost every entry has a flashback for some stupid reason, is that most of my entries read like a narrative and are driven by several different long running plots. Most blogs only contain broad and episodic musings or reflections, so they’re easier to get into. New readers who haven’t been reading my blog since the summer probably get lost frequently, so this entry is for getting yourself up to date on the different areas in my life. Last updated 10/23/10. I’ll try to update this every two weeks if important stuff happens.
Jump to...
- A Few Notes. Just some things to keep in mind before you start reading.
- Teaching. Working toward my dream of being a high school teacher.
- Dancing. The journey to becoming a better dancer.
- Family. The ups and downs—generally ups—of my family.
- Relationships. From hook-ups to actual boyfriend/boyfriend status.
- Gay. My struggle to reconcile self-acceptance and an open mind with my sense of individualiy.
A Few Notes
These recaps do not cover any flashbacks on my life before the start of this blog (June 2009), and these recaps probably don’t even cover half of my blog’s best entries. Don’t rely too much on these recaps to stay caught up, because you’re missing out on some really thematic entries and some insight into my past that would give you a better understanding of my thinking and how I got to where I am today.
Teaching
This blog began with my second summer teaching with Breakthrough Collaborative in Summer 2009. When the internship ended in August, I wasn’t too sure if I was going to come back to teach for a third summer. Around this time, I also began to question my career goal of becoming a high school French teacher, mainly because I was losing interesting in French. In October, I finally decided that I was done with French; my dream career was still to be a high school teacher, but I didn’t know what I’d be teaching. At the end of October, I also finally decided that I would not be coming back to teach for a third time with Breakthrough in summer 2010, but I did come to visit at the beginning of that summer, and the students were as excited to see me as I was to see them. However, four weeks later when I came back to visit during their celebration night, I realized that they had moved on and formed bonds with the new teachers.
During the school year, in November 2009, I got a tutoring job at the Education Academy, but in as early as February, as much as I loved my job, I had to accept that thirty-dollar paychecks would not even get me by for food, so I started looking for another job, most likely one that would be far less meaningful and fulfilling to me. In September, I found a clothing retail job at Promod.
Dancing
During summer 2009, I took dance classes as part of the Funksters summer intensive program up in San Francisco, and the classes really affirmed that I sucked at dancing. After the program ended at the end of August and by the end of summer, I did show some kind of improvement at least, and the intensive was still fun, because I made friends with some of the Funksters.
When school started again fall 2009, my friends Kevin and Alfonso and I planned to audition for CADC, but none of us ended up making it except for my friend Sang, who I met through the Funksters during the summer. Despite all the rejections, fall quarter was still a great quarter because I danced, and I danced with and hung out with friends. During winter quarter, I was on a dance team but I quit, and by the start of spring quarter, I became a little bit more independent with my dancing. Gradually, however, dancing started to fade into the background as my priorities shifted, probably not for the better, but by the beginning of summer 2010, I got back into it.
By the end of the summer, however, I felt like my dancing hadn’t really changed, and I considered quitting until I got a personal call from the director of a team I tried out for (but didn’t make) in the beginning of fall 2010. Now my drive to dance was greater than it had ever been. And most importantly, I learned to start believing in myself (and possibly others) more.
Family
During the last two years, my relationship with my parents had been generally positive, though we did have some rifts at the start of this blog. They were supportive of my dancing when I thought they wouldn’t be. They were always very supportive, but I kept my breakup with Trung a secret from my parents because I didn’t know how to tell them, and Trung had long since been accepted as a part of the family.
I had an aunt in Westminster who I strongly disliked, but she’d give me one hundred bucks every time I visited her when I was down in SoCal for college. One thing about being in SoCal for college was that sometimes, I had trouble keeping in contact with my parents. In November 2009, I discovered that they had financial problems far worse than I had thought, so I quit my job at my school’s dining commons for a job at the Education Academy, which promised me more hours.
In the following month, December, I had another small rift, this one with my dad about my career aspirations not being lucrative enough, but we all quickly got over that because we could never stop loving each other. At the beginning of 2010, I finally told my parents that I had broken up with Trung, and they also figured that Ranier was going to be my next boyfriend. When I broke up with Ranier in April, I told my parents about the breakup in May. They probably forgot all about him already, but to this day, Trung still remained an integral part of my family.
