Monthly Archives: April 2011

For the Bard

Yesterday April 26 was Shakespeare’s birthday, well, it was the day he was baptized. Nobody knows the exact date when he was born but traditionally it was celebrated on April 23. I can tell you that on either day there was no Google Doodle for him and “Shakespeare” was not on the Twitter trending topic list.

So there’s that.

I did celebrate yesterday by playing with this randomizer for Shakespeare’s insults: The Shakespearean Insulter

And I have been trying to memorize as many of the insults as I could. You never know when one will come in handy.

Idol of idiot-worshippers!‎

Be put in a cauldron of lead and usurer’s grease, amongst a whole million of cutpurses, and there boil like a gammon of bacon that will never be enough.

We leak in your chimney.

Thou cockered onion-eyed clack-dish!

Thou art essentially a natural coward without instinct.

Thou froward common-kissing scut!

Thou odiferous dizzy-eyed fustilarian!

Thou qualling elf-skinned foot-licker!

Thou puny lily-livered death-token!

Thou loggerheaded fat-kidneyed pumpion!

Thou roguish fat-kidneyed horn-beast!

Thou dissembling folly-fallen hedge-pig!

Thou bawdy earth-vexing whey-face!

Thou paunchy bat-fowling apple-john!

 

I will be getting up at 4 am to take the first flight out for yet another business trip. A pox upon thee!

While I am away, please try and memorize as many of Shakespeare’s gems and use them on each other.

 

For the Bard: This is one of the most revealing scenes about the power of theatre I have seen. (And it is from my favorite TV show ever Sports Night. I am still waiting for it to come back the way I am waiting for a chance to see Freddie Mercury live…)

 

 

I regard the theatre as the greatest of all art forms, the most immediate way in which a human being can share with another the sense of what it is to be a human being.

— Oscar Wilde, himself a gifted word master excelling at the art of insult

A Night with the Band (with Twitter along the way)

Friday, 22-April-2011

22:03:12 On my way to see the band The Boxer Rebellion that started at 10. It’s 10 now. Am nowhere near Double Door the bar/concert venue. Panic attack

22:04:58 I’m going by myself again. [I went to see them for the first time last September]. With extra tickets. Maybe I’ll give the ticket 2 some random passerby, reassuring them that they don’t have 2 talk 2 me

22:06:38 Forgive me 4 tweeting you sweet nothing nonstop. Going 2 see band by myself. Not yet used 2 it. Started having panic attack early on.

22:09:11 Tweeting helps calm my nerves. Like I have someone w me. Anybody write an academic paper about social media? Invisible Strangers as entourage?

22:11:27 I almost didn’t. Panic attack. Would’ve been easier 2 just stay home. I kept on delaying till husb said, Why are you still here? Get the F out!

22:13:59 It’s just a band. Not a big deal. After the last time [and the first time when I went to see them also by myself], I now know there’s no risk of me having to struggle to say no if a band member asks me to elope with him [because it did not happen and it will never happen, of course.]

[I actually felt quite embarrassed going all gaga when I met them last September for the first time. I think I managed to keep my excitement under wrap, appearing to be nonchalant. Not that it would have made any difference, but all four band members are married. More importantly, they don’t seem to be that kind of band attracting crazy psychotic screaming fans.]

[Fine. I guess telling people that their song “Flashing Red Light Means Go” saved your soul is by no means being nonchalant… How pathetic it was to have failed at being nonchalant in front of your favorite band?]

 

22:42:21 @SunnySingsBlues Thanks! I’m in! One vodka cranberry down and I’m one cool kitty. Inside my head at least!

22:46:47 @SunnySingsBlues Thanks!!! I am on 2nsd Vodka cranberry! [Less than 5 minutes. I was rather impressed by myself too!]

22:59:22 At the Boxer Rebellion concert! Sold out bitches!  [From “OMG I don’t know what to do. I am so scared I don’t want to go!” to rubbing it in people’s faces. All in under one hour…]

 

The Boxer Rebellion at Double Door

 

[From @deathbydonkey: Hope you’re having fun. Solo concert outings can rock if you just go with it. It beats dealing with a non-fan companion, anyway.]

23:14:02 @deathbydonkey OMG. Totally agree!!!!

