Category Archives: this i believe

I will stab anyone who says “Boys will always be boys”

I wasn’t sure that you need to read yet another post on the recent deaths by suicide* of some very young people in this country. I thought it was all over the news and everybody read/heard about it by now. Besides, I will just be preaching to the choir: I have made a conscientious effort to not attract right-wing ultra-religious anti-gay conservatives to my blog. “Wrong place. You are not going to like what you see here and I am not interested in wasting my time on debating with you. Exit is this way. Thank you very much.”

But fuck that. I am going to write about this. Again. And again. More. We need more discussion, nay, we need more outrage, on this. Not less. No more silence. Fuck silence.

Oh my god. As I was finishing up this post, I heard the news of another suicide by a 10-year-old girl in Allston, MA. What will it take to make this stop??!!

Here’s what happened in the months of September and October:

Billy Lucas hung himself. He was 13.

Asher Brown shot himself. He was 13.

Seth Walsh hung himself and died after being on life support for ten days. He was 13.

Raymond Chase hung himself in his dorm room. He was 19.

Tyler Clementi threw himself over the George Washington Bridge. He was 18.

And remember Carl Walker who hung himself last year? He was only 11.

These young men chose to kill themselves over living with the constant bullying (both physical and emotional).

After the brutal assault-murders of Brandon Teena and Matthew Shepard in the 1990s, we thought we have moved ahead, we have made giant stripes. Apparently, not enough has been done.

What kind of world are we living in that our children did not think there was any other alternative than suicde? That there was any hope that the harassment could ever be stopped?

Immediately there has been an emotional public outcry against the ugliness prevalent in America’s schoolyards. Ellen delivered a gut-wrenching message/plea on her show the day after Tyler’s death. A movement “It Gets Better” was started: celebrities and everyday people posted messages and their own life stories to let young kids know that yes, there is light at the end of the tunnel. Yes, it does get better.

Neil Patrick Harris. Tim Gunn (who talked about his own suicide attempt). Chris Colfer (who portrays Kurt on Glee, IMO the most multifaceted gay character empowering the teens the country has yet seen, and for his character alone, I believe Glee should be mandatory viewing for every high school followed by discussions led by trained counselors. But more on that in a future post). And many many more have uploaded videos providing encouragement and hope.

The outpouring of emotional support hopefully is reaching those who need it the most, e.g. those who are isolated in Small (in mind and/or in geography) Town, USA, where, if you are a boy, wearing long hair or a lukewarm attitude towards football is enough to brand you the Town Freak.

Though I cry at these videos and am encouraged by the act of people coming together, I still have this gnawing feeling that something else needs to be done. “It Gets Better” puts the responsibility squarely on the shoulders of the oppressed:

Be patient. Grin and bear it. Just wait. High school will be over soon.

But how about NOW?

As Micael puts it rather succintly:

“What I am getting from it all is that yeah, it sucks, but cowboy up. It gets better. Fuck better. What about now?”

NOW looks alarming according to the statistics.

• In the United States, more than 34,000 people die by suicide each year

• Suicide is the third leading cause of death among 15 to 24-year-olds, accounting for over 12% of deaths in this age group; only accidents and homicide occur more frequently

• Suicide is the second leading cause of death on college campuses

• For every completed suicide by a young person, it is estimated that 100 to 200 attempts are made

• Lesbian, gay, and bisexual youth are up to four times more likely to attempt suicide than their heterosexual peers

• More than 1/3 of LGB youth report having made a suicide attempt

• Nearly half of young transgender people have seriously thought about taking their lives and one quarter report having made a suicide attempt

• Questioning youth who are less certain of their sexual orientation report even higher levels of substance abuse and depressed thoughts than their heterosexual or openly LGBT-identified peers

NOW seems to imply that harassment is just part of expected experience in high school for LGBT students according to the statistics. Just because it is “expected” and “Oh, we all went through it” does not mean we should not try and nip it in the bud. NOW.

• Nine out of 10 LGBT students (86.2%) experienced harassment at school; three-fifths (60.8%) felt unsafe at school because of their sexual orientation; and about one-third (32.7%) skipped a day of school in the past month because of feeling unsafe

• LGBT students are three times as likely as non-LGBT students to say that they do not feel safe at school (22% vs. 7%) and 90% of LGBT students (vs. 62% of non-LGBT teens) have been harassed or assaulted during the past year

• Sexual minority youth, or teens that identify themselves as gay, lesbian or bisexual, are bullied two to three times more than heterosexuals

• Almost all transgender students had been verbally harassed (e.g., called names or threatened in the past year at school because of their sexual orientation (89%) and gender expression (89%)

• LGBT youth in rural communities and those with lower adult educational attainment face particularly hostile school climates

(Statics from The Trevor Project where you can find the sources for data quoted)

NOW brings shame to this Land of the Free for not doing enough to protect our children according to the statistics. As Keli Goff, one of my favorite bloggers over at HuffPost argued in her post “Why We Shouldn’t Blame the Bullies for the Recent String of LGBT Suicides” (the title is misleading. It should have been “why we should not blame ONLY the bullies”), those who should have protected these children and who should have ensured a safe environment for them failed miserably:

If a young student was called the N-word every day for weeks or months on end, and after repeated cries for help finally took his own life, how quickly do you think citizens of all races would take to the streets to protest? Or better yet, how quickly would Al Sharpton and Co. demand accountability from the school and elected officials under the threat of casting the kind of media spotlight that people like Don Imus have nightmares about?

… I have a hard time believing that if these kids had been bullied for their race, not for their sexual identities, that the adults tasked to protect them would not have reacted differently, or at the very least would have reacted at all.

Which makes me think that the kids doing the bullying are not really the ones at fault. They are simply taking their cues from adults. And the message they are receiving is that today in 2010 it may not be okay to call someone the N-word on the playground, but it is okay to call someone the F-word. [my emphasis]

I want to believe that the world is changing, that we as a society is coming together over these tragic losses, that ALL now understand how critical it is to confront the rampant and at the same time subtle homophobia prevalent in the U.S. culture, how stupid it is that Americans harbor this rigid view of genders: For example,

Boys + PINK = GAY. Girls + TRUCK = GAY. Boys + ARTS = GAY. Boys + DISLIKE SPORTS = GAY.

