break'n the law

this superhappy yellowkids's reasons for calling 9-11

1. while teaching ESL part time in the evening, a homeless transient found his way into a fellow teacher's night class next door and refused to leave. we called 9-11 and eventually baited him out of the room with a half-eaten bag of salt water taffy. he then camped himself outside, shoveled in taffy and called me a korean nazi. the police never showed-up.

2. i was taking a leisurely walk in our over-priced, trendy austin neighborhood, and i came across a turkey running around and screaming it's head off in the parking lot of a neglected computer repair shop. an other neighbor was trying to keep the turkey from running into traffic and causing an accident. we called 9-11. no cops. no dice.

3. reba and i were leaving a mexican restaurant in houston with her cousins. we said our 'good-byes' and were about to leave when a silver pick-up smashed through two parked cars in reverse. a woman then yelled, 'get the license plate number! GET THE LICENSE PLATE NUMBER!' as the car in question skidded itself just inches from our own car, i leaned over, squinted, and shouted out the 6-digit texas plate. for the first time i felt useful in an emergency. usually i end-up running around in circles.

continuing with this trend, i pulled out my newly minted cell phone and dialed 9-11. just then the 'perp' (as they say on 'law and order' TV land) came burning back into the park lot and stopped AGAIN inches from our hero. this time he sat there staring reba and me down. in the background i can faintly hear people screaming, 'GET IN THE CAR!'

yet i continued to dial and wait for the operator. i had the urge to say, 'hi' or 'what's up?' once i connected to 9-11, he sped away a second time. i spent a few minutes trying to describe the scene when the call was dropped. i'm again placed in the category as useless.

White Wedding...

here are some of the images from the wedding in oakland that brought us out to the bay area. one of the requirements was the dress code to come in 'all white'. once we got to the ceremony i realized why it was so important to conform to this request, why i should have tried harder to find white slacks even if it meant buying those over-sized and overpriced white wranglers, and why anyone who failed to do so would be branded as an unfashionable idiot (note: our hero pictured behind the bride in the "more gray than needed" pants). i can't do anything right.

San Fran... after all these years

i think the last time i was here i crashed out on my sister couch inhaling cat and dog hair (i'm deadly allergic to it all by the way) and i was wandering the streets of the bay area with less than $20 in my bank account. it was before the world knew of our current President and became dependent and imprisoned by Homeland Security.
in today's topsy-turby world, my sister moved to Long Island (Islip is often referred to as the the san francisco of the east), i discovered that i am allergic to much more than pet hair, and the amount of currency blanketing my wallet continues to decrease (contrary to the american dream).
more pictures, comments and updates on our trip to follow.

Moving on...

I'm sitting in an unfamiliar patted chair. Maggie, my certified stylist, said that she's going to switch to the buzzer. 'I think this is going to be easier to cut through these things,' she claims. The everyday chit chat between customers and their designated stylists ceases, and their eyes are on this soon to be short-haired, yellowkid.

'Did you loose a bet?' the guy sitting next to me asks.

The line where one wall-sized mirror meets an other cuts through his face. He's like a living Salvador Dali painting.

'I just need to move on...'

This was my prepared public statement. Picture (BEFORE: me with long hair. AFTER: me with Net, our homestay guest who refuses to cut his own hair).

Up and AT them - my web portfolio is up

yet an other web site in my name is up and clogging the Internet.