Good Heavens
Yesterday night before going to sleep, for some reason I was struck with the strong urge to look up in the sky and observe the moon and the stars. Maybe it was because of a conversation I had earlier, about how the stars you see actually died millions of years ago but their light is just now reaching us. I don't know.
Anyways, it wasn't that great of a stargazing night, plus I was tired so I went to sleep soon after, but the subject hasn't left my mind since then. Something about staring into the night sky triggers a weird but good emotion inside me. I'm a pretty rational, scientific person by most standards, but there's many times when I feel a very intangible side of being human too.
It's hard to explain these kinds of surreal feelings in words, or why I have them. I think we were born with an inherent need to experience the things of nature. At least to some extent, we have a part of us that craves and desires to escape from society, however briefly, and take solace in the larger world outside. I personally have been wishing for a chance to maybe spend time alone by the ocean or something like that, to just gather my thoughts and enjoy the world around me for a few moments.
The thing is, most of us live and work in the city or suburbs, and we're surrounded by people and all sorts of media pretty much from the time we wake up until the time we go to sleep. Between our jobs, the social lives we lead, and all the other things we fill our time with, certain things get lost or forgotten in the midst of all the busy-ness.
Don't get me wrong - I like my job, I love all my friends and family, and I would never trade my city/suburban life for any other. I mean, without a job to work at, and without relationships, life to me would be pretty meaningless. And as far as urban life goes, I appreciate it for what it is. There have been many memories throughout my life when I have felt so awed by the sight of a big city. Like admiring the Chicago skyline any time I drive on Lake Shore Drive. Arriving at the Las Vegas strip for the first time. Looking out the window of the 747 as I left Taipei a few years ago. Or standing on the deck of a boat, in the harbor outside Hong Kong, staring at all the lights and many beautifully architectured buildings at night.
I guess what I'm saying is, even with all I have in my life, something about me as a human being elicits a strong desire to experience things that are greater than what man can make or provide.
The Chicago skyline is so impressive and great to me, but when I see the infinite number of stars in the sky, or stand on the shore of a giant ocean, everything else seems so insignificant and unworthy of comparison. And when I think about how many millions or billions of galaxies are out there, how many billions of years or more that they've existed before I was even conceived, it's a very humbling experience.
It's an annoying cliche that I try to avoid, but this kind of experience tends to "put things in perspective" for me. When I work hard to achieve goals, and list my own accomplishments, it's easy sometimes to feel like I'm something really special and important, as if it's my world and everyone else is just living in it. It's times like these when I really need to be humbled the most.
I'm reminded that the world doesn't revolve around me. That all the things I absorb myself with in my life, the things I focus all my attention on, and seem so vitally important to me, are only a very tiny part of the larger whole. And that ultimately, whether I live, die, succeed or fail in the things I do, the universe and all that's in it will go on.
You'd think that this would be a discouraging thought, like I'm just a mere little individual and my life doesn't really matter in the grand scheme of things. But actually, deep down I feel strangely peaceful, knowing that I could mess up my life in the worst possible way imaginable and the universe won't care one bit.
Okay, so I don't really mean that last part. That's a pretty twisted way of looking at things. But I do take comfort in these thoughts because in a way they affirm my belief in God, that he is in control of everything, and not me.
It's like when you're a little kid, the feeling of knowing that whatever happens, your mom and dad will always be there, loving you and taking care of you all the way. It's a sense of security, but so much deeper than that. Well, by now I am more or less independent of my parents, but I refuse to believe that I am on my own, or that I am the highest being of them all. I still have a strong need to look above myself, to God who watches over me in everything I do. Knowing that I'm in control of my own life, but God is in control overall, is a very settling thought for me.
Some of you reading are probably thinking I'm crazy. "How does he get all that from looking at stars?!" The answer is, I don't know. Like I said before, human nature is so intangible and hard to explain in words. I may not know exactly why I enjoy looking at the stars or watching the waves of an ocean, but I do know that these things satisfy a part of me that other things in my life cannot.
I don't wish to quit my job, move to unsettled land in Canada, build a cabin in the wilderness and hunt for food. But I think I need at least some feeling of being in touch with nature, beyond the routine of daily/weekly/monthly life that I'm starting to settle into. Like the guy in Office Space said, "Human beings were not meant to be caged up like animals in cubicles and stare at computer screens all day." We weren't meant to simply watch TV, play golf, and drink beer the rest of the day when we get home from work either. Not that those things are bad, but too much of it ends up being just a jumble of distractions that clouds your mind and soul.
So I don't know what I'm gonna do, if anything at all. Maybe I should get a telescope and read up about astronomy. Or maybe I just need a vacation or a break from the routine. Anyone out there feel like going camping and looking at stars? I think now I'm just babbling on. Well anyways... I'll figure something out eventually.
Saturday, April 19, 2003
Thursday, April 17, 2003
Insulting My Fanhood
My 2-day stint at first place in Dudo League Baseball is over. But I remain upbeat about my team.
After Tuesday night's debacle at the Sox game, and reading Piya's blog, I have been thinking about my Sox fanhood. As many of you know, baseball is my favorite sport and the Sox are my favorite team. But in the past few years, I have found it harder and harder to support them as a fan.
The toughest thing for me is not when the Sox lose. Of course, I love to see them win, but I could still love my team and follow them religiously if they were in last place. What bothers me the most is that there are literally zero players on the Sox that I like. I used to like Frank Thomas, about 10 years ago when he was good and I didn't know he was a jackass, but since then I have hated him more and more with each passing season. I never liked Billy Koch, Flash Gordon, or even Bartolo Colon, either, and those happened to be our top 3 signings this season. My hate for Koch has intensified already, as it's less than 3 weeks into the season and he's blowing big saves.
The rest of the guys, I am pretty indifferent to. Magglio, Buerhle and Konerko are good players, and Crede has potential. But I couldn't really say I love watching any of them. It's been a while since there was a Sox player I liked. I thought Mike Caruso was gonna be awesome, but then he showed why there are no good lefty shortstops in the league. And I was starting to like Ray Durham more, but then my best friend Kenny Williams (worst... GM... ever) traded him away.
