WHAT THE FRANK?!
If your child talks too much, should we sew his lips together and insert a feeding tube?
If your child runs around too much, should we cut off his legs?
Rationalize all you want… Somewhere in hell, Adolph Hitler is smiling…
Edit: I’m going to be MIA from xanga a lot until I get back to NorCal…see y’allz later, purple alligatorz…
Franksabunchisms 2006.
It’s that time of the year again, subbers and stalkers. Instead of a events summary of 2006 or a list of resolutions for 2007, here are the Franksabunchisms from 2006! You can find Franksabunchisms 2005 here. Going through the past year to pick out -isms, I found that my fave entries were this one and this one. This year my posts were more on the serious side than the year before…hence the fewer # of lame attempts at humorous -isms compared to 2005.
Franksabunchism (frahnc-sah-bahnch-iz-em) – A sometimes meaningful but usually meaningless literary morsel about life taken from the xanga blog of The Franksabunch™, quotes guilty of lyrically performed armed robbery (that’s a Wu-Tang Clanism) with the aid of gallons of Diet Pepsi. Should he ever find someone that steals a Franksabunchism (without crediting him) for their own writing, he will go ninja style one time for your mind and drop E. coli in their coffee when they’re not looking so they will get explosive diarrhea. Cha. Cha. Cha.
(Sorry, I’m home on vacation–in Hawaii, suckas!–so I don’t want to spend the time to fix all the punctuation or do links to the original posts.)
Boys and girls and all that mess
Those around you
Life
What?
Serious bizznazz
Have yourself a great 2007!!!!! 
Edit: Find me a contract with someone and you’ll get your book! 
Going home again.
I have to say goodbye again.
Ever since I graduated from medical school, almost every single time I have come back home I have had to face some sort of tragedy or another. My dad getting diagnosed with cancer, my dad getting worse, my dad being in the ICU, my dad passing away, coming back to see his grave for the first time since the burial, coming back to visit my grandma on what would become her deathbed, and now…I’m going to fly home on Friday…back to see her grave, which is right next to my grandfather’s.
It was just over 2 decades ago when he passed away. I remember that day as if it was a movie that I have had to watch every single day of my life. I knew that he had fallen down and was at the hospital. But when my mom came into the living room and started crying and hugged my oldest sister, I knew that something was wrong. I immediately walked outside to get away from everyone and sat down, clutching a stuffed softball, I asked God, “Why?” I didn’t get an answer, so I walked inside, turned on the TV and pretended like nothing had happened. If you don’t remember that he’s dead, then he isn’t, right?
I remember that at my grandfather’s funeral, I was in disbelief. I quietly chided everyone for being so sad because none of it was real. I even told my cousin Thomas, “Don’t cry. Why are you crying? Boys are not supposed to cry.” It was only during the procession back from the burial site with his picture held up in my hands did I finally realize that he was never coming back. It was then that the warmth began to collect in my eyes and then gushed down the each cheek in a vain attempt to fill the heart below that was suddenly empty. I think that was the first time in my life that I cried over something besides physical pain. And to this day, I have not said goodbye to him yet. Visited his grave, yes. Many times. But never said goodbye.
One of the cruel ironies of this world is that because it takes time for you to cultivate an appreciation for it, the more you grow to appreciate life, the less time you have to enjoy it. When I was younger I used to view taking my grandma out to go shopping as a chore . . . in the last year of her life I viewed each time as being precious. So precious that I wished that I could keep them from slipping away, but like a fistful of sand, the harder I grasped, the more I could see the grains slipping away. With my grandfather never to soon did I come to the understanding that I should have soaked in every single moment. With my grandmother I did realize that a little before it was too late.
There is so much of her that I now see in myself. She was such a neat freak, having grown up in rural Taiwan, tending to a pastor husband, who tended to those who were sick…she’d make him strip outside of the house and boil his clothes everytime he came home. Hahaha… But I’m the same. I have to be anal at work or people I tend to will not get better and anything I wear at the hospital, I won’t wear again without washing. She was so humble in her pride–or prideful in her humility–telling me, “it’s a good thing I was there after you and your twin sister were born, your mom wouldn’t have been able to handle it without me,” with a smirk only visible in her eyes. And as much as I’d like to deny it, I’m exactly the same way, 1 part Franksabunch, 3 parts Frank.
