"But It's Summer"

This one's for Steph.

I know a few of my friends have been going through tough times. I've said what I can to quell the storm that is their emotions and their lives, but in the end, my words can only help so much.

I'm not trying to say that my words should be the cure to their problems or anything, far from it. I just try to do what I can, because it's sometimes just as difficult to see a friend or friends go through difficult times without being able to change anything directly.

All I can really say is that for me, patience usually wins out. Waiting for the pain and difficulty to subside is my favorite tactic.

No matter how shitty and shoddy things can get, things can get better. They also might get worse before they get better, but lives tend to be a combination of ups and downs, not just downs.

Life is, as Stephanie and I discussed, bittersweet.

So no matter how stormy things get, the rains and hurricanes that brew before you will weather down. No matter how horrid the flurries and blizzards may seem, the hardships of winter once seemingly insurmountable will be behind, and summer will arrive.

Life may hand you dirt on a platter, but it's summer.

Your friends may be deserting you, by their choice or not, but it's summer.

They may not be as attentive to you as you they, but it's summer.

Your lover may be gone forever, but it's summer. (He wasn't good enough for you anyways.)

Your confidence may not be always there, or you may feel like you're not the person people see you as. You may feel like there's a part of you that's missing, and you may not be able to figure it out. But it's summer.

Life is bittersweet like that.

Now someone, please help me fix my sticky "w" key. LASKDFJAL;SDKFJLASDFALSDFJ!

A Road Trip Later (cont'd)

When we passed the border, everything was so different.

Actually, the only things that were different were the units, i.e. km/h and cents/litre. Everything else was the same.

My first Canadian meal was at Milestone's, where our waitress was good-looking and gave us free a free spinach-dip with nachos. That was awesome. We also had a waitress ask us randomly how our food was, but in the end, we decided she wasn't a waitress at all, but someone posing as one to decide what to order...It was kind of weird.

The next day (Saturday) saw us wake up to get Sean signed up for the gym and run a few other errands. For dinner we went downtown to Calgary Tower.

"Hi," I said, addressing the waitress smilingly. I was ready to order. "I'd like the Fresh Fish of the Day, but please, please don't tell me the fish. I want it to be a surprise."
Without skipping a beat she said, "It's halibut."

Wtf? She caught herself right away, but still. How daft can you get? I wasn't angry since the halibut was exquisite, but it was still rather funny.

Afterwards, we walked a bit downtown to look at some of the avenues. We saw a few homeless people. We saw what we thought was a homeless couple.

"Excuse me, sir," one of them said, smiling toothily. He smelled of liquor. "Can you spare us a few dollars for our pursuit of hard liquor?"
I was caught off-guard, but before I could react, the indigenous lady said to me, "We can give you this shirt, if you'd like!"
She showed me a shirt from Spencer's displaying a cannabis leaf insignia. Below it read, "I'D HIT THAT," and below that was a large joint underlining the caption.

At first I was tempted, but we walked away, the three of us, brusquely. Two steps out, we stopped.

"Do you want a souvenir of your trip to Calgary?" asked Claire-Lise, Sean's sister.
"Yeah!" Sean interjected. "It would make for a great memory!"

So we turned around, and I gave them some change. And I got the shirt in return.

What impressed me most was how honest the homeless in Calgary were. In America you hear things like, "can you spare some change? I'm trying to catch the bus" or "Do you think you could help me out? I want to make a phone call."

But no, these bums were honest as hell. No lying or deception for Calgarians, homed or homeless, no. If they want money for liquor, that's bloody what they'll tell you. Anything else is just crass.

We also met Dave, who was very homeless. He had tried numerous shelters to no avail. He is one of the only Canadians I've heard use "eh?" in conversation, but he made up for the lack of it, using it at an average rate of .75 eh/ss (spoken second), a number not to be taken lightly.

Put it like this, .75 eh/ss is the same as 750 meh/ss.

And the three of us have some harsh words for Dave. His hygiene is just despicable. As his friends, we have decided to talk to him about it. I think Sean should, but we'll see. Dave just has to change. He can't go on living like this.

Anyways, The rest of the trip was fun. I bought some Canadian beer that night, and had to drink it all alone, since Sean is allergic, and Claire-Lise decided not to like beer. Canadian beer is a bit stronger, but hey, I liked it a lot. Plus, I was legal, so it made it even tastier.

