Tag Archives: i forgot where i was going with this rambling or whether there was a point to begin with

Wonder Woman

Warning: this post is probably just going to be me rambling on due to severe lack of sleep, even according to my standard… 

These past two weeks have been the annual performance period at my company, the time when we have to write our own self ASSessments and to provide peer feedbacks for colleagues who have requested feedbacks from you. Last year I received 12 requests and I did not turn anybody down. I still shudder when I think of the day 12 months ago when i seriously considered jumping out the window to avoid the tasks at hand. I absolutely hate doing this because I find it extremely difficult to “brag about myself”. Sorry for pulling the “Chinese” card, but it’s true: We were brought up to never toot your own horn for when you do that, that’s a sure proof that there is no substance inside. If you are great, people will notice on their own.

Now, how’s that working for you so far?

In the end, I did survive the annual performance review again. And at Midnight on Saturday, September 29, I have been up since  7 am on Thursday with a 3-hour sleep between 4 am to 7 am Friday morning. AND, I did not have any caffeine all day Friday. I figured I have been running on pure adrenaline since I opened my eyes at 7 am. When I marveled at this fact, my teenage boy said, “How are you not dead?”

Mind you, when we had that exchange, I was vacuuming the house after I did the dishes and cleaned up the kitchen.

Sometimes, you just have to stop for a moment and wonder at yourself.

Wow. I am really awesome. I kick ass. I rock.

It’s ok. Nobody else is going to do it for you. And many of these incredible feats you have pulled off with great aplomb are not appropriate answers for questions such as “What’s your claim to fame?” “What is your proudest accomplishment?”

I once cleaned up my son’s explosive diaper inside the airplane lavatory and he slept through the whole thing. And I did not cry.

I once caught the projectile vomit coming out of my son’s mouth just in time and managed to keep most of the vomit inside my blouse so the carpet was saved. And I did not cry.

When I was pregnant, I had a horrible case of morning sickness. I was in a play then. So during intermission I would rush to the backstage to throw up and get back onto the stage. And I did not throw up on stage.

For the first three months of my son’s life, he basically lived on me, like a kangaroo baby. I managed to do everything with one hand, including making pancakes from scratch. And I did not become homicidal.

I once flew with my two children by myself. When I went through the airport, I had the baby in my hip carrier, a roller board in my hand, my 5 year old’s hand in my other hand, while carrying a stroller on my shoulder and a diaper bag on my other shoulder. AND the baby slept through the security check and the boarding.

 

Although I’d like to see those people who ask those stupid questions try taking on any of the above.

I know you all have done something amazing like these, and I would like to ask that you go into the bathroom right now, look in the mirror, and give yourself a self-assessment of

 

 

Booyah!

Overload…


Google announced Google Music (its answer to Apple iTune + Amazon Cloud) last week. I immediately started uploading all our music files to the massive google cloud. (It by the way took almost six days to finish). This plus my existing music drive in the Amazon cloud means that when the Apocalypse comes? I am all set on the disaster recovery front for my music files. Way to go, me! Because it is very important to keep a record of Air Supply and Petshop Boys for the resistance army while they fight against the aliens zombies (fine!) for human survival.

Then we received the Amazon Kindle Fire, and all hell broke loose. I have been “forced” to listen to Spotify, Pandora, Amazon Cloud Player, Google Android player and iTune. This is Big Love – Digital Music Edition.

(Yeah yeah yeah. There are more music services such as the old standby Rhapsody, last.fm, and the very intriguing turntable.fm. But I would like to be able to sleep once in a while so thank you very much…)

Hilarity ensued.

I did learn something though: Right before you get on the highway with your kids in the backseat, do NOT start streaming your music and hit Shuffle All IF Cee Lo Green is in your music collection. Just sayin’

 

At one point I caught myself listening to music from Amazon cloud, checking my Google Music stash on my Android phone and tweeting and Facebooking from iPad.

I felt like Lord Voldemort with my soul being divided into seven parts. Yeah, I need a strong shot of Ritalin.

And a break from trying to organize my digital life.

So I went and got a 10-plus-lbs honeybaked ham today.

 

Have a wonderful and relaxing Thanksgiving!

 

 

Fall

Pumpkin spice latte is back!

I am not ashamed to admit that every year I look forward to the arrival of fall because of this.

