I hope the afterlife is ready to get their asses destroyed

By now, I would wager that just about everyone has someone they can name off the top of their heads as someone whom they think has been the greatest casualty of the coronavirus.  Whether it’s a family member, or family of a friend, or a friend of family, a celebrity, regional personality, or what not, at this point it’s probably not a stretch for people to be able to have been affected to some degree of sadness at the death or someone they cared about.

For me, short of anyone in my family, the news of the passing of actor and martial arts legend, Shinichi “Sonny” Chiba is without question, the one death that stands out above all others in my personal little world, and it upset me tremendously to have learned of the passing of this icon.

At 82 years old, it’s not like he hasn’t lived a full and fruitful life in his own right, but the fact that he passed due to pneumonia associated with coronavirus says to me that he still died in a pointless, unfortunate and completely avoidable manner.  I won’t sugarcoat the disappointment that I felt to learn that he also wasn’t vaccinated, but given his age, I’m hoping he was more of the type to be concerned over a vaccine of such nature to a person of his age, versus someone who was just anti-vax, and flat out refused it, but this is something that I guess we’ll never know.

I don’t even really know where to go with the rest of this post.  I wanted to make sure that even in spite of my complete lack of any time to do any writing, that when I started writing this, I wanted to be clear headed, and relatively available to gather my thoughts and write, because most anyone who knows me probably knows that I’ve always been a die-hard Sonny Chiba fan, and that I saw him as more than a martial artist and an actor, and more like an icon and a personal hero, that started kind of as a joke, but really grew into something genuine and meaningful.

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Happy trails, New Jack

To be perfectly honest, the news of New Jack’s passing didn’t really impact me beyond the unfortunate feeling that at just 58-years old, he probably left a lot of life on the table when he decided to check out.  I can’t say that I was really that big of a fan of his ever, and I was a fan of ECW during their heyday when he was a member of the Gangstas and all his rando team-ups with Spike Dudley and John Kronus.

All the same, I still felt like writing out some words on account his passing, because I’m still a wrestling fan, and I do have memories of New Jack myself.

Honestly, I actually remember New Jack doing the job more often than not, especially towards the last few years of ECW.  Granted, he would always remain “strong” in terms of optics and perception, because along with his trashcans of weapons he’d always bring to the ring, he would punish and beat the fuck out of his opponents for 12 minutes before he’d inevitably overextend the beatdown by going up high, and after whatever dive, fall or slam off of often times, multiple stories, he would be just as in a position to lose the “match” as his opponents were, and he did, a lot.

Towards the end of ECW, I remember him in many matches often opposing the Dudley Boyz, and those were some savage, brutal affairs, where most spectators whether they were wrestling fans or not, would often bring up the “well, that’s got to be real” comments when New Jack was snapping crutches and other objects on the backs and heads of his opposition.  Frankly, the finishes to these matches were probably the safest parts, when the inevitable 3D through a table probably felt like jumping on the bed versus having a 230 lb. man dropping on you from above, since one of the staples of every New Jack match was an insane dive or fall.

I bet there were some intense rock-paper-scissors or straws drawn to decide who got to have Spike Dudley drop on them versus New Jack.

Above all else though, if there was one core, key element that New Jack brought to the table, and in my opinion, the thing that will truly be lost with his passing, was the sheer element of insane-terror-fear that he brought into whatever room or arena he walked into.  Make no mistake, New Jack was one of the most terrifying and intimidating performers of an entire generation.

As much as guys like Haku brought an air of toughness, the Undertaker commanded respect, New Jack brought an air of homicide with him that the people he worked with might actually have been fearful for their lives when they knew that they had to work with him.  Guys like Jack Victory and of course, nobody can talk about New Jack without mentioning The Mass Transit Incident where he basically almost killed a minor who had lied about his age to get in the ring could attest to the sheer brutality that lay in store when working with New Jack if he just felt like it, it must literally have felt like Russian Roulette when stepping into the ring with New Jack.

Although I can’t say that I was particularly a fan of his, or the hardcore style in general, it would be inaccurate to say that New Jack wasn’t a legend in his own right.  The whole package of the brutal, hardcore punishment he brought to every match the Natural Born Killaz track that played continuously throughout all his matches, and the sheer violence and shock value he brought are things that simply cannot be emulated or recreated in this day and age, and it’s probably for the best.

Regardless, happy trails to Jerome Young, AKA New Jack, and respect for the wild and crazy shit he brought to the industry while he was in it.

Re: The Atlanta Asian Spa Murders

I have a lot of thoughts on this topic.  Very few of them coherent.  Every day since the news broke of a white guy too heavily armed, killing eight people in the Metro Atlanta region, way too close to where my family and I live, it’s been a shit show all over social media and the internet with all the news, opinions and just, overwhelming chatter going on.

There’s so much noise, that I can’t really find the capacity to formulate rational thoughts on the topic.  There’s nothing I could say that hasn’t already been said by someone else, from all ends of the spectrum.  I don’t know whether to be upset, mad, frustrated or annoyed, by all the perceived rhetoric, white privilege, seemingly fake and topical social activism, and all the sudden allies in arms for Asian communities.

