Musings of an ABC

2012 and 26

2012-01-11T21:35:00.001-05:00

Happy 2012, everyone!

We're not even two weeks into the new year, and it already feels like a lot has happened. For one thing, I turned 26 a scant three days in 2012, so I'm starting off the new year closer to 30 than 20. It's sort of a weird feeling, I guess, to be on the mid/late side of my 20s. What did I ever do in my early 20s anyway? Shouldn't I have a lot more accomplished by now? Like popped out a kid or three?

Anyway, 2012 is going to be a big year, I can feel it! I feel older and wiser already. For instance, instead of eating a cookie for dessert tonight, I'm munching on a bag of healthful Quaker Oatmeal Squares. (Okay, who am I kidding? Oatmeal squares, while one of the more delicious cereals, is no excuse for a Pepperidge Farm Nantucket soft-baked cookie. Sigh. Really, I should just stop trying, since I know I'll end up eating the cookie anyway. Might as well skip the cereal altogether and save a few calories.)

Before we launch into this brand new shiny year though, I'd like to take a look back at 2011. Just briefly, since my memory is poor and I haven't been keeping up with my journaling as well as I should. Here we go:

January
Year began on a wicked awesome note, with Tyler and me watching fireworks at Navy Pier in Chicago.

February
Experienced Chicago's worst blizzard in a decade, including the phenomenon of "thunder snow." I know, I didn't think it was real either...until lightning started zipping through the snow storm. Very eerie.

March
I apply, on a whim, to a job in DC that a friend sent me, also on a whim.

April
I'm sure something happened in April. Hmm. But what?

May
Ditto. I vaguely just remember it being really, really cold that spring. Oh right and I got called in for an interview at DC job and had to fly out to the East Coast very abruptly. Thought interview went horribly. Also developed a weird itchy skin condition. That might be TMI. Sorry!

June
Week 1: Got the job! Week 2: Got engaged! Week 3: We find out my dad has late-stage stomach cancer.

July
Subletted my apartment in Evanston. Found lodging in Arlington. Began new job. Lots of fretting. Lots of praying. And we also attended two weddings, one in Atlanta, Georgia, and one in Sturgeon Bay, Wisconsin.

August
Settled into the routine. Attended another wedding, this time in Ohio. I think in Columbus, but maybe it was Cincinnati. Or neither.

September
Went on my very first business trip! Visited our colleagues in Seattle, Washington, and Anchorage, Alaska. My new work spouse and I also took in a flight-seeing tour in Alaska, where we got to land and explore a glacier. Seriously one of the most beautiful places I've ever seen. Also picked out bridesmaid dresses.

October
I find my wedding dress. Dad gets surgery. Brother's birthday. Wedding #4 in Danville, Illinois.

November
Tyler moves to VA! Thanksgiving with my family for the first time in many years. Black Friday shopping at Tyson's with the one and only Sunny.

December
First couple's weekend with Anna and Kevin in Williamsburg, Virginia -- very fun! Kind of weird to be back at my alma mater, but not in a bad way. Somehow not surprised to see good ol' Tucker Hall smothered in scaffolding and tarp...about time the old girl got a makeover. Like maybe the sewer hole can finally be filled in, and not covered with a bulletin board. Anyway. Then Christmas in the Midwest for the first time ever. I was sick for most of it, but it was still tons of fun. Def looking forward to many years of holidays with the Blues.

And here we are. Wedding planning in full swing. My dad's treatment ends on January 18, and none of us can wait for it to be behind us. 2011 was a crazy year, but I have a good feeling about 2012. It's going to be a good year. It has to be.

of tights and tight situations

2011-12-14T22:17:00.002-05:00

The last two weeks have gotten away from me again! That wasn't planned. It's been busy at work, and I've done overtime nearly every day this month. But that's okay! Gotta save up those comp hours for honeymoon, right?

So I just want to talk about how much I love and adore tights. I was first introduced to sweater tights when I moved to Chicago, wearing them for insulation under my jeans. (Sweater tights are basically like long underwear that you don't mind other people seeing.) The sweater tights were brown and pink striped a la Wicked Witch of the East, and I actually wore them for Halloween this year. But aside from my witch tights, I also have just normal solid tights in black, brown, fuschia, teal, patterns, etc. I mean, my tights drawer is getting a little out of control. In an awesome way.

My former colleagues did not quite appreciate my great taste in legwear, but luckily I've moved into a much more artsy office. It's funny, but business-types really are different from writer/designer-types. My epiphany moment was when I was complimented on my outfit of knee-length maroon skirt, grey tights, black shirt and sweater -- the same outfit which had prompted several former colleagues to inform me that I looked like a grandma. I don't know what that really means about the way my office dresses, but we definitely don't look like an off-shoot of Joseph A. Brooks Brothers of Benetton. (Not that we can afford to shop at those places anyway...)

An upside to living in DC is that my tights-flaunting time frame has expanded considerably from approximately three weeks in the fall and two weeks in the "spring" aka June. Chicago gets cold so quickly that, most of the time, my tights were hidden under a pant leg. But here, it's been perfect tights weather since September! Months and months of tights!

But the downside to sheathing one's legs in transparent stretchy material is that the stuf catches on absolutely everything. I was quite distraught this morning when my new comfy aubergine tights (from Target!) snagged on THE BOTTOM OF MY DESK WTF. After a brief flurry of consultation with Internet and colleagues, I went out during lunch to buy an emergency bottle of clear nail polish.

This is what transpired after I huffed and puffed back into the office. To be fair, I also bought an empanada at the DC Holiday Market, so part of it was me trying to walk and eat at the same time. Def not b/c I haven't gone to the gym since I moved from Chicago. But I digress.

Me [to our intern]: Greg, can you open this for me?
Greg: Sure. What is it?
Me: Nail polish.
Greg [looking perplexed, but too polite to ask]: Uhh okay. [tries unsuccessfully to get the cap off] I don't know, I think it's stuck or something.
Me: Right. Which is why I asked you to open it.
Greg [doubtfully looking at the nail polish]: I think you need to run it under hot water or bang it on something.
Me: Um. It's okay, thanks for trying. [suddenly realizing that Greg must think I'm a huge slacker for having nail polish at work] Oh! This isn't for my nails. I'm not giving myself a manicure over here! What! Ha! I need it for my tights.
Greg: Oh. Right. [very awkward pause] What are tights?
Hilary (my amazing awesome and very well-dressed work spouse): Tights. Stockings. You know. Hosiery. Come on, you know what tights are.
Greg: Well, no, actually, I don't.
Me: [still trying convince him of my non-slackerly-ness] NAIL POLISH FIX TIGHTS.
Greg: You know, I'm going to just go back to writing this essay...

Our intern is learning a lot. I'm sure this is something he will look back with fondness, perhaps chuckle over how completely sane and normal his co-workers were.

Well, it's been a while

2011-12-01T22:40:00.007-05:00

I'm sure by now whoever stumbles upon this little page is either lost, or perhaps is a curious old friend wondering if I ever bother to update this thing anymore. Either way, hello, welcome and welcome back.

In a way, I suppose I am welcoming myself back, too. It's been quite a while since I last wrote, and I really have no excuses. Well, maybe a couple. June 2011 really took us all for a spin, and I haven't felt much like writing since.

Long story short: in the space of 3 weeks, I got a new job, got engaged, and got really bad news about a family member's health. I feel like I've squeezed more life into the last few months than I have in the last couple of years combined.

And it's funny, but it's like..all of these things that happen act as a sort of sieve, you know? Like everyone I know is a rock or a pebble or a speck of dust, all being shuffled through this net. It's really let me see who my Big Rocks are, whether it's just an "Are you still alive?" text or forcibly dragging me out to a bridal salon to pick out a dress. Each gesture, big or small, really does matter. Really. I know on the outside I might be panicked or pissed off or even apathetic...but they really do matter. So, not to get all sappy and gross, but...thank you. I know I haven't been the best at getting back in touch (or getting on gchat...OKAY OKAY I GET IT, I'm not on gchat very much even though I keep saying I will). Honestly, sometimes I just feel too fretful to talk. Some people are really good writers when they're sad or upset; I prefer to get overemotional while watching horrible television. (Yeah, I watched a lot of L&O: SVU. Yeah, it's made me cry. More than once. You wanna fight???) But really -- thanks.

So I guess the latest updates are: I quite like my new job, and am doing my best to become indispensable so I don't get laid off if the government shuts down. Tyler has moved to VA, so it's been good seeing him on a regular basis. Health issues...well, I don't want to jinx anything, but it does seem that the worst is behind us. My bridesmaids are keeping me on track with the wedding planning, bless them. I think I am an inherently lazy bride, and laziness + life craziness = one really apathetic bride. But I'm happy to report that I do have a wedding dress and all my girls have their dresses ordered! And Tyler and I did a cake tasting a few weeks ago, which I scheduled all by myself, thank you very much. Turns out this whole thing can be kind of fun! (Tyler: "I think that we should periodically pretend that we're engaged and planning a wedding so we can go get free cake.") (No, but seriously. It was delightful.)

I can't believe it's already the last month of 2011, especially with everything that's happened. I've been thinking about what I want to write in my year in review post, which is actually what prompted me to get on this blog tonight. It's been so long since I've thought about blogging, and it was kind of a pleasant return to normalcy. I found myself trying to remember things that happened in March or April, and testing out different phrases to see how they sounded.

In hindsight, I probably should not have done it aloud on the Metro during rush hour, but whatever, I still wasn't the creepiest person in the car. DC is full of freaks, yo.

new place, new job, new things

2011-08-02T21:31:00.000-04:00

Well, a lot has changed since I last posted. For one thing, that post on June 10 was apparently the last one I would do as a single woman (engaged June 11), an Chicagoland employee (last day June 24) and Evanston tenant (moved to DC July 13). And I guess you could say it was the last time my future plans were truly my own. Now it's shared with many people, more people than I'd ever imagined.

I don't mean that in an overly dramatic way or anything like that. The two months have just been...a lot. But I'm alive! I'm renting a bedroom in a charming little townhouse with a retired couple who are just as nice as could be. I'm within walking distance of a metro stop, a grocery store, a shopping mall, and a church. My new job is great, I really like my co-workers, and its location is definitely exciting.

But I miss the Midwest. I think about it every day: the weather; the landscape; the people; the pace. I know I grew up here in NoVA, but the Midwest really was where I felt like home. Well, w/o my family and friends there, but you know what I mean. There was kind of a peace there that I never found in DC, what with all the endless political drama next door and all these transient ambitions walking around, each one as faceless as the next. I can't tell anyone apart here, everyone's wearing the same Banana Republic shirt and non-descript slacks. And things are just so go-go-go, all the time. I look at my Facebook profile picture and can hardly believe that leaping, joyous creature was me a scant two months ago.

Okay, so now I am being overly dramatic. So sue me. If you need to know, either you already do, or you know how to contact me. Nothing personal or any details are going on this blog, so if you want to ask or talk about anything, please message me privately. Just wanted you to know that I am indeed alive and kicking. And I haven't lost my ring yet, though I came close twice (scarily clumsy...).

Oh, and a note to DC tourists who insist on traveling around rush hour time: stand right, walk left. This clueless little family accidentally took up both sides of the escalator going down into the metro stop. Very careless. Almost started a riot.

And I kind of want to cut my hair.

and so it is done

2011-06-10T13:49:00.004-04:00

And so it is done: my boss has been told, my 2 weeks notice has been given, and I'm set to move back to DC and start my new job July. What a whirlwind the last few weeks have been!

Of course, I'm excited about the new job and getting to see my friends and family again, but it's not without some sadness to be leaving Chicago, which I still consider the best city in the world. After all, this is really where I came into my own as an adult. It's where I got my first real job; leased and maintained an apartment; bought furniture; learned how to cook; fell in love. Why would I ever want to leave a place that holds so many memories of fond achievements and challenges overcome? It's the first place where I was really and truly on my own, and I can't help but have a special place in my heart for it. Kind of like a first real love, maybe.

I think the most difficult part is the realization that, well...this move to DC might be for the long-run. I never planned to move back to Virginia. Never, ever. I've always wanted to live in a big city, always dreamed of high-rises and ample public transportation (I know; I'm a romantic). Chicago fit the bill to the tee. DC never figured into my plans.

But in a way, this job opportunity in DC follows a trend I've noticed throughout the big decisions in my life. After all, I very narrowly did not come to Chicago at all -- my main plan had been to move to New York City, where I had friends. I still don't know why I picked Northwestern over CUNY. It's much like how I don't know why I pulled myself out of Fulbright consideration when I'd spent 2 years fine-tuning my application. Or why I ultimately picked W&M when I'd wanted to go to UVA throughout high school. Or why I decided to date a guy I'd only known for 2 weeks in a brand new city, who very well might've been some sort of serial killer. (I guess he still could be, hmm.) But I just did. And it's not like I was particularly confident about my decisions afterward. There was always a point where I would just be like "What are you doing???? Why?!?!?!!? What makes you think this is a good idea???????"

That same sort of lost, confused and terrified feeling I felt back then is the same one I'm feeling now, but like even more magnified b/c of the fact that things are more than just about me now. It's also about my Possible Serial Killer Man Friend, who had plans of his own. And those plans def did not include the possibility of settling down in the East Coast. I think we grew up a lot in the last few weeks in having to consider one another as individuals and as partners. At least, that's how I felt; he might just be thinking of ways to use it to his advantage for the rest of our lives.

Hypothetical household dialogue:
T: I want a cookie.
V: No. We're going out to dinner with my parents in 3 minutes, and it will spoil your appetite.
T: I WANT A COOKIE NOW.
V: NO.
T: But I moved all this way from Chicago to DC--
V: Okay, okay, here, eat the %*$@*! cookie.

But I digress. Where was I? Right, so it's like this intense anxiety I have about maybe having just totally screwed everything up is a reminder that there are bigger plans than my own. Everything that came out of this deep crazy lost feeling has always worked out better than I'd ever dreamed. And that's a comforting thought. There are my plans and then there are His Plans. And based on the incredible nervousness I have and my inability to really explain why I'm doing what I'm doing, this DC thing is def part of Plans with a gigantic capital P.

That, or it really is a huge mistake, bad idea, really just screwed everything up, etc. Ahhh! Ahhhh!!!!

overheard

2011-06-08T09:56:00.002-04:00

I meant to write this a while back but it totally slipped my mind until Tyler requested that I re-tell this story to his family when we visited this past weekend. So here it is:

Several weeks ago, I was shopping at Ann Taylor LOFT because they were having a storewide sale. I picked out a couple of shorts and sweaters to try on and went to the dressing room, where there were two Indian American girls in the stalls next to me. I had noticed them earlier b/c they looked to be about my age and I was totally and completely jealous that they were laughing and shopping together while I foraged the racks by all by my lonesome.

Anyway, they continued their spirited discussions in the dressing room. Being a shameless eavesdropper and having a lot of experience in girl-talk, my ears immediately perked up at the first whiff of gossip. (The tone in which you gossip is universal, I believe.) This is the amazing conversation that took place:

Girl A: So you know how my brother is living with that girl that he's totally not sleeping with? I mean, like everyone knows that they're sleeping together, but they insist that they're just friends?

Girl B: Oh yeah, totally. Are your parents still pissed about that?

A: Oh absolutely. Because they don't believe them for a second! And you know, they're still very traditional Indian, and they really disapprove of the fact that he's living with this girl. I mean, my brother's all like "We have two bedrooms, and we're just friends," but it's like, seriously? My parents aren't stupid.

B: Right, right. Parents always know.

A: Exactly. Always. So anyway, a couple weeks ago, my parents went over to my brother's for dinner. You know, they meet the girl, and my brother's still insisting that they're just friends and everything. So my mom is walking around the apartment, and I guess they have a cabinet of like nice silverware and whatever. So my mom is looking at it, and she's like "Oh, this is a very beautiful spoon." And the girl comes over and is like "Yes, thank you," and they talk about the spoon and my mom just keeps on admiring it. Like she really likes this spoon. But they go on, they have dinner and my parents leave, and everything is fine, right?

B: Uh oh.

A: Right. Well, a couple days after the dinner, the girl goes up to my brother and is like "I'm not accusing your mom or anything, but the thing is, you know that spoon she was looking at when she came over? Well, it's missing and I can't find it anywhere, and I think maybe she might've taken it." And my brother is like "No way, she couldn't have stolen it." And the girl is like "Well, like I said, I don't want to accuse your mom, but I know she really liked it, and now it's gone."

B: No! No way! Nooooo!! She didn't?!?! There's no way!!!!

A: Hang on, just wait! So finally my brother calls my mom a few days ago and is like "Mom, I'm not accusing you of stealing my roommate's spoon, but the fact is, it's missing from our apartment and she remembers that you really liked it." And my mom goes, "Well, I'm not accusing you of sleeping with that girl, but the fact is, if she was really sleeping in her own bed, she would've found that spoon by now."

/end

I. LOVE. IMMIGRANT. PARENTS.

things to eat on a tuesday

2011-05-24T15:46:00.005-04:00

Breakfast:
- Vanilla Chobani yogurt (what can I say, it's growing on me) with handful of Quaker Oatmeal Squares cereal
- Smallish banana with peanut butter
- 3 potato chips
- Large cup of coffee

Lunch:
- Large wedge of soppressata
- One chocolate-covered cake donut from Jewel-Osco
- One golden Oreo
- 3 mugs of water (soppressata is, apparently, quite salty. And greasy. And delicious. But I'm going to have to pee for like 5 hours later, which is great b/c I have a 2-hour commute home.)

Currently fantasizing about:
- Baked mezzi rigatoni covered with homemade tomato sauce and melted provolone
- Udon with tempura and poached egg (oh! what I wouldn't give to go to Tachibana!)
- Chocolate mousse cake from Dominick's (must convince Tyler to take me)

Why, yes, I am an adult responsible for all manner of very important things, such as feeding myself. I think the more I grow up, the bolder I become at flagrantly defying food rules. Which is kind of like saying, the more I grow up, the more I eat the way I wanted to eat as a child.

It's just a fatty kind of Tuesday. (A...fat Tuesday! Ha!)

So I need some advice: apparently I had purchased a large tub of cookie dough in May of last year, and I've only consumed about a quarter of it (it's a very large tub; and I know it was last May b/c I mark all my foods with dates). It's been sitting in my freezer all this time, frozen and forgotten until I unearthed it a few days ago in my search for ice cream. Can I still eat this cookie dough, or will it destroy me?

unsettling things at 6am

2011-05-20T14:32:00.003-04:00

I was rounding the corner to drop off my trash before work when a man in a bright blue windbreaker suit stopped me in my tracks. He was standing or leaning against the outside of the outermost dumpster, the one I was heading for. I could tell it was a man even though his head and left arm were buried deep inside the container, the lid perched on his right shoulder.

Immediately, the whole headless-man-in-the-park thing from last year flashed through my head. Was this another victim of suburban violence?? Was he still alive? Should I run into the CTA and shout for assistance? I froze, trying to decide what to do.

Then the dumpster lid bobbed.

He was alive. Not a dismembered body, then.

But what on earth was he doing? Maybe he lost something? I swallowed hard and steeled my nerves -- I couldn't miss my bus, after all. And I had to get rid of my heavy, smelly trash bag.

He heard me as I approached and poked his head out of the dumpster. He was a middle-aged white guy, maybe only an inch or two taller than me, with wispy puffs of dark hair in a weird balding pattern. He looked at me, startled, his cheeks disturbingly stuffed full of something. It was clear that he had been eating from out of the dumpster. He held the lid aloft for me to toss in my trash bag. I thanked him and quickly ran to the train stop.

Something about it/him was deeply weird and a little sad. I peeked out at him from behind the safet of the billboards on the train platform. Was that a hint of mental instability in his eyes, in his movements? Or was he embarrassed at being caught in such a peculiar and vulnerable position? Should I have offered him my lunch? He rooted through the dumpster for a little while longer, then the ground behind the dumpster. Then he put something in his paper Whole Foods bag and headed out towards Dempster street.

I turned away, waiting for my train. On the other side of the train tracks was another middle-aged man, dressed plainly in washed out jeans and a practical jacket. He toed the edge of the platform, leaning over the tracks. Then, quite calmly, he pressed a finger first against one nostril and then the other, loudly heaving its contents onto the tracks.

Ummm. GAG. ME.

Between the dumpster diver and the snot spewer, I'm not sure which behavior was more disgusting. Great start to the morning.

sillyheads

2011-05-19T10:46:00.004-04:00

For all the crap I write about my exes and all of my questionable dating decisions, it must be said that every guy I've dated has at least been entertaining.

Like my high school boyfriend, Pete. Pete was a nice guy, but we were incredibly ill-suited for each other in that we never had anything to talk about unless we were about to break-up. Looking back, some of my best conversations with Pete were when we were on the brink of ending. If nothing catastrophic was about to happen, he was the kind of guy who'd rather play Megaman than have a conversation, whereas I am the kind of girl who requires a LOT of verbal attention. (Poor Tyler, he can't ever get in a word edgewise.)

But I remember this one time, he came up to me with genuine excitement and said, "I've got a really amazing idea! WHAT IF...we did what Blockbuster does with videos, but we do it with books?? Like we just have all these books that you can rent out for free, but you have to take it back after a certain period of time! Then you wouldn't have to go out and spend money to buy them!!!"

"Pete. It's called a library," I said. Sillyhead. What can I say, he was kind of a genius. I have no doubt he's still out there coming up with brilliant and revolutionary ideas. ("What if you could download music directly to your computer???")

My current romantic attachment is at least two higher ed degrees above Pete, but that hasn't prevented him in the least from being just a little bit off-kilter. Yesterday, I met up with Tyler before his softball game and told him that I had a treat for him. This is the conversation that ensued:

Tyler: Um...I was told I would be given a treat. Where is the treat?
Me: [opens lunchbag] Here you go!
Tyler: [suspiciously] What is that?
Me: Half a sandwich! And a Coke!
Tyler: [crestfallen] Oh.
Me: [worried] Don't you like it? You need sustenance for your game.
Tyler: Well, it's just that when you said "treat," I thought it would be sweet.
Me: The pop is sweet.
Tyler: Okay, honestly, it's b/c when you said "treat," for some reason I had a jelly doughnut pictured in my head, so that's what I was expecting to get.

These boy-children. Sillyheads.

100th post!

2011-04-29T13:32:00.002-04:00

Today is a day of milestones! Not only is this my 100th post, but Prince William and Kate Middleton got married; it's finally sunny again in Chicago after 2 weeks of dreary rain; and I went to the tailor for the first time. That last one is what this 100th post will be about, even though I did wake up at 3am to watch the Royal Wedding on CNN. (Tyler has rather seriously threatened me if I try to rehash the wedding to him, and I'm guessing some of you share that sentiment, so I shan't subject you to my pathetic royalist fandom.)

On to my tailoring adventure.

So I'm going to be a bridesmaid for Anna's wedding in July, which I'm pretty excited about. Anna picked a lovely navy silk cocktail dress from BR for us back in November, and some of the girls even managed to get on sale. I got my bridesmaid shoes in an impromptu after-Christmas shopping trip with my family. As many of you know, I'm an OCD-planner, so having everything ready 7 months before the actual wedding was really awesome.

But ah, having everything picked out so far in advance created an unforeseen problem. I joined a gym in January, and all those Zumba classes must've really paid off because when I tried on the dress last month, it looked rather different than it did when I got it in November. My mom would be pleased to note that my arms no longer look hammy. But while thin arms are nice, they don't matter too much if the rest of the dress looks somewhat lacking, particularly in the chest area.

One of my Evanston friends recommended a great tailor who happened to be quite close to my apartment, so today I dropped in to see what could be done about my dress. The tailor was a tiny, middle-aged Korean woman, as nice as could be. Our exchange went something like this:

Tailor: Hello! What can I help you with?
Me: Hi, I need to get this dress tailored.
Tailor: What do you need done?
Me: I have no idea.
Tailor: Well, okay, go try it on and let me see.
[I go to the back room to change. I marvel at how incredibly clean her store is. Seriously. And it smelled really good, too. But I digress.]
Me: Okay.
Tailor: [pinches fabric here and there, examines the fit, etc] Okay, we do this and we do this, we make you a waist. I take it in here and here, you see? Now you have a waist! Looks good, right?
Me: Wow. Yeah, that looks good. Can you do anything about the top?
Tailor: [skeptically] You are very small on top. This dress needs more there to look good.
Me: Yes, I know.
Tailor: So there is nothing I can do for you.
Me: Oh. We can't just take it in or something, make it less baggy...?
Tailor: No, I don't think so. [encouragingly] What you need is a really big push-up bra!!!
Me: Ah. Okay...
Tailor: Get a big one! You can even use tissues, push it together, make sexy. Big bra!!! Push-up!!! You need big push-up!!!

After the receipt was written out and she had impressed upon me several more times of the necessity of a bra + tissue combo for my non-chest, she added, quite kindly, "But you are so cute!" The American half of me wanted to accept and say "Thank you," but the Asian side wanted to deflect and say "No, not at all." So what came out was a weak, strangled, "Oh." (This happens to me almost every time I am complimented. Does this happen to anyone else? Responding half a beat too late, usually with some sort of unintelligible guttural noise?)

So if anyone can recommend a good, gigantic push-up bra, that would be greatly appreciated! I already have the tissues.

queen of the conversation stopper

2011-04-22T12:41:00.007-04:00

I was a pretty shy kid growing up, so I've always felt a bit awkward around people. I especially hate networking and all the BS small-talk chit-chat nice-nice convos you have to do with people you don't know. So I guess it's sort of masochistic to choose to do journalism, as so much of it is going up to strangers and trying to nice-nice them into answering probing questions.

This dislike of superficial schmoozing is augmented by my tendency to word-vomit when I get nervous. My discretion goes entirely out the window, and I am no longer able to judge what is funny and what is inappropriate. I once told a VP at our company that he looked as fresh as a peppermint in his pink-striped shirt, after which he said he was going to report me for harassment. (Haven't heard from HR, so can only assume he changed his mind.)

Also, my grasp on discretion is a bit on the weak side as it is, so...fun times ahead in life, I'm sure.

So this post is dedicated to the conversation stoppers of 2011, thus far, that haunt me when I'm trying to fall asleep at night.

Convo stopper #1:
It was during a Lenten Friday, and we were at Sheil's weekly fish fry. Tons of fried fish and shrimp and coleslaw at suggested donation of $3? YES PLEASE. The only thing is, after everyone's gotten their food (and Tyler has destroyed a small community of shrimp), they do these little reflection times and people come up and talk, and sometimes there is music and so forth. Well, on this particular Friday, it was the birthday of one of the NU students, so we all sang happy birthday to her. I've never spoken to her before, but I recognized her as one of the regular readers.

As we were leaving, she was entering through the door that we were exiting out of. Since it was her birthday, I blurted out, very brightly, "Happy birthday!!!!!"

She gave me a startled look and said, and I quote, "Uhhh," before hurriedly rushing past us with this look on her face like I had just propositioned her or something. It was incredibly awkward, but Tyler managed to keep his laughter in until after we'd gone outside.

And since she's a church regular, I keep seeing her at Mass and consequent fish fries. Ughgghghg avoidance strategies are a go!

Convo stopper #2:
Seeing a number of people in ties rushing up and down the stairs at work. Very peculiar. In the coffee room, I ask one of the HR ladies what was going on, if there was a big meeting today or something that I had forgotten about.

HR Lady: Big meeting? No, I think they're just here to do inspections.
Me: Oh, okay. Well, I guess I better be on my best behavior then! Ha ha!
HR Lady: ...Okay! [quickly leaves]

I work with her a lot, and we take yoga class together. No avoidance possible with this one.

