December 23, 2009


  • Franksabunchisms 2008-2009.

     

    The Franksabunch™ has pretty much exited my role as a writer here on xanga and I’ve largely been relegated to the life of a spectator (I do miss writing, though!), but while strolling through some older entries, I realized that I forgot to update the Franksabunchisms the past two years!  (Something only my really old school subscribers will remember.  Instead of summarizing my year every NYE, I decided to lift quotes from my writing.)  So, anyway, below are the ones from 2008-2009.  You can find 2007, 2006, 2005 lists here and here and here.  Over the years I’ve probably recycled a few and inadvertently stolen a few from others, but no ill will was intended!

     

    Have a great Christmas and NYE, everyone!  Remember the reason for the season and may blessings find you and yours!

    ————

     

    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 Clan line) 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.

     

    Love and relationships

    • In the end, love is less about fulfilling conditions than it is about simply being fulfilling and forgiveness is not given, but rather *is* a given, when it comes to those you love.
    • In relationships, synergy is more important than similarities.
    • A husband without his wife is powerless…just like Jessica Simpson without her boobs.
    • In our relationships, instead of approaching problems as you versus me, perhaps a better way is to approach it as us versus the problem.  We are not different people fighting, but rather people fighting different ideas. 
    • the real world isn’t like Super Mario…no one wants to date a princess.
    • Sometimes, it is more important to love than to be loved.
    • Sometimes the best thing about love is having someone who can shoulder your worst.
    • Love, you see, is not about who you should or could be, but rather is about who you are.  You cannot fashion yourself to become more loveable any more than you can mold another into someone you can love more, because once you reduce love into a form of currency, you rob it of its value.
    • The beauty of love is that no matter what wounds are hurting, what walls are falling and what dreams are fading, your beloved’s warmth will always be there to carry you through to tomorrow and beyond.
    • Women are like lightning storms…don’t try to understand them, just learn how not to get hit.
    • Looking for love on the internet is like visiting a nudist colony or a presidential campaign, where what is promised isn’t necessarily what is delivered.

     

    Life

    • The candle that burns twice as bright burns twice as fast but sometimes all that remains after a fire that burns bright are smoke and whispers.
    • Every moment you spend allowing hate to displace love is a moment of love that you can never get back.
    • There are many people that come in and out of our lives and a good portion of them will have some character trait or behavior that we find deplorable or more irritating than a Carrot Top marathon.  However, instead of immediately casting them aside or getting defensive, perhaps we should take a step back and consider that there is a reason why they are that way and grant them a little grace. 
    • Friends are like memories…some are worth cherishing for life while others are meaningful for the short time that they exist before they fade away.
    • There is nothing to be gained by spray painting a Picasso and neither is there any edification to be gained by smothering love with hate.
    • Bullying, you see, has more to do with your own flaws than those of your victim.
    • Negative attributes are a monopoly of mankind and not one particular kind of man.
    • Neglecting the hurt in your life only serves to make it hunger for you more.  And denying others a chance to peek into the maelstrom that lies beneath your happy facade only serves to isolate yourself further to a place where only you and your pain reside.  All wounds will leave a scar, my friends, but how big that scar gets is entirely up to you.
    • We all feel the need to be significant in someone else’s eyes and sometimes that which lies within the space between love and trust is a simple act of kindness.  Don’t underestimate the power of a gesture of compassion, friendship or affection because what may seem to be a few seconds to you may fulfill the needs of what someone else has been waiting years for.
    • Humility is like Metamucil…hard to swallow, but it makes everything smoother in the end.
    • Be careful of what memories you choose to endear yourselves with, because if you hold on to the ones filled with anger, jealousy and hate, those are exactly what you will become. 
    • Like Icarus, we all fly through this world with wings of wax, but what separates us all from one another is how high we are willing to fly.
    • Your heart is only as good as what you would sacrifice it for.
    • Sometimes it is the journey that creates and necessitates the destination and not the other way around.
    • Any moment spent living in anger is a moment spent living alone.
    • Anger, you see, only serves to separate us from the ones we love.
    • Fame and fortune do nothing for the soul. 
    • You cannot find redemption in a bottle, nor can you find peace in a pill.  Like is not the same as love, and a heart that tries to find warmth from without will always be cold within.
    • I would not trade grace and forgiveness for all the gold in the world, neither would I do the same for its unending adoration.

