Tag: angst

One of those my age is catching up with me moments

~ dannyhong ~ Leave a comment

I participated in this hot chicken tenders eating contest, because it was hosted by Willy’s, basically my favorite eatery in the entire city of Atlanta metropolitan area.  This is the same company in which I became the self-proclaimed Burrito King™ of Atlanta when I won a promotion they had where I had to visit and make a transaction at all 28 Willy’s locations within a 30-day span which I accomplished in four.

Well, the Willy who created my favorite burrito joint got into hot chicken, and has been slowly expanding his restaurant portfolio into the hot chicken game, opening a location of one of his new ventures not terribly far from where I am.  And then I saw that there would be a hot chicken tender eating contest, and I thought to myself, no better way to flex on the small world of Willy’s than to go and win another contest.

After all, being Korean gives me a natural +10 in spicy food tolerance, and what the fuck do white people know about spicy food anyway, so I figured it would be a layup to roll in, crush three hot chicken tenders in the span of six minutes and walk away with a little bit of swag.  Honestly, the photo on their wall of winners was probably the most important prize of all, because when it comes to fat guy accolades, showing my superiority at spice tolerance is something that I wouldn’t mind flexing on all the pleebs who can’t handle heat.

Anyway, I came, went and saw, and much like I knew I could, crushed the three hot chicken tenders in six minutes and walked away a winner.  This wasn’t a contest where there was a last man standing, but basically series of waves, where 10 people take the challenge on at a time.  Six people bounced in the first wave, and I was a part of the second wave where another five people dropped out from the heat.  I didn’t stick around for the third wave, because I had already proven my point.

Howlin’ Willy’s hot chicken was definitely among the higher tiers of spicy I’ve ever had in my life, but I will maintain that it was still not the spiciest thing I’d ever eaten either; that distinction goes to some nuclear pork I had in Seoul, where mythical then-gf and I had to tap and waste the food, and the retribution was fairly immediate.  But as for Willy’s, I definitely felt the heat through the challenge, but I was able to make it through without much difficulty.  The heat was slow acting, but after it burns, it burns off quickly, and before I left the shopping center, I was already back to feeling fine.

That is until the remainder of the day progressed, and I started to get hit with what I’m guessing was the mother of heartburn.  I don’t really know, because I really didn’t know what heartburn was supposed to feel like.  It wasn’t like indigestion pain, but just this really dull ache in my stomach that made me want to stop whatever it was I was doing, and just put myself into a position where I could apply pressure to my gut or be in a folded position where the pressure would alleviate.

Effectively, the rest of my day was ruined, because I couldn’t really get comfortable, and it impacted my ability to be present with my kids and physically competent to operate at a normal level.  I crushed a bunch of Tums hoping it would help, and I don’t think it really did.  After the kids were down, I ran to the store to get some Pepto, since the thought of something coating my insides was an appealing one, and by the time I went to bed, I probably downed a quarter of the bottle.

I’d never felt more relieved when the indigestion did hit, because it was finally giving my body the opportunity to purge the hot chicken from my body and not to get too graphic but boy did it feel as hot evacuating the body as it did burning my mouth earlier in the day.

Fortunately, a night’s sleep seemed to cure what ailed me, but before going to bed, I expressed that I felt a lot of regret for participating in a fairly meaningless contest, even if it was held by Willy’s.  The prizes were minimal, but the punishment I put onto my 40+ year old body was pretty vicious.

At first, I was just wondering if this was just my body reacting to ghost pepper, something I don’t really think I’d ever had before.  But the reality is more likely that this was a stark reminder of how I’m not the 25-year old that could eat whatever I wanted and shrug it off within hours.  Lesson learned that this was a situation where I could’ve been smarter and erred on the side of not punishing my body for a pretty useless reason.  Even for Willy’s, no matter how much of a fan I am of the brand.

Was The Leftovers supposed to be a horror story or Damon Lindelof’s personal fantasy?

~ dannyhong ~ Leave a comment

This is actually a post that I’ve kept in my back pocket for a while, and one that I knew that I had to be in the right frame of mind before I could actually write it.  I had to be in an agitated mood, which is hard to imagine a person like me not being in an agitated mood, but I also needed to have the time necessary to put my thoughts to keyboard.

