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| After numerous times camping in both the civilian and military world (yes, they are two different worlds...one is real, and the other is not), and years of working outside, as a hard-working and proud laborer, I have encountered quite a few poisonous plants, but have always been relatively lucky about avoiding exposure to them. I look before I step, but it has come to me recently, that not everyone knows what to be looking for, and this ignorance could give someone a severe rash...lol...so when it comes to poisonous plants, either wrap it up (your skin, that is), or consider practicing complete and total abstinence of physical contact with the following poisonous 3 common chlorophyll containing critters: Poison Ivy, Poison Oak, and Poison Sumac (yes, due to a deference for these urushoil oil containing plants). Remember this: Toxicodendrons are not your friends, mon! The first offender is the most common, Poison Ivy 
In this case, and also the case of poison oak, the "leaves of three, let 'em be" saying is actually accurate. Also, pay close attention to the little seed/berry clusters to clue you in that this aint the stuff little lambs eat (as seen in the middle of the picture). Check this next one out...it's poison oak.  This is not as commonly found around these here parts, but should still be looked out for, and especially in places with a nature to concrete ratio of over 5:1 (meaning that for every one pound of concrete, there are 5 pounds of nature). Notice that it still comes in clusters of 3 leaves, but...these actually look like oak leaves (so 'poison oak' is not just a clever name). Now, here's a personal favorite of mine. I actually had a couple of classes with Poison Sumac, at Brookhaven Community College: 
There is no specific amount of leaves for this magnificent bastard to possess, but it's look is rather distinctive anyway, so it'd be kind of difficult to confuse it for an edible or smokable plant. And that's what I sometimes ponder upon, when thinking of the history of botantical discoveries over the span of human existence. Sometimes we mock the eras of ancestors who came before us, and their rudimentary knowledge of sanitation, hygiene, medicine, religious beliefs, etc., but these fuckers had a hard job, taste-testing these plants in order to develop some type of traditionally shared database. I'm sure a few people may have smoked poison ivy, before they found out Marijuana and Opium were the ones that would get them high. However, the traditional system of "the plant edibility test" was probably developed very early on, to prevent someone from dying just to test one plant out. The plant edibility test is still the best method a person with no technology or a knowledge of plants, can use to find out which plants they can eat when they're stranded in the wild (or merely challenging themselves?). 
I strongly urge people in this age of artificial social networking, to get outside, admire the beauty of some plants and trees and perhaps get back to your roots. | | |
| Could you be more shameless? Than to struggle to pop out the bubble of nameless? I'm aimless but directed, my goals are set, erected, but yet to be perfected, It's infective to sort through these wreckless electives, There's nothin to toughen the choice but these options, And no one's stoppin me from dreamin, I'm possessed with unrest, mind caressed by the demons, Eyes gleamin, like coal steamin or burnin, The forks in the road provide learnin from turnin, And I yearn to arrive, bruised, battered, not shattered and still alive, At some place in my mind I can rent to own, a happy space or a place when I'm no longer content to roam, When the foam of the tides, bubbles away as palm trees sway, and the breeze is the only connection to things from miles away, And I become an island, truely in and of myself, with more exports than imports of that sort of natural wealth. | | |
|  Colonia de Tlaltenango, Cuernavaca, Morelos, Mex.  Cactus Man...doin' his thang  The Sacred City of Teotihuacan...Pyramids of the Sun and Moon (wrong angle)   
