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...

Mummy Dearest

I love my parents and I'm sure they love me too.

But if I weren't so sure of that fact, this previous phone conversation on my birthday might have made me question their affection.

*********************************************
Mom: Hi Honey, how are you doing?

ME: Great. I'm studying as usual. It sucks.

Mom: Awww. Well, we finally got your Christmas present in the mail today.

ME: Sheesh! It's 4 days late! Stupid post-office lady assured me it would arrive before Christmas day

Mom: Well, your dad loves it. He put it on his desk.

ME: Ummmm...Mom...don't you want to tell me something?

Mom: Hmm? Tell you what?

ME: You know...tell me something?

Mom: (silence)

ME: MOMMY!!! Isn't there something you want to TELL me, TODAY?!!!!

Mom: (long pause) OH!!! HAPPY BIRTHDAY!

I turned 21 today (again).

Frederic Douglas, like many former slaves of his generation, never knew his birthdate. Thus, he never really knew how old he was.

Imagine. Imagine having that most central piece of personal identity stripped from you. What is it like to not know how old you are?

If I didn't know that I was born on 12/29/1979, I guess I would constantly be guessing how old I am. And right now...I would guess that I'm...21.

I feel young, naive, on the cusp of adulthood. And heck, I'm still a student. But I've been around the block long enough to be out of my teens.

So as a salute to that great African American orator, I will celebrate my birthday with the age that I feel, not the one that I am.

A Gift From Me to You

Merry Christmas! Here is a senseless SNL video to help you get through the holidays. When all the family has left, the pies have been eaten, and the gifts laid waste...here's one more present waiting for you:

OPEN ME!

The scum of the earth

For those of you with tender hearts, who want to deny the presence of pure evil in this world, I offer proof that should shatter your rose-tinted glasses once and for all:

Tricky virus-laden spam disguised as legit email.

That's right. You've seen them before. They have email addresses like service@bankofamerica.com or account@stanford.edu. And then when you open the inimical instrument, you find there is an attachment you must click on. But woe to you if you do! One false click and you download a virus that may wipe away everything you've worked so hard for and render your laptop nothing more than an overpriced paperweight.

That's evil. Pure evil. Why would anyone do that? Unless they're evil.

It's one thing to send us non-viral spam full of advertisements that would entice those who have a weakness for porn and gambling. I can see that you have a business you're trying to run and my detriment is your gain.

But it's quite another thing to just plant a dumb virus in my computer and cost me dearly without you ever get anything out of it! Except the sheer pleasure of knowing you are hurting others. You suck.

There's a special place in hell for people like you.

Maybe I'm trying to tell me something...

The body never lies.

I may tell myself: I'm not stressed; There's no reason to worry; etc. until I'm blue in the face. But my body is evincing signs that I'm just deep in a river in Africa, De-Nile.

For five years I haven't had so much as one cold sore blister. And now I've had two in just one month! For three years I've only been really sick maybe once or twice. And now I'm sick twice in under a month!

Although the reality is that I really have NO reason to get stressed, I must still be really stressed. But why should I be? I don't think it's about school because I've never cared that much and I'm pretty much assured of straight B's (which is good because, in my world, "B" stands for "!Bueno!").

I think I'm stressed about "work-life" balance, or lack thereof. They say that socializing with people is a great and effective way of boosting your immune system. And I have to admit, I haven't socialized in a very, very long time.

But the body's reaction to not getting enough "people time" is pretty counterintuitive: To grow disgusting sores and feel ill? Like that's really going to help the socializing any!

Takes one to know one...

I took a quickie test to see how well I understood men. I think the results are readily explainable by saying that I've always sympathized with guys more than girls. If I took a test about how well I understood women, I'd surely flunk.

You Have Your PhD in Men

You understand men almost better than anyone. You accept that guys are very different, and you read signals well. Work what you know about men, and your relationships will be blissful.

How Well Do You Understand Men?

Ma vie en pluie

(picture courtesy of dalicasso)

I'm guessing he/she didn't like the sermon...

This past Sunday was supposed to be the day Michael and I took our "Boston Christmas Card Photo."

I had waited weeks for the perfect conditions to make an ideal photo: Plenty of clean white snow, bright blue skies, and Michael and me dressed-up in festive colors (aka nice church-clothes). This Sunday was the first that all these conditions were right. And Michael, who was stalwartly resistent to the whole idea, had to comply because it caused him no great inconvenience. He would be present and dressed-up anyway.