[And that’s why when The Husband said “Go and have fun by yourself!” I did not cry. I would have been so worried about him or whichever person I managed to drag with me not having fun and unable to fully enjoy the experience]

 

23:14:57 @melme thank you. Tweeps are the best people to go to concert with!!

[From @melme: Damn right!! Woo! Take it off!! 😉 ]

23:28:42 @melme Ok! Let’s just say I did! LOL

 

[Tried not to tweet too much during the concert. Most of the time I had my eyes closed and it felt like I was there all alone, with the band. Just the music pounding, pouring, seeping into every fiber. The most gratifying thing to witness was how much fun they’re having on stage. It almost made me feel jealous. I wish I could play an instrument, or sing, or paint, or sew, just anything really.]

 

Saturday, 23-April 2011

00:24:50 @doubledoor Here’s a shout out to Mark the bartender who loves his job and Andy who’s adorable!!!

[Here I was sufficiently buzzed that I became extremely friendly and talkative, in a non-slutty way, at least I hope so… I was even able to talk to Mark at the bar. Probably because he called me Sweet Heart. I wished him a happy weekend, to that he replied, “I will be working though.” I asked, “But not bad if you love your job, right?” A pause. “Yes, I do love my job.” “Well, that’s more than what a lot of people could say.” He nodded somberly.]

[Regarding “Sweet Heart”: I knew not to get carried away by terms of endearment such as this. That’s merely a sign that I have aged. When you reach a certain age, people start being nice to you and calling you “Sweet heart” “Young lady”, thinking they are doing you a favor. Don’t get me wrong. I appreciate that.]

00:25:44 I’m at the “I am lucid but I care no shit” stage. 5 vodka cranberry later.

[See? Tru dat!]

 

00:29:50 It’s endearing when the band is small enough that they are at the mercy table to talk to the fans

[It’s supposed to be MERCH, for “merchandise”, table. But the typo was kind of correct in the way that the bands are at the mercy of their fans when they are on their way to make it]

 

 

[They’re really really awesome and sweet. I did tell Todd the lead guitarist (See? I am hinting that I am on the first name basis with the band!) that I am a psychotic fan. ZOMG. I really should have kept my mouth shut. But I cannot control what comes out of my mouth whenever I am nervous. Perhaps next time I should preemptively put my foot in my mouth… He asked me what my Twitter handle was. “So, you are subWOW?!” Ok, he probably did NOT sound that excited. Just let me think that he did, ‘k? He and Piers the drummer (pretended to) remember meeting me last year. See? I told you they are very kind…]

 

Todd and Piers at The Empty Bottle last September

Me as an apparition (last September)

 

[Here’s something else that I told Todd, “I look forward to the day when you are so huge that I would no longer get to talk to you like this.” And I mean it.]

 

00:45:24 Asked the band mebers of @BoxerRebellion to sign my arm, Nathan the lead singer responsibly told me I’d regret it. We shall see.

 

Picture from last time: Todd & the lead Singer Nathan who told me this time that I'd regret having them sign my arm. Nathan's a Southern gentleman, naturally.

 


01:06:15 Do people know, for realz, in details, what they have to give up when they have kids and move to the burbs?

01:08:21 Like a pseudo bipolar that I’m, I’m coming down from the high from talking to my favorite band straight to the pit.

01:09:31 On the train back to the burbs. Feeling like being turned back into a pumpkin. Do men feel the same way too?

[Before I stumbled off the train, I saw this guy with a big giant tattered duffel bag eating peanut butter out of the jar. I have no idea what came over me, not pity nor sympathy. I think it was closer to a sudden surge of love that I felt towards my fellow human beings. I pulled out a $20 bill and handed it to him. “Happy Easter!” I said, and I quickly ran off. He did not even look up but smiled to himself.]

 

[Intermission: Driving. I really did not want to be turned back into a pumpkin…]

 

01:43:06 2 am. At the quintessential American melting place: highway oasis. Here everyone is passing by

 

 

01:46:25 I do appreciate the fact that my husb is ok letting me out by myself being a tramp.

01:48:37 Sitting here at the empty oasis, I’m humming Hallelujah. I’m not even Christian…

01:59:25 I really like the oasis like this: quiet, with free Wi-Fi. I enjoy watching the cars, imaging jumping off. Of course I won’t.

