Monthly Archives: June 2011

Pride

I had to travel to San Francisco this weekend, and therefore I had the good fortune of participating in the 41st San Francisco Pride Parade. My lucky star shone on me for I was able to drag Brilliant Sulk to walk in the pride with me.

Yes you heard that right. WE. WALKED. IN. THE. PARADE.

(Apparently it was not that hard at all to just WALK in a parade… When there’s a will, there is a way)

Yes there were “protesters”. Some preacher guy was on a soap box, literally, with a mike yelling something about sinners, and Jesus, and The Lord, and Wrong. A woman yelled back, “Jesus would fuck a man!” Laughter broke out. The preacher guy shot back, “You are a wicked wicked young woman. The Lord would wash your mouth with soap.”

Of course, I sure hope The Lord worries about more important things other than washing somebody’s mouth with soap.

For several hours, I basked in the gorgeousness of people. The joy of life. The wonders of possibilities.

 

I hesitate in taking pictures of people without their permission. I want people to know that I take pictures of them because I find them beautiful, that I can see their spirits shining through and not because I am gawking at them. I caught their attention and they posed for me. Afterwards, we blew kisses at each other. I had the urge to run across the street to tell them, “Stay fabulous.” I wish they could see this post. Stay fabulous.

 

 

When I pointed my camera at him, again I felt awkward. Despite the flamboyant make-up, he exuded quiet dignity. I lowered my camera, paused, and mouthed, “Could I take your picture?” He smiled in return. Then again, we blew kisses at each other.

 

I ended up taking more pictures of the spectators. The exuberance was uncontainable and I soaked it in through the camera lens. I found beauty in all.

 

 

Maybe it is because I am was a “theatre person”, I always pay more attention to what happens when the show is over. You see a side of the performers that are undeniably human and I find the untold stories fascinating.

 

 

 

The ironic thing was, at the end of day, the one picture I hastily snapped with my phone while we were waiting to start was probably my favorite of them all…

 

Amidst the droning of idiocy that we hear and read about every day, esp. that propagated by the network with an animal name, for one day, I was proud to be part of the human race, part of the American fabric.

Pride.

 

You can see all the photos on Flickr.

A-Ha

As I was sitting in the cafeteria during lunch hour today, I noticed that the music selection has been veering towards the 80s this week.

“Did you notice the music?” I asked my one co-worker who has transferred to the new office with me. (So yes I am now surrounded by actual people every day at work. More about that later…)

“What about it?”

“It’s music from our youth!”

It was odd because I believe the average age at this office is 25 and the average weight is 125 lbs.

My Co-worker raised his eyebrow with suspicion.

“Come on. I listened to the same music that you listened to! There was this one English-speaking radio station in Taiwan that was a left-over from the American military occupation, and they played all the popular English songs all day long. Top 40. The best!

That was THE radio station that we all listened to when we were in college. Because it was cool.

Remember making mixed tapes? Remember there was no CD and the only way to get any music was to record songs off of the radio? How you had to press RECORD right at the second when the DJ started the song? And then you had to run to the bathroom but before you came back the song was already over and now you’ve got a bunch of talking on your tape at the end of the song? So now you had to press REWIND. STOP. Listen. Rewind some more. Repeat. Oh no. I went back too much. FORWARD FORWARD. Shit. Now I have to go backward again. Oh shit the DJ is now playing my FAVORITE song that I have not been able to get on tape?!

Remember there was no Internet. No Google? And the only way you could figure out the lyrics was by listening to the songs over and over again?

Well, if I had kept all my tapes with the lyric sheets, you could see that I had written down Chinese next to English words that I had to look up in the dictionary. That was how I learned English. How many of us learned English.

Actually till this day I still have no idea what the lyrics to most of my favorite songs are.

I wish I had kept all my mixed tapes. [I did not mention that quite a few were given as gifts by my “male friends”. Remember making mixed tapes for the person you’re interested in hoping that they’d know how you felt simply from listening to the songs?!]

Remember Wicked Game?

Every Time You Go Away?

Last Christmas? [There was eye roll and groan]

The Tide Is High?

Oh my god. Do you remember Take On Me? Do you?

I showed the boys the other day the music video of Take On Me. I told them it was ground-breaking when it first came out. Everybody was wowed because nothing like that had been done before. Of course they went Meh! on it. But oh I still remember how excited I was. We were.”

Just as I was wrapping up my psychotic rambling, complete with hand gestures and bouncing up and down on the chair, I recognized the first few notes of the next song coming from the ceiling.

I paused.

“Could this be?”

“No fucking way!”

But way. It was Take On Me.