     

    The rest

    • We should remember Michael Jackson not only for his artistry, but also for his life, which showed us that fame and fortune can neither fulfill nor cast aside the demons that besiege us inside.
    • Many are saying that we should only hold onto Michael the artist and forget about the rest.  However, to do so would be the true tragedy for while his voice and two fly feet made him soar like angels, it was his demons that made him mortal and human.
    • Internet trolls are like the large intestine…they may make lots and lots of noise, but at the end of the day they’re still full of crap. 
    • Your memories are the reservoir from which you draw upon to create the essence of who you are.
    • For men, going to chick flicks is like wearing a jockstrap during football…it’s uncomfortable during the time you’re there, but it also prevents permanent testicular injury.
    • The size of a woman’s bladder is inversely proportional to the size of her purse.
    • A pair of jeans should be like your teenage daughter’s first date…no butt-hugging allowed!
    • We should always have pride in whatever jobs—big or small—that we have, but we should also have respect for the responsibilities imbued upon us for we all at one time or another will find ourselves at the mercy of another.
    • Like the Loch Ness Monster, fat-free pizza and the ugly Korean girl, I always thought that the tale of women wanting married men was a myth.
    • No amount of pride or anger is worth increasing the space between you and your loved one.
    • The legacies that endure are not fashioned with cold steel or purchased by coin, but rather are those that leave an indelible impression on the hearts of others.
    • Like squeezing your buttcheeks together before you cough, avoiding girls who wear black lipstick is something you should have learned in elementary school.
    • Money can’t buy you love, but it can certainly buy you herpes.
    • Eating a veggie burger is like walking into a strip club blindfolded…you may think you have no guilt but you still end up in nutritional/spiritual purgatory.
    • Marrying a girl who had plastic surgery is like marrying a druggie…one day you’ll wake up and find that all of your children look like Amy Winehouse.
    • The Oscar awards are nothing more than Hollywood patting itself on its collective back, a pageantry that is the quintessential answer to the eternal existential conundrum…if no one watched it, it would not exist. 

     

October 9, 2009

  • Must Love (Like) Dogs.

    Of the many reasons why the Franksabunch™ is not as active on Xanga as I used to be, the best is this one!


    Say hello to our puppy Boomer!  I named her Boomer because just like Grace Park’s character in Battlestar Galactica, she thinks she’s human and, second to my wife, is the cutest female on earth.

    We spend some of our weekends bringing Boomer to the dog park, which is a completely new experience to me.  As with other microcosms–school, hospitals, bar mitzvahs–dog parks have their own quirks about them.  One thing I did not realize was how much of a schmoozing and pick-up place it was.  Everyone knows everyone.  Everyone tries to set up everyone.  It’s quite scary, actually, to hear them pass around phone numbers while their dogs are sniffing each other’s colonic apertures.  As a married man, I always reflect during those moments how lucky I am to be off the market and not have to deal with the shadows, misdirections, miscues and unbridled if not inexorable hopes that comprise the world of singlehood.  And as a married Xanga man, I always reflect during those moments the wisdom I can impart upon my remaining readership (all 15 of you! ). 

    For my single homies…

    Reasons why you should pick up a wahine at a dog park:

    • She–or her daddy–has enough disposable cash money to not only buy a dog, but also pay for all the ridiculous vet visits
    • She has the potential to be a responsible parent
    • She is capable of showering someone else besides herself with affection
    • She’ll have company if you ever want to ditch her for a night out with the boys

    Reasons why you should not pick up a wahine at a dog park

    • Like her dog, she may dress you up froo-froo style one time for your mind or force you to go out and exercise
    • Get close to the wrong one and you might find yourself all itchy after you go home (seriously, I hate it when people bring infested dogs to the parks!)
    • There’s a reason why she’s at the dog park by herself with her dog…she has no friends (co-depedency…not just for Michael Moore and cheeseburgers anymore!)
    • Think the dog is the only one she’ll boss around?

    But after a few times observing the odd assortment of people at the dog park, I came to realize that the one common thread that unites all of the dog owners is the unconditional love they would receive from their dogs.  I wonder from time to time why God chose to create humans who love with conditions, while their pets love unconditionally.  It seems nonsensical that the former, with the higher level of consciousness, can’t fathom the utility of unconditional love.  Would the world not be a better place if we showered those around us with affection unconditionally, like Boomer does with me?  Sometimes I get upset at my wife and the gnawing part that is not the best of me holds on and tries to squeeze out every ounce of malfeasance it can before the badness dissipates, while with Boomer, I can yell at her when she misbehaves, but can’t stay mad longer than a few seconds, not when she comes back for affection regardless of whether forgiveness was granted.

    I guess I can because in the end, love is less about fulfilling conditions than it is about simply being fulfilling and forgiveness is not given, but rather *is* a given, when it comes to those you love.

    Sigh.  I guess I need to be as nice to The Wife™ as I am to Boomer. Haha! 

    So remember, friends and frenemies…go find yourself some unconditional love at the dog park…just not from the girl who dresses her dog in pink. 

    Franksabunch™………………….out!  Have a great weekend!


September 15, 2009

  • Patrick Swayze, R.I.P.
    The don’t make them like him anymore these days.
     