[Did you know this French word, L’appel du vide? “The call of the void” would be the literal translation. It refers to the urge to jump from high places…]

 

02:35:00 Listened to Queen’s A Night at the Opera all the way home. Truly my favorite album. What I would not give to watch Freddie Mercury live.

02:59:18 You know how they made Mama Mia with Abba song? Someone should make a musical based A Night at the Opera.

03:00:50 Why? Yes! I have been sitting in the garage listening to A Night at the Opera since I got home. How did you know?

 

 

 

p.s. I did update the tweets to correct the typos and grammars, update the abbreviations, so it is easier to read and understand.

A flower for me

 

As I walked out the train depot, I saw his familiar face from afar. He has taken over the position from Mr. Jim, the white-haired veteran whose presence has been a staple at this corner of the corridor connecting people to the bustling city life.

I used to give something every time I walked by Mr. Jim, before he retired, until he said to me one day, “You don’t have to do this every time you walk by me you know?”

I looked at him puzzled.

“I mean, you don’t need to pay to get out of jail every time you pass by me.”

I laughed at his witty reference to the game Monopoly and his prime guarding position. “So I can just pass go?”

“Yes sweetie. I know your heart is in the right place.”

Now it is the new guy’s job to be holding that telltale locked red tin box outside the train station during morning rush hours. New Guy. That’s what I call him inside my head. I have not asked him his name yet.

It was easier for me to ask Mr. Jim for his name because he’s in his 80s, I think, and there was no risk of my curiosity and may I say good manners being mistaken for some sort of brash romantic advance. But the new guy is younger, well, younger than 80, and I did not want to give any wrong impressions. Mr. Jim loved to hold my hand while we talked and I let him flirt with me because I enjoyed seeing the sparkles in his eyes when he laughed.

I have noticed that less people stop to chat with New Guy as they had done with Mr. Jim. I am not sure whether it is because of the missing front teeth that strike people as unsettling. Or perhaps at merely middle age, he has not earned the right to hang that sign above his head that says “I am very old so yes it is ok to talk sweet nothing to me.” I also noticed that very quickly New Guy added a suit jacket and a fedora in addition to his original ensemble consisted of a pressed white dress shirt and tie.

Not wanting him to feel unwelcome in the midst of the ecosystem of harried suburban commuters, I make a point to say hi to him whenever I see him even though I no longer stop to chat.

This morning I stopped to put a folded dollar bill through the slit on the top of the red tin box.

“How are you doing?”

He smiled and I could see the gap in his mouth where the front teeth should have been. It no longer looked unsettling. It felt familiar now. I saw that his smile was genuine through his eyes which warmed my heart.

“Oh. Wait. Take this.” He held up a flower to my face. “Put it in the button hole here,” he pointed to the lapel on my trench coat, “Someone gave it to me but it won’t fit in mine.”

“How come it doesn’t fit in yours?” I took the flower from his outstretched hand and leaned closer to look at his brown tweed jacket.

“Because it’s sewed!” He laughed. I laughed too because somehow it was amusing.

“Well, cut it open or something and I will bring a flower for you next time!”

He looked surprised and then quickly became a bit bashful. “Nah. You don’t have to bring me a flower.”

“We’ll see about that. Thanks for the flower!”

I could almost break out into a song when I was walking towards my office building, with a flower in my hand. All this time I thought I was doing him a favor, turns out it’s the other way around.

I cannot wait for spring to come.

Arms akimbo in the land of lotus eaters

This paragraph from A Visit From the Goon Squad by Jennifer Egan, which won the 2010 National Book Critics Circle Award (ETA: AND the 2011 Pulitzer Prize!) for fiction, is one of the most hauntingly vivid descriptions of a marriage that I have ever read. At the same time the description sounds clinical, meticulous, it strikes me as one of the saddest things I have ever read.