If I did not think I am too old to be posting on My Life Is Average (or commonly known as MLIA), I would post:

Today just when I was reminiscing about how awesome it was when we first saw the music video of Take On Me, right on cue, the PA system started playing the song. MLIA.

 

It was a good day.

 

AHa – Take On Me from Eian Aldrich on Vimeo.

 

Coda: As I was finishing up this post, The Husband came to see what I was up to. “Remember this music video?!” I excitedly showed him the A-Ha MTV.  Turns out he has never ever seen it. Maybe I am a true cougar here. Maybe I have been married to a 20-year-old born after 1980 without realizing it…

You all have a good night now while I go find out whether he has ever seen the music video for Falco’s Rock Me Amadeus

Happy Father’s Day! Really. I mean it.

 

 

 

 

At 11:50pm, both boys were still awake. Hey, no judging! Summer vacation…

Mr Monk, my 8 year old: *sigh* In 10 minutes, I cannot be mean to dad any more.

Me: Oh, you are right. It will be Father’s Day.

Him: (Shrugs) Well, enjoy it while it lasts!

Me: (Thinking to myself) That’s what she said!

Best. Baby. Book. Ever. Go the Fuck to Sleep!

Just admit it. You've wanted to say this many many times...

 

I got something from The Husband last night. Something I believe that will allow him to forget my birthday this year. Honey, you are already forgiven!

THE best baby book ever. Really. If you know someone who just had a baby, or who is going to have a baby, RUN, don’t walk, and order this book for them. They will love you for it.

And it is possible that you may be saving their sanity.

If you have gone through this, the so-called sleep training, you probably have said this, nay, SCREAMED this inside your head, many many time.

WHY won’t you just SHUT THE FUCK UP and GO TO SLEEP?!

Yeah. That.

Then you probably felt guilty for screaming inside your head at your kid.

Yeah. That too.

Well, I hope this book will help absolve the sense of guilt you feel from time to time. No. You are not alone in feeling this way.

The Husband and I also really bounded overnight by staging dramatic readings of this book. I have to say, he did an awesome job in expressing the frustration. I did not realize he’s a method actor esp. when he was saying all the F word in his reading. Very convincing. Mine? Not so much.

 

Just when I thought this could not have been even more awesomer. Guess what? They have an audio version of this. Professionally done of course. Go ahead and guess who is the narrator.

Guess!

Ok. Fine. I will give you a hint.

Get out of here! Right? For real? For realz.

 

 

 

Dear Internet, I love you. That is all.

Now… for THE. BEST. THING. THAT’S. HAPPENED. ON. THE. INTERNET. Since yesterday when the world was given NPH’s opening number at the Tony Award.

Now, you know what I am going to say right?

Yup. Imma gonna go the fuck to sleep myself.

Fuck Yeah Neil Patrick Harris

Tony Awards.

As a quote unquote Theatre Person (Notice how I spell Theatre the “wrong” way? Yeah, that’s the sign I AM a theatre person) who nevertheless has been living so far away from the epicenter of theatrical creativity aka NYC, I always find Tony Awards a bitter sweet event. Wishing does not bring about peace. Let me just put it this way. Still, once in a year, I bask in the glory, vicariously through television broadcast and now more than ever YouTube, of the community of thespians.

I will shut up now so you could watch the opening performance at the Tony Awards last night. NPH. “Broadway: It’s not just for gays anymore!” FUCK YEAH AWESOME!

 

 

 

Tru dat! And while we are at it, shouldn’t somebody go and sign him up to host the next Oscar now too?!  Oh, what am I saying? Just sign him up for everything already!

 

p.s. I have to thank Brahm for posting this video first!

Slow News Day

Have you ever seen mean comments left by irate YouTubers for people who videotapes the television as a show was going on and uploaded the footage of that onto YouTube?

“Hey loser. Why are you taping your own TV and then put that on YouTube?!”

 

I am a loser so I take pictures of magazines that I read and I post them on the Interweb…

 

Rarely did I take one look at The Economist and burst out laughing...

 

 

The Economist can be raunchy, and it has a sense of humor. Who knew?!

 

Hey, at least they refrained from using the picture of the now famous "bulge"... The ending of this article titled, The Weiner War, (of course), once again showed The Economist can be raunchy, IF they want to.

 

"THE earthquake, tsunami and nuclear accident that struck Japan three months ago have revealed something important about the country: a seam of strength and composure in the bedrock of society that has surprised even the Japanese themselves."

“THE earthquake, tsunami and nuclear accident that struck Japan three months ago have revealed something important about the country: a seam of strength and composure in the bedrock of society that has surprised even the Japanese themselves.”

