Woman, your name is cuckoo

My coworker told me about this girl in China, who is 28 years old. When she was 16, she once had a dream about Andy Lau and ever since then, she's lived her life for him. She recently went to some official Andy Lau fan club meeting and everyone there got to pose with Andy Lau for a picture. however, she wanted to be able to "talk" to Andy for a longer, more intimate, one-on-one session and was, unsurprisingly, denied permission. Get this...enraged, her father jumped off a cliff and committed suicide. The daughter is now demanding that Andy Lau apologize to her family, read the suicide note and then arrange to spend alone time with her.

I'm sure I am missing some details but this is seriously where major thresholds between sanity and insanity have been crossed. Now I don't feel so pathetic about my own life.

Dental Day

Today I went to the dentist to replace a loose filling. She gave me a shot or two of novacaine before proceeding to wreak all sorts of damage and havoc on my tooth. Okay, she probably was just trying to clean all the gunk out, but with her pliers, and picks and tiny tooth filers, I swear a whole mine crew was in the caverns of emily’s mouth, digging for treasure.

Curious thing about having a numb side of your face – when I touch it, it feels really soft but it also feels like I’m touching dead flesh. I try to rationalize that this is what it feels like to touch my face, from another person’s perspective. But the more overwhelming impression was that, I was touching soft, pudgy and slack meat. It felt really strange. Also, I think this must also be what it feels like to have a stroke and have one side of the face collapse from damaged nerves. I was never so happy to enter once again the world of actual feeling, of pain sensors, of movement and agility. I guess I experienced vicariously a little bit of what death must be like.

I need to start taking better care of my teeth. Flossing, rinsing, brushing, whitening – the whole works! The other day I was told that I wasn’t making enough of an effort to make myself “hot.” Despite my heated protestations and indignant retorts, I guess I have to admit that I’m a slacker about that sometimes. But tomorrow is a brand new day as Miss O’Hara famously said, and tomorrow is a good time to start becoming the hotness that is somewhere deep inside yours truly, waiting to be excavated, waiting for its day in the sun.

Tick tock

The waiting game has turned a new corner for me and like a roller coaster, I feel like my heart is in my throat and my stomach some 10 feet below me. I can't say I relish the feeling overly much. There is, in that agony of being suspended, almost a despondent, morose desire to just rush to the end, no matter how badly that end may be. Because nothing can be quite as bad as having to hang there, right before the impending drop.

Somewhere in my head, the two words "intervention prayer" dance around tantalizingly. If I pray hard enough, do you think the outcome will be favorable? I know it's not the way to go, and I know God is no Santa. Yet, this is where the logic loses its sway, to some degree.

Okay, I'm just babbling forth complete garbage. As Philip in Of Human Bondage would say, (crossly I may add), "Oh you do talk rot!" I do indeed sometimes.

This is because the outcome greatly matters to me, I must say. I readily confess that, even as I have no intention of disclosing what such outcome pertains to. Those who are close to me know what I am talking about, so that's all that really matters. I just want to sit here and wail about the difficulty the hardship oh the torture! But then again, I think I'm getting a bit nauseated by how cliched I sound.

They say that what does not kill you will make you stronger. Hmm...will this make me stronger? Tougher? Or just more wilted? More defeated? I guess only time will tell. But to be more scientifically accurate, seven days should be about right. To be honest, I know I will be okay either way. Sorry for all the theatrics earlier, folks, it comes and goes you see. I have an inner dialogue with myself pretty much all day. Okay fine, okay I will be okay. I just want to brace myself for the worst and hopefully, by sheer willpower, bully it away. HAHA. This is wishful thinking on steroids.

A little bit of Michael Scott in…

Let me introduce the character of Michael Scott, from NBC’s comedic show, The Office. It is sometimes difficult to put your finger on him and predict exactly how he will react to certain situations. For people he likes, he turns a blind eye to their faults and to the people he really really likes, he comes across as painfully needy and emotionally dependent. For the people he does not like, he is the cardboard cutout of a jerk and an insensitive clod.

Michael Scott is all I.D., he simply does what he feels like doing. Sometimes he feels like a heterosexual and behaves accordingly. But I believe there are times when he feels like swinging to the other end and he just does, his feelings for men can be just as intense as they are for women.

