The Domain of Steven

The French intern at my summer job learned English through British schools, and while he could passably converse with the rest of the Brits in the office, he found our American accents to be a rather big hindrance to comprehension. This amused me to no end.

I miss England sometimes. The company, too.

Perhaps it was the attention I received, not only as an American-accented Chinese (actually a minority for once) but also as an intern from abroad (of which I was the first). People were curious about me, about where I came from. They wanted to know whether everything they’d heard about New York City was true, and though I barely know the other side of my block, I had plenty of things to tell them about it. God, I had conversation topics. And each conversation, delightful in itself, was made all the better by hot British accents.

I was talking with Chris about my time there, since he is interested in studying abroad, and conveyed this sense of celebrity status. I would be singled out for being Asian, and pegged for an American once I opened my mouth. They’d ask almost immediately, “are you American?”

To the disappointment of some, I did not come back with a British accent, but Chris noticed that I was imitating a British accent when I quoted them. I hadn’t done it on purpose, I was simply relaying what was ingrained in my mind. The “are” was pronounced more like a gentle “ah,” and American used a “meh” in place of the “mare” sound.

When we imitate the British we make ourselves sound haughty, but when the British imitate us they make themselves sound like redneck retards. No joke. I also found this endlessly amusing. In fact, endlessly amusing would be a recurring theme while there, provoked by places like Poundland (as in currency, not weight) and conflicting concepts like suspenders. Everything there was different, and yet familiar enough to keep me insulated from the worst of culture shock.

Best of all? Net profit. Also, apparently I am the British definition of Filipino, as evidenced by their consistency in guessing my nationality.

The Sims is a series of award-winning games that let you control simulated people, each with their own needs, desires, relationships and futures. Some players choose to build elaborate houses, giving their characters a dream home and letting them roam free to do as they pleased.

I, on the other hand, played The Sims very efficiently. I built rooms only as large as they needed to be, with items strategically placed to minimize the space they took up and the time to travel between them. I did not decorate the interior of the house, because pretty scenery really only mattered when they left the house to go to work, and indoor decorations would not help that. I did not buy a full-length mirror because a square hanging mirror served the same purpose at a fraction of the cost while not taking up any space.

I built bachelor houses that were essentially very large cubicles, with no extra money spent on walls for the bathroom because no one would ever see him and it would never be an issue. I did not buy a lounge chair or sofa because it would not double as an eating chair, and which I would then have to purchase separately. The house had one chair. It was the chair in which my Sim ate, watched television and learned skills from. I spent money making it extremely comfortable, because that chair and the bed were the only sources of rest I provided my Sim. When he needed comfort, I did not let him simply sit down, I would top off his fun need by also making him watch TV. If he was already at full fun, I would discontinue TV watching and make him read a book to learn a skill.

But hermit Sims have stunted job progression because later promotions require you to befriend your neighbors. To accomplish this, I had a systematic way of rapidly maximizing a relationship level. I did not bother with most of the interaction options like backrubs and pranks, I did what I needed to do in order to get where I wanted to be, and then I sent them along their way.

I would talk to them until our relationship level rose a bit and then mixed in jokes, all the way until when a hug became the best option to increase relationship points. I chose these because they were efficient and reliable, but also because they raised fun points as well.

Talking, joking, and hugging were fun. With just those three, my Sim no longer felt the desire to watch TV. As long as he could keep talking, he never wanted to read a book, or play games on his computer. To keep the game understandable and not needlessly complex, the developers generalized a Sim’s need for recreation into a single quantity that rose whenever something that could be construed as fun was accomplished.

It doesn’t work that way in real life, sadly. Given constant exposure to something, we grow tired of it, and we are not as affected by it. Conversely and notably, the absence of something can make us profoundly affected by its reappearance.