    A long time ago I was surfing through the free HD channels and stumbled upon a gem from the past.  No, I’m not talking about interviews of Steve Forbes proposing the Flat Tax. I’m talking about the movie Red Dawn.
    In case you are too young to remember C. Thomas Howell before his role in Soul Man (he did Tropic Thunder before Robert Downey Jr. did Tropic Thunder) banished him to acting in classics like Mutant Zombie Vampires from the ‘Hood, Red Dawn was a movie that came out at the frosty peak of the USA-Soviet Union cold war, about an invasion of the US by Soviet and South American/Cuban forces and a bunch of high school kids who decided to bust out a can of whoop ass guerrilla style one time for your mind on the commies. These high school kids included Patrick Swayze, C. Thomas Howell, Charlie Sheen, Lea Thompson and Jennifer Grey (before the worst nose job this side of Ashlee Simpson).
     
    I loved this movie when it came out (during elementary school).  I remember turning to the person next to me in the theater and raising my fist in triumph when the kids began fighting back. To this day, I still get chills when I see the scene of the kid standing on top of the hill screaming, “WOLVERINES!” raising his gun like Leonidas with his spear in defiance of Xerxes.  It was about good vs. evil, valor in the face of incredible odds, defending those you love and serving your country. You know, Ronald Reagan with a sawed-off shotgun kind of stuff. These kids knew that they would probably die but chose to continue fighting.
     
    Sigh. If only life did not imitate art.
     
    I say this because Patrick Swayze, the leader of the Wolverines in the movie, is now dead of pancreatic cancer. Despite his diagnosis, he continued to fight on, filming episodes of The Beast while undergoing treatment.  Like the attack on the high school in the movie, pancreatic cancer hit hard, fast and with complete surprise. I should know because my father died from it. It seems to strike only the best and I am sure that he always knew that this was a battle that he wouldn’t win.
     
    Swayze was The Man.  He was the only person in history capable of making mullets look sexy, do ballroom dancing without looking like a member of Fanny Pak, and sing a sappy ballad while eviscerating you with his kung fu grip. I will mourn him now that he is gone. Not only because he was the man you always look to lead or save you, whether in Red Dawn or The Outsiders, but because he was also a symbol of a passing era.
     
    These days things are not so clear cut. Instead of good vs. evil, USA vs. the Soviet Union, we have truthers vs. birthers, health care reformers vs. “unpatriotic” public option naysayers–Americans vs. Americans.  Though I was hopeful that Barack Obama’s ascension to the presidency heralded the healing that his campaign promised, the fact that many of his supporters uttered sentiments (“F#$@ Bush!) shared by people like antichrist candidates Hugo Chavez, Osama Bin Laden, Michael Moore and that looney toon from Iran (can’t spell his name off the top of my head) makes me sad.  Back in Swayze’s day, you respected the office, even if you didn’t respect the man sitting there. That was what made America great and powerful:
    • Fighting evil with good
    • Showing valor in the face of incredible odds
    • Defending those you love
    • Serving your country
    Nowadays I think people have to assume the lotus position and ask themselves, “what’s my motivation?” before they decide whether to wipe their butts front-to-back or back-to-front.  They want to reap before they sow.  They have to like before they can love.  Does that make you a better person?  Does it make our country a better place?
     
    Barack Obama, I didn’t vote for you, but I wish and hope the best for you. I hope that you have the strength and intelligence to make our country into a nation that is again feared and respected.  But if you are ever unsure of what to do, just ask yourself… What would Swayze do?
    Wolverines!!!!!  Patrick Swayze, you will be missed. 

September 9, 2009

  • The Oppa Zone.
     
    One of the nice things about marrying someone of a different ethnicity (she’s Korean, I’m Superhero) is that you get to learn aspects of your SO’s culture that you otherwise would be none the wiser about.  But along with the good (duk bossam!) comes the bad (alcohol propensity) and, of course, the weird.  And by weird, I’m talking about…
     
    THE OPPA ZONE.
     
    In the Korean language, the word oppa translates into older brother.  Simple enough, huh?  That term is also applied to non-relatives, which is understandable, and BFs/husbands, which is not.  I don’t call my wife, “younger sister,” why should she call me oppa?  It weirds me out a little.  Then again, with 98.3% of South Koreans sharing the surname of Kim, perhaps some of them actually married relatives.  (Okay, nevermind what I just wrote.)  So, thankfully, instead of oppa my wife calls me by more appropriate names, like her biyatch or ATM.
     
    But to get back to the non-relative use, some guys earn that oppa title, while others actively seek it.  You know, those guys who run around to all the wahines, begging, “call me oppa, I’ll take care of you, I’ll watch over you.”  Not infrequently, it’s accompanied by a little too much grease, whether on the hair, character or both.
     
    As an aging married man, I find it amusing and endearing that some friends often call me oppa.  It’s as if I’m some older father figure that they respect and trust enough to come to for advice, whether relationship or medical.  (No, PT, that rash is not infectious.  Ha!  Just kidding!  Kidding!)  So for me, I don’t mind being in the oppa zone.  But if I was single?  Double decka hecka no.  I want to ask all those oppa wannabes why in the world would they want to be placed in the oppa zone where not only are you rendered asexual, but also turned into a money pit?   
     
