An Unlove Story

When I was in highschool I had a crush on a certain boy.

He never spoke in class so I easily projected all these great qualities onto his blank canvas of silence. I had completely convinced myself that he was a strong and silent Bruce Wayne type and what girl can resist a selfless evildoer-ass-kicker? On top of it all, he had good hair and dressed well. I was head over heels.

So I asked my friend to set us up on a lunch date and she executed my bidding to perfection. The much anticipated day arrived and as soon as he opened his mouth to say, "Hello," it was all over. It was like the exact opposite of Jerry Mcguire. "You had me (running for the door) at 'hello'."

Call me shallow, which certainly I am, but that boy had the most yellow teeth I had ever seen. All this time I had envisioned Bruce Wayne's pearly whites, and there I was, in his car, being assaulted by his bad breath and decaying enamels.

But I was willing to overlook that and keep an open mind. Maybe he would redeem himself by the words that would issue forth from that horrible chasm of stench.

But nope. He was about as delightful as a low-budget daytime commercial and he mumbled in a mealy voice. And that was that.

It took a mere ten minutes to completely destroy the fiction that I had built and nursed for nearly two months. From then on I changed my shy policy of avoiding guys that I liked. It's better to engage in as much conversation as possible early on. If only to check for good oral hygiene.

Easier on the eyes

I got tired of seeing k-fed's sorry-ass picture so here's a better one to push his out of the limelight. Darn if Emporor penguins aren't the cutest things ever.

Suckier than average?

In the world of Superficial Crap, there has been a lot of flack thrown at Keven Federline (sp? I don't even care) for his first single, PoPoZao.

I listened to it and it sounds like the average crap that's played on the radio. Why is it so specially maligned?

I think this is a case of guilt by association. Any song associated with this gold-digging megalomaniac never had a chance to begin with.

But maybe I'm wrong. Maybe this song really sucks on the merits. Does it? Let me know what you think:

Click Here to Listen

Four weeks late, but just as "Merry"!

Some of you may recall a certain blog entry last month that was full of the pain and anguish of disappointment.

I was upset because Michael and I would not be able to take our holiday pictures in time to send out Christmas cards.

Those of you single gals and guys may mock my devotion to holiday greeting cards, but (back me up married ladies), it somehow starts to matter a lot when you're married. Marriage does strange things to women (maybe I only speak for myself). But all of a sudden I find myself starting to wear pearls, using placemats and coasters, scrapbooking, and caring about holiday cards!

Well anyway, several weeks later, we took the picture. And I happily signed, sealed, and will deliver all my greeting cards tomorrow. (Did you know the postage rate was raised to 39 cents?! Sheesh!)

Of course we are many weeks shy of Christmas, and a few weeks too late for New Year's, so they are officially our Chinese New Year cards.

The picture we sent in (below) is admittedly not everything I had hoped for. But atleast there was snow in the background, which is what mostly matters for this pair of native Californians experiencing their first white winter.


So from the bottom of our fobby hearts, we wish you:
xin nien kuai le

(p.s. School starts tomorrow so I just updated Law and Disorder. It was a nice long break while it lasted.)

The Model Model?

The average US model is 5'10'' and 110 lbs.

The average US woman is 5'4'' and 140 lbs.

What does that look like? A whole lotta anorexia and bulimia.

Studies show that eating disorders are now appearing in girls (and some boys) earlier and earlier (around ages 9 and 10 instead of the previous ripe old age of 12). What could possibly be the cause of such a tragic pandemic?

That was a sarcastic question (in case you didn't notice) because the answer should be obvious to anyone who flips open a magazine, watches TV, or even glances by a billboard. Our society glorifies skinniness. Even actresses who are unconventional-looking in the face can make it as heroines in the industry as long as they are skinny (e.g. Jennifer Anniston, SJP, Sandra Oh, etc). But if you're not skinny, you'll rarely be a Hollywood star. You'll always be the supporting actress, the fat friend, the comic relief.

Our cultural values are undeniable and most young girls are too perceptive to ignore it. I once had a very precocious five year-old tell me, "Mommy is skinny like Elastigirl and Daddy is fat. Skinny is good." She had just watched the Incredibles which featured the ever-stretchable mother figure, which apparently reminded her of her own. I worried for that chubby toddler since she was heavy-set like her father and played always with ideally proporitioned dolls and Disney heroines. She's already aware of the differences. I smell a 9-year-old anorexic.

Even I, an enlightened, mature woman cannot help but feel a little discouraged everytime I open a catalogue or magazine to be greeted by page after page of women who look dramatically taller and leaner than myself. Multiply that by the soft impressionable clay of youth and it's no wonder you have statistics like the following:

40% of 1st, 2nd or 3rd grade girls want to be thinner.
80% of 10 year olds are worried in case they become fat.
70% of 6th grade girls surveyed said that their concern about their weight, shape and diet started when they were aged 9-11.

So let's revisit the concept of the model model.

Perhaps it isn't healthy as a society to idealize a form that is far different than what most woman can ever achieve. Maybe we should have "real" looking women be our heroines and models. Maybe ads should look more like the Dove campaign for beauty (pictured above) and not Calvin Klein soft-porn. Why should American women be represented in the media in exaggerated proportions that they clearly do not possess in real life? Why should "models" not be actual and true models?

