Shh...

2010-02-04T15:05:00.001-08:00

Dear Blogger (aka Blogspot),

We've been together for awhile. I started blogging with you back in 2001 when you were the cool one to hang with. You offered me flexibility with design, allowing me to customize my own templates using HTML, unlike those others, like LiveJournal and Xanga (Oh goodness! Remember them? We used to laugh at them so much!).

You were good to me. You saw me through my angst of high school, my confusion of college, and my overall development into the woman I am today. I've probably shared more with you than I'd like to admit. Those posts are pretty embarrassing, aren't they? I suppose it's a necessary component of that growth I mentioned earlier.

But, I've changed. Perhaps it's my 20-something desire for constant change, that even just creating a new blog within Blogger isn't enough. I need a new domain name.

Already, the transition with Wordpress has been hard. I've debated moving my stuff in with him, but a part of me feels like I need to keep my life with you archived with you. It just doesn't seem right. Is that weird? I was hoping he'd make it easier for me to have that spiffy, magazine-style design that you seem incapable of, but he's not. But, I think it's going to be worth the effort.

I'm sorry I can't stay with you and try to make these changes with you.
It's probably best for the both of us that I just move on while we can both find better partners for the future.

Love always,
t

P.S. You can reach me at http://lotsix.wordpress.com in case you ever want to connect again. I'll miss you.

Where One Means All

2009-11-06T09:07:00.000-08:00

The shooting at Fort Hood has been claiming the airwaves and the pages of the newspapers, and rightfully so. It's a tragedy, plain and simple. Innocent people were killed and injured and it rocked the lives of countless others.

From the beginning, there has been a lot of misinformation and speculation about what was happening behind the gates of Fort Hood -- first there was one shooter, then many, then only one, then he was dead and then miraculously alive again. As the military remains tight-lipped about the accused, the victims and pretty much the whole situation, the media pundits will continue their speculating and misinforming. They will speculate about his motives-- try to put his life together through a series of paper applications and documents to understand who he is and what he is about. They'll talk about his ethnic identity, Middle Eastern (Jordanian/Palestinian to be specific), his possible religious beliefs, his legal case against being shipped off...

And what will it all accomplish?

Countless mosques called in for heightened security, with a few already having received threats. Community organizations have already prepped and released their statements, distancing themselves from the individual, while trying to convince the country of Arab-American's loyalty and commitment to the United States.

That, I suppose, is the big difference between being White and being Not-White.

Being Not-White means that when someone within your community screws up, you are looked upon with a bit of extra scrutiny. Being Not-White means that when a Korean-American kid loses it and shoots his classmates, an entire NATION formally apologizes.
Being Not-White means that when someone, who may or may not even be of your faith but has a name that makes it seem as though he might be, screws up, buildings have to go into lockdown and your life, 1,500 miles away, is disrupted.
Being Not-White means someone, who looks clean-cut and respectable, has to come out in front of the news camera and apologize-but-not-apologize and remind people that the actions of one person in no way reflects those of an entire community.
Being Not-White means you, who are so removed from the entire situation, by distance, by faith, by life, will have to have a well-prepared statement about what happened, because you too are being judged in that moment.

While I hope that this situation will be treated in the context of what it is-- a soldier, for whatever reason, lost it and shot his fellow soldiers-- and that all the communities of Not-White people around the country can rest easily and not think about what might happen to them because of him.

A-polly-ologies

2009-08-24T10:32:00.000-07:00

I realize that my posts have been:
1) Few and far in between;
2) Completely random in content; and
3) Rather sporadic in terms of quality

I've been mulling over a whole different blog in my head, but lack the time or motivation to make it happen. I've been debating moving over to WordPress, but I feel a certain amount of loyalty to Blogspot after all these years. Basically, if I had my way, I'd have a complete website, with entries separated topically, so people who come hear hoping for some amazing, political insight doesn't have to read about my mini-life crises.

That being said, man... oh man... I have been eating A LOT. I don't think I've ever cleared a plate of food in the last ten years. I know that this is sad given the state of food in the world, but it's because I usually have a small appetite and can't finish most meals.

Yesterday, however, was different. Crispy waffle + 2 eggs + sausage patty, all gone before you could 'gee willikers'! It's like I'm going through puberty all over again and eating my way through it.

Then I ate again an hour later.

I wonder where all of it is going...

one year

2009-08-20T11:03:00.000-07:00

During my annual eye exam, my optometrist asked, "So, what's been new?" I thought for a moment and responded with a, "Not much."

The response wasn't so much a passive aggressive way of telling my optometrist to cut the chit-chat; rather, I couldn't think of any tremendous shifts in my life that was worth noting (she, on the other hand and just recently become a homeowner, so that's pretty exciting).

Time has had a strange way of eluding me lately. I step into work, look up from my desk and realize that it's already lunchtime. I start the week on Monday and before I know it, it's Thursday and I'm thinking about how to spend my weekend. While some would consider such huge lapses in time to be a good thing (time flies!), it's a little bit unnerving because I don't know where that flying time is going.

Thinking back on this past year, a lot, in fact, has happened. I met my maternal grandmother for the first time. I went back to Korea for the first time in over 20 years. I got promoted at work. I watched my brother become an engaged man. I watched a friend get married to a wonderful woman. I fell into a wonderful relationship and fell out of one. I went on two vacations with best friends. I've been meeting interesting and fantastic new people on a regular basis. I'm strengthening old friendships that I want to last a lifetime.

But at the same time, it feels like nothing has happened at all. Everything has been happening at such a gradual rate that it doesn't feel like it's happening at all. Perhaps this is the lull of adulthood -- moving from day to day with a certain level of satisfaction, but no big thrill. Or maybe this is just my life... who knows?

As I'm becoming more conscious of my body (working out has introduced to me muscle groups in my body that I never knew in my entire 24 years of life!), I'm also becoming more aware of my life in general. A little less monotonous work, a little more sporadic and spontaneous play.

Here's to another year.

2009-05-26T21:53:00.000-07:00

I'm waiting for a rage that isn't coming. You would think I would feel angry.

Instead it's just utter heartbreak. That deep, empty-hole-in-the-soul, kind of heartbreak. The kind caused by a type of disappointment that will never be recovered or repaired.

After a year of participating in a public leadership fellowship and a year at the service of students, appearing as the shining example of democratic leadership, I find myself struggling to believe in something that just continues to disappoint me.

All these years I have been taught to believe in a system of beliefs that says that the minority is protected, that the collective opinion will somehow resolve itself and equalize everything, that wrongs will find a way to be corrected. Yet, all I keep seeing is act after act of this democratic public that does everything it can to oppress the minority and to perpetuate any inequities that can be exploited.

Someone needs to show me, and I mean really show me, what has changed in all these decades. Slums are still starving people to death, in the shadows of wealth and capital. Anyone who is different is still being forced to hide, pretend, and suffer a silent shame. Color still determines who receives help and who doesn't.

I'm not angry.
I can't feel the anger anymore. After years of pretending that I wasn't disappointed and pretending things will be better, I've learned to suppress whatever feelings I have.

I'm tired of patience-- of holding in frustration, of waiting until the next day for things to improve. Patience didn't get anyone anywhere. The impatient-- the ones who would stay up all night looking for an answer, the ones who hungered for something more than what was given to them-- they are the ones who succeed and the ones who shape the world.

Maybe if we, the silenced, the oppressed, the separate-but-maybe-not-quite-equal, stop being patient we will actually get somewhere.

Daydreaming about Dreams

2009-05-18T09:53:00.000-07:00

(I'm going to completely disregard the fact that I haven't written here in about a lifetime or more and proceed as though I have been a very diligent and up-to-date individual...)

I woke up this morning from one of those dreams that kind of lingers on your consciousness for that extra minute between sleeping and fully waking. I woke up taking in a lungful of air, catching my breath from that moment of... something.

How to best re-tell this?

After a long and involved dream, involving close friends and acquaintances and tattoos and going clubbing, and living in a mess of a house, I open the door and find myself in the 1950s, in the bedroom of a teenage boy. I find that I have been transformed to a 1950s girl, wearing the typical "Pleasantville" type full skirt with cashmere sweater set. I don't recognize the boy, but I know that I know him. We are friends.

My heart beats as though we could be more than that.

The door to the bedroom is closed, but we are still nervous. His parents are hovering nearby and we are both aware of the unusual nature of our privacy and we respect it. I take off my cardigan and carefully place it on the desk, making sure that it doesn't wrinkle. I'm in a short sleeved sweater top, standing by the window, looking out the window. I don't know if we're even speaking. Suddenly, we turn to each other and it happens.
A kiss.
The only kind of kiss you can have as a shy teenager-- one filled with desire and love and passion that has no other outlet than a kiss. There is no groping, no pushing to take it one step further-- it's just that all-consuming kiss.

Suddenly he stops, hearing soft footsteps approaching his door. We separate and catch our breaths just in time as his father opens the door. Finding nothing suspicious, he moves on, leaving us alone again. The boy sits in a desk chair, his eyes still blazing.

I take another breath and we are together again and we stop for the briefest moment to look at each and I think, "God, am I in love?"

I gasp for air, as I feel the butterflies escaping my stomach and I wake up...

I woke up feeling nostalgic for that feeling. I miss that feeling-- that kiss that leads nowhere else but that kiss... a kiss that's enough. I hate the introduction of sex to adult relationships. It ruins that kiss.

When I'm sick...

2009-03-27T10:22:00.000-07:00

I really start craving my dad's chicken porridge.

Simple, but takes a good part of the day to make properly, with only a whole chicken, rice, and a little ginseng and Chinese dates for good measure (and their medicinal properties). He takes the time to shred the chicken for me after it's all stewed together and the rice is perfectly soft, choosing only the white breast meat because I don't like dark meat that much. A little salt and it's warm perfection for my belly.

I've been feeling rather ill this week and am fighting the urge to go whining to my dad to take care of me.

New Space, New Vibe

2009-03-24T14:40:00.000-07:00

I think I'm going to come into the office on Sunday with the sole intention of redecorating my cubicle.

Things have been rather depressing in the office and I think it's impacting my productivity (I'm very sleepy at work and I typically equate sleepiness with depression with myself). Perhaps a lively and well-coordinated corner will brighten my mood and allow me to blow past my deadlines with ease.

That and I've accumulated an unusual pile of things as people have left the office (and decided I was the person to give things to) and they either need to be trashed or memorialized.

Coming in on a Sunday also will be a great excuse to check out the Hole in the Wall burger joint for lunch, seeing as it's only a few blocks away.

Two Reasons Why Life is Pretty Good

2009-03-17T17:40:00.000-07:00

The typical, kick-off-the-conversation question:
How is life?

The typical, continue-the-conversation response:
Pretty good.

Quick call and response. Practiced. Natural.
But, when asked to provide two reasons why life is pretty good, I had to think for a moment.

What is making life so good these days?
There's the having-a-job thing.
The obnoxious and smelly, but ultimately cute cat thing.
The lovely parents who send me back home with oodles of Korean food thing.
The roommates who clean to de-stress and leave the apartment looking spic-and-span thing.
The roommates who are just all-around the greatest people to live with thing.
The boy who keeps me warm because I am fully incapable of body core temperature control on my own thing.
The girlfriends who shower me with endless amounts of support and love thing.

Here's to Tuesdays thinking about the good things in life.

How far do I have to go to get to you? Many the miles

2009-03-12T15:51:00.000-07:00

I haven't even kept track of the number of days/weeks we haven't spoken. Despite all those tears, I guess it was a lot easier to move on from that relationship that I thought it would be. I dreaded that conversation, writing to my friends about it, asking for advice of what I thought would be impending doom.

And then, it happened.
At night, as it always does.

I was trying to be reasonable, to not be angry with him for keeping me waiting for several weeks while he sorted out his thoughts. The anger didn't pass until I admitted my frustration, and then poof... gone... and we were talking again.

The conversation proceeded far more easily than expected. It was easier once I gave into the inevitability of it all. Of course we wouldn't stay friends. Feelings were too strong-- feelings of love and hate, of comfort, of trust and distrust. They were all there and a friendship can't function with so many conflicting emotions.

I made him promise me that we would see each other again at some point in the future. My first-love-silliness makes me believe that we will find each other again and love each other in a way that we never could before. But then again, it could be as simple as keeping in touch. It's what I do. I'm a pack rat-- I keep everything, including ex-boyfriends. It would be exciting to see how far he's come along in the world in five years time. I'm certain he will be doing amazing things, making me envious of his travels and worldly experiences.

And though I don't miss him, I want to talk to him. I need clarification about what went wrong. Did I really make so many mistakes as to cause the terrible breakdown of our relationship? I am doomed to repeat them? Was I that selfish and careless about his feelings, or was he just using me as a scapegoat for his own role in our demise? And, without knowing this, how do I know that I won't do the same thing all over again with someone new?

I don't need reassurances from the new. I need reassurances from the old. The new doesn't know what I am capable of, and I don't know what he's capable of. But the old? We've been through it before. We can't study anything but history, so I'm trying to study my history, but I can't. I have half the pages in the textbook... he has the other half. I'm getting stuck, mid-sentence.

I need someone to tell me I didn't fuck up that badly.
I need someone to tell me that I won't fuck up that badly this time around either.

We can argue and fuss all night / But I propose that we go to the floor and we slow dance

2008-11-25T14:06:00.000-08:00

One of the pitfalls of working in an office environment is not being able to dance whenever I feel like it.

This is one of those moments... but fortunately I have a cubicle divider so I can leave groove in my chair, head bumping and swaying side to side.

Sometimes even my feet start tapping.

And just take it easy / And celebrate the malleable reality

2008-11-18T09:34:00.000-08:00

... waiting for inspiration ...

or something to whop me up side the head and re-align my brain.

2008-11-08T22:29:00.000-08:00

Aliso Street: 1854
When early settlers arrived at the Los Angeles River (El Rio de Nuestra Senora de Los Angeles de Porcinucula) by way of Mission Road, they picked as a nearby gathering point a huge sycamore that gave them shelter and became a landmar, "El Aliso." That Spanish word for sycamore was later used to name the road carved out near the river, which then was not a concrete channel.

Alpine Street: 1887
Before it was named for one of California's 58 counties, it had been known as the Street of the Virgins, a place where the young ladies of the pueblo strolled with their duenas (chaperones) past admiring caballeros (gentlemen).

Alvarado Street: 1855
Named after Governor Juan Bautista Alvarado, who in 1836 became the first governor to promote public education.

Arcadia Street: 1872
Aracadia Bandini, born in 1823, was the daughter of prominent ranchero Juan Bandini. She came to be regarded as one of the most beautiful belles of Los Angeles and was just 14 when she married 40-year-old Abel Stearns, who had come west from Massachusetts and acquired Southern California's largest land-cattle empire. Stearns built a home for his bride one block south of the Plaza--the community's central gathering area-- and the house, called El Palacio, became the social hot spot. In 1858, Stearns constructed a two-story business block on Los Angeles Street nearby and called it Arcadia Block. The street was officially dedicated one year after Stearns' death in 1871.

I like it in the city / When two worlds collide...

2008-10-23T23:30:00.000-07:00

Good night.
Bad morning.

As we usher in what I hope will be a new era of politics and society in America, several states, including California, just pushed us back into an age of ignorance and what could only be seen as fear and hate.

