Continue reading »]]> The first time I hung out with Cameron was probably about 10 months after I met him.  We had shared many a lunch break together, but we had never taken things outside the confines of the mall that we worked at.  As shallow as it sounds, the event that finally tipped the scales, was Cameron getting a Nintendo Wii, right after it was released.  I spent many weekends searching in vain for a Wii, so I finally had my reason to want to stop by Cameron’s abode.  Cameron was more than willing to have me stop by to check it out and my friend Jason decided to tag along to check out this revolutionary gaming device.

We stopped by the apartment on a Saturday night and Cameron played the gracious host while his wife sat quietly at the kitchen table.  He offered us a beer from his well stocked refrigerator, he showed us his cats, and then gave us the tour of the apartment, ending at his brand new entertainment center in the living room, the same entertainment center that housed the much sought after Nintendo Wii.  I also noticed a small computer tower within the entertainment center, and decided to ask about it to make conversation.

“Oh is the computer there acting like a media center?” I asked.

“Yeah, that’s where I keep all my porn.” He proudly responded.

Jason and I shot each other a quick look of disbelief, and I think Cameron interpreted that look as one of confusion because he decided to elaborate on his previous statement.

“You know, I download it with BitTorrent.”

The admission that Cameron enjoys pornography was not the reason causing Jason and I to feel uncomfortable.  It was his cavalier attitude about it.  I didn’t imply that I knew anything that would cause him to tip his hand, and Jason had literally just met him.  Plus, his wife was within earshot, making things even weirder, and while the collection of pornography might be hers as well, I don’t think she would’ve recommended her husband make it part of the house tour when guests arrive for the first time, but since we wanted to play on the Nintendo Wii, we decided to get past the awkwardness.

Outside of that incident, Cameron and I had a pretty normal friendship.  I would come over, we would eat pizza, drink beer, and play video games.  We would goto the occasional hockey or baseball game, and we’d grab lunch at work.  He came from a well-off family so he would be quite generous to me.  When he upgraded from an Xbox 360 to an Xbox 360 Elite, he gave me the the old Xbox and its controllers.  When he decided that he didn’t want to have an iPhone, just months after it came out, he let me have his after I found it sitting in a drawer.  I appreciated these things tremendously but I later found that these gifts came with a hidden price tag, he expected me to never criticize him.

I would find this out during a game up pick up roller hockey.  We had both taken up the sport to get in better shape, but Cameron’s unhealthy diet was making it extremely difficult for him to make any progress.  After a particular game, I recall him wanting to go to Jack in the Box afterwards so he could order a double bacon cheese burger, large fries, and a soda.  I had told him that would negate any sort of positive from our hockey game but we ended up at Jack in the Box anyways.

The time I burned the bridge, however, I had called him out  to skate back and play any defense.  He was tired, so he started to stay in the offensive zone, waiting for the rest of his teammates, including myself, to fish the puck away from the other team.  After a while, I got fed up and shouted at him “You’re not a scorer, so why don’t you get back and play some defense?”  He shouted back that he didn’t appreciate me berating him in public, and while I didn’t back off on my stance, I didn’t try to escalate things further, I would just reaffirm my previous sentiments.

I didn’t think this was any sort of a big deal.  I was showing him some tough love, not just for his benefit as a hockey player, but as a person who wanted to lose weight and get fit.  Skating was going to help him burn calories, not standing around waiting for the puck.  I honestly thought it would blow over quite quickly, but that was really the last time I ever hung out with the guy.  Apparently, he would tell mutual friends of ours that he demanded an apology, but he never got it from me.  It’s not because I wasn’t willing to, but because I wanted him to communicate that to me directly instead of through other people, which he never did.  I had discovered some less than functional aspects of our friendship and realized that there might be too many to overcome.

Sure, I could’ve gone out of my way to apologize, and I could’ve made a stronger effort to “not berate him”, but somewhere along the line, another conflict would’ve been bound to surface, and we’d have to play the same roles: I’d probably say something to try to help him, he’d take it as vicious criticism, and I’d have to hunt him down to apologize again.  While it was pretty harmless on a free recreational roller hockey rink, that hypothetical next time, could’ve be on a road trip, in Vegas, or somewhere where a spat could’ve left me suddenly without a place to stay or without transportation, so it’s probably for the best that we parted ways there.

I wonder if I would’ve gotten a similar reaction if I had questioned why he needed to introduce his box of porn to us when giving us the tour of his apartment.  It sounds silly, I know, but it also sounds silly that he would stop talking to me because I gave him a hard time about being lazy during a roller hockey game.  Perhaps, I would’ve found out sooner that he wasn’t going to take kind to opinions that conflicted with his and I wouldn’t have spent so much time investing in a friendship that was going to combust quite quickly.  I guess I can’t consider the whole experience a total bust.  I did end up with an Xbox 360 and iPhone.

Continue reading »]]> I returned from Record Store Day 2013 with most of the items that I wanted, but instead of leashing a sonic fury in my house at 8 in the morning, I decided to take a nap with the intention of listening to all of my new records when I awoke at a reasonable hour.  When I did awake, the first record that I decided to listen to was ironically not something new to me, but something that was only previously available to me on CD, and I didn’t even start the record at the beginning, in fact, I started the record at the end of the last song.  Even the most devout music fan would observe that I was engaging in some very bizarre behavior especially without the context of which album I was listening to.  I was listening to a compilation called No Alternative, and I was eagerly waiting to see if the record, like the CD, had the unlisted track, “Verse Chorus Verse” by Nirvana. When No Alternative originally came out, I knew about the Nirvana song because my friend’s older brother bought it long before I did and he gave me the head’s up about the “secret song”, so waiting to see if the song was also on the vinyl edition was the closest to being surprised about the “secret” that I was going to get.

