But... I don't have a lawn

Happy Holidays to all! During every holiday season, as we give and receive gifts, there are always the ones that you look at and just go: HUH? In my family, I'm always the one who gets that gift. I always seem to have the weird Christmas gift story.

BACKGROUND: Three years ago, I got, possibly, the worst Christmas gift in history - this is no exaggeration. My sister's family gave me... wait for it... a tissue box. Your eyes do not deceive you, I indeed got a tissue box - with a Mickey Mouse car cover on it. There have been many theories abound as to why I received a tissue box. Regardless, I got no explanation, so there it is... and my sister appears to have been making up for it ever since, as her subsequent gifts for birthdays and Christmases have progressively gotten better or more fun.

Anyway, that was just the background. Everyone knows about the tissue box, so when I arrived for Christmas dessert at TC's mom's place and announced that I had a weird Christmas gift story, everyone at once replied: AGAIN??

After Christmas Eve dinner, my family retired back to my Dad's place to finish opening gifts. My oldest brother left presents for my dear brother and sister-in-law, J and Ang, and for me. Now, our older brother is generally off the mark with Christmas gifts - J and I usually end up swapping. I open my gift, stare at it curiously... Ang asks what it is. As if I wouldn't have one, a 3 cup rice cooker, like the free gift you get from the bank when you open a savings account. I'm a Chinese girl who has been living away from my parents for over 10 years - why wouldn't I have a rice cooker? Well, I said to J and Ang that if they wanted, we could swap. They open their gift - a DVD player. There seems to be a disparity in the quality of the gifts. We ended up swapping since J and Ang have 2 DVD players and one of ours is dying. Well, good.

Now time for the gifts from my Dad's wife. My gift is rather large - a box about 4ft x 2ft big. I tear the wrapping off curiously... and stare unbelievingly.

Ang: What is it?
Me: A lawn reindeer. (Note: not only is it a lawn reindeer, but it's one of those with a moving head... so a really quality lawn reindeer)
Ang and J: WHAT?
Me: It's a lawn reindeer... I don't have a lawn. Do you want it?
Ang: Let's open ours and maybe we can switch.

J and Ang open their gift - a silver coffee server set (coffee pot, sugar bowl, creamer, and tray).

J: This is nice. Ang, should we switch?
Ang: It doesn't matter to me. We'll have two creamers and sugar bowls.

(and because J is always funniest when he doesn't mean to be)

J: Yeah, but look at coffee pot. It's nice. We don't have a coffee pot... (looks at the lawn reindeer)... But we DO have a lawn.

This was the point that Ang and I start hysterical laughing - uncontrollably. And in his confusion as to what is so funny...

J: What? What's so funny? I mean... we do have a lawn!

Well, there was a bit of debate as to what to do with the lawn reindeer. But in the end, J and Ang decided to give it a home at their new house.

So, just in case the image isn't clear in the mind, here it is:




Note: There was a suggestion from P-boy that we just take the head out and mount it on the wall like some prized game, being sure that the animation still works... just to freak people out.

30

I've never really made a big deal about my birthday. There is a reason for this. My birthday always falls during the week of Thanksgiving, so more often than not, everyone I know with whom I would like to spend my birthday usually has plans with their own families either in or out of town. People were always busy, so I generally didn't expect all that many people to remember. Additionally, my family has always celebrated my birthday on Thanksgiving Day since the family would be all be there anyway. So, for a very long time, I didn't even know what date my birthday was... I thought my birthday was on Thanksgiving.

This year was different, however. I turned -- dum-dum-DUM!!! -- 30. And it's significant for many reasons. It's the first birthday since I was 4 that I'm not in school. I'm beginning the next stage of my life - started a new job 8 months ago, moved to a new city, feeling like a real adult for the first time in my life. I've also begun to truly appreciate all the friends I have. As we get older, as we live our own lives and are apart, the times we are together are all the more special.

So much has changed in the past year - my dear brother getting married, friends having babies, other friends moving across the country... I've made a few new friends (no easy feat for me) with whom I hope to have long lasting relationships. I've been surprised, I've been disappointed, I've been hurt and uplifted. People I love have become more deeply engrained in my heart.

I feel grateful and truly lucky for the life I've had thus far, for good and for bad, because of all the wonderful people I have been able to share it with.

A Compleat Coincidence

So, long ago in a galaxy far away, when I was still in college, I was in a play. That play was "The Compleat Works of Wllm Shakespr (abridged)." Efrex had taken me to see this show off Broadway and we loved it so much, we recruited our friend Ron to play the third role. And our performance was a hit... everyone that I talked to loved it, and we got a really good review in the school paper the next week.

Since that time, every time I see that there will be a performance of this play, my curiosity always gets to me, and I find a way to go... I saw a really good performance several years back off broadway. I saw a really terrible version at Johns Hopkins a couple of years ago - they were a bunch of chickens; apparently, they thought having a guy in a wig and a skirt during the show was too risque.

Anyway, I saw in the paper on Friday that there would be a performance of Compleat Works at the Gaithersburg Arts Barn down the road. Again, my curiosity got to me and so we went. LS, SP, JS and I, off to the play. JS hit me during the first couple of minutes of the show, as I was mouthing dialog (I couldn't help it!!). The first act went by smoothly, without incident, and I felt it was pretty good... and certainly some parts updated from when we did it way back in 1996.

The entire second act of the play is a performance, so to speak, of Hamlet. During the "Get thee to a nunnery!" scene, there is an audience participation interlude. A female member of the audience is chosen to play Ophelia... all this person has to do is scream (twice). During the time leading up to this part of the play, I was sitting there thinking to myself, "Wouldn't it be funny if they pulled me?" Well, I think we all know where this is going... Yes, they actually pulled me! JS was laughing as they were approaching our row. Oh, boy, this would be fun.

I think I actually shocked them with my first scream. A whole audience participation section is set up as a build up to the second, supposedly, better scream. While the setup for the rest of the audience is taking place, one of the actors comes by to basically reassure me about what was going on...

Gary: Just 5 more minutes and you'll have to scream again.
Me: I know, I did this play.
Gary: What?!?
Me: Yeah, and I played your part...
Gary: ... so, how are we doing?

While standing on the stage, it took all that I had not to start mouthing the dialog or do the little pantomimes that went with the dialog. It was also really funny to have the actors trying to reassure me while I was standing up there. Well, after the show, while walking out, another of the actors (the part that Efrex played) was sitting in a chair. As I pass, he looks at me and says, in this shocked voice, "YOU DID THIS PLAY!?!?!" Apparently, while the three actors were backstage recounting funny experiences in during the show, Gary told the other two about our exchange while I was on stage. Gary and the last guy, Kevin both came out, recounted again the conversation we had, laughed and shook my hand before I left.

Sometimes it's the small coincidences that make things memorable. What are the chances that they would have picked me, someone who actually performed in the play, to be their screaming Ophelia? What could have been just a fun afternoon became an ultimately memorable one.

S/he's a maniac

One of the advantages of working for the government is getting holidays that most people don't normally get. And thus, I had this past Friday, Veteran's Day, off. So, having a nice long weekend, and a generally flexible schedule, I made plans to visit SequinedAsphault in Connecticut. BC planned to visit his mom in CT this same weekend... so carpooling it is. Since we were leaving from Hagerstown, the route would be different than the "just follow I95" route that I normally take. A prettier drive through PA, fall foliage in full force, and no NJ Turnpike, which was just fine with me.

You can tell a lot about a person's personality by how that person drives... it's very interesting, especially on longer road trips. BC is a generally laid back person. Really doesn't rush around, diligent when working, but generally doesn't stress too much. This is not the case while driving. While he's not stressed while he's driving, BC can be... well... intense. So intense, in fact, that we missed the exit for I287 on the way up AND on the way back. BC obviously takes his driving seriously. Now, most of us drive around 80mph when we're on open road - I do this all the time. Driving 80mph on slightly congested but not traffic-y road... a little scary. It's very interesting to watch other driver's reactions to this kind of driving.

Now, I do not abide drivers who drive slower in the left lane than the right. That's just stupid. BC really doesn't like this behavior, and makes sure that slow driver knows it. It's amazing how long you can follow behind a slow driver, obviously wanting to go faster than they are, and that driver will not change lanes, either because of obliviousness or stupidity. On a stretch of I81 in PA (which is only 2 lanes), where there was really no one on the road, there was a car in the left lane basically driving the same speed as the one next to it in the right. This is just annoying and stupid. The woman finally gets the hint that she's going way too slow and changes lanes. When we pass her, the face of either absolute confusion and/or disgust that was thrown our way... well, it was one of those faces that would have scared adults and small children alike - and it made us laugh hysterically.

