Mopped

Mopped

I needed to mop. I say that like I do it often, which would be a lie. I like living in a sty don't have time to clean often, and that's the truth. I finally, after 4 years of really shady mopping, got tired of having hairballs, furballs, and dustballs stick to my feet (more on my feet later). I broke down and paid mucho bucks for one of those new mop things.

Voila!

Easy to assemble (did it myself -- so proud!), light-weight, and comes with its own bottle of cleaning solution. You can spray it by squeezing this little switch at the handle, and it sprays at the bottom. How ultra-cool. We are living in the golden age, my friends. I was so fired up about the mop, that I mopped all the non-carpeted surfaces in the apartment. The removable cloth that attaches at the bottom turned nearly black, so I removed it (que facil!) and tossed in the trash (dice no deposite almohadillas en el inodoro!).

The whole starter kit costs about $15. Which seemed awfully expensive while I was standing in the aisle at Ralph's -- I was originally looking at the one manufactured by "Swiffer" because I like the name "Swiffer WetJet™" more so than "Clorox ReadyMop™." But for $7, I caved and bought the cheaper Clorox one, which even at $15, seemed kind of pricey. I think the whole store upped the prices after they remodeled last spring. Anyhoot, after giving it a whirl, I find it $15 well spent. I got a good workout out of it as well.

It's a good thing I got a mop, because I'm always barefoot. I step on a lot of nasty crap a few things, including the aforementioned dust, hair, fur, etc.. I don't like wearing socks. Those of you who know me outside my blog know, it's rare when I wear socks, and it's rare when I'm not wearing flippity-flops. I looooooove my feet, and feel horrified by the notion that I should hide them by wrapping them in cloth! Born free, roam free. Yes, my toes should be able to roam wherever they please, and wiggle with all their might. I've got really hot feet. I'm not a particularly hot woman, as it were, but my feet are really hot. It's not like I have a foot-fetish -- I don't. But my feet are lovely, and they really look like they don't belong on my body. They're pretty small. Have you seen sandal advertisements with foot models? Well, some of those model's feet are heinous! They have veins popping out, and overgrown toes that looks more like talons. Well, my feet aren't like that -- they're fair, smooth, and my toes are adorable. Now that I've absolutely horrified you with my unhealthy obsession for my own feet, let me move on.

I was wearing some hot shoes on my hot feet (see left). I have been an absolute fan of wearing heels! I never thought I'd be able to walk in stilettos, or any high heels for that matter, but apparently, I'm a natural. So I was wearing heels that are about 4 inches high (I think my feet are just about 8 inches long), which makes my legs look longer, which makes me look taller, which in hand, makes me look thinner, which ultimately makes me feel very good. But then, by the time I was at Ralph's, anally debating whether to pay the extra $7 for the Swiffer or just go with the Clorox, my tootsies were starting to feel a wee bit unhappy. Which made me calves cramp up, which made me slouch, which put an upside down smile (aka frown) on my face, which ultimately made me feel not so good.

I really forget what my point is -- I apologize. But it's not the first time I've digressed and lost my focus. After all, I have just spent an entire day looking 5'10" when I'm hardly 5'6" -- my brain's allowed to fart.

So that's how I spent my precious Saturday afternoon -- buying a mop, then using the mop, and then blogging about mop, and then digressing about my feet. Hope you enjoyed it as much as I have.

Things That Happened At Work

Things That Happened At Work

I'm at work. I was realizing just exactly why I am undecided as far as having children goes. This man came in, which is son, named Alex. Alex, the hyper-active boy of 13, was talking non-stop, running all over the place. He was basically bouncing off the walls, and his dad said, "Shut up, Alex" about every 2 minutes, alternated with "Sit down, Alex" and "Be quiet, Alex." I had to clench my fist and try my best to think happy thoughts while this ADD kid was all over the place. Then, they bought their stuff and left.