I can only imagine how amazing it would’ve been to be someone in 1993, listening to this compilation all the way through, and right when they thought the album was over, Kurt Cobain’s guitar and voice chime in, playing a Nirvana song that was previously available only via bootlegs. Of course, most “secret songs” aren’t as exciting or good as this particular one.  More often than not, they’re not as good as anything on the album and that’s they’ve only made it as a “bonus”.  Either that, or the song doesn’t fit in with the rest of the album, or perhaps in the case of Ash’s 1977 album, the “bonus” isn’t a song at all. On 1977, what follows the last song and a few minutes of silence, is a recording of the band laughing hysterically and vomiting over and over again.  Why this is on the album – to this day, I still have no idea.

So with a personal history with such mixed results, I’m not sure if I miss that the “secret song” is pretty much extinct. I haven’t  particularly lamented the decline of the “secret song”.  The last one I remember finding was “Shhh” by Atmosphere off Seven’s Travels and that came out in 2013, a whole 10 years ago.  I like “Shhh” quite a bit but it’s not making me a cranky old man about the death of the secret song. I could easily go on a tangent about how the internet has made it virtually impossible to keep these songs a secret, or how iTunes and Amazon has forced bands to include these songs as bonus tracks as an incentive to buy rather than as a secret for the hardcore fans, but there are still secrets – they’ve just evolved.  Now there are secret videos embedded in sites, secret usb drives placed in random locations for fans to find, special guests at festivals, so it could be argued that it’s more exciting now than it was back in the time where one would skip through 5-10 minutes of silence on a 20 minute song to see if there was a song tucked at the end.

It’s entirely possible that not all record collectors have a conflicted apathy towards the “secret song”.  On the same day that I bought my vinyl version of No Alternative, and re-discovering the secret song all over again, I saw that there was a special 7″ record being sold that came in a sleeve that was completely black.  The only information on the packaging was that it was part of Warner Bros. “Side by Side” series where they have a band cover a song on one side, and they have the original version by the original artist on the other side.  Not only was the song a secret, but the artists as well.  The record was picked up on blind faith by more than a handful of people that morning, including myself, and I hope they were pleased with results.

Of course, even though the 7″ was a total surprise, it wasn’t the first record that I opened when I got home from the record store.  That, of course, was No Alternative, just so I could hear the secret Nirvana song.  There was definitely a feeling of euphoria when I realized that there was definitely something after Patti Smith’s “Memorial Song”, and since I already knew about the “surprise”, I can only attribute the satisfying feeling to the surprise of re-living something that has become so steeped in nostalgia and realizing that while a lot of things have changed, the fan in me hasn’t.

Continue reading »]]> My friend Paul once informed me that his dad told him to go see Harold and Kumar go to White Castle and even paid for his ticket.  When I asked Paul if his dad even knew what Harold and Kumar was about, he told me that his dad “just wanted [him] to support John Cho”, the Korean-American actor who plays Harold Lee.  Paul’s dad wasn’t particularly worried about the details: what the movie was about, or that it’s full raunchy stoner humor. Paul’s dad just wanted his son to support “one of us”, which in this case, was a Korean American who was starring in an American film.

While it was only a $12 gesture, it’s pretty funny to think of a father demanding his son to go watch a raunchy R-rated movie to the point where he’d pay for the ticket.  This is an extreme case of this “one of us” sort of mentality, and while it can seem a little silly, It’s a mentality that I actually identify with (it’s also a Minnesota thing), and that’s probably why I ended up in a little story that I like to call Ryan and Cameron go to Bakersfield.

I met Cameron at work when we were both working retail.  He worked in the stock room and I worked on the sales floor.  He had just moved to the mainland (California) from Hawaii and he didn’t have many friends or any family out here, so I quickly became one of his good friends.  Cameron found out that my friend Jessica and I were really into hockey, so he started to check it out and quickly became a fan.

He started going to games, buying jerseys, and soaking up any information about the game and its players.  Since he was Japanese-American, and since Hawaii has no hockey team, he started gravitating towards players of Japanese descent like Paul Kariya and Devon Setoguchi.  He became particularly enamored with Yutaka Fukufuji, the first Japanese born goalie be drafted into the NHL, and when Cameron found out about him, he found out that Fukufuji was playing on a minor league hockey team in Bakersfield, just a few hours north of where we lived.

He wanted to see Fukufuji in action so I agreed to go to Bakersfield with him so he could catch a game.  He had never been to Bakersfield before, but he was so excited that Yutaka Fukufuji was getting his own bobble head night, that he insisted we go, even though I gave the city of Bakersfield an unfavorable review.  We met up at my apartment the morning of the game, piled into my car, and made our way north towards Bakersfield.  We stopped for lunch in Torrance so I could meet up with a friend, and at lunch, Cameron took advantage of the fact that I was driving by indulging in a 2nd drink.

