Don’t Bother Me. I’m Crunching.

A man races to beat the clock as he wakes up trapped in the horrors of a virtual reality. As he plots his daring escape to return home he finds himself suddenly barricaded. Standing between him and his return are roadblocks that line a multi-level race course. He makes a breakthrough in his journey when he unintentionally shifts one of the obstacles into small groups, and suddenly the passage appears to clear faster. Knowing his survival depended on reaching the end of the road, he works quicker to plow through in order to avoid what could only be impending death.

Ladies and gentlemen, this is the epic story of how millions of global citizens have become addicted to Candy Crush. My father is one of them.

Before the creation of Candy Crush, my dad allotted the same kind of focus in selecting a VHS film

Before the creation of Candy Crush, my dad allotted the same kind of focus in selecting a VHS film

Having not yet had the privy of enjoying the unique obsession and delusion afforded by this game, I have slowly come to realize that unless I give into the grips of this newfound craze, I simply will not be able to relate to those who do.

Me: Dad, I’m going to go walk the dog now. What are you doing?
My dad: I’m playing Sugar Crunch.
Me: (Blink, blink.) What?
My dad: Bye, see you later.

Now, I’m not a parent myself – nor am I anywhere close to becoming one – but I have been told by various sources that parenthood is one of the most fulfilling life achievements one can attain and that children are the most important part of one’s life. Granted, these sources include the following –

  1. Grown ups with kids.
  2. My friends with kids.
  3. The Duggars.

So imagine my frustration one day when I frantically contacted my dad with an urgent issue and received zero communication from the man who is generally very responsive between the hours of 8a-10p. Apparently my problem was urgent enough for me to have been flustered at his lack of an answer, but not enough to remember what it was about.

Luckily, he finally responded to my text messages.

My dad: Hi Sandy, this is Mom using your dad’s phone.
Me: Hello, Mom.
My dad’s phone: Dad says he will call you back later. He is busy playing Candy Crush right now.

I think the meme says it all Credit: www.crushingcandies.com

I think the meme says it all
Credit: http://www.crushingcandies.com

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How Deep Is Your Love

Young love.

Those are the words that cross my mind when I listen to my brother discuss his romantic dates at Chipotle, stay up to an ungodly hour texting, or ask for permission to go to Disneyland. For the parentals, however, this is a new and unorthodox form of courtship that in conjunction with the cultural differences, is helped even less by the generation gap. Both my brother and my father learned of this harsh reality recently when they managed to be in the same vicinity at the same time.

So I wasn't a graphic design major in college. This was the best I could do.

So I wasn’t a graphic design major in college. This was the best I could do. I call this piece “Young Love.”

My dad: What’s that on your neck?
My brother: A bruise.
My dad: What happened?
My brother: I fell while dancing (my brofus is big on b-boy dancing).
My dad: Oh. Well it doesn’t look like a bruise. It looks like someone…pinched your neck or something.

30 MINUTES LATER

My dad (to nobody in particular): Oh. I think I know what that is.

As my sister rehashed this encounter to me, she mused, “In retrospect, I’m not sure if he figured it out, but I’m guessing he did because he just never talked about it again.”

Dog Sitting Duty

A recent whirlwind of activity in our extended family had my father flying to South Korea and my mother being whisked off to Taiwan, so while the two of them were prancing through their respective motherlands, I returned home to care for their two pets: our dog Soba and my brother Dennis.

Pet #1: our mutt of a pooch Soba

Pet #1: our mutt of a pooch Soba

Upon my initial assessment of the living conditions of my 18-year-old hermano, I found that I could confidently report back to Mama and Papa Kim that the house was still very much livable and they had nothing to worry about in regards to the value of their home depreciating during their brief absence. The sink wasn’t overflowing, there was food in the refrigerator, and the house was otherwise still standing. As I started honing in on smaller details however, I realized that I was in the sequel of One and a Half Men, an earlier post about my dad and brother’s bachelor lifestyle sans Mama Kim.

First was his excellent choice in diet. When I came home, he was occupied with his new laptop in the living room, accompanied only by a single jar of Nutella. That’s it. No complex carbohydrates to accompany it, no spoon in sight, NOTHING.

Hello there, jar of Nutella creeping in the back

Hello there, jar of Nutella creeping in the back

I waved it off, figuring everybody knows about Nutella’s healing properties. As far as I was concerned, this was brilliant on my brother’s part while being home alone. A full jar of the stuff with no adult supervision? Well played. I moved onto the refrigerator, and as I was helping myself to some leftover spaghetti my mother had produced in mass quantities out of fear of my brother’s starvation, I froze at the sight of a large plastic glove lodged in the Tupperwared noodles.

Me: Um, hello sir. Are you aware that there is a plastic GLOVE in the spaghetti!?
My brother: Yes.
Me: Well, what is DOING in here?
My brother: Well (clears throat), by using the glove, I can scoop the noodles and then mix it together with the sauce without having to use utensils. It saves a lot of time, you know. You should try it!

I spy a glove in the midst of the spaghetti

A UFO: Unidentified Flimsy Object in the midst of the spaghetti

Whoever said technology is complicating modern times was obviously out of touch with the simple life hacks my brother had devised. As I pulled the pasta out from the microwave, Dennis was sweet enough to wish me, “Bon appetit!”

Hmm that’s weird, his enunciation must’ve been off because it came out sounding like, “By the way, I will not be doing the dishes for you.”

Low Emissions, No Emissions, Mo’ Emissions

My mother’s in town again, and last night we headed to ARIA to see the newest Cirque du Soleil show, Zarkana. While on the lookout for a parking spot, we spotted one only for alternative fuel, low emissions vehicles only.

Get your green on

Get your green on

My mom: “‘Alternative fuel low emissions’? What is that? Are these parking spots for cars that are running low on gas?”