No Reaction! PIE HELL!!

I saw this really hilarious TV show when I was in Japan.

It was an episode of a comedy show called Gaki no Tsukai wa Arahende or something like that. I laughed so hard that I would've puked had I not been too busy laughing, and my entire midsection was cramped and sore for the next day.I thought I would never see that particular episode again.

That thank goodness God created Youtube, as like a long lost love, I am finally reunited that episode. WATCH AT YOUR OWN RISK! (Don't worry, the English subtitles are comprehensible!)

Part 1
Part 2
Part 3

And don't think the gags get old because if you keep watching, you'll see that things get worse and worse for the victim. You'll know what I mean.

You've all been warned!!!

Teed Off

I never really liked golf that much.

They call it a sport, but I define a sport as an activity with a risk of injury due to the athleticism required. In golf, the only risk of injury is getting hit by a ball or an errant golf club, and that risk is pretty much eliminated by hiding behind your golf cart or your caddy. But then again, ESPN and other TV sports networks also call poker a "sport", even though the only possible risk of injury is if your dealer happens to be a ninja and accidentally slices your jugular with a card when dealing out your hand. Screw that. Golf and poker are games. But in my case and in the case of anyone who will dabble in white-collar jobs, it's also a career skill.

That is why my school program, or at least the student club, organized its first golf tournament at a course near the campus. A lot of people from the big and medium-sized accounting firms will also participate, so that the timing of this event during recruiting season makes it a great way for students to get to know their potential employers at a leisurely and casual level, and for the recruiters to gauge how valuable an employee their potential hires will be from their golf skills.

The team play rules were called "Texas Scramble". Everyone in the team starts off at the same position, and the ball lands in the best spot will be "used" as the starting point for the next stroke, and so on until a ball goes into the hole. To make sure this is a team game, the team has to "use" everyone's drive at least three times. Oh great, my team will have to deal with setbacks on three occasions because of me.

I was teamed up with a guy from Ernst & Young, a female, and a male classmate. In the first few holes, I sucked as usual, and the girl was also struggling to get the ball up; it was evident that the other two guys will be holding up the team, the Kobe Bryants to our Lakers, if you will. However, in the middle holes, I was on fire, making a series of solid, straight drives, and actually more than holding up my end of the team.

That is, except for the hole designated to be the Men's Longest Drive Contest. Go figure. No, I certainly drove that ball high and far, but it hooked so bad that I think I killed a horse in the stables across the street. Or at least gimped the horse so that the stablehands had to shoot it. Either way, that poor horse was doomed to die by my crappy luck. More glue for everyone!

Anticlimatically, the last several holes was highlighted by nothing more than my reversion to my usual crappy gameplay. I guess the sun was going down and my superpowers faded with its light.

The tournament finally ended and everyone celebrated with a BBQ and door prizes at the clubhouse. On the way back to my car to put my clubs away, I spotted a Nissan SUV parked next to the course with two golf ball-shaped breaks spiderwebbed across its winshield. HAHA! Bastard probably thought he got a better parking spot than anyone else. Well he got OWNED! (or P\/\/I\I3d!!111 in that geeky virgin online gamer 1337 lingo).

Unfortunately, I didn't bring my camera because anything expensive, me, and a golf club is a disastrous combination. Fortunately, the lovely ladies at the student club were in charge of that, so if you want to see us being a bunch of asses, go here.

During the BBQ, the tournament and contest winners were announced. We scored -3, and tied for first place of 1st annual tournament. Unfortunately, the student club (or more like the school that financed them) was too cheap to put both teams on the trophy, so we lost to the other team due to a lousy tiebreaker ruling by the pro shop, which decided by performance on the last 9 holes. Come on! We were so tired, they surely can't expect us to ace them! It doesn't matter. In our hearts, we all knew that we rightfullly co-won the prestigious first DAP Golf Tournament.

I scored a ton of food because everyone was too busy chatting and drinking, and even won a couple of door prize packages! Wow, three more times a winner! A nice KPMG recruiter also handed out some spare beer tickets, although I had to heartbreakingly pass a lot of them up because I had to drive home.