Ciudad de primavera eterno, abrazame y me ofrece seguridad de corazon, mente, cuerpo, y alma Puedo oir tu voz de distancia, y me llamas a mi tierra madre, mas cerca y juntos con el mundo, La tercera piedra del sol; mi hogar y mi carcel, el lugar de nacimiento y algun dia el lugar para morir... Cuando el dia llega, cambiame al pulvo de donde veni y me olvidas pronto, porque yo te olvidare tambien.  Take this path over the gently rolling hills into the complacence of October sunsets, The burnt orange sun evokes crayola colored comforts from a more innocent time, Riding bikes and eating Campbell's soup, then off to soccer practice right after Batman, Popping contraband pocket-sized explosives down by the creek, with water mocassins swimming, What to wear for Halloween? Does Amy Young like me as much as I like her? I should get her to check "yes" or "no" or maybe even include "maybe" as an option...couldn't hurt, Not as much as scuffs from scuffles and rashes from ramp jumping; rope burns and road rash, Black eyes and bruises, but it don't matter, cuz I heal like Wolverine, 'cept faster... Am I a mutant like the X-men? I guess I'll find out when I hit puberty, whenever that is... Hey mom, I found this cat outside and she's hurt, so can we keep her? I'll feed her everyday! Hey dad, wanna throw the football? Can we read a story? Ask me questions I know the answers to, I want to prove how smart I am, and watch me do this while you're at it...oops, let me try that one more time, I'll get it this time, I swear! Haha...aren't I good? Hey, where does God come from? How does Santa move so quickly? Eww...those people are kissing! Let's fold and fly some paper airplanes, eat fruit snacks, and throw the baseball in the backyard, Spend time with me now, and don't take it for granted, because 8 more years and I won't want to be seen with you. | | |
| I was thinking today about some of my eccentricities (or what the less tactful may refer to as tendencies toward "lameless") that others have commented on over the years, and also decided to add some that only those in my "inner circle" may know about me...and perhaps even one or two that only I know (pretty soon to be 'knew'). Well, here it is...you're hearin' it first...spankin' new and shizz: 
I wear socks with my sandals. This is usually only around the house, because for some reason it just feels right...enough roommates, friends and SO's have commented on it for me to feel like an outcast. One person said I was "Soooooo asian"...whatever that means. Truth is, it just makes me feel like an albino ninja turtle. 
I eat condiments straight from the packet. Say what you may, but I will remind you that we all bleed the same color...unless a person happens to be in an oxygen free environment. However, sometimes when I have left over condiment packets (be it spicy mustard, bbq sauce, Arby's sauce, ketchup, etc.), I feel inclined to eat them if I know I am just going to throw them away. Some people say, "Put them in the fridge, then...save 'em for another meal!" and to them I reply, "Maybe I'm still hungry!!!" 
I shadow-box...a lot. And no, I'm not talking about making a cool case for a book report type of shadow-box...more like the violently beating the air into submission with ferocious Tekken combos, that would bring Jinpachi to his knees. I'm not afraid to do it when people are watching, but I really let loose when I have an IPOD with my favorite jams, and there are no people within a half-mile radius. Oftentimes, I make up fight scenarios in my mind, and fight invisible enemies...so far I'm undefeated...though critics (in my cavernous and surprisingly hollow expanse of a mind) say I haven't fought any real "contenders". 
I count my steps quite often. (On a sidenote: I think Orthodox Jews are pimps...like Matisyahu or whatever his name is) Yes, for some reason I have been counting my steps, on a pretty consistent basis (though not all the time) since I was around 10 years old. It works as a mantra of sorts to keep me from worrying (smells like OCD...hmm), and has also caused me to become quite adept at judging distances for lawns, targets with the M16, how close I can get to those who have restraining orders against me...and so forth. 
I sing along to music by female artists, using falsetto. For some reason, if I like a song, I must sing along to it...and try to maintain as much integrity to the way the artist sounds as possible. I have been caught singing along to Regina Spektor, Imogen Heap, Fergie, The Cranberries, and many, many more...some people say my girl voice sounds pretty good (hmm...maybe something to fall back on during these harsh economic times...hmmm...where to steal a wig?). 
