Will Smith is America, and so can I

A few days ago was the great annual celebration.  There were some leftover burger patties after I had finished my first burger, so naturally, I helped myself to them.  As I was stuffing my face with potato salad, fries, and my second 1-pounder burger on the dining room table, the other Bay Area representative Becca commented,

“Wow Simon, you eat a lot!”

“Get over it.”  I replied.

This past weekend two guys from Palmerston North, Kevin and Craig Joncas, came over in their peach Corolla station wagon.  Other oddballs include Nicole from Socal, who not only bought a pair of Kanye glasses but wears them on a daily basis.  Psycho.  She has a friend from Johns Hopkins named Justine, and I was surprised that she didn’t know the famous Byron Tang.  Byron, you need to put some more pictures of yourself around campus.

Sunday, I played my first real game of basketball since school ended…  Luckily Kevin is not a kiwi and therefore actually knows how to dribble a ball.  Craigslist just watched.  Anyway, a huge weekend is coming up soon, so I have been spending loads of time taking care of the logistics of said trip.

Simon Delivers a Food Baby

     Last night, another chapter was written in the book of my history.  It all began with a friendly last dinner with Mark, the German intern who was getting ready to leave today and needed to spend his final night in New Zealand.  At 3 inches taller than I am and a foot wider, Mark decided to eat at the local Lone Star restaurant, famous for its legendary sized portions (it’s an American brand). 

     At 7 pm, the crew assembled at the innocuous looking restaurant, sitting for half an hour waiting for our meals to come and conversing about the two Germans Isabella and Caroline’s fun but stupid idea to go rafting at the beginning of winter.  When the food finally came, I saw that the women got miniscule half-sized portions, and Mark got the haystack of ribs.  Meanwhile, I noticed that both I and Monica’s 6 foot 9 boyfriend Dave got “The Burrito”, which I prefer to call “The Log”.  Along with too many potatoes and a Shaquille O’Neal handful of cole slaw, “The Log” was quite a spectacle, sitting at 9 inches above the table.  At that moment my eyes and Dave’s met menacingly, a classic David v. Goliath, 6 foot 9 vs 5 foot 9 eat-off.  I wouldn’t say Dave so much as ate “The Burrito” as much as he “engulfed” it.  Within minutes he had licked the plate clean while I had mine only half finished.  Dumping over 20 mL of tabasco over the burrito, I worked slowly but steadily, until I merely had the last painful chunks of potato left.  As I neared unconciousness due to rapid stomach expansion, I was reminded of famous pastimes, such as “The Alaskan Cruise Boat Bloat ‘05″, “First time at Todai Overload”, and the RA picnic in August where there was free top dog, also known as “The Kobayashi Experience ‘07″.

     Needless to say, my fearless determination eventually allowed me to finish the last potato, while the food in my belly pushed against the inner walls of my stomach, not dissimilar to the water pump in my laboratory which operated at 40000 pounds per square inch.  I smiled and looked at my opponent, towering a foot above me and 70 pounds heavier.  I don’t think he noticed, but this was a moment of victory.  I had eaten as much as a giant.

New Zealand, in General II

This is probably the first time you’ve ever seen me do a continuation of a prior post.  Generally, the time between posts is much too long for me to be able to hold my interest in a specific topic.

Kebabs
Often I will cite the Flight of the Conchords because they are such an important part of my life.  I’ve come to gain a better meaning of the lyrics to the song “Most Beautiful Girl in the Room”.  Within this masterpiece, Jermaine takes the relatively attractive girl to a kebab place, where he pronounces kebabs “keeb-abs”.  I’ve wasted a few minutes of my life laughing at this odd pronunciation, but in reality, that is how it is pronounced here.  Another aspect of the scene is that kebabs are probably the cheapest decent food you can get in Wellington, and by no means expensive or romantic.  Most of the kebab shops are situated in loud areas, and as Samantha Smith from Texas will tell you, “They make great food when you’re drunk!”

Asians
I am baffled by the overwhelming amount of Asians in the area.  There are tons of Asian shops selling the world renown Nong Shim noodles, Kimchi Noodle soup, Rooster sauce, and of course, dog meat.  (I’m not telling you when I am kidding anymore).  Yesterday, while us Americans were at this one awesome but expensive Italian restaurant, the white friends and I came upon the topic of Asians, which I, obviously, am an expert on.  Sam asked me if I would be willing to pose for a picture with a peace sign flashed up and my facial expression like one of the extremely stereotypical Taiwan fobs she saw in Sydney.  My answer was no. 