Convo stopper #3:
Me: [pulls up pant leg, genuinely thinking he'd be intrigued] Tyler, check out my bruise.
Tyler: Ew, what's wrong with your leg? What did you do?
Me: I think it's from the top of my sock. I had to wear sort of tight socks today b/c it was raining and I was wearing my galoshes. So then I got these marks from it, and I guess it bruised.
Tyler: ...I don't want you to carry my children anymore.
Me: Wait, what?
Tyler: Uhhh do you think I want to tell people "My girlfriend gets bruises from the elastic band on her sock"?? What's wrong with you???

holy week reflections

2011-04-18T11:24:00.001-04:00

I've been thinking a bit about this past Lenten season as we enter Holy Week. I had decided to fast for this go-around, which seemed to me to be a progressive step after giving cookies (junior year, high school) and cursing (freshman year, college). I wish I had a "this is what I learned" story or some sort of inspirational religious moment to share with you, but mostly I was grumpy a lot and ate far too much when I got the chance.

Once I ate a giant carrot cake cupcake from Bennison's instead of a real meal. Another morning, I had a whole tub of leftover curried noodles from Dozika and a homemade muffin. One week, I ate through an entire package of bacon by myself, much to Tyler's chagrin (b/c I didn't share, not b/c he thought I was fat) (at least, that better not be the case). This might not sound remarkable, except that Tyler and I eat together every day except Thursday dinner (he has his sports) and Saturday breakfast (I like to do household-y things on Saturday, like laundry, so we usually don't meet up til evening) so...I covered a lot of bacon in just two meals. I'm holding off my annual check-up until some of that gets worked out of my arteries. So you see, I am not exactly what you'd call a model faster.

In fact, I discovered very quickly that I'm absolutely terrible at fasting. I'm a bit ashamed to say that I broke down the very first day when my cubicle neighbor offered me a box of Girl Scout cookies. I think I fasted for a grand total of 3 hours that day, which is probably slightly less than what a normal person does regularly. I developed this routine where I basically ate breakfast as slowly as possible, stretching out a bag of Quaker Oatmeal squares for 6 hours. So really, it's not so much as fasting, as it is just...eating really slowly...which probably isn't the purpose of fasting, as it is an extension of my natural inclenations.

So over the past week or so, I've tried to be better. (I say this as I eat an apple, which I've been doing for the last hour and a half.) Whenever I get hungry in the afternoons, I've tried very hard to think of why I'm fasting in the first place, to mull over spirituality vs a Snickers bar. Sometimes it works; sometimes I find myself covered in croissant crumbs (snack-blackout is similar to a rage-blackout in that way). But there is a certain sort of lightness and cleanliness and clarity I feel in the late afternoons when I do manage to resist the temptations, which is a nice feeling to strive for. This is the last week of fasting, but I'm actually wondering if I might not do it for a little longer. See what happens.

On an unrelated note, I woke up to a wintry mess falling from the sky. Snow adorned grass and car tops and most of my El stop. Slushy ice grossness covered everything else. All I want to know is: WHY. WHY CHICAGO. WHYYYYYY.

bacon makes everything better

2011-04-08T13:20:00.006-04:00

You know what pot smells like to me? Wet socks and cooked cabbage. Like a kind of stanky musky smell that's also a little bit green and sweet. I despise wet socks. And I don't particularly care for cooked cabbage.

And I hate, hate, HATE it when my entire freaking building smells like gross wet socks and cooked cabbage and gross disgusting weed. And because it's been grey and raining outside for the last two days, opening a window is not an option so everything is just like...sitting around, stagnant and mixing with the normal gross old-building smell awkwardly like hormones at a middle-school dance.

I hate pot! I hate middle schools! I hate it! I hate it! I hate it!

Ahem. Sorry for the juvenile temper-tantrum, but I don't think it's too much to ask to live in an apartment that doesn't smell Satan's armpit in Detroit during a maple syrup festival near a dog-food factory.

This is where bacon comes in.

Bacon is amazing. It is a wonder-food. It makes everything taste like awesome. To make myself feel better (and b/c I was working from home today), I decided to cook up a few slices of bacon to nibble on while I made inroads into the fascinating world of warehouse accident prevention (our warehouses are super safe! Yay!).

Turns out, when you make bacon in a poorly-ventilated building, everything will then smell like bacon. My entire apartment smells like bacon. The hallway smells like bacon. My coat smells like bacon. My bedsheets smell like bacon, which I actually find kind of disturbing, but hey, at least it doesn't smell like pot.

Bacon. It's the answer to all the world's ills.

townhouse memories

2011-03-25T21:14:00.002-04:00

When we first came to the US (as far back as I can remember, anyway), my parents and I shared a townhouse near GMU with a couple of other Taiwanese grad students. I must've been 4 or 5 then. We were in a basement room first, but then moved to a largeish corner room on the second level that faced the street and had its own bathroom.

I think we got that room b/c my parents were the only couple who had a kid. It wasn't weird or anything, since in Taiwan it's pretty common to sleep in the same room with your entire family (at least it was for mine). I was actually a little bit afraid of sleeping in a room by myself until fairly late in elementary school. In Taiwan, my parents had what is like a little studio apartment at my paternal grandparents' home, so we all slept in the same bed (or my dad would sleep on the floor). At my maternal grandparents' home, I always slept with my grandmother in her room. I guess it wasn't as common to have beds then, b/c we always pulled blankets down and spread them on the hardwood floor. She still slept like that until just a year or two ago when she broke her leg and couldn't climb the stairs anymore. They've put beds (very hard beds) in the other bedrooms though.

I remember the townhouse room as being pretty big, with my parents' full size mattress on the floor against one wall, my little twin bed in another corner. My mom also put two big pillows next to my bed in case I rolled off, which did happen once or twice. I once woke up with my head on the air vent b/c I had rolled off both bed and pillows.

The bathroom was small though, and I remember being afraid of flushing the toilet (very loud) and brushing my teeth (disgusting "strawberry" flavored toothbrush that made me want to gag). But mostly I remember the smells of the bathroom after a shower: the warm, wet smell of steam; sharpness of soap and, sometimes, bubble bath; faintly sweet smell of lotion. The drier climate of Virginia made all of us rabid lotion users, and I still keep an eye out for any miracle cream that claims to quench my dry skin woes. My brother and I had really bad eczema as kids; I learned to sleep with my limbs straight out b/c if I slept curled up, in the morning, when I unfurled, the creases in my arms and the backs of my knees would crack open and bleed. My brother more or less manned up through it (which means he's got a fine collection of scars).

So anyway, I remember the smell of lotion and showers as associated with that cozy, blurry time when it was just the three of us living in one room together, when my dad was still a student and I hadn't started school in the US yet.

I was feeling nostalgic and homesick a while back, so I went out and bought a bottle of Vaseline lotion and a little blue tub of Nivea creme. It doesn't smell quite the same though. Maybe they don't use the same fragrance as they did 20 years ago. Maybe you can't bottle up the smell of your parents, ages 30 and 33. But sometimes, when I put Nivea on my face and smooth Vaseline lotion on my arms after a shower, it will smell just right for half a second and I'm 4 years old again.

i like this, but...

2011-03-23T09:36:00.005-04:00

Today's post will be dedicated to things I like...but also hate.

1. I like that women and men are, essentially, equal in many facets of life, which is a good thing...but I hate when younger men push their way in front of old ladies in the bus line. I mean, seriously? You're going to let a poor little granny with a little travel cart of groceries wait out in the rain while you hop on the bus so you can call some chick who doesn't even want to talk to you anyway b/c it's around dinner time and she's trying to eat a salad? You're not even going to help the old lady with her cart? Seriously?? Is a little bit of chivalry too much to ask for??!

2. I like that Greek yogurt has twice as much protein as regular yogurt...but why does it have to taste like raw sourdough? But everyone seems to be on this Greek yogurt craze! I've tried a couple of brands and flavors, though, and am determined to find a go-to Greek yogurt b/c that extra protein is for real. I decided to try fasting for Lent, which mostly means I don't eat lunch. The little bit of extra protein in the Greek yogurt really tides me over! Too bad it tastes like old milk...which I guess it is...hmm. Ew. Why is it that most types of dairy is kind of gross if you think about it too hard?

3. I like that my company is trying to be more environmentally-friendly...but I'm sad that we no longer have plastic coffee stirrers, which I used to double as a straw. Yes, I drink coffee through a straw. I, too, scoffed at it when I first saw my friend Anna doing it. And then I tried it and my entire coffee-drinking experience was changed for the better. Try it sometime, if your company hasn't switched to using those skinny wooden popsicle sticks. I've taken to stealing regular drinking straws from the cafeteria...b/c awesome coffee-drinking requires a cylindrical drinking tube made of rainforest burning, ozone-destroying, baby seal-killing plastic. Yum.

me vs dishwasher

2011-03-22T09:30:00.004-04:00

I don't know if it's because I'm Asian or because I have deep-abiding trust issues, but I do not trust my dishwasher to do anything other than hold my dishes while they dry.

Yes, I realize that thousands and millions of Americans regularly use their dishwashers and everything comes out squeaky clean and beautiful. But that has not been my experience. Part of it is that my mom, who is Asian and adorable, also has trust issues regarding her dishwasher. (Truth be told, though, she has trust issues with everyone regarding clean dishes. She absolutely hates it when I do the dishes, though it may also be b/c I've broken like 3 of her nice drinking glasses while trying washing them. But I digress.) So I grew up watching my mom do dishes by hand, and so, naturally, when I started living on my own, that's what I did, too.

Turns out I have a lot of the same dishwashing issues as my mom. My boyfriend is a very smart, tidy, and generally careful sort of person, and I still hold my breath whenever he does my dishes. Sometimes I'll be over at his place and I'll re-wash all the dishes in his drying rack b/c a fork will look a little smudgy.

So last night, I made roast lamb and potatoes and homemade bread, and the pans were looking a bit crusty. Normally, I would just wash the dishes, then soak everything else and do a scrub in the morning. But no, I thought, "Tonight I will conquer my fear! According to commercials, dishwashers can take care of day-old lasagna pans; surely it can handle a little roasting pan or two!" I let the pans soak for about half an hour while we watched the Chicago Code (I think the main character looks a lot like Tyler! Not only b/c he's white and has brown hair). Then, Tyler helped me load the dishwasher and set it to "Heavy Washing." I went to bed thinking, "Well, that wasn't so bad! It was pretty easy, actually. This could be something I could get used to! I hope it works."

WELL. I woke up this morning and hastened to the kitchen to check on my dish-cleaning status.

Horrible. It was horrible. The pans were not clean; a bowl had turned over and was filled with brownish gunk; my chopsticks fell through the little grate and was under the dishwasher's blades. I was so unhappy. I couldn't bear to leave the dishes in such an unhappy state, but I had to go to work. So I decided to just let it run again, and hopefully when I get home, things will look a bit more manageable and I can do a real scrubbing.

What am I doing wrong? How is it that like, 95% of America (I'm basing this percentage on the fact that Asians make up only about 4.5% of the total population) can operate a dishwasher properly but I am a total dishwasher fail?!!? I am a college grad! I have a Master's degree! I can put on eye make-up evenly! So WHY can't I get my dishwasher to clean my dishes properly?!?!

So I guess I'm going to stick with washing dishes by hand from here on out, unless someone can explain to me what I'm doing wrong. I know that if I don't run the darn thing occasionally, my plumbing will mold over or explode or whatever. So sometimes I'll put it on rinse and let it get everything swished around. But if Asian moms have one thing right, it's that dishwashers are the devil.

knuckles and gauges

2011-03-08T15:17:00.003-05:00

So Young Finance Guy is abroad right now for a business trip and then European vacation which means I'm back to riding the bus until April. In the space of approximately 24 hours, I have had not one, not two, but three (three!) Strange Bus Encounters. Consider:

Encounter #1
Older black guy stares at me intensely for most of morning commute. Turns out that he was lusting after my copy of the RedEye. Strangely enough, that does not make it any less creepy.

Encounter #2
White guy about my age, very tall, very loud, like Jason Segel might be if he were an amateur consultant. I can feel him looking at me from across the aisle as I work on my crossword. He reaches over and taps me on the arm. "Hey, what happened to your knuckles?" he asks.

WELL. A few weeks back, I had skin lesions on the back of my hand sliced off and frozen. Bled everywhere, very gross, still wearing bandages.

Not quite the flirty answer Loudmouth was looking for.

Encounter #3
Loudmouth and a few friends are waiting for the same morning bus as me. He makes a few more comments about my knuckles (so charming), asks my name, promptly loses interest in talking to me when he spots another girl he knows coming off a different bus. "Heyyy! Why didn't you tell me you were taking this bus? Hey, you trying to avoid me? You know, if I had your number, I could have texted you this morning about what bus I'd be on, you know, dialed it in, you could've checked and been like 'Hey, gotta avoid this guy!'" Uber charming! The poor girl rolled her eyes and walked away to call someone on the phone. Loudmouth jokes that she's calling the cops on him. What a gentleman!

So we get on the bus, and Loudmouth's friend with gauges in his ears takes the seat in front of mine. I pull out my book. A few moments later, this conversation ensued:

Gauges: Excuse me, but what are you reading?
Me: [holds up the book: Divine Secrets of the Ya-Ya Sisterhood]
Gauges: [visibly crestfallen as he reads the title] Oh.
Me: [goes back to reading]
Gauges: [tries again] Do you read lots of books?
Me: Yes.
Gauges: Yeah, well, I'm looking for some books to read, you know, do you have any recommendations? I'm on like a book kick. [He waits, nervously defiant]
Me: [relenting] I don't know, what kinds of books do you like to read?
Gauges: Well, the last book I read was called "Sex at Dawn" and it was about the development of sexuality in the beginning ages.
Me: Oh. Well, that sounds interesting...
Gauges: I like a lot of non-fiction. Hermann Hesse is my favorite writer, you know, Siddhartha?
Me: Oh, yes. I've never read it though.
Gauges: [determined] Yeah, I like him a lot. Sometimes I just spend hours at the library, you know, just looking through books? I love it. Just love it.
Me: Yes, that's good. Um, well, maybe you'd like Michael Crichton? Lost World, Jurassic Park, Timeline. Guys tend to like that kind of stuf.
Gauges: I'm not really into fiction. I like non-fiction, biographies, stuff that really makes you think. Makes you think deeper.
Me: Oh. I think all I read is fiction.
Gauges: [sounding desperate] I read the whole Twilight series though. I don't know why! I just couldn't put them down, I had to read them all. I thought they were really good.
Me: I didn't read any of them.
Gauges: [disbelief] Why not?
Me: Not really into the whole vampires thing, I guess.
Gauges: Oh. [pause] Wow, this is really not off to a good start.

I could barely keep from laughing, it was all very awkward-high-school, especially since his thought process was very easy to read. After a while, Gauges asked me how old I was, told me that he often spoke with "older people" about these things, then doubled-back and tried to reassure me that he didn't mean that I personally looked old or older, he just wanted to know how old I was. (He's 21.) I did feel sort of bad that I couldn't offer him any book suggestions, and he told me that it was okay, that he was sure we'd see each other on the bus again and to just let him know what I thought of anything. Hilarious. And mostly harmless. Seemed like a nice guy.

choosing one master to serve

2011-03-01T23:35:00.001-05:00

I don't often do this, but the timing of these events can't ignored.

I think God is sending me a message.

In the last few weeks, I've fretted a lot about work and my career progression. I like working at my present company very much, but I can't ignore the fact that I am the subordinate person in a two-person department. I look around and it just seems like I have nowhere to go. Sometimes it feels like everyone else is moving along quicker and further than I am on their careers, whether it's at a magazine company, a financial corporation or the federal government. I know a number of people younger than me who are rapidly rising through their company, making twice as much as me and traveling to exotic locales on their company's dime. They're adding stamps to their passport, buying their first home and laying down the foundations for a real adult life. I can only dream of a day where I can buy a house with stairs that I don't have to share with 24 other units. I think it'd be really nice to have my own stairs in a little two-story home.

So I'm not proud of this, but I can't help but be jealous, be a little bitter. I'm jealous that they are on their way in their career, that they have such a clear path ahead of them while I'm floundering here, trying to figure out what it is that I even want to do. I'm bitter that I will probably never make that much money even though I have a master's degree from a top-ranked school and they "only" hold a bachelor's in business and/or have well-placed parents.

And here's the thing: I don't even want their life. Not even a little bit at all. I have no interest in finance or international business or working for the government. I have no desire to work 70 hours a week, where the most I see of my family are in the pictures I keep on my desk or wallet. And I love being with my Gentleman Companion (as H so fondly calls hers) enough that foreign ports don't quite hold the same allure if he can't be there with me. And my parents raised me to be frugal, so I don't even know what I'd do if my income doubled overnight. Honestly, I would probably feel too guilty to spend it.

I had shared some of these thoughts to Tyler as we drove down to Danville on Saturday night. I worried, I fretted, I wondered if me trying to control all these things was contributing to my unhappiness. I even wondered if I should just leave it up to God. Tyler was as supportive as always, but had no answers for me. He has his own set of burdens and worries; this was mine alone.

When we went to church on Sunday, this was the Holy Gospel:

Matthew 6:24-34

Jesus said to his disciples: No one can serve two masters. He will either hate one and love the other, or be devoted to one and despise the other. You cannot serve God and mammon.

Therefore I tell you, do not worry about your life, what you will eat or drink, or about your body, what you will wear. Is not life more than food and the body more than clothing? Look at the birds in the sky; they do not sow or reap, they gather nothing into barns, yet your heavenly Father feeds them. Are not you more important than they? Can any of you by worrying add a single moment to your life-span? Why are you anxious about clothes?

Learn from the way the wild flowers grow. They do not work or spin. But I tell you that not even Solomon in all his splendor was clothed like one of them. If God so clothes the grass of the field, which grows today and is thrown into the oven tomorrow, will he not much more provide for you, O you of little faith? So do not worry and say, ‘What are we to eat?’ or ‘What are we to drink?’or ‘What are we to wear?’ All these things the pagans seek. Your heavenly Father knows that you need them all. But seek first the kingdom of God and his righteousness, and all these things will be given you besides. Do not worry about tomorrow; tomorrow will take care of itself. Sufficient for a day is its own evil.

The Danville priest talked about money and jobs and material goods. He said he spent hours researching the new iPhone and was so frustrated when the launch date kept getting delayed. It was important to him to stay on the cutting edge of technology. "Then I realized: I can't serve God and Verizon," he said. Isn't that the truth.

And here's the other thing: normally, we'd be in Lent right now and would be using different gospels. That means that this particular gospel only comes up every few years. What incredible timing is this, that these words would come just as I was struggling with all these worries and fears?

I was awed and humbled that God would reach out to me in this way, and tried to keep that message in mind as I went back to work yesterday. It's hard to let go of worries, to really relinquish control and trust that everything will work out, though. I began worrying again today -- seeing no future ahead of me, being out-paced by my peers in every field, never being satisfied with my career progression. I was on the cusp of really working myself into feeling hopeless and sorry for myself when I spotted a link on my Facebook newsfeed. A girl I hadn't spoken to since high school had posted a link to her sister's blog. I don't know either girl very well at all, but I clicked on the link anyway. And what was the first thing that caught my eye on her blog?

No one can serve two masters. He will either hate one and love the other, or be devoted to one and despise the other. You cannot serve God and Money.

Coincidence? Or another gentle reminder that I should not worry so much because God will provide for me? I don't know. But I think these things happened in too close a proximity to be ignored. It's not easy, but I am going to try to not worry so much and trust in His plan for me. My career path will work itself out. And, hopefully, somewhere down the line, it will help to strengthen my faith. I have so much trouble with belief, but I want to, so bad.

mussels and pate

2011-02-22T23:23:00.003-05:00

My coworker, Young Finance Guy, invited me and Tyler to double-date with him and his boyfriend for Chicago's Restaurant Week. I don't know if YFG has been to Restaurant Week before, but it was Tyler and my first time going to any sorts of restaurants like these.

For those unfamiliar with the concept, Restaurant Week is basically a week where all these restaurants showcase a couple of their best items (appetizer, entree, dessert) for a flat rate. Most of these places are a bit fancy so, traditionally, Restaurant Week is a way for us peons to get classy food for a bit of a discount.

We decided to go to the Bistro Bordeaux in Evanston, a very charming little French place where actual French people seemed to dine. It's quite small and cozy, with a coat-check near the front. A lone votive candle on each of the tables and a few small wall sconces seemed to be the only sources of light in restaurant. Very dim, very romantic. I'm afraid to say that I didn't take any pictures worth reproducing here b/c I didn't want to ruin the romantic atmosphere with my camera flash. (I have some decency, you know!) So you're just going to have to trust me on how delicious and beautiful everything was.

For the appetizer, I had the Pâté de foie de Volaille, or chicken liver pate.

Oh. My. Goodness. All I have to say is, whoever invented the pâté was either a genius or the devil. There is no in-between. The pâté arrived in a substantial glass clamp jar about the size of my fist, covered in a layer of solid fat sprinkled with chopped chives that you have to break through to get to the delicious rosy-grey liver, as soft as cream cheese. There was enough to spread through at least 2 loaves of bread. I barely got through a quarter of it on my pieces of toasted baguette. It felt a bit wasteful since like...I mean, the solid fat was basically a seal, right, which showed that they made each serving individually. This was not something they just squeezed out of a tube and slapped on a few pieces of bread.

I picked the Moules Frites au Piment d’Espelette for my entree, which was like a ridiculous number of tender mussels cooked in this outrageously yummy wine sauce and topped with shredded turnip and green olives. The wine sauce was so delicious, I could've eaten it like soup. The mussels came with a giant cone of skinny French fries and some sort of garlicky, tangy mayo-type sauce. Just in case my arteries weren't clogged enough from the pâté!

For dessert, Tyler and I shared the Profiteroles au Chocolat and Brioche Bread Pudding. I'm not a huge fan of cream puffs, so I definitely liked the bread pudding better. It was two squares of soft, custardy brioche that seemed to have been torched on one side for an intriguing, bitter, caramel-y edge. It was topped with a dense vanilla ice cream, caramel sauce, pecans and two slices of baked apple.

I almost passed out right there and then. It's actually what I am on my way to do, but I thought I ought to record the experience while it was still fresh in my mind.

On a slightly more historical note, Rahm Emanuel is now the mayor of Chicago. He looks like the type of scary, intense man that you never, ever, ever want to be stranded on a desert island with, b/c he will kill you and eat you with his bare hands so he can come back to rule Chicago. I mean, this guy is that driven. Who knows, maybe that's what this city needs: a guy who, if he really put his mind to it, will figure out how to shoot lasers out of his eyes. Maybe he won't be able to balance the budget, but gosh darn it if he couldn't turn himself into Cyclops.

And now, bed.

personal hell

2011-02-15T15:11:00.003-05:00

So I signed up to do this in-office fitness screening that required me to fast for 12 hours and then produce two vials of blood. I was also measured for height (5'1) and weight (3 pounds heavier than at Christmas. Seriously?! But I've been Zumba-ing!)

Afterwards, I decided that my own personal hell would be spending infinity:

- hungry
- having a nurse sticking at me, trying unsuccessfully to find a suitable vein while
- standing on a scale that produces ever-increasing numbers and
- trying on bathing suits

That would just be the worst.

inaugural chicago snow day

2011-02-02T17:02:00.001-05:00

Happy First Snow Day Since 1999! (Midwesterners: Hasn't it been fun? And did you know that, in VA, we have at least 3 snow days a year? May be something you guys want to consider having more often.)

I'm not sure exactly how it works, but the snow seemed to like, amplify every single street light last night. Like my room was lit up, bright yellow, all night. Throw in the crazy wind, a little lightning, a little thunder, and it felt a bit like sleeping in a train tunnel.

So what did I do with my snow day?

WELL. I wish I could say I was super productive, like "worked from home" or "shoveled the front walk for elderly neighbors" but that would be 1. a lie and 2. I don't have a shovel, a front walk or elderly neighbors. I'm a little bit ashamed to say that I basically spent all day cleaning out my pantry/closet and eating whatever I find. I realize that sounds kind of gross...and yes, it kind of was. This is what I've done today:

- Roll out of bed and examine the weather situation. Can barely see outside. Still tons of snow falling. Check my work email, respond to a few messages. Log off.

- Find two vacuum-sealed packages of tie dan, delicious little bird eggs sent to me from my mom God only knows when, and they were still yummy. Love that vacuum seal! And the fact that tie dan is basically like tasty, rubberized eggs. Eat two eggs.

- Work out for 20 minutes to "Buff Moms: Beyond Baby Body Workout." This is because I naturally basically have a post-baby body and this workout has actually been very helpful in toning the side-hip-fat area. Also it was like $4 or something at a thrift store, so...yeah.

- Check work email again as I recover, red-faced, from the Baby Mama workout.

- Step on the scale. Weight as expected.

- Shower. Go right back into my pjs, b/c I am a bum.

- Eat a banana while I cook a bowl of Neoguri ramen with one egg. Think affectionately of the last time I saw Neoguri, which was at Steph's apartment in December.

- Curl up on the couch with a blanket and watch an episode of CSI: Las Vegas. Spike is one of the few channels that I still have after downgrading to a cheaper cable package. (No MTV, VH1, TLC, OR the History Channel! How am I going to get my What Not to Wear or Ancient Aliens fix?! Gahhh. But that is a story of woe for another day.)

- Notice a Lindt truffle ball hiding in a pile of coupons on my coffee table. I eat it.

- Remember that I had another package of truffles that I lifted from Tyler's apartment (he doesn't like dark chocolate and was just going to give it away anyway). Dig it out from the back of my fridge. Eat two pieces.

- Remember a Marie Claire article I read about women and their sex numbers, as in, the number of people they've slept with. I look up one of the women they profiled, Lena Chen, who began blogging about her sexual experiences when she was a student at Harvard. Briefly consider interviewing her for Hyphen as some sort of Valentine special for my February column. Then, I thought 1. she's a very good writer, so she'd probably want to write it herself, and 2. she's kind of like a female Tucker Max, and I just don't know how I feel about that.

- Ponder the merits of internet over-share and personal branding. Lena's found pretty steady writing gigs as a result of the popularity of her sex blog. Should I blog about the intimate details of my personal life? ...Would anyone care to read things like "Gave Tyler a package of new socks today. He said thanks"? Not exactly titillating topics.

- While feeling bizarrely depressed about my lack of random sexual encounters, I find a tin of chocolate hazelnut pirouettes that I received from Tyler's mom for my birthday. Debate bringing it to the Super Bowl Party this weekend. Decide that a bunch of smelly gross guys probably don't want to eat frilly girly food. Eat three pirouettes.

- Weigh myself again. Have gained 3 pounds since the morning. Eye the tin of pirouettes longingly, but put it away on top of the fridge. 3 pounds! Since this morning?! Whyyyy.

- Overcome by afternoon lethargy. Feeling kind of sleepy and still irrationally grumpy about not having a very interesting sexual history. Root around in my pantry/closet again and find a stray package of Taiwanese milk tea in a bag next to my new boots. Very odd. But very delicious. The caffeine perks up my brain and I think, "I might not have gone to Harvard or started a national conversation about feminism, but people also don't call me a morally reprehensible whore." Gotta count my blessings, right?

And now I'm here, watching the day turn grey, trying to decide what to eat for dinner, and dreading going back to work tomorrow. All in all, a nice and enjoyable snow day, even if I don't have a sex blog to show for it.

snow in the windy city

2011-02-01T20:05:00.004-05:00

In my past three winters in Chicago, I never once saw anything cancelled on account of snow or cold. My first year here, I remember anxiously wondering if I should go to class after a foot of snow fell overnight. After not hearing about any cancellations, I wrapped my face in a scarf and trudged out to Fisk Hall, half-expecting to run into people telling me that class was cancelled.

To my surprise, the kids who grew up in the Midwest were already in class, talking and pulling out their notebooks like it was no big deal. Others who, like me, had not grown up on the outskirts of civilization, were like "WTF IS GOING ON WHY ARE WE HERE." The Georgia girls looked particularly bewildered, but who could blame them? Why would you trade beautiful, peachy Atlanta for a city encrusted in snow and ice, and not in a good way?

After a while, I kind of got used to it. Walking and waiting at bus stops through foot after foot of snow and ice and wind and negative 20-degree days. Nothing was ever closed. Nothing was ever cancelled.

