Tag Archives: what keeps me awake

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!

 

 

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.

 

Lucky

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Before she started telling you the story, she would have said, before anything else, “This journal entry has a happy ending.”

The red light on her phone was blinking. Somehow she’d missed a phone call when she knew that nobody would be calling her. Not on her cell anyway. Her husband was out of the country, her children only TXT now, and her mother would only call the landline (because she’d never bothered to give her her cellphone number) and always when it was way past bedtime (because figuring out time zone difference becomes a lot harder once day light savings time change is (not) taken into account)

The unfamiliar number shown had the local area code. With smart phones nowadays our relationship is discreetly judged by whether you show up as a name (from Contacts) or as a mere phone number. The persistent blinking red light indicated that the person had left a voice mail. She was annoyed. Really. Who in this day still leaves voice mails? She dreads checking her voicemails on the very few occasions when some un-indoctrinated people leave them. The problem is they never ever come out clear. Press 1 to repeat the message. Press 1 to repeat. Press 1. Often she ends up pressing 7, reasoning that if the message is important enough, the person will surely call back.

It was a call from some doctor’s office but she could not make out which. She did not think twice when she missed another call from the same number later that day. The call showed up as a mere number and therefore automatically deprioritized. Funny how stupid her logics sound in hindsight.

She jumped when her phone suddenly rang in the midst of the somber silence as she and her children huddled in front of the television, watching the retelling of the horror in Aurora, CO, unfold.

Hello. You need to go in for a follow-up. It’s probably nothing. But we just want to make sure. They noticed something… that looked… calcification…

She held her breath and blinked. She’d forgot about the mammogram the day before.

The doctor wants you to schedule an appointment with the hospital right away and she will fax the order in. Call me right back and let me know the time.

She knew that the doctor’s office was concerned when they waited to hear from her. She went back to sit in front of the television at first as if she had just received a phone call from a telemarketer. The chaos on the screen made her comment out loud how fragile life is.

Oh.

She remembered the call and what it could possibly mean. She wanted to cry.

What if? No… It can’t be, right? No way this is happening to me. Maybe I should be freaking out now? She asked herself. Let’s see how good I really am at compartmentalizing.

She shook her head violently. Stop thinking about it! There is nothing you can do about it except waiting until Monday morning.

When her mind immediately, out of habit, presented silver linings to the worst case scenario, “I can finally quit my job!” I am such a fucking idiot, she chastised herself, ashamed and worried that if her friends who had fought and survived knew this was her first thought, they’d be offended by how she’s trivializing the whole thing. It’s not a fucking excuse! This is no child’s play. For some people, this is real. Too many people actually.

She shook her head violently. Stop thinking about it! There is nothing you can do about it.

She did not tell anybody about the phone call. In fact, by Monday, she herself had forgot about the follow-up appointment and almost missed it. She woke up late on Monday morning because for three nights she stayed up channel surfing. She cried through Brideshead Revisited.

At the hospital, the technician made her stay for the result. Just in case he needs to see something more, she said.

When she pulled her book out from the purse, she felt guilty for not feeling anything. Maybe I should cry, she wondered, what’s the proper behavior at a moment like this? When the radiologist walked into the gowned waiting room and called her husband’s name, she was startled by how scholarly he looked. Almost bookish. Like a professor. He blurted out even before their hands parted, “Everything looks fine,” and smiled. “I didn’t want you to walk down the hallway wondering.”

The humid air rushed into her lung when she pushed open the heavy door to the garage. Her breath suddenly caught in her throat. She fled into the car and shut the door before the violent tears came.

You are such an idiot, she murmured.

Body and Soul. I want to break free.

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

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

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

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

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

 

 

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

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

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

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

 

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

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

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

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I wrote a post titled  I will stab anyone who says “Boys will always be boys”  in October 2010 at the height of teen (and preteen) suicides. With the nation coming together in the movement It Gets Better, I felt relieved.

“People get it now.” I thought. “They are reaching out to our young people. People are taking bullying at school seriously.” I told myself. “There is hope that things will change.”

