"no! i want someone with breasts!"

It's Just Another Day

Thu, 11 Sep 2008 06:38:53 GMT

New year resolutions are inevitably equated with the excess of America suburbia sprawl: exercise more, weight loss. As I sit in the Lion's Den, a progressive cafe on campus that give me the choice between dark and medium roast, I took a few steps towards my resolution. This resolution is not by choice, as much as it was forced upon me by working a stagnant position in a great company that possess great potentials but will not allow me any. So here I sit, waiting for the for my chance to talk to the dean of my program, drowning in a ocean of Hot Topic hair cuts and Abercrombie polo shirts with the collar inexplicably turned up.

I have a few hours until my first semester starts, a microbiology class that I am not even sure if I am able to to take, though the dean made it seem promising. So I take in the sights. I inhale the generally wholesome vibe. I swallow the slightly boorish taste of the Greek pledges. I remind my self of what it used to be like when i was a freshman at UCLA. I decided that I do not miss college.

Three semesters later, as I trudge through chemistry, hydrology, and air quality, and some how managed two straight A semesters since probably kindergarten, I sit on a precipice. In a few hours I can no longer round my age to a nice multiple of five that doesn't start with the integer 3. I can no longer say "I'm in my early 20's or "I'm in my mid 20's," instead, i have to claim "I'm almost 30." Some of my friends, by this age, had two kids and a house, and others, are managers and executives, and yet others have traveled around the world in a 3 month trip. And here sat I, drained, tired, with an outstanding speeding ticket.

I'm enjoying life more, and utterly addicted to Amazon.com's oh-so-convenient one click ordering. Even as the iron maiden of a supervisor makes my job less enjoyable. It's a trade off, I suppose, from one vice to another. With Drew leaving for Santa Barbara, and 3 more semesters to go in my graduate studies, I'll need to make something happen, soon. FDA, I'm waiting for that interview.

So on the eve of the 7th anniversary of the WTC tower collapse, here's a happy 26th to me.

I'm Looking for my Bastille Day.

Tue, 12 Jun 2007 05:48:04 GMT

it doesn't matter where you are.
your bastille day awaits you.

Sat, 28 Apr 2007 05:46:09 GMT

A few weeks before Chinese New Year, my dad’s uncle passed away. Pancreatic cancer. When it was diagnosed, it was already stage IV. I can’t say I am close to him, since I rarely see him, being out of the country and all, but I do like him. I remember the first time I met him was during the first Gulf War. He had a mustache at the time, and I seriously thought he was Saddam Hussein incarnate. He spoke honestly and crassly, but I liked him.

My parents asked me if I would like to accompany them to the funeral and stay for new years in Taiwan. For once, I felt a duty toward family. And this is where the story starts.

The very next day was the funeral, and I had already gotten sick from some pickled cabbage that came from a street vender. The ceremony it self was moving, in the typical Chinese manner, lots of tears, lots of people, and lots of colorful wreaths decorated with plastic flowers and canned food. After the ceremony, I passed out. Both from gluttony—we managed 4 meals in a 12 hour period—and from dehydration. But I had to get up. I had to carry on. Because that night, I still have to rock.

I met Nicole, at Riverside Café, for a rock concert featuring Back Quarter (I know it’s backwards). The show was great, though I was turned off by the venue and the crowd, in that particular order. I can’t believe Taiwanese people sits down, then politely clap for a rock concert. Fuck that, I said, it’s time to rock and roll! I screamed and head-banged, and in return, I got weird stares from the rest of the club. It would not be the last.

11 P.M. was not late enough for me, since I was still jet-lagged, so Nicole decided to take me to TU. A gin tonic and two whiskey on the rocks later, I realized Taiwanese people can’t dance. Since they can’t dance, there is no way I can embarrass my self, so I danced until the sun came up. Since the last train runs at 12 A.M., which was about 5 hours before I left TU, I called a cab. When it came, I was buying a roast sausage from a street vender. It was quite a sight, really: me, drunk off my ass, chasing a cab with a sausage in my hand, screaming and waving a 1000NT bill. I arrived home around 6 A.M., a convenient store onigiri (best in the world) in one hand, an iced tea in the other, and did not wake up until 3. P.M. the next day.

That was only the first day.

The rest of the week there was basically rinse, lather ad nauseam. In short, if I was out after 11, I was most likely drunk. Out of the 9 days I was there, I was out past 11 five times. Keep in mind that the first day I got in at 2 A.M., one day was New Years Eve, and the last day I had to catch a flight. That effectively narrows down days I could go out to 6. I smoked Cuban cigars, drank blue mountain coffee, and ate from street venders. I lived a life of debauchery I only wish I can afford here.

The highlight is definitely Friday night, when I hung out with Annie, who is a sister to me, and CT, whom I haven’t seen since he suddenly went back to Taiwan a year ago. We started at Mint, underneath the monstrous Taipei 101. Annie and I tore up the dance floor. Just before we came, she told us we can drink on the street in Taiwan, which was a revelation to me. We proceed to walk into a 7-11, bought a Corona each, and chugged it sitting in a plaza while talking gangsta. That beer mixed with the vodka shot, made me invincible.

That night I was invincible, Annie and I. I never realize how much I miss Taiwan until I visit it. Though I’d probably never live there again.

Tommy's Wonderful Friends

Tue, 24 Apr 2007 00:26:02 GMT

Tommy's Wonderful Friends, originally uploaded by foboat.

this, on the other hand, is as dirty as it looks.

Tommy's Wonderful Friends

Tue, 24 Apr 2007 00:25:30 GMT

Tommy's Wonderful Friends, originally uploaded by foboat.

it looks dirtier than it is.