He was such a patient and humble man, my grandfather. As moderator of the national board for the Presbyterian church of Taiwan, the Kuomintang (party from China that took over the government of Taiwan) feared his influence and chased him out of the country, so he came to the US and took a job as a college janitor so he could earn social security benefits for his wife. And not once did he ever complain. Can you imagine that? Could you do that if it was you?
In many ways I feel cheated at not being able to know my grandfather more deeply. The great man everyone said he was, I never got to know. To me he was just the gentle man who would spread butter on my toast in the morning and redo it if the butter didn’t melt the way that I wanted it to. Even all the way on the east coast when I was in college, random people would tell me, “I knew your grandfather, he was a good man, let me know if there is anything I can do for you.”
The person you really are in this world is the person people say you were, after you are gone. What are people going to say about you when you are gone? What would you like them to say?
But I realize now that I have been learning about him all along. Not only in the stories my grandmother spun over katsudon and Pepsi in her kitchen that last year of her life, but also in the love and devotion that I saw in her eyes. You don’t give those things–love and devotion–to someone unless they really deserve them.
They say that the values from the old world–patience, hard work, humility and unselfishness–often dissipate by the time the 3rd or 4th generation rolls around, but that is not going to happen here. When my children ask me to tell them a story, I will tell them about their great-grandparents, I will tell them about the great man he was, the miracle of his life, the people he touched, and about the even greater woman who loved him.
So when I get home I will say goodbye, A-Gong and A-Ma. Thank you for everything.
Boondock Saints.
I was flipping through the TV last night and after seeing the first 5 minutes I was stuck. Better than pulp fiction. If you’re a man’s man you def have to watch it. Anyway, just to prove to you that sometimes superheroes can be eeeediots, the reason why I was watching the movie was because I was waiting for the Drano to work. You see, the night before I was taking a shower and the drain stopped working so the tub was stuck with standing water. Being the Here-I-come-to-save-the-daaaaay! person that I am, I poured a whole gallon of Drano in the tub. Unfortunately, it still didn’t work. After the movie was done I decided to use a chopstick to dig around in the drain and found that the reason why the water didn’t drain was because the plug had gone down and I didn’t notice it (because at my height I couldn’t tell the angle), and not because it was clogged.
O_o
Haha!
Xmas Shopping!
With the season for the reason upon us, everyone is out there scrambling to find the perfect gift for the imperfect person. Coming from a guy who has received many less than desirable gifts over the years, I’d like to give you some advice and hopefully spare a few of my fellow homies bad gifts. Thus, here is the Franksabunch’s™ guide to shopping for your man…
Remember what your man was like when you first met? How shady yet sexy, fun and flirtatious, brimming with more confidence than Cakalusa vs. thetheologianscafeforreaderswithalowIQ? Well, see that guy sitting on the couch drinking his gingerbread latte and plucking his eyebrows in between watching Korean soap operas? That’s your boy now. After they get into a relationship, men work out less, eat out more, and phat turns into fat… They lose their mojo. So this Christmas, give it back to them. Turn wimp back into pimp!
No “self help” stuff.
You women are sneaky. Instead of telling your man that he’s fat, you buy him a gym membership. Instead of telling him his breath smells like rotten frijoles, you buy him an electric toothbrush. Save that for Valentine’s Day, when he’s so happy you liked the Costco flowers that he’ll accept whatever you give him. Christmas time is about making him feel like a king at the turn of the new year. Remember, this is about reestablishing his mojo. Don’t give him gifts that will help him get better—cookbooks, anything from Oprah’s Book Club, Bikram yoga sessions—give him gifts that he deserves because he’s already the best.
Careful with clothes.
Hat by Fear to Faith, shirt by Fear to Faith…body by spam fried rice. (I thought I’d be different from all the other Asian guys on xanga and actually smile in a picture.)
