Ok… so I’m over here at the Yale campus for my sister’s graduation today. Last year around this time, my mom tried making reservations at the hotels around here, and everyone was booked full. The alternative? Yale opens up their dorms to visiting parents during commencement week, and we’re staying in the Residential College (dorm) Berkeley (Cool huh?) So anyway, moral of story, me, my mom, and my dad are staying in a dorm.
So the showers are in communal use bathrooms. They have no hooks or shelves in the showers so I pretty much run in draped in a towel and run out after the shower. Now here’s the problem, the towels they provided us… are… small.. when I wrap them around myself, they barely cover everything and usually there’s a slit of skin that’s visible. I look like a topless pale unsexy Chun Li… hahah now take that mental image and smoke it.
My parents were helping my sister pack at her dorm a few blocks away and I ran back to our room to take a quick shower. I ran into the shower and thought I left the door open to my room. *My costume had very little room for keys* Problem was after the shower… I had not left the door open. So I ran back into the shower and stood there panicking a little bit. I figured I could 1) wait for my parents… who might notice that I’d been gone after 2-3 hours, 2) walk to the other dorm in nothing but an undersized towel and shower sandals, or 3) break into my room. I went with option 3.
I exited and looked at the lock. It looked like a type I could pick… If I only had a knife, or a flat piece of metal, or a wire.
But I was half naked with nothing but an undersized towel. No phone to call my parents, who were still helping my sister pack. So I looked around the bathroom looking for something to pick the lock. There I saw it, a small metal tube connected to some sort of cylinder. I didn’t know what it was, but I stressed the tubing. The problem was, it took two hands to stress the tubing, and one hand to keep the towel on. That makes me *counts in head* short 1 hand. This was a communal use toilet, so I dropped my toil hand and stressed that tube like crazy.
It broke and started squirting out something that smelled that Ethyl Acetate… I hope it was because that’s not too toxic. I used that tube to slip behind the lock and pull it and broke back into my room. That was what I did tonight at Yale.
Is it possible for me to be romantically infatuated with a piece of concrete and steel suspended 50 ft above the ground? Yea… I think so.
Not driving her was killing me. Her slight bends, the gentle slope of her incline. God… she looked good, especially when I drove 80 through the plaza and hit her hard. She looked amazing in the bright daylight… but even hotter at night with the bounce of the pale fluorescence off her blacktop.
Not driving on her was like missing a part of myself. I felt empty, cold, sad… and angry. And it wasn’t just for the horrible traffic and the doubled commute time she had left me with. Well, actually it was exactly because of that. The bitch.
I left the city around 8:37PM after a brief rendezvous with the 280Northbound. She was a good looking piece of road, but she couldn’t compare. She lacked the personality… and the passion. I cut my date with the 280 short and decided to head home only to be barred by the evil bitch goddess known as the “Approach to the Lower Deck of the Bay Bridge.”
“WHORE! LET ME ON!” I screamed from the inside of my silver Honda Accord. She didn’t respond. She didn’t even acknowledge me. “HEY BITCH! I’m talking to you!! WHAT THE HELL IS GOING ON!” Again no response. Some people are just so rude. So I sat there and waited her out. I slowly inched, closer and closer, hoping she would look the other way.
Finally after 40 minutes, during an uncharacteristic moment of inattention, I was able to slip past her and move onto the Bay Bridge. At that point I flipped on the radio to see what was going on and why it was taking so long to get home. When I heard it…
Hi folks, I’m sorry you’re stuck in traffic, but it’s due to the reopening of the 80-580 connector this evening…
“WHAT!?” I thought to myself, “Can this be true? Is she back?” My heart raced, my pulse thumped loudly in my ears. I can’t believe it… after she had left me and melted away with the 80-880S connector. Could I still trust her?
“Let’s take it slow…” I said to myself, “Aww fuck it, let’s go fast.” I started weaving in between the lanes of traffic gaining ground. As the traffic thinned near Treasure Island, I was dizzy with anticipation.
But was she safe? I knew she had always been structurally unsound… in her head. But it didn’t matter I knew my role. I knew that she would never drive on me like I drive on her. But it didn’t matter, I had to see her. I had to drive on her. I had to touch her gentle bends and curves… with my tires.
As I got off the bridge I saw her. Damn.. she looked good. She was wearing that green Downtown Oakland sign she always looked so amazing in. I watched her as the night lights bounced off her supple concrete supports… Was it safe… it didn’t matter… I wanted to drive her… NOW! I couldn’t wait any longer. As I neared her I saw that she had some work done. I’m a superficial man, and to be honest, it made her look better anyway. She was nice and smooth. I drove on her left bend, and then her gentle right bend. I moved my car up and down her steady incline. It felt so intense, so incredible.
And almost as quickly as it began, it was over. I felt fulfilled, and it had been worth it. I zipped close my moon roof and headed back home happily humming to myself. I cranked the radio up a little, relaxed myself into the drivers seat, and stepped on the gas…
Berkeley’s been pretty chaotic this weekend since it’s that time of the year again. Time for the monkeys to form small bands, learn to cooperate and stand on each others’ monkey shoulders to reach the banana on the top shelf. That’s right, it’s “moving time”.