But not just any agitated mood, but one specifically where I’m feeling like there are just too many fucking people in the world, and how I’d wish a ton of people would just spontaneously vanish, like Thanos’s Snap or, and in the context of this specific post, like in the plot of The Leftovers.

Now [spoiler alert] because I’m going to go ahead and just probably spoil a bunch of things for those of my zero readers whom might actually be interested in watching this show in the future, despite the fact that at this point it’s like ten years old.

But the basic plot of the show in the beginning is that for absolutely no apparent reason at all, 2% of the entire earth’s population just spontaneously vanished.  Nobody knows whether they were killed, were transported, were abducted or whatever, the point is that 2% of the earth’s population just mysteriously disappeared, and that 2% might sound small, but still equated to about 140 million people.

[Spoilers begin] It turns out at the end of the series, the answer to The Disappearance is that the 2% did not die, or cease to exist, they were simply transported to basically, another version of the world where they were the only ones on the planet.  To them, 98% of the planet mysteriously vanished, and they clearly had it way worse than their counterparts, because with 98% of the planet’s population disappearing, that’s a whole fuckton of global infrastructure that’s gone with it.

And such is actually explained, that as a result of the planet becoming so sparsely populated, a lot of shit did kind of go primal, and stuff like the grid becoming unreliable, things such as transportation, flight, and science crashing to near halts, but the 2% of humanity does survive.  They acknowledge, adapt and survive, and as time passes, people move on with their lives.

All of this is explained as one of the main characters, late in the series, Nora, who lost her husband and both her children in The Disappearance, finds a scientist in Australia who claims to have figured out what had happened, and had invented a machine that could transport subjects into the alternate world, goes to the alternate world, discovers that her family, after dealing with the shell shock of their own Disappearance and the loss of a wife and mother, moved on.  So, as not wanting to traumatize her family with a miraculous reappearance, she decides to go back to her world, but is rudely awakened to the idea that a world with 98% less people in it, is just a little bit behind scientifically, and basically has to wait decades before the invention of the alternate world travel machine to be built so that she could return to her version of existence.

The point of explaining all of this is that every now and then, there are days of my own existence where I feel that there are just too many fucking people on this planet, and musing how liberating it must be to be on either end of a Disappearance.  Like days where I’m commuting to work, and wondering just why there are so many fucking cars on my route on some days versus others (the existence of I-285).  Or when I’m going to Costco and the parking lot is practically entirely full, and there are 107 cars in line for gas on top of everything.  Or when I go out of the house to run a quick errand and there’s a surreptitiously high amount of cars also on the road or at the stores, and I’m thinking what the fuck.

It sure would be nice if 140 million of these motherfuckers just bamf’d to alternate world and alleviated my world of their existence.  Or better yet, I get to be one of the lucky 2%-ers who gets to have a wide open fucking empty version of the world where there’s tremendously way less chance of people fucking up my daily rhythm just by existing in close proximity to me.

I figure Damon Lindelof came up with the general premise of The Leftovers to sound scary and ominous that such a wild global event could occur, but on days like this where I’m sour over the knowledge of the world’s global 8 billion human beings, I begin to think that perhaps The Leftovers and The Disappearance might also be a fantasy.  Because on days like this, it definitely sounds like a dream come true to me, to be somewhere 98% less populated.

I’d definitely miss my kids and family though. 😢

I am so over shopping for presents

~ dannyhong ~ Leave a comment

I understand that over the last year or two, I’ve been coming off like a tremendous Scrooge.  I will be the first to admit that I am suffering from depression in the span of that time, because at the root of everything I feel that my life is very difficult, and largely in part due to the feeling financially insecure, and the gamut of factors why it is as well the results of it.

In this span, I have been largely incapable of enjoying holidays in the manner in which they really should be enjoyed, because when you’re in a position that I’m in, holidays mean a lot more work, a lot more effort, a lot more money, with the latter variable being largely in part of why I’m often times so anxious and fretting over the most.

