The Fridge

Math Dad Suite

2011-07-19T18:12:00.000-07:00

My dad and I always had a very strained relationship. For most of it I felt like he was using me as an extension of himself, just to show off. He was a very good multitasker: He was working a fulltime graveyard shift as a hardware engineer and during the day he spent the better part of five years building a second level addition on our house. From what I remember he rarely showed interest in me personally outside of the realm of my schoolwork which was upsetting to me, because who doesn't like a precocious Asian kid who can make sex jokes about improper fractions.
My dad would force me as a six year old through what he called 'home-homework' which I was game for merely because of the novelty of verbal redundancy, and I realize now as an adult was not him being clever but merely tricking me into staying at my desk. I'd work out of these additional math books that my dad would go out and buy to supplement my school-provided math books. Like 'Dad these are totally fine. It's not like paper towels where one brand is more absorbent than the other, I'm not learning more math per page."
It was like he was undermining my school teachers, who were doing a terrific job anyways. I remember that the only times he would speak to my teachers were possibly to bump me up a level because he thought what was being taught to me (for free by the way, I went to public school) was simply too easy and could you possibly upgrade me. It was like if you go up to the girl at the airport terminal and ask for a First Class upgrade because the business class seating was way too comfortable. I need to emphasize right here that I was very good at times tables and never at verbal analogies.
So I was one of those kids who would be transported from my middle school to the adjacent high school so that I could take higher level mathematics. And I remember the first day of classes, I felt like some kind of celebrity, you know, everyone seeing me be excused from homeroom so I could be chauferred to my Facility for Gifted Youngsters, I felt like one of the X-Men. And really it was my mom picking me up in her Toyota Cressida not getting out of the car because she had her curlers in, to take me to Mr. Hedlund's Algebra class for Sophomores, but still I felt special.
Looking back on that I am bummed out that I didn't get to talk to my dad much outside of me assuring him that I know what a cosine wave looks like, but even more so I regret how much of a freak I must have seemed to my fellow middle schoolers. Every day at the same time I would get up and leave the classroom and go to some mysterious place like some Orwellian future where the people who were too aware get yanked away from their peers because they've become too smart for his own good, men in suits swarming them. This was every day.

Let me tell you about losing your hair. It didn't occur to me that I was losing my hair until I was twenty years old. I knew my older brother was bald and my dad wore a hairpiece, but I was so engrossed in theorems and shit as a kid that I was ignorant to the notion that I was going to one day own my own hair piece. I was fired for the first time from a job earlier this month and I knew it was bound to happen. I knew I wasn't interested in the company and was being very extroverted about my lack of respect, but I'm such a prick that I'm not going to ever go "Well sir, it looks like my time for being congenial is nigh. A fortnight from now we shall depart ways and I will be sure to leave a positive anonymous Yelp review as a token of my appreciation for this business."
I'm kind of more the guy who if I don't like what a company does I will try my hardest to steal as many things as I can from it, because I was a big Robin Hood fan growing up, and also because I am broke. And a lot of this undisciplined haste I have when it comes to working is because of this receding hairline. Like there's no payoff for me to be thinking 'well, if I work hard and show them that I'm hungry, after twenty years it'll all pay off and I'll be at the top of the ladder with a corner office and a stunning view, looking like Ted Danson and shit.' So that's why I quit jobs and keep buying quick picks.

And something that you should know about me is that I was born to two parents who were lucky enough to escape from the Vietnam war before too much shit went down, and we constantly had needy Vietnamese people coming in and out of our home because my parents really into helping others, even strangers, which has a big influence the way I live my life, and why I'm so racist against Vietnamese people. I must have been less than one year old when there was this old man was sitting with my mom and I one evening. He was mentally unstable and my dad was helping him contact a cousin back home or something. The old man was a bit mental and spoke in simple sentences, but after observing me sitting there in my high chair for a while he pointed his finger at me and said in Vietnamese 'That boy so lucky.' I don't think that anybody saw him ever again after that day but that eerie moment was recently recounted to me by my mom when I was feeling really down one day, I was between jobs and she was trying to lift my spirits. And she really shouldn't have said anything because I grew up watching American movies one of the many things you learn about real life from watching American movies in the eighties is that when a crazy ancient Asian man says something cryptic about you, it's probably going to come true at a very significant point in one's life. I just really hope that the luck that that guy was talking about hadn't like already happened like I bent over to pick up a quarter one time and that somehow saved me from a violent, crushing death that I am completely ignorant to, and not that I'm going to win the lottery one day and never have to work again.

