Machismo 2.0?

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This pictures says everything and more about Country Music in the 21th century, after Shania Twain, Jewel, Leann Rimes, and of course, Taylor Swift, after all the crossover frenzy, the “Man! I Feel Like a Woman” sung by every Carrie Bradshaw and her hipster buddies.

I do confess: I know nothing about country music other than, like most people I have the (good) fortune to come in contact with, the “crossover” pop singers I mentioned above. So this is more of a gut reaction, a musing-out-loud, upon seeing this picture and listening carefully to the lyrics. And of course, the # hashtag made me chuckle. I am still laughing.

If you want to wrest country music back from the sissiness, how much more could you have done than a song about trucks titled Truck Yeah!  What’s more, the music video includes all the tropes associated with Machismo: trucks (of course), men in boots on construction site, etc. None of them were carrying an iPhone though so I am not sure how they are going to tweet or update their Facebook status with #TruckYeah…

After listening to the song and watching the video multiple times, I cannot decide whether Mr. McGraw is singing it straight or tongue in cheek. Ok, he definitely does not mean for this song and the whole performance to be camp. (I wish) And he’s definitely serious about this anthem of trucks, Friday night football, Hillybilly proud.

 

 

I could imagine many of his male fans pumping their fists shouting, “Fuck yeah! We have been oppressed for far too long and it is time we bring swagger back, time we take Country back!” Still, I was chuckling throughout the video. It’s all kinds of awesome. For starters, it’s pretty infectious. By the end of the song, I want to run around singing Truck Yeah! like I’ve got some redneck blood in me.

I find the song and video amusing because I chose to read the whole thing ironically. In addition to the overtly heightened machismo, the socio-economic gap between the so-called “rednecks” that this song seemingly glorifies and seeks camaraderie with and Mr. McGraw the millionaire country star is a sad irony. I am trying not to be bothered by the underlying social mores that brought about this song at this juncture in time because over-thinking is a curse.

Truck yeah!

Below is the lyrics for Truck Yeah! So are you one of us?

Got Lil’ Wayne pumpin on my iPod
Pumpin on the subs in the back of my crew cab
Redneck rockin’ like a rockstar
Sling a lil mud off the back, we can do that
Friday night football, Saturday Last Call, Sunday Hallelujah
If you like it up loud and you’re hillbilly proud then you know what I’m talking about

Let me hear you say, Truck Yeah
Wanna get jacked up Yeah
Lets crank it on up Yeah
With a little bit of luck I can find me a girl with a Truck Yeah
We can love it on up Yeah
Till the sun comes up Yeah
If you think this life I love is a little too country
Truck Yeah

I party in the club in a honky tonk downtown
Yeah that’s where I like to hang out
Chillin’ in the back room
Hangin’ with my whole crew
Sippin’ on a cold brew, hey now!
Got a mixed up playlist, DJ play this
Wanna hear a country song
If you like it up loud and you’re hillbilly proud throw your hands up now
Let me hear you shout,

Truck Yeah
Wanna get jacked up Yeah
Lets crank it on up Yeah
With a little bit of luck I can find me a girl with a Truck Yeah
We can love it on up Yeah
Til the sun comes up Yeah
If you think this life I love is a little too country
Truck Yeah

Backwoods country, city Boy
It don’t matter who you are
Got a little fight, got a little love
Got a little redneck in your blood
Are you one of us?

Truck Yeah!
Wanna get jacked up Yeah
Lets crank it on up Yeah
With a little bit of luck I can find me a girl with a Truck Yeah
We can love it on up Yeah
Till the sun comes up Yeah
If you think this life I love is a little too country
You’re right on the money
Truck yeah!

 

 

Wonder Woman

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

 

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

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

 

 

Booyah!

“See what the others are buying right now!” God helps us.

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I confess: I have a shopping addiction. With free shipping and return, I have got into the habit of ordering everything that I think “may” look good on me (Ok, I also am an optimist. Shut up!) from Myhabit.com and Gilt.com.

As a matter of fact, I am wearing these right now (fresh from the UPS box I just opened). And it’s almost 2 am.

 

NOT me.

Not me either

 

So, yeah, my addiction, fortunately, is more like a shopping AND RETURNING addiction.

UPS and USPS. I am looking at you. I am single-handedly keeping you both in business.

Tonight, Gilt.com rolled out a beta called Gilt LIVE.

See what members are buying right now!

Images of goods that have been sold populate your screen one after the other. I was supposed to be in bed about an hour ago, yet I have been staring at my screen. Mesmerized.