In any team sport, and I think in baseball more than any other, the human factor is so very important. Okay, so in some cases (Yankees, Braves, Lakers) teams can win on pure talent alone, but I really believe the best way to go is to build team chemistry and play together as a whole. Some good examples in the past few years are the Angels, the Twins, and this year's Royals. Not only do they win, but they're a lot more fun to watch too.
But "chemistry" seems like a foreign word to the Sox. We have no clear leader on this team. Our players don't seem to be focused on winning, nor do they show hustle. This shows that they don't care about letting down their teammates. We lack solid fundamentals in fielding, baserunning, etc., which is at least partly the fault of Jerry Manuel and the coaches.
We've had no shortage of prospects in a pretty good farm system, but so few of them seem to develop into true star players. Meanwhile, Kenny gets these big name players in the offseason and hopes that they the team will magically mesh together, all of a sudden.
Then we have Jerry Reinsdorf. I'll give him some props for at least showing some effort to spend money and improve the team, but he's still a putz overall. I'm still a little pissed that he didn't put more effort into making New Comiskey a better ballpark from the start, at a time when really nice fields like Camden Yard and Jacobs Field were also being built. And this year, he dumped one of the oldest names in baseball and made our stadium "US Cellular Field"*. As if the White Sox tradition and personality weren't dry enough already.
So they wonder why Sox fans don't show up to games. No, it's not because we're still bitter about the strike. No, it's not because of the neighborhood. No, it's not even because the stadium is unfriendly or because they raised prices for parking. It's because the team is just not worth paying to watch. I mean, I still follow the Sox on TV, and I've still been going to some games, but I would go so much more if they gave me a reason to get excited about being at the park.
They could do the Jumbotron pizza races, plane races, which-cap-is-the-ball-under game, and Kiss Cam all they want. They could have all the promotions you can possibly think of. They might even try making parking free with ticket stub and reducing the price of hot dogs to under $3. But all that's gonna do is probably attract more of the lowlifes who just wanna get drunk, run on the field, and do something stupid. True Sox fans go to the park for good baseball, not for all the other stuff.
The fact is, what we true fans really want is a team to get behind and cheer for, one that will make us actually want to get off our couches and drive to the field to root them on. We need more of the players who show leadership by example on the field, who are friendly to the media and make an effort to show appreciation to the fans. We'd like to see people hustle to first base, slide headfirst into home plate, and dive for groundballs. We want to see high fives, rally caps, or jumping out of the dugout to watch a home run.
You can't expect us to pay to see a team that blows leads late in the game, with guys who can't lay down a bunt, and who get caught stealing for the final out when you're down 3 runs anyways. It's just not right.
Hopefully we see improvements in the Sox organization sometime soon. I say we get rid of Frank Thomas and Kenny Williams for starters and see where it goes from there. Maybe dump Jerry Manuel too, for good measure. I don't care, waive the whole team and call up your minor league affiliate. I bet they're more entertaining to watch anyways.
I guess in the meantime, I'm gonna have to reluctantly follow my team and hope for the best. I still have faith that we can win this year. It's just not an easy time for me to be a Sox fan, that's all.
*****
US Cellular happens to be on my "list" too, which includes Structure and Home Depot. Me and my sister used to have PrimeCo. It sucked, so eventually I switched to Cingular and she switched to VoiceStream. But for some reason, when we quit, they kept a one-cent balance on my account. Now, Voicestream is T-Mobile and PrimeCo is US Cellular, but throughout all this time, PrimeCo/US Cellular have been sending us bills for $.01 every single month. We've called more than once to have them fix this, but obviously they never do because the bills keep coming.
I think next week I am gonna stop into the US Cellular store nearest me with a baseball bat and ask them not-so-politely to fix my balance and terminate my account. Maybe I'll bring a bucket of pennies and fling them at the employees.
*****
Update on the pants: I tried the "Goof-off" stuff on my pants based on Rich's comment, but I think, like he said, the paint was already brushed deep into the fabric beyond repair. Thanks for the suggestion anyways, though, it was worth a try.
On the plus side, Goof-off has a nice gasoliney smell. It gave me a nice dizzy and high feeling as I went to bed last night.
My 2-day stint at first place in Dudo League Baseball is over. But I remain upbeat about my team.
After Tuesday night's debacle at the Sox game, and reading Piya's blog, I have been thinking about my Sox fanhood. As many of you know, baseball is my favorite sport and the Sox are my favorite team. But in the past few years, I have found it harder and harder to support them as a fan.
The toughest thing for me is not when the Sox lose. Of course, I love to see them win, but I could still love my team and follow them religiously if they were in last place. What bothers me the most is that there are literally zero players on the Sox that I like. I used to like Frank Thomas, about 10 years ago when he was good and I didn't know he was a jackass, but since then I have hated him more and more with each passing season. I never liked Billy Koch, Flash Gordon, or even Bartolo Colon, either, and those happened to be our top 3 signings this season. My hate for Koch has intensified already, as it's less than 3 weeks into the season and he's blowing big saves.
The rest of the guys, I am pretty indifferent to. Magglio, Buerhle and Konerko are good players, and Crede has potential. But I couldn't really say I love watching any of them. It's been a while since there was a Sox player I liked. I thought Mike Caruso was gonna be awesome, but then he showed why there are no good lefty shortstops in the league. And I was starting to like Ray Durham more, but then my best friend Kenny Williams (worst... GM... ever) traded him away.
In any team sport, and I think in baseball more than any other, the human factor is so very important. Okay, so in some cases (Yankees, Braves, Lakers) teams can win on pure talent alone, but I really believe the best way to go is to build team chemistry and play together as a whole. Some good examples in the past few years are the Angels, the Twins, and this year's Royals. Not only do they win, but they're a lot more fun to watch too.
But "chemistry" seems like a foreign word to the Sox. We have no clear leader on this team. Our players don't seem to be focused on winning, nor do they show hustle. This shows that they don't care about letting down their teammates. We lack solid fundamentals in fielding, baserunning, etc., which is at least partly the fault of Jerry Manuel and the coaches.
We've had no shortage of prospects in a pretty good farm system, but so few of them seem to develop into true star players. Meanwhile, Kenny gets these big name players in the offseason and hopes that they the team will magically mesh together, all of a sudden.
