Tag Archives: humor

live blogging: lunar eclipse

14 Apr


I am here live somewhere in Southern California to bring you this coverage of the lunar eclipse tonight. From my backyard, drinking a Shocktop Raspberry Wheat and typing on this blog. This is my first attempt at this so-called live-blogging. I thought it was make a bunch of short posts, but it’s one entry with timestamps on them.

I also got a pair of binoculars with me. You could witness this event with your eye, but I haven’t used the binocular since I went to a baseball about two years ago. Best to make the use of them.

Status: Full moon there. Nothing happened yet. Come on, grass grow faster than you waxing and waning.



The moon has a little blotch of darkness on the lower-left corner.

Status: Full moon with a seven o’ clock shadow, and could use a good razor.



I received a tip from a friend and I quote, “no sign of a change.” Then at 11:05:45pm, she noted “moon is still bright white.” Very astute.

Status: Like watching paint drying.



Paint dries pretty fast if you ask me… I do see a small chunk of the left side of the moon being covered. Like a baby cookie monster taking its first bite.

Status: Something’s happening. Finally.



Another small part has been eclipsed. I say it’s about 1/4 of the moon. The binoculars do help to see that it is an eclipse. Been hearing lots of sirens more than usually and a helicopter flying by.

Status: A piece of the pie is taken. And can’t tell if it’s a cherry pie.



Looks like it’s almost halfway through. You can easily see the eclipse now. The redness? Still yet to come.

Status: Finally, traffic is moving!

4/15/2014 12:12AM

Much has happened. When I was taking a picture, my flash accidentally went off, and my next-door neighbor, who was also outside, noticed. He asked me to try his scope. So we conversed for a bit. But yes…

The moon is visibly red. Not blatant red, but more like a dull, Marsy red.

Status: Cool. Just came out of the blue. Pun intended and notably failed.


2013 exit interview

31 Dec

Me: Hello, I’m your host, Daniel, and welcome to the interview with the well-known 2013. Of course, tonight’s his last night before he croaks, er, like a healthy young frog.

2013: I’m going to be reduced to some hazy bits of memories in only about four hours.

Me: Well, well. Looks who sees the glass half-full. That’s pretty much what you were most of this year. Look on WordPress under the tag 2014 and some people wrote some unflattering things about you. Sorry to say, but you weren’t that great of a year to begin with.

2013: Wait, what do you based your assumption on?

Me: A fact actually…the fact that you’re a prime number.

2013: What does that have to do with anything?

Me: You’re a stubborn year that can’t be neatly divided by any pleasant number, like two, four, or even five.

2013: Well what about 2011?

Me: I like eleven, it’s a nice number. Two beautiful parallel lines. But thirteen? You really need some PR help to get people to like you. I don’t think it helps that you have a black cat and live under a ladder. You could also lose the fat on those two bumps if you want to be beautiful like eleven.

2013: What the…what’s wrong with having a black cat and live under a ladder? (And I like my figure as it is.)

Me: You are guilty (and superstitious) by association.

2013: You’re being absurd.

Me: Prime numbers are absurd. And it’s even more sad that…you’re past your prime.


2013: Really?

Me: Pun justified by the fact how true it is. Any last thoughts you would like to say?

2013: I’m proud to be a prime number.

Me: Sure, okay, whatever you say. Anyways get off the chair. You’re taking up too much blogtime.

2013: What, wait a minute-

[2013 is being manhandled and pulled off stage by two burly alphabets, A and Z.]

Me: So long 2013. May you live in our deep recesses of our minds and scrapbooks. And now let’s welcome 2014 onto the stage.

[A figure walks in.]

Me: What the…you’re not supposed to be here yet!

2020: I can’t help myself because every time you reflect on the past year, hindsight is always vibrant. Well, see you personally in six years!

too soon to spoon?

13 Aug

I notice the “write everyday prompt” at the bottom and thought I go ahead and write one. All I’m given is the title “Too Soon” and hints that it should be somewhat humorous. I would like to say “please enjoy” but since everyone has their own taste of what is funny and offensive, I will say with absolute confidence and political correctness: beware.


A sushi aficionado is well-aware that it is too soon to scoop a spoonful of wasabi and insert it into his mouth before mixing the substance with soy sauce. Only a fool would have mistaken for freeze-dried guacamole or green tea ice cream. And if he did, it would make a great Youtube clip. Probably not enough go viral, but you are not here to read about how to succeed as a social media upstart.

Instead, we are here to discuss the one instance when it is too soon to spoon someone.

Spooning has been acknowledged as an expression of love that are included in a romantic relationship along with kissing and whispering sweet nothings. At least according to my knowledge of the romance subplot in movies and the covers of romantic novels I saw while browsing at Barnes & Nobles though I’m not quite sure what to make of the covers to the Fifty Shades of Grey series in this context.

That one instance of being too soon to spoon someone is when you’re holding a hostage at gunpoint. It’s understandable you feel the need to grab the nearest person to fulfill your need to still be alive so the law enforcement does not shoot you down, but you are unaware of the mixed messages you may be sending to the person. Especially if you possess a weapon and serious body odor issues.

The only exception to this situation is if your hostage has developed the Stockholm syndrome. Then at least during the time you are holding that person in your grasp, you can at least be sure the hostage is comfortable in your custody while you whisper the occasional sweet nothings. Also, it helps if you have applied some cologne or perfume and ate a breathmint prior to spooning the hostage.

one subversive video game i played

11 Jun

A couple of years ago, there was a huge splash in the headlines about the negative influence that video games had on the youth. The one leading the charge was Jack Thompson, an outspoken activist known for making bold, sweeping claims.

