So some lady calls me from the English department and asks if I can come in so whomever can take photos of me for commencement.

"I'm sorry, I won't be participating in commencement."
"Oh, why not?"
"It's a long story ..."

In some strange way, I had my little graduation ceremony through that phone conversation.

"Well, congratulations.¨
"Thank you.¨

My personal commencement will continue when I find the time to walk to Academic Support and ask for my diploma. If you want to witness this event, let me know ahead of time so I can have time to wonder why you would waste your time by watching me go up to a counter and ask the University for my diploma. Maybe if you're lucky, you'll see me get mace in my rhyming face. I will focus on the bitterness of life in each sip of grapefruit juice from my mug purchased from a teashop in Seoul's Insadong.

For many people, graduation has become a necessity. Once you finish college, you must go to graduation. I guess for me, graduation is not even close to the pinnacle to what I've done and seen and will be doing. Pause and build up to: why should I perform a ceremony that celebrates something so unimportant in my life with all these other strangers who (if I may quote Haruki Murakami) are like the clouds in the sky? They have nothing to do with me. I shouldn't even be writing about this on a pure sense, but I've been getting calls and letters inviting me to gather with my fellow graduating class and eat a hamburger with them.

"Um, hi. Are you graduating as well?"
"Me? Sure, that's why I'm here. Aren't these hamburgers great?"
"These are hamburgers!?"

I cannot remember how many times I have been to Hooters. It's not a big deal really. The waitresses seem tired, but I can't really say why they are tired. Could they be tired of being looked at? I don't know, I know a lot of girls who would love the attention of groups of men, especially if they were being paid. I wonder if I could work at Hooters. I could wear a suit and tie (because I know Hannah likes that sort of thing) and serve those men who actually bring their dates to Hooters. When I used to work for the Swedish pharmaceutical company, Astra Arcus USA, the rest of the IT Department would go to Hooters, Fridays for lunch. I'm not about to be the one that refuses the invitation.

"Hey, Alfred. We're going to Hooters for lunch."
"Um, well the thing is, I can't eat and stare at the same time, so well, I can't go."

So, I've gone to Hooters a couple of times, and after driving past Hooters of Rochester with Justin, I had the urge to be nostalgic in a strange way.

"Let's go to Hooters."
"What? Okay."

I made the mistake of ordering my hamburger medium rare. What I meant was medium well, or just plain medium. You could still see the shreds of raw hamburger twisted moist against each other. What made me eat it? Partially it was because by nature, I do not complain about the food that I am being served, and partially I was intrigued. There must be a reason people order their steaks and hamburgers rare, but after having diarrhea from my medium rare hamburger from Hooters, I could not think of a good reason.

I've always had diarrhea after eating raw ahi fish in Tahiti, but I didn't care. This was the best fish I've ever had. Their cheese covered steak wasn't bad either. I don't think I've ever ate so well anywhere. On so many occasions, I tried to fit that last piece of apple crepe into my fat firm stomach.


Floating Underneath ٥ Alfred Lee

I stole from work to meet her
In the long hallways of a
High school five blocks away.
The sunlight through the window
At one end barely reached
Our toes under our shoes.
At the hall's end she explained
She wanted to fly east, across
The United States,
Stop in Los Angeles, then
Fly past the equator to
French Polynesia.
"Think I'll meet Marlon Brando?
He'll take me aboard his sea
Plane to his private island."
Only her eyes looked up at me
While her face shadowed down.
Her teeth under her smile.
"Who knows what'll happen?"
Determined to go, she
Pulled down on my sleeve, begging,
But what would my wife say?
I could not leave Manhattan.
My legs were anchored into
The cement, the streets.
Outside the window, she noticed
A red balloon caught
In between the crooked arms
Of an oak tree below.
The wind carelessly rocked as it
Slightly sprung between
Two branches of the tree.
Taking my hand, we ran out
The building to the oak tree.
The string dangled far from
Her finger tips on tiptoes.
She pleaded for me to reach
The red balloon for her.
I told her I could
Only by levitating.
Both of her eyebrows rose,
But her eyes narrowed.
She stood behind me as
I took off my shoes.
My toes under my socks.
I explained that my shoes were
Too heavy, weighing
Me down to the ground.
I levitated a foot
Off the ground, took the string
Then slowly landed.
"How did you do that?" She asked.
"Magic," I answered, but she
Did not believe me.
I smiled as her face looked up
Into the sun through the leaves
Creating shadows waving
Across her face.
When I gave her the balloon
She simply let the string go.
I followed its assent into
The clouds like her disappearance -
Last seen sunbathing
On a white sand beach
Wearing a two-piece bathing suit.
Her eyes under her shades.
She went to Bora Bora,
But I imagined her in
A dark deep forest
Bending over
Pulling carrots from the earth.

My friend ignored her dresses
And blouses in my closet
When he helped me move
Out of my apartment to
Leave my wife, to live in the
Wilderness, in the trees.