Yeah .

It’s been a long time since I’ve written a blog on this . I guess I got pretty busy, huh ? Or maybe it’s the needlessly complicated design aesthetic of wordpress that i just didn’t like . Or the fact that I didn’t renew my paid membership and they gave away my URL to some vacuum company’s advert . I dunno why .. I just wasn’t feeling the need to go crazy on this thing .

BUT !

I decided to use this for a new thing .

This blog is basically going to be my secret place . I’m never going to advertise the existence of it anymore, and I’m simply going to type out my feelings, or current thoughts into this place . So let’s just keep this between me and you, ok ?

Anyway, in short numerical spurts, here’s what’s been going on lately !

1. As some of you know, we’re the dancers for LMFAO now . It all started when we met them at a concert, when we were fresh off ABDC . They told us they were watching us, and we kept running into them over and over that year . Once they had the idea to make a music video featuring dance, they asked Hok to help put it together . That was ‘Party Rock Anthem’, and since that day, we performed with them on certain shows, and eventually were hired to do their world tour . We’re still in the middle of all that, and having the time of our lives .

2. The Quest Crew is trying to cover more grounds by spreading out and taking on various opportunities . Right now, Steve and Victor are working on a SECRET PROJECT that some of you may have figured out . If you haven’t, do some research and you may find some tidbits . Lydia is doing an amazing job as a songwriter in Korea, making hits for the lead singer of 2NE1 and various other artists . We’re all hoping she gets her chance in spotlight and really showcases her true talents ! You all know how wonderful she is . Andy Luo is a working man, and is on the grind with his rocket science on the daily . I haven’t seen him in a long time, and that bums me out . I hope it hasn’t pushed our friendship too far apart . Nicky T still lives with Hok and we see him from time to time, although I have no idea what he’s doing . I always said I’d move back in with him in the future . It’d be fun, because he was the first roommate I ever had ! Everybody I didn’t mention, is currently working on the LMFAO performances . Oh, and Adil is a judge on X-Factor in Norway, or something like that . Of course, we only talk to him every blue moon, but he’s still Quest Crew to us .

3.  I feel like I’ve been to more places this recent year than ever before .  Thanks to LMFAO, I’ve been all around the US on an amazing tour bus with a grand cast of awesome people .  Plus they brought me to Europe, Asia, all across Canada, and even to the Arab Emirates !  This world is crazy, people .  I suggest you see as much of it as you can .  I’m only saying this because I used to hate the idea of traveling .  Back when I was 20, I would’ve never wanted to leave this country even if somebody gave me a free ticket to go around the world .  I would’ve probably rather played videogames at home .  No really .  How ridiculous, right ?  But it’s been a crazy life since I stepped out of my box .  I encourage the rest of you to do the same .  If you ever want to get a clue to where I’ll be next, just check LMFAO’s webiste http://www.partyrocklife.com for their schedule .  And wherever you see them going, chances are, I’ll be there as well .

4. Everybody always wants to know what’s up with me and Dom . I get messages about that on my facebook or twitter ALL the time . Still to this day ! I guess a lot of people are afraid we don’t like each other or something . But I honestly don’t really know how he feels nowadays, we’ve all been pretty busy so I doubt anybody really stops to think about it all . Of course we’ve had our times when we didn’t agree on some very important things, but I have always cared for his life in general and if he’s doing good, then I’m fine with that . He’s the type of person I’ve always known would be fine in life, a true self-sufficient person . But we’re in very different places now and probably can’t connect as easy as we used to . People grow up all the time and move on to different things . Not that I’ve necessarily become any more mature, but our lives sure have changed . There’s nothing about today, that makes me regret what happened in the past . We’re all surprisingly very well taken care of . But he will always be my friend regardless of where we end up, or however further away we drift .

5. I’ve been single . Yeah, that last girlfriend was a big-time mistake . Pretty much embarrassed that I got into that . Haha ! But thank you everyone for the support and being too polite to point out that bad decision . But that was like a year ago . Since then, I’ve only dated one girl . And it just recently ended . But hey, this girl could’ve been the one . The one that stayed . It almost was . In fact, I wish it was . But sadly, it just didn’t quite make it there . I’ve been torn up about it for awhile now, but I accept the heartbreak that comes with this life .

6. I think I’ve built a horrible habit of not doing the things I planned to do . My youtube is just terrible ! I haven’t uploaded anything new in forever . I wanted to do hair tutorials, stupid short films, random interviews, and all kinds of stuff . But I just get sidetracked with a million other things . PLUS i haven’t uploaded any new music in forever ! A part of me just didn’t want to seem like another youtube music dude, which i feel like is over-saturating right now . I’m a weird person, because I love performing yet at the same time, I totally don’t like attention . Haha !

7. My secret dream at the moment is to play live keyboard for LMFAO on their next big tour . Someday I know my back is gonna crack in half or my neck is gonna fall to pieces . I really want to get my shot at real musicianship without having to wait for that day . I’m the type of person who’s going to keep dancing until the end ! But there’s so much more music in me, than there is dance . I treat music so much differently than I do dance . I’m a lot more reluctant to get down on a piano than a dance floor, only because I can’t stand making music a spectacle . That’s why I never show my face when I put up piano videos . I want it to be about the music, and I hate feeling like I’m trying to look cool . Haha . I’ll find a way to achieve this goal the right way . I would really like to be on the big stage wailing out on a keytar . Or hitting hard on a piano ballad . It’s a dream I have waaay too often to not become a reality . I feel like it’s getting closer !

8. I lost some weight ! Weird . Cuz i just shelled out on a 3 for 1 special on hershey bars at walgreens . Orlando has some good specials . And i ate like a lion at the downstairs buffet . Being a buff dude is still not a desire of mine . I’d rather have that skinny druggie rockstar body ! Haha, but I am what I am, and that’s always been good enough for me . What can I complain about ! Other than my psoriasis ! Please somebody find a cure for that thing already !

9. I know I’m known as the hair guy . As long as I can remember . But I need a change . Same vibe though .. just different delivery . Especially because everyone and their mamas decided to shave one side of their head . Which I totally did back when it wasn’t cool AT ALL . Plus there’s always Adam Lambert somehow being one step behind me . Whoever his hairstylist is, has definitely been looking at my pictures . It’s way more than a coincidence, people . So yeah .. I shaved my sides super short lately, as a bid to regrow a fresh batch to experiment with . I’ll think of something soon . I think I have an idea how this’ll go . But here’s a little secret fact for all of you . The only reason I decided to have big poofy hair is because I always thought I had a fat face . HAHA ! There, I said it .

10. I really wish I had a girlfriend . Okay let me rephrase that, because it’s easy for anyone to just HAVE a girlfriend, but i mean .. I wish I could find my mate in life, already . Haha ! I feel like I’m meant to give so much love and devotion and there’s just nobody to direct that to . I guess I’ll just save it all up and charge it for one huge love HADOKEN ! by the time she comes around, she’ll have something great to look forward to . Looks like all I can do is look out the hotel window and sigh . HAHA ! wow, super emo . and super embarrassing . But that’s what this blog is about .

Your personal view into my unedited thought process .

I also don’t backspace anything, as a personal rule . So there will be typos .

Fun Fact : If you want to see my blogs as a young teenager, i had two old XANGA accounts under the usernames: Ryanimay and Alkadrag

I also made a fake account for Aris who refused to make one . Username: Aerosole

I think .
Until next time …

Do not link this blog ! This is just between me and you !

