Breathe!
Between trying to come up with a viable research project, working, looking for a job (for next year), adjusting to married life and prepping to help lead a P&W night (without my Taylor…boohoo, using an unfamiliar guitar bites) all with a gangsta lean I have no time to blog. Ack, but post coming next week! Either about spitting in people’s pizza or fighting with my wife…you pick!
Beauty Fades/Skin Shallow.
Being married is weird. Ever since I got married my apartment is suddenly a lot cleaner and my dinners taste better. Haha! But as with all marriages, the eventual comparisons have started. I’ve had some comments (in real life, not xanga) directed to me how my wife is so much better looking than I am and that she could’ve “done better.”
I will be the first to admit that I am not a handsome guy. I’ve accumulated too much “baby fat” (baby as in I look pregnant) during residency and fellowship and every 2 years the FBI shows up at my doorstep to check if I’m hiding the Lindbergh Baby or Amelia Earhart in my nostrils. In fact, my modeling career ended the day I was born! Haha! I will not disagree that my wife is 300 times more physically attractive than I am. And speaking of the number 300, it’s like Ephialtes the hunchback marrying Queen Gorgo. Bwahahaha!
Anyway, I’m sure most guys would be offended and upset at hearing others say something like that but I’m not. I’m just sad for those people who place such a high value on that which is superficial.
They say that beauty is only skin deep. They really should say that beauty is only skin shallow.
All else being equal, if given the choice, we would all choose the better looking partner. Of course. But if physical attraction is what you value most in a partner, then you are setting yourself up for a big disappointment. You see, dear subbers and stalkers, beauty fades. And if your love is based on beauty, it will fade as well. Wrinkles and gravity will not keep you warm at night 30 years from now. In my experience, those who hold out for only the best looking partners are the very ones who are still single and desperate in their late 30s. But they are victims of their own desires, because by that age they are no longer felt to be desirable by other skin shallows. Either that or they are divorced because they found that skin shallow can’t fill the deep recesses of their hearts.
Be careful of what you wish for…because you just might get it.
I will admit that I did notice that my wife was hot the first day I met her. She was so stunning I nervously spilled my salsa chips at her feet during lunch. But it is not why I love her or why I married her. I am not immune to skin shallow (I am human, after all) because I have asked her before, “why me?” When she told me that the reason why she was initially attracted to me was because of the way I write only affirmed that I made the right choice. Biceps don’t last as long as brains, you know. Trust me, I’m a doctor. 
So say what you want. Hold out for skin shallow. I, on the other hand, am going to live happily ever after with my wife…who also happens to be hot. 
———–
Have a great week! Stay cool those of you burning with me in California! And sorry I haven’t been able to get back to everyone (both xanga and non-xanga), I’ve been busy!
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Here’s the live version of Jerusalem by Matisyahu (from his appearance on the Jimmy Kimmel show), it’s better than the CD version!!!
Edit: If this is a surprise to you, read the post before this one!
The Evolution of The Franksabunch™
The end of The Franksabunch™ is here.
I always love hearing stories that are woven with honor, strength and sacrifice, especially ones from the days of yore. I watched 300 recently and was just struck by the way these men willingly went to their deaths in the hopes that others would live and that good would ultimately triumph over evil. (Some say that if Xerxes had his way, democracy, as we know it, would not exist today.) The last scene of Leonidas standing triumphantly before his enemies, embracing his fate while uttering, “my queen, my wife, my love!” replayed in my mind multiple times this past weekend.
It is in these moments that I reminisce about my father. No, he was not a soldier (beyond compulsory service every man in Taiwan must fulfill), but he was most certainly old school in the way he conducted his life, the way he would sacrifice himself on a daily basis. I wrote about it in a prior post so I won’t recycle it here. Though I could comprehend in a logical way why he would put himself through those things for others, I could never fully understand the heart of why he did. His heart shone like the rays of the sun…radiant in my eyes but elusive when I would reach out and try to grasp it. I wondered if I would ever be able to grab those rays and place them in my own chest to keep those around me warm.
I no longer wonder about that anymore. You see, I just got married. And since then I have come to understand how Leonidas had the strength to stand there and stare down his fate in an encounter that would serve to affect the ages, and how my dad died a little each day so others could not only live, but live well. It is only after getting married that I could truly grasp the essence what true love is.
True love, you see, is the simple act of giving yourself away to another.