 

This is consumerism unfolding itself live in front of our very eyes.

You get to watch our economy being rescued from a potential recession one shoe at a time.

 

Whoever came up with the idea of Gilt LIVE is a genius and deserve a huge bonus and promotion. I am so serious about this I am pondering writing Gilt Groupe a letter to put in my $0.02. As I watch the live stream of things that’re sold artfully morph into each other and the discreetly small box at the corner discreetly alert me that they are almost gone, it’s rather tempting to at least click on the images and see WHY they are so popular. What’s more, to be 100% honest, a part of me feels more confident buying something that others have rushed to buy because “it must have been a great deal!” “The dress probably does not look as ridiculous once you put it on!” otherwise people would not have bought it in droves, right?

A self-fulfilling prophecy if there is one.

I am so amazed by the genius in this move, yet at the same time I am amazed why nobody else had thought of this sooner. Being a data nerd and a marketing/strategy person, I am dying to know how much additional sales Gilt LIVE brings in and how quickly, and how many idiots like me click on the images as they rapidly scroll by as if we are at an arcade playing Whac-a-Mole…

 

I feel bad for Mitt Romney…

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Kind of. For about 10 seconds.

It’s tough to be a politician nowadays what with the ever shrinking size of recording devices and of course, the Internet. Oftentimes in this hyper-connected, over-sharing, real-time-news-update-by-the-second, meme-obsessed world, WWW is the kingmaker. At the same time, it could also easily topple a career. (Ironically, the same world is causing its people to command shorter and shorter attention spans and therefore the ups and downs are becoming less and less definitive and permanent. Think Mel Gibson. Think Numa Numa Kid. Who? Exactly my point).

What the Internet giveth, the Internet taketh.

But I digress (which happens often here by the way).

I felt sorry for Mitt Romney in the first ten seconds after I read about (and later saw) the recordings taken by someone at a closed-door fundraiser of his. What happened to the sacred divide between public and private? What has the world come to if one cannot speak with candor at a private event? If one has to worry about tapes of one speaking one’s mind behind a closed door being leaked and then shared and reshared across the Interwebs faster than one could stick one’s foot in one’s mouth?

Here is one of the choicest quotes from Romney’s private speech to his wealthy donors back in May, in case you have not encountered it (i.e. your butcher’s wife’s brother-in-law has not sent it to you yet):

There are 47 percent of the people who will vote for the president no matter what. All right, there are 47 percent who are with him, who are dependent upon government, who believe that they are victims, who believe the government has a responsibility to care for them, who believe that they are entitled to health care, to food, to housing, to you-name-it. That that’s an entitlement. And the government should give it to them. And they will vote for this president no matter what… These are people who pay no income tax…

My job is is not to worry about those people. I’ll never convince them they should take personal responsibility and care for their lives.”

Transcription of the above quotes from Mother Jones

In addition, the following is actually my favorite because Romney told a joke and his audience actually laughed! Who said that he had trouble connecting with his voters?

“My dad, as you probably know, was the governor of Michigan and was the head of a car company. But he was born in Mexico… and had he been born of, uh, Mexican parents, I’d have a better shot at winning this. But he was unfortunately born to Americans living in Mexico. He lived there for a number of years. I mean, I say that jokingly, but it would be helpful to be Latino.”

Sounded like someone who was denied entrance to a university and blamed on all those people of color for taking his spot. We can debate the (de)merits of Affirmative Action until the cows come home, but, wait, News Flash! You are running for the President of the United States, and your strategy is to whine about it being “Not fair!”?

Not surprisingly, Romney’s got the facts wrong. I don’t really fault him for it, for about ten seconds, since he is not the only one getting confused. Thanks to Fact Checkers (courtesy of Washington Post), we know the following

“Some 44 percent of those who do not pay income taxes are because they benefit from tax benefits aimed at the elderly, while another 30 percent benefit from tax credits for children or for the working poor…

But not all of these people are automatically Obama supporters. In fact, according to a map published by the Tax Foundation, eight of the top ten states with the lowest income-tax liability are the heart of Romney country — the deep south. The only exceptions are Florida, a battleground state, and New Mexico, which leans toward Obama. Meanwhile, most of the states with the lowest level of nonpayers are Obama states.

As for other entitlements, of course Social Security and Medicare are reserved for the elderly — and are generally popular. But it seems simplistic to think these are all Obama voters, especially since polling indicates that the Republican share of the vote among white seniors have increased in each of the last five elections, to 58 percent in 2008.” [Emphasis mine]

Or, you could save yourself some time by looking at this easy-to-read chart from Tax Policy Center:

So there you have it.

