Beatbox Skills???

This is a completely different topic.

So I found this guy on YouTube, who is fuckin talented. This guy takes songs, going from video game instrumentals to alternative rock music, and beat-boxes to the tune of these songs in the background. His profile is here: http://www.youtube.com/user/TheBeatboxHitmanTwo

This guy is fuckin ballin. He's got mad skills. He can keep up to any tempo, and usually beat-boxes for about 2 minutes of the song. Any song turns into not only a hip hop version of the song, but adds a sense of techno rhythm. Right now I'm listening to him beat-box to Eiffel 65's Blue...fuckin classic never sounded this good. I've seen and heard beat boxers who spit their own beats and tunes, which is awesome talent for them. But I just love listening to familiar songs with the flavor of hip hop. This is him.


Gotta love his X-Box 360 sitting on the corner of his videos. But now...I'm getting Rick Roll'ed by him...just listening to him beat box to Rick Roll actually makes the song worth listening to. Shit...this guy has mad skills. So...probably Rick Roll everyone with this guy beat boxing to this song cause this guy deserves to be recognized.

And he doesn't just cover songs with lyrics or game instrumentals. Pachelbel's Canon and the infamous Fur Elise...this guy has mad skills. Makes me jealous that I don't have the skills this guy is putting out, but I respect this guy representing his art and soul.

So I just finished listening to him beat box to Fur Elise...he ended it on that...part of Fur Elise that sounds...way off and happy...you know what I'm talking about. He adds character to that part cause...awkward ear scratch and he goes "Yeah..." good stuff...

And to guys who aren't so into A Thousand Miles (cause of the movie White Chicks)...check him out beat boxing to A Thousand Miles. Hilarious intro...this guy is the fuckin man. Props go out to ya bro. Keep it real.

60 Year Old Asian Fetish Unsatisfied...

Last Saturday was a Thanksgiving potluck at my friend's apartment...and it wasn't really a Thanksgiving potluck...granted it was just a small get together dinner sort of thing. And the weather on Saturday was raining pretty damn hard. But it's New England...weather sucks up here. Ain't any snow in Btown and Thanksgiving's next week...

So coming back, it was raining hard and we took a cab. Which was free cause...campus does some free transportation for students going to campus. Which is fine and all...but one of my friends lives off campus and I didn't know where. Dropped off and she asked if the cabbie could bring her back to the North End. Sketchy ass place over there...and cabbie said there would be an extra fee. Which made sense...off campus? So she's left behind cause no cash for the ride home...and I decide to walk her back. The North End is a sketchy place...especially in the down-pouring rain. At 9:00 pm...and boy were there sketchy people. I didn't even know where we were going half the time...we took so many different roads downtown and then over when we could've walked straight..but that was a sketchy road 'cording to her. So downtown...drunk college students being rowdy and annyoing mofos...fuck...some chick comes up to me:
"Hey! Hey! Ima SO sorry Chinese boy fo' be-in' loud...my farend's buthday is tooooday and-" STFU right there drunk girl. Like I give a fuck who's bday it is? Don't touch me...

So we keep walking...and walking...a little more...past the bright lights of downtown. To the auburn street lights of North Ave. Ain't nobody here but the gal and I. Cars only on the sidewalks. Rain pattering the umbrella. A red light blurred behind eerie fog...some hobo limping towards us with coins jingling in a tin cup like a homeless zombie...

Before we arrived at her apartment, she asked me if I wanted anything to eat or drink...very sweet of her. Even invited me to stay the night cause of the rain and 30-minute walk back. I politely declined...got work tomorrow and don't wanna rush getting there.

We get to her place and she goes: "So my two roommates are old people. They are like 60 years old. One man and one woman. Take your shoes off when you enter the house because the woman will be mad." Well...but pants are soaked...so I go in...old lady is jamming to her tunes...cat named Jeremiah?...check out the place. Then I'm about to leave when the old lady finally takes off her headphones. Talks to me about living there. The freezing library. Jeremiah again...a sewn blanket...then I tell them I gotta head back.

"You're walking in the rain?"
"Yeah. I got an umbrella."
"Do you want a ride?"
"Nah, it's ok. I don't want to bother you. I'll be okay...I grew up in Vermont...nothing's gonna kill me..."

Which is almost true...well it was for me. Although I did run into some weird people along the way...damn hobo zombie...