On the way back to Maryland, there was less of the idiot slow drivers (although there were still plenty) and more of the competitive drivers. Drivers who obviously could not stand being passed in their expensive cars by a Chevy Cavalier. The driver of a bright blue Corvette, after being passed, decided that he needed to prove how ballsy his car was and sped up significantly, caught up and tried to pass... only to be foiled by the toll plaza. I guess he thought better of it after that. Even more obnoxious was the BMW driver, who decided, after passing us, to hit his brakes and basically box us in - he in front, semi next to us. The situation remained this way for MILES. Why this person felt the need to do this, we couldn't figure out. But after about 5 or 10 minutes of being stuck behind this guy, BC couldn't take it anymore and used an exit ramp to get around him and the semi... and dusted him in the process.

------

The rest of the weekend in CT, while not as adventurous, was A LOT of fun. A trip to IKEA in New Haven with SA and LH. SA did a bit of Christmas shopping for her little cousins, determined to be the cool cousin this year, as her presents last year apparently didn't go over too well. There was a blue tunnel bought - I'll get back to this later...

SA and I stopped in Milford to see the movie, Shopgirl (note: for those who read the novella, as both SA and I did, the movie is a bit disappointing). We weren't originally planning to stop in Milford for the movie, but while driving by, we saw that a movie theatre just off the highway was playing it. Why drive all the way back to Stamford, where the parking is horrendous by the movie theatre, when we could just stop here? Finding the movie theatre, however, was an amusing game of "which direction should we go in now?" My theory was to just drive parallel to the highway until we found it... unfortunately we got too far away from the highway to even see it anymore. Eventually, after driving for a while, nearly ready to give up, we see a sign for I95 and decide we should just go to Stamford. As we were ready to get on the highway, I point to the movie theatre, which is literally across the street from this onramp, and scream, "THERE IT IS!" at which point SA quickly crossed 3 lanes of traffic and pulled into the parking lot.

SA:What just happened?
N'il:We found the movie theatre...
SA:Oh... okay...

After the movie, SA and I headed to South Norwalk for some really good sushi, sake and conversation at Kazu. Then a stop at Barcelona for a quick drink, then home to rest for company the next day.

SA invited DL and SL to visit Saturday night. I was really happy about this since I had not seen them in a really long time - too long, in my opinion. Crawdiddy was coming into town too, so along with the roommates, this looked like it would be a fun evening. The funny thing about SA is that, even though she likes to have people over and entertain, she completely stresses out for the days leading up to the event. "This is what I'm planning to cook... does it sound okay?" "Should I vacuum now?" "Should we just meet them in the city instead?" Whenever she gets like this, I always remind her that people are coming to see her, not the house, not the food... we could drink, watch movies and order pizza and people would still love it.

Preparing for the guests proved to be more amusing than we had expected. SA made asopao with tostones and fried sweet plantains. And it was all delicious... we bought a ready-made salad, just to pretend there was a vegetable - it never made it out of the fridge. SA had put me in charge of the appetizers. Earlier in the day we went to Trader Joe's to pick up mini quiches, spanakopita, some hummus and olive tampenade. Easy - put out the cold munchies and warm the others up in the oven. Yeah, not so easy. SA warned me before I put anything in that the oven tended to run a little hot, so I should probably set it about 20 degrees cooler and just check the thermometer in the oven. I open the oven after pre-heating to discover that it was actually about 20 degrees lower than the set temperature. SA figured she just got it backward, so we set the temperature higher, and stuck the appetizers in to get them started. When I went back to check on them... well, the temperature dropped even more! WHAT THE HELL?!?! It took about an hour to heat up the mini quiches and the spanakopita... well, let's just say that one of the jokes for the rest of the night was, "So, you think the spanakopita's ready yet?" We never did eat it.

After dinner, it somehow turned into "Awesome 80's Dance Party." There was some discussion about song lyrics - how, when listening to songs now, there are songs that mean something completely different than what we thought as kids. We were talking about the song "We don't have to take our clothes off" when LH says, "I have that song on my iPod... let me go get it." After that, it was 80's music, dancing, feather boa's, and lots and lots of silliness. It was a really good time. One of the highlights was watching LH re-enact "Flashdance" to the song "Maniac." It was really impressive - I think I would have passed out after about 10 seconds.



We played some Texas Hold-em. I was the first one eliminated... DL, who was the one who didn't know how to play, won, of course. At some point I left the room to make a phone call... I will forever regret what I missed during this time. Apparently, while I was gone, SA decided that she had to show everyone the really cool gifts she got for her cousins in IKEA. All I know is that, when I came back into the living room, the tunnel was open. SA apparently tried to crawl through it... and got stuck. Not from being too big for it, but from laughing so much that she couldn't continue. I hope someone got pictures.

The rest of the night wound down quickly. People were tired and drunk and DL and SL needed to get home. In all, the house was quiet by midnight. Yeah, we're all getting old. (SA woke up at about 2am with a second wind, only to discover that no one was awake).

Ahhh, good times... think the spanakopita's ready yet?

On etiquette

I read this article in the New York Times this morning and found it rather interesting. In summary, there is apparently a growing trend of restaurant and cafe owners laying down behaviour rules for children in their establishments, i.e. please use your inside voice, no running, etc. and a horrified response from parents insulted that owners of public establishments would dare do such a thing. Children are children, afterall, and you cannot control it if they are just acting their age. What bullshit.

I want to begin by saying again that I love children and want to have several in the future. However, I will also say that I have had many a relaxing afternoon at my favourite cafe ruined by screaming children and their parents too obivious to do anything about them. The attitude that "children are just being children" is a load of crap. If a child cannot behave in public, then it is on the parents to make the choice to subject the public to that behaviour or not. Additionally, the establishments we are speaking of - restaurants, cafes, bookstores, etc. - although available to the public are still privately owned establishments where the owners can make rules as they please (discriminatory rules, excepted, of course). If a restaurant manager can remove an adult for unruly behaviour, why not a child? The difference is that an adult is responsible for him/herself, while the parent is responsible for the child... and therein lies the rub.

My family went out a lot when I was a child. I was in a restaurant, store, diner, etc. almost weekly. I was never allowed to act up in public. NEVER. My parents never spanked me or punished me or threatened me. There was just an expectation that one behaves a certain way in public. My sister instilled that sense in my nephews as well - they have never acted up while we were out as far as I can remember. And trust me, these are two very energetic boys.

In the same way that an establishment can say that cell phone use is not allowed, I find no problem in an establishment saying that children are not allowed in or, if they are, that a standard of behaviour should be adhered to. It's just simple ediquette.

And now...

From the odd news department...

Sexual Evolution

It's clear to me, these days more than ever, that people have very different opinions about sexuality, romance and love. Men and women are different, generations are different... opinions among peers differ. And double standards, as much as we hope that they aren't, are very much alive and kicking. For example - I had a conversation with my Dad a while ago on the subject of cohabitation before marriage. I think that it's a personal choice. Whether or not one wishes to live with another before they are married, I don't believe (and there are studies on both sides of this debate) that it necessarily leads to higher rates of divorce. But the argument that my Dad and I had about it didn't revolve around marriage or divorce, but on how living together "looks" to people.

Dad: Its okay for the guy. It looks bad for the girl...
Me: What? How do you figure that?
Dad: It just looks bad.
Me: Dad, it takes both people involved. How can you say that it looks bad for the girl when the guy is there too.
Dad: ...

That was the actual conversation. Seriously, the fact that the onus is always on the woman seems a little unfair to me. I laugh at theories like the one from a Harvard Professor which basically say that the reason why lasting love and marriage or even committed relationships are on the decline because "men who grow used to "free samples" in the bedroom are going to leave women high-and-dry when it comes to committed relationships." Free samples?!? What are we, tasting menus?! So again, it's up to women to restrict themselves sexually in order to hook a man who will stay. It becomes our fault yet again as to why our life's fulfillment is not being realized - husband to take care of us, 2.5 kids, dog, picket fence... What kind of bullshit is this guy spewing?

I agree with the author of the article. The presumption that is made is that all women want the same thing. That, apparently, the only route to happiness is the traditional marriage and kids route. Now, I want to be married and have children. I always have. Been wanting to have kids since I was about 22, believe it or not. Anyone who has seen me interact with kids and babies can see it. But I had things to do first. I don't assume that what I want is what everyone wants, that this is the only way any woman can find happiness. It's arrogant to think such things. I know many strong, happy women who are at the point in their lives where they are comfortable with themselves and don't need or even want a committed relationship to make them happy or feel more complete. I know women who want marriage but not kids. Making generalizations about what is necessary to make a person feel fulfilled and then spewing this nonsense about how one should change one's behavior to achieve it... I think this Harvard Prof needs to get his head out of his ass and look around.

Whether or not one wants to have sex for the pure enjoyment of it or withhold until they are married and ready to have kids is a personal choice. At issue is what fulfills the individual. And it is up to the individual to figure it out. Not some middle-aged Harvard snob trying to return to the good-old-days before the sexual revolution.

Come on Barbie, let's go party...

I just think that this is really amusing...

Yeah, I'm ordering the gas cap on Monday...