We made it up to Bakersfield a few hours later, but we arrived so early that they weren’t ready for us to enter the arena.  It was quite windy that day so when we decided to walk the streets of Bakersfield to pass the time, we were met with flying specks of sand.  This was unpleasant to say the least, and completely horrifying to Cameron.  This was a far cry from the serene and beautiful conditions of his native Hawaii, or at least it was in his mind’s eye.  For him, the trip started to go downhill at this point, and it went downhill pretty quickly.

Once we entered the arena, we received our bobble heads and Cameron bought a jersey.  I asked him if he wanted to grab a beer but he declined because he started to get a headache, most likely from the drinks that he had at lunch.  We sat in our seats and soon after, the game started.  The Bakersfield Condors came out on the ice and for a brief time, Cameron was able to enjoy himself despite his headache and his poor opinion of Bakersfield.  He cheered for Fukufuji whenever he made a save, but there was very little to cheer for in this game.  The Condors fell behind early, and it was clear that they weren’t going to make any sort of a comeback.  By the time the 2nd period hit, Cameron’s headache had come back with a vengeance, and we ended up having to leave the game early.

As we headed back to Orange County, it started to rain, and when you couple rain with high winds that are picking up sand, it might appear to the untrained eye that it is raining mud.  Cameron started to freak out that the apocalypse had arrived and I had to calm him down, while driving us both in the pouring rain.  We got back safely to Orange County and when he returned to work over the weekend, he was spinning tales of surviving the hell that is Bakersfield, California, where it rains mud, just so he could get a Yutaka Fukufuji bobble head and a Bakersfield Condors jersey, and that he would do it again, because Fukufuji is “one of us”.

Continue reading »]]> A lot of my friends are perplexed about the fact that I’m a fan of R. Kelly.  I assume this is, in part, because I’m Asian (and those confused friends are Asian or Caucasian), but mostly because of his very public and disturbing indiscretions.  While I definitely don’t condone what has come out about his private life, I still enjoy his music, even if his hit to miss ratio isn’t what it used to be.  Besides, even after after his scandalous private life became public, he was able to bounce back into the spotlight, with the focus back on his musical talent.  A petition to the US Government to change the national anthem from “The Star Spangled Banner” to his “Igntion (Remix)” was created, comedian, Aziz Ansari, is known for recounting his various R. Kelly experiences at his stand up shows, and there have been many organized Trapped in the Closet related viewing parties.  Even though his star was back on the rise, when I decided to finally see the man in concert, it was basically on a lark.

About 5 years ago, when I met my friend Beverly, one of the things we bonded over was karaoke, and we’ve been on a quest to find “Ignition (Remix)” at a karaoke studio.  We’ve found it at karaoke bars but we’d like to be able to sing it within the comfort of a private room with friends instead of in a room of tipsy strangers.  We haven’t found a place yet, but our quest has taken us to many different parts of Southern California, and karaoke still remains one of our favorite “go to” activities.  A love of “Ignition (Remix)” has also bonded Beverly and my friend, Jessica, so when R. Kelly announced a tour, Beverly immediately decided that the three of us needed to go.

Unfortunately, by the time we found out there was a show, the show was sold out.  In what Beverly describes as an act of divine intervention, a second show was added a few days after our initial disappointment.  I’m not exaggerating Beverly’s excitement about this added show, in fact, her exact text to me was “It’s a sign from Jesus that we must GO”.  I wasn’t going to argue with that.  I texted Jessica if she wanted to go to the show, and there we were, back on course to see the man known as R.  We were going to get the full R. Kelly experience, but none of us knew what that meant until it was too late.

We all had an idea of what was going to happen at the show, whether it be from checking out various message boards on the net, or going through Aziz’s live tweets from the show the night before, but somehow, we found ourselves constantly surprised.  Perhaps, this had to do with the fact that we procured and demolished a bottle of 100 proof rum and a bottle of Coke at the beginning of the night so we could pay tribute to the song that we all love so much.  I thought we were going to drink in the parking lot but Jessica decided to quietly open the bottle of rum and drink from it in the back of the car while Beverly and I chatted.  As we got closer to the venue, we started to mix the rum and Coke into the Coke bottle so we could drink and walk to the venue, incognito.

So, by the time that we got to the venue, we were all tipsy.  We walked in to the Nokia Theater, and everything looked as it would on any other night, upon first inspection.  That was until Beverly and Jessica walked into the bathroom and overheard some girls talking about how they were glad “their mans [weren't] here.”  Soon after, we found the R. Kelly Chicken Wings table where I promptly dropped $7 for some wings when I wasn’t even particularly hungry.  Beverly proceeded by buy a t-shirt that had an enlarged black and white photo of R. Kelly’s face on the front and we proceeded to go find our seats.

On our way to the seats, I realized that our casual dress attire wasn’t the norm for this show.  Not that people were decked out in formal wear, but they were definitely dressed differently.  To put it as succinctly as possible, that was the most leopard print clothing per square foot I had seen in my life.  Once we found our seats, I came up with idea of taking pictures with the R. Kelly t-shirt while Beverly went to the bathroom.  I wasn’t able to keep myself from bursting out in laughter while holding up the shirt, so I decided to get more alcohol, and this is where I found the cart that sold rum lemonade out of a keg.  Since this was something else that was unique to this show, I had to buy one, even though my tipsy self could even tell it was probably not of the highest quality.  I brought it back to our seats, we drank some more, and finally the show started. This was The Single Ladies Tour, and you could even buy tickets in a “single ladies” section but we had regular seats because Beverly decided to spare me whatever embarrassment I would receiving being a single man sitting in a “single ladies” section.

