April 11th, 2005


Giving It All Up For The King.

So this past Saturday I headed down to Manhattan Beach for my friend's going-away party. The guy's moving all the way to Miami to work at what's probably the hottest ad agency right now, where he'll be account sup on the Burger King account. From what I've seen of their work, Burger King seems like an awesome client. First you had Subservient Chicken, then a TV spot featuring Brook Burke on a swing, and, of course, this campaign ...

Granted, I appreciate the dark humor of turning your corporate icon into a frozen-smiled serial killer; but I'm not sure the rest of the country gets the joke. Half the time, during the commercials, I expect him to start crawling out of the television screen like in "The Ring." Maybe Burger King can do a tie-in with "The Ring 2" and do a spot where the Burger King and the wet-haired chick go on a blind date at the zoo.

Anyway, if you're going to have a career in advertising, taking that Miami job's a no-brainer. Even if it means leaving behind all of your close friends and moving to a town where you don't know a soul. It also cost him his relationship, as he and his girlfriend realized the distance would be too much and ended it Friday.

Then again, I had a dream job offered to me a long time ago. But I didn't want to live in a smaller city where I'd probably be their first Asian person and be therefore legally required to open a Chinese restaurant. And, most importantly, I didn't want to leave my friends and family. Sometimes I wonder about that decision, and how my career would've turned out if I said 'fuck it' and made the move. But at the time, it was a no-brainer.


On a whole 'nother topic, some of you might remember that during the past winter I lost my only superpower: My immunity to hangovers. Thing is, my hangover patterns make no fucking sense at all. A couple of weeks ago, I was relaxing at home with the girlfriend, and together we finished a couple of bottles of white wine. BAM! Hangover. Last night at the going-away party, I subjected my innards to a non-stop stream of Patron and Jagermeister shots with bottles of Stella in between. No hangover.

Something for you to ponder as you gently stroke your beard.

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This is the second weird funny thing I saw Monday. And this is the first.


When I was a kid, I remember waking up in the middle of the night to the sounds of my sister screaming in the next room. The hall light popped on and I heard my dad's heavy footsteps as he rushed over to see what was wrong. When I walked into her room, my sister was still bawling on my father's lap as he gently patted her back. But it's not like there was blood shooting out of her eyes or bullet wounds of any sort, so I shrugged and went back to bed.

The next morning, she told me why she woke up screaming.

"Super Clown killed every one of you," she said.

"Super Clown? Pshbbbt, that's stupid," I replied.

Super Clown was the name of the monster in her nightmare. She didn't describe him, but I assumed he wore a cape and tights, and maybe rainbow suspenders. His super power was the ability to kill a lot of people with a machette, in this case, everybody in our town. In the end, only our family was alive. So for refuge we ran and hid in ... the public library (Dude, what can I say, it's the dream of a six-year-old girl.) Naturally, Super Clown found and killed us, saving my sister for last. And that's when she screamed herself awake.


I have no idea why so many people are scared of clowns. Granted, this is coming from a guy who always slept with his blanket tightly tucked under his chin as a child so that if a vampire happened to be passing by his bedroom window, he wouldn't see his neck. Damn you, "Salem's Lot."

But at least vampires have sharp teeth. Clowns don't even have real noses. How can they actually harm you? With a squirting flower? Creamy pies? Extremely large footwear?

Even some of my male friends admit to being spooked by these jolly circus entertainers.

"C'mon, didn't see you see 'Poltergeist?' The scariest scene was when the boy gets attacked by the clown doll," one of them said.

"We're jumping to conclusions here," I replied. "Maybe the clown doll was the victim. Maybe the boy did some sick, perverted things with the doll in the past, and the doll was just letting him know he wasn't cool with that."


If I'm going to venture a guess as to why you find clowns scary, it's probably because their faces are painted a ghastly shade of white, which reminds you of death.

Or maybe it's because behind those grinning blood-red lips, the clown is crying inside; and their inner tears compel you to face your own internal demons.

Or perhaps it's because when you have your back turned to them, they can pounce on you with panther-like quickness and within seconds, drain you of the pancreatic juices that clowns consider to be a delicacy.

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