Equations

I've been telling people "wow, I haven't blogged in a month!" for three months now. How quickly time flies between posts that you don't write. And this is one of them. I have no idea how to write it, but it's one of those posts I can't let myself skip. Not because I feel a pressing need to share it, but because the equation of my life won't make sense without it. And I'm a very linear person. So bear with me while I solve for X. 

When I started this blog, Fury was 5. He turned 11 last month! I love reading his birthday posts and I always look forward to writing them. There's so much I could say this time around. I'm seeing him evolve by the minute from "little guy" to "guy" and it's as awesome as it is sad. He'll snark like a 30-year old, but will still reach for my hand when we're walking across a parking lot. Those are my favorite moments with him, and I know 11 will take that away from me. But I also know I'm going to love the hell out of whatever it brings me. Happy birthday, son.

On the same day he turned 11, Lisa and the kids were moving to their new place. The night before, as we were loading the moving truck, both dogs got out of the house. 

Moving day/birthday started with a phone call from the police at 6:30am. And like all calls at 6:30am, it was accompanied by something you would rather not hear, but will be stuck on loop the rest of your days. Krypto had been struck and killed by a car, just minutes prior.

So, on the morning of Fury's birthday, on moving day, I pulled up in front of the middle school to meet two policemen who helped me place Krypto in the trunk of my car. Animal control doesn't work on Mondays, so I couldn't just leave him on the street. Not that I would. But the alternative they suggested of putting him in a bag until Tuesday didn't sit well with me either. I didn't know what to do. I just wanted him back with us. 

We buried Krypto in the backyard. 

"Well, it's only 9am," I told him. "What else could go wrong?"

This was April 15. Back in my hometown, the Boston Marathon was well underway. 

And this is all I know how to say about this. I want to change Fury's age on my About page. I want to write about nonsensical, stupid things again. Boston is still the greatest city in the world. 

Last night I sat in my backyard next to where Krypto is buried. I smoked a cigar and listened to the quiet, no closer to solving for X than I am now. But maybe that's the answer.

Choose Their Own Adventure

Back in August, I set my wok aflame in celebration of an amazing campaign that raised $200,000 for Shot at Life. One thing I dread doing (aside from growing my eyebrows back) is explaining what Shot at Life does. Mostly because no description does it justice. Shot at Life delivers life-saving vaccines to children in 3rd world countries. See? Doesn't sound all that exciting. Fortunately, cavemen invented storytelling. And thanks to this ancient art, Shot at Life has given my previous description, well, life. Throughout the past 28 days, bloggers have been telling the tale of this organization via real stories of people who have made an impact in, or been impacted by the efforts that Shot at Life has made in helping to give children a shot at ____. Space intentionally left blank because when you give kids a chance, they will do anything and everything.

This month, we've seen tales of survivors giving back, stories of heroes in the fight, and even first-hand accounts from my fellow Shot at Life blogger ambassadors who were fortunate enough to witness progress from the front lines.

And now it's my turn. When I was given my story to highlight, I was expecting something totally different. Perhaps a Shot at Life volunteer who had to fend off warlords with nothing but a bo staff and illegal ninja moves. Maybe it was a mom who walked for two days with a 2 year old on her back and 7 year old in tow to get to a vaccination clinic in Uganda, who had to tape broken bottles on her fists to fight off packs of grey wolves in the mountains of Alaska (hey, this is my imagination. If you don't like it, get out of my head). No, my story wasn't any of that. My story was simply a few sentences long.

My story was about this little dude:

And his older brother:

Credit for both photos: Christine McNab/ Measles and Rubella Initiative website

See how older brother is doing that thing with his arm over his head? That's because he doesn't know how old he is. The health worker made him do this because if you can touch your ear like that, you are most likely older than 5. Because he and his little brother were under 5, they both got shots for measles and polio. After that, they were given purple marks on their thumbs to show that they had been vaccinated. Big brother and little brother then went home by themselves, the same way they showed up. 

The end. 