But to the point of the subject of this post, I’m really over shopping for presents, mostly because I just don’t know what the fuck anyone and everyone wants, but I feel obligation to provide gifts to a lot of these people, because it’s the most efficient way of demonstrating that I care and I really do care and I really do want to show my appreciation, but the truth of the matter is that I just don’t know what people want and/or I do, but it’s something that’s ridiculously expensive and I don’t have the means to get it and that’s a whole result of sucking as well.

Anyway, I have a list of people whom I want to get something for, and the vast majority of it is blank currently, because I just don’t know what to get anyone.  These days, or maybe that it’s always been the case, people are capable of getting what they want, when they want, to a degree that by the time the holidays roll around, there’s nothing left to ask for.  And not knowing what to get someone seems like the worst possible outcome, because if I knew what to get everyone, I wouldn’t be typing up this conversation piece in the first place.

Yet I feel obligated to get things for everyone because I know that the most of them will be doing the same for me.  Honestly if it were up to me, there would be no gifts shared, so that neither party feels obligated to exchange gifts and go through the time, effort and finances to demonstrate with gifts the importance of one another to each other.  I try to do that for others by giving them time, effort, favors when called upon, or being there in times of need.

But the point is, I’m sick of gifts.  I’m sorry if that sounds horribly crass and blunt and really curmudgeon but that’s where I’m at right now.  I’m tired of not knowing what anyone wants because I don’t have the capacity to be around everyone that matters to me to pick up hints and ideas for what I can provide for them, and it’s driving me insane sitting in front of my computer and trying to rack my brain fruitlessly for ideas of gifts that will inevitably end up being shitty because the rationale for them will be so convoluted and stretched that they’ll suck and people will try their hardest to be nice and try to not feel in the backs of their minds that they were given a stinker.

I want nothing, so that I can be absolved of the feeling obligated to return the favor, so that I can spend my sparse time, shits to give and money on more important thing than gifts, which is exactly what I’d really like the most.  There is a direct correlation with my depression and those things being in more copacetic places than they are now, and I just don’t know what to do to improve things and this is not how I want to be feeling at a time of the year where people are expected to be happy, festive and grateful for things.

Dear world: it’s not you, it’s me

~ dannyhong ~ Leave a comment

After all, I am Korean.  And no culture has higher expectations from other people as Koreans do, and I ponder the day if and when anyone can prove to me that anyone can work harder than a Korean can, because as far as my personal experiences are concerned, I’m hard pressed to ever have bared witness to such.

Mythical wife and I got into a little tiff coming back from the airport, because she was tired of everything coming out of my mouth being a complaint, and I was tired of being criticized for speaking negatively in a scenario where everything was going annoyingly when I feel that everything else I do is usually for the sake of others because I’m always trying to please everyone.  Atlanta Hartsfield Latoya-Jackson Ching Chong Chang really is capable of bringing the worst out of everyone at the drop of a hat, even those who are on their way out of it.

We landed right at midnight, and having sat at the very back of the aircraft, we’re the last to deplane, which is never a pleasant experience sitting in a giant metal tube with stagnant air for an extra 20 minutes than most other people.  Naturally, we’re at the very end of the terminal, so it’s a quarter mile to get to the escalators only to find out that the Pain Train shuttle is on reduced service and only one side of the tracks are operating, so we start walking, only for there to be assholes who clog up the moving walkway with wheelchairs they’re using as push carts or people just too fucking stupid and/or oblivious and not moving out the way for those actually walking.

We get on the next pain train, and of course, it stops because the tracks are clogged, right before we need to get off, adding even more time to our arrival, to which I am being cognizant about because as it’s past midnight, a new day is ticking, and I don’t want to get charged even more for parking than I have to at this point, so getting out as soon as possible is the objective.

Arriving at the main terminal, it turns out that basically the entire north wing is cordoned off, so we have to do a really cumbersome detour around south and then back to north, and of course the parking payment machines are all gone, presumably so that people can no longer pre-pay for their parking and increase the chances of time lapsing further while you get to your car, and drive through the maze-like exits of the on-site parking.