For the past year I have been in the presence of amazing friends and socialization. I love being with them and have made shockingly large changes to my plans for next year in order to keep being with them, but they are not everything that I am. They don’t do everything that I like to do. And so sometimes, as much as I want to spend every moment with them, I also want to spend moments relishing the comforts that I enjoyed so dearly before I met them.

Yet even with the best of both worlds at my fingertips, each having done nothing to dilute each other, I can’t have everything I want. I am always missing something, missing someone, neglecting someone.

But given the choice to be everywhere and do everything with everyone, would I take it? Would it only make me tire of everything faster? Maybe it would. But at least I would never have to apologize.

I was entering contests when I saw one limited to ages 13-18. I got excited until I remembered I AM TWENTY WHAT THE FUCK?!

I will admit that this is the first time my ass has been sore. Still, going 8-2 against the other fencing students was worth it.

Also, thankfully, rock climbing only seems to destroywork out my forearms and hands, leaving the glutes and lower free for fencing to mangle.

I went into this semester resolved to take a gym class of some sort. Not because there was some requirement, not to get extra credits, but just because the opportunity was there.

I had always had an interest in fencing, but never joined the fencing club that started up the end of my last year of high school. Maybe I liked the idea of poking someone with a blade, or I thought that fencers just looked really cool.

I’m taking fencing this term as an hourly class twice a week for one credit over at FitRec, and it’s definitely as cool I imagined it. I enjoy the mind games that you have to play with your opponent to psych him out, to make him miscalculate, to make him become overconfident and set himself up for disappointment. I like the rising tension during the approach, and how time slows down as your mind speeds up during an attack. You’re always thinking, always alert, judging your opponent’s distance and reach in comparison to your own.

Which, I will admit, is usually an unfair balance for me. I’m rather short, and with short height comes short legs and short limbs. Compared to taller guys, I have little in the way of reach, and can cover less distance when retreating, advancing, or lunging.

Reach matters quite a bit in our first exercise. Before we’re allowed to hold a blade one class from now, we’re practicing everything else: footwork, right of way, and tactics. Instead of using a blade, we’re using a glove. This is saber fencing, which normally allows any kind of hit above the waist. For this exercise, we loosely wield a glove and have to try to hit each other in the chest or back.

To exemplify right of way, a fencing concept in which an attacker’s hit has scoring priority over a defender’s hit, we take turns attacking and defending. The attacker is allowed an advance and a lunge, during which the defender can make up to two retreats. Once the advance and lunge are taken, the roles are switched.

There is no blocking allowed, and actions can be of any length, so you do not have to take a full advance or a full retreat. This turns the exercise into one primarily about tactics and distance. The two fencers start out a good distance from each other, and advance closer while taking their turns. The object is to get your opponent to misjudge the distance at which he can hit you, so that he lunges and barely misses as you are retreating, ending up right next to you. Once that happens, he’s practically giving you the point, since you are now on the attack and can easily hit him.

In practice it rarely works out that way for me. Being rather short, I have a rather significant disadvantage in terms of reach and movement in this exercise. Since the attacker is only allowed a single advance, with their lunge not advancing them very far (only extending their reach), a defender with two retreats should actually be able to increase the distance between himself and the attacker, resulting in fencers drifting apart from each other if they take full retreats.

This is not so in my case; in fact, the taller people in the class can actually still hit me even if I make two full retreats, and I’m hard-pressed to hit them if they take two or even one full retreat.

I therefore have to be sneaky to win. I have to take my attack immediately after they finish theirs, to get them off-balance and to get them to make mistakes. I have to keep our distances under my control.

I want them to back off more than they should thinking that I’ll advance, putting him out of reach. I want them to not advance as far as they should to hit me, thinking that I’ll retreat.

Feinting to achieve those results is difficult, to say the least. It’s absolutely thrilling and absolutely tiring. You’re moving all the time, and if you’re not moving, all your muscles are tensed, and if your muscles aren’t tensed, you’re probably going to lose the point. After a dozen bouts, you’re caught up in a exhausted but focused trance where you forget about the half dozen matches around you and only see your opponent. All you see are his movements, his reactions, his responses to you toying with him and his frenzied attempts to try and outmaneuver you.

