Pocky Central

One of my biggest hobbies has been collecting, watching, and translating Japanese animation. Yes, I know, it’s “anime”. That’s an argument I’ll get into another time.

I should rewind a bit. I have always loved animation in general. From animated drawings to claymation/stop-animation to 3D work, it has always facinated me. I remember growing up on Bugs Bunny cartoons (my favorite “anime” of all time) and Tom and Jerry. Then, one day I got a tape from my mom. It was dubbed in Korean, and it was… different. The animation was smoother, the “story” from what I could tell, was deeper, and the characters were more interesting. Granted, I made a lot of it up in my head, since it was in Korean.

I forget what show it was, exactly, but I do remember thinking, “hey, this is really neat”. It wasn’t until years later that I learned that it was a Japanese cartoon. By then, I had watched several shows off of tapes from a penpal in addition to Robotech, Voltron, and Star Blazers. I was still watching American shows (and still do today), but I well and truly a fan of Japanese animation.

Since then, my tastes have changed quite a bit. I started off as a big comedy and mecha fan. I was big into Gundam (still am, for the most part), Macross and Mospeda, Ranma, and a lot of other shows. I didn’t have much of a taste for the more serious shows and movies.

Then my tastes shifted… towards more dramatic/less slapstick fare, like Maison Ikkoku (yes, a comedy, but one without giant hammers) and “girls” (shoujo - never forget the ‘u’) shows. I started watching a lot of majokko (magical girl) shows from the early eighties, and found them to be a lot more serious than some of the mecha shows I had watched.

These days, I watch a very mixed bag of shows. I’ve enjoyed The Meloncholy of Suzumiya Haruhi, I liked the Gundam Seed series, and found myself laughing out loud at the antics in Pani Poni Dash. I don’t watch as much as I used to, partially because of time, partially because I’ve translated some shows. There’s nothing like doing your hobby as your job to kill your taste for it.

This is hardly all I have to say on anime… I just want to save material for later.

One of the reasons I’m posting to this blog is to make myself write a little something every day. I’ve never really considered myself a writer, but it’s a part of my everyday work. When you translate, you have to at least be a passable writer, because there isn’t always an editor.

I’m already finding myself running out of things to write about. I don’t think that I’m all that interesting, and I think I’ve exhausted all of the stories that I can share. Part of the problem is that I can’t remember some of my own stories.

I’m trying (possibly in vain) to write more than a few lines per post. With luck, it won’t all be crap. I’m thinking of posting little story ideas I have, though I’m mildly afraid that someone might actually want to steal my crappy ideas.

I think I need to get some copyrighting (is that even a word?) done soon. At the very least, I should get my ideas down somewhere, if not here.

More than likely, though, I will run out of ideas and not be able to remember anything funny from my life, and thus be forced to unveil one of my ideas on the world.

And on that day, the world will weep. Or not. Maybe.

I am a collector. I love collecting books, videos, figures, games, and many other things.

If the phrase “Collector’s Edition” is on something, there is a strong chance that I will want it. (Case in point, the World of Warcraft Collector’s Edition)

The people who have been to my home know how much of a collector I am. I have shelves and shelves full of books, DVDs, and other collectables. I am continually buying, selling, and replacing the things in my collection. Sometimes I just give things away, and sometimes I sell them (to friends, on eBay, whatever). But regardless, I’m always running out of room.

Someday it will be the death of me, I’m sure of it.

Every time I tell myself, “Okay, no more of ‘X thing’,” I end up finding that ONE thing I need for my collection. I swear, if I did drugs/smoked/drank, it would be cheaper… because I’d be too drunk/chill/stoned/high to care. (Well, maybe.)

I have gotten better about being a pack rat, thankfully. The sales I mentioned earlier started a few years ago, in order to break myself of the pack rat habit.

However, it ended up just being a way to make room for new things. Despite my best attempts, I’m still a collector.

But at least I have a hobby.

Many people in the world know that I love girls who wear glasses. They are, to me, the most beautiful people in the world. I honestly think that a ‘plain’ girl that is wearing a nice pair of glasses, that match her face’s shape and eye color and such, is more beautiful than a supermodel or the like.

Why, many of my friends have asked, do you like girls in glasses so much?

The answer is both simple and complex.