What the fuck was I thinking?

 

Almost a year from when the movement It Gets Better was first started in September 2010, Mother Jones this week brought to our attention that NINE teenagers have committed suicide in ONE school district in the past two years. (Never mind your first reaction: Why weren’t these cases reported by the news outlet? Now that we have the celeb-endorsed It Gets Better, teen suicides are no longer news-worthy or something?!)  That district, Anoka-Hennepin school district, is the largest in the state of Minnesota with 40,000 students. The situation is so alarming that the area where the school district is located has been identified as a “suicide contagion”, according to the school district website, “because of higher than normal numbers of suicides and suicide attempts.”

Nobody can really pin point precisely why these young people decided to take their own lives. Most of them were either self-identified as gay or were thought and taunted as gay. Wouldn’t you know that the Anoka-Hennepin school district apparently has one of the most homophobic official school policies?

Anoka-Hennepin has a policy on the books known colloquially as “no homo promo,” which dates in back to the mid-1990s. Back then, after several emotional school board meetings, the district essentially wiped gay people out of the school health curriculum. There could be no discussion of homosexuality, even with regard to HIV and AIDS, and the school board adopted a formal policy that stated school employees could not teach that homosexuality was a “normal, valid lifestyle.”

Later the policy was changed to require school staff to remain neutral on issues of homosexuality if they should come up in class, a change that critics said fostered confusion among teachers and contributed to their inability to address bullying and harassment, or to even ask reasonable questions about some of the issues the kids were struggling with, like sexual orientation.  Source: Mother Jones

 

After so many young people have lost to us, people started paying attention and asking questions. The Anoka-Hennepin school district is currently under Federal investigation.  The Southern Poverty Law Center and the National Center for Lesbian Rights have also filed a law suit against the district. (SPLC explains why they are suing Anoka-Hennepin here)

The Anoka-Hennepin school district has been the subject of an investigation since the fall of 2010, after several students and community members came forward to report both verbal and physical bullying and harassment . During the ten month investigation, SPLC heard from students and teachers about concerns regarding the “neutrality” policy and implications of a gag policy in the classroom.

According to Sam Wolfe, lead attorney with the Southern Poverty Law Center, students have reported being called vicious anti-gay slurs and subjected to being physically assaulted pushed into school lockers and trash cans due to their actual or perceived sexual orientation or gender identity. One student even was reportedly attacked by a pencil and stabbed in the back of the neck. Source: WashingtonBlade

 

Maybe it is pure coincidence, but Anoka-Hennepin school district happens to be in Minnesota’s 6th congressional district whose representative is none other than Michele Bachmann.

Michele Bachmann who just recently signed a Christian right conservative family value yada yada group’s pledge which also stated that children born into slavery were somehow better off than children born into modern African American families.

Michele Bachmann who has from the beginning of her political career opposed any education and policy promoting tolerances towards the LGBT communities, who sees a “homosexual agenda” where gay youth would lure and indoctrinate the otherwise non-gay youth into a life of sin.

 

Yes, Michele Bachmann, there IS indeed a "Gay Agenda"...

 

Michele Bachmann who is the favorite of the Tea Party, and is leading the one woman (+ one ambiguously “pray the gay away” gay therapist husband) charge against gay marriages in defense of marriages, vowing to ban gay marriages (AND pornography, because you know, straight people do NOT watch porn. Ever). “Marriage is something worth fighting for!” she yelled. Cough cough. Michele, on this point, I think we all agree with you: Why do you think the gay community fights so hard for their right to marry?!