Relationships
At the start of this blog, Trung and I were heading into the nineteenth month of our relationship, and we taught with Breakthrough together that summer. A few weeks after our twentieth-month anniversary, however, we broke up. We slowly reconciled and ended on pretty good terms by the end of the summer. I guess I still had some trouble though because I had some jealousy problems during fall quarter. On December 8th, 2009, we briefly celebrated over the phone what would’ve been our two-year anniversary. When 2010 started, it was time for me to finally move on.
By the start of April, I was already in my third month into a new relationship with Ranier, but we broke up shortly into the month because of tensions that escalated from an argument over my calling special ed kids at the Education Academy “ stupid.” We resolved that issue post-breakup and remained on good terms.
Gay
My self-acceptance of my dicksucking sexuality has fluctuated repeatedly over the last five years. At the start of this blog, I was relearning to embrace my gayness thanks to my friend Cameron. Still, I never fully accepted myself, but in October of that year, fearing my mental health, I eventually realized that it was important that I did. Something went way the fuck wrong the following months, however, and by December, I was once again back to my old bitter self, what some would consider self-loathing. About three months later, I was back trying to find some sense of self-acceptance again, though my rate of progress was slower than ever. I eventually found acceptance when I learned I could love myself by hating on another subculture of gays.
Jump to...
- A Few Notes. Just some things to keep in mind before you start reading.
- Teaching. Working toward my dream of being a high school teacher.
- Dancing. The journey to becoming a better dancer.
- Family. The ups and downs—generally ups—of my family.
- Relationships. From hook-ups to actual boyfriend/boyfriend status.
- Gay. My struggle to reconcile self-acceptance and an open mind with my sense of individualiy.
A Few Notes
These recaps do not cover any flashbacks on my life before the start of this blog (June 2009), and these recaps probably don’t even cover half of my blog’s best entries. Don’t rely too much on these recaps to stay caught up, because you’re missing out on some really thematic entries and some insight into my past that would give you a better understanding of my thinking and how I got to where I am today.
Teaching
This blog began with my second summer teaching with Breakthrough Collaborative in Summer 2009. When the internship ended in August, I wasn’t too sure if I was going to come back to teach for a third summer. Around this time, I also began to question my career goal of becoming a high school French teacher, mainly because I was losing interesting in French. In October, I finally decided that I was done with French; my dream career was still to be a high school teacher, but I didn’t know what I’d be teaching. At the end of October, I also finally decided that I would not be coming back to teach for a third time with Breakthrough in summer 2010, but I did come to visit at the beginning of that summer, and the students were as excited to see me as I was to see them. However, four weeks later when I came back to visit during their celebration night, I realized that they had moved on and formed bonds with the new teachers.
During the school year, in November 2009, I got a tutoring job at the Education Academy, but in as early as February, as much as I loved my job, I had to accept that thirty-dollar paychecks would not even get me by for food, so I started looking for another job, most likely one that would be far less meaningful and fulfilling to me. In September, I found a clothing retail job at Promod.
Dancing
During summer 2009, I took dance classes as part of the Funksters summer intensive program up in San Francisco, and the classes really affirmed that I sucked at dancing. After the program ended at the end of August and by the end of summer, I did show some kind of improvement at least, and the intensive was still fun, because I made friends with some of the Funksters.
When school started again fall 2009, my friends Kevin and Alfonso and I planned to audition for CADC, but none of us ended up making it except for my friend Sang, who I met through the Funksters during the summer. Despite all the rejections, fall quarter was still a great quarter because I danced, and I danced with and hung out with friends. During winter quarter, I was on a dance team but I quit, and by the start of spring quarter, I became a little bit more independent with my dancing. Gradually, however, dancing started to fade into the background as my priorities shifted, probably not for the better, but by the beginning of summer 2010, I got back into it.
By the end of the summer, however, I felt like my dancing hadn’t really changed, and I considered quitting until I got a personal call from the director of a team I tried out for (but didn’t make) in the beginning of fall 2010. Now my drive to dance was greater than it had ever been. And most importantly, I learned to start believing in myself (and possibly others) more.
Family
During the last two years, my relationship with my parents had been generally positive, though we did have some rifts at the start of this blog. They were supportive of my dancing when I thought they wouldn’t be. They were always very supportive, but I kept my breakup with Trung a secret from my parents because I didn’t know how to tell them, and Trung had long since been accepted as a part of the family.
