Stories!!!

Posted in Personal on October 29th, 2003 by byronkho

It’s easiest to just talk about what happened as a timeline, naturally. And to read over that, it’s actually kinda hard too – because I talked with her, and talked with him, and saw that, and saw this – what did I really think about it? Otherwise it’s dry and empty. So, there has to be more descriptors I guess. It’s not just a planner weblog, it’s a fill-in-the-blank novel diary thingamajig that will go down in history as the collective ramblings of Byron M. Kho, esquire. Nope, not esquire with a capital E, because no lawyer here. Wait, that would also cover little e esquire too. Damn.

Randi told me how she went over to Alanna’s place (for dinner, I’m presuming, with Molly too) and they were going over things. Apparently, Alanna keeps a lot of stuff, and she had an old note of mine, asking her to wake me up on some exam day or something. It’s “classic Byron”, or so I’ve been told. It’s kind of embarrassing, but kind of endearing. At least all of them seem to think so. Randi shocked me too: she went and ran a half marathon around Center City last weekend. She did! 13 miles! 7.5 minutes a mile! She’s cute when she gets all excited, and she totally was – she said she felt so good about it, she was gonna do it again, real soon. She did, however, express misgivings over running an actual marathon. I asked why, and she told me it was too much of a mental challenge, and I can’t run that much, etc. I told her yes, and the psychological rewards are much greater… then she threw another back at me. Why don’t you run a double marathon? I said..um, no. At least not now, when I can’t throw 4 hours away for practice a day, when all I will do is come home tired, sweaty and crippled. Crippled, you ask? At this point, yes, since running has been last on the list for the past month. I am sure I am out of shape now.

Sigh, JMal. I saw her over at PSA on Thursday. I miss her a lot. She’s going to Puerto Rico for Fall Break, and leaving next semester for London. And I’m still here, waiting. You know, I think a visit tomorrow is in the works.

Sourabh tells all these weird stories all the time. They’re funny – just weird. I’m sure he thinks the same of all my stories. But he has all these funny stalker people, and to whom he’s too nice, and the whole time he complains about their weirdness, he still talks with them like nothing happened and they’re great, so was there stalking? And everything is definitely “weird”. Which includes me (I already knew that one). He likes the AC on all the time, even when he complains it’s cold outside. And he always takes naps. But he’s definitely a funny kid, just more open with his mouth than most people. Which is good; he should go into public relations or marketing, he’d shine. Biochem job? Pshaw!

Aparna is just crazy. Now who got the hooch?

Jenny Heck, thanks for the great party. And all those people! And private stocks! Thank god for you (and Poe coming over, and Ed, and your crazy drunk friend, and all those other things like the Nu and scandals and affairs and gossip and still being embroiled in the midst), I might have left early from that shindig just because I could.

Music, Fehder.

Posted in Personal on October 25th, 2003 by byronkho

I do realize that Mates of State’s music all sounds the same. But who cares? Whoever can combine organs, drums and two bad voices that sound good together deserves to be played. Over and over and over again. “We don’t need to drive….hang us out to dry!” The Kissaway is an awesome song.

I just made a Kill Bill (-style) cd. That movie – is just fucking great. The music is sooo good too. Nancy Sinatra doing Bang Bang just made me wanna study, just so I could listen to the song. It’s kind of weird to play otherwise. And then Lucy Liu doing, “I will collect your fucking head.” Proceeding right into some Los Lobos to even out the flava. Even a great clip of Juliette Lewis. “I want you to eat my pussy….right now.” And then we got the Green Hornet, some Japanese cheesy crap, the Duel music, some RZA mix and some good times.

Well, I should do at least some shoutouts – here’s to Xanga (which I should really post to, but here’s good enough, I say)! It’s all good – here’s to Red All Over and Cielolibre, here’s to Rob and Molly and all those I did read this summer. It kept me going.