I have been waiting for fall... partly because of this.

You have heard this a million and one times, I am sure. But fall really is my favorite season.

Despite the annoying process of reorganizing my clothes and shoes according to the change in season. This year I think I am going to be honest with myself and get rid of the pile of clothes that I have mentally labeled as “Keep for when I am back to my pre-kid weight”. If it has not happened yet after thirteen years, it probably ain’t gonna happen.

 

I went to bed at almost 4 am and when I woke up at 8, I still had Amy Winehouse on my mind. Her voice is haunting.

 

I need to make a confession: (Because it is funny in a tragic, pathetic kind of way. And also because I believe somewhere out there, someone is going to read this and go, “O.M.G. I thought I was the only one that did that! I can now finally stop feeling guilty!”. Or so I hope. You are welcome. And feel free to pretend so I feel better about the whole thing and can finally stop feeling guilty. Thank You!)

Last Wednesday, I took my usual 6:30 train home and when I got into my car and started driving towards the TKD school to pick up Mr. Monk, it was already 7:15. I had been listening to, yes, sorry, here she is again, Amy Winehouse on repeat, when the screen on my phone flashed, indicating an incoming call. It was not a number that I knew so I decided to ignore it. I mean, who actually calls people now, right?

Here is the thing: whenever I listen to music, I get lost in it. I really really do. That’s probably the point of good music to begin with, and probably happens to everybody so yeah you are probably smirking. But I mean I forget everybody else. Including my kids. I forget that I am a mother. A wife. A cog in the machine. I am just me. Enveloped in the sound and the beat. Me alone with myself. In my mind, I am doing all sorts of interpretive dance to the music, often in a way BEFORE incongruity is detected.

When the phone “rang” (how many phones nowadays that still actually ring?) for the third time, I decided to answer it.

“Mom?”

“Who’s this?” I actually forgot that I have a kid.

“It’s me.”

“Who?”

Name withheld for protection.”

Oh, right. My son. My youngest child.

Oh shit. Something must have happened since TKD did not end till 7:30. Any time you get a phone call from your child, there is trouble at hand. They don’t really call you just to find out how you are doing until they become parents themselves.

“Where are you?! What happened?!”

“I am at gymnastics.”

At this moment I became completely disoriented because my oldest is the one that has gymnastics practices. Did I get my children mixed up? What’s happening to me?

“Why are you at gymnastics?” I was genuinely confused.

“You told me to come find brother if you don’t show up at the choir practice…”

I had completely forgotten that he had choir practice every Wednesday and I was supposed to pick him up at 6:45 pm. At 6:45 pm, I was still on the train! Just like that. Forgot about my child. A black hole opened up in my memory and he fell through it.

 

The feeling that you have in your gut when you suddenly realize you have forgot to pick up your child from somewhere?

 

Body and Soul. I want to break free.

My favorite album of all time is A Night at the Opera by Queen. On some days I would simply listen to the whole album over and over again when I am driving. Volume turned way high. Windows down. (And yes, it helps me imagine myself as a badass. Why?)

On some nights, I prowl through YouTube, watching Freddie Mercury, and cry.

I wish I’ve had the chance to see him perform live on stage.

The regret gnaws at me and that’s why I am obsessively staring at the screen, daring him to come back to live.

Tonight I am specifically obsessed with I Want to Break Free. I have just been staring at this picture for about 5 minutes. And it is 1 am now. Yeah, I know. I need help.

 

 

Another person lately that’s been making me really really sad and mad at the same time is Amy Winehouse. When I am not replaying the A Night at the Opera CD in my car, I am listening to her Back to Black.  I cannot get enough of the rawness in her voice. When she sang, (and yes it’s a cliche) she poured her entire self into it, she did not hold back. Perhaps that was why she was so lost at the end. The tepid air was conjured into a torrent of emotions. Here’s little old me, listening to the breaking in her voice as I hit the repeat button over and over, cursing at her for getting herself killed at the age of 27.

With a talent so vast as hers, it’s almost like her cross to bear to give us more. To give us all.

As I watched most of the videos of her live concerts though, it soon became obvious that she was lost, in pain. In some she could not even remember the lyrics. Such talent. It’s heart-breaking. It makes listening to her songs a multi-faceted exercise.

