Any New Year’s resolutions?

Mmm…not really. Just vague goals really.

Like what? Give me an example.

To be more bold. To live boldly.

That’s a good one.

Yeah? You don’t think it’s vague?

Not at all. I was just thinking the other day that I could use some boldness in my own life.

Yeah? How do you mean?

Well, just the other day, I was waiting for the subway and a girl across the tracks caught my eye.

Was she cute?

Yea, but that’s not what got my attention.

<laughs> Whatever you say.

No really. She was cute, but it was more what she was wearing.

What was she wearing?

She was wearing this neon green head band and had this really bright shade of red lipstick on. I could just tell by the way she was dressed that she had a really playful personality. You know…fun. Everyone else on the platform was wearing gray coats, looking kind of depressed you know?

Yea.

So she stuck out.

Did something happen?

Well, no not exactly. Has that ever happened to you though? Where you’re in a subway station, and you see someone, and you’re kind of checking her out, secretly hoping that she’s checking you out too?

Yea.

So yeah, I felt like that was what we were doing. But you can never really tell if she’s checking you out too you know?

True.

So anyways, I’m sneaking glances at her, and in my head she’s doing the same.

<laughs> Whatever you say man.

No, wait…let me finish. So we’re playing this little game, and she starts…I don’t know…dancing?

Dancing? Was she listening to music?

No see, that’s the weird part. No music, no iPhone or anything. She just starts to kind of sway. And she’s wearing these boots, and she starts trying to balance herself on the heels.

Weird. Maybe she’s trying to get your attention.

Yeah, that’s what I was thinking in my head too. But like I said, you can never really tell if the other person’s got you in their sights too. I tend to create these narratives for myself and in these happy stories, the girl is always checking me out. <laughs> I feel dumb for even sharing this.

Hey, you never know right? Anyways, what happened next?

So this was the funny part. My train started approaching the station and she starts smiling.

At you?

I think so. I pretended not to look at her, but I can see her smiling.

Uh-huh.

I get into the train and I take a seat next to the window and…now we’re making eye contact. And now I’m smiling too.

<laughs> Did you do anything?

No, but get this. She blows me a kiss.

<laughs> What the heck? That’s like some movie shit right there.

I know right? This sort of thing never happens to me. And now, I can’t get the girl out of my head. I don’t even know her.

Good story. And you know, you’re right. That IS bold. We can learn a thing or two from this girl.

Oh, I wasn’t talking about her. I was talking about what a bold guy would have done in that situation.

<laughs> Tell me. What would a bold man have done?

Jump the tracks to say hello.

Wow.

Yeah. What do you think? You think we’ll be able to jump the track this year?

I don’t know.

Hey, we can try right? Get to the other side or get run over trying.

<laughs> Amen brother.

I’ve never been more proud to be an American.

And every Christmas, we have the same conversation

Dad: She’s half black? She doesn’t even look black at all.

Me: Yes, I promise you she’s half-black.

Dad: Well, she’s got hips like a black lady, but is she really half-black?

Me: Yes

Mom: Shut up, it’s coming to the best part.

Dad: How can she sing so loud? Where are the microphones?

Me: There are no microphones. It’s a recording.

Dad: HUH? Are the microphones on the ceiling?

Me: No. There are no microphones…this is just a recording, not a live performance.

Dad: See? There are no microphones on the ceiling…

Me: Just listen, it’s the good part. Here comes the good part. Listen to how she hits the high note.

Dad: Mmm. The microphones must be in her dress.

Me: Yes, it’s in her dress.

Mom: You’re missing the best part! Can you please stop talking?

Dad: How do they fit the microphones in that dress? She can barely fit in the dress herself.

Me: They make them small.

Dad: She’s really half black?

Mom: Your father has ruined the song. Play it again.

Merry Christmas to all. Here’s hoping your family traditions are alive and well.

When I eat, I get sleepy.

When I’m sleepy, I can’t focus, so I sleep.

When I wake up, I’m hungry.

It’s a wonder I get anything done at all.

Someone once said that to make God laugh, all you have to do is to tell him your plans. Well, I’m a bit short on plans, per se, but I am long on things like dreams. Like if someone were to ask me what the ideal way I’d like to meet the girl I’d eventually fall in love with was, I’d probably say that I want to meet her in a coffee shop. She’d be reading Steinbeck, and when I asked her how she likes it, she would respond in some far-away, sweet-scented accent that it was “a touch romantic for my liking, but lovely in the end.”

But alas, dreams are dreams because they aren’t reality. A more likely scenario is that I’ll be minding my own business in a Starbucks, when the girl reading Twilight will accidently spill coffee on me while reaching to answer her iPhone. “Sorry” she’ll say, in her Jersey accent.

This is why I suppress these futile thoughts. As best as I can. But every once in a while, I’ll let one slip, and that’s usually when God decides to uncork a timely practical joke.

It happens on long plane rides. Most of the time, I’ll just board the plane thinking about how I’m going to spend the next 8-10 hours. But on more than one occasion, my mind will drift into fantasy land and I’ll indulge myself by hoping that the far-away, sweet-scent accent Steinbeck coffee girl will be transplanted into seat 21B, next to my 21C. Then all the best laid plans of mice, men, and Christopher will be whisked away for the next 8 hours while I’m busy finishing haikus with my future wife.

