The Race

     In high school, I played on the football team. My position was as a lineman - for those of you unfamiliar, they're generally the biggest (read: tallest & heaviest) dudes on the field at any given time. Not that I was very tall (I can't say the same about not being heavy, lol), I just got lumped into the position. Anyways, linemen are typically (read: always) the slowest guys on the team. Any receiver, quarterback, and your average turtle could outrun a lineman.

     Slow as we are, though, even within the positional group there is differentiation. I.e. there are the slow, the slower, and the slowest linemen. I was definitely in the "slow" group (read: faster than the rest of the fatties). On the other end of the spectrum was a fellow named Derek. His real name is a lot more distinct (it's an ethnic name), but I think Derek will be my go-to cover-up name for the antagonists in my stories. I hate that guy (LOL jk...kind of...) Anyways, the closest animal I could relate Derek to is an ox. This guy was huge (especially at my high school full of Asians, where there weren't that many people taller than 6'). Anywhere from 6'-6'2", at least 230 pounds (and it wasn't all fat, either). I remember standing on the sidelines at one of our games against Independence where he picked up and body slammed this running back that looked like a child compared to him. It was pretty rad, to be honest.

     Anyways, there's more to the ox comparison than just his awesome strength: the dude is slow. I'm not talking just ox slow. I'm talking tortoise slow. I'm talking snail slow. By the time I took my baby steps I probably could have beat him (at the age of 18) in a race. It didn't help his sluggish reputation that his reflexes were awful as well; Derek was slow as hell already without giving everyone else a head start. Needless to say, he was easily the slowest guy on the team.
     Moving on, I happened to be the TA for Derek's physics class. As I strolled through the class one morning, I said something about his speed (or lack thereof) and how he was the slowest guy on the team. I'm not sure if he believed it or not, but y'know what this guy says?
     "No I'm not."
     I don't usually open my mouth about something unless I'm pretty confident, so before I could even give it any thought I shot back (albeit somewhat hesitantly):
     "Uhhh... yes you are."
     "No I'm not. There's someone else that's slower than me."
     The weird part of this conversation is that, for a very short period of time, my mind actually ran through the possibilities. It was senior year, and I'd been on the team since I was a freshman (Derek had only joined the team recently). I knew everyone pretty well after 4 years, and could name the slowest guys in a heartbeat. No one came close to Derek, in terms of slowness. Not one single guy, I was certain of it (or at least, I thought I was certain). But if I were to believe Derek, he was making the claim that somewhere on our roster lay someone that moved so glacially that even Derek could outpace him?? ...
     "Well, who is??"
     I mean, if the guy had a feasible answer, maybe I'd end up feeling the fool after all. I didn't really know what to expect. How could he know the team better than me?
     "You are."
     His response was literally jaw-dropping. As in, I stared at him with an open mouth and this dumb look on my face (y'know, the one where you squint at someone in disbelief?). But my surprise was brief. I asked, "Are you kidding me?" while I guffawed at his dumbass response. Was he joking? Was he serious? Did he even believe himself? Now, anybody who knows me knows my laugh. It is rather hearty, to say the least. Amidst my booming laughter, he chips in:
     "Nope. You're slower than me."
     If he was a funny guy, I would've thought he was just deadpanning, playing it real well. But he wasn't being funny - he was being dead serious. That snapped me out of my laughter and into a pretty aggressive mode.
     "Derek. Do you even know what you're talking about? I might be literally 2 times as fast as you."
     "No you're not, man. I'm faster than you."
     So, being teenage males of the prideful sort, we made a bet to race a hundred meters (the straight part of a track). Since I felt in my heart that he was the underdog by a long shot, I offered to let him set the stakes.
     "Alright, loser has to shave their head."
     If you didn't already know this about me, I have a strong affinity for my hair. I've never styled it in a particular way or even looked at it in the mirror much. It's pretty distinct, it grows in a funny way, but mostly I just like it. and I hate cutting it. At this point it was probably 4-6 inches long (which is short compared to now, but that was still longer than most men's hair and I was loathe to part with it).
     His hair, on the other hand? Maybe an inch long. He already kept his hair so short that shaving it wouldn't even mean a damn thing. whereas I would be losing many months of growth. Lame, right?
     Well, still thinking I had the advantage, I agreed. A feeling of trepidation began to creep into my psyche at the prospect of having to lose my hair, but whatever. We struck the bet and decided that the race would take place that very day after school let out.
     At break or lunch, whichever, I found my good friend Jordan to tell him about the race. Also, I'm not changing his name because I don't need to. He's the guy who has been commenting stickers on everything on Facebook for the past week or so.
     Anyways, I tell him about the race and he suggests we use the razor he's used to trim his pubes. Without any other options I kind of just went along with it without consulting Derek. I mean, I thought I was going to win the race anyways, why would it matter to me, right? And if I lost... well, that's karma for you. Or for me, rather. So throughout the rest of the day, word spread about the race (if I ever had a hype man, his name was Jordan Epperson).
     By the time we got out of class, my sense of anticipation was running pretty high - I was ready to run all over Derek, but the prospect of losing my hair to some pube trimmers played in my mind as well. An errant trip or other minor mishap could easily spell my doom. Whatever, though. Nothing I could do about it at this point.
     Quick aside: before making my way down to the track, I hit the locker room to change. Ran into the basketball coach/PE teacher in his office who says:
     "Oh cool, are you guys doing that right now? I gotta see this."
     After some walking "Hey, loser doesn't get kicked in the balls or anything, right? 'cause I can't be there for that." LOL (and I reassured him that no, no ball-kicking was happening that day).
     Moving on, we get down to the track and there's maybe 20-30 people gathered around to witness the spectacle. I don't really remember much at this time, I think my adrenaline was getting going and my mind was zoning. We probably went over the ground rules, maybe warmed up a little bit, but before you know it, there we were: side-by-side at one end of the track, waiting for the customary "Ready, set, go!", with someone manning a camera at the finish line.
     I already told you guys about his slow reflexes, so I was expecting to be ahead of Derek every step of the way. Whether it was because he wasn't as slow as I thought or because my nerves were shot, we got off to the same start. Not only that, but I distinctly remember being absolutely astonished as he matched me step for step. Alas, we were only to remain in sync for the first 3 steps.
     Whereas I continued to pick up steam, he did not (or at least, not nearly as fast). After those 3 steps, I took off like a rocket (well...relatively, of course) and could tell that I was leaving him in the dust. I ran into the finish line with my arms up, relieved that the result was exactly what I thought it would be (even though I was surprised at the outset of the race). & with that, the razor came out and the shaving commenced. and that's how I won the most thrilling race of my life.