I take some words for granted. Like motherfucker. It’s such a classy word. Hurt yourself? “Aw, motherfucker son of a bitch!” Life sucks? “Motherfucking hell… why me?” Really angry? “Motherfucker! I’se gon’ kill you!” Conversation piece? “So yo, last night was motherfuckin’ awesome!” Mainly because I don’t use it much any more, but seeing it used is just so great. Tracy (man, she’s so crazy, she must be blazed full time!) saying motherfucker in that, “guys, you HAVE to put back the fucking tags!” voice. And then Assad saying “muuutherfuck” (and then Vic) after a particularly good pass. Speaking of Assad and Tracy – Thursday night was SO motherfuckin’ awesome (there we go, got it in there!). God. Intense was the word. Ya gotta give it to the Infamous three, they really know how to throw a “dinner” party. Sonalie made some cookies too, they were so awesome. And Megan should SO not be a vegetarian. What’s with nurses and vegetarianism? I brought in some vodka and amaretto reinforcements. After 3 hours, I was floating on a cloud. I mean, really floating. By the time we got to Charades, I was too fucking high to stand up and act shit out.

Mmm. Death Cab for Cutie.

I just beat No One Lives Forever yesterday, Took me a while. I missed out on the whole day. Stupid video games. And IM. And phone. It was midnight before I got outside. How fucked up is that? Oh, and I got a call from Lisa Rhoades. But I was still a little hazy (seriously, I could still smell the quality stuff on me) and was like, call back in a half hour. Knowing her, she probably got so trashed and drunk and is still lying in the backyard of some frat house. If you can read this, pretend you didn’t. Thanks.

It’s funny that it’s Parent’s Weekend. I told my parents not to come this weekend. They said OK. It’s also Diwali. I told my parents not to come for Diwali. They said OK. But then they said – um, I kinda need to do some shopping at… Let me guess. Franklin Mills, Italian Market, King of Prussia. How’d you know? Aw, you know your parents so well. OK, we’re coming up. But not this weekend.

Do I want to play tonight for FamPAN? No, not really. I want to get real drunk and storm the stage. But then, Lauren Levy would kick my ass. Not only that, she would kick my ass while singing really great opera-style about it, and loud enough so the entire world could hear about it. And then Molly would go ballistic on me. And then… that would so not be cool. The stage storming. For goodness knows, I do the other often enough that it has to be cool by now.

Where is la petite Fehder? Am I supposed to wait for her to show up? But Cece is here, so it’s OK, I guess. Funny story. So Lizz broke her leg, right? And we’re talking about how it’s healing. “Ooh, Lizz’s first steps,” I say. And then she goes “yeah, right! Baby can walk!”. Then – “my brother is such a piece of shit. He wanted to have the boots bronzed.” I think I died. That was hilarious!! Uh oh, gotta go.

so there was this one time.

Posted in Personal on October 24th, 2003 by byronkho

i was meaning to say that it’s really really easy to get it all wrong, once you start with the wrong idea. too bad i always start with the wrong idea. you build on it, and build on it, and then you end up having to trash it all and start over again when it’s actually a teensy bit different from what i thought it was.

meaning to say?

so there was this one time, walking down locust walk. i see her. i’m like, screw this, she hates me now. after walking out with not that good of an explanation freshman year? yeah. i got it built up to the point where i was like, she’s after me with a machete. no, i’m not gonna look at her, because she’ll spit at me, and why was i such a jerk, etc, etc. but i peek, and she’s smiling. damn!
so i’m talking with lizz…about being in band. now, it is still kind of a good thing to be playing music and all, but the band has a high proportion of not so normal. but then i think about it. you play your music, you go home. is that so bad? no.