 

Yet each disappointment Ted felt in his wife, each incremental deflation, was accompanied by a seizure of guilt; many years ago, he had taken the passion he felt for Susan and folded it in half, so he no longer had a drowning, helpless feeling when he glimpsed her beside him in bed: her ropy arms and soft, generous ass. Then he’d folded it in half again, so when he felt desire for Susan, it no longer brought with it an edgy terror of never being satisfied. Then in half again, so that feeling desire entailed no immediate need to act. Then in half again, so he hardly felt it. His desire was so small in the end that Ted could slip it inside his desk or a pocket and forget about it, and this gave him a feeling of safety and accomplishment, of having dismantled a perilous apparatus that might have crushed them both. Susan was baffled at first, then distraught; she’d hit him twice across the face; she’d run from the house in a thunderstorm and slept at a motel; she’d wrestled Ted to the bedroom floor in a pair of black crotchless underpants. But eventually a sort of amnesia had overtaken Susan; her rebellion and hurt had melted away, deliquesced into a sweet, eternal sunniness that was terrible in the way that life would be terrible, Ted supposed, without death to give it gravitas and shape. He’d presumed at first that her relentless cheer was mocking, another phase in her rebellion, until it came to him that Susan had forgotten how things were between them before Ted began to fold up his desire; she’d forgotten and was happy — had never not been happy — and while all of this bolstered his awe at the gymnastic adaptability of the human mind, it also made him feel that his wife had been brainwashed. By him.

 

I read this book over the winter holidays and till this day, I am still haunted by this passage. From time to time I would take this book off from the bookshelf, flip to this page and read this passage again, word by word, while caressing the rough edge on the side of the book as if it were an adequate substitute for human warmth.

Of course, per usual, I identify with the wrong character. I want to jump in and rescue Susan.

Wake up, Susan. Wake up. Remember what it was like. Remember what you were like. I want to give her a blog.

Here’s to being decidedly alive even if at the risk of being miserable. Here’s to kicking and screaming. Here’s to never be folded up into a tiny pocket.

Here’s to never forget.

 

This post is dedicated to a dear friend who is standing arms akimbo in defiance in the land of lotus eaters.

Things You Should Read

Instead of reading my blog, here are two things I came across today that you should read over the weekend:

From the New York Times, A Gay Former N.B.A. Player Responds to Kobe Bryant, by John Amaechi, who in 2007 was the first NBA player to come out. We have all heard that Kobe called a referee in the heat of an argument the F-word. Many came to his support, claiming that it’s just the way the Sports World, the good ol’ boys club works. Mr. Amaechi begged to differ, in a rational, respectful and persuasive voice.

Here is a quote from the very powerful, and may I say, surprisingly well-written (yes, I have my bias against people in sports. SORRY!) article:

Many people balk when L.G.B.T. people, even black ones, suggest that the power and vitriol behind another awful slur — the N-word — is no different from the word used by Kobe. I make no attempt at an analogy between the historical civil rights struggle for blacks in the United States with the current human rights struggle for L.G.B.T. people, but I can say that I am frequently called both, and the indignation, anger and at times resignation that course through my body are no greater or less for either. I know with both words the intent is to let me know that no matter how big, how accomplished, philanthropic or wise I may become, to them I am not even human.

 

 

With a title 9 Things The Rich Don’t Want You To Know About Taxes, how can you not be intrigued? Unless of course you are this guy:

The "NEW" GE way indeed...

These are the 9 secrets:

1. Poor Americans do pay taxes.
2. The wealthiest Americans don’t carry the burden.
3. In fact, the wealthy are paying less taxes.
4. Many of the very richest pay no current income taxes at all.
5. And (surprise!) since Reagan, only the wealthy have gained significant income.
6. When it comes to corporations, the story is much the same—less taxes.
7. Some corporate tax breaks destroy jobs.
8. Republicans like taxes too.
9. Other countries do it better.

Charts and numbers galore!

I love spam comments as much as I love Hallmark cards. Until I realize they don’t mean it

I know many of you have written about spam comments lately. Like the piracy industry, the spamming industry gets smarter and smarter each time we retch up our defense against it. I have been observing the improvement in quality in the spam comments I have been receiving and been amazed by how much I could learn from them.

Seriously. I have always had a hard time composing comments that go beyond, “AWESOME!” “I LOVE YOU!” “*LIKE*” and “Where is the *LIKE* button?” and “*LOVE*”.

I said all these things from my heart every time. And in all fairness (to me!) there is no reason why I would stop loving your posts so why should I stop saying “I love you!” just because I say it too many times? But sometimes I was indeed worried that you all may be a bit tired of these recycled comments and accused me of being lazy.

Below are some ACTUAL spam comments I have received that made me go, “Awww. Somebody loves me.” And then immediately when I realized I was being duped, “WTF?! So they did not really mean it? They just want me to go look for their puppy inside their van with them? Asshole!”