Ahhh... well, BC and I (after much delay) finally picked up his motorcycle. This was last Monday (Columbus Day). We tinkered with it in his garage for the afternoon that day, trying to get it up and running - not that I was at all much help other than saying occasionally, "is this important? How about this?" Yeah, not much help. The battery was dead, obviously, as the bike hadn't been ridden in a year (and sat idle for 2 years before that, even)and there was a leak at the fuel valve. But other than that, the bike was in relatively good shape - we already knew it needed a new cap for the gas tank, as the one on it wasn't the proper one. The carburetor was actually fine... Once the battery was charged, the bike started up. The battery would not hold the charge, however, so there would be no test drive that day. Sigh.

BC informed me on the following Wednesday, after replacing the battery, he took the bike for a 30 mile ride. Other than a sluggish start - the choke needed to be on until the bike was warmed up - the ride was really smooth. YAY! Happy happy for me... so when is it my turn? Well, that came this past Saturday. I was really excited and slightly nervous, of course, as this would really only be my third time controlling a motorcycle, and I didn't want to make too much of a fool of myself... famous last words.

I was surprisingly able to pull out of the driveway without stalling out. BC was surprised to, since I just pulled away and took off down the block. Well, that's where it pretty much ended, at least for this first round. I had stopped at the STOP sign, but when I tried to get going again, I stalled out. Damn... Start up, try to go, stall out... Crap... Start up, move an inch, stall out... F*ck!... Start up, move a little, try to turn the corner, stall... AHHH!!! The bike is dropping!!! Well, I ended up on the soft grass, embarrassed, bike on the ground, fuel cascading out of the tank. BC got over there as quickly as he could and got the bike up, but there was not enough gas left in the tank to ride it around. We would have to take it back to the house, refill the tank, and try again later...

We got the bike to the house, filled it with the little gas left in the canister, went to the gas station and filled-up the bike, and BC took me out for a ride on the bike to show me how well the bike actually performs - I obviously couldn't tell from my short ride down the block. For a bike that really hasn't been ridden in about 3 years, it performed really well. Great acceleration, good breaks, shifts well, and we figured out that it's a 6 gear bike (the little OD (overdrive) light came on in 6th). Cool. Well, when we got back from our little ride, BC pulled in almost into the garage:

"Is this a hint that I'm done for the day? Or am I getting a time-out?"
"Yeah... go to the corner and think about what you did..."

Lucky for me, BC is very forgiving, and we tried it again later. My problem was that I was not coordinating the clutch release with the throttle very well from a stop. And I still have problems with it. So I stalled out at about every other STOP sign, but I would generally be able to get the bike going on the second attempt. My turns are pretty wide and I think that's just my nervousness at how much bigger this bike is from the one I learned on - 500cc versus 250cc (BC laughs at this since, to him, 500cc is really small), and I'm a little timid, for now, about leaning into the turn. As I get used to the bike, I know this will change - it did while I was learning to ride over the course of the weekend. I off-roaded a little on someone's lawn because of a wide turn... not very graceful, and I tried really hard to get off as quickly as possible. But all in all, it wasn't bad. I wasn't burning it up at all - I only got up to 3rd gear and about 25-30mph max. A little more practice is a necessity.

The gas cap hasn't yet been ordered - yesterday was pretty busy. But it shall be ordered today and will hopefully be installed before my next ride. I have the itch and I have it bad. As silly as I looked on the ground after dropping the bike, I can deal with this short term embarrassment for the potential long term benefits... I want to ride again and I want to ride longer and faster. And I will do what it takes to get there.

Update: The gas cap has been ordered and will be here next week. Oh, happy day.

Looking for panda porn?

Well the Chinese government is... Wild panda porn, in fact. Or rather panda mating habits in the wild. This is almost as funny as showing pandas sex education tapes so they can learn how to mate.

On language - &#(@^#%()!!!

I have a potty-mouth. I readily admit it. I keep it in check while I'm at work and in the presence of children. But, left without those restraints, well, I'm a New Yorker afterall... and I believe that it was Robin Williams who said that while in other parts of the world, f*ck is considered a curse, in New York, it's a comma. Genteel language is left for the upper crust (or those who believe they belong there) and the tight-assed of this world. There is so much more that can be expressed with the use of minimal words... as long as the words are properly chosen.

So, I always find it very interesting this obsession with "cleaning up the airwaves." In other parts of the world, foul language is abound on television and radio. It's really not taboo (the same can be said for nudity, but that's another post entirely). The problem is, the more taboo one makes something by saying "that's bad" or "you shouldn't use/hear that sort of language," the more fun it is to do, especially for kids. So the obsession with cleaning up foul language when it has always existed, seems to be a really silly concept.

My dad cursed like a sailor - he was briefly in the army, so perhaps he cursed like a solder? Anyway, it was always amusing when I was a kid to hear my dad go off on someone. The profanity that would come out of his mouth was made all the more amusing with the really thick Chinese accent. And pretty much nowadays, we can say whatever we want around him, as long as it's not f*ck. He actually thinks it's somewhat amusing when I curse - I still see him laugh sometimes.

I've tried to clean up my language over the years. It really hasn't worked. It doesn't suit my personality. I don't curse for the sake of cursing - there's no point to that. Usually, whatever comes out of my mouth comes in the context of the conversation or the emotion that I'm trying to express. And that's the whole point of language... isn't it?

Fugitive golf...

For a while now, I've been wanted to play a real round of golf. No driving or putting range, but on a real course. I got my chance this weekend - twice. I played with my dear brother (JK), sister-in-law (ALK) and sister-in-law-dad (BL) on Saturday, and it was a riot. Mostly because of how absolutely awful the latter two and I were. But there were some shining moments - BL sinking a par shot chipped out of the bunker, my making par on the most unexpected putt from the rough, lots and lots of shots onto the wrong fairway (making the day really hysterical, actually), etc. etc. etc... Great fun - I wanna do it again.

Well, speaking to BC on the phone on Sunday evening upon my return from NYC, he suggested that we go play on Monday (yesterday). Hey, two trips to the golf course in three days - sure, let's go for it. I've written previously that BC had tried to teach me a bit, tried to get my form up a bit. It obviously didn't translate on my first go at a round, so I hoped that with him there, I would get a little guidance.

Now, BC has told me time and time again that he is a bogey golfer - shoots 90 or so, lots of par, occasional birdie, lots of bogeys... and he warned me before we started that he had only played once this season, so not to expect anything really great. Bogey golfer my ass! Three over on the front 9 and par on what we finished of the back 9... yeah, bogey golfer - whatever. He was having a good round, and seemed surprised and happy about it. And I was there to learn, so the fact that he was doing well gave me confidence that BC wasn't talking out of his ass while giving me advice. I had a few good shots, made the green on a par 3 (woohoo!), had a few good chips, could not drive for shit, started okay on the front 9 and got progressively worse as the back 9 went on (I don't even want to know what I shot on that last par 5 we played). Meanwhile, BC was making monster drives, hitting greens, and made two birdies in a row on the back 9.

But by the 14th hole it was getting late. We were losing light, and were playing moonlight golf instead of twilight golf. Finish the hole, bring the cart back, go home content in a fun day. Well, as anyone can guess, nothing is ever that easy. When we rented the cart, the guy at the clubhouse said that we had to return the cart by sunset - 7:20. "Play until 7:20 and then come back," he said. We were out till, maybe, 7:35-7:40, so a little late, but not horribly. When we made our way back to the clubhouse, however, we found our path from the back 9 (which was across the road) blocked - by a locked gate. What the F*CK?! We weren't that late. Oh, well, let's try to find another exit. We drove around the back 9, thinking that maybe there was a way onto the road, or another path to the clubhouse, or whatever. No such luck. The path circled around by the end, and the only way out was this locked gate. Fine.

Unload the clubs, jump over the fence, leave the cart at the gate. Let's just get to the car and go home... er... um... we have a problem. OH F*CK! THE EXIT GATE IS LOCKED!! How the HELL are we supposed to get the car out?!?! Well, as the old saying goes - if you don't have a door, make one. The course was separated from the road by a wooden fence - each section was 4 boards nailed into 2 posts. We drove a bit away (probably not far enough, now that I think about it) from the parking area and chose our target. "Anyone coming?" "Nope, no cars." BC made a few good swings and kicks... and we had ourselves a way out. Pull the car into the road... and we try to fix the fence (only one of the boards really broke, and one was already broken). "Car coming..." Dodedodedo... back to work. Ah, screw it. We tried the best we could.

Once we got in the car and started driving away, we both started hysterical laughing. Oh, geez. Who the hell has ever heard of breaking an exiting - out of a golf course! It just seems so ridiculous! Well, I've always had a talent for getting myself into ridiculous situations... I have to be consistent, you know? I guess we're never going back there to play golf again!