Wait, wait, wait!! This is the final story of this amazing 28-day series? Two kids show up at a clinic, get shots and then go home? It can't simply end this way. We don't even know their names! This is worse than the series finale of the Sopranos. Ok, Shot at Life, you gave me this anchor position for a reason. And that reason is you knew I would pull out all the stops to make the end of this series epic. And that I shall do. 

First, we're going to give these kids names: Ronnie and Mike.

Now, we're going to make this interactive. You, dear reader, will now have to choose. After Ronnie and Mike leave the clinic, do they head:

A) North

B) East

C) West

If you picked North, read paragraph A below. If you picked East, skip to the paragraph labeled B. If you picked West, skip to paragraph C.

Paragraph A

Ronnie is pretty proud of the fact that he didn't even flinch when they gave him that shot. Mike sees the pride in his little brother and smiles. Just then, a meteor-like object whizzes by in the sky in front of them and lands with a crash, rattling the sun-baked dirt below their feet. The boys run toward the crash site in time to see a dozen aliens emerge from a saucer-like object. They're all wielding hypodermic needles and snarl threateningly at the boys as they approach. But Ronnie does not fear their weapons. In fact, he rolls up his sleeve like a big boy. The aliens are so amazed by Ronnie's courage that they crown him and Mike their new leaders. The boys get into the saucer and make their way to their new domain, where they now preside as supreme rulers. Their YouTube channel "Ronnie and Mike: Space Dictators" has 17 million subscribers, and the ad revenue from that alone supports the planet's universal healthcare plan, which includes vaccinations against internet trolls. 

Paragraph B

On their way home, Mike notices a swirling vortex underneath a boulder along the path. Curious, he picks up a pebble and throws it in. Immediately, he hears a whinnying noise coming from inside the vortex. Ronnie utters "horsey!" and jumps into it. Not wanting to get in trouble at home over losing his brother to a vortex, Mike jumps in after him. After several moments of sliding along what can only be described as a rainbow slip n slide, both land with a thud. As the two brothers look up, they notice that they are surrounded by a gentle herd of unicorns, one of which tells them to get on his back (via telepathy of course). The unicorn flies them back through the vortex and to their house. The boys love this new pet that has followed them home, so they feed it some hay. Hay is like the best thing this unicorn has ever tasted (he is totally sick of the bacon that grows on all the trees in his home world), so he calls all his friends up. Now unicorns run wild in the streets of Nigeria. Snopes confirms all this a day later, so for once the email your great aunt Edna forwarded to the whole family is legit.

Paragraph C

The boys wander through the desert and come upon a great deal for a droid. When they get him home to clean, he plays a hologram who keeps asking someone named Obi Wan for help. They wonder if it's old Ben. After a series of incidents that lead them to Ben, who just so happens to be Obi Wan, they enlist the help of a real scoundrel of a smuggler to get them all to a peaceful planet called Alderaan. Little do they know, a dictator has already blown it up. They decide they really dislike this guy and join an opposition party. This opposition party, they discover, isn't the type that enjoys debates. In fact, they too love to blow things up. Especially the thing that the dictator lives in. And that thing is no moon! So they learn how to fly these aircraft with wings shaped like an X, and they launch an attack on that non-moon planet destroyer thing. Some aircraft shaped like bow ties attack them, but in the end they destroy that thing. It's really kind of sad, though, because they will later discover that the dictator is really their dad, which means they totally could have inherited that non-moon thing, given it a more upbeat name than the Death Star, and thrown some wild parties in there. Instead, they get some medals.

You might at this point be asking "hey, um, Jim... this is awfully random. What is the point of all this?" 

I'm glad I pretended that you asked. The answer is this: there is no limit to what kids can do. You just need to give them a shot.

The impact of vaccines on the lives of children around the world is incredible. Now, you can help sustain the impact by sending an email to your member of congress. Welcome your members to the 113^th Congress and ask them to make sure that global health and vaccines are a priority in the new Congress. Take action and make an impact!

