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?”

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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

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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)

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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]

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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.”

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How many times have you heard this?

Boys will be boys.

Girls will be girls.

Kids will be kids.

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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…)

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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.

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* 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.

Head in the Clouds

I really should go to bed right now. I haven’t slept since I got up at 6:30 am yesterday.

Long story short: On Monday, I found out that the meeting where I would be presenting a Power Point slide deck based on the big giant Excel file that I have been living with has been pushed up to as soon as I land and get into the office. The problem with that is I am one of the worst procrastinators. Actually. No. I prefer to think of myself as a Deadliner aka one who is highly motivated and miraculously inspired when the deadline is right in sight. I’d spend the majority of the time before the deadline ruminating, musing, plotting, strategizing and agonizing over the task. Then when there is no more escaping it, BOOM! I sit down and complete the task with a lot of unnecessary stress.

[Insert clock-ticking sound effect from 24]

And yes, I memorized the times so I could later blog about it! There’s no shame in that…

4:22 am. Finally finished my presentation. OH SHIT FUCK HELL I AM GOING TO DIE!

4:30 am. Shower. Done. Wow I’m Speedy Gonzales.

4:45 am. Still figuring out what not to wear. Priorities, people. They are what keep us straight!

4:58 am. Left the house. SHIT FUCK HELL I AM GOING TO MISS THE FLIGHT! I am so tired but I am not tired. I am so jacked up. It feels so weird to drive the car in this state of utter exhaustion. The car seems to be moving on its own without me exerting too much pressure on the paddle. I keep on looking at the new moon that’s beckoning ahead of me, grasping at the wheel afraid that I may let go or make any sudden movement.

5:06 am. There is only one lane open on the highway. The traffic is completely backed up. Red brake lights as far as my eyes can see. OH SHIT FUCK WHAT THE HELL! Why is there a traffic jam at 5 in the morning?! I quickly swerve off the exit ramp and take the alternate local route. In the dark. When I can barely focus. And why are the roads all of a sudden so curvy? And what happened to the street lights?!

5:22 am. Much to my surprise, I arrive at the airport parking garage in one piece. Now let’s hope that the airport is empty and the security line is not too long.

SCORE! Breeze through security checkpoint. Thank you Tuesday morning!

5:31 am. Arrive at gate. And they have not started boarding yet. I WON! I am so awesome! I’m woman. Hear me roar! Doing the victory dance inside my head. These people have no idea what a feat I have just pulled. Oh god, I want to climb onto the chair and announce to the world all the crazy shit stunts I have just pulled to be able to catch this flight. They have NO FUCKING IDEA what a victory it is that I am sitting here right now at this gate!

But I need to tell somebody! Otherwise this memory, this moment of my glory, too, shall pass. It will not be wise to call and wake up husband in order to tell him that I have made it despite my procrastination.

Note to self: Need to blog about this so as to gloat in self’s awesomeness.

I lost all consciousness as soon as they forced us to turn off our phones and took a power nap. Naturally I looked (more) like crap when I got off the plane. Don’t believe me?

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My eyes were bloodshot. The shadows underneath were not from poor lighting. I looked like a friggin’ druggie alcoholic vampire! What was worse was that my hair was completely limp and I was wearing a black dress shirt so I looked like…

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Fortunately the presentation went well despite my lack of inner monologue – the fatigue feels like drunkenness. Several times I told my bosses, “Did I just say that out loud? Sorry.” I either succeeded in glamouring them with my vampire eyes or he was in awe of my being a dead ringer to an evil wizard.

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I am dead tired but I don’t feel tired. I am running on pure adrenaline now. I am jacked up like Beavis and Butthead on their famous sugar high.

I am the great Cornholio!

I am having an out-of-body experience. It feels as if the speed of the film that is my existence is out of sync with everybody else’s. I am moving around in slow motion while the world whizzes by and nobody knows the better. It feels like I am swimming in the clouds I saw this morning from the plane.

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What do you know. Come to think of it: I actually travelled through the clouds…

I am walking in the clouds now.

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Postscript: OMG. One of my colleagues just startled me by throwing a big exercise ball at me. (Exercise balls are one of the options for “seating” in my company and therefore they are everywhere in the office). I did not realize until tonight that they make an adorable Boing Boing sound when you bounce them.

“You sure we are the only two people left now?”

“You sure there are no surveillance cameras?’

I ended up dribbling the big giant pink ball down the corridors of the empty office building and to my colleague’s surprise (and I hope, admiration) dribbling it under my knees.

So it has been confirmed: I am drunk. Drunk from too much adrenalin.