and then there’s the matter of conciseness. i figure it’s ok to spit out words…whatever you wanted to really say is somewhere in that morass of words. slightly incomprehensible, but it’s all you. that big ball of fluff and crap, it has YOU written all over it. so io write and write, and then i’m like, what the hell have i done? i took a simple thought, or event, or whatever is on my mind, and made it into this gargantuan bigass complaint, whine against the world, why doesn’t somebody shoot…. wait, you can’t shoot the delivery guy. that’s just wrong.

did i tell you i’m into cooking? oh yes. name it, i’ll try and cook it. mostly it works. the other times… well, we won’t talk about that, will we. i can make all kinds of soups now… just have to learn how to prepare the chickens to make natural stock rather than buy all this chicken soup stock that i’ve been buying. thank god for trader joes. i love their one sauce too, the tomato and capers and spices, they all blend in so well and smell so good and… it’s just orgasmic!
yeah, i’m serious.

i wish i got angry more often. i could have some wild times that way. i’d get into all kinds of crazy fights, just like that time at SimSum’s, with that crazy freakiness at the shisha bar, where that stupid ** just wouldn’t shut up, and i ended up just going home rather than push the issue. it didn’t help that i had also smoked a ton of ** before that. i’m sure my aim would have been impaired. well, i came back and said all kinds of crazy ** online to people, and thank god i didn’t call anyone. i swear, i got drunk this one time this summer and almost called my mom (jen’s number was one off my mom’s in my speed dial). well i did, but it rang once and i saw what i was doing and i just said ** no, this ** ain’t right.

so, like, a quarter bottle of rum. brings back some memories.

and poker night at casey’s? casey bought the table… got some puff with assad, then went downstairs to go lose some money with the boys. Cary watched a little while and laughed. goin to sleep. i lost 7 bucks…but considering i was down 10, threw in four, on last call, won a shitload back, was up in the black for a while and then lost some on bad moves until i was down to real Real low, until i found a super super hand and won a bunch back. and then what’s his name next to me bounces a shitty pair that wins the table. great bluff that was. he took home the gold there. casey was up a lot too, and he’s already the lucky one.

Sublime.

Posted in Personal on October 23rd, 2003 by byronkho

So I’m moaning about being bored at work. I think that it’s more of a I-hate-Thursday’s thing. I’m at class all day, I work, and my day lasts from 8 to 8. It sucks, ya know? But then, I can’t complain, because everyone else is getting the shaft too. So I shoot the shit where I can, and then leave the moaning at home. On the shelf, next to my orgo book.

I don’t get angry when my mom smokes pot. No, I don’t. But I don’t get angry when the only good song on the computer at work is What I Got either. Sublime really rocks the house when Charlie’s Angels 2, for the third time, just ain’t cuttin’ it. That reminds me, I gotta download some more of that Neptunes stuff. It’s kinda stupid wasting my time like this. I’m at an open page in my organic chem book, and it’s whispering to me of lost opportunity. For 5 weeks, it says, you’ve let me gather dust, on that shelf, alongside your other dusty books that you never read, and blah blah blah…. you’re sounding like my mother, so it’s time to shut the books.

The pre-meds are getting on my nerves. Yeah, I’m a pre-med. So what? You think I can’t diss my own kind? I hardly hang out with Asians, for goodness sake. I can diss Asians, cuz I’m one of them, just like it’s ok to get chutzpah from an Ashkenazi or the n-word from Marlon. Wayans will do (Bamboooooozled). So back to the pre-meds. Not just pre-meds, but Asian pre-med girls! They’re sharks (granted, they have to be, to survive in a slightly anti-Asian, anti-femme world, but still) and they’re lovin it. And it’s Hollywood-profiled (preview for the Perfect Score…) “Geez, it’s not like I need Harvard. So you’re taking 221? I thought that was so easy. That professor is such a joke, and that stupid TA. I, like, asked him about blah blah blah and it was like, um, lemme check. What do these guys get paid for? Oh yeah, the application. My brother knows some guy at Yale whose sister’s husband is like, in Admissions, and he says all you gotta do is write some junk to them about how you love to help out, but it’s gotta be like, in HUP, and you gotta get what-s his face to sign a letter for you, and I, like, basically raped him yesterday.” Oh, and sometimes they get really drunk and do things at parties. OK, so that wasn’t so offensive. It’s what I’m thinking, and you, bio or BBB major person, are thinking, but it just hurts to hear it out loud. It’s just that arrogant snobby, you can kiss my ass because I’ll be rich look that gets to me. It’s not that I don’t feel the tug. It’s just that I can see it all around.