I couldn’t tell you what was special about the “single ladies” section but I do know that R. Kelly had two bartenders on stage making drinks for girls from the pit.  Drunk Beverly was pining to be in the “single ladies section” and Drunk Jessica was someone that I hadn’t seen in about 5 and a half years.  Drunk Jessica doesn’t show up very often for a reason.

After a highly entertaining and over the top set (Aziz does not exaggerate, Beverly points out), we headed out the doors back to our lives, or so I thought.  Jessica and Beverly had gotten ahead of me and I ended up losing them.  Beverly tells me that Jessica ended up accidentally knocking over a trash can and yelled “Lets go drink some more!” before Beverly lost sight of her.  I was able to easily track down Beverly through text messages.  Jessica, on the other hand, wasn’t responding to texts or phone calls right away.  We were obviously concerned that our friend was running around the streets of Downtown Los Angeles drunk and alone.  Finally, Jessica called me and told me that she was waiting for us at the car… but she wasn’t.

It took Beverly and I a while to find the car, and when we finally did, Jessica was nowhere to be found.  I called her again and informed her that she might in fact be standing next to a totally random car in a totally random parking lot.  This was completely terrifying to Beverly and me.  Jessica could be anywhere.  After telling her that we were in different lots, Jessica handed her phone to the parking lot attendent who somehow was able to guide us to Jessica even though I think we were all sort of lost.  Jessica finally got in the car and we were finally able to head back to Orange County, not before Jessica told us that she was sitting in the parking attendent’s chair and when he told her that she couldn’t sit there, she told him that she was Mexican.  Then she told us that she was going to sleep in the car, and proceeded to throw up in the car somewhere between Los Angeles and Orange County.

While I couldn’t have predicted any of these events before the show, they all sort of made sense.  We went to go see an artist who’s notorious for excess and self-indulgence and we decided to mimic those impulses.  We ate too much, we drank too much, and then all hell broke loose.  It was a fitting end to a memorable night.  We all just wish Jessica was able to hold her liquor for just a little longer.

Continue reading »]]> I’ve never had a particularly good grasp on speaking any languages outside of English, which is a surprise since English isn’t technically my first language.  It didn’t take long for English to overtake Korean, but nonetheless, English is my second language.  It’s taken a hold of me and it won’t let go.  3 years of Spanish in high school, and 2 years of Korean in college, plus various Korean schools and lessons at home from my parents, couldn’t loosen the grip that the English language has on me.  I used to get criticized for my terrible Korean speaking skills, sometimes by children, and they would mistake my lack of knowledge for a lack of trying.  That’s not the case.  I’m just a Korean boy who grew up in Minnesota with very few Korean kids to speak to on a regular basis, and then when I gave Korean the old college try (literally), it just didn’t take.

My friend Barrett has a similar tale.  He’s a 3rd generation Chinese-American from Fresno.  His Chinese speaking skills are pretty much non-existent.  His parents speak fluent English, and while my parents don’t, my older sisters were all speaking plenty of English in our house.  Fresno doesn’t exactly have the biggest Chinese community in the world, let alone California, so even if Chinese was spoken in Barrett’s household, he wouldn’t have many friends to practice speaking with outside the home.

Of course, while my Korean speaking skills are completely derivative, I’ve soaked up a lot of Korean culture just by being around my first generation parents and going to a Korean-not very American, church for my entire childhood.    Barrett hasn’t been afforded that luxury so something simple as learning how to use chopsticks has passed him by – or at least this is what Barrett perceives with this specific situation.  I’m not so inclined to agree.

A few years ago, on Barrett’s birthday, we headed to Warner Brothers studios to catch a taping of Conan.  It was on Barrett’s college bucket list, and since I worked at a school that had Spring Break coincidentally on the same week as Barrett’s, I decided to go with him.  Barrett was especially excited that we were going on this particular day because he and Conan share a birthday.  We headed up at the crack of dawn and waited in the Warner Brothers parking structure hoping to get on the standby list.  We were the first people there so there was very little anxiety about whether we would get in later in the day.  It was pretty chilly so we decided to get a nice warm meal – a bowl of ramen at Daikokuya in Little Tokyo because it fit the 2 criteria on Barrett’s list: 1) delicious, 2) cheap.

We ordered a pitcher of beer and a bowl of ramen each.  Even though we were understandably excited that we were going to see one of our comedy heroes later in the day, we needed sustenance if were to continue our high level of enthusiasm. The piping hot bowls of ramen were delivered to our table, and I was ready to dive in.  I sensed some hesitation from Barrett, but I wasn’t sure of the reason.  He looked frustrated, so I asked “what’s the problem?”  Barrett’s problem was the utensils.

“I can’t use chopsticks.” he muttered.

“But we’re eating noodles…” I tried to explain.

“I need a fork.” he said defiantly.

Seeing that Barrett wasn’t in the mood to learn a new skill on his birthday, I flagged down our waiter.  When the waiter approached our table, I told him that my friend wanted a fork.  The waiter looked confused, then he looked to the bus boy, threw his hands up in disbelief and said “for-ku?”  The bus boy then ran to the kitchen and brought the waiter a fork, which he handed to Barrett.  It was quite the scene, and at the time, I believe it left Barrett a little embarrassed.  It probably didn’t help that I couldn’t contain my laughter throughout the whole ordeal.