Wed, 21 Feb 2007 05:49:00 GMT

Tuesday, boy calls girl. She says she’s busy on Saturday. She has homework to do. Boy washes down rejection with a grilled cheddar and jarlsberg sandwich.

Thursday, girl calls boy. She asks when are they going out on Saturday? Surprised, Boy celebrates with a bowl of grapes, after agreeing 11 A.M. for dim sum.

That was the introduction.

Boy shows up at her door punctually and boy and girl arrives at the dim sum restaurant. The restaurant has a classy Las Vegas theme, with one wall covered with aquariums, and the other with a relief of a dragon and a phoenix, just in case there’s a wedding banquet happening. The table soon fills with diaphanous dumplings and delicate steamed desserts. She asks, how is the food? She asks him why does he look so excited? He answers, I just love Chinese restaurants. The noise, the food, the motley crew of people. He is having a great time.

By the time they leave the restaurant, hours have passed. The girl asks what should they do now? The boy is elated. He thought the date was over after the check was settled. He suggests shopping, and she suggests hot chocolate. They agree on Old Town Pasadena.

That was the character development.

They sit at a local coffee shop, sipping hot chocolate, people watching. They go shopping, and the girl comes shows him the outfits she picked out. It was the first time she wants the boy’s opinion about her outfits. The boy feels very good indeed.

Afterwards, they see a fortuneteller on the street corner near her house. Intrigued, they pay her a visit. A white lady who goes by the name of Mrs. Lin answers the door. The boy and the girl enters Mrs. Lin’s ostentatiously decorated house.

That would be the beginning of the plot twist. And the rest of the day has nowhere else to go but down.

Much later that night, the girl tells the boy, I’m glad you were here today. The boy smiles and the smile only get wider as he gets closer to home.

That, would be the resolution.

Mon, 29 Jan 2007 07:03:09 GMT

I open the gate and see a familiar face walking toward me.

“You look great.”

“It’s just the same outfit I had for the wedding,” Angie answers. She has on a simple black cocktail dress with a short pink cardigan. Simple, yet elegant, but it reminds me that I should bring my overcoat just in case the weather gets colder.

“I’ve never seen it before, and it looks great on you.”

She smiles, “we should go, it’s almost time.” I grab my keys, and the Mustang roars to life.

We stop by the Gypsy Den for a pre-opera caffeine jolt and ran into Drew, who is there for a completely different reason. He recently broke up with his girl friend, and he is there to tie up loose ends. Drew has changed since his return from El Salvador. He never would have put in the effort to—God forbid—be nice to an ex.

“Aleah has work till seven fifteen, you two are welcome to join me for a while before the show,” he offers. After Angie and I pay for our coffee, we found Drew sitting in the corner table, near the heat lamps. “It’s a cold night, tonight,” he remarks.

“You are just going to sit here for an hour until Aleah shows up?” I ask.

“Yea, got nothing better to do. Besides, it’s important that I get here first, so I can pick the setting.” I glance at his pack of Reds. He’s going to run out before its seven o’clock, but he’s probably got a spare pack tucked away somewhere.

“She’s a great girl,” he said to me last night over a short glass full of gin tonic, “but we just didn’t work out.” He paused to light a cigarette, as the Shin’s new album played on the computer. “I don’t deal well with commitment, even though I need it. She’s a jealous person. I mean, I don’t have much friends here, and she’ll still ask me where I am all the time.”

A few rounds of Guitar Hero later, while we are on our way to Alexjendro’s, a 24-hour taco stand, he confessed further. “And she’s not very domesticated either.”

“What do you mean?”

“She doesn’t cook.”

Time draws closer to seven, “good luck with your talk with Aleah, but we’ve got to go.”

“I’ll call you after, hopefully this won’t last all the way till eleven.”

The opera starts and ends. Don Giovanni seduced and condemned. The stars bow, and the crowd disperse. I get a half legible text message, not from Drew, telling me I should watch the Harry Potter movies drunk. I place my overcoat on Angie as we walk back to the car. It is absolutely freezing tonight.

“How are you and K doing?” Angie asks me, as we stop by In-N-Out for an after show dinner.

“Same old, same old,” I answer, “though I’d love to see her before I leave for Taiwan.”

“You don’t see her often, huh.”

“Not really, though we talk on the phone once in a while. It’s actually quite frustrating.”

“You should go for it. She’s worth it.”

“I know.”

After we finish the burgers, I check my voice mail. It’s Drew, “hey, I finished talking to Aleah, but I think I’m just going to call it a night. Tell K I said hi, and I’ll see you later.” I guess us Asians all look alike to honky eyes. Drew probably just doesn’t remember Angie, since last time they met was a while ago, and both he and I were quite drunk already. I feel guilty for wishing it were K with me tonight. I quickly wipe that thought from my head and walk Angie to the door.

Right now, I’m willing to give Harry Potter movies another try. Perhaps those movies are better drunk.