Of course I know this is not true. Not yet. I work with some of these people who are convinced that THIS has nothing to do with them, who at most paid cursory attentions to the deaths and the “movement” that’s happening. You see: They are not gay. They don’t have any friends who are gay. They were not bullied at school. They are just “regular” Americans.

I have news for them: Your children may turn out to be gay. Your grandchildren. Your nieces. Nephews. Cousins. And you know what? Bullying does not even have to do with sexual orientation. It does not have to do with anything really. Bullies prey on “differences” and since every individual is different, there is no saying WHICH difference is going to become the target. Your child’s personality or physical traits could become the target for bullying at school for no reason other than your child’s being themselves: your boy may be shy, quiet, reserved, bookish, bad at sports, etc. Your girl may be outgoing, athletic, have an aversion to pretty clothes and pink, etc.

A bully can decide to pick on any child for any reason. And a bully does not necessarily look like Biff Tannen.

I was emotionally bullied in grade school for three years by my entire class. The originator later confided in me that he started it because he liked me. (It’s a long story which I have written about here) It does not matter: I thought about killing myself because in my mind at that time there was simply no way out other than running away from home. This experience forever changed me and later in life I made a suicide attempt. Isn’t it funny? All because a boy liked me in fourth grade.

It could be called the “luck of the draw” whether your child attracts a bully’s attention or not. And girls can both be perpetrators and victims. Remember Phoebe Prince? She was only 15 and she killed herself when she could no longer take the emotional bullying from the Queenbees at her new school.

The kids also do not need to gang upon a victim to make the victim’s life miserable. All it takes is one persistent individual as is evidenced in the tragic death of Ty Field. Ty was an 11-year-old boy with a bright sunny smile. A bully had been bothering him for years but complaints filed with the school had not been effectively handled, and so the bullying continued. In June this year, Ty went home, pointed a gun to his own head and pulled the trigger.

A month after Ty’s suicide, Kirk and Laura Smalley still haven’t done their son’s last load of laundry.

“We just can’t,” Kirk Smiley said. “His Molina jersey still smells like him.”

This makes me cry every time I read it. Kirk Smalley was interviewed on CNN this month because the media finally gets it: Bullying is big news now. Anti-bullying movement is a great human story that they should all vie to report on. (Pardon my cynicism here. Old habits die hard). Mr. Smalley has been trying to get the attention of anybody who would listen because he wants to make sure that bullying is taken seriously. In the interview, Mr. Smalley mentioned one of the responses from the principal was

“Boys will be boys.”

How many times have you heard this?

Boys will be boys.

Girls will be girls.

Kids will be kids.

I get stabby every time I hear such a throwaway response. Imagine if during the 1950s people had simply shrugged their shoulders and sighed, “You know, white men will always be white men.” What the fucking fuck? We need to call Bullshit when someone simply shakes their head and says, “What are you gonna do? Boys/Girls will always be boys/girls.”

“What boys are you talking about? Whose boys? Which boys? What kind of behaviors do you consider to fall within the realms that boys naturally do that we should turn the blind eye towards? How far does it go on before it is no longer ‘kids will always be kids’ and becomes ‘Lord of the Flies’? What would you say if I scream in your face and say ‘Oh women will be women because we are all hormonal and hysterical’? What are the definitions for ‘boys’ other than the anatomical fact of having a penis? Who defines what ‘normal’ boy behaviors are? And who the fuck are you that you think you get to define that?!”

(Ok. You know if I am confronting someone at my kid’s schools, I will only be asking the last question out loud inside my head but writing it out makes me feel less stabby. So thank you for granting me this poetic license here…)

Let’s talk about this. Let’s all go home and talk to our spouses, our children, our families, our friends about it: If you notice, see, suspect bullying behaviors, report it. And calling people “GAY” maliciously on Facebook counts as 1st-degree bullying in my book.

Let’s all take a stance because we are all in this together.

* According to The Trevor Project, leading national organization focused on crisis and suicide prevention efforts among LGBTQ(uestioning) youth, we should refrain from using the phrase “commit(ed) suicide.” Instead, we should use “died by suicide” or “completed suicide” when describing a fatal suicide attempt.

Remember where you were when you heard the news?

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Remember where you were when you saw it? For the first time?

I am sure all of us (those old enough) do.

I was in Boise, Idaho then. I was working as a management consultant, traveling Monday through Thursday. By then, I have been on the project for almost half a year. I wanted to get ahead, to have a career. I was an over-achiever wannabe and, like everybody else on my team, I was almost ready to head over to the client’s office before 7 am.

I was not giving what’s on the TV news my full attention until all of a sudden, it turned into a special report and the image of a skyscraper with ridiculous amount of smoke coming out of it came on the screen.

What’s that? It must be from a movie. They are doing a preview of some disaster movie.

I turned up the volume and it took me awhile to understand the words that were being said. But they did not make any sense at all.

How could it happen? What do they mean it’s a plane? No, it cannot be a plane. You can’t see anything. Just the smoke. How big is Word Trade Center anyway? Can an entire plane fit into it without us seeing a wing? What is going on? Something wrong with the plane? The engine stopped? The pilot had a heart attack? A hijacker? What exactly has happened?

We still did NOT know at this moment that this was still BEFORE, that a few minutes later most of us would catch one of the most horrifying images live on television. All the news cameras were pointing at the burning building as the reporters on TV and on the phone trying to carry on with a news story with little information coming through. And then we saw it…

This cannot be happening. It did not just happen. Oh my god.

I immediately called and woke up my husband, “Go turn on the TV, now!”. We watched the news together this way until our three-year-old son woke up and came to find husband in front of the television.

“I am not sure I know how to explain to him. But I think I am going to keep him at home with me today.”

Nobody was in the office when I walked in. We all gathered in the cafeteria where there were several television monitors. The entire day was filled with confusion, rumors, information and misinformation, news, more news, news that later was proven to be just rumors, and our efforts to make sense of what’s going on, and more immediately, when it was certain that the US airspace was closed indefinitely, to get ourselves home.