Californians went to bed last night with the first Black President of the United States. People across the country and the world erupted in celebration and tears. I don't think there is anyone out there who doesn't understand and feel the significance of seeing Barack Obama accept the huge responsibility of being the face and leader of this country.

But, we woke up this morning to find out perpetuating a wrong that so many has tried to fight-- discrimination on the basis of something as basic and unchangeable as the color of one's skin or the reproductive organs we are born with.

It's a hard morning.
I want to celebrate with the same vigor and enthusiasm as last night, but it's hard to knowing that so many people, including many of the people I love and would give my life for, have just been told that they don't deserve a fundamental right-- that it is somehow okay to publicly say that they deserve the rights of a second-class citizen.

I'm thankful for last night... thankful to the people who stood in line for several hours to vote and to the people who canvassed, donated, and lost a lot of sleep to put forward a successful campaign. We have a Democratic President who actually inspires people to care about their government supported by a Democratic House and Senate.

But, I'm more thankful to the people who are going to continue this fight, because as the passage of Prop 8 shows us, it's far from over. People still can be forced to vote against their gut by fear and hatred.

Si se puede!

Seems growing up / Didn't take long / I feel strange, I feel good / I feel better with you

2008-10-19T19:27:00.000-07:00

It's amazing how a little paradigm shift can make such a difference in one's life.

This was the weekend I finally did it-- a cathartic cleansing of the bedroom. The final moving boxes have been emptied, three years later, and it felt good to just throw the entire thing out. It's nothing like the 100-thing challenge my friend is doing, but for me, it's a pretty good start.

There is a pile of clean laundry on my bed and a pile of dirty dishes in my sink, but right now, it's great to just enjoy the newness of an old room. Perhaps this will motivate me to reorganize the other parts of my life-- to usher in a new self, from the old pieces.

I'm ready for a real fall... no more Santa Ana winds bringing 90-degree weekdays and firestorms. I want crisp breezes whisking my skirt up for one dangerous moment, orange leaves, and blue skies. I want evenings to be just chilly enough that snuggling into my down comforter with a book is the only perfect thing to do on a Saturday night. I want an excuse to wear long coats and scarves to the office and an ever better excuse to disappear to the park next door during my lunch hour to enjoy them both.

Rain, rain go away / Come again another day ...

2008-10-13T14:26:00.000-07:00

I choose not to celebrate the day that Columbus arrived to North America, bringing with him disease, colonialism, and what could really be considered the end of entire, non-Westernized civilization.

Instead, I choose to celebrate the 50th birthday of a beloved childhood friend...

(And I commend google.com for not buying into this Columbus-Day crap and identifying a much more significant holiday for its splash page graphic.)

I always wanted a stuffed version of this cuddly-marmalade-and-tea-loving lost little bear. Perhaps this is when I fell in love with well-designed coats (look at his little peacoat!) and floppy hats.

Unfortunately, the only coat I had at the time I met Paddington Bear was a bright pink, puffy jacket, that was about two sizes too big (so I could wear it for several years... oh that economic mommy!). I have a diary entry, written in my 3rd-grade scrawl (oversized, bubbly letters, a little slanted, and certainly eager), about that jacket and the Santa Ana winds. It was the only thing keeping me warm during recess during the winds, and the only thing heavy enough to keep me from flying away.

Now, I have lots of coats (and they aren't two sizes too big thankfully). The Santa Ana winds are still blowing, spreading little fire sparks across the southland. I have the protective shell of a well-made Japanese car to keep me from flying away and a lot less recess time. Instead of a Paddington Bear, I have Noah, my little brown bear that's absorbed a lot of laughs and tears since we met in 2003.

Cheers Paddington Bear.
Keep rocking that peacoat.

2008-10-07T11:23:00.000-07:00

I probably should have asked for permission before stealing this, but I figure so long as I keep it anonymous (until the person I stole it from demands I give credit and lunch), it should be okay.

It is astounding that at this part of the process you still find yourself thinking outside the box of that which you represent. But, what do you fear? Where do you want to go? Whose ideas will you challenge and how much are you willing to give up?

Remember everything about this process because it will never happen to you ever again in your life. You are privileged to know these things and ensure that others can understand the life of multiculturalist movements.

Find answers for others and yourself. I don't want to forget where I am coming from nor who who has been there at the worse moments. Try to love but not fall in love. Learn people's names. Make people smile. Stay humble. Dress calmly. Smell good. Read more.

In more concrete terms, remember this as a moment of concientization about the powers of privilege, the balances of power, the way in which the things you say are perceived. Challenge yourself. Be an intellectual. Be daring.

Recognize that fighting apathy is nearly impossible, and doing so might have to be as complex as the tools needed to manufacture consent.

Be fair. Let go. Grow up.

Honor your father and mother.

Change people's minds.

Live on other people's shoes.

Remember we are a people of advocacy. No flashy promises.

Fight (with a smile on).

Lovely.
Just lovely.

2008-10-07T08:06:00.000-07:00

me: what you know about commercial paper?

e: not a whole lot
very similar to cash... or a CD

why?

me: government purchasing commercial paper to aid in "bail out"

e: so here's my understanding of commercial paper

big name companies, usually financial institutions, use it as a short-term borrowing tool
so think of a company like... Lehman Brothers, for example, issuing something like a 3-month CD
the CD is actually commercial paper... and Lehman leverages the money they get for their operations

whoever buys the commercial paper (usually big institutional investors like money market funds since CP's are considered relatively low-risk) are due the principal + interest when the CP matures

just like how a CD operates

me: yah

e: but... if a company like Lehman is unable to make good on the CP when it matures... the value of the CP on the open market suddenly drops significantly

which is what happened with all of these firms being over-leveraged and the on-set of our current credit crisis

and alot of these companies rely so much on short-term borrowing

so essentially, the govt wants to step in and buy up these CP's acting as the short-term lender to these companies

and then there are asset-backed CP's... which are CP's that have a pool of asset-backed securities used as collateral... mtge crisis has rendered the asset-backed securities worthless

meaning that those ABCP's are 'guaranteed' by worthless securities

me: so basically...

banks have no money.

banks going bankrupt.

government = new bank.

e: exactly

me: woot woot

COMMUNISM HERE WE COME!

e: hooray

let's move to Canada

Still can feel you kiss me love / Still can see your brown skin shine...

2008-10-04T14:56:00.000-07:00

Dear You,

I'm not sure who I am writing to. Perhaps it is for the people that hurt me in the past. Or maybe it's for those I have hurt recently.

It's been a strange month. On top of dealing with my own romantic mishaps, I was fielding calls from multiple friends trying to talk them off the ledge of their own circumstances. Maybe the heat is making us a little crazy and the remnants of the always-too-indulgent summer are being stretched into what is supposed to be autumn. Regardless of the cause, there is a lot of heartbreak and confusion in the air.

For once, I can't claim myself the victim. I've now been placed in the interesting position of being the perpetrator.

I've hurt someone I care deeply for, despite the fact we haven't known each other very long. He is someone that reminded that good-hearted and generous people still exist in the world. His kindness is completely natural and actually even makes me feel ashamed of my inability to be that good. It may not be apparent to most people, but he contains a type of inner-strength that is not displayed by many people his age. He's learned to forgive people for the gravest errors with an open heart and learned to believe in change. He can take abuse and hurtful words, without so much of a flinch, and turn back around and still be supportive and loving. Most of the time he looks happy-go-lucky, as though he isn't thinking about much beyond the task in front him, but like most things, his exterior is deceiving. His mind is constantly busy with thoughts of his friends, his family, his life...
I hurt him by pushing the boundaries of his kindness and generosity. I exploited the very things that drew me to him and that I have come to endlessly respect. I tested the number of times he would forgive me and the things he would forgive me for. I'm testing him even now, offering myself as a friend, when the last thing he might even want or need from me is my friendship.

And now, I find myself in the situation of possibly repeating my mistakes, mistakes that I made only a few weeks ago.

You see, I have a cycle. A very predictable and a very sad cycle.
No matter how wonderful or terrible the individual in front of me, they get three weeks. After three weeks, everything comes tumbling down. My expectations of the other grows exponentially-- anything less than perfect is unacceptable. Perfect means being appropriately attentive and independent, being available on a whim without appearing overly eager; it means being both loving and cruel. I guess I put a whole new spin on wanting everything.
Suddenly, the closeness I felt to the other, the need to include him in my life, disappears. My independence is threatened... my identity is threatened. The idea of trading my impetuous ways for stability and support suddenly appears absolutely unacceptable.

In the envious position of having one too many desirable suitors, I find myself with another who is willing to put me pretty high on his list of priorities. I arrived as a disastrous disruption in his life and rather than running from me, he's embraced me closer, embracing the instability that is... well... me. Although I argue otherwise, he asks for very little in return for indulging most of my whims. A phone call, an hour of face time, a hug... and in return I get a gopher, driver, personal cook, receiver-of-my-anger-rants, and overall supporter/cheerleader.

It shames me to think I'd be willing to jeopardize it all to have a night of doing-whatever-the-hell-I-want. My love of adventure, of meeting new people, of engaging with the world around me, and of expanding my list of ridiculous stories makes me almost hate the thought of being attached to any one person. I'm willing to gamble my whole bank account, for the rush of taking the risk and the (small) possibility of winning even bigger (whatever that means).

Three weeks have passed and I am stuck. I can't bring myself out of my head and I'm awaiting my best friend to help me cut through the confusion.
I need to figure out what I want.
Do I want to be in a relationship?
If I don't, what do I want otherwise?
What do I enjoy about relationships?
What scares me about them?
Can those fears be overcome?
Is this the time to overcome them?
Am I willing to accept my own realities and face them?
Am I willing to accept that I might not be able to fulfill everyone's idea of what I should be doing?
Am I willing to accept that I like being alone? What does that mean if I do?

Thanks You, for reading.
It's been a hard week.

I just want to know today, know today, know today / Know that maybe I will be okay

2008-10-02T14:44:00.000-07:00

I keep seeing him everywhere.
On the street on a skateboard.
Eating an ice cream.
Exiting the elevator.
Waiting on the street corner.

He's a little shorter,
a little younger,
a little fatter,
slightly different hair.

Different iterations of the same person, appearing everywhere.

Maybe it's because school has started again and the village is filled with 60,000 more people than before, increasing the chances that my eyes will play tricks on me.
Or maybe, I just need to sleep more.
Or maybe, I just need to mail him those cookies he loves so much and I've been thinking about sending him (for the last week).

Or maybe, I have a good thing going and it's approaching three weeks and I'm having the same old freak-out session that I always do.

I have the strong desire to run away, to buy a plane ticket somewhere and not tell anyone that I'm leaving for a few days. I don't think it is natural to be this turned off to commitment... it seems like one of those things that would have been evolutionarily weeded out a long time ago (although, I guess promiscuity would be more genetically favorable, man or woman, if it means I am diversifying the future gene pool by mating with many partners). I'm searching for anything to ruin what I have so I don't take responsibility for the fact that I am a genetic sport (hooray for self-sabotage).

I wonder how he and I ever made it as long as we did. Granted, we fought to the point of breaking up everything three months, but we still made it pretty far. I suspect that given the difficult year we were both living, we just needed something, even if it wasn't that great (and possibly more damaging than either would care to admit). That, and he took my abuse and bizarre/sarcastic comments better than anyone I know.

It's been nearly two and a half years since we first met.
A year and a half since we broke up.
Almost a year since we began speaking again.
Two months since we stopped.

And now, it's been two and a half weeks since he asked for a modicum of commitment from me.
A month and a half since hypotheses were tested.
Two and a half months since we began talking.
Sixth months since we first met.

Approaching three weeks.
Temptation's right around the corner (several corners, actually) and I'm concentrating on not succumbing to it.
I have to believe that people are capable of overcoming their own terrible judgment, otherwise I'm condemned to make a lot of enemies.

Mini Update

2008-10-01T10:09:00.000-07:00

I've started about two or three other entries and haven't managed to make much progress on them (there goes my secret-- only SOME of my entries are stream-of-consciousness entries... some are written, left alone, and re-written when I feel like it...).

So, just so you all know that I'm alive (if anyone is reading this in the first place), here's a mini-update:

Got a deathly cold (told I looked terrible and to go home several times by my boss) that I'm still kicking... stupid cough.
Whether it is related or not, I have weird aches and pains (like pain in my fourth and fifth digit on my right hand and a pain in the arch of my left foot).
As soon as I figured I was no longer contagious (and donning safety gear), I started baking again. This week's concoctions? Caramel Apple Cupcakes with a Cream Cheese Frosting (with homemade caramel!) and Pumpkin Cupcakes with a Ginger Cream Filling and Chocolate Ganache Frosting (recipes courtesy of http://cupcakeblog.com).
I'm stuck back in my head, thinking about my relationships with people (friends, family, and lovers) and the meaning of life.
And of course, I'm preparing myself for the elections by getting together my own little voter guide. Be ready friends! You'll know how to vote by November 4th-- (and in case you haven't PLEASE REGISTER TO VOTE!)

Alright. Proper update comin' soon.

2008-09-17T09:30:00.000-07:00

"I hate the gooks. I will hate them as long as I live."
-John McCain, February 17, 2000

"I will call any interrogator that tortured me, a gook. I can't believe that
anybody doesn't believe these interrogators and prison guards were cruel
and sadistic people who deserve the worst appellations possible. Gook is the kindest appellation I can give."
-John McCain, February 17, 2000

DEAR SENATOR McCAIN
By Bao Phi

Dear Senator McCain

I write this letter on jungle leaves
and the skin of a white man.

I am a gook, a jungle spook,
a steamed apparition
of piss and foot rot
building torture devices from old rotary phones
and the rusted hulks of American cars

I am that gook, when you turn on the light
I scramble away and if you see me
you know there's ten more
where I came from
catching tracer bullets like fireflies
in my teeth
my language like malaria
sweating itself into your brain

I am a gook, riding on top of water buffaloes,
waving welfare checks like a white flag of surrender
but shot in the back by your finest when they thought
I was standing in a martial arts stance

I am a gook, miscellaneous bomb bait,
agent orange evolved primate
creeping thru cashmoney colored jungles
and masturbating neon onto Wall Street
slit eyes fixed on white women
fingers like 10 long drips of grease

I am that villain in a white lab coat
trading bomb secrets for red cash
stashing code in surgery folded eyelids

I am gook, no speak no Engleesh
too much headache, tell me go back to my country,
motherfuck you eh?

I am indeed a gook, polished gold yellow
at Yale, driving my Ferrari horse-powered dick
deep into your spread-legged streets
while Miss America screams out an orgasmic "There goes the neighborhood!"

I am gook
that gook waiting in that nightmare jungle
that gook in front of you with 17 items in the 10 items or less lane at the supermarket
that gook born with a grenade in his head
that gook that got a better grade in your shop class
that gook uppity enuf to stand with his brothers and sisters and demand an apology
that gook who patted you on the back and said "That's okay--I hate gooks too."