. ryan

1.  The Crazy Dad at the Furniture Store (1987)

You know when you’re a kid, and you have to go to the furniture store, the idea of it doesn’t sound like too much fun .  Unless you have an imagination .  And I wasn’t the most behaved kid in public spaces, being 4 years old at the time .  So off I go, me and my older sister just jumping around on beds creating ridiculous games that consist of ad-lib rules and simultaneous wins .  Of course we wouldn’t be the only children there who were left unattended by the many parents who seek to complete the day’s deed .  My dad was over at the counter talking the bed biz with an employee, so I sheltered myself at home in a fortress of Sealy, Serta, Simmons, Sterns and Fosters, and Spring Airs (old-school bed brands yo) .

Then here comes this other kid trying to encroach on my designated territory .  He looked like he was about the same age as me, so I had no problem gettin gangsta .  The kid jumps up on “my” bed and I totally shove him down .  He didn’t really respond much to that, and just walked away without a word .  So I walked after him and punched him in his back .  I have no idea why I felt this would accomplish any such goal .  It’s just kid logic .  Little asshole kid logic .

Out of nowhere, his dad pops up !  Kind of like in a really old videogame where the boss of a level just appears suddenly because of really bad graphics .  The dude looked like a Filipino Burt Reynolds, but with an evil mustache instead of a glorious one .  And he just grabs my shoulders and shakes me extremely hard, the way you’d shake an extremely mysterious Christmas gift .  Then proceeds to slap me twice across my beautiful child-actor face .  I remember him yelling “WHY’D YA HIT HIM !” each time he smacked me across the ladykiller .  I was in a weird daze; I remember my sister just watching and somehow getting the attention of my dad, who was across the store .  He comes running up, all 80′s style (whatever that is).

My dad walks up and just stares down the other dad .  My child brain kicked in again and I figured my dad was literally going to kill the guy .  And to my mind it made sense and seemed fair .  Hell yeah, justice .  But my dad just continued to cold-stare, the kind of look you’d expect from a guy standing in front of a huge sign, that can’t read, but is very determined to figure shit out .  The kid’s dad was stuttering with fear, and I remember him saying, “Well .. I .. I was just trying to stop him !”  And from then on I don’t remember what happened or how this story ends .

To this day, I still have the image of that guy’s face in my memory .  I wonder what ever became of that kid I punched .  Or whether or not he has the same recollection of this event .  Judging from how numbly he was taking the situation, I don’t think his brain had developed the sense of ‘giving a shit’ yet .  But his dad sure had that sense over-developed .  I mean, seriously, if you have to jump in and assist a fight between two 4-year olds, then either you’re REALLY overreacting, or your kid has some kind of disabili-   oh crap .

2.  The Bicycle Bum (1998)

Welcome to my sophomore year of high school .  At this time, I’m a shaved head AZN wearing baggy khaki’s and a big white shirt .  Yes, on purpose .  I also had the freshest K-Swiss shoes, kept white by the Finish Line shoe cleaner I kept in my backpack, WHICH the employee talked me  into buying .  It’s a very exciting time in life, as I was getting closer to figuring out the most precise way to act hardcore .  Don’t smile for pictures, always talk as if black (or mexican, which worked better for me), and never ever display an enthusiasm for anything !

I was at Huntington Beach with my friends .  We were all playing basketball at one of the courts between the sand and the street .  Like true gangstas .  See ya’ll just don’t know .  Well actually, I wasn’t playing .  I was sitting off-court (real sports term?) next to my Igloo cooler which I’d jam-packed with cans of soda, while listening to a trance remix of a Bob Marley classic on my Portable CD Player .  Yes, I should’ve been shot for this .

Anyway, I see this raggedy old bum ride by on his bicycle down the beachwalk .  Real slow .  I mean, his eyes were weird .  He was pedaling like a zombie with his vision fixated in a spaced-out way, almost like how an asshole friend does when you’re talking to them and they want you to know they’re not paying attention .  Why did I notice this ?  Because I wasn’t doing anything better .

Suddenly, I had this strange urge .  I looked at our igloo cooler full of soda cans, and I felt compelled to give one to him .  Just because I took a fat look at our lives at the time, and thought, wow .  We’re lucky to be living this way .  I’m a 15 year-old kid who probably owns more things of value than that 60 year-old homeless guy .  I picked up a can of Sprite and jetted .

I ran up next to the bum, who was still pedaling at his aforementioned pace .  Here I am, pacing next to him, like a mobile drive-thru attendant .  I was like, “Excuse me, sir, are you thirsty ?”  The dude doesn’t even flinch .  It’s like I’m not even there .  “Umm, I wanted you to have this .  It’s a drink .”  There I go, totally insulting his intelligence .  But he still doesn’t give me a single look .  No change of pace, no difference in movement, just .. nothing .

I was starting to get tired of running next to this guy .  I was already a quarter-mile away from the basketball court, and this bum just wasn’t giving me a single ounce of attention .  I didn’t get it .  Maybe he had a mental thing that blocked him from asians that were just too gangster for society, whatever .  I gave up .

He ended up biking along as I stopped chasing after him (next to him) .  He was going extremely slow, so to have traveled a quarter mile by now, you gotta believe I was being a side-car for QUITE a long time .  I was just standing there in the middle of the beachwalk, just watching him slowly pedal away .  Weirdo .  I was like, pshh whatever yo .  Like a true G .

Suddenly, I’m startled by the sounds of a horrible cough !  There was this Mexican guy sitting with his back against a wall, coughing and trying to catch his breath .  His bicycle was leaned against the wall right next to him .  This dude didn’t look like a bum, but he definitely didn’t appear much richer .  I went up to him immediately, and gave him the can of soda .  “Here, man, drink this .”  The guy just looked up at me strangely, the way the Power Rangers look up at those huge alien monsters that get REALLY huge near the end of the episode .

“Thank you ..” he stuttered out .  Still staring at me weirdly, as if nobody had ever done such a thing for him .  Almost as if a drink was the one thing he needed at that very moment, and somehow it came to him just in time .

I absolutely hate stories that end like this, but I shit you not .  I looked down the beachwalk and the bicycle bum was gone .  And in the pace that he was riding, there was no way he could’ve rocketed beyond the horizon in that short amount of time .  Strange but true .

Or he could’ve just made a left turn or something .

3.  The Cruise Ship Waiter (2001)

Senior trip !  This time I’m hangin out on a cruise ship with my entire senior class .  Not that impressive though, because our senior class had like 50 students ?  So yeah .  Still fun though !  And best of all, dinner time was about to start !  We all gathered in this nice banquet hall area of the ship, and they started to serve us the main course .

Little information about yours truly; I used to eat like a beast .  I was fatter then, “significantly” I might add .  And I had a huge taste for the red meats .  STEAKS per se .  I would eat so much .  Let’s just say this .  If Chipotle were around back then, it wouldn’t be around now .  Cuz I would’ve eaten the entire company by 2001 .

As I’m sitting at a table with my friends, all dressed appropriate and ready to pig out unclassily, the waiter delivers the first round of entree .  This, of course, is everybody else’s ONLY round, but for me it will be the first of many .  It’s a STEAK !  Not just a steak actually, it’s a prime rib .  16 ounces of tender goodness, ready to be consumed by the blades of wrath which are my braces .

It’s over swiftly, and my stomach still remains grossly unsatisfied .  And as the waiter makes another pass through my table area and sees my empty plate, he gasps in terror !  “Sir !  I’m sorry, were you given an empty plate ?”  I realized everybody else hadn’t even begun to chip away their prime ribs .  So of course, few would believe I’d just straight-up EATEN the thing .  “No, sir, I actually finished it .  Could I get another one, by any chance ?”  The waiter looked at me in disbelief .  I almost felt like he was gonna check my coat pockets .  But instead he left and returned with another fresh plate of 16 oz. prime rib .  Like a true best friend .

