another year, another strike

retitled 6.6.11

road yawns.

as each passing year draws itself, i find myself in a never ending cycle of self fulfillment and never going agaisnt the grain with my own endeavors. i am still living in the shadow of my father, as acoholicos anonimos say the first step is realizing the problem. very few people will understand the situation i am in, or rather, many people will understand the situation i am in if i explain it with enough detail and context. I am meshed not so elegantly between two worlds, maybe more, a raw tomato paste choppy kind of mix, not yet liquid, not cooked well. I reside on the side of academia after years of slacking from the age of 13 until the last semester of college where i outperformed and showed my greatest critics that i was not giving up so easily. I found inspiration in the people i worked with, i thank you all, for working with me and allowing me to become the person i chose to be at that time. i remember group meetings, and i remember running shit all day. And the other culture of a vocational service based industry providing care and services to a multitude of different cultures, socioeconomic statuses. It wasn't uncomfortable as it was frustrating working for family in a setting where you are only seen as the offspring of the owner. I was undeniably the youngest of the staff. I was also the least experienced when it came to the industry. I also had the softest hands and softest heart of the staff. business requires you become a noble warrior fighting for the right to take someone else's money, i saw it as an honorable charity, providing these services to certain individuals who could not pay for it. i didnt understand the pricing matrix of products until a couple of months in. i must admit i am a fast learner. faster than most, slower than none. it killed me to work with unProfessionals, immigrant workers who lacked the proper training, and thought they were qualified because theyve made it this far. these people are unteachable. although i hate to use that word to associate with any person. i am sure that these cases have occurred often within a corporate setting numerous times during our existence. egos and toes are stepped on. and i am left with faults

a year in review.

this was the year of the car, my car, which i am proud to say i have logged 30k on that babe and will continue to push its limits until the engine blows. 2010 if i can recall, I went to philadelphia about a year ago and it was my first adult experience in atlantic city. i went to las vegas, also my first adult experience. mind you fools i wasnt out getting hookers and gambling away my savings. i went to montreal, where emil, my brother and i wreaked havoc among the locals. i got to see the grand canyon.

an excerpt of montreal written by wilson dang.

Saturday May 15th 3:00 am (Eastern Time)
the story starts out like any story, there’s a beginning and an end
but unlike most stories, there is no life lessons in mine, there are
no emotions but only humor. As a young upstanding student, studying
the language of French for the last 4 months, I decided to go to
Montreal to touch up on my French speaking abilities along with
attaining a little bit of culture and at the same time going out to
meet some young lovely ladies. But the problem is I only had a
hundred dollars to spend
The Game: Montreal. One night and one night only
Budget: 100
Players: My brother, his ethnic friend Emil, and Myself