Power between the legs, part II

It's been too long since my last post, darn it, and much has happened. We returned to the Bethesda Crab House the very next week after the last post with Felumpfus in tow, as she informed me that she had not yet sampled this year's crop of crabs! Well, obviously, that needed to be remedied. And we went (JS, Fel and I) and feasted till we were full, perhaps overfull, downing a pitcher of Sam Adams and much corn in addition to just under 3 dozen crabs... ahhhh. Needless to say, when we returned home, we all reveled in our respective food comas on the couch.

The mighty Thor has a new playmate - no, we did not get a new dog. But we did get new neighbors, one of whom is a darling 7 year old girl... 7 going on 30, who knocks on the door and very politely says, "If you want, you can let Thor come over for a little while. We can take him for a walk and stuff... of course, if you want." Cracks me up every time. She's going to be a politician someday, or she may just simply take over the world. When I speak to her, I forget that she's just 7. She's far more eloquent than many adults that I know.

The most exciting news, however, is that I had my motorcycle riders course over Labor Day weekend. Two days of classroom, two days on the range. It was awesome! It amazes me that in those two days, I learned to operate this fabulous 2 wheeled machine... Going from timidly letting the clutch out to get the bike to even move, to wanting to go faster and faster, changing gears and rolling the throttle. Yeah, sure, I didn't get the bike past 25 mph in 3rd gear. But I was doubtful that I would even learn to shift gears - in the beginning, every time I shifted, my bike would cut out, so I obviously had my doubts on whether I would ever get it. I did, however, get really adept at starting up my bike.


We were taught on old Honda Nighthawk 250s. These are 234cc pieces of crap, but it got the job done. It is impossible to find neutral in these bikes when you want to. But when you're trying to shift from 1st to 2nd or downshift from 2nd to 1st - oh yeah, you can find it then, just when you don't want it. I hit neutral a number of times when I thought I was shifting to 2nd. Let me tell you, it's not a nice surprise to roll on the throttle and literally go nowhere fast.

After two full days of learning, riding, swerving, leaning and quick breaking, we took our course test. I learned a couple of things about myself - I can't do a figure 8 in a 20 x 40 foot box and I apparently make a really funny face when I perform a quick break. I was nervous, since I had put my foot down a number of times in the figure 8 exercise, and really didn't know where else I would have lost points. But, I passed! And now I have a shiny certificate which I will take to the MVA (and sit for hours and hours) to get that fantastic little 'M' on my license.

What's really cool is that BC seems willing to let me ride his extra bike, once he gets it up and running. I had been jokingly asking/begging him since I signed up for my course, but really didn't think he would. So when I was speaking to him on Monday, all excited from passing my test, I was quite surprised and really happy when he brought it up. I am excited and exhilarated, and really can't wait to get back on a bike.

Bring us another dozen!

Yes, it's nearing the end of summer. And in Maryland that can mean only one thing - the peak of blue crab season. I realized that I didn't have any crabs yet this season (not even a crab cake) last week, and this definitely needed to be remedied. Luckily for me, while reading The DCist, I saw that the Washington Post published their Best Bets 2005 list. I had hit paydirt. Being new to the DC area, I had no idea where to go for good crabs - I know a couple of places in Baltimore. And though it's not outside of my nature to drive for good food, I wanted to find somewhere more local.

So here is this year's list of the top crab places. The fact the Phillips Seafood is on the list disturbed me a little. But I read the review for the Bethesda Crab House and decided - YES, we must go get crabs! So JS and I made a plan, reserved our crab feast for Friday at 7pm, and ventured off to find this Best Bet.

Well, this place was a little hard to find. First - Parking in Bethesda SUCKS. Be also, we originally thought we had passed it. We drove by a whole bunch of restaurants and thought that this place surely had to have been on that block. But no. We continued our way down Bethesda Avenue, and began to worry when we started to approach car dealerships... where the hell is this place? Well, situated at the end of a block of car dealerships and garages, was the crab house. Little, old bar like, faux paneled walls, newspaper on the tables, and absolutely packed. This was definitely the place.

JS and I ordered our crab feast - all you can eat "small" crabs, corn on the cob and slaw. The slaw was barely passable. The corn was perfect - Maryland being the home of the best white corn. And their "small" crabs were closer in size to the mediums, so all the better for us. I had heard it was a good season (last season was particularly excellent, so I was hoping for at least that much), but I wasn't prepared for just how good. We got our crabs, grabbed our mallets and started smashing.

By the end, I had consumed a nice round dozen along with 2 ears of corn and JS (more of a crab novice, but definitely getting the hang of it) had 9 with 4 ears of corn. We were stuffed and oh, so happy. So for any of my dear friend not in Maryland with easy access to these wonders of yumminess - come down and visit before the end of October (and that's really beginning to push it). We want to go back to the Crab House, and we want to bring friends!

I C U P

Eventually, I suppose in our never-ending quest to find renewable fuel sources, it would come to this - a disposable battery powered on, you guessed it, pee. It makes sense, when you think about it. One's urine contains a whole host of ions and minerals excreted from the body. Perfect for creating the chemical reaction which makes a battery work. It also makes sense in the practical medical sense - you have so many tests in which you would use urine, why not make the urine power your test equipment as well. And the supply is endless!

It just caught my attention to see the headline: Scientists create pee powered battery. Just seeing the word pee in a headline makes me giggle a little.

And for all my Singaporean friends... notice where this wonder of technology was developed.

Saved for now

When I read a few months ago that CBGB's may be evicted from it's home in the East Village, I was shocked. This place is a landmark in modern punk and rock. The place where the Ramones and Blondie began their luminous careers, along with dozens of others. So today's ruling, which ruled that CBGB's could not be unceremoniously evicted from it's home on Bowery, was a great relief to fans of music and for New York natives, like myself. Having lived, worked and gone to school in the neighborhood, the idea that there would be no CBGB's was ... unthinkable. Hopefully, CBGB's and their landlords can come up with a new lease deal that will let the club remain a fixture in the East Village for many, many years to come.

My hero!

Sometimes there are people out there who just inspire you with actions. Hearing what MS did this evening was one of those enspiring moments:

G: Bob says that you are beautiful and I agree with him.
MS: I don't care what Bob thinks, what do you think?
G: I said that I agree with him.
MS: You're not good at this are you?
G: No
MS: Repeat after me - MS, I think you are beautiful.

Not many people have the balls to just lay it out there. Nor are there many people who will just not take the bullshit and call the person on it. Tonight, MS is my personal hero.

Another story...

Well, as I said in my previous post, other than my return trip from San Juan, my trip to PR was fantastic. Here's the other story...

After spending a lovely morning and lunch in Old San Juan with SA and her cousins (the kids are too freaking cute), I was off to the airport. Arriving a good hour before boarding time, I had time to relax, make a few phone calls and wander. (An hour is about the upper limit to the time I can spend in an airport without wanting to jab a needle in my eye.) Unlike my flight to PR, my return trip was not direct - there was to be a short layover in Miami before jetting off to DC. And that's where things went, as Lewis Black so eloquently puts it, awry. We actually landed in Miami 15 minutes early. I thought to myself, "Oh, this is great. We'll get in a little early, then I don't have to rush to my next gate," as my connecting flight was in a little more than an hour. American Airlines apparently had other plans...

We sat on the runway for 45 minutes. That's right, sat. Didn't move, no info, just that the gate we were supposed to be going to was still occupied by a plane and there was no other gate free. Mind you, Miami International Airport is HUGE. I really mean huge. It was hard to believe that there were no gates available. But that's what we were being told... so we sat. Everyone in the plane getting anxious as it was obvious that I was not the only one with a connecting flight, time quickly ticking away.

Finally, after 45 minutes, we began to move, slowly, toward a gate. We parked in gate A21. My connecting flight was leaving from gate D34. There is literally over a mile of airport to cover between them. And by the time I actually de-planed, I had less than 10 minutes to get there. Needless to say, I hauled ass as hard as I could... falling on the escalator (no clutz jokes from anyone, please), knocking people over, stepping on feet, and screaming apologies along the way. Well, while I can run a 10 minute mile, I cannot do it weaving between people, with luggage, going up and down escalators in an airport in which I've never been before. There were times I wasn't sure I was even going in the right direction.

Needless to say, I missed my flight. By 8 minutes. Dammit. Making things worse, the next flight to Dulles was not until 4pm the next afternoon (it was slightly after 8pm at this point). But the guy at the gate assured me that my hotel, dinner and everything would be covered as this was the airline's fault and not weather related. All I needed to do was go to the ticket counter and talk with them to get everything in order. This was not as easy as it sounds. I waited on a long ass line of people, who, like me, missed their connecting flights because we were just sitting on the runway. After an hour of waiting on line, I was told at the ticket counter that the delay was weather related (apparently there was lighting earlier in the day, which delayed some planes, which caused us to get stuck) and that the airline would not be covering hotel or anything else for that matter. After trying to explain it to me again and again, I still did not get why other planes being delayed by weather made my plane, which landed EARLY, be classified as weather related. If that were the case, every flight delay could be reasoned to be weather related.