It didn’t ruin Barrett’s birthday. He was able to see Conan O’Brien and that was all that mattered.  The “for-ku” incident was just a footnote to the main event, but it’s something that we both talk about to this day.  Barrett still attributes his non-existent chopstick stills to his 3rd generation Chinese-American heritage even though my infinite-generation white roommate can use chopsticks with ease.  While it’s pretty clear that upbringing or lack there of has nothing to do with using two sticks to pick up food, I’ll let Barrett have this one, because we’re friends, and because it’s funnier this way.  Friends should let their friends get away with certain delusions as long as it’s not hurting anyone, and frankly, Barrett’s chopstick deficiency is about as harmless as it gets.  Besides, if Barrett chalked this up to his own laziness, it hurts the story, and I can’t let that happen.  If Barrett wants to think he can’t use chopsticks like I can’t use the Korean language, then so be it.  I’ll look the other way for him so the “for-ku” story can live forever.

Continue reading »]]> I know it’s unrealistic to think that racism will one day go away.  I try not to worry about it too much.  I don’t try to make it a battle that I fight everyday, like others do. (which is a very commendable thing.)  I just try to rise above it and I think I succeed in that regard, most of the time.  As a kid, I used to get into fights over it, and I’m not much of a fighter.  I thought those days were over, but in actuality those days are just less common.  I didn’t realize this until I was 30, when I threw my glass of wine in the face of a guy who had made a unflattering remark about asian people (he thought it was okay since he was part asian) and then proceeded to throw a punch at him that missed him completely.  No one was hurt, but my friend’s girlfriend got splashed with a healthy amount of wine from the crossfire of my walk-by-dousing.  In my head, I was trying to be a hero, but in reality, I was being quite an asshole.  Racism 1, Ryan 0.

That was probably the last dramatic flare up since I was a kid back in Minnesota.  I did have to have to have a little chat with a co-worker at a store I was working at when I was in my mid-20s because he told me “all you asians look the same”, but that conversation was instigated by a store manager who overheard that remark and not because I complained about it.  Even though I had nothing to feel bad about, that conversation was unbelievably uncomfortable.  ”I’m sorry, I’m sorry, it was just a bad joke.” was all he could say and whenever I would tell him “It’s not just a bad joke, it’s a racist joke.”, he would get defensive, and he’d tell me he wasn’t a bad person, and we’d just go on and on, endlessly.  After school specials made this sort of thing seem so much more simple.  Honestly, our little chat did not make me feel much better about things at all.  Racism 2, Ryan 0, co-worker reconciliation: Incomplete.

The only time that I ever confronted racism head on, and felt victorious about it was when my friend Marco jokingly asked me whether I had ever eaten dog before.  He knew I hadn’t, but he just wanted to get a reaction out of me.  I knew that out of my options, being upset or annoyed by the question was going to be poorest possible response, so I hatched a plan:  I was going to fight fire with fire.  His question was meant to be ridiculous so my answer to him was going to be the same.  I just needed to play it the right way, so delicately, because I was only going to have one chance in the lifespan of our friendship to get away with this.

“I haven’t had dog, but the dogs that Koreans eat aren’t like the dogs that we would recognize here in America.” I calmly stated.  ”Well what kind of dogs do they eat?” he asked impatiently, probably surprised that I bothered to dignify his question with a respons.  ”They eat a breed of dog called the updog.”  I held my breath, and waited for what seemed like an eternity.  ”What the hell is updog?” he responded.

“Not much.  What’s up with you?”  I quickly muttered.  Checkmate.

Marco ran after me for a while and when we were both out of breath, he conceded.  ”You got me, you got me clean, too.”  I did and I couldn’t believe it.  Racism 2, Ryan 1.

It was a small victory, but it was a victory against racism (I’m not claiming Marco is a racist, he in fact, is very much the opposite).  It’s how I should be dealing with these instances, rather than trying to be a hero and throwing down some fisticuffs, or trying to teach some 18 year old kid some life lessons.  I’m better off using humor, harmless humor to be exact, rather than trying to combat racist jokes with racist jokes.

Since I’ve only gone 1 for 3 in adult situations with this, I have to find a way to master this newfound method.  Unfortunately, I’m not exactly into trying to find situations to try to this new method out, with fear that I’ll revert to earlier, less pleasant tactics.  (also, pure laziness)  I rather spare random bystanders the threat of getting hit by wine, or for parties to be ruined by my pathetic attempts at fisticuffs for every missed attempt at a joke to diffuse a situation.

What is more likely to happen is that I won’t do anything even though it could be more than being beneficial, or even profitable, to hone this craft.  I could even be considered a hero, but alas, that will never happen, not just because it’s unrealistic, but mostly because I’m unwilling.  Fighting this fight has never been for me, for better or worse, and while someone else will probably eventually come up with some great way to diffuse these little racist confrontations, we’ll have to wait for that someone else to come around and for that method to be invented.  Meanwhile, I’ll be sitting around, thinking of that one awesome time that I tricked Marco with the up dog joke.