    I guess it’s the whole if-you-can’t-get-the-girl-try-and-be-close-in-case-of-BF-emergency, or perhaps it’s some inherent need of Korean men to feel like hunter-gatherer cavemen.  Either way, be careful what you wish for, homies, because you just might get it…and get broke and still be lonely. 
     
    As for me?  You can call me oppa, but only if YOU deserve it.  
     
    Franksabunch™…out like the San Francisco Bay Bridge!  Have a great rest of the week!

August 25, 2009

  • The Franksabunch’s take on health care reform.
     
    AKA the most boring post evaaaar.
     
    Universal health care vs. public option
    ObamaCare’s “public option” is a federal insurance plan that aims to cover those standing in the gap, so that all Americans will have some sort of coverage.  This is the main fatal flaw of ObamaCare.  Not because it aims to give everyone health insurance, but rather because it will fail to do so.  Left out of this plan are the tens of millions of illegal immigrants residing in America.  The problems engendered by uninsured patients will continue to occur.  Adding another “public option” in addition to Medicare/Medicaid only serves to create another trough-feeding gov’t beast layered in bureaucracy while illegal immigrants continue to suffer and hospitals go unpaid for their services.  (Hospitals are required by law to provide care for anyone who comes to the ER.)
     
    America spends too much money on health care
    News flash: SAVING LIVES COSTS MONEY.  Health care is a victim of its own success.  Back in the days before angioplasty and cardiac bypass surgery, if you showed up with a heart attack, we’d give you an aspirin and hope you’d be alive in the morning.  Nowadays, many heart attack victims are staying alive…long enough to develop cancer.  Cancer victims, due to advances in chemotherapy and radiation therapy, are now living…long enough to develop kidney failure.  Kidney patients, because of dialysis, are now living…long enough to die of heart attacks, which brings us back to square one!  Mexico spends almost three times less of its GDP on health care than the United States and guess who had the higher death rates from swine flu?  The United States also has better cancer treatment success than other countries it outspends.  Coinkidinky? 
     
    Primary care physicians (PCPs) vs. specialists AKA what’s up with the Haterade?
    For some odd reason, proponents of ObamaCare have drawn a line in the sand between PCPs and specialists.  Every day you hear about how we do not have enough PCPs and how the evil, resource-sucking specialists are the reason why.  While it is true that preventive care is important, so are the services that specialists provide.  Having the best PCP in the world is not going to save your life if you have end-stage kidney disease and can’t find a nephrologist to give you dialysis.  We need more PCPs, but we also need more specialists.  In the coming decades we will be experiencing a shortage of oncologists, general surgeons and nephrologists, among others.  This is not a battle between PCPs and specialists…we need both.  In addition, preventive care/screening in America is not as bad as the doomsdayers would have you believe. 
     
    Universal health care is the best!
    Or is it?  The incoming president of the Canadian Medical Association feels that the Canadian system is in need of reform.  France is starting to employ the use of co-pays and fee-for-service and has women giving birth in firetrucks because it cannot afford to keep hospitals open in rural areas.  Cost-cutting measures in the U.K. led to a teenager being misdiagnosed over the phone and dying because she couldn’t see her PCP, while a midwife with no incentive to work harder let a minority woman give birth on the street because she didn’t want to send an ambulance.  (A first-year med student could tell you that forcing a woman in labor to exert herself can lead to problems.)  The issue, really, is not that UHC is better than the US system or vice versa.  There are pros and cons for both systems.  (The cons of the American system include medical decisions or denials based on greed and lack of coverage for millions.)  The issue is that the American public needs to be aware of and comfortable with what they are choosing.  Unfortunately, the current administration and Pelosi are disingenuous in not giving us realistic informed consent of what they are proposing.
     
    Tort reform, or a lack thereof
    ObamaCare does not include tort reform.  The practice of defensive medicine is an unfortunate, but necessary, byproduct of the litigious nature of American society.  There are times when you are pretty certain a certain disease is not present, but you must rule it out because it only takes one time to wipe out your entire career and family.  In addition, the costs of having 5-figure+ malpractice insurance premiums gets passed on to patients.  There is something wrong with a system that rewards lawyers and punishes patients with extra/unnecessary tests, procedures and costs.  If the cost of health care needs to be reduced, there has to be tort reform.  Of course, with the sitting president being a lawyer and Congress full of them, that will never happen.
     
    The art of medicine
    Medicine is a science.  But there is an art to it as well.  When my father was dying of pancreatic cancer, he opted to have a non-curative surgery to extend his life for what turned out to be an additional six months.  After that surgery he had respiratory failure and had to be intubated emergently and placed temporarily on a breathing machine.  In the eyes of an “expert gov’t panel” such actions would seem like bad medicine.  In the eyes of a society trying to ration out care so that every individual can have coverage, those were poorly spent health-care dollars.  But to my father and myself, those six months were everything.  Whether or not each of you would or should undergo that operation in the same situation is up to you…but do you want the government making that choice obsolete?
     