By the time we’re off the premises, mythical wife and I are already not speaking, because she’s tired of my complaining, and I’m over not being allowed to be upset at the fact that Atlanta Hartsfield Latoya-Jackson is run by brain dead invalids who love to parrot that they’re the busiest airport in the world, leaving out the fact that such business is wholly a result of the fact that they’re run by a bunch of brain dead invalids.

I don’t apologize for having higher expectations of the world around me, and I understand that the only one set up for failure for having such a mindset is myself, because the rest of the non-Korean world is way more accepting of substandard performance out of fucking everyone than I am.  And like a self-fulfilling prophecy, I am failing, because I fall victim to getting annoyed by fucking everything, because nobody in the world is capable of performing a job at a satisfactory level, seemingly anywhere I go.

I know the easy solution to a large percentage of the angst I experience on a daily basis would probably go away if I simply lowered my expectations on the world around me and were better capable of accepting the fact that the world is way less competent than I hope they could be, but it’s difficult for me.  I’m Korean, and culturally, Korean people expect a lot out of other people, and it’s never not disappointing when our expectations are not met.  This is a facet of my personality that in spite of my American upbringing that remains very much Korean, and it sucks because it means I’m an easy mark for disappointment, negativity and pessimism.

I don’t mean to be so negative and pessimistic and nihilistic about the world around me, but sometimes I really can’t help it.  I expect basic competence from everyone around me, and when everyone around me mostly, inevitably falls short, it’s a disappointment.  But I’m not going to apologize for voicing my opinions; I may try to be more cognizant that not everyone is going to want to hear them, but I don’t apologize if they come out.  If the world around me were more competent at their jobs and fostered efficiency and smooth operating, I wouldn’t have room for complaint, and in fact be grateful and praising of good work, because few things please me more than benefiting from efficient operating.

But as the subject of this post says, I know it’s not the world’s fault that I’m always so cranky and critical.  It’s entirely on me, because I have too many expectations from everyone, that I’m only setting myself up for let down and disappointment when they all inevitably fail to meet such par but lofty standards.  I’m working on it as much as a person like me can possibly work on it.

I will never understand people who think cash doesn’t make the best gift

~ dannyhong ~ Leave a comment

It’s that time of the year when all across the country, as well as the world, people are preparing for their respective gift-giving holidays and putting way more thought than really should be necessary in pondering on what to get for the ones in our lives we feel the compulsion to give gifts to.  And because I am fortunate to have people in my life who care about me, I’ve been asked for what I want, or lists of things that might want to expedite their pursuits for checking me off a respective list.

The honest answer to if there is anything that I want is that I literally want nothing.  There is no physical tangible thing out there at this juncture in my life that will improve my standing in said life, and I would rather have absolutely nothing over one more piece of existing matter that can further fill up my house that I already feel is packed to the brim with, things.

Not even any more wrestling blets, because for starters there aren’t any blets out there that I actually want anymore, and secondly because I have no office or personal space to put them in, any further blets would just sit in my closet out of sight until whatever day comes when I can have a private space again.

What I would really like, is to receive cash, if I had to get any gifts at all.  But the thing is, at least with so many Americans, cash is considered not a good gift, as it’s impersonal or thoughtless or other pejoratives people who feel this way use to try and justify their opinions that it’s just not a good gift.

Quite the contrary, I don’t think there’s a gift better than cold hard currency, because it shows that you care enough to want to gift something to a person, but at the same time, take into consideration that they can actually then use it on specifically what they want, because the things people want might be personal or too expensive and require lots of other cash gifts to help to go toward it, but the fact of the matter is that cash is one of those things most could probably use, but at least in America, probably won’t get solely based on perception bias of cash as gifts.

In the Korean part of my upbringing, cash as gifts was about as common as white people giving out cups and mugs* as gifts.  Not only does it demonstrate thoughtfulness, it also takes into consideration that the recipient is now free to use it towards what might actually make them happy, instead of receiving something that they might have to pretend being happy over and making it awkward when it’s never seen of again, or worse off, ends up in a charity pile or discreetly sold on Facebook Marketplace.