I ended up eating that prime rib in the same amount of time .  And he came back and gave me the same amount of look .  A whole buttload of disbelief and flabbergast .  My friends were chanting me up to eat a third one .  I acted like I couldn’t do it, just for entertainment sake, and stalled a bit before asking Mr. Coolest Waiter of my Life to fetch another slab from the kitchen .  He hooked a brotha up and there I was, working on my third prime rib of the night .  Onlookers from the other tables had gathered around me to witness the spectacle which is the demonstration of my abyssal stomach .  I consumed #3 no differently than I had eaten #1 and #2 .   With the same grace in chewing and unrelenting fury of digestion which occured naturally to my then-chubby self .

“Go for number four !”  I remember everybody saying .  Like hell I was gonna do that .  I was an eating machine at the time, but i knew my limit .  Three was the highest I’d ever gone, steak-wise .  And these prime ribs were no joke .  They weren’t getting any smaller by the round, and I didn’t even believe the waiter would give me a fourth one .  But before I asked, somebody had already asked FOR me .  Dammit .

“WHOAAAAAAAAAA !!”  is the first thing I hear .  An orchestrated crescendo of voices, resounding in a domino rally as the fourth steak is being carried through the banquet hall to its destiny, my table .    But this is not just any steak .  I sensed it as the waiter brought it down from above my head .

“This is a special prime rib .  This is called the prime rib end-cut .  It’s very flavorful and much larger .  You will enjoy this .”  the waiter says to me with a million-dollar smile .  Actually, the smile was more mischievous, as if I was James Bond and he was an undercover counter-agent, trying to kill me with beef .  I took a long stare at the hulking mass of meat in front of me .  It was quite literally, the size of a healthy American newborn baby .  I didn’t know if I should eat it, or slap its ass .

I ate it .  It took forever, and I believe I died a few times in the process, but I ate it .  There was a resounding cheer at my completion, and the deed had been the banquet hall event of the night .  The cruise ship tilted in my direction for the rest of the evening .  But it was amazing, and I was highly impressed with my record .  I don’t even know how many ounces that last prime rib end cut could’ve been .  Probably needed the next unit of measurement to gauge it .  But it was big .  Bigger than any mass of beef I’ve ever been allowed to eat .  You know the tablets that Moses had, with the 10 Commandments on them ?  Yeah, it was like eating the first 5 .  Not easy .

The waiter loved it .  He stood there and watched me accomplish what he had never expected could be done by a 17 year-old kid .  Okay, I wasn’t really that FAT, but I was pretty thick .  Not in the Latina way that we all love, but in the chunky-face cheekbone-less unattractive mustache-having Asian Hilfiger way .  That waiter had an awesome time, and he smiled at me when it was all over .  Like a proud father, after watching his kid win a baseball game .  A baseball game versus steaks .

So that’s the record of my biggest EAT ever .  I think it’s safe to say, and obvious to point out, that there were two personal records broken during that cruise .  I’ll let you imagine what the second could be .

Props to the coolest waiter ever .  So damn cool .. I hope he still thinks of me when serving all those wimps their ONE steak .

. ryan

Today is a different day .

I’m not usually one to say anything too personal about my life on a public blog .  But you know, not a whole lot of people know about this website .  And I kinda like it that way .  It makes me feel less like I’m trying to gain recognition for anything I might type, and I’m really just speaking my mind to a very limited few, who stumble through the doorway by sheer chance .  Maybe then, it’s meant to be you .

I don’t really advertise .  I’m not much for that .  I like it better when YOU feel special because even though I know you’re only one of like a few dozen people, I’m still going to write to you anyway .  Even though, in a way, I’m talking to myself here .  I still know you’re listening .  And I’m okay with that .

So anyway ..

I think I’ve recently come to grips with the fact that there’s something in my life I’m not too happy about .
For those of you who don’t know me, which is pretty much all of you, I view life like a forever work-in-progress .  So it’s
rare that I take a step back and find that I’m not happy with something, because usually, I’m nowhere near finished with it .
No sense to judge it just yet .

Actually, back it up .  I shouldn’t have said that none of you know me .  My mistake .

Want to know something funny/interesting/pretty cool ?

The majority of you, who have never met me, seen me, talked to me, or even been in the same room as me …

… probably know exactly what to get me as a gift .

I noticed that .  When I meet fans, some gifts have hit a personal spot that so many people who have known me for years can’t touch .  That’s because so many of you have listened .  And read .  And researched .  And just … known .  I’m impressed by that, always .

But today, the reason I’m even telling you that I’m not happy with something, isn’t because I want you to come cheer me up .  Or share a quote with me, or lend some advice .  I’m perfectly okay with what I plan to do .

But in case you feel like you’re not happy with something in YOUR life, ask yourself if you’re finished with it yet .
If it’s something that you’re still continuing to work on, and you just haven’t completed the improvements, then there’s no reason to sacrifice your happiness over its current state .  Just keep working on it, do what you can, and always have an eye on the big picture .

There are a lot of times when sculptures, paintings, movie scripts, articles, and every other subjective piece of work can appear as a lost cause .  But until the product itself is complete, it doesn’t deserve to be judged .

However, judge all you want, even so .  I’m not saying it’s wrong to judge things .  I’ve always believed whether or not you choose to judge something, you do have the right to assess situations for what you believe they might be .  But sometimes it’s too soon to judge, because you’re likely to be wrong, when you don’t have enough information .

And you can live with that .  If we’re talking about judging paintings, sculptures, and things .

But in life, we tend to mislabel the things that are most important to us .
Because we’re so impatient to find out exactly what it means .  And that’s when we really pay the price .

I’m in that space right now .  Wanting to know what something means, and being disappointed by what I presently think it is .
Wondering what the price is going to be, if I ever discover that I have to pay it .

If not, then I need to keep working .  Finish the improvements .  And keep my eye on the big picture .
Even if I have to squint to see it .

. ryan

Okay .  Before you become too cool to read this, let it be known that these stories are real .
However, I’m not saying the ghosts are real .  I mean, actually, some of these stories don’t even really HAVE ghosts !

They’re just experiences that, once upon a time, spooked me the hell out .

I call this article:

5 Real Ghost Stories From My Life PRESENTED WITH Crappy Kid-like Drawings Done in MS PAINT !

If we were around a campfire, here are the stories I would tell you .
And the eye-scarring pictures I would never want you to see .

1.  Ghost Baby

The Story

This one takes place when I was in the 3rd grade, random weekend at home .  I was tossing my lunch dishes into the kitchen sink and as I looked out the window onto my street, I noticed somebody looking at me .  It was a kid in the backseat of a car parked right in front of my house .  I didn’t really think anything of it, other than how odd it was that somebody left their kid in the car in this crazy heat (yes, my rational logic kicked in at an early age) .   After my cup and plate settled its place in the sink, without washing anything, I began to walk out of the kitchen .

That’s when it struck me .  Hey .
That was my mom’s car parked out front .

I went back to the window to double check .  And there it was .  My mom’s yellow corolla parked just right outside the house against the curb like always .  But this time no kid .  I hadn’t realized it was her car earlier because the first thing I noticed was the kid, not the car .  And I didn’t think much of either .  Until now that I’d felt the after-effect of enough spooks to clench my butt every time I looked out the kitchen window for the next three grades .  Perfect .

He's ... looking ... right ... at me .

What It Probably Was ..

It might’ve been somebody else’s car parked in front of the house for that second .  The owner must’ve driven off as I walked away from the window, and I came back only to see my mom’s car parked in front of the previous spot .  My brain must’ve associated it as being the same exact car I was seeing since they could’ve been pretty close together, and similar in style .  Hey it was the early 90′s, yellow Corollas were that popular .

Maybe I didn’t see the driver cuz he was bending down at that exact moment, trying to pick something up off the floor of the car, while his creepy little kid in the backseat had nothing better to do than stare directly at me, right into the cornea of my eye, from two hundred feetaway .  Sure, why not ?

