Tags

Just an editorial comment here: I finally began tagging my posts. I had thought about tags ever since starting this blog, but just never got around to it. Well, three years later, voilà, the three most common themes in my writing:

Roots: People and experiences from my past, shaping who I am today.
Wings: Experiences of today, including travels and my work in aerospace.
And, of course, Turds: I don't feel an explanation is necessary, but perhaps instead an observation that this blog needs more turds.  I'll get right on that.

Exhibit A, from the beloved site Engrish.com:

http://www.engrish.com/2009/09/browntooth-enabled/

And Exhibit B, also from Engrish.com:

http://www.engrish.com/2009/09/proper-directional-discharge-appreciated-here/

Spray hose!

Folks, I am dying here, and I can only hope that -- realistically, only a handful of -- you are as amused as I am.

Fast Food and Physical Fitness

This post is not nearly as intellectual or poetic as the title may suggest.

By the second day after having met my buddy John at our church in grad school, I and everyone else were already hearing the wonders of this new movie, "Super Size Me."  Today, some five and a half years later, I finally watched it.  The movie is basically a documentary by and about Morgan Spurlock, a man who went on a monthlong diet of all McDonalds, all the time.  And though the detrimental effect on his health was not all that surprising, it was still disturbing.  I used to permit myself a visit to the fast food counter any time I was waiting in an airport during a meal time, as though it were some kind of a treat.  Now, realizing how frequently that occurs, and then imagining those anti-fungal French fries coursing their way through my system, perhaps I should reconsider.  (Oh, but those delicious hash browns!  Follow the link if you want to read one of the best blog posts I've come across, from a random Google search to make sure I spelled "hash browns" right.)

One other tidbit I picked up from the movie: Apparently I grew up in the only state in this country that required physical education is grades K-12.  Who knew?  And all along I thought everyone in the U.S. was subject to mandatory fitness testing, heartrate monitors, and some awfully hypocritical PE teachers (of which one in particular comes to mind, whom we affectionately called Big Al).  I don't mean to complain.  In fact, I am grateful for the grade school days of crab-walking relays and kickball tournaments, middle school choreographed renditions of Tootsie Roll (the one scarring memory I couldn't completely block out), and high school games of floor hockey, ultimate frisbee, and the annual 5K run.  Most of all, I am grateful for the overbearing sense of guilt I feel for not running as regularly (or compulsively) as I used to.

I dare say those were some fun days.

Look, Ma!

Rarely do I cook something and then hesitate to eat it, because I'm mostly proficient in the kitchen, and I generally love to eat. But, crap, that was some terrible oatmeal.

Aside from smoothies, I think I just suck at making sweet things. Desserts are especially foreign to me. If I stick to making savory soups and stir-fries, I'll be fine. And if a high-sodium diet should lead to hypertension later in life, I'll at least console myself with the fact that it's not diabetes.

On that pleasant note, here's to avoiding hypertension, diabetes, and obesity in 2010!

Tokyo

Now in Tokyo. Still haven't come down with whatever disease is plaguing my sister, but am probably nursing a few million germs by now. Incubation will likely finish right around the time I board my flight home. I can already imagine the other passengers rolling their eyes at me in disgust. I will laugh if I contract swine flu...and then I will cough a little from laughing so hard. It would just be too ironic.

Asahi was pleasant, but Tokyo is much more English-friendly, and the subway system makes me happy. Meanwhile, a childhood friend of my mom hooked us up with a condo, internet access, spare cell phone, copious antibiotics, and her personal translation/navigation services, which makes this portion of our trip a whole lot easier. She simply rocks, as does my mom for having such great friends.

I'll wrap up with some thoughts from the past few days...

Apologies and pardons.
What would seem like profuse and unnecessary self-deprecation back in the States is nothing short of a national pastime here. I could get used to this!

Playing Japanese tourist.
Super fun in Japan, as there is no shame in whipping out the camera anywhere and everywhere.

Export/import industry.
Renders souvenir shopping almost pointless, as there are precious few things one couldn't just buy at Uwajimaya back in Seattle. My friends at home wouldn't know where their gifts came from. Either sad or awesome, can't decide.