Clothes are risky because you need to buy the right style and the right SIZE. Nothing offends me more than when a wahine buys me a size medium shirt for Xmas. Do you think that I spent all those years lifting weights so people could mistake me for David Spade on a diet? You have to find something that accentuates his build, but not so tight that you can see the love handles you created! Eep! Your best bet is to borrow one of his shirts or sweaters, then you can look at the label when he’s not in the room. But pants are even trickier. When it comes to jeans, think of your future daughter. A good pair of jeans is like a good first date…no butt hugging allowed! He needs jeans baggy enough to bring out the inner thug. Unless he’s metro, in which case you might as well throw in the towel and get him some Clinique facial wash so he can freshen up after crying every time Meredith gets dumped on Grey’s Anatomy.
The gift that does not keep on giving.
Boys love their toys. But be careful which toy you buy. Gaming systems are all the rage these days. From the Wii to the PS3 to Xbox360, people are willing to risk life and limb to buy these things. If you get one for him, he will worship the ground you walk on…for 10 seconds. Then he’ll ignore you for the next 6 months trying to beat his old frat buddies in Halo 2. Of course, this is a delightful side effect if your man is the overbearing type who won’t let you go to pee without asking who you talked to and whether you’re cheating on him.
Gift certificates.
Woman…please. You know your man is going to walk into the store and buy the first thing that fits. So unless you want your prince walking around in a Prince Purple Rain shirt when you go on your fondue double date, spend the time to find him something decent.
Bling.
We all know that beauty is on the inside, that only hearts can be handsome and souls can be sexy. But we also know that wahines are attracted to flashy objects. (If this wasn’t true, all the single guys out there wouldn’t be wearing their cellphones on beltclips–for the record, I clip mine inside my pocket–or get rims for their cars.) This is for your single male friends.
Do you think that when your guy friend is rollin’ through Borders with a gangsta lean that the wahines there will be able to tell just by looking at him that he’s a kind and generous man who would warm his beloved’s side of the bed before she gets ready to sleep, clean out her earwax and take care of her mom when she’s sick? Hecka no. He needs something to distinguish himself from all the bookstore dregs working on their “writing” and “art” while they’re *cough* in between jobs (and baths, for that matter).
You gotta bling if you want to step up to the plate and swing. After he gets her attention, he can show her who he really is on the inside. So what am I talking about?
A watch! That is Franksabunch’s recommendation for you to buy for your man friends. Why?
Homies, rule #1 when you see a wondrous wahine is to look at your watch, because chances are that she’ll be at that same place, same time, same day, next week. (You can thank me later 
.) And when she notices the bling on his wrist she’ll also notice the absence of a ring on his finger.
“But F.Bunch™, I thought this was about buying a gift for my man, not my friends?” Same thing applies. You know you’re dealing with a Boss Man when a guy lights his wrist. And when all the wahines come up to him and use the watch as an excuse to talk to him, they’ll ask where he got it from and he’ll have to say, “I got it, uh, from my, uh, GF.”
See…the pimp will still be your wimp. Haha!
Have a great week, everyone! [For the record, I haven't worn a watch in 4 years! But that's independent of my relationship "status."]
—–
Who wants to go watch Meg and Dia with me on Jan 13th in Roseville or Jan 14th in Saratoga? Stoooopid Ji got me hooked on their music. Haha!
Dr. Phil.
Some of you ask why I’m always making char siu out of Dr. Phil. Well, here ya go…it’s a clip from a recent Dr. Phil show provided on youtube by CBS.
Raise your right hand if you like to exploit people. Good job, Al Sharpton, Saddam and Phil! [Pic taken from wtop.com]
“I refuse to publicize that.” Oh, for the love of spam fried rice. I don’t condone the bum fights guy any more than I do Satan, but to bring him on your show, reveal to the world what he does, and then throw him out without allowing him to defend himself by saying, “I refuse to publicize that,” shows that Dr. Phil is exactly the same trash that he claims to be purging the world of. He tries to set himself up as some sort of warrior for truth, justice and apple pie (which I’m sure he’s had many of), but he did exactly the opposite of what he’s saying he wants to do. It is not a live show. And by showing his clip before throwing him out, he gave him enough publicity to sell more videos. If he truly was a man of his word, he would not have allowed that segment to air on TV.