And just like that, it’s over. The world rushes back to me and I’m smiling, being a good sport and laughing with my opponent about how he just barely caught me. We walk back to our sides of the room, take a slow breath, turn around, assume a ready stance, and the world slowly dissolves once more as we begin our approaches.

I’m not sure how I’ll do with a blade in my hand, but I can’t wait to find out.

(10:14:49 PM) kninetales1988: Did you get married to a firebreathing ninja llama pony?
(10:14:58 PM) SarcasticSteven: hmm
(10:15:08 PM) SarcasticSteven: as far as i know, i was married to the sea
(10:15:17 PM) SarcasticSteven: but she might very well have been holding out on me
(10:16:45 PM) kninetales1988: are you married to just one thing?
(10:16:53 PM) SarcasticSteven: the sea is pretty big
(10:17:00 PM) SarcasticSteven: though don’t let her know i told you that
(10:17:11 PM) kninetales1988: YOU CALLED HER FAT
(10:17:35 PM) SarcasticSteven: it’s all water weight
(10:18:04 PM) kninetales1988: that’s not nice. if you think she’s fat, you should say something.
(10:18:36 PM) SarcasticSteven: hey i don’t go around asking her why she’s so obsessed with capsizing ships and consuming sailors
(10:18:43 PM) SarcasticSteven: and she doesn’t ask why i never visit her anymore
(10:18:58 PM) SarcasticSteven: it’s a delicate truce
(10:19:23 PM) kninetales1988: maybe she’s missing you. and capsizing ships because she’s lonely
(10:19:43 PM) SarcasticSteven: a likely story
(10:20:09 PM) SarcasticSteven: if she really loved me she wouldn’t be taking so many men into her folds
(10:20:15 PM) SarcasticSteven: she knows how jealous i get
(10:21:01 PM) kninetales1988: well if you never visit maybe she forgot
(10:21:52 PM) SarcasticSteven: AND MAYBE IF SHE STOPPED PLAYING WITH OTHER BOYS VISITING HER WOULD BE LESS PAINFUL
(10:21:56 PM) SarcasticSteven: but what do i know
(10:22:27 PM) SarcasticSteven: i don’t have poets spinning words about me all day
(10:23:05 PM) SarcasticSteven: i don’t have full-grown men pining to travel along my expanses for the rest of their lives
(10:23:46 PM) SarcasticSteven: maybe it’s just a natural consequence for someone in that position to turn into a traitorous harlot
(10:24:21 PM) kninetales1988: you and her should see a marriage counselor
(10:24:48 PM) SarcasticSteven: it’s kinda hard to find one who will see both of us
(10:25:07 PM) SarcasticSteven: or rather, to have a proper meeting
(10:25:53 PM) SarcasticSteven: i hate going to the beach, and when she comes to see me, weather emergencies blather about and everyone starts evacuating the city
(10:26:03 PM) SarcasticSteven: the counselors included

And a riddle because Shelly had been complaining.

Even the naive get tired when the only progress to be made is negative. Luckily nothing ever breaks; instead, incompatibilities are discovered. The ideal was worthwhile, but ultimately it belongs solely to the mellow.

Strangely, the closest I came to crying over her was when she was being cursed out. As with all instances of tearing, I was split between wanting to embrace it and suppress it.

It all came about from a thought that had been stubbornly persistent: if I could go back one year, would the knowledge of one outcome change my behavior? Would I work harder towards keeping us together, or would I be resigned and bitter? Would I do nothing and simply appreciate our time more? If so, what would happen when the last day passes uneventfully? Would I assume that the same events happened and call her a liar?