    Death panels and rationing
    Former VP candidate and Alaskan Gov. Palin was in error when she spoke about death panels.  End of life discussions are actually beneficial.  It allows people to choose for themselves how aggressive they want medical providers to be.  Do they want CPR?  Electrocardioversion?  Mechanical ventilation?  There is no shame or sin in wanting to die peacefully.  However misguided Palin’s comment was, death panels under Obamacare will exist in the guise of rationing.
    • Rationing will occur.  The belief that we can cover everyone (excluding illegals, per Obama) while remaining deficit neutral and providing the best care possible is naive at best and foolish at worst.  Proponents of universal coverage liken health care to food and shelter, things that humans cannot live without.  If the federal gov’t provided food for every man, woman and child but instead of handing out cabbage and bread treated everyone nightly to garlic rib eye with a side of truffle risotto (om nom nom nom!), do you think we could sustain it?  What about providing shelter?  Could the feds afford to build a 3 BR/2 BA/2 car garage house for every family unit in America that had wood floors, a jacuzzi and a wine cellar?  We are not a nation of limitless resources and cannot provide platinum coverage–no obstruction to seeing specialists, no generic medications, no waiting for elective procedures, etc.–for everyone.  Thus, rationing, in some way, shape or form, must occur. 
    • Still unconvinced?  Rationing is happening right now.  As of September 1st, the state of Hawaii will no longer be providing reimbursement for dialysis for Micronesians (non-citizens who are legally allowed to travel to and reside in America as part of a federal contract with their gov’ts) because the state has a budget shortfall.  Translation: we don’t have enough money, so you need to move somewhere else or die.  If it can happen here, it can happen anywhere.
    • Expert panels.  ObamaCare aims to create a gov’t panel that will come up with guidelines to advise physicians on what to do.  Sounds good, right?  However, guidelines already exist.  Organizations such as the American College of Cardiology, National Kidney Foundation, American College of OBGYN, etc. already create guidelines based on evidence-based medicine and opinions from leaders in their respective fields.  Knowing this, what purpose would an extra federal gov’t committee exist for but to make it difficult for physicians to orders tests/procedures?
    • Bundling.  Bundling is a practice were someone provides services A, B and C, but the insurance companies will reimbursed a single lump sum based on what they think is right, rather than paying for each service.  Imagine if you brought your car to the mechanic because you had a flat tire, needed your brakes changed, a crack in your windshield fixed and an oil leak, but GEICO would only give the mechanic a bundled fee that only was enough to pay for 3 out of the 4 problems.  What do you think the mechanic would do?  (Bundling already occurs in private insurance, but the gov’t is making a push to do this more with their plans.)
    • There’s more, but I don’t want you guys to commit hari-kiri out of boredom.

    Like I’ve said before, it’s not that universal health care (again, ObamaCare does not = UHC) is worse than a privatized industry or vice versa.  It simply more a matter of what the American public is willing to sacrifice for what it will gain.  I would ask that people be honest in their expectations.  Cash for clunkers sounded like a fabulous idea (save the environment! stimulate the economy) but delays in payment caused dealerships to pull out and shortly thereafter the gov’t canned the program.  Can the gov’t promise that the same won’t happen with ObamaCare?

    So my preference?  Believe it or not, I am a proponent of universal health care.  (Surprise, surprise!)  But it has to be done right. 

    • Universal coverage for ALL. That means rich and poor.  Citizens and illegal immigrants.
    • There must be tort reform.
    • Incentives for providers and hospitals/clinics (if there is no incentive to work harder, people will be lazy…it’s human nature).
    • Patients must be allowed to carry secondary insurance or pay more to get extra services/choice so that they can have the freedom to choose for themselves and not have to stand in line for non-emergent procedures and diagnostics.

    Peace out!  And let’s be civil.

June 26, 2009

  • Death of a Celebrity, part II (Michael Jackson).
     
    They say the candle that burns twice as bright burns twice as fast. But what about the candle that both burns bright and tries to last?
     
    Michael Jackson, Elvis Presley, Heath Ledger and James Dean all died decades too early, but what separates Jackson from the others was his search for the elusive fountain of youth, a search that inevitably led to his downfall. 
     
    We should remember Michael Jackson not only for his artistry, but also for his life, which showed us that fame and fortune can neither fulfill nor cast aside the demons that besiege us inside.  Because of those demons he spent his whole life trying to become the person he wanted to be, instead of cultivating the person he already was. 
     
    From his humble origins–quick, name 5 other famous people from Gary, Indiana–to his self-anointed throne as the King of Pop, no other person has ever influenced pop culture and provided the soundtrack for a generation as he did.  Like others of my age, he was always with me.  I danced to Billie Jean when no one was watching.  I used Beat it as my anthem when I was picked on for being overweight child.  I first felt the shiver of what it meant to fear when I saw his eyes change in Thriller.  I struggled with my nascent sexuality during pubescence as I uncomfortably watched Dirty Diana.  I found solace in You are not alone during times of unrequited love.  And I spent hours on end trying to replicate that bad ass lean in Smooth Criminal.
     
