Happy Halloweener

Well, another year in the books. Plus, a few more million brain cells killed due to binge drinking and the bar continues to be raised by my friends with their costume creativity. Even though it's not till Wednesday, the celebrating for Halloween was done on Sat. night in Wantagh.
Pee Wee Herman, the Flintstones, a blow-up doll and pretty much anything else that involves showing skin for women and showing no dignity for guys was worn. But I would like to thank Kim and Keefer who hosted it and everyone else who added to the debauchery. See for yourself...

Use a #2 on the sides and blend it as you go up...

Sometimes a compliment or random act of kindness can turn around a piss-poor day. Even just treating yourself to a favorite meal or reading in the park during an hour-long lunch can turn anyone's attitude and highlight the week. For me, I love getting a haircut. Yes, the clippers and scissors to the scalp, followed by a nice rinse create a rebirth that I'm kept, sharp and finally presentable for the first time in weeks. Seriously, nothing puts a smile on my face like a well-orchestrated trimming.
However, the polar opposite can have the same identical backlash, as someone who butchers my head will make me feel like the Hunchback of Notre Dame; squatting and shying away from anyone who dares to look at me. Not only does the burden of ugly grooming curdle my day, but also the fact that 20 bucks (always $17 plus tip) was spent to someone that didn't care to if my head looked like Kid or Play.


Anyways, in recent months, I'd been disappointed time and time again as each haircut (all purchased at Supercuts) continually grew worse. I stuck with one lady most of the last year, and then I bounced from one after another until my last Supercut resulted in me coming home and FINISHING THE HAIRCUT MYSELF.
So, this past Tuesday, I took it upon myself to find someone without a trademarked sign and some steady-handed clippers who qualified to operate on my flowing black locks. "Nicks Barber Shop." I was approached by a dark-haired, well-aged woman who screamed of spanish features and she took me right away. Sat me down, asked for my instructions and proceeded to break the ice with me and my overgrown hair.
Fast forward 50 minutes later, and with 20+years of experience behind her guided hand, she got every last short hair and edged every side of my fauxhawk. Mint. I was really impressed. The she put a headrest on the retro-adjustable barber's chair and told me to lay back. I didn't argue because she already won my trust with the haircut. She then sprinkled some cologne-esque liquid on my profile and proceeded to massage my forehead and cheeks. Obviously, I'm nearly unconscious at this point because of the royal treatment. Just when I was about to prop my posture and get ready to leave... she whipped a hot towel from the sink basin and wrapped it on my face for two minutes, that could have fooled me for 2 hours.

"How does that feel?"

"Um... amazing. Best haircut ever."

How much would something like this cost, in all the places like Long Island, and how many mortgages do I have to sign to begin payment?

"16$."

For the best haircut I've ever had?... keep the $20. I'm having a good day.

Have a nice trip, See ya next fall.

Finally. I think it's almost safe to pull the covers from over my head and peer out. The leaves are starting to change, the air has that crisp bite to it, and baseball playoffs are here. Oh yes, Virginia. It's definitely Fall.

Big deal your probably saying, because everyone waves at the smokescreen that is the current season, knowing that the brick wall known as Winter is waiting in the background, post-Thanksgiving.

For me, I had a very cool, calm, collective weekend and really enjoyed just how friendly the weather was. I am one of the minority that really gets tired of summer because of the intense humidity, served with a healthy portion of unnecessary perspiration. Also, there's just a decadence of food that comes with the Fall... a majority of it apple and pumpkin based.

I know this entry sounds pointless and mundane, but I think people just get busy with preparing for the upcoming holidays (e.g. Halloween, Thanksgiving, Christmas) as Fall gets swept under the rug and takes a brunt of the grumbling that we dish out for using our oil heat or scraping frost off the car windshield.

Do yourself a favor and do something you haven't done in years or maybe never, like go apple picking. Or make a day to the pumpkin patch. Even rake some leaves and/or if your outside city limits, have a late-night campfire that people can hang out at. If you really wanna get specific, go look into the local haunted house/scarefest and grab a group of friends who especially have nothing to do. Sadly, I know I won't be able to do all these things because of my work schedule and new home in Long Island. But as long as someone else is taking my place and enjoying the weather, then I'm happy.