We can’t be friends if your name is Doug

Since I have started telling you English words that I simply have a hard time pronouncing, I thought I’d mention this:

What is up with the name DOUG?

I tried and tried and so far I don’t think I’ve managed to pronounce this name correctly. It sounds somewhere in the spectrum between “dog” and “da-g”. People are always going, “Huh? Dog? What?” Seriously? If I am talking about a person, WHAT OTHER NAME is there that sounds remotely like DOG other than DOUG?

One of the guys living in our street is named Doug. So far I have been referring to him as “so and so’s husband” and “so and so’s dad”. If I have to get his attention, well, I hope that day never comes because I really don’t want to be calling him “DOG!”

Yes, I am obsessed. It really bothers me that somehow I cannot master such a simple word. When I go to a social occasion, I actually consciously hope that nobody I meet there is named Doug. And keeping my fingers crossed, so far, nobody at work has this name. KNOCK ON WOOD! It would not look good if I constantly refer to a colleague as “Dog”. HR will come-a-calling soon.

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You can get this shirt along with the others from, where else? Cafe Press, the purveyor of .... everything Doug

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Next Up: Why I never order VANILLA ice cream or request MANILA folders…

Pumpkins and Corn

Our annual ritual in the fall (and yes, I know some of you hate FALL like a Sunday…) is to visit the pumpkin farm. To be honest, the reason we go back every year is for the best apple cider donuts made fresh there.

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The above is part of the Sundays in My City weekly blog-link event hosted by Unknown Mami.

Unknown Mami

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The following is the usual crazy stuff I blog about here…

Now, I am going to show you a picture that my husband took with his Blackberry. He claimed that he took it for me because it is blog-worthy. Sigh. This is true love, people! After all, when we saw the trailer for Red, I said, “Isn’t that …?” He said, “No, that is not Larry David. That is John Malkovich.” I said, “How do you know I thought that was…?” He said, “Because I just do.”

Anyway, this all sort of explains why we are made for each other even though on most days we are ready to choke each other (and not the sex-related kind).

“How do you tell if a pumpkin is male or female?” He asked, out of the blue.

“Hmmm.” I started wondering whether I had missed the biology class in high school when they talked about the sexes of fruits.

“Here.” He pushed his phone towards me, showing me this picture. “It’s when they have balls.”

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I guess I should apologize for ruining the magic of pumpkins for you. Fine. I’ll talk about corn then.

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Speaking of corn. When I first came to the U.S., I had trouble pronouncing some very simple words such as my own name and “corn”. I would make the word sound like something in the spectrum between “cone” and “comb”. It was an issue since I was going to a school surrounded by friggin’ corn fields. My boyfriend (now husband) taught me how to say “corn” by asking me whether I could say “porn”. And I did. Correctly. So now you know what I think of first whenever I say the word “corn”…

Corn with beard

What? Oh. I am very sorry for ruining CORN for you.

Is it just me? Every time when I see a corn maze, I immediately think, “Children of the Corn!” That is why I never go into the corn maze and I wait at the exit anxiously for my family to come out. Alive. And I pay special attention to my kids to make sure they don’t have any murderous intentions other than the usual on-going scheme to kill us slowly by annoyance and frustration.

After I’ve forever ruined corn fields for you, look at this picture again. Doesn’t it look ominous? Ok. Fine. It is just me then.

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Corn maze

Juxtaposition & Perspectives

Interesting headlines today:

“[From NPR] U.S. income inequality at its highest level since the Census Bureau began tracking household income in 1967. The U.S. also has the greatest disparity among Western industrialized nations.

At the top, the wealthiest 5 percent of Americans, who earn more than $180,000, added slightly to their annual incomes last year, government data show. Families at the $50,000 median level slipped lower.”

[From Forbes] Duarte, Calif., home to the 91008 ZIP code, is a small suburb northeast of downtown LA, near the Los Angeles national forest. The median cost of a house in this tony town is a whopping $4,276,462, making it the most expensive housing market in the country.”

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For perspectives, here is what 91008 looks like from above:

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Perspectives are important.

Case in point: The U of Chicago Law Professor who wrote a blog post complaining about being poor on an income of $250K and ignited a firestorm. What made me laugh out loud and cry inside at the same time was the fact that he was genuinely surprised that people were outraged. Much criticisms and analyses have been published over Professor Henderson and his irk vs. the “electronic lynch mob”. My favorite quote by a pundit came from Paul Krugman  (incidentally the 2008 Economics Nobel Prize winner) who penned in his blog post titled “Have you left no sense of decency?” (It’s a very short post. You should consider hopping over and read it in its brilliant entirety…)

“But 30 years ago people with high but not super-high incomes generally felt ashamed of themselves for griping — or at least, felt that they would be ridiculed if they gave voice to their gripes. Today, all restraints are off. The fuss over Messrs. Henderson and Stein is the exception that proves the rule: they wouldn’t be providing this spectacle if they didn’t normally swim in social circles where complaining that you only have 9 or 10 times median family income is considered totally acceptable.