Afterwards, this lady and her daughter came in. Her daughter looked about 10, and seemed to be one of those timid kids who nudge the sides of their parents like a little chick, trying to bury her head under her mom's wings. She was making incomprehensible phrases -- one of those incoherent speaking that only the biological parent can understand, which I thought it was a bit immature for a gal her age. By the tone of her voice, she was nagging at her mom for something, and it continued for about 10-15 minutes. I was appalled at the girl's brattiness, as her mom was still trying to conduct her business matters. Then it happened. The mom finally had it, and started to yell. Loud. She told her daughter to sit in the corner and say nothing, and said rather mean things (in my opinion). "Connie, you're not a baby anymore! You cannot continue to behave this way!" She said, with the utmost sternness. She bitched at her kid for about a good 5 minutes, and the tone of her voice was unyielding to the echoing of her voice. Everyone else was quiet, and the phone didn't even dare to ring while she was verbally K.O.-ing her daughter.

Even I, who's not very keen on children, thought that she was over-doing it. Of course, she wasn't bitch-slapping her daughter or anything, and who am I to interfere on parenting, when I'm obviously not even capable of disciplining my cat. (Nabee snides at me.) But even so, I still thought the girl is a bit spoiled, and she needs to learn how to speak politely and coherently and grow up from her baby-talk. Then something happened that would make me feel ashamed for the next hour (at least).

After the mother was done hollering at the poor girl, she explained to us that she is handicapped. After years of feeling bad for the kid, the mother gave into every whim that she had, and the doctor suggested that she takes a more stern approach and let her know each and every time, in a very clear and authoritative manner, what she is doing wrong. Geez. And in my mind, all this time, I was just kudo-ing my decision to never have kids, because obviously, they're annoying brats who will destroy all sense of well-being.

It's a busy day. Phone calls left and right. I sold a phone this morning, and the customer is calling just about ever half an hour to ask a question. Working here has made me an increasingly violent person -- sometimes, imagining myself, beating the crap out of some of my customers makes me smile, just slightly, in a mystical and a rather sinister way. It may be about time that I go home and do something therapeutic -- like seeing if some of my old computer games work, like Heretic (a classic), Doom (which I don't like but everyone else does) and so on. You just can't understand the release it gives to annihilate all things living in your path with a bazooka or some fantastical weapon.

For those of you who don't know, Heretic is one of my favorite games, although it's quite ancient. If you saw the game and its goriness, you'd think I was evil, or at least quite unlike the demure, polite girl that I appear to be. I'm not quite apt at playing the new playstation or xbox thingamagis, because I'm just not coordinated enough to utilize, like, 29 buttons, and pressing combinations of 17 to do one kick or shoot one bullet. But the old games, are pretty simple. And I love that when the bad guys die, they make gawd-aweful noises, wrought with pain and torment, and spew blood everywhere. Sometimes you don't hit them quite right and their arm falls off or something, and they're still walking at you while spewing blood, and that's even cooler. That's like killing them twice! C o o l...

Another thing that ticked me off a bit was when a customer, out of sheer gratitude, bought us (myself, coworker, boss) iced-coffee bobas, from the cafe downstairs. Which was nice. However, I cannot drink the iced-coffee from downstairs (although I absolutely love its taste), because it already comes pre-mixed with syrup and very very dairy cream/milk. I love the sweetened coffee, but not wanting to puke my guts out wins over every time. Apparently, the ill-feeling brought on by my lactose intolerance, triggers some sort of auto-somatic response (trying to be technical and use words that I have no authority to use, so just pretend that it makes sense please) and just looking at milk, milk products, and other milky things makes me feel extremely queasy, and upon consumption, I am likely to have a bonding experience with the toilet of closest proximity, as I puke. Ok. I know. Too much information.

So I had this cup of lovely iced coffee boba, tantalizing me. I chucked it in the freezer for now, but I may be tempted to try just a little bit later -- just to see if it still tastes good. I think I will go home and make some of my own iced coffee, without the white stuff. It's going to be a looooong day, I just know it.

Vacation Time!

Vacation Time!

My boss has decided to give us vacation time. I work in a small, though cozy, store with just one other coworker, and in a place like Koreatown, vacation time and sick days don't exist. Nevertheless, he is going to give us three days of vacation. I haven't decided how to spend it -- it would behoove me to take it on Mon, Tues, Wed, to get the full effect of a short workday on Saturday, followed by a four day weekend. That's, like, more than half a week! I was thinking that when Crystal (the non-blogging bestfriend who never reads my blog) drops by in August, I can spend some time and hang out with her. However, I've lost touch with her, and I don't even know if she's going to fly out here or not. If she doesn't, I'll be extremely mad.