A Beginner's Guide to Crazy Locs

2010-11-29T14:11:00.000-08:00

I was first introduced to the YouTube rapper Crazy Locs a couple years ago, when my friend John who goes to San Jose State sent me a link along with something like "Check out this guy who came up to me on campus trying to sell a rap CD." John described his encounter with Crazy Locs in hazy detail, like some alien abduction survivor on the cusp of coming to terms with what took place. This video is the closest to what I've been able to find of what that encounter must have been like:

When I try to introduce my friends into the world of Crazy Locs, I'm almost always met with an attitude of "Fuck this guy. Turn that shit off."
No. Not fuck this guy. Long live this guy. A YouTube search will reveal a handful of edited music videos, which all share, among other things, a consistently mind-blowing level of attention to mise-en-scene:

But the gift of Crazy Locs is best realized in his freestyles. He eagerly tackles any opportunity to spit from the dome, regardless of the environment. Absolutely fearless.

Holy shit is right. Why is he so angry? What is he saying? I hope I never find out.
True, Crazy Locs is a struggling artist Trying To Make It In These Streets, but further dredging into his YouTube search results would reveal a lighter side to him. Beneath the gruff exterior of Crazy Locs lies a sentimental romantic, who reveals himself as "Jimmy" in this classic:

"I had a ride today." There's a gentleman waiting to burst out in there, I just know it. This guide was not meant to be comprehensive, as there are dozens and dozens of videos online, each with a seemingly different understanding of how to spell his name. To say the least, this young man is misunderstood by many. Regardless, we can not deny that Crazy Locs is an embodiment of the quixotic aspirations many of us dreamers share, and we should all be thankful to bear witness from the safety of our computers. I'd like to conclude on a look at what Crazy Locs has been up to as of late, including his thoughts on a hypothetical date with Mariah Carey. ("I would have dinner with her")

workplace humor

2010-03-10T21:58:00.000-08:00

I work at a market research firm, where people sitting with headsets follow a script and persuade people to do an over-the-phone survey. Today I was bored and started drawing shit on post-it notes. These are pretty funny if you get what the jokes are about, but probably funnier if you don't.

doodlin'

2009-09-19T23:16:00.000-07:00

Whenever I doodle, my drawings come out as humans undergoing horrifying limb mutations:

I think it has some subconscious thing to do with my dick, but i'm still not sure what.

Let me tell you about the time

2009-03-03T10:56:00.000-08:00

We're watching the Warriors game at my house, Just Us Dudes. Halftime rolls around and they're probably down by a lot and we decide to take that acid that Jeremy just got from his older roommate who got it from wherever the fuck. One half-hit and after we stop caring about who wins basketball we're up on campus in the computer labs reserved for the film students because Jeremy has a screenplay due tomorrow and I've got some music to listen to. About midnight we take another half hit and we've got Little Ceasar's and I'm quietly losing my mind listening to Phillip Glass for the only time in my life. J-dog's in the other room brainstorming right into a brick wall. We decide to stay up all night on campus because the idea of it is funny. I have class downstairs at 9 in the morning. Of course we take another hit a couple hours before that.
Class should be simple enough Fred sit still watch some student films keep your fuckin' mouth shut Fred I keep telling myself as I pay for some coffee, feeling more and more like a crazy person as I'm counting out crumpled dollar bills I produce from my back pocket. Jeremy goes home smartly.
There's a substitute in class because Eli's feeling sick, and so instead of doing the usual we're going to watch this movie:

Fuckin' two hours long and we're sitting in pitch black and I'm constantly getting up and walking out of the room in order to prevent my brain from getting rocked beyond recovery, but by the time it's over I'm sweating, there's coffee spilled all over my backpack because I kicked it over without realizing it, and I'm truly believing that this is probably the greatest stupidest thing I've ever done.
The novelty of distortion wears off quickly as I'm recounting everything I've just done and I get really really depressed at around noon. I was Travis Bickle for Halloween and my mohawk hairdo still remains from the costume, and I can feel like I'm genuinely becoming him. I'm sitting on somebody else's couch watching two dudes playing Super Smash 64 and having such an intense existential crisis (post-college anxiety to the third power, I'd say) that I find myself on a bus to San Jose about an hour later. Fuckin' Mohawk Guy. An hour after that I'm home alone in my mom's bed curled up in the fetal position fighting back tears, vowing to never drink alcohol again.
Of course about a week later I'm right back to speed, but Jesus Christ that day sucked. I would not have been in this mess if I just had a girlfriend or something.