Chicken? Not this guy

     This story's really short, but not short enough to fit into a status...so I opted to just share it here. 

     My whole life, I've been pretty athletic. I'm not talking award-winning, eye-popping feats of the body or anything like that, but just enough to not embarrass myself whenever I engaged in sporty endeavors. In elementary school, this included the game "Chicken." 

     For those of you who aren't familiar (where were you in elementary school? living under a rock?), 2 kids start out on opposite ends of the monkey bars. You go towards the middle, and when you reach the other kid, you kick them so that they drop to the tanbark before you do. I mean... I guess you could've also punched and or bit, but those aren't really tactically sound considering you'd have to take your hand off the bars or risk getting your face kicked in...

     Anyways, one day in either 4th or 5th grade (I think it was 5th grade), I was getting set to go across the monkey bars during recess. I noticed there was someone at the other end, let's just call him Derek (but that's not his real name, and no this is not about Derek Lui LOL). 

     Before I continue, let me tell you a little bit about Derek. He's an alright guy, as far as kids go. He's actually fairly nondescript - nice and not noticeably smart or noticeably stupid. No major characteristics to make him very likable - not witty, or outgoing, or whatever else it is that kids like. But his one major failing was pretty significant - this kid was a goddamn crybaby. I mean, anything that could be even slightly construed as offensive would get him going. Basically, this kid was looking for any and every excuse to shed some tears. It certainly annoyed the hell outta me and definitely hurt his social standing. To make matters worse, he wasn't very athletic, so it's not like he spent much time playing tag or basketball with the rest of us. He was pretty much a loner.

     So I see him across from me on the monkey bars, and I make it clear that I'm not trying to play Chicken. I'm not really in the mood for such a confrontation, plus I know I'm much better at this game than he is. He should be grateful I'm not forcing him to play (read: lose) against me. I know it and he knows it, so he agrees that we'll just make our way across the monkey bars in peace. I start making my way out, bar after bar. When we meet at about the midpoint, I'm maneuvering to turn myself 90 degrees so I can get past him without any contact. It's at this point that he decides to wrap his legs around me and yank me off the bars, laughing his ass off as he does so.

My thoughts as I dropped to the ground:

•      ...are you kidding me? 
• Have you no sense of gratitude? 
• I mean jesus christ, Derek. I coulda kicked the crap outta you if I wanted to, but I didn't. 
• We even agreed BEFOREHAND not to engage. Why the shenanigans, buddy?? 
• Uggghhhh. 
• Why must you do this?!
•  I don't want to be an asshole, but you're making it really difficult on me right now. 

     ...and then I hit the tanbark. If you can't tell, I wasn't amused at all. What could I do? Pull him down? I mean there was no point, considering I'd already been dropped. Not to mention that he was fat, so it wasn't really worth the labor. Maybe treat him to a dick punch? Tempting, but not something that occurred to me at the time. 

     Fortunately for me, while I was standing there fuming, I noticed that one of his shoes had dropped from his foot in the course of his dastardly betrayal of our agreement. I picked it up, and he stopped laughing. This was, once again, my opportunity to act as the purveyor of karma's immediate retribution - and I wouldn't fail.

     "Hey, give that back!"

     I don't know if he meant it, or if we were already at the point where both of us knew what was going down, but there was no way in hell I was just going to hand this scumbag back his shoe. They say to treat others as you'd like to be treated, and this kid just treated me like a real asshole - so I treated him right back.

     "Go get it," I told him, chucking that shoe with all my might. It flew out of the tanbark box, across some dirt, and landed in the sandbox. If that's how he wanted to play at recess, he could hop his ass one-legged across the way to get his shoe back. I didn't really give a damn if he was capable of it, or if he had to get his sock dirty by walking across the tanbark, dirt, and sand. 

     Revenge firmly in hand, I stood in place to watch his pitiful reaction. He released his grip on the bars, landing on the foot still housed by a shoe. He slowly began to hop his way towards his shoe in a really dejected manner - shoulders slumped, downcast facial expression. But before he got there, he stopped at the edge of the tanbark box and sat down. And do you know what this motherfucker did next? Do you remember his one major failing??

     Yep. Instead of taking what he got like a man, he turned on the water works. Before you know it, a crowd of students have circled him and are asking him what's wrong. Without even saying a word - PROBABLY 'CAUSE HE WOULD'VE LAUGHED OR SMILED, GIVING AWAY HIS ACTING JOB AS A VICTIM - he pointed at me as his sobs continued. And this one girl - really nice girl, I've known her all my life and I can say she's got a heart of gold - goes "What's WRONG with you, Minh?!" Even filled by righteous anger, I felt pretty awful when she said that. But the deed was done, and I obviously couldn't explain away my actions, so I just walked away, really exasperated at how I kept getting the short end of the stick in the span of just a few minutes -_-. 

     I could say something about how being spiteful just ends up screwing you over, or how I would have been better off just taking the high road in that situation. But I'd be lying to you if I said that. Throwing that shoe gave me tons of satisfaction and a story I still enjoy. Don't get me wrong - I know it was wrong, but I mean... does that mean you and I can't get a kick out of it ¯\_(ツ)_/¯?? 