    The candle that burns twice as bright burns twice as fast but sometimes all that remains after a fire that burns bright are smoke and whispers. 
     
    Popcorn psychologists can guess all they want, but there is no doubt that his traumatic childhood played a role in his downfall from king to court jester, from prince to punchline.  Stained at a young age by his upbringing, Michael was never happy with the person he was and refused to grow into adulthood.  Over the years the smoke and whispers grew larger and louder as he tried to wrest control from his father and father time with his self-anointed royal claim as the king of pop, his military-style clothing, simian friends named Bubbles, a theme park-home named in homage to Peter Pan, straightening his hair, bleaching his skin, plastic surgery and turkey-baster pregnancies.  Darkest of all were his prescription drug abuse and allegations of pedophilia.  Whether or not he is guilty of the latter I do not know but I do know that he placed himself in that predicament because he obsessed so much about their innocence, an innocence he yearned to have, so much so that he refused to grow up.   
     
    Many are saying that we should only hold onto Michael the artist and forget about the rest.  However, to do so would be the true tragedy for while his voice and two fly feet made him soar like angels, it was his demons that made him mortal and human.  There is as much we can learn from a hero’s fall as his rise.  Like Michael, we all have our demons, but we do not have to succumb to them.  We can face the pain of our childhood without running.  We can accept that life is finite and make the most of our time rather than living in fantasy.  We can love ourselves for who we are and not who we are suppposed to be. 
     
    So celebrate him for his heavenly voice, admire him for his indomitable swagger and worship him for his physics-bending dancing.  But above all do not forget the abuse he suffered as a child at the hands of an overbearing father, the plunge into the deep, dark recesses of drug abuse, the improper affections that led to allegations of pedophilia and the child who did not like and incessantly tried to change the man he saw in the mirror, because to deny that is to deny the existence of the demons that besiege us all.  It is my hope that some time in his last few moments that Michael found it in himself to love the man he was and not the child he lost. 
     
    Rest in peace, Michael.  You will not be forgotten.
    ——–
    Death of a Celebrity, part I is here.

June 20, 2009

May 6, 2009

  • Jon and Kate Plus…Hate?
     
    As a child I remember someone telling me about Chinese water torture (being immobilized and having water drip on your forehead or some other predetermined point incessantly) and thought, “how stupid is that?”  But as I’ve come to learn, there are three things that the Chinese can do better than anyone else:
     
    1) Breed  (A father who wanted me to marry his daughter once told me, “Who are the best lovers?  Chinese men!  How else can you explain 1 billion children?!”)
    2) Xiao long bao
    3) Torture
     
    Seriously.  Think about it.  Getting thrown in the iron maiden?  Being quartered?  Chips, dips, chains, whips?  (I miss that Weird Science movie!)  Weak sauce.  European torture is to Rachel Ray as Chinese water torture is to Anthony Bourdain.  No comparison.  (And besides, Rachel Ray is just plain irritating like an incomplete BM.)  The reason being that though the former causes extreme physical pain, they are all temporary, while the latter is primarily psychological and is as unremitting as post-taco diarrhea in Tijuana.  Psychological always trumps the physical.  Which do you think is more torture for a young woman, having a butt face with a festering abscess and not caring, or thinking that she has a butt face with a festering abscess and caring about it?  (Note: This does not apply if said young woman is Amy Winehouse.)
     
    Now what does this have to do with Jon and Kate plus eight?  Everything!
     
    In the spirit of being honest, I have never really watched the show.  I watched one episode and never came back.  Why would I spend 30 minutes watching another couple sans Cosby moniker raising their kids?  That’s 30 minutes I can never get back!  So all I know is what I read on the internet, which, of course, makes it 110% completely true.  
     
    Anyway, Jon and Kate, for the uninformed, are a couple with 8 children (twins and sextuplets, I believe) who are the focus of a reality show, following their daily lives as they raise their brood.  The other day I saw a link about how Jon was caught out with another woman while visiting his mom in another state.  The blogosphere, surprisingly, was more pro-Jon than anti-Jon.  Hard core viewers were quick to point out that Kate is abusive towards her husband with her unremitting henpecking and condescending remarks.  She loves the fame and fortune while he wants his family to just be left alone.  She apparently does all the talking and always cuts Jon off in the interviews and the one time Jon cut her off she went jihad on him on national TV.  US Magazine even mentions her berating him once for *breathing* on the show.  (The rumor is that they are already separated, but are “staying together” for the show.)
     
    While I do not condone cheating in any way, shape or form, I can certainly understand where Jon is coming from, because when you think about it…
     
    All men get Chinese water tortured by their women.
     
    Whether it’s our hair, belly fat, ambition, flatulence, salary, choice of friends, diet, alcohol consumption, World of Warcraft, parenting, or Battlestar Galactica marathons (so say we all!), each and every neanderthal has something that his more evolved significant other prods him incessantly about, like water dripping on your forehead in a Beijing prison (before they take out your kidney and sell it to some rich American noncompliant with his diabetes medication).
     