Well, they were kind enough (*sarsastic sneer*) to give me a discount coupon for a nearby hotel and booked the first flight out of Miami the next morning, which, unfortunately, did not fly into Dulles, but into Reagan. But at that point, I was not going to spend the day in the airport, waiting for an afternoon flight, which would likely be delayed due to weather again as the forcast was predicting the same kind of thunderstorms and lightning that caused me to miss my flight in the first place.

I did finally make it home. Missed a day of work. BC was very generous to not only pick me up for work the next day (I unfortunately made him wait for 20 minutes, as I locked myself out of my apartment - not a good week, as we can see. I'm still really sorry about that, BC), but also to drive me down to Dulles to pick up my car (which promptly got a flat the next morning - again, not a good week). I was very greatful.

The moral of this story: plan for the worst; and American Airline SUCKS!

Puerto Rico, You Lovely Island...

Island of tropical breezes...



Sorry, West Side Story flash there. But seriously, I have to thank MS for inviting me (well, not so much inviting me as to say, "I think you need to come with me to Puerto Rico") to join her for the weekend in Puerto Rico. I had such a fabulous time. Relaxed, fun, adventurous... it was one of the dew times in my life where I felt like I did so much and nothing all at once. It was great.

I arrived, I got to the hotel, and I was by the pool in a flash. I think one of the great highlights of the trip was the evening after arriving. MS, TI and I went on a night kayaking tour in Fajardo to a bioluminescent lagoon. Probably one of the coolest things I've ever seen. After kayaking through a tortuous route among attacking mangrove trees (more on this later), we entered the lagoon where disturbing the water produces the most amazing green luminescence (I could go into the science, but I'll try not to geek out). We jumped in, swam around, all the time producing these beautiful green glowing wakes behind and around ourselves. I'm not sure I'll ever see anything quite like it again.

Now, about the attacking mangroves... well, the mangroves overhung our route quite a bit and it was pitch black except for the little glow sticks on the kayaks in front or behind us (MS was actually in the lead kayak, so she was paddling into complete darkness). Well, on the way there and especially on the way back, the steering and directing of the kayak was ... well, not good. On the way back we were paddling against the current, so coupled with the tiredness that already set in, we did not do so well. And I clotheslined myself, with my paddle bar catching on mangrove branches... twice. Needless to say, we got back safely, although I was doubtful my head was going to stay attached there for a while.

Everything about the trip was great. We stayed at the El San Juan Hotel, which was fantastic. Old San Juan is a beautiful and colorful area, with the Spanish influences on the buildings very apparent. The food was great - although I don't think I ate a vegetable the entire weekend. The only thing that wasn't great was the trip back... but that's another story.

More pictures on Flickr.

Wild about Harry, part II

I finished Harry Potter and the Half-Blood Prince last night - at a little after 1am. After getting past a certain point, there was just no putting it down. I would not have been able to sleep for wondering what was going to happen next. And... OH MY GOD. I cannot even begin to describe the emotional roller-coaster.

It really is amazing. JK Rowling has created a world so brilliant and detailed, so vividly emotional, that it's easy to get attached to these characters that you have seen age and grow, making choices good and bad, having you want to scream "NO!" when something goes terribly awry and laugh out loud when things go wonderfully right.

I was an emotional wreck while reading the last few chapters of the book. And apparently I was not the only one. But it is clear to me, now more than ever, that JK Rowling is not going to pull any punches. Anything is up for grabs in the final book. And that is truly what makes these books so engaging.

I'm loud! I'm proud! Call me geek!

Yes, yes. I am a geek. Always have been. So it was kind of funny this morning, when I read this article (taking a break from Harry Potter) about how geek is the new cool. Now that, to me, is just disheartening. I have spent so many years trying to become comfortable in my geekiness, being socially awkward, blunt, and definitely looking the part, that it concerns me that this trend is happening. Why? Because like all trends, this one will likely fade, and all those geek kids who are finally being accepted or at least not ridiculed as often, will again be excluded, laughed at, and become victims of atomic wedgies.

For a long time I tried everything I could to do to NOT be the geek - thinking that clothes or make-up or a new hair style, trying to figure out what was popular, would be the key somehow. But, I had no fashion sense, my mom did horrible things to my hair as a youth, and as much as I tried, I really was never interested in what was "popular." As I got older and was able to begin surrounding myself with people who were more like me, I realized that there was nothing that I had to be ashamed of. There were many more people like me than I had thought and there was absolutely no reason why I needed to fit the popular or accepted mold. How boring would that be?

Anyway, why do I wax philosophical about this? Because reading that article made me realize that, no matter what, a geek will always be a geek. We may not have the outward appearance or awkwardness we had as youths. But that's because, once accepting the true nature of who and what we were, we've become more comfortable in our own skins and become more confident in the people we are. Yes, we play computer games or video games, watch cartoons and Sci Fi channel, and have huge philosophical debates about Star Trek vs. Star Wars. But we are also the CEOs of tech firms and biotech companies, the scientists and engineers who keep this world running. And most importantly - we are the people who can fix your computers!

So, are you a geek? Find out. Take the test. (I scored a 77% - oh yes, I'm a geek)

Wild about Harry

As everyone in the known universe has probably heard, the New Harry Potter Book is out. So I'll have my nose in a book for at least the next few days. When I come up for air, I'll post again... or if there's something really exciting, I'll just gush a bit - with no spoilers, I promise.

Happy reading to all those who, like me, are addicted to this series.

Marked

There are people out there who don't understand the beauty of the tattoo. I've heard people say things to the affect of "why would you do that to yourself?" and "you know, when you get older, it'll look like crap." But I happen to love tattoos, as long as they are tasteful and truly express the personality of the wearer. I think that's the most important part of it... that the image or words that you choose to permanently mark yourself with is truly a reflection of you.

I have wanted a tattoo for a very long time. I knew where I wanted it. I knew generally how big a tattoo I wanted. But I really didn't know what I wanted until recently. I've thought on and off over the years of what image I wanted imprinted on me. And while many of the ideas were cool or fun, none of them really seemed me. Until recently, I thought I would never figure it out and that I would just pine away wanting a tattoo and never actually getting it. But after just some general imaginings over the past couple of weeks, I came up with it. And once I thought of it, it was like a bolt of lightning, and I knew. It was time to get it. So I took the plunge and was so incredibly happy when I saw the result. It was perfect. And more importantly, it was me.

So, here it is...

mobius
Originally uploaded by Lady N'il.

Goin' to the chapel of love...

This past Friday, July 8th, marked a most momentous occassion - my dear brother, Jay got married to his soul-mate, Angela. I don't use the term soul-mate lightly. I knew that Angela was the one Jay was going to marry from the first time I met her. It was that easy to tell. And I cannot ask more of a new sister-in-law. Because she is fantastic and they are a fantastic couple.

So I raise my glass to the beautiful new husband and wife. I know this is a marriage that will last. Now, I'm just waiting for new nieces and nephews!

Blood, pasta, duckpin and a rumble

Yesterday was an interesting and fun-filled day. BC and I decided (or rather I asked and he concurred) that since we will be going our separate ways for the next two weeks (coincidentally, for wedding related reasons, neither of which are our own), we would spend the evening doing... something. That something was kind of hard to come up with. Partly because the weather forecast looked rather unpredictable. The other reason being the fact that both of us signed up to give blood, which makes a whole array of activities off limits for at least 24 hours. (side note: I successfully banked my pint, but BC ran into some problems with his phlebotomist, who apparently could not get the rather large needle in his much larger veins, on both arms, and getting more blood on his pants than in the bag. He looked like a heroin addict with bad aim - sorry BC) So after going down the list of our usual activities (golf, drink, food, etc.), nothing seemed to jump out, at least not in the immediate area around work. So, we decided to hang by his house, up in Hagerstown, giving us plenty of options to do anything or nothing at all (if the weather decided to be evil).

Leaving work a little early to beat the traffic, I headed to BC's place (BC had already left since he gets in at 6am - crazy). First things first, when I arrive there is the tour of the house - or rather a tour of all the improvements made to the house since the last time I was there: the really cool yellow, fish bathroom; the newly cleaned, primed and stained deck, complete with tiki torches; newly built pieces of furniture; a cute little flower patch, freshly weeded; and of course the new alarm system - which talks.

Now, what to do, what to do? Bowling. We drive over to the bowling alley to discover that it will not be open for another hour... change of plans. Time to kill. Stomachs growling. To the grocery we go. BC said earlier in the day that he would amaze me with his cooking skills and make shrimp penne with a vodka cream sauce, which happens to be one of my favorite pasta dishes. So, off to get supplies and then home to cook. BC definitely knows his way around the kitchen (and around his mystery spice rack, as I call it, as none of the spice jars are labeled) and the dinner did not disappoint, as much as he may insist that it was only average. A short plop in front of the TV to let the food coma pass and back to the bowling alley we go.