That's it for my trip, really. The rest is rather ho-hum. I met Sean's friend Ashwin, who was hilarious. We somehow got him to leave his number for the waitress at Earls, who was very pretty.

Actually, Canadian girls are generally prettier than American girls, as I found out. They're nicer too.

I leave you, then, with a quotation that best represents the general attitude of our conversations for the weekend.

I was talking to Ashwin, "Are all your friends in the medical field somehow?"
"Almost, I think," he replied, thinking, as we were about to part our ways outside at earls's parking lot.
"Sean's going dentistry," he started. "Declan's medical, I think. I'm medical..."
"Oh, Tyler!" Sean said.
"What's he doing?" I asked.
"He's doing business with my sister," was Sean's accidentally genius reply.

A Road Trip Later

Finals were over, and I had smelled the spicy scent of freedom in the air, like the chili you know you will not be able to handle but still enjoy smelling regardless. Sure, I had started a Restaurant City account (more on that tragedy later). Sure, I was still at school days after my last final. Sure, I had only a week before summer school started and grades would (unfortunately) be out. Yeah, I had failed a final or two, but at the very, very least, I was finished with the semester.

I hung around Pacific for a day or two before taking the last of my stuff home on the immediate Sunday following my Friday final. On Thursday after everyone's last final, I planned to drive up to Canada with my good friend Sean (not Eric). But for a few days at least, I was free, free at last. (Actually, I ended up writing an essay or two before Wednesday, but it was still awesome the lack of responsibility.)

I think I overuse parentheses.

Thursday morning rolled around. My week was finally over. Seven straight sunrises I had seen and gleaned, and I knew Wednesday night had to change. So Thursday morning rolled around, finding me woken up at 7:45AM simply by the sheer excitement of leaving Stockton, officially ending the months of existence that I thought akin to prison but must concede to label "school."

Oh, I know why the caged bird sings, alright.

Yes, I just compared the life of the average college student to the plight of pre-Civil Rights Era blacks. I am indeed a Renaissance man.

We dropped Eric off at Sacramento Airport, about an hour north of Stockton. I was forced into the cubbyhole backseat, not unlike the ones my father used to describe to me when he was escaping the warfare in Vietnam.

Yes, I just compared sitting in the a cramped back seat to the struggles of Vietnamese refugees escaping a war-torn country, harrowingly haunted by the napalm and smell of burning flesh that followed them until they left in the barren waters that still held no promises.

But Eric left, and gave me a hug. I say this because his goddamn cologne (perfume) stuck on my collar for about 10 hours. It's like he never left at all.

As Sean and I drove past Truckee, we noticed the Sierra Nevada hills, and we agreed that a camera would have been nice. Man, those hills scream vista and beauty.

We stopped at Reno for lunch, at a place called the "Wild River Grille." According to Sean, they had the best bread, at least for a (turkey) burger. I had a salmon wrap that was superb. We continued to trek across the Nevada desert, rarely stopping and using smallish towns as milestones to mark our travel. In the process, we came to the conclusion that Sean's car should be named Jenna. It has something to do with Moses. Ask me if you're really curious.

We also started calling each other S-Man and A-Dawg. It had something to do with the town of Elko, NV ("The Heart of Northeast Nevada"). The website says to "take a moment to explore the "City" of Elko and all it has to offer!" because it really only takes a moment to explore all Elko has to offer.

But take it from S-Man and A-Dawg. That moment may be one of the greatest moments you'll ever have while exploring. Elko has loads to offer. Like the Fire Science Academy. And Metro Gasoline...

Both were lame. One was defunct and decrepit.

In Elko, we had a chat about whether to take a different route or not. It would be about the same distance as the previous one, but would cut through Utah, which I wanted to do, just to say we went through Utah. However, we agreed to stay on course and just take the original route to be safe.

Instead we missed the exits to both routes and ended up in Utah regardless of our intentions. West Wendover, NV-UT was our destination, to be precise.

We only crossed the border of Utah for about 50 yards, but we stopped at a gas station 50 yards in Utah, realizing that Utah was definitely NOT a part of our road plans. Sean got an apple and a coffee, and I bought a hot dog.

