I grew up in an area in Taipei right next to the then only airport. I have always been fascinated by and loved airports because to me back then, airports meant adventures and exotic places that I could only dream of, and more importantly, I only got to go there when my father came home from his stints abroad and we were there to welcome him.
Now that I travel for work on a regular basis, airports are now simply a transition place. They are simply some place I have to pass by, to tolerate, before I get to where I have to go.
Airports in general do not go through drastic changes. They stay the same for a long time. And that is why whenever I step into an airport that I have been to, even from a long time ago, I immediately get this sense of familiarity.
Yeah, I have been here. I am oriented. It is not scary at all…
Of all the airports I have been to, Narita outside of Tokyo occupies a special place in my heart. Unlike the other airports, even O’hare my “home” airport, Narita is not simply a point of transition for me. I must have come through here more than a couple of dozen times, half of the times on my way home. It is the same each time. As I step onto the wide walkway from the jetway, my heart starts pounding. It’s like before that I have been holding my breath, not sure that I would make it home. But now I am in Tokyo, I am only one 3-hour flight away from home. It’s real. I am going home. I get excited and emotional. And then quickly, my happiness takes a detour when I remember how soon I will have to go through this airport again.
It is a long walk of complex emotions as I move from the plane, through the security check point, and then to the gate for my flight to Taipei. Sometimes I dread saying goodbye so much that I have this irrational urge to turn back.
I want to show you the best thing at the Narita Airport: the automatic beer pouring machine. Look at the perfect foam on top! In order to make this video I had to have a second beer. Oh the sacrifice I made for you guys!
.
.
I have made it a habit to take pictures of the view outside the window as I fly. Today as the plane was approaching the airport, the view outside so mesmerized me that I forgot to put my iPhone away. I ended up with 82 photos. I strung together these and the other photos I took on my previous trips to New York and Boston and made a 30-second video:
.
.
As I was going through my photos on Picasa, I noticed the Geo tagging actually showed the landing path of the plane into Narita Airport. For a dork like me, it is beyond cool.
.
.
Here is one of the pictures I took to show you the reason why I was mesmerized as the plane descended into Tokyo today.
I wish I were there. But I am here at home, trying to restore my own sanity, in a very personal, trivial way.
Some dear friends that I have the honor of getting to know were there on the Mall in D.C. witnessing history: Nancy at Mature Landscaping. Renee at Life In the Boomer Lane who actually wrote an excellent post about WHY she was going to the rally. “Dufmanno” who was there with all her family who traveled from New York, New Jersey and Maryland. I cannot wait to read their recounting of this historical day!
.
While we are waiting for our blogosphere personal news reporter to take a breather and share with us their stories, here is the most basic, yet important, piece of information about Rally for Sanity that got me all excited and scream BOOYAH! to the monitor:
.
.
According to CBS, an estimated 215,000 people attended the rally today. This means:
Sanity, 215000. Crazy, 87000.
.
Sanity won. Who knew?!
.
Jon Stewart’s closing speech deserves to be quoted in full as Rolling Stone has honorably decided to do (Note: You can find a nearly comprehensive transcript of Stewart’s speech on Rolling Stone since they did not want to reduce the 10-minute speech to a mere sound bite. Or you can watch the 12-minute video here). I am however guilty as charged since by Ctrl+C & Ctrl+V I hope to be as close to awesomeness as I possibly could…
There are terrorists and racists and Stalinists and theocrats, but those are titles that must be earned. You must have the resume. Not being able to distinguish between real racists and tea partiers, or real bigots and Juan Williams and Rich Sanchez is an insult — not only to those people, but to the racists themselves, who have put forth the exhausting effort it takes to hate. Just as the inability to distinguish between terrorists and Muslims makes us less safe, not more.
The press is our immune system. If it overreacts to everything we eventually get sicker. And perhaps eczema. Yet, with that being said, I feel good. Strangely, calmly good, because the image of Americans that is reflected back to us by our political and media process is false. It is us through a funhouse mirror, and not the good kind that makes you slim and taller — but the kind where you have a giant forehead and an ass like a pumpkin and one eyeball.
[As a metaphor] These cars… Everyone of the cars that you see is filled with individuals of strong belief and principles they hold dear — often principles and beliefs in direct opposition to their fellow travelers.
And yet these millions of cars must somehow find a way to squeeze one by one into a mile-long, 30-foot wide tunnel carved underneath a mighty river…And they do it. Concession by concession. You go. Then I’ll go. You go, then I’ll go… Sure, at some point there will be a selfish jerk who zips up the shoulder and cuts in at the last minute. But that individual is rare and he is scorned, and he is not hired as an analyst.