They didn't have any regular bowling lanes open. Apparently there was a league getting ready to start. So we decided to give duckpin bowling a shot. What a strange game. We didn't quite get the rules. Thank goodness for the counter guy coming over when we looked obviously confused. Basically, you're throwing a shotput at pins, which are not set up like regular bowling, and the pins are about half the size of regular bowling pins. It's much harder than it looks. The ball definitely doesn't go where you want it or where you even think it will go. And we found out very quickly that throwing it harder or faster doesn't really help all that much. It's also really easy to throw the ball down the lane, think that you're going to get a lot, and just end up picking off one pin at a time. It's very hard to get a strike (although BC did manage 2 in 3 games). Really quite irritating, yet strangely fun. We didn't do so bad. BC scored 110, 106 and 120, while I scored 74, 72 and 97 (woohoo). We obviously were saving ourselves for the last game... yeah, that's it. We almost played a fourth game, but it we were there for an hour and it was about time we left. Besides it was still light out, there were plenty of other things to do... namely, the motorcycle.

Aaahhh, the motorcycle. Sun going down, balmy summer evening, and us on the bike. BC decided on the cruiser since we'd be going up and down some fun hills and he didn't want to bottom out his V-max. We were out for a good long ride, about 30 miles or more I think, from what I could see on the odometer. Jumped on the highway for an exit, which was a little scary at first, but I got over it. Hit some really fun hills, which BC didn't take quite so fast for my benefit - I would not have minded getting some air and I told him that for the next time. It started to spit a little while we were out and I was a little worried, but the rain stayed away. Riding at night is a different feeling than riding in the day. Headlights coming at you, the road lit by the your one headlight, cool breeze... I don't know. Just different. And just as fun, if not more so than I remember. Far too much fun to really describe. It just makes me more excited for my class at the end of the summer.

End of the night. Time to go home. Bye bye, see you in two weeks. (and BC, as much as I enjoyed your play by play description of what should go in this entry, I think my way is better)

Are you for real?

Well, sometimes it takes science to discover. This article raised my eyebrows today, if not for the subject matter, but by the means the subject matter was being tested. What have we learned from this very interesting study?

1. Women are really good at faking it when asked to.
2. Men cannot tell the difference in general.
3. Fear and emotion centers of the brain are deactivated when a woman has an orgasm (makes sense).
4. Part of the cortex (part of the brain involved in consciousness is also deactivated).

So we can conclude that when women want to, they can fake it, and men can't tell the difference. We already knew that. But when an orgasm is real, fear and emotion are turned off as well as consciousness. So essentially, when a woman is having an orgasm, she is out of her right mind.

I think that the thought that Felumpfus brought up is even more amusing - the picture of "participating" in this study while having all sorts of wires and stuff attached to you. What could possibly go wrong?

Hope springs in turtles!

Lewis Black
Originally uploaded by Lady N'il.

And if hope can spring in turtles, it can spring in me!

Yes, I make no sense. But there is a reason for this really insane quote. Last evening, JS and I want to the Lyric Opera House, not to see an opera, but to see comedy. Specifically, we went to see, perhaps one of the foremost commentators on pretty much everything, Lewis Black. Not familiar?? If you have ever watched The Daily Show, then you probably know Lewis Black. All I can say is that I came out of the show sides and tummy hurting from laugher.

JS and I stood on line for a bit to get an autograph. It is really interesting the things you hear when standing in line. These two older ladies standing behind us in line were commenting on "all the dirty language" Lewis Black had used during his act. "He didn't need to use all that dirty language. I saw him on TV and I thought he was funny. I didn't think he was that funny tonight." We found this really amusing because, dispite the fact that they found the act quite dirty, here they were, standing in line with a poster, waiting to get his autograph. People!

Note: The above quite was from the opening act, John Bowman (the one on the left in the picture).

Parlez-vous francais?

Je ne parle pas bien. Long ago, in what seems like a millennium ago (and it was, sorta), I did speak and understand the, so called, "language of love" with some confidence and skill. That is no longer the case. And it's very frustrating. (I still know Latin pretty well, but I doubt I'm going to run into Julius Caesar any time soon)

So, in my continuing efforts of improving all aspects of myself (physically, mentally and emotionally), I am attempting to relearn French. I've gotten books, references, a dictionary, and a practice partner (namely, BC, who is fluent - this venture was, in fact, sparked by BC who would write notes to me in French, which would then take me far too long to translate). I think that I remember more than I believe but have definitely forgotten more than I realize. It's quite sad really.

Well, I've been working on this very seriously for about a week. And I have learned two very important things - my vocabulary sucks and I speak/write like a child. How do I know this? Well, BC decided since my efforts in emailing him in French were obviously aided with a dictionary (some of the words I would use are not used commonly), that I needed to make an attempt to read and write emails "sans dictionaire". As with Chinese, I understand more than I speak and therefore cannot make equivalently good responses. So, understanding BC's email requesting that I write him without the aide of a dictionary, I had a go with my 20 word vocabulary. (It is also worth noting that, in my brain, all verbs are in the present tense.) Although the result was somewhat understandable, I believe it was also quite embarrassing. As I said, with a 20 word vocabulary, I speak/write like a child.

But this is learning. And it's fun, which is the whole point of this venture. I'm certainly not doing this to torture myself. Although others may feel tortured with my constant unintelligible speaking attempts!

C'est la vie...

Yin and yang

I saw two movies this weekend. Two movies that could not possibly be further apart in terms of theme and thought. Friday, JS and I went to see Mr. and Mrs. Smith. I was hoping it would be funny, since the trailers made me laugh so much. But I was definitely afraid that it was going to be one of those cases where all of the funny parts of the movie were in the trailer... well, no. I don't think that I have laughed so much in a movie in years. Practically from the first minute of the movie. It was smart, quick, witty, with lots of explosions, and about as deep as a puddle. Just wondrous, mindless fun. And I can't recommend it enough.

Felumpfus came down of Saturday evening and on Sunday Fel, JS and I went into DC to see Howl's Moving Castle, another Miyazaki masterpiece. A beautiful movie, very charming and fanciful. And as with all Miyazaki movies, a story difficult to fully comprehend until the very end. Themes of good and evil and the lines between that blur. This movie had a charm more similar to Kiki's Delivery Service than his more dark films.

It's interesting to me how the mind can find very different levels of enjoyment. Something can simple as going to a movie can be mindless or profound, humorous or anguishing (is that a word??). That in all aspects of one's emotions, one can find enjoyment and satisfaction.

To have and not to hold

Sex.

Okay, now that I have your attention, I wanted to talk about this article that was mysteriously sent to me yesterday (and whoever sent it, thanks). There is apparently a larger than previously thought population of people out there who consider themselves asexual. Not non-sexual, but asexual. As in not at all interested in or have a desire to engage in sex with another person. There are parts of this article that I find interesting and yet strange, among them:

1) an asexual as someone who "does not experience sexual attraction."
2) asexuals might have sexual urges and even masturbate, but they do not want to have sex with other people
3) asexuals often feel romantic attraction for other people, it just doesn't involve sex
4) some asexuals have spent - or will spend - some time being sexual (actually enjoying sex for a time)

One of the other things the article said is that supplemental hormones can actually increase an asexual's sex drive and desire for sex. So the question becomes, is it causal or an effect... did the brain structures develop that way naturally or did some other external factors contribute to this?

Sexuality is never an easy thing. And almost always, we have no control over who (or what in some cases) we are attracted to. So is it possible that being attracted to no one is meant to be? Is this one of those Darwinian cases of culling the gene pool?

Speaking fools

It is a fool's prerogative to utter truths that no one else will speak - Dream

This quote inspired the changes in this blog that have taken place since v1.0. But honesty is hard. Trying to be honest with others and especially trying to be honest with yourself about who you are and what you want. Sometimes in uttering truths one can feel foolish, silly or embarrassed. Those times when a thought passes through the brain, somehow bypassing that filter that would usually keep that thought in, and before you know it... "Why in the WORLD did that come out of my mouth?!" But I resolved long ago to try to live without regrets, as long as what I am doing or saying comes from an honest place. And that sometimes foolishness is the price you have to pay for being yourself.

It's like you're a drug...

Oh, how right Kelly Clarkson is when she sings that... Well, another study has come out talking about how love makes you crazy, especially new love. You know, that giddy, we just started dating feeling. The time when you virtually fall off the face of the planet, friends and family hearing neither hide nor hair of you in weeks. When all you can think about is calling, talking to, emailing, etc., etc., etc. the person that you are newly dating. Well, apparently, new romantic love does not activate the sexual centers in the brain as one might think, but in fact activates the part of the brain that is generally associated with "hunger, thirst or drug craving." And when this love deepens beyond the initial attraction and honeymoon stage into something deeper, then areas "deep in the primitive brain that are involved in long-term attachment" are activated.

