Tag: observations

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Core belief 3: You are what you decide to be

America is full of second acts

Don’t know if I mentioned why my bone is chipped in my right hand; it’s because one of my students whacked it with a sword a few weeks ago. The doc said rest was the best thing because of how it was hit.

So I spent the week continuing with spring cleaning.  Finally felt good enough to go back to the gym over the weekend.

Coach: There’s always something wrong with you!
Me: But I keep coming back.
Him: This is true.

I woke up one day years ago and decided to be a fencer. And now I am one.

Just like I decided one day to be a lawyer after being a network analyst.

Not that long ago, I decided to be a wrestler.

There’s this famous quote from the fella that wrote The Great Gatsby that goes: There are no second acts in American lives.

I’ll add it to the list of things that have the air of truth without any actual truth to it.

Because that’s pure hogwash.

It’s one of my core beliefs – and the truth – that America is nothing if not an endless series of new beginnings. My heroes inevitably tend to be examples of second acts, like the amazing Hedy Lamarr.

People decide to start on their second acts all the time. But the only difference among them is that some press on and others do not.

There’s this rather sentimental saying in the Brazilian Ju-Jitsu world that a black belt is merely a white belt that kept trying.

But unlike Fitzgerald’s saying, that one’s actually true.

And so, injured knee, injured neck, torn muscles, and fractured thumb, notwithstanding, I keep showing up. For no reason other than I choose to.

I’m finding that alone is makes all the difference.

Her: I asked my dad what he did about his arthritis.
Me: What did he say?
Her: He said he takes glucosamine and is more careful doing things. (pause) Oh, and he says he tries not to get whacked by swords.

 

Location: my room, which is about 100000 degrees
Mood: ambitious
Music: what I want and what I need, can finally be the same
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Spring – I’m sure gonna miss you when you’re gone

Don’t get much of a spring here but we’ll take what we can get

 

Here’s what I’m rocking right now:

  • A chipped bone in my right thumb.
  • One light tear or heavy bruise on my left intercostal muscle between my 8th and 9th rib.
  • One cadaver ACL
  • A sore neck from wrassling.

Here’s the kicker: It still beats running.

The weather’s been nice so I took a stroll around the hood.

New York generally goes from winter straight into summer but this year there was a slight spring, although it going to hit the 90s by tomorrow and stay there for a bit.

Years ago, said that something about spring makes you want to reassess and realign your life – spring cleaning and all that. To this end, the wife and went through the house and tossed anything we could and gathered up everything else for Goodwill.

Just came back right now from donating a box of stuff.

Also made my very last batch of chili this past week and froze them for summer.

On a related note, my dating entries, particularly these entries about how to write a good dating profile for men and women are my top read posts around this time.

Again, I’ve got to think it’s related to that whole reassessing and realigning that this season comes with.

Ah, spring – I’m sure gonna miss you when you’re gone.

Location: at the end of spring
Mood: rested
Music: got my ticket for the long way ’round The one with the prettiest of views
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Laraha, Valencia, Curaçao, and Superman

Nurture versus Nature or Superman the Shoe Salesman

Nighttime Shot of Malaga Spain
After the Boston bombings, there were a number of people I knew that immediately spouted their conspiracy theories. And several of them argued that Americans somehow brought this upon themselves.

Of course, they are Americans but hold themselves separate and superior from the rest of us. Which is odd because several of them stopped formal education at high school.

The most recent events in London made me think of the whole nature versus nurture argument.

And oranges.

And Superman.

Because there’s this orange from Spain called the Valencia orange that’s supposed to amazingly delicious and sweet. They were hybridized in America from orange trees in Valencia, which in turn came from India.
Valencia Orange, picture from Wikipedia

Those same trees were planted on the island of Curaçao, where the soil there caused these delicious, sweet, bright orange, oranges to transform – on their own – into small, bitter, green, “oranges.” They turned into the Laraha fruit.

These fruit are so bitter that it’s said that goats on the island would rather starve to death than eat them.

Let me stop for a second and paraphrase a joke that I heard once, which says that: If Krypton never exploded and Kal-El/Superman stayed on the planet, what if he became a shoe salesman?

After all, he’s only Superman because he came here; home he would have been Al Bundy.

As the son of recent immigrants, I wonder about my possible pasts: what if we never came here from Taiwan? Who would I be, what would I be? It’s pure dumb luck, my lot in this world.

Turning back to the recent events of England, it was odd hearing the attackers speak clear British English. Is there some inherent glitch in people like this or is a unique combination of nature and nurture. I’m guessing that’s the case.

