COME ABOARD MY TRAIN OF THOUGHT . . .

Okay, I finished Complications. A very moving read, but if you're prone to nausea, keep a glass of cool water nearby to calm yourself. The flesh-eating bacteria chapter gets gruesome.

I've moved on to Cold Zero: Inside the FBI Hostage Rescue Team, by Christopher Whitcomb, a 15-year veteran of the FBI. I've only just started it, so I'm still in the section where Whitcomb has just joined the Bureau, and is still the FNG -- the F*ckin' New Guy. FNG status sucks. You get the crappy car that doesn't start when it dips below 50-degrees outside. You get the cob-webby desk in the back corner of the room next to the dripping radiator. You get left behind to man the office and deal with the lady who walks in to tell you about her alien abduction. You get to do everyone else's paperwork and fetch their coffee. AND they make fun of your shiny new gun. I don't know if I could handle it. The prospect of being called the FNG and treated thus until someone newer than me comes rolling through makes my jaw clench . . . at what point would I break and hysterically scream out "I HAVE A REAL NAME AND I GRADUATED FROM QUANTICO TOO!!!"? If that happens, I'd just have to pack up, turn in my probationary badge and shiny new gun, and crawl home to my mommy.

This Thursday, I'll be attending the annual gala benefit dinner thrown by and benefitting APEX, the Asian Professional Extension. My brother and my friend Wonger are both involved with APEX, so of course, I must attend and do my civic duty as a New York Asian-American professional (although I'd probably attend anyway). The evening should be interesting for two reasons: (1) to see how much money I spend on the silent auction -- something about the "silent" aspect of it makes me feel like I'm not actually SPENDING the money . . . until the charge shows up on my credit card bill a month later; and (2) to spend an evening with my little brother, now an aged 23 years-old, who presumably will be acting like an adult. I have never really seen my brother act like an adult. Sure, we elbow each other to be quiet during grown-up events, and we silently pass notes to each other in church reminding each other NOT to laugh out loud, and we bow politely and chatter coherently with our parents' friends. But we've never both attended the same grown-up social event (inebriated backyard BBQs don't count) where beer pong is not part of the program. And it's a SIT-DOWN DINNER! With CLOTH NAPKINS! And SPEAKERS! And WINE! And SCHMOOZING! This is going to be so, so interesting . . .