The Illusion of Progress

     Although I don't have a very active presence on social media, having a FB and IG account still allows me to see the things you all post - a snapshot into your day at work, some thoughts you might have, and/or some interesting event or other, sometimes accompanied by photos. One type of post that really sticks out to me is what I'll call the "Obstacle(s)-Overcome" post. They can take many forms - a quote, a rant, a picture with some inspiring words - but the main feature of an OO post, as I will refer to them from here on out, is that the author has overcome some obstacle or other.
     After perusing my news feed, I have now concluded that these posts exist largely on Instagram. Or that people don't post these things in the morning. Or that only a handful of people post them, none of whom are currently active. Whatever the reason, I couldn't find any at the time I'm writing this, but thankfully they aren't necessary to my writing - they just help illustrate what I'm referring to.
     Getting back to the matter, what interests me about these posts is that they always illustrate some strength or other. Sometimes it's the strength to move past trauma, sometimes it's the strength to be independent, and still others it is the strength to go to work. Whatever the case, the point is to show progress. The idea that you are better than you were before.
     Let me take a second to give you an idea of my sense of competition. One time in elementary school, I think it was 5th grade but I'm not sure, I was playing some steal the bacon. The other team was stacked - the teacher somehow put all the goddamn athletic kids on one team. And in elementary school I wasn't fat & athletic yet - just fat. I was still competitive, though, and was winning my battles. My teammates, on the other hand, were not. It was driving me off the wall to the point where I might have even been turning red in the face. I mean don't ask,  because I can't even tell you why, but for some reason I was treating that game like my personal Super Bowl. I needed to win, but my shittier-than-shit teammates weren't helping. And I was not shy about getting in their ear about it. I was running my mouth up until the point when a handful of girls grouped up to yell at me. I mean, they literally formed a huddle, counted to 3 or some shit, and yelled, in unison, "MINH! IT'S JUST A GAME!" Hahahah, boy was I a fuckin' asshole.
     Anyways, the point of the story is that I get it. I get the need for triumph. The need to be better - and the glorious feeling that comes with. However, these OO-posts are interesting in that they recur fairly frequently and from the same people. This led me to think about how we consider progress - defined by Google as "forward or onward movement towards a destination."
     I'm gonna use math in my analogy, but don't sweat it - it's really basic and easy-to-understand. Let's pretend we're learning math, and we start with 1+1. Then you move on to 1+2, then 1+3, and so on and so forth. Before you know it, 1081953 + 92041 is easily calculated - you've come a long way from 1+1. Imagine if your teacher set you a problem - 7 + 7 + 7 + 7 + 7 + 7 + 7 + 7 + 7 + 7 + 7 & that you don't know how to multiply. So to solve, you're just counting. Starting with 7, and adding 10 more 7's. Of course, given some time, you work it out and end up with 77. But if you knew how to multiply, you would have come up with 77 much faster. In this situation, I gave you two ways to solve the problem; one is much faster than the other. Of course it's fine to use addition - it gets you to the same spot, just slower.
     I just want to point out the fact that even though you may feel successful or like you've made progress, the truth is that ...well, you might still be doing addition. And like I said before, that's okay too. I just wanted to bring to light the fact that that progress you hold so dear might not be progress at all. & when you feel burdened or things aren't going quite right - you might just need a fresh (read: different) approach to life.

Life Lessons Derived From Card Games (Rule #2)

Rule #2: The material world is zero-sum.
     I'm not sure if these are lessons or observations... maybe they're interchangeable for the purpose of this series, but I just wanted to throw that out there. Anyways, hope you find this illuminating!
     When I win money playing poker, someone else is, by necessity, losing money. There's no two ways around it: my gain is made possible by someone else's loss.
     There's no anecdote for this - literally every time I win a hand at poker, someone else loses. This applies to most, if not all, forms of competition. Basketball, football, golf, spelling bees, and so on and so forth. If it produces a winner, then it also produces a loser (oftentimes, many losers).
     Similarly, when we consume (in terms of using, not strictly eating/drinking), it comes at the expense of others. When I say consume, I am referring to anything and everything - from the things we eat, to the things we wear, and even to the technology we use. To be provided for, someone else must be doing the providing (unless you are doing everything yourself. That means producing your own food, clothes, whatever device you're reading this on, and so on and so forth).
     How are we being provided for? Sure, it might be lovely that a dollar menu exists at every fast-food chain, that we can grab new clothing for as little as 10-20 bucks, and that every 2 years, we can upgrade our phones to something exponentially more advanced than whatever it is we had before (especially considering my old-ass phone...). But at what cost?

     There are a myriad of consequences. Consider the poor conditions of animals who are farmed to feed our appetite for meat (and if you aren't aware, there a gazillion and one documentaries/youtube videos to illustrate the point). Or the underpaid, overworked, and/or otherwise disadvantaged workers who craft our shoes, shirts, and uniforms. Or even the workers who contribute some bits of your smartphone - some, most, or all of them work in conditions that are absolutely deplorable. Although it's easy to ignore these things because they don't get sustained time in the media, that doesn't mean they don't exist. And unfortunately, it doesn't mean you're free of blame either.
     One common response to any problem is that people just "don't know what to do" (it's a feeling I'm not unfamiliar with). In many cases, such a response can hold water. In this situation, though, I'm not really sure that it does. Problems often have more than one solution. But if you can't come up with any alternative, sometimes you just have to go with what you know. So if we consume too much, what's the most obvious solution? To consume less. Barring some miracle, that probably won't solve the problem itself. But it's one step, and it is certainly more worthwhile to do something different in the hopes of making things better instead of wringing your hands and feeling bad about things. So, y'know, if you consider your needs - the need to wear something new, the need to eat meat with every meal, or the need to have cool tech - if you consider those needs so important that they warrant the continued existence of a slave class, that's okay. But after reading this, you definitely can't plead ignorance.


(And honestly I would hope that that's not okay with you, but hey ¯\_(ツ)_/¯ I realize that we all have different priorities.)
   