So it's with some trepidation to get an email saying that my office has been closed tomorrow due to the blizzard. Whoa. What?? That kind of scared me! I mean, seriously, how bad is it that offices decided to close tomorrow? Thankfully I took a page from my East Coast friends who went through that awful storm last week by deciding to work from home today instead of risking an hours-long commute home from the office. Best decision ever.

Stay warm, everyone! I'm going to go burrow under a blanket with some chocolate and a glass of wine. Can't wait to watch some White Collar tonight! Peter Burke and Neal Caffrey, omggg.

smells like awkward neighbor

2011-01-29T12:29:00.003-05:00

In the last few years, I've discovered that my ability to create awkward conversation is only surpassed by my ability to create irrational worst-case scenarios. (Tyler doesn't pick up my call? Gahhhh that means he's being attacked by ninjas in the produce aisle of Dominick's! Not because he's driving and is trying to be safe. Obviously.) But today's post is about the former.

I walked home after an intense Zumba class this morning because, as it turns out, the Y is like 3 blocks from my apartment. Who knew? Anyway, so the way my apartment building is set up, there are two sets of doors to get in. The first set opens to a teeny foyer so you don't have to wait out in the rain/snow while waiting to get buzzed in through the second set of glass doors. After you get through the second set of doors, there's a very narrow square of carpet where exactly two people (or one person in a puffy coat) can stand, and then immediately beyond that is the stairs. So basically, the entryway is very tight.

I was standing in the foyer, and before I put in my building key, I noticed that it smelled all perfume-y and beautiful. I'd noticed the fragrance before on one or two other occasions, and have not been able to figure out what it is/who wears it, but it smells amazing. Some of you may know a thing or two about my Great Fragrance Searches, and some of you have even generously donated your time/dignity to tromp through department stores with me, and then patiently letting me spritz, and then smell, your wrists, forearms and elbows to help me figure out what perfume I'm trying to find. (Thanks Sunnyyyyy, you're the besttttt.)

So I'm there, breathing deeply and trying to memorize/place the scent. After maybe 3 or 4 minutes, I decide that I've got the scent sufficiently locked into my olfactory memory bank. I turn to put my key in the door and am startled to see that there's a guy on the other side, waiting for me to get out of the way so he can exit the building.

What I should've said was: nothing. I should've just smiled and walked past him, not saying a word about my weird fragrance obsession.

This is what I said instead: "I'm standing out here because someone's perfume smells so good and I'm trying to figure out what it is! I've smelled it before, though! Ha! I'm not crazy! Ha!"

"Oh," the guy said, and then gave me one of those indulgent smiles that you give either very small children ("Your daughter says she wants to be a ladybug when she grows up") or mischievous elderly people ("Grandpa just mooned the neighbors again"). He squeezed by me and left me alone, wondering how I could never quite manage to keep myself from word-vomiting.

So that neighborly encounter didn't go as well as it should have, but whatever. I had more things to worry about, like how I was going to make it up 3 flights of stairs to my apartment with legs that felt heavy, squashy wheels of cheese. (Very slowly, as it turns out, was the way to go.)

zumba your heart out

2011-01-24T14:17:00.010-05:00

January has absolutely just flown by, and I only have one blog post to show for it! So much for my unofficial 2011 resolution of blogging more. My goal is to write at least once a week. Obviously I've failed miserably.

But it's a new year, and it's time to do new things so we can give it up after 3 weeks of saying we'll do new things. For instance, I joined a gym. Yes, I am now a card-carrying member of the YMCA. Basically what it comes down to is that I have a bridesmaid dress that I must look good in by July, and Chicago's deep dish, deep-fried everything is making that prospect somewhat dismal. So I joined the Y.

Not only did I join the Y, I actually took a class. No, not a remedial yoga class. A Zumba class.

This all came about because a friend asked me if I'd take in a class with her, and I thought, "It's a new year! I'm doing new things! Yesss let's do this!" In the excitement of doing new things, I completely overlooked the fact that:

1. I am an embarassingly bad dancer.
2. At my peak, I ran a 6-minute half-mile.
3. I can't remember the last time I did something continuously for an hour that didn't involve some sort of sitting or sleeping.

Nevertheless, I showed up for the 8:30 a.m. Zumba class on Saturday. The instructor was a very thin white girl who looked like Mary from Medill, dressed in a tank top and boy shorts, and was basically one back-flip-off-a-car away from being Channing Tatum from "Step Up." It took all of my concentration just to be moving in the same direction as the rest of the class...and it was awesome. I kid you not. It was so much fun, especially since there was such a huge range of age, diversity and dance ability. Some people had the most incredible lightness of step and awesome wiggling abilities, while others (like me) could only hope to be clambering in the right direction. All in all, everyone seemed to be having a really good time. My favorite was this very, very old gentleman who stepped and pivoted happily, sometimes to the beat and sometimes not, choreography be damned.

Who knows, maybe I'll give this up in 2 weeks. But I overheard one older lady say that, since she started the class, she's lost a ton of inches in her mid-section and doesn't even have to diet or do sit-ups anymore to keep toned. That alone is enough incentive to keep me coming back!

another year, another anniversary

2011-01-06T15:04:00.009-05:00

Happy 2011! I hope everyone had a lovely and safe holidays, no doubt filled with health-conscious eating and responsible drinking of moderately-alcoholic beverages.

A few days ago, I endured my quarter-century milestone. Yes, I am now 25. Or, as Tyler so tactfully put it, "You're now half-way to your mid-life crisis!" THANKS BUDDY, so nice of you to remind me that I'm officially now in my mid-twenties and have yet to do anything with my life!

I remember in high school and college where 25 seemed so unbearably...old. 25 meant stable 9-to-5 and reeked of babies and unkempt husbands. But from this perspective, 25 hardly seems like anything at all. While I am gainfully employed, my ideal career is still in very fledgling stages, and I'm zero percent married nor with child (thank goodness).

Speaking of marriages, today is the 26th anniversary of my parents' marriages, as well as Elleen's parents and Carolyn's parents. What are the odds, right, that three couples from Taiwan who got married on the exact same day would all eventually move within like 20 miles from each other? They've been married longer than I've been alive. In one sense, it's like "Well, that's quite a stretch of time, I mean, it's longer than my whole life has been." In another, it's like "But yet, I feel like it's no time at all, as I've apparently done very little thus far."

I wonder if they even think about their marriage as an accomplishment, or if it's such a part of them by now that it's nothing really to think about. It's just another given thing in life, like breathing or blinking or buying shampoo that you don't need. I suspect that all the relationship theories and divisions of labor and all of the idealistic notions that single people my age talk about, all of that goes out the window when you finally get married for real. Nothing's perfect and nothing's predictable, right? All I hope is that one day I'll be as lucky as they are to be a part of something that feels as natural as breathing. And I hope our kids are cute. And I hope we're happy, too.

2010 reflections

2010-12-24T16:55:00.004-05:00

Although the year is not technically over, I always feel that the winter holiday season is kind of that limbo week of indigestion that marks the end of one year and the beginning of another. Who really does anything between Dec 22 and Jan 3 besides seeing family/friends, eating their weight in pork sausage, and complaining about how everyone forgets their birthday? Or is that just me?

Sometimes I can't believe that I've actually kept myself alive for a whole year. When did I become capable of this?? Especially when I come home and immediately revert back into my awkward and slightly unkempt high school self.

So I'm coming up on my first full year of being in the "real world," with my real apartment and real job and real cooking dilemmas that I have to solve before certain real significant others pop over for supper. It's been a good year. I really mean it, which is kind of a new feeling for me, since I generally err on the side of pessimism. Also because I usually get myself into unfortunate situations that cast a blight on the whole year, like that time where I decided to go to grad school. (My therapist says I'm making great strides, though. And by "therapist," I mean "the wine bottles that have claimed the 'juice' section in my fridge." What can I say? I'm a boozy lush, with my half-inch of wine and "Enchanted" on TV.)

Here's my 2010 Year in Review. However, I'm too lazy to actually fact-check any of these things, so the dates and facts are approximate at best and subject to wildly irresponsible conjecture.

January
New year, new job, new apartment. My brother texts me a picture of my NU diploma, which triggers a rage flashback. Neighbors report being terrorized by woman in a puffy brown coat, waving her arms and screaming about baby shark bunnies and Powerpoint.

February
Something about a one-year anniversary with some guy. Blah blah, I love him, blah blah. Whatever.

March
My cousins visit Chicago!! The Midwest is in the grip of a negative 15-degree spring heatwave complete with freezing rain and ice. We eat deep dish pizza at Gino's East; discover that Madison's air mattress is the same size as my living room; witness a bizarre fantasy marine animal/faerie creature show at the Shedd. In-between all of this excitement, Adam manages to get pinkeye from a CTA railing.

April
Tyler gets a haircut. I cease to recognize him.

May
Back in VA for Colette's wedding! Brief attempt to help make bouquets (mostly just watch Brittany work her floral magic). Tyler is exiled to a hotel lobby for a couple hours while we get ready, and is a real good sport about it. Colette looks like a movie star, Jae is so handsome, food is delicious, weather is pitch-perfect. Just a really great day.

June
Medill's graduation ceremony. Monica stays with me and doesn't complain once about lack of air conditioning in my apartment. I successfully bribe Tyler to attend several local craft fairs with me, but was unable to get him to make any purchases for me. (Why WOULDN'T you spend $500 for a photo of dangerous weather phenomena?? I don't understand!)

July

Taste of Chicago with the Blues. 4th of July at Navy Pier with Tyler. Dinner and fireworks with my cousin Jimmy and his co-workers during their training week Chicago trip! I think there was a wedding or two thrown in there. Continuing to melt in my apartment.

August
Elleen passes through Chicago on her road trip to San Fran! We do Ann Sather, we Bean it up, we take in a Mass. I <3 herrrrr.

September

Heather visits Chicago with her man and is immediately able to correctly identify more Chicago buildings than me. Kim stops by on her road trip to San Francisco. I have a delicious week with my mom in Virginia.

October

Finally starting to make friends in Evanston! Definitely nice to have more female friends nearby. I also take art classes in the ballroom of a renovated Victorian-era mansion. My brother turns 16 and I panic, just a little, b/c he's officially entered that age of dating, driving and "driving." Oh. My. Goodness.

November

HARRY POTTER 7 NAVY PIER IMAX. Matching Gryffindor scarves? Yes, please! We do Thanksgiving in Danville. I make a peanut butter pie and get really competitive about my banana bread.

December

Oscar visits Chicago! We take him to see the Improv Olympics with another fellow W&Mer. Tyler and I do the Walnut Room and take in the Nutcracker with the Blue/Bootcheck clan. I immediately abandon him afterwards to go home to my East Coast loves. I have tons of fun at (and got lost coming home from) Robby's 8th Annual Christmas Bash.

I have 6 more days here and so many people yet to see in Virginia, and I already know that I'm going to miss it and everyone here so, so much. I truly believe that I know the best people in the world. Also b/c I have zero tolerance for stupid people, mean people and ugly people, so you've got to be intelligent, kind and beautiful if you want to stick around.

Merry Christmas and Happy Holidays to you and yours!

highly sensitive information

2010-12-13T23:21:00.001-05:00

So recently, I was reading the December issue of Marie Claire before I went to bed when I came across this fascinating article: Are You Too Sensitive? I took the accompanying quiz, which asks you to answer True or False to a series of questions. The more Trues, the more likely that you are what the article's expert calls a "Highly Sensitive Personality," or HSP for short.

I answered True for 21 of the questions.

I don't know, maybe some of you out there are nodding your heads and going, "We could've told you that without some stupid quiz" but honestly, I was a little bit surprised. I thought I had my various neuroses pretty well under control! But in thinking about it more, I guess I do exhibit a number of the HSP signs, and some of it actually does explain my rather extensive collection of fears. Some examples:

- I get really tense if people around me are angry or upset or talking loudly. Political shows on TV and the radio are the worst, because I usually don't even know why they're so angry.

- I avoid eating with people I don't know very well at all costs. Part of it is b/c I eat really slowly and I don't want to be judged, but the other part is having to make small talk.

- The three seconds before I get to my desk are always nerve-wracking, b/c I have to ready myself to say good morning to my new cubicle neighbor. Then, right before I leave, I fret about having to say have a nice evening. I don't know why. He moved in like a month ago. You'd think I'd be better about it by now.

And I don't know if this really has anything to do with HSP, but, as you probably know, I am Queen Grudgeholder of All the Land. Not with people I like; I forgive my friends easily. But I am definitely one of those people who you don't want as an ex with a score to settle (ex-girlfriend, ex-friend, ex-girlfriend's friend). I am an angsty writer, after all, which means I basically have no scruples when it comes to pulling real-life events into my writing (read: ranting online).

I was thinking about this when Facebook so kindly revealed that an ex-boyfriend was now in a relationship with a girl he'd long denied being in a relationship with. (Ugh, prepositions. Hate them. Can't figure out right now how to end that sentence properly. But I digress.) Our whole dating nonsense was over a few years ago anyhow, so normally this wouldn't be a big deal except I'd suspected them of having a thing going on while he and I were still dating. But I didn't want to be the nagging girlfriend, and b/c I'm generally pretty lenient/borderline doormat with the people I love, I let it slide.

Of course, he denied it. A few months after our break-up, my intuition told me that they were seeing each other. He denied it. She denied it. But that suspicion persisted, esp when he spent holidays at her house, esp since she basically moved in with him, esp when there were photo albums of their coupliness, etc. For years, they both straight-up denied it everyone, even to his roommate. He told our mutual friends he didn't like her at all; he said he didn't find her attractive; he even called me paranoid for asking him about it. But most of all, he refused to apologize.

WELL.They've apparently made it Facebook official, so who's paranoid now?! Vindication is sweet. I love being right.

Here's the thing: it's not like I spend all my time being vengeful or whatever; it just pops up when some reminder of it re-surfaces. And trust me, I don't take any pleasure in holding grudges b/c it makes me feel incredibly guilty that I'm not able to forgive someone. Yeah, sure, I joke about it, but it really is something that I work on. This ex-boyfriend thing is just the most current example; there are a couple more, some from much farther back, some that only concern me indirectly (such someone hurting a close friend). But if I feel that someone has wronged me/someone I care about, it's hard for me to really and truly "get over it" until that person acknowledges what they've done.

Is this me being too sensitive? Or is this something that everyone goes through? Also, you think HSP is real, or do you think it's just a bunch of psychology-jargon to legitimize emotionally sensitive or, yes, possibly paranoid people?

secret ingredients

2010-12-03T10:35:00.004-05:00

I don't know what it is, exactly, but communal ramen always tastes better than any other kind of ramen, perhaps better than any other kind of noodle dish.

Maybe it's because ramen was only an occasional food when I was growing up. We'd have to be sick, or having a bad day or something, and my mom would let my dad make ramen for us as a special treat. And my dad is a man who adores ramen, so he'd always go all out. Two packages of normal noodles, one package of rice noodles, three different kinds of seasoning packets, all mixed together and simmering in one big pot. He had some sort of secret sense for cooking it at exactly the right heat level and exactly the length of time for each noodle to be translucent and chewy in the way that Asian noodles should be. (Very "Q"...I don't know the pinyin for it, but it sounds like saying the letter "Q." My mom almost always says it in multiples of three: "Q, Q, Q!") Anyway, it was awesome.

Then I went off to college, spent two years puttering around and being weird and emo and angsty before really finding a solid group of friends. One of my favorite college memories was midnight ramen nights my junior year in the C-house. Someone would be making one package of ramen, and gradually more and more would be added in as people walked by and suddenly felt hungry, too. I remember Adam looking flabbergasted (but amused) when he found himself, Strega Nona-like, cooking two separate pots filled to almost overflowing with ramen. Then Connie was holding a carton of eggs and counting off to make sure everyone would get one, and Sunny was doing her sideways-clicky-crab dance across the kitchen hallway and then pretending it never happened. Once the noodles were done, it was doled out as equally as possible into various bowls, mugs and those ugly plastic dinner plates stolen from the Caf. Someone was always eating straight from the pot, hobo-style. Soy sauce and Sriracha was passed around. No one really ever got enough to be full, but it didn't really matter and everyone left the table satisfied anyway. There was a lot of laughing and good-natured teasing and wearing of pajamas. It was fun.

Today, I often make ramen when I'm homesick (or just plain lazy), but no matter what I do, it never tastes as good as it does at home or at W&M. I don't know if it's b/c I eat from a real bowl now instead of a coffee cup, but there's something about that atmosphere, I think, that makes food taste better and the winter not as cold. I really miss that sometimes.

once upon a december

2010-12-01T23:16:00.002-05:00

Leave it up to Chicago to send in a pack of snow flurries on the first day of December. You can say a lot about Chicago (corporations, corruption, corpulence) but you can't say that it doesn't do its best to meet seasonal expectations. That wind felt like a knife this morning! Super glad that I got a ride home with Young Finance Guy in the evening, or I may have had to pull a Bear Grylls and shot something and taken its coat to stay warm. (Sorry, I know that was a bad analogy. It's been a longish, very cold day.)

So I've reached that point in my laundry cycle where I'm running out of underwear but don't have the time to get out to the laundromat. I like to do laundry on Saturday mornings, but, for the last few months, that's when I have my art class. It's really thrown me off my schedule. This makes me really grumpy and slightly unhygienic. Sometimes I'll do laundry on Saturday afternoons if I'm not wiped out by painting, but for the most part I wait a bit longer than I normally would b/c the thought of rushing through the laundry process really stresses me out. I'm at the point where you're rummaging through your drawer and trying to decide between: huge, ugly, but strangely comfortable granny panties; wildly work-inappropriate panties, possibly of the lacy and/or thong variety; and panties that are 2 sizes too small. In honor of the holiday season, I'm currently wearing a Grinch-colored and Grinch-heart-sized pair. TMI? Oh yeah, definitely. What can I say? Gotta show that Christmas cheer somehow.

giving thanks

2010-11-24T07:37:00.006-05:00

Working from home has got to be one of the greatest unsung perks of the working world. Seriously. I rolled out of bed half an hour later than I normally do, and was able to get right to work 2.5 hours before I normally stumble into the office. (I stumble b/c I'm often hungover. Just kidding. I'm just clumsy.) I love wearing PJs, watching the sky outside my window get light, and looking forward to meeting up with Tyler for lunch. I just don't think I'm really that cut out for a corporate career. I know I've talked to a few of you guys about my career uncertainties, but in case some of you were wondering, I'm not really into working 13 hours just to say I do, and not having anything to really show for it at the end of the day but stress and a superiority complex. It's like wandering around in a J.Crew clone army (not that I don't like J.Crew! I do! But come on, guys, show a little creativity!) and being constantly terrified one of them will want to make banal small talk.

Thankfully my boss is like the greatest ever (he's a Brooks Brothers guy -- super classy), so things could be worse. I think I'd just shoot myself if I had to work for someone dumb/incompetent/takes job too seriously.

To continue on that thought, here are other things I'm thankful for this year:

- Having an amazing family. I feel pretty lucky to have a family that really gets me. For example, my dad recently sent me an article called "Jobs For People Who Don't Like People." Both of our jobs are on there (computer programmer and writer), so you might say that being a bit anti-social is in my genes. He's as good a role model as any that work isn't life and clothes don't make the man. My mom is hands-down the best person I know, inside and out. And my little brother is beyond awesome.

- Cross-country friends. Being in the Midwest by myself is kind of like living in a friendship sieve. It's been great to know that, with some people, how far away we are or how infrequently we talk has zero impact on our friendship or our understanding of each other. And I'm always learning from and leaning on them, even if I haven't seen them in over a year (I'm looking at you, "Julie Andrews" Chung). And now we're making friends in Evanston. So things are good.

- Freelancing. Even if it doesn't technically put money in the bank, it keeps me sane and less frustrated with my career path. It also makes me feel like my journalism degree wasn't a mistake. Plus, it's fun, and makes me feel like I'm keeping up with my HS/college/grad school peers. Not that it's a competition, of course. (Only if I don't like you, or if you've wronged a friend in some way. I'm not above a little petty, pointless, one-sided rivalry.)

- Back in January, I felt like I was holding a bunch of loose threads. My family/friends were all in the East Coast. My Medillians were gone. I was living in my first real apartment that I was responsible for in every way. I had my first real job with real responsibilities and a very real, very long bus commute. Oh, and I couldn't remember the majority of the last 3 months of grad school due to rage blackouts. So January started off on a bit of an amnesiatic note. And without any sort of anchor in Chicago, I probably would've packed it all in, gone back East and moved back in with my parents. I wouldn't've ever become this independent or been able to carve a place out for myself. So this one's for you, Blue.

Ugh, gross. My Grinch-heart can't take all this sap. I need to do something senselessly insensitive, like punt a guinea pig. Or just take a shower, that would work, too, I suppose.

On a side note: is the Grinch a multi-purpose holiday-cheer-zapper, or does he function for Christmas only? What's the Thanksgiving version of the Grinch?

Anyway, I hope everyone has a good Thanksgiving!

mid-november greys

2010-11-13T17:56:00.004-05:00

Where has the time gone? Mid-November already?? And my Christmas list nowhere near complete?!?! Part of me is panicking (and cursing the fact that I didn't comb the summer art shows for gift items as closely as I should have), but the other part is saying "Eh. I'm warm right now."

And, yeah, the bottom right half of my face is numb for the 3rd or 4th time in a month. So what? So what if I'm going back to the dentist again in 2 weeks to get a new crown? All that worrying and bothersomeness is in the future. Right now, my apartment is full of the smell of bean-and-beef stew bubbling away on my stove. And once the anesthesia wears off, I can finally taste it properly! It's the weirdest feeling, to be able to taste with only half your tongue.

It's pretty grey and damp outside, but I'm cozy inside with my favorite grey sweater, crocheting a 2nd Gryffindor scarf in anticipation of HP7.1 next Friday. Looking forward to seeing Tyler later. Feeling pretty good right about now.

costumes that shan't be worn

2010-11-01T13:05:00.004-04:00

The day after Halloween really should be its own holiday. I'd like to call it "Gawking at Shame-Walkers Day," in honor of the two stunningly classy young ladies that were on the train with me at 6am this morning, openly garbed in the vestiges of last night's costume party. One was dressed as a slutty cat, complete with tail and ears. Her friend was dressed as what might be called a "chubby slut-wench," her Northface fleece flung wide to reveal an amount of cleavage that I can only describe as "incredibly alarming." Let's just say, had I accidentally run into her from the front, I would've gotten a faceful of flesh in a way that is not at all desirable or pleasant. And I thought my striped stockings today were a bold fashion choice! Silly me.

monday lunchtime update

2010-10-25T13:36:00.005-04:00

I love lunchtime, b/c it gives me a chance to not think about office supplies and check up on my friends' blogs. For instance, what did Jess do yesterday? I can tell you: she bought shoes. How does she feel about immigration? Keep scrolling; try not to get distracted by the Care Bears' Easter egg hunt and the delicious Taiwanese oyster pancake. I also read reviews for Michael Caine's new book and Paranormal Activity 2.

Basically I care more about everything else right now than writing about office supplies. To give you an idea about what kind of day I'm having, let me tell you what I did on the bus this morning.

I had brought a book to read during my lengthy commute, but the blurb on the front flap required far too much concentration than I was able to muster in my pre-coffee state. I gave up figuring what the book was about, and contented myself with picking off the "Bargain Priced" sticker on the front cover. And then I pretended to sleep for about an hour so people wouldn't talk to me. (Although, now I'm not so sure that I was just pretending. I felt like I was thinking about stuf the whole time and didn't feel any more rested afterwards, but I also don't remember much of it, so...who knows. I vaguely remember having very compelling emotions about making meatballs.)

I had a pleasant weekend though. Since Tyler is up to his neck in covering high school sports, I spent Friday night in my sweatpants with pad thai from Joy Yee's, an inch of red wine, and Pirates of the Caribbean on TV. It felt very grown-up, kind of a single-lady-in-the-city sort of feeling. Except, of course, am not single nor technically live in a city. But still.

Saturday and Sunday were pretty chill, much art-ing (painting class on Saturday; Art Institute with a recently transplanted W&Mer on Sunday) and watching NCIS re-runs. I'm starting on a portrait of my friend Kim in my art class, and discovered that apparently EAC is dominated by two types of people: homeschooled high school girls and curious octogenarians. A very nice elderly man complimented me on my painting technique ("You have a very pretty style"), then asked deceptively probing questions about my new subject. "What does her husband do?" he queried, somewhat wistfully. "Oh, she's not married? What does she do, then? How do you know her? She's absolutely lovely. Just lovely." It was very funny and sweet, one of those things where only men of a certain age can pull off without being creepy. I couldn't very well be like "Stop hitting on the picture, sir!" The man paints abstract flower pots, for goodness sake! Plus he complimented me, and I am a total sucker for compliments.

headphones and weekend update

2010-10-18T13:27:00.010-04:00

This probably sounds weird, but I have a complete inability to wear headphones and eat at the same time. I don't know what it is, but something about having headphones in/covering my ears while I'm chewing is incredibly uncomfortable. Which means me trying to transcribe the interview I did this past weekend will just have to wait (and ugh, how I hate transcribing). This whole weird headphone-thing also makes lunchtimes at my desk a very quiet affair, not only b/c I sit in the nuclear wasteland section of the office building, but b/c I can't play meal-time tunes. But anyway.

Here's a bit of an update on my weekend:
- Moderated at an Asian College Fair event for an appearance by actor James Kyson Lee. I was nervously word-vomiting when we were in the prep room, and he asked, sounding confused, "So, uh...you're a journalist?" No, James. I'm just an idiot.
- Covered a Tibetan celebration of the 3rd anniversary of the Dalai Lama's conferment of the Congressional Gold Medal of Honor, which was fun. A little sleepy girl mistook me for her mother and wouldn't let go of my arm/rubbing her face on me. She was so incredibly cute, I very nearly spontaneously became pregnant.
- Decided to make beef bourguignon as a surprise for Tyler, which apparently takes like 32375 ingredients. Spent about an hour picking everything out at the Jewel, then experienced a bit of a setback when I tried to buy a bottle of red wine (a key ingredient) b/c the cashier thought I was using a fake. I went back and got that bad puppy with my passport, but it was a pretty frustrating event. Never did get to make beef bourguignon, which apparently also takes like 3 hours to make. (Well, the recipe said 3 hours, an 'easy' level recipe; knowing me, it would be more like 4.5 hours plus an emotional breakdown.)

And now, back to the grind...

coffee and potato chips

2010-10-13T08:24:00.008-04:00

Well, it's finally happened: I've officially upgraded from a small-size coffee to a medium at Dunkin' Donuts. This is only a problem because I have a life-goal of not being addicted to anything, but this caffeine thing is really tripping me up. Usually I'm pretty good about it, especially given that I'm pretty sensitive to caffeine (half a Coke at dinner will keep me up all night), but this week has been rather ornery. The last time I got this bad with coffee was during 4th quarter Medill hell, of which I only remember bits and pieces.

The main culprit for the coffee cup upgrade is my next-door neighbor. I don't know what he does, but he's come home every night this week at 3 am. Because our building is like, pre-historic, the walls are quite thin and there is very little sound insulation, so I get startled awake when he comes in. And then he usually spends the next hour or so opening/closing drawers, running the water, and treading the floorboards, which must be connected with mine, b/c I can hear the creaking inside my apartment. Very spooky, given my fear of ghosts/demons/burglars/etc. Yesterday morning, he was whistling. Since then he's developed a cold, b/c this morning he blew his nose until about 4 am.

As you know, my commute is about 2 hours and change each way, slightly longer in the afternoons due to traffic. To get to work on time, I normally get up at 5:30 am, leave the house at 6 am. So when it was 4:15 am and I had no hope of falling back asleep, I was like "Eff this in the face, I'll just catch the 5:22 am bus." So I got up, turned on the news, restrained myself from slashing wrists, etc. I decided that, due to the sheer awfulness of the morning, I would treat myself to coffee and a hot sandwich at the Dunkin' Donuts.

I get to Davis St a little after 5 am, really kind of looking forward to burning my mouth on a turkey cheddar bacon flatbread sandwich. That's when I found out that the hot sandwiches at Dunkin' Donuts are delivered frozen and would not be ready to be heated up until at least 6 am.

