We all have PEAK moments in life – hitting that last second jumper, making the big sale, getting engaged/married, landing that first job, quitting your day job to pursue your dream, a first kiss, etc. These high moments in life are, more often than not, moments shared with many people, gossiped amongst friends, and celebrated in a public fashion.
But what I’m curious about is a peak moment of yours that was private and perhaps no one ever knew about. What was that peak moment in your life? That peak moment that no one knows about that you hold dear, that upon your last few breaths of life, you’ll look back with a smile and deep, meaningful satisfaction? I’ll share with you mine…
I saved a guy from drowning to death once. I was in Hawaii body surfing in Makapuu Beach. Makapuu is known as one of the best body surfing locales in the world, with a long, rolling wave that doesn’t break for a great distance. The catch, however, is that one has to swim out quite a ways from shore to ride these waves. On that day, I was right on the edge of “the shark pit” about 150 yards off shore, bobbing up and down in the ocean, waiting to catch a nice roller to glide me back to the beach. There were only 2 or 3 people out that far with me on that sunny, idyllic day. Then, all of a sudden, I heard a faint and stuttered cry for help. It was hard to hear b/c of the roar of the crashing waves and the loud billowing of the Hawaiian winds but I knew I heard something desperate. So I kicked up as hard as I could with my legs to take a quick look around. And there, about 50 feet to my right, was wrists and hands slashing and flailing sea water. There was no head. It was a person in the last, exhausted moments of drowning, ready to go under. His head (more like his nose, lips, and one eyeball) peeked out one last time from the sea surface and I heard him gulp water, trying to eek out a cry for help. And then, nothing… Read more...
2 hours before Halloween, I got a trick, a treat, and a 3rd baby in my candy bag. Yes, I am now a daddy of not one, not two, but three. Three girls to be precise. Which is cool because with the help of my sexy Korean wife, I can now field a co-ed, NBA basketball team. Not just yet, however, since some of my players can’t even walk let alone lift a basketball. I’m not sure if they’ll be good or sucky basketball players, but there is one absolute certainty that gives me solace – they’ll be smokin’ hot (thanks to the genes of my better half).
So I must wait – 20 years at least to introduce my Korea/China-uniting basketball juggernaut eventually to be known as “The FAN-tasticly Fast Five”. 20 long years…
What once I opposed and resisted, today I embrace and welcome.
It’s tough being a REBEL. At least it has been for me. Especially a long-term one.
In my 20’s, I went out of my way to try and think different, live different. What manifested was a mantra of personal, “anti-establishment” ideals that became my unquestionable beliefs, never to be broken. Ever. Some of the flavors of my rebellion were as follows: never marry, never root down in suburbia, organized religion is for the weak, never eat dark meat chicken, etc. These were my sacred laws to live by till death did we part.
Oh how things change. Fast forward a decade (or two)…
Today I am married and I enjoy it. I think marriage is cool. It’s a constant maintenance challenge, but surprisingly rewarding. Today I dream of living in suburbia, surrounded by white picket fences and similar homes not too small and not too large. Today I think organized religion and/or a regular spiritual practice is a helpful, if not necessary, ingredient towards creating and living a happy and healthy life. And today, I eat almost exclusively dark meat chicken and the skin to boot. White meat what?
If you don’t mind, what is that thing you TOTALLY REBELLED against in your past that you completely embrace and fully live into now? What’s your REBEL hypocrisy? Please tell me I’m not alone… :)Read more...
It’s strange when you can reference the passage of your time in decade chunks.
From 0-10, I went from baby to boy.
From 10-20, I went from boy to man-boy.
From 20-30, I went from man-boy to a man who acts like a boy.
From 30-39.997, I went from a man who acts like a boy to a man who un-accidentally fathered a bunch of baby boys. (ok, they’re girls. but my baby girls look like boys – supermodel boys)
So what’s next?
Ah yes, tomorrow. Tomorrow I flip into yet another decade of life – the 40-50 cohort. And if life expectancy averages are indeed correct, my game is more than half over. I’m one day shy of 40 and the U.S. male life expectancy is 76. Heck, halftime for me was 2 years ago. I’m going down the hill.
I know anyone older than me reading this is probably insulted that I even consider myself “over the hill” and will want to stick a stonefish up my ass. Read more...
I have always found Michelle Kwan to be sexier than hell. So much so that I have written her a personal marriage proposallove poem or two…or three. Or four.
a true WMD - Wow Michelle, Damn!
Some friends say that my love for MKwan is false. They say that I am only attracted to her because of the golden orbs of victory that dangle below the nape of her neck, her silky legs of granite that glisten wet when fundamentally dry, and her sensual, Kristen Stewart-esque lip-pursings before toe-picking her way, yet again, across the aches of my heart. They say my love for her is more idol worship than nature’s intent. They say my love for her is false.
What do I say?
Whatevahs. Don’t hate da skater, hate da game. This is crazy, but here’s my number…so call me maybe.
OK, so she didn’t call. Yet. But I did catch her staring at me more than a few times at several award shows over the years. I think. But then again, I didn’t have my glasses on. And I wasn’t close enough to do a “thigh of granite” test squeeze on her slender shanks. But I am pretty sure it was her. I think. Damn those Asian girls for always looking so exotically similar.