What I Definitely Don’t Want It To Be …

The backseat of the car could’ve been haunted by the spirit of some weird kid .
Which eerily explains why during my ages of 4 to 9, I had an unexplainable habit of violently throwing up whenever I sat in the backseat .
Ummm .. whoa .

2.  Hallway

The Story

At a very early age, I had a horrible time trying to fall asleep .  Around the time I was 5, I remember laying in bed for hours, staring into the hallway from my room .  Nothing much to look at .  The hallway was never dark, for some reason we always kept the light on (back in the day when California actually needed to get rid of surplus amounts of electricity) .  So I would stare into a brightly lit hallway, laying in my bed with the covers up to my neck, not being able to get a wink of sleep .

However, when I finally would, weird things would happen .
Or rather, the same weird thing .  The same exact weird thing .

This huge shadow of a person standing in my hallway .  Leaning against the wall .  If this was a human being, then it was definitely Yao Ming  who time traveled back to 1988 to chill out for a breather in my hallway .  The thing was a towering figure .

It would just stand there, inching closer and closer to my door .  Ridiculously slow .  Like a bad unconfident extra in a feature film .  It would stand, lean on the wall, inch forward, stand, lean on the wall .  Rinse and repeat .

But before it got to my door, it would always turn and go into my sister’s room or the bathroom, which were located left and right in that hallway .  It would never come into mine .

Creepy now .  But of course as a kid, I totally accepted this weirdness as part of what makes the world logical .

But here’s where it gets slightly weirder .

On the fourth time that i witnessed this, the big shadowy figure had a friend .
And it was this puffy little creature, also draped in black shadow .  It was round like a big koosh ball, and walked like it was a dog but obviously couldn’t be since it looked more like a hairy globe scale model of Jupiter waddling through my hallway .  It followed behind the big guy .  And this time they both stopped in front of my doorway .  And I stared at them until I fell completely asleep .

Exactly like this .

If you think it’s not that weird, because hallways are dark and people’s eyes tend to create all kinds of retardedness in that condition, remember what I said .  The hallway lights were completely on .

So the weird thing you have to imagine, is seeing a jet black shadow figure walking in a perfectly lit hallway .  Walking with total awareness that you are looking .. right .. at .. it .

What It Probably Was …

Me just making up weird shit as a kid .  Cuz I was so bored to death, I created something even more boring to put me to sleep .

Or it could’ve just been my dad, who got a lot taller for some reason and decided to roll a big trash bag around the hall real slowly .
I’m guessing the first one is the psychologist’s pick .

What I Definitely Don’t Want It To Be …

Yao Ming who traveled back in time to chill out and take a breather in my hallway .  And I guess decided to roll our trash bag around the hall .

3.  Gnome Crush

This story doesn’t even have a ghost .  And I’m probably not even going to draw a picture .  It’s just stupid as hell, and recent as hell .  If you’ll believe hell can amplify the intensity of both those things .

The Story

A little over a year ago, I was in the car with Victor, and we had just arrived at our house after a long and rewarding day of probably nothing much .  I pulled over near the curb to park, when the weirdest most unexplainable thing happened .

As I threw the car into reverse, and began to slowly back up, we felt the car run over something .
And the sound we heard can only be phoenetically described as “EWWWUHHHH”

Which, in case, you can’t tell, is the closest thing to what normal people imagine a gnome being crushed, would sound like .
We crushed a gnome !

We seriously looked at each other in disbelief, and decided to get out and check for gnome guts .

Nothing .  The little scamp must’ve squirmed his way out from under the tire and made a break for it .
We sat there and literally went over the facts, and conclusively decided that the situation was grossly inconclusive .

That damn gnome is still out there .  Making his ewwuhh sound all over the underside of people’s tires .  Inconsiderate bastard .

Pretty sure my drawing of Victor is scarier than the gnome .

What It Probably Was …

Some dumb cat .

Or Victor being an amazing passenger seat ventriliquist .

What I Definitely Don’t Want It To Be …

An evil gnome .  The kind that swore revenge on me and has been hiding in my car’s wheel well, waiting for the perfect opportunity to slice my axle and have my tire come right off the car while i’m driving, causing the wheel to bust out the front of my bumper, therefore shifting the car to weigh down at the driver’s corner, scraping the underside abrasively enough against the concrete to potentially cause a fire so horrific, I would be left with the choices of ‘burn to death’ or ‘jump out and die to death’ .

*sigh*

Oh, by the way .

That ridiculous axle example ?  That’s an incident that ACTUALLY mysteriously happened to me, a few months later, right next to the spot where we previously ‘gnomed it up’ .

Really effin creepy to think about .  Eff that effness .

4.  Behind the Mortuary

Here’s where you get creeped out by story number one, just a little bit more .

The Story

As a kid, I used to go to church at this place right next to a mortuary .

The church and the mortuary were unaffiliated, so there was a big wall right in-between the two .  I guess to keep the church kids from being idiots and ditching evening service to check out dead dudes .

Can’t believe any single kid would be THAT much of a dumbass .

Which is why I got a bunch of friends to do it with me .  (C’mon, I was like 12 !)

We jumped the wall and ended up at the back of the mortuary .  It was a closed-off parking lot that didn’t seem to have any street access .  Apparently they didn’t have any need for the lot, since checkin out dead dudes wasn’t so popular anymore, but we kids were bringin it back in style .  There wasn’t much to explore, except for one thing that caught all of our attention (which is hard to do with kids) .

Guess what was back there .

An exact, EXACT, make and model of my mom’s car .  Yellow 1982 Corolla .  The same car that I was talking about earlier .  The one with the creepy kid in the backseat .  All by itself, at the corner of the rear parking lot .

Now I know what you’re thinking, but that joke I made in the beginning about that car being common, was made in complete and total sarcasm .  I’ve seen a total of two of those my whole life .  And yep, it’s THOSE two .

You also might be thinking, it can’t be the same car .

It can’t be .

Well you’re RIGHT .  This car had one major difference .

It was BURNED completely through .

We went up to the remains of the car and it looked like it experienced a crazy engine fire at one point, the kind of fire that nobody was around to put out .  It was completely junked, chock full of all kinds of random garbage and disgusting bugs living inside of it .  For a second I got worried, and really thought that this might be my mom’s car .  And that something happened to her today while I was gone .  Perhaps I just stumbled onto the remains of some horiffic thing that had been done ?  I looked all over the car for more proof that it wasn’t my mom’s .

And I’m not even at the scary part .

Remember how I said the car was burned all the way through ?  I exaggerated .  The one thing that was perfectly intact was the backseat .

Other than that, you had overcooked char-broiled Corolla on all sides, with the exception of hints of yellow exterior paint on the outside .  Not much to work with .

But why the backseat ?

As if things couldn’t get any creepier, one of the other kids yells out to us, telling us he found a ‘clue’ .
See, at the time, we used our imaginations to make this a mystery case, like in Nancy Drew and Hardy Boys books .  The kids were all building up the situation to make it seem like more than it was .  However, to me, I didn’t need to do any building .  When I saw this kid’s clue, I totally freaked .

The car was left close to a nearby wall .  One of the kids found something written there and signaled for the rest of us to come see it .

Right there on the wall, written in what looked like a thick red crayon, was the word, “INNOCENT” .

Call me van gogh .

…

Want to know the creepiest part ?

The word was scrawled like it was written by a kid .  And as I was standing at that wall, I turned and looked back at the burnt car .

I had a perfect perpendicular point of view to the broadside of the burnt Corolla .
Just like I would, if it was parked in front of my house .
Right outside my kitchen window, to the front curb .

Instant shivers straight through my spine .