Ever since the release of the tape on Mother Jones there has been a lot of outcry by the “liberal media” against Romney’s equating Obama voters with people who wait for government handouts (and vice versa). The Washington Post went a bit on the side of overdramatic and called this “Mitt Romney’s Darkest Hour“, and so did one of Bloomberg‘s bloggers who predicted “Today, Mitt Romney Lost the Election“.

All the brouhaha aside, IMO, this is not going to change anybody’s mind. On the contrary, any such talk will most likely deepen the resentment felt by many GOP supporters who are already deeply suspicious of the so-called liberal media. (Thanks to Faux News.) I don’t see white seniors changing their minds because of what Romney was caught saying. It’s the liberal media’s fault! It’s a conspiracy! as it always is. The “fact checkers” are probably in on it too! There is no winning an argument if people whose minds you are trying to change distrust “facts”. Besides, when Romney’s talking about people who sit around and wait for handouts, he was obviously not talking about THEM. It is not an outcome I’d like to see if Romney somehow comes out of this 47%gate a victim of “espionage” planned by the Obama campaign. I can already see them turning this whole thing around by pointing a finger at the  oh-so-scary, conniving “liberal media” in cahoots with the Dems.

 

 

So why am I wasting your time with this mental dribble?

 

Here is a collection of Tweets today from my Twitter stream. Quickly! I’d better put this up before HuffPo publishes yet another Top 10 Most Hilarious Tweets on [some mistake made by some celeb’s] masked as journalism.

 

In conclusion…

How to Suck at Tipping

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I know that I suffer from a severe case of liberal guilt and that’s why I don’t think I can truly relax in places where there is a clear demarcation, often times physically, between the privileged and the underprivileged. You can accuse me of being a hypocrite if you want. I would not know how to defend myself. So there. 

I am in Shanghai now on a business trip. I never feel truly comfortable when I am in China because people mistake me easily for a local (I can fake a Beijing accent when speaking Chinese vs. my natural, Taiwanese-accented Mandarin Chinese) and yet they could tell that there is something off about me. They’d ask me where I am from. When I explained that I grew up in Taiwan and now live in the US, inevitably there would be lots of questions about the comparisons between Taiwan and China, the US and China, and the topic always leads to, uncomfortably at least for me, how I have a much better life.

“You went to good school.” They’d conclude with regret or longing or something in their voice, if the person I’m speaking to is from outside of the upper-middle class.

The hotel I am staying in provides massage services until 2 am. It sounded like an awesome idea: travelers with jet lags will LOVE to be able to get a massage when they have trouble going to bed anyway. So I called the extension and booked a 60-minute acupressure massage session in my room.

“So where are you from?” My masseuse asked as she tried to figure out in which direction I should lie on the bed. I was still confused because she had come in with nothing. Where’s the oil? The lotion? The blanket? The towel?

“Taiwan? Wow. It must be a lot nicer over there.” I tried to deflect the conversation by suggesting that people love coming to China nowadays because of the opportunities.

“More opportunities?”

“Yeah, you know. More land. More people…” My voice trailed off as I backed myself into a corner. Sure enough, she told me that she’s not from here. “We came from [another province].” Instinctively, I understood that she’d meant “we, the masseuses working at this hotel”. She was here, like many other migrant workers from rural China, by herself leaving behind two children and aging parents.

She told me about the farms back home, how before she got married at 23 she was already considered to be an old spinster, how massages were unheard of because god forbid if the neighbors got wind that either you got a massage from a man or you gave a man a massage.

She said that she wished she could visit Taiwan some day. I suggested jokingly that perhaps she should visit other places before Taiwan if she ever has a chance. “But when will I have a chance to visit another country? It costs so much!” I simply forgot how much it costs to travel, to fly on an airplane overseas. My plane tickets to Shanghai cost almost $2000 USD, which translates roughly into 4 months of her wages if she works every single day.

Finally came the question I dreaded the most, “How much are you paid over in the US?” (Yes, people do ask you this question sometimes.)

I gave a lame response of how salaries may be higher in the US but our costs of living are higher and also we have to pay more taxes. Lots more. She didn’t seem to mind my not answering her question.

“I am paid 100 yuan a day. I did so many massages today but I will still get 100 yuan.”

I was surprised. And embarrassed somehow. In my panic, I also wished that I had pretended to speak no Chinese. Then I felt extremely guilty and ashamed of myself.

“You know, you are smart [why’s she so sure of that?] and you went to good school [ibid]. Me? I don’t know how to do anything. No skills. No brains.” She said, matter-of- factly.