What. The. Eff. Are you serious??? You're killing me here, DD!!

In a fit of depression, I bought a medium coffee and sat on a bench with the other poor, vagrant souls who board buses at ungodly hours. The early morning 208 bus driver is really cheerful and made jokes about shopping (the route takes it to 3 separate malls). The early morning 272 is super crammed. A woman fell asleep on my left arm, which really tested my boundary issues.

So if you see me today and I snap at you without provocation, know that I've been up since 3 am and was on a bus to work before Dunkin' Donuts was ready to make hot sandwiches. My apologies in advance.

And if, for whatever reason, you foolishly choose to provoke me today...God help you. May God help you.

questions from our readers

2010-10-10T14:09:00.008-04:00

Happy 10/10/10 day, everyone! For some reason it feels really satisfying to write that. 10/10/10. It's also the birthday of one of my favorite friends, which makes it just that much better.

Because a writer without an audience is, basically, a sad and lonely diary-keeper, today's post will be dedicated to answering questions from the loyal and awesome readers who keep my self-esteem afloat in the sludgy sea that is journalistic rejection. You have no idea how much the six of you mean to me.

So without further ado, let's begin the inaugural edition of Questions From Our Readers.

Vicky, why do you write so much about stuf that annoy you? Don't you like anything at all?

Why yes, dear Reader, there are many things that I like. I like the fine selection of brunch locales in Chicago. I like the convenience of public transportation. I like frozen yogurt/soft serve in all its incarnations, from Red Mango to Rita's Water Ice. I like wearing pajama pants in the middle of the day, catching up with old friends, and making slow-cook foods like chili and spaghetti sauce. See? There are lots of things that I like.

Okay. But why do you have such disdain for fake international students?

Because they suck.

What?

Sorry. I got a little emotional. Here's the thing: real international kids are, generally, really cool. Several of my favorite people in the whole world are/were international kids. So I can see why some people want to act they are, even though, really, all they did was go to some fancy international boarding school...in Vermont. Here's a sample conversation to show what I mean:

Person: So where are you from?
Me: Virginia. You?
Person: Well, my mom is British and my dad is French. So I'm pretty international.
Me: Wow. That's really cool. Did you grow up in England or in France?
Person: Well, I went to a boarding school in New England.
Me: Oh, gotcha. That must've been hard. Do you ever go to England or France?
Person: Just England sometimes. My mom's from Manchester and my dad's from Louisiana.
Me: Oh, so he came to Louisiana from France?
Person: Well, one of my ancestors did, in like the 1700s.
Me: ...So...what you're saying is, you're half-British and half-American.
Person [getting annoyed]: Didn't you hear anything I said? My dad's from Louisiana.
Me: ...Right. Which is in...the US.
Person [defensively]: Look, Louisiana is basically France.

Call me stupid b/c I didn't have a fancy international boarding school education, but I'm fairly certain that it's been a while since Louisiana was a part of France. It's weird, but I've met an inordinate number of people who have one parent from Louisiana and claim partial French citizenship. It's one of the most maddening and illogical things ever. Maybe it's not considered "cool" or "hip" in the international circles to be part American, but uh, suck it up.

Who do you think should win the next Nobel Peace Prize?

Without a doubt, the team behind Procter and Gamble's Swiffer series. It's completely revolutionized cleaning! They took the need for cleanliness, combined it with human laziness/aversion to cleaning, and built an empire. I want my apartment to be clean, but I'm not about to be hauling around a mop and a bucket. The Swiffer WetJet (a kindly donation from David) minimizes cleaning time and yet maximizes cleanliness. What is not to like? It's genius. GENIUS.

Speaking of cleanliness, why do you clean so much? I mean, you have a 3-step process just to clean your floors: sweeping with normal broom, then Swiffer Sweeper, then Swiffer WetJet. And, if you're feeling particularly germaphobic, you'll go over that with some multi-purpose cleaner. Don't you think that's a bit of an overkill?

Well, you know what they say: cleanliness is next to godliness. This because a dirty home would literally drive me insane and to commit random acts of senseless violence--not very godly, you know. So it's important to be clean. I live in a 100+ year-old building where railroad grime coats the window panes and the dust of pioneers is coughed up from the floorboards with every creaky step. And given that my immediate space has been inhabited by approximately 19454328 anonymous people of unknown lifestyle practices over the years, I don't think it's unreasonable to want to sanitize it much as I can. Basically, the only thing standing between me and a rage blackout is a clean apartment.

Well, there you have it, Readers, the first edition of Questions! If there's anything that you want to know, just leave a comment or send me an email, and I'll try to include it in the next edition.

old men/women

2010-10-06T14:54:00.003-04:00

I have a fear of growing old and becoming an androgynously gendered elderly person.

You know what I mean. We've all seen couples who have grown old together, holding hands and wearing similar bulge-y sweatshirts, elastic pants and sneakers. Not that there's anything wrong with that; I aspire to still want to hold hands with my spouse when we're both 85 and crotchety.

The problem lies in the fact that it takes far too long to discern which one is the man and which one is the woman b/c they are (somehow) the same height, have the same short haircut and same vague whiskers on their chins. I feel like such a creepy, staring at their chests to determine who has more boob, and thus, is the woman of the couple.

I shared this fear with Tyler, as I do with all my fears. He responded with great sensitivity and tact.

"Wait. You can't be serious. You really think that people are going to confuse us??" said my 6-foot-tall boyfriend incredulously. "Ever??" And then: "Why are you crazy???"

Okay, fine, so it probably won't ever happen with us, but still, I think it's a valid concern. I don't want to be a man-grandma!

mid-morning musings

2010-09-30T10:04:00.003-04:00

A few minutes past 9 AM is not technically mid-morning, I suppose, but since I regularly get up at 5:30 AM, it feels mid-morning. Since I arrived at the office, I've eaten:

1 cup milk tea (the Asian kind)
1 Yoplait Whipped (strawberry mist)
1/2 Taco Bell chicken quesadilla (leftover from last night's late supper after Tyler's softball doubleheader)
1/2 mashed avocado (other half saved for lunch)
1 Oreo (Halloween-themed!!)
3 potato chips (yes, I kept count; don't ask)

I feel slightly disoriented.

more things that bother me

2010-09-13T13:18:00.008-04:00

It's been a busy few weeks, but I'm happy to report that I am still fairly sane, mostly healthy and have not been arrested for any crimes. I flew to Virginia the week of Labor Day and just had the best time ever seeing family and friends again. It really made me realize how much I missed the East Coast, and all that comes with it, especially that peculiar mix of sophistication, ambition and utter geekiness. My mom sent me back to Chicago with my luggages crammed with homesickness. It's kind of funny...I've always thought of myself as a traveler, a wanderer. But increasingly, I've come to discover that I have a very strong attachment to important players in my life, not unlike one of those harnesses that overly cautious moms subject their small children to. In this case, it seems like my harness has multiple leashes, each tugging me back to the East Coast.

I know. What a sap. So I've decided to get out of my funk by taking another hard look at the things that bother me. I am, after all, incredibly superficial, petty and spiteful. What better cure for homesickness than indulging in those weaknesses? Here goes:

1. People who, after pouring themselves a cup of coffee, leave just dregs in the morning pot. Um, hello. It is 8:30 in the freakin' morning. You are not the only one who is going to stumble into the copy room to get a cuppa. It will literally take you an additional 10 seconds to dump out the old coffee ground, put in a new filter, rip open a packet of pre-measured coffee, pour into the filter, push "brew" and then walk away. Literally 10 seconds. The machine takes care of everything. You don't actually have to measure anything at all! Why would you leave half a swallow of coffee in the pot and force the next person who comes in to fix it and then wait around for the coffee to brew?? There is a special circle of punishment for you, oh Thou Who Refuseth to Refill Coffee Pot Person.

2. Taylor Swift. I get it. You're very quirky and sensitive, and you excel in writing revenge songs disguised as folk tunes. But for goodness' sake, you are almost 21. Just how many times can you prance around in variations of a prom dress and recycle the themes of "that jerk just up and left me; by the way he's really going to regret it" and "when will that dreamboat with the b-word girlfriend ever like me?" But worst of all, why, WHY are all of your songs so freakin' catchy??? "Today was a Fairytale" is just about the dumbest song I've ever heard, yet I know most of it by heart. So please pick some new themes to sing about b/c I no longer wish to relive the angsty awkwardness of my high school love attempts every time your stupid songs come on the radio.

3. Periwinkle; or, as I like to call it, the bastard child of baby blue, lilac, and death. The blue family doesn't want you. The purple family doesn't want you, either. I can see where periwinkle might be nice as a flower or maybe as a (very) small accent, but there is just no excuse for things like periwinkle dishes, tablecloths or drapes. God help you if your bridezilla chooses to encases you in shiny periwinkle satin. The only person who can pull off this bastard shade is Queen Elizabeth II, but only because she's very old, has lived through World War II, and, um, is the effin' Queen of England, so she can do what she wants. Everyone else: lay off.

golf extravaganza

2010-08-15T19:11:00.007-04:00

On Saturday, I stood within 5 feet of Tiger Woods in Kohler, Wisconsin.

We were standing between the 3rd and 4th holes, and he walked right by us on his way to the tee. He wore a dark blue shirt and grey pants, and only stopped his scowling long enough to lift a hand in acknowledgement of two bikini-clad girls screaming at him from a boat on Lake Michigan. I was crinkling my way through a bag of gummie bears (much to the chagrin of the "quiet please" ppl), and Tyler really wanted me to offer one to Tiger, but I was afraid that he'd either bite me (pun!) or his hoard of security ppl would throw me out. It was pretty cool though. He's much taller in real life than I thought he'd be. After he tee'd off, he slammed his club back into his bag (it only went partially in--how embarrassing) and stalked off towards the green.

I've never been to any sort of golf event before, so getting to go to the PGA Tour with Tyler and his dad was pretty exciting. It was super hot and humid, despite the cloud-cover. We were all sweating buckets and I made everyone put on sunscreen so we wouldn't get burnt to a lobster crisp.

Golf is a curious sport. For one thing, most of the bystanders look like wandered out of a prep school. I've never seen so many people wearing khaki shorts in one place! (Disclaimer: I was wearing khaki flood pants, not b/c I am a serious golf fan, but b/c they're the lightest pair of pants that I have.) The problem is that khakis are very unforgiving if you happen to sweat even a little bit. Lots of visibly damp butts walking around. You can tell someone's a really hardcore fan if they're wearing a ball cap, a short-sleeve polo and LONG khaki pants instead of shorts. It's intense, man. Their fandom radiates off of them in the form of intense silence when the PGA "quiet please" staff raise their arms. Woe to any person who might be walking on gravel or padding through the grass when those arms go up! This one lady was scolding her kid when the "quiet" arms went up, and instead of people being like "Well, I guess she's in the middle of child-rearing," it was like "Will that woman shut up already?! JEEZ. The NERVE of some people!" It really was quite amazing.

Anyway, the whole experience of it was pretty fun, but I'm glad it's only in Wisconsin every 5 years or something like that. Not sure if I can handle another one with Tyler, should we have the chance to go next year! It was a long day though, because we headed out around 5:30am, then basically drove straight back down to Danville, and didn't get in until around 1:30 or so this morning. I was fading hard...thank goodness Tyler was better at staying awake than I was, especially since he was driving!

So now I'm chilling out in the Blue living room (incidentally, it is filled with blue furniture), watching Sudden Death Golf with Tyler's dad and sister, Madeline. There is nothing quite like Sudden Death Golf, y'all...

foods i eat when no one's watching

2010-08-09T12:04:00.014-04:00

Like most girls, I adore lists of any sort. "10 Tips to a Slimmer You." "10 Jeans Guaranteed to Make Your Butt Look Awesome." "5 Blouses to Boost Your Boobage." Etc. (And now you know what kinds of magazines I read after having a fancy-pants liberal arts education and a Masters degree from Northwestern.)

Today's list is inspired by a CNN article I read a few months back about the gross foods that we eat in secret when we think no one else is around. Because, let's face it--no one wants anyone to be watching when they eat packets of microwaveable Kraft mac 'n' cheese! (Not that I do, of course; that is what we journalists call "an example general audiences will understand, but not something that we do personally, especially not for four years in college.") But oh, how we love those guilty pleasures! Without further ado:

1. Raw cookie dough. Salmonella be damned, I love raw cookie dough for its smooth-yet-grainy texture, how you can kind of feel the sugar grains crack between your teeth. I love taking my time nibbling on the dough and the chocolate chipd and squishing it between my fingers. So I guess I don't eat it around people, not so much that it's a gross food, but that I like to take an embarrassingly long time to eat it.

2. Brussel sprouts. I know it's weird, which is why I don't tend to eat it around people. But I can't help but love brussel sprouts. Get a pan really hot and then melt some butter, throw in some Tony Chachere seasoning, cut the sprouts in half and pan-fry them until they're charred on the outside, flaky and tender on the inside. SO GOOD. Tyler thinks it's gross though, and has not let me forget the one time I made him eat ONE leaf, which he washed down with frantic gulps of water. (Not even the whole sprout! Just one leaf!)

3. Dried squid and fish snacks. Remember how we used to eat them in the Nicholas/Asian households? Those were the days! Remember how Benny bought a package of them and we roasted (okay, HE roasted) them over our stove so they got all hot and crackly? And all the squid and cuttlefish-related snacks that Sunny brought from Taiwan?? Haven't had the opportunity to be eating them these days, but it's something I know I would eat when no one's around. Mmm, savor that Asian goodness!

4. Rainbow frosting from the can. You know, the vanilla frosting that's got all the yummy roundish rainbow-colored candies inside? This is not to be confused with the kind that's got the flat sprinkles--the rainbow candies are like 12485231 better tasting and better textured than the sprinkles! I could just eat spoonfuls of this stuf, relishing every rainbow candy. So it's basically like eating butter and sugar and food coloring for a couple of hours. So gross, so delicious.

5. Ramen. Every bowl of Shin Ramyun takes me back to the good ol' Nicholas 107 days. Also, my mom used to only let us eat ramen on special days, like snow days, or if we had a bad day, so it's kind of become like my ultimate comfort food. Being alone out in the Midwest, I have had my share of nostalgia and homesickness, which means I turn to ramen rather a lot. I've gotten to the point where I've started to be all chef-y with my ramen. Like I'll mix different seasonings and sauces together or cook it with different kinds of stock (if you make it with chicken broth, it's basically healthy, right? Just like chicken noodle soup!). I also try varying combinations of what I call "ramen accessories": eggs, tempura, tofu, frozen corn, sausage. It's almost become like real cooking for me, which is kind of sick, if you think about it.

Some of you might be thinking "My gosh, Vicky, I never knew you liked rainbow icing that much," or "I never knew you were a ramen connoisseur," to which I reply "OF COURSE NOT, that's why they are SECRET FOODS that I eat when no one's watching!" These are foods that must be eaten with a certain lack of grace that just won't do with company around.

So now that you know my guilty foods, what are yours??

conversations with my mother

2010-08-07T13:43:00.004-04:00

Sometimes talking with my mom is like talking with a very demanding phrase-generator machine on crack. Don't get me wrong; I love love love her. But sometimes I get kind of light-headed after conversations because I'm all out of breath trying to keep up with her.

For example, on Saturday I called her while I was doing laundry and we started talking about plane tickets and when I should try to schedule my flight home for Christmas. This is a snippet of what ensued.

Mom: Remember to let me know when you'll be flying in because you might fly in late at night because sometimes you don't have a choice you know and we'll pick you up at the airport if you're not with Tyler because I don't want you to to take a taxi if you are not with Tyler and then when you get in Daddy and I are going to take you to Tachibana because I know you like that and--
Me: Uh, okay, yeah, I'll let you know about the--
Mom: I want to order you some pork jerky, do you want some? Do you like that? Do you need yellow noodles?
Me: Uh--
Mom: OH!!!! VEEKY!!!!!!! Let me ask you! What is the name of that store? It begins with 'A.'
Me: Um...
Mom: You have a jacket from there.
Me: Oh, yeah, okay. Uhhh. [racking brain trying to think of jackets I've gotten] I really don't know...what does the jacket look like?
Mom: I don't know.
Me: What?
Mom: Blue. It's blue. It's a blue jacket.
Me: I don't have a blue jacket.
Mom: I know. I know.
Me: What?
Mom: It's in your closet. I'll just check.
Me: What?? What jacket??
Mom: I know. Okay. So this store. A-something. Aaaaaaa. Blue jacket. Aaaaaaa.

Apparently she also bought me a light sweater in Taiwan, and it's blueish yellowish greenish. It's like her brain is going so fast, she has no time to process any details before she's onto the thing 8 or 9 steps ahead. Would not at all be surprised if the sweater was actually, like, pink.

I can't wait to do the same thing to my kids in 25 years or so.

things that bother me

2010-08-02T14:45:00.007-04:00

After a bit of a blog hiatus, today's post will be about Things That Bother Me.

1. "Convenience" fees when you buy tickets online. If it was so "convenient," why does it add so much to the tab that I could purchase at least one more ticket, or at least a dinner for two at a nice restaurant? It is most inconvenient! I don't understand.

2. People who light up cigarettes inside the bus shelter. Bus shelters are typically enclosed spaces, right, so when you smoke inside the bus shelter, it's like smoking in a very small room with a door propped open. So basically, instead of stepping outside for a smoke like a normal, courteous person, you're forcing all the other occupants of the small room to either cough through your cancer cloud or move to stand outside themselves. That is just rude! Especially when the other occupants are old grannies with canes or bags of groceries.

3. Couples that are inexplicably icky. You know what I mean: two people who are relatively attractive, fairly intelligent, reasonably sociable...but somehow make you feel so uncomfortable, you can't bear to sit next to them in a class or share a meal with them. It's nothing overt. It's not like they're groping at each other or passive/aggressive fighting all the time. But it's like something about their interactions or the way they look at each other that is just like "Ugh, I am in the presence of something that isn't quite right." Gross.

4. Overripe fruit when you're not expecting it to be. (I'm looking at you, banana-that-I-just-threw-out.) There is nothing more disgusting than peeling a banana that's greenish on the outside but is somehow all soft and mushy on the inside. Ugh. Just thinking about overripe bananas makes me want to gag.

5. People my age who have small children but don't have a firm grasp on the proper use homonyms, such as here/hear. Really? You're responsible for another human life but you can't pick out the right you're/your to use in a sentence?? Yes, I am judging your ability to teach your child the basics of the English language if you still can't tell which there/their/they're to use at age 24.

I possess a lot of spite. In case you couldn't tell.

happy 4th of july weekend!

2010-07-02T17:00:00.003-04:00

It's one of those days where I just feel really content and just...happy.

Since today was a short workday, my boss let me work from home so I wouldn't have to spent 4+ hours commuting for 5 hours of work. I woke up at my usual 5:30am, so I got right to work at 6am. I put on MTV and listened to music videos as I parsed through some notes, wrote a story, returned some emails, scheduled an interview for next week. I had parked Trey (my work laptop) on my dining room table (okay, so it's more like a small kitchen table, whatever), which is right next to the window, and just really enjoyed the weather, which was just absolutely perfect: sunny, 80 degrees, tons of cool breezes.

Also, the maintenance ppl weren't running whatever machine that is under the building that generates suffocating amounts of heat to make my apartment feel like a steam bath, so my apartment really did feel cool and comfortable. So I guess you can say that I feel really happy and content today because I hate my apartment less than usual. I want to say that I completely love it today, except I still haven't gotten my July issues of Marie Claire and InStyle. Even though I've complained to the receptionist twice about the mail system (unfortunately, yes, this is the receptionist that I suspect is reading my subscriptions), nothing has been done, which makes me incredibly annoyed.

But nevermind, can't let that ruin the perfect mood of today. After work, I went to the library and then met up with Tyler for lunch. Then I came back to my apartment and changed into my super comfortable cover-up that I got on sale from a recent Gap trip with my friend Monica. Turned on the Food Network and started reading Shadow of the Hegemon, which I've read before so now it's just like catching up with an old friend. Ate a yogurt. Super chill afternoon.

Mmm, the breezes are carrying in the yummy cooking smells from someone's grill! Oh, it definitely feels like summer now!

Hope everyone is having a good 4th of July weekend!

fear #7463: being fat at my 10-year HS reunion

2010-06-14T13:21:00.003-04:00

After randomly checking out pictures of people I went to HS with (thank you, Facebook, for turning me into even more of a creepy stalker than I was before), I developed this small but persistent fear that I will be fat and/or horrendous-looking at Chantilly's 10-year HS reunion. Strangely enough, I'm not that concerned about being out-careered (being a journalism grad, I've basically already resigned myself to this fate) or out-married (am not above bribing a man to marry me prior to said event). Apparently I'm really that superficial.

But you know exactly what I mean about looking at current pictures of people that you went to high school with--and don't act like you don't judge them, too! You look at them and think "What happened?!": the popular athletes who gained 30 pounds and are cautionary tales for the dangers of fraternity douchedom. Or the Mean Girls who, 6 years out of high school, have turned into walking orange billboards for the dangers of tanning booths. Or the creepy emo guys who have somehow spawned offspring that look just like them (they swear the eyeliner scrawled around the eyes of their children is natural). Or all the ladies who seem to be jockeying for a stint on "America's Most Desperate Cougars Real World Cancun (Theme: I'm Pretty Sure I Don't Have an STD)."

Sometimes it feels like sweet, sweet redemption. ("Ah, so you wouldn't even talk to me in high school? WELL, NOW YOU ARE FAT.") Other times, you get all cold and prickly and think, "Oh no, is that what I look like to them?? Flabby and...old???" It's no use pretending you have even a semblance to the body you had in high school, where you ate delicious and healthful meals prepared by a domestic figure and ran several miles a week courtesy of gym class and/or sports. Today, I basically subsist on couscous, chicken in various forms, and whatever greasy carry-out haven that Tyler and I treat ourselves to on the weekends. And the exercise I get is mostly walking to/from the bus station and to/from my cubicle to the bathroom. It's not a lot.

I unleashed these fears onto Tyler, who is infinitely patient and seems completely unperturbed by the thought of looking like a monster in 4 years. Our conversation went something like this:

Me: What if I'm fat at my 10-year reunion?? BOO HOO WAIL GRIPE, etc.
Tyler: [after some thought] I know! I have the perfect solution: be pregnant.
Me: I'm sorry, what was that?
Tyler: Be pregnant. That way if anyone else like "Gross, that Vicky got FAT," you can turn around and be like "Excuse me...[points to belly] I'm pregnant." And then they can't say anything bad at all. Because you're pregnant!
Me: ...I'm not getting pregnant just so I will avoid being called fat. Besides, the timing of that would require way too much planning.
Tyler: Oh. Don't worry. It'll happen. Trust me.
Me: ...What????

I'm not sure if that idea is ingenius or downright disturbing. But still. Probably wouldn't hurt to waddle a few laps around the ol' office...

sorry, you're a douchebag

2010-05-19T22:24:00.004-04:00

So I get that you defriended me because you broke my friend's heart. That's fine. I get that.

You systematically went through your friend list and clicked away all the people that you had had in common. All of her family members and their significant others and friends who were more hers than yours. Basically anyone who would have cause to wish damage upon your cowardly, slimy person--probably wise, because I'm willing to bet there are many more people who like her than who like you. All bias aside, she is like 1000 times more awesome than you anyway. But it's like you thought that if you'd just removed all the people that you met through her, maybe no one will notice you ever existed and that you were a rotten, sleazy scoundrel with balls so small a mouse would be hard-pressed to find your manhood.

Honestly, I'm sorry that you're such a douchebag. Because I actually kind of liked you. You were funny and seemed grounded. I thought we'd be better friends as time goes on. Guess not, b/c you turned out to be a Class A Douche Canyon. I hope you get that, even though you'd like to pretend that we never met, I will never, ever forget what you did. If there is any justice in the world, you will be unemployed, live in a roach-infested apartment and date whore-y cheaters for the rest of your life. As an added measure, you will also develop a severe allergy to all of your favorite things. And kittens will hate you.

trivial observation

2010-05-13T13:17:00.005-04:00

Despite an intense fear of salmonella, I willfully ignore all dietary precautions to consume obscene quantities of raw chocolate chip cookie dough. I like it because it eats like ice cream that doesn't melt. And if you know a thing or two about me, it's that ice cream cones carry a certain precariousness because of how slow I eat. Super yummy.

But what I do not like is the Spicy Chicken Nuggets from Wendy's. Yes, it is spicy. And I guess it's technically chicken. But what they don't tell you is that it will burn away your taste buds in a burst of processed fire, rendering you unable to speak or swallow. Your ears will pop from shock and you will then just sit there, blinking rapidly and sniffling as your tummy does a 180 degree back flip as it tries to figure out if it can, indeed, digest chemically spiced plastic. Which is terrific, especially if you're in the middle of a long road trip.

wish i were a little bit taller / wish i were a baller

2010-05-11T13:34:00.004-04:00

Yesterday, I tried to capitalize on my recent weight gain as an opportunity to give blood. Being just about 5'1 has its disadvantages: the nurse wouldn't believe that I weighed enough to be a blood donor.

"But I do," I insisted, only lying a teeny tiny bit.

"Sorry," she said, eyeing my driver's license suspiciously. They should put this woman in charge of airport security, b/c she can sniff out the slightest untruthfulness like a shark.

"Nice try, girl!" shouted another nurse from across the room, just to further my shame. This girl is a blood donor wannabe! "Thanks for trying!"

What like, this was a game or something? I just want to give blood, not win a prize! I bet she would've believed me if I were a little bit taller. (And a little bit more baller.)

I think that's a belief that many short people hold close to heart: that things might be a little bit different if only we were taller.

This NYT story, Short? No Worries: Just Ask This Texan, talks about the myths of being short and discredits them. For instance, she says that short people are just as socially competent/intelligent as their peers. (So the only thing that explains all the awkward boys is ASC is that...they're Asian? Just kidding. Mostly.) She also says that short people are just as able to run countries. (Although the examples she gave are Napoleon, Hitler, Mussolini and Stalin...stellar rulers, all of them, yes.) Which is cool, you know, knowing that I can be smart and also commit mass genocide if I ever ruled a country.

She then goes on to talk about some of the advantages of being short, which is where she totally lost me. Just how is asking for a booster chair in a theater a plus? And where are these kindly plane passengers who help put her luggage in the overhead bin? I live in constant dread of the overhead bin! I always try to use a bag that can be stuffed under the seat so I wouldn't have face uncertain death as I try to wrangle my luggage over my head.

So thanks for trying to make being short into a cool thing, but sorry if I'm not convinced. I'm too busy trying to find a booster seat so I can read this screen without straining my neck.

chinese + english = chinglish

2010-05-03T08:57:00.005-04:00

According to this NYT article, Shanghai is making an effort to eliminate "Chinglish" from its signage. The article includes a helpful slideshow that demonstrates the dangers of incorrect signage...but also examples of bewildering translations, such as "Jew's ear juice." No, the Chinese are not running around lopping off the ears of Jewish people. Just an inexplicably bad translation. Hei mu er (what they're referring to here as "Jew's ear") is a type of herb, I think. The literal translation is "black wood ear"...I have no idea what it is in English, b/c I don't think it's used much in cooking in the US, if at all.

So there are differing feelings about Chinglish. Foreigners/tourists tend to find it very perplexing and funny. Some Chinese people do too, but there are also feelings of humiliation. I think it is a lot to expect another country to put up signs in perfect English--we generally don't have signs up in any other languages, except for the odd Spanish here and there. (My office building has signs in Polish, which is interesting. I can't tell you if they're correct or not, but there they are.)

While I understand Shanghai's effort to eradicate their mistranslated signs, I do think that there is unique culture here. It does give a glimpse as to how the Chinese language/culture works. And also, they're trying! I have a huge soft spot for people who at least try to take on another language. My Chinese is kind of getting iffy, so I speak a form of Chinglish that is more mangled on the Chinese side than I'd like, but I try really, really hard!

