March 28th, 2006 by cyrusroxas
I was a Jaundice baby, born on a cold day in January. My mother had been living by herself for 3 months while my father was attempting to find his fortune in Orlando Florida, where an Asian man can spread his wings. There was so much snow on the ground that my mother had to carry my 2 year old sister and myself in her belly 7 blocks in the snow while in labor. Tough lady me mum.
I was a quiet child with naught but short squeak of a laugh or perhaps a nod from time to time.
Years later I had learned how to make Asian instruments of war with my wee little hands. Nun chucks and the like. I made a bow and arrow on my fathers 50th birthday and astonished him and his beer buddies that I could accurately scewer a beer can from 20 yards away. I never saw that bow and arrow again….
(sigh) at that same party My father’s buddies thought it would be a hoot to hire a belly dancer to entertain. Though I was only 7 or 8 i can still remember that this lady looked sort of man-ish. She wore heavy eye make up and had a belly that jiggled like bowl full of jelly. What I remember most vividly about this special gem of a day was the music. She pressed play on her boom box and this strange music started to play. I suspect it was twing twangy indian music with sitar and drums. It had no lyrics so I wrote myself some lyrics to go along with it and it went like this,
Chorus/Verse1 + 2
Hung ga da bee dee poo poo lay
Hung ga da bee dee poo poo lay
poo poo lay, poo poo lay
Hung ga da bee dee poo poo lay!
I sang that song over and over again. For almost 2 years that song was, as the kids say, my "Jam".
…to be continued…
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October 18th, 2005 by cyrusroxas
I’ve set this blog as a current affair as the following story are affairs which have happened to me currently. I work on Wall St., which gives the illusion that I wear a suit to work, and tell people what to do and come home with lots of duckets in my papoose where my trophy wife presents me a tray of fine wine and cheeses. This is not the case my friends. I work at a non profit. Typically i wear jeans and a zip-up, and I usually come home to wheat thins and sun dried tomato hummus, but I digress…
What I’d like to discuss with you, the reader (which will inevitably be me alone), are ethics and conduct. More specifically the ethics and conduct when confronted by the econamically challenged.
Personally I have nothing against people of poverty. In many cases I can tell that these people have had a series of unfortunate comeuppances, their unsavory fragrence can’t be helped and I feel horrible for these people and try to do my part in helping. But there are others my friends, others who would take advantage of this kindness. When someone asks me for money and I notice they’re wearing the latest in footwear or if they seem to be laughing at jokes only they can hear, something tells me they’re jonesin’ for something with a little more kick than Yoohoo. And in these cases I don’t give them money, but spare extra food i might have on me. But here’s the rub.
There’s this lady around Wall St. who has an ecclectic collection of brightly colored jogging outfits. I’m assuming she works wall st. because she feels as though this is where big money is made. Alas this is where she’s mistaken. Instead of using the usual method of "spare some change?" or a song and dance (which usually empties my pockets of all that clinks and clanks), she chooses to yell in people’s faces! yes yells. And she doesn’t ask questions. She yells statements like, "I’M HOMELESS!!!!" or "I’M HUNGRY!!!. Well while I made my way to work i notice her eyeing me and i sang a song quietly to myself that went a little something like this, "here comes ol’ yeller, I’m about to get yelled at by ol’ yeller", and sure enough she came inches away from my face with, "I’M HUNGRY!!!” I hadn’t noticed but there was another woman in a pant-suit walking right behind me and she said, "Now that you bring it up, I’m kinda hungry too", and she turned into the nearest pastry place for a scone. I was bamboozled by these events and power walked to my building. My question is what’s an asian bro to do?
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March 3rd, 2005 by cyrusroxas
Here’s a story for you to disregard completely…
When I was 5 years old I was obsessed with cheez whiz. I loved the stuff and couldn’t get enough of it. Processed cheez was better than ice cream to me. So one day my mother comes home with a big new jar of the whiz and I’m all psycked to crack that shit open and pound it! But my mother told me with her high pitched Asian mom voice…"No Cyrooos! It’s time for bed" So I stood in front of the fridge and devised a master scheme as to how i could tap into that jar with none the wiser. So while my mother wasn’t looking i quickly opened the jar scooped some whiz, hiked up my pajama pant legs and smeered it on my knees cuz i thought, Mommy will never check my knees for cheez whiz!!! Little Cyrus, You’re a frickin’ genius!!!.
So I brushed my teeth and went up stairs (walking a little funny cuz i had cheez whiz on my knees), I said my prayers and my mother tucked me in, and when all was still, quiet, and in the clear I hiked up my pajama legs and licked my knees clean. And while I endulged in the cheezy goodness of the whiz I thought to myself, Look at yourself Little Cyrus, you’re licking cheez flavored goo off your knees! Where did it all go wrong? Aren’t you ashamed of yourself?
my answer: plainly no. Just no. CUZ CHEEZ WHIZ IS DA BOMB BITCH.
i don’t think so anymore, but the memory is quite vivid.
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