No, I never assume the worst of people; instead, I fear it. Every action would be laced with hesitation and restraint, every hug less heartfelt, every kiss reminding me of the things she did and might still do. The changes in my behavior would be the same reasons why I couldn’t take her back.

Change is what everything boils down to. What would I change? What has changed? Could I change? Could she?

I have always honestly believed that people can be anything they want to be. That they could change themselves to be whoever they wanted to be. I do not, however, believe that you can change someone else; it has to be purely of your own volition and desire. At the end of the day, you are the only person there who can tell you to keep trying.

So no, I don’t think I would try to change what happened, because I did nothing wrong. I did not give the relationship my all, but I gave the relationship everything I was willing to give. I did not always put her over everyone else because I needed to have a life apart from her, and the presence of that life was kept a particular rift from closing. What happened was not something we had any control over; it was simply a result of how we were.

Given the chance to relive that year, I would do everything the same way I did it, up to the day where it was done, and would once again be done. Would I be able to say all this while in the comfort of her arms? No, but that’s exactly why I wasn’t.

Unconsciously giving a Southern drawl to a West Indies plantation owner during a play reading in Writing 150 was totally unexpected but surprisingly fun once I realized what I was doing.

The good part about college? You can literally have no homework due for two weeks.

The bad part about college? All four of your classes have large homeworks due that day, two weeks from now. It’s awfully hard to not start assignments the day before, but I’ll find a way.

Total readership isn’t above five, so this isn’t as much of a race as you might think.

from Yoli:

-For the first three people that reply to this post, and who re-post this challenge: you win.

-For your prize, I will send you a gift.

-It might be something I’ve made, or something cool from my hidden stash of pure amazing. It might be a mix CD, or a rubber duck, or a book I think you might enjoy. A love letter, a useful object, or something else that is awesome or maybe just taking up room in my house.

-Whatever it is, I promise I will get it to you in 365 days of your posted comment or less, and I will need your snail mail. (Send it to my email, which you can find on Facebook.)

-The only thing you need to do to receive your gift is PARTICIPATE.

-Be one of the first three journalers to reply to this, and post this very same thing in your journal, and YOU are the lucky giftee.

My 3-day trip to New York was amazing, and both Shelly and I came back with twice the load we departed with. The majority of my load came from Saturday, when I went with my brother and the FIT group to attend the Digital Life convention at the Jacob Javits Center. I knew it was going to be a consumer electronics expo, but I wasn’t quite ready for the sheer amount and size of the electronics on one small showroom. There were TVs bigger than both of my monitors put together, computer towers nearly as big and probably three times as heavy, and sexiness emanating from even the lowliest of booths.

Was it as good as the Licensing Expo? Despite both conventions being showcases, they were entirely different breeds. The Licensing Expo had gimmicky free stuff: lots of pins, buttons, stickers, and a couple good items like a Happy Bunny postcard book. Digital Life’s freebies were a lot less plentiful but more useful, things that people would use and remind themselves and others about the product: Microsoft popcorn and playing cards, Lord of the Rings Online trial DVDs, and a Newegg poncho. Being the officer of the MMO club, I felt it was my duty to procure goods for our members, and took a whole nine full-size DVD cases from the piles that were being constantly replenished. It wasn’t until later that I found out that the installer was available online and trial keys could be sent to your email address. Oh wells.

The big notables were the video games. They had computers that ran Bioshock beautifully and still smooth as silk, two DDR arcade machines, dozens of PS3s and 360s, and several unreleased games: Crysis, Guitar Hero 3, Team Fortress 2…the first hour at the convention was really just me going from booth to booth gaping at the live games that were being played on these monster rigs and screens. I’m not so sure I like Guitar Hero 3’s interface, but my opinion might have been soured by the long lines for everything worth playing .

But the absolute best part? Totally whooping the Geek Squad’s ass at 3-question computer trivia, and winning a USB hub in the process . Working as BU tech support finally pays off (well, other than in the literal sense XD).