I thought it was hilarious that the bum fights guy made his hair and clothes exactly the same as Dr. Phil. I don’t think Shakespeare or Dave Chappelle could’ve staged it any better. Is there a difference between the two of them? One exploits homeless people, while the other exploits middle trash America–bored women who sit around all day doing nothing constructive with their lives and the men who love them. I have not harbored any affection for Dr. Phil since the first time that I saw him on TV. He had an overweight woman on his show and asked her to talk about her weight problems, saying that he would tap her shoulder if he felt that she was being dishonest. So, as you would expect, he kept tapping and tapping until she started bawling her eyes out. He revels in rubbing salt in the wounds of others, and middle trash America just eats it up. This is a man who bills himself as coming from a medical profession and wanting to help others. (I don’t care how many disclaimers he puts out, he is certainly advertised as such.) And also a man who had to settle a fraud lawsuit for his failed diet supplement campaign. Jigga who? Jigga what? Why in the world would you buy a weight loss product endorsed by someone overweight like him? It’s like buying a Bible study guide written by Paris Hilton.
If you are a “medical professional” that wants to help people…you embolden them. You do not embarrass them in front of thousands.
If he was half of the man he claims to be, he would’ve debated the bum fights guy. But no…instead he chose to be a coward who’d rather pick on people incapable of defending themselves.
Ironic, is it not, that to place himself on the moral highground, that Dr. Phil threw himself off the stage?
Edit: And coming next week –> The Franksabunch’s™ guide to Christmas shopping for your man©
Edit #2: Would you eat a mutated deer–7 legs and both male and female *beep* and vajeyjey–that you just ran over? And to think, this happened in the same state that produced Dieselgrrrrl. Haha!
James Kim.
Greater love has no one than this, than to lay down one’s life for his friends. – John 15:13, New King James Version
His name was James Kim.
I don’t know why his death has affected me so much. I see death all the time. In my specialty, I expect it. 20% of my dialysis patients will not make it until next year. That’s what the statistics say, despite best efforts, the gentlest of hearts and strongest of wills. So you can imagine that I’m quite used to it. But this death, that of James Kim, leaves me with an empty feeling.
I’ve always been fascinated with heroes. From comic books that littered my childhood to shows today like Smallville and Heroes, my imagination has always gravitated towards extraordinary people with extraordinary abilities. But what about the real world? Who are the heroes?
Is it Todd Beamer from Flight 93? Are they the Japanese Americans who despite being sent to internment camps served in 442nd? Is it Pat Tillman, who gave up NFL millions to serve—and die—in Afghanistan?
Yes. Yes. And yes. But you will never hear of most of the heroes in our lives.
A true hero is an ordinary person who affects the world in an extraordinary way. We don’t know them. They don’t have names to us. But we perpetually feel the ebb and flow of the ripples they created with their lives. They are my friend who passes out Starbucks cards to homeless people, my dad who told nobody but me that he would treat indigent immigrants for free and paid for one person’s health insurance so he could continue to get medical care…they are the widowed mothers, special education teachers, nuns running orphanages in the 3rd world…
At first I thought that James Kim made a mistake by trekking out alone into the wintry haze to look for help. Having spent a few years in Oregon, I knew that most of the people who died in the wilderness were those who went off the beaten path alone. But what would you do if you were in his shoes, with his family out of food, out of fuel, and out of…no…not out of hope. Would you have taken the steps he took? Could you?
We are selfish beings by nature. That is why our relationships fail in this world. Love is not about commitment. Love is commitment. It is committing yourself to another, so much so that you become selfless. Only a selfless person could do what he did. He loved his family so much that he walked into what he knew could—and eventually did—lead to his death. But it worked. A helicopter spotted his tracks and traced it back to his family.
I don’t know exactly how the transfer from this world to the next occurs, but I hope that God allowed James one last look back over his shoulder to see his wife waving that umbrella to the rescuers so he could shine down one last adoring smile to his family.
There are many heroes who pass through this world without a name…but not this one.
His name was James Kim. Remember it.
——-
How many eprops can you fit at one table?