Well today rolls around and I meet my friend again who is all excited to see me. "Tommy! You remember that 60-year-old roommate I have? Debra? She talked about you when you left!"
"Yeah?"
"She say you are the cutest, hottest boy!" says says, punching my shoulder. I don't believe her. I actually thought she was distracting me from playing pool. "She say you are so kind and nice-"
"Why would she say hot? That's...maybe she has the wrong vocab? Hot..." well let me just say this right now. Out of story context...I am NOT hot.
"No! I bring people and guys and girls over for parties, and Debra never talk to me about the boys I bring over. You are the first boy she talked about!"

Cause I walked you back home in the rain? Uh...well then...if Debra's got a granddaughter my age...that's just fine...to which my friends say Debra has an Asian fetish. Which means I'm not going back...there...again...which I wouldn't even be able to find my way there even if I wanted to go back. HA! So...if she were like 20 years younger maybe I'd consider it...MILF anyone? GILFs...uh...you can go to urbandictionary for the definition...and I'm not into that. Experience? Yeah...NO. Huge cultural divide...and that goes beyond me being Chinese and her being...American? Cause I was born in America....there is a huge generation gap. If she has a granddaughter...which I don't doubt...I'm down for that. Word?

"Oh....you've brought that cute lil Chinese boy over again. Oh young whippersnapper, I have someone I'd like you to meet..."

Mother and Child

Inspired by the movie Hotel Rwanda

I’ve watched you sleeping for a while,

Memorizing the curve of your crooked smile.

Faded teardrops grace the corners of your cheeks,

Infinitely weary, the shadows pull across your eyes.

Between my shallow breaths I cradle your broken weight.

We ran together, you pushed me forward.

Forcing me to accept promises that I couldn’t comprehend:

“Do not look back if you no longer hear my voice.”

Five steps ahead and fingers intertwined, we ran alongside gunfire.

Genocide.

Lies.

Fear.

Oppression.

Neighbors and friends

Who once grilled steaks on Saturdays

And shared beers on Sundays

Now aim AK47s and 9 millimeters at the fathers and sons, mothers and daughters

Of diverse faiths, identities, cultures and religions.

Voices tremble, denying their Gods.

“Hold back your gun, I will convert!”

Words emptied from my mouth, exhaustion filled my throat

As I fled from the boys I once played baseball with.

My faith may have misled me; my identity forever forgotten.

My culture demolished; my religion betraying its people.

Yet my innocence had not yet been tarnished.

Although deafened by gunfire and blinded from death,

I continued leading the path to freedom.

Fear trembled against your eyes, tears traced the contours of your chin.

Gunfire so close to my ears silenced my breath. But it was not me who met the ground.

Your silence, a single shot, helped break my promise.

I turned around, and you’re no longer five steps behind me.

Now in my arms. Your blood follows us.

My strength can only go so far.

I’ll never forget your broken gaze.

Like your unconditional warmth before mine

I hold you against my heart.

My eyes dare not close,

Fearing you will no longer be with me should I wake from sleep.

Can you hear my four words?

Four simple syllables, I could not even utter while we ran.

Would it have been different if I said them before my broken promise?

A wound deepens into my heart.

Pain more severe than death.

I deny the truth I must silently accept.

My voice will reach you, but your response will never reassure my quivering voice.

“I love you, Mom.”

Apparently...my ass is cute...

So today I was working my office hours in SGA and doing my homework. Diligent little Chinese boy...slave at the computer...

Then my friends showed up...one after another...until five people were crammed into this 10 by 20 foot room gibberishly getting my attention. I couldn't understand what they were saying...someone went into a headlock, a bio needs to be written...I get poked. After much deliberation and and asking them to leave...they decide to write on the white board: "Tommy's ass is cute" "Tommy is pushy. Give him a hug!" "Check out Tommy's ass!" I really didn't care...no body ever comes to the office when I'm around...besides them of course...

"Hey man! We're here to move shit outta the office!" says some guy as he enters the office...that is not verbatim. I had no idea if this guy (Guy 1) was joking with me or what, but he had three other guys following him and I didn't want my ass getting handed over to me. "Tommy's ass is cute?" he reads off the white board. "Tommy is pushy. Give him a hug?"

"Uh..."

Guy 2 looks from the white board back to me and goes, "Hey! You're Tommy!"

No shit Sherlock...well...Guy 2 actually knows me...I don't even remember his name. Didn't bother to ask and my ass was more interesting to talk about. And it's not even that great...it's basically an inside joke when I tried climbing through this hole located three feet off the ground in a stone block...and my ass was the focal point of a dozen photos. And it's on Facebook...

An Unreqited Response II

This is an edit to the story “An Unrequited Response.”