And the lost-in-translation thing isn't just in other countries--the US certainly has its share of gaffes when it comes to other languages. I'm willing to bet that there are thousands of Americans walking around in the US with "Chinese" characters tattooed on their bodies and no clear idea if it is actually a real Chinese character or not. Or T-shirts with other languages printed on it...yeah, it's cool to have Swahili on your shirt if no one else around you can read it, but do you really know what it says? A girl in my high school class had a lovely shirt that had "Self-Automated Car Parking" written on it in Chinese. And Six Flags in VA has an Asian-themed restaurant where they stenciled Chinese characters on the wall...except most were sideways, upside-down, flipped in reverse, or just plain wrong. Maybe you can call that ignorant, but it's also kind of funny, kind of human. They get points for trying right?

I guess what I'm trying to say is, mistranslation is something that everyone does, and people shouldn't be belittled for it when it does. Literal meaning might lost through translation, but I think a lot of cultural understanding can be found, too. Which is why I think my relatives can cut me some slack when I make a mess of their language...I'm trying, I really am!

ridiculous row

2010-05-02T13:08:00.002-04:00

I was trying to get to sleep around 1am this morning when a man and a woman got into a loud, obnoxious fight outside my building. I didn't meant to eavesdrop, but they argued so loudly and for so long, I couldn't help but overhear the whole thing. I even got up and peeked out at them from between the blinds in case they got into a physical fight and I needed to call the police. The man seemed to be a middle-aged, thin black man in a dark jacket with the hood up. The woman looked to be younger, in-between normal-sized and plump. She was pale and wore her hair in a short bob, had greenish pants and was swinging around a plastic bag filled with something round. She kept running after him as he paced up and down the block (and also around and around a minivan parked across the street), all the time screaming loud enough that I'm pretty sure the entire 1300 block of Chicago Ave heard their conversation, which went something like this:

Man: Get away from me, you hooker! That was the last time I'm gonna to be tricked by an underage woman!
Woman: Baby, please, listen to me! I didn't mean to lie, I'm not a liar!
Man: I don't want nothing to do with you, you red-haired pixie! I am going home to my family and I don't care what the fuck happens to you!
Woman: What about all that stuff you said about loving me?!
Man: What stuff? I don't even know you! You lied to me! Stay away from me!
Woman: But I have no place to go tonight, please don't leave me here! I am begging you, please! Take me with you!
Man: Hell no! I am going home! To my family! I want nothing to do with you!
Woman [frantic]: Don't leave me! Please, don't leave me here!
Man: I hate you! I hate you, I hate you, I hate you!
Woman: Where am I going to go? I have nowhere to go!
Man [emphatically]: You are a hooker, and I'm not going to jail again.

I cannot even make this stuff up.

todos somos illegales

2010-05-01T19:03:00.005-04:00

I went to the May Day Immigration Rally downtown today. But b/c I am a journalistic fail, I forgot to bring my camera, so unfortunately I have no pictures to show for it. The energy was really fantastic, and I don't think I've ever seen so many American flags before in one place--fluttering on sticks, painted on banners, worns as capes. One guy pushed around a small ice cream cart and did brisk business selling popsicles and ice cream to the bystanders. Towards the end, young girls came on and called out for immigration reform. They were brought to the U.S. as small children, and all spoke perfect, educated English. It was very moving, and not to mention, very brave.

Flanking all intersections to the rally were cops. Blue-shirted cops on horseback and on foot, taking away one guy's drumstick b/c it was a "weapon." Cops in green, boots planted wide on the pavement, slapping their scratched-up wooden clubs solidly--and obviously--into one palm, then the other. It was a little intimidating, and I thought, man, those undocumented girls have some major balls to be speaking out in this sort of crowd.

All in all, a pretty cool event. I'm not a huge fan of rallies/protests (all those people shouting and marching in a crowded space makes me little bit nervous), but for their sake, I hope it got the attention that they needed. Obama, are you listening?

something about white people

2010-04-30T13:10:00.004-04:00

So apparently what I like to do now during lunch is eat at my desk and read the news instead of going down to the cafeteria and attempting to socialize with anyone with a personality grade above "arrogant, self-loving bitch." Thanks, grad school, for lowering my standards and paving the way to mealtimes full of awkward conversation!

Here's what I got today. So I have my own opinions about Christian Lander's book ("Stuff White People Like," which includes Asian girls as #11 on the list...which is awesome, because I literally cannot tell you enough about how much I love being objectified, even if it's tough-in-cheek), and his CNN article How We Became White provoked some thought. In it, he mentions being a white immigrant from Canada, and neatly checking off the "White" box in the US Census. There's no differentiation between White Americans and White immigrants--I guess white people are all assumed to be the same, which is to say, awesomely American and privileged and so forth. Which is, arguably, just as discriminatory as Seth Green's recent joke on SNL that the Asian American version of Snookie would be a violin-wielding and be-spectacled academic nightmare. (Although, to be honest, I was torn between laughing and shaking my head, because the kids in the Asian Student Council at W&M were probably some of the most outrageous and dramatic people I've ever met.)

It is interesting that Lander calls it "that wonderful privilege" to check the White box on the census. I mean, I get his argument, that a 1st generation Canadian-American would probably not be subjected to the same kinds of discrimination as 5th-generation Latino-Americans. Probably true. But do most White people see that privilege? Or really, is it a kind of curse for so many different kinds of people to be homogenized and stereotyped under one label?

baby blues

2010-04-28T18:26:00.002-04:00

OMG I just figured out why some eyes are called "baby blues": because some babies are born with blue eyes that turn darker as they grow up. Thus, baby blues...the blues that you have as a baby. Good lord.

I blame this on being Asian.

I only figured out in high school that some kids are born blonde and then end up with brown hair (and to be honest, I didn't really believe it until I saw pics of Devin as a blonde child). Asian babies are born with dark eyes and dark hair and grow up to have...dark eyes and dark hair. Although I've met some old Asians whose eyes have started to fade in color, so their eyes turn blueish-grey. Pretty cool, actually. Sigh.

Oh my goodness, I'm boiling eggs right now and it's starting to making these disturbing rattling noises. Uhhhh. Gotta go!

exes and oh's

2010-04-28T09:21:00.006-04:00

B mentioned one time that the smell of Peppermint Patties made her think of her mom. For some reason, that really stuck with me. Now, just thinking about Peppermint Patties makes me think of B! It's odd, these memory-association-type-things.

Anyway, that was a just a random thought. I miss my VA fam. Only 2.5 more weeks til C's wedding!

So here's a question: Is it okay for a friend to date your ex? A couple weeks ago, this CNN article asked that very question. I'm actually not super fond of the article, but I think it's a legit topic to explore. The author seems to conclude that it's okay as long as a simple conversation takes place between both parties to kind of stave off the inevitable awkwardness that will occur. But in an age of Facebook with all its pictures and suffocating networks of friends, that simple conversation rarely takes place. Most of us found out via Newsfeed if an ex is seeing a friend. Even if they've decided to be coy about it and leave their relationship status blank, it takes about 15 seconds to look at someone's pictures, read the comments and wallposts, and figure out the truth for yourself. We're all experienced FB stalkers here. Where is the common courtesy to even just say, "Hey listen, I'm dating your ex. I'll probably keep dating him no matter what you say, but hey, just wanted to let you know." How hard is that?

Should a friend date your ex? It sounds simple, but it's a loaded question that I think many of us struggle to answer. A lot of factors come into play. For one thing, how long were you and said ex dating? How close are you with your ex's new fling? How long was the break-up before the ex and your friend got together? Was your break-up amicable or was it like something out of the opening scene in Legally Blonde where that guy dumps Reese Witherspoon in the middle of a nice restaurant? (Ahem, I may or may not have recently caught that movie on TV. I also may or may not have shouted at the TV when it happened...you may have noticed that I harbor pretty strong opinions about guys who act like self-loving, smarmy, smug narcissists.)

But, most importantly, is your ex an honest gentleman-type with a healthy sense of shame? Or is he a weasel-y, lying sack of Class-A douchebaggery? (Or is "bag" too small and mild a term for what kind of jerk he was? Was he more of a douchechasm, or perhaps a douchecanyon? Douchecrater?)

And how long can you hang onto resentment for ex & his/her new fling before it gets to an unhealthy point? Conversely: is there such a thing as unhealthy resentment for an ex and any of his various bed-tramps? (Note: I realized "bed-tramps" is a bit of a harsh term, esp b/c most of those girls are perfectly nice people. But doesn't it just sound like the perfect insult? Bed-tramps!)

There's a lot to be said for honesty. I often think that a lot of these tricky relationship/ex-relationship problems can be worked through if only both parties were honest and tactful...but always easier said than done, right?

I'd love to hear some of your opinions on this topic!

do NOT mess with my cupcakes

2010-04-23T09:15:00.006-04:00

I am pissed. Someone stole my cupcakes.

Let me back up.

Carolyn, a friend from high school, asked me a while ago if I'd ever been to Molly's Cupcakes in Chicago. I said no, but I'd heard of good things. Turns out she and some of her coworkers have been debating over the merits of Molly's Cupcakes vs DC's Georgetown Cupcakes. Splitting off, taking sides, etc--your typical Cupcake War.

They needed a neutral moderator to settle this debate once and for all. Since Molly's does not ship, Carolyn proposed that she mail me some Georgetown Cupcakes, and then I try them both and tell her which one I think is better. Never one to pass up on cupcakes, I said okay. Since I'll be going home in May, I thought I could try to smuggle some Molly's onto the plane to return the favor.

A few weeks go by. We're all very busy. I still haven't been able to make it down to Molly's. Then, on Wednesday night, I get a text from Carolyn asking me if I had received the package yet. I hadn't, but this was not out of the ordinary b/c the mail system at my apartment is a little slow. Because our mail boxes are so narrow, packages must be dropped off at the leasing office, whereupon they will put a package slip in your mailbox so you'll know you got one and can go pick it up. I didn't get a slip, but I was sure I would the next day.

But Carolyn got the FedEx delivery receipt, and it said it was left on the doorstep on Wednesday at noon, meaning it didn't make its way to the leasing office. I called the office a couple times yesterday and even sent Tyler to check the doorway to see if there were any boxes, but there was no sign of this package. Finally, I called the office again in the afternoon and asked if there was a procedure for me to report this stolen package. The receptionist at the leasing office (whom I'm developing a rapid dislike of) said, sounding rather annoyed, "But the mailmen are supposed to know to drop off packages with us."

Well, yes, they're supposed to. But there is no sign anywhere on the door/mailboxes that says this. She could not reasonably expect every single FedEx employee who passes through Evanston to know the idiosyncrasies of every single apartment building in the city. Ms. Receptionist said she'd send out a notice to let people know that my package was stolen and for people to look out for it. That's a nice gesture, Ms. Receptionist, but USELESS, you idiot woman. There is a bigger issue here: mail theft! Your lack of concern/seeming inability to grasp the deeper problem at hand is incredibly frustrating. What I want is to prevent this from happening again, not for someone to turn in an empty box of crumbs! I mean, what if Carolyn had mailed me important business papers, or tax information? Or something sentimental, like a photo album? Should that be left up to a delivery man (who is given absolutely no instruction on the proper place to deliver packages) and the moral conscience of my neighbors?? I sent off a somewhat fiesty email to Management last night, but have yet to receive a response. I'm sorry, but sending a notice for people to "look out for" my package is not enough. (Also, I have yet to receive said notice. Where is it, lady?) Stealing someone's mail is a crime, and I think my building should do more to prevent it from happening again.

So, Anonymous Cupcakes Stealer, I hope you know you committed a federal offense in taking my package. I hope you enjoyed the delicious specialty cupcakes that my friend sent me from Virginia. I hope you feel so guilty about eating stolen cupcakes that you will never, ever, EVER again in your life enjoy another cupcake without feeling like the sick, disgusting, greedy and unscrupulous person that you are.

girls = confusing

2010-04-21T09:17:00.006-04:00

In the last few months, Tyler and I have been making an effort to become more a part of the Evanston community. This mostly means that he has joined a church, and I can recognize several of the PACE bus drivers. Not exactly thrilling stuf.

Anyway, we signed up to do this once-a-week class at Sheil called "Sex and the City of God." Of the dozen or so students, we are the only ones 1. graduated and 2. do not live in dorms. It's definitely been kind of a weird throw-back. I feel so far removed from campus/dorm life!

This week, we talked about intimacy, dating and the hook-up culture. Basically, it kind of boiled down to this: hooking up is super easy, and no one knows what dating is anymore. This one guy literally just said, "Girls, please, just tell me. What do you consider to be a 'date'? I thought I was dating this girl for like, weeks, until I realized that she didn't consider any of the things we did to be dates." It turned into a spirited conversation about dating and how blurred the lines were. Even the tradition dinner-movie-awkward triangle hug at the end of the night (shoulders in, butt out) could be construed a casual night out between platonic friends. Dating nowadays is such a grey area to navigate, it almost makes you long for the structured courtship of times past. Consider:

Dating today
Guy [via phone]: Hey, would you like to get dinner with me on Friday?
Girl: Yeah, sure.
Guy: Great. I'll come pick you up at 7.
Girl: Picking me up to go where? The cafeteria?
Guy: Oh...um. [awkward silence] I thought we could go somewhere else.
Girl: What do you mean?
Guy: Oh...I just thought we could go somewhere else.
Girl: Yeah, that sounds fun. Let me ask John, Jacob, Mary and Stu if they want to come, too!
Guy: Okay. [heart crushed]

Was it clear that he asking her out?? Who knows???

Dating in Times Past
Guy [after waiting in the calling room]: Hello! Can I take you out for a drive?
Girl: I appreciate the gesture, but I'm not interested.
Guy: Right. [leaves]

See how much more clear and helpful if everyone followed some sort of guide? Alas, it is not to be. At the end of our discussion, I saw that Tyler had written on his notepad in giant, loopy letters: "Girls = CONFUSING".

As the class wound down, our instructor, Beth, said something that's stuck with me: intimacy in a relationship is when your proximity becomes liberating. When being close to someone makes you feel more free, more like you can be yourself. Sharing physical and emotional space with someone doesn't mean you have to feel caged in or unrestricted or having to be less of who you are. It was an interesting message to leave with.

After class, Tyler took me home. A couple of odd topics had come up through the course of the evening, and kind of weighed heavily on my mind. You know, all those things about yourself that you don't want your partner to find out about? It's kind of like the emotional equivalent of having/trying to quit a coke habit w/o your partner realizing that he's dating a psycho. Prompted by Beth's description of intimacy, I emotions-vomited into the dashboard of Tyler's car. Flaws, shortcomings, wishing ill on people--things I never thought I'd confess to another person, b/c I was too ashamed to even want to acknowledge them to myself.

"You must think I'm crazy, that you're with this crazy person," I said afterwards, sniffling awkwardly into his shoulder.

"Oh, you," he said, patting me on the back. "Trust me, that's not why I think you're crazy."

And you know, it's weird...but it really did feel liberating.

yes, i have the time, and no, i'm not giving it to you

2010-04-21T08:55:00.004-04:00

So I was waiting at the bus stop on Monday, calmly reading my book and trying not to shiver in my pea coat and scarf, when this big guy holding aloft a huge umbrella gets off one of the buses and walks briskly over to the bus shelter.

"Do any of you know the time--oh, what I am saying? Of course you don't," he said in one breath, a sneer in his voice.

I looked at him blankly as he walked away, his corpulent body hidden beneath an equally massive umbrella (why, though? It wasn't raining). I exchanged a quick look of bewilderment with the only other person at the bus stop, an elderly Asian woman in a pinkish-purple knit cap and matching jacket. (Sidenote: why does it seem that all elderly Asian women are fond of this strange color? My own grandmother is like obsessed with it. Shirts, pillowcases, lipstick, you name it, and she has it in that strange, faded berry color.)

Then I felt a little offended. What did he mean, of course we don't? Because we're women, and women don't have...watches or cell phones...? Because we're Asian, so thereby we must...stingy with giving away the time?

Or did he think that we didn't understand him, didn't speak English?

I am ashamed of how quickly I jump to that possibility. But sometimes, I can't help but wonder. What other motivations could he have for acting the way he did?

Regardless of motive, he was rude. And if he had bothered to ask, it was 4:56, thank you very much. And the next bus to Jefferson Park will be arriving shortly. Jerk.

Non-Fattie Day 3

2010-03-31T09:21:00.002-04:00

One of my Medill friends posted this USA Today story on Twitter today about the extreme dieting that goes on in Asia. Girls swallowing parasites and living on the edge of starvation, all trying to hit the magic number: 100. That's 100 pounds, regardless of height.

If you're an Asian girl, or have close friends who are Asian girls, this is hardly news. Of course you're trying to be thin. All your Asian girl friends want to be thin--or are thin and want to be thinner. Your mothers are trying to be thin. Your aunties are. So you have to be, too, not only because you want to look good, but simply out of self-preservation: there is nothing quite so passive-aggressive as family get-togethers when it comes to criticizing the weight of the younger generation. I can't tell you how many times growing up where aunties and uncles would come up to me (or worse, my mom) and say, "Chubby-chubby, huh? What's your mom feeding you at home?" Sometimes other aunties/uncles would come to my "defense," saying things like, "Aiya! Leave her alone! Just you wait 'til she gets a boyfriend, then she'll care about how she looks." I once thought an auntie was leaning in for a hug, when really she wanted to pinch the fat around my middle to see if I'd gained weight.

And these are people who care about me and truly meant well. (Well, except for the aunt who once told me that I'd be fat if I ate dessert after dinner. I responded by eating a whole slice of chocolate cake. It was awesome. Both the cake and her horrified expression.) Wanting to be thin is just...kind of how it goes, I think, not only in the Asian community but in American, as well. Asian girls maybe got a bit of a head start, and also don't have boobs and butts to contend with during the whole process. I spent a lot of my childhood obsessing over the numbers, crying over the numbers, wishing and praying for the numbers to shrink. I used to do room scans in elementary school: Am I the fattest girl in this room? Am I bigger than her? How about her? Okay, okay, but at least I'm not bigger than the teacher. Right? Right??

Apparently, that's not healthy. It's been a long time since I've really obsessed over weight--the latter years of high school and college were fairly stable, and I was too busy with school and CSO to worry about it anyway. And what a great feeling that was! To just eat anything, at any time, without calculating what it's going to cost you later on. Or even just trying on last year's summer clothes at the end of winter and finding that your shorts still fit. (That's a feeling that I will never take for granted--there is nothing like the giddy excitement of zipping up shorts after 6 months of cold-weather binge-eating!)

But it's so scary how quickly that obsessive mindset come back and take hold. After seeing my new weight number on Saturday, the panic and anxiety creeped in within hours. Just in the last 3 days, I've thought about buying a scale at least 30 times. I ate an Oreo after dinner last night and felt inexplicably guilty about it. I mean, it's ridiculous, right? Ridiculous.

After reading the article, a part of me is like "These girls are crazy," but the other part is like "Yes, of course." No matter how long I'd been able to walk away from constant worrying about my weight, that huge fear comes back so quickly if I crack even just a little. The concept of dieting to be thin is rooted so deeply, I don't know if it's possible to ever really break free of it.

Case in point: I told my mom about my new weight and she responded with bemused horror ("Hahaha! What?! How did you get that big??") and then advised me to eat steamed pumpkin slices b/c it's low in calories but high in fiber--and it's important to eat it with the peel still on. She heard about it on an Asian TV show.

March Madnesses

2010-03-28T16:34:00.002-04:00

I know I said in my last post (um, like a month and a half ago) that I would talk more about my fears. The topic of this post is not exactly about fears, but is closely related enough.

But to bring you up to date: outside of work and commute, it's been a busy month, a veritable March of Family/Friends. I'd really missed my VA folks so much, and it was so, so good to see so many familiar faces in my newly adopted city two weekends in a row. Then it was Tyler's turn to have family and friends in town, so we've just been busy entertaining and eating...and eating...and eating,.

Yesterday I went to the doctor's to get a physical under my brand new health care plan and got my 10-year tetanus shot. How's that for perspective? It's been TEN YEARS since I got my last one before I entered high school. Um, high school was ten years ago?!?! What the eff happened to all this time?? I felt so old. For all you almost-24-year-olds out there, the tetanus shot hurts like a sadistic mofo (yes ladies, it hurts more than the HPV shot). My arm is still really sore and I had a pretty wicked headache yesterday from the shot--1 in 300 adults get headaches from tetanus shots. Lucky me!

So why does all of this relate to fear? Well, it's b/c I also discovered that I had gained 7 pounds since September. Does the March of Family/Friends & Gino's East deep dish pizza have something to do with this? Perhaps. What about the fact that I now live in Chicago, where it's 8 months of winter, 3.5 months of fall, and 2 weeks of spring/summer? I wear longs jeans and sweaters for about 10 months of the year. I'm not even sure where my bathing suit is. But fact of the matter is, probably wouldn't hurt to eat a little bit healthier, esp with Colette's wedding coming up in May. I definitely want to fit into my bridesmaid dress!

Also I watched an episode of "Kendra" (yeah whatever, judge me) and she was crying b/c she just had a baby and she is struggling with the baby weight and not liking how she looked in her clothes. My heart totally went out to her, and I was like, "I might not have a personal trainer, but gosh darn it, I can eat better at least!"

So yesterday, Tyler and I designated it "Last Fattie Day for a While"--b/c we love meats and cheeses, and I know I would get super depressed if I had to give up pastas and stuf. We indulged in dim sum in Chinatown with some Medill lovelies, and then gorged on The Meats pizza and cheesy bread from Papa John's. I went to the store today and bought some salad and assorted vegetables and yogurt. And a pint of chocolate ice cream. Because yes, I'm going to eat healthy, but I'm not going to be crazy about it! Girl needs her Haagan Daaz.

Fertility Fears

2010-02-10T19:04:00.003-05:00

As some of you might know, I have a basic laundry list of fears in life that looks something like this:

- Dying
- My loved ones dying
- Someone dying or dead in my bathtub (which is why I have to have opaque shower curtains--not clear curtains, b/c I'm also afraid of someone accidentally walking in on me in the shower)
- Being impregnated w/o my knowledge (it's happened before, and it just might happen again, and let me tell you, I am definitely NOT Mary, Mother of God, so any child that I have in this way would most likely be some sort of demon, gremlin, or elf)
- Being infertile

I'm not entirely sure how that last fear evolved, but somewhere down the line I just got this feeling that I'm not terribly fertile. My mom had a hard time conceiving my brother, and I just have this nagging suspicion that I'm going to have the same problem. (TMI? Sorry.)

Anyway, I developed this timeline in college: get married in my 20s, have babies before 30. It might look simple, but I definitely struggled with it. I'd always kind of thought that I'd be a career woman--you know, college educated, graduate school, pulling absurd hours and rising the ranks at some magazine. And maybe, MAYBE getting married in my 30s, have children a little later on, that sort of thing. As you can see, my fear of infertility changed my life's plans quite a bit. So much for gung-ho feminism, right? Let's have some babies, stat!

Oh, you laugh. Many people did. But Steph sent me an article a couple days ago that completely validates my fears: Women lose 90% of their eggs by the age of 30!! And only have 3% left when they're 40!!! NOT COOL, WOMB. (You can access the article here.)

What the heck?? How is that fair?!?! How come guys can have babies 'til they're 70 without a second thought?!!?!? GARGH. If there's anything more frustrating than having quasi-irrational/completely speculative fears is having that fear confirmed by science.

So if this happens to all normal women, all I can think of is how much worse it will be if I'm not all that fertile to begin with. I had planned to stick to my timeline before, but you can bet that I'm definitely gluing myself to it now. (Watch out, boys! Just kiddingggg.)

Stay tuned for my next post, where I'll tell you about my fear of scurvy!

Bopping and Grilling

2010-02-06T15:19:00.011-05:00

Last night, Tyler and I covered a basketball game at Evanston Township. The game was at 7, so we decided to grab a quick dinner somewhere close to the high school. I let Tyler pick the place, and he decided on this hole-in-the-wall place called Bop N Grill that recently sprung up along the Bus 93 route. (Read: I dropped subtle hints all week that essentially strong-armed Tyler into "making" this decision).

As some of my Korean friends/aficionados (ahem, Nicholas 107) might suspect from the name, Bop N Grill is a little Korean-owned establishment that serves a combination of Asian and American foods. BBQ short ribs and french fries? Sure. Angus burger topped with a fried egg and a side of rice? You got it, dude.

"This place is like an American restaurant and a Pan-Asian restaurant had sex and now we're standing in its baby," Tyler said, checking out the diner-style menu board and a wall taped with pictures of its star dishes like a proud mama's living room. We both ordered the BBQ short ribs plate, which came with scoops of rice, a side salad drizzled with Thousand Island dressing, and heap of french fries. Check it out (all pics are from their website, http://bopngrill.com/index.html):

Picture is slightly misleading, as there was no kimchi. I think I'll ask them about that next time. Anyway, the kalbi were hot and tasty, reminding me a lot of Connie's mom's amazing cooking. Of course, it was more fast-food-y, and less made-with-love-y, but still, quite yummy. Tyler and my dinner conversation went something like this:

T: Yum. That was good.

V: Mmmphtgrrffff [tears into another piece of beef] Ohmygarrghmmmm.

T: [scoots away] Easy there, lioness.

The guy behind the counter was super nice and seemed to know a lot of his repeat customers by name and recent agenda. He asked if we liked sweets, and then made us the restaurant's only dessert, the eggroll brownie, on the house.

I imagine it must be what a fried Twinkie must be like--hot and sweet on the inside, kind of crunchy and kind of oily-tasting on the outside. It wasn't bad. I dunno if I'd get it on my own, but you can't turn down free dessert, right? I would've gone back for the food alone anyway, but that definitely sealed the deal. Guy knows how to do his business, huh? So yeah, if you're in the mood for delicious and reasonably priced Asian-American food and happen to be on Church St, this is definitely the place to go!

another heartache, another failed romance...on and on...

2010-01-29T23:35:00.007-05:00

Another Friday. Another night of watching high school basketball--not one game, but two. In the last few weeks, I've effectively quadrupled the number of high school basketball games that I've attended in my entire life. Which brings my total game-attendance number to 4.

Tonight's games were really exciting, because they were raising money for breast cancer and it seemed like the entire town came out to support the two competing teams. Lots of little kids running around, which made me nervous b/c I thought they were going to get trampled. One little boy took particular interest in Tyler's tri-colored score-keeping and kept turning around an peeking over Tyler's knee to get a look at his notes. (As for me, I kept thinking the "HP" scrawled on the notepad stood for "Harry Potter" instead of "Highland Park"...yes, I am a nerd.)

Truth be told, the amount of energy crammed into the tiny gym made me really nervous. I don't think I've ever witnessed that much school spirit outside of movies--turns out that people really DO get excited about basketball games in real life! Who knew? People paint their faces! They do mass arm wavey things! They chant the names of the players!! They actually WANT to be there!!

At W&M, they had to close a cafeteria and set up a buffet line at the court to get people to even remotely consider going to a basketball game. And I have no idea how basketball games worked at CHS b/c I was too busy staying out of the players' way.

It's weird seeing high school from 6 years out, b/c it really is like nothing changed. The girls behind me giggled about how cute the boys are from the other team (the exotic other team!), which took me back to a particular choir trip to Atlanta where girls from our choir fawned over boys from another choir. Ah, teenagedom. It will never change.

Which brings me to tonight's blog point: I am terrified of having children. No, not just the pregnancy bit; I've kind of accepted that that's going to have to happen and my belly button will never look the same again. But it's the fact that teenage years never change. And my God, my teenage years were a wreck of failed romances and awkward decisions and blown-up drama. And on and on and on and on and on! How can I possibly deal with a having that again in my own home? The Ivory Tower/Rapunzel housing situation suddenly makes a lot of sense--because I really hate to think about these half-children running around, making their own decisions and making stupid decisions. I don't have kids yet, but man, the thought of letting them go makes me kind of sick to my stomach. How did our parents ever do it? And why weren't we more scared about the world and what awaited us? I guess that's one detriment to hindsight: if we had known just how hard and unforgiving the real world was, would we ever have even bothered getting out of bed? For these kids, these games are their lives and they're so wrapped up in the newness of drama and love and achievement. And there's something so sweet about that. As a good friend of mine recently said, it kind of makes you wonder if any of them know that senior year just might be their peak, and it's all downhill from there. Because unless you're really that good, you're going to have to do more with your life than play ball or wave pompoms.