I tell my wife probably 3 times too often that one of my favorite things in this world is covering her with a blanket and watching her sleep, because in that precious moment I know that she is safe, warm and without want. It is something that is worth fighting for. Something worth sacrificing for.
I also told her that it was quite fitting that we spent our first weekend as husband and wife not cavorting on the shores of some distant beach surrounded by sunburned, socioeconomically privileged socialites, but rather in the act of preparing and serving almost 200 burgers to homeless and unemployed guests. And for most of the day it was just the two of us (because 99 out of the 100 other people on the e-vite flaked out on us!). Just the two of us working together to make the world a better place. Not a bad way to start our life together.
So, dear subbers and stalkers, here is the end of The Franksabunch™. Not the xanga/blog, of course. (I love my eprops too much ) That will continue on (much to the chagrin of many, I imagine), but the person who was The Franksabunch™ is no more. He gave himself away to another, but in doing so finally became a complete person.
I can’t wait for the rest of our lives, my Love, my Chagee Neem. Thank you for loving me for who I am and not for who I am supposed to be.
——
I’m serious. This is not a joke! We had a simple courthouse ceremony and will have a church ceremony and reception later in the future. Why? When faced with the question of whether to spend more or less time married to the wahine I love, the answer was easy. That and the allure of the Korean girl was too strong to resist. Bwahahahaha! I kid. I kid.
And no boo-hissing! I never said that I didn’t have a wahine in my life, only that I wasn’t married. If you read the last post carefully, you’ll see that I was talking about a past situation. And to answer another question some of you are wondering, having been approached by someone through xanga for sex (!) before, I’m a little careful about what I post publicly on here, so I’ve largely kept her off (by name, look back at certain posts and you can guess that she’s the one I was with in certain posts). She knows about my xanga, but finds the idea of public blogging strange and doesn’t read it very often. And finally, in Korea there’s a saying that when people see a beautiful girl walking down the street they comment that the man walking with her ”must be very smart.” Well, people always tell me that I’m the smartest man in the world.
Have a great week!
Edit: She doesn’t like to have her picture on the internet, but I will ask her!
Boyfriend Requirements.
So this past weekend I was talking with some people about a mutual friend and how my goal is to get him a girl within the next year. I singled out a certain quality of his that I think needs a little pruning before he would be considered more attractive to wahines, which led me to start thinking about what kinds of requirements wahines have in order for men to be considered BF candidates.
I remember one particular patient encounter (details not completely accurate to ensure patient confidentiality) back when I was a resident where the guy I was working up deferred certain questions I was asking. “Ask my girlfriend,” he said. “She would know the answer.” GIRLFRIEND? Here was this guy who had an active substance abuse disorder, was unemployed and missing a leg and he had a girlfriend while I, all 6’1″-chubby-but-sort-of-smart-and-not-too-handsome-but-kind-of-funny of me, was single. Here’s a breakdown of me vs. him that day:
| Him | F.Bunch |
Occupation | Unemployed | M.D. (poor and enslaved) |
# of legs | 1 | 2 |
Drug screen | Positive | Negative, except for diet pepsi |
Height | 5’7” | 6’1” |
Body Mass Index | 37 | 29 |
Looks | Not Brad Pitt | Definitely not Brad Pitt |
Girlfriend | Yes | No |
Don’t get me wrong, people who have substance abuse disorders, are unemployed, and missing one out of 4 limbs deserve love just as much as you or I (thank goodness for unconditional love from above), but what was I doing wrong? Is there something not right in a world where a man with a peg leg and no job gets more aloha than me?
Each of these in and of themselves aren’t necessarily bad (well, except drugs). A war veteran who loses a limb serving our country certainly deserves more love and respect than I do and someone who loses a limb in an accident shouldn’t have it held against them, but it got me thinking about what do we need? Why do we love? And is what we need dependent upon who we love (or is it the other way around)?
You know how the sayings go…Different strokes for different folks, birds of a feather flock together, Taiwanese men are the best
…but does any one rule apply to everyone? Even if you take out the Billy Joel Factor, you will still find couples where one person obviously outshines the other in one area of attraction, whether it be looks, body type, sense of humor, or passion. This suggests that the checklists we keep on paper not only neglect to list certain qualities we look for, but perhaps also that tangible checklists are incapable of capturing something that is intangible yet pervades throughout our whole being.