Then we have Jerry Reinsdorf. I'll give him some props for at least showing some effort to spend money and improve the team, but he's still a putz overall. I'm still a little pissed that he didn't put more effort into making New Comiskey a better ballpark from the start, at a time when really nice fields like Camden Yard and Jacobs Field were also being built. And this year, he dumped one of the oldest names in baseball and made our stadium "US Cellular Field"*. As if the White Sox tradition and personality weren't dry enough already.
So they wonder why Sox fans don't show up to games. No, it's not because we're still bitter about the strike. No, it's not because of the neighborhood. No, it's not even because the stadium is unfriendly or because they raised prices for parking. It's because the team is just not worth paying to watch. I mean, I still follow the Sox on TV, and I've still been going to some games, but I would go so much more if they gave me a reason to get excited about being at the park.
They could do the Jumbotron pizza races, plane races, which-cap-is-the-ball-under game, and Kiss Cam all they want. They could have all the promotions you can possibly think of. They might even try making parking free with ticket stub and reducing the price of hot dogs to under $3. But all that's gonna do is probably attract more of the lowlifes who just wanna get drunk, run on the field, and do something stupid. True Sox fans go to the park for good baseball, not for all the other stuff.
The fact is, what we true fans really want is a team to get behind and cheer for, one that will make us actually want to get off our couches and drive to the field to root them on. We need more of the players who show leadership by example on the field, who are friendly to the media and make an effort to show appreciation to the fans. We'd like to see people hustle to first base, slide headfirst into home plate, and dive for groundballs. We want to see high fives, rally caps, or jumping out of the dugout to watch a home run.
You can't expect us to pay to see a team that blows leads late in the game, with guys who can't lay down a bunt, and who get caught stealing for the final out when you're down 3 runs anyways. It's just not right.
Hopefully we see improvements in the Sox organization sometime soon. I say we get rid of Frank Thomas and Kenny Williams for starters and see where it goes from there. Maybe dump Jerry Manuel too, for good measure. I don't care, waive the whole team and call up your minor league affiliate. I bet they're more entertaining to watch anyways.
I guess in the meantime, I'm gonna have to reluctantly follow my team and hope for the best. I still have faith that we can win this year. It's just not an easy time for me to be a Sox fan, that's all.
*****
US Cellular happens to be on my "list" too, which includes Structure and Home Depot. Me and my sister used to have PrimeCo. It sucked, so eventually I switched to Cingular and she switched to VoiceStream. But for some reason, when we quit, they kept a one-cent balance on my account. Now, Voicestream is T-Mobile and PrimeCo is US Cellular, but throughout all this time, PrimeCo/US Cellular have been sending us bills for $.01 every single month. We've called more than once to have them fix this, but obviously they never do because the bills keep coming.
I think next week I am gonna stop into the US Cellular store nearest me with a baseball bat and ask them not-so-politely to fix my balance and terminate my account. Maybe I'll bring a bucket of pennies and fling them at the employees.
*****
Update on the pants: I tried the "Goof-off" stuff on my pants based on Rich's comment, but I think, like he said, the paint was already brushed deep into the fabric beyond repair. Thanks for the suggestion anyways, though, it was worth a try.
On the plus side, Goof-off has a nice gasoliney smell. It gave me a nice dizzy and high feeling as I went to bed last night.
Tuesday, April 15, 2003
Home Depot
Some of you may know about my personal spat with Structure for the past 5 years or so. Ever since they wouldn't let me exchange a pair of shorts with a bleach hole in it, I started a personal boycott. In hindsight, I bet those stupid employees probably regretted their decision, for that was clearly the beginning of the end for Structure. After I stopped going, many others noticed that their clothes weren't as cool anymore, leaving the store so empty and unprofitable that management decided to change their name to Express Men in desperate measures.
Anyways, yesterday I added Home Depot to my list. You know those little round posts that stick up out of the ground and go up to about your waist? I don't know what they're for, but they're just scattered around the store. Well, it turns out that when I went there with Brian (Olivia's brother) last night around 9, they had just painted those things bright yellow.
So we get to the checkout counter, and as he's paying for his stuff, I lean up on one of those posts, not knowing that the bright yellow paint was fresh. Before I know it, there's 2 huge yellow stains on the front of my pants. Now these weren't my old dirty jeans or anything, these were my beloved Abercrombie khakis that Olivia bought me a few months ago. I wear those everywhere, not just to Home Depot but to work, to church, to Chris Farleycorn, and around the house. So I was pissed.
Now first of all, why are they painting those things during store hours? I lean on those kinds of things all the time and I'm sure other people do too. Second of all, there were no signs that said "Wet Paint" near that post. In a high traffic area like that, you better make sure that people know what's wet paint and what isn't.
The last straw was when one of the employees saw what happened, he was like "oh that's a latex based paint, just dissolve it with water and it'll come right off." So he showed me to the bathroom and I tried to wash the paint off my pants with copious amounts of water.
But try as I did, I couldn't get the paint to "dissolve" in the water. A couple minutes later I walked out of the place with the front of my pants soaked in water with a bright yellow paint stain to go with, then drove home ("home" being Palatine now). There, I spent another 2-3 hours trying to clean of the stupid paint. To nobody's surprise, the paint didn't dissolve in the water at home either. I still don't know what that guy was smoking. Maybe latex paint really does dissolve in water when it's wet, but it sure doesn't "come right off" clothes.
So I turned to my trusty friend, the Internet, for tips on removing latex paint stains from clothes. Piya told me "I think you're screwed." Then a Google search led me to a site that recommended soaking the clothes in water and detergent, and removing the stain with a toothbrush. Sounded like a grand idea, so I tried it. Well, it didn't end up doing much, other than ruining my only toothbrush. The bristles were all yellow, but there was no noticeable difference in the stain on the pants. So this morning I used lots 'o Listerine and I'll have to buy a new toothbrush today.
Oh yeah, did you know that there are "cleaning tips" forums on the Internet? Yeah, it's where people come to share their gems of cleaning wisdom with others. They have moderators who answer your questions and everything. How do you get to be a moderator for one of those anyways? I wanna be a moderator and give people the worst advice ever. Something like this:
Q: I got some green dishwashing detergent on my sleeve. Now my white cotton shirt has a green stain! I tried rubbing it out with some water, but it just got soapy and bubbly. Any tips?