Jonasapproved, Ambrous67, S1llyAngel408, oneazn2nv, teaevolutionmay, Andy, Jeeves777, KXRanasinghe, Angelchica, F.Bunch.
A bunch of us got together to have some dinner at Home Restaurant in SF. Afterwards we went to karaoke in Japantown, and little do they know that I secretly taped them doing the “YMCA” with my digital camera. Hehe… I’m going to save that file for blackmail later.
And to start the week off with a sour note…
The poster child for stricter birth control is at it again. She’s so lacking in intellect that she probably thinks that “JaPAN” is something you cook sushi on.
Edit: Got this links from AngryAsianMan.com: Check out Rosie’s blog response to a reader named Leema. Apparently, Rosie does not know how to spell “stereotype.”
The Candle
The candle that burns twice as bright burns twice as fast.
I was talking to someone about that the other day. Is it true that people who are beautiful early on in life become n.a.s.t. later, while the ugly ducklings become peking duck in their 20’s?
I remember that when I was a freshman band geek tuba player (but #1 tuba player in the state, ahem) I had a huuuuuuuge crush on some of the older flute players. Huge as in Roseanne Arnold huge. Of course what could I do? I was an Asian version of Fat Albert with a rice bowl haircut and the bravado of fairy tale lion with a thorn in my paw, with the thorn being my desire for something I could not have.
I was never lacking in confidence in my abilities or who I was as a person…just my luck with wahines. I didn’t think that I had much to offer as a boy to any given girl who crossed my path.
So as you can imagine, I didn’t date in high school. In fact, I didn’t start to garner any attention from the kinder and gentler sex until my later college years, when I was taller and lost a lot of my baby fat and got down to <11% body fat (imagine that) and the attention increased more after I started med school (imagine THAT) and even more when I became an official M.D. (IMAGINE THAT). I think a lot of that has to do with the superficial tastes of certain women than anything having to do with me being attractive or the best (I’m honest…I ain’t Takeshi Kaneshiro, and now my body fat runs at a spam musubi inflated 20% haha!). I still had the same face, big nose, the same sense of humor understood by only dorks, bad breath and to this day I still feel like running and hiding when a pretty wahine talks to me.
In my travels to and from Hawaii over the years I’ve run into some of the aforementioned flute players and my immediate reaction would often be, “Ai-ya! Where are the Scooby Snacks when you need them?!” O_o Haha! Naw, it’s not that bad. They weren’t n.a.s.t. but they def did not have the allure they once had.
I think there’s a lot to be said about being a “late bloomer.” Having been devoid of relationships and female attention early on in life, I learned not to depend on it later on in life. I didn’t need a mouse to take out the thorn, I took it out myself. I’m as happy being in a relationship as I am being single (which in and of itself can be a fault and may be the eventual cause of my relationship downfall). Alone does not = lonely for me, and I want a girl who can complement—not complete—me. And as a result I’d like to think that I’m much more appreciative of a woman’s influence in my life than other guys who have had it all along. Growing up I saw that many of the candles that burned twice as bright received so much attention from the opposite sex that they craved it, they needed it. I had one friend who could not spend more than 2 weeks in between relationships because she could not bear the feeling of someone not adoring her. And yes, her candle burned 3x as bright as any other girl I knew.
Candles that burn brighter need more fuel, so you can certainly imagine how those who have had more attention early on in life consume more attention later by being more spoiled and demanding. Of course, not every man or woman turns out that way, but it does happen more often than not. I’m not sure why some of the hot potato wahines turned into hash years later. Perhaps all those years of living in the fast lane? Or is it perhaps that they simply got tired of concentrating all of their energy into just one part of their being?
So yes, my dear subbers and stalkers, the candle that burns twice as bright does indeed burn twice as fast, but the candle that takes its time to illuminate will keep your nights from being dark many years longer. Even a candle with a 20% body fat circumference.
Edit: And I’ll write about James Kim next week….too much to soak in right now… =(
Daikon Soup for the Soul.