To me, this picture chosen by The Economist to accompany this article, says so much about what is quintessential and unique about Japan. From the “light-hearted” (as much as one could in this situation) reference to the ubiquitous 7 Eleven, to a quiet, subtle display of the much-vaunted attention to efficiency, adaptability, cleanliness, orderliness, and personal appearances (Notice how the mother looks much more put together than I am on a daily basis, and in such chaos and under such duress…)

And then read these two stories of exemplary spirits:

24-year-old Miki Endo, who used the loudspeaker system in Minamisanriku, a fishing port close to the focus of the 9.0 earthquake, to urge residents to do what they could to escape the incoming tsunami. She drowned at her post. Television footage shows the rising sea approaching, with her haunting voice echoing over the waves…

One fisherman tells of the four days he spent clearing the wreckage of his village, with no knowledge of the whereabouts of his eldest son. When his son eventually appeared, walking down off the mountain after a long cross-country trek to reach his parents, the two wiped tears from their eyes but did not say a word to each other. The son did not wish to disturb his father’s toil.

 

All the world is watching, holding their breath, especially their neighbors in Asia, because, as some commentators in the news media in China, India and Taiwan have said, If the Japanese people, with all their disciplines, their perseverance, their technological know-hows, their attention to details and rules, cannot pull through, we are all doomed when the same thing happens on our soil.

Spitting Blood

I am sitting here trying to catch up on the million things people just piled on my desk with a pool of blood in my mouth.

I don’t know why but I keep on thinking of Brat Pitt from Fight Club.

I don’t remember whether he lost any tooth inside the Fight Club or not. I guess you really cannot talk about it. But I just lost a tooth. So I win.

I did have my oral surgery today. All I remember now is:

  1. I was worried that I would have to be like Liz Lemon from the Valentine’s Day episode and pretend I actually had a ride home. I did. My babysitter came through.
  2. The doctor put the needle not very gently in 3 different places before he was able to draw blood.
  3. The doctor not very gently used something with very hard bristles all over my gum which made me, mind you, I did not cry once during my root canal in March, cry quite a few times. “Are you sure I am supposed to be feeling this pain? Am I not supposed to be sleeping now as you kept on telling me?”
  4. The doctor kept on yelling, “Open your mouth. I cannot see anything!” and complaining, “You have a very small mouth.”
  5. I restrained myself from laughing out loud and saying, “Tell my husband about it.”
  6. I woke up from a dreamless nap which I thought was only 30 minutes, but 2 hours had already passed.
  7. I felt around my mouth with my tongue and my tooth was gone.
  8. The doctor failed to volunteer any information to me. I had to yell, “Can I ask you some questions?” in my groggy state from my chair for him to come into the room. “So what did you do today?” And he told me to take it easy, one thing at a time. I fucking want to know what he’s going to do with that big giant hole in my mouth. He told me to wait until I see him again next week and we can talk about it.
  9. I checked my phone and saw an IM from my boss asking for something that he has never asked me to do, knowing also that I was going under the knife today, actually, at that specific hour. I fired back with enough bitchiness probably never has been heard from me before.
  10. The tooth that was taken out was the same tooth that has undergone the root canal not too long ago. And the salt that was added to the wound? I have just paid for the crown for it. It’s like renovating your house right before they decide to demolish it.

What the fucking fuck?!

 

Ok. I need the Silverlining Man to the rescue…

  1. I now have an official diagnosis from a medical professional that I do indeed have a very small mouth. Here is a note from the doctor, honey.
  2. I cannot eat hard food for the next week. Here is the same note from the same doctor, honey. Eh, I mean, I will probably be able to lose my tummy fat (yes I know this is kind of contradictory to my previous Rah Rah post about Ruby the Anti-Barbie…)
  3. I will probably finally put my Vitamix to good use. Bacon smoothie anyone?
  4. The doctor did NOT say that alcohol is not allowed.
  5. I am still walking in Cloud 9 because of this episode from yesterday…

When I was waiting for a taxi to come by outside the office building yesterday, a truck made a U Turn and stopped in the middle of the street. The guy on the passenger side poked his head out of the window and yelled at me,

“You are really attractive. Wow. Really really attractive.”

Mind you, he did not use the word HOT. Or SEXY. Or GORGEOUS. Or BEAUTIFUL. And I was not showing any cleavage. In fact I was wearing a plain black t-shirt.

I thanked him for making my day. I believe I may have even curtsied when I thanked him. I am still thinking it was probably a bet, or a random act of kindness, or candid camera, or Punk’d.

I am just glad he saw me yesterday and not today.

 

Ok. Got to go and spit out the blood that’s almost overflowing inside my puffed cheeks.

TMI?

Definitely.

But you like it, right?