I had an aunt in Westminster who I strongly disliked, but she’d give me one hundred bucks every time I visited her when I was down in SoCal for college. One thing about being in SoCal for college was that sometimes, I had trouble keeping in contact with my parents. In November 2009, I discovered that they had financial problems far worse than I had thought, so I quit my job at my school’s dining commons for a job at the Education Academy, which promised me more hours.
In the following month, December, I had another small rift, this one with my dad about my career aspirations not being lucrative enough, but we all quickly got over that because we could never stop loving each other. At the beginning of 2010, I finally told my parents that I had broken up with Trung, and they also figured that Ranier was going to be my next boyfriend. When I broke up with Ranier in April, I told my parents about the breakup in May. They probably forgot all about him already, but to this day, Trung still remained an integral part of my family.
Relationships
At the start of this blog, Trung and I were heading into the nineteenth month of our relationship, and we taught with Breakthrough together that summer. A few weeks after our twentieth-month anniversary, however, we broke up. We slowly reconciled and ended on pretty good terms by the end of the summer. I guess I still had some trouble though because I had some jealousy problems during fall quarter. On December 8th, 2009, we briefly celebrated over the phone what would’ve been our two-year anniversary. When 2010 started, it was time for me to finally move on.
By the start of April, I was already in my third month into a new relationship with Ranier, but we broke up shortly into the month because of tensions that escalated from an argument over my calling special ed kids at the Education Academy “ stupid.” We resolved that issue post-breakup and remained on good terms.
Gay
My self-acceptance of my dicksucking sexuality has fluctuated repeatedly over the last five years. At the start of this blog, I was relearning to embrace my gayness thanks to my friend Cameron. Still, I never fully accepted myself, but in October of that year, fearing my mental health, I eventually realized that it was important that I did. Something went way the fuck wrong the following months, however, and by December, I was once again back to my old bitter self, what some would consider self-loathing. About three months later, I was back trying to find some sense of self-acceptance again, though my rate of progress was slower than ever. I eventually found acceptance when I learned I could love myself by hating on another subculture of gays.
Tags:
non-canon
Just Smile and Nod
Tuesday, May 11, 2010
I sat up straight in my seat while twiddling my thumbs in my lap, and I glanced around the bagel café as I waited for the manager to finish jotting down notes. She was a nice, middle-aged white lady; perhaps a little too nice, because this interview was going too well. So far, I only had to answer, “What were your duties at Pippin,” and “What are your hobbies?”
“Can you tell me about a time that you really impressed a customer?” she asked next.
“Sure,” I said. “One time while working at Pippin, I was cleaning tables, there was this one mom with her five year old son, because, sometimes, parents just like to bring their kids to the school’s dining cafeteria. Anyway, I overheard her struggling with her math homework, and her mom didn’t know what to do. So, while still cleaning the table, I offered the child tips that helped her understand and get to the solution. The mom was very happy.”
“Wow, that’s very impressive!”
I smiled and nodded.
“Now, as you might’ve noticed, our bagel café’s hours run from 5 A.M. in the morning until 4 P.M. Do you think you can perform at your best when you’re coming in at 4 A.M. to open up the store?”
“Yeah, of course! Back in high school, I was on the swim team all four years, and we had practices every day in the cold winter at 5 A.M. And every now and then, I still wake up really early to go swimming once my school gym opens. I’m really used to sleeping early and waking up early.”
“Wow, high school swim team—very impressive!”
I smiled and nodded.
“Alright, well, your hair is combed, and you look clean and neat. I think we can schedule you for an eight-hour training shift some time this week.”
Seventy-two dollars. New shoes. Fuck yes.
“I need to go check up on something in the back, so I’m going to have my assistant come out here to finish up your interview, ok?”
I smiled and nodded.
The manager got up and headed back into the kitchen, and after a minute, out came this gruff looking Mexican (non-racist) guy. He sat down in front of me.
“You Brian? I’m Ray.” He flipped through the manager’s notes for a few seconds, and then he asked me, “So what motivated you to apply for our bagel café?”
Shit, I thought I was done with this interview? Why is he asking me new questions? “Well, I really like working with food service,” I answered.
“So why not McDonald’s or Burger King?”
“Because...I like working with healthy and fresh food.”
“So why not the Cornerstore Bakery on the other side of the plaza?”