A: Unfortunately, stains involving dishwashing detergent or other types of soap are some of the toughest known to man. Do NOT put your shirt in the washing machine, that will never work. I recommend that you treat the stain as follows:
Mix a solution of two parts dog urine and one part engine oil. Used engine oil is preferable, but fresh oil should do the trick. Synthetic is not necessary. And if you don't have ready access to dog urine, cat or even human urine may work as well.
Apply the solution liberally around the stain. If possible, soak the entire shirt for a couple hours so that the deep cleansing agents found naturally in motor oil can work on the tough detergenty elements of the stain. The urine should give the solution an easy texture to work with, while also giving the room a pleasant aroma.
If the stain lingers, take the shirt to your living room and vigorously rub it on your carpet. The fuzzier and whiter your carpet, the better, for it will soak up the stain quite well. For best results, make sure you do this while the engine oil/urine solution is still freshly applied on the shirt.
*****
Other than losing this pair of pants to a paint stain, I also ripped my best pair of jeans last year. Premium denim MY EYE! Then I have 3 T-Shirts that are permanently stained from engine oil because I'm stupid. It sucks because one of them was my Singha Lager Beer shirt I got in Thailand. Another one was my Coors Light shirt I got from the Coors brewery when we went to Colorado. And the last one was my long-sleeve University of Illinois shirt, one of two Illini shirts I have left. None of those are easily replaceable, at least not in their sentimental value. >:-O
On the plus side, my fantasy baseball team is doing well. Let's see if I can actually hold 1st place this year.
Some of you may know about my personal spat with Structure for the past 5 years or so. Ever since they wouldn't let me exchange a pair of shorts with a bleach hole in it, I started a personal boycott. In hindsight, I bet those stupid employees probably regretted their decision, for that was clearly the beginning of the end for Structure. After I stopped going, many others noticed that their clothes weren't as cool anymore, leaving the store so empty and unprofitable that management decided to change their name to Express Men in desperate measures.
Anyways, yesterday I added Home Depot to my list. You know those little round posts that stick up out of the ground and go up to about your waist? I don't know what they're for, but they're just scattered around the store. Well, it turns out that when I went there with Brian (Olivia's brother) last night around 9, they had just painted those things bright yellow.
So we get to the checkout counter, and as he's paying for his stuff, I lean up on one of those posts, not knowing that the bright yellow paint was fresh. Before I know it, there's 2 huge yellow stains on the front of my pants. Now these weren't my old dirty jeans or anything, these were my beloved Abercrombie khakis that Olivia bought me a few months ago. I wear those everywhere, not just to Home Depot but to work, to church, to Chris Farleycorn, and around the house. So I was pissed.
Now first of all, why are they painting those things during store hours? I lean on those kinds of things all the time and I'm sure other people do too. Second of all, there were no signs that said "Wet Paint" near that post. In a high traffic area like that, you better make sure that people know what's wet paint and what isn't.
The last straw was when one of the employees saw what happened, he was like "oh that's a latex based paint, just dissolve it with water and it'll come right off." So he showed me to the bathroom and I tried to wash the paint off my pants with copious amounts of water.
But try as I did, I couldn't get the paint to "dissolve" in the water. A couple minutes later I walked out of the place with the front of my pants soaked in water with a bright yellow paint stain to go with, then drove home ("home" being Palatine now). There, I spent another 2-3 hours trying to clean of the stupid paint. To nobody's surprise, the paint didn't dissolve in the water at home either. I still don't know what that guy was smoking. Maybe latex paint really does dissolve in water when it's wet, but it sure doesn't "come right off" clothes.
So I turned to my trusty friend, the Internet, for tips on removing latex paint stains from clothes. Piya told me "I think you're screwed." Then a Google search led me to a site that recommended soaking the clothes in water and detergent, and removing the stain with a toothbrush. Sounded like a grand idea, so I tried it. Well, it didn't end up doing much, other than ruining my only toothbrush. The bristles were all yellow, but there was no noticeable difference in the stain on the pants. So this morning I used lots 'o Listerine and I'll have to buy a new toothbrush today.
Oh yeah, did you know that there are "cleaning tips" forums on the Internet? Yeah, it's where people come to share their gems of cleaning wisdom with others. They have moderators who answer your questions and everything. How do you get to be a moderator for one of those anyways? I wanna be a moderator and give people the worst advice ever. Something like this:
Q: I got some green dishwashing detergent on my sleeve. Now my white cotton shirt has a green stain! I tried rubbing it out with some water, but it just got soapy and bubbly. Any tips?
A: Unfortunately, stains involving dishwashing detergent or other types of soap are some of the toughest known to man. Do NOT put your shirt in the washing machine, that will never work. I recommend that you treat the stain as follows:
Mix a solution of two parts dog urine and one part engine oil. Used engine oil is preferable, but fresh oil should do the trick. Synthetic is not necessary. And if you don't have ready access to dog urine, cat or even human urine may work as well.
Apply the solution liberally around the stain. If possible, soak the entire shirt for a couple hours so that the deep cleansing agents found naturally in motor oil can work on the tough detergenty elements of the stain. The urine should give the solution an easy texture to work with, while also giving the room a pleasant aroma.
If the stain lingers, take the shirt to your living room and vigorously rub it on your carpet. The fuzzier and whiter your carpet, the better, for it will soak up the stain quite well. For best results, make sure you do this while the engine oil/urine solution is still freshly applied on the shirt.
*****
Other than losing this pair of pants to a paint stain, I also ripped my best pair of jeans last year. Premium denim MY EYE! Then I have 3 T-Shirts that are permanently stained from engine oil because I'm stupid. It sucks because one of them was my Singha Lager Beer shirt I got in Thailand. Another one was my Coors Light shirt I got from the Coors brewery when we went to Colorado. And the last one was my long-sleeve University of Illinois shirt, one of two Illini shirts I have left. None of those are easily replaceable, at least not in their sentimental value. >:-O
On the plus side, my fantasy baseball team is doing well. Let's see if I can actually hold 1st place this year.
Sunday, April 13, 2003
First Blog From Palatine
Today was move-in day. Went to church in the morning, then packed up my shiz and hit the road. We had 3 cars - Me, Olivia, and our minivan.