Now anyone who’s been in Berkeley during “moving time,” knows the “Moving time” is punctuated by monkeys carrying boxes containing their precious worldly possessions (a blender) to their new homes. Also a common site are monkeys wheeling grey carts stacked periously to top with random crap that monkeys are attracted (shiny things) to. In addition, monkeys in Berkeley have learnt cooperate and work together to navigate the treacherous terrain. Since Berkeley is so hilly, the monkeys must work together to push and pull these grey carts (usually in groups of 2) to reach their goal.
My little sister who sent me this. Thought you folks would find it horrifying and funny all at the same time. Who says evolution isn’t still working? Like they say in the pharma industry, “Kill young, kill often.” haha who says pharma is evil?
Two of my buddies were hanging out in Bend tonight and just called me. One of them was a drummer in our punk band back in highschool. The other was one of our buddies who used to hang out with us during band practices. One became a grad student in Environmental Science. The other is moving to Thailand to teach english as a foreign language.
It was really good to hear from them. They mentioned they were hanging out in the park near Wall St… It was strange to hear that because I haven’t been back to Bend in 3 years. I haven’t seen home in 3 years…
Why don’t I go home? I’ve been gone so long, and to be quite honest with you, it’s because I’m a coward. I have this image of Bend in my mind that is frozen at around August of 1999. The Old Mill District wasn’t a set of shops consisting of such fine stores as Victoria Secret and Gap. The Old Mill District, was a large red old mill with chipped paint and broken windows, empty and abandoned since it shut down back in the 70’s.
The parkway, wasn’t a parkway in 1999. The Parkway was a plan, or a set of plans, some of which would’ve led a bypass right by my house. Haha! My neighborhood fought those plans until they came up with the current parkway/overpass setup that snakes through and over the city.
China Hat and Knott Rd. That intersection wasn’t one when I was growing up. It was a dead-end at China Hat. They then extended it into a 2 way stop that I passed everyday on the way home. Now there’s a flashing yellow light to make sure people watch out for cars pulling out on the fast Knott Rd. traffic. They put it in after there were a bunch of accidents there. I say “Now”, but that was 3 years ago. For all I know, there’s a round-a-bout there now. *waves fist* I hate those filthy european round-a-bouts.
There’s been new elementary school’s built, a new highschool, I even heard there’s a Best Buy in Bend now. What the hell? Best Buy? My Bend, Oregon would never have a convenience like a Best Buy. In Bend of 1999, there weren’t Blockbuster Videos all over town. No, there were Pacific Videos, which later sold out and became Blockbusters. Damn corporations…
I don’t think I’d recognize Bend in 2007. I don’t know that I would want to see Bend of 2007.
It might damage the beautiful picture in my head of my last summer in Bend. The summer of 1999, before I came to California. Where we set up a WWII memorial made out of Parking cones in Mattie’s Grandparents house when she was housesitting. Where we used to cone off the intersection to Erin’s house, which Erin’s parents thought was hilarious. When we used to spend night’s on Heather’s porch on the swing. When we used to cruise the streets chasing police with the police scanner. When gas was only $0.92 a gallon. Dropping in on Jeff’s family all the time at random spookin’ his mom. Working at the Ranch Record’s before it moved to Wall St. Walking through Munchin’ Music in Drake Park. Listening to punk rock with the radio up and the windows down. Being happy, and carefree, without worries.
California has never felt like home…
But, I’m not sure Bend will anymore either… I don’t think it exists anymore…
Adam “Pacman” Jones is a talented football player who used to play for West Virginia University. He was a pretty amazing kick returner and used to score regularly off of kick returns. He was drafted by the Titans back in 2005 and has since had a problem with extracurriculars off the field.
Anyway one of my buddy’s last name is Thakar, so I started calling him Thakman Jones. It was a funny and acceptable nickname until Mr. Pacman Jones got involved with a altercation at a strip club in Las Vegas. He assaulted a stripper, hit a bouncer with a champagne bottle, and then one of his entourage opened fire at the strip club hitting a bouncer, a female customer, and leaving another security guard paralyzed from the waist down. (source)
Apparently he was at the club with Nelly and Jermaine Dupri, ballin’ out and threw around $81,000 in small bills. Pacman was trying to “Makin’ It Rain.” (source)
Haynes had tossed hundreds of $1 bills on the stripper stage, an action known in street slang as “making it rain,” and Jones joined in. An announcer told all the dancers to go to the center stage, and about 40 strippers soon were on the stage. Mitchell told the strippers from his Houston club to pick up the money, which apparently was only supposed to be used for visual effect, the warrant stated. One of the dancers than took the trash bag filled with Jones’ money and a “melee broke out.
After this incident Dr. Thakman Jones thought that maybe we should put the nickname to rest. Well, if anything I like the Thakman Jones nickname even more. There’s nothing more bad ass than throwing $81,000 in small bills with Jermaine Dupri… NOTHING is.
And look.. in the end he just wanted to “Make it rain”
My closing argument… Look Thakman, I make it rain on them hos
Being part of Family Tsang has it’s perks.. and by perks.. I mean my family’s pretty funny.
Today was my birthday, here’s the email I got from my dad today:
Er-Tze (Son):
Did you call mom to thank her for giving birth to you on this day 26 years
ago? Americans think about kids having cakes. Nai Nai (grandmother) always reminded me my birthday is the day she suffered greatly.