Chantilly in the Big I-L

2010-01-23T00:45:00.004-05:00

As some of you might know, Tyler freelances for an up-and-coming site called CSL Insiders, which covers all the high school sports in our area. I tagged along with him tonight as his photographer (hopefully will get photo credit this time!) Yes, we're a fun couple on Friday nights. ("I'm going to go to a high school basketball game and write about it! You can take pictures! OKAY!")

They played "Chantilly Lace" during half-time while the players were warming up. At the first sound of that opening "HEYYYYYYY, babyyyy!" I was viciously thrown into a flashback of short purple skirts; blurs of blockheaded boy-children crowding the hallways; "pep rallies" that were not really so much peppy as it was just kind of stupid. So that was weird. I mean, what are the chances that anyone outside of Chantilly High School even knows that song?? The team had been warming up to a combination of hip-hop and Miley Cyrus (yeah, that was weird, too), and then suddenly, there was that HEYYYYY BABY.

After the game, Tyler ran to get quotes from both of the coaches so I waited for him in the hallway. During the 10 minutes that he was gone, I could've sworn I relived high school.

First off, there was me, in a big awkward coat off in the corner clutching my camera bag, not really belonging to any crowd, watching everyone else interact. Then there were all the giggling, shrieking cheerleaders prancing around and literally throwing themselves at the varsity basketball players, who all tried to look bored and uninterested as they ate their after-game snack of hot dogs and nachos from the concession stand. All of these semi-children lingered on the stairs for their rides, hormones sloshing around their veins as generously as the prevalent orthodontia in their mouths. They eyed one another in a sort of crazed glee that made me wonder: Are they really this perky, or is this learned behavior from TV or great American stereotypes? Like do they really want to act this way, or do they just THINK they should be, following in the footsteps of generations of smiling beautiful cheerleaders/nonchalant athlete hot shots? To complete the whole experience, there was actually one cheerleader bawling into her locker as her two friends alternately patted her on the back and flirted with the guys.

Tyler could not hustle back from wherever he was fast enough. Doing high school once was bad enough; re-living it again in any sort of abbreviated version is just unnecessary.

obsession with the cute

2010-01-10T11:50:00.007-05:00

My friend Anna shared a Vanity Fair article with me last month about the "culture of cute" that is sort of taking over the American cultural norm. The article traced the origins of the cute-mania to Japan, where the obsession with cute things has been a prevalent part of their culture. The author, Jim Windolf, didn't seem that enthused by how this trend is trickling out of the East and into the Western world. However, I think this is because he is a man and therefore probably has an innate fear that he will one day wake up and find his home decorated entirely with Hello Kitty products, courtesy of his wife.

So while I found the article to be an intriguing look at the globalization of culture, as an Asian female, this is not exactly news. Did I grow up eating Asian pastries shaped like fish and other assorted wildlife? Yes. Who had a change purse embossed with a cartoon hamster? Right here. Was I once bestowed by my Taiwanese cousin with a full set of 40 (yes, 40) Hello Kitty magnets that she had collected from the local 7-11 because she had 3 full sets and wanted to get rid of one? You betcha. In fact, my high school boyfriend once told me that all Asian women liked things that were "small, cute and useless." (I retorted that that was why I liked him. Jerk.)

Most of my childhood was spent in this cute-crazed world before it really caught on in the States. If you knew me in my childhood years, you will also know that I was a chubby, shy, be-spectacled ball (literal, not figurative) of awkwardness. Perhaps because of this, I was very reluctant to embrace the "cuteness" that I felt like I really could not relate to. Also, a sort of inner feminist screamed at me to be taken seriously as a smart, capable person, and not as some sort of adorable, airheaded bimbo that people liked because she was pretty, or whatever. (Yes, even as a 10-year-old, I knew that I couldn't trade on my looks, and so developed an intense aversion to people who did. It's still kind of a complex.)

In the last few years, it's really become acceptable for full-grown women--and men--to publicly proclaim things to be cute and still be taken seriously. At first, I was really kind of turned off to how all these so-called mature figures were openly squealing over Winnie the Pooh or a particularly adorable dish shaped like a giraffe.

And this was the shocker...it really did make me happy to see something that is cute. Like in a bubbling, breathless, kind of hyperventilating sort of way. But I wonder, is this sort of reaction one that is learned, because it's become socially acceptable to ooo and aahhh over a helpless turtle trying to eat a tomato or the stealthy Ninja Cat? Am I really happy to see a baby bunnie, or is it because I'm expected to, as a living and breathing young woman? Was I becoming an Asian--well, now American, too--stereotype?

I don't know what this really means about me, but all I know is, this picture got me through most of the hellish 4th quarter that was Medill:

And no, I'm not ashamed to admit that it's now the tiled background on my work computer. Stereotypes be damned, I love this baby bunnie! [Squeal!]

Vicky, Age 24, Grown-Up...?

2010-01-05T22:01:00.002-05:00

I'm sitting here in my pjs, eating cold pizza and listening to Tyler type on his laptop next to me. It's been a really long day, but we are celebrating my first day of work and his acceptance of a job offer with Giordano's and watching sports on TV. So yay for both of us being employed!

My first day of work at ACCO Brands was fairly pleasant. I did the HR stuf in the morning (forgot to bring proof of citizenship though, so that was a bit of a fail), and then was shown to my cubicle and got to work reading 3 years' worth of newsletters and trying to learn as much as I can about the company. To recap, I'm now working as a Communications Specialist for an office supply company in Lincolnshire. Everyone seems pretty nice and laid-back, and from what I gathered the corporate culture here is "In at 8:30am, out by 5pm," which was SO good to hear after the "In at 8:30am, out at 1am the next day" of the last few weeks of Medill.

The only really crappy part is that my commute is 2 hours both ways, and if I miss the bus in the afternoon, I miss my connection at Golf Mill Mall, which means I'm stuck in Niles, or wherever Golf Mill Mall is (godforsaken middle of nowhere with almost zero interesting stores), until like, 8:30pm. Which I reallllllly don't want to do. I made some friends today at the bus stop--a very nice girl named Gina and a guy who apparently works closely with the transportation department and could answer all my CTA bus pass questions thoroughly, a feat that none of the actual CTA workers I spoke with were able to do.

I'm kind of worried that the commute is going to burn me out (it really exhausted me today, and it's only day one!), but from what I hear, driving to work is a zoo and that's why so many employees take the bus. So not really a win-win situation, but that's all right.

On to early-bed for me--I'm a morning person, but getting up at 5:30am is still pretty rough. But beggars can't be choosers, so here goes my first official job!

New Apartment, New Start

2009-12-18T23:05:00.002-05:00

The last couple of weeks have been crazy, and I'm glad to finally get back into the swing of things. Here's the Quick 'n' Dirty © on my life:

- Designed a website for Bonnier's Science Illustrated that was actually pretty well-received.
- Produced a 90-slide Powerpoint that pretty much eclipsed any work that I've done in my life thus far. I know it sounds weird, but just believe me when I say that this quarter has propelled me to Powerpoint Level Wizard/Desperate Crying on the Floor Semi-Wench.
- I am now a Master of Science! Never thought that would happen, huh?
- Also managed to get employed, which I also never thought would happen. I'd always suspected that I would work for corporate communications and, well, here we are.
- Signed a lease for my first real-life person apartment!

I'm now living right off of the Purple Line in a cute little apartment with hardwood floors and radiators that were made circa Great Depression era. I have a 3rd floor address, but technically it's the 4th floor because I live above a little folk art gallery, which I've been meaning to visit. It scares me a little bit that I'm now officially in charge of keeping track of bills and everything (student loans had covered my Engelhart apartment), but it's kind of a good feeling, I guess. It feels like a step in the right direction, no matter how much it scares me.

I packed for several hours on Monday, and 3 of my intrepid friends (Tyler, David, Meg) offered to help me move in Tuesday morning. I put half an hour on their meters and we hauled all my various boxes and little bags up the 4 flights of stairs in record time. When we were done, they still had 5 minutes on the meters--which mean I got moved in in twenty-five minutes flat. Talk about amazing, right?

The more I settle in, the more I'm realizing just how lost I would be without friends. It was only because of my friends that I could get out to the Schaumburg IKEA to get furniture. It was only because of friends that I even got the furniture assembled (Chuckie is a god-like genius with power tools and Meg is a secret muscle queen). And it was only b/c of Meg that I got to Target to buy a microwave, figured out how to light the gas stove (MATCHES, we actually had to light the STOVE with MATCHES WTFFFFFF), and basically not die from gas leaks and burning hot oven racks. It's been quite the week.

But one by one, my Chicago friends and acquaintances have moved out and away. I was invited out to a movie tonight, but for some reason decided to stay in instead and reduce the amount of boxes and bags that are strewn all over my living space. So I've rearranged the kitchen a bit, put stuf away in the bedroom, and then spent most of the evening parked in front of the TV eating leftover Thai food and catching up on my InStyle and Marie Claire. It was a very calm, sort of reflective evening, and it kind of hit me like...is this how it's going to be for the next year or two? Nights of Guy Fieri on the Food Network and increasingly cold take-out next to a radiator that's about as cuddly as a lukewarm fence post. To live in the city...by myself? I mean, don't get me wrong, I like a little time to myself as much as the next person, maybe even a little bit more so. But the solitary-ness was really only enjoyable in knowing that was precious, in knowing that it was temporary, that Tyler or David or Monica would be knocking down my door at any minute to get dinner or just to talk or go shopping or whatever.

I'm pretty sure I was in this exact same funk when I graduated from W&M and left the cozy home of Nicholas 107. Guess another chapter's over, and part of me will always wish that it wasn't.

multi-colored saturday

2009-11-29T00:44:00.002-05:00

First off, my apologies for not being better about updating this blog in the last few weeks. I think I have a valid excuse though...we've all been pulling 12-15 hour days in the newsroom, including weekends and days/hours that we technically don't have class. Our presentation looms in a little over a week, and I have yet to put together the slideshow to show Bonnier Corporation what our little graduate class has come up with in the last 3 months or so. Really kind of nervous about screwing up.

Lately I've begun to dream about the Magazine Publishing Project. One time, Chaz was telling me about the finer points of this one font...perhaps Univers, but I could be wrong. Another time, the whole class had trooped off to a diner and Ileana had to help Tyler remember what waffles were. Another time, I dreamt that one of our speakers came in and cut me open in the middle of class and told everyone that I had "the greasy intestines of a 13-year-old" and me screaming "NO I'M 23!" and no one believing me. Last night, I dreamt that Murph decided to do a stand-up routine instead of talking about digital branding at the presentation. I'm not much of a dream interpreter, but I think it's probably safe to say that this Project's got me a little bit stressed out.

I spent Thanksgiving with Tyler's family, which was nice. Kind of interesting to have a "real" traditional Thanksgiving dinner, but must admit that I missed my family's hodgepodge of Asian American dishes. Black Friday shopping also just wasn't the same. Don't get me wrong, it was still fun. But somehow not the same w/o wandering around in the backroads trying to avoid the toll road with my cousins and Sunny drawing up battle plans and directing us through the Leesburg Outlets. Tyler's cousin really wanted to get a Coach purse, so I waited in line with them from 11pm to 1:30am when they finally let us in. By that time, I couldn't feel my toes, and my gratefulness to be let into the store may or may not be directly related to my purchase of two Coach purses (one as a Christmas present por mi madre). Granted they were on sale like crazy ($270 reduced to $99 + 20% off coupon), but um, I definitely had wanted to get boots, not a purse. Sigh. That was really the only store I went to, so all told the damage wasn't TOO too bad. I have the worst post-purchase anxiety though, it is actually kind of ridiculous. Sigh. My toes will just have to freeze a little bit more this winter, I suppose!

Not too much of a break though. Tyler and I came back to Chicago this afternoon, and then went to cover a basketball game together for this local sports website that he's been freelancing for (I was his photographer). It was kind of neat, since I've never actually worked with him before on a story. Just finished photoshopping the pics though, so am going to send them off. Perhaps this will be my first photocredit!

Coffee and Love Letters

2009-11-02T16:17:00.007-05:00

When I was younger, I tried not to drink coffee very often because I didn't want to be addicted to it. This was hard because I love coffee for its taste, not so much for the jittery effects of caffeine. So coffee kind of became a special treat for me because I didn't want my life to be dependent on it. I wanted a no-regret life experience--no addictions for me! Also because I've seen my mom try to quit coffee, and it went something like this:

Mom: I haven't had coffee for two days!
Family: Yay! Good job!
[5 minutes later]
Mom: I can't get this jar open [freaks out] Why does this happen to me?! I am so upset!! RAWRRRRRRRRRRR I AM GRUMPY RAWRRR
Family [traumatized]: Please just drink the coffee!!

Lately though, coffee has become a necessary part of my functioning. The publishing project takes up so much time and energy, I'm pretty sure I would get nothing done if I didn't have my morning cup of Joe. There was a bit of a snag last week with our class's Coffee Club where I think something got confused and so we had no coffee for most of the week. I literally almost started a riot. It was that bad. I've finally given up pretending that I didn't need coffee, and am beginning to accept my pseudo-addiction. But so much for no life regrets, right?

I've been thinking about regret a lot in the last couple of weeks. Old relationships are especially good at spawning regrets, the kind that persist even after any romantic feelings have long since evaporated. I regret things that I said, things that I did. But I'm particularly bothered by the things that I wrote.

I don't know if it's a combination of having Asian parents who never showed affection or because of an affinity for words, but expressing myself with writing has always been the most natural outlet of affection for me. I poured my feelings and hopes and fears into late-night emails and heavy writing paper spritzed with perfume. I wrote pages and pages and pages of love and anxiety and desire, pages that I tucked into pockets or backpacks as the guys I loved were heading out the door, or perhaps were walking away permanently. They were letters that I think back on now with some regret, and a little bewilderment, like "Man, I really cared about that guy, didn't I? I don't even know why anymore." I wrote things that kind of make the vain part of me go "Oh man, if I were ever a famous writer, he could totally use those letters against me."

I re-read an old letter from an ex-boyfriend the other day, and was kind of taken aback by how cold it was. At first I thought, "Wow, that's kind of smart, to not say anything that could be incriminating or embarassing a couple years down the line." His wording was careful, almost calculated, from the perspective of someone who was looking at our relationship from some point in the future where we were no longer together. It was certainly not ever anything that he might think back on and cringe at. "I'll always remember you," I think, was the most personal thing that he wrote. Not "I'll always love you," not even "I care about you so much." I will always remember you. I wrote that for dozens of people in high school yearbooks. It's a phrase that's about as intimate as handing someone a sandwich that you didn't even make yourself--solid, but impersonal.

But then I got mad. Why didn't he write anything more personal? Why wasn't I worth an "I'll always love you," or even something as cheesy as "The times we had together were the best that I've ever known"? I had opened myself up to him. Why couldn't he give just a little of himself in return? It was then that I realized something: I don't think he ever cared enough to regret losing me. I don't know if it was because he was scared, or just unable to. He was not willing to say anything personal that might be damning to him in the future. Or maybe he just never liked me all that much. But at that moment, I lost a lot of respect for him. What kind of person takes and takes another person's vulnerabilities without giving any in return? To me, that's a coward's move. The move of a little boy who is not enough of a man to care deeply enough to have regret. So as awkward or painful or even truly awful as the memories of my love letters are, I'm kind of proud that I've cared and loved as much as I did.

So here I am, thoroughly enjoying a coffee spiked with ice cream (I donated my creamer to the Coffee Club last week and forgot to buy a new one) and eating a leftover ghost cookie that Anna made last week for Treat Team. Maybe a life without regrets isn't how it's supposed to be. Maybe it's okay to indulge in a little bit of vice. And maybe it's better to be able to say that you really cared about something or someone once upon the time than to coast through life without ever getting attached to anything at all. I have regrets because I've let people touch my life. And I think that's just fine.

musings of an ABC...DEFG...

2009-10-19T02:42:00.003-04:00

Most of the time, I know who I am.

I'm Vicky. I like to write. I also like to draw, and I really miss painting. Sometimes I like to do a crossword on the train, but most of the time I just like to look out the window. I'm getting pretty good at InDesign.

And I'm Asian. Well, Asian-American, to be exact. But sometimes more Asian, and sometimes more American. Cliche, yes. But easy? No.

Lately, I feel like I've been more and more American.

My boyfriend doesn't think that it's a bad thing. But then again, I think he has the luxury of never having to question what American means. It's just what he is, all that he's known. It's not something that's even on his radar. But I think it's an issue that's figuring very predominantly in my life, and is something that many second-generation kids struggle with. I have no easy answer for it. I don't even know how to explain why bothers me.

Why does it matter?
Why do I feel uneasy about my assimilation? It's only natural...isn't it?
Should I just accept that I'll probably eventually lose my Chinese heritage because I'm in this new country? And is this a bad thing, or just a given?
Why don't my parents try harder to learn English, or I to learn Chinese?
Why does it matter??

Here in Chicago, I feel like I'm slowly losing pieces of who I am, or maybe just who I thought I was. Maybe I was too comfortable with my W&M family--that congenial mix of Americans and second-generation kids and Third Culture kids and international students and people who didn't really belong to any label but still kind of cared about where they fit in the global puzzle. People who've struggled with pairing nationality with identity, their faces with their hearts. Some have it resolved, tied up in a bag, happy to go along their way. Some continue to search, and will probably produce wonderful things out of that effort. Most, I think, cared about it sometimes, but didn't really think about it most of the time. That's where I'm at usually--more or less content.

Right now, I'm the only Asian person in my newsroom, the next closest Asian person being my good friend, Anna, who did a Fulbright in Malaysia. Normally it's fine--I love most of my classmates, and a couple of us have gotten really close. But still, there was sort of a rift that only I could feel, something that I could never really bridge because of my background. I couldn't relate to them on some level because of my experiences, and vice versa. Which is probably normal, but it was something that they could only try to understand, but would never really be able to empathize. Sometimes, I just felt so terribly...Asian.

So then on 10/10 (Double Ten Day), the Taiwanese kids had a little celebration in the lounge of my apartment complex. I decided to attend--I did love the Asian community at W&M, after all. I walked in, and felt overwhelmed by how alien I felt to be in that room full of chattering students--people around own age, of similar coloring and stature. I literally froze with fear, because I didn't know what to say to them (way to go, communications major...). I pretended to look at a list of email addresses on the sign-in sheet (I wasn't on it), and then picked up a plastic Taiwanese flag and fled. I felt so terribly...American.

I know what you're thinking. "Way to be melodramatic," or maybe even "Okay, Ms. Angsty-Emo-Middle-Schooler, just go out and make some friends already." It's not that easy! Assimilation is not that easy! It's like...okay, it's like religion. Religion plays a huge role in some people's lives, it shapes your views of the world and how you see yourself. I feel like my culture played that same role. And when that huge force seems to be slipping away...what does that mean for the rest of me? For my POV? Am I betraying myself somehow, by denouncing the very thing that really made me who I am today? But, as my boyfriend likes to say, being Italian-Catholic or Polish-Catholic doesn't make you any less of a Catholic. No matter where you end up going or living, that core force will stay the same. But when your core force is culture, and that's so readily lost through assimilation (it's encouraged, even!)...what takes its place? Who are you, if the very thing that shaped you, is somehow lost?

I think I just really miss just being around people who know what I mean when I say "I think I'm losing my heritage" and understanding why it's a big deal, even if I can't really articulate it. I miss people who can just nod, empathize, and just leave it at that, both of us knowing that some sort of understanding was just shared between us, something that I didn't have to explain and they didn't have to respond to. And maybe then we'll all go and eat some ramen, with eggs. Or maybe have a huge honkin' burger. And that'll be it.

hair today

2009-10-11T11:46:00.003-04:00

Before we start, I just want to say HI SUNNY b/c she told me last night that she read my blog. So, hello, friend!

Anyway. So Picasso went through several phases with his art. There was the Blue Phase, the Pink Phase, the Cubist Phase, the Lots of Prostitutes Painted in Unflattering Ways Phase. And Guernica.

I've experienced similar phases with my hair. For most of my life, it was the Please Don't Be Foofy Phase. As I learned to manage it (aka, using conditioner), the higher my aspirations for my hair became. I briefly went through a Short & Breezy phase in college, which was then followed by the Reddish-Brown Phase; the Long & Straight Phase; the Swingy Bangs Phase; the Dark & Darker Phase; the Sleek & Soft phase. Some of these phases made repeat visits, particularly the Long & Straight and the Sleek & Soft.

Lately, I'm in a Soft & Shiny state of mind. My hair's not quite long enough to merit being very straight (I think very straight, mid-length hair looks weird on me), and so my obsession has been having really shiny hair. But because I don't want to look like I've shellacked my hair follicles, softness is key. Brittany used this great Bio Silk hair serum on me one time that makes hair super shiny and soft, but unfortunately I don't have $25 to spare for a smallish bottle of the stuf, so I've had to turn my search elsewhere.

My obsessions have not gone unnoticed. Case in point, the following conversation with my boyfriend:

V: Hey, I'm going to the bank and then to CVS--
T: NO. NO MORE SHAMPOO.
V: [pout] I'm not getting more shampoo!
T: You ALWAYS say that you're not getting more shampoo, and what do you get? Shampoo. So no, I say! No more shampoo!
V: [grumpy] Fine! I won't get shampoo. Do you need anything?
T: A Kit Kat would be nice.

I didn't get any more shampoo, but I found this GREAT conditioner (and for half-price!) It's Garnier's 3-minute Undo Dryness Reversal Treatment--the one in a tube, not the bottle. It's got some sort of secret combination of avocado oil and apricot seeds that makes hair super soft, shiny, flyaway-free and deliciously swingy. So that's my product pitch for today--absolutely love the stuf!

do you dream in chocolate?

2009-10-10T18:42:00.004-04:00

Why, yes, Lindt Lindor Truffle Balls, I do dream in chocolate! Thanks for asking. My hips say thank you, too.

As some of you might know, I'm planning to buy a professional-grade camera with a few of my classmates, which means I am in dire need of cold hard cash. One of the student performance groups on campus is looking for a new logo, and is willing to offer a monetary prize for it. So even though I have basically zero experience in designing logos, I've decided to give it a shot. Basically this meant that I shot a semi-frantic email to Britt asking for design tips and doing sketches in-between Mag Proj stuf.

Britt was nice enough to call me today and gave me some very helpful tips. I've only used Illustrator once prior to today, so I'm still kind of trying to figure out all the ins and outs of the program. I think it's going well.

In between designing, I spent the afternoon with Daniel Craig (Casino Royale was on USA...yum!) and discerning the finer points of difference in a mound of men's white athletic socks. I lost a bet to Tyler a while ago, and had to fold his laundry as a result. I almost gave up and just paired them off indiscriminately...would he really have noticed if I had paired the white sock with the tiny grey Champion logo on the back of the heel with the one with the tiny Champion logo on the top of the heel? Never had this problem folding crazy colorful girl socks, that's for sure!

quickie post on a tuesday night

2009-10-06T23:43:00.005-04:00

We are now well into the 3rd week of the Magazine Publishing Project, and there's something about sticking 17 people in two very small rooms (connected by a door, like one of those hotel suites) for an average of 10 hours a day that makes people very odd and quirky. Consider some of these quotes:

[killing time during elections by telling jokes]
Patti: Why was 6 afraid of 7?
Monica: BECAUSE 8, 9, 10!!

[discussing digital strategy]
Sarah: So yeah, we want our website to be for kids, with lots of graphic content.

Pardon me, I must go attend to my boy-person, who is distraught over his fantasy football outcome and various other things in life. Because he doesn't drink, I bought him a Mountain Dew. It felt kind of weird to be buying a grown man a soda instead of a beer, but I guess there are stranger things in life.

why i hate engelhart reason 24597193

2009-10-04T05:35:00.004-04:00

As some of you might know, I've had some considerable problems with my apartment. Here is a brief timeline of my troubles:

Winter:
- Toilet that constantly fails to flush. According to the guy in the office, it's a common problem--apparently, people in the building like to pour grease in the toilets, which stops up the floors below it. I have no idea why you'd pour grease into a toilet.
- Window frame won't close. This is a problem because Chicago is, on average, about negative 10 degrees in the winter.
- Faucet that explodes with water when you turn it on. Sink that fails to drain. Staff tells me it's not their problem, and I can go buy a new sink if I want. Eff that. I decided to just deal with it.

Spring/Summer:
- Window frame that refuses now to open.
- People continuing to pour grease into toilets
- AC won't work

Fall:
- Window opens, but no longer locks
- Grease continuing
- Sink/faucet continuing

The RA staff here know me pretty well, since they've had to handle numerous fix-it requests from me. The latest problem occurred earlier tonight, around 1 am as I was getting ready for bed. Two very loud, bone-permeating chirps emitting from my doorway area, with no apparent cause. I thought, "Well, that was random, but probably just a one-time thing" and proceed to get on with my bed-going.

False. Every half hour for the next 3 hours, the chirping went on. Just as I'd be drifting off to sleep, one or two quick blips would jolt me awake, the kind that says "THERE IS SOMETHING URGENTLY WRONG AND YOU NEED TO ATTEND TO IT. LIKE THERE IS A FIRE. OR SOMETHING."

Except...there was nothing the matter. I checked my oven (it was off), reset the outlets in the bathroom, and waved frantically at the smoke detector hoping that it would give me some clue as to why it might be beeping.

Finally, at 3:17 am, I could stand it no longer. I called the RA on duty, a very nice and tall guy named Alex. I wasn't sure if he'd actually pick up (my friend once got locked out of her room for a whole night b/c the RA didn't pick up), but he did. After I explained to him what the problem was, our conversation went something like this:

Alex: Okay, well the battery in the smoke alarm is probably low. Why don't you check it? I think it takes a 9-volt battery.
Vicky: A 9-volt battery?
A: Yeah. If you have one lying around.
V: No.
A: Okay, well test it out to see if the alarm is working.
V: [pushing random areas of the alarm] Okay I'm testing it--ARGHRGHGHGH [alarm goes off. V dashes across the living room in sheer terror]
A: Okay you need to turn it off! Press the button again!
V: BUTTON WHERE ARRRGHHHHH [manages to turn it off] Oh! Got it!
A: Ha! Bet you're wide awake now aren't you!
V: ...I've been wide awake.
A: Hmm. Okay, well let me call the campus police's non-emergency line and see if they can get someone out there to look at it for you. What's your name?
V: Victoria.
A: Oh! Hey! I know you. Hello!
V: ...Yes. Hello. How are you.
A: Ah. Right. Uh, I'll just call them now.

Campus police sent a very nice, potbellied man with a faint Irish-y accent who changed out the battery in the smoke alarm and told me to call him if it went off again.

I decided that the problem must be fixed, so I climbed back into bed. 15 minutes later...BLIP. BLIP. By this time, I am not even mad...I'm just so freaking tired. Called Alex again. Called the campus police. Guy came back. Told me he had no idea why it was doing what it was doing. Took apart the alarm, and blew on it like it was a video game cartridge, saying that he'd never heard of it doing the 30-minute blipping, and that maybe it was a piece of dust. Told me he'd be back in half an hour to check if it went off again.

And that is why I am still awake at 5 am. Waiting to see if the stupid alarm will go off, and if I can finally go to bed. And that is why I'm hating my apartment, just a little bit.

curry fail update

2009-09-28T21:23:00.004-04:00

So Britt called me as I was in the midst of a curry non-thickening panic. The conversation went something like this:

B: Try putting in a spoonful of flour.
V: [wailing] I don't have flour!
B: Okay, how about the Bisquick that you sometimes use?
V: [wailing] I don't have Bisquick!
B: [getting exasperated] Corn starch! Just mix a little bit of corn starch with cold water and--
V: [more whining now, less wailing] I don't have corn starch!
B: WELL, WHAT IS WRONG WITH YOU?!?!!? WHY DOES YOUR KITCHEN SUCK?!?!?!?