When I made it home, I was greeted with the sight of my engineer roommate's drunk drinking buddies all over the place - one in the couch and one slumped over next to the toilet (luckily not the washroom with the shower) - with my roommate nowhere in sight. He stumbled in drunk off his ass minutes later. He slurred to me that they were passed out since 10PM. Undergrad lightweights...although not without amusement value.

I should've given them my golf clubs and watch them try to drive each other's balls.

Spiritual Days

Well, the past couple of days was a break from "normal" life.

Yesterday, I went with a classmate to the Dr. Sun-Yat Sen Garden for a performance of their Enchanted Evening Concerts, a series of performances consisting of fusions of ethnically diverse traditional music. Last night was a duo consisting of a Japanese flute master and another musician versatile in Indian string instruments. It was the perfect opportunity to soothe my soul and explore its connections to a higher power, and also to use these free tickets that I won at a school BBQ.

The weather was perfect for an outdoor concert in a Chinese garden, a miracle in a region where it doesn't rain until you have a camping trip or a picnic, and then it rains even more. The performance was serene and mesmerizing; your conscience just harmonizes to its complex tones, in an environment that is totally conducive for spiritual and self-enlightenment. Me and my classmate had a wonderful time.

Good thing her boyfriend was cool about her coming to the recital with me.

---

Today, me and a couple of neighbors went to see the Dalai Lama on a rare visit for one of his talks called Cultivating Authentic Happiness held at GM Place arena. This is the second time I've been an audience to the Dalai Lama, the first time being when he visited my university in Miami. What can I say? I just can't get enough of the guy.

As expected, the neighborhood around the arena was packed full of people. Good thing we bought our tickets online. This would probably be the same size of crowd that would gather around when there's a Canucks game, but this time with more Buddhist monks and nuns who aren't in it just to see the big body checks, colorful exchange of words, and fights. Or maybe they will if the Dalai Lama gets heckled.

It took an half an hour to get in, and another half hour to get to our seats, given that a lot of Tibetian merchandise and Non-Profit Organization booths were set up in the lobby hallways and crowding up the place.

After we finally sat down, the event began with performances of traditional Tibetian folk music and dance done by these adorable little Tibetian kids (or Canadian kids of Tibetian descent) in costume. This one little guy had the total demeanor of a rock star on his some sort of traditional Tibetian string instrument, much to the delight of the audience.

After that, the mayor, the Dalai Lama, and a trustee of the Dalai Lama Center for Peace and Education were announced. However, the emcee was then informed that they have not made it to the stage yet, and in fact were still en route to the arena, leaving the poor guy with a long awkward silence. And what do Canadians do when there is an awkward silence?

We all sing the national anthem.

Have you ever seen that one special episode of South Park which was entirely about Terrence & Philip, foiling a plot by Saddam Hussein to take over Canada? Remember at the end of the episode, when Sadam Hussein has been stopped and T&P saved the day, all the Canadians with their plastic-Easter-egg-shaped heads started singing Oh Canada? They were right about us!

It was totally surreal. Imagine being in a musical, where the whole stage usually breaks into song spontaneously. Now imagine that the musical is about an entire arena audience, and every song in the opus is the national anthem. Unlike other normal Canadians, the unprovoked singing of Oh, Canada felt rather awkward for me, but I just sang along anyway to avoid feeling left out. Besides, if this was the US, I'd be branded as a non-patriot and lynched.

The Dalai Lama finally emerged, and the first item on the program was the presentation of an honorary Canadian citizenship to the Dalai Lama by one of our Minister of Immigration or some bigwig like that, then a speech by a trustee of the Dalai Lama Center recounting his experiences in Tibet and China.

At last, it was the Dalai Lama's turn to speak. He started with a gesture of humility by amusingly chastising the trustees for naming the Dalai Lama Center after him, when he could think of a hundred better names. He then cracked a few jokes like that he is happy to be an honorary Canadian citizen, but once they ask him to pay taxes, he is fleeing back to India. Fun Dalai Lama stuff.