Language barriers
Using the incorrect terminology will immediately make you the laughingstock of the day.  Trash is to be called rubbish, dollar bills are dollar notes, trunk of the car is the boot of the car, and like Southern California, “hella” is not acceptable.  Another odd feature is that in the U.S., everyone always refers to me as the Asian guy, or the Chinese guy.  Here, on the other hand, everyone refers to me as “the American”.  No one at my work seems to show any hint of noticing my Asian heritage.

More Food
I love food so much here.  The hostel provides a full kitchen, which means that I will be able to use as much gasoline and electricity as I want. People complain about how expensive the food is here, but in reality you can eat very cheaply when you buy in bulk.  Review of Indian Tonight’s butter chicken curry coming soon.

Meanwhile, at home, my sister is about to receiver her driver’s license, a whole human gestation period earlier than when I got my driver’s license.  She better be driving the 1992 Toyota Jalopy…  If she gets a new car I’m gonna go buy an expensive Italian dinner.  Oh wait, I already did that.

 

New Zealand, in General

     Due to a request from a demanding friend (obviously female), I have been coerced into providing this blog with an update, possibly the shortest amount of time between updates ever, in discordance with my extremely clever blog title.  To start off, my workdays have finally arrived at a very consistent and borderline boring schedule after two weeks of conditioning.

     I arise from bed at 6:55 am, going straight to the kitchen eager for the repetitive breakfast of corn flakes, rice crispies,and buttered toast.  I never used to butter my toast before, but now I lather it on until I can no longer feel the blood circulating my veins.  Milk is also provided for free at the hostel, and I definitely make the most of this, consuming as much as a newborn calf.  I must have simply imagined that I was lactose intolerant.  Afterward, I wait at a bus stop with my 6 foot 3 friend Christa, until the bus comes along exactly 5 minutes late with the bus driver I refer to as the “thumbs up guy”.

     Working at my location has shown that engineerng finally shows its practical side.  So far, it has only been number crunching and reading over engineering theory that was developed hundreds of years ago.  People think engineers are all new age high tech, but the stuff we’re learning is great great grandfather material.  I’ve created several SolidWorks models here that served an actual purpose, unlike the complex and uncannily phallic contraptions of engineering 28.  I work with another German engineering intern here, who is passionate about beer and is homophobic.  He loves fishing, but hates eating fish (I told him that defeats the purpose).  For Germans, it takes 6 years just to get a mechanical engineering B.S., whereas for US, it takes only 4 years.  However, they don’t have to pay for most of their tuition.  (Those who attend private school will weep.)  Also, I help out at the laboratory assembling and testing the high pressure low volume water pump air speed and temperature, and design numerous small parts in order to automate a water pump/gun barrel machine.

     At 5:30 I wave goodbye to thumbs-up guy and come back to the hostel, sprawling on the couch in the TV lounge and vegetablize for an hour before I decide to make my $1 dinner of beans, tomatoes, onions, garlic, and bread/spaghetti/rice.  Seriously, I spend 6 new zealand dollars a week on food, (US$4.56) and occassionally splurging on a NZ$7 kebab.  Kebab wraps are definitely the burritos of New Zealand. *insert high-pitched angelic vocal sounds*  I’ve also recently gotten a $3 ($2.28) jar of butter chicken curry, which I will make use of after I finish my cheap 500g of ham and chicken flavored mystery meat.  Weekends mean going out to the pubs and almost buying a $6 bottle of beer and then deciding to get a $4 burger instead.  As much as I love succumbing to alcohol peer pressure, I have an unhealthy addiction to food.  In my free time also did some exploring around Wellington.

     On Sundays I attend the presbyterian church right next door.  I still haven’t made sense of the nuances that divide up the several sects, but in this presbyterian church the pastor wears a robe.  I go with a Methodist named Bevin from the University of Virginia.  She is extremely good at flirting, and yes, I dare say she is better at flirting than I am.  As a result, she gets a free bus ride to her work every day because she talks to the driver, and at the hostel she has a way with all the kiwi/aussie/english/german males, some of them offering her a place to stay when she takes a trip down to the South Island.  I think I need the free bus rides more than she does.