Continue reading »]]> Woody Allen coined the famous phrase “If you want to make God laugh, show him your plans.”  Sometimes, we curse the heavens regardless if we believe if someone lives up there or not.  If you do believe in the man upstairs, I advise you not to shake your fist in anger at him or he will smite you readily with his right hand.  On one fateful day, I looked up at the sky and said “Let this Match.com subscription bring me at least one meaningful relationship, or I’m going to order NHL Center Ice (approx retail price: $171.80), wear my Zack Parise Minnesota Wild jersey every day after I get home from work, and let myself go until the hockey season is over.”  By letting myself go, I mean: parking myself on the couch, eating a steady diet of liquid nacho cheese, and drinking a lot of beer.  Now, I didn’t hear God’s voice that day, but if I did, I assume our conversation would’ve gone something like this:

“God, did you hear me?”

“Yup.”

“So?”

“Ryan, have you heard of the phrase ‘Don’t bargain with the devil?’”

“Yeah, what about it?”

“Don’t bargain with God either.”

My Match.com subscription proved to be fruitless, which despite my best efforts, was not a total surprise.  I wasn’t even asking to find “the one”, but one relationship that would justify me paying for a few months of dating roulette.   I spent a lot of money and drove a lot of miles to no avail.  There were more train wreck dates than not, and my subscription ended with me nursing my damaged ego.

Then there was the NHL lockout.  The NHL lockout prevented me from being able to watch any hockey, let alone any local games.  While I won’t be melodramatic and say that I was miserable, I felt like I’d been given a raw deal.  Instead of getting option ‘A’ or option ‘B’, I got option ‘C’, “none of the above.”  I was without a girl or an escape.  Either God needed to buy himself some time, or he was trying to teach me a lesson.  Seeing how he is an omnipotent being, I’ll stick with the latter.

I’ve always had a bit of skepticism whether God was ever listening or not.  I know that he’s not Santa Claus, but I’ve never seen many of my prayers answered, especially during Finals Week  in college.  Now, I can say, with much confidence, that he’s listening, and if you want to challenge him, he’s going to show off a pretty wicked sense of humor while bringing you down a peg.  I learned the hard way, and now all I want, is for hockey to come back.

Continue reading »]]> “Well, I met her in a bar, like I always say” – The Replacements “Message to the Boys”

While Paul Westerberg’s music a huge influence on my life, I’ve never looked at his lyrics as any kind of guide on what decisions I should make.  Living by his rules, I would probably have crazier stories to tell, but I’m probably more stable and happy from taking his lyrics as entertainment and not much more.  I’ve never been interested in meeting a girl in a bar, I’ve never been comfortable chatting it up with a random stranger in that setting, and it just doesn’t seem like the place you would meet someone looking for a relationship.  I know it happens, but it’s just not for me.  I watched my friend, Taylor, try to make it happen, and it only reinforced the fact that meeting people at a bar, or at least particularly, this bar, is a bad idea.

One night, we went to a bar that we refer to as “The Goat”, a lovable little local dive bar.  We went with Steve, another one of our co-workers, after watching a football game and having a couple of drinks at the office.  Little did I know that Taylor was already on the verge of being tipsy when we arrived at the bar, and Steve was drinking on an empty stomach.  So after a few rounds of beer,  Taylor was eyeing a girl at the next table, Steve was literally eating peanuts for dinner, and I was there with a court side view to watch the hilarity unfold.

I will not fault Taylor for his choice in this particular girl, she was indeed cute, but I will fault him for deciding to make a move, after the girl had left the the bar.  By the time he had gathered enough liquid courage, she had left, but he proceeded to ask her friends if they would deliver his number to their friend.  To be more specific, he  didn’t refer to her as “your friend”, he referred to her as “the brunette with the hammer pants”.  They turned down his offer to pass along his number because the girl had a boyfriend, she was in a 3+ year long term relationship in fact, so, hopefully that took some of the sting out of the rejection.

We drank another round of beers and Taylor tried not to wallow in any humiliation.  At this point, Taylor had hit a wall and he decided to take a cab to his brothers so she could sleep.  That left Steve and I at the bar, and Steve honorably notified me that he was not in any shape to drive.  I suggested that we get some food, not because I was hungry, but because Steve was basically drinking on an empty stomach, save for the peanuts that he ate at the bar.  I decided that we should get the greasiest fast food that was nearby, Del Taco, but at first Steve was against the idea and informed me that he was on the Paleo diet, so he could not eat tortillas since they were not part of the normal caveman diet.  Desperate times called for desperate measures, and I ignored his plea for a more paleo-friendly dining area at 12am on a Thursday night.

Upon arriving at Del Taco, Steve ran into a friend from the past, and I’m sure he was pretty embarrassed to be seen by anyone familiar due to his drunken state.  After a first order of food, I asked Steve if he was okay, and almost on cue, he dropped his plastic cup of water in the ground, ice cubes spilling everywhere to basically tell me “no”.  After a second helping, Steve was finally coherent, and we called it a night.

While I’d like to think that I’m too old for these antics, it was only a couple of months ago that a friend of mine had convinced me, against my better judgment, to climb a ladder that took us to the roof of the building next to the bar.  Despite my fear of heights, I followed him up the roof, and then I was told we would be taking a less than death defying jump over to the bar.. His jump was much more graceful than mine since:

1) My friend isn’t afraid of heights and

2) He was wearing a dress that he found on the top of the other building, so he definitely won the battle of “style points.”