Here’s my theory: someone, or rather, some people from Hallmark are moonlighting as Spammers. Read the following heart-felt praises bestowed on this blog and tell me it is not plausible…

Let’s start with some short yet very sweet comments: (Are you ready with pen and paper to take notes?)

Excellent post I must say.. Simple but yet interesting and engaging.. Keep up the awesome work

Very nice and helpful information has been given in this article. I like the way you explain things. Keep posting. Thanks.

Thanks for sharing. Sharing is caring after all.

 

Then there are the comments where they are so grateful for the information they found here:

This is a smart blog. I mean it. You have so much knowledge about this issue, and so much passion. You also know how to make people rally behind it, obviously from the responses. Youve got a design here thats not too flashy, but makes a statement as big as what youre saying. Great job, indeed.

This is actually my first time here, really good looking blog. I discovered a lot of fascinating stuff within your blog particularly it’s discussion. From all the comments on your articles, it appears like this is really a extremely popular website. Keep up the good work.

I would like to start off by saying, thank you for supplying me with the information I’ve been searching for.I’ve been surfing the internet for three hours searching for it and would have given my right arm if I would have located your site sooner. Not only did I find what I was searching for, but found answers to questions I never even thought to ask myself. Thank you for your wonderful web-site!

I just discovered your web site on yahoo and see that you’ve got some fantastic thoughts in this post. I specifically appreciate the way you’ve been able to stick so very much thought into a relatively short submit (comparitively) which creates it an thoughtful post on your subject. IMHO you put a lot of good information in this submit not having all the filler that most bloggers use just to make their posts appear longer, that is ideal for a gal like me who doesn’t have a lot time cause I’m usually within the go. I often get so frustrated with so many of the final results in the major SE’s due to the fact they frequently seem to mostly be filled with filler content that frequently isn’t quite sensible. If you don’t mind I’m going to add this post and your weblog to my delicious favorites so I can share it with my family. I appear forward to coming back to read your future posts too.

 

Oh how I wish the following comments were really meant for me. “Every other blogs suck. You are the best!”

Too often bloggers take the time to write quality detailed posts like this and people fly back, absorb, and move on. I want to thank you for sharing this in depth knowledge with us. Hope you can keep up your blog and not fall into the 80% who eventually abandon their blog.

What a wonderful blog. I spend hours on the internet reading blogs, about tons of different subjects. I have to first of all give kudos to whoever created your theme and second of all to you for writing what i can only describe as an post. I honestly believe there is a skill to writing articles that only a few posses and frankly you have it. The combination of informative and quality content is definitely extremely rare with the large amount of blogs on the internet.

 

Then there are the “Story-telling” comments with so many details that make me wonder whether some out-of-work screenwriters have also got into this trade as well. I almost wanted to track the spammer down just so I could let them know how much I enjoyed the stories. One of them has got to be titled “Thanks for Lunch”…

I knew I was right. My friend and I placed a bet about which web site was superior. I thought your webpage was much better created, but she believed this post on trendy style ideas was much better. We rounded up 5 family memebers who had not seen either website prior to to read them each more than. Majority chose your site. Thanks for maintaing a great site.

Excellent read, I just passed this onto a colleague who was doing a little research on that. And he actually bought me lunch because I found it for him smile So let me rephrase that: Thanks for lunch!

 

My FAVORITE so far is this comment that made me go, WOW. Honesty is indeed the best policy!

This guy just came right out. Said it like it is. Called a spade a spade.

He is if nothing an honest spammer. You’ve got to respect that.

But the Kitchen Sink

(This post was written while I was waiting to board my flight)

My flight is at 9:05 pm on a Sunday night. Tonight.

It is really not a surprise to those who have been living in this part of the world for a long time that the weather went straight from Winter to Summer. Forget about that bitch Spring who’s been a no-show anyway. 86 degrees. People were out and about in hot-weather clothing, including sandals and straw hats, as if we were in the more fortunate coastal areas. I HAD to take the kids out for a drive. It would have be hubris if we had simply ignored what Nature decided to bestow on us on a whim.

The result is that I had absolutely no time to pack for my business trip. The taxi ended up waiting for me for 10 minutes. Whenever I pack in a hurry, I overpack, almost comically. So now I am sitting here, waiting for my flight while taking stock mentally – since I never have the foresight to NOT put my “unmentionables” on the very top in case any TSA agent decides to ask me to “Please open your luggage right here, ma’am, right in front of the horde eager to distract themselves from the boredom through the security line.”

