You are viewing mingerspice

entries friends calendar user info Previous Previous
Free is a verb

swam 1.25 miles

Posted via LiveJournal app for Android.

Tags: ,

Leave a comment

45 min. mainly chest and upper back. some stretching. also acupuncture this morning.

Posted via LiveJournal app for Android.

Tags: ,

Leave a comment

hoping to exercise everyday for a month and a half. will blog results. today ran half an hour.

Posted via LiveJournal app for Android.

Tags: ,

Leave a comment
photo of a photo of ming at 20

That's a photo of me at 20 (or maybe 21, it was in the summer that I turned 21) that I found as I was going through some old stuff in a box that I kept from when I was in boarding school in England through college. I'm wearing a red cotton sweater that I got freshman year from the Gap in the Stanford Shopping Mall, and it was taken in a photo booth in the public gym in London near where I was going to cooking school.

Below is a prose/poem piece that I wrote when I was 19, the year I turned 21. It was Sophomore year, and I was still processing a lot of what had been going on for me in high school. Forgive the pretentious title.

The Nouveau Beaujolais and Earl Grey Scandal of February 14th, 1998 and its relation to the Grilled Sotong and 100 Plus affair the Following Year (a short prose piece or a long poem with too few line breaks)

This is an explanation regarding the events of February 14th, 1998, which may or may not be fabricated. The players in this drama are some cups of Earl Grey Tea, the English weather, Charles, Henry, and me, and a bottle of Nouveau Beaujolais, which is an Autumn wine, but which we found in the back of Henry's closet. We were all drunk and cold and underaged, and Henry had put Chet Baker in his hifi and smoky smoky My Funny Valentine was filling the room, and I thought: I'm worried that this song is revealing something to me about Henry, and that I want to reveal something to Henry, but not to Charles, and what if Henry is thinking the same thing? Charles smelled dry, like cinnamon. Henry was giving me a funny look, so I sipped my tea. I was starting to sweat in my blazer, but I didn't want to take it off. I didn't really want to drink the tea either, which was too hot and making me sweat even more. Charles left for the bathroom, and Henry and I just stared at the hifi for a while. I noticed that his face was flushed from the wine, and wondered if mine was as well. The music ended and while Henry was changing the CD, I became very aware of my own breathing, and how his clothes were less wrinkled than mine, and how he just seemed more together in so many ways, and I sighed. Henry sat down next to me on the couch and put his hand on my knee, I stared into his face, hoping he would say something. Then Charles came back, we parted, and all three of us walked to class together. On the way, Charles told a cruel joke about our English teacher.

This is an explanation regarding the events of the following year which is not fabricated in spirit, but whose details remain largely fictional. I'm in this story, and so is Jon, who is Canadian, but who I found online the week before he migrated to Singapore. We were both legally drunk, but only on beer, which we drank while eating Grilled Sotong (which apparently makes bodily fluids taste sweet). Jon liked Tiger Beer, which is this Singaporean brand that certain types of people like, but I'm not going to say which (and I don't mean gay people, but rather, something else entirely, and by this I don't mean straight people). We were on top of the Hilton hotel, the secret garden on the roof which used to be the haunt of Singapore's heroin users, all twelve of them, and sitting on the very edge, and I was afraid because I thought: what if Jon decides to push me off, or worse, what if I decide to push him off, and so I crossed my legs and backed away. Jon sat, his feet dangling off the edge, one shoe dangerously loose, sweating even in the night breeze. He was telling me a story about his boarding school in Toronto, and an encounter with a girl who unexpectedly put her hand on his knee, like this, and then he put his hand on my knee, and I looked off into the horizon, and he took his hand off eventually. Later, in the cab, he invited me to his apartment for 100 Plus, an isotonic drink, and we sat silently drinking them out of cans for a while. When I got home I took a shower with my clothes on, because I smelled of cigarette smoke.

Tags: ,

Leave a comment
An IM conversation about my online dating profile:

Armchairshrink: i tihnk it may be too self-coniously dorky/honest
i mean i think it's GREAT you're being super honest
me: ok
this is good
Armchairshrink: but you're giving off a certain super earnest vibe that doesn't come across as very confident
me: omg maybe you could help me revise it like a resume
Armchairshrink: and remember: CONFIDENCE IS SEXY
i think it's just a few things here or there
me: tell me a few!
Armchairshrink: there's a lot of stuff about inner work/emotional stuff that might turn off someone because they might think you're the kinda guy who would want to sit around and "process your feelings" all day long
me: hmm I do vaguely remember that
Armchairshrink: i would maybe try to make yourself sound a little more fun and a little less like, idk, monastic
because you are fun
me: hah yeah
Armchairshrink: plus you're funny but your profile does not reflect that
people are always telling me "mingerspice is funny"
but no one is gonna see that from this profile
me: you don't think the hello kitty headband says "I am fun"
I guess I should also put in how much I like sex

Tags: , , ,

2 comments or Leave a comment
Another ironic blog. This time I will keep it up, I swear!
Leave a comment

Thank you armchairshrink for this tip!

I may never poach an egg again.


Leave a comment
just ordered a kindle. I can still cancel in the next few hours I think... I'm having that "I just bought something really expensive I've wanted for a long time and I'm not sure if I regret it yet" feeling. On the one hand, I think it would be great not to have to worry about what reading material to bring on to BART. On the other hand, the two periodicals I actually do read on BART are not yet available for Kindle (Harpers and NYRB). Then again, NYT and The Nation are available. Nation is more political and less snarky, and I've often enjoyed it but didn't want yet another paper publication in my house. I'm also looking forward to getting free ebooks from Project Gutenberg. Poetry in my pocket!
1 comment or Leave a comment
It's getting a little bit colder, which of course means it's time for me to start humming and singing Christmas carols at the drop of a hat. Why do I love carols so? I really have no idea.

Make the yuletide gay!

Tags: , ,

5 comments or Leave a comment
Try reading this aloud really slowly. I choked up in the third stanza.

Theme for English B
by Langston Hughes

The instructor said,

Go home and write
a page tonight.
And let that page come out of you--
Then, it will be true.

I wonder if it's that simple?
I am twenty-two, colored, born in Winston-Salem.
I went to school there, then Durham, then here
to this college on the hill above Harlem.
I am the only colored student in my class.
The steps from the hill lead down into Harlem,
through a park, then I cross St. Nicholas,
Eighth Avenue, Seventh, and I come to the Y,
the Harlem Branch Y, where I take the elevator
up to my room, sit down, and write this page:

It's not easy to know what is true for you or me
at twenty-two, my age. But I guess I'm what
I feel and see and hear, Harlem, I hear you:
hear you, hear me--we two--you, me, talk on this page.
(I hear New York, too.) Me--who?>
Well, I like to eat, sleep, drink, and be in love.
I like to work, read, learn and understand life.
I like a pipe for a Christmas present,
or records--Bessie, bop, or Back.

I guess being colored doesn't make me not  like
the same things other folks like who are other races.
So will my page be colored that I write?
Being me, it will not be white.
But it will be
a part of you, instructor.
You are white--
yet a part of me, as I am a part of you.
That's American.
Sometimes perhaps you don't want to be a part of me.
Nor do I often want to be a part of you.
But we are, that's true!
I guess you learn from me--
although you're older--and white--
and somewhat more free.

This is my page for English B.


1 comment or Leave a comment