My scalp started to itch a little. “Because...The hours of your store fit into my schedule really well.”
“The Cornerstore Bakery opens around the same time and closes later than our store. I’m sure you could’ve gotten the same hours over there, plus more.”
“Well, I just really like bagels.”
“So you’re trying to get a job here for the free bagels?”
My scalp was really itchy now. “I just...will be a great asset to your team here. I believe my qualities...” I started to trail off, “...are really valuable, and uh, strong work ethic, and integral—integrity, charisma...”
I smiled and nodded. I WOKE UP AT 3 AM EVERY DAY DURING HIGH SCHOOL FOR SWIM PRACTICE, I wanted to tell him, but I was probably too far downhill by now.
---
“WAKE UP!”
Written March 2nd, 2006
So it took me five hours of sleep total within the last two days and over ten consecutive D's and F's on my history tests to finally realize that I've been at academic nadir for the last two months.
Something I used to do is sleeping early at night and waking up early to do homework. That worked all of first semester—I went to bed by ten and was up at five finishing my homework that I was too lazy to do the night before. But something just went wrong the second semester. I would plan to go to sleep by ten but end up in bed some time after midnight, and the next morning, when my cell phone would wake me up at 4:30, I would decide to add just another half hour. When it rang again at 5, I figured it wouldn't be too bad if I just added another half hour. And then 15 minutes. And then another 15 minutes. Ten minutes. Five minutes. Aw damn it, gotta shower, eat, pack my stuff and go off to school.
I don't get homework done anymore. The last chapter we did in math, I did not turn in six of the assignments; I had planned on waking up at four the day they were all due, and well, the whole process I described above happened. When I don't get my history and chemistry homework done, I go to my brother's old sophomore year folder and dig out the necessary assignments from there. I haven't even read the last fucking ten chapters in History, which pretty much explains all my low scores.
And my sleeping habits. K, I lied about getting a total of five hours of sleep within the last two days. Change that to seven hours, because I know I've slept for entire classes during the last two days.
As much I would love staying in San Jose and going to Oakridge every other day after I graduate high school, I still want to get into a UC. I need to totally revamp my habits and get the fuck back on track before I kill my grades and before my mom kills me.
---
I’ve never been in such better health than I was these past two years in college because of all the sleep I got. (Yes, for lazy humanities majors with barely any classes, college equals more sleep than high school.) I was sick all the time in high school, but this past winter quarter, I went the entire quarter without getting sick (well, the eight weeks of diarrhea probably made up for not getting sick, but that’s for another flashback).
I still haven’t gotten a call back from the bagel store, but after much consideration, I realized that even if I was offered the job, I wouldn’t take it. There’d be no way that I could handle the hours. If I got this job, I’d probably end up living my high school days again, and I’d probably die. Ok, that concludes my defense mechanism.
I really would’ve liked a new pair of shoes. Damn it.
“Can you tell me about a time that you really impressed a customer?” she asked next.
“Sure,” I said. “One time while working at Pippin, I was cleaning tables, there was this one mom with her five year old son, because, sometimes, parents just like to bring their kids to the school’s dining cafeteria. Anyway, I overheard her struggling with her math homework, and her mom didn’t know what to do. So, while still cleaning the table, I offered the child tips that helped her understand and get to the solution. The mom was very happy.”
“Wow, that’s very impressive!”
I smiled and nodded.
“Now, as you might’ve noticed, our bagel café’s hours run from 5 A.M. in the morning until 4 P.M. Do you think you can perform at your best when you’re coming in at 4 A.M. to open up the store?”
“Yeah, of course! Back in high school, I was on the swim team all four years, and we had practices every day in the cold winter at 5 A.M. And every now and then, I still wake up really early to go swimming once my school gym opens. I’m really used to sleeping early and waking up early.”
“Wow, high school swim team—very impressive!”
I smiled and nodded.
“Alright, well, your hair is combed, and you look clean and neat. I think we can schedule you for an eight-hour training shift some time this week.”
Seventy-two dollars. New shoes. Fuck yes.
“I need to go check up on something in the back, so I’m going to have my assistant come out here to finish up your interview, ok?”
I smiled and nodded.
The manager got up and headed back into the kitchen, and after a minute, out came this gruff looking Mexican (non-racist) guy. He sat down in front of me.
