George's first editing effort from her new Macbook. She learned how to edit and created this whole thing in just half a day. Bravo!

I've been doing a bit of date night my last two weeks here. That means I sit on the little couch while George and Chris are on the big couch. It also means they collaboratively cook a tasty (and sometimes experimental) dinner while I'm groggy and possibly still sleeping. They get home from a long day's work, slap on some aprons, and head right into the kitchen. George has been very good about preparing her ingredients beforehand too. Defrost that chicken, buy some milk! Where they find the energy for all this I'll never know.

George has accumulated quite a few cooking devices since she's started date night. The one we're most excited about is the Slap Chop of course, and it's been used to nice effect recently. It really does work amazingly, just like the late night TV ads say. George also has a salad spinner (unused), a new chopping board and knife (unused), and a huge collection of spatulas, slotted pasta scoops, and big plastic spoons. Taking a quick head count, the number of stirring implements she owns rivals the number of shampoos and conditioners in her shower. Which is pretty strange since George doesn't cook much. Her kitchen had been fully stocked for awhile and just waiting for a cooking partner -- or a head chef -- I guess.

So since I'm neither, what exactly do I contribute to date night? Well, I have my whale ice cream spade (unused) and I'm good at verbal encouragement. When someone defined the term "third wheel," they totally had me in mind. Occasionally I do the dishes but not enough. I sometimes volunteer and then forget. Or George beats me to the punch. On Tuesday she came home from work and went straight to the kitchen.

"See I told you he didn't," she said to Chris, pointing at the sink. She was hoping I had done the dishes from the previous night. Nope. I did think about it though. Really hard.

I think part of George will be happy to be rid of me (the other part will be merely ecstatic). I'm not exactly a good domestic partner. I once thought I was, back in college, but I realized that was mainly because I was never home. My roommates never saw me so thus I was, by default, a good roommate.

I assumed that meant I was good at living with other people. Oh how wrong I was. After a few stints living with friends (and one girlfriend), I've found that I tend to repeat the same pattern over and over. I take up space on the couch, I run up the electricity bill with all night lights and computer usage, and I don't do any chores on a regular basis. Oh, and my clothes tend to be strewn all over the place. You know in Sex and the City when Charlotte has to (gently) tell Harry that he leaves teabags all over the house? I'm Harry, except my teabags can be anything from loose dollar bills to cigarettes to books and random papers to my set of smoking clothes. Of course I wear a different set of clothes outside to smoke, shouldn't everybody?

See, I'm neat and tidy but only in a certain chaotic dirty way. Like I always say, "I'm sanitary but not necessarily clean." My mom hates it. She hates the way my room is always filled with piles of stuff. She's a neat freak and can't stand messes. Especially mine. Luckily George hasn't inherited that trait, otherwise she would've kicked me out by now.

Luckily I compensate for all this by being good company. I require very little care and feeding as a person in the room. While my presence is constantly felt, it hardly ever requires attention. I entertain myself easily, I participate in television banter, and I'm either down to do something or quick to avoid doing anything. That's not an easy trait to have. I'm like a little barnacle that might be unpleasant to the eye but ultimately something just doesn't feel right when I'm not around. That's what I'd like to think anyway. Farewell Fillmore Street, farewell!

Update: And yes, I just did the dishes even though it's seven in the morning. I just guilted myself into it. You're welcome.

(Movie spoilers ahead for Time Traveler's Wife, avoid if necessary. Actually, if you haven't read it, we probably shouldn't be friends anyway.)

It's not often that something can hit me emotionally for longer than five minutes. The last time I was conscious and cried? Probably something involving girls. Probably a break up or a fight or something. It was long enough ago I can't remember specifically. And it's ever rarer for me to cry in movies. I rarely emotionally connect with films to the level that I feel the urge to cry.

The number one movie I thought I was about to die from how much I wanted to cry? Whale Rider. Near the end, Paikea gets on stage to do a speech dedicated to her grandfather. He doesn't show up and she's trying to fight back tears as she does the piece. I haven't rewatched Whale Rider because I don't want to ruin the memory. I can't recall who I watched the movie with but I was literally bawling during the end. Shamelessly and uncontrollably. Before Whale Rider, I had no idea I could feel this way in movies.