The pillow reflects his silent tears, but he did not acknowledge the stains. His thumb rides the rim of the empty shot glass again, and he counts the seconds he’s stared at the ceiling. It didn’t matter how many seconds have passed since he’s returned. Each minute in the past scorns his drunken memory, one which he wishes could be lost like so many other drunken nights. His finger orbits the shot glass again, and he looks to the vodka on the mini fridge. He pours himself another shot, stopping once the cold alcohol reads his thumbprint. The burning alcohol heats the tension in his heart rather than extinguishing the regrets.

“I told you to keep silent,” his brain says.

“How long was he to keep silent?” his heart retorts.

“You thought it would be easier drunk,” his brain responds. “Don’t you know that it’s a misconception to think alcohol loosens you up?”

“She always did it so naturally when we were dunk,” he responds. “I thought I could do the same.”

“You forgot that when she did it, you were both drunk,” his brain mocks. “You should have realized how much has changed over two years.”

“She wasn’t the same when sober as she was drunk,” his heart responds. “You were expecting something more than what was required.”

“I explained too much, didn’t I?” he asks, to which his brain laughs.

“You always over-think the situation. You rehearsed the speech well, didn’t you?”

“You gave yourself to her.”

“Only the words,” he responds, filling another shot of vodka. His eyes press into his cheeks as the bitter heat travels through his throat. “Yes, it was well rehearsed. I knew exactly what to say. I didn’t even appear drunk.”

“That’s just your fault.”

“Don’t blame yourself for her rejection–”

“But when will the rejections stop?” he asks, turning to the door as if his heart and mind are anthropological.

“This was technically your first rejection,” his mind says. “You’ve never actually told anyone you loved them.”

“I rejected her.”

“There was Valentine’s Day–”

“He didn’t say anything. He just brought gifts and stood there like a fool.”

He brings the shot glass up and his upper lip cringes against the vodka. Even the vodka couldn’t inebriate the past.

~~~~~~

It was another dull Saturday night at Alex’s apartment. Two six pack of Coronas are shoved against a week old set of laundry. Everyone had a red cup filled with a White Russian by their hands.

“I won again,” he said, his face flushed. His two and five of hearts complimented the three hearts on the floor. “So I have an idea.”

“Play kings?” Alex asked.

“No, can I use your laptop? I want–”

“No way, der is no way I am letting you uz my laptop again,” Alex said, his thick Indian accent slurred by the four Coronas. He closes the laptop screen. “You always janj my FaceBook status to som-ting em-bare-a-sing or stupid.”

He sat there for a moment, unsure if the eight Coronas standing by his feet were really his or an accumulation of everyone. He drank the Corona in his hand, but his mouth was numb of the flavor.

“Embarrassing and stupid are practically the same,” he replied, falling against the wall as he stood up. Maybe the eight beers were all his. “I’m heading out.”

“Cause I won’t let you use my laptop?” Alex asked. “Listen, that is not a reason for you to leave.”

“No,” he replied, cracking a smile. “I don’t want to pass out in your room, so I’m going back to my room.”

“Alright, ‘ave a good night.”

It was all a cover up. He knew the number of beers he drank and he knew how to get back while looking sober. But he also knew how to feign drunkenness, and it wasn’t too difficult when he was buzzed enough. He walked the straight line back to his dorm, hands in pockets and face deep in his hood to keep a low profile as he passed a cop car.

“Z, y, x, w,” he began mumbling. As he came under the shadows of the school wall, he was safe from the cop. There was a fence behind his dorm, which surprisingly became a test to his drunken state. He stared at the gate, wondering if he was he sober enough to jump over the fence without tripping. As he swung his legs over, his left foot hooked onto the rail and he fell onto the moist ground. An inebriated curse parted his lips as he wiped the mud off his hoodie.

“She’s still awake,” he said, noticing her door cracked open slightly. He didn’t know if she was in the room or not, but still he went to her room. His knocks timidly to avoid opening it accidentally.

“The door’s open,” she said from inside, but he just stood there. He could still go back now, only five doors down the hall. But his unintended third knock opened her door, and she stood before the mirror fixing her hair.

“Hey–”

“How are you doing, Janey?” he said quickly, not wanting hear his name.

“I’m doing good. Were you drinking?” she asked.

“A little bit, and–”

“Your face is so red. Come inside before someone sees you,” she said, kicking clothes to the side and he stepped into her room of celebrity posters on the wall and tapestries hanging from the ceiling. “How much did you drink?”

“That’s…a good question,” he said, counting the empty bottles in Alex’s room that he thought were his.

“Stop counting your fingers,” she smiled, touching his hands. “Where’d you come from?”

“Um, I have something to tell you. I think…I’m not sure if I’m in love with you,” he said, and she pulled her hands away. “Cause I know the tension. Every time I see you, I remind myself to say hi, but always refrain from any greeting. Not even a wave.”

He could see the tension subside behind her glasses. She bit her lower lip, waiting to respond, but he continued.

“Your greetings were always protected from me. If you waved from behind a window, I could only mirror your action. You reserved your words from me when all I wanted is to hear your voice,” he said, shuddering between each beat of his confession. From the tender look on her face, he feared her response. “Although I want to become more, I must fight this urge to continue.”

“Continue?” she asked.

“If I were to love you, I could never reciprocate your love. I’d be living a lie. I can only silently love you.”

“But you’ve already spoken the words.”

“I’m sorry,” he said, turning to the door.

Her hand reached the door before his and she quickly locked it. Her breathing was deeper than his drunken breaths.

“I’m sorry that I also love you–”

He quickly held her close to quiet her. His love was requited by her. He wanted to hold her forever. His fingers began trailing her hair and he lightly held a fragile lock. He swallowed hard, fighting back his tears, but she felt his tears.

“You’re love is revoked,” he whispered, letting her go and left the room.