捌

Thu, 21 Dec 2006 10:34:41 GMT

五年前一個悶熱的夏日，我從教室前跟著課本與朋友一起回宿舍，而你從我們面前走過，兩耳塞著耳機，咂咂的放著重金屬，手中拿著一本很艱深的書是本生物化學的基本入門。身邊那些的死黨應該是依照規則，在五年前遇上真命之子，三年前結婚，去年懷孕，三個月前生下了第一胎，肥胖的小男孩，屬狗，早在三個禮拜前就從算命師那求了一個陽剛的好名字。我並不是很清楚，我跟她們早就失去了連絡。

五年後，我卻學會放下以前不符實際的白日夢而屈膝在現實下，在一家默默無名的公司裡做著一個匿名的棋子；在一個自以為能幹的主管下哈腰道歉。十歲時希望三十歲 (或者該說成長大後呢?) 可以坐上公主的寶座，嫁給白馬王子。二十歲時，笑著十年前天真的自己，希望三十歲時可以成為一個成功的女強人，不用向任何人低頭。

以前真敢，什麼都不怕，倒是現在有太多的顧慮而不敢冒險。

或許不是首合適的歌，不過林強的《向前走》卻從後腦浮現。

臉裡射滿肉毒桿菌的女人隨著過氣的音樂搖擺著被無數外科醫生調整過的肉體，堅硬的大、小頰骨筋被肉毒桿菌毒素痲痹使她們的微笑僵硬而視線呆滯。舞台上中年危機的男人甩動著電吉他好比是他陽具的延伸，在員工的面前自慰著三十年前的搖滾夢。台下的人們耳語，至少他沒在搞他的秘書，至少他選擇的二奶不是人。

我二十年後的未來是靠著醫生的鈦合金手術刀以及可丟式皮下注射針；我二十年後的人生註定是輸給一個捉摸不到的概念。

我拒絕接受。

我想說我拒絕接受，因為我不想成為路上隨時可見的人群，抬頭看著時鐘數著一分一秒的流逝，只為了逆游四百八十分鐘前才走過的路。

或許不是首合適的歌，不過Nirvana的《Smells Like Teen Spirit》卻從後腦浮現。

如果過去這幾年可以代表我將面對的未來，我並不覺得我有任何選擇。最近我眼角的皺紋也越來越深。這幾個月來加班、熬夜害我的皮膚越來越粗燥。

肉毒桿菌毒素是全世界毒性最重的毒素之一，很多國家的軍隊都有投資在如何把它運用在生化戰爭上，而我們為了保持我們的青春只能依靠它。人類走投無路時連毒都要利用。

真是可悲。

Tue, 19 Dec 2006 06:27:08 GMT

The ballet starts at 7:30, and I picked up the tickets at 6:50. Standing outside the bridge that connects Orange County Performing Arts Center and the nearby parking lot, the time is now 7:40. I suddenly remember that it had rained earlier that day; I walk back to the car and tuck an umbrella under my overcoat.

The phone rings. I snuff out my cigarette and pick up.

“Sorry, I just got your message about the show time.” It’s K. “I’m finding a parking spot as we speak. I’ll call you when I’m parked.”

“No rush,” I reply, as festively dressed families and teens in black trench coats walk next to housewives in Prada and husbands in leather jackets. The real Orange County house wives. “I should have made sure you got the message, instead of just text you a reply. Besides, it’s just the overture we are missing.”

I figure I have time for another cigarette, since I over heard the parking attendants turning drivers away because the parking lot was full. In California, punctuality does not matter, what matters is how you arrive. In the crowd, I see mink, leather, and bare skin. I see Louis Vitton, Yves Saint Lauren, and Chanelle. Sadly, I see Nike, Levis, and LA Gears.
I see families all come in street cloths and sweaters, and I see families that are dressed to impress. I see parents that are immaculately made up, only to see their kids dressed in a t-shirt bearing the image of a popular rock band.

“Is this your husband?” Cynthia’s coworkers asked her as we walked up to greet them at her fertility clinic’s Christmas Party at the White House in Anaheim a few days ago. I wasn’t the husband, I wanted to say, in fact, I was the backup date. But somehow that seemed rude. I also did not want draw attention to the fact that I was underdressed. A studded white belt doesn’t exactly say “formal.” I knew I should have asked more questions about the dress code.

Her Christmas party’s demographic is eerily similar to the one my company held for us, although the scale is decidedly different. Open bar is present at both, but the three course dinner gave away to a roast beef buffet with hors d’oeuvre platters. There old money mingled with new money, doctors with layman, manager with subordinates, distilling a sense of family into an establishment with gourmet food and games where everybody wins a prize. This is how you manage, this is how you lead. You lead by objectifying your midlife crisis with a dated symbol of your youth, and singing songs of yesteryears to your subordinates who are too polite to tell you “your band sucks.” And there’s me. The kid running around the ballroom, with gin and whiskey in him, documenting everything because he isn’t old enough to understand why. I know I drew some looks from strangers for being the kid with the camera and the 10 dollar hound’s-tooth jacket. The looks weren’t exactly kind.

I exhaled and snuff out the cigarette and reach for the gift, now slightly wet from the moisture. I hope she likes it, I thought as I walk toward the entrance. A worker started to pull open the door and takes out her holstered ticket scanner.

“My date isn’t here yet,” I said. The worker tilts her head slightly to the side, and gives me a “that’s too bad” look. I bet she was a good mom to her kids. I return a smile and lean back on the pink marble railing as she holsters her scanner and retreats inside, away from the cold. I shake my umbrella dry and place it inside my coat, since the rain has already slowed to a fine mist.

My phone rings. It’s now close to 8 o’clock, and the rain has already stopped. I told her to walk toward the arch of the magnificent arches outside Segarstrom Hall. I will meet her there.

As we walked blindly to our seats, following an elderly volunteer who is hard of hearing, I realized we didn’t miss that much of the ballet after all. Herr Drosselmeyer is just giving the candy to the children, and our hero, the Nutcracker, is still missing in action. I look over at K. She is enjoying herself.

And she looked absolutely lovely.

Sat, 16 Dec 2006 07:47:13 GMT

baby boomers + open bar = hilarious.