This story comes from the Measles and Rubella Initiative and is part of Shot@Life’s ’28 Days of Impact’ Campaign. A follow up to Blogust to raise awareness for global vaccines and the work being done by Shot@Life and their partners to help give children around the world a shot at a healthy life. Go to www.shotatlife.org/impact to learn more.

Minecraft Dynasty

Some dads look upon their kid and see a budding athlete; some a rising scholar; others a blossoming thespian. I see a future honoree of the Inc5000. It started with surplus fruit. A few months later, the spark of entrepreneurship manifested itself as Starburst bracelets at his school's open marketplace event. Last week it was open marketplace time again, and Fury went straight for the elementary school jugular: Minecraft. In case you didn't click on the link I conveniently left you in the last sentence, the open marketplace is an event at Fury's school where they let kids sell anything they want, with school-regulated "Colt bucks" serving as legal tender.

If you don't know what Minecraft is, you haven't spoken to anyone between the ages of 7 and, well, dead. Simply put, it is a video game that puts you in an 8-bit world where you build and destroy things with your friends. That's it. It's like playing outside if you had access to earth-moving machinery, demolitions, were able to fly, and didn't have to secure permits or heed zoning laws.  

Marketers (and my 10-year old) have not overlooked the merchandising potential of this phenomenon. Fury called me while I was at work the other day to discuss this. 

This is a creeper. This 8-bit creature scoffs at your HD ultra realism and steals your money.While he knew he wanted to sell something related to Minecraft, he hadn't quite settled on the product just yet. He floated the idea of some sort of paper handcraft. However, as his entrepreneurial advisor, father and fellow Shark Tank devotee, I cautioned that this project would involve too much skilled labor and certainly wasn't scalable. We needed something that could be easily manufactured by exploiting low cost foreign labor. Always prepare for success. 

We decided upon Minecraft Creeper necklaces. Creepers are the bad guys in the Minecraft world. I texted Lisa a list of items we needed to buy in order to make these. She took Fury to the store and bought a bunch of things that weren't on my list, but would actually make the manufacturing process easier and more efficient. Some things never change.

Then he got to work. 

When I got home, my job was to figure out how to make those double slip knots that make necklaces adjustable. Never try to tie fancy knots via YouTube. You end up hating YouTube, string, and life itself. I finally found a simple necklace knot tutorial and we managed to complete all 23 necklaces. Of course, because I just threw them in a pile, they all got hopelessly tangled. After 15 futile minutes trying to separate them and reaffirming my hatred for string and life, I cut them all and started over. But we eventually got there.

When I saw Fury the day after his open marketplace, he was chillin' on the couch with two necklaces dangling from his neck.

"How did sales go?"

"I sold out in two and a half minutes. I made $35,000."

"Why do you still have two left?" 

"One is for me, and the other one is in the middle of a bidding war."

"Nice! What's it at?"

"So far $25,000 is the highest bid, and I am keeping it open till Friday."

Future Inc5000 honoree? No, my imagination is far more ambitious than that. This is the image that flashed across my mind at that moment. Shark Tank, season 5.

While I could just end this post here with that clever display of Photoshop skillage, I couldn't leave out a conversation I had with Fury last night over dinner, because of course he has to top his own punch line. With one day left in bidding, I asked him how things were going.

"Well, I ran into some problems with a kid trying to scam me. He gave me half the money and he took the necklace and ran into the bathroom."

"He took it? Did you get it back?"

"Yeah, I paid my friend to get it back for me?"

"Why did you pay a friend?"

"Dad, he's a 6'2" fourth grader. I use him a lot."

"What, is he like your enforcer?"

"Yeah, I pay him all the time. $2,000 to take care of things. $5,000 to follow me around as my bodyguard and make me look awesome."

Maybe a different Photoshop and future ambition is in order here. And we might have to set up an Etsy store while we're at it. As a front.

Carhartt: the most badass thing to ever meet needle and thread

I’m not a clothes guy. Given the choice, I would buy everything from the Army Navy Store. Actually, that’s what I did until the need to procreate forced me to consider otherwise. But really, rip-stop pants with ample pockets and black ribbed sweaters with reinforced elbows are classic, versatile and mission-ready. So what if most of my missions end with “save as…” rather than necklaces made of enemy ears.