If nothing else, I can use the three-day vacay to crawl into my bed on Saturday evening and emerge on Thursday morning, just in time for work. I could use a rejuvenating hibernation. When I have slept out my ability to sleep (I can sleep over 18 hours at a time people -- we're talking serious hibernating here), I can detox with some crisp green tea, followed by half an hour of meditating and yoga... oh, who am I kidding? I'll be sitting in front of the tube all day. Any suggestions on how I can spend a good holiday without breaking the bank?

Either way, I am spending this Sunday on a remote locale -- Oxnard! That's a whole different county! Basically you take the 101 from LA and drive forever (about an hour and half). I will be shopping (at an outlet -- I think it's called Camarillo) with my coworker Shane, followed by a fabulous sushi/sashimi fest for dinner at some place called the Fisherman's House. When I decide to have sashimi, fishies tremble from fear. You can pretty much guess that no fish will be spared. I consume fish like there's no tomorrow. If it's raw, even more so. Since I won't be driving, I am looking forward to getting senselessly drunk and obnoxious. Yay!

Funnies

<---------------RE-Posted!-------->

Funnies

This has been reposted, due to an error in link.

Click Here for a hilarious letter to Pakistan. Got it from Trish Wilson's Blog.

It is now clear that the Blogger Downtime from yesterday afternoon/evening was not because they were playing hooky; a bit of new changes here and there -- I think I like what I see... so far. Haven't had enough time to work on the new design -- I'm hoping to have the grand unveiling before the end of July.

You Need to Read This

You Need to Read This

Link to complete article:http://www.womenswallstreet.com/WWS/article_landing.aspx?titleid=1&articleid=711

Annie Jacobsen, one of the writers at Womens WallStreet.com, wrote this about her recent domestic flight from Detroit to Los Angeles:

Suddenly, seven of the men stood up -- in unison -- and walked to the front and back lavatories. One by one, they went into the two lavatories, each spending about four minutes inside. Right in front of us, two men stood up against the emergency exit door, waiting for the lavatory to become available. The men spoke in Arabic among themselves and to the man in the yellow shirt sitting nearby. One of the men took his camera into the lavatory. Another took his cell phone. Again, no one approached the men. Not one of the flight attendants asked them to sit down. I watched as the man in the yellow shirt, still in his seat, reached inside his shirt and pulled out a small red book. He read a few pages, then put the book back inside his shirt. He pulled the book out again, read a page or two more, and put it back. He continued to do this several more times.

I looked around to see if any other passengers were watching. I immediately spotted a distraught couple seated two rows back. The woman was crying into the man's shoulder. He was holding her hand. I heard him say to her, You've got to calm down. Behind them sat the once pleasant-smiling, goatee-wearing man.

I grabbed my son, I held my husband's hand and, despite the fact that I am not a particularly religious person, I prayed. The last man came out of the bathroom, and as he passed the man in the yellow shirt he ran his forefinger across his neck and mouthed the word No.

The plane landed. My husband and I gathered our bags and quickly, very quickly, walked up the jetway. As we exited the jetway and entered the airport, we saw many, many men in dark suits. A few yards further out into the terminal, LAPD agents ran past us, heading for the gate. I have since learned that the representatives of the Federal Bureau of Investigation (FBI), the Los Angeles Police Department (LAPD), the Federal Air Marshals (FAM), and the Transportation Security Association (TSA) met our plane as it landed. Several men -- who I presume were the federal air marshals on board -- hurried off the plane and directed the 14 men over to the side.

This happened on June 29, 2004.

Friday Freebies!

Friday Freebies!

Could not resist the temptation to make an alliteration. Sorry.

It's Friday. And the word "Free" goes so well with Fridays. So here's something free for those who want it: Gmail invites! I have a few invites for Gmail -- if anyone wants to try it out and join me in the frustration (it's really not that often that they're down), please ask!