All of us wanted to be home. Everything else just seemed… trivial. Airports all over the country were closed. Unable to just sit and wait, several people , including one person who lived in New York City, rented cars and simply started driving. When all the rental cars were gone the next day, a fellow Chicagoan jumped on a Greyhound bus, similarly unable to just sit and wait, and started (as we found out later) a three-day journey home.

It was a surreal experience getting on a plane again on that Friday. I was of course excited to finally head home and yet, like every other air traveler in those weeks immediately afterwards, I was apprehensive, the images permanently seared in my mind. It felt like such a victory when I stepped into the house. I am finally home! I hugged my then three-year-old boy even tighter when he told me that he had been watching “the movie with a burning building and an airplane flying into another building” with daddy.

Like everybody else, we looked at our lives and looked them again really hard, felt grateful that we were able to hold each other in our arms, and saw and recognized for a brief moment what was truly important.

How old is our oldest now? Three and a half? Didn’t we say we would like another child at some point? What happened? Why did we overlook the fact that our oldest is now almost four?

…. …. …. …. …. ….

I have no idea what I am trying to say. I simply need to type my words out.

Remember where you were when you heard the news?

Sue did. She was right there. Sue was living in New York City then, only a few blocks away from the World Trade Center. Her post on her yearly remembrance of her personal 911 took my breath away.

…. …. …. …. …. ….

Last year I wrote about a couple who lost both of their sons on September 11, and how much the father’s words affected me:

“I don’t have any could’ve, should’ve or would’ves. I wouldn’t have changed anything. It’s not many people that the last words they said to their son or daughter was ‘I love you.'”

One of the most valuable lessons I learned from all the heart-breaks:

Remember to say I love you every time you say good-bye to your kids… (and all your other loved ones of course)

Somehow I have forgot already. I am glad I remembered today.

I Comment Therefore I Am: Vaginas, Mama Grizzlies and War on Stupidity

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Hello? *Tapping the microphone* Is this thing on? *Sorry for the screeeeching feedback*

Hi. My name is Lin. And I run my mouth here. I sometimes do a set called “I Comment Therefore I Am” because comments more often than not are the best part. In the interest of full disclosure: Today I am going to lure you in with VAGINA in the title of my post so I can later feed you liberal/DEM propaganda.

The set about vaginae is quite funny. I think. At least they are not “political”. However, if you think about it: The personal is political has been the rallying cry for the feminist movement in the 60s and 70s, and we owe it to our foremothers/sisters for our freedom to say VAGINA! as loud as we wish without being stoned to death…

Scene 1: Unknown Mami and Her Vagina Started an One-up(wo)manship

This was going to be a story within a story. Long story short: Unknown Mami commented on Nancy’s post at Away We Go in which a game of bluffing about what your vagina can do is suggested. Thus began an epic One-up(wo)manship, and hilarity ensued. Some of the choice bits (No pun intended. *whistling*):

Unknown Mami commented,

Puh-leaze, my vagina can bring home the bacon, fry it up in a pan.

My vagina was once cast as Richard the III. Sure people were confused, but I’m sure Shakespeare was proud.

Nancy retorted,

My vagina, thankfully, has never been compared to Falstaff.

My vagina once split the atom. Just sayin.

And it goes on and on. It is epic! Like The Lord(ess) of the Ring. You have to be there to fully appreciate the epicness. I spent the whole day trying to come up with a followup comment, a sequel that does not suck (Yeah, good luck! I know…) Here is what I would have commented if my vagina were not too busy surfing porn:

My vagina is having performance anxiety the whole day, wondering how she can beat your vaginas. In the mean time she finished reading all 15,637 posts on her Google Reader and left intelligent, perceptive, thought-provoking (and heartfelt, if the situations called for it) comments on all. She also tweeted this and immediately got more followers than @aplusk!

Scene 2: What’s VAGINA! got to do with it?

Pardon me while I get my soapbox out. *Dusting it. Getting onto the soap box*

All this fun with our VAGINA!, perhaps paradoxically, brings up another point I wish to make: Having a vagina can only unite us this far. Aside from our bodies, there lies a risk of assuming some sort of solidarity amongst women across ALL issues. Do not assume that just because we all have vaginas, we are necessarily fighting all the same battles, from the same side.

Arianna Huffington‘s post Sarah Palin, “Mama Grizzlies,” Carl Jung, and the Power of Archetypes provides an interesting way of reading Sarah Palin’s Mama Grizzlies video, or rather, its resonance amongst certain segments in the nation.

Here are some of Palin’s memorable quotes from the now (in)famous video:

“It seems like it’s kind of a mom awakening… women are rising up.”

“I always think of the mama grizzly bears that rise up on their hind legs when somebody is coming to attack their cubs.”

“You thought pit bulls were tough? Well, you don’t wanna mess with the mama grizzlies!”

Ms. Huffinton’s point is that if we interpret the Sarah Palin brand and its effect on its audience from the perspective of Carl Jung’s “collective unconscious”, it is easy to understand and even appreciate how and why she is able to gain such a loyal following even when the more mainstream Republicans have tried to distance themselves from her. “Mama grizzlies” are archetypes, the unconscious, shared human instinct that Palin has invoked in her recent public appearances, touching upon the White middle-class fear of losing the established ground they have become so accustomed to, have taken for granted, inciting the basic human nature to fight for the survival* of the species, whipping her followers into a frenzy.

* You say “Survival”, I say “Compared to what?”

Here is what Carl Jung has to say on the power that archetypes wield over the unconscious:

[During troubled conditions experienced by large numbers of people] … explosive and dangerous forces hidden in the archetype come into action, frequently with unpredictable consequences. There is no lunacy people under the domination of an archetype will not fall prey to.

Not to be outdone by Herr Jung, I decided to throw in my own missive:

Thank you for this enlightening analysis on the power and danger of the paradox that is Sarah Palin. I just want to add that I am pissed as hell. There are Mama Grizzlies on this side as well, no? I for one am wanting to rise up on my hind legs because I do NOT want my kids to grow up in a society where

ignorance is “appreciated” as genuineness,

inability to carry a logical and rational discussion is explained away as down-home-ness,

anti-intellectualism is at an all-time high and considered to be a heroic folk rebellion,

and intolerance is equated with maternal instincts.