His ego is so blatant, it’s practically and (literally) in one episode, a second head on his shoulder. He wants to be liked, he wants to be popular, he wants to be known as funny and he gets extremely upset when he feels like he is going to hurt someone else, that is, only when he actually realizes that he might upset someone else.

Perhaps the best way to describe him is that he is a vulnerable, obnoxious but still needy 10 year old stuck in the body of a 40 yr. old. Somehow over the years, his mental age has failed to keep step with his physical age.

On to a more self-reflective note: there is a little bit of Michael Scott in everyone. I see a little of Michael Scott in GW Bush, because I’m willing to bet two dollars that GW Bush thinks he’s a pretty well-loved president, despite strong evidence to the contrary. I see Michael Scott in the quirks and nooks of the people around me, and certainly there is even one in me. There are definitely times when I feel like being a jerk to somebody simply because I felt like it and there was no better reason for it. There were times when to some people, I want to display a clingy, desperate “like me like me” side (okay, that doesn’t happen very often) but usually on the rare occasion that it does, I usually dredge up sheer pride and the last vestiges of dignity to refrain from such behavior. When I was five or six for instance, I remember going to a family friend’s house in Canada. There were these two older girls there and I was so eager to impress them, I was talking a mile a minute, gabbing happily about red firetrucks or something to that nature. It was the first time in my life I remember wanting to impress. The two older girls seem mildly amused by me and decided to pay attention to me and that made me feel triumphant. I remember brushing off my mom when she tried to come talk to me, because I wanted to bask in the attention of these other girls. That was my most distinct memory of being a complete sycophant and since that day, as I said, my pride overcame my I.D.

Michael Scott is not without pride either. He floats around in a universe of his own making, where he’s the best-looking, most friendly, funniest and most importantly, well beloved manager at DunderMifflin. It’s a good thing he suffers from a poor memory because he always manages to forget the times when his employees openly laugh at him or defy him or exclude him from their activities. He has an uncanny ability to see things the way he wants to see him. He is married to his self-delusisions.

This brings me to my final point. Michael Scott represents some of the worst qualities of adolescence – selfishness, inconsideration, desire for attention and adoration. A character like Michael Scott is the perfect foil to exasperated, alert Jim, who watches all these shenanigans and then turns to the camera to produce a wry face. If I may say so in my defense, there is at least a little bit of Jim in me too. =)

Reflections on choices

In Chinese, there is an expression “yi bei zhi” which denotes a “lifetime” or in some cases, “forever” and “eternity.” Sometimes this is used in the context of “you will regret something” for “yi bei zhi.” Back in the time of my grandparents’ and even parents’ generation, they believe in making so-called “right” choices early on in life or else one suffers the consequences forever and ever (or at least for the rest of one’s natural life.) There is a certain, unspoken but tangible dread of taking that one wrong step, down a slippery slope, and for what one will regret bitterly afterwards.

For instance, the other saying is “nan pa ru chuo hang, nu pa jia chuo lang” which signifies that the worst thing a man should fear is entering the wrong profession, the worst thing a woman should fear is marrying the wrong man. Because, these are mistakes that will resonate a lifetime.

I was just reflecting on how that is no longer true in today’s day and age, and especially no longer true in America, the land of opportunity and the land of second chances. In my relatively young life so far, I can sense that had I lived in a different time period, some of the choices I made earlier in life would no doubt be a curse to me to the day I die. However, because I am fortunate enough to exist at the intersection of time and space where it is indeed possible to reinvent myself on a daily basis, to redirect the forces of my destiny and alter the direction of my future based on the exercising of my will, well, what can I say, in this respect, it’s great to be an American.

Therefore, the term “yi bei zhi” has lost most of its power and terrorizing element. That term does not mean as much today as it once did. What is “yi bei zhi”? 10 years, 20 years, 30 years? At any point, you can change the old yibeizhi to a new yibeizhi. Of course, I’m not unaware that as with any change, sometimes the baby really does get thrown out with the bathwater (since I’m using all these aphorisms, might as well keep right on going) and sometimes, the eagerness with which people embrace new things, change, excitement and just perhaps, something different from their humdrum lives may cause them to also throw away something that they will regret losing later on. So it’s as with many things in life, a double-edged sword, the power to choose, the power to reinvent yourself and the power to put something down and pick something else up.