The simple answer is that I find girls in glasses (meganekko is a slang term for them in Japanese) alluring. Girls in glasses tend to be smart (or at the very least, fairly well read), and to me, intelligence is one of the attractive things in life.

The complex answer is… I’m not sure. I just do. I have dated girls who didn’t wear glasses, and inevitably, there’s always a moment where I ask them to put a pair on… and God help me, they are even more beautiful to me when they wear them.

I am a sick, sick man.

I’ve thought about it long and hard, and have come to the conclusion that while I could and would date a woman who didn’t wear glasses, I would probably be much happier if she did… even if it was just for me.

My love/obsession with girls in glasses is probably worse than this post reveals, but I’ll save that for another time.

(And again, this is post dated… because I’m stupid and didn’t hit the ‘Publish’ button when I finished writing this)

Sleep is one of the few things that human beings cannot live without (with a few exceptions).

Most doctors recommend at least six hours of sleep, preferably eight. I would guess that most people follow this guideline fairly closely.

I get, on average, about six hours of sleep a night during the week. I wake up sleepy and sluggish, but a hot shower and I’m usually okay.

But on the weekends, sleep gets its revenge, and I often end up sleeping ten to twelve hours, unless I have an alarm set for something important.

I hate the fact that I need sleep. I hate that I lose six to eight hours a day that I could use to work, learn, read, or something.

And I hate that when I’m actually in bed, and comfortable, that I don’t want to get up because it feels so good. It makes me feel like a hippocrite.

If I was given the chance to magically change my physiology so that I didn’t need to either sleep, eat, or breathe, I would choose sleep. I rather like eating (as my previous post shows), and breathing has never really been a bother.

But sleep. If I could ditch that, I would. Not that I would never sleep again - I would. Just not as much, and only when I had good reason to.

Besides, I usually don’t feel rested when I wake up from ‘a good night’s sleep’. Just annoyed.

Another post-dated post. I think I’ll do two posts in a row, just to make sure I don’t forget again.

I love to eat. This is not hard to figure out if you’ve ever met me in person - I’m hardly a skinny guy. But it isn’t (just) that I eat tons and tons of food all the time; it’s that I enjoy the flavors and textures of various dishes.

I’d like to think of myself as a gourmand.

Granted, I’m not a food snob. I will and do eat (and enjoy) fast food, just like everyone else. But when I can, I like to enjoy an expensive, high class meal. Admittedly, this doesn’t happen too often.

I like getting dressed up then heading to a nice restaurant in Baltimore or Washington, D.C. to enjoy a fine meal. While I’ll skip the pre- and post- meal wines and liqueurs, I will take my time and enjoy each course to its fullest.

Wait, I hear some of you say. “Don’t you usually eat your meal in 0.4 seconds, Richard?”

Yes, normally I do. Well, it’s more like 0.3 seconds, but who’s counting? But ‘normal’ meals are just to give me the things I need to maintain my ‘alive and breathing’ status.

When I go out to eat like this, this is the sole reason for going out. To spend a couple of hours enjoying a fine meal, chitchatting with the waiter/waitress, and thinking about food. If I’m actually with someone, I’ll chat with them, of course.

I haven’t done this in a long time. I should probably look into what new restaurants have moved into the area.

One of the things I’ve always hated about traveling has been flying. The long lines at security (even before 9/11 it was pretty bad), the cramped conditions in coach, the time spent trapped in a big metal box.

Don’t get me wrong - I like the idea of traveling. I like going places to see new things and ti spend time with friends, old and new.

But I hate flying.

Thankfully, I have the ability to fall asleep at the drop of a hat when I’m on a plane. Even if I’m woken up, I can usually drift back to sleep pretty quickly.

If it weren’t for that, I think I might go crazy when I fly.

Some people say, ‘It’s not the destination, it’s the journey.’

I know what they mean, but when it comes to flying, I’d rather just skip to the destination.

This post is post-dated because:

a) my memory is about as good as… what was I talking about?

b) I wrote most of it last night, then forgot to post it

c) I did mean to finish writing last night, and for some reason, thought I had already posted

d) there is no answer d

e) All of the above

And now, onto the actual post… which is ironically about my bad memory.