Let’s just say I’m not on the pitch list for many clothing brands. And let’s just say when they do send me stuff, I sit on it for years. Yes, plural. So the first part of this post is pure blogger guilt relief. Ralph Lauren and Gold Toe sent me stuff back in 2011. Actually, they sent stuff for Fury. And like a proper blogger’s kid, he wore his cool Ralph Lauren shirt and Gold Toe socks to the first day of school without me asking.  

When I snapped this picture, I was actually wearing the Gold Toe socks they sent me as well. But Fury got the cool socks that are labeled L and R because they’re built for the contour of each foot. What? Is that even necessary? He insisted they were the best socks he’d ever worn. So there you have it. Gold Toe makes the best socks (as an SEO guy, I have to say I just gave them killer anchor text– well worth the wait).  

Then last March, we moved from SoCal to NorCal, so there was actually another “first day of school.” Without missing a beat, Fury wore his Ralph Lauren shirt again.

Ralph Lauren makes the best shirts to wear on your first day of school (BOOM. Blogger guilt eliminated).

With that out of the way, I would like to get into the whole reason I’m writing this post: Carhartt sent me their Quick Duck Woodward jacket, and this post is a review of it. However, by doing this I’m keeping it real. You can buy Carhartt at an Army Navy store. In fact, I‘ve owned the iconic Carhartt Sandstone jacket for several years. Except I call it my Toby Keith jacket. Sometimes if I’m feeling more classic, I call it my George Strait jacket.

I’m an Asian guy who likes country music. Kindly lead the elephant out of the room now, so I can get on with this post.

Another reason I agreed to this review is because I was cold. It doesn’t matter what time of year it is, San Francisco is always chilly. I started my new job in May, and so far there have only been three days I could walk outside without a jacket. The one I’ve been wearing since my first day is a thin Banana Republic sweater jacket (which in my professional years has become my Army Navy store for office attire).

I call my daily trip to work the “Commuter Triathlon” because there are three parts to it, and PowerBar could get some mileage sponsoring that BS. It starts out with a 45-minute drive to the train station. Then I park the car at the BART station and ride an hour into the city. Then, I unfold this bad boy:

Then I scoot the mile from the BART station to my office. Field mice gestate in less time than it takes me to get to the office.

But let me tell you something. Wearing this jacket makes my commute feel more like a conquest than a schlep. Because it is. Simply. Bad. Ass.

First, the Carhartt brand is synonymous with killing your own food, barehanded. I’ll get to that one day, I swear. No one messes with you when you are wearing Carhartt – even if you’re on a kick scooter. And that’s a bold statement, because ‘wheee!’

Next, this jacket is windproof, water resistant and WARM. Scooting through the mean streets of San Francisco feels like a warm cup of hot chocolate. In fact, I put this jacket through the ultimate test a few weeks ago when I lost my car keys. With my trusty scooter and battle-ready jacket, I rode all over town trying to find a car rental place and/or dealership. When that failed, I had to take a bus that dropped me off a few miles from home. By this time it was 10pm or so, which meant I had been outdoors scooting aimlessly for 7 hours. My face and hands were frozen, but my consistent core body temperature ensured my survival.

This what inability to move one’s face or fingers looks like.

So yes, this jacket saved my life in a #FirstWorldProblems sort of way. Speaking of which, this jacket also has an extra long “drop tail” which means no more embarrassing “unplugging your mac from the power strip” crack at work. It also has 6 pockets, and I’m not talking about costume pockets, either. I’ve transported water bottles, electronics, sandwiches, alcohol and other items in them. The other day, I even carried a lightbulb in one of the pockets. My favorite thing about this jacket is that even though it’s built to be rugged, it actually looks presentable in an urban professional setting. This is the jacket I wear to work. Colleagues and clients see me in it. It can hang with corporate America. Because when your jacket simply defaults to the popped collar look, you’re probably a big deal.