I love playing old school RPG's. Up until this point in my life, the first rule of my RPG addiction, was not to talk about my RPG addiction...but I'm reaching out to whoever is listening. During some of the more dismal, bleak, and hopeless moments of my life, I have thrown myself into the imaginary worlds of the Role-playing game and spent many an hour vacationing in my mind, to some place that is more interesting, and definitely less ordinary and monotonous than my so-called life (I'm part emo...I think my great grandma on my mom's side was full emo...not to be confused with emu...which reminds me of a longer and more disturbing story about why I have so much fine blond body hair). And no, I do not play WOW (too mainstream...I'm an indie gamer)...but I will get down on some Oblivion. 
I cry during sad movies, but strongly and silently...no whimpering. I feel no need to defend myself here, and in fact, I pity all those who laugh at me, for not possessing the sometimes overwhelming sense of empathy I have for people who are acting like people who are experiencing tragedy. I cry when I watch Braveheart, The Last Samurai, Gattaca (not all the time), Click (once), The Fountain (if you feel nothing from this movie you have no soul), Schindler's List, and perhaps a few more, but I can't quite recall them (either that, or I don't want to name all of them since I may or may not be starting to feel a bit self-conscious of my wussyness). For the record, I just shed a single (sometimes consective single tears...making a stream of tears...but not like streaming down my face in a pathetic way)...you know what? Just shut up! Shut up! All of you! Stop making fun of meeeeeeeeeeeeeeeee!!! Oops...flashback to gradeschool *curls into ball*...hot water burn baby... 
This takes us to my final confession...please hear me out before assuming I am a coprophiliac! I just don't know what else to put here, picture-wise. I was going to write, I entertain myself in strange ways...but this does not really explain it too well. Ok, get ready for it: Sometimes, when I'm in a public place, especially a high-stress-having-to-wait-in-line type of situation (i.e. DMV, post office, the Veterans Hospital pharmacy, Six Flags...), and I notice my hatred of people creeping up on me like my dead grandmother with a knife in her teeth (thanks, Hunter S. Thompson), I begin envisioning outrageously funny scenarios taking place. These scenarios cater to my sophomoric sense of humor, since they are specially concocted for the purpose of my own entertainment. So for example....*thought bubble pops up in line at the DMV* "Hmmm...that would be funny if that nervous-looking sweaty bald guy over there just let out a blood curdling scream, jumped up on the counter and took a shit, and started slinging it at people (me excluded)!"...and then I beginning laughing to myself about how funny something like that would be, and suddenly I am zen-like in my state of mind. I remember the 4 noble truths...and acheive balance...balance aside from the hysterical and seemingly inappropriate laughter that begins drawing the attention of others, that is. If only they knew how inappropriate it really was... Now...I hope that wasn't too disturbing. I feel very vulnerable now for having shared this softer side of myself...please do not use this insight into my very soul to harm me in any way. Sometimes I can be too trusting...I hope this wasn't a mistake that will end in heartbreak. Shalom... | | |
|  When I last left you, it was right when plans had been formed for me to meet Cindy's parents for the first time. I was uneasy about this, since they don't speak english too well. Luckily for me, however, I picked up some Vietnamese phrases from my dad over the years, that he had learned whilst pillaging, raping, plundering, and of course, killing (and raping) babies...since that's really all the United States ever does when they go to another country. And of course, above all, we enjoy these things that we do, since we are by our very nature an imperialistic nation, bent on sucking the souls from those whose countries we occupy like oh-so-many Necromongers. (*hint of sarcasm*...hmm...shame that I have to add this in parentheses, but some slower people can stumble across my page from time to time and end up criticizing that which they don't understand...yes, the gentle monster that is my mind in text form). Back to the story: I mainly used "chao ahn" and "chao ba" for salutations and "cam un" for the giving of thanks. But allow me to digress from the specifics of my communication and start this weiner dog off from the beginning, and perhaps also in a linear line of redundancy before I go to the ATM machine and enter my PIN number. So my Gilette gel