Tue, 21 Nov 2006 07:20:10 GMT

more songs. i'm on a roll.

one. two. three.

for those who grew up in the nineties. i recommend song two. Power Ranger theme (sans-prozac mix).

Sun, 22 Oct 2006 08:59:32 GMT

and pictures that are long over due.

hula 1.

hula 2.

hula 3.

strangely, this was for midautumn festival, and not halloween. i don't know why. and honestly, i wasn't the worst one there.

Sun, 22 Oct 2006 08:46:39 GMT

new song.

this is to you, J.

Sun, 01 Oct 2006 23:53:31 GMT

Last night was about two girls. One that has been a continual support to me, the other, has just entered my life.

The night began with K. Picking her up from her house, in an area I vowed would never return to just three, four months ago, I rang the doorbell to unit C of a series of cookie-cutter Mediterranean styled condominiums. The street number was 365. I have come full circle. The condominium was set above a hill, on top of a long flight of stairs, over looking a strip mall headlined by a certain Chinese restaurant with indecipherable English names.

As she rushed into the garage, she told me that she would be out in just a second. As we were ready do leave, I kicked over the small placard to the god of fortune in front of her house. She giggled, “Oh my god, isn’t that really bad luck?”

“Yea, I think so,” I cursed under my breath. After straightening the placard, I offered a small prayer and apology.

This date is off to a great start.

After being late for my original reservation due to the lack of parking, she took me to a quaint Indian restaurant tucked away off on a side street in Old Town. The awkwardness of a first date, where two people attempt to establish and feel for each other’s limits, was mercifully short, and soon we were talking like old friends over a glass of Italian wine. She cried over the spiciness of the appetizer. I winced as the door to the restroom caught me as it rebounded from its spring.

We were already an hour behind my original itinerary as we sat down to eat, and we would only fall behind further as we ate. As I caught up on missed calls setting the check as she went to the bathroom, I realized that the concert we were going to attend started an hour ago. With the chili sting still on our lips and the warmth in our bowels, we started the drive down to Club Soho.

A few u-turns later, and many navigation tips from K (she works in that area), we arrived to fabulous Taiwanese hip-hop and not so fabulous crowd. As rhythm flowed from the stage and drowning bass from the speakers, K and me sat on a abandoned bar stage right of the artists. As we mercifully mocked the crowd, I scanned the crowd for J, whom I was supposed to go with, but unfortunately had to abandon in favor of K. There were intermittent communication between us at the club, but we just cannot seem to find each other.

I took K home a few hours later, in a car ride filled with conversations regarding illicit drugs, vibrators, and other topics usually not present between strangers. There was a birthday party back home, but I was no longer in the mood for rambunctious drinking. I call up J, to tell her about my date, of which she was excited for my sake when she found out.

She doesn’t pick up.

Typical.

I get home, and see her online.

“Baby,” I said to her, “K is awesome.”

“Good for you,” she answered. “We went looking for you. Thanks for leaving me alone.” They must have seen the message after I retreated to the empty bar.

After while, she said, “Sometimes, I start to think that I don’t know you.”

“I’m surprised that we are as close as we are,” I answered, “we think alike, but our actions are different.”

“You have been inconsiderate, but it’s okay.”

“I know,” I paused. “When you have time, I want to tell you all about her.”

“When I feel like I know you,” J said, “then I’ll have time.”

At that point, it was 3 am, and the two milk teas I had at Garden Café are finally kicking in. Almost Famous is playing in my DVD player, and I sat on my couch fingering my guitar. Nothing came. Who knew that a night that started with such fanfare could end next morning in such great pitfalls.

I was elated and saddened at the same time. I remember, from my childhood, that those kind of days are called “rainbow days.”

Rainbow days. How appropriate.

Last night was about two girls. One I wish to know better, and the other, I have disappointed.

Thu, 21 Sep 2006 23:49:40 GMT

join the revolution.

museumspotting.

i disgraced david duchovny's desk. and became e-famous. i know you want to be e-famous too!

Thu, 21 Sep 2006 03:16:39 GMT

I am not a person for celebrations. Fortunately, my friends understand that, and I was spared the awkward moment where I yell “get the fuck out of my house!” when the well-wishers throw their enthusiastic “surprise!” at me.

I am also not a person for clubbing. Unfortunately—I suppose this time, it’s actually quite fortunate that I went—Franklin’s birthday dinner, which i was conned into going moments before it was to take place, is followed by a trip to the infamous Paris Hilton hang out, Garden of Eden. I had no way out of it because I carpooled with him. Hey, I’ll do what I can for the environment, even if he drives a Mercedes SUV.

Twenty-dollar cover charge. Check. Six-dollar shots of Patron. Double check. Go-go dancers posing with Vietnamese rice picker hats hawking imported beer. Check. This is definitely setting up to be a great night. Not to mention the scotch on the rocks before dinner because good ol’ Frank and his hyper-punctuality gave us a 2-hour wait before dinner, even with L.A. traffic slowing us down.

The door opens. Sweat drenched bodies moving to the constant bass and four-on-the-floor condensates on the floor into puddles of cheap perfume and pheromone. The gyrating bodies, the flashing lights, the intoxicating crowds over take my senses. I decided to retreat to the balcony for a smoke, while Frank is getting my first drink.

My first drink at the club, that is.

As I was thinking about moving toward the balcony, K, a friend, twice removed, read my mind. She is this petite girl with a bob and knee-high combat boots. Nothing says, “I’m awesome” like knee-high combat boots. She is a teacher in K-town, one of the worst neighborhoods in L.A., and rules her 7th grade students with an iron fist. I assume those boots were standard issue in that area.