Fortunately, there is this new video of Tony Bennett singing Body and Soul with her that hints at the joy she must have felt (when she could) from being able to create beauty such as this.

 

This is 100% random rambling. Tis 2:30 am now. I have been suffering from severe allergy attack this week. I cannot breathe. I am probably delirious and hallucinating.

Oh how I wish I could watch Freddie live on stage. This is going on my Bucket List. So you know, I will go through life without being able to cross off all items on my bucket list. So be it.

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?

Blame it on Chicago Blizzard 2011

I failed to call my parents on Chinese New Year’s Eve again.

I used to blame it on miscalculation of time zone differences between Chicago and Taipei.

This year I am gonna blame it on the 3rd largest snowfall (20+ inches) Chicago has ever seen.

We had to shovel in the blizzard almost every hour yesterday.

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Mr. Monk vs. Chicago Blizzard 2011

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When I finally got up this morning, it was already 8 am (i.e. 10 pm in Taipei), and this is what I saw outside the window:

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Sigh.

I wanted to go right back to bed and hibernate until the snow melted away on its own, oh, say, a month from now. (Did I tell you that we do NOT own a snow blower? Out of principle? The Husband’s. Not Mine, thank you very much).

Still I dragged myself downstairs. I had to make the call, knowing that I had missed the opportunity to call during the Chinese New Year’s Eve dinner, arguably THE most important meal for every Chinese, when all my families got together. Getting my call when everybody was together having Chinese New Year dinner would make up, to a >0 extent, for the fact that I was not there physically. But I had missed the golden window. Sure enough, I found my parents back in their apartment.

“Your brother wanted to call you at 8. But I told him not to because it would have been 6 in the morning your time. Your father wanted to wait for you to call but then it got too late, we had to come home. Your father was tired.” Mom said.

Sigh.

Since I have a flair for the dramatic, I felt I had ruined Chinese New Year and I was more than happy to ignore it. If I did not mention it, my kids would not even notice that Chinese New Year has come and gone. So why bother. I’ve had enough to do all day.

At 5 o’clock, the guilty conscience finally got a hold of me.

“Hey, how about we go to a Chinese restaurant tonight. It’s Chinese New Year’s Eve.” I said to The Husband. “And how about you invite the two Chinese co-workers of yours who are here by themselves? It would make it feel more like Chinese New Year having dinner with them than with our children who would undoubtedly whine about the food.”

The roads are still treacherous and not many cars were outside. Almost all stores and restaurants were closed, including McDonald’s. Thank goodness for the cliche “Chinese restaurants are always open” because it is true.

I am glad that I made the last minute decision to have some semblance of a Chinese New Year’s Eve: We made it to Chef Ping’s and for once it was not crowded; I got to order a shrimp dish AND a whole fish; I did NOT eat one single piece of the stupid General Tsao’s Chicken that we have to order every single time for the kids; I said Happy New Year in Chinese to more than a dozen people in the restaurant and it made me feel so much better, that Chinese New Year is not ruined after all.

I am really deprived, I know.

When I came home, I saw the email from Amanda who told me that her kids get a day off tomorrow for Chinese New Year because that is how they roll in San Francisco. And she sent me this picture of a fellow Taiwanese celebrating Chinese New Year. She at least made Mango a hat. I guess I need to get it together.

I need to go find some red envelops to give to the boys tomorrow. I was supposed to give it to them on Chinese New Year’s Eve. Oh well. They would have had to kneel and kowtow to me and The Husband and wish us long life and stuff before we gave them the red envelops anyway.

I was supposed to buy them new underwear too. I guess what you don’t know won’t hurt you.

Here’s to The Year of the Rabbit!

In case you are wondering what 2011 holds for you according to your Chinese Zodiac signs, here it is.

And for some of you, you’d be excited to know that for the Vietnamese, this year is indeed The Year of the Cat. Yes, that song is for real.

Now… who wants to look at The walking Bunny again?

Cold Turkey (A Pictorial)

I have not been motivated to write real posts for a while now because I find lately my stats dispiriting, to say the least…

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Turkeys. Reason why most people visited my blog lately...

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I am kind of not motivated to write a real post... Gobble gobble

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Oh well. This kind of provides me with a great excuse to show you this picture I took when I all of a sudden saw something really interesting happening on my bookshelf at work.