I am that gook who stole your bomb secrets,
that gook that held you hostage,

that gook whose culture your daughter robbed for her tattoos, trinkets and t-shirts
that gook whose language your son attempts to speak so he can crack some nookie
from the fortune cookie

I am the gook who blazed you
the gook who saved you

I am gook, chink, slope, slanteye, victor, charlie, chan, suzie wong, dickless rice picker, model minority, binder of feet, your favorite sushi waitress, piss colored devil, nip, jap, snow falling on cedars, miss saigon, memoir of a geisha, joy luck club, ally mcbeal,

I am gook,
I ate your motherfuckin cat

I am that gook who will hang himself on Nike shoelaces
so your sons and daughters can play pickup or NCdoubleA final four,
I am that 14 cents an hour gook whose ghosts paint those Gap commercials white,
I am that gook that took over your pool hall and your roller skating rink,
I am this gook, I am that gook, I am your gook, I am my gook
I am that gook, popping out of a motherfuckin bowl of rice
to ask:
senator
what's the difference
between an Asian
and a gook
to you?

In a different place / I see another you / And in another place / I see a different you

2008-09-11T22:37:00.001-07:00

"Love abolishes the distance, the in-betweenness which always exists in human intercourse, and if virtue will always be ready to assert that it is better to suffer wrong than to do wrong, [love] will transcend this by stating in complete and even naive sincerity that it is easier to suffer than to see others suffer."

-- Hannah Arendt

I'm leaving... / On a jet plane / Don't know when I'll be back again...

2008-09-03T10:31:00.000-07:00

Where I was...

Where I am...

First business trip : First time in Colorado : First time in a long time being away from other people of color : Learning a lot of... well... firsts

2008-08-17T22:12:00.000-07:00

"She's a girl who's generous to a fault. Except to other people's faults."

He couldn't bring himself to ask.

We held hands to keep each other balanced.

I could see it coming for a week.

"She finds human imperfection unforgivable."

I couldn't bring myself to tell him what he wanted to know.

By the time we got to the car, we still couldn't let go of each other.

We went away where no one else could see us.

"When I discovered that my relationship to her was supposed to be not that of a loving husband and a good companion, but that of a kind of high priest to a virgin goddess."

He looked uncertain.

I was still tipsy and his hand felt as though it was melting into mine.

Everything happened in a rush.

"I suppose you'd still be attractive to any man of spirit, though. There's something engaging about it, this "'goddess"' business... something more challenging to the male than the more obvious charms."

I struggled to keep my eyes open; he couldn't get his off of me.

I ran towards the water the minute we hit the sand; his eyes followed me.

We moved together; our eyes were locked.

"We're very vain, you know. 'This citadel can and shall be taken, and I'm the boy to do it.' "

Even in the dark, I could see him watching me, as he held me.

Our hands glowed against the breaking dawn.

My vision was blurred against the light; his lips tasted salty.

"... I'm contemptuous of something inside you you either can't help or won't try to."

I was surprised he didn't try anything more.

I felt like time stopped while we laid on the sand.

There was no time to think.

"Your so-called 'strength"... Your prejudice against weakness, your blank intolerance."

It made me smile to come so close and to have nothing more happen.

I don't think I've ever felt anything as intimate as our hands touching.

My heart was racing and my face was flushed.

"... you'll never be a first-class human being or a first-class woman... until you've learned to have regard for human frailty."

"It's a pity your own foot can't slip a little sometime... but your sense of inner divinity wouldn't allow that."

"This goddess must and shall remain intact."

I shouldn't have done what I did.

2008-08-15T08:12:00.000-07:00

"I don't even like to stereotype and say 'gang members.' I say they're disenfranchised youth," he told NPR. "They don't really have all the tools to make the right decisions that's necessary in today's society, and they don't fully understand the system."

-- Darren "Bo" Taylor (1966 - 2008)

2008-08-13T09:09:00.001-07:00

http://www.nytimes.com/2008/08/13/nyregion/13detain.html?_r=1&partner=rssuserland&emc=rss&pagewanted=all&oref=slogin

But most of everyday / Is full of tired excuses / But it's too hard to say

2008-08-11T21:44:00.000-07:00

... While I have succeeded to some extent, there are still some things here that I can't seem to part with: the idea that the universe is designed, that there are a few simple rules, or laws, physical laws, from which all the manifold processes of life and nonlife can be derived...

-- E.L. Doctorow (City of God)

Now I remember watching that old tree burn down / I took a picture that I don't like to look at

2008-08-09T23:12:00.000-07:00

Memories have been lingering.
Dreams have been vivid.
A lot has changed in a year. The last post I had before starting anew was documenting the break-up. I went back to find the entries that reminded me of when we started. Instead, I found awkward drunken memories from in between, with people completely unrelated, but totally relevant.
We had broken up just a month prior. I thought it was the moment to finally face what I thought I wanted. I made trips to San Diego and to Santa Cruz to test the boundaries, only to come back to LA even more confused.

The night has a surreal quality to it. Everything was a bit last minute, because I wasn't expecting to attend the meeting, but my presence was necessary and I booked my flight only a few days before. I wasn't drinking as much as the others, using my antibiotics as an excuse (but really, to keep me out of trouble). I am switching between interacting and watching, egging on the drinkers with more shots of tequila, then stepping back and watching the madness. (Yes, I am an instigator. I can't help it sometimes.)
I watch as they are embracing in the kitchen. They are talking to each other and you can see the looks from the others in the "party room." We all know one of them likes the other. The question is, will something happen? The lights go out, as an over-eager and very drunk friend decides to shake up the jar a bit (if you will allow me to use a metaphor here). They step out of the kitchen, looking a bit confused. He stumbles out and I follow after him. He takes my hand and leads me up the stairs to his room.
He collapses on the floor of his bedroom near the door. No one knows what just happened, but it's clear that he is very drunk. He pulls me in and I can smell the tequila on his breath. The smell makes me a little drunk too. I take him to the bathroom and leave him there as I go downstairs for a cup of water. I can feel the eyes on me, but I walk with my head up, determined to find a clean cup and some fresh water for him. I don't make eye contact with anyone downstairs as I march upstairs. I find him cleaning himself up and he pulls me close again. This time his breath is minty and fresh.
I walk to the window. Suddenly, people barge through the door and throw on the lights. There is yelling and laughing and then... collapse. More people on the bed. She giggles in her drunkeness. The first time she has been like this in front of us. People leave the room, leaving the three of us alone. He turns the light off again. Slyly, who knows when, he locks the door. We are on the bed... giggling. We know this is scandalous. Being in a dark room alone is enough to fuel gossip amongst our friends downstairs.
He's drunk. His hands are moving everywhere. On me. On her.
I'm confused.
Then it dawns on me.
He's drunk.
She and I giggle, knowing that the jokes are starting downstairs.
What do we say? What is our alibi? Nothing happened, right?
3:22am... we leave. He calls me a few minutes later. Where are you? Come back? Stay over here.
I laugh. He's drunk. I tell him to wait fifteen minutes... that if he isn't asleep, then I'll go back. What he doesn't know is that I would go back in an instant if I could, except, he wouldn't remember the next morning. Fifteen minutes will tell me if he will remember. He remembers the first five and ten minutes, but in the last fifteen, I can hear him falling asleep on the phone.
So ends my night in Santa Cruz.

That frequency inside my head that says / I'm going at it the hard way

2008-08-08T09:09:00.000-07:00

We spent an hour talking about the difference between being good and being virtuous.

We agreed that being virtuous had more to do with conforming to societal standards than falling on either side of good or evil. Virtuousness is what we assume to be good-- eloquent, kind, sympathetic. But, all the virtue in the world won't combat the evil in it. Eloquence won't stop people from killing each other and sympathy won't uncover the roots of inequity. They are qualities we want to see, that we assume are reflections of one's motives and purpose. Virtue requires an audience, to watch and to comment on the virtuous character.

Goodness, on the other hand, can be none of those things. Goodness can be clumsy, inarticulate, and seemingly cold. Goodness is driven by the desire to remove evil. A good person doesn't need an audience and is often times better suited to act without one. It is by nature dirty and violent. It is emphatic and painful, because being good often means being able to feel evil. It necessitates making that hard decision, being completely honest to the point of vulnerability, and taking responsibility for every action. It means being aware that a decision will hurt someone you love and still being able to do it and not turning your back on the pain you've caused, all because it had to be done.

He and I struggle with this constantly. Both of us had led pretty virtuous lives. We are, by our own nature, people-pleasers, and thus, easily fall into the trap of adhering to social mores. In recognition of this, we have been struggling to find ourselves and act as we are, rather than as we should be.

He spent the last year learning to be alone, because his fatal flaw is that he hasn't been. He's always had a companion, a cheerleader, a lover... we couldn't get along because he couldn't relate to my life, a life that had spent much of its time in solitary confinement while he was sleeping with a different girl every other day and building relationships now and again. I wanted him to find his own strength, a particular type of strength that would enable him to stand up against me, his Achille's heel.

"I learned to be happy without you."

My year has been spent doing the opposite. My fatal flaw is my blind dedication to independence and self-sufficiency. I could never share my life with him, because sharing it equated to losing it. It was a year of learning to be more open, to be more honest, to not hide myself behind clever words and a lot of hand gestures. It was a year of trying to learn how to love somebody and be happy with somebody who wasn't him.

All these growing pains, just so one day we can say to each other I love you. I choose you. All of this, to be able to know that with all of the potential configurations of people, relationships, and love, we still only want each other. This way, our relationship isn't by default, but by conscious choice; we don't see each other because we don't know how to be with anyone else, but because we know that we are the only ones we want to be with.

Whether a year is long enough to be apart is the golden question-- particularly if it's a year where half of it is spent talking everyday (twice, actually). I believe his growth, and mine, is still purely theoretical-- we've never been apart where the risk of really losing each other was real and tangible. We have to continue with the possibility without ever seeing each other again, because to do otherwise, to do as we have been doing, is cheating. It's a risk that makes my heart stop, because I have the potential of losing one of the most important things in my life.

So, we give each other another six months of being alone and being with others. Six months before we say a word to each other, because speaking to each other is dangerously euphoric and we fall back into old habits and unravel into each other. Six months, because he will leave and he has to say good-bye before he does.

We've both said it out loud now. We can't be in each other's lives until we are ready to only be with each other. Any other way and we endanger our goodness.

2008-08-07T15:48:00.000-07:00

In case you didn't know, I'm famous:

Source: http://www.halfvalue.com/wiki.jsp?topic=Famous_Korean_people

Famous Korean People >> Politicians >> Tina Park: External Vice President

I get to confuse lazy scholars for years to come!

2008-08-05T08:55:00.000-07:00

Thermo-dynamic miracles... events with odds against so astronomical they're effectively impossible, like oxygen spontaneously becoming gold. I long to observe such a thing.

And yet, in each human coupling, a thousand million sperm vie for a single egg. Multiply those odds by countless generations, against the odds of your ancestors being alive; meeting; siring this precise son; that exact daughter...

... until your mother loves a man she has every reason to hate, and of that union, of the thousand million children competing for fertilization, it was you, only you, that emerged.

To distill so specific a form from that chaos of improbability, like turning air to gold... that is the crowning unlikelihood.

The thermo-dynamic miracle.

But... if me, my birth, if that's a thermodynamic miracle... I mean, you could say that about anyone in the world!

Yes. Anybody in the world... But the world is so full of people, so crowded with these miracles that they become commonplace and we forget... I forget.

We gaze continually at the wrold and it grows dull in our perceptions. Yet seen from another's vantage point, as if new, it may still take the breath away.

- Watchmen (Alan Moore & Dave Gibbons)

You know theres no need to hide away / You know I tell the truth / We are just the same / I can feel everything you do

2008-08-04T23:13:00.000-07:00

I'm squinting to see the screen, blind without my contacts. How terrible my eyes have become. It's getting harder and harder to see the things that are in front of me.

How metaphoric of life.

But, I set that thought aside. It is not the time to be waxing poetic... Updates are to be given, seeing that I cheated in my last post and only provided updates on my baking life and not my waking one.

Life continues to shift and unfold, while I sit, grow fatter, and contemplate my next move. The friends are back (finally), leaving me to enjoy their presence, their wisdom, and their laughter for a few weeks before we are separated by land and sea once again. Our dinners together feed my belly, while our conversations feed my heart and soul. I don't think I could ask for better friends, for who else can I talk about all unspeakables with at the dinner table? We jump from love life, to political life, passing ideas past each other as we try to re-examine and resolve not only our personal lives, but the world around us. Morning cups of coffee are had with discussions of politics and morality, while pancakes are shared between twitters of girlish giggles about the men we adore (or don't).

The weekend was a necessary break. My shoulders are heavy with contemplative thoughts, trying to figure out if what I am doing is right or wrong. I hate the idea of hurting others, despite my tendency to be accidentally cruel. I struggle to be honest and tactful at the same time... to be patient and not presumptuous.

But, I speak in abstractions and nonsense. I'll leave these thoughts, too, for another time.

Do You Know the Muffin Man / the Muffin Man ...

2008-07-22T09:38:00.000-07:00

Last Sunday I had a brilliant idea: What if I baked a different cupcake everyday for a week?

Thus, the ERA Cupcake Challenge was born. The idea is simple enough, bake a different type of cupcake every night to bring to work every day. The cupcakes should be striking and unique, taking advantage of some of the delicious fresh produce we have in Southern California (and, of course, the summer season).

Having reached the last day, I've realized that I might have a slight compulsive disorder (because really, who bakes EVERY night for 3+ hours?) and I probably should talk to someone about it. Regardless, I have met my challenge and produced five different cupcakes (plus four different brownies) for this week. My neighborhood Ralph's is now like a second home and my hands are a little stiff from beating the batter with a fork.

So, what did I bake?
Below are the cupcakes for each day with the recipes. Enjoy!
***
MONDAY: Late Summer Peach, Blueberry, and Thyme Cupcakes with Cream Cheese Frosting
From Chockylit at (http://cupcakeblog.com):

For the Roasted Peach Mush:
2 medium peaches

1. Cut the peach in half, remove the pit, and roast cut side down in a 350 degree oven for 30 minutes.
2. Remove from the oven and set aside to cool.
3. Scoop out peach flesh and mush with the back of a fork.

Peach, Blueberry, Thyme Cupcakes
12 regular cupcakes / 350 degree oven
1/2 cup (1 stick) unsalted butter, room temperature
1 cup sugar
1 large egg
1 large egg yolk
1-1/3 cups all-purpose flour
1 teaspoon baking powder
1/8 teaspoon salt
1/2 cup milk
1/2 cup roasted peach mush
1/4 cup blueberries
2 teaspoons loosely packed, fresh thyme leaves

1. In an electric mixer, beat butter on high until soft, about 30 seconds.
2. Add sugar. Beat on medium-high until light and fluffy, about 2 minutes.
3. Add egg beat until combined.
4. Whisk together flour, baking powder, and salt in a bowl. Add to the mixer along with the milk and beat to combine.
5. Chop thyme leaves.
6. Fold the peach mush, blueberries, and thyme into the batter.
7. Scoop into cupcake papers about two-thirds full.
8. Bake for 22-25 minutes until a cake tester comes out clean.

Note: Leave cupcakes undisturbed for the first 15 minutes of baking (always) and then rotate the pan once to ensure even baking.

Thick Cream Cheese Frosting

4 ounces Philly cream cheese
1/4 stick butter, room temperature
2 cups sifted powdered sugar
1 teaspoon vanilla

1. Beat butter vigorously with an electric mixer.
2. Scrape the bowl and add the cream cheese and beat until combined.
3. Add the sifted powdered sugar and vanilla and beat until smooth.

Assemble
1. Top cooled cupcakes with frosting.
[Optional] Sprinkle with thyme leaves.