 

The Curious Case of Ruby, the Anti-Barbie

I suspect that you have been seeing this picture popping up on your Facebook and/or Twitter stream this week. I did. Like you, I had a visceral response to it.

FUCK YEAH!

Was exactly what I said to the monitor as I responded to the plea on Facebook “This was an ad made by bodyshop. But Barbie INC. found out about it and now it’s banned. Repost if you think this ad deserves to be seen,” and hit the SHARE button before I could say “Happy National Donut Day!”

Then my inner Cyber Sleuth / Internet Meme Historian took over. “I wonder whether this is yet another hoax?” Ok. Fine. It was also my inner cynic’s doing. I googled it.

Good news (or is it in fact bad news?) : This is for realz. The Body Shop did wage such a brilliant war against The Barbie.

Bad news (or does it really matter?) : It was from 1998.

The late Anita Roddick, founder of The Body Shop, wrote in 2001:

In 1998, The Body Shop debuted its self-esteem campaign, featuring the generously proportioned doll we dubbed “Ruby.” … …

Ruby was a fun idea, but she carried a serious message. She was intended to challenge stereotypes of beauty and counter the pervasive influence of the cosmetics industry, of which we understood we were a part. Perhaps more than we had even hoped, Ruby kick-started a worldwide debate about body image and self-esteem.

But Ruby was not universally loved. In the United States, the toy company Mattel sent us a cease-and-desist order, demanding we pull the images of Ruby from American shop windows. Their reason: Ruby was making Barbie look bad, presumably by mocking the plastic twig-like bestseller (Barbie dolls sell at a rate of two per second; it’s hard to see how our Ruby could have done any meaningful damage.) I was ecstatic that Mattel thought Ruby was insulting to Barbie — the idea of one inanimate piece of molded plastic hurting another’s feelings was absolutely mind-blowing.

In 2002, Ms. Roddick again wrote about Ruby when the Danish pop band Aqua was sued by Mattel for their song “Barbie Girl”. In the same post, she also mentioned how an American artist, Tom Forsythe, had been engaged in lengthy legal battle against Mattel when Mattel sued him for his photographic project “Food Chain Barbie“. (You’d be happy to know that in 2004, after five years and millions of dollars in legal expenses, Mattel was ordered by court to pay $1.8 million in legal fees for Mr. Forsythe.)

Googling also led me to believe that every year or so, this poster of daring and clever protest by The Body Shop would resurface to the Internet’s attention but then the buzz would die down as fast as it started. For example, this article in Mother Jones from 2007.

It seems that more and more people are being outraged on Twitter and Facebook asking people, “It is banned by Mattel. OMG! RETWEET IF YOU WANT THIS POSTER TO BE SEEN!” It has caught on like a bad rumor. (It has now appeared on BuzzFeed with no historical context).

At first I wanted to “set the record straight” by shouting from the mountain top: This was from 1998, people. Case closed!

Then I thought about what Ms. Roddick wrote:

It makes me angry, not only because it is a male-dominated industry built on creating needs that don’t exist, but because it seems to have decided that it needs to make women unhappy about their appearances. It plays on self-doubt and insecurity about image and ageing by projecting impossible ideals of youth and beauty.

Things have not changed much since 1998 when the world first met Ruby. And yes, the world needs to be reminded of Ruby once in a while. We are a forgetful people with short attention spans which seem to get shorter with each new generation.

Ruby, who still watches us from posters throughout The Body Shop’s offices, won’t let us forget.                                     — Dame Anita Roddick

I just want to go home

Photo Courtesy of Stew Dean on Flickr

 

Sometimes, for no reason at all, I would get a severe attack of homesickness.

Without any provocation, my heart would ache and I would get a sensation of emptiness and at the same time heaviness inside my stomach.

I recognize that feeling well.

It is an intense loneliness that comes from a herd animal being away from its kind.

I am exhausted: I just want to drop everything and go home.

Do Americans feel this way?

It seems to me that, (I know I am grossly generalizing here), Americans take it for granted that they will not be living where they grew up, and that they will, most likely, be away from their parents and siblings, simply on account of how vast this country is and how geographically widely distributed job opportunities can be.

So is the pang of homesickness less acute if you know you are not expected to be there in the first place? Not being adulterated by a sense of guilt? The mutual understanding that you are where you are supposed to be? Without the gnawing sensation that eats you away as you age, as your parents age, that somehow you have pulled a bait and switch on them?

“Oh I will be back in two years. Tops.”

That somehow you ran away. You did not stay put like 99% of the population on the small island, the size of Maryland.

Betrayal.

The feeling that you may have turned away and the chasm is now irreparable because…

many years ago…

you started dreaming in English?