Being on call for 96 hours is aite, but being on call for 96 hours while sick is not aite. Being at work at 5:30 AM is aite, but being at work at 5:30 AM standing over a toilet waiting to barf like a man who was just asked out on a date by one of those n.a.s.t. girls on the Jerry Springer Show is not aite. You know that it’s not all good in the ‘hood when the ICU nurse says, “you don’t look too good,” to YOU and not the patient.
Haha! If you haven’t guessed it yet, The Franksabunch™ was sick over the “holiday” weekend. It started on Wednesday, began to crescendo on Thursday and hit me with the full force of an out-of-tune sousaphone on Friday AM (the dry heaving day). So I thought I’d take my experience and give you….
The Franksabunch’s Guide to Being Sick®
1. Take a chill pill, dude.
Being sick is like the ideal morning after your wedding…you shouldn’t need antibiotics. The overwhelming majority of upper respiratory diseases are viral–and not bacterial–in nature. Viral = antibiotics will not work. The thing that bothers me most in this world is Dr. Phil. The #2 thing that bothers me in this world is when primary care docs hand out antibiotics like candy whenever someone comes into their office sneezing. Viral illnesses tend to resolve within 7-10 days. How many days of antibiotics does the doc give you for your cold? 7-10 days! I’ve spent too much time cleaning up their mistakes when people come in with resistant infections and if you’re one of the people who develop toxic megacolon or SJS from antibiotics because they’d rather give you a prescription than spend a few minutes educating you, then that really sucks.
2. Don’t spread the love.
Wash your hands!!! I feel about 90% recovered today, but this morning outside of a room where you had to wear gloves the patient’s nurse sneezed…right onto the box of gloves I was about to use. FranksaThanksabunch, homegirl! Aiya. Anyway, you’d be surprised how much a bar of ivory soap and water can do in preventing spreading your infection. It won’t help your infection much, but it will help other people. Pay it forward, homie.
3. FOOD!
I forget how that old domestic partner’s saying goes… Feed a cold, starve a fever? Or was it feed a fever, starve a cold? In any case, that makes less sense than parachuting into North Korea with a sign that says, “Kim Jong-Il needs Rogaine!”
Kim Jong-Il…bringing sexy back…4 evolutionary cycles, that is.
Let’s say you starve your fever. What if your fever lasts for 5 days? You’re not going to eat for 5 days? Food is very important. You need nutrition, my friends. But what do you cook? When you have more boogers than the underside of an elementary school desk and more fluids exiting through Canada than Mexico it is not the time to whip up some pork tenderloin basted with mango chutney sauteed in wasabi garlic soy sauce with a side of pineapple glazed spam. You need comfort food that is simple enough so you have time to run and blow your nose or barf every 5 minutes. Try making some daikon soup the next time you’re sick.
Step 1: buy some meat!
The best meat is attached to bone. It’s softer. But I didn’t have any on hand. But here’s the most important thing about choosing your meat:
ON SALE, baby! Gosh, my ancestors must be so proud.
Step 2: boil your meat.
See all the oil and fat in the water? You don’t want it in your hips or soup. Throw it out like Kramer at a comedy club.
Step 3: daikon!
Use the carrot’s worst enemy and take off the outside (since the grocery stocker prob sneezed on it).
Step 4: cook!
Take your meat and sliced daikon and put them in a pot of new water. (I cheated and poured out instead of using a new pot.) Simmer. Add salt to taste.
Step 5: whatever else!
I realize that serrated knives are not the ideal choice to cut green onions, but heck, it looks more manly. If you’re going to cook, you might as well look good while doing it. Anyway, you can leave the soup as it is, or add whatever. I eat green onions with everything except ice cream so I threw some in. So whatever you fancy. You Coreans can add kim chi, you Japanese can add sushi and my dear readers of Caucasian descent, feel free to add mayo! (Just not to my pot. Haha!)
Step 6: Pour over a bowl of rice and EAT!
Edit: Yes, I did actually cook it myself!!!
Have a great week, everyone!
——-
Although I didn’t campaign this year, I’m in the running for Whonose’s annual Mr. Xanga award. haha! Instead of a popularity contest, this year it’s based on challenges/tests. Go here and vote for your best caption. One of them is mine, but I can’t tell you which!
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