It’s not all bitter though. Hangin around this town has got me all excited, and I can’t wait till I got some time to do some stuff back downtown again. Dmitri’s was awesome, next time it’s Effie’s. And then clubs, and such. Cheap places, that serve without carding, and are cool. Real cool. Oh, and happy Diwali. You know I’ll be celebrating.

God Save Our Wonderful Days

Posted in Uncategorized on October 22nd, 2003 by byronkho

I thought today was going to be a little different. I think it was – not only were my eyes open at 9 AM, but I was able to get up after another moment’s respite… however, this time, it wasn’t 9:02 AM, but 1:32 PM. An auspicious start to the day, was it not? However, I was not to be deterred. Social constructions, be damned, I told myself. The argument is invalid, the thinking man would argue, that one’s day should be ruined on account of activities and actions taken without conscious consent and effort; furthermore, I was feeling great. Nutella on toast in one hand, my mouse in the other… I sought to reduce the world to a comprehendible miniature version, and with said goal in mind, I proceeded to enter the realm of, not CNN, not History Channel, not Home and Garden TV – no, not any of these – but rather, PBS. Sesame Park, meet college student. Elmo has his own half hour, I learned to make it mine.

In that unkempt state, with sleep filled eyes and wildly waving hair clumps, I felt at peace. Not the peace that my fellow Asian could summon, while practicing his version of the Falun Gong exercises on the roof of Stouffer Hall at 6:30 AM each morning last year. And neither was it the peace of “those who are about to die, salute you”, or “J.P. Morgan would like to offer you a position at….”. That was a settled peace; what I had was unsettling, and in its awesome grandeur of nothingness and inexorable confusion, it was beautiful, like a star waiting to collapse in on itself which in its waiting, was a bulging, red, iridescent mass just visible in the unfathomable depths of the telescope. It went on, for hour after hour, and just so – enough to earn some quality time in the hall of shame. But it wasn’t to last. All good things, we are told, come to an end. And no different for this son of Adam. For I was the chosen; the phone call told me so. “You are needed. Go forth.” I heeded the message, and hearkened unto the sound of the voice.

“Sposalizio! Che bella faccia….” Another skill learned: that of patience, and when it came to pass that I could stand no longer this idle tyranny and gross abuse of this accompanist’s time, it was over, ashes scattered to the winds. Revenge was a dish left untasted. The bitter fruit would not take root, for the call of freedom superseded all the rest, and it was time. Contention, it was said, provides fodder for the lazy devil to spread his voluminous wings – and the story of passions lost, and anger repressed, and love, above all, love… Respite for the psychologically weary, yet truthfully, blossoming with feral energy, in the basement of Houston Hall. Yet, the call still reached even unto there – “go forth, and beat him up.”

Race St., Cherry St., then waltz down Arch into the waiting arms of the Trocadero, and Mates of State, and rocking rhythm, the screeching organ and wailing melody making the peace oh so worthwhile and the love was spreading: the clapping, the stomping, the hooting, the flash of red down the keyboardist’s side, reminiscent of fresh blood and lust and “play around…but you will.” But the band played on, and this guy had to get off the A train and back into the shady dens of the working world, who hid in the shadows of respectability and jobs and respectable actions. Score one more for the candy thief, who crashes her way through motorcycle games and loses air hockey with a winning goal on herself. Score one more for work done; actual work, that kept me going and revving and churning and chomping and chewing and running, until the alarm strikes 2:30 AM and it’s time to go, yet I’m still here. It’s sad, walking through the night. A soft lilting strain of “if you call, I will answer…” and then it’s the reassurance of Indiana Jones and the Raiders of the Lost Ark. It’s lovely, this relaxation. Full circle, it is – for my spot is still warm, at this hour of the morning, Nutella and toast in one hand, and the mouse in the other. God save our wonderful days.