I once wrote about how we always leave a piece of our hearts with those that we love, and how after losing a relationship I found myself with a hole in my heart and I yearned for that person to return because I thought that if I got that piece back I would be complete again. But then I realized that in order to become whole again what I needed was not that piece of my heart back, but rather the heart of another to fill the hole in mine. (Funny how when you say them out loud, “whole” and “hole” are almost the same thing, eh? It’s easy for us to confuse what we need and what we want.) In the same way, I think we come up with checklists all the time about what we need other people to have in order to fill our needs, but do not spend enough time thinking about how we can fill the needs of others. Instead of wondering why that man was capable of having a GF despite all of his “faults,” I should have been wondering how I could be able to love like that woman, who loved her man despite all of his faults.
You see, my friends, there is something right in a world where a man with a peg leg and no job can get more aloha than me.
For all you single peeps out there, I’m not going to tell you that you shouldn’t keep a checklist the next time you go out hunting for a mate, but I would recommend that you also keep a checklist of how you can love others better. Maybe then you can understand what it is to be whole.
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I’ve been watching that Human Weapon show where they travel the world to learn different fighting styles. It’s the bomb diggity and like a dork I’ve been practicing those moves in my living room. In honor of my homeland here’s the song BJ Penn used when he walked into the arena to destroy Jens Pulver (it’s a combo of two songs, ”Hawaii ’78″ and “E Ala E”).
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And for those of you who are Hawaii football fans stranded on the mainland like me, I found a great site that keeps tabs on our beloved Warriors past and present…
Edit: Speaking of Hawaii…stay safe with the hurricane! Prayers and thoughts are with you back home…and don’t forget…spam never spoils!
Have a great week!
Dear Mr. Imbecile,
This letter is in regards to the incident this past weekend when I was walking through downtown Palo Alto with a female companion and you went up to her and said, “ni hao,” which I’m assuming was your attempt at saying “hello” in Mandarin.
I sincerely regret missing that. I remember hearing you mangle that phrase in Mandarin like the phrase was scientology and you were Tom Cruise, but wasn’t aware that you had directed it at the wahine next to me until she told me 2 blocks later. I regret missing it because you lost out on the opportunity of getting a little educational lesson from yours truly. A little peek as to why you always have to go home to an empty house.
I’m not sure what your intent was in trying to say “ni hao” to her. Were you trying to be funny? I mean, you were funny (funny looking, that is), but I don’t think that it was in good taste. Would you walk up to an African American woman and say, “jambo jambo *clack* *clack* [*clack* being that tongue/cheek smacking sound],” would you? You wouldn’t walk up to a Latino female and say, “yo quiero taco bell, hot mami,” would you?
Were you trying to be cute? Trying to woo the mysterious China Doll who will love you long time when she’s not too busy binding her feet? Lesson #1 in dating…cute is for teddy bears and not for men. And here’s a little helpful hint that I’ll throw in for free…most Asian women do not find the Magnum P.I. chest afro attractive. You need to shave like an NBA referee.
Were you trying to be intelligent? Well, Mr. Smarty Panties, lesson #2 in dating…Asian women are not stupid. Or that easy. They’re not going to be impressed that you somehow managed to google “hello in Chinese” and then busted out your little brother’s hooked on phonics set. Oh, and if you really were that smart you would’ve noticed that she wasn’t Chinese. You should be counting your lucky stars that she didn’t kung fu hai-YAH your rocky mountain oysters into an omelet with a side of hash that used to be your flat buttocks.
Just be careful, homeboy. I’m just looking out for your safety because I’m going to tell all my fine Asian wahines out there on xanga some ways they can respond to the next guy who comes up to them and says, “ni hao.”
It’s not that I’m against interracial relationships or yellow fever. I grew up chasing after hapa girls, so the more couples like that the merrier. And unlike some insecure Asian men, I don’t get upset when I see an Asian girl with a guy who isn’t Asian. After all, if I’m not interested in that particular girl, why should I care who she’s dating? I’m just against eeeeediots who have forgotten that Asian women deserve to be respected as much as they do being treasured.
Learn that lesson, my dear gaijin, and you just might find an Asian girl that will in fact love you long time.
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Sorry if I sound a little mean spirited…I was just irritated…haha! 
This past weekend we also played trampoline dodgeball since S1llyangel408 was in town, and she was able to score me a free.99 CD from 8past!