Wonder what these people’s  lives would had been had they not gone to the UK. And what then?

I’ve no answer.

Suppose not everything that heads off to distant lands become better with time, like rum.

Location: heading to the gym
Mood: muggy
Music: Who killed tangerine? The prettiest girl I’ve ever seen
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Asian Males and White Females

I dunno, it’s just something I do

 

There’s this sword movement done where a block is performed with the spine of the blade and the sword then rolls into a slash. It’s really cool looking and possibly one of the most beautiful sword movements that exists.

I noticed it years ago with another fencer and asked him what it was. He looked at me, puzzled. And said, I dunno, it’s just something I do. For him, it was nothing special, just part of his makeup.

I’ve alluded to this in the past, such as when people are extraordinarily proud to be Irish, or Chinese, or what have you. For most of us, myself included, being Chinese is simply something I am.

Having said this, since my wife and I got married, we do notice that there are few couples like us: Asian male and White female (AMWF). In fact when we’re out and about, we invariably remark to each other when we notice another couple like us.

I bring all of this up because I was in court yesterday kiling time and I came across this blog entry called Why Aren’t We Talking More About The Rarity of AMWF? – and it really made me think.

While it should be noted that the writer is a Caucasian writer living in China (very cool), it’s just as true here in the States, I think.

Regarding my own experiences, there are many friends I have now that I’ve only recently met. And the funny thing is that the version of me they know is not the version I actually think I am in my head.

In college, I dated a Korean girl for years. In law school, it was a Chinese med student. Then I dated a hapa. Then I just dated.

There’s a running joke with some of my friends from 2008 onward that I only dated Caucasians. Which my older friends would find funny because they thought I only dated Asians.

And yet neither is true. I dated whomever I liked.

This version of me is only the part they know. Had an argument with a dolt I met online via FB who immediately labeled me as a self-hating Chinese man, which only made me roll my eyes and move on with my life.

After all, I’m not another person’s opinion of what I am. I am, simply, what I am.

Getting back to the  questions posed: Why are there so few Asian male, Caucasian female combinations?

I’m not sure.

Out and about, I was frequently the first and only Asian person many non-Asians dated. There were two common things they said. Either:

Regarding point one, a good deal of that has to do with exposure IMHO. If they don’t know any Asian men well, there’s no one to whom to be attracted.

As for point two, many of my male friends are:

  1. more strongly attracted to Asian females,
  2. more comfortable dating Asian female, or
  3. assuming that point one above is definitive – Non-Asian women are not attracted to Asian men.

I’ve never found number 3 to be true but this is just anecdotal to me and all of this is just my opinion.

I’m not really sure why I didn’t really think about it all that much while I was dating, mainly because – for me – it’s just something I did.

What do you think?

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I also wrote a book about first dates with information I just haven’t seen in other books that I learned from three solid years of dating in NYC.

A Great First Date, early 2014It’s just $2.99 at at Amazon, BN.com, and the Apple Store.

 

Location: not in court
Mood: analytical
Music: Paris to China to Colorado
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Everybody knows, but no one really believes it

Look for the red things

Me: The thing is, there’s a difference between seeing and noticing. Noticing is when you consciously become aware of something. For example, if I said right now, Look for everything that’s red. You’d see a lot more red things.
Him: (looking around) Great, now all I see are the red things.
Me: (laughing) That’s what happens. You can’t un-notice something you’ve noticed. It’s called the Baader-Meinhof phenomenon.

Updating this blog a bit late because I’ve been trying to finish up a few assignments for clients.

Been watching the news about the three women they found; obviously it reminds me of the Jaycee Dugard story. Just like with her, compounding the basic horror of it all is also the fact that they were cheated out of those years.

Life is so short as it is.

I blinked and I’m 40.

Spalding Gray once said that Everybody knows they are going to die, but no one really believes it. Late at night, when I can’t sleep, I realize what it means and it keeps me up the rest of the night. Like last night.

Doubt you ever noticed, but for the past few years every time I write about dying, I put up a picture of a clock.

As I get older, I see notice more clocks and think about how short it all is.

And you can’t un-notice something you’ve noticed.

 

Location: in the basement of my brain again
Mood: nostalgic
Music: I don’t mind waiting in line
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Goodwill is a function of marketing

Having a good reputation means burgers

 

Was running around to meetings all last week and hopped onto a bus going downtown. Sat right near Tina Fey.

Me: Just so you know, my wife and I loved your book. We literally laughed out loud.
Her: Thanks! That’s great to hear.