*this is another can of worms that maybe I’ll rant about the next time it triggers me

Frankly, I’d love it if everyone who wanted to get me a gift would just send me cash.  The only things I want are time, which I know can’t be purchased, and relief from feeling like I’m scraping by, which can only be gifted in the forms of cash that I’d use to help keep my head above water.  And it wouldn’t be like using gift cash to pay for my bills or anything, it would be like cash used to help cover for actual indulgences that just happened to have occurred in the past, like the multitude of Disney trips that have happened over the last two years where it always feels like I’m trying to dig out of.

That’s what would actually make me happy.  Things won’t make me as happy as the alleviation of some of the financial undertakings that I’ve been put on, because there is a direct correlation with my financial security and my general state of happiness, and anything that can bring me any sort of relief, would be the most welcome gift of all.

Dad Brog (#126): When will the holidays be enjoyable again?

~ dannyhong ~ Leave a comment

This morning, I was awoken a few minutes before my alarm went off, because #1 had already begun to stir and babble and indicate that she was awake.  My alarm went off three minutes later at 7 am because I get up at 7 am every single day of my life regardless of if it’s a weekend or holiday so that I can hope to get some stuff done and have breakfast ready for the kids for when I inevitably get them from their respective rooms.

I got off of the couch because my in-laws were visiting and mythical wife and I forfeited our bed because we no longer have a guest room because we have an au pair, and I trudged into the kitchen to begin the morning routine.  It didn’t last long, because #1 began screaming and crying out for dada to come get her, and it was getting louder and louder, and typically I try to no-sell it and hope she calms back down, but it was evident that that wasn’t going to happen this morning.  And before her screaming would wake up the rest of the state of Georgia, I went up to get her early, regardless of the fact that I hadn’t gotten anything prepared for the morning.

Turns out she had completely soaked the bed, and most likely from a combination of shame and embarrassment, she was furious, despite the fact that I did not get mad or upset with her and explained calmly that everything was okay and that we would fix it.  She wailed like a banshee and had a nuclear meltdown, while I stripped the sheets and got her changed and brought her downstairs.  I love my kids, but trying to do anything with them around is at least three times harder than it should be, and putting away yesterday’s dishes and trying to prepare breakfast for them is no exception.

After getting #1 situated and eating, I went up to get #2, and thankfully this morning she was the chill kid, and didn’t fuss and fight at all which was a huge relief.  She sat down and began eating and for two seconds, things were quiet with them eating breakfast.  But that didn’t last long, because the rest of the house started waking up, and other human beings are automatically distracting to them, and before I know, breakfast is abandoned, and they’re running amok, primarily fucking with the Christmas tree and some of the decorations we had just set up the night prior after Thanksgiving dinner part two.

To cut to the chase and cut down on redundant words and stories about how hard my life is in my parental circumstances, that was basically the story of the day, playing a fuck ton of defense throughout the house as #2 was being a little shit all day long just trying to get into things, fuck with the Christmas tree and being a defiant dick, throwing and knocking over anything she could get her hands on, and #1 being an uber-clingy barnacle to me the entire day, demanding my attention or having a meltdown if she wasn’t getting it.

Mythical wife and I declared that today was arguably, the hardest day we had as parents as we’d ever had, as in ever, and we both agreed that as much as we love the kids, this was one of those days where we just could not wait to put them down to bed for the evening.  I often think it’s cliché for people to crack open a cold alcoholic beverage after a trying day, but today definitely encapsulated the circumstances for it to sound like the greatest idea in the world, and not five minutes after I came downstairs after putting #1 to bed, it was straight to the fridge to pull out a Schofferhofer, one of the weak-ass fruit witbiers that I still actually enjoy drinking at home, when I feel like having something with a little booze in it.

As nihilistic and pessimistic as it might sound, this was just another year of holidays that I just can’t really get into and didn’t really look forward to, because this stage of parenting is just so overwhelmingly difficult on a daily basis, that I don’t really much like getting out of the routine, even for holidays in which we’re expected to be happy and thankful for things, because it just means a whole lot of extra work of preparing my home, hosting people, and a whole lot of gray area of childcare and eyes on the girls, resulting in mostly me feeling like I’m the only one who is mindful of the kids and being the primary person chasing after them and keeping watch over them, all while I have other responsibilities and expectations to do as well, because trying to do anything with kids around is automatically eight times harder than it should be, but I still have to do them anyway, hell or high water.

