4.6km
30.1min
54.4m climbed
161.5avg bpm
I had it put on my left arm, because for me, it was going to be the first of many. I figured I'd keep it simple, and then maybe down the road put some flames around or something else. I debated about doing some other superhero type logos on the right arm, which I was saving for something truly majestic. That day has yet to come.
Once The Punisher came out, it lived mostly up to my expectations, and I continued to be a fan of the character. However, something started happening that didn't sit as easy with me. I started seeing the logo pop up in places that were well... not really my kind of places. Suddenly, my neat looking skull based on a B list comic character and from a movie that hardly anyone watched was showing up on police cars and at protests. The logo was adopted by lots of groups that well... probably didn't read many comic books.
I wouldn't go as far as to say it tainted the symbol the same way the Nazi's tainted the swastika, but the broken skull logo is not nearly as exciting to as it once was. In 2004, I had a shirt with the logo on it, and that's not something I'd wear today. Rarely do I go around sleeveless, so it's not like folks see my tattoo often, but looking back, I definitely wish I would have gone with a Batman or Superman logo.
I'm not ashamed of it enough to get it removed or anything. I know I don't represent the values that some folks try to place on the logo, but I do wish they would have chosen something else. But I'm forty years old, and I'm pretty sure the days of me going shirtless/sleeveless are pretty much over so I guess I'm gonna have this on me till I die.
(BTW: If you've never seen The Punisher fan film Dirty Laundry starring Thomas Jane, I highly recommend checking it out)
The NYT is no more about news than the Repubs are about governing.#
Hong Kong still seems like the same place in many ways, but it feels different. I don’t know how much of it is due to the changes in me or the changes of the place itself. But I am still so fond of it, because I grew up with a media diet of cantonese music and dramas. Somehow listening to people speaking cantonese makes me happier? What a strange phenomenon, especially because I am not cantonese myself.
Hong Kong is nostalgia on steroids. Their old ways of living still exists in large pockets, for now. The young business people seem to appreciate this, starting new cafes with decor that pays homage to their heritage. Old buildings are preserved and turned into creative spaces:
Perhaps it is because I am from a country that keeps tearing down old stuff in order to build shiny new things, I can’t help but be drawn to all the old that exists in Hong Kong:
One of my favourite neighbourhoods is Sham Shui Po, where you can find stalls selling knick knacks like this:
My partner was so excited to stumble upon this stall:
Sadly many shops did not survive the pandemic. Instead there were a ton more hipster cafes. Hopefully we’ll get to experience a different evolution of Sham Shui Po in time to come.
There’s not many places in the world where you can come across a person working on chinese calligraphy on the street:
I particularly loved visiting Sai Kung, even if we had to take a 30-minute vomit-inducing mini bus ride:
…but we’re rewarded with these beautiful rainbow mosaic tiles on the way:
We just loved these coffee/tea cups – in Singapore everything is homogenous looking, perhaps because such attention to detail would not be rewarded in an environment where cafes and restaurants routinely do not survive beyond a few months. Why is Hong Kong different? It is a dense highly-capitalist city too after all. My guess is there are simply more REITs here, while Hong Kong has a lot more space with different types of ownership, especially out of the central business area. It is also probably different growing up in a place where everything is a beautiful chaotic mess, versus the type of pristine orderly (sometimes sterile) beauty we have here in Singapore.
Everyone seems crazy about these soft serve trucks – you can buy souvenirs like toys and postcards of it:
…and who doesn’t like trams? We like that they are not air-conditioned since we are covid-cautious, and they cost about 0.40 usd per trip.
I also appreciate you can see old junk boats against a modern city-scape:
Speaking of cityscapes, one can see majestic hills even in the city, and there are a ton of hiking trails.
I like that if you’re willing to venture far enough, there are areas still relatively untouched by modernity.
The reasons why I love Hong Kong are the same reasons why some people dislike the place. It can be grimy, chaotic, old, messy. It is everything I didn’t grow up in. I love it as a occasional visitor of course as a caveat. But I do have a school mate who moved here to study in her teens, and she disowned the opportunity to live here in favour of the chaotic mess of her original home even with all the political baggage. There are people who made the move in the other direction. The environment that happens to make us thrive can be such a strange inexplicable phenomenon.
I am a very different person from the person who last visited Hong Kong 8 years ago. I am glad to have the opportunity to experience the place with a different perspective, and through that I got to be closer to myself, because like people – places are a mirror to our selves.
I can’t help associating Mother’s Day with another holiday: Thanksgiving. That’s because, in 2011, my mother passed away on the Monday after Thanksgiving. Thanksgiving is the last holiday I spent with her.
I owe my mother far more than I can ever properly credit. For 10 years in my early childhood, she raised me as a single mother. When she passed away, my mother had worked at a garment factory in southeast Arkansas for 23 years. Her peak wage was $10 an hour. Thanks to the sacrifices of my mother (and my stepfather), I’ve never made as little as $10 an hour since I graduated college.