At the end of the night, I came away kicking my self in the ass. I did not get her number. I had to talk to a friend’s mom in perfect lucidity and reassurance because she was completely trashed and cannot hold a conversation to save her life. The car ride home consisted of said friend, struggling to stop her self from giggling, rubbing my head, and fondling my hair.

“Your hair is so soft!”

“Why thank you. Now, could you stop it?”

She was hard at thought for a second while suppressing a laugh, “but… It’s your hair! So soft!”

She never stopped. And heartburn from a Hodori run (oh the UCLA memories!) didn’t help either.

This marked the end of the weekend, but then Monday came around, and it was good. As the country is mourning the fall of the twin towers, I received calls and messages from friends in other time zones with well wishes.

I felt better already. Only if they weren’t so far away from the center of the universe, me.

Nevertheless, I was about to feel even better because AFI was in town, and they are ready to rock my world.

From matching white outfits, to the singer and the guitarist’s flamboyant theatrics, I have only one word to describe them: Amazing. There was one down side to the amazing show, however. The crowd seems to be a gathering of boys and girl that only shops at Hot Topic. As much as I enjoyed being rocked senseless, I still died a little when saw the myspace whores flash mob the gate.

The only thing missing from that night was beer. What is a rock concert with out alcohol? I had to make do with 3-dollar cokes and something called “Zot Dogs.” Luckily, Drew and I were able to remedy that problem by driving—in his time machine of a Honda Civic from the early 80’s in mint condition—to a yakitoria for beer and chicken entrails on a stick.

Two weeks later, I finally tracked down K’s number, which I would have gotten if not for the treacherously designed Garden of Eden, and I called.

“K? This is Tim, we met a few weeks ago at Franklin’s Party?”

Pause. Oh no, I thought. I’m not a stalker!

“Um… You actually called me at a bad time, I’m on my way to my piano lesson.”

I was ready for every excuse but that one. I was even ready for that ridiculous “I’m washing my hair” excuse. But piano lesson? I was at a loss for words.

She finally broke the silence and my dumbfounded guttural noises.

“I’ll call you back after my lesson, around 8 or nine?”

Piano lessons and combat boots? I think I’m in love.

漆

Thu, 07 Sep 2006 02:35:45 GMT

「我不會回來這裡了。」

聽到這些字，凌全身的肌肉不由自主的僵硬起來。她知道現在只要微笑，接著一聲誠懇的「你什麼時候走？」或是「什麼時候決定的？」就是最正確的反應，可是她做不到。她慢慢的把嘴角往上移動，把空氣從肺經由聲帶擠壓出來，就像以前做過的，就像以前在鏡子前練習過的。從很久以前，她對自己最自豪的優點就是不論世事有多麼的堅坎，不管內心裡有多麼的矛盾，別人絕對看不出她的掙扎。當同事篡位奪去應當是她的升遷，她也是甜甜的笑，説了聲恭喜，握了同事的手。在友人的婚禮上，就算她多不想到場、多麼忌妒，就算她多想在家裡倒杯好酒、念本好書，她仍然機械般的伸出右手，緊緊的握住新娘的手，左手輕放在相纏的手指上，燦爛的祝福那對新人。這是她還是青澀的社會人時慢慢磨練出來的擬態。笑容可以帶過一切，不管是真是假，只要笑，什麼事情都可以淺淺的帶過。

可是這次她做不到。

她只能僵硬的笑；她只能釋放出一口氣，一口乍聽之下會認為是錯聽的嘆氣。而她自己聽起來卻像是一種大氣的延續，或者是一篇包含著解脫以及厭棄的喃喃耳語。

璇大聲的倒砸下曾裝滿龍舌蘭酒的一口杯，咬了一口蘭姆。調酒師喵了璇一眼，老練的又上了一杯。

他不想看她，他也不敢看她。璇能想像凌現在的樣子：尷尬的笑容、堅硬的動作以及微抖的手腕。他抽出一根Gitanes走向陽台。

她勉強從聲帶裡強行擠出淺淺的一句話，「你回來就只跟我說這個？」

「嗯，就這樣。」璇停下了他的步伐，轉過身。

「那，我們之間並沒有話好說。」凌的聲音再度披上原有的沉著姿態，一種絕不妥協的保護色。

「我想也是。」璇回到他本來的位子，把弄著剛上的龍舌蘭酒。琥珀色的液體在一口杯中搖盪，有時映著璇冷淡的視線，有時映著凌渾濁的笑容。調酒師擦著高腳杯，從眼角看著凌，又看著璇。他猜想著這兩位客人以前的關係一定是戀人，要不然就是工作伴侶。他放下手上的杯子，拿起另一個啤酒杯反射性的開始擦。不，他們以前一定是戀人。突然，他想到這兩位客人好像在吵架。幹，他在心裡罵了一聲，今晚的小費一定會是他媽的少。

凌突然瞪著調酒師。他發現後，不由自主低下他的眼神，像個做錯事的小孩。凌抽走璇手上的菸，走到陽台攀扶在過氣的欄杆上。點起了菸。

嚓。煙草接著燃燒。菸灰像雪般的灑落在地面。

啪。龍舌蘭囫圇入肚。一口杯不雅的被倒扣在吧檯上。

璇打開菸盒，發現凌拿走了他最後一根菸。雖然他交際時會請別人抽菸，但每包的最後一根總是他自己享受。

「我欠…」他稍微停頓了一下，才豁然糾正自己的用詞。「我們欠你多少錢？」他並不習慣用「我們」這兩個字。璇從很久以前就再也不用，也沒有必要用，「我們」這個複數的代名詞。

