letters to the editor

I found this letter on the street and have laboriously retyped it for your viewing pleasure:


I once heard from an old woman, 'Don't try to find a woman that has left you...

...it only causes you pain. In our case, i only made a halfhearted attempt to get you back through a half-hearted letter. Perhaps I should've never let you go. I let you go without much of a fight. But then if I did that, then things might've gotten ugly. But of course, that's probably what i needed to give things closure: for things to get ugly and for a clean break to happen. Although this break shouldn't be classified as 'messy,' it sure wasn't a clean break, by any means.

I let you go without a fight because until the end, all i wanted was what was best for you. I wanted to give you every kind of happiness and that included losing you, because that's what you wanted. It was really you that gave us up, that gave me up. And I let it happen and no matter how much I can trick myself into thinking that the breakup is mutual and that 'we agreed' to it now i know that not only did i trick myself, you tricked me. Unconsciously, of course. I think sometimes you are so clueless it's frightening. But at the same time, there is a certain feminine intuitiveness that takes over.

It's hard because I was your first boyfriend. It's harder still because, you know what, you were my first real girlfriend. All the other relationships were nothing. They really didn't compare. That must explain why I still even bother.

The right thing to do is to try to forget about you. Yes, that's the right thing to do. I can revisit memories later, I'll have those pictures when that time comes, but for now, it's time for mental purging. Every time I want to think about you, be it a good memory or bad memory, i'm going to push it out of my head. Because even when the good memories rise to the surface and a smile crosses my face, it inevitably washes over to the present and the fact that you are no longer there. And I can't keep doing that. I refuse to do that to myself.

I've decided to go the way of mens sibi conscia recti . I can move on, and do it with dignity. I really should've had more pride during our relationship but something happened to me -- to my inside being -- that took control. I was infected by a fever. That disease is still plaguing me. Slowly but surely, however, my body is reclaiming itself. That you can be sure of.

here i am, sitting in the danville public library. i feel like a loser. it's good to be home, the weather is freaking fantastic and the bitches are flowing like wine. and the wine is flowing like wine.

bah.

goin back to cali to sell my car. see you guys later.

everything's comin' up millhouse

me and eugene tried to cheat at online poker, with mixed results. i lost 80 bucks, he won 120 bucks. is it just me or am i a FUCKING MONEY LOSING MACHINE?! Last week I left a brand new 80 dollar shirt at a fucking strip club or a cab, whichever comes last, along with my MP3 player with brand new memory card. then, I pay some bum 10-20 bucks b/c i was harrassing him and then felt bad, then i lose $50 playing stupid fucking roulette which i know you can't win no matter what and then i lose money on the stupid fucking Diamondbacks (i blame susan kim) and then I almost lose $400 for destroying our fridge in an attempt to chisel out ice. then i lost $2.50 on a 40 of Old English that made me lose money playing poker, all the while i'm losing a grip on the stock market.

I'm a loser.

souls of mischief

Friday night was a star-studded affair. I met up with The Air Conditioner for dinner and we headed to Kang Suh in K-town. At the next table was the cutest baby in the universe. Not actually a baby, but a three year old girl with a heart of gold. She wielded a small rubber basketball with such dexterity, I thought her to be the second coming of Zheng Haixia, minus the earth-shattering ugliness. As we ate our meal of rice and assorted vegetables in a hot pot with an egg on top, I heard a woman's voice say, "Can I take a picture of your baby?" I look over and see an attractive chinese woman with an elongated face. Damn it all. It was my arch nemesis Lisa Ling getting her gook on. I imagine she got a taste for Korean food after sampling Ricky Yune's kimbap.

It all started in the summer of 2000. I was attending the Asian American Journalists convention in New York and Lisa was one of the guest speakers there. It was a humid day, muggier than a mugger's ski mask. I was walking down Broadway near the hotel with my new friend Corey Takahashi, who is now a writer at Newsday, and we see Lisa walking towards us wearing a trendy pair of camouflage pants. So I decide to say hello and she snubs me like a snub-nosed monkey. Corey broke into peals of laughter and since then I have harbored a deep resentment towards that Old Navy peddler.

And now she had the audacity to march into one of my favorite restaurants and steal the soul of one of Seoul's cutest babies with her soul-taking camera? As if it wasn't enough for her to steal the Korean fighting spirit of Ricky Yune, the owner of Seoul's tightest abs. The nerve of her! I decided to give her a taste of her own medicine and steal her soul with my digital camera. But alas, my brother took my memory card to Spain to take pictures of running bulls so I didn't have it. Once again, the evil Chinatown soul pirate got the best of me. But I promise you, this is not over.



In other news, right after we left the restaurant, 2001 SI Swimsuit cover model Elisa Benitez graced us with her presence as she walked past us on 6th Avenue. Right after we left the swimsuit model, Academy Award winner Tom Hanks graced us with his presence at the movies. We watched his latest film, Road to Perdition. The movie is based on a graphic novel and I appreciated many of the elements that the director borrowed from it. After we left the movies, we went to the West Village where a bunch of homo thugs graced us with their presence.

in other news, i miss my access to Lexis-Nexis.