I tell people all the time that real New Yorkers ride the bus when it’s nice outside.

Been going to meetings to wrap up a slate of work this past week and month. It’s a good feeling to finally not have something on your mind.

My three business credos have been helping me out greatly, now that the economy has improved. On a regular basis, I’m getting phone calls that begin with something like, Hi, my name is X, I was referred to you by Y.

What a lot of people don’t realize is that goodwill is a form of marketing. It’s probably the best form. I mean, you buy something because you heard or figured it’s good, right? I read Fey’s Bossypants precisely because I liked her other work and figured I would again.

The wife and I regularly order around the way from our local diner. I was short $0.50 last week when I picked up my usual burger on whole wheat toast and lady said, Don’t worry about it, pay it next time.

The next morning I stopped by and returned the $0.50. I did it partly because it’s right and partly because I’m sure I’ll forget to bring the right amount again in the future. I’d like to be known as someone that pays his debts.

That plus they have some of the best fries in the UWS; I have to support that.

Owner: Hey, you really don’t have to do that.
Me: (handing over two quarters) Of course I do.

Location: more meetings, midtown
Mood: hungry
Music: It’s still hard to wait around. The problem is this seems so easy to miss
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The difference between Knowledge and Wisdom

Understanding what it really means/Seeing the grey

10th Avenue in Manhattan, NYC

Worked pretty much this entire weekend. Beat tired.

Life was simpler when you’re young. There was ever only black and white, good and evil, heroes and villains.

As you get older you realize there’s a lot of grey. Unless you never grow up. If you never grow up, then the world remains black and white. You don’t see the grey. Or all of the luck, stupid luck, and stupid involved in life.

If you see the grey, you see that there’s a lot of stupid involved in life.

Have you ever noticed that it’s the least educated, least traveled, least read of the people you know that have conspiracy theories? Because they have no background on which to base a logical conclusion, they make their own out of bits and pieces of trivia and fact.

They can’t discern the difference between knowledge and wisdom.

There’s this example in one of Malcolm Gladwell’s books where a writing teacher says to a buncha students that the election is the next day.

They’re to write about what it means.

And most of the kids write about the democratic process, the history of nation, the candidates, etc. Information, data, knowledge.

But one student understands what this really means. It means: No school tomorrow.

That’s wisdom. Understanding what things mean.

There’re people with the ability to see the grey and everyone else.

Stranger: How do they know they got the right guy? I mean, besides the shootout, the cop they shot, and the pictures, what evidence do they have these guys did anything?
Me: That’s true, besides the shootout, the cop they shot, the pictures – and the chase, the video, the ATM pics, the multiple eye-witnesses – besides those things, I suppose you’re right, they don’t have anything.

Location: in front of more papers
Mood: weary
Music: giving the academy a rain check
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The greatest trick the devil ever pulled

On evil: Nothing is ever anyone’s fault

Incandescent light bulb

The greatest trick the Devil ever pulled was convincing the world he didn’t exist. And like that, poof. He’s gone.
Verbal Kint, The Usual Suspects (film)

The insomnia’s been pretty bad lately. I should just stop wasting your time and my time and just write, “insomnia” and move on.

Insomnia.

Being awake at night, thought about Boston, Newtown, and Aurora and the nature of evil. Something about the dark turns one’s thoughts dark, I suppose.

People wonder if there is evil even actually exists.

I believe it does.

People are always surprised by that. They think I’m naive, but I submit that I think you’re naive if you don’t.

I think some people are evil not because of how they were brought up, or what happened to them. Theyr’e just twisted with no other explanation for it. Not biology, not upbringing, not society.

Nothing happened to me, Officer Starling. I happened. You can’t reduce me to a set of influences. You have given up good and evil for behaviorism, Officer Starling. You’ve got everybody in moral dignity pants – nothing is ever anybody’s fault. Look at me, Officer Starling. Can you stand to say I’m evil?
Hannibal Lecter, The Silence of the Lambs (novel)

Put a little less eloquently, some people are just born ______-up.

Don’t believe it when people try and convince you that there’s no such thing as evil. It’s there. And the sad thing is that you don’t need to go far to see it.

As I wrote the above, I got a news alert on my computer that five people were dead in a shooting. This just happened.

Which just makes me wonder if evil is a self-destruct sequence for our kind. Then again, all this is just my opinion. What do you think?