Because we know instinctively as a people that if we are to get through the darkness and back into the light we have to work together and the truth is, there will always be darkness. And sometimes the light at the end of the tunnel isn’t the promised land. Sometimes it’s just New Jersey. But we do it anyway, together.
If you want to know why I’m here and what I want from you I can only assure you this: you have already given it to me. You’re presence was what I wanted. Sanity will always be and has always been in the eye of the beholder. To see you here today and the kind of people that you are has restored mine. Thank you.
And, drum roll please, here’s my favorite one, hands down, or inside…
.
.
.
I was able to watch Saturday Night Life on television (as opposed to on Hulu) tonight while I folded the laundry, as part of my “Restore My Sanity” one-woman rally the eve before Halloween… In the cold open, Joe “The Veep” Biden (as hilariously played by Jason Sudeikis) asked Americans to gain some perspectives by comparing themselves to the Chilean miners. They sang their national anthem every day while trapped underground. They prevailed. And when they were rescued they wrapped themselves in the Chilean flag as if Chile had just won the World Cup.
For people that complain, Biden/Sudeikis has a checklist for them:
Are you above ground?
(Long pause)
That’s it. That’s the only item on the checklist.
Don’t be the whiners. Think of the miners!
.
.
.
Courtesy: www.maturelandscaping.com
Update: Here’s the post by Nancy at Mature Landscaping about her experience at the Rally. Here is the sign sported by her group. It is awesome.
When I learned that David Sedaris is on a tour for his new book Squirrel Seeks Chipmunk: A Modest Bestiary, I knew I had to do something. I checked his agent’s website and saw that he would be in Milwaukee, Wisconsin for a book reading, in addition to book signing. Since I did not think I would be able to fight the rabid fans in downtown Chicago for the book signing, the book reading at Riverside Theatre in Milwaukee sounded like something worth driving 1.5 hour to. So I did.
I am glad I went. First of all, when I asked the bar tender at the bar in the basemen which was EMPTY how much a beer cost, she said with a sheepish grin, apologetically, “4 dollars…” I tried to suppress my smile. This theatre is not called PABST Theater for nothing! What’s more: a cranberry with Grey Goose cost $6, $2 more and you got yourself a double! I fell in love with Milwaukee right then and there.
A book reading by David Sedaris is everything that you may have expected and more if you have listened to appearances on NPR or his audio books, watched one of his appearances on David Letterman. Here are some random things I can still recall from last night while still overcoming the shock…
.
Always bring a pen and paper with you. Mr. Sedaris did not say this of course. It was what I was thinking when I was sitting there in the dark, murmuring to myself, repeating all the brilliant things he said, hoping by doing so I could at least remember some of them. Afterwards, I raced home in the torrential rain, mind blank, hoping I would get home in time before I forgot everything. (Of course, utterly exhausted, I went straight to bed. So glad I did not get myself killed on the highway. Would have been totally not worth the sacrifice…)
.
Here’s what I made sure to commit to memory by saying it over and over again in my head, with my eyes shut at one moment the way I did when I was memorizing school works:
“I want my hand to know what excellence feels like”
.
After he finished most of his readings, Mr. Sedaris took out a book and told everybody to go and get it. Simply brilliant. Everything Ravaged. Everything Burned by Wells Tower. He read a very short excerpt from the book, sighed, in awe of the way the author used the words, or rather, arranged the words, “I would like to know how he came up with these?” Then Mr. Sedaris explained how he has this habit of writing down brilliant things that he comes across because
I want my hand to know what excellence feels like.
.
He read the story “The Grieving Owl” from his latest book Squirrel Seeks Chipmunk, which was not, as would have been assumed, a collection of fables because “fables have morals.” Here’s the line that’s been etched into my mind:
It’s not just that they’re stupid, my family — that, I could forgive. It’s that they’re actively against knowledge…
.
About having people he has always imagined to read his stories actually read his stories in the audio version, he could not believe that Elaine Stritch actually read his stories. “If you are gay, you know Elaine Stritch. I don’t care if you have sex with another man, if you don’t know Elaine Stritch, you are not a homosexual.”
.