Blogger has been enhanced.  It looks great from where I'm sitting, although you won't notice any difference.  I get a spell checker too, and it's now WYSIWYG which, I am assuming, stands for What-You-See-Is-What-You-Get.  Here's a view of what I'm lookin' at:

Well, non-blogger users won't know, but it's really good. I can even do those bullet things and make a list, like this:

• chocolate ice cream
• shampoo
• leave-in conditioner
• coffee
• Ice-Breakers (gum)

And make a things to buy list.  Sadly, I never knew how to do that whole html crap to make bullet points, but now I don't have to know!  Blogger has made it better for those who remain ignorant of html, such as myself.  Thank you Blogger. 

Of course, the absolute BEST thing about blogger, is that it's free.  Can't get better than free.  Yup.

I am Getting Old(er)

I am Getting Old(er)

Volume 8 Issue 79

Yes. I am again griping about getting old. This is another one of my verbose entries where I go yatta-yatta about getting old, so if you've already read the last dozen entries about this topic, you can just close your eyes and scroll a bit down or something. Or come back tomorrow, because today I'm whiny.

I am getting old. Getting older, at least. I have the fact that I won't be young forever, even though it's not exactly like I'm going out and relishing my awesome youth. I can hardly stay up past midnight, and when I do, I'm practically a zombie the next morning. I'm 23. In about two weeks, I will be 24. So you understand my dire urgency to address the issue of aging (sarcastic and yet truthful).

I am aging. Not as rapidly as Moor (from The Moor's Last Sigh -- yes, I am still reading that!), who is aging twice as fast as everyone else, but nevertheless, too rapidly for my liking. I should still be 19. I should still be "about to turn 20." How did the last four years zoom by? I just blinked, it seems, and half a decade flashed. I'm not ready to enter my "mid-twenties"; not yet, not yet!

Some of my peers are settling into their career-jobs, or finishing up graduate school, or starting a family; they are done, through with stretching and flexing and training and are ready to start running. I'm still deciding whether I want to do a marathon or the 100 m sprint. It feels like, the Olympic Games are here and I can't sign up for a category (I know it's not something as simple as "signing up" -- it's not a softball team) because I haven't done the rigorous training. So enough analogy.

I think I would still feel somewhat ambivalent about aging, had I been a permanent resident/US citizen, had I gone to Berkeley, had I gotten a B.S. or B.A. or M.A. or what acronym have you, because it's really not about my accomplishments. I'm proud of who I am and how I'm liviing. It's not ideal, true, but given my circumstance, I have prevailed with exceptional outcomes. I work 50-hour-weeks to pay tuition and support myself -- I work hard to get an education and I study hard also. I have proven to the world, and above all, myself, that when push comes to shove, I can still handle it. I'm flexible and dilligent, and a bit smart too.

So why would I still feel anguish over aging? Because I don't know the meaning of life. It's kind of demanding on myself to comprehend such things when I've only lived about a quarter of my life, but I'm not one for much meandering. I need to set a direction and a goal. Not to lose 3.7 lbs by next month, or finishing One Hundred Years of Solitude by the end of the century. Something influential. Something motivational. Something I'm willing to spend my life doing. It doesn't even have to be a one thing. But having a basic outline, or something to that extent would make me feel slightly better about aging.

What is the meaning of life? Why am I here? Sometimes, I feel like I'm so close to an answer, an enlightenment, if you will, but then my train of thought halts for one reason or another (damn customers, interfering with my chance at nirvana!). It takes a long time, and I'll have to invest more time thinking about it, I guess. But so much time is wasted in the present worrying about the future. I want to stop time for just a moment -- not even a very long one, where I can just think. Meditate. Debate within myself. Without the restrictions of time, being so oppressive on my soul.

Great. Now I got that Cher song in my head... "...if I could turn back time..." Unfortunately, when that is the only line from the song you know, and you're not even sure of the rest of the tune, it keeps repeating in your head, over and over, just that line, like a broken record. I'm in for a great day, I can just tell! (Note: extreme sarcasm)

Payday and a Friday!

Payday and a Friday!

What a great combo.

Movie Review

I wanted to see what all the hype was about Love Story. Of course, this film has been around for ages, but apparently, its potency is still full-strength today, as it had been when it first came out, because women are still crying over it, and men are still groaning over it. And I was in the mood for a sappy romance. I watched it twice within the same week (about two weeks ago). It was good. It was a tear-jerker, but good.