But this Sunday came and went and it didn't happen. Why? Because at that opportune moment when all the stars were rightly aligned, I wasn't in the mood to smile.

I couldn't smile because this Sunday when I went back to the church pew, after service and after socializing in the main hall, I discovered that my purse was missing. I had left it on my jacket and gloves in the center of the pew and all that greeted me when I returned to retrieve my things, were my jacket and gloves.

Now, I don't like assuming that theft occurs behind church walls, but I think the most likely conclusion of the matter is that SOMEONE STOLE MY PURSE!

The inconvenience and grief and obvious financial loss, however, is not as upsetting as the fact that I'm not going to get that great holiday photo now! That ship has sailed, that window has closed, and that door has shut! Well, I suppose I could try again on the 18th, but if there's no good snow and sky that day, it'll be one photoless Christmas for the Chungs. And besides, I don't like to send out my cards that late.

Ah, the true spirit of Christmas

I have a post-it on my desk with the title "Xmas List."

On it I record all the things I want to buy myself for Christmas.

Michael eyed it today and in the middle of grabbing it said, "Oooo, is this a list of what you are going to get me for Christmas?!"

Yes, its every man for himself at the Chung household. We're like the anti-thesis of the couple in O'Henry's The Gift of the Magi.

I guess you had to be there

Today it snowed like crazy! It was amazing!

The snow was so fresh and powdery, the exact consistency of powdered sugar. There was such a gratifying crunch when you sink your feet into the deep drifts. And I made my very first snow angel!

The snow fell on all the bare tree braches and made them look like huge glistening snowflakes. It was really one of the greatest sights I've ever experienced; right up there with liquid gold sunsets.

I wonder if native New Englanders get as excited as I do about the snow. It's so great, I bet they do. How could anyone tire of this breathtaking beauty? I understand that snow can be gross and dirty and icy, but I'm talking about the softest, purest, fluffiest flakes you ever saw.

Ok, this is probably the boringest post I've posted in a while because I just can't stop ranting and raving about the snow! The snow! It's beautiful! It just makes me want to jump around in it and make a million snow angels and have snowball fights and more!

But no, can't. Stupid finals!!

Welcome to the real world

For the last two days Dr. Phil has been doing his "love smart" series.

He's helping women in their thirties snag a man. These women, for one reason or another, never get asked out on that "second date." There's a lot of hidden cameras and microphones so the audience can sneak a peek at the participants' dates and analyze what they did wrong during the lunch or dinner.

One woman was just awful. A total barbarian. At the sushi restaurant she played with all their food and touched everything with her germy fingers, just to touch it! And then she repeatedly insulted where her date was from, which was Ohio. She derisively called it "Cow-town." And maybe worst of all, she pelted him with questions rapid-fire-style about his dating past, ex-girlfriends, and commented on his answers with nothing but negative assumptions. "So, you're a serial dater" "So, you're a jerk" etc...

Anyway, I watched with morbid interest.

I thought to myself, "This is a whole genre of life that I may never know about." I've never been on a "get to know each other" date with anyone, ever. My brother, on the other hand, now that he's edging on thirty, is starting to become an old pro at this. But no one has ever said to me, "Oh, you should meet so-and-so, he's really great and you two would really hit it off. I'll have him call you next week and ask you out to lunch sometime."

I met my husband when I was nineteen (gosh that sounds so ridiculously young to me now) and that was pretty much it.

But I do always wonder what it would be like to go on those awkward "getting acquainted" quasi-dates. On one hand it sounds like great fun: go out to eat, watch a movie, go to a bowling alley, whatever...and all paid for too! What could be so bad about that? But I guess it could be a real ego-crusher if you never get that second date.

All in all, I think I'm grateful not to ever have to go on that roller-coaster of uncertainty. There's so many things that people (including myself) could be picky about and the chances of liking the person you've been set up with is depressingly small.

It just seems so much more romantic to "bump" into your love when you least expect it, when you're not even looking.

But that's all Hollywood lies and crap that you get from watching too many inane romantic comedies. Fiction would have us believe that the gods just magically set up two hearts that were "meant to beat as one" in some coincidental accident.

"Oh, you ride this train too?"
"No, but I just missed my usual one cause my cat got sick and I had to call a vet before catching this train."
"Oh, well, there's only one empty seat left, next to me..."
Blech!

The real world is Dr. Phil taping your first date and telling you that you need to ask better questions and maintain eye-contact with your date.