Mr. Sedaris walked up to the stage with a stack of papers. No Apple iBook for him. From the pile of paper precariously balanced on top of a wooden stool, he extracted a folder and read the audience a “whimsy” of his, because he did not know how better to label it, titled I Brake for Traditional Marriage. It started out with a “typical” middle-aged white American couple in a clearly disintegrating marriage and family unity getting outraged by the news of the overturn of Prop 8 this August. His tone remained humorous and irreverent, and that’s why we were all shocked when the man took a shotgun out and blew his daughter’s head off. It is a black comedy, so to speak. And though I should not have been surprised, for the first time I felt the anger in him towards the whole anti-gay sentiments exhibited by conservative America especially in their vociferous condemnation against gay marriage. Somehow this defiance, coming from him, the studious, introverted, “humorist” who actually looks more like a college professor, greatly moved me because it was burning the way quiet rage burns underneath the comedic story telling.
.
I now wish I still had the subscription to The New Yorker so I could quote you some of the choice lines from “Standing By” which he also read last night. It started out as an innocuous story about disgruntled passengers stranded and lined up at an airport ticket counter and evolved into an insightful, even as it was laugh-out-funny, observation bordering on criticism of the current polemic political climate. On the sad state of traveling attire, in addition to freaturing a t-shirt with the words ““Freaky Mothafocka” in the story, here is another widely quoted gem:
“I should be used to the way American dress when travelling, yet still it manages to amaze me. It’s as if the person next to you had been washing shoe polish off a pig, then suddenly threw down his sponge, saying, “Fuck this. I’m going to Los Angeles!”
I laughed till tears came out when he said he would really like to know a person’s political leaning before he engaged in a conversation when the person made a comment such as “None of them want to work, that’s the problem”, and also when he realized the two men behind him were complaining about Obama (and not Bush/Cheney), “Isn’t it amazing how quickly one man can completely screw up a country?” But Obama had been in the White House for 6 months! All that hate. You don’t think we can hate too? Think you can out-hate me, asshole?
Towards the end, he began reading his entries from his journal, the best part IMO, and therefore the following is strictly paraphrasing…
As I watched an old lady… I noticed her bumper sticker that said “Marriage = A Man + A Woman”. *pause* As I watched this old hag *The entire auditorium broke into a hysterical hooting* … … There should be a law against people parking at handicapped park spaces from making opinions. “You’ve got the best spot already. So shut the fuck up!” *More hooting and applause*
On upon learning about barn owl ring bearers which will swoop down to the groom wearing a leather glove and delivering the rings, and upon the delivery, will be rewarded with a live mouse or some other small animals…
For the first time, for all the right reasons, I really want to get married!
On doing book reading and signing in Raleigh, NC, his hometown: His brother brought boxes of bookmarks for him to pass out at these events, showing his brother completely nude with “Sedaris Hardwood Floors” covering the genital area.
.
The audience were asked to share their best jokes as he signs their books, especially ethnic jokes, since he may as well be an equal opportunity offender so he needs to replenish his joke supply. I cranked my brains but could not remember any racist jokes. I really suck at being Chinese. Nonetheless, the following are some of the jokes he shared (and his introduction to the jokes, paraphrased of course):
Here is a great joke for you at an interview. You know how at the end of a job interview, they always ask you whether you have any questions? Ok, so here, here is the question you are going to ask:
What’s the difference between a Camaro and an erection?
I don’t have a Camaro.
I feel sorry for people who have a Camaro and women because you cannot tell this joke.
.
This post has taken me more than five hours to put together because I did not want to screw it up. Well, time spent does not guarantee quality but it surely adds to the quantity. It has gone on too long and it is already, in fact, 4 am on Monday. I should stop here and continue my tale of how I got the Chinese version of When You Are Engulfed in Flames from David Sedaris.
In closing, I will leave you with this to ponder…
.
One of the best t-shirts David Sedaris has seen says this:
I’d call you a cunt but you lack the depth or the warmth.
.
.
The Chinese version of his book puzzled Mr. Sedaris: for some bizarre reason, there is a cat, a dog, and an embossed pipe in the middle, on the cover.
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.
How do you know you have arrived? How about if google celebrates your birthday with a special google logo in honor of your birthday?
.
If you can look past the unibrow and the mustache, Frida Kahlo was one heck of an attractive woman exactly because she exudes confidence and willful neglect for rules of all sorts. She swore all the time, hosted wild parties, sang loudly and told dirty jokes at those parties. By all accounts, she was vibrant, magnetic, despite the pains she lived with, not some metaphysical angst that artists are often plagued with (though I suspect that she experienced that too), but real, physical pains.
She was in a catastrophic bus accident and the damages she suffered included, the worst part, an iron handrail piercing her abdomen, breaking her spinal column in three places and then exiting through her pelvis.
Thus started her tumultuous and fascinating life as an artist who became one of the most prolific painters of her lifetime.