After that, there's been a few movies that have hit me in similar ways but none that have actually absolutely slayed me. I think I got better at holding it in. Reach for the popcorn, take big sips of the Icee. For example, Finding Neverland was another top crying movie for me but I didn't actually cry, I was just like...teary. Weepy maybe. But inside I was the Great Lakes. After tonight, make some room and vault The Time Traveler's Wife up on the list. Hello Niagara!

I've pretty much narrowed down what makes me cry in movies. When a character is interacting with a parent who is either dead, dying, or about to die. Well, that's redundant. Dead or dying, I guess. But not just anything makes me turn on the waterworks. At the end of The Family Stone, there's sort of a sudden death but that didn't do anything for me. I wasn't emotionally attached to the movie in any way. Parental death alone doesn't do a thing. I need to be led up to it, like a horse to water.

So in Time Traveler's Wife the movie, when adult Henry is on the subway talking to his mother (who died in a car accident that coincided with the first time he time traveled), it was killer because it'd be percolating for awhile. I just sat there hoping the scene would end, but also hoping it wouldn't end. Like whoa.

The whole reason I love the story of Time Traveler's Wife so much is that it's about constant loss and longing. I can't decide if I feel more closely attuned to Clare or Henry's dilemma but the idea that two people are constantly trying to reach out for each other but can never hold on long enough, that's just terrible. And for Henry, he continually relives events. His mother's death. His death. Fights with Clare. Everything. He's a man on the move and mostly unwillingly.

But then, it might be worse for Clare. She never knows when Henry will be gone. He just *poof* disappears. And then she waits. For years at a time. And on top of that she really had no choice in deciding that this would be her life. Henry met her when she was only six. She had no chance to fall in love with anyone else. It was accidentally designed fate. She had free will to fall in love but also a heavy dose of predestination. Plus having Henry know everything that's going to happen in the future must be infuriating.

Sigh, it's so romantic, their longing and losing, their "You're the only one for me (even if you're never around)" commitment.

Awhile ago, I was talking to someone about losing a parent and if he said that he looked forward to dreaming so that he could see them again. I told him that's exactly how I felt. I unconsciously wake up crying sometimes and I won't even remember what happened but I've figured out that it's because in my dreams I've seen my dad and somewhere in there, I realized it wasn't real. So that's how I feel emotionally connected to Henry watching his past. Like he gets to go around and see things again, and you would think that's comforting, but at the same time, there's no future in it, you know?

I can't even articulate exactly what makes this book/movie affect me like this. I wish I could, and I think I'll have to try again sometime. But for now it's just interesting for me to get so emotionally wrecked post-watching/reading it. I don't feel this way often and I almost want to wallow in it and extend it.

But you know, the Real Housewives of Atlanta is on in the background. So that kind of kills the mood. Back to non-emotion land!

Listening to: Kimya Dawson, "Tire Swing."

What to make of 2008? I can't say it's been a hard year but to be honest, it's been a hard year. If 2006 was the year of discovery, 2007 the year of recovery, then 2008 is the year of, well, something that rhymes with -covery. Whatever. I'm not even going to begin to complain because I haven't had a job for one day this year and the next time that'll happen will probably be awhile. Have I used all that free time wisely? Certainly not, but it hasn't been totally unproductive.

I've been going over past pictures, blogs, and journal entries in an effort to encapsulate what 2008 was about. For the most part, it felt disjointed, like big momentous things happened but then sped by to be replaced by long lulls where I sat home and itched for action. Let's just start with the stats of it all.