As we drove back into Nevada (which took about a minute since we were so close to the NV-UT border), we both agreed: Utah has the best apples, coffees and hot dogs. Damn that hot dog was good. I got one in Idaho, and it wasn't even CLOSE to the quality of dog I experienced in Utah.

Anyways, we drove up to Idaho and believe me you, Idaho is by far the WORST state. It's so bland and boring.

I swear, when we got to Montana, everything was just so much better. I recommend that everyone experience a Montana sunrise. Since it was so early, few cars were on the road. Thus, I was "allowed" to go 100-115 on the highway uncontested. Those damn mountains were so goddamn beautiful I have to swear to describe them.

Actually, Sean described them best when he said that Canadian mountains were better.

Said Sean, "These snow-capped mountains look like they're wearing a yarmulke while the Canadian mountains are wearing KKK hoods."

True dat.



vs.




When we were driving in Montana, a tantalizing 60 miles south of the border (it's weird from that perspective, isn't it?), Sean was pulled over for going 90 miles on a 75mph stretch. The fine was $40, which had to be paid right there. The cop was nice, but he would have been nicer if he let us go. So close. I actually thought it would be a good revenge idea to go outside and take a dump in the grass while the cop was looking up the information. Sean was against it.

Anyways, we stopped by Helena, Montana for some breakfast. By breakfast I mean Sean and I both had burgers. Eric called shortly thereafter, as he does twice daily to see how Sean is doing, and when I told him we were in Montana, well, it was funny.

"Where are you guys right now?" Eric asked through the reception-seeking phone.
"We're in Helena," I replied. I fielded a look from Sean, shaking his head.
There was a silence in the car magnified to me by the silence on the phone.
"...Is that in North Dakota or South Dakota?" Eric asked hesitantly.

I laughed, but Sean said he didn't know it either. He said he doubted most people knew...which makes me the abnormal one.

Dammit. Talk about story of my life.

I'll have more to come later!

Long are the Days, Dreary are the Night

I'd like to take this moment to thank the academic deities for scheduling my finals earlier than everyone else's.

It gives me a chance to gloat and play as my friends toil away at their tests.

That being said, I'm definitely hitting up the library on Monday. Their computers are faster than mine, and I can get a lot more done on Restaurant City.

I feel like I have more to say, but really. Now that finals are over, I'm back to being bored and lazy...Wait, nothing's changed.

Like my new layout?

These Are the Words of a Gentleman

I vow that this will be my last blog until finals are over.

Today, I completed three course evaluations. This is not including the online evaluation I took for Physics yesterday, so you can imagine my chagrin when the third form was handed to me, a scowl chiseled upon my normally squinty-eyed face.

All in all, I gave good reviews for my classes, except one.

It's a one unit course that I need to take to stay in the Honors program. I spent more time than anyone else in my class because I wanted the department to understand the strong feelings I have for the course and the lack of respect I have for the department in general.

I told them exactly what I thought, and the words I used were exactly as follows:

"What improvements could be made for this course? What were your general feelings for this course? Be as specific as necessary.

Well, Honors Department, judging by the lack of quality in the reading material, I can only give a positive review for the seminar-styled course. Where else can you go but up? When a class such as this gets approve by a board, it gives me hope to know that I have experienced the worst of the worst, and that future classes can only improve from the abomination that is Honors Seminar. Thus, I would like to start with the basics, since I have been asked to be specific.

The readings that were assigned to students were neither thought-provoking nor informative. They were controversial only in name, but the fine students in the Honors program have quickly realized that the department must pick readings at random, because such an eclectic repertoire could only be the result of lack of thought, and not careful consideration. Thus, it is my strong suggestion to implement a strict policy of "interesting-only" assignments. That way, at least we as students will be lucky enough to read something worth our while every so often. We are very fair judges, understanding that complete interest cannot be cultivated or expected from this "department" and expect only a few readings that will actually pique our intrigue. Thus, it would be in everyone's best interest to discontinue the laundry list of rejected philosophers and sociologists that we have been forced to swallow with our noses plugged.

Maybe someday someone will care about these readings, but for the present, there is nothing that could possibly describe the worthlessness that has been our companion one hour per week for the last fourteen weeks.

Hopefully, from our input the program can head toward a different direction and scrap the format altogether. It is neither beneficial for the students nor the teachers that only mildly care about the course.