What It Probably Was …

A whole lot of coincidence .  A WHOLE WHOLE lot of creepy coincidence .
Put together in conjunction with playground-style imagination .

What I Definitely Don’t Want It To Be …

There are a lot of ways that I don’t want these two stories to be connected .

It would just be way too eerie .  But rather than share with you, my own creepy conclusions on this one, I’ll leave the creativity up to you .
Don’t get carried away .

5.  Aris’s Little Girl

The Story

When I first met Aris back in 2001, I used to visit him at his old house in Montebello .  One day we were sitting around the living room and I saw a piece of paper on the coffee table .  It looked like some kids were drawing on it, so I asked him what it was .

He didn’t seem to excited to tell me .  It was more like a reluctancy; the kind of hesitation you apply when you don’t want to get somebody involved in a negative situation .  But I put on my macho voice and acted like I didn’t care anyway, so he told me .

His story began as a normal night, with him laying on the living room couch watching TV .
He started to doze off, but woke up to the sight of what looked like a little girl standing several feet away in his living room .

She had on a puffy sleeve white dress, almost like what an antique children’s doll would wear .  I was expecting him to add in the ‘red glowing eyes’ feature just to put some more spice to the scare, but he described her as an average sunday-best-dressed little girl .  The figure of the little girl starts to get closer to him, almost like she’s curious about him .  But Aris, realizing this is no normal nightly situation, pulls the blanket over his head and cowers until he falls asleep .

I laughed at his story .  I thought it was so typical .  Little girl, white puffy dress, shadowy figure .. heard it all before .  It’s been done and I wasn’t impressed .  That’s when I took a look at that paper on the coffee table again .

Hello .

Yeah, that made it a bit creepier .
Aris told me, the first thing he did that morning, was draw exactly what he saw .

But I went home that night, and didn’t think about that story much anymore .
However, that feeling of confidence wasn’t going to be there in the morning .

I woke up in the middle of the night .

And something was standing at the foot of my bed .  Perfectly still .
I remembered Aris’s story, and I still scoffed at the thought .  I knew that my mind was playing tricks on me, because Aris had shown me that stupid picture he drew, the image was taking over my thoughts .  And being half asleep, I knew I was manifesting some kind of delirious illusion .  It was the same girl as the picture, puffed sleeves and all .  Doll-like hair, everything accurate to the story .  She was standing there, and scooting over slowly to meet me at my side of the bed .

I still thought it was bullshit, and that my mind was getting the best of me .

But here’s the part of the story where I get serious .

In my bedroom at the time, I had one of those old boxy stereo systems .  It was a Panasonic tape and CD Changer deck that sat on top of my work desk .  If you can remember anything about these big ol’ monstrosities, it’s that they were decorated with flashing lights all over the place, for pretty much no reason more than glitz and glamour in the pseudo-high tech sense .  It practically lit up my room at night with neon strobes and blinking dials .

And here’s why that’s significant .

The figure of the girl started to move closer to the stereo system .  Which was pretty much the last thing in between her and me .  And I started to notice something odd .

The lights from the stereo were reflecting and bouncing off of her .

As if she were real .

My confidence started to drain away .  And I figured this couldn’t be right .  Is my imagination really that strong, where I know I’m completely awake, but I’m still seeing a product of delirium this accurately ?

And on that very second, when I told myself for the last time, that this wasn’t real .  She took one more step .

And covered the entire stereo system, blocking out all the lights .  And making the room completely dark .

As if to convince me of the one thing I was afraid to admit .
It was almost like she knew .

I covered myself with the sheets, and laid there whispering OH SHIT more times than I’ve ever previously said .
I waited for what felt like hours for some kind of touch .  Also terrified that this little girl was going to end up underneath the covers with me somehow .  My mind went into a nervous panic and eventually shut down .

So I fell asleep .

Woke up .

Went to Aris’s house .

And said

FUCKIN ARIS !

What It Probably Was …

My mind getting the best of me .
I should’ve talked myself out of believing that nonsense .
Kind of like how I’m doing right now !

What I Definitely Don’t Want It To Be …

A ghost that gets passed around by drawing it and showing it to people .

Hmm .. in that case ..

Good luck with her .

. ryan

Watch out !  This article is going to be REALLY boring if you’re not into cars !  But if you’ve ever wondered about my car, read on .
If not, stay away and avoid this like the plague !  I guarantee you will be put to sleep .

Last chance ..

This is my automobile .  My real actual car, that I really actually drive .

Like a mechanical hawk about to take flight and snatch your precious pets .

Not everyday .  Usually only on social nights out, short drives to the Quest studio, or whenever I’ve got a hot date in the city with my girlfriend .  It’s 1 of 3 cars that I normally use .  The other two are both Honda .  A silver accord and a blue civic .  Both so old and so reliable; like having two elderly best friends who take turns carrying you on their aching yet invincible backs .  Exactly somewhat like that .

Back to The DeLorean .
Here’s the top questions I receive regarding this car .

1.  What is that ?
2.  Why’d you get it ?
3.  How’d you get it ?
4.  How much did you get it for ?
5.  What’s it like to drive it around ?

1.  What is that ?

The same thing used here .

It’s a 1981 DeLorean .  It’s the only make and model of its kind, and there’s not that many of them on the road .  Many people would know it as the car from a very popular movie .  If you weren’t alive during the 1980′s, you probably don’t know the huge story about the man who created the car itself: John DeLorean .  He basically ditched a dream job at General Motors to go off and produce his very own automobile company (which is actually ridiculously difficult if not IMPOSSIBLE to do), and was able to make ONE car before his empire completely fell apart due to horrible finance situations and serious felony drug charges .  Even with that elaborate, crazy adventure tacked on the DeLorean’s history, most people only know the car as the one Marty McFly drove in the film, Back To The Future .

2.  Why’d you get it ?

My first trip to Universal Studios at age 7 .. maybe 6 ?

It was my dream car as a kid .  When I first saw Back to the Future, I fell in love with just about everything in it .  The characters, the story, and especially the cars .  I used to watch that movie repeatedly, not even knowing that a DeLorean was a car a person could actually own in real life .  I never saw one on the road before; like i said, it’s a rare car .  If you’ve ever seen one around, chances are .. exactly that .  You’ve seen ONE .  Maybe two or three if you’re really lucky .  I’ve probably only seen three Deloreans on the road my whole life .  And I’ve absolutely never seen one on the road while I’m driving mine .  But as I grew older, the dream of having one someday only burned deeper, and I knew it was something i was meant to have .  It was the only car in the world that expressed who I am, to the most accurate degree .  So unique and rare, full of energy but also cool and sleek, so different from the rest of the pack, emanating a star quality, only one of its kind, and born in the 80s .

3.  How’d you get it ?

Same kid, like 20 years later .

I studied the market for over a year .  I researched how much the car was worth in different physical conditions .  I watched histories of buyers and sellers to see what people were receiving for their sales and what people were willing to bid .  DeLoreans for the most part, are only available used, so there’s no fixed price tag on it .  You can get lucky, or you can get ripped off .  I basically had to educate myself on the whole spectrum of the car, the cost of restoration for different parts, and the rates of repair and maintenance in the long run .  Oh yeah, and I was doing all of this way before I could afford to buy one .  That way, if the right opportunity came around, I’d be prepared to recognize it .