 

Now I am taking stock of the things that I have packed:

1 lightweight denim jacket – it is supposed to be in the 70s tomorrow

1 trench coat – it is supposed to be in the 30s on Wednesday night

2 ironic shirts from Threadless – I have to work with some software engineers and I need to prove to them that I am more than just a pretty face. (I am saying this IN JEST. Most of them are less than 10 years younger than my 13-year-old… I am however hoping that my matronly presence will prove encouraging…)

my trusted Aerosmith t-shirt – Just in case some of them are into Classic Rocks

1 Banana Republic white dress shirt with French cuffs – In case I need to “Power Suit” it up

1 Boden shirt in bold purple patterns – In case I need to appear to be BOLD and “Think outside the box”

2 black drape-y tops – in case I need to look feminine and young(er) and sexy with my boobs hanging half way out (Will most likely not be used. Again)

4 old t-shirts – in case I decide to, and have time and energy, to work out. Or at least I could sleep in them.

1 NEW pair of workout pants from Costco – My first ever workout pants. So what did I wear before these? I either wear my pajama pants or I go pantless. What? I only work out at home and only when the guilt becomes too much to bear.

1 pair of pajama pants

2 bras – (Do you say “Pairs of bras”? If not, WHY NOT?) so total 3 bras. I am kind of expecting the weather to be hot and I do not like sweaty boobies. ’nuff said.

A handful of undies that I grabbed before I rushed downstairs because the taxi was here

A handful of necklaces (Ditto)

A handful of silk scarves (Ditto) – I like to dress up like a flight attendant. Leave me a alone!

I also have failed to pack SOCKS. And NO running shoes. So much for my good intention of wanting to work out while away on business trip.

I guess those 4 old t-shirts will all be used for sleeping.

If you have been keeping track and doing some mental calculation, you’d notice that it sounded as if I were about to run around town with my bare nekkid behind showing.

What? No mentioning of pants?

PANTS. Ugh.

Now it has become clear to me: I think pants are overrated subconsciously.

For all these various styles of tops, I have only packed one pair of jeans.

Let’s try not to wipe our hands on them, ok?

 

 

 

 

Hubris, Or, How Blogging/Tweeting Makes Everything Seem Funnier

Hubris.

In case you are worried that all your kind compliments may have given me an ever-expanding ego, No Worries, my friend…

I emailed several of my Annie Lennox+Sabina-From-The-Unbearable-Lightness-Of-Being inspired photos to The Husband. I got one line in response from him:

What are you planning to do with those pictures?

And this came only after I hollered at him across the room, “Hey, you never said anything about those picture I sent you the other day!”

“What pictures? Oh.”

 

Instead of wielding the knife I was holding at that moment, I actually put it down and picked up my iPhod.

 

Being able to channel my wrath this way actually helped me see things in a very different perspective. As soon as I typed it out inside my head, Click click click. THIS IS SOME FUNNY SHIT! I told myself.

Twitter has saved his life so many times if he only knew. I cannot understand why he has a problem with my Twitter obsession…

 

What is a blogger worth if we cannot live what we preach?

The other day I so smugly quoted Frank Wedekind

Any fool can have bad luck; the art consists in knowing how to exploit it.

 

Oh, I thought I was so witty.

Of course disaster struck. In the form of bubbles.

Did you know that Dawn dish washing liquid is blue just like Jet-Dry?

Did you know that the compartment for rinse agent is built into the dishwasher so there is no way to detach the thing when you need to, say, dump whatever was put inside out?

Did you know that adding dish washing liquid into the rinse agent dispenser instead of Jet-Dry is 10 times worse than using it instead of say, Cascade?

Do you like bubbles?

Did you know that it is a futile attempt to scoop out large quantity of bubbles with a bowl because you cannot easily dump them out, so light and fluffy?

 

Did you know that it took at least 20 rinse cycles and a mountain pile of towels to undo the bubble-producing power of Dawn inside the rinse agent dispenser?

 

The ordeal — I did not go to bed until 4 am — was made easier to stomach because the whole time I was thinking, “Wow. I need to turn this into a blog post!” totally channeling Frank Wedekind.