Best movies: The Diving Bell and the Butterfly, Iron Man, Planet B-Boy
Best books: The Amazing Adventures of Kavalier & Clay (M.Chabon), Love is a Mix Tape (R.Sheffield), How to be Alone (J.Franzen)
New friends made: Six
Contact lens prescription: -5.00 (left) and -4.75 (right), both increased slightly
Car odometer reads: 206,632 miles
Money wasted on online dating sites: $34.99
Web addresses bought: Two (jonwow.com and exclusivelychloe.com)
Twitter updates: 459
First five picks, fantasy basketball: C. Paul, A. Jefferson, C. Billups, A. Jamison, C. Anthony (currently number one)
First five picks, fantasy football: S. Jackson, L. Fitzgerald, M. Colston, R. Bush, J. Cutler (ended season in third place)
Buy a copy of EC (May 2009) and I earn: $0.40
Tagged photos of me on Facebook: 145
People kissed: Four
Music on repeat: Adele, Shortbus soundtrack, Girl Talk
Days I've been 30 years old: 122
MVL stock bought / sold: $30.25 (May) / $32.81 (Sep)
Money made from MVL stock: +$230.40
Colored iPhone apps: 18 blue, 8 red, 7 green, 15 orange/tan, 8 purple, 4 steel/neutral
Lowest Brain Tuner time: 15.62 seconds
Moblog entries: 293 (73 in August)
Blog entries: 63 hyperwest, 109 jonyangorg, 30 next thursday
Journal entries: 79
Movies seen in theaters: 37 (10 A, 12 B, 11 C, 4 D)
iTunes: 25,049 songs, 106.2 days, 123.84 gigs
Haribo gummy bears consumed: Infinity plus a handful

I collected approximately nine months worth of unemployment -- originally only six months, but George W. was kind enough to sign an extension during the summer. That allowed me to not only increase my savings but combined with living rent free at home all year, I didn't think about money once. Actually, I thought about it a lot but only how to use it. Would I buy new clothes, could I take more trips, should I buy trinkets? In the end, I didn't exactly splurge on anything, in an effort to conserve money for when unemployment ends, but I didn't penny pinch either. It was fun. For so long I've lived with the specter of having no money, or having to borrow, that I really enjoyed not even blinking at paying for things, or paying for other people's things. It's nice to buy people stuff, even if it's just a drink or dinner.

Unemployment ends in a week or so. My job hunt begins soon and barring a miracle, I'll be back at some terrible entry level job I hate. The trade off will (hopefully) be that I'm out of San Diego and moved up to somewhere like San Francisco. I dread the prospect of returning to a job but I won't even bitch about it because everyone else is dealing with real adult things like layoffs and keeping their jobs while still juggling bills. I have no job sure, but I also have no bills. And yes, I'm thirty.

As for writing, I've begun to become comfortable saying that I'm a writer. Until I could see the finish line for this book, I wasn't willing to say "writer" to describe myself unless pressed. Now, with it finished and completed, I'm willing to say, "I'm a writer," when someone asks what I do. I still feel like a sham about it but you are what you say you are. Unless you aren't. Either way, one of my goals for 2008, to actually try and start freelancing, failed miserably. I haven't technically had any writing responsibilities since July or so but I never got my act together to even try submitting articles, queries, or anything of the like. That goal will have to rollover I guess, like my minutes.

I attended four weddings this year (Stacey, PZ/Amy, Tien, Susan). I was not a bridesmaid for any of them, despite the release of Made of Honor in 2008 -- which I never saw, perhaps my fatal mistake. I guess that life goal will remain unchecked. My list of potential female friends who might even consider me to be bridesmaid status is quickly getting pared down though. So far nobody's been woman enough to shake things up and throw a great guy friend up there. C'mon people, someone be original. I'm running out of time! I've got a few dear friends planning weddings for next year so I'm keeping hope alive. I'm a size six and I look good in white (t-shirts).

The amazingly hopeful beginning of the year, filled with plans to travel to Southeast Asia with my fellow Dirty Thirty club members (James, Lynn, George) fell through. My grand plan to move to New York for the summer? Also fell through. The end of the year finds me where I swore I wouldn't be at the beginning; back at home, slumming in San Diego. Basically I'm all talk. I didn't move anywhere. No Hawaii, no overseas, no big international trips. I did manage to spend August in New York, make four separate trips to San Francisco, and a side trip to Washington DC. I could rally and go somewhere in January but that might cost me a month or two of rent when I move. Rent, trip, or new laptop? No brainer: laptop. Real brainer: rent. Not coming soon to an airport near you: me.

I guess it's okay though because now 2009 can start fresh and alive. "Hope" you know? On the very last day of 2008, the people I've called or talked to tonight to wish Happy New Year and such, the people whom I'm in constant daily contact with, are an entirely different group than a year ago. In fact, it feels a little bit like my close friend circle has changed. The old stalwarts, the people who've long dominated my late night, daily, and random but strangely consistent phone calls have all changed in the span of twelve months. This might not seem like much to you but for me, the bedrock of my general happiness and mini-socialness lies in these phone calls/texts/emails. So to have the whole bunch switch over has been really interesting.