Frankly, I just don’t have the time to think much about it, and I honestly would rather not, not because I don’t care, quite the contrary, but because I just have way too much going on in my life at home, that it’s really hard to find the capacity to think about much else that happens outside of it.

But because the internet doesn’t know how to ever shut the fuck up, it’s impossible to avoid and it’s impossible to not be exposed and revealed to fresh information as it’s constantly coming out, in spite of the embarrassingly high amount of empathy and consideration given to a mass murderer simply because of the lack of color in his skin.  So here we are, where I feel like I have to say something in spite of how much I really wish I didn’t, but I feel like if anything at all, I’ll look back at this post when the On This Day plug-in brings it back up in a future year(s) and go oh yeah, that shit DID happen, and America didn’t change one fucking iota as a result of it and all the non-Asian allies went back to their regularly scheduled lives the following Monday when Falcon & The Winter Soldier dropped on Disney+ and everyone moved onto the next shiny topic.

So all I’ll really say is that only in America can people get so misdirected by fighting over what the intent of murders were, that the actual murders themselves are basically rendered secondary in importance.  As if there’s any difference in a sexual motivation or racial one, when eight people are fucking dead, not to mention that it’s very fucking possible for it to have been both at the same time.

To once again say that America Sucks is among the grossest understatements there could possibly be, and this is one of those times where I just want everyone to shut the fuck up.  About their rage, about their convenient recency bias support of Asian communities, and just stop fucking talking and recognize that a bunch of people were gunned down by an angry white guy who was having a really bad day.

I fucking hate this place, sometimes.

Things that have happened since the brog’s been down

Shortly after my brog went down in April 2016, I started a document, bulleting things that want to potentially write about, in the event that the site would be back up within like a month or two.  Obviously that never happened, but it didn’t really stop me from adding to the list on a regular basis, even if it continued for nearly four years.

At first, it was a pretty nitty-gritty list, straight to the point and pretty succinct at what I wanted to remember.  But by the time 2018 rolled around, I noticed some patterns and categories in which things caught my attention and warranted notation, and so some categories started to take place.

I’m not entirely sure why I feel compelled to share all of this, but for whatever reason I’m following through with it, and basically this is going to be little more than a massive bulleted list of things that happened between mid-2016 through mid-2020, with probably not a lot of context, but likely some snark and veiled commentary peppered throughout.

2016

  • Pokemon Go came, lit the world on fire for 15 minutes, and then flamed out harder than the FOX Fantastic Four films
  • I became The Burrito King of Atlanta, winning Willy’s Road Trip promotion by visiting 27 Willy’s locations in four days
  • Kobe Bryant retired from professional basketball, but not before dropping 60 in his final game
  • The Golden State Warriors won 73 games and passed the ’96 Bulls’ unbreakable record, but then lost in the NBA finals like chumps
  • The Atlanta Braves retired Turner Field for whiter pastures, by sucking hardcore and losing 93 games
  • Hulk Hogan killed Gawker
  • Went on a European cruise vacation with mythical then-gf, visiting Italy, Turkey, Croatia and Greece
  • Went to Korea for the first time in my life, with my mom
  • The Chicago Cubs won the World Series, breaking a 108-year long drought and endless memes
  • An orange baked potato reality television personality inexplicably won the presidency of the United States of America
  • A fuckton of people died from senseless gun violence

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The brutal absolute of the rule of three

As those people who read my writing might be aware, I don’t really write that much about my personal family life.  There’s not really any particular reason for that, except for the thought that I guess there are veils that I prefer to keep on certain things depending on the audience.  Plus, the internet is already full of heavy and glum things to read about, and I’ve always preferred to try and write about less serious and more whimsical things, or at least dunk on all of the stupid shit that the City of Atlanta or State of Georgia does.

But after the third death in the last six weeks, the prevalent thought in my head is just how brutally absolute that the whole rule of three really seems sometimes.  I forewent my bachelor party due to a death in the family of someone very close to me, and as much as it probably would’ve been great to get smashed in Vegas and piss away a few hundred dollars, it was more important to be with my brother in a tragic time.  A week later, there was a death in the family of mythical fiancée, and although this one was kind of anticipated due to obvious circumstances, a passing is a passing, and it’s no less sad because we could see it coming.

This morning, I found out that an uncle of mine passed away.  Which, to me was kind of a surprise, but at the same time kind of wasn’t.  I knew his health was deteriorating, but it’s been quite a few years since he had a quintuple (read: five) bypass, so it always just seemed like he survived a tough ordeal and was on his way to simply living out the rest of his life in relative normalcy.  He watched both his sons grow up, get married and father their own kids, becoming a grandfather four times over.

My family has this group chat that I regularly keep my eye on, to see general chatter amongst my cousins and aunts.  I had seen that he had been admitted to the hospital due to a complication in regards to an artery, but according to the chat, it seemed like he made it through, and I’d see pictures of him sitting back and reading the paper, or when he was out on a walker doing physical therapy.  I felt some relief that it looked like he was on the mend.