Nhung, Connie, Radjbo, Jonasapproved, S1llyangel408, F.Bunch (rockin’ a feartofaith shirt)
I’m wondering why my X is smaller than Jonasapproved’s. (I’m sweating all nasty there…picking on little kids in dodgeball is hard work!)
And just to leave you with a disturbing image that will haunt you the rest of the week…
Gulliver ain’t got nothin’ on meeeeeeeeee!
Have a great week! I’m out like #755!
Coming Home.
My mom has never been one to tell you how she feels. I’m not sure whether it’s a byproduct of growing up in a home with 3 brothers or her dutiful, rural upbringing as the daughter of a minister, but she hardly ever says how she feels and usually will only say The Three Words if I say them first before hanging up. Even after my father died one of the few things she said to me was, “your father was a good man.”
But I know how she feels. I know how she feels because the absence of words can’t hide everything. She has this habit of shedding tears whenever one of her children comes home. I remember once back in college in the days before 9/11 she waited at the airport gate and then broke into tears when she saw me emerge from the tunnel with my guitar in one hand and heart in the other. And though she does not speak of my father much, she still visits his grave every week to adorn it with freshly cut flowers. In an island filled with bountiful flowers, there is still not enough for that one patch of grass to show how much it is worth.
They’re all home now. My oldest sister never left the island, planting in the sun-soaked land the roots of two rascal sons who have grown up so fast that my arms get pleasurably sore holding them up now. My other two sisters are now home from ATL and NYC, bringing with them their husbands and the two loveliest and most precious nieces that I do not deserve. On the day my younger sister arrived she walked up the stairs and found my mother weeping. When questioned why, she replied, “because you’re home, you’re finally home.” The next night when my twin sister arrived my mother spent the whole night watching her two grandaughters play together, her face shining like it was 4 years ago and he was still here.
I smiled wistfully when my twin sister told me that her little one won’t stop clutching the stuffed animal she named “Baba” that I got her for Christmas and one of the first things she said when she arrived home in Hawaii was, “where’s Uncle Frank?”
I wonder what my parents did to us growing up that made us so tight knit. We had our problems, of course. I used to fart at my sisters, hide their stuffed animals or mess up their desks when I would be mad and I used to threaten my parents that I would go to law school instead of med school when they would harrass me about things. But that’s the past and the past, like regret, is something best left behind.
I was talking to someone once about my plans after fellowship is done this year and when I told him that I planned to move back to Hawaii in part to be close to my mom since my dad passed away, he responded by saying, “you need to be your own man and not let your mom run your life.” But he didn’t get it because I *am* being my own man and this is the choice that I am making. The men in my family have a tradition of passing away before their wives and if I want my children to treasure and take care of their mother as much as I would, then I need to teach them, to show them…I need to lead by example.
Hawaii was a wonderful place to grow up as a child and to a local boy like me it is heaven, a place where even 7-Eleven serves spam musubi and the stresses of the daily grind can dissipate as you dip your toes in the ocean, which is always less than 15 minutes away. But it’s a horrible business decision for me to go back. Physicians in Hawaii, like everyone else, work more to get paid less to pay more. Add to that the unfriendly business environment created by the politicians’ old boy network of the 70s and 80s and no matter what job I take, fiscally I’d be better off here on the mainland.
But money isn’t everything, is it? If it is everything to you, then in reality all you have is nothing.
So I’m hoping to find something that will enable me to go home next year. And If I can’t, then I will keep trying the next year.
So I’ll be home soon for good, mom, and you don’t have to say anything when I arrive because I already know.
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In my quest to lose 10% of my weight (a few posts ago), here is the latest weapon!
It was free.99! (Well, it was a gift.)
Now I know that no one will ever mistake me for being a Top Chef, but I don’t really have time to spend an hour in the kitchen.
Whatever vegetables you want…
Marinated chicken (it’s a secret )
And here ya go! I love this grill like Barbara Walters loves the sound of her own voice! No cooking oil, nothing else added except the marinade and everything costs less than $6 (good enough for 2-3 meals) if you prorate the rice and lettuce! Done in 15 minutes, leaving me more time to do check my comments. 
Edit: You wrap the meat and rice in the lettuce!
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For your listening pleasure, which Canon in D do you like better?
Have a great weeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeek! I’m out like Barry Bond’s ‘roid secret.
Party Foul (Bleavage).
Edit: Warning! Partial nudity (but not enough to get banned from xanga, Mr. John!) ahead!