Then he cut to the chase and imparted his wisdom. Unfortunately, because his English isn't too good, he couldn't convey his deeper views, but his words still bear a lot of weight nevertheless. I guess he would want me to spread the word, so here are a couple of things I managed to take home.

In order to stay happy, you must not let traumatic events and hardships affect you too greatly. You are like an ocean. For example when your best friend dies, of course you will feel grief, but only the surface of your ocean is turbulent; your innermost depths, however, should barely be disturbed at all. One corollary I managed to get from that was that in order to remain calm in the face of adversity, make your ocean very deep. How do you do that? Add water. Lots of water...

In order to bring happiness to others, you must first bring happiness to yourself; don't try to altruistically and stoically make other people happy if you yourself are unhappy. If you are not happy, then when others express their happiness to you - such as when stranger waves, smiles, and says hi to you - you would only receive it with suspicion. How can you spread happiness if you are unable to even reciprocate it?

After his talks and a little Q&A to the e-mails he has received, it was time for the Dalai Lama to say goodbye. The audience then gave the warmest farewell that an arena full of Canadians could give. We walked out of that session feeling a bit wiser, or at least like a wiseass.

Well, that's everything I want to say.....Yup, I'm finished......That's all.......umm.......err.................

~Oh, Canada! Our home and native land...~

The view from the nosebleed seats behind the concert.
Thank God I'm not sitting here.

The New Batch

Well, the new undergrad roomies have moved in.

The two guys and a girl are nice, albeit sloppy, which is expected of undergrads. So it wasn't as bad as I thought, which stands to show that when you're as bitterly cynical as I am, everything will be good news.

One guy is your usual undergrad engineering drinking buddy - tall, complete with flannel shirt, jeans, and hiking shoes. Even though this description closely matches that of an English major, he is not one, and the difference is that he actually uses his hiking shoes to go in the woods, he never has a cup of coffee in his hand, and he has an actual future. Besides, he's a really cool guy and easy to talk to.

The one girl is a tall blonde, perhaps taller than me by an inch or two. I know what you're all thinking with those dirty little minds, but it's my policy not to date roommates, coworkers, my students, nor my relatives. As the old expression goes: Don't shit where you eat. But then again, all this talk is just a round of self-flattery, as it is under the assumption that I have the charisma to initiate a relationship with any member of the opposite sex as desired.

The other guy is a aspiring bona fide opera singer, so aspiring that he even sings in the toilet. Well, whatever it takes to hide embarrassing noises when you're dropping off your brown kids at the pool. Unfortunately, he also applies his vocal fortitude to his snoring, and he sleeps directly on the other side of my northern wall. However, that's not a problem because I already sleep with earplugs on every night on the account of The Tower of Babel being built next door to my building. He's usually not around for most of the day, probably because he has rehearsals and recitals left and right.

Oh my God, I'm living in an episode of The Real World.

It's Not Because Of The Cold...

I got bored and I found this in the news.

Polar bears' genitals are shrinking because of industrial pollutants. I don't know who would make a living studying polar bear schlongs, but here it is.

That would certainly explain why more and more polar bears are driving exotic sports cars.

Crikey! I'm Dead!!!

It's finally happened.

Steve "The Crocodile Hunter" Irwin, the man who shares his passion for nature by making a living kicking the Grim Reaper in the balls, has finally succumbed - surprisingly not to a crocodile, but to a stingray. It's as if God decided to rub him out in a strange twist of fate just for shits and giggles, seeing how he has time and again defied the natural flow of life by going against the current.

Every Australian friend I know thinks he's an idiot for doing what he does (especially when he waved his baby around one of his crocs), but if through wanton acts of perilous stupidity one can foster awareness in animals and nature, then I think it is just as noble as it is moronic, and that's why I still harbor sympathy towards this crazed fan of Mother Nature. That and he was always fun to watch when he appeared in late nite talk shows like Jay Leno, David Letterman, or Conan O'Brien. But then again, when you've spent all your life hand-catching crocodiles for your zoo, you'd probably get a little too comfortable around them. My thoughts and condolences certainly go out to his family.