While I was on my hands and knees wiping the bubbles off from the bottom of the dishwasher after the Nth time, I was narrating my actions inside my head. I felt detached. Somehow it made the whole thing funnier. It got even funnier when I envisioned the narrations on silent movie dialog cards.  Soon I was watching myself in a silent movie, accompanied by piano scores, running around, trying to stop the bubbles from oozing out in vain.

 

 

Hilarity ensued.

 

All this video needs is some nice music from the Twilight Zone series…

Narcissus: A Rambling in Four Parts

I saw these for sale when I made an emergency run for coffee at the store: a dozen for $1.99. I normally do not buy flowers, the same reason I do not make the bed: What’s the point? But I made an impulse purchase that day and I am glad I did. Whenever I pass by them, which is all too frequently since they are sitting on the kitchen table now, a smile pulls into my face. Flowers do that to you. Besides, they are so much cheaper than a diamond necklace.

 

I held out the daffodils the way He-Man pulled out his Power Sword, screaming: “By the power of Narcissus!” Willing Spring the coy bitch to finally show her face.

I did that often when I was young: holding up my umbrella, yelling, “The omnipotent gods, please endow me with the power of miracle!”, the Chinese dubbed version. I harbored this longing to be a super hero, or a swordsman. All of these fantasies involved me cross-dressing incognito. There is a lot of theorizing available behind a cross-dressing story such as HUA Mulan (Don’t say “Fa” please. Use the historically correct pronunciation, in Mandarin…) : being male in appearances somehow signified a path to empowerment and freedom, provided you are not found out.

 

Back to Spring. Or the lack of sighting of that pesky bitch forever running late or simply no-show even after she had RSVP’d when the universe was first created. The sky was dressed in blue and adorned himself with glorious white clouds yesterday, waiting for her.*

Whenever the kids and I see the sky looking like this, we’d say, “Look! The Simpsons!” And we all could hear the intro music to The Simpsons wafting in closer from behind the clouds. Or maybe it’s just me.

 

Back to the lingering thoughts of cross-dressing. Sister Merry Hellish recently wrote a great post on “Men in the corporate culture, their ties, and the women who fight them” aptly titled Sex, Ties and Reconditioning. She had asked several bloggers to send her pictures of themselves wearing a tie, and I am honored to be one of them. You really should click over and read the post. Actually, don’t even worry about finishing this post and leaving me a comment (srly sometimes I wonder what I myself would say if I had to comment on the gibberish coming out of my keyboard…). Just stop and hop over there right now!

As always, assignments of self-portrait stresses me out to no end and I did not pick up the camera until the last minute. In the end though, I had to admit that I had a lot of fun posing with a hat and a tie inside our powder room, holding a camera with my right hand, snapping pictures of myself in the bathroom mirror. I, a 40-year-old woman, was playing dress-up in a tiny bathroom, in the middle of the night, by myself. And I had not even been drinking.

Do you ever wonder now what your parents were doing when you were sleeping back then?

It was really late when I sent SMH my submissions, and I knew she waited up for me so she could work on her post before she went to bed. I continued to play with Picnik.com, or what I like to call, A Woman’s Best Friend. After much cropping (for you could see the toilet in the original picture AND I was wearing a pair of hot pink pajama pants underneath. They were only $5 on sale!), massive editing, and over-applications of effects, I have to say I love how I look in a fedora* and tie.

The funny, and slightly disturbing thing is how often I stare at this picture of myself ever since. I know it is not real: Too much cropping and softening and posterizing effects have been involved. But it makes me feel strong inside when I close my eyes and see myself in a hat and tie thusly. Does that even make any sense?

I hope I can manage to retain this mental image of myself channeling Annie Lennox (who is a very strong outspoken feminist. Yes, she does not deny that she is a feminst) on days when I feel oh so unworthy of working side by side next to all these men around the conference table.

Self: I can’t do this any more. These men think I am an idiot.

Annie Lennox:

You’re a bird in the sky now baby
Earthbound
Feet on the ground

 

 

Today, in a very self-serving way, I am going to declare that we all need a little bit Narcissus in us.

 

 

 

* On second thought, I guess we can’t blame Lady Spring for not showing up this weekend after all since blue tux & white ruffles combo inadvertently conjures up the image of Jeff Daniels in Dumb and Dumber

The fedora actually belongs to Mr. Monk, my 8 year old. I now am convinced that every man and woman should own a fedora.