So the other weekend there was a xanga get together including the likes of radjbo, wutuwaitn4, iluvconverse, my_notes_to_self, nomuskles, GERKshinobi, Bobashop, the fashionably late summ3r21, and others in SF, and something happened that made me think about party fouls.
Now we all know that there are certain party fouls that are universal. Among them…
But when we were at the Wharf I spotted one of the worst party fouls of them all.
Bleavage!!! (Butt + cleavage.) 
I swear, there was so much crack that day that I was half expecting former DC mayor Marion Barry to show up with a lighter and a pipe.
I’m not sure what is the whole deal with bleavage. Wahines who do that can’t feign ignorance. With the breeze rushing in the tunnel poking out between the cheeks, how can you not know that your second smile is hanging out? Do these wahines think that it’s attractive?
Throughout the ages we’ve been treated to various fads of exposure…the dazzey dukes (a.k.a. hood rat hood rat hoochie mama booty shorts), the cleavage, the bare midriff, and I can certainly understand wanting to highlight your perceived most attractive part. Which is why women with gazongas let you know that they have gazongas…from the other side of the room. In my younger Xanga days I would flash my photoshopped biceps because it was the only semi-attractive part of me (the rest of me is as undesirable as a colonoscopy without anesthesia…but now even the ‘ceps are gone…sigh). And double decka hecka, if I had a midriff like ilovepeas or zfunkmonkey, I probably would show it off as well. But with bleavage I have to draw the line. Why? I dunno, I guess it’s the doctor in me, but(t) every time I see bleavage, I can trace out a Chernobyl-sized plume of fecal particles shooting out and coming after my left nostril.
Beauty does not have to expose itself to be so. And modesty, like the Coast Guard, is both underrated and underappreciated.
If you want to rock a body part because you worked hard to get it blazin’, then by all means, go ahead and shine like Jay-Z’s wrist. But please, let’s make America a better place by putting the bleavage away. Or else next time I’m going be the toilet paper ninja and stick TP in it!
I’m out like Al Gore’s son after 4 joints! Have a great week!
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Movie recs: Transformers (if you’re a dork like me) and on DVD Smokin’ Aces (I thought this would be just a Boondock Saints-ish shoot ‘em up movie with the bonus of Alicia Keys, but it was actually well written with a very good ending.)
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Picture time! These are from the other weekend when we got together…
5 seconds later we were zapped up by the mothership. Photo courtesy of GERKshinobi.
These are our ”constipation” faces. Sooz is trying really hard. Haha! Photo courtesy of GERKshinobi.
I dunno what me and WuWu were looking at, but it obviously wasn’t as exciting as the Transformers movie. I just wanted to show off my $7 on sale shirt here. Taiwanese represent! Photo courtesy of nomuskles.
This is the view 99% of the world has of me…haha! Me and the brightest smile on xanga, bobashop. Photo courtesy of nomuskles.
I’m doing by best impersonation of yellow fever with iluvconverse. Photo courtesy of radjbo.
Dude who I forgot his name because ?he doesn’t have a xanga? (but you’re still awesome, man), iluvconverse, WuWu, GERKshinobi, my_notes_to_self, radjbo, nomuskles, and me (behind the camera!).
Pride.
Ah…summer. That time of year where college kids out of school run amok, tanned wahines to the beaches flock, and the grim reaper comes to knock. Why, pray tell? It’s because it’s July and all the new interns have started, making the hospitals the most dangerous place to be, 2nd to that infinitesimally shrinking space between a rabid Lindsey Lohan and her cocaine (don’t do drugs, people, look what happened to Hillary Clinton…she turned into a man!).
What happens when Herbie goes to Colombia.
For those of you who are not in tune with life inside la familia, here’s a brief review of the hierarchy of medicine from plankton to Free Willy:
When I’m at work I hide my superhero cape and the big “F” adorning my chest and conduct myself in a humble manner. (Hey, no boo-hissing, I’m telling the truth!) When paged I answer with. “Hi, this is Frank the Fellow.” I never say, “this is Dr. so-and-so” unless I’m calling somewhere unfamiliar. And it cracks me up when I do this and the person on the other line says, “Hi Frank, this is Dr. xxx, INTERN on xxx service.” This tends to happen mostly with Family Practice and Physiatry and in the summer, when the new med school graduates are flush with power, being able to order people around for the first time since they were 3-years-old (and yet with both the discussion often centers on pooping, coming full circle!). I guess for some reason it makes themselves feel good to lord a title over the person on the phone who graduated top ten in his med school (shhh, it’s a secret) and was an attending before coming back to do fellowship. Bwahahaha! 3 more examples recently:
Anyways, I thought I’d take the opportunity to mention other groups of people who tend to take themselves a little too seriously (I don’t mean to stereotype, but I will!)….