Our time would be better spent sleeping or reading FMyLife.com, perusing YouTube, or even taking pictures of our fecal matter and sharing it in a discussion format once a week. At least that way, we learn something about each other instead of pretending to care about topics that deserve a much higher platform upon which to discuss.

I would also like to take this time to congratulate the department for sucking out any interest I may have once harbored for the pursuit of knowledge. It must have been a top priority because in my near two-decades of living, I have never lost motivation to question or argue. It is therefore an accomplishment both for the department and the university that I now do not give a penny's worth of scrotum sweat for Morality and Knowledge, the topic about which this class pretended to teach.

If you wish me to be more specific, please watch the film 300 (2007) directed by Zack Snyder. I believe that many viewings of the film will adequately convey the pain I've experience each time I walk laboriously to class. Do not be fooled by the hopeful tone of the film's ending, however, since the survivor is not you, but the students who arise out of the ashes and blood to tell others and warn them of the folly that is Honors Seminar.

To be even more specific, I am a child of immigrants who traipsed their way to America amidst a brutal civil war that tore apart a country. It is therefore not a small thing to say that, after taking this course, I almost feel like my parents experienced that horrendous journey from Vietnam in vain, because the sidewalks paved with gold have been replaced by sewers lined with urine and feces. As a matter of fact, even that metaphor for the dashed American Dream cannot adequately scribe the banality and violent uselessness that I was forced to sit through every week. Though I do not pretend to speak for all the students, I can personally say that I would have preferred an eternity of waterboarding than another minute in this class. I would also like to say that I will enthusiastically trade in my first three children in order to erase the memory of this class from my mind. I do hope the University of the Pacific can compensate for the many years of psychological doctoring that will be required from this traumatizing one-unit nightmare.

I don't even know if I can love after this.

True story: I once saw Lucifer walk into the classroom and leave within five minutes to vomit.

No, he didn't return.

In fact, the only enjoyable part of this course was the opportunity to summarize my thoughts on the incompetence that is the Honors Department during this evaluation.

I hope this has been helpful."




Wait.

These evaluations are anonymous, right?

The Hammer of Thor! (May 4)

The thought of failure is inevitably and inexorably instilled upon our bodies and souls. Evolutionarily, we have been physically set up to survive, our bodies nothing more than the sum of the parts that we use as a tool to ensure the survival of our species. Our minds and thoughts often care little more than survival, chemicals being freely transferred across our endocrine system and nervous system to coordinate our bodies to ourselves and other bodies. Our brain is the center of it all, cephalization ensuring our most important physical attribute goes protected.

And there is no profound argument that can claim we are more than animals, more than the rocks that we lightly throw and skim upon the surfaces of our reservoirs. There is nothing that can convince me that there is purpose, that there is something more than the physical world that matters. There is nothing that can claim with correct reasoning that humanity is somehow “different” than others, not in the physical sense, obviously. There is no argument that can possibly prove that humans are somehow “more important” than anything else in the grand scheme, long term existence.



Except for the argument of love.





Yes, I’m fuckin’ around. I hate finals.

Fizz THIS, physics!

I had an interesting talk with Sean and Eric today.

It was short, but very profound. Michael even had some input.

To keep it brief, it went along the lines of, "Andrew, get the fuck out of our room. We're trying to sleep."

GIRUGAMESH!

Eric Woo is an interesting character. I'm glad to be living under him next year. I'm only saying that because he reads my blog (not Sean).

Anyways, sometimes I spend lots of time in Sean and Eric's room. Now, there are probably trillions of things I could say about that particular room in Casa Werner, but I'll spare you the (often) gory details.

Eric likes to webcam with his girlfriend a lot. I get it. Love. Or whatever.

Oftentimes when I'm in the room, Eric just chills with his girlfriend, Kelly, on the webcam. Her face is always on his screen, or at least moving in and out of focus as he changes his windows. Sometimes the window with her face isn't showing, but it's definitely minimized, or behind, ready to be opened at Eric's whim. Thus, she can always see what's happening in his room and he hers. They don't always talk, just kind of simulate each other's company the best they can. Therefore, since she's so far away, her window is always on. I mean ALWAYS. All the more power to them, I suppose. Love, or whatever, right?