Ali MacGraw was great. Ryan O'Neal was great. Never seen either people in anything else that they had done. The whole preppy vs Jenny, making of snow angels (something that cannot be done in LA!), and the trance-inducing sound track -- it made a good complete package. I can't believe that Ryan O'Neal's most recent acting job was playing Alicia Silverstone's character's father in the television series, "Miss Match."

Starsky and Hutch. This I will see several more times, because it's just so funny. I love Ben Stiller and Owen Wilson, loved them in Zoolander, and loved them again in this one. They're just a talented bunch -- it is a gift to be able to make people laugh.

OMG! It's already 1AM. Gotta stop writing!

Bizarre

Bizzarre

Click here.

Woman Faces Charges in Pig-As-Bait Case Thu Jul 15, 4:43 AM ET WEST PALM BEACH, Fla. - A woman who offered to use her 5-month-old pig as bait to lure a tiger that escaped from the home of an actor who once played Tarzan will be cited for animal cruelty, officials said. Linda Meredith, of Loxahatchee, put the pig in the trunk of her car and drove to the neighborhood where officials were searching for the tiger shortly after she heard of its escape. Meredith asked officers to grab the hind legs of the pig, named Baby, or twist its ears so it would squeal and attract the tiger. The officers declined her offer. Palm Beach County Animal Care and Control Director Dianne Sauve said Meredith will be cited for transporting the pig in her trunk.

"I was appalled," Sauve said. "Carrying an animal in a trunk in 90-degree heat, where it's probably 140 degrees inside, is not acceptable."

Suave said she planned to meet with county sheriff's officials Thursday to determine specific charges.

Meredith said the trunk of her Cadillac is air conditioned, and she was planning to eat the pig when it is full grown.

"I can't believe they have the gall," she said. "I was just trying to help the tiger find his way back home."

Following a 26-hour search, the tiger, which belonged to actor Steve Sipek, was shot and killed Tuesday after lunging at a wildlife officer.

"..she was planning to eat the pig when it is full grown." What?!

Blog Survey

Blog Survey

http://drzaius.ics.uci.edu/blogsurvey/

They're doing research on blogging. Help out.

During Blogger's Downtime

During Blogger's Downtime

Blogger was down in the afternoon. My day was absolute hell. I felt like pulling out my hair. But since the day is over, I will not blog about that. Instead, let's talk about chocolate. I was writing earlier about needing alcohol to rev up my circulatory system in the morning. But since that law makes it clear that I shouldn't drink and drive, and also it would be bad to show up at work reeking of alcohol, I couldn't. But I had chocolate that I had bought the day before (just a coincidence, but thank goodness I did!).

It wasn't anything fancy. It was M&M's, but a new kind: black and white milk chocolate M&M's. How chic is that? All the pieces were black or white, and each was sensationally yummy. It was good. Worth every one of the 65 pennies it set me back. And it felt a bit sinful having junkfood in the morning (some unwritten law I think, prohibiting the comsumption of junkfood before breakfast) which made it more of a guilty pleasure. It was gooooood. It was comforting.

I am actually getting pretty tired of showing up for work 6 days, 52 hours a week! I can't wait until school starts so that I can start working part time again. I can't even tell what day of the week it is, because my life's been so repetetive and boring! Get up, work, have lunch, work some more, go home, have dinner, sleep, and repeat. On Sunday I feel dumbfounded and utterly lost. Like a wind-up toy that just ran out of stamina, my week comes to an abrupt halt, only to be would-up again for another week.

I had dinner with a friend tonight. The previously mentioned TranceLegend. I don't hang out with him too often, but we talk quite a bit. He's really easy to talk to, and is pretty blunt. I asked him today whether he thought I was "about average" or "overweight" and he almost answered, but stopped himself. Then he said "I'm not going to answer that." You know what, TranceLegend, that already answered the question! But normally, he is a pretty straight forward guy, and we coach each other on relationships and things like that. Tonight, I realized that I really need people to talk to.

Recently I've lost contact with Crystal, my best friend. I don't know whether she's just busy, or because she's got some sort of problem she's trying to work through, but I haven't spoken to her in what seems like ages. I don't really have anything specific to say, but just the act of physically mouthing the words and communicating to another human being is something that I'm lacking.