TUESDAY: Carrot Cupcake Deliciousness
From The Cupcakery at (http://the-cupcakery-blog.blogspot.com)

Carrot Cupcake Deliciousness
Makes 24 cupcakes
2 cups all-purpose flour
2 cups granulated sugar
1/2 teaspoon salt
1 teaspoon baking soda
2 teaspoons ground cinnamon
1/2 teaspoon ground nutmeg
3 eggs
1 1/2 cups vegetable oil
2 cups finely grated carrots (about 3 to 4 medium carrots)
2 teaspoons vanilla extract
1 can (8 ounces) well drained crushed pineapple
1 cup shredded coconut
1 cup chopped pecans, divided
1 cup raisins (or golden raisins)

1. Preheat oven at 350° degrees F. Line 12-cup muffin tin with muffin papers and set aside.
2. In a mixing bowl, combine dry ingredients; stir to blend.
3. Add eggs, oil, shredded carrots, and vanilla; beat until well blended.
4. Stir in pineapple, coconut, and 1/2 cup of the pecans and raisins.
5. Spoon into cupcake liners with small ice cream scooper. Bake 18 - 20 minutes until the tops are golden brown or until a wooden toothpick inserted in center comes out clean.
6. VERY IMPOPRTANT to cool completely before frosting.

Pineapple Cream Cheese Frosting
1 brick (8 oz.) cream cheese, softened
1 stick unsalted butter, softened
1 tsp. salt
1 tsp. vanilla
1 cup powdered sugar
1/4 cup pineapple juice

1. Combine cream cheese, butter, salt and vanilla in a large bowl and beat with an electric mixer.
2. Alternate powdered sugar and pineapple juice and beat mixture for 5 minutes until fluffy.
3. Add Wilton gel food coloring "Peach" until pastel color is achieved. Pipe onto completely cooled cupcakes and sprinkle toasted coconut on top.

WEDNESDAY: Lemon Drop Cupcake with Strawberries
From Coconut & Lime at http://coconutlime.blogspot.com
Ingredients:
juice of 1 lemon
zest of 1 lemon
1 1/2 cup flour
1 cup sugar
3/4 cup buttermilk
7 tablespoons butter, at room temperature
2 eggs, at room temperature
12 small to medium sized strawberries

Directions:
Preheat oven to 350. Grease and flour or line 12 wells in a cupcake pan. In a large bowl, cream the butter, zest and sugar. Add the lemon juice and the eggs. Beat to combine. The mixture may look a little curdled but that is okay. Mix in the buttermilk. Continue to mix and slowly add in the flour. Beat the batter an additional 2 minutes, until light and fluffy. Pour an even amount into each cupcake well, filling about 3/4 of the way. Place a whole strawberry, point side down in the middle of each cupcake. Bake 15-20 minutes or until a toothpick inserted on the outside of the strawberry comes out clean. Cool in pan briefly, then remove from the pan and cool completely on a wire rack. Ice*.

Icing suggestion: make a basic buttercream and substitute lemon juice for any liquid and add some lemon zest. I actually made a cream cheese icing: 8 0z cream cheese, confectioners' sugar and some lemon zest.

THURSDAY: Rich Chocolate Cupcakes filled with Chocolate-Mint Ganache topped with Mint Buttercream
From Chockylit at http://cupcakeblog.com

Chocolate Cupcakes
24 regular cupcakes / 350 degree oven

200 gram bar of Valrhona 61% cocao
3 sticks butter
2-1/4 cups sugar
8 eggs
1-1/4 cup flour
1/4 cup cocoa powder, unsweetened
1-1/2 teaspoons baking powder
pinch of salt

1. chop chocolate and transfer into the bowl of a standing mixer.
2. add butter to the chocolate and place the bowl over a pan of simmering water. stir until chocolate melts and butter is combined.
3. remove from heat and stir in sugar. let mixture cool for 10 minutes.
4. beat in an electric mixer for 3 minutes.
5. add one egg at a time, mixing for 30 seconds between each
6. sift the flour, cocoa powder, baking powder, and a pinch of salt into the mixture and mix until blended.
7. scoop into cupcake cups and bake at 350 F for 25 minutes or until a toothpick comes out clean.

Chocolate-Mint Ganache
4 ounces bittersweet chocolate
1/2 cup heavy cream
1/4 cup + 1 teaspoon chopped mint leaves
1 tablespoon butter, room temperature

1. chop chocolate and transfer into a heat proof bowl.
2. heat cream and 1/4 cup mint until bubbles form around the edge of the pan, pour cream through strainer, over the chocolate.
3. let sit for 1 minute then stir until combined.
4. add butter and the remaining teaspoon of chopped mint and stir until combined.
5. let cool then transfer to the refrigerator to thicken, 30 minutes to 1 hour.

Mint Buttercream Frosting
1 cup (2 sticks) butter
4-5 cups powdered sugar, sifted
1/4 cup milk
1/8 teaspoon all natural peppermint extract
1. beat butter until creamy, scrape bowl.
2. add 4 cups of sifted powdered sugar, milk, and peppermint extract, beat until combined.
3. add more powdered sugar as needed to get piping consistency.

Note: I tried to keep the mint flavor subtle and not too overpowering. I recommend starting on the light side with 1/8 teaspoon or less and tasting to get the flavor you want.

Assemble
1. stuff the cupcakes with ganache using the cone method (cut out a cone shape from the top, cut off the pointy cone part, stuff the whole with filling, then put the top back on)
2. frost them.
3. top with something green (if you want), like a mint leaf, green candy, or whatever you fancy.

FRIDAY: Peanut Butter Filled Cupcake with Chocolate Ganache
From Chockylit at http://cupcakeblog.com

Chocolate Cupcakes
24 regular cupcakes / 350 degree oven
5.4 ounces dark chocolate or 3/4 of a 200 gram bar of Valrhona 61% cocao
22 tablespoons butter
1-3/4 cups plus 2 tablespoons sugar
6 eggs
1 cup plus 2 tablespoons flour
4-1/2 tablespoons cocoa powder, unsweetened
1-1/2 teaspoon baking powder
pinch of salt

1. Melt chocolate and butter over a water bath.
2. Add sugar and stir, let mixture cool for 10 minutes.
3. Beat in an electric mixer for 3 minutes.
4. Add one egg at a time, mixing for 30 seconds between each
5. Sift the flour, cocoa powder, baking powder, and a pinch of salt into the mixture and mix until blended.
6. Scoop into cupcake cups and bake at 350 F for 25 minutes or until a toothpick comes out clean.

Peanut Butter Filling
4 ounces or 1/2 package of Philly cream cheese
1 cup creamy peanut butter
2 cups sifted powdered sugar
1 tablespoon vanilla extract
2 tablespoons milk (*I added 3.5 tablespoons)

1. Beat cream cheese and peanut butter until combined.
2. Add powdered sugar and vanilla and beat until combined.
3. Add the milk and beat until combined.

Chocolate Ganache
4 ounces bittersweet chocolate
5 ounces semisweet chocolate
1 cup heavy cream
1 teaspoon vanilla
1 tablespoon butter, room temperature
2 cups powdered sugar

1. Chop chocolates and transfer into a heat proof bowl.
2. Heat cream until bubbles form around the edge of the pan, pour cream over the chocolate.
3. Let sit for 1 minute then stir until combined.
4. Add butter and vanilla and stir until combined.
5. Transfer to the bowl of an electric mixture and let cool for 10 minutes.
6. Sift powdered sugar into the mixture and beat until combined.
7. Continue to beat with an electric mixer until lighter in color and creamy.

2008-07-06T15:05:00.000-07:00

I spent a lot of my childhood trying to find different ways to disappear. My strongest memory is playing in my mom's closet, seated on the wood floor underneath her dresses and my dad's suits, with the sliding door open just enough to let a sliver of light in. I was guaranteed a good couple of hours without any interruption. When I outgrew the closet, I made a little fort in the corner of my room (better light) with a couple of thin blankets, and entertained myself with my books.

Even today, I have a strange attraction to small spaces. I used to study the best in small office spaces-- I could lock myself in a cubicle and write for hours before I realized I should walk around a bit. In high school, I used to sit in the back of my math class, underneath the table, until class was over (I was really bored...). I love unwinding in my car... I can't even count the number of times I've just slept in my car whenever I was stressed out.

At this point, I'm looking for my next little closet.
My brain feels muddled and slow. I'm in a constant state of exhaustion and boredom, leading me to sleep most of my daylight hours away (when I'm not at work, of course).
I get like this when I feel out of balance. I love my friends in LA, but I miss my girlfriends. I miss our summer nights, getting dressed up, and hitting the bars. I miss their support, their love, their light! I love my job, but I love indulging in art and in spontaneity. I miss late-night drives and new LA discoveries. I miss going out with my camera and not feeling like a fraud or self-conscious. I miss design and pretty things.

Life is becoming rhythmic and while I am thankful for the knowledge that I am secure in my life and future, I am also fearful of the complacency this can bring.

I need a wake-up call.

2008-07-04T19:58:00.000-07:00

Stolen from another blog.

Sue: Well, you've lived in Los Angeles, so that
part of city living must be familiar.
I: Oh no, the cities are so different -- my
friend has the best metaphor -- she says, If the
gods were giving birthday presents, they could
wrap up New York or San Francisco and trade
them like jewels, but Los Angeles has no edges
so you can never pick it up.

Is the city I live in / The City of Angels?

2008-06-25T01:19:00.001-07:00

I've been away at a two-week design charette for work (it's complicated why I'm here... let's just leave it at the simple fact that I'm here) and haven't really had the chance or the energy to update properly.

I figured a good way to solve this dilemma is to post the blog entries I've had to write for the charette.
---

Sunday, June 15
Being one of the few participants from Los Angeles, it's strange re-introducing myself to the city. It was only a month ago when I was one of the many Angelenos trapped in traffic on Alameda, trying to get to over the 101-overpass during rush hour. My challenge is to overcome my familiarity with the project area and force myself to see this city again with a fresh set of eyes.

I've been enjoying the questions that arise from my international cohort, especially after our site visit-- they've made me question my own LA quirks and habits and wonder what other possibilities there are for us. Selfishly, I am more excited than ever about the project. Of all the participants, I may actually have the chance to experience the fruits of everyone's labor and enjoy the newest Freeway Park sometime in the future.

Monday, June 16
One of the panelist captured it perfectly: it's a no-man's land. The expanse of sidewalk and street between the edge of the Civic Center and the beginning of Chinatown is desolate. If ever I forgot that Los Angeles was and is a desert, that strip of concrete was a good reminder. In the car, it's a quick drive through a slightly winding road, with an interesting-enough view. On foot, it's dry, hot, and never-ending. I tried to imagine who walks on this street. While we did our site visit, I didn't see too many people. One woman was parking her car on the street to avoid paying the $20 for two-hours of parking at the Cathedral. A few tourists were heading back to their car after an afternoon of sightseeing. Add a few Chinese grandmothers and that was about it. It's exciting to imagine the possibilities of the site, but it's also hard to think about who would use it...

Tuesday, June 17
The last two days have been intensive, as the project managers attempt to get 24 non-Angelenos familiarized with this city. The variety of speakers and viewpoints have been great-- better than I expected, in fact. They have managed to capture the underlying history of the region, one that is not always just nor particularly nice to think about. But the question, of course, lingers in my mind, "What is everyone actually getting out of this and what are we still missing?" We have yet to really probe into one another's minds to see what elements were picked up from our panel discussions and what were left out. I imagine that our individual filters will be revealed as we begin to sketch out our visions for the project site. I begin to wonder about my own filters and what I choose (or don't choose) to keep in my memory bank for future uses.

Wednesday, June 18
While the project scope itself is extremely interesting, it is equally fascinating to observe how people think. The afternoon and evening was spent in groups, intensively thinking about the vision of the project. We each got caught up in our own ideas and inspirations, trying to pull in the other group members to consider our respective visions. What seemed so simple to others, were incredibly complicated and abstract for me. When I see an issue or an opportunity, my mind immediately moves to "what could this be used for?" rather than "how could this look?" I think about who could the site serve now, while others think about who could it possibly serve in the future. I've been fortunate enough to have a group who is willing to work through all the different processes and thoughts to form interesting (and what I think are balanced) interpretations on each of these disparate things.

Thursday, June 19
The stress is mounting and you can see it in the personal interactions. More people are stepping outside for breaks, there's a good amount of stomping about the studio, and you the sounds of frustration are audible. A deadline looms and it just doesn't feel like it's enough time. Strangely, I feel calm throughout all of this. Perhaps it is recognition of the fact that this is a "visioning" stage-- an opportunity for ideas to be a little incomplete so more people can become involved in the creation. Or, it could be that my skill sets don't really put me in a position to be doing the mad-cap scramble to prepare all the sketches for Friday's presentation. Either ways, I am looking forward to our first real interaction with the stakeholders-- I'm interested to see what they have to say and what they think would benefit Los Angeles.

Sunday, June 22
My weekend was spent in two very small, very quaint towns: Carpenteria and Avalon (on Catalina Island). While I appreciated my time there, I wouldn't want to have downtown LA to be this way. These towns are... well... towns. People move there to have the small environment, where everyone knows each other, everyone has been to school together since they were 5 years old... People move to downtowns for very different reasons. I like the disarray, the chaos! As I think about it more and more, I don't want to use the 101-freeway to capture the nostalgia that people have about downtown. Highly urban areas are about something different (to me, at least). They change, radically, within short periods of time... this should be captured in the use and the design of our park. We will never be the city we were 50 years or ago or even 5 months ago. I think we need to be prepared to defend this point to the potential nay-sayers come Friday.
Suffice to say, I'm excited for the rest of this week.

Monday, June 23
And the week begins.We are still trying to define our "big" concept. The designers attempted to design the most democratic plan, pulling in the elements of each previous design to build something that, theoretically, should have worked to make something grand. What we were left with, unfortunately, was a plan that didn't have the innovation of the others. The elements got lost amongst one another. I have moments of frustration where I feel like we're designing something without fully understanding where we are and who we are doing this for. We say we are considering the Los Angeles of the future, of the next 100 years, but we have no sense of who they will be.

There is a constant push from the visitors to our studio to think about who we can draw in to use the park, without any encouragement to think about the current communities who would greatly benefit from some sort of public space. The site was selected because there is a viability in it already with 50,000 residents who are park-poor, low-income, and have typically been left voiceless in these types of matters. We've left our final ideas with a team of three to see if without the distraction of 21 other voices and opinions they might be able to return us to the grand vision we once had. Perhaps in the relative quiet of their workgroup they will remember all of the elements and all of the people here as they create a plan.

Tuesday, June 24
The days are blurring together. Three more days before the final presentation... At this point, there is nothing more to believe than the simple fact that we will somehow pull it off, because with this group of people, it would be impossible otherwise. We have split into teams, based mainly around skills. In a form of organized chaos, it's hard to tell what people are doing and if they are working at the appropriate pace, but by the time of evening pin-up, everyone has something to show for themselves.

Do I believe that the final design will be something that fits for Los Angeles? I don't know. But then again, is there anything that will ever fit for Los Angeles? With competiting opinions about who should live in LA, no one can agree about what this design should do and who it should serve. Is it about the new potential residents or is about serving those already here? Is it about creating something iconic or about creating something functional? Is it about infusing new ideas or respecting the existing ones that create the current urban fabric? Of course none of these questions should be considered in a binary plane, but what do the alternatives look like and how can they meet each other?