I didn’t exactly land on my feet and I ended up scraping up my hand, though the pain wasn’t what was on my mind. All I could think about was getting arrested, at the age of 30, because I didn’t have the common sense to bail on a plan that I didn’t even enjoy being a part of.  Even looking back, knowing their weren’t any real consequences, it does make me raise question about how often I want to frequent this bar.  Not that I look down on the patrons of the bar, I just think there have been too many strange events that have occurred in a pretty brief amount of time.  Perhaps, on the surface, Taylor, Steve and myself have committed acts that are common, and our stories are ones that every group of friends have. I can see it with Taylor and Steve,  but I can only attribute my rooftop experience with my other friend in a dress, as an experience that only happens at The Goat.

Continue reading »]]> I’ve dabbled in online dating on and off for the past few years, so it may come to the surprise of many when I admit that it wasn’t until recently that I was actually okay with the idea of being with someone from online dating.  It sounds ridiculous, I know.  Why would I waste time on these sites if I didn’t actually want to find someone?  There’s no longer a stigma attached to online dating, it’s akin to meeting someone at a club, or at a cafe.  I just couldn’t get over myself and the idea that a computer matching me up with someone would be the basis one of the most important stories of my life.  Unfortunately, now that I’ve come to peace with online dating and that it’s is a fine and exciting way to meet someone, my online dating subscription has expired.

I took my expiring subscription as a cue to take a break from being on the prowl.  So when my friend, Kevin, invited me to go to a secret warehouse concert, it seemed like the perfect reprieve. I was going to see live music with good company, and there’s nothing better than that, in my book.  Kevin, Mark and Robbie picked me up and we headed to Downtown Los Angeles to our “secret” location.  Robbie and Mark took the liberty of drinking during the car ride since Kevin was driving, as they had purchased a six pack of Sprite and a bunch of small bottles of liquor to spike said cans of Sprite. I decided that I was going to take things easy and after taking a few wrong turns, we ended up at our desired destination.  Taking a couple of wrongs turns would be the metaphor for the night.

While we were trying to show up fashionably late for the show, we actually ended up being the first ones there, so we were there to see how this awkward show/party was going to unfold.  Half the people that walked through the door were in costume, expecting a Halloween party, while the other half (our group included) were in normal everyday civilian attire.  This magnified the awkward vibe of the party, since most patrons were congregating within the groups in which they came, costumed or un-costumed, unaffected by the bad house music being played, much like a middle-school dance in the gym.   Perhaps, the only person who wasn’t affected by the divisions was Mark, who was already noticeably drunk by this point.

I happened to notice couple of cute Asian girls from across the room, but I decided to table the idea of approaching them, especially with the lack of socialization in the warehouse in general.  Finally, our featured performer hit the stage, and I was finally able to lose myself in some good music.  At this point in the night, Mark was randomly attempting to high-five people, including an attempt to get a high-five from the performer on stage, and this is when I realized that the Asian girls from earlier had actually moved across the room and were standing next to me.  When Mark tried to high-five them, I decided to use that as my ice breaker.

“I apologize for my friend.  He’s actually the probably the smartest guy here.”

“He doesn’t seem very smart.”

“He’s pretty drunk.  He started his drinking in the car.”

And so there we were, chatting it up between songs, finding a couple of things in common, and getting along.  Once the set had ended, I turned to my friends to see what our next move was, and all of a sudden, she and her friend were gone.  Admittedly, I was a little bummed that she had disappeared, but at this point in the night, I decided to cut my losses and see if my group wanted to move to a different location.  No one was especially in love with the idea of sticking around this warehouse all night, but we decided to wait around for a half hour to see if things were going to get better.  They didn’t, but somehow we had lost sight of Mark, so we needed to find him before we left.  Mark was bumming a smoke outside, and even though I had re-spotted the girls, leaving outweighed the idea of humiliating myself while trying to pull a number.

Mark was smoking and chatting it up with a guy that he had met at the show.  We told the two we were planning on leaving and that we were planning on leaving to another destination to drink.  Mark’s pal then offered us bourbon at his place.  We asked where his place was, and he pointed to the warehouse next door to the one that was hosting the party.  Skeptically, we accepted the invitation, not before Robbie could whisper to me “he can’t rape all of us…”

Our new friend was a set designer, and this explained why he lived in a warehouse.  Half of the warehouse was a workspace, the other half was a living area, and since he and his cohorts were all set designers, the living area was actually really nice.  We drank bourbon, marveled at all his set designing tools and had a much more enjoyable time chatting with him, then we did at the show.  We finally hit a point where we decided that we should head out, but he offered to take us to eat some amazing tacos.  None of us were starving, but we decided to take up the invite as a token of appreciation of his hospitality, and we headed back outside.

Before we could even head down the path to acquire some tacos, I spotted the girls outside, walking towards our general direction.  I made eye contact with the one that I talked to, and hoped that she would acknowledge my existence.  Hearing “Hi Ryan.” never sounded so comforting in my life.  What followed was not a declaration of love for me, but a comment directed at Mark, “Hey, I heard you’re really smart.”  My brilliant plan was backfiring on me.