And I can’t help but think about holidays in the past prior to having kids, because they were all just so simple and full of space to have the capacity to think about things like traveling instead of hosting, contemplating Black Friday shopping, and actually having the money to do both, and I love my kids and family until the day I die, but there’s no denying just how different, simple and mindless life was prior to the rigors of raising kids.

Lots of parents of children far older than my own often like to say how things get easier as they age, which makes sense, but god damn there are times in which I can’t wait for those days to become reality in my life, because days like this I find myself cursing in private at how much I’m so sick of parenting sometimes, and wanting to scream and break shit over the aggravation of my kids can be when they both feel like being little asshole shits, and I feel bad for doing such, but I’m already always living in a state of high RPM stress on the regular, and I just wonder when things will actually calm down to where I don’t have to feel like this and dread holidays and can eventually get back to enjoying them again someday.

Dad Brog (#125): a great idea to help reduce spreading sickness

~ dannyhong ~ Leave a comment

I was driving home from the pediatrician with #1 having a meltdown, which was a continuation of the meltdown from the process of getting ready to go to the pediatrician just 45 minutes prior, and unsurprisingly, I was feeling pretty sour.  Both my kids are currently sick going into the Thanksgiving holiday, and once again I’m imagining nuclear shits for the parents of the kids that got my kids sick, and annoyed with everyone who tries to tell me that that’s just the way things are and I shouldn’t get so worked up over it.

Today was a follow-up appointment from two days ago, since #1’s sickness seemed a little worse, and she had to not only go on meds obviously, but this time, we were sent home with a nebulizer, because it was that much worse than the ordinary cold this time around.  Thankfully it wasn’t COVID or RSV, but it’s still unknown to why she’s got a wheeze in her chest that kept her from getting much sleep the night prior. 

Either way, I was a bit furrowed in the brow when I was told that it was another $35 copay for the follow-up, but obviously American healthcare is basically the worst ATM in existence, but we were literally there for five minutes in the exam room.  #1’s weight was taken, blood pressure and oxygen levels measured.  A stethoscope to the chest for 90 seconds, and then we were done and out the door; but a follow-up in a week was requested, which means that’ll be another $35 copay for probably another five minutes to tell us that things are continuing on the mend.

So I’m driving home, and I’m thinking how great it would be if the parents who sent the kids who got my kids sick and started this whole debacle would have to be on the hook for the ~$140 in doctor visits and meds that I’ve shelled out, and then it brought me joy imagining if that really were something that were possible: accurate responsibility of spreading families to be held accountable for the expenditures of the families of people they got sick.

I’m sure that would change American attitudes about going into work sick, sending sick kids into schools, and wearing masks in public when things aren’t fully healthy.  Like a parent sends Little Jimmy into school, knowing they’ve got a cough and snotty nose.  And then 10 days later, they get an invoice in the mail saying they’re on the hook for a co-pay and meds for Little Sally, who’s in Little Jimmy’s class and sits next to them in the classroom.  Or Karen goes to Target while she is hacking and sneezing but doesn’t mask.  And then a week later, thanks to facial recognition, they’re identified and sent an invoice for the medical expenses of the rando that was in the aisle with them looking for OTC medication that now has the flu.

Obviously, none of this is really possible due to incubation periods of viruses and the extreme big brother-ing necessary to pinpoint transmission possibilities, but if it were, and people were to be held accountable for their poor decision when it comes to dealing with the sicknesses of themselves or their offspring, I’m sure people would be way quicker to pull the trigger in using that sick time or keeping their kids at home to reduce the possibility of transmission, and society as a whole benefits from the reduction of spreading of nuisance illnesses.

But wouldn’t I feel some consolation satisfaction at knowing that the deadbeat parents that sent their sick kid to school who got my kid sick and brought the plague into my household, had to pay my medical bills.  The thought of it, even as impossible as it may be, would bring me great joy, if it were.