Fortunately for me our conversation veered off when she got to my derrière. She said jokingly, “You look so thin but oh your [backside] is so big!” I was not offended the least because I was so relieved.

“Hey. That’s what they call Son-bearing hip, ok? All the grandmothers loved me when I was young. They know I’d be popping out boy babies.”

“Oh, my butt is huge too.”

We bonded over son-bearing hips. And thick thighs. Yes, once I turned to lie on my back, she was surprised by how “there is no meat on your face”. She proceeded to wonder out loud how it’s possible that I could have such thick thighs since my arms and my mid region looked great. I wanted to hug her for the compliments. These were sincere and not backhanded at all.

By the end of the session, I had determined to give her a great tip even though tipping is a complex matter in China. Yes, hotel workers cater to Westerners may have come to expect tips, most Chinese are not accustomed to it. Some people actually resent the thought that “foreigners are training workers in China to expect tips from all”.

“I don’t have the exact change. How about you bring these to them and keep the change. Will they let you keep the change?”

She looked utterly confused. “Don’t you have exact change?”

“No. I am sorry. That’s what I meant though: go downstairs with the money, and keep the change. If I give you these bills, will the change go to you at all?”

“Oh no. No. They’ll never give me the change.”

“Ok, here’s what you are going to do: Give them the bills. Tell them I asked you to bring the change up to me. But then just go home.”

Now she looked scared. “They may catch me leaving with the money… I will bring the money to your room.”

As she hurried out, it dawned on me that this might not have been the best idea because what was I trying to prove? What was I trying to do to this poor woman so I could feel better about myself?

A knock on my door.

“Hi. Good evening. Here’s your change back.” Standing there, holding out the money was not my masseuse but a better-dressed, more cosmopolitan-looking young woman.

Somehow I was not surprised. Of course they wouldn’t allow her to bring the change back to me. I was saddened, imagining my masseuse’s disappointment caused by me.

Why did I try to meddle in somebody’s life?

Another knock on my door.

“Oh, I was so scared! Did she bring you your change?” Now she’s embarrassed. “I just want to make sure that you’ve got your change. They told me that I could leave. So I made a turn when nobody’s looking and came upstairs.”

Giving someone a tip should not made either the giver or the receiver feel as if they’re having an illicit affair. I was really upset at “them” by this time. The irony did not escape me of course.

Her eyes widened as I pushed the change into her hand. “What are you doing? You are nuts.”

“Well, you know. I used a coupon and I think you the person who did all the work should enjoy this reward and not me.”

 

It’s now past 3 am here. I am not sleepy at all. I don’t know what I am trying to say by recounting my encounter with my impotent conscience.

Maybe I am hoping that one of you will call me out on it as an atonement.

 

What One Could Learn from the Game of Life

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Bad mommy confession: I hate playing board games. I still have horrible memories of spending hours playing Monopoly that would not end, and of course I went into bankruptcy half way through the game followed by a streak of bad lucks. Five hours later I was exhausted and bitter. That’s why even though my 9-year-old has been begging me to play the game of Life for weeks, I did not grant him this one tiny wish until this afternoon.

And, as you could guess, I am glad I did and we had great fun playing it.

Things I learned from playing the Game of Life:

1. You start out with a bank loan of $100,000 if you choose the “College Career” path.

2. Teacher’s salary sucks because it starts out at 40K and maxes out at 70K.

3. See above. College Career does not necessary pay, unless you are a doctor or a lawyer. But since you have no idea which career path you would land in — a card is randomly drawn, you are better off going on the “regular career” path.

4. Being an entertainer has great potential of making a steady, 6-figure, income. I am sold!

5. Spending a lot of money buying a flashy house does not get you anything in the end. You get to sell your house back to the bank for the exact same amount of money that you paid for.

6. See above. A double-wide RV costs 300K. Therefore I am not sure why I traded my starter home, a log cabin, up for a RV. “It’s just for bragging rights, mom. You are so dumb.”

7. My kids are risky gamblers: They are not allowed into any casinos. I am submitting their names and pictures and retina scan data to the Secret Casino Bouncer Club (there is one right?) so they would be barred from entering any casino.

8. I set out playing the game determined to NOT get married. But I was dealt the card so I had to bite the bullet (or lie in it or something). With lots of whining.

“Mom, get a pink one! Be a rebel!” My oldest encouraged me.

“Oh, that would be weird.” My youngest said, unsurely.