Hot Date: a short film

2009-02-10T21:03:00.000-08:00

EXT. FANCY RESTAURANT - EVENING

A couple in business casual attire approach the door. The male holds open the door for the female and they begin to head inside.

INT. RESTAURANT -EVENING

The Waiter seats a new couple in a booth, dressed in similar fashion as the first couple. The man Fred is clearly very nervous, his unmatched striped necktie practically choking him. The woman Leslie appears to be at ease. The Waiter drops two menus.

WAITER
I'll be back in a moment to take your orders.

The three of them exchange smiles.

FRED
So... what do you do?

LESLIE
Well right now, I'm kind of in between jobs.. I just quit my last one.

FRED
Oh, what did do you? I mean what did, did you do?

LESLIE
Well, you have to promise that you're not going to laugh.

FRED
What? Why would I, why would I even?

LESLIE
Well, I was an exotic dancer.

FRED
[coughs] Check, please.

LESLIE
(giggling flirtatiously)
Come on, you said you wouldn't.

FRED
(increasingly nervous and eager)
I mean, wow. I've never, with a stripper, been in the same room I don't..

The Waiter returns to the table.

WAITER
Would you two like to start off with any appetizers?

FRED (cont'd)
(gradually mumbling to himself)
I mean a strip club, yeah, but never at the same table or anything, let alone a first date.

Leslie shoots a slight glance at Fred, then buries her face in the menu. The Waiter looks at Leslie for a moment.

LESLIE
Hmm.. [playfully] Ooh, how about some oysters to start us off?

FRED
[coughs] Check, please.

Fred makes the "check please" motion and looks at Leslie, who doesn't look up from her menu.

WAITER
You want your check?

LESLIE
[Politely laughs, clears her throat] Let's forget the oysters. Um, I'll have the salad with Italian dressing please.

WAITER
Alright, and the gentleman?

There are dabs of sweat beginning to form on Fred's face. He's in bad shape.

FRED
Uh.. I'll have.. the.. G string. I mean string. Cheese. Do you guys have string cheese?

WAITER
We do not have string cheese.

FRED
Okay.. I.. will have nothing then thanks.

The Waiter leaves. Fred and Leslie sit staring at their menus. Fred continues to sip his water all the way to the bottom and ends up making a loud slurping sound when he hits it. It lingers for longer than anyone with proper manners would approve of.

LESLIE
So what do you do?

FRED
I'm a waiter.

LESLIE
Oh.

A beat.

FRED
Chili's.

A beat.

LESLIE
Is that where you get the whole "check-"

FRED
No,

LESLIE (cont'd)
Okay.

They are glaring at their menus.

LESLIE
Hmm.. I feel like some steak. Haven't had any meat in a.

FRED (off)
[cough] Check please.

LESLIE
Okay. That one was my fault. Listen, I'm going to go. This was really great.

Leslie gets up with her purse and leaves. Fred stares incredulously. The Waiter returns with salad.

WAITER
You landed a stripper dude?

FRED
(stoked)
Yeah dude.

WAITER
Niiiice.

They high five.

FRED
Oh, and I'll just go head and take the check now.

BLACK

2009-01-15T23:55:00.000-08:00

God dammit,
you're so vain and
I can't stand it
you fashion forward princess
who can't seem to keep her clothes on
snap a handful of photographs
of your own reflection
and i swear i'll lose my cool
a thousand miles away
i don't even know your name
and i probably never will
but i guess that's a good thing

Jade Hsu

2009-01-05T01:14:00.000-08:00

I watch way too much pornography. I came this realization when I was watching an internet video featuring my personal favorite Jade Hsu. She's nailing this dude who's holding the video camera all amateur style and homedude will not shut up. He's going all, "Hey, I told you I'd be fucking you hard, didn't I? Are you ready for this huge dick? Didn't I say this dick would be huge?" Like he's expecting flattering replies. I'm sitting here thinking aloud "Jesus Christ won't this motherfucker just shut up? Self centered fuck I can't believe you're actually screwing this guy Jade you could totally do better than this" and I'm getting really mad.
That's when it dawned on me: I watch so much pornography that I have some kind of emotional investment with the characters and it's really not unlike when people watch too much Heroes or something.

a video that my friend jeremy made last year

2008-10-28T14:30:00.000-07:00

i was watching this again and i totally forgot how sick it is.