~~~~~~

“You left her there,” his brain and heart say in unison.

He swallows the shot of vodka and falls back on his bed, the tears dry against his cheeks. His heart and mind have finally come to an agreement. Two knocks on the door pull him up. He stumbles to the door with shot glass in hand.

“She’s calling you,” his heart says.

His hand sits on the doorknob and he could picture her outside the door. Her bronze hair falling in curls on her shoulders and tears drawing the outlines of her cheeks.

“Are you there?” she asks through the door. The lock clicks, prompting her hand to retreat and the light under the door is no longer there.

Epilogue:

A hint of sulfur
Lingered
Between the words I Love You

Her drunken memories
Fell
Short
Of her sober dreams.
She could hear the words but couldn’t feel the reassurance.

He watched the sunrise patch across her face,
It was the closest warmth she felt
Since he readjusted the blanket over her shoulders.

She could not recall

the lost words

From the night before
And he had already
Left
To avoid clarifying why the sun was upon her.

Nothing more than just a glance across the lawn.
The only syllables exchanged were silent breaths.

The breeze caressed her cheek
And melted the hair over her shoulders.

Her wandering thoughts pinch a peculiar flame,
Her fingers felt no heat but knew the fragile crispness.
The inebriated memories could not reflect from the October leaf.
He steps on the brittle flames upon the grass.
Extinguishing sober truth and drunken memory.
"I love you" was what he said with a hint of sulfur on his lips.

Prologue to a Time Capsule

About two years ago...make that three years ago cause that was freshman year, I met this girl. Let's call her TLH. Friends from last year will know who I'm talking about...but let's just keep her anonymous for now. What I really liked about this girl wasn't based solely on looks...she had a certain essence about her that was different. She's the only one that actually did this...and I'm not even sure why it was her...

I lived in the same dorm with her frosh year. I could never talk to her cause...obviously she was WAY out of my league. Haha sounds like high school or before...out of my league. Why not just be friends with her? Don't even bother going straight down and be "yo, let's go out some time." Is that even how you ask someone out? I have no idea but I don't think that's how you do it...

The first party I ever went to happened in college on Thirsty Thursday...and it was Toga Night. This was also the first time I drank...way back...in 2007? Yeah...it was 2007. So I go in and bam, everyone from my dorm is there. At least everyone from the second floor...the girl's floor.

"Omg! It's Tommy!"
"What the f are you doing here" "
I didn't know you partied!"
"I've never seen you at a party before!"
"Tommy's out of the cage!"

Yes, there was a time when I was that shy little boy who sat in the back of the room, kept his head down and took notes. But that night, I asked my friends to show me where the party was.

"Tommy...you want to party????"

So yeah...the girls from the second floor...as smashed as they were (they were probably just tipsy to be quite honest) gave me hugs for reasons I don't even know why. Remember...this is Tommy v1...without the social behavior installed. LAME.

Anyways...so I make my way to the living room where beer pong is happening...people are watching the game and there is TLH...how awkward was I. Yeah...I had a hidden crush for her for about a month (cause it was October)...and she goes, "OMG IT'S TOMMY!" I go out for an awkward handshake...she pulls me in for a hug going "this is how we do it at SOUTH HOUSE!" "Woot woot?"

Anyways...so I get drunk for the first time...don't really talk to her cause for some odd reason, I stick to morals and ethics as a drunk and don't hit on her...LAME.

Anyways...the next morning, she asked how I was doing. I had my first hangover...how the hell do you think I'm doing?