Scene 3. Stupid is as Stupid Does

From VAGINA! to a tirade against Sarah Palin… WTF? You are probably thinking. I know. I am amazed at my talent for random free association too. Those of you that have stayed with me so far are in this very very tiny sliver of a Venn Diagram intersection.

This is you —> A ∩ B

I <3 you. All of you. Except Elly. For Elly, I *heart* you since she hates <3

But of course, I digress…

I came upon this online essay America Needs a War on Stupid by Japhy Grant, and I have been trying to internalize the wisdom imparted by Mr. Grant so I can whip out the choice quotes in times of need. I am quoting them here since I suspect that quite a few of you would appreciate a good comeback as much as I do:

The right to hold an opinion carries with it the responsibility to defend it.

The reason for this is cowardice. Our society has come to believe that any viewpoint is a legitimate viewpoint, so long as there’s someone out there to espouse it. While this might make for good jokes on The Colbert Report, it’s actually a greater threat to America than terrorism or drugs or any of the other causes we have decided to ‘declare war’ on. Which is why I am suggesting that America ought to collectively declare war on stupidity. If we are to wage an ideological battle against a concept, let it be against Stupidity.

Being the easily excitable kind, I jumped up and down when I read this, yes, while clapping my hands. I also played the theme song from Team America: World Police because I love a good co-opting like every other liberal conspirator. I would have been wagging my tail if I had one. Never shy away from an opportunity to repeat myself, I decided to leave a comment amongst the other more astute, intelligent responses, because “I comment therefore I am”…

Republicans are once again playing on the level of emotions (fears mostly) and not brains. The whole mama grizzly thing taps into our most primitive instinct: it’s either me and my brood or you. There is no reasoning with people when their survival instinct has been turned on and whipped into a frenzy. The news coverage of the misc. protests/gatherings always reminds me of the story “The Lottery”.

We need this right now. I personally needed to read what you said here right now. Thank you.

“How to Be Alone”

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I was going to write something about BlogHer… But my besties that I have had the good fortune to meet and grope in magical New York City have all done a much better job than I could have, esp. since after three days, I am still pissing and sweating vodka… So if you ~~haven’t been bored to death by the blah blogher blah blah~~ are curious about what went down (PUN FULLY INTENDED) last weekend, go read about Buggin Words’ No-Pot-Needed Hallucination, Brilliant Sulk’s brilliant musing on the vaginas and vodkas she’s consumed, Patty Punker’s suggestion for an alternative FuckIt10 that we have all signed up and are seeking attendee registrations, Dufmanno’s encounter with a naked cowboy which was not the most skin she saw last weekend, For the Birds’ restrained song that is really not about you, and yes, Vapid, I am drumming my fingers waiting for your BlogHer report here… Pull yourself together, woman! Stay away from the Dish even though I know you’ve missed him and the Python (Dear Soren Lorensons, this is surprisingly not what you think, you perverts!) terribly.

ETA: The blonde vampiress came through with poetry in motion…

Instead, Serendipity! I came across this video/poem today.

“How to Be Alone”

It is the perfect remedy we need in order to recover from the highs and lows after fighting through our fears of opening ourselves up and meeting strangers. The powerful reminder to combat that gnawing insecurity, that tiny voice, that propels you to down five shots of vodka within the first 30 minutes of setting your foot in a party so that you can be the Dancing Queen that you dream of being. The talisman to arm ourselves with next time we attend any social occasion when ironically we often inadvertently feel so alone within the crowd.

Watch this.

I came across this beautifully written and performed poem through It Is Monday… Thinking Moment. The filmmaker is Andrea Dorfman, and the simple yet profound words were written and performed by Tanya Davis.

I cannot help but reprint the entire poem here just so I can read the words, slowly, hoping to absorb them into my being, to have them become part of the fiber of my soul.

How to Be Alone

by Tanya Davis

If you are at first lonely, be patient.

If you’ve not been alone much, or if when you were, you weren’t okay with it, then just wait. You’ll find it’s fine to be alone once you’re embracing it.

We could start with the acceptable places, the bathroom, the coffee shop, the library. Where you can stall and read the paper, where you can get your caffeine fix and sit and stay there. Where you can browse the stacks and smell the books. You’re not supposed to talk much anyway so it’s safe there.

There’s also the gym. If you’re shy you could hang out with yourself in mirrors, you could put headphones in.

And there’s public transportation, because we all gotta go places.

And there’s prayer and meditation. No one will think less if you’re hanging with your breath seeking peace and salvation.

Start simple. Things you may have previously based on your avoid being alone principals.

The lunch counter. Where you will be surrounded by chow-downers. Employees who only have an hour and their spouses work across town and so they — like you — will be alone.

Resist the urge to hang out with your cell phone.

When you are comfortable with eat lunch and run, take yourself out for dinner. A restaurant with linen and silverware. You’re no less intriguing a person when you’re eating solo dessert to cleaning the whipped cream from the dish with your finger. In fact some people at full tables will wish they were where you were.

Go to the movies. Where it is dark and soothing. Alone in your seat amidst a fleeting community.

And then, take yourself out dancing to a club where no one knows you. Stand on the outside of the floor till the lights convince you more and more and the music shows you. Dance like no one’s watching…because, they’re probably not.

And, if they are, assume it is with best of human intentions. The way bodies move genuinely to beats is, after all, gorgeous and affecting. Dance until you’re sweating, and beads of perspiration remind you of life’s best things, down your back like a brook of blessings.

Go to the woods alone, and the trees and squirrels will watch for you.

Go to an unfamiliar city, roam the streets, they are always statues to talk to, and benches made for sitting gives strangers a shared existence if only for a minute, and these moments can be so uplifting and the conversation you get in by sitting alone on benches, might of never happened had you not been there by yourself.

Society is afraid of alone though. Like lonely hearts are wasting away in basements. Like people must have problems if after awhile nobody is dating them.

But lonely is a freedom that breaths easy and weightless, and lonely is healing if you make it.