The Gay Diaries Pt. 3

2008-10-24T12:03:00.000-07:00

Brought a homosexual home last night. I barely know Brad, he's more of a friend of a friend, but I figured I hadn't really done anything gay lately and I don't want the lie to fade away. Besides, nobody likes a gay guy who has been out of the game (gayme). So I figure I'll just invite him over and kick back some beers and play Dreamcast in the comfort of my bedroom. I guess I must have kind of overdone it with the beers (we only had a six pack?) because I don't remember anything past whooping his ass in Rival Schools and doing that victory dance where I undulate my nutsack in front of the loser (I call it the tilt-a-whirl).
Next morning I woke up and Brad was totally gone, but whatever it's cool because I really had no plan of telling him that I wasn't gay and I was just using him as an accessory to my gaydom. On a completely different note, I've been having the easiest shits of my life, and I'm totally sure it's because I've started eating cereal for breakfast. So here's a healthy tip, if you guys want to start having really brisk and simple doodoos, start eating cereal for breakfast. I like Cookie Crisp.

The Gay Diaries Pt. 2

2008-10-01T15:22:00.000-07:00

This is going to be harder than I thought. I have a stack of Playboys in my bedroom which I still want to keep but are totally hetero. I fix the problem by cutting the covers off Nate's Men's Health mags and pasting them over the Playboys. Then I smear some come over them to show everyone I'm not fucking around.

Justin walked out of the shower the other day and I told him he smelled nice. He winced and walked into his room without saying as much as a thank you. I think this is working, everyone is ignoring me, and I feel like I can do whatever I want and just blame it on the way of the gays. I'm going to stop wearing a shirt when I'm at home.

The Gay Diaries Pt. 1

2008-09-28T12:10:00.000-07:00

I went pretty crazy at a party Saturday night, and an angry voicemail was waiting for me the morning after. It was Nathan, and in a nutshell it said "You fucked up my friend's party last night I don't know what you're thinking we'll talk about it tomorrow." Well I'm definitely not going to stick around and get berated by my housemate about my drunk behavior so I spent the entire day out at my friends' kid's first birthday party.
At the party I learned something weird about myself: that I could totally pass for Gay. Actually, Joe asked Jeremy when I was out of earshot if I was actually gay. I'm totally not, but this newfound skill of mine might come in handy.
I get home at around ten and Nathan wants to talk about last night. I almost immediately shoot back "Dude, I'm gay now. I came out of the closet today." Brilliant, right? Who is going to get mad at a fresh gay? I continue to elaborate on my lie, speaking of my love for boners and muscles and then I go to my room to pass out because I'm drunk. As I'm falling asleep I decide that I'm going to see how long I can keep up this whole gay thing, because benefits are totally going to come I'm sure.

old interview with an old friend

2008-08-20T19:16:00.000-07:00

published thru Fish Rap Live! ucsc

(obviously click for larger)

violent nicknames for non-violent things

2008-08-14T16:46:00.001-07:00

grandma

2008-08-14T16:17:00.000-07:00

at a game show!

2008-08-10T14:56:00.000-07:00

JEFF: Now Kelly, it says here that back when you were a fifth grader the kids at school called you "Goldilocks"..

KELLY: How did you know that?

JEFF: ..and we can obviously see why, with that lovely blond hair of yours.

KELLY: Actually, Jeff, that nickname is a little bit more sensitive than that.

JEFF: I'm sorry?

KELLY: When I was ten years old I was with my family at the zoo, and I fell into a den of brown bears.

JEFF: Oh man, it doesn't say anything about that on here.

KELLY: There were three of them.

JEFF: Hah! I'll assume you stuck around for some porridge, too.

KELLY (crying): I should have died that day..

JEFF:

Something I'd been meaning to draw

2008-07-29T15:19:00.000-07:00

my humor writing class

2008-07-27T22:05:00.000-07:00

I took this experimental writing class last year with this teacher who wanted everyone to call him "Mister Steve." The class wasn't about experimental writing, it was about Humor and Rhetoric, or something, but the class itself was experimental in that it was created for the first time that quarter and that it completely sucked balls. We watched Borat for one day in class, for chrissakes. Didn't even talk about it, I don't think. Anyways, I wrote this meta-parody of Mark Twain's essay "A Cat Tale" from Letters From The Earth, because the essay prompt was to write any kind of essay about something in that book, and I am too much of a slacker to be original.

