Most of y'all are already painfully aware of my feelings for Hilary Duff. While some cynics out there may claim it's unhealthy, my defense is always that I respect her for her mind and her music. Holding hands would be all I want. So some of y'all might have seen her new commercial with her horse-faced sister as they advertised the new Ice Breakers Ice Cubes. The ad featured Mr. Keith "Wooooah Nellie!" Jackson and WOAH....Joey Lawrence. First, I was saddened that Keith has to resort to this to get paid. Granted, his announcing at the Rose Bowl was akin to listening to Grandpa rambling about "Commies and the cereal famine." Well, not MY non-English speaking grampa. One of y'all white folks' stereotypical grandpas. Anyways, Hil's ad was espousing the notion that the new gum would elicit a "woah!" from said purchasing consumer. So, dutifully, I went and bought me a pack. Following a much-enthused celebratory fist-pump, I took an anxious chew. No "woah"s were elicited. Not even a "meh." As I chewed and waited, the creeping feeling of betrayal washed over me. To protect any younger readers, what I said rhymes was "Hat Buying Door Mucked Tee." Yet, as hope as all fading, reason dawned. It is around 2PM on a cold, Atlanta morning. Of course I can't feel the promised sensation! After being in room temperature, the second attempt was a brilliant success. Lesson of the story? I dunno, maybe something along the lines of "GET A LIFE!" No kidding.

And yes, she's 18. A day after I....turned....25. Woah.

Posted by Victor at 7:40 PM | Permalink | Comments

Much love and kudos to all who offered their prayers and well-wishes in my support. As for those haters, well, you're probably right. But, on to the fun stuff. Now, with the bar over with, my sights shall turn towards my next goal. As I sat near I-20 in rush-hour traffic with pouring rain, I was so happy that I left my flask in the car. While taking a little sip of very old scotch, I pondered my next endeavor. As you all know, all great minds stroke their chins as they think. Well, that is how my next idea arrived. Stroking my hairless chin got me thinking, I needs me a goatee! Now I know I've tried this many times as part of my "I won't cut my hair or shave for as long as possible so I'm even more repulsive to girls" campaign. I've also tried and failed Jason Britt's Asian Mullet Challenge. Then, of course, I recalled the many times I've heard, "Get a haircut and shave. You look like an asshole." Thus, I have readily abandoned that goal. Fear not, though, as I will indeed think of something random to accomplish. Perhaps like learning how to cook. Or how to drive a bus. Suggestions are welcome.

Posted by Victor at 5:34 PM | Permalink | Comments

Feel free to sing along. Lord knows I've sang and cried along with it more than enough in these past few days. That and Hilary Duff. But that's for another post. It's game time, baby.

Posted by Victor at 6:00 AM | Permalink | Comments

Well, its almost the 11th hour, or as I like to call it, "The Final Countdown." *Snickers* Gosh, I love making myself laugh. I'm just going to post a couple of funny pics to keep myself from going truly insane.



Yeah, I can't handle these series of pictures of Tony Danza eating it. His face on the 2nd frame is...well...priceless. Let's just say that on initial viewing, I experienced the painful sensation of Mountain Lightning flowing through my nose. That's the Wal-Mart version of Mountain Dew for those high-falutin' Uncle Moneybag types that can afford name-brand cokes. I still can't stop laughing when I look at his "O" face. You have to click on it to get the full-image hilarity.




And this is my brain currently. Again, its another Simpsons reference, but if someone gets the episode from whence this game, it's a six-pack of a non-domestic beer. And fret not Eric, you'll get your beer for the correct answer from last time. But yep, a sleeping donkey sums up the amount of mental energy I currently have.

Posted by Victor at 2:54 AM | Permalink | Comments

Happy Valentine's Day all!
Just a short and sweet post (like me!) Y'all remember V-day parties? At our school, we HAD to give one to every student so nobody felt unliked - which was lucky for me =) We should have had Valentine Party's at law school. That would have been some hilarity. A free beer to those who get that card reference.

Posted by Victor at 1:51 PM | Permalink | Comments

Sweet hams o' Christmas, someone's a stolen my name! Not sure which diligent gumshoe snuffed out this impersonator, but congrats. I appreciate ya searching for my name online. Stalker. But, in a nutshell, a faithful reader has stumbled upon another blog written by an Asian named....Victor Kang! (www.xanga.com/victorkang) Just a little snippet for a compare and contrast:

"i am victor kang. i loveeee rabbits and rabbit food. i also love cigs. they are bad, but i still love them. my life is reallllll interesting. i sometimes lock myself in the library for days and just read cuz i'm a huge nerd. i also like to neglect my friends when i am being nerdy. i also like math, and real estate. nerdy, i know."

Well, I'm indifferent to rabbits, but I have eaten dog biscuits before (go Snausages). Cigs...well...'nuff said. I do like libraries, but I think the last time I was in one was to use it as a shortcut to get to a bar. I won't post his pics out of privacy, but I think he's got me beat on the squinty-eye factor. Further, his friends are decidedly more yellow than mine. Creepy connections? I DO work in real estate law, and his birthday appears to be 10-28. Mine? 9-27. Yeah, I'm freaked out, too. He may indeed be a version of me if I had been raised out west in Vegas and not in 'Bama. It's like Honky Vic vs. Hong Kong Vic. Rollin' in The Hay vs. Rollin' on my six-fo'? Ric Flair v. rickshaw? SoCarolina v. SoCal? Bacon v. (free-range and hugged daily)Turkey Bacon? Alright, it's creeping me out man. Maybe the stress is getting to me.