deodorant (with power caps...of which there is nothing powerful about), was beginning to half-life itself much quicker, as my armpit must've provided some ideal conditions for it to stop working, and revert from its gestault into useless individual ingredients that really had no business in the crevices of my body, unless they could try and muster a goddamn sense of teamwork. This was two hours before I was going to leave to see her. So I did what any American patriot would do...I strode downstairs and got myself a drink. Chimay...Belgian ale, brewed by Trappiste monks (Or by cold-hearted brewing companies, but at least in their same philanthropic spirit, of giving the world a beer with 10% alcohol by volume). I had no time to enjoy the taste, and slammed a glass...it was not enough. It did nothing. Now, I was accompanied with the shame of not being able to handle nervousness of my own, without enjoying the company of Mr. Buzz Aldrin. Yes, I like to personify my states of inebriation...or I do now, at least. So I called up Cindy, to ask her some questions about customs and courtesies. Her mother was Mrs. Vo, but her dad was Mr. Lam, and her brother was simply Vin. And it might be a good idea to bring a fruit basket...which she had mentioned days before, but I had totally forgotten. Shit. Why did they have to close Fruit Baskets-R-US? Fortunately, Korean Pears would be an acceptable alternative. So I beat feet (in my Flintstone car...or not far from it) to Super H-Mart, which I had recently been introduced to by her, and her friends Jeffrey and Sophearry. 
What the hell am I doing writing this? I got class today. TO BE CONTINUED... And the saga continues: So this H-mart place caught me off guard when I first went in there last week, after eating at Tofu Restaurant adjacent to it. I was thinking, "Holy Judas Priest's barbershop quartet fucking an old lady in confessional! This place is like a Mighty Max portal into an urban part of Seoul or Taipei..." Since I've only been to Taipei and never Seoul, but H-mart is indeed Korean, I had to adjust fire on my assumptions of what a portal leading into an urban market in Seoul would really look like. But this place had Taipei written all over it...except it was in Han'gul. I decided to get the more expensive and individually wrapped case of pears, since you know what they say about first impressions...I'm going to go ahead and assume you know what they say, since I in fact, do not. I arrive at Cindy's house to a warm greeting from her and her brother. Her mother and father come out a few seconds later..."don't fuck up the greetings like President Obama messed up on his inagural swear-in.." Showing more premonition than a mentally challenged kid in a vat of goo (that reminds me of that Goo book by Dr. Seuss...I would recommend it if you have not read it already, because it will change your life). So, there was a ton of food awaiting me on the kitchen table! All homemade, but not too obscure to scare the white-boy types of foods. Spring rolls, egg rolls, won ton soup, and fried rice..all delicious, but I was hoping they'd bust out with something a bit more up there on the scale of "mama's home cookin'-this is what we use to test whether or not you are man enough for our daughter"... To Be Re-Continued.... So apparently it's impolite to try and make too much conversation at the table with Cindy's family (from what she told me), so those are indeed, my kind of people. Eating is down to business, and insert all that nonsense later. Her brother translated while her mom interrogated questioned me about my schooling, my job, and the Marine Corps. It was like a Socratic seminar in its elegance, and I felt like some type of important diplomat...answering, *translation*, response *translation*, new question *translation*...and you get the just of it. Luckily, when I get nervous, though, I am told that I look very calm...because aside from answering all the fun questions about my life, I couldn't help but feel like I was in the midst of a game of "whiteboy in the middle". haha...goodtimes. After all was said and done with the interview process, I got to go with her to her room. It was surprisingly neat, yet she apologized for its messiness...hmm. And then came the bombardment with the plaques...Creekview Highschool Class Favorite: Most Talented; Class Favorite: Most Creative...for multiple consecutive years. This is when I realized we were even further apart in our two worlds...yet so close in so many other realms, and I was taken aback by the notion that some way we were able to forge a connection with such vastly different personalities... Picture time! 
You stay classy, free world... | | |
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