"I'm still a bit hungover," I say sheepishly, the two of us sitting by ourselves at opposite tables...we stay like that.

Anyways...she always asked my how I was doing after every time she saw me party...and we never actually socialized except for those events. Which is kinda lame if you think about it...I'm using alcohol as an excuse to let loose which is exactly what you're told in school about alcohol..."Beer doesn't make you loose." BULLOCKS.

So...well fast forward a bit...TLH got her hair dyed to which I commented....during the day in December when we were both sober and I was raffling at a table. I think she felt more awkward than me...cause we barely talked in real life. She'd just wave shyly behind windows or from afar, while I'd say "hi" in an itty-bitty voice that not even a butterfly can hear.

One time frosh year, my RA held a Chinese New Year's event for the dorm and I explained the holiday. Then he bought $100 worth of Chinese food and TLH goes "Tommy, you should have invited your mommy." To which...very awkwardly...I go, "Yeah...I should have." And I didn't even suggest making a phone call cause well...I'll explain that in a sec...

Next day...lunch...I've been contemplating this all day...whether or not to tell her to the truth. I'm going to get ice cream and I see TLH.

"Hi Tommy."
"Hey TLH. HEY!" but she walks away...I don't think she heard me. She did actually and came back while I'm scooping ice cream.
"Yes?" she asks, her eyes melting the ice cream from the cone.
"Um...I have something to tell you. I'm not sure how to tell you this...last night when you mention my mom..."
"Are you okay? You look like you're about to fall apart."
"Yeah...I'm okay. Um..." and I wonder why I never asked her to sit down while talking about this..."My mom passed away when I was young. And...I didn't want to say anything last night cause...I didn't want to make you feel bad."
Pause...we just look at each other.
"And...you're a cool person...I didn't want you to look bad in front of everyone...and...I'm sorry."
"Tommy..."
"I'll see you later."

Can you say FML? I'm not sure for her or for me...but one of us. How much more awkward could that get??? In a fuckin cafeteria? While standing? I think I ruined our fragile friendship with that one...

But then...let's fast forward more to sophomore year. Apparently...we moved in the same dorm...same floor. She informed of this happily...then it went back to the norm: awkwardness on the streets. But anyways...back when Casino Royale came out...my friends and I decided to walk the back way behind Edmunds to get there and guess who we run into walking up? TLH! Coming up from a party of some sort...she acknowledges me first. I'm too stupified to say anything...I didn't even offer to walk her back to her room and I couldn't stop thinking about it...

So the following day...going lower on the scale of courage...I ask her on Facebook if she's okay...
"Why not just go her her room dumbass? You both live on the same fuckin floor!"
She goes "yeah...lol..."
Guilt-ridden and more pathetic than normal...I apologize for not walking her back up the hill. I tell her she can call me if she needs someone to walk her up...quickly giving her my number...I log off. My roommate looks at me with sheer disappointment.

Even God...or some higher being...tries to help me. Back in February...I'm playing pool and get an invitation to attend an annual waltz held at UVM. I could bring a date...what a great way to ask TLH out...although I doubt she will accept. I have lunch...in an overcrowded cafeteria...and have my table. TLH's roommate...let's call her Ginger (cause I don't like using people's names) comes by.

"Hi Tommy, can I sit here?"
Which I happily go, "Yeah, sure-" then I see TLH behind her. Awkward pause..."Hi TLH"
"Hi Tommy."
If God was helping me...I should have asked her at that moment to the waltz. Nope...and instead...it was pretty awkward 15 minutes of lunch. I throw random stuff around...Ginger kept most of the conversation going.

That night...while at work study...I thought of asking her out on Facebook. LAME. So that's what...3 lames now? She didn't repond...I log off...go back to the dorm and her door is opened. I should go and ask her...nah...better not risk it. It's awkward already...how much more worse can it get? I decide not to risk it...lock the door to my room...and go "off line" on facebook.

I mean...there are lots of other things about her. She kept her hair dyed the same shade since I commented it...she used to have interesting Facebook status updates which I thought she made up...until I learned "If I lay here If I just lay here Would you lie with me And just forget the world?" is from Snow Patrol's Chasing Cars. She even has this innocence to her...cause she's from the south.

And that's not racist in any way so don't think like that. I'm not saying where she's from cause then it might be obvious who I'm talking about other than the TLH nickname.

She's never seen a maple leaf in October...for all I know. Which I don't. But watching her play with a maple leaf during our class outside was the best thing to happen to that class. It inspired me to write a poem. Haha Lame again...

I'll write Part II next time...this is just the prologue so the next entry makes sense.