Me: Do you know why I hate things like the Disney films?
Him: No, why?
Me: Because the monsters all look like monsters. But Hitler, Mao, Pol Pot, Mao – these guys were just normal, plain-looking dudes. No one would have looked at them and thought, “Monster.” But that’s what they were. (later) Thanks for not choking me until I passed out.
Him: (laughing) Anytime, man.

Location: about to run to Chelsea
Mood: pensive
Music: I saw Satan laughing with delight the day the music died
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Repetition is the Mother of Skill

Perfect practice makes perfect

First ice cream of spring 2013!

Hope you had a nice holiday if you celebrated anything.

Saturday was beautiful so the wife and took a walk around the hood; it was warm enough for some ice cream. Spent Sunday contemplating my religion.

Saturday night, though, went to teach my fencing class.

A long time ago, there was this fella that had been taking the class for a lot longer than me but I would regularly beat. It was because he was always interested in learning the latest esoteric move and some secret technique while I just worked on the basics.

And the reason was simple: Repetition is the mother of skill –  I had fewer tools to work with but the tools I had I knew well and practiced regularly. He never spent enough time on the basics to really get good at them.

To which I have to clarify the following: That saying that Practice makes perfect is yet another one of those sayings that are only partially true. The actual saying is Perfect practice makes perfect.

Thought about that on Saturday when my old instructor came back to lead the class and reminded me how much of a student I still am. I think he landed four strikes for every one of mine.

And so went home afterward and surely annoyed my wife as I waved a stick around in the middle of the night, going: One, two, three…

Location: in a Monday
Mood: pensive
Music: Too late for the young gun I said This is the year of the knife
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The militant religious and non-religious

I don’t understand militant atheists

Cathedral in the UWS in NYC

Spent yesterday in church because it was Palm Sunday and also because I had a meeting. I still volunteer there after all these years.

I don’t think of myself as a particularly devout Christian in the big city. I merely am one

It’s a bit like when I wrote about being left-handed and proud – not exactly since one can choose to be religious or not – it’s similar in that it’s merely a state of being.

At least for me.

I do take issue with the number of people that – particularly on Facebook – feel it’s their duty in life to shame those that are religious. Moreover, I don’t think they would ever sign on and mock Muslims or Jews but Christians seem to be fair game.

A Salon article sent to me this morning by my Columbia University educated wrasslin coach sums up my thoughts on the matter whereby militant atheism has itself become it’s own religion.

And that’s precisely why I find it all so puzzling.

I am not 100% that there even is a god, let alone my god. But in my moments of doubt and belief, I find myself more often than not siding with my belief.

After all, if there is a god, he exists completely separate from my belief in him.

Yet a day doesn’t go by where I don’t have someone post something about their love of Atheism. Atheism, by definition, a rejection of all religions. It is the absence of religion. This is also different from Agnosticism where one is neither certain there is or isn’t a god.

Yet the people I run across are so smugly sure that there isn’t a god that it’s elevated to it’s own belief system.

“As one philosopher put it, being a militant atheist is like ‘sleeping furiously.'”

And with any belief system, there is that sense of superiority that I detest so very much.

The thing that jumped out at me from the article is the line that went: Dogmatists have one advantage: they are poor listeners.

In the very last tiff that I got into regarding someone bashing Christianity, this young fella that goes to my gym engaged me but only to tell me his beliefs and then write: “I will not be further commenting on this thread.”

At which point, I also stopped; partly because I found him childish, partly because of his sloppy grammar, and partly because trying to discuss anything with a militant – any militant – is a waste of time.

It’s like trying to teach a pig to sing: It’s a waste of your time and annoys the pig.

Speaking of my gym, there are dozens of really dangerous people that walk around. But you’d never know it because they know they’re dangerous. They don’t need to prove it to anyone else.

And if asked to prove it, they would and not simply say, I choose not to engage.

Again, that’s why I find militant atheism so peculiar.

If they were so sure of their beliefs, they wouldn’t feel the need to constantly prove it. I don’t.

Moreover, why would they care what I or anyone else believes?

I can assure you, my wrassln coach doesn’t care if I think I can beat him in a fight or not, he knows he can beat me in a fight. I know he can – that’s why he’s the coach.

As for my needing to say something, I read something by Elie Wiesel in junior high school where he “swore never to be silent whenever and wherever human beings endure suffering and humiliation. We must take sides. Neutrality helps the oppressor, never the victim. Silence encourages the tormentor, never the tormented. Sometimes we must interfere.”

That is a good thing to swear to, I think.

Someone should always say something.

Location: getting dressed to see my pop
Mood: devout(ish)
Music: I have to climb Up on the side of this mountain of mine
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