A short story about Olivia's car. A few weeks ago we were washing our cars in my driveway. This junior-high kid rides his bike by, and he goes "That's a tight Acura man... tight Acura." (She has a 2002 CL) I was like "ummm thanks." Couldn't help but feel a little bitter that the kid didn't compliment my car though.
Anyways, we strapped a full-size mattress and boxspring on top of the minivan, took out all the seats in the back and stuffed a 3-piece desk in there, plus a bunch of boxes. I must say I'm quite impressed with the carrying capacity of the Chrysler Town & Country.
So the move went pretty smoothly, with my dad, me, and Jason (the other housemate that's not Olivia's brother) taking care of most of the big stuff. I wanna say thanks to anyone who offered to help me move in. Didn't really need too much help this time but I appreciate the offer.
Ok, I'm tired now. I'll probably write more when I get the chance but it's sleep time for me now.
Today was move-in day. Went to church in the morning, then packed up my shiz and hit the road. We had 3 cars - Me, Olivia, and our minivan.
A short story about Olivia's car. A few weeks ago we were washing our cars in my driveway. This junior-high kid rides his bike by, and he goes "That's a tight Acura man... tight Acura." (She has a 2002 CL) I was like "ummm thanks." Couldn't help but feel a little bitter that the kid didn't compliment my car though.
Anyways, we strapped a full-size mattress and boxspring on top of the minivan, took out all the seats in the back and stuffed a 3-piece desk in there, plus a bunch of boxes. I must say I'm quite impressed with the carrying capacity of the Chrysler Town & Country.
So the move went pretty smoothly, with my dad, me, and Jason (the other housemate that's not Olivia's brother) taking care of most of the big stuff. I wanna say thanks to anyone who offered to help me move in. Didn't really need too much help this time but I appreciate the offer.
Ok, I'm tired now. I'll probably write more when I get the chance but it's sleep time for me now.
Friday, April 11, 2003
Life of an ABC
Well, I guess my mind has been in a reflective mode lately. One thing I was thinking about was how typical my life has been of someone born and raised in a Chinese family. I know most people who read this blog won't relate to what I'm gonna write about, but maybe at least some will be interested in hearing about what it's like to grow up as a Chinese kid in America.
And I don't know how much of this stuff applies to other Asians, but I know that almost every time I talk to a Chinese friend, something will come up in the conversation that he/she will definitely know about because they are "American-Born Chinese" (ABCs, and yes that is actually a commonly used term in our community). This is even more true for Taiwanese folk, who happen to be the most intelligent and physically attractive of the various Chinese groups.
The first thing that all Chinese parents do is try to teach their kids the Chinese language. They'll speak Chinese to their kids when they're little, probably send them to some sort of local-run Chinese school at some point, and maybe bring them to Taiwan in the summer to hang out with their FOB cousins (FOB = Fresh-off-boat, yes, another commonly used term) .
In some cases it works better than others. Most of the time, ABCs end up knowing enough Chinese to at least understand what their mom and dad are saying to them. Sometimes, they actually speak Taiwanese better than Mandarin because that's what their parents and grandparents speak more.
* side note FYI - The Taiwanese language is kind of like the "ebonics" of Chinese, the way I look at it. Usually, the more hardcore and ghetto Chinese people speak Taiwanese, like when you go to the street markets or tell a taxi driver where to go. For that matter, most of the major curse words I know of are in Taiwanese. Mandarin is more of the official language, which you hear on TV and in more professional places like department stores and corporate offices and stuff. *
ABC's also tend to screw around in Chinese school, so in the end, all they know how to write in Chinese is their own name, and maybe some basic characters like "Me (wo)", "You (ni)", "Friend (peng-yo)", "Teacher (lau-shir)", and "Good (hau)".
For me, my dad was a real nazi when it came to learning Chinese. I guess he saw that the ghetto Chinese school at my church wasn't gonna really cut it, so he'd collect Chinese newspaper clippings and make me study them. Then he'd print out like 16X12 grids on sheets of paper and make me write each character over and over until I learned it. But actually, that's how people learn to write Chinese, like in Taiwan, grade schoolers have to copy each word hundreds of times in order to remember it. One summer, my mom and dad sent me and my sister to a Chinese school in Taiwan called "guo-yu-re-bao" (it was actually run by a local news company), which was kind of like a month-long boot camp for ABC's to learn Chinese. Some Taiwanese people might know what I'm talking about.
Anyways, between all the stuff my Dad made me do, "guo-yu-re-bao", and living in Taiwan for a year, my Chinese is actually pretty good. It was really miserable at the time for me, when all my other friends were out rollerblading or at the swimming pool while I was at home for hours copying the same Chinese word over and over, but right now I can say that I'm definitely glad I did.
After the "learning Chinese" mission, the second most important goal a Chinese parent has for their kids is to make them learn a musical instrument. For about 95% of the ABC's I know, the musical instrument of choice is either piano or violin. In my case, it was piano, for my sister, it was violin. Again, it works better with some kids than others. I did ok, taking lessons for about 6 or 7 years before quitting. But compared to some other Chinese people I know, I flat out suck at piano.
My best friend as a kid was one of these guys whose mom and dad were obsessed with making him the best piano player ever. They shelled out mad dough to take lessons from the awesome teachers. They'd make him practice at least 2 hours a day (an eternity when you're a kid), and then send him to recitals and contests all the time. They didn't let him play basketball because they felt it was bad for his fingers. I'm not sure if he ever made it to the Young Performers thing they show on Channel 11 every year, but he was pretty damn good. Other Chinese people I know of who are really awesome at piano are Dennis (at least that's what I hear), and my super-smart cousin in Taiwan (but actually he's a FOB so he doesn't count).
It was kinda funny, now when I look back, and I remember how our parents would talk to each other about me and my best friend. My mom and dad would be like "wow, David is so good at the piano, he works so hard and wins all those trophies and ribbons, if only Joseph could be that good". Then his mom and dad would be like "wow, Joseph is so good at Chinese, he wins all those speech contests and stuff, if only David could be that good." And that's pretty much what Chinese parents do when they get together with other Chinese parents.