(I am waiting for her to say something in support of Hitler and deny Holocaust. Just you wait. It’s like she is playing a “Really? Really?! Are you fucking kidding me?!” Bingo game…)

 

According to a blog post on The Dump Michele Bachmann Blog from 2006 (way before she became a household name), “Most of the time Bachmann avoids committee hearings like the plague. However, she did deign to attend a hearing about a bill to address bullying in schools.” At this hearing in 2006 (which has been unearthed and discussed in these past few days), Bachmann questioned a proposed “zero tolerance” anti-bullying bill:

 “For all us, our experience in public schools is there have always been bullies, always have been, always will be. I just don’t know how we’re ever going to get to point of zero tolerance and what does it mean? … What will be our definition of bullying? Will it get to the point where we are completely stifling free speech and expression? Will it mean that what form of behavior will there be – will we be expecting boys to be girls?” – Michele Bachmann, 2006

 

She went on and on to say that there are differences between boys and girls, that children are like barbarians and we as parents are trying to civilize them, yada yada yada. Why? So we as parents simply expect boys to be barbarians? To bully each other? To pick on the weak who cannot defend themselves? Lord of the Flies? 

I have been seeing red ever since I read this line of hers this afternoon. I am so upset that I cannot really talk about it intelligently. I have said all that I wanted to say wrt. this subject in October 2010  I will stab anyone who says “Boys will always be boys”. I did not expect the day when I need to repeat myself, and it seems more urgent than ever because Bachmann is running for President and I honestly do not want to live in a country ruled by her and her narrow-minded friend. Heck, I don’t even want to live in a country where such an outcome is POSSIBLE.

I need to go stab a pillow or something.

Oh, one more thing.

Can we bring Sarah Palin back please?

Leaving

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Whenever I think of my trips home, I think of the last moment as my parents watched me walking away

 

 

I started getting it, bit by bit, that the thing between parents and children, the thing that ties you together is that all your life, you are forever watching them walking away.

[The inadequate, rough translation mine]

I read this in a book by Lung Ying-tai, a renowned cultural critic in Taiwan, on my plane ride back to Chicago in December 2009, and I have not completely stopped crying ever since…

 

It has proven difficult for me to write about my trips home because whenever I think of them, I think of the last moment as my parents watched me walking away.

The last moment, at the airport, right before I turned around and headed towards the exit, ironically named “the entrance of emigration” in Chinese on the airport sign.

The border always carries something more than simply arbitrary and abstract. The pang was so visceral that I found it hard to breathe right before I steeled myself and determined that this hug was going to be the last hug. I turned. I walked towards the police officer, handed him the passports and boarding passes. I told myself every time, “Don’t cry this time,” before turning back with a raised hand towards my parents merely a dozen steps away, my mother waving with a smile on her face saying goodbye to the kids, my father teetering on his cane, his figure stooped, his expression stoic. He looked so small even though you could still see traces of his healthier self when we made fun of him by comparing him to the Happy Buddha. I squeezed my heart into a smile on my face. I waved one last time and quickly stepped into the customs area. And then, they lost sight of me.

This is always the moment when my tears start beading along the edges of my eyes until they get so heavy that they roll down my cheeks. I cry because I know my father is crying at this moment as soon as we are out of sight.

My family has learned to have the tissue at ready because, like me, my father is especially susceptible to crying.  I didn’t become privy to this family fact till when in college, we watched Graves of the Fireflies together, I turned around at one point and saw my father’s face wet with tears. I moved the box of Kleenex that I was holding in front of him. He acknowledged it by pulling a handful of tissues from the box and blowing his nose throughout the movie.

I tried to wipe the tears away so I was not embarrassing myself in front of the airport security. Perhaps they have gotten used to seeing people in tears as they pretended not to notice the fact that I was heaving and hicupping from trying to act normal. My 12-year-old patted me on my back, “Mom, are you ok?”

I nodded and gave him an embarrassed smile.

“You cry every time we leave.” He said, perhaps not quite understanding the possibility of such heartache.

I am always grateful that the act of leaving lasts only until the x-ray machine. I will soon be sufficiently distracted by the procedures, the logistics, and the anticipation for the dreadful 20-hour trip back to Chicago.