So just to borrow from Spiderman’s wisdom, “with great power, comes great responsibility.” Only if you exercise your power wisely can you say that you are making the most of the opportunities given to you, instead of becoming overwhelmed and dominated by the plethora of bewildering options and beckoning sirens. Be wise, my friends, be wise.

Conditioning Disaster

Last night I decided to condition my hair to a beautiful luxuriant shine. I shampooed meticulously, got out, towel-dried my wet hair and then raked some conditioning cream into my hair. I then wrapped my head into a shower cap to let the moisture really soak in. The instructions say to let it sit in hair for five minutes. I thought it would be fine to go for sixty instead (because I’ve been brainwashed by society to think that more is always better). I settled down and chatted with my friend. The call ended up being over an hour and twenty minutes long. After this extraordinary exercising of tongue, I decided to call yet another friend and tongue exercise another 40 minutes or so. After that, I lay back on my bed exhausted and promptly dozed to morning.

I woke up the next morning with the horrible realization that I had slept all night with a very wet, very moisturized head. It may have been psychosomatic, but I literally felt a headache coming on as I imagined all that moisture seeping into my skull, penetrating the deep recesses of my neural cavity. I wonder if I have done irreversible damage not only to my hair but even more distressing, possibly to my brain. I then leapt into shower once more and prompty doused my poor soggy head in hot water for five minutes.

Epilogue: So now my hair feels somewhat more substantial, heavier. I still feel cold though and the chill may entirely be in my head. The moral of the story, don’t be such a putz about these things, sleeping all night with an insulated mess of wet slimy hair is no fun at all!

Kiss Me, Kate

Friday night I ventured off into Northeast DC to watch a play rambunctiously titled, "Kiss me, Kate!" It's a play within a play, about a production company putting on the show of The Taming of the Shrew. The lead roles were to be played by a man and a woman who were once married but have since divorced. Onscreen, the man plays the suitor who must "tame" the woman, Kate. Offscreen, the man and woman fight like cats and dogs, often going for the jugular. Still, it is obvious they still have strong attachments to each other. How the offscreen romance is resolved directly affects how the onscreen romance crystallizes in the final act. The breaking point for the man is perhaps the famous "spanking" scene where, onscreen, the man, as Petruchio, gets so fed up with his ex-wife's verbal and physical abuse that he grabs her, flips her over his knees and gives her a thrashing. It is unclear to me whether or not the thrashing was supposed to take place in the actual "Taming of the Shrew" although it fit in with the theme rather well.

Now I have a question for my dear readers to ponder. Are shrews typically portrayed by skinny, hot-tempered women? For reasons I can not comprehend, but somehow the image of a corpulent, fully resonating woman doesn't quite mesh with the image of a shrew. This shrew was no different. She was skinny, angular, flat-chested and very plucky. She sang a number called, "I hate men" to rousing applause. However, there was something in the way she carried herself that was very crone-like and off-putting, not in the least feminine and graceful. Still overall, I enjoyed the show. I especially enjoyed the number where three suitors dance around the gorgeous Bianca (the shrewish Kate's younger sister) asking for her hand in marriage and she blithely sings,"I'll marry any Tom, Dick and Harry." They proceeded to do the train, with her at the forefront, wiggling her head side to side and chanting, "Ah Dickety Dick ah dickety dick!" That was funny. Of the plays I've watched in the last year or so, the common thread that runs through them is how bawdy and naughty they can be.

U4eeya!

Today is such a lovely day! I went out during lunch and as I was driving along, I noticed the plate in front of me. I couldn’t resist the urge to say it out loud and then it clicked! What a clever little way to say the word euphoria and how apt it is to encounter this word on a day like today, full of sunshine and good cheer.

Yesterday I was doing my taxes, very grudgingly I might add. Emily was NOT full of good cheer then, especially when at the end, I saw how much I owed. So began the mad scramble to check and recheck figures and data entry, trying to see how many more deductions I can squeeze back from Uncle Sam’s grubby hands. I saw a place where I could list my expenses for having some sort of aquamarine oyster farm and that if so, I could get not just deductions but actual credits! It’s so random that I had to smirk. Usually I think of tax incentives as the government’s way of encouraging certain practices or behavior. I guess this was the (state govt)’s way of encouraging us all to grow our own pearls.