「一百四十六塊。」

璇抽出兩張鈔票接著往陽台走去。

「不用找了。」

陽台的玻璃門外，凌的剪影被星光氾濫的黑夜襯托著，顯出一種與這瀰漫著未知數的瞬間格格不入的優雅。這姿態在璇眼裡，在這個早已剝奪去他的存在感的陌生城市裡，是最深情的海市蜃樓、最感動的幻影。

「這是你最後一根菸？」

「嗯。」凌把菸遞給他。璇很順手的接過那支菸。

「對不起，我不知道那是你最後一支。」

「嗯，沒關係。」煙從璇單薄的嘴唇牽出一絲綢緞般的遺忘。「我自己差點也忘了。」

「你…什麼時候走？」

「再過幾天吧。」璇把菸碾熄。「有還剩蠻多事情要處理。」

「嗯。」

「我會想你。」

兩個人沈默了很久，調酒師在空蕩的吧台後默默的擦著酒杯，不時抬頭往璇與凌看。陽台的玻璃門隔離著兩個世界，而調酒師卻被隔離在斯提克斯河的另一邊。

「嗯，」凌打破了沈靜。「我知道。」

Sun, 27 Aug 2006 05:50:50 GMT

new songs.

a triple header this time.

Sun, 02 Jul 2006 23:05:44 GMT

It's two a.m., and I cannot fall asleep for the life of me.

I turn on the stereo. Beethoven's "Kreutzer" violin sonata fills the empty space with glorious arpeggios and sonorous chords. I light a Gitanes, and in the ash and smoke, a figure appears. I take another drag.

"Are you happy?" I asked. The apparition flickered, and then disappeared, leaving me with my own harrowing question, "are you happy?"

I lie down on the couch, snuffing the spent cigarette in the ash tray. The question echoed even as the first movement's adagio ended and in an act of sleight, transitioned into the andante. It seems happiness is a luxury I can't afford. But I am not alone in this quagmire. Last Saturday before we went bowling, I filled Chris in about my life, while Drew hammered away on Guitar Hero. After the third gin and tonic, we started to talk about our parents, and how parental archetypes shape one's view on relationship. We were one and the same.

Then I realized that based on my parent's archetype, I am fucked.

That epiphany gave me the strength to bowl the greatest game in my life, drunk or sober: I broke fifty.

Three-fifteen. I have work in 3 hours. I close my eyes, and the apparition returned to me. "You made me human," I said, "you taught me what it means to be lonely."

I open my eyes. It would seem that the same darkness resided there as well. The Finale is nearing its cadence, and so is the night. I stumble into the bedroom, collapse on the bed with my eyes still open.

It's been a month since I threw everything away. It's been a month of insomnia and dreams: terrifying dreams of the Elysian Fields, in which all my hopes come true. Then I awake, drenched in cold sweat and reaching for a cigarette.

The Kreutzer is on its third or fourth repeat. The sun rises, and I have yet gone to bed.

Sat, 24 Jun 2006 19:11:34 GMT

check it. tim hsu & min-hsu makes an atm run.

Tue, 20 Jun 2006 04:27:18 GMT

Cigarettes, alcohol and music would be the best way to summarize this past weekend. Whether at my apartment, or at a friend's house, I can be seen out on the patio—or balcony, if I was at an apartment—a drink in hand, and a lit cigarette in the other.

Conversations in the smoker's corner is always lively, or does it seems so because of the exorbitant alcohol consumed I can no longer tell. On Saturday, we were nostalgic for the olden days, or more specifically, the Clinton days. We were discussing at length the merits of Clinton's character, and how he was impeached for banging a Jew on Easter.

"I couldn't care less if he was of shady character," Nathan said, after taking a long pull on his beer, then another long pull on the hookah, "all I'm saying is, if getting a blowjob and banging interns relaxes the man, hence allowing him to make better choices regarding out country—excuse me." He then farted, and continued talking as if nothing has happened. "—then dammit, let the man have his blowjobs!"

"So, what you are proposing is that," I lit one of my Gitanes, "we need some fluffers in the White House. We need presidential fluffers?"

"Yes!" Nathan chugged the rest of his beer. "Have I told you the story about the nurse and my penis?"

"You just did, about an hour ago."

I left there around eleven because the combination of underage girls, cheap beer and cheap cigars were giving me a headache, only to go home and continue drinking. I popped in a DVD from The Reduced Shakespeare Company, and poured my self a scotch on the rocks.

Then I poured my self some wine.

I finally got to bed around 3 A.M., tipsy as hell, with a beanie on. I woke up eight hours later, ready to do it again the next day. In fact, I did. I was out drinking on Sunday, knowing that I have to be at work at seven in the morning.

I got home at 2, and somehow I made it to work on time.

Mon, 22 May 2006 05:03:05 GMT

最近，我一直讓自己保持在一種忙碌的心態以不要去想這幾個星期所發生的事情。酒變成我身體裡少不了的一部份，而我的謬司卻隨著巴可斯遠離我而去。約翰走路是現在最熟悉我的朋友，孟買的藍寶石是我手上最亮麗的裝飾品。腦裡的旋律少了點感動；腦裡的角色也缺乏了點必有的活力，取而代之的回憶是酒肉朋友們在微醺的大氣裡炫耀著最近的戰利品和他們昨晚做愛時進出最近那管馬子幾次。觀眾們努力的隱藏著羨慕的不滿與淫蕩的忌妒讓訴說者更興奮，於是越說越投入卻也不會忘記當有女人在聽的時候裝出些靦腆的笑容才不會被認為是只會玩女人的傢伙。