I know I can always talk to Shane, who is practically my older brother, but he's working two jobs and sleeping about 4-5 hours a night, and he's tired and cranky. Likewise for me, working full time at one job alone makes me cranky, and we haven't talked. We haven't conversed at all. I miss talking. I miss gabbing with the people I'm close to, about what I did today and hearing what they had for dinner and if they have relationship problems or if they purchased a new couch. I miss telling them about wanting to have a beer or that I bought some new clothes, or that my cat thinks my leg is a scratching post.

I guess I feel a bit isolated from the world. All I do is work, and it's stressing me out, and I'm lacking a support group to comfort me. This is one of the biggest reason I didn't date for about two years -- I hated that I depended so much on another human being for my happiness. I think it is obvious that I still haven't reached my goal state where my true happiness comes from within, because I am not merely desiring human companionship. I am dependent. I am helpless. Perhaps all I got out of the last two years is that I got used to being lonely and not adequately supporting my own self.

I know Christopher from Californian Sojourner (see left for link... too lazy to type out the link) has frequently mentioned "being the person" he wants to be... I totally understand that concept, because that's what I'm currently doing. Before, I had been focusing on being the person I want to be outwardly, which wasn't right. I have to be the person I want to be, independent of the outside world. A car doesn't define me. A pair of shoes or a college degree doesn't make or break me. It's just me. As cliche as it sounds, change comes from within. I may need to re-read An Open Heart by the Dalai Lama.

I have also been giving myself excuses. I'm an international student who really isn't an international student -- while I am probably more so an American than the majority of the people living in SoCal, I am still a foreigner. I registered for the fall semester yesterday, and my fee came out to be over $2800 US Dollars. That's for a 2 year college. A resident would have paid a maximum of $400. I'm paying more thatn 7 times that much. So I have to keep working these crazy hours to earn just enough money to pay for school and the lawyer's fees and the car payments and the insurance. If I were a resident, obviously things would be different. I would have gone to Berkeley. I would have had a different life. Instead of learning all the loopholes in immigration to jump through, I would have networked. I would have made friends who'd be integral in my life. Instead of doing dishes until 3 AM, I would have gone to concerts or perhaps played an instrument in one. Instead of burning my left hand on a hot grill and watching it get infected, maybe I would have done volunteer work and put a band-aid on an inner city kid who skinned his knee. So many "if only..." A few years back, I ordered myself to keep that mentality out, because it wasn't doing me any good. It only made me more resentful of my situation and curse fate. But on rough days like this, they creep back into my mind. I have to repeat to myself that this is just the way my life is, and I start from here. I can't daydream of my life as a US citizen and wondering what if. It will not happen that way anyways. It's a hard fact to accept, and I've been battling it for years -- if I don't concentrate about keeping my priorities straight and keeping my feet planted firmly on reality, all hell will break loose, and I may just collapse. I honestly would like to believe that life only gives you what you can handle.

So tomorrow, will be another day, much like today and yesterday and the day before. Will any progress be made? Will I be in slightly better shape tomorrow than I was today? There is a certain amount of fear that surrounds me about these things. I try to remain optimistic about tomorrows, because somewhere down the line, there's got to be change; there's got to be victories. This ties in with the mid-twenties crisis frustration I wrote of a few days ago. There's so much fear, because I can't guarantee that I will become a better human being with the passing of each day; I do not know if tomorrow will be better than today. Well, my mind is getting cloudy and I'm probably not making any sense.

If anything is keeping me going, in a minute way, it would be ice cream. And chocolate. Especially chocolate ice cream. Tomorrow, I will go buy that bucket of chocolate ice cream and have some. I need it.

Road Rage

Road Rage

GET OUT OF MY WAY LOSER! CAN'T YOU SEE I'M LATE FOR WORK??!!

There are mornings, and then there's hell. When facing hell at such an outrageously early hour, one seriously needs a cool alcoholic beverage, even if driving. I honestly wish I could have a tall glass of midori sour, sipping it through a straw on my drive to work. Perhaps a cosmo. It would be even better if I had a driver and rode in one of those stretched out limos. Nevertheless, on hot, hellish morning like today's, one must start out with the breakfast for champions -- a cocktail.

Ideally, something fruity in the AM to get my eyes opened up, and a mug-full of beer a bit after noon, and a bloody mary to zing up the mid to late afternoon. On a day like this, coffee just doesn't cut it. You hear that coffee?! You're just not doin' it for me!