I'm trying to hold onto every moment when I am inspired to move away from my old views of Los Angeles and integrate them into the final presentation, because I hope, that is what will inspire the policymakers, the stakeholders, and especially the protectors of LA's nostalgia will embrace this design.

You may say that I'm a dreamer / But I'm not the only one

2008-06-09T17:31:00.000-07:00

J.K. Rowling's Commencement Speech to Harvard's Graduating Class of 2008:

President Faust, members of the Harvard Corporation and the Board of Overseers, members of the faculty, proud parents, and, above all, graduates.

The first thing I would like to say is ‘thank you.’ Not only has Harvard given me an extraordinary honour, but the weeks of fear and nausea I’ve experienced at the thought of giving this commencement address have made me lose weight. A win-win situation! Now all I have to do is take deep breaths, squint at the red banners and fool myself into believing I am at the world’s best-educated Harry Potter convention.

Delivering a commencement address is a great responsibility; or so I thought until I cast my mind back to my own graduation. The commencement speaker that day was the distinguished British philosopher Baroness Mary Warnock. Reflecting on her speech has helped me enormously in writing this one, because it turns out that I can’t remember a single word she said. This liberating discovery enables me to proceed without any fear that I might inadvertently influence you to abandon promising careers in business, law or politics for the giddy delights of becoming a gay wizard.

You see? If all you remember in years to come is the ‘gay wizard’ joke, I’ve still come out ahead of Baroness Mary Warnock. Achievable goals: the first step towards personal improvement.

Actually, I have wracked my mind and heart for what I ought to say to you today. I have asked myself what I wish I had known at my own graduation, and what important lessons I have learned in the 21 years that has expired between that day and this.

I have come up with two answers. On this wonderful day when we are gathered together to celebrate your academic success, I have decided to talk to you about the benefits of failure. And as you stand on the threshold of what is sometimes called ‘real life’, I want to extol the crucial importance of imagination.

These might seem quixotic or paradoxical choices, but please bear with me.

Looking back at the 21-year-old that I was at graduation, is a slightly uncomfortable experience for the 42-year-old that she has become. Half my lifetime ago, I was striking an uneasy balance between the ambition I had for myself, and what those closest to me expected of me.

I was convinced that the only thing I wanted to do, ever, was to write novels. However, my parents, both of whom came from impoverished backgrounds and neither of whom had been to college, took the view that my overactive imagination was an amusing personal quirk that could never pay a mortgage, or secure a pension.

They had hoped that I would take a vocational degree; I wanted to study English Literature. A compromise was reached that in retrospect satisfied nobody, and I went up to study Modern Languages. Hardly had my parents’ car rounded the corner at the end of the road than I ditched German and scuttled off down the Classics corridor.

I cannot remember telling my parents that I was studying Classics; they might well have found out for the first time on graduation day. Of all subjects on this planet, I think they would have been hard put to name one less useful than Greek mythology when it came to securing the keys to an executive bathroom.

I would like to make it clear, in parenthesis, that I do not blame my parents for their point of view. There is an expiry date on blaming your parents for steering you in the wrong direction; the moment you are old enough to take the wheel, responsibility lies with you. What is more, I cannot criticise my parents for hoping that I would never experience poverty. They had been poor themselves, and I have since been poor, and I quite agree with them that it is not an ennobling experience. Poverty entails fear, and stress, and sometimes depression; it means a thousand petty humiliations and hardships. Climbing out of poverty by your own efforts, that is indeed something on which to pride yourself, but poverty itself is romanticised only by fools.

What I feared most for myself at your age was not poverty, but failure.

At your age, in spite of a distinct lack of motivation at university, where I had spent far too long in the coffee bar writing stories, and far too little time at lectures, I had a knack for passing examinations, and that, for years, had been the measure of success in my life and that of my peers.

I am not dull enough to suppose that because you are young, gifted and well-educated, you have never known hardship or heartbreak. Talent and intelligence never yet inoculated anyone against the caprice of the Fates, and I do not for a moment suppose that everyone here has enjoyed an existence of unruffled privilege and contentment.

However, the fact that you are graduating from Harvard suggests that you are not very well-acquainted with failure. You might be driven by a fear of failure quite as much as a desire for success. Indeed, your conception of failure might not be too far from the average person’s idea of success, so high have you already flown academically.

Ultimately, we all have to decide for ourselves what constitutes failure, but the world is quite eager to give you a set of criteria if you let it. So I think it fair to say that by any conventional measure, a mere seven years after my graduation day, I had failed on an epic scale. An exceptionally short-lived marriage had imploded, and I was jobless, a lone parent, and as poor as it is possible to be in modern Britain, without being homeless. The fears my parents had had for me, and that I had had for myself, had both come to pass, and by every usual standard, I was the biggest failure I knew.

Now, I am not going to stand here and tell you that failure is fun. That period of my life was a dark one, and I had no idea that there was going to be what the press has since represented as a kind of fairy tale resolution. I had no idea how far the tunnel extended, and for a long time, any light at the end of it was a hope rather than a reality.

So why do I talk about the benefits of failure? Simply because failure meant a stripping away of the inessential. I stopped pretending to myself that I was anything other than what I was, and began to direct all my energy into finishing the only work that mattered to me. Had I really succeeded at anything else, I might never have found the determination to succeed in the one arena I believed I truly belonged. I was set free, because my greatest fear had already been realised, and I was still alive, and I still had a daughter whom I adored, and I had an old typewriter and a big idea. And so rock bottom became the solid foundation on which I rebuilt my life.

You might never fail on the scale I did, but some failure in life is inevitable. It is impossible to live without failing at something, unless you live so cautiously that you might as well not have lived at all - in which case, you fail by default.

Failure gave me an inner security that I had never attained by passing examinations. Failure taught me things about myself that I could have learned no other way. I discovered that I had a strong will, and more discipline than I had suspected; I also found out that I had friends whose value was truly above rubies.

The knowledge that you have emerged wiser and stronger from setbacks means that you are, ever after, secure in your ability to survive. You will never truly know yourself, or the strength of your relationships, until both have been tested by adversity. Such knowledge is a true gift, for all that it is painfully won, and it has been worth more to me than any qualification I ever earned.

Given a time machine or a Time Turner, I would tell my 21-year-old self that personal happiness lies in knowing that life is not a check-list of acquisition or achievement. Your qualifications, your CV, are not your life, though you will meet many people of my age and older who confuse the two. Life is difficult, and complicated, and beyond anyone’s total control, and the humility to know that will enable you to survive its vicissitudes.

You might think that I chose my second theme, the importance of imagination, because of the part it played in rebuilding my life, but that is not wholly so. Though I will defend the value of bedtime stories to my last gasp, I have learned to value imagination in a much broader sense. Imagination is not only the uniquely human capacity to envision that which is not, and therefore the fount of all invention and innovation. In its arguably most transformative and revelatory capacity, it is the power that enables us to empathise with humans whose experiences we have never shared.

One of the greatest formative experiences of my life preceded Harry Potter, though it informed much of what I subsequently wrote in those books. This revelation came in the form of one of my earliest day jobs. Though I was sloping off to write stories during my lunch hours, I paid the rent in my early 20s by working in the research department at Amnesty International’s headquarters in London.

There in my little office I read hastily scribbled letters smuggled out of totalitarian regimes by men and women who were risking imprisonment to inform the outside world of what was happening to them. I saw photographs of those who had disappeared without trace, sent to Amnesty by their desperate families and friends. I read the testimony of torture victims and saw pictures of their injuries. I opened handwritten, eye-witness accounts of summary trials and executions, of kidnappings and rapes.

Many of my co-workers were ex-political prisoners, people who had been displaced from their homes, or fled into exile, because they had the temerity to think independently of their government. Visitors to our office included those who had come to give information, or to try and find out what had happened to those they had been forced to leave behind.

I shall never forget the African torture victim, a young man no older than I was at the time, who had become mentally ill after all he had endured in his homeland. He trembled uncontrollably as he spoke into a video camera about the brutality inflicted upon him. He was a foot taller than I was, and seemed as fragile as a child. I was given the job of escorting him to the Underground Station afterwards, and this man whose life had been shattered by cruelty took my hand with exquisite courtesy, and wished me future happiness.

And as long as I live I shall remember walking along an empty corridor and suddenly hearing, from behind a closed door, a scream of pain and horror such as I have never heard since. The door opened, and the researcher poked out her head and told me to run and make a hot drink for the young man sitting with her. She had just given him the news that in retaliation for his own outspokenness against his country’s regime, his mother had been seized and executed.

Every day of my working week in my early 20s I was reminded how incredibly fortunate I was, to live in a country with a democratically elected government, where legal representation and a public trial were the rights of everyone.

Every day, I saw more evidence about the evils humankind will inflict on their fellow humans, to gain or maintain power. I began to have nightmares, literal nightmares, about some of the things I saw, heard and read.

And yet I also learned more about human goodness at Amnesty International than I had ever known before.

Amnesty mobilises thousands of people who have never been tortured or imprisoned for their beliefs to act on behalf of those who have. The power of human empathy, leading to collective action, saves lives, and frees prisoners. Ordinary people, whose personal well-being and security are assured, join together in huge numbers to save people they do not know, and will never meet. My small participation in that process was one of the most humbling and inspiring experiences of my life.

Unlike any other creature on this planet, humans can learn and understand, without having experienced. They can think themselves into other people’s minds, imagine themselves into other people’s places.

Of course, this is a power, like my brand of fictional magic, that is morally neutral. One might use such an ability to manipulate, or control, just as much as to understand or sympathise.

And many prefer not to exercise their imaginations at all. They choose to remain comfortably within the bounds of their own experience, never troubling to wonder how it would feel to have been born other than they are. They can refuse to hear screams or to peer inside cages; they can close their minds and hearts to any suffering that does not touch them personally; they can refuse to know.

I might be tempted to envy people who can live that way, except that I do not think they have any fewer nightmares than I do. Choosing to live in narrow spaces can lead to a form of mental agoraphobia, and that brings its own terrors. I think the willfully unimaginative see more monsters. They are often more afraid.

What is more, those who choose not to empathise may enable real monsters. For without ever committing an act of outright evil ourselves, we collude with it, through our own apathy.

One of the many things I learned at the end of that Classics corridor down which I ventured at the age of 18, in search of something I could not then define, was this, written by the Greek author Plutarch: What we achieve inwardly will change outer reality.

That is an astonishing statement and yet proven a thousand times every day of our lives. It expresses, in part, our inescapable connection with the outside world, the fact that we touch other people’s lives simply by existing.

But how much more are you, Harvard graduates of 2008, likely to touch other people’s lives? Your intelligence, your capacity for hard work, the education you have earned and received, give you unique status, and unique responsibilities. Even your nationality sets you apart. The great majority of you belong to the world’s only remaining superpower. The way you vote, the way you live, the way you protest, the pressure you bring to bear on your government, has an impact way beyond your borders. That is your privilege, and your burden.

If you choose to use your status and influence to raise your voice on behalf of those who have no voice; if you choose to identify not only with the powerful, but with the powerless; if you retain the ability to imagine yourself into the lives of those who do not have your advantages, then it will not only be your proud families who celebrate your existence, but thousands and millions of people whose reality you have helped transform for the better. We do not need magic to change the world, we carry all the power we need inside ourselves already: we have the power to imagine better.

I am nearly finished. I have one last hope for you, which is something that I already had at 21. The friends with whom I sat on graduation day have been my friends for life. They are my children’s godparents, the people to whom I’ve been able to turn in times of trouble, friends who have been kind enough not to sue me when I’ve used their names for Death Eaters. At our graduation we were bound by enormous affection, by our shared experience of a time that could never come again, and, of course, by the knowledge that we held certain photographic evidence that would be exceptionally valuable if any of us ran for Prime Minister.

So today, I can wish you nothing better than similar friendships. And tomorrow, I hope that even if you remember not a single word of mine, you remember those of Seneca, another of those old Romans I met when I fled down the Classics corridor, in retreat from career ladders, in search of ancient wisdom:
As is a tale, so is life: not how long it is, but how good it is, is what matters.
I wish you all very good lives.
Thank you very much.

R-E-S-P-E-C-T

2008-05-29T22:12:00.000-07:00

Why the rest of the world respects the United States so much...

We let monkey men run the country.

And the hardest part / Was letting go, not taking part / Was the hardest part

2008-05-19T13:41:00.000-07:00

I'm a believer that some of the most profound life-changing lessons come in the form of the most mundane experiences.

When I was in high school, I wrote a college essay about the profound experience of shopping for back-to-school clothes. In my mind, that annual family experience captured my family's dynamic, our socio-economic conditions, some of my culturally-infused values, and most importantly, a major life lesson I had come to learn throughout the course of my childhood.

To summarize, in my family, shopping is a bit of a sacred tradition. We were never rich enough to buy new things all the time, so my parents made it a point to avoid the shopping malls altogether. So, when we did go shopping, it was always an experience. We would wake up extra early, get showered and properly dressed (my mom always wore her nicer clothes, my dad would be in khakis and a button-up shirt), and we would spend the day indulging ourselves in material items that we would never be able to afford throughout the year. My brother and I would load up on new clothes for the upcoming school year. We were fortunate to live in Southern California, where the weather stayed pretty consistent and different clothes weren't really needed for different seasons.

Buying clothes would always be a struggle for me, because I was always extremely underweight for my age. Pants would fit around the waist, but would be too short at the ankle. Dresses were a no-go, because I would swim in them. It would be embarrassing to ask for a size '8' when I was actually 12 years old. I would only be able to afford a few select "cool" articles of clothing, because that's all we could really afford. Shopping, as exciting as a family event it was, always left me a little dejected by the time I got home, because nothing would fit quite the way that they should.
It took me years before I could come to accept my body for what it is. I'm still a little too thin, a little too lanky, and extremely flat-chested. But over the years, I learned to find what works for my body, rather than trying to fit my body to what's popular. Finally realizing that I didn't have to wear what everyone else was wearing was one of those profound life lessons about learning to accept and be happy with who I am.

The mundane, yet profound, life lesson I thought of today has to do with my hair. Walking into the office, a colleague noted that my hair looked particularly pretty put up. I had tied my hair up to eat my lunch, without putting much thought into it. I know though that if I try to mimic this hair again, it'll never happen. My hair is just funny like that-- if I try to make it do anything, it just doesn't work. I realized that life is like that too. Planning for it sometimes doesn't do very much. Just trying something, without thinking about it, yields great, unexpected results.

Given this view of the world, I am prone to think a lot about every little interaction and situation, trying to determine if there was a greater lesson to be derived from it. I guess this is what makes me such a serious person most of the time... I'm always thinking and reflecting about life's that has already happened. I figure at some point I'm going to have to let this little obsession go and just let life be, but for now, it's fun to think that everything connects to everything else...

The things you have learned / They sit with you so beautifully

2008-05-12T14:27:00.000-07:00

I'm employed!

Update: 05/13/2008
And... it's official!

2008-05-06T12:22:00.000-07:00

"I want you to feel that Iraqi life is precious."

The US government is finding that negotiating a settlement with Iraqi civilians is harder than they initially thought.