Which brings me to another part of being raised by Chinese parents. They are constantly comparing you to their friends' kids in every little thing possible. Not only in things like piano skill or Chinese ability, but they compare how well you do at school, how polite ("li-mao") you are to adults, and how tall you are. I can't emphasize how big of a factor height is, especially for boys. Every single time a group of parents happen to be in the same room with their sons, they make the sons stand next to each other to see who is taller. Every single time, with no exception, I swear. I personally suffered a lot because I was around 5'1"-5'2" until about sophomore year of high school.
You might think they would stop this comparison business by the time you are older, but trust me, it never stops. You get to high school, and you'll get plenty of news reports from mom and dad about who was a National Merit Scholar and who wasn't. You hear about so-and-so who got a 1600 on the SAT, was valedictorian last year, and went to Harvard. Oh, and it doesn't matter what the US News rankings say, every Chinese parent's ultimate dream is for their kid to go to Harvard. Princeton, Yale, Stanford are ok too, I guess, but Harvard is gold, without a doubt.
If you don't go to one of those schools for college, you have one of two options: Engineering or Pre-med. Seriously, a ridiculously high percentage of the ABC's I know went one of those two routes. For me, it was EE at U of I, following in the footsteps of about 5 or 6 of the older guys at my church. For Olivia, it was GPPA Pre-med at UIC, and she's currently in the same classes as my friend David who I mentioned before about the piano thing. Dennis and Cindy were ChemE at U of I. Other commonly acceptable roads are CS at U of I and the HPME Med program at Northwestern. If you choose one of these majors, it's guaranteed to make your Chinese mom and dad happy.
Sadly, very few Chinese parents are supportive of their sons/daughters who want to pursue the fine arts. It's kind of ironic actually, considering how much they push for their kids to learn piano or violin as a child. But if you tell your parents you want to be an art or music major, a lot of them will consider it a huge tragedy, like they wasted 18 years raising their child. I'm not kidding about that at all. Either Chinese culture simply doesn't value the artistic expression (which I don't think is the case), or they just want to know for sure that the son or daughter they worked so hard to raise is going to come out of school with a steady and well-paying job.
One thing I should also talk about is friends. My white readers can correct me if I'm wrong, or hopefully back me up on this, but when you're white, your best friend is usually your next-door neighbor or the kid that sits alphabetically next to you in kindergarten. This is not the case when you're Chinese. As everyone knows, Chinese families typically aren't very socially active in the neighborhood. Many Chinese parents also discourage you from hanging out with the white kids down the block, because they play too much and might corrupt you.
So, when you are born to Chinese parents, your best friends usually end up being the sons/daughters of their best friends. I talked about my best friend David, his dad went to grad school with my dad, and we happened to be born 10 days apart in the same hospital (Hinsdale). Though we went to different schools, him in Woodridge and me in Downers Grove, we were still best friends from, as he likes to say, "ages zero to six". Later on, his family moved 50 minutes away to (interestingly enough) Palatine, and eventually we drifted apart because of the distance. But even then, our families would get together for my birthday, his birthday, my sister's birthday, and his sister's birthday.
By the way, my sister and his sister were also best friends. And another thing to note about Chinese parents is that starting the exact moment their son or daughter is born, they keep a keen eye out to observe all their friends' children. Noting whose kid is about the same age and opposite sex of their own kid, and hoping that you hook up and get married with one of them when you get older.
Because the fact is, all Chinese parents want their sons or daughters to marry someone Chinese. Some are more vocal and strict about this, but I really believe that every last Chinese mom and Chinese dad feels this way. My mom and dad have never flat out forbid me to marry a white girl, but I'm pretty sure they'd be disappointed if I did. I guess it works out, cause I don't have the desire to date any white girls anyways.
I think this kind of thing is especially true for Chinese people, because I know that Chinese culture stresses being proud of your own heritage, maybe more so than any other culture. Even though China is no longer a world superpower, we still call ourselves the "Middle Kingdom". When I was in Chinese school, they would always brag about how the ancient Chinese had 4 major inventions that contributed to human civilization: paper, gunpowder, the printing press, and the compass. At the time I was like, "big deal", but I still can't help but feel a lot of pride to be Chinese today. And to be honest, I think that when I have a son or daughter of my own, in my heart I would rather have them marry someone Chinese too.
Another note about marrying Chinese, there's this thing in Taiwan for college-age ABC's that they call "Love Boat". Officially, it's a program for people like us to go there for a summer, tour the island of Taiwan, and learn stuff about Chinese culture like calligraphy (mao-bi-ze) or kung-fu. In reality, it's a big meet market where ABC's hook up. The application process for this thing more or less involves just sending a picture of yourself and a copy of your parent's tax information. To me, that basically means they'll let you go as long as you aren't butt ugly and/or poor.
Anyways, the program wasn't officially titled "Love Boat", but it was nicknamed that because after the first few years, a lot of girls were coming back pregnant. You'd think that parents would stop sending their kids to this thing, but that's not the case. I guess some of them are just that worried about their kid getting married to a whitey. My mom actually wanted me to go a few years ago, but I don't think she knows about the pregnancy stories and all that stuff. I didn't go cause it sounded dumb and I didn't want to be in Taiwan all summer, but I have plenty of friends who did. They would probably tell you pretty much all the same things I just wrote.
A blog entry about childhood as an ABC wouldn't be right without talking about video games. Every Chinese boy loves video games. That's probably why we all have glasses, too. Whenever me and my friends got together, that's what we did, was play Nintendo. From the early days of the original Mario Bros., all the way to college with Tekken 3 on Playstation and Starcraft on PC.
A funny thing about the old school 8-bit Nintendo, the truly hardcore Chinese kids (like me) had "Chinese Nintendo" (which was actually Japan's Famicom). Only certain Chinese people will know what I'm talking about here. Instead of the American version, which is gray and loads games sideways, Chinese Nintendo is white with red trim and loads from the top. And unlike American Ninendo, its controllers were permanently connected to the machine, and only player 1 had the select/start buttons. But, some versions had a microphone built in to controller 2 which let you talk through the TV speakers. Ah, that was hours of fun.