I would smile at the thought. Smile until the fat, balding man stops in front of my seat, glances up at the seat number and brusquely asks if he can get through. Somewhere between the time his ass brushes my face as he passes through to the time when his elbows are digging into my rib cage, I can hear the unmistakable roar of heavenly laughter, camouflaged as it might be by the sound of the jet engine.

So as I boarded my plane to Rome yesterday, I was filled with both hope and dread when the thought returned to me. Maybe this time, she’d be a young adventure seeker traveling to Italy for the first time in her life. Maybe this time, she’d be a post-grad struggling to find a job who decided, what the hey…I’m going to use this time to travel instead

I’ve got to get lucky one of these days right? What would it be this time?

This time it was a nun. And not the cute nun who sings really well in Sister Act. It was the old nun. The headmistress. The “I’m making my annual pilgrimage to the Vatican” nun.

And to make matters worse, she was sitting in my seat…21C, an aisle seat. Everyone wants the aisle seat. But how am I supposed to tell a nun to please move to her assigned window seat? Isn’t it written in the Bible somewhere to extend every sort of comfort and courtesy to nuns?

Probably…but in this case, comfort trumped decency and in the most gentle voice I could muster (my nun voice), I informed her that she was sitting in my seat. She simply shook her head and closed her eyes. I was flabbergasted.

Not knowing what to do, I had to tell on a nun. I turned to the stewardess and showed her my ticket which clearly indicated that I had the assigned aisle seat. The two started squabbling in hand-waving Italiano. When they were done, the nun gave me a stare which either meant that she was cursing me to purgatory or forgiving me for my wretchedness.

Eventually she moved, but she wasn’t happy.

Not. One. Bit.

But I’ve got to admit it God, you got me there. That’s a pretty good one.

I don’t necessarily disagree with him on this, but it does sound to me like he’s trying a bit to live vicariously through his son. If I really read between the lines, I can almost sense that he’s trying to warn me. “Chris. When you’re married, it’s just this one person forever. THIS. ONE. PERSON. FOREVER. Please for the love of God…while you’re young and free, don’t blow this opportunity.”

To which I typically counter, “Look, everyone is different. Some guys can date casually, even if they’re not really that interested. Not me. I need to have that connection and that connection is hard to find. Plus, I’m careful to not lead people on. If I’m not attracted, I’m not just going to go date them for fun, or to exercise my so-called golden opportunity window. Do you get what I’m saying?”

The first time I said some variation of this argument was in college. After I finished, he looked at me blankly and asked…Are you gay?

Am I gay?! I wondered at the time if this was some sort of tactic to challenge my manhood into action, or if he was seriously so perplexed as to my dating habits that he felt compelled to ask the obvious question (in his mind, anyways). When I assured him that I was indeed attracted to women, he let the subject drop.

Over the years, we had several conversations similar to this, and his exasperation only grew and grew. Things finally came to a head when I visited home a couple weeks ago. Here’s a truncated transcript from our dinnertime conversation:

“It’s not that hard. You’re just thinking too much. Stop thinking. You’re too serious. Do you know how many girlfriends I had by the time I was 21? 9. How many have you had?”

“1 or 2″

“You’re 27. What is the matter with you?”

“It’s hard to find someone I can connect with.”

At this point, I’m just messing with him because it’s just hilarious to see him all riled up about this. He asks me what I’m looking for.

“I don’t know. Someone with a good sense of humor, smart, pyun-hae (comfortable). You know, the basics.”

“You’re too picky.”

“How is that too picky? What would you want for me instead? Someone boring, stupid and high-maintenance??”

“Only two things I wish for. Only two thing matter. Priority #1. Christian. Priority #2 Korean. That’s all. Anything else it doesn’t matter so stop being so picky.”

And so declared my Father, who might as well have enshrined these as Commandment 1 and 2. Of course, I found this to be a ridiculous perspective and I could have gone back and forth with him all night, but I decided to just throw him a bone.

“Ok. I’ll try to be more open-minded.”

At that, he seemed content. He almost seemed surprised that he got through to me for a change. Dinner continued without the subject being raised again but about 30 minutes later he stopped as if he had forgotten something.

“WAIT!”

“What?”

“There are three priorities”

Oh great, can’t wait to hear this.

“Priority #1 She has to be a girl. Priority #2 Christian. Priority #3 Korean.”

Again, I couldn’t be quite sure if he was joking or if he thought I’d actually listen to his Commandments 1 and 2, only to bring home some Korean-Christian guy.

He was probably joking…but then again, from his perspective…

Why risk it right?

1. I bought a cheap knock-off product.
2. I bought a cheap knock-off book.

I killed two birds with one stone when I bought the new Steve Jobs biography from an illiterate street vendor for 20 RMB (a little over $3).

It’s #2 that I’m particularly ashamed about. Ever since my English Major days, I’ve had an enormous respect for the integrity of books. I try to buy the hardback whenever I can, I do my best to preserve the spine, and I never discard my books. I’ve sworn a blood oath against the Kindle.