And it did .  I saw a DeLorean in great condition on Ebaymotors and I placed a bid .  I didn’t win, and I couldn’t afford to top the high bidder so I gave up .  The guy totally killed my bid, and my funds at the time were not even close .  Fortunately, the car owner contacted me the day the auction ended, telling me that the winning bidder didn’t come through with the payment .  I told him I couldn’t afford to pay what he offered, and the seller opted to give me the car at the price I last bid .  That was a steal !  I was willing to make the purchase, but I had to see the car with my own eyes first .  My dad is a car-buying expert so I bought us plane tickets to Arizona to check out the car for ourselves .   It turned out to be a very beautiful DeLorean with no heavy problems or dramatic body imperfections, so I paid the amount we agreed upon and had it shipped straight to CaIlifornia on a freight truck .  It arrived a few days later, right at my doorstep .  That picture posted above, is the first photo I took with my car, which looks strikingly similar to that first photo I’d ever taken with a DeLorean as a child .

4.  How much did you get it for ?

Fresh after a wash .

Let’s just say this .  The money from winning a certain television dance show was still not enough to cover the base payment .

On top of that, there was also the expense of restoring parts of the engine, buying new tires, installing new brakes, clutch, having a fresh new stereo system put in, and several other parts that needed replacement .

It also costs serious dough to even register the car for insurance .  And the mileage is nothing to write home about, so the gas money adds up faster than you’d expect .

Don’t ever think you can afford a classic car just because you can pay to BUY it !  The cost definitely does not end there .

5.  What’s it like to drive it around ?

Not having any paint makes for a nice shine .

Good and bad .  More good than bad .  It drives like a champ, but tends to rattle on long trips, or squeaks after some time .  But that’s only because I’m 30% complete on restoration .  Still some things that need replacement .

The attention it gets is what splits me .  It’s fun and everything to have people always look, or give a thumbs up, or come over and compliment the ride, but sometimes people aren’t so clever .  I hear lots of flux capacitor, 88 miles per hour, Back to the Future references as if people think they’re being original .  It’s just sad to think they really believe they’re saying something that I haven’t already said myself .  Gets old .  And I’m not always in the mood to entertain it .  I bought this car because I absolutely love everything about its story, features, and style .  Not because I want people to pay attention to it .  The only thing about this car, is you can never drive it while expecting to have a low-key trip .  But then again, I guess it’s like those girls who wear skank clothes and get mad that guys make snide remarks .

Can’t really drive a DeLorean around LA without expecting to get some kind of line .  Especially when it’s club night in the city .  People run into the middle of the street just to take a picture with my car while I’m at a red light .  Lots of drunk shouting that sounds like slurred movie quotes .  Gets pretty crazy .  Whenever I park it someplace, I always try to valet or park it at a spot where I can keep an eye on it from inside the restaurant .  I guess I’m lightly cautious of somebody messing with it, or getting a little too comfortable .  But, it never seems to enter that realm of threat, because the DeLorean is a car that a lot of people love .  It’s not like a Lamborghini or a Ferrari; whereas those cars are symbols of status, the DeLorean is still a stronger symbol of style .

And in my case, it fits my style terribly well .

Drawback AND benefit : Limit one passenger

If you see one around LA or OC, check for the TIMESET license plate .

I chose ‘TIME SET’ because that is the name of Quest Crew’s very first show which featured the whole crew in one complete performance .  To this date, TIME SET is also the last show which has featured the maximum amount of Quest members .  Since then we have only been able to perform in groups of 7 or 8 max .

Also, TIME SET just happens to fit perfectly with the DeLorean’s history as well .  Not just my own .

Watch Quest Crew’s TIME SET on youtube .  Very old . 

. ryan

Dear Yesterday,

Please don’t let me forget about you.
I need my mistakes and my memories of failure.
In order to succeed for Today and Tomorrow.
Show me what I’ve done so I can do more.
And teach me ways I can visit you, without staying for too long.

Dear Today,

Refuse to be taken for granted.
And encourage my choice to love you.
Help me to make you beautiful.
So that when you become Yesterday
I will remember you Tomorrow.

Dear Tomorrow,

Be nothing like Today.
And everything more than Yesterday.
Teach me the value of time
As I appreciate your arrival.
Because Yesterday and Today both know, you can never promise to arrive.

‘Rocketship’

This is what life is like
When I believe true love exists.
And I will do so forever.
Because she is out there.
And she has been here.

Fate had given mercy enough
To deliver her constancy to me
Just as I had unbrokenly desired.
Although to my grave dismay
I was not prepared to receive her.

Yet I take no misery upon defeat
Within detachment of physical bond.
Nor do I allow my revulsion
To corrupt the grace of her memory.
In absolute truth she remains divine.

She will serve as testimony evermore
As the only dream brazen forward
To challenge the fabric of my reality.
The echo of her beauty resonates eternal
And requires no form of reminiscence.

Her existence in me is shelter and peril.
She has made darkness into daylight.
And in her absence I have seen
Time become torture.
And pain become purpose.

For what then shall I account
The sympathy of fate to provide foretaste
And permit me a mere sample
Of a magnificence beyond my epoch.
I beg mercy shall not live here as cruelty.

I deeply sustain both blessing and curse
In notion that my days survive unfinished.
This is what life is like.
When she has been here.
And I have let her go.

In mercy I know she exists.
In cruelty I know she is gone.

This is my heart’s concern as I yearn for her return.

This is an article I submitted for my literary journalism class at UCI .  It was a ton of hard work, but it ended up being my greatest college experience .  I spent some time hanging out with an old homeless man in Los Angeles for a few days .  I don’t know if he’s still alive today, but it would take a lot to bring this man down .  Let’s hope he’s resting peacefully either way .

This work is written in the format of an actual article so it’s a VERY long read !  Stop now unless you’ve got the time .  And I do hope it holds your attention long enough to enjoy it .  This article is an example of my writing at an intended professional level .  Not like most of these bloggy poem-ish things I seem to put up .

————————————————————————————————

November 25, 2008

Surviving Poverty and Violence in the Rich City

It is November 3, 2008.  The elevated skyline of L.A. exhibits the fruits of those with wealth and power, and high-rise buildings tower over the unfortunate remainders of the money-making equation.  The glory of these structures is an uplifting sight to behold yet inversely discouraging to those who view it from the lowest point possible.

A raggedy old man hikes exhaustedly across the busy city intersection like a drained fugitive trudging through deep snow.  His speed is slower than the darkness which gradually begins to cover the metropolitan area of Westwood, where the sun now sets behind skyscrapers of steel and glass before escaping unnoticed into the unseen horizon.  He nearly becomes engulfed in the shadows, as his dark skin blends together with his black parka; his face and hands being the only visible evidence of human exterior.  Covered almost completely in blackness from the hood over his knitted cap, to his tattered slacks and worn-out shoes, he drags a black rolling suitcase toward the curb of Santa Monica Blvd. while gathering the stares of red-lighted motorists and the curiosities of backseat children.  A woman in a large SUV locks her eyes on the old man, who appears and moves like an unemployed grim reaper.  The ends of her lips weigh down into an expression of pity, but only for a moment.  The traffic light shifts colors and her face returns to a default blank.  He never notices the stares anymore, as variant and frequent as they are.  He’s been around these streets too long to care.  The neighborhood knows him as “Pops,” and at age 71, he has been homeless for nearly 40 years.

“My blood pressure is going crazy.  Gotta breathe.”  And breathe is precisely what he attempts to do.  But the rhythmic noise of his wheezing accompanies every lungful of air he manages to catch.  He stops his trekking in a plaza parking lot, on the corner of Santa Monica and Wilshire, planting his hand for support on the top of a broken brick wall which reaches only to his waist.  Like a kickstand on a bicycle, it appears that his arm is the last thing keeping him standing.

His face is a crude scowl, with a complexion like withered black leather.  The darkness is in total contrast to the snowy beard which hangs from the ends of his chin, as white as age can ever truly lighten.  He dons a nearly toothless smile, with blank spaces commemorating his brief career as a boxer in the 70s.  His mouth is left with as many teeth as there are days in a week, and he would normally be smiling with them if not for the coughs that interrupt his intake.