 

     I’ve just arrived from a fishing trip with a couple people from the office, as well as some of the German intern’s friends.  The scenery was beautiful, and the boat I was on had 3 bedrooms, a kitchen and dining area, a tv, stereo system, and as many bathrooms as my house did.  I could totally see some happenin’ parties on that boat.  Also, I lived in a vacation home for the first time, which is pretty awesome but still does not live up to the hype all the billionaires make it out to be.  It’s basically just a normal house with a ton of entertainment and media.  At night, Brendan the kiwi, Caroline the German, and I go to the pub to watch the rugby game, which is an insane sport.  Combine wrestling with football and you have rugby.  Americans are all worried about passing HIV when you’re bleeding on the field, but here, it doesn’t matter.  If you’ve got blood rolling down your cheeks like a gatorade commercial, you’re still playing.

     My biggest adventure is yet to come, I’m going on a 5 day vacation, just me and some Americans rolling through 9 hours of driving down the South Island countryside.  Snowboarding, here I come.

I’ll try to provide more specific stories in the near future.

 

Happy, Serena?

Intro to Christianity (for Atheists, Agnostics, and Gentiles) – Part I

     If you happen to be in one of the predominantly Asian schools, you may find yourself surrounded by an immense group of Asian Christians (ACs). As the immoral and sinful heathen that you are, you may not know a lot about this mysterious group of college students, who tend to hang around each other and participate in what they call “fellowship”. What a bunch of cult baloney. However, since the ACs dominate a fair portion of the campus, it is almost impossible to avoid them in your classes, on the street, or knocking at your door trying to invite you to their “fellowship”. But understanding their strange habits need not be an enigma, and with the right tools and knowledge, you too can learn to associate with your holier counterparts. This leads me to today’s topic: Understanding Asian Christian People.
People who consider themselves ACs usually fit into one or more of the following categories. Each is an essential component of all Asian Christian fellowships.

Worship leader.
This person can play pretty much all the instruments you can think of: piano, acoustic guitar, bass guitar, electric guitar, guitar hero guitar, violin, trumpet… yes, even the ukulele. You can spot this person on campus easily if you see them carrying a clean guitar case. (this is not to be confused by a dirty guitar case, which is carried by hobos)

Bible brainiac.
Everyone knows that Genesis 1 begins with “In the beginning God created the heaven and the earth”, but a bible brainiac can say whatever comes after that. A bible brainiac is the one that does the strange action of sitting up and taking notes during Sunday morning sermons instead of nodding off like you’re supposed to.

Loud person.
Every good Christian fellowship needs someone who is there to break the ice, to yell “that’s what she said!” while all the other ACs nearby nervously chuckle.

Steakmaster (usu. male).
In an AC context, the only place where beer is not taboo is in a marinade, and these people really do know how to make meat taste great. Of course, it could just be that beer talking.

Baker (usu. female).
Everyone knows that the ones most loved by God are the ones that know how to bake delicious cake.

Cute girl all the Christian guys secretly have a crush on.
If you have a crush on this cute girl and find out later that she’s a Christian, you’re going to have to deal with competition.

That one white guy.
Sticking out like a pale thumb, this person hangs out with more Asian people than he does with white people. But this goes along with the age old saying of predominantly Asian schools: “If you can’t beat ‘em, join ‘em”.

Logistics organizer.
ACs are very lazy when it comes to organizing events. But SOMEONE has to do it.

Extremely talented.
This AC is really good at something, and by “something”, I mean “one thing”, whether it be skateboarding, dancing, or playing Scrabble.

Holy angel.
This person has a permanent halo over his/her head. Although ACs aren’t really supposed to consider certain people “more Christian” than others, most ACs will secretly consider this person “more Christian” than they are.

I hope this lesson has enlightened you, you pagan, as you venture into a world filled with Asian Christians. Join us next time for Part II: Stuff Asian Christians Like.

Shark Fin Soup for the Soul

     As I was slurping away my shark fin soup today, I couldn’t help but wonder what it is exactly that makes shark fin so tasty to other people. It’s chewy, stringy, and to be honest, rather tasteless (luckily, there’s Tapatio, the messiah of condiments). Then it came to me. It hardly matters that shark tastes similar to the shoelaces on my awesome brand new Onitsuka Tiger California 78s, it’s all a matter of power. As humans, we not only stand in the top tier of the food chain, we are indisputably the apex. Eating animals has always been more of a pride issue for our species, as we eat any animal we want, just because we can. Now, the shark is doing not so bad on nature’s ladder, but it’s time to show them who’s the real boss. So the next time you drink shark fin, or bite into your alligator sandwich, you can smile to yourself, because this event represents your indomitable reign over nature’s proletarians. Damn, it feels good to be king.

