Business School Library = MBA Meat Market


An overheard conversation that confirmed my suspicions that the business school library isn’t a place where a lot of people go for serious studying but rather a meat market for MBAs and all other types of roaming academic bipeds.

My Mother’s Growth Records


My mother has kept detailed records of my height and weight since my birth. While growing up, my mother would stick a Post-it on a wall, call me over, ask me to stand up nice and straight, and mark my height. Then we would move to the scale. I considered this exercise a nuisance since I already did this at the doctor’s office. I didn’t know my mother kept a notebook where she meticulously recorded all this data – dozens of entries since I was two years old.

CDC Updated Growth Charts


In my previous post, I talked about how I compared my childhood growth to the Center for Disease Control’s 2000 growth charts. Some questions I had while doing this:

How I Almost Burned Down My Dorm


It was the fall semester of my senior year at college. I wanted to light a candle and asked to borrow my suitemate’s zippo lighter. My candle was encased in a glass jar, and its wick was buried deep inside since I had used it frequently. Even holding the candle upside-down, the lighter’s flame barely reached the wick.

I had a bright idea. There were lots of old newspapers lying around my room. I would simply tear out a section, roll it into a tube, light the tube, and use the tube to light the wick. Unfortunately, I underestimated how fast newspapers burn. Feeling the flames from the lit newspaper roll biting at my fingers, I dropped the tube…into a trash can filled with more old newspapers.

Needless to say, the whole thing lit up faster than a Woodstock audience on 4/20. The newspapers were arranged in way that the flame could get all the oxygen it needed to grow. What started as a fire contained inside the trash can grew to 3 feet in 5 seconds. “This is bad,” I thought. It didn’t help that the trash can had mesh sides that fed even more oxygen to the flame which was now 4 feet tall.

Hearing expletives, my suitemate ran out of his room. He looked at the fire, then at me. I had been staring dumbly at the fire for a good 15 seconds. I simply didn’t know what to do. When I snapped out of it, I grabbed the nearest object, my suitemate’s cushion, and started beating the flame – which did absolutely nothing.

At this point, a friend whom I’d invited over to study for a final exam, had walked into the room. “Oh, hi Chris. Don’t mind the bonfire. Heater wasn’t working.”

Chris was much more rational than I was. He actually brought a fire extinguisher, but not until after my suitemate poured an entire jug of water into the trash can. We opened the windows, wiped the soot off the walls, and wondered whether it was a good thing that all of the smoke detectors in our suite remained silent.

idiocy’s aftermath
Lighter fluid stack of old newspapers fire conducive mesh trash can = 4ft high flames

Dear Perverted Reader…


Google Analytics is tool that allows me to track statistics about this blog. I just stick a tracking code into my webpages and wait for hits. I can see how many people visit my site within a certain time, how they get there, how long they stay, what browser they use, etc. Crazy, I know. I can spend hours looking at the data.

Scariest Photo You’ll Ever See


Facebook sent me an e-mail one day.

Date: Mon, 22 Oct 2007

From: Facebook

To: David Xia

Subject: Facebook Warning

Hello. You uploaded a photo that violates our Terms of Use, and this photo has been removed. Among other things, photos containing nudity, drug use, or other obscene content are not allowed, nor are photos that attack an individual or group. Continued misuse of Facebook’s features could result in your account being disabled.

If you have any questions or concerns, you can visit our FAQ page at

The Facebook Team

Sane Person’s Sleep Schedule vs Insane Person’s


For his semester-end statistics project, my suitemate presented the data he collected on his sleeping schedule. His sleep schedule, among his friends, is cause for either concern about his psychological well-being or reason to suspect he puts on a cape and mask and does crazy shit during ungodly hours.

Climaxed Her?


c-l-i-m-a…wait a minute…

My Uncle’s Sleeping With His Boss


One of my uncles is a director for a Hong Kong-based fuse manufacturing firm. The CEO, a short, 66 year-old man from Hong Kong, is a demanding boss. Working for him is like being on-call as a military triage surgeon in Helmand, Afghanistan. He often sleeps in till noon, comes home at 9pm, and receives a call from the CEO shortly thereafter asking him to come play mahjong or drink tea. This means my uncle will be gone until 1 or 2am. Sometimes he doesn’t come home for dinner at all. He’ll go to sleep late and do it again the next day.