Other than that, most of the games were the same for Chinese and American Nintendo, like Mario, ExciteBike, Pro Wrestling, and Hockey. Except they weren't interchangeable between systems, and sometimes the games were in Japanese so you had to guess what they were saying. The cool thing about Chinese Nintendo was that you could go to Taiwan and get these bigger cartridges from street vendors that had like 31 games on one cartridge. Most of them were crappy games, but the concept was cool.
Anyways, I could write way more on this subject, like stuff about using the fat guys and skinny guys in Hockey, or "A Winner Is You" in Pro Wrestling, but I think I've already lost all but one or two readers by now. Maybe one of these days I'll devote a blog to old school video games. Or if anyone else wants to write one, I'll definitely comment on it.
Well, that was a pretty freaking long blog. Hopefully it was informative and/or thought provoking though. It's not the complete story either, I tried to limit it to just the major stuff. I could seriously write a whole lot more but I decided just to talk about the major stuff. I didn't even mention anything about mah-johng, Chinese New Year, hot pot, Chinatown, or visiting relatives.
But yeah, I hope at least maybe one person out there got something from reading all that besides me. Any questions please feel free to ask.... hahaha
Well, I guess my mind has been in a reflective mode lately. One thing I was thinking about was how typical my life has been of someone born and raised in a Chinese family. I know most people who read this blog won't relate to what I'm gonna write about, but maybe at least some will be interested in hearing about what it's like to grow up as a Chinese kid in America.
And I don't know how much of this stuff applies to other Asians, but I know that almost every time I talk to a Chinese friend, something will come up in the conversation that he/she will definitely know about because they are "American-Born Chinese" (ABCs, and yes that is actually a commonly used term in our community). This is even more true for Taiwanese folk, who happen to be the most intelligent and physically attractive of the various Chinese groups.
The first thing that all Chinese parents do is try to teach their kids the Chinese language. They'll speak Chinese to their kids when they're little, probably send them to some sort of local-run Chinese school at some point, and maybe bring them to Taiwan in the summer to hang out with their FOB cousins (FOB = Fresh-off-boat, yes, another commonly used term) .
In some cases it works better than others. Most of the time, ABCs end up knowing enough Chinese to at least understand what their mom and dad are saying to them. Sometimes, they actually speak Taiwanese better than Mandarin because that's what their parents and grandparents speak more.
* side note FYI - The Taiwanese language is kind of like the "ebonics" of Chinese, the way I look at it. Usually, the more hardcore and ghetto Chinese people speak Taiwanese, like when you go to the street markets or tell a taxi driver where to go. For that matter, most of the major curse words I know of are in Taiwanese. Mandarin is more of the official language, which you hear on TV and in more professional places like department stores and corporate offices and stuff. *
ABC's also tend to screw around in Chinese school, so in the end, all they know how to write in Chinese is their own name, and maybe some basic characters like "Me (wo)", "You (ni)", "Friend (peng-yo)", "Teacher (lau-shir)", and "Good (hau)".
For me, my dad was a real nazi when it came to learning Chinese. I guess he saw that the ghetto Chinese school at my church wasn't gonna really cut it, so he'd collect Chinese newspaper clippings and make me study them. Then he'd print out like 16X12 grids on sheets of paper and make me write each character over and over until I learned it. But actually, that's how people learn to write Chinese, like in Taiwan, grade schoolers have to copy each word hundreds of times in order to remember it. One summer, my mom and dad sent me and my sister to a Chinese school in Taiwan called "guo-yu-re-bao" (it was actually run by a local news company), which was kind of like a month-long boot camp for ABC's to learn Chinese. Some Taiwanese people might know what I'm talking about.
Anyways, between all the stuff my Dad made me do, "guo-yu-re-bao", and living in Taiwan for a year, my Chinese is actually pretty good. It was really miserable at the time for me, when all my other friends were out rollerblading or at the swimming pool while I was at home for hours copying the same Chinese word over and over, but right now I can say that I'm definitely glad I did.
After the "learning Chinese" mission, the second most important goal a Chinese parent has for their kids is to make them learn a musical instrument. For about 95% of the ABC's I know, the musical instrument of choice is either piano or violin. In my case, it was piano, for my sister, it was violin. Again, it works better with some kids than others. I did ok, taking lessons for about 6 or 7 years before quitting. But compared to some other Chinese people I know, I flat out suck at piano.
My best friend as a kid was one of these guys whose mom and dad were obsessed with making him the best piano player ever. They shelled out mad dough to take lessons from the awesome teachers. They'd make him practice at least 2 hours a day (an eternity when you're a kid), and then send him to recitals and contests all the time. They didn't let him play basketball because they felt it was bad for his fingers. I'm not sure if he ever made it to the Young Performers thing they show on Channel 11 every year, but he was pretty damn good. Other Chinese people I know of who are really awesome at piano are Dennis (at least that's what I hear), and my super-smart cousin in Taiwan (but actually he's a FOB so he doesn't count).
It was kinda funny, now when I look back, and I remember how our parents would talk to each other about me and my best friend. My mom and dad would be like "wow, David is so good at the piano, he works so hard and wins all those trophies and ribbons, if only Joseph could be that good". Then his mom and dad would be like "wow, Joseph is so good at Chinese, he wins all those speech contests and stuff, if only David could be that good." And that's pretty much what Chinese parents do when they get together with other Chinese parents.
Which brings me to another part of being raised by Chinese parents. They are constantly comparing you to their friends' kids in every little thing possible. Not only in things like piano skill or Chinese ability, but they compare how well you do at school, how polite ("li-mao") you are to adults, and how tall you are. I can't emphasize how big of a factor height is, especially for boys. Every single time a group of parents happen to be in the same room with their sons, they make the sons stand next to each other to see who is taller. Every single time, with no exception, I swear. I personally suffered a lot because I was around 5'1"-5'2" until about sophomore year of high school.
You might think they would stop this comparison business by the time you are older, but trust me, it never stops. You get to high school, and you'll get plenty of news reports from mom and dad about who was a National Merit Scholar and who wasn't. You hear about so-and-so who got a 1600 on the SAT, was valedictorian last year, and went to Harvard. Oh, and it doesn't matter what the US News rankings say, every Chinese parent's ultimate dream is for their kid to go to Harvard. Princeton, Yale, Stanford are ok too, I guess, but Harvard is gold, without a doubt.