No, she didn't really say that last line, but I'm sure that's what she was thinking. As a matter of fact, that is what I am currently thinking. Why doesn't my kitchen have these basic staples? It is absurd. (But also strangely representative of my lifestyle...)

So dinner wasn't curry and rice after all. I roasted some potatoes and mashed them, and brought it up to my friend's for the little potluck thing she was having. Dinner was a delicious salmon + greens salad, and my impromptu mashed potatoes.

I was full and happy, but still determined to fix the curry. I threw in 2 handfuls of rice (surprise! I did have some rice), and after 15 minutes, the sauce thickened right up and it's full of rice, to boot. Of course, I'm not hungry anymore, and Tyler is doing his best to get out of eating a 2nd dinner a mere 30 minutes after his 1st dinner. But I guess this means I won't have to worry about tomorrow's dinner! So that's good.

To make myself feel better from an afternoon of curry-making fiasco, I decided to test out my new Revlon Raspberry Bite lipstick. It's like a fuschia explosion on my face, which I strangely kind of like, especially paired with apple green sweatpants and my Hack&Slash pirate shirt. That's right, people: I'm wearing lipstick and sweatpants, like a crazy desperate housewife. Good start to the week.

curry fail

2009-09-28T16:47:00.004-04:00

Today was a class-free Monday, mostly by virtue of the fact that my photography instructor is currently in Oregon. Chicago is very windy and blustery today--I guess it's already that time of year.

I took advantage of today's classlessness to work on some cover letters for potential internships, as well as make foods to last me through this week. Since today was kind of grey and blah, I figured what better way to make today better than making a big pot curry? Just think: deep golden yellow, punctuated by rounds of orange carrot and wedges of potato. Yes. Perfect.

I started off by sauteeing some onions and carrots together, and putting them in a pot of water. Added chunks of chicken and curry powder (forgot the potatoes). But even after an hour of dutiful simmering, all I've managed to produce is a sandy-colored broth with pieces of vegetable and chicken floating about in it.

Emergency curry conference with my mother, who, as it turns out, was also making curry. "Yes, mine's almost done, and it looks great!" she chirped.

"That's nice," I grumbled, glaring at my pot of curry soup. She pointed out that I had forgotten to add the potatoes--the starchiness should help thicken it. She also said that I could add another square of curry powder, since it seems like maybe I started off with too much water.

It's been about an hour now, since I've added the potatoes and extra curry, and the mixture is still stubbornly refusing to thicken. It's boiled over once (caught it just in time), but for the most part is just bubbling away, oblivious to the fact that some crucial reaction is supposed to take place so it will thicken to a yummy gravy-texture, rather than a watery blah.

I know you're all super concerned about the state of my curry, so I'll be sure to update later with how it all turns out.

sunday power couples

2009-09-27T16:30:00.004-04:00

So two of my favorite people at Medill have finally managed to hook up. It all happened in a very interesting way in that when I found out about it I was kind of annoyed out of my mind about some other things, so wasn't able to properly be excited for them. Incidentally, that really must be one of the most horrible things to do to someone--to not be properly excited for two people who are bursting to tell you some good news. But that's neither here nor there, since everything is settled and well again.

It's very interesting to see them together now, and hear one talk about the other, b/c just a few weeks before we were all just good friends. And now we're all couples! It's kind of weird, actually.

A lot of times I don't consciously think of myself as being part of a couple, maybe because most of the people around me are single. But now, it's almost as though their couple-ness (compounded by the fact that it's new and exciting and they're still really into each other and the newness of everything) reminds me that, oh yeah, I guess I'm also part of a couple. In some small way, the newness of their relationship is rubbing off on me and how I feel about Tyler (yes, total ick moment, I know, and I'm sorry), so I thought I'd let it all out with these song lyrics:

My baby has a one track-mind
with Sunday football games
he knows every player by name
My baby has a one-track mind
and he's so fine (yes, he's so fine)

(loosely adapted from a Mayer Hawthorne song, which was actually about a girl who loves shopping for expensive things)

And we will end on a non-sappy note, with a quote from Mr. Blue:

[after witnessing complicated weekend drama]
"This is why women can't be in charge of the world. If someone goes and forgets to send a Thank You note, that'll be the start of World War III."

luggage regulation

2009-09-13T18:44:00.004-04:00

Luggages never know when they're supposed to get lost.

At the behest of my mother, I originally went home with one suitcase zipped inside the other like Russian nesting dolls. "Bring an empty suitcase in case you have lots of things to take back," she said, advising me like I was some sort of tourist. But because I loved her (and because she is usually right), I did as she said.

Good thing, too. In two weeks' time, the few shirts and two pairs of jeans that I brought home had somehow evolved into a smorgasbord of old dresses, a smattering of DVDs (must admit, stole them from my brother), packets of milk tea and sweet Chinese sausage. Unwrapping a big greenish fitted sheet revealed a cheery orange ricecooker housing a jar of chocolate spread and a little pot of BBQ sauce, like a very squat Mother Ginger. I'm still not all the way unpacked yet, but I'm sure other random items are going to pop up.

Now, I had gotten to the airport via bus, and I had planned to get back to my apartment the same way. Having two monstrous pieces of luggage put a damper on that plan somewhat, as I had trouble even dragging them, much less hauling them onto a bus and then walking the 1/2 mile or so home.

"Do not accept rides from strangers at the airport," my mother said firmly. She added a glare for good measure. (How did she know about my riding-in-car-with-stranger episode? She can't possibly read this blog, she barely speaks/reads English. Or does she know more English than she's letting on? Or...EDDIE YUE, ARE YOU READING THIS RIGHT NOW AND TELLING MOMMY THINGS?!?!)

"Don't be ridiculous," I said. "I will take the bus."

"Are you out of your mind?" she countered swiftly. "Do you really expect to lift those things on the bus? And then walk home? Who do you think you are? Just take a taxi."

"But taking a taxi would be like, $40," I said, mentally visiting my bank account. "And taking the bus is only $2."

My mother reconsidered. "$2, that's a lot cheaper," she said.

"Well, my luggage got lost that first time that I went to Chicago. Maybe it'll get lost again," I said hopefully. "Then I can just take the bus, and it'll be delivered to me in the morning."

While this seemed to be a decent plan to me, my mother was doubtful. Nevertheless, we made sure that all the perishable stuff was put in my backpack, which I was bringing on the plane with me. The two suitcases were duly checked in at the airport, and before I left, my dad asked me if I had enough money for the taxi ride. I assumed that I could use my credit card to pay for it, so I just told him yes, and didn't stop by the bank before going to the airport. Besides, I was still hoping that the luggage would get lost and I wouldn't have to worry about getting a taxi.

But when I got off at O'Hare, the smaller of my two grey suitcases was already bobbing around the baggage claim like an ex that just won't go away--you know, the kind that leaves you Facebook messages like "So you're back in Chicago, huh? Me too! We should get a taxi together and go back to your place!" The second suitcase surfaced soon after, and I resigned myself to spending a week's worth of grocery money to get back to Engelhart.

So I hailed a cab. I asked if I could pay with credit. The driver said yep, and went back to talking on his Bluetooth or whatever. I texted Eddie and Tyler to let them know I was alive. I probably should've started feeling uneasy when the driver didn't know how to get to Maple Ave and I had to give him directions (directions not being my strongpoint, as some may know). When we got to my apartment, it turned out that his credit card machine was broken and I didn't have much cash on me. Blargh. Not the best situation. After some panicking, he said that he'd just take the money and that would be fine, which was really nice of him. So now there's a very nice taxi driver out there who is short $10 b/c I was counting on the incompetence of airlines to save me from having to take said taxi. He drove cab number 3673, so if anyone somehow finds themselves in his cab, please give him an extra $10 and I will pay you back.

Anyway, my point is that this would not have happened if my luggage had had the good sense to get themselves sent out to Pennsylvania or something. Sigh. Silly luggages.

my first freelance story!

2009-08-28T16:12:00.002-04:00

If you're in the Chicago area tomorrow, go and check out this event. If you're interested in helping undocumented students or concerned about immigrant issues, check out this article. Either way, read my story! I am needy! And pretty excited that I'm finally starting on what many of my classmates have been doing for the last couple of years.

http://www.nwitimes.com/news/local/illinois/article_0361f934-5ccb-5ddc-900d-8a1057219c68.html

Saturday Night Lights

2009-08-22T21:43:00.002-04:00

Not much going on these last couple of weeks, just madly trying to finish up our final projects and hope that no lasting damage is done to our spirits (although it might be too late, for some...). Grad school is hard, yo!

My group for our Audience Insight class spent 6 solid hours today working on what we called "Week Zero Lite"--namely, designing a product for a targeted audience but without all the business/marketing planning side of it. We made a website for homeschoolers, which turned out pretty kick-ass, if you ask me. I am currently in love with the "Rounded Corners" feature in InDesign: it turns all boxes into boxes with ROUNDED corners! Eee! Excitement abound!! I'm trying to think of ways to incorporate the round-cornered boxes into my News Graphics/Design final...they just make me so happy! Clearly, I need to get out more.

Tomorrow will be devoted to my REAL Week Zero group, where we have to come up with a complete product plan for parents of children with autism. The designing part and thinking up story ideas and stuf is actually not so bad...what I'm really worried about is our presentations where we have to pitch our product to a panel of pros...and how we do is basically our grade for the quarter. Umm. Apparently it's pretty brutal and they just try to rip apart your product. I'm in charge of editorial/design strategy so...yeah. Tomorrow might be a bit iffy. Luckily, I like all of my teammates. Ooo! Maybe I will make granola for them! That would be fun.

Hmm...I wonder what it means when rounded corners and granola are the high points of my day...

Miss Havisham and a Cat Named Magic

2009-08-07T14:24:00.003-04:00

Background info: For my audience insight class, my group is making a news product geared towards families who homeschool. Part of our research required us to actually go out and talk to a member of that community. I scored an interview with Cindi, the founder of a group called Homeschooling Gifted Students.

The day of the interview (today) was kind of grey and dreary. I was also running kind of late b/c I foolishly decided to, um, prepare a beef brisket with a seasoning rub, instead of, say, prepare for the interview by printing out the questions and whatnot. So I kind of dashed out of the door in a whirlwind of panic and trepidation that Cindi would find me sweaty and ill-kempt. Just another one of those maladjusted "public school kids" who can't self-organize my way out of my apartment (which is partially true).

I get to Cindi's house 10 minutes via speed-walking, and just took like 5 minutes to take in her house. Guys...I felt like I was Oliver, peeking up at Miss Havisham's home. It was painted an aging white, covered with vines and bits of leaves and pollen caught in elaborate spiderwebs all around the door and windows. Lace curtains dropped the length in all of the windows. The door was a dusty blue with an actual mail slot--none of the houses on the street had mail boxes, which means they have an actual door-to-door mailman. And the doorbell button was broken. If it hadn't been for the light blue car in the driveway, I might've thought that no one actually lived here. I pressed the doorbell anyway, and a few moments later, Cindi came to the door, and she was everything and nothing like what I thought she would be.

She was soft and plump, with a soft voice to match. Her hair was caught up loosely in a bun, and she wore a flowy sky-blue blouse, a colorful peasant skirt and sandals. She has a BA in government from Cornell and two long-haired white cats, Magic and Snowy. The kitties scurried over to check me out, kind like they were making sure I was okay for Cindi to talk to. Snowy seemed uninterested, but Magic jumped up and sat down next to me, butting my hand with its head for attention, so I petted it throughout the interview, which was enormously fun and seemed sort of just...right, given the space that we were in.

And her house was amazing. To the right when you came in was an actual little coat area, with red velvet curtains instead of doors. Her living room was spacious, her furniture and rug somewhat antiquated looking. Instead of a sofa, she had one of those really long, backless couches with very high arms on the sides. It was a faded blue, threaded with gold. A huge painting of a field of wildflowers perched behind the sofa. We did the interview in the living room, so I didn't get to see the other rooms of her house, but from what I could see, it was quite large and decorated with things that look like they should be in a museum. The flatscreen TV on the wall and a multi-tiered cat stratcher-thing by the bay window seemed oddly out of place amidst all the other pieces that seemed from some other time.

Cindi was super gracious and I had a really fun time interviewing her. She was very helpful about homeschooling resources, but mostly I was really kind of enchanted by her, her cats, and her home. Everything seemed kind of surreal, but in a good way. I half-expected her to serve tea in fine china, maybe go apple-picking in an organic orchard and make a pie to cool on the windowsill.

After that horrible rude interview with the tattoo artist earlier this week, this was a welcome breath of fresh air. There ARE nice people out there who want to be interviewed! I like doing this journalism thing after all!

Weddings & Procrastinations

2009-08-02T19:10:00.002-04:00

I have a lot of work to do. I need to interview some people for this profile that my classmate and I are writing for a trade magazine, but more importantly, I need to find someone who's gotten a tattoo removed via laser surgery so I can finish my feature story on tattoo removals/cover-ups by Tuesday. This is a huge problem b/c I have yet to find someone to interview, and the deadline's creeping up kind of quickly.

So naturally, I decided that now would be a good time to update ye olde blog instead of actively calling tattoo parlors in desperation (some parlors are very nice; some are very, very, VERY mean).

I went to a wedding with Tyler on Saturday in Indiana (3rd wedding that I've gone to with him in 3 months...hopefully this is not one of those "8 times a wedding attendee, 0 times having own wedding" kind of things). His cousin, Jilliene, planned a beautiful outdoor wedding on a terrace overlooking a lush lawn and trees. She had one of those trellis things all adorned with purple flowers and roses, and all the rows were bookended on the aisle side with lovely flower arrangements.

Of course, it rained. It began to sprinkle mid-ceremony, so there was really no point in stopping the wedding after the bride had already processed down the aisle. It wasn't really raining in earnest, but it was just enough that everyone's programs got soaked and people were shivering from the cold, damp, grey Midwest summer day.

At one point in the ceremony, Jilliene and Eric performed a "Unity Sand Ceremony," where they took tall glasses filled with purple and grey sand and mixed it together in a bowl to signify their unity. I don't know if it was because I was cold/wet, or because I'm somewhat cynical about marriage in general, but this little ceremony struck me as, well, kind of hokey. I was feeling a little bit bad for thinking those thoughts during a wedding until Tyler leaned over and said, "At my wedding, I'm going to have a Unity Kitten Ceremony. It's where we'll each take a kitten out of separate baskets and put them together in one basket, to signify that we're now united, in kittens." We decided later than a heavy blanket should be thrown on the unity basket so that the kittens won't be able to escape.

Yes. Best symbol of unity, ever.

Peanut Butter and Tennis Balls

2009-07-08T09:27:00.002-04:00

It's about 8:30am and I've just eaten a small banana and a spoonful of peanut butter b/c Women's Health tells me that people who don't eat within 3 hours of waking up are more prone to belly bloating. I regularly violate this breakfast rule, so I'm trying to be better about it for the sake of my stomach, which has gotten somewhat poofier lately with stress and irregular dinnertimes.

Also, I'm about to go play tennis. For the second time. In about a month.

Shocking, I know. A year ago, even two months ago, I probably would not ever have expected those words to come out of my mouth. Not willingly, anyway. But the folks at Engelhart like to play tennis and I promised Anna that I would play with them someday (definitely lying, of course). Then she, Tyler and Chuckie called my bluff by coming up to my apartment and literally backing me into a corner until I accepted Chuckie's extra tennis racket and we set up a play date.

And it was fun! I'm quite terrible, but there was absolutely no intimidation factor b/c everyone is so casual and chill. So we're playing again at 9am, and I'm rather looking forward to it.

On a side note, what on earth are my new neighbors doing?! It is either the loudest, bed-breakingest sex I have ever heard, or they are moving their furniture around in a rhythmic manner. It is so loud, I'm not entirely sure which direction it's coming from. Sigh. Oh, silly neighbors...

so it's been a while...

2009-06-25T10:57:00.002-04:00

It's been a while since I've written in this blog--actually, it's been a while since I've done, well, anything. Anything that's remotely creative, anyway. The last 6 months have been pretty grueling in terms of schoolwork and getting a handle on life, but the summer quarter promises to be a little bit kinder so I'm going to try to update more regularly, and also actually be able to follow other people's updates (like Kim's! I miss Kim). Of course, Medill also has a history of lying and breaking spirits, so we'll see how it goes.

It's also been a while since I've cleaned my apartment.

I'm kind of OCD about keeping a clean bathroom and kitchen, so that was okay, but I don't think I've vacuumed since...February...ish. The carpet's been undeniably crunchy, and after Tyler sheepishly flicked a fleck of couscous on floor yesterday, I decided that enough was enough. I don't have class until 3pm, so I decided that I was going to get my butt down to the duty office and rent a vacuum.

This is the elderly machine that the office staff bequeathed upon me:

Seriously, this thing better transform into a battle-fighting, protective guardian-type alien robot, b/c I cannot think of another reason why someone would keep something like this around. I almost felt bad putting it to work. It moved with effort, like it was trying so hard to do its job, but it was just too old and too tired. It actually creaked.

Be kind, Engelhart, and retire your elderly vacuums.

accepting offers from strangers

2009-01-01T23:02:00.003-05:00

So much has happened in the last month, I don't even know where to begin. I think I'll start with the most recent, and then go back to recount the other fabulous December adventures later.

The past four days have been riddled with mishaps and fantastic strokes of luck. My panic-process began almost as soon as we landed at O'Hare: my luggage could not be located. After waiting 3 hours at the airport (where they promised that it was coming...LIES), Ted and I continued our way to Evanston. My apartment is small but rather cozy, and I have a nice view of the street. That first night, I slept in my coat on a bare mattress because I had no sheets.

My incredible bank-account-depleting process began almost immediately, what with taking a taxi from O'Hare to my apartment. Later, we decide to take the bus to Target so I could pick up household-y essentials (like soap and toothpaste and toilet cleaner), which is when I managed to feed a $10 bill into a bus fare machine that only accepts exact change. Luckily, our driver was incredibly nice and arranged to pick us up on his way back, so it wasn't an entire waste of money.

But my God. Why didn't anyone tell me how much it costs to obtain basic household supplies?! Oh my God. Damn me and my need to have cleaning supplies and, I don't know, FOOD. Whole Foods is my closest grocery store, and I was so hungry when I went in, I bought a $5 hunk of cheese and $4 slab of butter, nevermind the fact that I don't ever use butter (but I will now!). Since then, I've been back to Target to pick up, among other things, pillows ($5.99 apiece) and a 16-piece dishware set ($49.50). This purchase was made on the assumption that I might one day make friends and invite them to dinner, and they will want to eat from something that is not a plastic flowered plate or a big green mug. (Those of you who lived in Nicholas 107 may remember these two items.) So I am now even more motivated to make some friends, or else there really isn't any point for me to own four salad plates.

Then I accidentally bought a $10 mojito with dinner on Tuesday. I almost had a panic attack when I saw the bill, and Ted had to hurriedly calm me down before I hyper-ventilated myself into a red haze. But it's true, I'm an idiot.

Speaking of food and idiocy, I decided to walk a mile and a half to Dominick's today to save on potentially screwing myself over with bus fare. Dominick's is part of the Safeway chain, I think, because some of the products there have a Safeway label. But anyway, it's like the Bloom or Giant of the Midwest, I suppose. It took me about an hour to walk there (did I mention that it's VERY cold and windy in Chicago right around now?), and somewhere along the way, I decided that I was definitely NOT walking back.

Dominick's is a little bit smaller than the Giant that I normally go to, and they have all their aisles helpfully labeled with suggestions for what their contents may be used for, such as "BREAKFAST" or "LUNCH/DINNER" or "SEASONAL GREETINGS." I felt like a walking stereotype when I found myself getting a little distraught when I couldn't find soy sauce or Spiracha (the proper name for what I normally call "cock sauce") in the condiments section--but honestly, I don't know how to season things with stuf like, I don't know, whatever it is that people marinade their foods with that's not soy sauce. I am a little embarrassed to admit that a tear or two may have sprung into my eyes when I discovered the ethnic foods section tucked in by the baked goods. I may or may not have bought half a dozen packets of Shin Ramyun just because it was there.

After about an hour of perusing the grocery store, I came away with hand soap, mustard and 120 sheets of recycled paper napkins (yes! for being green!). The people at the info desk were very helpful in directing me to the nearest bus stop. Seriously, people here are super nice. After locating the bus stop, I waited for about 30 minutes before realizing that it was New Year's and that I hadn't seen any buses passing all day. During this time, I managed to miss another phone call from Kang, which added to my distress of being stranded at a grocery store.

Getting desperate, I noticed that there was a guy walking towards me in a grey sweatshirt. I decided to flag him down.

"Excuse me, do you know if the buses are running today?" I called as he approached.

The guy squinted at the sign over the bus stop, and then explained that since it was a holiday, the next bus wasn't probably until, oh, tomorrow. "I wouldn't wait for it," he said.

Fantastic. I thanked him, and picked up my bags, resigned to walking home in the dark. He noticed that we were walking in the same direction (or maybe he thought that I was following him), and asked where I was going.

"Um, Maple Avenue? Around the university?" I said.

"Oh yeah, I know where that is. I mean, I can take you there. You want a ride? It's no problem."

This was a problem. On the one hand, he was a complete stranger. On the other, I was very cold and did not fancy walking a mile and a half home in the encroaching night. On the OTHER other hand, he was a complete stranger.

I said okay.

Admittedly, my judgment may have been questionable and this whole venture may have ended very poorly. But fabulous strokes of luck as they may, he was very nice and relatively harmless. His name is Craig, and he used to play basketball for Northwestern and is now applying for med school. His car's battery had died, and he had gone to fetch something to re-charge it (he explained what was going on, but there was a lot of spark plugs and alternators that got in the way of my comprehending what he was saying), and that was the only reason he passed by me this afternoon. We got to his car and he attached the recharger thing to his battery.

"Man, this puts a serious cramp on my day," he said, glaring.

"I'm really sorry about that," I said.

"Oh no, it's not your fault!" he said hurriedly. Then, in a decidedly more vicious tone, he muttered, "FUCK, me."

"I'm sorry!" I apologized again for inconveniencing him.

"Oh no no, it's not you!" he exclaimed. "It's this piece of shit car. Oh, FUCK! Me!"

We finally managed to get his car started and headed towards NU. Our conversation was rather pleasant, sprinkled with his invectives ("Oh, FUCK, me" being his go-to expletive phrase of choice) towards his car/driving in general. He deposited me right by my building and rumbled off into the darkness, leaving me to wonder what exactly had happened and if my decision-making skills were seriously shot.

I shook my head as I trudged towards my building, saying a prayer to the powers that be that got me out of this alive and in one piece. I mean, what were the odds that he wasn't a creeper? I mean, how dumb am I, really? The words "Fuck, me" may have occurred once or twice in my prayer, but I think that's acceptable given everything that happened.

So no worries, I don't plan to accept rides from complete strangers as a regular mode of transportation in the future, but if anyone gets stuck around Evanston and they happen to run into a very very tall guy driving an old Legacy with automatic seat belts, it's okay to accept. He's nice.

Sisterhood of the Sexy Underpants presents: Innaugural Sexy Undies Day

2008-12-02T10:11:00.006-05:00

Move over, Traveling Pants(suits)...a new Sisterhood is taking over! Because every woman needs to do a little sexy something for themselves. After all, who says you need a man as an excuse to wear sexy lingerie?

As per our agreement on this most auspicious day, I will keep a little log of the happenings on our very first Sexy Undies Day.

6:30am
Woke up from a pretty nasty dream involving me, a school building, and hiding in the bathroom stalls from Nazis with a bunch of little kids.

7:00am
Selected a pair of lacy burgundy thongs for Sexy Undies Day. Commenced to shower, get dressed for work. Feeling rather subversive, to be wearing sexy underwear under plain khakis and a demure black sweater.

8:30am
Finally arrived at work. Damn traffic. Did a rather perfect parking job though, if I may say so myself. I took yesterday off, so there was a rather alarming amount of messages in my inbox. Sigh. At least today will be a busy day with catch-up.

9:30am
Eating pumpkin pie for breakfast. Heart rate jumping somewhat from the sugaryness, I think...I am weaksauce...

10:45am
Inspired by sexy underwear, did a bit of prancing in the bathroom. Then composed self professionally, and came out of the bathroom looking ready to do professional work-type things. Like post ads.

11:10am
Received the following message from Jess: "jess missed class because she was too busy trying to look hot today". Hahaha. Actually she didn't, but was a little late.

12:00pm
Was a little hungry, so began eating lunch. Today, it was chicken salad (I think...it may have been tuna...for some reason, I really couldn't tell) between two halves of the biggest bagel I have ever seen.

2:20pm
Finished eating chicken salad bagel sandwich. (Later, it would turn out it was tuna fish. Clearly, taste buds have been felicitously tricked into thinking the tuna was chicken! This was miracle could have only occurred through the intervening powers of the thong. Obviously).

5:00pm
Yay! Time to go home! Work actually passed by quite quickly today.

6:00pm
I get home just as my mom is setting the table for dinner. Perfect timing, yo!

6:30pm
We leave to go to my brother's Holiday concert at Mercer Middle School. He is in the band, and practices his mallet work in the car. It was odd.

6:45pm
My parents and I gossip with abandon from our seats in the auditorium. Damn it, I forgot my camera! Oh well, not like I could see Eddie anyway...percussion is always in the very very back of the stage.

7:10pm
A young girl, looking about 14 or 15, threads through the seats a few rows ahead and to the side of us. She is wearing blue jeans, a snug white shirt, and that perennial expression of teenagers that says "Ugh, I am totally too cool for this little holiday whatever." Her image of perfect pouty adolescence was marred by the fact that she, apparently, was celebrating Slutty Underwear Day--due to her shirt riding up in the back, the entire audience was treated the bright red thong strap that blazed across her lower back like a declaration of trampiness. A mom-aged woman (not sure if Red Thong girl and this woman knew each other) pulled down on the girl's shirt as she passed in by her. The girl did a backward glance, an eye roll, and continued down the row without saying a word.

7:30pm
The guy sitting in front of me (with his WIFE) keeps turning around and giving us slightly startled glances. Is he concerned that we are babbling about him in Chinese? Or...is he just confused by the sexy that has apparently permeated through the atmosphere of the room? I'm going to go with the latter.

8:40pm
I return "High School Musical" to Blockbuster. Ahem. Not that um, I watched it with uh, Jess or anything, over Thanksgiving. AHEM.

come down from that high, b/c i can see through you

2008-11-23T22:41:00.001-05:00

Go ahead

Go ahead and put yourself in the arms of a China doll

Skin like moon from a bottle
Dark eyes and silky hair, perfectly streaked with boutique gold
She moves in a swirl of affected flirtatiousness
Two-dimensional coyness in the round
It’s hard to tell where the saccharine laughter ends and her personality begins
But I can see how you taste her with your eyes

She has all the cute mannerisms down pat
Knowing how to use the little niceties of hand and voice that some men eat up
She wears a vapid mask, pouts with feigned innocence
She’s vanilla sex in a shimmery pink dress
For you with accessorize with
Your stash of romantic comedy clichés and
The cheap swagger you stole from gangster flicks

Your professions of romantic cynicism are only a cover for what you really wanted:
The Asian girl who can play the damsel role
Whose convenient headaches wrap her against your shoulder,
Letting you feel as though your wit and charm alone can cure her
Someone who bolsters your precious ego with a simpering smile
That promises adoration superficial

I thought you knew better than
To model yourself after a music video
What makes you desire the kind of naïve love and
so-called suffering as conveyed in a 4-minute song?
What is it that makes you seek this vacant womanhood?
Is it because she is too demure to ever pull down your pants
And realize that she needs a magnifying glass to find your manhood?