"Vacation" with the family.
A bit of an oxymoron, it would seem.

Blue screen of death.
Even scarier in Japanese. Can now relate with the parents and their experiences with technology.

Japanese toilet paper.
More prone to tear longitudinally than across the transverse perforation. Whatever. Will wipe with streamers if necessary. Which brings us to my final thought...

Bidets.
Oh, wow. o_O

For those of you who happen to be cursed gifted with a visually-prone imagination like I, you are welcome.

Pollen, Pathogens, and Flatulence

I've been a ball of snot for the past couple weeks. Besides the events surrounding my last post, this may be due to the pollen in Seattle. I'm not surprised, because I do have a history of allergies to a variety of airborne plant sperm.

On the other hand, I could just be sick from all my recent travels. I know from my college days that I have an immune system about as effective as that of an agar-filled petri dish. So what's the deal? Is my immune system hyperactive or retarded?

No, I'm not done ranting.

Besides my water faucet nose, I also have a water slide throat. One that feels as though some kid slid down it in a sandpaper raft. Ahem. (Ouch.)

I do look forward to the end of this. My octave-lower-than-usual speaking voice was fun for maybe the first hour at work today, but it quickly got old. Plus, I'm flying down to Stanford this Wednesday, so I assume my fellow passengers would appreciate it if I weren't coughing up a storm. That's like the third most annoying thing on a flight, right up there with screaming babies and silent-but-deadly gas-passers.

Speaking of all this, my like-minded roommate shared this image with me last night:

It's an Airbus A340-600 and the ill-placed attack on their competitor is supposed to read:
"Longer. Larger. Farther. Faster. Higher. Quieter. Smoother."

Now, thanks to the careless - or hilariously intentional - placement of the text, all hope of credibility is lost. Gone up in a puff of flatulent smoke, as my friend Jeff Russell would put it.

Awesome.

In other news, I turned 24 on Saturday. My maturity level apparently didn't get that memo.

New Friends, Part 2

A while back, I promised that I would introduce to you more of the new friends I've made in the Seattle area. And then you heard no mention of them for two months. Really, I can make friends. Look!

This is Sarah, the friend who left her three dachsunds at my place once upon a time:

Mmm, dachsund hot dog...

Sarah hails from Texas, and has spent time in St. Louis for college (woohoo, Class of 2004) and in SoCal for a previous job. After we met at work up here, she convinced me to join her in the Happy Hour class at the company gym. And, sure, it was a fun way to do cardio...until she ditched me. Now it's like the step aerobics from hell. (Okay, I exaggerate, but an imaginary gold star to whoever can identify the reference without Googling.)

Sarah has since redeemed her truant ways by hosting the occasional game night at her place. And our game nights are fun, even when I'm busy accruing idiot points in games like Continental. At our next game night we'll be playing Cranium. All I can say is, I am going to blind-sketch my team to victory, while Sarah and her team can die on all the spelling challenges. :P

One last random fact: Sarah's fiance Carlos and I share a common bond in our immature love of butt humor. Sarah really doesn't know what she's getting herself into...

I am reminded of one of my favorite internet comic strips, Cyanide & Happiness:

And suddenly my blog is rated PG-13.

Fo' Pizzle My Nizzle

Yesterday I went to the 99 Ranch Market to buy Chinese groceries. It's always quite the experience being spoken at in more dialects/languages than I knew existed...and later learning some of that colorful vocabulary from the arguments that break out in the check out lanes.

Still more interesting, however, are all the findings in the store. It is a veritable museum of plant and animal species. Imagine pomelos bigger than my head (think grapefruit on steroids), durian fruit on sale (the experience of rotting garbage in your mouth - yum!), and types of meat you wish you never saw.

Oh yes, the "meat."

Yesterday at the meat department I caught sight of a single package tucked away in a corner labeled "Beef Pizzle." What is this beef pizzle?, my curious mind inquired. The fact that it was left by itself, untouched, should have been my first clue not to go pick it up. Through the cellophane, I could see it resembled sausage, but chopped into segments. And each cross-section revealed fully intact muscle tissue (i.e., not processed meat product), suggesting this was definitely not the typical sausage...at least not in the literal, culinary sense.