The research helps explain why love produces such disparate emotions, from euphoria to anger to anxiety, and why it seems to become even more intense when it is withdrawn.

Hmmm, so absence may make the heart grow fonder. There's also an interesting bit about how the brain basically goes through a state of drug-like withdrawal when one is dumped.

I find it ironic, then, that after reading that article, I came across this one talking about how love has ruined the institution of marriage.

Love is hard. Love is painful. Love makes you crazy. Love makes you sad. Love can give the soul the greatest joy that it can ever experience. And when that is experienced, it can outweigh everything else. When you find it, you want to hold onto it forever. When you lose it, the world has come to an end... until you learn that you can rediscover it if you search hard enough.

We tried to see U2 and all we got was a Poang!

You had to be there...

But yes, the short road trip to Philly for the U2 concert Sunday was definitely worth it! We were greeted in Philly with A Beautiful Day, strolled around Chinatown, wandered our way down to South Street, found a street fair - The Italian Market Festival, I believe. Food, people, music (some of it really bad... I mean really, do we need to see the Guido Quintet in their matching bright blue suits?), your general fun street fair kinda stuff. We made our way back to Chinatown, met WL for dinner at Penang, stuffed ourselves silly. Yummy.

Now comes the challenge - trying to find our way to the I95 to get to the Wachovia Center. We had a map. Felumpfus was navigating, although at one point, both Fel and JD were screaming to turn or not turn from the back seat... Follow the signs to I95 and eventually we will get to the onramp. This was a great theory. It didn't really work in practice. Although we continued to follow signs saying that the I95 was ahead, we continued to have the highway on our right. Or rather, we tried to follow the signs for the I95. We learned something about Philly - for some reason, all pertinent signs are hung BEHIND tall trees. So for all we know, we missed the onramp multiple times.

Time for plan B. At some point we would need to turn right, hopefully before we made it all the way down Columbus Ave. to the IKEA. We turned and went in search of Broad Street. The Wachovia Center is on Broad Street, we know this because we passed it on our way into Center City Philly. Finding Broad Street was easy. Getting onto Broad Street was another matter. We learned another very important thing about Philly - apparently one cannot make left turns, or rather, is NOT ALLOWED to make left turns, anywhere, even onto seemingly valid two way streets. No problem, go to the next block and circle onto Broad. Yeah, that didn't work. Again, a couple of blocks where we could not make a left turn... then finally we turn... AAAHHHHH! The next street is blocked off, so again, we can only make a right turn! Well, a couple of more right turns (one a little sharper than we had anticipated), and finally we find Broad Street. And we turn right.

At this point, we were relieved that we were able to get in the general direction we wanted to go. We did finally make it to the concert, a little dizzy from all the right hand turns we had made, found our seats, and allowed ourselves to be blown away (and I do mean blown away) by the boys from Dublin.

I think that the best part of the show was that they ended it in classic fashion.

Power between the legs

No, we are not talking about anything dirty. We are talking about motorcycles. I've been wanting to learn how to ride a motorcycle for quite a long time. I used to be a fan of the "crotch rocket" type bikes, but as I have aged (and developed a bad back), I have reconsidered. I love Harleys, particularly the Sportster Family of bikes. The funny thing is that as much as I have wanted to learn to ride and to own a motorcycle, I had never been on one... I have a need to control. And let's face it, I'm a bit of a chicken-shit. But, I have resolved that little issue.

I went out to Hagerstown to visit BC. He had promised me two things for when I came to visit - that he would teach me how to drive stick and that he would take me out on his bike. We didn't get to the stick driving lesson. But we did go out for a ride. First on the Cruiser (the slow bike, he calls it), then on the Vmax (the power bike). If I wanted to have a motorcycle before actually being on one, I REALLY want one now. We went for a long ride, up and down back roads, BC occasionally opening it up a bit, just to let me feel the acceleration and the power. I asked him not to scare the shit out of me too much. The interesting thing is that I wasn't scared the entire time on the bike - not even for the stretch that BC let it out to 100mph. I felt such wonderful exhilaration and so free. I don't think the smile left my face the entire time we were out. And I didn't want it to end.

BC told me that I would get "the bug" in my ear, even starting today. Oh, boy, do I have the bug. So the first thing I need to do is take a basic rider safety course and get myself an M license. I can't wait. Whether or not I'll actually own a bike anytime soon, well, only time will tell. But I have to get started.

Gentlemen Only, Ladies Forbidden

I like golf. I will say that very openly and honestly. From some people I get a groan, a roll of the eyes, and that wondrous question of why. From others, I get the full understanding of what a great sport it is - and yes, it is a sport, a skill and concentration sport. One where focus and technique can beat sheer strength any day of the week. I have one big problem, however - I'm not particularly good at golf... at least not yet. But give me a little, I've only been attempting to play for a couple of years and I have yet to play a full round (pitch and putt doesn't count).

Since the weather was nearly perfect yesterday, BC and I cut out of work early and headed for the driving range. He's been telling me for a few days how good he is, consistently hitting in the high 80's and such, that I wanted to see it for myself and hopefully be able to pick up something. Before we went, I gave him this warning: I have no idea how to use my irons. None at all. Don't know how to hold them, swing them, anything. This was as much personal protection as anything, so I didn't go out there and completely make a fool of myself.

It's been a while since I've hit a golf ball. And it really showed. I shanked a whole bunch of them with my 7 wood before I made a couple of good hits. But could not stay consistent. BC on the other hand was launching them. Don't think I've ever been to the driving range with someone who hit so well (sorry, Jay). A bit of amusement arose when we saw groups of people, who were oblivious to any sort of danger, walking across the driving range... pretty much in the range that BC was hitting his. (10 points if you hit one!! There's no way they'll be able to get here before we get into the car.) A couple came pretty close. Close enough that there was a bit of staring and pointing from one of the groups.

I was not doing nearly as well. And after a bit of frustration, BC took pity on me, watched and evaluated my swing. Why was I not making good contact? Why did I feel uncomfortable? Don't move the feet, relax the front shoulder, keep the feet aligned better and closer to the ball, shift the weight back a little more, follow through, and most importantly - DON'T GET FRUSTRATED! Each small thing corrected made each shot smoother and straighter. That lovely sound of solid contact. Well, we got something to work better.

Now the fun part - how in the world do I use my irons? I have issues with the irons in general. I always feel two very specific things when I try to use an iron: (1) that I am right on top of the ball (2) I'm going to smash my club into the ground. As a result, I generally stand much too far away and I pull up in the middle of my swing, resulting in the golf ball dribbling away sadly. As many adjustments BC tried to make, I would only make rudimentary contact with the ball. A couple were lifted nicely, but most dribbled away or were short line drives. Not exactly what we were hoping for. Try as I might, the ball was not going anywhere good. So we decided to retire to the pitching/putting area to practice our "short game." (The fact that I have yet to get any game much less a short game was obviously ignored at this point.)

In theory, working with the pitching wedge on the grass should be better - not as much fear of slamming into the rubber mat... if I hit the ground, well, I get a divot. Theory and practice were obviously opposing at this point. The ball was going nowhere; not even coming close to the pitching green. I can't tell what I'm doing wrong. BC can't tell either, saying my swing was okay, but not making clean contact. Relax, relax, don't think about it too much. The ball won't mind being hit. That's what it's there for. And then... *plink* Ball lifted. "Hey, what did you do that time?" "Dunno, tried not to think about it too much." So I tried it again... *plink* Ball lifted again. "Hey, that's really good!" I wasn't getting the distance, but at least I was hitting them cleanly and actually lifting the ball. By the end of it, I was pretty much consistently hitting and lifting the ball with my pitching wedge. A vast improvement from where I started. Vast.

Going home, I was much more satisfied that I was able to get some of the mechanics of using my irons (or at least the pitching wedge) to go somewhere. Well, anywhere from the state I began would have been an improvement, let's be honest. But I was happy that I felt like I took a step forward, learning a little more, attempting to improve. I hope that I don't forget it all by the next time.

I'm hoping to get a full round of golf in by the end of the summer. I know that I will likely suck it up and shoot around 200. But again, taking a step forward from the driving range and onto the actual golf course. Isn't that the whole point of it really?

Message in a bottle

We are going to continue with the theme of friendships for a bit. Since I've moved and started working, I have been thinking a lot about making new friends, trying to stay in touch with old friends, etc. And I began to think about the kinds of friends I have. Not too long ago, I read a little thing about the 5 Friends Every Woman Should Have. I think this list would go for men and women, but men have different types of relationships with their guy friends. I have come to realize that the most important person to have is "The Truth Teller". Or as I like to say - the one that will call bullsh*t on you. You know, the friend who can tell if you are trying to or have convinced of something and will set you straight with honesty and straightforwardness (is that a word?). The one that will not allow you to delude yourself with the nonsense and bullsh*t that can creep into the brain. Everyone needs someone like this in their life. Keeps you honest with yourself and everyone else.