“You Brian? I’m Ray.” He flipped through the manager’s notes for a few seconds, and then he asked me, “So what motivated you to apply for our bagel café?”
Shit, I thought I was done with this interview? Why is he asking me new questions? “Well, I really like working with food service,” I answered.
“So why not McDonald’s or Burger King?”
“Because...I like working with healthy and fresh food.”
“So why not the Cornerstore Bakery on the other side of the plaza?”
My scalp started to itch a little. “Because...The hours of your store fit into my schedule really well.”
“The Cornerstore Bakery opens around the same time and closes later than our store. I’m sure you could’ve gotten the same hours over there, plus more.”
“Well, I just really like bagels.”
“So you’re trying to get a job here for the free bagels?”
My scalp was really itchy now. “I just...will be a great asset to your team here. I believe my qualities...” I started to trail off, “...are really valuable, and uh, strong work ethic, and integral—integrity, charisma...”
I smiled and nodded. I WOKE UP AT 3 AM EVERY DAY DURING HIGH SCHOOL FOR SWIM PRACTICE, I wanted to tell him, but I was probably too far downhill by now.
---
“WAKE UP!”
Written March 2nd, 2006
So it took me five hours of sleep total within the last two days and over ten consecutive D's and F's on my history tests to finally realize that I've been at academic nadir for the last two months.
Something I used to do is sleeping early at night and waking up early to do homework. That worked all of first semester—I went to bed by ten and was up at five finishing my homework that I was too lazy to do the night before. But something just went wrong the second semester. I would plan to go to sleep by ten but end up in bed some time after midnight, and the next morning, when my cell phone would wake me up at 4:30, I would decide to add just another half hour. When it rang again at 5, I figured it wouldn't be too bad if I just added another half hour. And then 15 minutes. And then another 15 minutes. Ten minutes. Five minutes. Aw damn it, gotta shower, eat, pack my stuff and go off to school.
I don't get homework done anymore. The last chapter we did in math, I did not turn in six of the assignments; I had planned on waking up at four the day they were all due, and well, the whole process I described above happened. When I don't get my history and chemistry homework done, I go to my brother's old sophomore year folder and dig out the necessary assignments from there. I haven't even read the last fucking ten chapters in History, which pretty much explains all my low scores.
And my sleeping habits. K, I lied about getting a total of five hours of sleep within the last two days. Change that to seven hours, because I know I've slept for entire classes during the last two days.
As much I would love staying in San Jose and going to Oakridge every other day after I graduate high school, I still want to get into a UC. I need to totally revamp my habits and get the fuck back on track before I kill my grades and before my mom kills me.
---
I’ve never been in such better health than I was these past two years in college because of all the sleep I got. (Yes, for lazy humanities majors with barely any classes, college equals more sleep than high school.) I was sick all the time in high school, but this past winter quarter, I went the entire quarter without getting sick (well, the eight weeks of diarrhea probably made up for not getting sick, but that’s for another flashback).
I still haven’t gotten a call back from the bagel store, but after much consideration, I realized that even if I was offered the job, I wouldn’t take it. There’d be no way that I could handle the hours. If I got this job, I’d probably end up living my high school days again, and I’d probably die. Ok, that concludes my defense mechanism.
I really would’ve liked a new pair of shoes. Damn it.
Tags:
flashback,
norcal,
repost,
schoolwork,
socal,
winter spring 2010,
work
Deficit
Monday, May 10, 2010
“Aiden...Aiden!”
Little six-year-old Aiden sprawled himself all over his desk. He looked up in awe. From me sitting next to him to the rows of binders in the bookshelves, so many things in the room tried to grab his attention. His head jerked liked a rooster as he turned his head to look at everything.
I pointed to the letters in his workbook page with my pen, trying to get his attention back. “Aiden, sit up and focus!”
He sat up, and sensing that I had his attention, I asked him again, “Can you find the words with consonant blends in this sentence? You found two already. I see two more.” In my head, I knew that the only reason he had already found two was that his finger happened to blindly land on the right words.
“This one!” he pointed at a word. “E-S!”
“No, Aiden. Again, consonant blends are only made up of consonants.”
“This one!” he pointed at another word. “E-E!”
“Aiden, do you remember what consonants are?”
“Not a, e, i, or u! This is one?” he pointed at another word.