聽這些故事時，我都會暗暗竊笑。竊笑所有被自己的陰莖牽著走的男人，只為了證明自己男性的雄威以及自己抵不過先天傳宗接代的衝動。在怎麼進化，人不過就是沒有毛的猴子。有在多的科技與文化，也不過就是退去了尾巴，退去了天真與無知。接著我都會不自主的在陽台上抽著苦澀的煙，想要自己靜一下。我唾棄那些人，不過我所恨的卻是我自己。

上次當我陷入低潮時，拯救我的是音樂。這次，我以為連音樂也棄我而去。

在個失眠的夜晚，妹陪著我在匿名的網上聊天。雖然眼睛早已紅腫，皮膚也因為鹹苦的淚水而開始龜裂，我還是假作快樂的打著中文。突然，從我電腦裡出現一首歌是我過年時回台灣朋友介紹我買卻遲遲沒有認真聽的歌，蘇打綠的「是我的海」。心中的傷悲與後悔隨著序曲不諧和的和絃洩洪般的滲透了我。

這些日子過來突然間變成一片空白
這段日子是否沉睡中忽然哭醒過來
太多意外沒想要勉強我感慨
太多困難會讓人害怕看未來

你知道我不想離開你知道我有多無奈
如果時間一直走得那麼快
我怎麼對你依賴

是我的海陽光的下午慢慢感染
當海不藍飛起的夢想都變塵埃

你知道我不想離開你知道我有多無奈
如果時間一直走得那麼快
我怎麼對你依賴淚流出來該怎麼辦

是我的海寂靜的下午默默離開
海也不藍轉過身不能再寵愛
我多想大聲喊我多不想明白
我只想唱來一些溫暖在我們心裡不會腐壞

「妹，」我說，「我哭了。」

她說，「我知道。」

「妹，我好後悔、好傷心。」

「我知道。」

「我很想念大學那時候，夢都會夢到。我剩至還妄想，當我搬出去後，或許我可以把那流失的時光找回來。以前都沒想過要這種家的感覺，這幾件事發生後我卻突然很渴望。妹，我從來沒有過這種幻滅的感覺。迷失、失落。這全世界上我認為是我人生的枝粱在一天內全部被乾乾淨淨的拆除。」

「我早就跟你糾正過了。」

「我很希望能醒來只是一場惡夢。我不知道我身體能撐多久，精神已經不行了。這兩年來，我真的好累，現在疲憊像狂流般的洩出。一直以為我夠堅強，我夠強壯。其實我只是個很懦弱的人。」

她安靜了一下接著說，「有時候我覺得人都該拋開過去。不該等在那裡；不要坐在2046班車裡。」

「希望呢？」

「就算你到的了你要的那一站，你得不回以前的東西。何必這樣無限的困擾自己？」她又停了一下，我彷彿看得到她在嘆氣，在齟嚼以前的痛楚。「我希望你走的出去。」

「我從來沒想過，家的牽絆是這麼的脆弱。」

不到一個月的時光，在上班下班的程序下，過的很快。同樣的時光，在陰霾的阻礙下，一秒都嫌久。上次的低潮，是echo的「我將死去」陪伴我。那時的我充滿了焦慮與脆弱；那時的我，思緒陷入在無盡回歸與恐懼，只找暫時的舒脫。

現在我的身邊有一片海。或許現在它不藍，或許現在它很沈靜。不過我會等它慢慢染色。我會等它回到當時的碧藍。

陸

Thu, 18 May 2006 00:53:33 GMT

—你為什麼要抽菸？

我早就不記得了。我只知道我是在大學時抽了我第一根菸。躲在公寓的廁所裡，開著抽風機，蹲在馬桶上，邊咳嗽邊吸著空虛的味道。我把這件事怪在那時升學、工作、生活的壓力；不過現在想起來，只是我不想面對自己吧。

我記得小時候我恨透了菸味。我父親的味道。甚至還逼過他戒煙，誰想到四年後我也開始抽。陷入的搞不好還比他深。

—你該戒了。

我知道。我也不是沒想過。我也不會冠冕堂皇的說「我隨時都戒的掉」。我自己知道，我早已上癮了。這是我的毒，我的需求；現在我活著的藉口不過是為了抽下一根菸，再下一根菸，再下下一根菸。仔細想想，菸或許變成一種詭異的儀式，像去廟裡祭拜時上的香；我把我早上的第一根菸誠奉給早晨，因為我又可以多活一天，而把我睡前的最後一支獻給
夜晚，期望下一個二十四小時後我能再獻上我的供品。

這想法很笨吧。每次抽菸都會覺得反胃的我，竟然把香菸比喻成生活的儀式。我想，用生命來交換希望，不有種琦麗的浪漫嗎？就像是古時的文明用血淋淋的犧牲來討好他們的眾神。其實，這種動作因該算是毀瀆神明吧，不過那是如果我相信有神的話。

—你不信神？

讓我先點支菸。

味道還是一樣，這麼久了，我還在渴望那味道或許會變好一點。嗯，我不信神。說的貼切一點，我不相信「神愛世人」這句話。如果神真的愛世人的話，我們為什麼會這樣痛苦？每天迷途在痛苦裡找尋歸處，找到時又繼續尋找更好的，直到失去才知道該自滿，卻又無法控制自己所以才會繼續犯同樣的錯。人總是一錯再錯，做對事時只不過是巧合。
神是荒謬的。

你知道尼采嗎？他說「神死了」。而我覺得，神存在著，他只不過是躲起來罷了。耳聽著信民的禱告以及懺悔，他躲著，笑著。笑我們糜爛；笑我們天真。我們不過只是他的他媽的娛樂頻道。如果世界和平了，來場天災大鬧一下。如果世界滿足了，來個自大的獨裁者來侵略鄰國。