She interrogated Mark and I chatted with her friend.  We talked about the show, where we were from, both of us waiting for the girl for different reasons.  Finally, she was done, but instead of giving me an opening to ask her for her number, she told me that she and her friend were looking for a place to go pee, since the port-a-potties all had massive lines.  I couldn’t offer up my new friend’s warehouse because his roommates were all asleep, so they started to wander into an alley to pee behind a dumpster.  To avoid looking like a creep, I didn’t follow them, but our friend, being a resident of the neighborhood, informed me that there was a homeless man that lived in that alley and that I should warn the girls.  Luckily for me, the girls were still looking for a spot to do their business but before they could begin their business, I arrived to warn them about the homeless man.  They were thankful, and they convinced me to stand guard while they giggled and let nature take its course.  As I walked them back to the warehouse, we were met by our new friend who decided to nip the whole situation in the bud.  ”Ryan thinks you’re both cute, and he’s going to stay here with you and dance while we go get some tacos.”  I didn’t want to go back to the warehouse, so I turned to the girl and asked her for her number.  She obliged and I was free to finally leave.

I tried to contact her a couple of days later and she never got back to me.  It’s probably for the best, anyways.  I’m sure she would be upset that my friends have been referring to to her as “dumpster girl” and that this story, while entirely true, does not put her in the best light, as amusing as it is.  Even though I had gotten over myself about online dating, this episode sure puts things in perspective.  How is meeting someone on a dating site all that more embarrassing than pulling the number of someone someone who just finished peeing behind a dumpster?  I’ve always preferred spontaneity, but perhaps I’ve finally found a place, personally, where spontaneity finally crosses the line.

Continue reading »]]> A couple of days after my 30th birthday, my best friend had a confession.  He hadn’t bought me a birthday gift yet.  I could’ve really piled on the guilt, especially since it was sort of a “landmark” birthday, but I was actually quite relieved.  The day after my birthday, something exciting had happened that actually made that Bruce’s procrastination a blessing in disguise.  The Minnesota Wild had agreed to terms with Zach Parise to play for their team, and as a hockey fan who grew up in Minnesota, it was a big deal, which I’ll explain in detail later.  When Bruce IM’ed me “Sorry, I didn’t buy you a present yet, is there anything you want?”, I immediately typed “ZACH PARISE JERSEYYYYY” in all caps.

Since Bruce is not much a sports fan, he needed to look up who Zach Parise was.  I expected that.  What I didn’t expect, was for him to ask me if I wanted the Zach Parise jersey from his old team, the New Jersey Devils.  At first, I thought he was being dense.   Zach Parise is a Minnesota born hockey player, I’m a Minnesota born hockey fan, and he just signed with Minnesota Wild, why would I want anything but his Minnesota jersey?. But then I realized that Zach Parise’s Minnesota Wild jersey wasn’t available online yet, and the availability was what was confusing Bruce, not the Minnesota affiliation.

Coincidentally, Bruce was actually in Minnesota at the time visiting his family, so the fact that he hadn’t heard about the signing is actually quite an accomplishment.  Not only was the Parise signing front page news of the sports section, but it was probably on the front page of the paper, the lead story on the nightly news, the biggest story in the state, period.  Minnesotans are rabid about their love of hockey, and even more rabid when it comes to local born players that have become stars in the pros.  While I’m not as extreme as some of the fans when it comes to this fascnation, I definitely relate to a certain degree.  Zach Parise is coming home, and I immediately needed to buy his jersey.

Being the generous friend that he is, Bruce bought me my Zach Parise jersey.  There was some difficulty in the ordering process, so it took a few weeks longer than we expected.  I was getting anxious.  I was worried that the jersey wasn’t going to show up before the start of the season.  LIttle did I know that the season wasn’t going to start on time because of a labor dispute, so the urgency of receiving the jersey ended up being moot.

The last time I bought a hockey jersey was back in 2004, the first time that I visited Minnesota since moving to California.  I visited Bruce’s family and on the last day I was there, I bought a Minnesota Wild jersey.  I had been contemplating getting a Minnesota sports jersey during my entire trip, but with a little bit of advice from Bruce, I ended up with a hockey jersey.  ”What’s more Minnesotan than a hockey jersey?” he pointed out.  When it came to selecting the jersey of the player, I didn’t go with any of the stars or any up and coming prospects, I went with a role player named Richard Park.  He wasn’t a flashy player, but he was Korean, and while I’m not exactly Mr. Korean Pride, Bruce also pointed out that I could wear his jersey long after he leaves the team since Park and Pak are the same last name in Korean and that I could “rep Minnesota on the front [of the jersey] and Korea on the back.”

After I arrived back in California, a friend asked me why I would accept a custom jersey that had my name misspelled on the back.  After I explained to him that the Minnesota Wild actually had a Korean hockey player with the last name Park, he didn’t believe me.  Actually, very few people made the connection but I didn’t care.  I was repping my team and where I was from, but after 8 years and the introduction of an alternate jersey, it was time for a change.

So while I cross my fingers that the 2012-2013 season won’t be canceled, I wait to don my Zach Parise jersey to show my Minnesota pride and my support for my team.  Of course I could wear the jersey without there being a season, but I’d like to start wearing my jersey at a relevant time.  While the labor dispute has definitely left a bad taste in my mouth, I know that when hockey is finally here, I’ll be as excited as I was when my jersey arrived in the mail.  Bruce may not love sports, but he knows how big of a deal it is for me to get a new jersey, and now he definitely knows it’s a big deal, especially since he was part of the whole crazy process both times.