I think I am going to report them to HR.

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I swear. I did NOT stage this. I simply caught them in the act. I suspect they've been doing this for a while now right above me all this time...

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Or, I could talk about how famous people on Twitter actually talked to me today.

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By “famous people” I meant whichever staff member from Comedy Central’s InDecision happened to be in charge of Twitter today. By “talking to me” I mean “Direct Messaging” so I was like the Booty Call that they were ashamed of being seen with.

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And this is why we all need to have a blog: to make sure that we always, ALWAYS, have a way to have the last word.

There. You. Go.

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Envy

Of all the Seven Deadly sins, ENVY arguably is the root of all evil, imo.

Of the seven deadly sins, only envy is no fun at all.       — Joseph Epstein

Kevin Spacey obviously agrees and that’s why his character in Seven saved Envy the Sin for himself…

It is also in the Ten Commandments in the form of the Tenth Commandment:

Thou Shall Not Covet.

Envy is an emotion that occurs when a person lacks another’s (perceived) superior quality, achievement, or possession and either desires it or wishes that the other lacked it. (Wikipedia. What else?)

Most of the strife and many of the abhorrent, cruel, cold acts men committed against fellow men in this world have been caused by envy. To understand Envy, we need to understand the differences between Envy and his close cousin, Jealousy.

“Envy” and “Jealousy” are often used interchangeably, but in correct usage, they stand for two different distinct emotions. In proper usage, jealousy is the fear of losing something that one possesses to another person (a loved one in the prototypical form), while envy is the pain or frustration caused by another person having something that one does not have oneself. Envy typically involves two people, and jealousy typically involves three people.

(Wekipedia. Sigh. Maybe I SHOULD make a donation to Wikipedia after all…)

Or as Aristotle said…

Jealousy is both reasonable and belongs to reasonable men, while envy is base and belongs to the base, for the one makes himself get good things by jealousy, while the other does not allow his neighbour to have them through envy.

In this sense, Jealousy implies that there is a “reason” behind the emotion that human beings should be able to relate to: the fear of losing a loved one to someone with something more desirable, whereas Envy causes you to stand alone with your rage (for the rage “It is not fair” inadvertently comes when one is envious of someone else for something; the rage becomes even more severe when one recognizes that there is nothing unfair about the situation and yet cannot help but feel the tightening of one’s heart)

The emotion used most often to explain the motif (if there HAS TO BE one) for Iago’s actions in Othello is envy. I despise any attempt by modern scholars and especially, theatrical directors to turn his motif from Envy to Jealousy, creating a plausible yet cheapening story of Iago’s potential infatuation with Desdemona or Othello.

Why does Iago’s action have to be interpreted with reason? Envy is irrational, pure and simple. And what makes it the worst of all human emotions: It is isolating, unproductive, and more often than not, destructive. And it lives within all of us.

Here is my confession.

Envy lives within my heart and I cannot ward it off completely, 24/7.

When I marvel at undeserved good fortunes and when I subjectively decide who is or is not worthy of such good fortunes. When I belittle the fashion world and the people living in it. When I complain about my sister-in-law whose husband does all her bidding and whose parents are at the ready to provide long-term free babysitting. When I go out of my way to ignore bloggers whose husbands cannot get enough of them in the bedrooms and, it seems, everywhere else. When I tighten my fists reading about husbands who help around the house after an 8-hour work day. When I make fun of the really wealthy for their frivolous purchases or idiosyncrasies. When I look down at the young for their recklessness and carefree-ness.

I cannot honestly say that I do not feel envious.

When I witness brilliance and genius.

I cannot honestly say that I do not feel Antonio Salieri’s pain, that I do not understand where his hatred of Mozart came from.

Even though I could comfort myself with the understanding and perhaps acceptance that “There is not a passion so strongly rooted in the human heart as envy” (Richard Brinsley Sheridan, the guy who wrote The School for Scandal), I despise and scare myself when I recognize envy in my heart. I look in the mirror and I see ugliness. Embarrassed and ashamed. I close my eyes, shake my head, breathe deeply, willing it to go away by counting my blessings.

I learn to truly recognize and sincerely admire the brilliance and genius in those surrounding me.

This has served me well in blogosphere.