This, by the way, is my 500th Post!

Conversation

Conversation

TranceLegend : be sure to mention me in your blog ok
Moonz over Hammy : why?
Moonz over Hammy : you pretend not to like it

My friend, who will only be referred to as TranceLegend (he has problems admitting that he befriends a geek like me), wanted to be mentioned in my blog. Who knows why, but I secretly believe he likes the attention, however small, and secretly smiles with much pride that he is mentioned in my blog. I mean, wouldn't anyone be?

So there you go, TranceLegend, you have now been mentioned in my blog about four times. Congrats to you.

I Don't Appreciate Liars

I Don't Appreciate Liars

If this Kerry guy becomes president... well, let's just say he better tread lightly on making promises he can't keep for the sake of getting elected.

Candidates Court Illegal Immigrants
Thursday, July 08, 2004
By Matt Hayes

On June 30, John Kerry went to Phoenix and spoke before the national conference of the race identity group La Raza (search). By now most Americans know that ¡°La Raza¡± is Spanish for ¡°The Race,¡± and also that the media accept that groups such as La Raza are conspicuously race conscious while being intolerant of others for being so.

This may be why Kerry, a presidential candidate of a mainstream political party, didn¡¯t see much of a downside in speaking before such an organization. In Kerry¡¯s appearance, Americans can see just how far behind its politicians have left the truth. They can also see that most candidates for federal office will propose almost anything if votes are in the offing.

Kerry said to his audience, "It is time to fulfill the promise of America, so that those who work hard and take responsibility and build a better life for them and their families, and live by the rules, and pay their taxes and raise their families have a right to share in America and its citizenship in the fullest." Kerry then went on to promise that the 8 million to 12 million illegal aliens in the U.S. would be given a ¡°path to citizenship¡± in his first 100 days in office.

The speech, one of many by candidates for office, reportedly drew the loudest applause.

On closer inspection, it¡¯s clear that Kerry¡¯s pronouncement could have come right out of Orwell. Not a single individual who could benefit from Kerry¡¯s amnesty plan has by any definition ¡°played by the rules.¡±

Eligibility for the Kerry amnesty plan requires an individual to not just be present in the United States without a current visa (which is a crime under Title 8 of the U.S. Code) but also working, which is a crime under the Immigration Reform and Control Act (search)signed into law by Ronald Reagan in 1986. Both activities are capable of treatment as felonies.

If federal legislation represents the national will expressed through our representatives in Congress, then Kerry¡¯s plan is in outright conflict with the will of a majority of Americans. But the fact that Kerry¡¯s amnesty proposal puts only unprosecuted felons ¡°on the path to citizenship¡± is not likely to be its downfall. After all, Republican Chris Cannon, the congressman from Utah who also spoke at the conference, has proposed similar legislation and it has garnered the support of 63 members of Congress (though several supporters are now distancing themselves from the bill). Kerry¡¯s problem is more likely to be the fact that his amnesty is predicated on payment of one¡¯s taxes...

Matt Hayes began practicing immigration law shortly after graduating from Pace University School of Law in 1994, representing new immigrants in civil and criminal matters. He is the author of The New Immigration Law and Practice, to be published in October.

Normally I don't like to post such long articles (the above is actually the first half of the article) but this one had me mind-boggled for some time. Someone should arrest politicians who lie and make false promises. I'm not too political, so I really don't like to dive into matters of weapons and whatnot, but things involving immigration really hits home.

Google Me This

Google Me This

Someone came to my blog today by Googling THIS.

I don't know whether to laugh or cry or be freaked.

Movie Review: 50 First Dates

Movie Review: 50 First Dates

Now normally, I'm not an Adam Sandler fan. I don't know what it is about him, but I just hate him. So I was hesistant about watching 50 First Dates, which featured his The Wedding Singer co-star, Drew Barrymore. But the title hit me very close to my heart, as I am probably close to experiencing something like 50 first dates myself, I figured, I should give it a try.

I hate sappy romantic comedies. The women are always ditzy, and the men are always problematic, and I guess the sappiness is supposed to come when they realize their love for each other despite all their aweful acting. But recently, I seem to bend over backwards for these films -- I've become a hormonal, sappy, emotional, tear-jerking romantic. It's crazy. I've also enjoyed a few Disney-style, coming of age teen flicks. Maybe I'm aging backwards!