Sorry guys, I know this blog doesn't have much substance, but I was thinking how nice it would be to do these things this weekend. Guess having a blog and free time isn't always the greatest combo...

End of my rope...

Before you read today's post, you should probably get caught up to speed if your life consists of being under a boulder in the middle of some desert... you know, the one where a half a human skull sticks out of the sand and a buzzard is perched on it.

As I was checking my e-mail this morning, I saw the unfortunate headline of a Columbia University professor who's door was home to a noose that was anonymously placed there. The broad focus is that people can't believe in such a diverse place like Manhattan, or the upper west end for that matter, being home to a racist hate crime.

Jog back a number of weeks to another headline that you should have at least gandered at. The Jena Six court trial, that made nooses back in fashion, has fueled a new term of endearment to the Ivy League happening. "Jena at Columbia." Of course, the usual recoil of student protests, instant e-mails regarding the situation and vague answers from the school president and faculty followed. Even a friend of mine who attends the college said it was pretty awful how the campus felt today. Like a cat stroked against the fur. Irritated, coarse, unsettling.

I guess my POV comes in that it's a damn shame it happened. But it's also a shame that people feel like they're outraged by such a thing. In the realm that people want to know if it was a fellow professor... a grad assistant... a random freshman... even the night janitor, I doubt they will ever find out. Even the other events that have reared their ugly head this year on the school's campus, showed that hate and division are not parked on the other side of Morningside Park.

Whoever the culprit is, obviously has an opinion that was meant to be heard nationwide. But that person also is a pure coward, through and through. A mousey, slithering imp that wanted to let a piece of rope speak instead of personally calling the professor a "nigger" to her face. I'm not antagonizing that people should use that kind of slur, but whenever you heard of burning crosses left in yards, or tagged/spray painted buildings that no one would take ownership to it, it's a display of the utmost cowardice.

So, pray tell, what is the answer? I personally don't know if there is a real answer. I mean, you can propose cameras in all the halls... rooms... offices... dorms... maybe increase police patroling? All those things sound like one more step towards becoming cell block D at 'singsing. So, when the dust settles, who wins in the end? People who were made aware of the mayhem at Columbia and want to prevent any future hate crimes? Maybe someone read into the Jena Six case as a result of hearing the Columbia nickname and they want to help below the Mason/Dixon? Or is there a person out there that can cut out the headlines and smile when they're on the subway, or even pass by you on a stroll through Central Park with a friendly gesture because they stirred up a campus, city and country for a hot second without even saying a single word.

Since I don't think there's a 100%, fill-in-the-blank answer to the situation, I propose that we all just keep trying to be nice to each other and use our mouths to voice how wrong something like this is. The more we talk about it and keep it as common knowledge, the more that infects people into knowing and believing it.

The irony lies in that Columbia's mascot is the Lions. A courageous, vocal, proud animal that stakes it's claim and rules until the day it dies. The speechless mouse can have his fun for now...

Isn't it time for Arby's?

"Can I help you?"

"Yeahhh... uh... Number four please. Make it big. You know... bigger."

"Is that all?"

"Yeah."

"For here or to go?"

"For here please."

"Your total is $7.03"

(Money exchanged, cue the intermission while my tray is being stacked with napkins, arby sauce, an oil tanker of carbination with corn syrup and what looks like a half gallon of milk, but there's no top and curly fries are crawling out of it.)

"Anything else sir?"

"No, I'm good."

"Have a good night sir."

"Thanks."

Another senseless, unthoughtful dinner in the books. Welcome to my Tuesday night. Please pull up to the second window...

Don't they all eat cats?

Well, I've finally lost my last strand of patience with myspace and it's spam-filled cyber-annoyance that fills my inbox and really keeps me from wanting to write in the blog often. So, to take matters into my own hands, I took on the alias "Bloggish McBloggerson" and am going to start reporting for duty here.