The US is quick to jump to a monetary settlement-- they assume that because they put a price on everything, others will do the same. They want to know if $10,000 to cover the amount the victim would have earned for the family will be enough, or perhaps $400 for the car that was destroyed by the shooting. Assessments of the situation are done, not to really find out what happened, so much as to find out what didn't happen, in case someone tried to file a false claim.

Negotiating a settlement is harder with the Iraqis, than it is with Americans, because they don't want the money first... they want an apology.

... traditional Arab society values honor and decorum above all. If a man kills or badly injures someone in an accident, both families convene a tribal summit. The perpetrator admits responsibility, commiserates with the victim, pays medical expenses and other compensation, all over glasses of tea in a tribal tent.

Funny, to think that that we, the purveyors of Democracy and Justice, would rather slap a price tag on a situation, rather than try to find peace between the parties.

What does it say about American society that we would rather try to settle with money, than by dealing with the situation and the emotional consequences of it? What does this reflect about our ideas of fairness, equity, right and wrong? How is this reflected in our justice system, in our policies?

We are disgusted when a mother is willing to give up her child for money, or the first thing an injured party does is sue the other in a civil case... but what could be expected when this is what all Americans do, whether they are a citizen or a leader?

Who needs keys when we've got clubs? / Who needs please when we've got guns?

2008-05-04T18:17:00.000-07:00

And for that matter, who needs education when you have "national security" issues to consider?

Charter school will focus on homeland security
Thursday, April 3, 2008

The first high school dedicated to preparing students for the front lines in the Nation's homeland security has gone from theory to planning in Wilmington.

The Project Manager for the Delaware Academy for Public Safety and Security, New Castle Attorney Thomas Little, signed a contract with Innovative Schools, a professional firm which will coordinate the mechanics of preparing the school for its eventual opening.

The process to find and fund a site for as many as six-hundred young men and women in Wilmington's inner city is underway.

Curriculum choices for students, who are to be called Cadets, range from SWAT (Special Weapons and Tactics) through prison guard, water rescue, paramedic, fireman, professional demolition and emergency response operator, according to a Board statement.

The first Principal of the institution is to be Dr. Fred Fitzgerald. A retired Captain in the Marine Corps, Fitzgerald teaches English, speech and debate at New Castle Christian Academy. Fitzgerald is also a former executive for Coca Cola in Jacksonville, Florida, and a former Director of Operations for the Port of Wilmington.

On the academic side of the new charter school, parents will agree to attend a monthly meeting at the campus with faculty for progress conferences.

To meet personal curriculum goals, all physically capable cadets are to attend a daily after-school exercise program. In addition, two hours of after-school sports or homeland security training will be available for cadet volunteers.

Yes. Let's make them soldiers instead...
Oh wait, we're already doing that, except we've had that inconvenience of waiting until they were 18 years old to sign them up for the military... Now we can skip that whole silly process of waiting until they are no longer considered minors and just start training them at 14 years of age instead!

Absolutely brilliant.

But metaphors help eliminate what separates you and me...

2008-04-29T11:45:00.000-07:00

"But what I can't stand are hollow people. When I'm with them I just can't bear it, and wind up saying things I shouldn't. With those women-- I should've let it slide, or else called Miss Saeki and let her handle it. She would have given them a smile and smoothed things over. But I just can't do that. I say things I shouldn't say, do things I shouldn't do. I can't control myself. That's one of my weak points. Do you know why that's a weak point of mine?"

"'Cause if you take every single person who lacks much imagination seriously, there's no end to it," I say.

"That's it," Oshima says... "But there's one thing I want you to remember, Kafka. Those are exactly the people who murdered Miss Saekis childhood sweetheart. Narrow minds devoid of imagination. Intolerance, theories cut off from reality, empty terminology, usurped ideals, inflexible systems. Those are the things that really frighten me. What I absolutely fear and loathe. Of course it's important to know what's right and what's wrong. Individual errors in judgment can usually be corrected. As long as you have the courage to admit mistakes, things can be turned around. But intolerant, narrow minds with no imagination are like parasites that transform the host, change form, and continue to thrive. They're a lost cause, and I don't want anyone like that coming in here."

Kafka on the Shore, Haruki Murakami (2002)

I will remember you / Will you remember me?

2008-04-23T17:16:00.000-07:00

Clearly, the United States, or at least the voters of Pennsylvania have not forgotten about once-Republican-sweethearts Mike Huckabee and Ron Paul.

Oh those Republicans. I think they're getting a little jealous that the Democrats are getting all the media attention and they had to figure out a way to get some back. What a better way than to vote for two nominees into the double-digits, despite having a presumptive nominee already? I'm glad to see that the Republicans of Pennsylvania were voting in decent numbers, even though the decision has been made for them by the rest of the country.

I think even bigger kudos should be given to Ron Paul. The underdog of the entire race and he beat out Mike Huckabee! There are 128,467 people who really like Ron Paul in Pennsylvania and made it a point to tell him so!

Worry not Republican hopefuls-- you won't be forgotten too quickly.

... Better late than never, I suppose ...

2008-04-19T19:31:00.001-07:00

Helen DeWitt, Yale Review of Books, Winter 2005

LETTER TO AN UNDERGRADUATE

For a long time I was a trustee of an NGO called Camfed, which raised money for scholarships so girls in Zimbabwe could finish secondary school.

It started out very small. The director, Ann Cotton, had gone to Zimbabwe to do research. She met two girls living on school grounds in a hut they had built, lucky to be there because their family could pay the fees; girls from poor families might be pushed into marriage at 12 or 13 and start having children. She felt she must do something, so she went back to Cambridge and started selling cakes. She would tell friends about the project.

If you’ve ever told friends about something you cared about you will know how risky this is. You explain, say, that girls who miss school often don’t come back at all, and sometimes they miss school out of embarrassment because they have their period and nothing but rags to use. So the program covers all costs – uniform, books, supplies – and it even provides sanitary napkins. Sometimes the friend says, “Here, take this hundred dollars, no no I insist, no wait make that two hundred, no let’s make it five.” And sometimes the friend says, “What a good idea!”
It can be quite discouraging to find out how many of your friends think it’s a good idea.

This was not a very effective form of fundraising, of course, and now they mainly raise money through grant applications.
I was thinking about this when I was asked to write a Letter to an Undergraduate. It’s easy to see that talent is being squandered if a 13-year-old drops out of school, permanently, for want of a Kotex. Maybe it’s not so easy to see talent being squandered in an undergraduate.

There is a simple little idea of school, which is that the student is taught and assessed by qualified persons. Education = classes + assignments + exams. This can allow for wonderful things: the excitement of curiosity, advances in intellectual sophistication and rigor, introduction to disciplines of great explanatory power. But it can’t, by definition, offer the experience of working without surveillance.

The concept of missing a class is pretty straightforward. There isn’t really a ooncept for missing something not tied to a class. The need for big blocks of time for independent reading (or other work) isn’t recognized; there are simply blocks of time (vacations) which are defined as times when the undergraduate is not receiving instruction. If you have a vacation job you are spending about 30% of your time fundraising, but it doesn’t matter because an undergraduate just is someone whose intellectual development is tied to the class.

Newton laid the foundations for his work in mathematics, optics, and physics during an enforced absence from Cambridge (closed down because of the plague). Some of his university work was useful, some not; it was the block of time without interruptions that allowed him to follow his obsessions, taking what was useful as a basis for work of startling originality. The present system guarantees the conditions of Newton’s study of Gassendi while leaving the discovery of gravity in the lap of the gods.

It is a system which likewise leaves no space for connecting powerful theoretical work, such as that of Amartya Sen on famine and entitlements, with the world it was meant to change.
[. . .] represents a writer’s block of several days, Undergraduate, or rather whatever it is that has led to 100 unfinished novels in Documents. “Stand By Me” is playing on radio station in Keene, NH. I think I should reread Sterne’s Chapter on Hobbyhorses.

My copy of The Internet and Everyone is 500 miles away. My copy of Lang’s Astrophysical Formulae is 500 miles away. Tufte’s Envisioning Information is 500 miles away. I do have Reynaud Camus’s Tricks, Pierre Moron’s Le suicide, and Calvino’s Le città invisibili. I have a book that states: For each of those two points, the strictly concave indifference curve of the principal is tangent to the zero rent isoutility curve of the corresponding type.” My copy of Cavendish on Whist is 500 miles away. Why not start Opus 101? Well anyway.

We live at a time of relentless specialization. We can see just how far this has gone when we look at what it takes to fight back. The spectacular Astrophysical Formulae explains a dazzling array of equations and constants, including bibliographical references for the research that produced them – and that’s what it takes if research is not to be incomprehensible even to those in the field if they are not already specialists in the subject.

What we see much more of, though, is the strategy of C.S. Lewis, commenting on Milton’s preference of Hebrew lyric to Greek: “…the rest of us, whose Greek is amateurish and who have no Hebrew, must leave Milton to discuss the question with his peers.”
This passage made me rabid when I read it in my first year at Oxford. The entire educational establishment of the Anglophone world had ignored the advice of Milton, one of the greatest poets in the language – and that was why I had had to start Greek at 18, and learn Hebrew independently, instead of getting started at the age of 9. It’s not that anyone had sat down and read Greek and Hebrew poetry and decided that Milton was a poor deluded fool; they had devised the elementary school program from a state of ignorance. And here was CSL comfortably sanctioning this philistinism.

If you know either language at all you will know at once that Lewis is misleading his audience. A couple of hand-outs, one with an introduction to the Greek alphabet and a walk through a Greek poems, the other with comparable assistance for Hebrew, would at least have given readers the chance of experiencing Milton’s first shock of delight. Ignorance is a design problem (which could now be solved with intelligent use of Envisioning Information), not a gauge of linguistic or literary ability.

Design problem solved, readers could decide whether they would like to know more of one, either, or neither language, instead of relying on someone else’s preferences, whether those of Lewis or Milton or anyone else. But then, design problem solved, children could easily discover such inclinations or disinclinations early on. The parochialism that has become so deadly would find no foothold.

Undergraduates are embedded in a maddening system, one which presents impossible choices because so many were made on their behalf. The frustration this causes – especially when so much money is at stake – is self-evident. But perhaps the undergraduate is the solution to the problem.

Because disciplines are so highly specialized, they change rapidly. Keeping up and contributing already take more time than is left from teaching, grant applications, and administration. Borrowing from other fields is confined to the state of play when a specialist was an undergraduate. Segregation is not strict – there are reviews in the NYRB, there is contact with other disciplines through bridge or poker or tennis, through synagogue, church, or mosque, through friends or family or significant other. (Has structural anthropology really had its day?) But the undergraduate is the only one who systematically engages with a range of disciplines as they are understood right now.

The hand-outs mentioned above could be prepared for uninformed lecturers by any competent undergraduate studying the languages. Most information is less easily transferable – it may require an understanding of what it is in Field A that might be important and interesting to someone in Field B when those in Field A think Field B is a total waste of time and vice versa. O zero rent isoutility curve, where art thou?

A repository for instruction, a source of papers to be marked, Undergraduate must be one whose absence is necessary for serious work. No wonder no one cares what Undergraduate does in this work-conducive absence. No wonder Undergraduate gets no funding to go beyond what’s taught. The system is prey to a kind of collective learned helplessness, and Undergraduate is at the bottom of the heap. New game.

Camfed is famous in development circles. The explosive political situation in Zimbabwe forced most aid agencies to close down their projects – they were dependent on foreign staff, who had to be evacuated. But Camfed had not only left day-to-day management to local groups; it had set up an association of graduates of the program. It has been able to keep going through famine, terror, and exponential inflation because of the courage and obstinacy of young women in their late teens and early twenties. Education ministers across Africa want more of the same.

Meanwhile, you’re the crème de la crème. Shouldn’t you have a voice? I’ll be a lot of people will think it would be a really good idea.
Don’t get mad. Read Laffont and Martimort, The Theory of Incentives – and get even.

Mee mee mee mee...

2008-04-14T21:54:00.000-07:00

I might, just might, take this an alternative for my dream to have a day as a musical.

I apologize for not having more substantive entries. It's just been one of those weeks.

How you gonna fix it... fix it... fix it...

2008-04-07T15:13:00.000-07:00

I hate it when I have songs stuck in my head because it takes a lot of effort to get them un-stuck.
I hate it even more when they're terrible songs like Danity Kane's "Fix it" (or whatever it's called) because I made the mistake of listening to KIIS instead of KPCC.

Because I'm distracted today, while making significant progress on my work (draft of letter written + on tab 5 of the enormous workshop book + responding to emails in a timely fashion), I figured writing here while at work wouldn't be a bad idea.

I secretly hope that no one at my placements ever checks my Internet usage, because I will be embarassed to find how much time I spend on random blogs and useless websites. It will kill my reputation that I am always on task :\

Either ways, in the attempt to distract you as well, I give you these... the Spin-Offs of the ever-so-beloved "Stuff White People Like"
In no particular order of preference:

1. Stuff Educated Black People Like
2. Stuff Black People Like
3. Stuff Asian People Like
4. Stuff Latin People Like
5. Stuff Straight People Like
6. Stuff Queer People Like
7. Stuff Desi People Like

I have yet to find one for Arabs, Native Americans, Indigenous Peoples... the list goes on and on, so if you find any, let me know.

Here I am and I stand so tall, just the way I'm supposed to be.

2008-04-02T23:14:00.000-07:00

There's this episode from Sex and the City when Carrie (Sarah Jessica Parker's character) meets her to-be-boyfriend-in-the-coming-episodes Jack Berger (played by the fabulous Ron Livingston). He collects found playing cards, noting that once you find one you can't help but notice the rest of them.

Simple idea-- having your awareness grow and then suddenly feeling like what you became aware of is just everywhere.

I was one of those people who hasn't had a lot of people pass away in his/her lifetime. The only person I was close to was my grandfather and he and I didn't really have much of a relationship. He passed away when I was seven years old and while I didn't quite understand what was happening, I knew that I was supposed to be upset and quiet. I have a vague memory of seeing my mom sobbing from behind the door, although I didn't understand why because as a father-in-law, he wasn't particularly welcoming to her.

But, between the ages of 7-22 death kept its distance from my life.

Now, in 2008, it's the only thing that I can notice.
A few days before my birthday I got a call early in the morning telling me a classmate of mine from college had died early in the morning. There were few details and no one really knew, so I was stuck with a piece of information that was unconfirmed and just... there.
Last week I called another friend to make plans for dinner only to find out that his grandmother had passed away the day before.
The last week of March marked the anniversary of the Iraq War, as well as the 4,000th American death of the war.
This week, East Los Angeles has been rocked by a series of homicides that appear unrelated and just utterly tragic.

And what I realize from all of this is that I haven't really been taught to deal with any of this. Mourning for people I barely know feels inappropriate. But, continuing without thinking about their life (whether I knew about it or not) also feels disrespectful. I couldn't help but feel like I was spitting on the face of the people who passed away, as I got up, got ready, and laughed my way through the day.

Where does the balance lie?

For the first time in a long time, I want to stop and just think. I want everything to wash over me and I want to deal with it. But, of course, this is also the time when I don't have the luxury of stopping. Coro will end in a month and a half and I will be set upon the city of Los Angeles to do what I will. And, as they say, life goes on and we need to go with it...

So, where does the balance lie?

These all feel like such elementary questions and thoughts, but I don't know of many people who have a solid response to any of it...

You make me complete / You make me completely miserable...

2008-03-30T20:15:00.000-07:00

The boo's are audible...