As for my scary dreams about exam un-preparedness, keep your pant/ies on! Anecdotes about pre-exam jitters are for a later entry.

Posted by Victor at 2:57 PM | Permalink | Comments

Everyone and their momma has dreams. They often are supposed to represent our subconscious. So, I've been kind of confused by my recent dreams. Normally, I can kind of interpret them and understand where they come from. But in the past two weeks, my dreams have resembled those of a 10 year old. I have fought aliens, Al-Qaeda, and tiny plastic soldiers who had grown intelligent on their own. Now, if I had watched the movies with those themes recently, I might understand. What's even weirder is that in the dreams, I can remember thinking "hey, this is like Independence Day! They aren't here for peace!!!" It's confusing, but at least refreshing and entertaining. The other weird dreams are the lucid ones where something mundane happens and you think it was real. In one dream, I was making a crazy-good breakfast of eggs, bacon and the works. There was enough for leftovers. When I woke up, I was confused as I couldn't remember if I actually had leftovers waiting. As I stumbled towards the fridge, I realized all I had in there was a couple of oranges, High Life, tonic water, and an old pizza. Mislead by a delicious dream. What a living. The other crazy dream I had was that I befriended a kitten, and we had good times. That was it. I threw a ball around and I cleaned its litter box. It was a big kitten so I assume it was maybe a baby lion. What's my point? Often they say dreams represent your hidden psyche. Well, normally when there were cheerleaders involved, I can understand that desire as it's pretty obvious =) But, being in cheesy-movie plots, eating a hearty breakfast, and having a pet? Y'all armchair analyzers should have a field day with that.

Posted by Victor at 12:34 PM | Permalink | Comments

I was thinking back to the start of the third year of law school. At that time, I was working with Graves at Williams & Cheshire. One day we were in the front doing some filing, and this old black guy came in asking for donations. He asked our names, and then asked Ben if he was related to Peter Graves. Peter Graves was the guy in the original Mission Impossible and the captain in Airplane! ("Have you ever seen a grown man naked?") He then asked us if we knew who Peter Graves was. I was like, yeah, the guy from MI. Then, he shook my hand and goes "Wow, Ming-Ming! You a smart boy!" I didn't really think much of it as I'm used to that. Ironically, me and Graves were just talking about how much crap Asians get and how he didn't really see it. I got a big "wow, I'm sorry I didn't realize that actually happens" afterwards =)

But, Crazy Joe Boyles got wind of the situation and had a field day calling me Ming-Ming, and that was the phase where I did my very bad Asian accent (and Ted Kennedy, to boot). I realize now that my accent was flawed, as I was doing more of a Japanese accent. Apparently, Japanese cannot pronounce "l"s, as in "You rack disciprine." I think I modeled my accent after the owner of the City Wok in South Park. But, "God-damn Mongorians" is NOT correct. Chinese CAN pronounce "L"s, as that is why the stereotype is "flied lice". I apologize to the broken English speakers worldwide. But, what's weird is that I don't think my parents ever had an issue with saying fried rice. I'm pretty sure that just wanting to speak bad English is a slap in the face of my people. But, I think my Foreigner-listening, fried-chicken-grubbing, Alabama-loving ways have already cemented my status as an "Uncle Wong" and a disgrace to my family. Damn you whitey!

Posted by Victor at 12:12 PM | Permalink | Comments

Despite the pall that has fallen over this supposed bastion of inane humor, I will try to keep the mood here entertaining. If you're looking for me waxing nostalgic, dissertations on my philosophy, elegiac prose and stream of consciousness thoughts, try my blog at www.myspace.com/vhkang927. But, this blog is for the happy yin to my constantly depressed yang.

So, I figure I will post a couple of funny anecdotes that me and Dibya shared in the past. Back in senior year of high school, me and Dibs both worked at Fazoli's in Huntsville. For those in the dark, Fazoli's was an Italian restaurant in the vein of a Boston Market or Kenny Roger's Roasters. We were the new grunts, so we often were given the shit jobs. One of the most memorable was to be the manual trash compactors. We were given wader pants (plastic overalls that people use to go in water and such) and told to "compact" the garbage bin. This essentially was me and Dibs stomping in the trash bin. Glamorous as this may sound, we found that being on garbage-stomping duty was a fine waste of time as managers rarely came out to check the progress. We came up with the great game of Breadstickball, which consisted of us heaving old breadsticks at each other's heads. The winner? Us, as they were paying us $5.75 an hour for us to throw moldy breadsticks at each other.
The other story I remember from our tour of duty at Fazoli's was that we had to do food prep. For the chicken fettucine, we had to roast and cut the chicken strips. So, one day, I walked into the freezer to grab some more pasta, and Dibs is in there "cutting" the chicken. By cutting, he was making 5 strips and eating 3. As I exclaimed, "Dude, are you eating the chicken?", his chicken-garbled response was "Man, I was hungry and there's free chicken!" I later cursed him for being smarter than I in realizing that by prepping the chicken in the freezer, he was in a veritable free-chicken haven.
As a post-script, thank you to all who have called or emailed me with words of comfort. Thanks all, as your words mean the world to me.

Posted by Victor at 12:48 AM | Permalink | Comments