“Well, that’s a good idea. We should represent all different types of families!” I put another pink pin in my car. So in this game I was in a same-sex marriage, and my wife and I ended up having three children (with two of them being twins).

I did have to apologize (to nobody in particular) when I mumbled, “I wish my wife is good at raising kids because I ain’t doing all that.”

See? Gender roles. I can’t get pass the stereotypical thinking even in my pretend Life. Ugh.

 

All Charisma and No Confidence

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I have signed up for some training courses offered at work, one of them is called “How to present with confidence”. Yes, at 40+, I still struggle with opening my mouth in front of a group larger than 5. It’s a miracle that I even survived this many years in corporate America. Someone overheard me and commented, “Is this the same as the course ‘How to present with charisma?'” “Nope. I am not qualified to take the charisma class,” I joked.  I then made everybody laugh when I said, “Actually, I am all charisma and no confidence.”

I thought about this throwaway punchline on my 2-hour flight back home. (I am trying to read Jonathan Franzen’s Freedom and unfortunately my brains seem to want to think of anything else but focusing on that book…) We were laughing because it is impossible, right? to have charisma when one does not have any confidence. Doesn’t charisma come from a surplus of self-confidence?

However, deep down I knew I was kidding on the square when I threw out this line. I have been known to be charming on many occasions, but I never ever feel truly confident.

Is it possible to fake confidence and/or charisma? And if you fake it, is it still confidence / charisma or is it something else altogether? Could it be possible that charisma sometimes comes from one’s unawareness, unassumingness, and humility? Something more akin to quiet grace?

But of course, I already know this definition of charisma is, at best, marginal, if not considered outright incorrect, in a course titled “How to Present with Charisma” and the business world that propagate such courses.

Head. Desk.

I am unrepentant though, and probably will continue to be even after taking the “confidence” training. And I will continue to smile at the thought that I am all charisma and no confidence. Secretly, of course.

 

The Instagram Diary

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There you go…

Oversharing on the road.

p.s. Will continue until I get home and start the long winding road of unpacking and adjusting to time zone and crying myself to sleep because I don’t want to go back to work…

 

[instapress tag=”oversharingontheroad” piccount=”24″ size=”90″ effect=”fancybox” title=”1″ paging=”1″]

Crossing Something Off of My Bucket List Finally

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image

Flying Global First on United. We are all giddy with excitement. Better than Disneyland. In the back of my mind though, I’m surprised even though I shouldn’t have by the opulence of it. Is this how the riches have been living, day on and day out? After downing two glasses of champaign that the smiling flight attendant handed me right away, I’m somehow feeling kind of… Dirty…

I am not here

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No, really.

Perhaps I am having too much faith in the universality of Internet access, and also in the lasting prowess of my cellphone battery. I am hoping that I could continue to overshare while traveling to/in Asia. I said Asia because I am going to be in Shanghai and then Taipei, and you know, I cannot say China because then we are getting into the realm of political messiness… We certainly can’t have that, can we?

I am very excited because I connected with my second brother finally over the phone. It’s a long story. Anyway, my brother the Japanese chef (is this the right way of describing him? If I say “French chef”, am I saying the chef is French or the chef masters in French cuisine? But “a chef in a French restaurant” sounds so cumbersome and so much less cool…) is in Suzhou right now which is about an hour away from Shanghai, and he is going to pick us up at the airport and put us up in the fancy hotel he works at.

I chuckle at the thought that I will be the FIRST person from my family to visit this hotel, considering how Taipei is only a 2-hour flight away from Shanghai, and in contrast, I am flying from the other side of the globe…

I am getting more and more excited about seeing my brother whom I have not seen for many years. He’s going to be so surprised when he sees my oldest son who is now 6 feet tall. He is probably going to be surprised to see how much I have aged. I know he still sees me in his mind as this snotty-nosed girl who’s 11 years younger, baby of the family.

It’s kind of funny how we tend to remember our siblings the way they looked when we were all much younger. When you see them after many years being apart, you’re caught off guard by the reality of it all, that many years have gone by, what has happened that they now look so old, and the grand finale of your thought process, “Hell, no. That means I am old now too!” Fortunately, things start to look up as soon as you start reminiscing, making fun of the dorky things your parents said or did (including how they beat you with a belt. Ha ha. That’s funny now looking back decades later…)

I am just rambling now. I need to go finish packing and actually work on the projects that I’ve promised to wrap up before I leave for vacation. I am thinking: Well, I will have 12 hours on my flight from SFO to PVG to be devoted to work… (Yeah, right. We all know how that usually turns out…)

Technology. Don’t fail me now!

xxoo