The last day was spent playing with not one, not two, but three linked Xbox 360s, with three matching televisions, three copies of Halo 3, and 10 controllers (sorry to break the sequence of 3’s). I donned the mantle of SomeRandomGuy so that people could say “Woo, I just killed some random guy!” and “Damnit, some random guy keeps sniping me!” Unfortunately it was more of the former than the latter, but I eked out a spot in the middle of the leaderboard, which is good considering my inexperience with console shooters. Regardless, it was crazy fun for all of us, with lots of jeering and screaming and teabagging. Shelly came back with a 360 of her own, opening up the possibility of four-player Halo 3 co-op with Megan’s 360 . Toss in Bioshock, MMOGS meetings, and RPG games, and I’ve got a lot I want to do and not a lot of time to do it with. College is definitely in full swing.

You don’t have to worry about overstepping your bounds when you’ve got diarrhea of the mouth.

She always told me that she wanted to make me confident in myself. She wanted to make me believe that I was as smart, sweet, witty and cute as she thought I was. I had always thought that somewhere out there, there would be someone who did find my jokes funny, and my quirks cute, my attempts at romance charming. And somewhere out there, there’s someone who really does have the same balloon fetish you do, or thinks that the huge tumor on your forehead is actually pretty damn sexy. In each of my relationships, I had been propelled by sheer excitement. Someone actually liked someone as strange as me? Someone honestly wanted to spend time with me, and just me?

It was possibly the ultimate compliment. It made me feel secure about myself, made me feel that I could be myself and still experience that mystical feeling called love. That there would finally be someone I could pour all my effort into and have them reciprocate in full, that someone would notice all the little things, make me feel all the things I’ve wanted to feel and maybe a little more. And as doubtful as I had been all my life…she actually succeeded.

I noticed my freshman year of college that I approached people with confidence, raised up and cushioned by the fact that I had someone to run back to if a social encounter ever failed. It made me more confident and outspoken around everyone, and I really do have to thank her for that. It made me unafraid of sharing my hobbies, my jokes, my self…and I had a better idea of who that self was. She reinforced that in me, that my real self was so close to the one she loved, such that I embraced it and let it fly. She helped me define me, even while she herself was so unsure.

But the dip in the Styx wasn’t perfect, and the qualities that perhaps made her cling to me so readily and lovingly were the ones that have left deficiencies in me. Would I ever be able to find a girl that didn’t make her interest so obvious? Would I ever be able to ask one out, or make one see me as a lover and not a friend? Would I ever be able to keep one?

Which is why I have posts like this. Thoughts, dreams, nights, days like this. Just optimistic enough to hope, too rational and risk-averse to substantiate. It rarely affects my attitude towards people…but that doesn’t keep it from affecting me. But I’m still here. I’m still hoping. And perhaps one day I’ll start trying and things will start happening. Because now I know what I want to reclaim, match, and exceed. I have her to thank for making me sure like never before of my reasons for defying reason.

Always…and never. Now all that’s left is just to keep holding my head up high and try to find a decent engine.

Back in Stuy, there was a saying that often wormed its way into speeches or closing opinion pieces in the school newspaper, like that joke about laxative* that stopped being so funny after you’ve heard seven different comics say it in a row. (I am surprised neither was anyone’s yearbook quote.)

Welcome to Stuyvesant High School. Choose two of the three: grades, friends, or sleep.

The Friday before my Astronomy class final, I powered through a monster seven-hour study session with three classmates in preparation for the final. In doing so, not only did I fry my brain, but I finalized my answer to that joke in the process, an answer which I was leaning towards my junior year and had solidified by my final year of high school.

I choose friends. It doesn’t matter what else I have. Without friends, being well-rested just makes me restless and bored. Without friends, the time spent studying seems even lonelier, and the grades feel hollow and pointless. Yet with friends, I can feel energetic and motivated even when I’m running on empty. A dollar spent with friends on five fried dumplings can feel more rewarding than any meal I’ve eaten alone. Friends can make me feel like I have a place in the world, a niche that no job earned by good grades could ever fill. Friends is the only choice that will comfort me when I don’t have the others.