   

Chronicles of the Moon (Episode 1)

                For those of you who don’t know, my senior year of college was a breeze. I came back to get my minor in Education, and that consisted of just a handful of upper division classes and some 80+ hours spent as a teaching assistant in a kindergarten class and a 3^rd grade class. Even years 1-3 were not too academically challenging – I struggled with tons of new ideas, sure, but there was never a time where understanding truly escaped me; I balanced it by making sure to take lots of classes.

                Anyways, I kind of had a lot of time on my hands. Struck with this boredom and driven by the knowledge that this was my last year at school, I really wanted to do … something. Anything, really. But what could I do? Somehow, the idea got into my head that I should moon a class. Don’t ask me where it came from – I honestly do not know where most of the things in my mind stem from, but they’re typically funny and interesting, so I try to give them weight. And no, I didn’t sit around thinking about some cool shit to do. Literally the way it happened is that, I was talking to my roommate one day, and said something along the lines of “You know what would be dope? Mooning a class.”

                And once I put it out there, there was no going back.

                Derek wasn’t game to do it himself, but he was with me every step of the way: planning, talking about the logistics, and most importantly, egging me on (which, let me clearly state here, was a very important factor. I needed encouragement to unlock the hilarity within).

                With regards to planning, the most important decision for us was the timing.  I wanted to do it during a final because that’s when everyone would be quiet and a mooning would cause a real ruckus – y’know, kicking the door open so that everyone’s attention is captured, big ol’ shit-eating grin on my face because I know what’s about to happen, turn my back to the door, pull my shorts down and expose my posterior.

I mean, just imagine: seated at a desk in the middle of a 3-hour final, you’re concentrating pretty hard because – hello, this shit matters – when suddenly the door slams open. You look up and there I am, with my million-dollar smile, and you’re wondering why in the hell I’m just standing there – is this guy gonna come in? is he even in this class? What the hell is he just standing there for?

You’re anxious because GODDAMMIT YOU’RE TRYING TO TAKE A TEST – but at the same time you can’t help but be distracted and before your brain can come up with any sufficient answers – there it is. My big, pasty ass - for your personal viewing pleasure.

Perfect scenario, right? I mean, if you don’t understand the appeal… just quit reading. You and I, we don’t share a sense of humor, and it’s probably best if we just stop trying to be friends. In the event, however, that you do find this situation absolutely, knee-slappingly hilarious…read on.

 Even though I painted the perfect picture for how I wanted things to go down, Derek talked me out of it. His line of thinking was basically: it’s a final, the mooning has the potential to be really disruptive, people could end up getting screwed…. Alright, fair. I put my hands up and surrender perfection in the name of responsible pranking. I’m far from perfect, but I’ve rarely not given other people consideration. So we settle on the next-best option – the very last lecture of the quarter, on the Friday before Finals Week. We reason that people are going to be on the cusp of cramming and that a last-minute laugher could provide some much-needed stress-relief before they go into exams. Although, to be completely fair, a mooning would be hilarious regardless of the timing. Again, though, that’s just your friendly neighborhood Minh & Derek… always thinking about how we can help others… don’t mind us… hahahaha.

So that’s how we settled on a day – now we had to nail down a specific time and location. I sent out a text to a couple of my friends, asking them when their last lectures were. One of the replies came from Goblin (we’ll call him that because… that’s what I actually call him) – Friday, 1:00pm. It fit into my schedule, it fit into Derek’s schedule – perfect. We told him our plan and he was all for it – who doesn’t approve of a good mooning anyways??

Fast forward to the night before the big day, I ask Goblin what lecture hall he’ll be in so Derek and I can conduct some reconnaissance. The next day, we case the joint about an hour before Goblin’s lecture is set to start – it’s one of the bigger lecture halls at school. It’s set up like stadium seating – if you enter the lecture hall from one of the two entrances at the top, there is a downward slope to make it to the front of the class (where the professor lectures). These top entrances are not really ideal for the job – we’d have to get everyone’s attention for them to turn around and look up. Kind of a hassle, so we’d prefer something else.

We head down to discover that there are two ways to get in at the bottom of the lecture hall, placed opposite each other. On the left hand of the lecture hall is an entrance, right behind the lectern where the professor lectures – far too close to the professor for my comfort. The other way in is not officially an entrance – they are exit doors that only open one way (for students heading out of class, not for people to get in). Unfortunately for me, this is also THE prime location for two reasons: it’s across the hall from the professor (a good 70-100 feet of distance, I’d guess) and at the bottom of the lecture hall (where everyone’s attention will be during class).

Having already decided against the top entrances, we had to come up with a solution. What could we do? Well, the “entrance” we wanted at the bottom consisted of double doors. Well, why’s that important? I don’t think this goes for every set of double doors, but for both doors to be closed, they had to be closed in a certain order; in this case, the door on the left had to be closed first in order to close the right door. Simple solution? We positioned it like we were trying to close the right door first such that it propped both doors open. If you don’t understand… the bottom line is that we found a way to make it work. Excellent.

We left the lecture hall, knowing we’d be back soon enough. We headed to the library because we had about a half hour to kill before our return. My nerves were already pretty high just checking out the lecture hall and envisioning how it would go down – I was really committed to this, but the anxiety just kept building as we waited for the time to pass.

I got a text from Goblin: “Are you still doing it?” I checked the time to see it was 1 – 20 minutes had already passed! Y’know what they say – time flies when you’re about to show a bunch of strangers your ass. Or… something like that. Anywho, I texted him confirmation and we gave it a few more minutes before heading out. I was going to make my appearance after the class got settled in – about 15-20 minutes into lecture.

As Derek and I walked to the lecture hall, we (or was it just me?) were getting more and more excitedly nervous. To be honest, there were plenty of things I was feeling. Giddy and happy for sure – this was gonna be hilarious. Nervous, too – could I really go through with it? I’d never done this before. and some reluctance for good measure – as long as I hadn’t actually done it yet, I could still save myself and just call it quits.