He drags himself across the lot to an empty Jamba Juice, and hauls open the door as if it were a dungeon’s gate.  A young man behind the counter begins to fiddle with fruit trays and used containers.

“Jamba Juice green tea!”  Pops shouts.  “I want a Jamba Juice green tea, cuz I need to calm down over here!”  Pops has the words and volume of a jittery, hyper-active old man, but shows only the slightest and slowest movement as he stands waiting impatiently at the opposite end of the counter.

Without a word, the young man transforms his meaningless shelf fidgets into drink-making, having a filled cup within moments, and placing it in front of Pops while saying, “Green tea,” in what sounds like a question form.

“Now I gotta have corn with this, and that’s from Koo Koo Roo, then I need a beef bowl with lots of onions at Yoshinoya!”  Pops says aloud as he takes the large cup of green tea, leaving the worker with a blank stare and an aura of anxiety.

Later that evening, at the Yoshinoya, Pops reaches the front of the line ready to order the last of his required meal.  He stands at the far left register with four people waiting their turn behind him.  There is an equal amount of visible workers behind the counter, but only one employee currently on cashier duty.  She stands lazily with sleepy drooping eyelids and an expression of neutrality fixed onto her face.

“I want a beef bowl, and gimme lots of onions.” Pops says.

“Okay, so you don’t want onions?” mistakenly asks the middle-aged lady behind the register.

Pops instantly lets out a sigh of frustration.  He places his hands on the counter and bows his head.  The lady at the register can only stand silently and wait for the next word.

“Look.”  Pops says as he lifts his head to meet her eye contact.  “You gotta… learn… how to listen.”

His words cut a solid line across the counter and drew a clear cut division of confrontation.  The worker adjusts her visor and leans in to bravely match the moment’s intensity.

“Well, what I had THOUGHT you said was…” she begins to explain sternly in a Hispanic inner-city accent until being interrupted by Pops.

“If you don’t listen, you don’t learn!” Pops struggles to raise his voice but only results in acquiring a fuzzier rasp.  “Everybody here knows I don’t like to speak loud, so you have to listen!  It’s simple!  Beef bowl with lots of onions!”

The lady shoots out a gust of breath and shakes her head while lifting up her hands in apparent stress.

Another night worker who was watching the scene approaches from the kitchen.  He’s a heavy built Hispanic man with gothic calligraphy tattoos running down both arms and creeping out of his collar and up his neck.  He leans in and slams both hands on the counter, splitting the air between Pops and the register worker.

“Is it just extra onions you want?” The man says calmly.

“Right.  Now is that so hard?”

“Nope, I’ll have it for you right away, Pops.”  The man repeats the order through a wide opening between the registers and the kitchen.  He appears to be familiar with Pops, as most Westwood dwellers and workers have come to be.

As the night went on, Pops sits in the farthest corner of the Yoshinoya, creating a forcefield radius against any potential dine-in customers.  He takes the corn and dumps it into the beef bowl, stirring the mixture consistently with a plastic fork as if it were being tumbled by winds.

Pops has always felt a hostile sensitivity toward people not listening.  This stems from a deep root in a history of violence.

It was in the mid 1950s when Pops was a war protester.  However, he was drafted and sent to Korea despite his expressed opinion.  Pops doesn’t remember a large portion of what happened during the war, but the things he can’t shake off are more than enough luggage to carry.

“They made me kill lots of people.  I’m afraid if I get too hungry, I’ll start having flashbacks again.”

He returned from the war with nerve problems and doctors diagnosed him with paranoid schizophrenia.  To his surprise and disappointment, the government he fought for had done nothing to take care of him.  By the 1960s, Pops was married with two kids and living in Washington D.C.  However, his family turned to Islam, rejecting their Christian faith which Pops values greatly.  His daughter grew militant and began organizing plans to “kill white people,” and Pops fled his family in fear, confusion, and with a sad certainty that he no longer belonged with them.  To this day, they still receive his social security checks.

Pops invested his faith in God through the decades since then, allowing his beliefs to light the way.  He has drifted from coast to coast, finally settling down in the district of Westwood, where he has appointed himself to be a makeshift caretaker over the homeless community for almost 30 years.

“God is helping me so I don’t need to help myself.  I want to help other people.” Pops states.

Out on the streets, it is routine to be a victim of theft.  There have been numerous times when Pops is asleep on the sidewalk, an alley, or a bench, and he wakes up to the feeling of somebody stealing the coat right off his back.   At times, he wakes up from the noise of another person rummaging through his bags.

“I always let them take it.  If they woke me up and asked for it, I’d let them take it.”  Pops says.  But, his admirable views on dealing with theft unfortunately spill into views on violence as well.

It was only a few years ago that Pops suffered a near-death assault on the streets of Westwood.  A Mercedes pulled over to the curb where Pops was standing, and a man with a lead pipe exited the car and came running toward him.  Pops was severely beat in broad daylight and not one person had intervened to help.  The stranger swung the pipe mercilessly, and Pops had done his best to block the strikes with his arms, but he soon grew tired and dizzy and gave up resistance.  At that point, the attacker ran away, returned to the car, and fled the scene.  According to Pops, this type of situation is sadly normal to the homeless.

The LAPD would unfortunately agree, as they hold records indicating 22 counts of senseless violence against the homeless in 2006, and an increase of 65% for 2007.  Although violent crimes in general are down by 5.2% this year, “attacks on the homeless are likely to be higher since the occurrences are seldom reported,” say the executive directors of The National Law Center on Homelessness and Poverty.

The homeless are a difficult group to protect since violence against them is not considered a hate crime.  Therefore, the penalty is much lighter than attacks motivated by racism or prejudice.

The majority of assaults on homeless people are carried out by teenagers.  This creates a stir and a caution within the homeless community of Westwood, since the area is shared with students of UCLA.

Eric Park is an economics student living on campus at UCLA who has never met Pops, but has seen him multiple times at the food plaza, and walking up and down Santa Monica Blvd.  Eric carries the physical profile of an average Asian-American student, equipped with a short and tidy haircut, untucked polo shirt and washed out, blue denim jeans.  He stands lanky and hunched, and speaks with an impartial tone, almost devoid of intensity.  He is gathered at a circular table with 3 of his peers, who almost seem interchangeable with one another, seeing as their physical features are nearly identical to Eric’s.  They appear to be situated comfortably at their regular spot on campus, amidst a crossroad of pathways almost directly outside the gym.

“Just last month, we all heard about that homeless guy on Wilshire.”  Eric remembers.   “That was a real shock.  It was sad, but it felt weird.”

Eric glances to his friends who trade gazes of agreement.

“That’s how you know people are just doing it for fun.”

Eric refers to the incident on October 9, where a homeless man by the name of John McGraham was murdered by being doused with gasoline and lit on fire as he was sleeping in his usual spot on Wilshire Boulevard.  The assailant had exited a stopped car to perform this act, and immediately sped off thereafter.  The criminal is still presently at large.

The National Coalition for the Homeless reports that 1 in 4 attacks against a homeless person ends in murder.  Eric is not surprised at the statistic, “I would expect homeless people to be in bad physical condition, so they’d probably die a lot easier.  And doesn’t Westwood kind of want them gone, anyway?  The city probably won’t work that hard to find the killer.”

Eric’s shoulders accompany the comment with a shrug.  His words are a sad personal truth that he and his peers can easily accept.

Later that week, Pops is walking north on Santa Monica Blvd.  There’s a recreational center where he can frequently be found, and it’s located across the street from a place very valuable to him.
Pops stands in the daylight, still dressed in the same black collection of fabrics that drape him into a dark figure almost ghastly.  He stares across the road toward a cluster of buildings which bear the appearance and format of a college dorm area.  The community is gated and fenced, but the housing block is still perfectly visible through the bars.  In the center of the structural group, a park can be seen with pathways like a hub connecting each building together.  The facility does well to blend itself between the baseball field and office building which surrounds each side.