“Well, technically, in this word, T-H is not a consonant blend because the T-H sound makes one distinct sound, but it just happens to be represented as two letters in English. C-R would be a consonant blend because each letter in the pair represents a distinct sound—”
Aiden’s head jerked toward the ceiling, and then down at the carpet.
“Y’know what, Aiden, you’re absolutely right! I didn’t see that one at all. There are still two more words with consonant blends in this sentence. Can you find them?”
“This one! E-A!”
“Ok, you clearly need to review. Let’s flip a few pages back to the lesson that first introduced consonant blends.” I started flipping back in his workbook, thinking that I could easily find a whole page about consonant blends a few pages back, but it was actually a lot farther back than I thought.
“Here we got, Consonant blends. Wow this was almost two months ago in March.” I scanned the page, and upon reaching the bottom, I froze. I saw a very familiar excersise: Fill in the blanks with your own letters to make a word! b r _ _ _. The letters e-a-d were scribbled in the blanks.
This was the page that compelled me to go home and complain about retard kids to Ranier.
Ranier:
I don’t wanna argue anymore. There’s no way I can get through your narrow minded ass. Out of all people I thought you would actually be understanding. Talk to me once you stop being stubborn and get a reality check
Ranier signed off at 22:39:50 on 03/17/10.
I stared at my computer monitor. Oops.
bbq dinner:
So the tard argument picked up where it left off last night.
Trung:
Brian. I thought I told you what to do. WHY DIDN’T YOU DO IT.
bbq dinner:
I thought I could do it my way.
Trung:
NO.
YOUR WAY
IS ALWAYS THE WRONG WAY.
bbq dinner:
I just tried to justify why I can call tard kids stupid.
Trung:
If it didn’t work yesterday, why would it work today?
Brian, you know he’s totally right. That’s such a jerk thing to argue for lol.
bbq dinner:
Well what should I do now? I think he’s willing to break up over this.
Trung:
You’ll break up over other things, but not this.
bbq dinner:
BUT THEY ARE STUPID. YOU AGREE RIGHT?!?! Remember nanny-boob-grabbing boy?
Trung:
stfu you know my opinions without me having to state it. I am not going to make you think you’re right in this. GO APOLOGIZE LOL. IT’S NOT THAT HARD. “I was insensitive about the situation. I know how you feel about the matter and I respect that. I won't bring it up anymore.”
bbq dinner:
Ok, Imma go make the call.
Trung:
Wait, before you do it, what are you gonna say?! I need to approve this.
bbq dinner:
I was insensitive about the situation. I know how you feel about the matter and I respect that. I won't bring it up anymore.
Trung:
Ok sounds good.
You should try this when you get back: http://www.jesusdressup.com
It’s fun.
I headed outside to call Ranier. He picked up, and right away I just wanted to blurt out what I had been saying the night before: “There’s right and there’s wrong, and then there’s just reality. There’s no such thing as right or wrong in reality, there is only is. Whether or not it’s wrong for me to say it doesn’t change the fact that this retard kid is pretty stupid.” But I refrained.
“So how do you feel about these kids now?” Ranier asked.
“Uuuuhh, they’re human too, and I shouldn’t call them stupid just because they..uh..” What was a nicer word for stupid? “...just because they are slower than the rest.”
“So this is how you really feel? You’re not just sayin’ it for the sake of our relationship?”
“Yes, I’m not just saying that to save our relationship. I promise you that I’ll change.”
“Alright Aiden, 4:29! It’s time to wrap it up!”
“Stickers?!”
“Nope, no stickers, remember? You don’t get any during the last fifteen minute session.”
“Awwwww!”
“Yeah. BUT! Can you give me an example of a consonant blend now?”
“E-A!”
I nodded as I continued to force a goatse-wide smile across my face. “Alright, go on ahead and get outta here! I’ll see ya later.” Once he left, I leaned back in my chair, rocked a little, and rolled my eyes real good.
Little six-year-old Aiden sprawled himself all over his desk. He looked up in awe. From me sitting next to him to the rows of binders in the bookshelves, so many things in the room tried to grab his attention. His head jerked liked a rooster as he turned his head to look at everything.
I pointed to the letters in his workbook page with my pen, trying to get his attention back. “Aiden, sit up and focus!”
He sat up, and sensing that I had his attention, I asked him again, “Can you find the words with consonant blends in this sentence? You found two already. I see two more.” In my head, I knew that the only reason he had already found two was that his finger happened to blindly land on the right words.