We continued on and made our way behind the lecture hall to make it to the back entrance. We dropped our backpacks off outside the building – no point having extra weight to run away with, we could grab ‘em as soon as we’d made our escape. The plan was for us to make our way to the bottom of the lecture hall. I would stand in the doorway, turn around, and display my ass by pulling my shorts down. Derek’s part was to kick in the door. Somewhere along the way I realized how difficult it would be to have to throw the doors open, turn around and expose myself for a couple seconds before covering up and running away. The time saved by having him there was real precious – this certainly wasn’t a one-man job. So anyways, he’d kick open the door and run away, leaving me to entertain the masses for a good few seconds before making good on my own get-away. Sweet and simple, no?

Alas, Derek and I arrived at the double doors we propped open to find that… they were no longer propped open. Whether by chance or not, someone had literally shut the doors on our dreams. What could we do? We went to the other set of double doors – the one right behind the professor’s lectern. Also closed tight. We were all out of options, and couldn’t go through with it at all.

But wait! The hell kind of story about mooning could this be if there were no ACTUAL mooning??

Right by the doors was the handicap button that reads “Press to Open” with the blue picture of the person in a wheelchair. This could be it – maybe the doors were locked while lecture was going on, but this button could be our savior if that wasn’t the case. There was still the issue of being so close to the professor, though – I could hear her lecturing, but I couldn’t place just where she was. I texted Goblin asking which side of the room she was on, and he told me she was on the end where I’d originally planned to commit the mooning. Just like in my last story, things just happened to be perfect for me.

Welp, the only concern then was whether or not the button would activate the doors. Although far less dramatic than actually throwing a set of doors wide open, Derek still fulfilled his role by pressing that button. He left, and I stood there facing the doors to see if they would open. Instead of swinging open like we’d originally planned, these doors were inching open. Anyone who’s seen an automated door knows exactly what I’m talking about. I’m not sure if time slowed because I was so nervous or if the doors were ACTUALLY taking that long to open, but as they did, I could see – through the tiiiny crack between the doors – that someone was standing <5 feet away from me, facing the class. The professor was still on my side!

If there was any time to call it quits, now was it. The doors were opening at a glacial pace and even if people saw me, all I was doing was standing there. I could still just turn around and walk away.

My level of commitment was stronger than that, though. If the doors wanted to open slowly, I figured the class would just get a reeeeeal long view of me. The nerves disappeared when I decided on my course of action. I turned around, pulled my shorts down, and started to wiggle my ass. It was at this point I realized I had no idea how the hell long I was going to do this for. In my head I just started counting.

As captured in video (…which will remain unshared except for private viewings), the teacher’s reaction was first to glance back to my ass. Realizing what she was looking at, she then turned forward at the class as if to say “what in the WORLD?!”. She then turned her gaze back to my ass…only to discover that I had vacated the scene. She turned back to the class, resting her chin on her hand as if in thought, and then threw her hands up in the air. I mean… I can imagine what was running through her mind. Astonishment – after all, how often do professors get mooned? Confusion – who was I and what was my purpose? Amusement – hahahah, a pasty ass. If that isn’t worth laughing at, I don’t know what is. I mean, a stranger just shook his bare ass in her direction – how else was she gonna take it?

The class chuckled and the professor continued her lecture. I ran away, laughing my ass off, heart racing a mile a minute. Even as I’m writing this out, I’m not certain what the hell was so thrilling about it. I mean, I certainly didn’t have any investment in this particular class – it was full of students I didn’t know and a professor I had never even heard of ‘til that day. Even the reaction wasn’t great – it’s not like the class exploded in laughter upon sighting my ass. ¯\_(ツ)_/¯ Regardless…it was hilarious, and I felt thoroughly accomplished with myself. I mean, how many of you can say hundreds of people have seen your ass? Hahahaha, not too many, I bet! So anyways, that about sums it up for the first time I showed a bunch of strangers my bare booty. There are 2 other instances (hence the “part 1” in the title), but honestly I’m not sure if they’re worth telling. Hope you enjoyed!

The Incident with Ms. B

Back in 8th grade, my Language Arts teacher happened to be a rookie. Looking back at it, I definitely feel bad for her. My teacher was a young white female, pretty much the prototypical model of a fresh, naive teacher looking to mold the minds of us children. Imagine throwing one of these kind, well-intentioned teachers into a classroom with 25-30 kids who were top of the food chain at school (because... hello? 8th graders are the bomb, right?). That has already got to be a tough situation to jump into. As if that wasn't enough, she also had a class with an exceptional amount of troublemakers in it, myself being one of the principal members of that group (although you'd have to ask her if I was the worst - to my credit, at least I didn't incessantly use foul language whenever I spoke in class [unlike an unnamed female who regularly dropped "fuck," "bitch," and "bullshit" in class]). Essentially, she was being thrown to the sharks. 

Like I said, I was a troublemaker in the class. Not really armed with malicious intent or particularly disruptive; I was just a real smartass. My relationship with this teacher - let's call her Ms. B - was tolerable at best and adversarial at worst at the time of this story.

Anyways, Ms. B usually had us arrange ourselves in 2 single-file lines before we could get into class. Some time before the bell rang to signal the start of class, she'd come out to open the door for us, kick down the door stand, and make sure we were in 2 lines (if we weren't, she'd just wait or tell whoever needed to get in line to get in line). After everything was good, she'd turn and we'd follow her into class.

One day, we got to her class at the end of break and -for the first time ever - her door was wide open. So, like any group of people with an open door to where they need to go, we made our way straight into class. Ms. B wasn't back from break yet, so we just sat around and hung out, waiting for her to come.

After a few minutes of this, she came into the class and was clearly surprised to see us there. (I don't know why, considering her door was open, but she must have expected us to wait outside as usual.) After getting over her initial surprise, she told us in no uncertain terms that we were not supposed to be in the classroom without an adult present (what the hell would the difference make anyways? It's not like Sierramont housed a bunch of vandals just waiting to tear up the classrooms). Anyways, she establishes the fact that from then on, we have to wait outside of class 'til she comes to fetch us, open door or not.