Starbucks Baristas
At the Empire of Evil I love ordering, “large size, please,” which inexorably leads to the barista shooting me an incredulous and menacing stare while saying, “you mean, like, VENTI?” 
(You’d think that you just ordered a clubbed baby seal or something the way they react sometimes!!!) Then I ask them to explain to me the differences between a mocha, a latte and a cappuccino, and if they carry diet pepsi just to irritate the Asian girls text messaging with their Blackberrys and “writers” with their berets, pedophile sunglasses and laptops in line behind me.
Grown-ups with content WORTH being featured blogring a.k.a Featured_Grownups
This is a group where members are encouraged to comment and star each other in an attempt to get onto Featured Content (FC). I admit that when I first started xanga I used to woop-woop whenever I got onto FC, but after 2.5 yrs of having almost all my posts on FC, it does nothing to enhance your blog and FC really has nothing to do with quality. Lesson number one of being a writer…let your writing speak for itself. It’s not about loving the craft, it’s about crafting something you love. Good writers should not have to campaign for comments. Whether I get 100 comments or just 10, I write because I love to. I ain’t tryin’ to hate on ya, homies. Best of luck in crafting something you love. Just stop doing it at Starbucks so I can get a seat with my large drink.
Al Gore
I think Big Al missed the memo that he lost the election in his own state, not to mention the nation. You can’t watch TV these days without getting ‘Gore’d by his environmental doomsday predictions that make Nostradamus look like a stale fortune cookie. (This from the man whose house burns more electricity than Bolivia.) I think as the first step in decreasing global warming the Clintonian Scottie Pippen should be required to get his son to light up less, and I’m not talking about Xmas trees!
Pass the dutchie on the left hand side, everyone, it’s time to go GANJA GREEN!
Another thing to remember, Democraps and Republican’ts, is that marijuana is a cause of gynecomastia (men with boobies).
Raise your right hand and repeat after me, “I will not smoke marijuana so I won’t get man boobies like, uh, someone!”
Emcee Rove
Some people actually should take themselves seriously and not try to be funny. Exhibit A: old white Republicans trying to rap and dance. The best part is at 1:39 where the guy “scratching” sounds like an orangutan who just got his prostate biopsied. I wonder how much they paid the black guy to stand up there with them. Bwahahaha!
Franksabunch™
Yeah, this guy is the worst of them all!!!
But seriously, folks. To you residents out there, remember that humility is one the most important traits of being a doctor. Pride is like a date on eHarmony.com…easy to get, but still ugly at the end of the day.
Have a great week! I’m out like Al Gore’s son after 2 vicodins and some herb. (Disclaimer: The Franksabunch™ does not endorse or condone the misuse of prescription medication, unless it’s lithium to reduce Cindy Sheehan’s delusions of grandeur.)
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There was some durahma recently re: my fabulous cousin’s site, and the blogger formerly known as Dehzep wanted to man up and apologize, so if you want, you can go find it in the comment section.
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I just discovered another music group I’ve been diggin’ recently. Well, actually I heard about them a long time ago when SumoSue would plug them (before she got kidnapped by World of Warcraft, haha), but never heard a track until recently. Monroe Street. I love their sound (a little mix of old and new school) and can’t wait for an album to drop. (If you go to the friends section, “Momma Lee” has more tracks on her site, which I assume is from the band.)
Oops, I’m in trouble!
Oh SNAP (in a Z formation)!!!!
So I was deleting some applications from my computer (quicktime was one of them) to clear some space and now my iTunes won’t load. It says I have to download it again.
DOES THIS MEAN THAT ALL 900 SONGS I UPLOADED ARE GONE?!?!??!?!?!??! AIYAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA!
Or should I simply just download iTunes again? (Does it have anything to do with giving quicktime the 86?)
Sorry, I’m clueless about anything that I can’t prescribe something to fix!
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Edit: Muchos Mahalos for all the advice! I downloaded quicktime again and now my iTunes is working again!!!!!!! So what did we learn children? Besides the fact that gerbils lack a Circle of Willis, don’t delete quicktime if you have iTunes!
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