It is actually a transitional housing section, which the Salvation Army has named, The Village.  Homeless people come here to get a much-needed boost on life by learning job skills, quitting addictions, and building positive living habits.  What qualifies them as homeless depends on The United States Department of Housing and Urban Development’s requirement.  Their income must be at or below 40% of the area median income for Los Angeles County, as shown in the form 990 found on guidestar.org.

Pops, along with all others who aren’t residents, is not allowed into the community.

“A shelter is a bad place.  People will steal from you and hurt you.  But the Salvation Army is different.  The lucky people get to sleep here.”  Pops explains as he begins walking across the street to approach the front gate of The Village.

Standing at the large green door which grants or denies access to the facility, Pops reads aloud a boldly printed sign posted on the fencing.

“Do not allow anyone to follow you into the community!” He says harshly.

There is another sign accompanying it which states the prosecution extent to trespassers.  There is zero tolerance at this facility.

A woman Pops knows only as “Martha” opens the green door from the opposite side and exits the grounds.  She’s an old bulky overweight woman probably in her late fifties, with short, dirty brown hair that appears burnt at the ends.  Her overcoat is an odd brown which shows fossil evidence of once being yellow, and her black pants increase in soil density the closer they reach her mud-ridden boots.  She walks with a mysterious unease, causing her to automatically tilt over on each step, and her face remains frozen in a stoic depression as if to tell a story at its final chapter.

“She was having problems with her legs after her husband beat her.  Her legs get worse and she came back from the doctors like this.  No hugs, smiles, or words.  The doctor must’ve stolen her joy.  She used to be like the sun.”  Pops says with a sneer as he follows behind Martha as she silently hobbles off toward Wilshire.

Martha enters a donut shop at the food plaza where Pops frequents.  She occupies a corner table and stares blankly into space despite being next to a clear window.  Once Pops sees her settled down, he releases a sigh of relief and walks toward the underpass of the 405 freeway, one block west, sharing his thoughts along the way.

“The number one killer of the homeless is pride.  I don’t think it’s diseases, or violence, or mental issues.  I’ve seen more people out here die because they didn’t want to accept a sandwich.”  Pops says as he looks down onto the sidewalk that moves underneath his steps.  “A lot of these people will starve to death before they accept help.  That’s why sometimes they don’t accept your food.  They still believe they can make it on their own.”

Pops halts for a moment to adjust a strap on his rolling suitcase.  Untying it causes a large front pocket to open, since the zipper was previously broken.

“I mean, we don’t got homes, but we still have heart.  We have lives and we have names.”

Pops pulls out a torn faux leather wallet.  The inside is filled with scraps of white paper with scrawled penmanship and wrinkled up wrappers.  Among the apparent junk is a card that looks like a driver’s license.
It’s his military service identification card.

“If I didn’t still have this, I’d probably forget what mine was,”

And on it, the photograph of a young, brave soldier by the name of Richard Franklin, Jr.

. ryan

This is a letter to my destiny .  Towards which I plan to cultivate my path .

Think of it as ‘writing letters through time’ .
In the future, I hope to have many of these to give to her .

Whoever she is .
Maybe she could be reading it right now .  =)

———————————————————————————–

I wonder where you are .
And what you’ve written so far .
Your life story is an enchantment to me
In knowing I will someday be part of it .

You don’t know who I am .  Or where I am .
It could be a long time before you find out .
These city lights may never shine your way .
Your symphony might lay unwritten; and your song left silent .
But I will be a blessed man to earn the honor of making you smile .

I’ll live for you before you know it .
The sun won’t ever set on my virtue .
All I have is enough time to improve myself
And ultimately rival the horizon of your elegance .

These days will inevitably become the past .
And we’ll sit and talk about them sometime .
By then, any memories of days when you felt lonely will disperse .
Because you’ll know even then, I was out here .
Working hard to somehow .  someday .  gain the unfailing ability
To promise you happiness before you know it .

You’ll be a part of my life before you realize I’m even living .
I have faith that you exist .  You’re here in my reality somewhere .
And I know I won’t be imagining you forever .
You’re going to be wonderful .
So I need to be that, too .

I can’t paint your picture .  Or assemble your image .
Your existence shatters the capacity of my expectations
And I couldn’t even compose a fiction beyond your marvel
If I had an infinite power of boundless exaggeration .

You’re going to change what I believe in life and love .
And what I believe I love about life .
Regardless of how I prepare, I don’t think I’ll ever truly be ready
For that first moment your eyes strike me frozen .
Truly, that will be both the defeat and victory of my spirit .

I’ll have to find a thousand new ways to express myself .
You’ll have me frequently distracted, disoriented, and speechless .
But never regretful to find myself that way .

I used to think that I’d be able to write the most captivating poem
About you .  After I know you better .

However, once I finally meet you, I doubt I’ll write anything .
Because everything about you, will be beautifully unexplainable .

So I’m going to spend my time writing for you now .
Until these words grow to fail in value .
At the mercy of your truth .

. ryan

20 Things I’ve Learned About Women

1.  They can smell where other women have been .

“I KNEW something smelled funny !!”

2.  They seem to hit you in the nuts ‘accidentally’ a lot .

Not the best example of an accident .

3.  Against a woman, there is no such thing as ‘losing at wrestling’ .

Unless you’re goin up against this .

4.  It is absolutely required that you first understand how they view themselves .

5.  You must constantly give them attention, surprises, and puppies .

6.  They don’t need to mention everything they appreciate .

7.  At some point, they will cut their bangs and briefly regret it .

Not the best example of ‘cut bangs’ .

8.  Women do not verbally express anything rhetorically .

9.  It’s better to just hand things over versus throwing it to them .

“Okay now I’ll hand it back to you .  See ?  IT’S FUN !”

10.  Being a good example is the most effective form of encouragement for them .

11.  Anything they cook can be forcefully enjoyed .

“Stop whining and deal with it, Howard .”

12.  Women have amazingly impatient bladder systems .

“You don’t understand !  I CAN’T WAIT !!”

13.  They will always keep secrets as long as you make honesty uncomfortable .
14.  Women cheat when you race them up the stairs .

Guys cheat when you race them down .

15.  If something special happened with her, always remember the date .
16.  Make her breakfast, make her presents, but never make her decisions .
17.  A woman doesn’t get ‘attached’ unless she finds a ‘connection’ .
18.  Forget what she says to you, and she’ll forget to tell you things .

“Did I really have to tell you I cheated ?  Look at our kids !”

19.  Acknowledge her presence, respect her privacy, and never test her patience .
20.  They will never .  Ever .  Learn .  Not to pull the hat off a guy’s head .

“NICE TRY, BITCH !”

That’s it !

When D-trix saw the list on my laptop, he decided to add 10 of his own .

D-trix’s 10

21. Giving her more freedom will increase the percentage of her not cheating .
22. If you tell a girl ” we should fight ” and she agrees.. she too wants to have sex .
23. Learn 100% about her in exchange for the least amount of % about you .
24. Tell them how much you love your mom; however, not to much to get them scared .
25. If she farts, get the hell out .

Here’s your head start .

26. Unexpected gifts ( no matter how cheap ) are just as good if not better then what ever you get her on her bday .
27. Random and Spontanious gets them closer .
28. Predictable and usual pushes them away .
29. Always remember the 2 C’s: “Comedy and Confidence” .
30. Shoot them some money and they will stay, shoot them with cum and they might get mad, shoot them and they will die .

“Money ..  gun .. okay, what are we missing ?!”

That last one is probably the most true .  In all respects .

. ryan