Anyways, while Eric was chillaxin' in the bathroom the other day, I was talking with Sean and decided to weigh myself. I put the scale in front of Eric's desk, but before I could weigh myself, Sean interjected, "Don't weigh yourself with jeans, dude. It's going to add at least two pounds."

So, being as comfortable as I am around my friends, I took off my pants and jacket and shirt, pretty much stripping down to my boxers and one sock. This was at Sean's request actually. I guess he has a limit.

I weigh myself, a modest 168 pounds, and it goes on pretty much without incident. Then, for some reason, Sean and I thought it'd be hilarious if Eric came back to the room as I was weighing myself almost butt naked and just staring at the door on the scale. So, I proceed to stand there, keeping myself busy by checking out my rippling abdominal muscle (yes, just one) until Eric returned, where I would be sure to reward myself with laughter at his expression.

It all worked according to plan. Eric opened the door and gave me a really funny look, and I, still standing on the scale in front of his desk near naked, burst out in laughter. Sean and Eric chuckled as well, but Eric was chuckling for a different reason.

Sorry, Kelly.

Heavy is the Head

There are probably a million things about which I could write right now, zillions of thoughts and tangents whizzing and orbiting the ventricles of my brain. The brain truly is the original information highway. There is no higher way.

The mind is truly the original freeway, for what can chain down the mind but the mind itself?

There are probably more than a million things about which I could base this entry, but I can only choose a limited amount of these things. In fact, if you agree with the notion, and I don't necessarily do, that with the sheer amount of cognitive ability and expressive forms of language there is an infinite possibility of things I could be writing at this moment, then in essence, no matter what I write, it amounts of nothing, mathematically speaking.

From a purely mathematical standpoint, if there is an infinite amount of possibilities that could be read right here, right now, then it stands to reason that this particular possibility is a fraction of all the possibilities.

Every letter that is placed, every word, every sentence, paragraph, comma that I decide to type, could be anything else. Therefore, there is (almost) an infinite number of possibilities that could have been here. You could have been reading an infinite amount of other things by now.

Thus, what you have just read, or are reading, is only one possibility of infinity. In mathematics, a finite number over an infinite number is deemed negligible. Thus, mathematically speaking, what I'm writing amounts to nothing.

You have literally just read nothing.

That being said, I'd like to blog about naming my kids.

Now, I cannot vouch for all of humanity, though sometimes I pretend I can, but in my experience, a large percentage of the population has at one point considered names for their future children.

Personally, when I mull over names for my children, the first test I do is what I call the "Tease Test." In essence, if I can come up with a nickname that will make the owner of the name feel bad, I reject it immediately.

For example, let's say I wanted to name my child "Frederick." Nicknames for my kid would include, but certainly aren't limited to, "Fred," "Freddie," "Rick," "Derrick," etc.

The most obvious of these is "Fred." Unfortunately for Fred, if he ever wet his bed, he would not only feel the shame of his lack of bladder control, but such shame would be compounded if kids call him "Wet Bed Fred". Do you see what I mean? I rejected the name "Frederick" a long time ago. You should too.

One of my greatest fears is to name my child something that he or she regrets as he or she grows up. It does break a parent's heart to see their child being teased. Sometimes it hurts more for the parent than the child.

So far, the names I've approved are only for my daughters.

They include:
Kimimela - Sioux for "butterfly"
Aiyana - Sioux for "eternal blossom"
Inaya - Arabic for "solitude, kindness, grace"
Evania - Greek for "tranquil"

Most of these names all leave open the possibility of deriving a Vietnamese name from each of them (KIMimela, AiyANa, EVANia).

I've put some research into this, actually. I don't know why it matters. I probably don't know if I'll even have kids, but for some reason, naming them makes me happy. It's probably because if I give them names, it's akin to giving them faces, personalities and lives. It's like I've already had kids, and maybe it's that comfort of companionship that really makes me warm inside.

I've been doing lots of things alone lately.

I don't know exactly how I feel about this, but those of you who've met me have probably noticed that I tend to be sociable. So being in solitude is definitely a change in scenery for me.

But I think I've grown comfortable with being alone. It's not quite independence, but it's definitely an acceptance and a psychological white flag of sorts. It keeps me in tune with myself. Believe it or not, there are lots of things about yourself that you have yet to learn.

Like sometimes, when you have a final in a few hours, you just find lots of reasons to blog instead of studying.