You can stand swaffed by groups and mobs or hands with your partner, look both further and farther in the endless quest for company.

But no one is in your head. And by the time you translate your thoughts an essence of them maybe lost or perhaps it is just kept. Perhaps in the interest of loving oneself, perhaps all those sappy slogans from pre-school over to high school groaning, we’re tokens for holding the lonely at bay.

Cause if you’re happy in your head, then solitude is blessed, and alone is okay.

It’s okay if no one believes like you, all experiences unique, no one has the same synapses, can’t think like you, for this be relived, keeps things interesting, life’s magic brings much, and it doesn’t mean you aren’t connected, and the community is not present, just take the perspective you get from being one person in one head and feel the effects of it.

Take silence and respect it.

If you have an art that needs a practice, stop neglecting it, if your family doesn’t get you or a religious sect is not meant for you, don’t obsess about it.

You could be in an instant surrounded if you need it.

If your heart is bleeding, make the best of it.

There is heat in freezing, be a testament.

Things I Missed

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I have been back to my real life since two Sundays ago. After a week on the beach, doing nothing, having no appointments to make, no place to rush to, I find it hard to adjust back to life in the suburbia 100%. On the first few days after The Beach, I caught myself thinking that I was about to get ready to go to the beach. I got a bit disoriented when I was driving because I was expecting to make the right turn and go into the development where the beach house was. In an almost imperceptible way, memories from the beach (even when I did not know I was remembering specifically any scene, any event, so perhaps it is more aptly an “aura”) seeped into reality as I am trying to adjust to life back to normal.

Now I do not know whether I was then a man dreaming I was a butterfly, or whether I am now a butterfly, dreaming I am a man.

Disorientation. It happens every year after The Beach. Naturally it does get better as the week of post-coastal ~~coital~~ tristesse advances.

Perhaps because I now have a ~~Tamagotchi~~ blog to keep, I am even more self-reflective; I was caught by surprise by how I reacted with happiness to some of the things back home. Things I hadn’t realized I’d missed while I was doing The Beach… in addition to the Internet and robust Wireless coverage, it goes without saying.

My bed. Ok. Our bed. And I did consciously miss it during The Beach. At least my aching back did. A lot.

When we moved into our current house ten years ago, my husband and I made a conscious decision to get ourselves the best bed we could afford without going against our principle, “Only losers pay retail”. Considering how on average human beings spend one third of their lives in bed (i.e. 8+ out of 24 hours every day in theory), a firm and comfortable bed that allows you to wake up refreshed is one of the best investment with the highest ROI a person can make. Our bed is one of those memory foams similar to Tempur-Pedic, and true to the marketing claim, we seldom disturb each other when we lie down or get up from the bed. The downside of having such an awesome bed is 1) We feel like going straight to bed most of the time, and 2) We are so spoiled now that we find it hard to fall asleep, stay asleep, and wake up without kinks or aches when we travel.

My car.

Raise your hand if you’ve ever heard a joke about driving while female? How about driving while Asian? Now put those two together, you got? Me.

I have to write about my love for driving one day, but for now, it suffices to say that I missed my car even though we had a nice and clean rental car, a Toyota Camry, that week. I didn’t realize that I missed my tiny hatchback. In fact, after a long absence, I tend to be hesitant when I put my foot on the gas pedal, feeling like a virgin driver. I supplied pressure with my foot tentatively and my car purred (the way a small, non-sporty car does anyway). I thought, “Oh how I have missed you!” I love the familiarity. The comfort and ease. The confidence I exude when I am behind the steering wheel of my itty bitty car. Possibly the smallest, everyday car, used to transport kids on a regular basis within the 15-mile radius of Suburbia. The pride, most likely undeserved, I feel in my heart when I am surrounded by gas-guzzling SUVs. Especially when I encounter a Cadillac Escalade on the road (which for some reason happens more often than I wish), I see my itty bitty superduper hatchback as a finger extended in its general direction.

Booyah!

Chicago. Or any other larger city with a diverse population where I will not be stared at like a zoo animal. Where I do not stand out. Where I blend into the mosaic tapestry of life effortlessly. Where I will be ignored, just like everybody else.

For one reason or another we end up in the northern most tip of OBX every year where even the groundskeepers are white. No shit. Even the seasonal workers they employ in the stores and restaurants are of Eastern European origins. This year, for the first time, I saw two Asian cashiers at the supermarket, and (I did not imagine this!) they looked startled when they saw me at the checkout line.

Yeah, I am going to sound like a reverse-racist but it gets on my nerves every single year on the beach, this lack of diversity. This pervasive whiteness. I am never the only person of color there because my sister-in-law is of Asian Indian heritage. (Born and bred in the U.S. of A.). Although she laughs every time I mention how 1) this has got to be the worst week for their property value, 2) the two of us double the population of Asian descent instantly, 3) “I am going to integrate now!” before I head towards the local super market, she may not be as sensitive as I am. I, the product of years of Ivory-Tower immersion in race theories, American histories, cultural histories, identity theories, racial politics, post-colonial literature and theories, what have you. Every year I counted the number of people of color I saw on the beach, in the pool, in the general area. This year I saw on the beach one African American family and a family of white parents and their children adopted from Asia. Then there were me and my sister-in-law. That’s it. Never more than a dozen.

The staring. The surreptitious looks. Sometimes became too much. Without knowing it, I became edgy, stressed, and bitter because I was on display.

I whisper-yelled at the kids to behave more than I should have done, I didn’t know then but I do now, because I wanted to make sure that THESE PEOPLE not walk away with ANY false impression of Asian people. God forbid if I were the only Asian person they have come in close contact with in a shared environment, i.e. outside of Chinese restaurants, dry cleaners, nail salons, [fill in stereotypically Asian-owned businesses]. I certainly don’t want them to draw any negative conclusions about Asian-looking people because of the mistakes I made. (Great! Now they are going to think that Asian mothers yell at their kids too much! Fuck!)