If you don't go to one of those schools for college, you have one of two options: Engineering or Pre-med. Seriously, a ridiculously high percentage of the ABC's I know went one of those two routes. For me, it was EE at U of I, following in the footsteps of about 5 or 6 of the older guys at my church. For Olivia, it was GPPA Pre-med at UIC, and she's currently in the same classes as my friend David who I mentioned before about the piano thing. Dennis and Cindy were ChemE at U of I. Other commonly acceptable roads are CS at U of I and the HPME Med program at Northwestern. If you choose one of these majors, it's guaranteed to make your Chinese mom and dad happy.
Sadly, very few Chinese parents are supportive of their sons/daughters who want to pursue the fine arts. It's kind of ironic actually, considering how much they push for their kids to learn piano or violin as a child. But if you tell your parents you want to be an art or music major, a lot of them will consider it a huge tragedy, like they wasted 18 years raising their child. I'm not kidding about that at all. Either Chinese culture simply doesn't value the artistic expression (which I don't think is the case), or they just want to know for sure that the son or daughter they worked so hard to raise is going to come out of school with a steady and well-paying job.
One thing I should also talk about is friends. My white readers can correct me if I'm wrong, or hopefully back me up on this, but when you're white, your best friend is usually your next-door neighbor or the kid that sits alphabetically next to you in kindergarten. This is not the case when you're Chinese. As everyone knows, Chinese families typically aren't very socially active in the neighborhood. Many Chinese parents also discourage you from hanging out with the white kids down the block, because they play too much and might corrupt you.
So, when you are born to Chinese parents, your best friends usually end up being the sons/daughters of their best friends. I talked about my best friend David, his dad went to grad school with my dad, and we happened to be born 10 days apart in the same hospital (Hinsdale). Though we went to different schools, him in Woodridge and me in Downers Grove, we were still best friends from, as he likes to say, "ages zero to six". Later on, his family moved 50 minutes away to (interestingly enough) Palatine, and eventually we drifted apart because of the distance. But even then, our families would get together for my birthday, his birthday, my sister's birthday, and his sister's birthday.
By the way, my sister and his sister were also best friends. And another thing to note about Chinese parents is that starting the exact moment their son or daughter is born, they keep a keen eye out to observe all their friends' children. Noting whose kid is about the same age and opposite sex of their own kid, and hoping that you hook up and get married with one of them when you get older.
Because the fact is, all Chinese parents want their sons or daughters to marry someone Chinese. Some are more vocal and strict about this, but I really believe that every last Chinese mom and Chinese dad feels this way. My mom and dad have never flat out forbid me to marry a white girl, but I'm pretty sure they'd be disappointed if I did. I guess it works out, cause I don't have the desire to date any white girls anyways.
I think this kind of thing is especially true for Chinese people, because I know that Chinese culture stresses being proud of your own heritage, maybe more so than any other culture. Even though China is no longer a world superpower, we still call ourselves the "Middle Kingdom". When I was in Chinese school, they would always brag about how the ancient Chinese had 4 major inventions that contributed to human civilization: paper, gunpowder, the printing press, and the compass. At the time I was like, "big deal", but I still can't help but feel a lot of pride to be Chinese today. And to be honest, I think that when I have a son or daughter of my own, in my heart I would rather have them marry someone Chinese too.
Another note about marrying Chinese, there's this thing in Taiwan for college-age ABC's that they call "Love Boat". Officially, it's a program for people like us to go there for a summer, tour the island of Taiwan, and learn stuff about Chinese culture like calligraphy (mao-bi-ze) or kung-fu. In reality, it's a big meet market where ABC's hook up. The application process for this thing more or less involves just sending a picture of yourself and a copy of your parent's tax information. To me, that basically means they'll let you go as long as you aren't butt ugly and/or poor.
Anyways, the program wasn't officially titled "Love Boat", but it was nicknamed that because after the first few years, a lot of girls were coming back pregnant. You'd think that parents would stop sending their kids to this thing, but that's not the case. I guess some of them are just that worried about their kid getting married to a whitey. My mom actually wanted me to go a few years ago, but I don't think she knows about the pregnancy stories and all that stuff. I didn't go cause it sounded dumb and I didn't want to be in Taiwan all summer, but I have plenty of friends who did. They would probably tell you pretty much all the same things I just wrote.
A blog entry about childhood as an ABC wouldn't be right without talking about video games. Every Chinese boy loves video games. That's probably why we all have glasses, too. Whenever me and my friends got together, that's what we did, was play Nintendo. From the early days of the original Mario Bros., all the way to college with Tekken 3 on Playstation and Starcraft on PC.
A funny thing about the old school 8-bit Nintendo, the truly hardcore Chinese kids (like me) had "Chinese Nintendo" (which was actually Japan's Famicom). Only certain Chinese people will know what I'm talking about here. Instead of the American version, which is gray and loads games sideways, Chinese Nintendo is white with red trim and loads from the top. And unlike American Ninendo, its controllers were permanently connected to the machine, and only player 1 had the select/start buttons. But, some versions had a microphone built in to controller 2 which let you talk through the TV speakers. Ah, that was hours of fun.
Other than that, most of the games were the same for Chinese and American Nintendo, like Mario, ExciteBike, Pro Wrestling, and Hockey. Except they weren't interchangeable between systems, and sometimes the games were in Japanese so you had to guess what they were saying. The cool thing about Chinese Nintendo was that you could go to Taiwan and get these bigger cartridges from street vendors that had like 31 games on one cartridge. Most of them were crappy games, but the concept was cool.
Anyways, I could write way more on this subject, like stuff about using the fat guys and skinny guys in Hockey, or "A Winner Is You" in Pro Wrestling, but I think I've already lost all but one or two readers by now. Maybe one of these days I'll devote a blog to old school video games. Or if anyone else wants to write one, I'll definitely comment on it.
Well, that was a pretty freaking long blog. Hopefully it was informative and/or thought provoking though. It's not the complete story either, I tried to limit it to just the major stuff. I could seriously write a whole lot more but I decided just to talk about the major stuff. I didn't even mention anything about mah-johng, Chinese New Year, hot pot, Chinatown, or visiting relatives.
But yeah, I hope at least maybe one person out there got something from reading all that besides me. Any questions please feel free to ask.... hahaha
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