Hey guess what? YOU are also big deal, which is why Carhartt is giving one of you this jacket. Just leave me a comment explaining why you want yourself or your man in this jacket and you’ll be entered in my drawing. I will randomly choose a winner on Sunday, January 27 at 9pm PST. By the way, I wasn’t paid for this review. They sent me the jacket to use and abuse. I’ve so far managed only to spill coffee on it. Damn triple stitched seams.

Note: don't worry if your comment doesn't post immediately. This blog platform has a hyperactive spam filter. I will check it often and push legit comments live in due time.

The subtle art of manipul-- nuturing

Fury and Lessi have never had a problem sleeping on their own. There's nothing that contributes to one's sanity more than knowing that at a set time each night, you can heave a sigh of relief and wash dishes, pay bills, wash the dog, or stare at a wall uninterrupted. It's the parental equivalent of a rest between sets. As they tell you in parenting books, or as you figure it out on your own because duh, a set routine makes all the difference in the world. When I put Lessi to bed, I read her a story, then I place her baby on one side of her, her blue teddy bear on the other, and then I wrap them all up in a blanket and tuck one side into the mattress. As I leave, I place one hand on the sleepy bundle and give her a kiss on the cheek while whispering "Goodnight, Lessi. Love you. Go to sleep now." After that, I turn out her light, as well as the hallway lights around her room. 

On New Year's Eve, I spent an exciting night with the kids at home. We ate pizza. There might have been some Netflix and Minecraft going on too. Whatever it was, Lessi did not want to take a bath and miss all this. I think she had a feeling Fury and I were staying up for this and she knows bath time equals impending bedtime. So when it was time for a bath, she protested. "I don't want it," she said. "I'll take a bath later," she assured. But every time she offered a point, I would fire back a counterpoint (yes, I use logic on a two-year old — one day she will appreciate it!). But then she saw me break. Perhaps it was a yawn, or maybe I rubbed my eyes. 

"Dada," she said, motioning me to the couch, "you lie down." She punctuated that by patting the couch.

Blame it on cute overload, I walked over and lay down. 

"You need blankie?" It wasn't so much a question as it was a statement of fact, because she was tucking the throw blanket, on one side, under the couch pillows before I could answer. 

"Lessi, it's still time for a ba--"

"Shhh… it's time to sleep, dada. Close your eyes." And just in case I wasn't planning to comply, two little fingers quickly pressed my eyelids down.

Then she kissed me on the cheek and said "goodnight, dada. I love you. You sleep now." Impressed at her evasion techniques, I lay there a while. Then I noticed lights going off. Lessi came back after each one, kissed me and reassured me in a nurturing whisper "I turn the lights off, dada. Go to sleep now, dada."

At this point, I only protested so that she would come back, pat me on the chest, kiss my cheek and whisper "go to sleep now, dada." To seal the deal, she even brought me a stuffed animal. "Here's your bunny, dada. Shh. You close your eyes now." Fingers, eyelids.

I tried to get this all on video, but she learned the art of the blanket tuck too well, and my arms were immobilized. I eventually broke through it and propped myself up on an elbow. "Ok, nap time over, Lessi, it's time for--"

"Lie down, dada." Her little hand grabbed a tuft of hair, and pulled my head back down on the couch. Kiss on the cheek. "Go to sleep now." 

"Ok, maybe since it's New Year's Eve, " I thought. I think it's like bad luck to shower on New Years Eve anyway, according to Chinese tradition. The benefit of being descended from a 5,000-year-old culture is that you can find a tradition-based justification for anything. 2012 came to an end, and we all greeted the new year, unbathed and full of good fortune. 

* * * * 

Last Sunday, I made lunch for the kids. I had just set out Lessi's tortilla pizza and satsuma tangerine pieces on a plate when she decided she wanted to watch The Wiggles. 

"Eat lunch later, dada."

"No, Lessi, it's lunchtime now. Come here." 

Lessi walked towards the table, but made a sharp left to the couch instead.

"Dada, you lie down…"