Its 3:00 and I have just woken up from a drunken slumber from the
night before, and once 4 o'clock hit, we were right out the door to a
small town called Williston which is humorous since this town's name
is my brothers and my name combined into one magical town where Emil
works. Once again this is not a story of wisdom and does not contain
any lessons in life. Like most Greek tragedy's there is a hero of the
story which I would consider myself, with a tragic flaw my inability
to not drink aggressively when there is nothing going on in my life.
The ride there was full of bullshit and shittalking since we’re all
fucking Bostonians who talk fast and throw shit back at each other
unlike some of you who just get butthurt and think your ass is
bleeding when I fucking rip on you. We got to the city around 11, I
wake the fuck up while my brother Winston and Emil were talking to the
some fucking tourist lady looking for a hotel while she suggested they
both go to the gay district (le village) which I found very humorous
and comical. So we roll up on this sketch hotel, not really it was the
holiday in but the downfall was that it was in the middle of china
town so I could feel at home but I was uneasy since if I were to
contract a food virus in Canada, it would be there. So we roll up
hauling ass down the streets of Montreal glazing at the fine pieces of
pussy that are walking around at each street corner. And the hotels on
the right, my brother, the asshole American that he jacks up the E
break and we just fucking screech out in front of the hotel with his
tires just smoking, Emil and him get the fuck out and make me wait
outside. Looking like the fucking jackass American I am and not
wanting to move the car, I just outside, leaned against the car and
looked fucking tough as nails grilling down the door man so he would
be too scared to tell me to move. And let me tell you something… Being
a Jackass American shit head is legit. Hell the French faggots in
Montreal hate Americans, I didn’t get it and still don’t, but from
amount of asshole vibes I threw out there during my one night, I’ll
allow them to hate Americans. So we walked around and scoped out the
fucking pussy for like 2 hours then we went to eat, I got some black
labels and had the shittiest meal of my life, we were planning on
ditching but there ain’t no escape routes, we tried to puke but I
didn’t think that was gonna work, so we just paid our huge bill of 70
bucks for 3 dudes, so I was down to 30 now since you know, Canadian
money is paper money. But no, it’s worth more than the US Dollar.
FUNNY RIGHT??? So as buzzed and pissed that I am, I’m still fucking
looking for adventure and some brews but it was only like 2ish which
was fucking horse shit since the hotel bar wasn’t even open yet, but
on my way back I think I fell in love with an Asian girl. This girl
was amazing, she was the hottest Asian slam piece I have ever seen
before, her tits were just seeping out of her top and my jaw dropped,
while we rode up in the elevator she fucking hid her tits from me! The
fuck right? She knew she wanted to get slammed in a hotel room while
she was on vacation with her family, shit. Whatever, So I’m pissed run
down to the lobby and ask them where the fuck the liquor store was cuz
I’m losing my buzz, wait what? They stop serving liquor at 5:30 on a
fucking Saturday? What the FUCK AMERICA JUNIOR. I bust over since I
have like 2 minutes till closing, shit fuck. Done. I didn’t make it so
I went to fucking gas station, picked up 2 six packs of Heinekens for
fucking 30 bucks, fucking 30 bucks. FUCK THAT I’m pissed at the
French. Whatever, I’m out of money and its w/e by bro has a shit ton
of it. I bring the beer back, we each slam 4 beers in like 10 minutes
and then hit the casino. Get there in like 20 minutes, fucking pretty
buzzed and we just roll up, 25 dolla minimums for black jack, shit
that’s my game, and Ulises you are gonna love this, there was a table
for “war” the fucking stupid game that you played when you were a kid
and me and ulises played for shots, So I’m like yea I almost died
playing with ulises what's the worst that can happen, my bro gives me
a hundo to play, somehow Fortuna the goddess of luck from fucking
Rome, and Tyche the Greek goddess of luck knew what was gonna happen
and flew all the way over from their respective homes into Montréal to
guide me in the winning of the monies, knowing Hermes, he was already
there. So I sat down played war, won some money, got fucking rowdy and
made a huge ruckus since I was fucking legally allowed to be there,
fucking yelling at assholes fucking me over by playing two hands,
bitching at the dealer when I lost swearing and cursing like there’s
no tomorrow. Just got Rowdy as shit, what’s gay in Canada is that you
can’t drink while playing. So I’m over here on the war table with my
brother winning mad money while Emil is fucking some dude over by
fucking up the cards and making him lose a grand in one hand. You guys
will understand that when yall are older. So I’m over here making
fucking bank, like it’s only been like a half an hour and I’m up
fuckin 400 dollas, But the hermes and the slampieces of luck had to
peace out on me so I lost about 200 giving me a net total of 200, not
fucking bad at all. So we go the bar and pound a shot of whiskey,
fucking 8 bucks a pop, no problem, this ones on me bros. Then we ask
the bartender “Mademoiselle, can you give us 3 glasses of your finest
lager in the house please?” so we get the beers wolf them down, I go
off to get some more get a shot kill that and come back with the
beers, so we are just sitting there talking about how bad the casino
was when these two old Vietnamese dudes roll up, they were obviously
gay but I was hammered and my bro wanted to know where a good
Vietnamese restaurant was so we don’t eat shit like last time, so this
doode was a fucking queerosexual and My bro Winston didn’t see it so
me and Emil were just talking in code language aka “the fackin Bauston
accent” and it worked, so we decide to sweet talk this fucker and it
works he buys us all rounds. Then we bullshit him a little bit, my bro
was talking to the other dude and he turns to me and Emil and pretends
to tie up and slapping his arm with two fingers then pulls out an air
syringe then puts a finger over one nostril and snorts the air,
basically asking us if we were down to do some fucking drugs. Fucking
legit, we were like no no no, so yea gay time
was eventually over, we tried to leave, and before we leave the bar we went and
bought one more shot while trying to get the dudes tab since we all
won a shit ton of money. We get three jager bombs and the dude comes
out, knowing Vietnamese hospitality, he was pissed that we were
drinking and it wasn’t on his tab, so w/e he makes us put all our shit
on his tab and orders us 3 more shots, we wolf them down, the other
shots come out and we wolf those down,
so basically 6 shots, 3 beers on him, a jager bomb there was ten
bucks, so he picked up a tab over 80 dollars cuz he’s a straight up
queerosexual. Then we head out, first hookah bar, shit was gay so we
left, second TITTY bar, this dude in the front promised me 20 girls
lined up. When we got in there were only 4 being cycled through the
stage dances. This shit is legit, you sit like a foot away from the
strippers and you don’t need to tip them. Unless you wanna throw
dollar coins at them and possibly chip their tooth, we are just
fucking Crushing Molsons (Canada’s beer) and acting like asshole shit
head Americans and jeez it was amazing. And in between rounds of
beers I would be wolfing down 2 tequila shots a piece. The TITTY bars
here are full contact (shit you can even push them down the stairs),
and we saw one girl eat another girls fucking pussy out and then she
licked her grundel. Fucking LEGIT. We are all fucking faded as shit,
we leave, I fucking cuss out the door man for fucking lying to me, at
this point I’ve had over 20 units of alcohol. So we’re fucked up and
we decide to talk back, fucking pissing everywhere knocking shit over
and just trashing the city (We as in Me) while my bro and Emil are
just watching. They fucking Yack on the side of the road, they bust up
to the hotel but I’m still thinking about the girl with the tits
seeping out. I fucking roll up the lobby and I’m pissed cuz now the
hotel bar is closed so I roll over to some fucking shitty restaurant
and tell him to serve me like 3 beers, and he was like “how bout just
one at a time” yea nigger I’ll take that shit. Slam beers at a table
by myself just talking shit to the everyone who looks at me funny, at
this point I was real close to blacking out but with my last ounce of
strength I pound some tea and I’m kinda back in the game. They gimme
the bill, I pay it, planned on leaving but decided to have one more
beer. They whip that shit out, I slam a shit ton of money on the table
and get the fuck out with the beer, and somehow make it back to the
hotel room. The Morning was awful and I was sad that I didn’t get the
pretty girl with the tits seeping and just sagging out of her dress, I
wish she worked at the titty bar so she could just dump them out onto
my face
That is my story and it was the best shit ever, only if I had received
a dutch rudder