In other news, Texas was declared for Obama.
The superdelegate count is evening out, with only a 32-vote difference between Clinton and Obama (Clinton still has the lead there).

And Easter candy is on MAD sale at Target. So, make sure to hit it up!

I think I'm turning Japanese / I really think so...

2008-03-26T16:56:00.000-07:00

Granted, not the most political of posts (I have some thoughts floating around in my head, so they're coming), but definitely interesting.

http://supacat.livejournal.com/111072.html

I believe that it speaks to more than just Japanese cultural differences-- I think it's true for Koreans as well, but then again, I might be confusing my Korean roots for my Japanese-laden childhood.

Either ways, I think it explains a lot.

(as for the song lyrics, I think the song is hilarious, but simultaneously horrifying. Does this make me a bad person?)

... I don't even know where to begin with this one ...

2008-03-25T12:02:00.000-07:00

I don't even know where to start with this one. Granted, I understand there are people who would not warm up to the ideas surrounding race that Barack Obama spoke of, but... seriously? Pat Buchanan's ultimate question is, "Where's the gratitude?"

(?!?!?!)

If anyone ever needed an example of implicit racism... well, here folks, HERE IT IS.

For your reading (dis)pleasure:

PJB: A Brief for Whitey
By Patrick J. Buchanan

How would he pull it off? I wondered.

How would Barack explain to his press groupies why he sat silent in a pew for 20 years as the Rev. Jeremiah Wright delivered racist rants against white America for our maligning of Fidel and Gadhafi, and inventing AIDS to infect and kill black people?

How would he justify not walking out as Wright spewed his venom about “the U.S. of K.K.K. America,” and howled, “God damn America!”

My hunch was right. Barack would turn the tables.

Yes, Barack agreed, Wright’s statements were “controversial,” and “divisive,” and “racially charged,” reflecting a “distorted view of America.”

But we must understand the man in full and the black experience out of which the Rev. Wright came: 350 years of slavery and segregation.

Barack then listed black grievances and informed us what white America must do to close the racial divide and heal the country.

The “white community,” said Barack, must start “acknowledging that what ails the African-American community does not just exist in the minds of black people; that the legacy of discrimination — and current incidents of discrimination, while less overt than in the past — are real and must be addressed. Not just with words, but with deeds … .”

And what deeds must we perform to heal ourselves and our country?

The “white community” must invest more money in black schools and communities, enforce civil rights laws, ensure fairness in the criminal justice system and provide this generation of blacks with “ladders of opportunity” that were “unavailable” to Barack’s and the Rev. Wright’s generations.

What is wrong with Barack’s prognosis and Barack’s cure?

Only this. It is the same old con, the same old shakedown that black hustlers have been running since the Kerner Commission blamed the riots in Harlem, Watts, Newark, Detroit and a hundred other cities on, as Nixon put it, “everybody but the rioters themselves.”

Was “white racism” really responsible for those black men looting auto dealerships and liquor stories, and burning down their own communities, as Otto Kerner said — that liberal icon until the feds put him away for bribery.

Barack says we need to have a conversation about race in America.

Fair enough. But this time, it has to be a two-way conversation. White America needs to be heard from, not just lectured to.

This time, the Silent Majority needs to have its convictions, grievances and demands heard. And among them are these:

First, America has been the best country on earth for black folks. It was here that 600,000 black people, brought from Africa in slave ships, grew into a community of 40 million, were introduced to Christian salvation, and reached the greatest levels of freedom and prosperity blacks have ever known.

Wright ought to go down on his knees and thank God he is an American.

Second, no people anywhere has done more to lift up blacks than white Americans. Untold trillions have been spent since the ’60s on welfare, food stamps, rent supplements, Section 8 housing, Pell grants, student loans, legal services, Medicaid, Earned Income Tax Credits and poverty programs designed to bring the African-American community into the mainstream. Governments, businesses and colleges have engaged in discrimination against white folks — with affirmative action, contract set-asides and quotas — to advance black applicants over white applicants.

Churches, foundations, civic groups, schools and individuals all over America have donated time and money to support soup kitchens, adult education, day care, retirement and nursing homes for blacks.

We hear the grievances. Where is the gratitude?

Barack talks about new “ladders of opportunity” for blacks.

Let him go to Altoona and Johnstown, and ask the white kids in Catholic schools how many were visited lately by Ivy League recruiters handing out scholarships for “deserving” white kids.
Is white America really responsible for the fact that the crime and incarceration rates for African-Americans are seven times those of white America? Is it really white America’s fault that illegitimacy in the African-American community has hit 70 percent and the black dropout rate from high schools in some cities has reached 50 percent?

Is that the fault of white America or, first and foremost, a failure of the black community itself?
As for racism, its ugliest manifestation is in interracial crime, and especially interracial crimes of violence. Is Barack Obama aware that while white criminals choose black victims 3 percent of the time, black criminals choose white victims 45 percent of the time?

Is Barack aware that black-on-white rapes are 100 times more common than the reverse, that black-on-white robberies were 139 times as common in the first three years of this decade as the reverse?

We have all heard ad nauseam from the Rev. Al about Tawana Brawley, the Duke rape case and Jena. And all turned out to be hoaxes. But about the epidemic of black assaults on whites that are real, we hear nothing.

Sorry, Barack, some of us have heard it all before, about 40 years and 40 trillion tax dollars ago.

Don't speak / I know what you're thinking

2008-03-24T13:24:00.001-07:00

Speak
Faiz Ahmed Faiz

Speak – your lips are free
Speak – your tongue is still yours.
This magnificent body
Is still yours
Speak – your life is still yours.
Look inside the smithy –
Leaping flames, red-hot iron.
Padlocks open wide
Their jaws.
Chains disintegrate.
Speak – there is little time
But little though it is
It is enough.
Time enough
Before the body perishes –
Before the tongue atrophies.
Speak – truth still lives.
Say what you have
To say.

Lisa, you're teeth are big and green / Lisa, you smell like gasoline

2008-03-18T09:44:00.000-07:00

What a morning...

It began with some good advice from my mother:
Just brush aside all those little annoyances and stresses and have a wonderful day!

And then about fifteen different annoyances as I tried to get to work...
For example, leaving my phone in my room (after having spoken to my mom) and realizing this about a 1/3 of the way to work and having to turn around to get it.
Then getting to work and realizing that I left my phone in my car while I was getting coffee across the street.
Then spilling a bit of coffee on my pants (because you know... I'm a big klutz).

I'm waiting to fall on my face this morning or something, because it just feels like one of those days...

But, other than that, it's been a lot of happy birthday text messages, so who can complain?

And adhering to my mom's advice, I'm just letting all the little hiccups this morning just fall to the wayside.

Here's to a better year. It's been a rough start, but you know what? 23 years ago, I wasn't even breathing on my own until this point, so I'm going to disqualify all of the bad things that have happened thus far and start anew.
Happier thoughts.
Happier outcomes.
Happier everything.

Don't stop believin' / Hold on to the feelin'

2008-03-16T23:23:00.000-07:00

Last night went a little bit like this:

Calm.
PANIC!
More PANIC!
Drink.
Drink.
Drink.
Drink.
PANIC!
Drink.
Drink.
DANNNNNNCE!
Drink and DANNNNNNNCE!
Pass out.

Thanks friends for making it a night that I can't remember.
I basically have the greatest friends in the world. One flew out to see me from DC. Three drove in from San Diego. Others stood in line FOREVER to get into the club. One helped me secure the club for cheap, cheap, cheap. Others held my hand when I started to panic. Others made sure I got my money back at the end of the night. Others showed up, even though it isn't their scene. Others shifted work schedules to make it on time.

Yup. Best friends a girl could have. And they're MINE. ALL MINE.

I wish I could remember more of the night, but I guess it was funner for everyone that I didn't.

Yay birthdays.

But since I came here / felt the joy and the fear / find myself making every possible mistake

2008-03-06T23:49:00.001-08:00

I've done it.
I've faced my fear (well, one of many).

I will be waking up extra early tomorrow to print out my application, resume, and work sample and mail it off to one job announcement (before heading into a Critical Race Studies symposium) and I've just emailed off another cover letter and resume to another job announcement.

If you don't know, this process has been absolutely frightening. Something about having to actually advocate for myself and overcome my weird lack-of-self-confidence... it's tough. I'm constantly on the phone with friends (or pestering my roommate) to keep me on track and not let myself fall into that rabbit hole (you know, where you keep falling... and falling... only to come out a little dusty, chasing after a white rabbit that represents your hopes and future... dramatic enough for you?).

But I did it!
and you know what? YES I CAN (get a job)!

//

And for the wonky ones:
a map

Haven't felt like this, my dear / Since I can't remember when / Its been a long, long time

2008-03-06T00:09:00.001-08:00

Another week, another placement.

This time, it's the with Community Redevelopment Agency of Los Angeles and can I say I think I'm in love?

Being the planning nerd (as well as a chronic lover of Los Angeles) I am, I was heartbroken when I didn't get the CRA placement during the government rotation. However, our love prevailed and I was united with the CRA for my individual project and can I say it's magical.

Reasons Why I Love the CRA:
1. The Central Office is in the Banco Popular Building. In the heart of the Old Bank District in downtown LA, it's a beautiful old building. And it's next to amazing cafes and restaurants where I actually go out and eat during my lunch hour! (For those of you who don't know, I rarely take lunch hours because I hate eating by myself.)
2. Materials produced by the CRA are aesthetically well-designed. I mean, color combinations, layouts, everything. Even the budget looks incredible. THE BUDGET.
3. The bathroom actually smells good. I don't know exactly what it smells like, but something about it... you walk in and you're actually pleasantly surprised!
4. I'm surrounded by incredibly competent people, who are dedicated to their work, and the work environment is extremely diverse.
5. The CEO is amazing. I love her. I totally have a crush on her. I want to BE her. She's this very fierce, very intelligent, woman who can command a room with a seriousness and a lightness all at the same time. When she came on board as the CEO, the first thing she did was go and meet all the staff to understand the work that they are doing and build their buy-in to the decision making process. She seems very community-oriented and I truly believe in the direction she is taking the CRA and redevelopment in general for the city of Los Angeles.

Yeah, you can say that I'm a fan.

I'm actually looking forward to the 100 hour board meeting tomorrow morning. Can you believe it?
I told her this afternoon that I actually look forward to getting up and doing the drive to come to work. Haha. Yeah, I know, I'm a total nerd, but you know what? I accept it. For once, I'm in a place where my GIS-loving-appreciation-for-data-in-pretty-form is an asset, rather than a reason to tease me (okay, that still happens, but I know it's out of love).

Being in downtown again just revitalized my love for this city and reminded me all the great things that can happen here.
Oh LA, I knew we couldn't be apart for too long...

//

And to share: a little local story... My friend. He may not look it, but he's actually pretty cool :)

This this sinking boat and point it home / We've still got time

2008-02-24T19:27:00.000-08:00

If anyone says that the war isn't going on back home, they are wrong and I have the pictures to prove it.

If you drive out near Barstow and you look really carefully, you'll find the sign to Fort Irwin, an army post. At Fort Irwin, if you make it past the guard posts without being killed (or turned around) and drive about another 40 minutes into the desert you might, if you're lucky, hit several fake Iraqi or Afghani towns. The National Training Center is one of the last training centers for army troops before they are deployed overseas for battle. They simulate real battle conditions for soldiers, technicians, and every other warm body that is shipped off. They allow civilians to be on base to act as embedded media.

I, instead of rolling on the ground trying to shrapnel while infantry troops knocked down the doors in a small Iraqi village, spent my time roaming around a very calm base with some members of the Aviation crew trying to get soldiers to talk to me.

It took a lot to get through this weekend. I'm uncomfortable with the military and that's putting it mildly. The fact that they recruit mostly from poor communities and communities of color to go and impose policy through brute force upon other nations is only part of it. They build and perpetuate a certain kind of personality and mindset amongst people-- do what you are told, without question, regardless of what the consequences of your actions might be. Given these things in mind, walking onto a room buzzing with soldiers at midnight and then being escorted into a tent with only male soldiers, this weekend wasn't looking too good.

But, as is the Coro way, you suck it up and start asking questions.
Soldiers are trained not to answer. The lower ranking soldiers are so good at this that they barely talk to you if not pushed. The more experienced soldiers and officers know how to gauge civilians, so they'll talk you around in circles before you realize that you might not be getting the real story. This is all true, IF you aren't talking to a Coro Fellow (haha. I'm joking. Okay, not really.)

What I learned this weekend:
- A shocking number of people join the military for the benefits
- They're KIDS. Many join immediately after high school and the most experienced are still under 40 years old...
- They marry early (and meet their spouses in strange and quick ways)
- The guys are like stupid teenage boys that like to punk each other (and drink way too much)

It was hard not to walk away from the base feeling a sadness that these young women and men are going to be deployed in only a few months, facing death and causing it.
This weekend was a lesson in distinguishing the person from the action. I sat across the table from the mechanics who will fix and maintain the Apache helicopters that will drop missiles in a country that is already in shambles because of our actions from a decade and a half before. And those mechanics? They're just... kids.

It was a surreal experience that frequently crossed between dream world and real world. As easy as it was to see that the simulation was not real, it was hard not to forget that it is happening and has been happening half-way across the world.

Now I've just gotten rambly and I apologize.
I guess I'm still just thinking...

Twinkle, twinkle little star...

2008-02-18T20:59:00.001-08:00

Is it pathetic that I'm genuinely disappointed that I might miss the lunar eclipse on Wednesday night? It's supposed to be a reddish hue this time around, but unfortunately for us West Coasters, it'll occur at moonrise (between the hours of 7:00pm - 7:52pm on Wednesday), so it probably won't be visible to most people. I will also be in a meeting, so whether or not it was a clear night, I wouldn't be able to see it.

Oh well. There goes NerdFest 2008...

NerdFest 2007 was last summer, the night of another lunar eclipse. My friends and I stayed until 3am or so to drive out to the middle of Malibu, where there aren't any streetlights. We parked on the side of the road (after having to change the tire because we got a flat), laid out a few blankets on the car, and drank a few beers (microbrew!) while we waited for the eclipse to happen. It was absolutely gorgeous and we all got to delight in our nerdiness together.

I'm not too sad though. NerdFest 2008 wouldn't be the same with the usual suspects. Who would I talk about umbra's with?

She's a smooth operator...

2008-02-17T21:48:00.000-08:00

I have spent the last two days brokering a relationship between two warring and uncommunicative parties. It required me to lay out a common language for the two parties to actually communicate and share information with one another; involving the expertise of others on how to ensure a successful union; and at times, craftily manipulating both without their awareness.

Pretty good for someone who is getting over the plague.

What could she possibly be talking about, you may be asking.
Let me translate for you who do not know about the fine art of international negotiation...

Trying to make a PC and a Mac talk to one another is close to impossible.
First of all, Microsoft is nearly incompatible with Apple. Outlook doesn't like Entourage, even though both are Microsoft programs. Outlook doesn't like Apple Mail. Or Address Book. Or iCal. Microsoft Outlook, actually, hates almost everything and everyone. That means having to use another program to take what Outlook has (which is everything, because once you start using Outlook it controls your email, your calendar, your contacts, your tasks list, everything). But, once you have that program talking to Outlook it doesn't mean that program will happily talk to Microsoft Entourage (a mail client primarily for Macs). No, no, no... that would be too easy! That would be too civil. Instead, first program must now speak to program number two in order to get one piece of the original information. The information must now be split between three other programs and they really aren't talking to each other. No, it's like having two feuding 12-year olds-- one plugs up her ears as soon as the other begins speaking, leaving about half the statements to float into nothingness.