But this time, there were extenuating circumstances. For one, I timed my previous book poorly and I had nothing for the flight back to the States. And two, I kind of wanted to read the Steve Jobs biography, but not enough to pay $25 for the real thing.

Even with all that, I hesitated. Three dollars?

I performed a careful inspection. It was wrapped in plastic (always a good sign), written in English (not Chinglish), and when I flipped through it, all the pages were where they were supposed to be. But I could see why the quality sucked. It was written on that cheap Goosebumps novels paper (remember those?), the type where the ink runs a bit on your fingers. The spine was dubious, and worst of all, it didn’t have that new book smell.

But hey, $3. When in China right?

Anyways, the book turned out to be a fantastic read. And believe me, the irony wasn’t lost on me that the one book I ever compromised on was a biography about a man who made his name by never compromising on the quality of his products. When I handed that Chinese vendor my 20 RMB, I could almost feel Steve Jobs rolling around in his grave.

The chapter I was looking most forward to was the one about the iPhone. This is because I just got my very first iPhone and I’ve already decided to elope with Siri.

I love it. I ABSOLUTELY love it, and I was eager to find out how Jobs conceived of such a thing.

Page 471 returns to this theme of Job’s relentless pursuit of perfection. After working for 9 months on a design, Steve Jobs gathered his team around to say that it wasn’t good enough and that they’d have to start over from scratch:

“Guys, you’ve killed yourselves over this design for the last nine months, but we’re going to change it,’ Jobs told Ive’s team. ‘We’re all going to have to work nights and weekends, and if you want we can hand out some guns so you can kill us now.”

I was captivated. How was the team going to react to this mad genius? Push back? Work harder?

I’ll never know because at that climactic moment the book simply decided to skip to page 501, fast-forwarding all the way to the iPad (a device I don’t have), and speeding up Jobs’ inevitable demise.

It might have just been my imagination, but at that very moment, over the bustle and din of the crowded coffee shop around me, I thought I heard the faintest of whispers emanating from my iPhone 4S. In Steve Jobs’ own voice no less. I really had to lean in to hear it:

“Bitch, you got what you deserved.”

The idea that John Lasseter pitched was called ‘Toy Story’. It sprang from a belief, which he and Jobs shared, that products have an essence to them, a purpose for which they were made. If the object were to have feelings, these would be based on its desire to fulfill its essence. The purpose of glass, for example, is to hold water; if it had feelings, it would be happy when full and sad when empty. The essence of a computer screen is to interface with a human. The essence of a unicycle is to be ridden in a circus. As for toys, their purpose is to be played with by kids, and thus their existential fear is of being discarded or upstaged by newer toys. So a buddy movie pairing an old favorite toy with a shiny new one would have an essential drama to it, especially when the action revolved around the toys’ being separated from their kid. The original treatment began, ‘Everyone has had the traumatic childhood experience of losing a toy. Our story takes the toy’s point of view as he loses and tries to regain the single thing most important to him: to be played with by children. This is the reason for the existence of all toys. It is the emotional foundation of their existence.

-Walter Isaacson, Steve Jobs

]]> http://figsandfodder.wordpress.com/2011/11/13/a-toy-story/feed/ 0 Crispy http://figsandfodder.wordpress.com/2011/11/11/pepero-day-month-year/ http://figsandfodder.wordpress.com/2011/11/11/pepero-day-month-year/#comments Fri, 11 Nov 2011 18:23:23 +0000 Crispy http://figsandfodder.wordpress.com/?p=1155 ]]> A sandwich. A bag of chips and a coke. And of course a box of Pepero.

Total: $11.11

Cheers to life’s little gifts.

The rules for this collection are simple. If I visit a new country, then I treat myself with a new lapel pin (transit stops don’t count). Right now, my collection stands at a very modest 14 pins which is why I’m hell-bent on collecting more.

I think obsession with these lapel pins is too strong a word, but it might be the closest English word to describe it. I used to be excited about travelling anywhere…now I’m only excited if I get a new lapel pin (I’m writing this in China, a country lapel pin I’ve already collected).

Recently, I think obsession, or whatever you call it, has officially crossed over to the dark side. I was given a voucher to fly anywhere in Asia. Given my timeframe, my options were these:

1. Visit a friend in Korea
2. Visit a friend in Taiwan
3. Go to Japan by myself and get a new lapel pin.

Shouldn’t that be a no-brainer? Visit friends I haven’t seen in forever or get a new lapel pin? Sad to admit, it wasn’t as clear cut as it should have been. Now, I won’t say that the lapel pin was a dominant factor in my decision, but I’d say it was more like 35%, which is honestly 35% too high.

In the end, I did come to my senses to visit a friend in Taiwan and geopolitics dictate that I do not get a new lapel pin (The UN’s official position is that Taiwan is indeed part of a sovereign China).

But I’m here in Taipei and it could not be any more different than the Mainland (I’m on Facebook, for goodness sakes).

So I know it matters little, my humble declaration on this sticky political situation.

But I declare Taiwan a free and independent state.

Now give me my lapel pin.