 

CODA: If I were writing in Chinese for a Chinese readership, I would have mentioned this prose essay, “Retreating Figure” (Bei Ying, 背影) by the famed Chinese poet/essayist in the early 20th century, Zhu Ziqing, which has become part of the collective cultural memory. The title is literally “Rear View”: you can understand why it is not really the best choice in this case. You could defuse the unintentional comedy by calling Zhu’s moving essay about his father “Seeing Father from the Back” but it detracts from the one-two punch the short Chinese title delivers. Sometimes there is simply no easy translation. In “Retreating Figure”, Zhu described his leave-taking with his father as the older Zhu saw his son off at a train station. The father crossed several train tracks to purchase some tangerines for his son for the train ride. The writer vividly described his father’s endeavor as he climbed down and then up the platforms, crossed the train tracks, and then back, stopping in between his arduous journey to wipe the sweat off of his brows. No emotions were transcribed into words between father and son, or on paper, and yet this is one of the most moving pieces of literature I have read. I close my eyes and I can see the back of the older Mr. Zhu walking away as this image is overlaid with the image of my father, standing there watching me as I walk away.

Jet Lag is a Bitch

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It’s 2:46 am here in Taipei. I have been awake since 1, lying quietly next to the exhausted boys who passed out at 8 pm, which means they’ll be up and ready to go any minute now.

Jet lag sucks ass when you are traveling with kids.

I am also typing this on my stupid iPhod with my nose hovering above the screen because genius here packed a pair of glasses with NO prescription when my eyes are so effing bad (9.80 and 10.20). Wearing contact lenses 24/7 is simply not an option for me; I’d be blinking the whole day like Sarah Palin, I mean, winking.

I still have some work to do for work, and I would have gladly been working on them except I don’t know how to work on Excel while you are effing half- blind.

Except the above loser glitch, and the fact it’s going to rain the whole week, everything is nice. It’s nice to be here with my folks. Awesome to rub the tummy of my nephew’s wife (Yes, that means I’m going to be a GREAT aunt soon… Shut up! If I’m a great aunt, you all are great aunts and uncles according to the Chinese rule of familial osmosis.). Awesome to see my 12-year-old hovering above my parents (I’m the black sheep in my family: different in every way including effing poor eyesight). Wonderful to watch my dad watching Mr. Monk eating and my oldest doing homework with a content smile.

I’m being a bad blogger. I thought I should drop you this note and let you know why it is all quiet on the WESTERN front…

Love, from Taipei

How he feels about the REAL Chinese food...

The Antidote to VD

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I received the latest issue of Bloomberg Businessweek this Saturday and I could not have been happier.

Such a great antidote for Valentine’s Day Blues.

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Cover of Bloomberg Businessweek, 14 February 2011.

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After reading the well-written article, “Cheating Incorporated”, still aghast and shaking from the get-go by the tagline “Life is short. Have an affair”, I went and checked out the front page of the website, and the front page only. I swear. There is NO wink wink this time.

I don’t know what to say. I feel like crying but not the self-pitying kind wont to happen on Valentine’s Day. No. I feel like crying because I am so tired. I feel besieged.

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"Affairs Guaranteed"

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Well, I guess now we know what many people would be doing the day AFTER Valentine’s Day…

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Now we know what people do the day AFTER...

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I am rather intrigued by this chart really, what would your hypothesis be for the reasons for the spikes?

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$5000 a Bullet

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Many of us have seen Chris Rock’s standup routine on gun control, or as he called it “Bullet Control”, either on YouTube or in the movie Bowling for Columbine.

In the wake of the shooting in Arizona, there is a heated discussion surrounding the fact that 1) the gunman fired off a large capacity magazine with 30 bullets within seconds and ended up killing 6 people and wounding 14 (He was subdued when he paused to reload), and 2) the federal law that would have banned assault weapons and gun magazines that can hold more than 10 bullets expired in 2004 because the congress failed to renew it.

It just seems so poignant right now. From the mouth of a comedian.

(The transcript of Chris Rock’s routine is after the jump in case you cannot watch the video because 1) your phone sucks like mine, 2) you are being productive)

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And everybody’s talking about gun control. “Got to get rid of the guns.”

Fuck that. l like guns.