Alien

     I know I’m a bit behind on movies, but it’s never too late to check out a classic. Recently I watched Alien, a supposedly outstanding sci-fi semi-horror movie made in 1979 which grotesquely depicts the future of space travel. I’ll assume from this point forward that anyone who has not seen the movie already won’t mind spoilers.
     The movie begins with your average futuristic space ship: enormous, fully equipped with artificial gravity, a cockpit with too many colorful buttons minus their labels, and a computer which lacks a user-friendly interface. It’s bringing over 20 million tons of ore back to earth, which, by Newton’s first law, would take several atomic bombs simply to move it at a snail’s pace. But physics fallacies aside, the “old-school” retro feel (think Star Wars) is not present here. Instead, it’s as tasteless as the watered-down orange juice at my school’s dining commons. Unfortunately, even when the action begins, this doesn’t wear off.
     Through some boring circumstances, the crew lands on a desolate planet completely devoid of any life form, except, of course, for an invincible alien species that evolved to survive on… nothing. But despite its non-necessity for dietary supplements and lack of predators, it possesses copious amounts of teeth, blood that burns through anything except its own skin, and a complex biological defense mechanism that allows it to reproduce itself in another being, impervious to stomach acid. As in all horror, the main characters lack any sense of caution, and through some more stodgy circumstances the sucker winds up on the spaceship, thanks in part to an android that’s filled with milk.
     People’s imagination of the future is always so silly, because the things they dream up never seem to be the case. In the present, we don’t communicate with each other in those video phone booths from Blade Runner, and our cars do not hover one and a half feet above the ground. Similarly, our future will not comprise of cloaking suits, androids, and plasma grenades. In fact, I will be as bold as to say that anything people dream up today will most certainly not be in the future.
     But despite my meaningless gripes, the movie Alien did raise up an interesting question. After the movie was over, I was wondering the same thing all the other moviegoers wondered after this movie. What would happen if Alien went and fought Predator?

I thought it was obvious

     A sufficiently unbearable amount of people repeatedly ask me the same questions each day, such as “How are you doing?” or “What’s up?” But there is a certain type of question that people seem to be asking more often now that I’m an RA. People would ask, “So, Simon,” while elbowing me painfully and repeatedly, “how are those chicks, huh?” I always return them with “the blank look”, where I stare them directly in the eye and blink 5 times quickly and consecutively. This question was certainly random, since the last time I even picked up a chick was back in grade school. Nevertheless, I try to appease my crowds by answering their questions. Apparently a lot of people either don’t know how to do some of these techniques, or have been doing them incorrectly. Hopefully the following tutorials will defog whatever turbid knowledge you had initially about chicks.

Picking up Chicks
The first thing to keep in mind is that chicks are very fragile. One blunder in your actions can send them running away, or worse, can permanently injure them. The stratagem is to put some chicken feed in your hand, and then hold your hands adjacent to each other so they form a bowl. When the chick is lured into your cupped hands, tighten your grip (only slightly), and lift slowly up until you are in the upright position. This is how you pick up a chick. Be cautious, chicks are timorous and will defecate when frightened.

Finding the Perfect Chick
I’m not sure what people mean by this question, as all chicks have both positive and negative aspects about them. The best way to find this chick that you want is to actually breed your own. Chickens, like many animals, reproduce sexually, so both a hen (female chicken) and a rooster (male chicken) are necessary for this operation. Since most of you have taken biology, you know that genes are transmitted from parents to their offspring, so choosing parents with ideal characteristics will produce chicks with similar ones. You can hatch the eggs using an incubator, or just have the hen sit on them. (Personally, I don’t trust the hen, and I prefer to have my eggs hatched 21st century style.)

How to “hitch-and-ditch” Chicks
If you only want to hang out with your chick for a short amount of time, and then continue on with your life, repeat the same process I went over for “Picking up Chicks”, except going backwards. Stoop down until your hand hits ground level, and then release your grip. Keep their fragility in mind, and be sure to return them to their parents. I hope you enjoyed this temporal pleasure.