I was ON the whole time. I was on my best behavior. I made great efforts to speak with as little hint of my foreign accent as possible because FUCK if I wanted to perpetuate the stereotype of Asians as perpetual, inscrutable, foreigners in this country. (The irony of me being indeed a FOREIGNER was not lost on me. Thank you very much. And I hope you all American-born people of Asian descent appreciate my fighting this battle alongside you so please no more making fun of people speaking in a foreign accent so you can feel, you know, American…)

As soon as I stepped off the plane at O’Hare Airport and emerged from the jetway, I was greeted with faces of varying shades in the bustling gate area. I let out a sigh of relief. The tension in my shoulders, which I hadn’t known was there, dissipated with such force it was physically perceptible to me. The chip on my shoulder melted, figuratively and physically even though I hadn’t realized I’d been wearing one. I was able to relax. I did not become fully aware of it until I no longer felt subconsciously the need to represent.

Yup. I missed not having to represent.

July 7. Day 78. Remember the Gulf.

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You are probably screaming at the monitor right now: We have the largest environmental disaster on our hand which has had and will continue to have significant impact on people’s lives and livelihood for generations to come. And what did you do? You bought t-shirts from Threadless?! Yes ma’am and sir, yes we did.

Wordless. Remember the pelicans.

On July 7, 2010, it is official:

“Tests show tar balls washed up on the Texas coast are from the spill, meaning every U.S. Gulf state — Louisiana, Mississippi, Alabama, Florida and now Texas — has been soiled by the spill [sic].”

Timeline: Gulf of Mexico oil spill [sic]

Remember the Gulf. Remember what is still going on even when the 6 o’clock news has stopped talking about it, or when the newspaper at your breakfast table no longer included the story on the first 10 pages, or when your Twitter stream no longer included any keywords related to the Gulf disaster.

No, I don’t know how remembering the fact that it is still happening and will continue going on, the fact that life will never get back to “The way it used to be” for the Gulf region, and the fact that there are more than 27,000 abandoned oil and gas wells in the Gulf, right now, is going to make any difference. I don’t know. I do know, deep down in my heart, that it will be an act of betrayal if we forget right now.

Amount of oil found on shore. Click picture to see Interactive Map on NY Times

My Love Affair

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On July 4th, at around 5 pm, I loaded the boys into the car, against all best judgement, headed towards the community park where half the town had been and the rest of the town was heading towards. We were determined to be there for the long haul. The final prize? The July 4th fireworks.

And it was definitely worth the wait.

Waiting. We are in for the long haul

If you know me, you know I am not blindly in love with this country. Oh hell no. Glenn Beck and Sarah Palin come with the US of A. ’nuff said. But on some days, at the risk of being pegged as a traitor to my Motherland (and this bittersweet part may be hard to understand unless you are an immigrant yourself), lampooned for wanting to be somebody I am not, i.e. “The American” (and this dilemma may be difficult to appreciate unless you are a foreigner struggling with watching yourself becoming American, sometimes against your own protest and possibly against your own best judgement), maligned for turning my back against my own people (a la Miss Saigon who harbors the dream of “Coming to America”), or ridiculed for having drunk the Kool-Aid and embraced the American Dream (and not the kind in which I become filthy rich but the kind in which I bellow out “We Are the World” like the baddest idealistic that I am), I love this country with all my heart.

This is something hard for me to admit and even harder to explain to folks back home. I am after all here in the US by myself. Admitting I am “Proud to be American” sometimes feels like a betrayal. I feel guilty. Embarrassed even. Am I becoming “uppity”, thinking I am better than they, whoever they are? On the other hand, I am prepared to slap a bitch if anybody attacks me thus since such criticism belies the assumption that being American is somehow better, more desirable, than being whatever. So you are the one with issues, not me. Take that, Booyah!

“American” is after all a social construct. Many current political, social and economical debates (and really, they all come down to who gets what) are even possible exactly because what and who is American is always up for definition and re-definition. And THAT, IMHO, is what makes this country different. Great. Lovable. Even though on some days you really do not want to have anything to do with it.

I love the IDEA of this country. I love the IDEAL of it that many so-called “real” Americans fortunately still believe in and insist on.

"Give me your huddled masses"

Not like the brazen giant of Greek fame,
With conquering limbs astride from land to land;
Here at our sea-washed, sunset gates shall stand
A mighty woman with a torch, whose flame
Is the imprisoned lightning, and her name
Mother of Exiles. From her beacon-hand
Glows world-wide welcome; her mild eyes command
The air-bridged harbor that twin cities frame.

"From her beacon-hand Glows world-wide welcome"

“Keep, ancient lands, your storied pomp!” cries she
‘ With silent lips. “Give me your tired, your poor,
Your huddled masses yearning to breathe free,
The wretched refuse of your teeming shore.
Send these, the homeless, tempest-tossed to me,
I lift my lamp beside the golden door!”

"I lift my lamp beside the golden door"

The ideal is worth the wait.

p.s. I am also in love with my Blackberry with which these photos were taken, except the last one which came from my husband’s newer and better Blackberry. Bastard.

Congratulations, Charlotte, on winning “America’s Manliest City” title

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… despite having a girl’s name. It’s like a boy named Sue, isn’t it? You have been taunted and toughened and become the manliest of them all now that you are all grown up.

Mars Chocolate North America announced today the release of the second annual COMBOS ‘America’s Manliest Cities’ study – crowning Charlotte with this year’s top spot of manliness.

Mars, yes, the candy company, commissioned Bert Sperling, the people who brought us “Best Places to Live” studies (in case you have actually heard of these studies), to conduct the “America’s Manliest Cities” study for the second time. This is a marketing move, as far as I can tell, to promote Combos. You can check them out at Combos.com: Home of the Comboviore. And yup, they are really going after a certain demographics, hard.

Charlotte, N.C. now has chief bragging rights on manliness thanks to its top 10 rankings in the sports, manly lifestyle, manly retail stores, manly occupations and salty snack sales categories.

Naturally “salty snack sales” is one of the metrics. I wonder whether instances of men dying of heart attack and high blood pressure is also taken into account for the study. Have no fear because we know men dying will be well taken care of in these cities since the quintessential Manly Occupations (fire fighters, police officers, construction workers and EMT personnel) were added to the mix this year.