But then I get some messages from one of my cousins, telling me that they’re not going to be able to make it to the wedding, on account of my uncle’s hospitalization.  And although I’m disappointed losing headcount this close to the wedding, if there was any reason that could be justified and understood, this was it.  I called my mom, because I wanted more details, and it turns out that he’s doing way worse than the family chat made it seem like.  He was mostly immobile, relying on an oxygen machine in order to breathe, and the kicker was that the only times he wasn’t actively in pain was whenever the morphine kicked in.

And then this morning, I get a call at a very unusual 6 a.m., and I knew the news was not going to be good.  Just like that, right after talking about him the night prior, he was gone.

Since it’s so fresh, I have no idea what the next few days are going to be like in terms of a service or funeral.  All I know is that the likelihood of me going to another funeral is pretty good, provided flight availability isn’t catastrophic.

I couldn’t help but think about how the rule of three came into play again here, but this wasn’t like professional wrestlers, athletes or nostalgic celebrities.  These were people that were entwined with people in my everyday life that were passing, which means it was hitting home just that much harder, because I’m seeing the sadness and grief affecting people right in front of me, and enduring the helpless feeling that there’s nothing at all that can be done to snap them out of it.

It’s scary just how seemingly absolute and inevitable the rule of three tends to be.  After the first two funerals, I can’t say that the thought didn’t cross my mind, but I couldn’t help but feel this sinking feeling when I found out that my uncle was going to the hospital.  I’m not a religious person by any stretch of the imagination, I’ve long since walked away from my Catholic upbringing.  But much of my extended family are, and watching and reading them talk about the prayers they were having for the family, and then the initial news that my uncle’s surgery was successful gave promise that maybe things were headed in the right direction, and there just might be reward for those with faith, as long as they’re good people.

But as stated, there was way more to the story than what was made available in an online group chat, and now the inevitable third is gone.  The rule of three strikes again, but it’s unfortunately a little too close to home this time.

Let’s just hope that it’s done now, and that the people in my world can not have to go to any more funerals this year.

Life is fleeting

Over the weekend, a work colleague of mine passed away, inexplicably.  She wasn’t much older than I was.  I saw her on Monday from afar, as I no longer sit right next to her like I used to before my promotion.  Apparently, she left early, citing that she wasn’t feeling well; and nothing more was thought of it, because the seasonal flu was very much on our floor, and numerous people had already succumbed to it, and were either already called in sick, or were leaving early.

Little did I realize that it would be the last time I would ever see her.  It’s frightening to think of life being as fragile as that.  As we were primarily co-workers, there’s only so much that I really knew of her, but I never knew if she would have any health issues to where the flu or byproducts of the flu could actually become lethal.

But aside from being “just” co-workers, this was a person that I probably would have considered my closest confidant at work.  I don’t fraternize with my peers a tremendous amount, and especially now that I’m in management, I didn’t necessarily always feel that it was that appropriate, so it somewhat of a big deal that she and I were as candid and frank with each other in our own hushed conversations throughout the work days. 

When I was still an artist, she was my coordinator, and we had a working relationship that was just about the epitome of a well-oiled machine.  We came into our departments at relatively the same time, and each went through our series of lumps learning said departments, and the first year of working together was bumpy at first, but solely in work process, and not personally.  She was an extremely hard and diligent worker who chose to be in our department, whereas I was assigned to it; she wanted the challenge of dealing with a complex department, while I just liked having a job.

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Forever questions

The afternoon after I wrote my last post, I got home from work and I went into the backyard with the dog for some routine ball time.  In between throws, I scoured the ground and all the numerous patches of clover, looking for a four-leaf clover.  I know that at my old house, the backyard was rife with four-leafers, but it never took away from the happiness from finding one, with the hopes that somewhere in the world, the magic of the luck of a four-leaf clover could be cashed in, in some capacity.  And given the intensive dread that existed at that time concerning my family, I felt really, really hopeful that I could find just one more four-leaf clover in my new backyard.

I couldn’t.  Even after nearly 45 minutes of looking for a four-leaf clover, there were none to be found in my new house.  Even the dog was tired of running for the ball at that point.  There simply wasn’t one that I could find.

But it’s not that it would have mattered anyways.  About an hour or so later, I received a phone call from my sister, who let me know that her husband, my brother-in-law and father to my niece and nephew had passed away two hours earlier, well before I had begun my search for a four-leaf clover.

Even now, I replay the conversation in my head, and it brings tears to my eyes every time, hearing details of his last moments, and how he seemingly held on just long enough for his kids to make it to the hospital so he could say goodbye to them.  It’s difficult to even type out these words and keep my composure, thinking about it.

The thing is, all this happened right on the day in which my vacation was starting.  My first flight out was just hours away after getting off the phone with my sister, and I felt trapped in this unwinnable bubble that whatever I did was going to be the wrong decision.  Despite the fact that my sister insisted that I go anyway and try to have the best time I could given the circumstances, I still felt like an asshole embarking on an international vacation when someone important to my family had just died.  Sure, I know my sister, and I knew my brother-in-law well enough to know that they’d both have wanted me to go, but it still didn’t entirely feel right.

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