Now to the meat of the meal. I will start this post with some real shit. I mean, tangible, real-world, cross-culture shit. The fabric that really makes Oprah's shot successful day-in-day-out. Starting with FINALLY having a parent/blood relative visit me in Long Island this past weekend. My mom and stepdad, Tom, made the dissent downstate to deliver some long-distance love, groceries and to partake in the annual Korean-American Parade Day in Manhattan on Saturday. For the 27th time, thousands of Koreans and non-Koreans gathered for food, entertainment, and unexpectedly hot weather.

But somewhere in the first 15-20 min. of the parade, my family and I lined 32nd and Broadway with all the spectators. I looked down at my mom who was covering her mouth and turning away from parade, as if she had a nosebleed. However, she was actually crying and for a few moments, she realized this slice of Korea that was transplanted in mid-town NYC was too close to the real deal. The people, the camaraderie, the urban closure and business-as-usual attitude of everyone there but with only Korean spoken drove my mom to tears. As the parade marched on for an hour and a half, everyone from R.O.K (Republic of Korea) veterans of foreign wars, local high schools/academies, even the Korean members of the NYPD were all equally represented because they belonged. There was no standard to age, as seniors walked the 20 block distance, often proudly strutting hand-in-hand with toddlers and children who only knew to wave back to the crowds. And the drums? Oh, the traditional attire and dancing that came with one drum corps after another... it was almost too much stimulation. Just the colors and movements that made people clap insatiably, waiving their paper American and Korean flags. I finally realized something that I might have pushed into my mental subconscious closet for 28 long years; packed away because I never thought it was a part of my life or identity.

Being Korean means a lot. In New York, even more.

For as long as I can recall, I've always made jokes about being half Korean, half white (And yes, in my world, you can use the term white without stepping on toes). Whether its cause it makes for an easy ice breaker with strangers in a party or people see the contrast in my height with a shorter asian race, I really wanted nothing more in my life than to be as un-Korean as possible. Just like any other ethnicity, there is unkind stereotypes that always came with being Asian-American:

"Don't they all eat cats? Or they all know kung-fu? Why do they all work in nail salons and of course, all the women love sucky-sucky. I know all those guys have small dicks... or you can say whatever you want to them cause they don't fight back. They're all pussies."

I realize that stereotypes are often rumors and misnomers that are created because of ignorance. But the whole point of this blog entry lies in what I saw this past weekend and how there wasn't any division among people within a culture, but even more so, the backbone of BEING a Korean-American lies in celebration, pride, respect and how you have the best of both worlds. I have been neglecting a very huge part of who I am for so long because I thought it only came with baggage that I didn't want. But being a second-generation Korean-American bears so much more history and depth than the U.S. can even begin to offer.

I'm referring to thousands of years of culture, folklore, food, traditions, holidays and respect. There is such a high standard that comes with being a Korean-American, and it's always seen when you cross someone who is also the same. I also believe that in the Korean way of life, just as things are here in the U.S., the pace of society and how one generation's norms and status quos change the next at such a rapid rate these days makes for an impromptu understanding of something "old school" and "new school." But when I was hugged by a elderly man and his wife during the parade this weekend and he said it in the poorest annunciation, "I love you, I love you. Korea! Korea!" he knew that what we were a part of is what allows us to embrace as strangers, but still be bound by a common bond of sharing Korean tradition in this wonderful American country.

To wrap it up, I don't want people to think that I'm going to start eating my morning cereal with chopsticks or wearing traditional gowns instead of polo shirts. You won't even find me standing on a soapbox, preaching about how awesome Hyundai cars are. But I felt ashamed on 32nd Street at that decisive moment, that I host myself to jokes and VALIDATE that each one will someday lead me to a perfect world where I won't be judged on my straight black hair and narrow eyes because being Korean isn't serious. Instead, I'll still keep my sense of humor, but personally I want to learn more about how I got to be who I am. When I meet/greet other Koreans, i want to be able to speak to them just as well as any other person can in English or try to someday see South Korea for myself so I can see what made my mom want to leave 30 years ago, but also, what makes her cry when she's reminded of it.



Kings used to roll in this kind of entourage.



R.O.K. Veterans who served in foreign wars.



Traditional musicians marching down Broadway.