    The reason this causes so much distress is that, in general, women find the need to change or henpeck their men, while men are comfortable being who they are and abhor change.  You know, the whole irresistible force vs. immovable object thangamabob.  And Jon, it seems, has had enough.
     
    But are men the only victims here?  While women like to express their henpecking verbally, men do it with their expectations, rather than their mouths.  We expect our women to do most of the housework, even though they also have careers.  We expect them through the years to maintain the same body they had that first night we saw them and had to pick our jaws off the floor.  We expect them to act beautiful in public after giving birth, despite the constipation, hemorrhoids, bloating and weight gain.  We expect a roll in the hay at any given moment, whether or not our breath smells like Shaquille O’Neal’s armpits and our body like spoiled feta cheese. 
     
    So while we don’t necessarily henpeck our women, our expectations are always there, burdensome like buckets of water incessantly pouring on their shoulders.
     
    I don’t profess to know everything about Jon and Kate.  I’m sure that Jon shares some culpability in their deteriorating relationship, but the sad thing is that in the midst of this struggle between Jon supporters and Kate supporters, everyone has forgotten about the children.  So caught up in the hate, they forgot about the eight.  Are we not the same way?
     
    In our squabbles both big and small with our significant others, we forget about what brought us together in the first place.  Love gets displaced by hate and open hands turn into pointed fingers.
     
    Just like how everytime I watch J&K+8 I lose 30 minutes of my life that I can’t get back, every moment you spend allowing hate to displace love is a moment of love that you can never get back.
     
    And in a world where every clock counts down and not forward, I can think of nothing sadder than that.
     
    Have a great rest of the week!  Go Houston!  Beat LA!  Beat LA!  Beat LA!
    —–
    Derek Fisher is a punk!  http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=vDX2ktK9OR4  I hope he gets suspended for the rest of the series!

April 14, 2009

  • For the first time.

     

    [PROTECTED POST!!!!]

     

    There are many things that The Franksabunch™ has not done in this life.  Some of these I have yet to accomplish simply due to random chance or lack of opportunity while for others the stumbling blocks have been shame or guilt.  The former consists of things like visiting Korea (The Wife™ is Korean) and writing a novel while the latter are of a more nefarious nature, like cracking a silent fart in a full elevator and…going to a strip club.

     

    Sometimes all the planets align and you get your chance.  Do you take it?  I did.

     

    You see, The Franksabunch™ had the day off while The Wife™ had to work until 4:30 pm.  Some of these places open in the early afternoon so there would be ample time for me to go for a couple hours and leave, with none the wiser.  That this place is known to be frequented by tourists and those on the lower rungs of the socioeconomic ladder only served to embolden me with its promise of being able to see without being seen.  Regardless, I still sauntered silently, with furtive glances to screen for any familiar faces being the only breaks in my downward gaze as I went to pay for the cover to get in.  Once inside I looked around and saw that I was not the only one here early.  Through the dark veil of anonymity I could still pick out at least 10 other men—and, oddly, one woman by herself—sitting and waiting with a drink in one hand and nervous anticipation causing tremulousness in the other.  Why not?  After all, the main attraction is lean and young, a pretty hapa girl who we get to see work the stripper’s pole.  Half Chinese, half Caucasian.  It doesn’t get any better than that. 

     

    I sat about halfway in.  Too far up front to be recognized from behind and far enough in the back for anyone up front to care.  Reminding myself that there was no way I could come here if The Wife™ knew, I smiled as I slid down in my seat.  And when it was all over, Kristin Kreuk had killed the bad guy and the credits from “Streetfighter: Legend of Chun Li” started rolling on the screen.

     

    What, you thought I was doing something else besides watching a movie by myself? 

     

    Up until Streetfighter, I had never seen a movie by myself because I was always embarrassed.  I didn’t want to be seen by other people there as some loser without friends.  (Now I don’t care…marriage can do that to a man.)  And the movie?  The Wife™ refused to see it with me and there actually was a stripper pole in it (Chun Li uses it as leverage to kick a bad guy, sorry, guys, no nekkidness).

     

    I thought about the whole “bucket list” thing while I was at the movie.  For me there really is no bucket list.  Only what I hope to have in this life (to love and be loved) and everything else.  But sometimes I get so caught up in the former that I forget the Technicolor that new experiences can bring to the sepia of daily life.  I always thought I’d be too chicken to try rock climbing, but found that—after checking to make sure that I didn’t soil myself—being on the top looking down was about as exhilarating as anything else.  I used to think that all African Americans (except Bill Cosby and Gary Coleman) were ghetto until I shared a room with a black guy from the ‘hood in college and learned that the color of the skin doesn’t always correspond with the color of the soul that lies beneath.