It wasn't until a few weeks ago that I realized this had happened, when I'd fully replaced my habitual almost daily phone call person with someone new, that I saw the changes for what they were. The people I interact with, talk to, or know what's going on the most, are mostly people I didn't even know (or barely knew) last year. I'm not sure what that means exactly except that people move on, habits change, and my list of frequently dialed numbers has been altered for better or for worse.

On a sidenote, I'm currently working on a personalized friendship roles thingy based on this NBA Archetypes Hierarchy. More on that when it's done. I'm excited about it because I'm a retard and I get psyched about this stuff.

Part of what has made this year seem so topsy turvy is that matters of the heart have taken me far afield and into places I'd never expected. Technically speaking, I've been single for about a year and a half. As I navigate a continued friendship with my ex, I'd resolved to stay single for as long as possible to avoid hurting others (and myself I guess). Well that didn't exactly work out.

In the middle of the year, two really close friends and I got into this big old messy situation where we basically played two boys, one girl. As you can imagine, it was an awkward and emotionally wrenching couple of weeks. Not only was I facing the prospect of feeling alienated from my absolute best friend, it was also tied into complications and a new definition of friendship with my other friend. We sought solutions other than the obvious one of backing off, or having her choose, but in the end, I kind of just decided that I couldn't do it. Three way, open way, no way. I stepped out of the situation and to be honest, the awkwardness and emptiness of it all hasn't evaporated yet. C'est la vie.

I was either not brave enough or not crazy enough. Take your pick.

What I've learned (not necessarily from this situation), or hope to learn, is that it's not necessary that every time there is mutual attraction, there has to be a jump to hyper speed and a relationship. That's not an easy lesson to let sink in after years of indoctrination in the "date for marriage" school of thought. If anything, I'm incredibly fearful that I only know how to react to romance seriously, instead of lightly or from a "let's see what happens" approach. It'll be a nice lesson to explore and learn because I freaking suck at serious romance.

I tried to stay attachment free heading into 2009 (and flippantly I always said 2010) but in the end, I kind of failed. But happily. I'm sort of, kind of, definitely dating someone now and while that's an entirely scary thought with my horrendous track record, it is exciting and hopefully results in only the best. I think I learned quite a bit from my last attempt at a relationship and those lessons will ideally carry over into the new year, and into this new thing. "Keeping it real," as a friend of mine always wisely says. Wish me luck.

I guess that about covers it. 2008 in a nutshell. I'll end this with five great times, in chronological order.

(1) Going to the Super Bowl in Arizona with James, as an indentured servant for Okapix.
(2) The Celtics win their 17th championship. I misplace a $1500 winning ticket. Whoops.
(3) PZ and Amy's Wedding and the New York trip in general. Seeing Amit every day for like a month.
(4) Re-meeting my cousins, Cleo and Tiana, after seven years. They're totally grown up now and super fun and amazing.
(5) All the San Francisco trips, complete with oyster shucking, mash up parties, Little Mermaid sing-a-longs, 30th birthday celebrations, and Stevie Wonder-full.

I've had a few conversations recently with some guy friends about our lack of older male role models. (Very) generally speaking, most of the guys I know love and respect their fathers but don't necessarily look up to them. I chalk this up to the big generational gap between Chinese kids and their parents. From an early age, you sort of gain this awareness that while your father is definitely an authoritative figure and brings bread to the table, he is also lacking in certain areas. For example, the classic Asian father is uncommunicative, never shows their emotions, and is generally just around. There's a huge world of difference between the traditional father-son relationship in say, Caucasian families, and many ethnic families. I don't know how to put it into words exactly but I think you know what I mean.

So we grow up a generation of fatherless sons. We don't want to be like our fathers, because we see them as either (a) out of touch or (b) leading a life that we'd never want to, and we generally don't have other male role models. Some people might find an uncle or a church leader or a professor or something to look up to and emulate, but generally speaking, we're alone and unguided, probably mostly due to our dismissive attitudes of our fathers, but also because they might just be lacking in that sense.