It is ironic that she seemed to be one of the most liberated people, one of the very few who were truly free, when all her life she was plagued with physical pain and suffering.
.
Guess which one is the young Frida Kahlo?
.
Her own words on why and how she painted are especially resonating as she is remembered today. On her 103rd birthday.
I paint self-portraits because I am so often alone, because I am the person I know best.
I paint my own reality. The only thing I know is that I paint because I need to, and I paint whatever passes through my head without any other consideration.
.
And in all honesty, the following is my favorite. God, you’ve got to love this woman!
They are so damn “intellectual” and rotten that I can’t stand them anymore… I [would] rather sit on the floor in the market of Toluca and sell tortillas, than have anything to do with those “artistic” bitches of Paris.
— on the European surrealists and specifically Andre Breton in a letter to Nickolas Muray (1939)
Many of the things that we do or don’t do can be legitimized if only we could find a proper name for it, in conjunction with a cool, catchy definition.
.
.
Once you settle on a name, remember to capitalize it to make it into a Thing. Like so.
.
.
To further reinforce the legitimacy of your parenting style, google and see whether you can find books written based on a similar premise. And of course there it is, out of the 16,562 books listed on Amazon.com under “Parenting (paperback)”.
.
“The Idle Parent: Why Less Means More When Raising Kids” in the UK; curiously, "Why Laid-Back Parents Raise Happier and Healthier Kids" in the US with a less inspiring cover...
.
Voilà! You’ve got yourself a legitimate school of thoughts to follow (or continue to do or not do what you have been doing or not doing)…
As this article in The New York Times says, “[Y]ou can turn guilt on its head and call it a parenting philosophy.”
“The one constant over the past century has been parents’ determination to find the right answers when it comes to raising their children. In this latest chapter, we have replaced the experts who told us what a good parent worries about with experts who tell us that a good parent doesn’t worry so much. We may even see parents stop aiming to prove how perfect they are and start trying to prove how nonchalant they are.”
.
.
A week before Father’s Day, I asked Mr. Monk to sign the card for my father-in-law. (Let’s for now park the burning question of WHY as soon as you entered into a committed, heterosexual relationship, all remembering and gift giving for miscellaneous dates and holidays became the woman’s job… Yes, let’s shelf it for now until we have some free time…)
“You should put lipstick on and put kisses all over the card to go with the big hug.” I said, without thinking. I was being witty.
“Can I? Oh, can I?” There were stars in his eyes. This kid has been dying to try on my makeup if it were not for the death threat issued by his father.
“Sure. Why not!” I grabbed the camera, thinking, “Honey, this is what happens when you are not around to sign your own father’s Father’s Day card!”
I took the first flight out to Boston this morning. Right before we took off, the flight attendant announced that we had an Olympic Silver medalist in our midst: Molly Schaus, Goalie on the US Olympic Women’s Hockey team, was on the flight. We all clapped. The flight attendant walked down the aisle with the Silver Medal so that we could see the medal. I so wanted to touch it but of course I didn’t ask…
I was surprised to realize that Molly was sitting in the very back of the plane. For sure, for someone that just won us a Silver medal at the Winter Olympics you’d thought United Airlines would have given her a better seat. But the flight was full, and I’d like to assume that otherwise the crew would have tried hard to set her up with a better seat.
After I got off the plane, I waited by the gate, feeling a bit silly and awkward. I frantically tried to google her name on my Blackberry to make sure that I’d heard the flight attendant correctly. At the same time I was panicking since really, HOW was I going to recognize her?! Then business suits walked past me one after another. No. Not Molly. No. Not her. No way that’s her. Then I saw a young woman by herself, and you could tell by the way she carried herself that she is a professional athlete. Isn’t it amazing someone like me who never ever likes to exercise knows this about an athlete?
This may surprise you, but I am shy, in front of strangers, in public. I mustered up all the courage I had at that moment to step into the middle of the walkway and asked, “Are you Molly?”
She looked a bit surprised, but quickly smiled and said, “Yes.”
I extended my hand, and thankfully she took it. I shook her hand and said, “Congratulations!!!”
She seemed happy and maybe a bit shy about my putting her on the spot. “Thanks!” she said. Then I watched her walk away.
Imagine that. An Olympic Silver Medalist. And I shook her hand!
.
Sorry about the quality of the picture. I didn’t see anybody else taking out their phones to take a picture of this awesome moment, and frankly, was a bit disappointed at my planemates for not making a big deal out of this. This IS a big deal. Or is it just me? Anyway, I am still very excited about this chance encounter. Silly? Maybe. But you bet I will forever seek out the news of Molly Schaus and cheer for her.