     

    So what did I learn from this new experience of watching a movie by myself?  Nothing, really.  (Except that Taboo from the B.E.P. can’t act.)  But I’m looking forward to what the next one might teach me.

     

    You only live once, my friends.  Make the most of it.

     

    Have a great week!

    ————–

    For those of you, like me, who are still mourning the passing of Battlestar Galactica, listen to this 100x.  I have.  Starbuck, where have you gone?!?!?!

     

    And I don’t understand why the British are always so amazed by unattractive people with bad teeth who can sing well.  Haven’t they seen Madonna perform before?

     

    P.S.–Yes, I know it’s not a protected post.  Just trying to trick you into reading it.

April 7, 2009

  • My Chinese massage and why I fear Chinese women.

     

    We all break promises.  Bush in finding the weapons of mass destruction.  Obama with keeping lobbyists out of the White House.  Puff Daddy in not changing his name again.  Dr. Phil in never talking again.  (Well, Mr. Walrus really didn’t promise that, but one can only hope!)  And me?  I promised after my first full-body massage to never get another one.

     

    Well, we all know how those kinds of promises end up, huh?

     

    The Wife and I were in Las Vegas a couple weeks ago and being the cheap economically engaging couple we are, headed down Spring Mountain Road towards Chinatown to find her a massage that wouldn’t cost the equivalent of 10 Bellagio buffets.  During the drive I told her that I wouldn’t mind a chair massage (upper back only) but wanted to avoid the same fiasco with the last massage.  However, when we entered a seemingly reputable establishment she told them that we were going to get a couples massage.  What?!?!?!  It being Chinatown near Las Vegas, I figured she was afraid of one of two things if we were separated:

    1. Her being kidnapped and sent to an opium brothel in Toronto
    2. One of the ladies accidentally giving her husband a “full-release” massage (don’t ask, children, you don’t want to know) 

    But no matter what the reason I was now trapped.  Unless I ran screaming like a girl or feigned cardiac arrest I was going to get a full-body massage by an F.O.B. Chinese woman.  I have always feared F.O.B. Chinese women.  Growing up as the child of immigrants from Taiwan, I was in constant contact with F.O.B. Chinese women and found them to be brash, insensitive, lacking tact and out to get theirs, come hell or high water.  (And that’s just the ones with the dim sum carts!  Kidding.)  This always clashed with my mellow, laid back personality.  My first full-body massage was at a snooty place in Palo Alto that was very gentle, respectful and professional.  The masseuse introduced herself to me and every part of my body was covered by a sheet except for whatever part was being worked on.

     

    This place?  Let me just say that I appreciate that snooty Palo Alto place much more now.  Before we started I waited lying face down covered by a bath towel and my masseuse came in, ripped off the towel full monty style one time for your mind, leaving me more exposed than a hotel heiress named after a European city.  Since she didn’t introduce herself to me, I had no idea if she looked like Zhang Ziyi or gnarly Ephialtes from the movie “300,” so the entire time I wasn’t sure if she was using knuckles or warts to push on my pressure points.  There were no boundaries here, either.  The last lady would only massage the bottom of my poi bags.  This one?  There was nowhere she didn’t go.  I was violated more than U.N. sanctions in the middle east!

     

    The two women chatted with each other in Mandarin throughout the massage and at one point one of them left the room for five minutes leaving the door open.  I was like, “Helloooooooooooo!  My chocolate star is facing the sky right now!  Helloooooooooooo!”  At this very moment I’m sure my bungholio is someone’s facebook profile picture, having been uploaded from that person’s cell phone camera.  They shorted us 10 minutes and the best part was when the ladies demanded a $20 tip for each person, even blocking the door to prevent an elderly man from leaving until he’d tip them.

     

    That night during the massage I thought about how this would do nothing to change my view of F.O.B. Chinese women, but then I thought…should I get upset or should I try to understand why they are that way?  I once had a conversation with a guy who lived in Shanghai in the 1940s and 50s, and he told me that back then he had a lot of fun because the ratio of women to men was 40-to-1.  The ranks of men were tremendously thinned out due to the losses they sustained fighting Japan.  Can you imagine being a young woman or widow in post-World War II China?  You’d have to be brash and aggressive just to survive, let alone get a date on a Saturday night.  It’s no wonder that most of the Chinese women that I know are fiercely independent and proactive in their relationships.  My mom, for example, has always run our house, even when my dad was still alive.

     

    There are many people that come in and out of our lives and a good portion of them will have some character trait or behavior that we find deplorable or more irritating than a Carrot Top marathon.  However, instead of immediately casting them aside or getting defensive, perhaps we should take a step back and consider that there is a reason why they are that way and grant them a little grace. 

     

    When we meet we all come to the same place from different places.  None of us are perfect and I am sure that there are character traits that I have that drive other people crazy as well.

     

    So what did I do?  I considered the fact that they are immigrants trying to keep food on the table in a recession, so I gave them their requested $20 tip ($40 for both of us!) without a fight and walked out.  After all, it’s better than having them put my bungholio on facebook.