When I get asked now what I miss about my dad, I think the answer nowadays is that I feel like he was on the precipice of passing on his wisdom and adult knowledge. At twenty two, I was starting to get old enough to not be a kid anymore and I think he had been waiting to take me into his world and to start treating me as a (young) man. That or he was just getting worried about my I was floundering and had to reach out. Either way, the things that I wonder now are what he might have wanted to pass down to me.

My father wasn't unemotional or uncommunicative but he definitely picked and chose his spots. I remember specific moments when he'd pull me aside to say "I'm proud of you, I like how you handled that, etc." but overall we were hardly in conversations that evaluated my life decisions or in spaces where he pushed advice on me. I think he was waiting for me to figure out what I was looking for (because maybe that's what he'd done) and then to step in and guide me when I truly needed him or was old enough to accept guidance.

So that's what I guess I don't know. What he would have counseled me about career, relationships, happiness, mistakes, and life. I mean, I think I can kind of extrapolate if I think really hard about it, or try to gather an idea of him and think about what he might have said, but that would probably mostly be way off the mark. Even worse, I'm more sad at the idea that I won't get to ask him about why he did and what he did.

So I'm not sure if that counts as missing him. I equate missing with the past, sort of. So I think what I'm missing more is the relationship that would have grown out of him being around for my twenties, and it's hard not to think about what would have been different, if anything, if nothing.

We were at a Chinese dinner party this past weekend and over dinner we were listening to one of our old family friends pontificate about life. This uncle has known us since we were teenagers and has three sons of his own (all older than us). I asked him lots of questions about if he was ever worried about them, what he had worried about, and what sorts of advice he gave to them, or if they had ever come to him for advice. That led him to talk about these sorts of things for over an hour and a half with us, a rapt audience of four, aged thirty to sixteen.

I've had this sort of "lecture" before but in recent years, I drink this shit up. I don't necessarily agree with the message or hear anything particularly different from the various uncles, but I'll sit there and listen all day. I crave that nugget of wisdom that might pierce through the storytelling and the jokes. I'm digging around for anything that fathers might tell sons, perhaps in some hope that I'll grab some insight that way.

While I can't say I'll necessarily take the advice and implement it, any more than I would have earlier, I'm all ears and so much more open to this idea of seeking older male role models, if only to fill this void that I'm sure I have and I'm beginning to suspect that filling this hole might be useful and important in further growth as an adult.

Luckily, it's the holidays and we're slated for Chinese dinner after Chinese dinner. I've got to remember to pack a notebook.

My big event of the day was driving my mom and Jimmy's mom to the airport. It seems like a simple enough task and one that shouldn't be a big deal. Well, it wasn't, not in principle, but it kind of was. I mean, I hate driving in the city. I fear hitting things. While SFO is hardly very far away, I thought I would just to dropping my mom off where Jimmy's mom was. As I navigated our way from the Marina to Chinatown, I got a tad lost and increasingly annoyed. My mom hinted that maybe it would be nice if I could just take them instead of having them bus/BART it.

What sort of self respecting child doesn't take their parents to the airport when there's no transportation or time conflict?

Originally, my mom said that she'd just say I was busy and couldn't take them to the airport. I think it embarasses her (to her friends) when she has to admit that we don't do certain things for her. So I think she prefers to make up excuses for me. Like even though I've lived at home for the past year, I'm always so gruff and curt with her when she asks for "favors." I mean, these aren't even favors. Driving her around someplace, doing something that could take a few hours, might be a bit of an inconvenience, but at the end of the day, isn't that big.

I hardly offer to go out of my way to do things and when directly asked, I sort of get all annoyed. It must hurt her, somewhere. I wonder if she wonders how she raised such ungrateful kids. And it's not about the closeness or the relationship even. It's about empathy, care, and unselfishness. Most of our other friends seem to do things for their parents, on differing levels of course, but I'm sure I'm pretty low on that spectrum.

A thankful son would say something like "Let me carry your bags while we walk to return them." Bags containing stuff she had bought for me that I didn't like and rejected nonetheless. Instead I holed up in the car because I was essentially surly and not being helpful.