     It is unfortunate that all my entries are thought out prior to the actual process of typing into this blog. This particular entry, as much as I wish I could say I came up with on the spot, was unsurprisingly preconceived as well, about half a week ago. Might I go into depth on how my fantastic art (or Fart, as I like to call it), came into conception? Yeah, I would.
     The birth of my brainchild occurred on one bright morning – nevermind, I misstated. On one EXTREMELY bright and hot morning, as I was getting an overdose of Vitamin D and wishing that I had chlorophyll instead of flesh for skin, I collected rush event calendars from the frat brothers stationed on Sproul (subsequently discarding the ones that did not offer the 4-letter F-word, Food). I could not help but think about the disappearance of stickers from today’s young adult society.
     Granted, there have been numerous things which we used to enjoy that we no longer enjoy. Besides Lunchables, Power Ranger figurines, and eating play-doh, I am surprised that stickers have slipped out of the college kids’ “cool list”. During Caltopia, I got a free collection of “Balls of Fury” stickers, including a picture of Christopher Walken with his best costume ever and a ping pong paddle with balls arranged in a sexually suggestive manner. However, I could not find a single place which I would want the stickers to be placed. But the urge to make use of my new Balls of Fury stickers was so strong. I HAD to stick it on something. I looked around, and when I saw a 6 foot something football player walk by, I knew what I had to do. I deftly peeled off the sticker of the blind bald Asian man, and stuck it on his back, grinning uncontrollably in the process, until he turned around. Now, my residents were with me at this point in time, and I could not afford to show them that I was weak.
     “What do you want?” He said, gruffly.
     Then, I came up with one of my best escape ideas. Remembering a song by Lil Mama, I asked, “What you know about me? What you what you know about me?” For some reason, this made him even more angry, and I was forced to summon my 2 year rusty cross country abilities.
     In a later meeting with my residents, I had a talk about safety in Berkeley. Stickers definitely have not found their place in the college world.

Preface

     Even though the majority of you already know who I am, I feel that it’s still necessary for me to provide a formal introduction. The reason why I decided to change from my livejournal over to this blog is similar to reason why I don’t attend movie outings to Century Theaters anymore. These locations happen to be the breeding ground of junior high and high school students, who think that “cool” means they have a large enough group to take up a whole line of seats. Get a signed permission slip, muggles. (It’s really hard to express feelings without using expletives, so I’m going to need you all to imagine that I used a different word instead of “muggles”)

     But enough about them, let’s talk about me. In the past, people have told me that I was funny, and I would sit there swallowing all of their compliments in the same manner that Lindsay Lohan swallowed a ton of alcohol. I know this sounds arrogant, but this is only because one of my female friends last year hinted that I should try to be cockier in order to get girls by saying, “Simon, I know you have a crush on me, but I can’t like you back because you aren’t cocky enough.”

     Back to the subject at hand. To my dismay, I’ve found that there are people who are funnier than I am. I’m slowly becoming disillusioned, but I’ve managed to take all this news pretty well. The other day, I was talking to my friend at church, who said, “Simon, you gotta meet my friend, he’s funniest person in the world.”
     “No, I’M the funniest person in the world.” I replied. She raised raised both her eyebrows, rolling her eyes at the same time.
     “Show him to me.” She pointed out the guy, and a split second later, as if by impulse, I took my magnum (which I didn’t know I had in my pocket) and shot him until he fell to the ground. I quickly ran over, but by the time I got to him, he was pretty dead.
     As my wuss friend stared in shock with her mouth agape, I tried to apologize, but all I could muster out was “He had it coming.”

     Has everyone just gotten more funny, or have I lost my edge? Even worse, when Teresa introduced me to this free site, she also had to send me links of other blogs and columns with people funnier than I am. It was really a strange sight as I sat at my desk, laughing and moping in my self pity at the same time.

     Maybe I have lost my edge. Maybe my jokes are too bland, and I’m throwing wisecracks that are too prosaic and commonplace. When I was back in school, a few of my friends and I were gathered at the computing center studying Engineering 45.
     One guy said, “Man! I didn’t know this was so hard.”
     With a huge goofy grin on my face, I stood up and yelled, “THAT’S WHAT SHE SAID!”
     No one even chuckled. All of a sudden, as if by impulse, I pulled out a magnum from my pocket (again, I still don’t know where this came from) and pointed it my friends, threatening them to laugh, until I heard some nervous laughter. Moderately pleased, I returned to my work.

     I apologize for my bursting-with-virility demeanor in the previous anecdotes (which happen to be 100% true, just READ my tagline) but I don’t know what has really gotten into me these days. OH shoot! I forgot to take my testosterone injections today.