Kind of like a 1950’s throwback of Fredric Wertham, who claimed that comics were harmful as noted in his book Seduction of the Innocent. He was able to persuade the public the dangers of this medium enough for him to appear before the U.S. Senate Subcommittee of Juvenile Delinquency. This generated unfavorable public opinion on comics and comic book publishers responded by printing the Comic Code Authority stamp on almost every comic book cover.¹ This assured that the work is approved because it follows a bunch of rules like depicting authority figures in a good light and not showing excessive violence.

Thompson, on the other hand, only prompted some hysteria but eventually it led to his downfall.

So if you were to probe for any subversive influence video games may had on me, there is one I recall. No, I didn’t follow the urge to have unprotected sex due to the hot coffee mod found in GTA: San Andreas, but rather it’s more peculiar.

I thought Joseph Stalin was a pretty cool guy.


When I was in elementary school, my brother purchased a strategy video game called Command & Conquer: Red Alert. It opens with Albert Einstein using a time machine to erase Adolf Hitler from existence, which then leads to the Allies facing against the Soviets during this alternate World War II. The player can choose to start a campaign as either side.

The Soviets have cooler-looking units to command such as a Grenadier and the Flamethrower while the Allies had the Medic and Thief instead…boring. The defensive structure you can build are memorable such as the Flame Tower that shoots a huge ball of fire and the Tesla Coil that zaps; both of them able to render the enemy infantry into pixelated crisp. And most of all, the units speak with a Russian accent. (In hindsight, why would the Soviet soldiers address in English when you’re commanding them? Okay, the targeted gamer is likely one who speaks English but humor me.)

It began with me imitating their accents while I was playing the missions. I enjoyed seeing Joseph Stalin’s mustache during those cheesy, overdramatic videos shown between missions. But then, the influence expanded from the private to the public sphere.

When my teacher assigned me to write a short biography, I chose to write about Stalin. So I wrote about his early life including him on the path to becoming a priest. I was also required to draw a portrait of him as well. I recall depicting him as a could-have-been holy man, and no, I didn’t draw any tanks in the background.

I wish I knew what my teacher thought of my choice while normal kids did theirs on Neil Armstrong and Babe Ruth, but I know for sure that I didn’t get sent to the principal’s office for being suspected of being a fourth grader with any Communist sympathy in the late 90s when he really just enjoyed the fancy units, the Russian accent and Stalin’s stache.


Thanks to my high school and college history classes, I now know how cruel Joseph Stalin was and some scholars even argue that in the long run Stalin had killed many more people than Hitler did. (Many of the people the Soviet dictator killed was his own people.) I wouldn’t have made friends if I told them about how cool Stalin was.

I do remember this one quote by Stalin that was shown in the game.

“One death is a tragedy; one million is a statistic.”

For a ruthless dictator, he made a somewhat poignant statement. Probably learned it the hard way.

¹The underground comix was an exception because the artists rebelled by producing their own homemade works with a lot more provocative yet thought-provoking content.

your manhood, interrupted

24 Jul

When I was in high school, I found something in the mailbox that caught my attention.

It was a YM magazine, you know, the one that has information about beauty tips, boys, product placements, and more boys.

I don’t have a sister, and even more baffling, it had my name and address on the mailing label. And I didn’t even fill out the subscription for this. The only one I recall signing up for was Campus Life, a magazine for Christian teenagers (now called Ignite Your Faith).

Honest to God.

Well, I thought, might as well skim through it. So I did, flipping through the pages of bottles of nail polish, dresses, and celebrities. Then one section caught my eyes. It was in a format of Dear Abby called something like “Grade the Boys,” which is about readers’ stories about their boyfriends (or those they have a crush on) doing something awesome or something pathetic. At the end of each story, the reviewer would conclude with giving a sassy remark and a grade.

The thoughtful, kind boys received A’s and B’s while the ignorant, obnoxious ones received D’s and F’s. There was a C or two, but those were boring to read.

One boy brought his sick girlfriend PB&J sandwiches and a collection ofFriends DVDs to watch, both of her favorite things; this got him a B+. Another boy didn’t handle the situation well when a girl was going through her period and left a mark on his (or was it her) couch; this got him a D+, I think.

Yes, you read that right. A straight guy reading a girlie magazine, which he didn’t subscribe to but had his name and address on it. And he didn’t mention it to his mom and dad about it lest they get the wrong impression and begin questioning their son’s sexual orientation.

It didn’t stop here. I got a few more in the following months. One ongoing major feature was “Last Boy Standing.” There were about twelve teenage boys with their pictures and profiles. As each issue came out, a guy was eliminated, one by one, according to the readers’ votes. I think the only black guy was the first to get axed, and what disappointed me more was that there was no Asian guy in the running.

I should have applied. Gel my hair just right, crack a few jokes with the interviewer, and you got yourself a contestant.

So anyways, should I interpret the appearance of this mysterious magazine as a ploy by a secret admirer who not only knew where I lived, but decided to mail me these magazines on her own dime? Or a girl who harbored so much deep hatred toward me that she thought these magazines would teach me a lesson by emasculating me?

Maybe my mom subscribed it for herself, or this was her way of telling me about the birds and the bees.

I will never know.