          In telling us this, she didn't do it in a pushy or aggressive manner - she just made it clear that we weren't supposed to be in there, for whatever reason. Alright, fine. It wasn't a serious issue because she always kept the door closed and locked anyways - we never had the opportunity to get in there without her opening the door for us.

Fast forward to later on in the year, probably a few months. It's a rainy day and the students are headed to class after break - which, in my case, is Ms. B's Language Arts class. On getting there, we're miraculously greeted by our ticket to warmth and shelter from the elements - an open door. For the very first time in months...her door was open. On a rainy day, no less.  and immediately after break, on top of that. Every teacher that leaves for break always closes the door to their class.

So here we are, looking at our golden ticket (the open door). Clear invite, am I right? Of course, none of us had forgotten Ms. B's command from earlier in the year. But let's just take a quick review of the facts:

• The door to the class is open for the first time in months
• The door is open immediately after break - why would a teacher do that if they didn't want you to come right in??
• It's been raining all day - so any decent teacher aware of the fact would probably just want students to come in ASAP

After taking stock of the situation, we decide that there's no point waiting for Ms. B to come out if she's just chillin' inside with the door open - we head on inside to class.

For no particular reason, I just happened to be near the end of the line. I mention that because by the time I get inside, the classroom is pretty much full. I was immediately struck by the absence of the one person we all expected to be there - Ms. B. When I saw she wasn't there, I just thought it was a bad idea to be in class considering what she'd told us the first time around. I mean, this is the EXACT situation she told us not to put ourselves in - empty classroom, without an adult around. I can't remember saying anything, but I must have expressed my reservations about the situation, because I turned around and headed back out the door with a few (~5) classmates. 

Some classmates came out to tell us we should come back in, but we kept onto our resolve and held out, braving the elements to preserve our principles (aka... hanging outside in the rain because we were technically right [which, as we all know, is the best kind of right]). After several instances of this, we told them that we wouldn't come back in until Ms. B was in the classroom. I mean at best, we'd followed her instructions to a T. At worst, she'd just come outside and bring us into class. No big deal, right? Now the next person that popped out of the doorway was Ms. B herself - and what she said pretty much knocked my socks off:

"Minh! David! Sam! Kevin! Get in here - you're all in trouble!" (names changed to protect the identities of those involved)

My immediate reaction was fury. That was quickly followed by disappointment - what had happened? We followed her directions by staying out of the class. If anyone deserved a reprimand, it was the 25 idiots who couldn't follow a simple command! Yet there we were after getting our scolding - upset, confused, and feeling very much downtrodden. We headed into class after her in a very sullen mood, tails between our legs.

We took our seats and class started. Ms. B told us that the agenda for the day consisted of a district-wide essay that we were all required to write. Before handing out the assignment, Ms. B reads the prompt aloud, and it goes like this:

Write about a situation that ended up differently than how you expected it to. Describe how the reality was different from your expectations and your reactions.

What the WHAT?? Is this some sort of joke? I remember this story nearly a decade after it happened because ... I mean.... this has got to be fate, right? This is one of those times the universe truly gifted me. I'm talking about, this happens a few times in your life and you better never forget it. This is EXACTLY what Kelly Clarkson was referring to when she sang "A Moment Like This." I mean, even sitting at my desk, through the ceiling of the room, regardless of the rain and clouds outside, it's as if a ray of light shot down from the heavens to envelop me in glory. I was crying tears of joy on the inside. Shit, I may as well have been crying tears of joy on the OUTside. I am one hundred and ten thousand percent sure (that's 110,000%) that the elation I felt will not even be matched in the moment that I cradle my first-born child. Has my hyperbole made you understand yet (because I totally didn’t mean the last one, btw)?? I don’t think even I understood the magnitude of the moment as it was happening, but the universe was basically apologizing to me.

Did you just get screwed? Oh my gosh, I'm so sorry! Totally didn't mean to do that to you, I can't believe I forgot who I was dealing with. Here, Minh. Let me make it up to you. You immediately get the opportunity to express your frustrations, take care of business (by writing a well-articulated essay), and get your point across (that being: I WAS RIGHT, goddammit!). I mean, what the hell are the chances we'd have a mandatory essay with such an ideal prompt just a few minutes after I'd experienced the perfect scenario for the job?

Needless to say, my mind was racing. I was licking my chops waiting for her to hurry up and hand out those damned papers. I was going to eat this essay up like a fat kid on some chocolate cake, it was that good. As soon as Ms. B handed out the papers we were to write on, I set to with my pencil (or was it pen?) like a man possessed. For the duration of the class I scribbled furiously - recounting the story like I did earlier (albeit probably more dramatically). I described the first time we came into class with her gone, the instructions she gave us to follow thereafter, the way the bait of an open door and a warm room trapped so many of my classmates, but not I.

I explained my expectation that we'd be commended for following the rules, and how getting yelled at was the last thing I expected. I explained my reaction - that I was enraged. Most of all, I expressed bitter disappointment. At being mistreated. Lied to. Betrayed by authority I was supposed to trust. I’m sure it turned out to be full of angst and self-righteousness on my part, hahahaha.

Even up 'til now, with tens of thousands of words having come from these hands over the years, I don't think my brain and my emotions have ever aligned so intimately to match the passion I put down on paper that day. Anyways, to cap the whole thing off, I made things real personal:

And to conclude, I think you, Ms. B, are an awful teacher and a bitch.

I could’ve gone with a more aggressive version like “and A BITCH!!,” but I think delivering it in that relatively understated fashion was my kill shot – it drove the point home rather effectively. That was actually quite vicious of me, especially considering I was only just a child, really. Anyways, I turned in the essay feeling really satisfied with myself for having gotten everything off my chest – it was a really cathartic experience.

Epilogue

          Of course, if all you wanted to hear was how I got to that point, I’ve covered that bit entirely. If you’re interested in the aftermath, read on.

          After turning in the essay, I never expected to see it again – it was a district assignment used to assess our competency with regards to thinking and writing, not something associated with our grade or class at all. Alas, that was a really dumbass and naïve assumption on my part – what the hell kind of grader wouldn’t read it and think “Uhhh … yeah, this kid might have some issues. It’s probably a good idea that his teacher is notified”?