Maybe if they were, we wouldn't have a bumper-crop of otherwise healthy girls loathing their bodies and sacrificing themselves on the altar of futility and unattainable worth.

Around the world in eighty days

Ok, so I didn't go around the world in eighty days.

But I did go coast-to-coast in six days,
visiting my hometown in NorCal.

Here are some highlights:

1. I saw March of the Penguins, finally. Frankly it could've conveyed the same message in half the time, with half the pseudo-drama, but I learned that baby penguins are the cutest things God ever made!

2. I sat next to a salesman who talked to me for 4 of the 6 hours of my flight. Wierd. I always thought it would be cool and spontaneous to strike up a long convo with your next-seat neighbor, but it wasn't. I wish I had read instead.

3. I bought the most incredible pair of brown boots. They are the most intriguing color of brown and on super-sale. (This picture is not my boot -- mine are much cuter). I take back my bitterness in the last blog, I found half my "Rachel." The other half is a wool coat that is yet to be discovered.

4. Home (places, people) is exactly the same as I expected, which is exactly the same as I had left it six years ago.

5. This is the first time I flew JetBlue and I will never go back. They give you cashews instead of peanuts, TerraBlue Chips instead of Sun Chips, and they have individual tv's with 36 different cable channels. (That's right, that means TLC, AE, Lifetime, MTV, VH-1, Food, HGTV, Comedy, etc.)

6. Watching A&E is where I learned about some alternative lifestyles (and I don't mean sexually alternative). Dog is a bounty hunter that lives in Hawaii with what appears to be his six kids and amply-bossomed wife. He's tough on crime but soft on criminals because he knows what it is to be given a second chance. He calls the perps "bro" and "son" and prays before he goes out for the bounty.

7. I was also riveted by the show Inked, which features the life and times of a popular tatto parlor in Las Vegas. These people are for real. This is how I would choose to look if I weren't such a square. The show also tells interesting side-stories of the customers who come in for a tatt. They are mostly geeky working-stiffs over thirty. Sure blows the whole, "tattoos are cool" image. I realized that tattoos don't make you "cool", drugs do.

8. The trip would've been much better if I weren't sick almost the entire time. What is wrong with my body?! Everytime I get to chillax (Thanksgiving break, Christmas break, and now Winter break) I've gotten sick! Give me a (real) break!

But in the morning, Leah.

There is a sermon by Tim Keller that has created the phrase, "It's a Leah."

Poor Leah. She had weak eyes. (Who knows what that means). But her sister Rachel was beautiful of face and form. (And we all know what that means).


The only way that Laban could marry off his weak-eyed daugther was to trick Jacob into thinking that he was marrying Rachel. Imagine the horror inside the marriage tent the morning after the raucus wedding party.

Jacob had toiled 7 years for the love of his life, Rachel, and as he rolled over to kiss his new bride good-morning...OMG, Leah!, What are YOU doing here?!!!!

But isn't that what we always experience after attaining what we've been pining for for so long? We think we finally got our Rachel, but in the morning, it's a disappointment, a let-down, a Leah.

For six months of blood, sweat, and tears, I focused on the day I would be free and could shop to my heart's content. But after seven stores and five hours of feet-blistering perusal, do you know what I bought? Socks. Yeah, socks. And some refill makeup.

I realized that I have arrived at a new stage in my shopping life. I'm in shopping limbo, if you will. I'm too old to buy the cheapy stuff that used to thrill me as a college student. But I'm too poor to afford the chichi stuff that has become my baseline standard now.

Case-in-point: I saw a gorgeous DKNY wool coat, $250. And then there was a heavily discounted pair of Coach boots, $300. Trying to shop when you're a poor student: Pointless. Even if you have a Mastercard.

So, here I am, the morning after, not one article of clothing richer, getting ready to start the fresh hell of a new semester, and feeling the deeper implication of waking up with "Leah".

I should learn to be happy now. There is no Rachel. Because in the morning, until the good Lord calls me home, it will always be Leah.

And on the third day he arose!

If I had the patience to find out how to play music on my blog I would be blasting the Resurrection piece Bach wrote from his Mass in B minor.

It's a crazy, wild, full-on, thousand member chorus belting out: Et resurrexit! For the whole song it's just those two words strung out line after line. Et resurre-he-he-he-xit, Et resurre-he-he-he-xit! It's really out of control.

And that's the essence of how I felt yesterday after b.s.-ing through the last of my killer eight-hour exams.

For six months straight I've done nothing but study without so much as a day off, treading water like a madwoman, and now, finally, I can breathe again.

So now, please pardon me as I go crazy at Downtown Crossing today, (aka, Boston's Cheap Shopper's Heaven). I need to make up for everything I missed: Christmas, my birthday, and New Years. That's a lot of shopping.

Michael's ready too. He has it all planned out. He's bringing along some favorite magazines, books, Sodoku, and a fold-out stool. Unlike FEMA, he's prepared!

Self-imposed lockdown

My last of three finals will be on 1/11.

I'll probably go awol until then.
See y'all when my release date rolls around...