Pretty soon, we’ll be having serious, completely un-self-conscious discussions in major magazines about the servant problem.”

“Which Sex and the City gal are you?”

I am going to bet that at one time or another 99% of the women were asked one or all of these questions:

“Which Sex and the City gal is your favorite?”

“Which Sex and the City gal do you want to be?”

“Which Sex and the City gal are you?”

I never knew how to respond. Because deep down in my heart, I know who I resemble the most, dread resembling the most even though I also know, deep down in my brains, that I am crazy (also self-presumptuous and self-delusional) for thinking so.

Laney Berlin.

Who?

Laney Berlin. From Episode 10, Season 1, originally aired on August 8, 1998. “The Baby Shower”.

It is no surprise you have no memory of her. My google search only came up with ONE picture of her:

Laney is the Fab Four’s former friend, or more accurately, frienemy and to Samantha, rival.

Laney Berlin. You can’t really describe her. You just had to know her. Chances are eight years ago you probably did.

Laney did A&R for a record label… Every time she went on a scouting trip, she came back with some hot new group… and a gynecological condition no one had ever heard of.

Those things make so many public appearances, they need a booking agent.

Disclaimer: Of course I am nothing like the above. I’ve never had a hot body for me to lament the loss over it. I’ve never had a wild, rebellious streak in my life, that is, until now… mostly inside my imaginary inner world, and even at that, with limitations. Tis sad that I channel Woody Allen even in my wildest fantasy.

In fact, Laney was another Samantha… until she found herself an investment banker, got married and moved to Connecticut. The Fab Four reluctantly went to Laney’s Baby Shower at her stereotypical suburban MacMansion surrounded by stereotypical suburban Stepford Wives. The gifts they brought? A fistful of cash. A bottle of Scotch. And pastel condoms.

Incidentally I gave birth to my first child in March 1998. I squirmed as I watched a dichotomy being artificially formed when the world of Sex and the City was split in two: Me and the pregnant, suburban Laney on one side; the gals on the other (And goddammit I want to be on that side with the Fab Four too!) and what happened when Laney tried to cross the bridge, back to the other side.

Laney, despite the outward appearances of marital bliss and contentment, felt regretful of her choices. Back  in the city, the gals found a pregnant Laney crashing Samantha’s party, demanding vodka (and attention naturally], offering to show her tits, and struggling on the stripper pole.

[Carrie] This is at once so sad…  and the most fabulous validation I’ve ever gotten in my life.

The image of Laney on the table surrounded by the party-goers who are obviously appalled has stayed with me since. I understand that 99% of the disapproval came from her being so “due any day now” pregnant and you simply DO NOT SHOULD NOT imbibe alcohol (and Vodka at that!) when a child’s life is at stake. However Laney on the table also symbolizes for me the attempt to grapple with the erasure of one’s (imagined or not) identity and the desperate attempt to retain/regain the last vestige of youth/freedom/autonomy/carefreeness/etc. It is that desperation that makes it so sad, that I respond to viscerally.

Every time when I behave like a wild child, act and dress against what I believe is age-appropriate and role-appropriate, flirt with strangers, skip down the sidewalk, party like it is 1999 (or 1997 aka 1 BC – “Before Child”), because this is who I am without thinking, I get a flashback of Laney on the table and I am immediately paralyzed by an onslaught of self-consciousness. I put myself in my place through the eyes of the others:

“Do I look like I am trying too hard? Too desperate? Do I look ridiculous? These people… What are they thinking of me? Are they laughing with me or at me?”

And the thought that I absolutely abhor:

“Do they feel sorry for me?”

I am desperate to not appear desperate. Insane? I know.

This is why every time when I am at a party I make a beeline to the bar and down 2 shots of vodka before the party starts for me. Because as it turns out, thank goodness, Laney Berlin can be warded off with alcohol.

Missing a hole here

I woke up to a bad allergy attack this morning:

runny nose
sneezing
itchy, watery eyes
itching of the nose or throat

p.s. I just copied that litany from the back of my bottle of Zyrtec.