One of the Hallmark Holiday is celebrated on this day.
It also happens to be the day Anna Howard Shaw was born. Ms. Shaw was a leader of the women’s suffrage movement and a physician nonetheless. In the 19th century. A female physician. Imagine that.
Liz Lemon on 30 Rock dared to lead the movement to displace Valentine’s Day by shouting “Happy Anna Howard Shaw Day!” and I am sorely tempted to follow her lead…
(Watch the best episode of 30 Rock, in fact arguably the best “Valentine’s Day” episode in the TV Sitcom history so far, imo, “Anna Howard Shaw Day”…)
… IF it were not for the Valentine’s Day “card” I received from Mr. Monk…
"No matter how much you are stressed out I still love you"
So… In the spirit of Valentine’s Day, this is the card I really really would love to give to Mr. because I am a truth seeker…
Turns out, the card goes both ways... (Courtesy of Marcy @ "The Glamorous Life")
This year, February 14 also happens to be the Chinese New Year Day. The Chinese operated (and still do to a large extent) by the lunar calendar which makes a lot of sense if you are (or have been) an agriculture-based society and your livelihood depends on knowing the climate and weather and minor things like that.
We have all been asked of this quiz question before:
What Super Power do you wish you had?
I still don’t know what my answer should be.
Flying?
Mind control?
Teleporting?
“The ability to eat as much as I want without gaining any weight”. Yeah. That’s what I am thinking right at this moment.
You all know The Bloggess. She of the power of turning everything into a hilarious nature. Really. We should send her to the frontline, protected inside an armor car of course, and give her a microphone. She has the Super Power of turning people into a howling, thigh-slapping, LMAOROTF, Dionysian mass. And believe me: I normally do not like touching my own thighs. Except one thigh would always inadvertently touching the other, but that cannot be helped. I sometimes would get mind-clarifying, “Come to Jesus” moments when I read her blog. It ain’t all fluff.
“I have the intellectual confidence to appear stupid sometimes.”
THIS, is one of the best quotes I have learned in my whole life. Now, please repeat it with me:
“I have the intellectual confidence to appear stupid sometimes.”
I believe, by internalizing this line, we can all be liberated from self-consciousness and self-censorship. I believe this will be especially helpful for women climbing the corporate ladder, especially if the work place is predominantly male.
At first I thought that men are so good at “chiming in” and “making their points” at any meeting because they somehow were privy to this secret. Nah. Based on my years of ethnographic study of the male species in the corporate jungle, I believe that they are so good at “speaking up” because, unlike women who are often self-reflexive, most men never even consider the possibility that what comes out of their mouth may just be flat out the stupidest thing someone has ever heard of. See, they never apologize before they speak. The strength of not giving a damn. THAT is the Super Power I would like to have.
Today’s BOGO special:
In addition to the quote above that can serve as an awesomely witty throw-away remark when someone suggests that you are intelligence-challenged, AFTER you sucker punch them of course, here is another motto for you to use in your role as Truth Seeker:
We are entitled to our own opinions; we’re not entitled to our own facts.— Al Franken
I was thinking since I am all over the map going from warm fuzzy pictures of my kids smiling like angels to crazy ass inappropriate jokes and cursing to crazy ass all-out ranting on people/events/things that piss me off. I either have ADHD or Bi-Polar, I realized, or as my husband would gladly tell you, “Insane in the Membrane”. I was thinking, perhaps I should create a Warning System for my blog.
Don't you wish there is such a system for everything in life?
I really like how Homeland Security did the color coded chart because, as we all know, homo sapiens (“Not that there’s anything wrong with it.”) are visual animals. Really, when I see the ORANGE color at the airport, I become appreciative and understanding of the 1-hour wait at the security line. When disaster strikes, nothing is going to get my fat ass moving faster than seeing a RED flag waving in the air.
Won’t it be cool if I have a Warning System for this blog, before you start reading a post, you would know what to expect:
Blog Advisory System: Don't say I didn't warn you!
Of course, after an hour of working on my Blog Advisory system, I realized that no Advisory System is going to reach the goal of MECE: Mutually Exclusive and Collectively Exhaustive. Mock ye not. This is something the McKinsey & Co. consultants live and die by. And they get paid big bucks for being anal retentive. No shit. For instance, it worries me that the heartless dicks and grouchiest bitches amongst you will need a special warning such as this one:
Well, like I said, don’t say that I didn’t warn you…