But enough with these lustful musings, for I must go to Costco now to buy some pillows. Enjoy the video. Proof positive that MKwan is sizzling on waters frozen and not.
What makes you click “like” on facebook? What makes you want to post or repost a video or article or picture that you just saw on facebook, Twitter, Pintrest, YouTube, etc?
Now let’s assume it’s not your job to create viral videos, images, or stories. Let’s explore this thought as an experiencer of the internet, not a creator of it.
So what makes ME want to share, post, re-post, forward, link, etc. to all those I am connected to via the internet? Well, the majority of stuff I’ve been sharing as of late tends to revolve around ideas, thoughts, images, concepts, and videos that either inspire the weary spirit and/or reminds us of how fortunate we really are. I think I share this stuff because I am seeking it too. And by sharing it via the social networks, perhaps I feel less alone knowing that others will hopefully reply and, if inspired enough, will repost it to share that energy with their others. Outside of that, I share the dude and dad stuff – stuff that’s rated R, not cruel, but makes you laugh your ass off, vomit, and/or say WTF, OMG, No Way!
So what inspires you to share something you just saw, read, or experienced online with your social network the second you come across it?
JUSTIN: I’m extremely social network inept so I don’t know how much I can contribute to this conversation. However, I do find the whole sharing concept similar to when DVD’s were introduced to the home consumer. Because each ‘like’ or ‘share’ is perceived as a personal recommendation, the sum of it all ends up defining the user. Read more...
1,350 days. Give or take a few. That’s how long I’ve been a parent and a father.
12 hours. That’s how long I have been on “dad-cation”. I’m sitting in seat 1A, on Cathay Pacific flight 881 to Hong Kong en route to Bangkok. Solo.
Seat 1A? Isn’t that first class? Yes, I am sitting in international first class – a pod-like, hi-tech, mini-house bigger than some people’s homes. It’s insane. The ticket from Los Angeles to Hong Kong to Bangkok costs at least $10,000+. And no, I did not pay cash. I paid with my body. I traded in some frequent flier miles for it. LOTS of frequent flier miles. 67,500 to be exact. And that was for a one way ticket. Read more...
And come to think of it, the thing’s not even really a sports car either. It’s more of an SUV meets minivan meets something fast (and furious 6).
What the heck is wrong with me? After spending my entire post-puberty life torturing my soul with the mantra, “one day I will get myself a sports car…one day…”, when I finally decide to pull the trigger, I don’t even opt for a sports car. It’s like going to a strip club for your first time and getting a lap dance from the janitor. Read more...
Well, if you’re a sushi connoisseur, you most likely have. It’s a firm whitefish that is succulent and incredibly rich in flavor. To eat one, properly sushi-prepared, is a guaranteed, oral orgasm. Well, at least it was for me the first time I had it – lightly seared with a dollop of apricot puree on top. You never forget your first time. I had three servings in less than 30 minutes. And I joyfully swallowed each and every creamy bite. Yum…
Never heard of Butterfish? Perhaps you may know it by it’s other aliases like “white tuna” or “super-white tuna” or “walu” or…“Escolar.“
Shooting out Escolar is far more ferocious than being shot by Escobar
Escolar? Yes, Escolar. That’s the fish’s real name before it went to culinary finishing school. Sounds kind of like Pablo Escobar, no? And just like the Columbian drug lord, we too should fear and respect this snake mackerel fish. For if you underestimate Escolar or Escobar, the final result is always predictably the same – bad shit happens. Read more...
I dropped the F-Bomb at least 50 times in fifteen seconds. At full volume. Right in the middle of Beverly Hills and right in the middle of the Beverly Hills sign.
Actually, I was slightly behind the Beverly Hills sign, parked, with all the doors of my minivan wide open and whacking my ride to the rhythm of my global, F-Bomb assault with, of all things, a baby towel – a baby towel covered in puke.
I was less than a quarter mile from an important TV audition when my 15 month old unloaded the entire contents of her stomach onto herself and the car seat that she was strapped into. This was not a cute, little baby spit-up, by the way. This vomit was on the order of The Exorcist. The only thing that didn’t come out were her internal organs. Read more...
Daddy’s log, zero three, zero one, two zero one two.
My 15 month old sleeps. In the bathroom. It’s the only place I can stick her that enables me to proceed with daily, adult activities without having to tip toe around everywhere. 1,144 square feet of living space makes you do strange things like this. To my credit, I did leave the toilet seat down to minimize foul odor and to prevent the baby from accidentally taking a refreshing drink from the potty. All so strange, I know. But for some reason, the baby seems to sleep best next to a toilet during the daytime hours. Don’t ask me why.
It has been two weeks since my babysitter left us to tend to her mother’s untimely death in the Far East. She phoned us 2 nights ago. The news was tragic – she would not be returning as our babysitter. She had found a new job closer to her home in the Americas. Turned out she lied about her mother’s passing so that she could test drive another job opportunity. She really had me with this whole “mother’s death” thing. Silly me for believing her…
So here I am, staring at my daughter. In the bathroom. Sleeping. Next to the toilet.