“This one!” he pointed at a word. “E-S!”
“No, Aiden. Again, consonant blends are only made up of consonants.”
“This one!” he pointed at another word. “E-E!”
“Aiden, do you remember what consonants are?”
“Not a, e, i, or u! This is one?” he pointed at another word.
“Well, technically, in this word, T-H is not a consonant blend because the T-H sound makes one distinct sound, but it just happens to be represented as two letters in English. C-R would be a consonant blend because each letter in the pair represents a distinct sound—”
Aiden’s head jerked toward the ceiling, and then down at the carpet.
“Y’know what, Aiden, you’re absolutely right! I didn’t see that one at all. There are still two more words with consonant blends in this sentence. Can you find them?”
“This one! E-A!”
“Ok, you clearly need to review. Let’s flip a few pages back to the lesson that first introduced consonant blends.” I started flipping back in his workbook, thinking that I could easily find a whole page about consonant blends a few pages back, but it was actually a lot farther back than I thought.
“Here we got, Consonant blends. Wow this was almost two months ago in March.” I scanned the page, and upon reaching the bottom, I froze. I saw a very familiar excersise: Fill in the blanks with your own letters to make a word! b r _ _ _. The letters e-a-d were scribbled in the blanks.
This was the page that compelled me to go home and complain about retard kids to Ranier.
Ranier:
I don’t wanna argue anymore. There’s no way I can get through your narrow minded ass. Out of all people I thought you would actually be understanding. Talk to me once you stop being stubborn and get a reality check
Ranier signed off at 22:39:50 on 03/17/10.
I stared at my computer monitor. Oops.
bbq dinner:
So the tard argument picked up where it left off last night.
Trung:
Brian. I thought I told you what to do. WHY DIDN’T YOU DO IT.
bbq dinner:
I thought I could do it my way.
Trung:
NO.
YOUR WAY
IS ALWAYS THE WRONG WAY.
bbq dinner:
I just tried to justify why I can call tard kids stupid.
Trung:
If it didn’t work yesterday, why would it work today?
Brian, you know he’s totally right. That’s such a jerk thing to argue for lol.
bbq dinner:
Well what should I do now? I think he’s willing to break up over this.
Trung:
You’ll break up over other things, but not this.
bbq dinner:
BUT THEY ARE STUPID. YOU AGREE RIGHT?!?! Remember nanny-boob-grabbing boy?
Trung:
stfu you know my opinions without me having to state it. I am not going to make you think you’re right in this. GO APOLOGIZE LOL. IT’S NOT THAT HARD. “I was insensitive about the situation. I know how you feel about the matter and I respect that. I won't bring it up anymore.”
bbq dinner:
Ok, Imma go make the call.
Trung:
Wait, before you do it, what are you gonna say?! I need to approve this.
bbq dinner:
I was insensitive about the situation. I know how you feel about the matter and I respect that. I won't bring it up anymore.
Trung:
Ok sounds good.
You should try this when you get back: http://www.jesusdressup.com
It’s fun.
I headed outside to call Ranier. He picked up, and right away I just wanted to blurt out what I had been saying the night before: “There’s right and there’s wrong, and then there’s just reality. There’s no such thing as right or wrong in reality, there is only is. Whether or not it’s wrong for me to say it doesn’t change the fact that this retard kid is pretty stupid.” But I refrained.
“So how do you feel about these kids now?” Ranier asked.
“Uuuuhh, they’re human too, and I shouldn’t call them stupid just because they..uh..” What was a nicer word for stupid? “...just because they are slower than the rest.”
“So this is how you really feel? You’re not just sayin’ it for the sake of our relationship?”
“Yes, I’m not just saying that to save our relationship. I promise you that I’ll change.”
“Alright Aiden, 4:29! It’s time to wrap it up!”
“Stickers?!”
“Nope, no stickers, remember? You don’t get any during the last fifteen minute session.”
“Awwwww!”
“Yeah. BUT! Can you give me an example of a consonant blend now?”
“E-A!”
I nodded as I continued to force a goatse-wide smile across my face. “Alright, go on ahead and get outta here! I’ll see ya later.” Once he left, I leaned back in my chair, rocked a little, and rolled my eyes real good.
Tags:
flashback,
ranier,
relationships,
socal,
teaching,
trung,
winter spring 2010
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)