A Dog’s Tale

I hang out with Mr. Steve on the weekends, unbeknownst to the other students in my class. We often get together to play tennis in his backyard court which he had installed last Spring. Before I leave his house, Mrs. Steve always offers me a cup or two of her premium Camomile tea, which more often than not I oblige to. Over tea, Mr. Steve and I sit and philosophize or talk sports or what have you, general conversation of the educated variety. This past weekend, as the sun began its slow retreat from the sky, I proposed an idea I had for a paper I’d been meaning to write.

F.L.

I have this idea for a paper I’d been meaning to write.

Steve: Shoot.

Of course you’re familiar with Mark Twain’s Letters From The Earth, and may recall the piece entitled “A Cat-Tale.”

Steve: Of course. A brilliant example of wordplay mastery.

Right. I bet I could do that same thing.

Steve: You mean to imitate Twain? How many other words would you be able to come up with that include “cat” anyways? I’m sure damn near every word in the English Dictionary containing “cat” has been used already, and effectively so at that.

No no, Monsieur Steve. I am not setting out to do what Twain did. Well, I am, except I am opting to rely on a different animal: the noble Dog.

Steve: A.. Dog-Tale.

So the story begins. There once was a noble big dog, whose Christian name was Dogasaqua –because he lived in that dog-ion but he dog not have a surname, because he was just a short tailed-

Steve: Dog-ion. Fred my boy, pray tell what is a Dog-ion?

Why, let me look it up in the dogtionary. Ah, here it is. A dog-ion is the extended spatial location of something, except for dogs.

Steve: This is absolutely not what Twain did in A Cat-Tale. You are just creating new words out of old words by superimposing “dog” over the word “region.” It’s not even a pun, it’s just nonsense. Mark Twain actually posessed one of the greater vocabularies of the English language, and was thus able to pull elaborate, but real, words from off the top of his head and place them skillfully throughout a bedtime story to his children.

Okay, okay. Let me try again.

Steve: You know, I can’t even think of any words that contain “dog,” except Dogma. Are you sure this is possible?

Yes. Allow me to restart. There once was a noble big dog, whose Christian name was Dogma. Dogma loved doggy biscuits. Also, his favorite trick to pull on yo-yo was “walk the dog.” He was a noble-

Steve: No. You must not continue. You’re doing it wrong again.

These are all real words, my good Steve. I am emulating Twain flawlessly. Now please allow me to continue with my story.

Steve: All your words are pertaining to doggies. In a Cat-Tale, Twain uses existing words, virtually all of which have nothing to do with cats. Such as Cataract, or Catacombs. Do you see? None of these words have actually anything to do with felines, yet they phonetically contain the word “cat.”

I see. Goodness, Twain was indeed a brilliant man.

Steve: Brilliantest of the Brilliant.

I’m going to go for it one more time.

Steve: Okay.

There once was a noble big dog, whose Christian name was Dogma. Dogma was a bulldog, which was misfortunate, for in the unspoken hierarchy of dogdom bulldogs were looked down upon as coondogs. Dogma resisted the stereotype, gaining financial success through his entrepreneurial fishing business.

Steve: Coondog? That sounds racist, Fred.

At first, Steve, but if you had done your research you’d know that a coondog is actually a dog trained to hunt raccoons, and in my story dogs who were trained to hunt raccoons were the equivalent to black people.

Steve: Carry on.

Dogma, by this point had two Dutch doggers, and had previously revolutionized the fishing industry by introducing the fish corndog. A recipe for which he had found in a dogeared cook book he had found in his attic. Though he was wealthy, Dogma was an unhappy bulldog, for he yearned for a mate, preferrably an endogamous relationship with another of his kind. Out at sea among his crew of male dogs, he would often dream of his future family, his beloved ships would become the Secundo-geniture of his bastard sons.

Steve: Why would you place the word Secundo-geniture in this story, Fred?

If you remove the hyphen, there is indeed the word “dog” buried within, Mr. Steve.

Steve: Ah, yes. I see now. What a classy move.

I know. As overdog of his business, Dogma lacked time to be social, and thus was unable to expose his cheeky, dogmatic personality.

Steve: How can a dog have a personality? Doesn’t that word only pertain to persons?

Listen, Steve. If you interrupt me one more time I’m going to get up and leave. Then I’m going to come back later tonight and steal from you. So anywho, Dogma the old single seadog and his crew of dogsbodies were suddenly swept up by a storm, landing them four hours afterward conveniently on a preexisting dogshore on an unfamiliar island. Then the story goes on from there.

Steve: So that’s it?

Yes, well, I haven’t been able to figure out how to end it yet.

Steve: Well, you’ve got a good start, Fred. I hope you’ll be able to fill up four pages with it.

I hope so too. Okay bye!