So thank you, all of you, for showing me this unique facet of the world: one where school isn’t everything, where a simple piece of molded plastic can provide infinite enjoyment, where money is no longer considered squandered but merely spent for a good cause. As much as my future clamors for more attention, thank you for grounding me in the present. Thank you for showing me that even though the most enjoyable things are often ephemeral and a waste in the long run, a life not lived is the worst waste of all.

*There are some things that you need to buy together. “Should I get the laxative…or the toilet paper? . . . Give me the laxative. Paper bag, please. And yes, I want the receipt!”

**I was tempted to say, “Friends, I choose you!” but I choked and died a little inside. I still think it’s a tiny bit brilliant, so it’s been relegated to this addendum.

Getting out of school a month before your brother does and three weeks before your summer classes start leaves you with a lot of free time. I tried new games and tossed them away, tried old games and tossed them away, used Flash to make text glint, started reading military science fiction again, and visited some friends while not visiting other friends. My chronic ennui reappeared on cue, as did its periodic remission. I’m not as productive as I could be, but the pace of summer gives me a wide berth to be lazy.

My summer classes are only a few hours every day, and are just enough to keep moss from growing on me. The teacher was literally hired the day before class started, and didn’t have a syllabus for a week. He writes tests that have confusing wording and answers that are identical in everything but syntax. He sometimes teaches us incorrect material and refuses to correct himself. In fact, the only thing he is good at is avoiding our questions, especially during tests. I do not think Hunter will depose him, simply because they have no one else. Based on the uproar we received when we went over the test, I’m pretty sure that we’ll get passing grades just to shut us up. Once the term is over, Hunter can put this embarassing course behind them and we can put our liberal arts requirements behind us.

My social needs are pretty slim, so I’ve been very content this summer. I:

• saw Curse of the Golden Flower with no sound while loitering in CompUSA and then again at an outdoor screening
• tasted appropriately expensive samples of restaurants on 46th street at The Taste of Times Square
• made my practically annual trip to the Museum of Natural History
• learned Mahjong and Cranium
• had my first sleepover, and found that I could not masturbate as fast as girls who have had boyfriends
• chilled out to watch Stargate for several hours while eating questionable beef but tasty shrimp noodles and pork
• proudly walked into the Jacob Javits center as president of Steven’s Selective Services in order to snag freebies
• slept through most of the July 4th fireworks
• became left-handed

In terms of actual productivity? I’ve set up another photo album, one I think is far sexier than Coppermine and reminds me of a certain mp3 player brand. It doesn’t let me categorize, label, or search very well, but it’s simple to view and easy to add and link to. Tip: once you click an image to view a larger version, you can press your keyboard’s arrow keys to scroll through the rest, as well as use your mouse to drag it around the screen. Sexy and easy? Oh my.

I’ve got several great games lined up, but there will be more posts when I find myself on the wrong end of a rifle too many times. For now, look at the glorious pictures of my freshman year. (Too many to bother linking, but I’ll do that in the future whenever I make a new album.)

The desk lamp that casts shadows across the room can still wash away my worries and make my room feel like home. I love being in a school with such animate people in abundance, but it’s still nice to be alone with your thoughts. As I look at my desk and see the free pens stolen from Splash and Collegefest, the post-its hanging off the side of my monitor, homemade Japanese flashcards lying next to new ones waiting to be filled, and my keyboard hanging off the table while being supported by an open drawer so that I can have room to put my books, I’m amazed at the extent to which I’ve settled down. In fact, the only thing that shocks me more is the realization that I’m not homesick, but happy and content.

Now if only this cough would go away and I could finally get the hang of Japanese and calculus, everything would be peachy keen.

I’d love some cheap Chinatown food, too.