The Office

Lately I was bestowed the gift of "The Office." At first I wasn't thrilled with the mockumentary style and the whole talking to the camera bit. I'm not sure that actually adds to the show. I also had to get used to the lack of music accompaniment because there were awkward moments in this show that appeared all the more awkward for the dead silence that occurred sometimes in its trail.

That said, I think I'm catching on to the genius of the show. It is in the little movements and the unsaid portions. These people, who think they are participating in a documentary of their daily workplace, usually put on a particular front to present a side of themselves to the audience. But when they stop talking, when they look down, or away, or pause uncertainly, that there is the gold.

I just saw a scene for instance of Pam talking to the camera, telling them how she wants the best for Jim and wants him to find somebody to be happy with, etc. Then the next scene shows her finding out that Jim has a hot date for the weekend. She smiles in an effort to appear supportive and casual and then walks back to her desk. Later on, she puts on some gloss and looks both self-conscious and dejected. Feelings of inadequacy and loneliness and perhaps a touch wistfulness? Not one word, just a gesture.

Currently my favorite characters are Pam and Jim, not hard, they are the only two remotely likeable, more fully-fleshed out characters at this point. Dwight is too far left field for me to relate to and Michael Scott ranges from being mildly annoying to extremely obnoxious. But I'm willing to bet that out there in the real world, there are more than a few Michael Scotts floating around. The only question is, do they know it too?

Encountering Pan's Labyrinth

Last night I finally watched the film I’ve been curious about for some time now – Pan’s Labyrinth. Ofelia, the female main character reminded me of Violet from the film “A Series of Unfortunate Events,” an altogether unfortunate film in itself. Both girls have the chestnut dark brown hair with very pale, very delicate complexions and oddly sensuous and full lips for a child. The child was luminous.

The film takes place in Spain during a particularly tumultuous time when two warring factions struggle to gain control of the country. One side has become the guerilla side, the other side seeks to claim legitimacy through organization, manpower, and uniforms. Yet essentially, we see this is a country at war and spies and undercover agents abound, as in most wars. Similarly, torture as a means to extract information was readily employed, which mercifully, we were mostly spared from. This was a dark, dark film, with an ominous undertone throughout. Even when the fantasies of the child led her into an enchanted and creepy netherworld, we as the audience are conscious throughout that true evil is not within that kingdom. It is outside and everywhere else.

I was extremely tickled by the appearance of the mandrake root in this film. The mandrake root was placed in milk, upon which it became an imitation baby, flailing its little plant stubs around and wailing like a child. It was adorable. When I was a kid, I watched this Asian drama where a little “mandrake root” walked around and all the villains fought each other to consume this delicacy. A four-year-old girl or boy played this plant. It was adorable too, often tripping from one place to another, and was only capable of saying, “Ya yaaa Ya yaaaa.” It relied completely on the kind fairy to protect him from becoming someone’s medicinal herbal broth.

What to say about Pan’s Labyrinth? It is a beautiful film, with tremendous creative energy employed in the birth of certain monsters. I shall never forget the grotesque figure of the mummy like creature with eyeballs in his palms. His bloodstained finger nails were a great touch too. He was almost too exotic and interesting to be truly terrifying. The part that was no fun at all was the gory, sickening aftermath of a captured and of course, mutilated guerrilla, who pleaded to be killed in the end to the doctor. Death, in this film, appears to be a blessing and a gift. The film may well be saying that, only through that portal, shall we enter a kingdom infinitely richer and more majestic than what life as a human can provide. After watching this film, I can’t say I disagree.

Thoughts before lunch

Today an angry man tried very hard to ruin my morning by irrationally and rudely blaring his horns at ME for letting people cut in front of me, as we made a single-filed trek up the ramp to the freeway. I debated whether or not to shake my fist at him, for all the good that would do. I couldn't bring myself to seriously ponder flicking him off. At first I wasn't even sure what gender this angry creature was, and I thought it was a female. So I muttered a few gender specific expletives under my breath. Then I look closely and it was a man and I quickly switched to the other gender specific expletive and also uttered a silent apology for females everywhere.
It was such a stupid incident though that I think I am doing him too much of an honor by even bothering to memorialize this incident on my hallowed blog grounds. Stupid man, you need to be slapped.