          So some indeterminate amount of time later – within a month, I’m pretty sure – it comes back to me. Bear with me, because I remember this day much less vividly. I’m going to piece this thing together off my memory, and it’s definitely not as accurate as everything before.

          We get to class and Ms. B lets us in, things are going the way they normally do. By the time everyone’s inside, she seems to be in a pretty somber mood and sets us to work on some assignment or other at our desks. It doesn’t seem like she’s in a very good mood, so the class gets to it and we’re all sitting in silence. After we all get started, Ms. B takes a seat at her desk. If you didn’t know already, I’m a pretty good student, so I’m getting down on that work pretty seriously. Before I get much done, though – “Minh, come here.”

She says it in a tone that can’t mean any good news. My stomach sinks. There can only be one reason this is happening, and before I even get up from my desk I already know this has to do with the essay. So with a heavy heart and a great sense of trepidation, I stand up from my desk and make my way to the corner of the class where her desk is. I don’t even know what the hell to expect.

Her: “Do you remember that essay assignment we completed awhile ago?”

          Me, with downcast eyes and all the resignation in the world: “….yes….”

          Her, with a quavering voice: “and do you remember what you wrote??”

          Me: “…yes…”

          She’s sobbing at this point and I feel like the world's biggest asshole. 

          “I don’t even know how to deal with this. Go to the office, I told Mr. Carlentine (the school counselor) I’m sending you.”

          My heart is pretty torn at this point – I feel reeeeaaally bad because things had been going so well between us in the time since, and I know I’m about to answer for my sins. I don’t say anything and grab my stuff to leave as instructed. I go to the office and Mr. Carlentine invites me into his office right away.

          “So Minh…Ms. B sent you here, I’m sure you know why.”

          “Yep.”

          “Well…this seems like a largely well-written essay to me, probably a 3 or 4 (grading scale is 1-4), except that bit at the end. Do you have anything to say??”
          “No, not really.”

          “Do you still feel this way?”

          “No, that was a long time ago. Things are a lot better now.”

          “So there aren’t any issues between you and Ms. B?”

          “None.”

          “Well… okay then. I guess there is no problem. It’s probably not a good idea for you to head back there today. Just go ahead and just… go to your next class”

          “Mkay. Thanks Mr. Carlentine.”

          And that was the end of that. Couldn’t have lasted more than a few minutes before I was out of his office and headed to my next period. For the rest of the year we never spoke of it again. Somehow, I got away with calling my teacher a bitch without even getting a slap on the wrist. Incredible. To this day I still feel awful that she took it to heart, though.

     

Life Lessons Derived From Card Games (Rule #1)

          For the past ~3 years, I've been learning how to play No Limit Texas Hold 'em (and if you've been living under a rock, that's a form of poker). You might think I'd be somewhere about the intermediate level by now, but to be honest, I'm pretty novice at the game. I know when my cards are good or bad and I know the types of players they are good/bad against. Which sounds great - except that it is still difficult for me to figure out what type of player someone is. Regardless, though, studying the game has taught me a few things. Even though I learned them playing cards, I consider them universal truths (in that they always apply and can be learned any number of ways).
     Here's rule #1*: Just because you do everything right doesn't mean you'll win.
     What I'm gonna do for you is this: explain it to you how I understand it (through the lens of a poker player) and then try and give you a more general understanding, so that you can see why I consider these universal truths.
     Let's get started with rule #1: just because you do everything right doesn't mean you'll win. Let me share a personal anecdote: about 2 years ago, I went to go play some poker at the casino. I'm going to try and minimize my use of particular language, so the simplified version is this: One other player raised it to $12, giving off the vibe that he had great cards in his hand and just wanted to end it without having to see any cards on the flop. Doing this tells me a few things: he's got a good hand that he wants to protect, but not so great that he wants other people in to catch cards that might beat him.
    I looked down at 3, 4 unsuited (they didn't share a suit [hearts, diamonds, clubs, spades]). Now, there were 2 ways I could win this: if an Ace or King came out, I could act like I had either and he would fold. If shitty (read: low) cards came out, they might be the ones I needed. Great.
      I called his bet and the dealer proceeded to show us the flop - a 3, a 4, and an 8. That was pretty much as good as it gets for me. I didn't need to fake anything because I had a monster hand. If his pre-flop bet was any indication, I was the favorite to win the hand (anywhere from a 75%-95% favorite).
     Here I am with my monster 2-pair, absolutely primed to take this man's money. He didn't bet, leaving the action to me. I bet, knowing he thought I had trash worse than his jacks. He raised, reinforcing my belief of his strong-but-not-THAT-strong hand. I went all-in and he followed right along; I was ready to take this chump for all I could squeeze out of him.
     Before the next card could come, we bet all our money and turned up our cards. He was holding a pair of Jacks - I was ecstatic at having made the right read and holding a 75% chance to win. I'm sure you know how this story goes, but I'll follow through.
    After the next two cards came out, he had me beat; another 8 came, rendering my 3's & 4's inferior to his J's & 8's. I was fuckin' pissed. Went in with the right read (he had JJ which is good, not great), had a perfect flop come down...and had that shit swiped right out from under me. I cursed that guy, his mother, his father, and his whole goddamned family (...just in my heart, of course. gimme some credit here).
     I don't even think I was that mad at losing the money -  it definitely wasn't the first time I'd been cleaned out. It was just the principle of it - I had this guy cornered. Pinned his cards down, got the cards I needed, and I had him beat through and through - except not, apparently. He lucked out on me, and that really ground my gears. I couldn't take it. I mean Jesus, after the first 8 came out there were at MOST 3 left in the deck (less if someone else got one in their hand). Then another one comes out? Of all the ~35 cards left in the deck, an 8?! Goddammit, why couldn't another 3 or 4 come out? There were more of those combined than 8's! Would that have been too much to ask for??
     In the aftermath, I was definitely pretty crushed. What the hell else was I supposed to do? Give up that fat opportunity that was just SCREAMING my name?? I did everything right, screw that guy for getting lucky! Even in the depths of my anguish, though, there was never even a millisecond that I questioned my decision-making. Unless he had a pair of 8's in his hand and my guess was completely off, I had this guy absolutely dominated. Even though I've spent dozens of hours and gone through hundreds of hands between then and now (forgetting tons along the way), I remember this hand clearly because of that lesson: I did everything the way I should have. Played it near-perfect, if not absolutely. At the end of the day, though, the cards just didn't fall my way. Doesn't mean I did anything wrong.
     I think another way to phrase rule number 1 is that you don't always get what you deserve, or that good things happen to bad people (and vice versa). In terms of cards... well, you've already got a story illustrating the principle. How's it apply to our lives? Well, let's take a moment to redefine what we're trying to understand here: that doing everything right does not necessitate success. For example, your boss might tell you that by accomplishing x (e.g. meeting a deadline ahead of time, exceeding a sales goal by 10%, bringing in more customers), you'll be rewarded with y (e.g. a fat raise, more vacation time, a financed trip to Vegas with hookers and blow). You get the job done, but your boss turns out to be an asshole and decides to renege, leaving you short of one expected prize.
     Now if you didn't already know, you just learned your boss is an untrustworthy asshole; that doesn't really do much for you. What recourse do you have? I mean, I didn't quit poker, and I doubt you'd quit your job (although you could, depending on your circumstances). What did I do? I just dusted myself off and took it as a lesson learned. For you, that lesson could be accompanied by any number of additional details - maybe that all agreements should be in writing and notarized (shout outs to Autumn Tax & Bookkeeping Services. I wouldn't even know what the hell notarizing is if my mom wasn't a notary herself, lol). Or that you work at a company with shitty management and need to get out ASAP. Or whatever. The additional details aren't that important.
     The important part is rule #1: success does not always follow from doing everything right - & that's okay. If this concept is completely novel to you - fantastic. I'm genuinely happy (borderline euphoric, actually) to have been able to introduce something new into your brain. & if it isn't? Well, it's still beneficial to take the things we know in our hearts and minds and put them out there in the world - that's why I wrote this. Plus, a reminder couldn't hurt (& neither could the reinforcement that comes from knowing that there is someone else out there who thinks/feels/believes along the same lines as you).