On the flip side, while looking for the list of friends a woman should have, I also found this list of the people to avoid having as friends. Interesting the contrast.

On friendships

I made a realization today of the preciousness of very good friends. I think about all of the people in my life that are important to me and realize the years that they span... from high school, college, grad school, and more recent times. It took a little while for some of us to get on the same page. With others there was a more immediate connection.

I think that the most common comment from many of my friends, particularly those from grad school, is that the first impression I give off is "scary, loud chick." I have been told over and over by some of my friends that when they met me, they were truly fearful. I'm sure it had more to do with the environ in which we met (ie. in lab or in a class for which I was the TA) versus me (or at least I hope that it was). Nevertheless, we are all still in communication mostly due to wonders of modern technology.

The value I place on friendships is very high and it always pains me when a friend is lost to distance, life, or differences that grew over time. It's always hard to leave behind someone to whom I once felt close.

I don't make friends easily. And generally, those friendships that do develop last a very long time. I consider myself lucky and blessed to be surrounded by such wonderful, warm, funny, intelligent, fabulous friends.

Here's a tip for you...

It used to be that leaving a gratuity was just that... something extra left to show a waiter/waitress/server that they did a good job and to thank them for their courtesy. Nowadays, however, tips seem to be more expected than earned. 15% used to be given for average service, while 20% or more for excellent service. Servers seem to expect at least 15% or more, no matter the quality.

Last evening, M, D&S and I went out to a little tapas place on Spring St. near Greenwich. The food was really good. The champagne sangria tasty. And the company, ever so excellent. The service, however, wasn't great. It was pretty much what one would expect in a somewhat trendy (or trying to be trendy) NYC restaurant. The waitresses were a little snobby, and gave you the look that they really couldn't be bothered.

During dinner, our second pitcher of sangria was knocked over by people sitting at the next table. This wasn't such a big deal (except for my wet pant leg) since we hadn't even started the pitcher yet. We just told the wait staff that we didn't want another one. Well, they seemed to insist. Finally, one of the waitresses said that a pitcher was being sent over. Fine, another pitcher of sangria. More conversation, more drink, and an order of dessert - where the order for cappuccino mysteriously appeared as a double espresso. When M pointed out to our waitress that the order was wrong, our oh so cool waitress gave M a look as if she was insane. The correct cup of caffeine was eventually delivered.

When the check came, we gave our waitress what we thought was fair for what we got, considering the rudeness, the insistence on the second pitcher of sangria and the incorrect drink delivery, which was answered by more rudeness. After a few moments, waiting for M to return from the loo, our waitress came back and asked if there was anything wrong with the service, since the tip appeared to be low. We explained that the service was only okay, but we didn't really appreciate the second sangria insisted upon us, but that's the tip we felt was deserved. Our waitress went on to say that it was standard that the tip is double the tax, and we didn't give her this amount, continued to ask why, and if we knew what a standard tip should be. Thank God for D. He looked her straight in the eye and told her that she had no right to demand more tip, that the service was only fair, and that since they "sent" the pitcher of sangria over, which we didn't want, that we shouldn't have to pay for it. I think the waitress' exact quote was:

"I just wanted to let you know that I don't work for free!"

And here I thought that quality of service should reflect what she deserved. Silly me.


gra·tu·i·ty n. pl. gra·tu·i·ties
A favor or gift, usually in the form of money, given in return for service.


I guess some people just need to be reminded what it actually means.

Touch of the heart

Throughout all the time growing up, there have been pluses and minuses to being Chinese-American. The questions of, "So where are you from? ... No, where are you REALLY from?" as if the answer of New York City was somehow wrong. But there were quite a few things that I found most precious. One of them is the value of food in a Chinese family. Food is the center of everything... family gatherings, a symbol of love, health, joy, etc. In a previous post, I think I even mentioned that my Dad still begins our phone conversations with, "Have you eaten [breakfast, lunch, dinner] yet?" because that's what most Chinese people do.

So when, a couple of weeks ago, I read this article about the nutritional content (read: unhealthiness) of dim sum, I was a little taken aback. Dim sum is special to me. Something I really enjoy. Fond memories of my childhood, going into Chinatown with my family. Eating. It's also one of the few places/times where my awful Chinese is passable (I speak, what I affectionately call, Restaurant Chinese).

Emails circulated about this article. People were upset. I think the pervasive comment was, "I'd really rather not know." I agree. Why make something that is so fun and wonderful and yummy turn bleak. Apparently, we weren't the only ones who were upset by this report. Dim sum is a way of life in Hong Kong. I saw it when I was there many years ago. We, in this country are used to government entities telling us how to eat. Most people generally ignore them. Culturally, I don't see food as quite an important part of life with most people as I have observed with most Asian families. So this type of government finger wagging generally doesn't bother people.

I just wonder who's going to rain on my sunny day next. But until that time, I'll enjoy another bo-lo-bao.

Oh, give me a home...

where the buffalo roam...

What more is there to say?

I still haven't found what I'm looking for

I want ice cream. It's a very simple thing. I've wanted ice cream since last Thursday. Sitting in a meeting, having already returned from lunch, knowing the entire afternoon was ahead of us, and I was thinking of ice cream. And not just to have ice cream. But to go out, try a few flavours at a store, and finally settling on the flavour of choice. Maybe I want a waffle cone. Or maybe a cup. I would follow my fancy once I got there.

Well, since we were not able to get any ice cream on Thursday (and I certainly didn't want to venture to the ice cream shop alone - these types of things are best done in pairs or groups, in my opinion), B and I decided, since he would not be at work on Friday, to set yesterday (Monday) as the day we would have our ice cream outing. Well, we were foiled. After having lunch, we drove around to Maggie Moo's, all giddy that we were finally going to satiate this craving. Smiling, sun shining, we walk up to the storefront to be confronted with a sign:

CLOSED FOR RENOVATION

We were crushed. All we could do was laugh and yet be sad that we failed in our mission. We also decided that it meant we would have to go to Ben and Jerry's - but alas, our lunch hour was over and it would have to wait for another day.

I want ice cream.

Making of the modern world

It is interesting to note how it is that people and organizations approach the modern age. Some tiptoe in - afraid of doing anything online for fear of security breaches. Some jump in head first - always trying to get their hands on the newest and greatest technology. I have to admit, I am a half and half person - I know, very strange since I'm an engineer. But I actually have this irrational fear of artificial intelligence (I think that anything unbiological that can theoretically be smarter than it's creator is quite scary).

One of the now not-so-modern advances that I love is e-mail. It allows for people to stay connected, even minute by minute with some (yes, I mean you, M), so that no one is ever really out of the loop or far away. This type of communication makes the word seem so much smaller. That I can know what's up with a friend visiting home on the other side of the world without having to make a long distance phone call at some ungodly hour is reassuring somehow.

So I think it's rather cool that the Papacy has entered the modern age. Blessings over e-mail. Faith via fiber optics.

High five!

Today is National High Five Day.

Raise your hand up and give someone a high five!

Simplicity

We rush too much in our lives. Constantly running here or there. Late for appointments. Late for meetings. Have to get to this class or that seminar. Constantly connected. Cell phone to ear, Palm Pilot in pocket sounding an alarm for the next place you need to be.

I, myself, had gotten caught up in all of this rush-rush life. Now, however, I don't have this overriding feeling that I have to be elsewhere. Not like I did before. I have my Palm Pilot, I have my cell phone. But they aren't my essentials. My essentials have become the book that I am reading at the moment. The CD that happens to be loaded in the car CD player. Sunroof open, windows down, music loud, singing.

Days like today, beautiful, sunny, breezy days, are meant to be spent outside, even if just for a leisurely 15 minute walk. No rush. I have plenty of time during the lunch hour to get back. Just have a stroll and breathe it in.

A house and a home

I love going back to NYC. My heart and soul are from Brooklyn and even though I am not living there now, I still consider it as a home of sorts. It's funny because, I really no longer have a home to go to anymore. My Dad moved out of my childhood home into a new condo, which was a good move for him. But, to me, that is not home. I have no connection to this new place. My childhood house is no longer. It has been demolished for the sake of progress and increased housing opportunities. The land on which the house previously existed is now combined with two other pieces of land and will eventually be the locale of a new condominium.

But this weekend I went to NYC to celebrate a new home. A home to friends very dear to me. D and S invited us into their new house, their home, to celebrate and be surrounded by friends and family. One can always tell when a house is a home. It has that warm, soothing feeling as you enter the door. It has that joy of people who can say, "This is where I come to be with those I love." And their new home says that. It said that when I went to visit several months ago and again this weekend.

I have posted recently that I have moved several times in my life already. The most recent being slightly over a month ago. And although I have lived in my new place for a relatively short time, and have still not fully unpacked, I already feel at home. It has the love and comfort that we all wish to have in a home. My fuzzy baby has already shown me that he feels like it's home by rolling onto his back while sleeping and showing me his little pink tummy. I think we are all beginning to feel secure there.