I don’t know what Manly Lifestyle means, in all seriousness. Can someone explain to me? Because here is my thought process when I saw “Manly Lifestyle”:

Watching sports, drinking beers, hanging around bars, shouting, yelling, hooting.

Smoking. Driving. Smoking while driving. Smoking while driving while using the earth as his personal ashtray.

Having big loud supped-up cars that can supposedly go very fast. But ooops. You live in a crowded metro city so your speed is constantly lower than 50 MPH. Better move to Montana (which is not on the list).

Wouldn’t you think that men who work on farms and ranches with their bare hands, and bare chest *swoon* should arguably be the manliest?

Hmmm. Brokeback Mountain. Oh. Never mind.

Well, the study did not say you have to be straight to be manly. I am down with that.

Hmmm. Brokeback Mountain. So it is kind of stupid that Wyoming is not on the list.

Wyoming should definitely be on the list.

Maybe that’s why they did not dare do “The Manliest STATES” because that would totally not be targeting people who may buy Combos and be caught dead with a bag of Combos in their hands walking around when their neighbors are wrestling with steers and cattle and other miscellaneous large animals that men in these mountainous ranges wrestle with their bare hands.

Maybe that’s why the study was confined to Metro Cities. So metrosexuals are not good marketing target for Combos?

Mars feel that they need to step up to market to “manly men” because, eh, Combos look kind of suspicious? Cylinder shape with gooey filling inside?

Do straight men naturally suspect eating anything that’s cylinder shaped? But they sure like hot dogs.

Ok. Focus: Men in metro cities. Think. Harder.

Construction workers. Jack hammers. Wolf whistles.

Wife beaters.

Marlon Brando. A Streetcar Named Desire.

Stanley is without a doubt a "manly man". Hot. But. What an asshole.

“Stella!” For once I just want to do this in the middle of a crowd.

Wife beaters.

West Side Story. Jazz hands. Definitely manly. Yup.

: Possibly the most macho Jazz Hands you’ll ever see

And my mind went on and on. See? It is all very confusing.

So here are the rankings of the 50 cities included in the study:

Charlotte, NC (▲ 1 spot)
Columbus, OH (▲ 5 spots)
Kansas City, MO (▲ 5 spots)
Nashville, TN (▼ 3 spots)
Baltimore, MD (▲ 32 spots)
Milwaukee, WI (▲ 11 spots)
Chicago, IL (▲ 39 spots)
Indianapolis, IN (▲ 1 spot)
Washington, D.C. (▲ 36 spots)
Philadelphia, PA (▲ 20 spots)
Denver, CO (▼ 6 spots)
St. Louis, MO (▼ 6 spots)
Columbia, SC (No Change)
Harrisburg, PA (▲ 12 spots)
Cleveland, OH (▲ 4 spots)
Orlando, FL (▼ 2 spots)
Salt Lake City, UT (▼ 1 spot)
Birmingham, AL (▲ 5 spots)
Detroit, MI (▲ 1 spot)
Cincinnati, OH (▼ 16 spots)
Richmond, VA (▼ 9 spots)
New Orleans, LA (▲ 5 spots)
Phoenix, AZ (▼ 1 spot)
Houston, TX (▲ 15 spots)
Oklahoma City, OK (▼ 22 spots)
Toledo, OH (▼ 16 spots)
Minneapolis, MN (▼9 spots)
Memphis, TN (▼ 17 spots)
Louisville, KY (▲ 2 spots)
Seattle, WA (▲ 10 spots)
Boston, MA (▲ 7 spots)
Atlanta, GA (No Change)
Providence, RI (No Change)
Dayton, OH (▼ 19 spots)
New York, NY (▲ 15 spots)
Jacksonville, FL (▼ 15 spots)
Pittsburgh, PA (▼ 8 spots)
Grand Rapids, MI (▼ 14 spots)
Dallas, TX (▼ 5 spots)
Rochester, NY (▼ 4 spots)
Las Vegas, NV (▼ 13 spots)
San Diego, CA (▲ 1 spot)
San Francisco, CA (▲ 5 spots)
Tampa, FL (▼ 19 spots)
Sacramento, CA (▼ 4 spots)
Buffalo, NY (▼ 11 spots)
Oakland, CA (▼ 3 spots)
Los Angeles, CA (▲ 1 spot)
Miami, FL (▼ 7 spots)
Portland, OR (▼ 3 spots)

I know there is a reason why I instinctively like Portland… Miami got beaten by San Francisco? I blame it on David Caruso.

Charlotte won the crown but Chicago is the biggest winner this year (and of course I am biased): Chicago had the biggest move in the rankings, going from 46th to 7th, reportedly due to the addition of the “Manly Occupations” category.

We clearly have the best Men in Blue (and Red and Yellow and White and Brown and Black and so on…)

The following is said without any trace of sarcasm. Seriously.

The Chicago Blues definitely deserve The Manliest Award this year because many of them are confident enough in their own skin and self-identity to host (and give permission for their fellow officers to host and attend – this is a giant step away from the stereotypically homophobic environment associated with police departments in general, and specifically the Chicago PD in the past) the 14th annual International LGBT Conference for Law Enforcement & Criminal Justice Professionals for the first time in Chicago, ending with the Chicago Pride Parade this past Sunday.

I salute you, officers! Rock those self-confident booties of yours!

Sexiness comes from being comfortable in your own skin. Rock on!

Do Over: A perfect comeback is a terrible thing to waste

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Maddow for Prez (and Stewart for Veep, of course)!

This picture of wishful thinking is at the beginning of this post to make it known with no uncertainty how much I love and respect Rachel Maddow. I also would like it to be known that my adoration for her is NOT bandwagon-jumping: I have professed my loyalty to Dr. Maddow as early as December 2008 ever since I saw her appearance on Conan O’Brien (and for that there will always be a soft spot in my heart for Coco and his hair…)

To further set my girl crush all ablaze, Maddow gave a “fake” Presidential Address on her June 16 show following the much-anticipated, and laster much-criticized, Presidential Speech from The Oval Office by the Prez regarding the BP Oil Catastrophe. (Ok, seriously, peeps, we really need to stop using the term “Oil Spill”. Thanks.)