It disappoints me that you prefer
An ersatz romance that exists in your head
But I’ve learned to respect my own bed
I won’t apologize for my fears and flaws
I’m not sorry that intelligence drops from my jaws
Because I refuse to be confused with plastic
I won’t be sheathed in frills, ill with what other people think an Asian girl should be

But let me tell you something
She may have been raised to please but
She’s more than just the sugary gaze that she makes herself out to be
And she’s not going to be all dress up and games
One day she’s going to want to be real
And you are no Blue Fairy
But a puppet, pulled by the strings of insecurity,
Enslaved by hazy fantasies

So go ahead

Go ahead and dance with your China doll

Because I won’t be anything but a real girl
And I’m going to find myself
A real man

we sure are cute for two ugly people

2008-11-14T11:01:00.000-05:00

So I saw Cowboy vs. Samurai last weekend, courtesy of Eddy and his amazing awesomeness. Not only did he fight for, cast and direct the show, he also procured Amtrak tickets for me so that I could go see it. Much props to Eddy. I can only hope that the champagne I bought (which came with a FREE wine carrier bag thingie that was a handsome burgundy color) went to good celebratory use.

I think what struck me most about the play was the reactions of the people who saw it--or didn't see it. Some people saw it as another step to bringing Asian American voices to the forefront of the campus community. Some people saw it as another effort to discuss the tired topic of identity. True, the topic can be exhaustive. But if we don't talk about it, who will? If Asian Americans aren't willing to stand up and voice an opinion about what it's like to grow up in America, who's going to do it for us? Our experiences are our own to tell. It's too easy to pretend to only be one or the other--to ONLY be Korean, or Chinese, or whatever. Even if we don't think about it all the time, it still affects us. Lately, I've heard some of my American-born Asian friends express the desire to marry only "un-Americanized" Asians. Now, what the fuck does that mean? Are Americanized Asians somehow tainted in some way? It's an interesting prospect, to think that my identity as an Asian American is somehow not good enough for someone because of the former or latter descriptives in my title. So personally, I think that the play was very relevant to these current trends. And honestly, I thought that that was the role of the multicultural student organizations on campus: to not only act as a social outlet for its members, but to continue a dialogue with the greater campus community. Otherwise, it's just a bunch of people who look alike, getting together and drinking. Fun, yes. But if that's the only thing they're doing, why bother having meetings and a constitution? Why bother calling it a club? I can do the same thing with my friends and not have to pay dues. But I digress. Point being, I thought Cowboy vs. Samurai was awesome.

The rest of the weekend was also very enjoyable, almost too much so. Highlights include:
- Being sequestered in a smallish bathroom with Caroline and Jess, weighing ourselves on a rather unforgiving scale and trying not to knock things into the toilet
- Lunch at the UC w/ Kang and Ted. Oh, how I have missed the UC food...uh. Yeah...
- Adam, as the most hilariously confused angry Asian man that I have ever seen in my entire life. The role of "Chester" really was written for him.
- Dinner with the Wongs, where Caroline and I may or may not have tucked mini-tridents into our purses for Preston...god, we are such kleptos...
- Taking artsy silhouette shots at the Muscarelle with the most random and hilarious bunch of people. This is something that I've wanted to do for like, the last four years. Another check in my "To-Do List"!
- Late night walk out to Matoaka, where several members of our group broke out in a spontaneous accappella rendition of the "Meow Mix" jingle. The boys shared a touching moment when they all peed together in to the lake. The girls mostly just rolled our eyes and tried not to trip over stuf.
- A very cold, early morning coffee catch-up with Kim!
- Getting a "Say Kimchi" T-shirt from Ben. It makes me hungry...I haven't had good kimchi since Connie's this past summer. SAD FACE.
- Adam taking me to the train station, even waiting with me until the train came. Which was nice of him, considering he had like 4 hours of sleep and a play to do in a scant 2 hours.

It was kind of nice to be back in that college environment, where your friends are just a 5 minute walk away, where your biggest concerns are writing that paper by Tuesday or passing your ridiculous gender studies class. I missed that. I miss having time/energy/people to paint, cooking eggs and sausages for six (or eight...or ten) people, impromptu heart to hearts in front of Nicholas. But that chapter's over. Come Monday, it's waking up by myself at 6:30am to get ready for work, like the rest of the world. But it was nice for a weekend, to just be immersed in that familiar feeling of being with friends, and pretending for a few days that I, too, didn't have to worry about my horrible banking situation (yes, it's been 2 months, and my life's savings are STILL floating around somewhere in Bank of America-land...I will write a cathartic post about it once it's all over for good) and finding a new job in Chicago in less than 2 months so I'll have a fighting chance of paying off my gigantic student loans (also a really beast coat, so that I will have a fighting chance at staying alive). W&M has always been this...happy bubble place for me. But people can't live in happy bubble places forever.

Sitting on the train on the way home, a line from one of my favorite Mae songs ran through my head: This time is the last time.

Yeah. I guess it really is.

watching movies in another car

2008-10-08T20:41:00.001-04:00

So back to trying to stick to my resolution of writing more in the upcoming year...it's been a while. Anyhow.

Every week day, I spend a full two hours on the road. One hour to get to work, one hour back. The sun's liminal zones have become a familiar part of my day, mostly in the sense that I am slightly too short to be covered by the sun visor so I'm always adjusting and re-adjusting my face so that I can actually see the road over the glare. (Yeah, doesn't that make you feel just that much better about little Asian women driving? Sometimes we literally cannot see where we're going!!)

So on this one particular day, I'm stuck in the afternoon traffic. I'm about half-way home, I think 92.5 was on their #2 most-requested song of the day (my car, Arthur, sadly does not have a CD player so I'm pretty much a slave to the radio. That being said, my standards for "good music" has deteriorated greatly since I've been home). So I'm looking around absent-mindedly, and I notice that the minivan in front of me has one of those new-fangled built-in DVD players set up for their kid(s). And because I am stuck in traffic, I start watching it too (they say TV sucks out your brains, and it is sooo true). The washed out color makes me think it's an older movie, or maybe even a black-and-white one. An episode of I Love Lucy, perhaps? Seems like an odd choice of entertainment for a little kid, though I admit, I did enjoy it when I was little, even if I wasn't entirely sure what was going on. I inch Arthur a little bit closer, trying to figure it out.

There are two kids in the show, whatever it is. Definitely two children. And...a lanky man. With a...broom, is it? Odd. Okay, not I Love Lucy. Oh but there's also a woman. She's dressed in a rather old-fashioned manner, long full skirt, long coat, hat. Kind of prim. And she has a gigantic hand-bag. And she's...oh she's pulling something long and poley from the bag OH MY GOD IT'S MARY POPPINS!!

I'd like to say that I didn't squeal and let go of the wheel and clap my hands in excitement, but that would be most opposite of the truth. I squealed. I let go of the wheel. And I definitely clapped my hands. I was so excited to watch Julie Andrews work her governess magic, I almost didn't see the car in the next lane that was trying to edge in in front of me. Luckily, I did see him (unlike the time when I was driving home from a lovely day in DC with Ryan and Cat when I almost broadsided a Range Rover while merging onto I-66, which would have killed all of us instantly as Arthur is 1. a small Acura Integra, 2. he is almost 20 years old, which means 3. he has almost zero safety features, such as airbags or lap belts. But that's another story for another day), and so grudgingly let him in. I hope that car enjoyed watching Mary Poppins as much as I did, b/c it definitely made my day.

unspecified musings

2008-09-13T22:23:00.000-04:00

I had a rather amusing conversation with my cousin, Adam, today. We are both Chinese, and sometimes we affectionately call him by his pet name, Yonkee. We had the following conversation today:

Adam: guess what tomorro is
Me: MID AUTUMN FESTIVAL
Adam: ROCKBAND 2 Release
Adam: son

That exchange made me laugh for some reason. Like...we both grew up here, and yet we've gone in such different directions with our identities. I think I've embraced whatever heritage it is that I have a lot more in the past few years, while Adam has turned more mainstream American. It's just funny to think that I've been thinking about the Mid-Autumn Festival and wishing that I could eat all the yummy foods (I got my wisdom teeth out yesterday...not cool), and Adam's eagerly anticipating a game of some sort (yeah I really don't know much about games...apparently it's really cool?). It's funny because we grew up together; he's been there for me every step of the way, and I know that he would support me no matter what. And yet we've turned out so different. Not that it really makes a difference, I still think that he's a great person whether or not he can use chopsticks. It's just funny, that's all, really. That really, our faces don't say as much about us as other people might like to think.

Or...that I'd like to think...

Ode to Colette

2008-07-31T19:19:00.000-04:00

I found five yesterdays in my mailbox today,
Yesterdays that I didn’t know I had lost,
Neatly disguised as cardboard rectangles.
The familiar handwriting was like a spell to my eyes,
Taking me back to a time of
Spindly legs and best friends,
Where tomorrows were a bright unknown
And yesterdays tucked away, forgotten.

Play Packet Proposal

2008-02-19T22:39:00.000-05:00

A. Catalyst: Mark makes a careless remark about immigrants taking American jobs, which escalates into a full-blown argument about racism in America.
B. Concept: Discussing the complexities of racism in America.
C. Conflict: The present racial situation in America (Jena 6, people who don’t want to acknowledge that it exists, backlash against own culture)
D. Character Sketches:
1. Mark Callahan: handsome, charismatic man in his late 20s/early 30s who works for a consulting firm. He is a proud Irish-American who comes from a family that has worked its way up in the American social ladder since the Potato Famine in the 1850s. He’s having some troubles with his girlfriend, Brenda aka Bebe, and wonders if free love isn’t the solution to his particular social problem. The furthest that he has traveled outside the U.S. has been to Cancun with Bebe.
2. Chris Rohrbach: Idealistic romantic in mid/late 20s who has never had a girlfriend. He is a little insecure about his looks (is a sturdy-set, but not heavyset). Though he works for a non-profit microfinance organization, he secretly wants to be a famous screenwriter and make films. He feels that he ought to be less materialistic, but cannot let go of his “superficial” comforts (movies, books). He comes from a State Department background, and so has lived in different places in Africa, Asia, and Europe, but admits that the only language that he can speak is English.
3. Evelyn Chen: Taiwanese-American woman in her mid-twenties who works for a publishing company. She is not a great dresser, but secretly harbors a love for fashion; though she wants to be a reputable writer, she also loves the glitz of glamour magazines. She owns a small grey cat named Hypotenuse (Nunu, for short) that she is hiding from her landlord. She has a disdain for people who think highly of the U.S. despite never really experiencing other countries; by the same token, she is proud to hold a U.S. passport and to say that she is an American.
E. Philosophical World: Ignoring racial differences does not make racial equality; racial equality is made through acknowledging and accepting racial differences.
F. Physical World: Mark, Chris, and Evelyn are three young Americans trapped together in an elevator as they head home from work.
G. Point of Attack: Evelyn retaliates to Mark’s racially-charged comments with choice remarks of her own, and the all three find themselves in unfamiliar territory that they must resolve in order to keep peace in the elevator.
H. Story Synopsis: Racism is an issue that America still struggles with today. It is no longer as black and white as it was in the days of slavery and segregation, but grows increasingly complex as we become a more global society.
I. Plot Synopsis: Three Americans confront the issues of racism in modern America when they find themselves trapped together in an elevator.
J. Plot Outline: The three characters are trapped in an elevator, and to pass the time while they wait to be rescued, they make casual conversation. Mark inadvertently brings up the touchy subject of racism, and tension soon escalates between all three characters. Each of the characters’ personal opinions on race in America is challenged and changed to accommodate perspectives that are different from their own. When they are finally rescued, all three have become a little more open-minded.

Getting Started

2008-02-07T00:44:00.000-05:00

One thing that I've noticed from reading Fugard and Sartre is that a lot of action can happen within a closed space. Neither Fugard nor Sartre's plays require scene changes, and yet a whole story can be told. Also, neither Fugard nor Sartre use a large cast; at most, there are 4 people on the stage at a time. In fact, Fugard's plays have been with a 2-person cast.

This is something that I would like to experiment with, mostly because I have really had much experience in building up characters before. Before I try to tackle something with a lot of characters, I think I would like to focus on just 2 or 3, perhaps in an enclosed space. I also really liked the style of "Colored Girls" that IPAX did last fall, with the monologues and the poetry. So I've been thinking a lot about the three plays that we've read thus far, but I'm still not quite sure where to go with it. Part of me wants to continue on the Asian American/identity theme of last semester (something like Hwang's "Bondage" would be super cool), but part of me also wants to move in a different direction. Like write something funny, or something.

For the writing exercise that we did on Tuesday, I set my story in an elevator that breaks down. Three people are stuck in it, and are forced to converse until they are rescued. I guess there's really no reason for them to be stuck in the elevator together except for the sake of the story (they would otherwise never talk to each other). I'm still developing their characteristics, but I am pretty sure that two of them will be male (a racist and an idealist?), and one of them will be female (perhaps an Asian American?). I haven't started actually writing it, but am just trying to get to know them a little better before I put words in their mouths.

A Green and Bleached Blonde Affair

2008-01-30T20:12:00.000-05:00

Cast:
Lindsay Lohan
Al Gore

LL: Forsooth, my ears do hear a sound divine! 'Tis my cellular device. Pray, who may be calling me at this time? The sun has long given way to the reign of the Queen Moon and her starry associates.
AG: Fair maid! Is that you?
LL: Al Gore? Pray tell what brings you to my ear?
AG: Is this an inconvenient time for you? Tell me truly.
LL: Well, no. But it is rather out of the usual.
AG: My darling of the russet...bleached...white trash...locks! Your skin is like burnt ersatz sunshine! How I long to envelope you in my arms like a homeless, oil-slicked seal!
LL: Oh, Al! Truly?
AG: Your eyes twinkle more brightly than the shiniest recycled bottled in all this world!
LL: Oh, Al! To be with you tonight would make me happier than a newly polished pole in the hottest club in New York! No throbbing techno music could ever compare with the dulcet monotone of your voice!
AG: Let us meet, then. Beneath the hangar of my private jet, we will make our commotion heard to Mother Nature herself.

Knots of Blood

2008-01-29T00:07:00.000-05:00

As per the assignment, here are my seven summation sentences (whew, almost too much alliteration there for me to handle!):
Sc. 1: Two brothers: Zach is a man who is content with what he knows and sees, but Morris is a man who wants something more.
Sc. 2: From the letter-writing, we see that Zach is a man of the flesh, while Morris is a man of thought.
Sc. 3: The color of one's skin makes all the difference, even when growing up; even so, the color of one's skin does ot necessarily dictate the company that one keeps.
Sc. 4: Zachariah convinces Morris to dress up to meet Ethel, which is ironic because Morris is essentially a while man who must pretend to be a white man.
Sc. 5: The dialogue between Zach and Morris betray their true racial heritages; however, Morris seems to have some guilt regarding his white appearance.
Sc. 6: Zach questions the inferiority of his blackness, and whether or not he is beautiful, too, despite his skin color.
Sc. 7: Although Zach and Morris are "play-acting," they are actually playing the roles that society has assined to their skin colors; in the end, Morris decides that it is what flows through one's veins that decides family, not what one's appearance.

colors can be mixed (sometimes)

2007-11-14T01:27:00.001-05:00

I found David H. Hwang's Bondage to be a deeply provocative play, and I've spent the last couple of days reflecting on identity, especially in the context of visual association. I've tried to write about it several times, but nothing productive came of it. Funnily enough, visual associations was brought up today in class. From the play, we know that Terri is a white woman and Mark is an Asian man. Because they both use masks to obscure their images, it seems that both of them have a certain aversion to their race; neither wants to be typecast of judged by it. Mark sees being Asian as being weak, while Terri prefers to assume the guise of anyone but white. She starts off as being a white woman, but the subsequent dialogue is filled with negativity (granted, she is the dominatrix). What I find interesting is that people seem to be more readily willing to accept minorities to be uncomfortable with their identities; the fact that Terri seems just as uneasy with her whiteness is an equalizer between her and Mark. Race, then, plays a role in everyone's concept of self-identity, not just for ethnic minorities.

Which leads me to what happened in class today. Todd brought up the fact that he is tired of ethnic minorities feeling marginalized by the white man, and why we can't all just get along. In truth, everything would be a lot easier if we did all just get along...but that would be to live in an ideal world, and unfortunately we do not. Like Francis said, people are born with biological prejudices; that is to say, we feel a lot more comfortable to be around people that we are familiar with. Many times, this means the people that we grew up with, people who, more often than not, will look like us. I honestly do not think that this is a bad thing. Carling and I have talked about this a lot, because although she is a quarter Filipino, she acknowledges the fact that she was raised, essentially, as white person. She has been actively exploring the Filipino side of her, but admits that she misses being around white Americans sometimes since she's surrounded by Asian people all the time now. And I can say that I know exactly how she feels: my freshman year of college, I rejected all things Asian. I refused to attend Asian events, and had few Asian friends. All I wanted was to be, in Todd's words, an American. And for me, to be American meant to embrace all things American: the English language, our style of dress, the way we celebrate holidays.

But I felt an emptiness that I could not place. All the while that I was being American, I was ignoring a significant aspect of myself, my Chinese heritage. A lot of things happened to accentuate the difference between a 4th or 5th generation American with myself. My freshman hallmate would frequently say things like "If immigrants are so unhappy here, then they can just go home" or "I hate how they have ethnic comic strips like Boondocks or Baldo. I mean, where are the comics for white people?" (That was when I was like "Um, you mean all the rest of the comics?!") I could not relate to certain aspects of how those Americans grew up, just as they could not relate to how I grew up Asian. Most of them agreed that it was better to assimilate--like Maya said, to be American is to lose your identity or connection with any other countries but this one. But I wasn't willing to. With some trepidation, I finally joined the Chinese Student Organization. And that was when I really felt like I had come home. I felt free to use that other language, to eat rice and pickled vegetables without being teased about how "Asian" I was being. I felt that that was really when I began to reconcile my dual identity.

A couple of weeks ago, I read Denise Uyehara's Hello (Sex) Kitty: Mad Asian Bitch on Wheels, courtesy of Eddy. Scenes IV and V touched me deeply, as it reflected a lot of my past and current perspectives on dating and relationships. I've been working on a poem loosely structured like the one in Scene V, which I will include in my final portfolio for the class. Mostly, I've been exploring the notion of race as a part of us that is not necessarily negative. People are always talking about how minorities seem to always stick together in romantice situations like somehow they are choosing to segregate themselves from the general population. In truth, minorities are just like any other American: we want to find someone who understands us, has commonalities that bring us closer together. And if this means that we happen to look alike...well, is that our fault? Many Christians will only marry within their religious sect. Why is that seen as being acceptable? Because they have shared beliefs? Many ethnic minorities have shared beliefs as well. Unlike white Christians with their varied coloring and backgrounds, our beliefs are worn on our distinctive faces. We can't hide it. Does that make our commonalities any less valid than those between white people, because ours are visible and theirs are not?

bi-bonds

2007-10-22T02:10:00.000-04:00

Lucy Wang's Junk Bonds was a fast-paced look into the trade forum. The trading of bonds is an interesting parallel to the trading of identity; it is always a push and pull, give or take, win and lose. The protagonist, D.K., is an outsider to the company in a variety of ways: she is a woman and Chinese-American. I feel that she is also an outsider in another way: she seems to be more human than her male counterparts. At first, she is picked on ruthlessly, but with the introduction of Hiro, the tables turn. She is given the opportunity to be the top dog, to put someone down. I was appalled to read about how she cut his tie, but I think what affected me the most was when Hiro says to her "But we have the same face!" Loyalty lies in image because it is what we are used to seeing, what we are used to allying ourselves with. D.K. is in a unique position because while she does look like Hiro on the outside, she has a completely American mindset on the inside. Again, we see the split between the external and the internal.

To go further on the theme of image as loyalty, the guys at the company ask D.K. if she rooted for the Asian competitors in the Olympic competitions rather than the American ones. She becomes flustered, and I can relate completely; this is a question that I've asked myself many times. When watching the Olympic games with my white friends, I always felt like I was betraying someone or something if I chose to root for the Chinese or Asian competitors instead of the American ones. Strange, but I felt a lot more comfortable watching world sports competitions with my family or friends who were also Asian American, because they understand the dual identity that we have. I actually asked my roommate who is Korean American if she rooted for South Korea or America in the Olympic games. She said that when Korea played America in the World Cup a couple years back, she rooted for both because as long as one of the two won, she felt like it was okay. However, she also added that she felt that she was rooting for the Koreans a bit more than the Americans, but she didn't know why. We asked another of our friends who was Korean American about the Korea/America game, and he said, sort of sheepishly, that he rooted for Korea. He really wasn't sure why either; he didn't seem to consider rooting for America as "his" country. All three of us were born and raised in America, and yet the feeling of not quite being a part of the American community somehow still persists. I don't know what it is that makes us root for the country of our parents. Perhaps it is because the players look like us, and subconsciously, we gravitate towards that commonality. We can trade our identities to suit the situation, but it doesn't necessarily mean that we like it, nor does it mean that we understand why we do what we do. After all, trading is hard work, but we've got to do it to survive.

Lost and Found

2007-10-07T13:37:00.000-04:00

I found Velina Hasu Houston's Kokoro to be deeply poignant and touching. The main character, Yasako Yamashita, is presented with harsh issues that she must either choose to confront or forget. Half a world away from the place that she considers to be home, she finds that her husband is cheating on her with an Americanized Japanese woman, and that she is unable to voice her opinions on a day to day basis. She cannot protect her daughter from the taunts and bullying of other children, and cannot make her opinions heard. The only way that she finds comfort is in the traditions and beliefs of her past; the double-suicide is the only way that she knows to find peace in a life fraught with indignities and infidelities.

I found the plight of Evelyn to be very thought-provoking as well. As person of mixed racial identity, she does not quite know where to belong. Yasako's allegiance is clearly with Japan, but Evelyn is both Japanese and American. Because she looks more white, she chooses that identity rather tha identifying herself as Japanese. Unlike Yasako--and unlike the Nisei--Evelyn has the choice to assimilate. But even she cannot deny her Japanese heritage; Yasako's attempt at suicide raises the question of identity in Evelyn. On the one hand, Evelyn is raised by the American system of morality; on the other, she can sympathize with Japanese values as well. Her identity is split as well, between American and Japanese. She is torn between adhering to the American penal system and the Japanese traditions of honor; this is symbolized by the little rust cup that she eventually brings to Yasako.

All in all, I found Houston's play to be thoughtful and thought-provoking. I felt like I could relate to both Yasako and Evelyn for their conflicts of culture. Having an unhyphenated social identity is a luxury that is denied to Yasako as an immigrant and Evelyn as a second generation immigrant of mixed race.

Of Two Minds

2007-10-02T17:01:00.000-04:00

In Chapter 5: Ethnic Solidarity of Takaki's book, what jumped most out at me was the experiences of the Nisei, or second generation Japanese. Takaki writes that "Nisei names reflected their dual identities." The Nisei would pick an American name to use in schools, while their Japanese names were used at home. My own parents decided to give both my brother and me American names, but we have Chinese names as well. We both attended a Mandarin language school on Sundays, while learning about America at school during the weekdays.

With these dual names, dual personalities also developed. At school, I can be opinionated and loud. At home, my parents prefer me to be quiet, docile. Reconciling the two has been a daily task for many of my adolescent years. Like the Nisei, it is strange to think like an American but look like a Taiwaese. Like the Nisei, modern-day second generation kids also struggle to find a place to belong. Are we Taiwanese? American?

Last night, I was asked by my white housemate if her friend could interview me because it was part of her class assignment to interview someone from a different country. I tried to explain that I was American, so I probably didn't fit the requirements of the assignments. The girl, who was very friendly, dismissed my disclaimer and said "You're close enough." The questions that she asked clearly pitted me versus "us." "What do you think of Americans when they do this..." she asked. I didn't really know how to respond. I do those things too, whatever she asked. I know that she meant well, but part of me protested inside: I AM AN AMERICAN. It just drove home again that no matter how hard we try, our physical appearance still betrays us. People usually don't mean to be insulting or perjorative, but it's these unintentional slights that gets to me everytime.

A Conversion Story

2007-09-26T00:42:00.000-04:00

Victoria Nalani Kneubuhl's The Conversion of Ka'ahumanu is, in many ways, a traditional story of how native peoples are colonized and converted to the religions and ideas of the white majority of American. Ka'ahumanu is a queen of the Hawaiian islands who rejects the Gods of the Hawaiian tradition and is persuaded to convert to Christianity by dedicated missionaries. However, Ka'ahumanu is not your typical submissive 'outsider' woman; she is strong, opionionated, and fears no man. In Ka'ahumanu, Kneubuhl has created an active woman character: Ka'ahumanu has doubts, fears, and prejudices, but strives to do what she believes is right.

It is interesting that the Hawaiian peoples are not portrayed as a 'model minority.' Some minority peoples, especially those in the Asian communities, are depicted by the media as being 'safe,' thus leading to the stereotype that Asian-Americans are hard-workers and borderline doormats, not rabble-rousers. But Ka'ahumanu, Hannah, and Pali are women with foibles, desires, even dark secrets. They do not obey anyone but their own selves. Even though Ka'ahumanu and Pali convert to Christianity in the end, one gets the sense that they have made the decision out of their own accord, not because they are blinded by any notion of 'white superiority.'

As I read the play, I naturally pictured the actors as they are described to be. But then I think back to our last class, where RJ was cast as the Filipino-hating bullies and Todd and Bobby were cast as Filipinos. Non-traditional casting puts such a different spin on perspective. I think that, in Virginia, it is more common to see Caucasians cast in minority roles since the population here is overwhelmingly white. So while it was not terribly strange for me to see Todd and Bobby in the roles in Filipinos, it was very strange to see RJ in his role. The disgust on his face as he was kicking Todd...it was very eerie. In a way, it was almost like a very twisted parallel empowerment. Even though it was acting, it was also not; for the first time, a Filipino was in the position of power, and could use it to channel his frustrations from having been on the bottom. I don't know. What I do know is, the entire scene was very powerful. I was almost scared by the emotions it invoked in me...I could feel RJ's character's anger, but mine was directed not at Filipinos, but all the times that I or someone I knew had been wronged because of our race. I was surprised that that much anger existed in me. But violence solves nothing. And I guess that's what we're trying to do in this class: invoke change in a meaningful and peaceful way. There is a lot that we can learn from the past.

Calling Somewhere Else "Home"

2007-09-19T17:32:00.000-04:00

I've been thinking a good deal about immigration lately. Granted, this class is largely about immigration, but I've been thinking about it for a while now. I think it all started in high school, when one of my friends made the comment that if immigrants didn't like how things were in America, then they should just "go home." It seemed strange to me that if someone has a foreign face, their "home" is perceived as being elsewhere other than America, even if they are citizens of this country. If a person of traditional European descent was a flaming liberal and complained about Bush, taxes, and a lack of organic foods in the supermarket, would my friend have made the same comment? Would the liberal have been told to "go home," to go back to Germany or what-have-you? I think not.

This past summer, one of my best friends told me about her plans to move to Italy after graduation. She is white, never been abroad before, and felt nervous about having to go somewhere where she didn't speak the language or know the customs. "I can't take all my pots and pans with me to Italy...what if I don't like it there, and have to come back? How...How do people just pack up and leave like that?" I thought about what she said, and replied, "People do that because they have to. That's how the immigrants in America feel. They give up their lives in their home countries to come here, and even if they aren't used to life here, they can't go home." Where would they go? Back to the house that they sold? Back to the job that they've quit? Unlikely.

The movie that we watched today, "Picture Brides," was poignant and moving. Riyo's experiences as a picture bride to the sugar cane plantations of Hawaii is fraught with hard work and tears. At first, she feels that she doesn't belong to Hawaii; she still considers Japan to be her home. Whereas the other women sing in the fields while they work, Riyo remains silent. She is not yet a part of that community. But as the film progresses, we see that Riyo gradually becomes integrated into the plantation community; she never does return to Japan. We see how the immigrant groups incorporate aspects of their own culture into that of the white community in Hawaii. It was particularly apparent in their language; it was as though the immigrant groups developed a language all of their own. The film reminds me very much of the fact that no matter where we go, we carry a part of our past with us. It is also impossible to remain unchanged by our environments; no matter where we go, we take a part of that place and incorporate it into ourselves. For Riyo, Hawaii eventually becomes her home, just as stateside America became the homes for so many of us.