I've been reading the best Travel writing of 2006. A woman went on a daring journey to Lhasa in a rickety broken truck driven by a silent taciturn Chinese man. They had to carry their own gasoline because there weren't exactly rest stops along the way. At one point, the trucker managed the incredible feat of setting himself on fire because he had gasoline all over him. But being stoic and strong, he apparently continued to drive, third degree burns and all.

I also read about this American who went to Japan to partake of the ancient art of tattooing. He made it sound all mystical and profound and sacred. The Japanese are very good at turning the ordinary and the mundane into high art. They are also very good at being disdainful, whether deserved or not. In any case, they look down on American tattooing and believe theirs to be supreme. The tattoo master uses something crazy like 10 needles bound together to pierce the skin. The person being initiated into this crazy ritual must bear the pain and not show one grimace or cringing, so as to earn the respect of the master. Masochism was never a foreign concept for these people.

Updating for the sake of itself

I just came back from an interview up North. It was a pretty good drive both ways, I thanked God that I wasn't stuck in traffic at all and that, I didn't have to resort to slapping myself to stay awake, as I have had to do on previous long drives. The interview itself was pretty decent. I think my faculty interviewer liked me enough, though for 10 nerve-wracking minutes, I had to ramble on and on just to "tell a little about myself." I also had a student interview by this Taiwanese Asian kid. He seemed a bit tired, he explained it was his second interview for the day. Anyway, I had the feeling I didn't knock his socks off, but hopefully he liked me well enough to reocmmend a green light. Such power in the hands of the little ones. I probably should have tried to squeeze more of a connection with him regarding Taiwan, falling back on good ol' common ground, but something told me that he wouldn't fall for it.

The night before I had dinner at this awesome sushi place called 1225 Raw. or maybe it's just called Raw. Anyway, I can't recall the name exactly, because it was soo freakin' cold last night that once I was outside, my mind began chanting, "must get inside must get inside" in an obsessive liturgy. The special sushi rolls were fantastic though and my palate was greatly pleased. I also enjoyed the ambiance. The only thing I disliked was the so-called "mochi" dessert at the end, which is by now, the epitome of clicheville for Asian consumers. Maybe it's still suppose to shock and awe the rest of America.

Mom's friends

Last night Mom had some guests over for dinner. I sat around after dinner and listened in on the conversation among these "adults" as I like to do. I often think that it amuses me to hear what other people have to say and then reflect on what type of person these people are. The husband has a slow, deliberate way of speaking. His sentences are logical, ordered and neat. You can see that his mind probably operates like that too, in a very deliberate, step-wise fashion. He recounted the experience of his father, who passed away last year after spending five months in the hospital. Some of the experiences must have been painful for him to recount, but he was very in control, very calm and placid. I admired his calm. I also realize that I want to think like him, in a step by step, logical manner. I don't like having undercurrents of thought that act like a monkey scrambling around wildly, from one point to another. It takes great effort to grab ahold of that monkey and keep it planted firmly in one place, all the while, it's struggling wildly to break free and scramble about again. I digress, bad monkey!

So the wife of the dynamic duo is an interesting character too. She talked about her experiences child-rearing. She had two daughters, roughly around my age. Growing up, she disliked the sound of crying. When her younger daughter would cry (after being whipped around), she would tell the girl to go into the storage room and cry, so she didn't have to hear it. However, this one time, the girl wouldn't stop crying in the room and she kept hearing it, so annoyed, she went to the room, yanked the girl out and promptly gave her a second beating. Her daughter, feeling very wretched and wronged, said, "you told me I could cry in this room!" and her loving mother snapped, "Yes, but you were crying way too long. You were just asking for another round!" Holy Canoli, I didn't know Moms come in such shapes and sizes. I mean, I thought my mom was a fierce one for once breaking the hanger in beating me and my sister up, but that probably only occurred once in my life. This mom makes my mom seem like a gentle lamb.

Regardless, now we can look back on such times and laugh (especially me, since I never had to undergo such a treatment).