–

I have a bad memory. It’s not completely faulty, but I do tend to forget things if I don’t constantly remind myself, or have some other way of keeping track of them. This is the main reason I have a PDA - to keep track of appointments, birthdays, etc.

It’s not just my short term memory, either. I sometimes forget things that I’ve known for a long time, just to remember them at the last second or when it’s too late. This, admittedly, really annoys me. But I’ve gotten used to it, and with the help of my PDA and my friends and family, it’s not crippling or anything.

Onto the more interesting bit of story (which has nothing to do with Saitama, unfortunately):

Once in a great while, I will get in my car, for the express purpose of driving for the fun of it. It’s been a few months since I last did so, but the last time is kind of why I haven’t in a while.

It’s a bright, sunny September afternoon. I’m done with work, and instead of going straight home, I decided to go driving for a bit. No destination, just a purpose - enjoy being in my car.

After an hour or so, I was in Greenbelt, Maryland. Greenbelt is where my old high school is, and where I spent a lot of time hanging out with friends during and after my four years at Eleanor Roosevelt.

The thing is, I don’t remember heading that way from Laurel. If anything, I was heading kind of north-ish when I started my drive. I stopped to get gas when I realized, “Holy crap, I’m in Greenbelt.”

My fun little trip was a complete blank in my mind. Which is annoying, because it was a great day to drive… from what I remember.

My father is one of my heroes.

He moved to the United States over thirty years ago, by himself, to start a new life. Not just for himself, but for his family back in South Korea, too.

He met my mother here in Maryland. That’s all I know. My father is a fairly private man. Thirty years, and I still don’t know much about him.

I know that he likes golf a lot. I know that he cares about his family more than anything else in the world, and that he would willingly destroy anything and everything that might threaten it. I know that he rather enjoys Korean television drama, and historical movies in general (like Tora Tora Tora).

I recently found out that he indeed was in the South Korean army. Up until last year, whenever I asked about it, he would deny it. It took one of my uncles mentioning that he was in the army for him to finally admit it.

Until a few years ago, my father really didn’t smile much. You can ask anyone who has known me for a while that has also met my father. He didn’t really start until I graduated college.

That day, he was smiling constantly. It was actually a little unnerving at first. Then my friend Jason took a picture of me, my mom, and my father together. For that one instant, he wasn’t smiling. We don’t know how he managed it. He just did.

My father has a quiet strength about him. He doesn’t brag, except in joking. He has a definite confidence to him that everyone who meets him can feel.

He is my hero, and I hope to be more like him some day.

–

As a humorous exercise, try replacing ‘Chuck Norris’ with ‘Richard’s dad’ and see how it sounds.

Last night, after the CES was done for the night, my old friend Megazone and I decided to get together for dinner and to catch up with each other. I idly suggested that we go to see the Penn & Teller show after dinner, and Zoner agreed.

After a mildly hectic dinner (the CES pretty much wrecks local travel at 5pm), we managed to get to the P & N theater. We sat and waited for the show to start, listening to the jazzy tunes being played by the Mike Jones Duo.

9 PM rolled around, and the show started. I was excited, because I’m a huge fan of P & T.

Penn starts the show by talking about trust. As an example, he chooses… me.

I get dragged up on stage, and Penn talks about my vision and perceptions. At one point, he takes my glasses, puts them in his front coat pocket, and continues his dialogue. He hands me a 3-ball from a standard billiards set, and asks me to confirm that it’s real. I do, and then he pulls out a cheap-ass ‘magic wand’, which he admits is a wooden dowel that’s been fixed up.

After a quick trick involving a disappearing wand (he slipped it behind his ear, which I didn’t notice because I was looking closely at the ball and couldn’t see anything else, really), he thanks me and says I can go back to my seat. I ask for my glasses back, and he goes to pull them out of his pocket. But they’re gone. I check, and they are indeed gone.

At this point, Penn gets a hammer from backstage and begins to break open a cement box that Teller has been wearing the whole time. After the box has been smashed, the audience can see (I can’t, since I’m blind without my glasses) that Teller is wearing a faceshield… and my glasses underneath them.

I went back to my seat, glasses on my face and a lens wipe (which you can see me holding in the video) that Penn gave me in hand. I was giddy for the rest of the night.
I am very glad that Zoner and I went to go see Penn & Teller.

The proof: two pics and a small (32mb) video available here.