Maddow began her show thus:

You know how sometimes after you get into an argument or a confrontation with somebody, you can’t help afterwards thinking of all the things you wish you’d said. You run it over and over in your mind, imaging the perfect comeback or the perfect way to have made your point.

Did I ever?! Yes, YES and YES!!!! She had me at this “OMG that’s exactly how I feel all the time” moment…

But, that’s not all!

She proceeded to give her own Presidential Speech, a speech that she wishes the real President Obama has given instead. Here are some of the highlights in text. Or you can read the complete transcript which MSNBC put up right away due to unusually high demand. Or feel free to watch the video clip instead (after the jump) which is extremely gratifying, to say the least.

I‘m here to announce three major developments in the response to the BP oil disaster that continues right now to ravage the beloved gulf coast of the United States of America…

Never again will any company, anyone be allowed to drill in a location where they are incapable of dealing with the potential consequences of that drilling.

When the benefits of drilling accrue to a private company, but the risks of that drilling accrue to we, the American people, whose waters and shoreline are savaged when things go wrong, I, as fake president, stand on the side of the American people and say to the industry, “From this day forward, if you cannot handle the risk, you no longer will take chances with our fate to reap your rewards.”

… …

The second major development I‘m announcing tonight, my fellow Americans, concerns another oil industry assurance we can no longer believe. The industry has long assured us that they were capable of handling spilled oil…

The same low-tech ineffective equipment and techniques are being used to respond to this oil disaster today that were used in the 1960s and ‘70s to respond to spills back then.

That‘s because the industry has not invested in any new containment and cleanup technology in all of these decades, because they haven‘t cared too much about it as an issue and it shows. It shows both in the inept technology that we have to deploy, to contain, to clean up a spill like this.

And it also shows in the lackadaisical, uncoordinated, unprofessional way this inept technology has been deployed by BP. Beaches have been fouled. Wetlands have been destroyed. Wildlife has been killed that should have been saved. Pensacola Bay in Florida, if properly boomed, should never have been breached by oil. Perdido Pass of Orange Beach, Alabama should never have been breached by oil. Queen Bess Island, the pelican nesting ground and Barataria Bay in Louisiana – Barataria Bay itself – none of these areas should have been breached by oil even given the sad state of existing technology to stop it. But the fact that those areas were breached is BP‘s human error.

And tonight, as fake president, I‘m announcing a new federal command specifically for containment and cleanup of oil that has already entered the Gulf of Mexico with priority of protecting shoreline that can still be saved, shoreline that is vulnerable to all that has not yet been hit.

… …

And finally, the third development I have to announce to you tonight in the response to this oil disaster in the Gulf of Mexico is about how we got here and how that will change.

I no longer say that we must get off oil like every president before has said, too. I no longer say we must get off oil. We will get of oil and here is how. The United States Senate will pass an energy bill this year. The Senate version of the year will not expand offshore drilling.

Every president in the modern era has complained that America must get off oil. Richard Nixon, Gerald Ford, Jimmy Carter, Ronald Reagan, George H.W. Bush, Bill Clinton, George W. Bush and now, I, fake President Obama – we have all intoned solemnly that we must get off oil.

Now that we have, at the hands of the oil industry, experienced the worst environmental disaster in American history, the time for talk is over. The world is different now. Our country is different now. The scales have fallen from our eyes.

People say we‘re not ready. They‘re right. We‘re not ready. We also weren‘t ready to fight in World War II before Pearl Harbor happened. But events forced that upon us and events have forced this fight upon us now…

If there are elements of a bill that cannot procedurally be passed by reconciliation, if those elements can be instituted by executive order, I will institute them by executive order.

The political cowardice that has kept politicians from doing right by this country, finally, on energy – finally, standing up to the oil industry – that cowardice has been drowned in oil on Queen Bess Island.

… …

Although I am not so naive as to believe that any president will ever be able to pass an Energy Bill and have it executed just so that will have any real impact on the environment in my lifetime, like I said, it is gratifying to imagine what it would have been like to hear these same statements from the real Commander in Chief (assuming he has not lost his mind and decided to wage a war directly against the 50% of the country that considers Fox News a reliable news source). Naturally, depressing at the same time to imagine what could have been…

Here’s to you, Dr. Maddow. Thank you for the Perfect Comeback.

She proves that a brilliant mind makes you instantly hot. Period.

Be cool like me. Wear Threadless.

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Today, I am sharing with you the secret to my coolness.

You know those older people who love to wear edgy t-shirts to prove to themselves that they are still hip, young at heart, and they can still get jiggy with it? (Irony intended)

Me! Me! Me!

I have amassed a small collection of Threadless t-shirts for the above purpose. And today, my dear Soren Lorensen, I think, you are ready to be indoctrinated into The Cult of Threadless Ts.

PeliCAN!

Threadless will donate all proceeds from the sale of the peliCAN tee to the Gulf Restoration Network: United for a Healthy Gulf:

“A 15 year old environmental non-profit organization committed to uniting and empowering people to protect and restore the natural resources of the Gulf Region for future generations. They’re the only environmental organization working Gulf-wide, and since the first days of BP’s oil drilling disaster, they’ve provided independent monitoring and advocacy focused on holding BP accountable and ensuring an effective and transparent response to the crisis.”

Why not simply donate the $10 towards the Gulf Restoration Network, or any other charity organization making an impact in the gulf region? I asked myself this too. First of all, Threadless is donating ALL SALES PROCEEDS, not just net revenue, i.e. profit. And, please suppress your inner cynic for a moment, I know how hard it is since I am the biggest gullible cynic I know, by more people wearing the t-shirts, more people outside of the Gulf Region who otherwise would have stopped thinking about this quickly (“Out of sight, out of mind”) will not be able to forget or ignore as easily this disaster that is still going on, and will go on for many many years to come.

Besides, it IS a very nice looking shirt!

I am also thinking that in order to encourage more people to order the peliCAN tees, we should have a contest of some sort. Wet t-shirts contest?? That may be too self-serving since I cannot wait to see all you sexy people sending me photos of you wearing this tee, drenching wet. *Fans self*

The Absence of Alternatives

My therapy sessions…