Cassandra Reeves.

Posted in Uncategorized on October 4th, 2003 by byronkho

Friday night. It’s been a busy week, and a busy day…classes as usual this week, work…it’s been pretty good so far. I like working at the video store; it’s so relaxing, and I get to talk to people while I’m there. On Thursday I actually did a shitload of work while I was there! Of course there’s rehearsal as usual; I had a PMAH board meeting in which we discussed all the stuff we hadn’t actually talked about since forever – it was about time. I came home, yeah, and then lived through today, which was at once intense and boring.

So this morning, I have class. I go to eat lunch with Kathy at Kings Court, and she has so much to say! I tell her a bunch of my stories, we have the longest lunch ever, then I drop her off at class. It’s really good knowing that I can share my issues with her (though they are not very much…she was relieved to see I wasn’t one of the very fucked-up people that she keeps close to her without realizing they’re actually really really crazy…hmm, what company are you keeping there?). It was also a benchmark, cuz I pulled my black coat out of the closet, and I think it looks fucking sweet, especially with my black long sleeve shirt. But back to this “sharing issues”…I slowly learn who I can lean on in times of trouble, and it’s relieving to see at one time that you can rely on someone and someone can rely on you. It’s so good to know! Missy came over last night; she stayed a while. I showed her my place and introduced her to the girls next door (and by the way, Thursday night, I hung out with them the entire time, got roaring drunk, and then bothered my roommate while he had to study for an exam). I also gave her a try of my peach schnapps, ginger ale and frozen berry concoction, which is really good. Better though if the ginger ale ain’t flat.

So then, I play some games, then walk down to Old City with Sourabh. I get some Scoop de Ville, and we finally make it to all the galleries for First Friday. Eventually, Julie and Becca join us and we see some more Illegal Art (Disney porn! Other crazy shit!) before taking a crazyass carriage ride. It’s so relaxing, though the guy won’t shut up. He has interesting facts, but I could never just enjoy the ride, because he was talking. I’m too sensitive like that – I had to pretend I was listening and then actually end up listening, though I didn’t really want to. It makes me feel bad (Sourabh says “you always feel bad!”, which is true. I don’t support stealing from the cafeteria bc it continues a vicious cycle; I just say that I feel bad, and then a legacy was born. “You always feel bad!” gets pulled out of the closet.). We had dinner at this pizza place (it has 100,000 wings on the menu, I asked how much it was and the waitress said, “oh Lord.” She didn’t know, and she just laughed, because nobody ever ordered it. Julie, silly ho, didn’t want to take my money for dinner, and so I got a free ride. Now that’s OK to feel bad about. At least it better be! I had to run back to see Cassandra Reeves, who is an AWESOME modern jazz singer. She sang Blues in the Night (Rocks in my bed….Rocks Johnson!), I Remember Sarah, Skylark, a Celia Cruz number (as encore) and several really really cool pieces. She is very involved with the music and moves with the beat. I love her voice though! It’s so rich and velvety and moves all over the place without flatting or missing the notes; she can sing in this off-key while the band plays in another! It works so well, even though it would be hard for me to ever be able to do some of the pitch finding that she has to do. Her band is also really awesome. Especially the pianist dude. Damn. I want to be able to play like him. So that was that though…wait, no, I met Nicole from Band and Penn Music Mentoring. It’s so weird! I know so many people in Band now! It’s ridiculous. I’m suddenly in with the, um, never mind. Haha.