As a tired single mother, she prepared me for the future the best way she knew how. She made sure I understood early on that education was my key to getting out of the hometown I couldn’t wait to leave behind. She taught me how to study for tests. She made sure I went to school every day unless I was sick. I didn’t need a prestigious education. (Louisiana public schools have served me just fine.) I just needed an education. And she gave me the stability I needed to focus on being just one tier above mediocre so that I could take on the opportunities waiting for me outside of northeast Louisiana.
I shouldn’t be here, where I am, a humble boy from Middle of Nowhere, Louisiana, making a good life in the middle of the Dallas-Fort Worth Metroplex.
I wouldn’t be where I am today if it weren’t for my mother. She is still the rock upon which I stand.
I was 26 years old when my mother passed away. I wasn’t ready to say goodbye. Even in my mid-20s, I still needed my mommy. And I still do, as I approach middle age.
I often wonder if my mother would be proud of me and where I am. Sometimes, I want nothing more than to hear that sentiment from her. That will never happen. So all I can do is hope.
If you know you owe any semblance of success to your mother–and you know you can never put that fact into proper words–just try. Make the effort. You won’t find the right words. But that’s not the point. The point is in letting her know what you know you can never articulate.
These days, some women lament the idea of being nothing more than just a mother. But there is no such thing as just a mother. A mother brings you into the world. And she is most often the first person to ever love you. We should not discount this simple gift of biology.
So even if your mother is just a mother, let her know you appreciate her. And celebrate the hell out of her while you still can.
Jake LaCaze wants you to say hi to your mother for him.
From the road trip a few days ago, a train somewhere along Texas highway 79.
I've wanted to see the aurora borealis for as long as I can remember and got a bit emotional.
The pictures have been processed slightly to accentuate the colours and structure. I would have loved to have been out in a dark sky area.
# Got to get up early as going to see the in-laws new home but might try to sneak another peak at the aurora tonight. I have a little tripod that might help get better shots with my phone.
In my previous post, I was able to locate the precinct number in my county in Oregon where I vote. My next exploration was to see the results for the 2022 and 2020 elections for races that I voted on. There is a site called OpenElections which works to collect raw data from elections across the United States. This data is stored on Github. The data is organized by state, so I was quickly able to find the folder/repo with results for Oregon. Next, I found the 2022 general election results and the 2020 general election results (both results were saved as CSV files). Here were the results for my precinct for both of those years for the major (Dem/Rep) candidates:
2022
2020
Overall, this precinct is pretty evenly split between Democratic and Republican voters, even though statewide Democrats hold majorities in the Oregon House and Senate, and all 5 statewide offices. In my opinion, based on the results of the 2022 governor’s race (Tina Kotek beat Christine Drazan by 67,000 votes out of 1,935,852 votes cast), Oregon is becoming more of a “purple” state than remaining a “blue” state.
There is not a whole lot to do here. With my uncle gone there’s no one to take us out; while healthy, my grandparents can’t walk for very long and neither can my mom. My brother and I are useless on our own. We don’t have a data plan, can’t pay for anything because we don’t have WeChat pay set up (I think you need a Chinese bank account), and can’t even download an offline map to help us get around. If we do go out on our own we’ll have to retrace our steps by memory.
The streets are covered with a yellowish dust, which kicks up into our faces when the howling wind swirls around. The dust storms, vast empty expanses, and crumbling infrastructure remind me of the Midwest.
We did brave the wind to visit the supermarket mall complex yesterday. Everything seems less glamorous after Japan, but the supermarket still strikes me as miles better than the ones we have in the States. V and I go cross-eyed at the variety of Lays, Doritos, and Cheetos flavors we’ve never seen before. Squid. Mexican chicken tomato [sic]. Spicy numbing hot pot.
Everything is cheap, even in the mall food court. Buns for a few dimes. Revolving conveyor belts with all you can eat hotpot ingredients for $3 USD. I didn’t see many meals that cost more than $5 USD.
I know it’s not like this in all of China, especially not the big cities. But here in small town China house prices are plummeting. As the older generation pass away the young are inheriting more and more houses. Since they’re moving to big cities and not having as many kids, the houses sit vacant, fetching significantly less than they sold for decades ago. The idea of real estate doing anything except doubling in value is a foreign concept to me.
Back at Grandpa’s home there’s not much to do. They do have wifi, thankfully. It boasts a whopping 4 mbps download speed, essentially keeping me from viewing anything that isn’t plaintext like Bear. It’s been a blessing for our creativity, though. V is drawing a recap of his last year in uni on his iPad and I cycle between reading, writing, and napping. The hours blend together like this; there’s no need for me to wear a watch when there’s nothing to do.
🥠
My recent posts have been more narrative. It’s been fun to write like this for a change. I feel like I am writing an ongoing novel of my life which releases a chapter every day or every other day. I want to milk it for all that it’s worth because I know my normal life back at home won’t provide me with as much material to do the same. With this change I’m trying to practice what I preach in classes and work on a few specific things: using more present tense, crafting good dialogue, avoiding overusing ‘but’, varying my sentence structures.
“The most critical part of becoming “so good they can’t ignore you” is to be “so prolific you don’t recognise yourself”. Once you cross that threshold you can actually look at your own work with a relatively objective, critical eye.”
~ Visakan Veerasamy
This is me striving to empty the well at every opportunity, not worrying much about quality, and enjoying the process, wherever it takes me.