This time, I'll end this not with a possible epitaph or last words, but a more-than-appropriate personal quote from Steve Irwin himself:

"I'll meet my match when I'm dead."

Batizado Fire!

It all came down to this weekend.

My capoeira school held its annual workshop, culminating in the Batizado ("baptism") ceremony where people who passed their tests received their belts, and those who started with the academy get their official nickname.

As a bit of an aside, I have come to learn that nicknames in capoeira are also a tradition maintained since the time capoeira was associated with criminal activities and banned in Brazil; they are a way of hiding the capoeira practitioners' identities. It's basically the same reason why the Sith in Star Wars have a "Darth" name - i.e. "Darth Vader" for Anakin Skywalker, "Darth Sidious" for Palpatine, and "Darth Revan" for that 38 year old guy that works in Taco Bell, drives a Pontiac Firefly, and lives in his parents' attic.

Anyway, the real highlight of this event was that capoeira masters ("mestre's") from all over the Americas were invited to teach at the workshops and participate at the ceremony. My capoeira master knows them well, and they go to each other's workshops/batizados held at their respective academies. One was from Toronto, San Diego, New York, and another, I believe from my mestre's hometown in Brazil. Furthermore, the one from New York is one of the few female capoeria masters ("mestranda's"), which was really cool.

I did almost all the workshops designed for my level, and learned a lot from each of the masters. They each taught an aspect of capoeira, whether it's the footwork, takedowns, movements, or music. To play capoeira with them is an even more vivid experience, as each of them have their own distinct style of play. This one master in particular plays with surrealistically fluid movements, so it's like playing against an octopus, or Dhalsim from Street Fighter 2.

So it all came to a climax at the Batizado ceremony, which would be the finale of a Brazilian extravaganza show open to the public at a church gymnasium. They must've hired bat-wielding goons to pass around the collection plate, because this place was decked out with lavish, brand-spanking new facilities.

The show began with the always upbeat and colorfully spectacular Brazilian dance and music segment held by our master and the more senior members of the academy. When it finally came to the ceremony, most of the "outsiders" in the audience left, leaving only the parents, relatives, and a few "fans" in the seats. One cool thing about the ceremony was that since it was in a church gymnasium, there was a crucifix bearing down upon us, as if Jesus Himself came to bear witness. Yeah, right. As if He'd come and watch from the comfort of his own cross.

It took a while to go through everyone who attended the capoeira academy. We started with the kids, then went to the adults starting from the lowest belt rank. At that point, I really had to pee after sitting in the bleachers for so long, but as my luck would have it, my name got called while I was in the midst of making a stealth run for the toilet.

So here I am with the honor of playing capoeira with a visiting master from Brazil, in front of still a sizable number of people, with a thoroughly sore body from days of physically demanding workshops, and a rupturing bladder. I think I did alright given the aforementioned circumstances. My first belt and nicknaming ritual came right after, and I would've relished it more had my eye not been fixed on the door to the toilet. That was okay, since I had one of my seniors take a few movies with my digital camera. After my turn in the spotlight, I ran straight to the toilet and nearly put a hole through the urinal.

With all the spectacle concluded, all bodies hugged, and all tears of joy shed, we packed up and returned to the academy for our own little party.

Well, that's the Batizado ritual in a nutshell. With all that brouhaha going on in my life, I've realized that I have lost touch with the eccentricities of HOME home. On an anticlimatical note, I just learned that my mom started taking up yoga. Specifically, she has taken up Bikram Yoga, which involves doing yoga while baking yourself in a really hot room for hours so that you sweat out your fat, and eventually your vital organs. I don't know whether she took it up to truly reap its health benefits, or as an act of retaliation against my dad for taking up long hours of absence to feed his golf obesession.

Either way, once she masters the art of stretching her limbs and breathing Yoga Fires, I guess I'll end up challenging Dhalsim after all.


My feeble attempt at a flying kick called "martelo cruzado".
Notice arms flailing like a sissy.