You got a gun, you don’t have to work out.

l ain’t working out. l ain’t jogging. You got pecs, l got Tecs.

Fuck that shit.

You don’t need no gun control.

You know what you need? We need some bullet control.

Man, we need to control the bullets, that’s right.

l think all bullets should cost 5000 dollars.

5000 dollars for a bullet. You know why?

‘Cause if a bullet costs 5000 dollars, there’d be no more innocent bystanders.

That’d be it.

Every time somebody gets shot, people will be like,

“Damn, he must have did something.”

“Shit, they put 50,000 dollars worth of bullets in his ass.”

And people would think before they killed somebody, if a bullet cost 5000 dollars.

“Man, l would blow your fucking head off, if l could afford it.”

“l’m gonna get me another job, l’m gonna start saving some money… and you’re a dead man.”

“You better hope l can’t get no bullets on layaway.”

So even if you get shot by a stray bullet, you won’t have to go to no doctor to get it taken out: whoever shot you would take their bullet back.

“l believe you got my property?!”

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A sad day. A new low.

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Arizona Congresswoman Gabrielle Giffords was shot in the head today when a gun man fired allegedly 15 to 20 bullets into a small crowd outside of a grocery store during a meeting held by Ms. Giffords with her constituents. The gunman killed six people, including a 9-year-old girl and a federal judge, and wounded 13 others. (Live update can be found on HuffPost)

First and foremost, let’s pray and/or send loving, healing thoughts for the victims and their families. There have been lots of conflicting report on the condition of Ms. Giffords. Politico reported that she has been out of surgery and in good condition and has been able to recognize her husband, Shuttle Discovery Commander Mark Kelly. Let’s pray that this is the case.

Amongst all the tragedies in AZ today, the most heart-breaking is the death of the 9-year-old girl, Christina Taylor Greene, born September 11, 2001. She was newly elected to the student council and went to the meeting today so she could learn more about government processes.

RIP Christina Greene.

RIP All Those Who Lost Their Lives Today.

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Updated: I was all ready to hit the publish button but I came across a video on YouTube featuring Fred Phelps thanking the gunman for doing god’s work in Arizona today. I have also been seeing reports from Glenn Beck’s and Conservative Christian’s websites that Westboro Church has announced their plan to picket the funerals of the victims in the shooting. Please, let’s pray that THIS IS NOT THE CASE. What has the world come to?

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News media and the Internet, including the social media, are abuzz with the potential motivation for such brutality and violence and fingers have been pointed and shouts have been fired.

The first person to offer an explanation (or unfair blame, depending on where you are coming from) was surprisingly Arizona Pima County Sheriff Clarence Dupnik:

When you look at unbalanced people, how they respond to the vitriol that comes out of certain mouths about tearing down the government. The anger, the hatred, the bigotry that goes on in this country is getting to be outrageous. And, unfortunately, Arizona I think has become sort of the capital. We have become the Mecca for prejudice and bigotry.

He did not specifically name names. Even if some critics may not like what he had to say above, we should be able to agree on what he had to say about the current state of the so-called media:

Let me say one thing, because people tend to pooh-pooh this business about all the vitriol that we hear inflaming the American public by people who make a living off of doing that…  That may be free speech, but it’s not without consequences… It’s time that this country take a little introspective look at the crap that comes out on radio and TV.

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Although I have some thoughts in response to Mr. Dupnik’s strong statements, I don’t want to hijack this tragic event with my psychotic foaming.  At least not tonight. I do want to quickly share a piece of fact with you: Sarah Palin and the Tea Party were somehow specifically mentioned in the reporting of this tragedy. Why? Here is the context:

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Post on Sarah Palin's Facebook in March 2010

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It is chilling now to see Rep. Giffords’ name on the (literally) targeted list. Of course, it is unfair, even I have to agree, to blame Palin for the gunman’s action based on this picture. However, it does show how the extreme elements on one side is leaning more and more towards relying on violence and the rhetorics of it and at the same time the respectable members within that side are not doing anything to revert that trend.