   
P.S. I just realized I only gave you one additional example - that doesn't really make it universal, does it? I could be lazy and tell you to come up with your own damn examples (which would actually benefit you more than me... so that's not a bad idea), but I won't. I mean... not that one more example would make it universal either but... it does take us one example closer.
     So what's another situation in which doing everything right might not end up in success? Take pro sports for example. The percentage of athletes who play in high school who go on to be pros range from .03% (Men & Women's Basketball) to .5% (Men's Baseball)**. Imagine that: the nation fields millions of high school athletes, and only HALF of a percent of them (if they play baseball, at least. For the rest the odds are even longer.) will reach the pro level. I don't think I need to tell you this, but maybe I do - practice is not the only role involved in making it to the pros. You can practice and study all you want, but there might be deficiencies in the body and mind that keep you from making it. It isn't your fault, it's just a reminder that doing everything right doesn't guarantee a damn thing (...except a strong character built to overcome. Oops. But you know what I mean).


*If you can't tell from the title, I do plan on making this a series. However, the rules are in no particular order - I don't think any one trumps any other (at least not as of this writing), and they are meant to be taken as a set of equally useful reminders/tips/acknowledgements.
**Source: http://www.ncaa.org/about/resources/research/probability-competing-beyond-high-school

My introduction to this blog (aka the "About Me")

     Welcome to my blog! If you're here, you've probably already had a taste of my writing - whether it's one of my notes or statuses on Facebook. I don't really have a focus for this; I'm not travelling anywhere, I don't take beautiful photos to share with the world, and it's not like I'm documenting some major stage in my life. I just like to write. What about?

    Well, I have my fair share of stories, an interesting perspective (at least from what I've been told), more thoughts than I know what to do with, and - at least going by the reaction of my audience (...that's you) - an engaging writing style. Where's it come from, you might ask? Well it's actually a pretty interesting story (and the first of this blog, hooray!).
     When I was just in elementary school, I started reading Harry Potter. I can't remember where it came from first. Either my brother brought it home for his class and I picked it up from him, or we started reading it in Ms. Blevins' 4th grade class (both of those things happened, I'm just not sure in what order). In any case, I came to love the world she created and pretty much grew up with the series. I cried when I watched the last installment in theaters (Seriously.). So anyways, a few years later in middle school, I eventually learned that JK Rowling's writing coach (who she gives a ton of credit to) lived JUST around the block from me! So my middle school self goes to her house, introduces myself, and asks her to teach me how to write.
      ...hahaha, just kidding. In truth, this is me, wondering where I got my writing style from --->  ¯\_(ツ)_/¯. The only thing I really remember about my writing skills is that when I was younger, one of my teachers advised me (and the rest of the class, actually) to write the way we speak. I guess it stuck, because I don't remember getting any other advice on writing. So here I am, writing the way I speak.

     So why the blog? Well, I've never considered myself a very creative person. and while I might be able to appreciate art in many forms - plays, movies, books, paintings - I haven't got a creative bone in my body. At least, that's what I believed; that was before I thought about what it means to be creative. Which, according to Merriam Webster, is "having or showing an ability to make new things or think of new ideas." And I thought... well, I can write. So this blog is me showing my ability to make something new/being creative/expressing myself to the world. I can't sing. I can't dance. And I am definitely not making an NFL roster, ever (...I just cried a little on the inside).
     But there are two things I love doing: 1) making people smile and 2) making them think. So whatever it is I'm sharing - whether it's a short story, an editorial, or anything else I might come up with - hopefully it induces at least one of those. So stay tuned, and you might find something you like.

Minh

P.S. I'm open to suggestions for the blog name. Leave a comment if you've got anything for me