George had this to say about the anniversary of dad's death. ("Anniversary" seems like a weird word to use in this context).

"i dont know why but i always feel as if on his anniversay i should be staying home, alone and reminiscing on past memories and then when i dont, i always end up feeling guilty about it. i feel guilty that somehow im being a bad daughter and because for the other 364 days of the year, i dont really think about it or it doesnt really play a big part of my daily life and that for just one day, just 24 hours, i should pay my proper respects."

Since I was actually in San Diego, I accompanied my mom to the memorial park. We packed up a plastic trash bin full of flowers and headed over there as it rained slightly. Generally speaking, I don't visit the grave because it's not a place that speaks to me of my dad. Instead, I mostly go when prompted and even then I'm slightly resistant. It's not because it's hard or difficult, but rather because the physical resting place doesn't hold much meaning for me.

I used to imagine going there by myself and sitting there in the nice grass, thinking deep thoughts and maybe clearing my head or heart or something. It doesn't work like that. Something seems deeply artificial to me about going to a cemetery by myself, or with anyone actually. It's hard to overlook the gardeners, the obvious economic benefit of the tiny plots, and the general sense that this is less a place for resting than a place to be put away.

When we go, my mom is always insistent on cleaning the memorial plaque and removing the dirt, twigs, and debris. My paternal grandmother is buried a few rows up and to the left of my dad and it's usually George and my job to tend to her plaque and to fill her flower pot. I'm ready to leave as soon as we dump the flowers off but my mom usually will gather us together for a moment or two of silence and "talking."

I'm not even sure if anyone is talking to my dad except for my mom. I dunno, do you talk to him George? I'd bet neither one of us does. In this I feel like we're the same -- even in if nearly everything else we're opposites. One of the first inklings for me that we may be more alike than different was in the seemingly emotionless way we both dealt with my dad's sudden departure.

I don't think either of us really cried, at least in front of each other. Actually, I think I did, maybe at his Chinese funeral. Regardless, both of us were more similar in our non-reaction than our obvious grief. Which surprised me because I'd expected her to be a crying mess. Shows what I know.

I think the problem I have with a day of remembrance or a day of grief or mourning or whatnot is the whole ritualization of it. In time it starts to lose its meaning and the actions come to mean less and less. By doing such and such in this or that order, you preserve the moment but lose the meaning. At least that's the way it feels. I've never asked any of my other friends who have lost parents if they feel similarly. I should I guess, because I feel like both of us feel a bit abnormal, whereas it might very well be perfectly normal to be cooking bok choy at home and going house dancing at night in remembrance.

You know how people are constantly evaluating how far in life they've come versus the traditional idea of success, etc? Well, those things can pretty much be distilled down to five general categories. Career, family, relationships, friends, and miscellaneous. That last one is tricky because it could be totally different for everyone. Health, religion, general state of being, comparison to peers, whatever.

Basically what I'm going to do in my head is assign 0-2 point values to each of the five categories and see what a particular person's happiness/life rating would be out of ten. Oh, and maybe minus points would be allowed for, you know, big minuses.

So I'm currently at a nice even 5/10 on this scale. Career (1), Family (1), Relationships (0), Friends (2), Misc (1). After giving some thought on it this weekend and batting this matrix around a little, we found a few people who might rank a nifty 9/10 on here. Okay, maybe just one or two people. Plus we're on the outside looking in so it's hard to tell if someone is really happy or not.

But that's kind of the point of this exercise, it's all about being on the outside looking in. When people are like "Oh, so how's so-and-so doing?" They are generally asking about these five things. I believe that if you can score a 8/10 by the time you're forty or so, you can say you've succeeded in life. And then maintain and try to cope. Or you know, just get crazy and wild.

Some guy developed the Oxford Happiness Inventory which is supposed to measure psychological well-being. From Wikipedia it says, "This measures happiness as an aggregate of self-esteem, sense of purpose, social interest and kindness, sense of humor and aesthetic appreciation." I'm not sure what these things have to do with happiness in the traditional sense but they seem interesting. Apparently this has been critiqued because it lacks a "theoretical model of happiness."

I'd like to research this some more and find out what other models of happiness exist. Here's one called the Emotional Quality Model and something called A Model of Happiness.