Fin

my trip to texas.

it all started as a joke. a dream, an ambition that I would drive to texas one day to visit my brother. things like these always happen when you least expect them. my brother is home for winter break from school. i constantly pepper him with inquiries of his purchased plane ticket, when he'll be back in boston, to spend some time with him. we fight often similar to all sibling relationships that have ever existed. he knows me like no one else will ever know me and i him. we reciprocate each other in the same model of the united states' checks and balances. we check each other and evaluate silently the actions and communicate the questions of character that have arisen over our time apart. we bicker like a married couple without the constant dark clouds. a brief storm that eventually blows gently away like a cruise ship leaving to a Caribbean island. the occupants slowly waving to the ones who drove them to the departure dock and to the hundreds of unknown new friends they have made due to a simple gesture of movement solely from the shoulder on.

our journey came to fruition of a simple complaint, as all things are gained this way. we complain and find our presnt situations unsatisfactory in comparison to those we share relationships with. we compare our experiences and value that material things bring us. we question and search for new alternatives that will make our lives have more value or brings our state of consciousness to a balancing act of ease and the limbo of these thoughts coming to fruition again, snowballing the chain of events that occur with each sequential complaint. an observation of how things should be better, a simple, unquestionable complaint.

he had complained of the difficulty of getting to his school from his house. this wasn't any oridinary complaint but one with merit. The constant fear of being run over by a full bred texan in his Ford F350. the seemingly countless dogs that love to chase people on bicycles. and the fact the life his was living was not his own. the watch he owned belong to no one but the people he depended on to get to an 800hr class. i pity the fool. i actually did emphasize. cooicidentally but far from a marriage of conveineice, the shop or rather my pops had recently acquired a car. 2006 toyota corona. corolla as they call it now a days. he bestowed this car and its keys to possession of my brother due to a simple complain and some heart to hearts he and my father had while he was home. the dreams of a sick 80s convertible were gone, or the riced out honda civic standard transmission he would buy with some money saved up. there was this sick car i would have traded my first born son for in my thirties that he spotted out on craigslist. a 1986 regal baby blue toyota mr2 targa top. all he had to do was replace the head gsket. being diligent and optimistic, i assured of mutual destruction. i assured him we could absolutley do it but only if the work flow of the shop was standstill and we had all the time inthe world. we would be rebuilding the entire engine from engine block upwards. forget that mess. so there we were, starting the new year. my dad had signed the papers to get this car on the road. we cleaned it. checked the tire pressure. changed the oil. two new tires. new brakes.

our journey was now a painting that we could see but not fully relive.

my train ride back.