I’ve got them all. As I was using up the last tissue from the giant Kleenex box, I was contemplating tweeting about it. (Yes, I do compose tweets in my head as I go about my daily business. Shut up! Don’t tell me you don’t. Liar!)

Something to the fact of:

Bad allergy! Every hole on my face has liquid coming out of it!

I slay myself sometimes.

This imaginary tweet reminded me of the common Chinese phrase for describing a brutal death (e.g. from poisoning or from a freakishly ginormous renegade Shaolin monk clapping his Thunderous Fists over your ears in a mortal combat) :

Bleeding from seven holes   七孔流血*

Here is an illustration:

This guy is dying from Psychic Powers.

PSA: Do NOT search for images with keywords “七孔流血” or worse, “nose bleed manga” at work.  It is like a codeword for “Show me pornographic images please”. Srly, people? The above is like the only image not involving a scantily-clad lass.

Since I am such a math geek (Har har) I automatically counted out the seven holes (and I swear I did not point my fingers to my body parts as I did this…)

My two eyes
My two ears.
My nose.
My mouth.

Hey, that’s only SIX. WTF? So I started thinking of other holes there could be…

Oh.
No.
Could it be that?
No…?
Or that?
Hmmmm.

Then it hit me. Of course! There are TWO nostrils. Duh.

As I opened up a new box of Kleenex, I thought to myself, “I am sucking more and more at being Chinese. And you people really have a bad influence on me!”

—The End—

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* Google Translate is so awesome! I typed in “Bleeding from seven holes” and it presented the exact phrase! I *heart* you Google Translate even though you say dumb things sometimes…

Moon Struck

I have witnessed history tonight (or last night). I reveled in the glory that was the Super Harvest Moon.

According to NASA, on September 22, 2010,

For the first time in almost 20 years, northern autumn is beginning on the night of a full Moon. The coincidence sets the stage for a “Super Harvest Moon”…

Northern summer changes to fall on Sept. 22nd at 11:09 pm EDT. At that precise moment, called the autumnal equinox, the Harvest Moon can be found soaring high overhead with the planet Jupiter right beside it. The two brightest objects in the night sky will be in spectacular conjunction to mark the change in seasons.

.This also means that yesterday was Mid-Autumn Festival for Chinese, the second most important holiday arguably after Chinese New Year. Did I remember it? Of course not. I really suck at being Chinese… So I made it up by trying to capture the image of Super Harvest Moon for posterity.

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This picture taken with my iPhod. Amazingly clear.

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Can you see the “spur” of light below the moon? That is Jupiter. Neither can I. Sorry. You just have to take my word for it: Jupiter was there. Right underneath the moon. It was so bright that I kept on asking Mr. Monk, “Are you sure it’s not an airplane? It is not moving?”

Sorry if it looks like a bullet hole on a piece of black canvas.

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This time I tried to take a picture with my Blackberry

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You can see why Blackberry is just not as sexy as iPhones…

This picture of the moon unfortunately reminds me of something that rhymes with one of the planets. Or it is calling my name to go through the tunnel. Maybe both at the same time. It is kind of disturbing to say the least…

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Since my Nikon failed me, I used my Flip video to capture the glory of the moon

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It annoyed me to no end that my Nikon completely failed me. Most likely user error but I am blaming it on the machine, like most callers to IT Help Lines.

When I remembered that I could use my video cameras for the job, the clouds came. So now Freddy Krueger can pop into the frame at any second. I get dizzy staring at this picture. Am I in a nightmare already? (3:41 am already? Yup. Better be in a nightmare otherwise I’ll have hell to pay tomorrow morning at 6 am when the alarm goes off…)

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A la Monet

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This one took the longest time to produce: I first used my Casio digital to capture a 7-second video of the night sky. I wanted to post it on my Facebook and be done with the whole thing but Facebook said it would take 76 hours to upload the file.

16.6 MB for 7 seconds of footage. Srly?

I ended up taking a screenshot of my laptop as the video was playing. Opened up Visio. Ctrl+V to paste the picture into Visio. Cropped the picture and saved it into a JPG file. Viola! Here you have a grainy picture of the moon, covered by dark clouds.

I expect either fiddlers to start showing up from the other side of the roof or the ghost of Catherine Earnshaw to materialize in this picture.

Super Harvest Moon has come and gone. The next one won’t be here till 2029. (The thought of how old I will be… STOP! BRAIN! Don’t even go there! Where was I?) Welcome Autumn because this means we can finally put up Halloween decorations and apple cider donuts are now officially in vogue.

I am going to bed. BUT not before I make it up to you by leaving you with this Harvest Moon in its finest…

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