我想，對於一個無所不能的神來說，人類真的很有趣。

相對的，這也是一件很可悲的事。

伍

Thu, 18 May 2006 00:47:14 GMT

看著我飛奔，我要你看著我飛奔。我要你讓我鑄練過的內心亢奮起來。讓我澎湃，讓我激動。我要你挑釁我，勾引我，喚醒我體內的野獸，讓我有撕天裂地的自信，讓我相信我的生命，我的存在。

寶貝，我了解，我不能沒有你。我不能沒有你的觸摸，我不能沒有你的肌膚。我想問你，你快樂嗎？當你跨坐在我身上時，你快樂嗎？當你駕馭我的時候，你快樂嗎？

寶貝，我了解，你不能沒有我。你不能沒有我的震動，你不能沒有我的氣味。告訴我吧，讓我傾洩你心中一切的無奈、無謂、荒謬、諷刺。我能解脫你，讓我替你解脫。

點燃你的過去，凍結你的未來，我們活在現實就好。看吧，還有誰比我更瞭解你？有哪個女人比我好？有哪個女人比的上我？看看你勃起已久的陽具，不就是因為我體腔的蠕動與溫度？駕馭我，運用你的五感來品嘗我的思緒，運用你的五感來感受我的亢奮；我知道你想，寶貝，我知道你想。

你只是感到孤單吧，或許，你只是需要少許的依賴。你想證明什麼？這世界早已沒有你的歸處，只有我。我就是你存在的証明，你知道你不能沒有我。

而你對我的意義，比這宇宙還重。寶貝，你讓我存在。寶貝，你給了我生命。讓我償還你。讓我給你活著的意義。

肆

Wed, 10 May 2006 07:51:40 GMT

凌拉開吧檯的高腳椅，「Stoli martini，extra dirty please，兩顆橄欖。」

調酒師仰起眼角，「先生你呢？」

「Whisky on the rocks，double。」

「哪種whisky？我們有Jack ，約翰走—」

「藍標。」

「好的，馬上來。」調酒師嘴唇不自主的抽動了一下，腦裡想著難得還有人會享受這種烈酒。

璇與凌久久沒說話，直到酒上了，他們不過有時啜著酒直視著前方。

「再一杯。」璇打破了沉靜。「這裡能抽菸嗎？」

「對不起，先生，我們這裡禁煙。」調酒師在擠壓薄荷葉，心裡正臭罵著發明 mojito的那個人，頭也沒抬起就回答。他的語氣不由自主的帶點忌妒，讓他想到在家早已熟睡的老婆以及四歲的小孩。他擠壓的節奏突然加快了起來。

「馬上回來。」璇的手輕輕的撫過凌的肩膀，從藍色的菸盒裡抽出一支煙。璇被陽台吞沒後凌把玩著菸盒，聞著那熟悉的味道。

「小姐你也抽菸嗎？」調酒師心想，難得看到這樣的女人，不撘訕真是浪費。

「嗯。」凌吞下最後一口酒。「不過那是很久以前了。Gin and tonic，謝謝。」

他看著凌放下高腳的martini杯，不知是乾燥的回收空氣還是揮發的酒精，或者是凌的美貌與氣質讓他吞了一口口水。「請問你要—」

「Sapphire。」

「馬上來。」

調酒師熟練的工作，不時還耍個花招，心想能不能勾引美女的注意，凌卻只注視著菸盒上的吉普賽女影。Eric Clapton的Layla從音響中放出：

Layla, you've got me on my knees.
Layla, I'm begging, darling please.
Layla, darling won't you ease my worried mind…

「好歌。」璇回到座位，繼續啜著他的酒。

「你的壞習慣還是沒有改。」

「烈酒和煙草是我這一輩子的最愛。」

「妳的最愛不是我嗎？」凌笑著說。

「妳曾經是，」璇把玩著打火機，發出清爽的金屬聲，「不過那是很久以前了。」

「是很久以前了沒錯。那時候，Gitanes是我的最愛。」

「你說謊，」璇把玩著菸盒。「我才是吧。」

凌突然想起以前從漫畫抄到情書裡的句子，鼻頭突然一酸，拿起菸盒往陽台走去。

Worth killing for. Worth dying for. Worth going to hell for.

罪惡城市裡的牧師死前對野人說，「問問你自己，為一個婊子的屍體而死是否值得？」在黑白的分鏡裡，野人開著槍，回答「Worth killing for. Worth dying for. Worth going to hell for。」

殺也值得。死也值得。暴落地獄也值得。

年輕時，人們不都覺得死亡也是一種浪漫嗎？要不然Romeo and Juliet還有梁山伯與祝英台怎麼可能讓每個人的心理產生共鳴？為何現在為了生活就必須放下拋棄一切的決心？或許，活在殺不了也死不了的社會裡也是另一種浪漫吧。

「久違了。我的朋友。」凌對著隔壁辦公室仍開著的電燈說，從她嘴裡釋放出一絲絲的煙和早已棄去的懷舊。

她咳嗽幾聲，「真的久違了，Gitanes 。」
Worth dying for…
「不就是為你嗎？」凌想著。夜晚的風吹著她挽起的長髮，而淚滴著，而菸燃著。

凌回到座位，看見璇面前已排滿了一排shot glass 。

「剛剛碰到老朋友。」

凌舉起杯子，一口見底。「你為什麼要回來？」

璇看了她一眼，「Gin是要享受的。」