Ahem.

I had my suspicions confirmed when I Googled it today. And then I wanted to barf. Suddenly, eating fish heads, duck heart, and chicken feet seemed like child's play.

If you're still not sure what I'm talking about, Google it, and enjoy the experience of upchuck in your own mouth. Here's my favorite search result: Dog chews. "No two bulls are created equal, so girth of pizzle sticks may vary."

Ugh, do my people deem anything beyond the limits of consumption?

Dairy Air

I realize it's already been a while since my last post. I've had numerous random thoughts recently that would've been blog-worthy, but I just never got around to posting them. Thoughts like, I can always tell when my mom goes through cleaning her e-mail inbox, because I get to read all her many, many forwards. I swear, the woman is trigger happy when it comes to that blasted Forward button. Thoughts like, My knees and butt really did not appreciate my most recent snowboarding trip... Especially when I got dragged up that black diamond. Thoughts like, I really miss all the people that I left behind in the Bay Area...but I'm feeling more and more at home in this new place, with new friends, a new church, and new hobbies.

Wow, I could get deep with that last thought. But not this time.

Instead, I'm sharing with you all a gem of a Facebook note that I wrote while at home with the family for Christmas a couple months ago. The note was going to show up here sooner or later, to prove to you my love for immature humor. Anyway, back to the original subject:

Dairy Air

So, I'm home for the holidays. "Home" is a funny term because I didn't exactly grow up here, and, in fact, I have few friends in the quaint township of Elk Grove Village...few in the greater Chicagoland area, in general. So, unless a random friend (Michael Lin) or collegiate a cappella group (Testimony A Cappella) chooses to visit the area, I all too frequently find myself taking advantage of the free DVD rentals at our local library to pass the time and catch up with pop culture.

Over the past few days, I have watched:
War of the Worlds (not bad)
The Royal Tenenbaums (I give up on Wes Anderson...)
The Hitchhiker's Guide to the Galaxy (AWESOME)
Shaun of the Dead (I love horror comedies about "the mobile deceased")
Lady in the Water (Daniel, Mickey, Michael - I'm so sorry.)

Just remember these were all free rentals.

And now my latest: Red Eye

Ah, "Red Eye." It's a thriller, and it's set on an airplane. My kind of movie! Now, if one were to think I am therefore, by default, excited to see "Snakes on a Plane," one would be very wrong. Maybe "Spiders on a Plane." Oh, but wait, they already did that in 1977. It was called "Tarantulas: The Deadly Cargo"...and I know this, sadly, because I've already seen it.

Anyway, in "Red Eye," the fictitious airline on which our main character flies is called Fresh Air. Ha! My sister and I couldn't stop laughing every time they announced the airline's name. Wes Craven sure has a sense of humor. And it got me thinking...If I were to name an airline, of course I'd have some fun with it.

Years ago, when United Airlines launched their low-cost subsidiary, Ted, I thought it was a genius branding move. And then I joked with friends about what American Airlines might do in response. They would have no choice but to launch their own no-frills subsidiary, Can. Just imagine the slogan: "Come fly the Can."

Tonight, Fresh Air got me thinking again... If I were to start a new Midwestern regional airline, I would have no finer name for it than Dairy Air.

"It's time to fly...Dairy Air."
"Come fly the friendly Dairy Air."
"Something special in the Dairy Air."
"Dairy Air. A whole different animal."
"Dairy Air. Wanna get away?"
"Dairy Air. The winds of freedom blow."
"Welcome to the departure lounge for Dairy Air flight 455. We will now begin boarding from the rear."

Oh, the possibilities are endless... In fact, here are some more.

As suggested by Danny:
"Dairy Air. More room inside."
"To access your account, just click on 'My Dairy Air.'"

And from Mickey:
"Dairy Air. We're gonna blow you away."

I'm open to more brilliant suggestions if you want to share them. If I were to launch this airline with your slogan, I'd gladly send you an honorary Turd Bird or something. It would be awesome.