Oh wait. Let's get back to 50 First Dates. The plot, I felt, was actually good. It wasn't totally predictable -- I mean, obviously it would have a happy ending, but it was a rather unexpected ending. You probably already know that Drew Barrymore's character, Lucy, had brain trauma and lost her short term memory, as well as her ability to retain new short term memory. I totally expected her illness to be completely cured and the characters go off to Lala land and live happily ever after. Well, let's just say it was a very nice ending, and not cliche at all.

It was romantic. Just the idea of trying to make someone you love, fall in love with you each and every day, is romantic. It's also a lesson. Are you not trying, or putting an effort into your loved ones, and taking them for granted? It would be much more work, but not taking love for granted, would make your life more worth while. It's hard to explain, when customers are calling every 2 minutes to complain about something or another... argh. Maybe when my train of thought isn't break up into static, I'll try to be clearer.

Nostalgia: Wouldn't It Be Nice

Nostalgia: Wouldn't It Be Nice

Wouldn't it be nice if we were older
Then we wouldn't have to wait so long
And wouldn't it be nice to live together
In the kind of world where we belong

You know its gonna make it that much better
When we can say goodnight and stay together

Wouldn't it be nice if we could wake up
In the morning when the day is new
And after having spent the day together
Hold each other close the whole night through

Happy times together we've been spending
I wish that every kiss was neverending

Wouldn't it be nice

Maybe if we think and wish and hope and pray it might come true
Baby then there wouldn't be a single thing we couldn't do
We could be married
And then we'd be happy

Wouldn't it be nice

You know it seems the more we talk about it
It only makes it worse to live without it
But lets talk about it

Wouldn't it be nice

Birthday Wish List

Birthday Wish List

Click Here to see! Fonts are in Korean, but don't worry... as long as you see the photos!

It is a place in Japan... it's not an indoor swimming facility... it's an indoor BEACH!

Work in Progress

Work in Progress

I said I've been working on a new look for my blog. Again, I am working with Shag's art. Here's what I've made so far:

I'm trying to use FrontPage, but it's only good for a few things. I do better writing out details by hand, which actually is tiresome, so it takes a long time. I wish I had the time and money to take an html class.

Gmail Failure

Gmail Failure

Just now for the last 15 tries of just trying to log onto my Gmail account, I am getting this message: "Sorry, something didn't work correctly." When you over-do the clicking, it tells you something like ..."You know what? We don't know what's wrong, but something sure is. We'd love to tell you what's wrong, but we don't know. We'll fix whatever it is soon enough, so sit tight."***

I'm going to have some yummy dinner and hope that Gmail gets its act together after dinner-time.

Also, I can receive text messages on my moe-bile(as the British say), however have no way of knowing who sent it. All it gives me is the message and the time and date it was received on my end. Stupid Nextel. Go figure. So if for whatever reason you decide to text message someone with a Nextel phone, leave your name/number in the message itself, or you'll never get a response. Oh yeah. I can't send out messages either. Yes, for a person who makes a living from selling cell phones, I sure carry a rather old (i.e. extinct) model that is rather large, inconvenient, expensive, with rather poor service. Go figure on that one too. But I can live without a cell phone (or at least I'd like to think so) and may try to tough it out once my contract is up. (FYI: That's what I said last year and the year before that... but in my defense, my boss made me get a phone and he even pays for it...)

***CORRECTION: What the page actually says is this:

Sorry, something didn't work correctly.

If we knew exactly what the problem was, we would tell you instead of giving you this useless error message. Actually, if we knew, we would most likely have fixed it already.

Rest assured. As you read this, alarm bells are ringing at the Googleplex, signifying something has gone horribly wrong in this quadrant. A report will soon be in the hands of our engineering team, detailing the bad thing that happened here. This team will work without rest to address the problem you have brought to their attention.

If, after a decent interval (about 24 hours), you encounter this problem again, please email us at accounts-support@google.com . The more specifics you include, the better (e.g., what kind of computer and browser you were using, what page you looked at last, what you clicked on, etc.). Sometimes, even our engineers need a little help.

Thanks for using Google.