“Hi!” is all I’ve got.

The English “Hi!” is nice and short. Succinct. Pithy.

“Hi!” is what I use at grocery stores, at the gym, on the street. When I pass a woman, I feign a double take, like “oh, there’s another person there,” and eek out a quick, “Hi!” with a half-smile. For some reason I think it’s charming, and I think that they think it’s charming.

Because they see me unprepared. They see me doing my own thing, then seeing them, then blushing and blurting out, “Hi!” for lack of something better to say. Like I’m channeling some absent-minded professor with a crumpled lab coat who dropped his pile of papers and beakers and then a high heel steps by and I look up and adjust my glasses and smile — in awe — and whisper, Hi.

They always smile back. And then that’s it, we both walk in the directions we were walking in, opposite of each other, to the other side of the planet.

It’s not a short-term move — well maybe for others, but I’m not skilled to pull that off — but instead a plant-the-seed method. If I see her a second time, I’ll act even more clumsy, I don’t know, trip over something, and guffaw (guffaw!) and say hi once more. And then on the third time, I’ll engage. “Stop following me! Ha ha ha!” “Ha ha ha,” she’ll laugh.

That’s my move, 3 meetings taking place over 7 years.

What the fuck was my point?

Oh, right. So in Thai, Hi is “Sawadee khrap.” Four goddamn syllables to say hi. Jesus Christ, no woman has the time for that. I’ll be at the grocery store, and purposely-accidentally run into the same single mother in Aisle 6. By the time I’m at “Sawad…” she’s already bolted around the corner to the canned foods aisle.

What am I saying, that if I could just finish saying “Hi!” I’d look less like a creep that preys on single mothers at the Tesco? Yeah.

Don’t Try, Ever.

Blogging is suddenly hard. I keep thinking, “What? What can I write about that won’t disappoint the zero people reading this?”

Of course, right now, until I rediscover my voice, or what shape this blog should take, I’m happy about zero people reading this. I get heart palpitations when I think more than zero people are reading this.

So turn it into bullshit. This will now be bullshit. Because when I try too hard, I write bullshit, but it’s lengthy and wordy and pretentious as fuck, and it’s all so boring.

That’s my motto, now: don’t try.

25 Awesome Ways To Fake A Listicle

That's how you get ants.

Thai homework: That’s how you get ants.

I have an exam tomorrow. Like anyone who hasn’t been a student in more than a decade, I’m preparing for it by not doing anything but accepting that what my brain has retained by now, it has retained; what it has not, it has not.

That’s what we do as mature adults: we just accept shit. Everything. Even if there was something that we could’ve done about it, it doesn’t matter, we chalk it up to life experience. I’ll just let the house burn down and learn a lesson from it later. It was a tough day at work, man. It’s like we’re just too exhausted to give a fuck anymore, and it’s awesome. No more excuses, no more scapegoats.

In fact, we’re at a special point in the history of mankind where you can take a handful of adults and find among them: CEOs, war veterans, tech founders, dishwashers, students, mentors, the married, the single, the divorced, the widowed — all within a 5-year age range. Then you can bank on categorizing the seasoned, experienced adults from the unformed, infantile live-at-homes with this one trait: the adults are too tired to give a fuck anymore.

The kids rant and rave and argue and want to be heard and need to be right. The adults just want an alcoholic beverage and Netflix.

“So it goes.” Thanks, Kurt Vonnegut, for helping to get rid of the sack of fucks we would’ve had to give otherwise. Continue reading

My Thai-English Dictionary Has Wavy Hair, Killer Legs

I have huge crush on my Thai language teacher. Enormous. I can’t sleep at night.

I think it has to do something with her possessing knowledge that I desire. It’s happened before, that I’ve fallen for a woman who merely taught me something. Shown me something. Anything.

Here, have some real-world examples:

• The political history of Malaysia;
• Bandaging homeless people;
• Mushroom farming;
• Balancing chi energy through massage;
• Importance of moisturizers and hair masks;
• Chick-lit;
• Various dog breeds;
• How to not hate babies; and
• That women will overreact about most things and won’t listen to logic or principle, so just play the game and password-protect your phone, you won’t win.

And now, the Thai language. Continue reading

I am Practically A Greek God

The last time I wrote a blog post was about 4 years ago. My friends — the ones I met through blogging, which was embarrassing back then though merely called “networking” now — and I shut down our somewhat-popular blogs because we were no longer interested in writing for free.

“Fuck this shit, man! I could be out there making $1 per word! All this brainpower could be going to a novel! All these insights and quips wasted on goddamn Livejournal! Do these people even get get it? Fuck this shit.” Continue reading

This May or May Not End Well


When I wake up, I meditate, masturbate, brush my teeth and then sit in front of my laptop and pump out 750 words. I forgot where I got this from, but it seemed like a good habit to start. I stopped writing consistently years ago and this seemed an effective way to get my fingers used to typing again.

Maybe 600 of the words would be shit. Sometimes I’d cheat and type “one, two, three…” to pad the word count. Well, it’s not cheating; there’s no such thing. But the other 150 words, Jesus Christ, some of it was gold.

So I’ll keep typing the 750 words every morning, because the rapid-fire typing helps my brain and fingers stay in sync. But I also need a more conscious, more purposeful place to write, and that’s what this is for. This is where I will rewrite. This is where I will edit.