Given all of this (and given the fact that I managed to conquer some/most of it), I consider this a pretty successful weekend.

TAKE THAT plague.

//

And to give another update on the hamster, Belly is running furiously in her wheel, stopping every so often to check her increased strength by stretching all the way towards the top, to see if she's gotten any closer to the top of the cage where the opening is.
Clever little bastard.

Doing things is what I like to do...

2008-02-15T21:52:00.000-08:00

Up until college I was surrounded by some of the most ambitious people I have ever met. By the age of 13, my friends and I were already competing to get into advanced programs and yes, even college. I actually once almost had a fall-out with a friend because I didn't want her to take the same entrance exam that I wanted to take for an early entrance program. Yes, I (we) were that crazy. By the eighth grade, my friends and I were breaking the rules, taking more high school classes than middle school grade classes. We were competing at local, county, and state science fairs.

High school was a lot of the same. I went to a pretty "elite" high school, where you entered only upon application during one's eighth grade year. We began with about 160 students, of cohorts of 30+ students. No one else entered our class. You either made it to graduation or you were kindly asked to leave within the three years preceding it. While a nurturing environment, everyone there was competing for a top at the nation's top universities.

By college, I finally had a chance to mellow out. I think the level of competitiveness I developed by the age of 18 was verging on... well... mental distress. I had my share of good friends, but by no means was I an easy person to work with. (If you think I'm intense now, just think I WAS back then.) College was the time to try and find a balance between succeeding and not destroying other people-- yes it was that sick of a binary at one point.

In my attempt to find that balance, I fear I may have lost my competitive edge entirely. I care about doing my best most of the time, but I don't care about being the best. It seems meaningless to even try anymore. I generally find people who are much better than me (usually standing next to me...) and I am quick to spot out the points where I could have done better. I actually take that back, I think that I don't even care about doing my best anymore. I've come to a point of complacency, where I've figured out that my "okay" is pretty good in comparison, so I can keep getting away with being "okay."

I'm like that lazy underachiever with so much potential, that would do so well, if only... she would try.
Except, I'm like this after having BEEN the kid with so much potential and overachievement.
I'm definitely a little backwards...

A part of me thinks it might be the fact that I'm not surrounded by the same kind of people anymore. While my friends back then used to speak of grandiose projects and ambitions, my friends now are much more reserved about their dreams. My friends are incredibly talented and I am certain they will be leading their fields, if they aren't already. It's just that... well, now, we don't talk about it. I guess it doesn't make for polite conversation. But the silence on future aspirations has made me a bit... complacent I guess. Not hearing much from my friends has led me to not think much about my own plans.

So friends.
Inspire me.
Tell me what you want to do.
I don't want to go back to those days of intense, cut-throat competition (I certainly don't desire that), but I do want to be inspired to reach for more than what appears to be in front of me.
I want to have conversations about how you (even better we!) are going to change the world and leave (y)our mark.

Because we're fully capable of doing that, aren't we?

//

On a completely different note, my hamster Belly is either brilliant or suicidal. She is on this mission to escape her cage. Now, the only way to escape her cage is to go up, so she's been trying to climb on top of her wheel to get towards the top.
I say that she's either brilliant or suicidal, because she is brilliant in her ability to get on top of the wheel; she's suicidal because if she DOES figure a way out, she's probably gonna die...

Thursday I don't care about you / It's Friday, I'm in love

2008-02-14T10:44:00.000-08:00

My dad woke me up this morning with a call to check in on me in all my sickliness and after convincing him that I'm not that sick and that I'm old enough to take care of myself, this conversation occurred:

Dad: So, are you expecting any chocolates or flowers today from guys?
Me: Uh... no...
Dad: What?! None of those guys you work with or have done projects with are getting you anything???
Me: (nervous laughter) No... well, my best friend Devon is sending me flowers from Albania...
Dad: Alright, tell all those guys to line up in front of the store in Compton... In their underwear! I'm going to kick their ass!
Me: Uh...
Dad: Don't make me round them up!
Me: (nervous laughter) Alright dad. I love you.
Dad: Happy Valentine's Day. I love you!

My dad is the greatest.
I would love to see his 55-year old self kick some 20-something ass.
(And for any of you who thinks he wouldn't do it, you don't know my dad. Where do you think I get my fighting spirit from?)

If you are chilly, here take my sweater / Your head is aching, I'll make it better

2008-02-13T19:10:00.000-08:00

I've been quarantined to my apartment for the last two days by my supervisor. With a staff of three, it is better to have me laid up in bed than risk getting everyone else sick.

I've never really taken time off from work. I've had laryngitis and still gone in-- not an easy task when your supervisor's favorite thing to do is ask questions that require long, well-thought out responses. In between sweating out my fever and putzing about the house looking for something to eat, I've been feeling very guilty about not being in the office and not doing anything particularly productive. I think what's making everything worse is that I'm pretty exhausted, in general, due to Coro, so sleeping all day hasn't been much of a problem for me.

I can't really remember the last time I was actually bed-ridden when I was sick. I'm not sure if I have a super immune system or if I'm just generally sickly so I don't notice, but I'm usually able to get around pretty well whether I'm sick or not. Granted, I'm probably not that pleasant to be around with my snottiness, but I managed to pull through. But this time, my entire body just ached. At some point I got myself into the shower and it hurt to have the water hit my skin. Now, I'm just down to a jarring headache that gets activated every time I cough. And, I have my appetite back.

Hooray.

Now, the question is, what do I eat?

She's a maniac / maniac on the floor

2008-02-11T22:15:00.000-08:00

Note to self: Do not take an early flight in from Vegas after two straight nights of partying and drinking to go work at a non-profit with a very demanding supervisor.

Time is funny in that you can completely warp it as you please, if you're clever enough. This weekend, for example, your standard 2-day weekend, somehow turned into many, many days. In the span of two days I managed to:

- Attend a three hour training on accountability and consensus-building
- Fly to Vegas
- Consume copious amounts of alcohol, both in daylight and in night-light
- Shop
- Get excited about the progress of the Obama campaign after Saturday's primaries
- Get typically undrunk people VERY drunk

It feels like a whole other world... that's for sure. My body has still yet to recover and is craving food and sleep, both of which were a near impossibility up until the very moment. So, hooray for my own bed and Korean sushi rolls!

On a completely different note, who else is excited about tomorrow's primaries? After this kick that Obama has been on... it's hard not to be excited still! I spent most of my day making labels and listening to the Will.I.Am song, "Yes We Can" and looking up old speeches by Obama on YouTube. It's so interesting to hear his 2004 DNC speech now... he begins by saying something like, "I'm not supposed to be standing up here." I remember exactly where I was when I first heard that speech and just getting the chills. It happened again this second time. I want to see him get the nomination, just to see him on that stage again and to see what he would say about that speech 4 years ago.

After Super Tuesday, I've been grappling with the humbling realization that I have much to learn and what I thought was a sharp political acumen is not very... well, sharp. I both over and under estimate the voting public and I still have yet to understand what really makes them tick. I think I need to learn to accept things as they are, rather than viewing them as I would like to see it. I frequently try to give the voting public a sense of strict order and logic and of course that isn't true. It's not that the voting public is stupid or irrational, they just don't fit the order and logic of my brain. I need to learn to take what I observe and accept them. Changing the world, based on what I observe, is the next step, not to be confused as being part of the same one. I think if I could learn this lesson many other aspects of my life would be considerably easier.

Here's to tomorrow... to a long day at work, with limited access to political updates :(

We're just ordinary people...

2008-02-04T14:56:00.000-08:00

And we get the chance to shape history and the future!
Yes, as dorky as that sounds, I do believe in the process of voting and the engagement of people, particularly people of color and other marginalized groups, in the democratic process.

With Super Tuesday just HOURS away, I present to you my Voter's Guide to the Presidential Primaries (for the residents of Los Angeles):

Propositions:
Proposition 91 (aka the one about transportation funding)
Yes: http//www.yeson91.net
No: none available (see above)
Haven't heard about this one? Haven't see any ads on late-night television? That's because the supporters pulled their support for this one. It says that it would prohibit gasoline tax money from being left in the general fund (instead of being put in the Transportation Investment Fund). Prop 1A back in November provides the protection for our gas tax, so Prop 91 really isn't needed anymore. If you look at the "pro" argument in your ballot guide, you'll actually see that the proponents are telling you to vote NO.
Tina says vote NO on Proposition 91 because she doesn't like to be redundant.

Proposition 92 (aka the one about community colleges)
Yes: http://www.prop92yes.com
No: http//www.noprop92.org
The proposition basically says that California community colleges will have an independent governing body (a little like the UCs), limit student fees to $15 per unit/semester and future increases, and provides a formula for community college budget appropriation from the legislature. Simply put, it would guarantee a certain amount of money for community colleges from the state and thus would allow student fees to remain steady and provide some amount of independence for the community college system.
Supporters say that it will lower student fees (currently it costs $20 per unit/semester), while establishing a way for community colleges to have stable funding in the future. Opponents argue that this proposition would lock in a spending mandate for the state, without a way to pay for it without cutting into other programs.
Community college funding, like other public higher education funding, comes from the state's General Fund. Now that's in the same pool as other programs like healthcare, prisons, and K-12 education funding. Public higher education programs generally see the ax during hard financial times for the state, being bumped further down on the funding totem pole, so it's understandable that the powers-that-be of the community colleges would want to protect itself. While I agree that public education needs to be prioritized by the state and its elected leaders, I don't know if this is the best way to go about it, especially without the consideration of the other higher ed institutions in the state, like the CSUs and the UCs who will be impacted by this change. My vote for this one is a little hesitant, but ultimately...
Tina says vote NO on Proposition 92 because it doesn't seem like the best solution to the funding problem.

Proposition 93 (aka the one about term limits)
Yes: http://www.termlimitsreform.com
No: http://www.stopthepoliticians.com
Term limits. Political junkies care. Elected officials care. I get the feeling that everyone else... doesn't care very much. However, term limits has a lot to do with how we are governed. This mildly confusing proposition would basically change the maximum number of years allowed in office (at the state legislative level) from 14 years to 12 years. It also changes how one can spend their time in the State Legislature. Right now if you were a career politician you are limited to six years (three 2-year terms) in the Assembly and eight years (two 4-year terms) in the Senate. The proposition would change this so you could spend your entire 12 years in either house (so six 2-year terms in the Assembly or three 4-year terms in the State Senate).
The contentious part of this Proposition is the "transition" clause. It says that in order to allow for the transition of this law, current elected officials could spend a consecutive 12-years in their current house of legislature, regardless of service in either house.
Proponents say that this change would make our government more effective, by balancing new legislators (with their new ideas and new energy) with experienced legislators who have had the time to learn the system, become savvy to California politics, and implement large-term projects. Opponents say that the proposition is written to scam the voters and is actually a trick to lengthen the time politicians could stay in office (that "transition" part of the proposition). The opponents identified 42 incumbent politicians who would benefit from this transition piece.
Tina says vote YES on Proposition 93 because politicians are going to find a way to stay in politics, so let's at least make it so they are doing something while they're playing the game.

Propositions 94-97 (aka the one about Indian gaming)
Yes: http://www.yesforcalifornia.com
No: http//www.nounfairdeals.com
The ever-so contentious gaming propositions. Why is that anytime Indian gaming is talked about it becomes a very furious, very public battle? Native Americans get characterized as both too poor and too greedy in the same breath, simultaneously being cheated by and cheating the government. The four propositions are lumped together because each is the same compact with four different gaming tribes. The propositions would basically allow each tribe to add 5,500 slot machines at their respective casinos, would omit some projects done by the tribes from the purview of the California Environmental Quality Act (and put it under the Tribal Environmental Impact Report), and have the tribes pay $42,500,000 to the state plus a percentage from those slot machines.
Proponents say that it will generate much needed revenue for the state (read: we're broke and we need money!), create jobs, and shares money with other tribes that don't have gaming across the state. Opponents say that these propositions will rapidly expand gambling in the state, would allow tribal casinos to skirt environmental laws, wouldn't protect casino workers, and ultimately could be manipulated so that these large tribes don't really pay their full share to the state.
Again, a hard set of propositions to make a firm decision on. It makes me a little queasy that they won't fall under CEQA. However, given that tribal communities are sovereign nations, they SHOULDN'T have to fall under CEQA. I could honestly care less whether or not these casinos expand (despite the argument that Asian Americans have a gambling problem and expanding casinos would cause more problems for Asian Americans). I also wonder what guarantees are in place so that smaller tribes are also benefiting from the expansion. Given all of these questions...
Tina says NO on Propositions 94-97 because there's a hierarchy within tribes too and that shit just ain't fair.

Measure S (aka the one about the phone tax)
Yes: http://www.propsfacts.com
No: http://noonprops.com
Ahh, Measure S. I should fully disclose at this point that I have worked on this campaign, so while I will attempt to be fair and balanced in my analysis of this measure, I have been on the "yes" side for the last four weeks. The measure basically would change an existing telephone tax on a couple of points. First, it would reduce the existing tax from 10 percent to 9 percent. Second, it would change the language of the tax to cover most telecommunications (so, things like T1 lines that would be setup to provide voice communications would now be included). Two basic changes that are causing a huge uproar. It would maintain the exemption of low-income senior citizens and disabled people, non-profit educational organizations, some media organizations, and a 5% tax for telecommunications companies.
The proponents say that the tax would be fairer because it closes a corporate loophole that kept them from paying their fair share of the tax (that whole use of T1 lines for voice communications). And, it would NOT tax the Internet. The funding is a necessary part of the general fund that provides money for public safety programs, city services, parks and recreations, etc. The opponents say that the tax is illegal, as it is sitting in the appellate court due to a snafu with collection on cellphone usage. It would ultimately be a tax increase, rather than a tax reduction because it would tax more forms of telecommunications.
The pro side and the con side seem to be contradicting each other, right? Right.
Here's the real info. Yes, it is a tax reduction from 10 percent to 9 percent. Yes, it will tax your cellphone calls, but this has already been done and will continue to happen. The appellate courts are deciding whether or not this can happen and under what circumstances it can happen, so while one could argue that a part of the existing tax should not be collected, one cannot argue the ENTIRE tax shouldn't be collected. It won't tax the Internet. Federal law says that the Internet is not to be taxed and there exists a clear line in the law that says that it will follow state and federal laws first and foremost. Yes, there are some companies, organizations, and individuals that will be exempt or have differing versions of the law, but this is how it always was.
I will say this. We have a $155 million projected shortfall in the city's budget. Do we really want to shoot ourselves in the foot by saying that we won't collect anywhere between $240-273 million in the future? If we don't pass this measure, it'll be continued to be collected until a court decision is made. If we pass it, we firmly say that we will collect it and we will collect it in a perfectly legal matter. We need some way to fund our public services...
Tina says vote YES on Measure S (aka Prop S) because it's not really that complicated and we seriously need the money.

Democratic Presidential Primary
Barack: http//www.barackobama.com
Hillary: http://www.hillaryclinton.com
I'm only doing the Democratic Primary candidates because I don't think I would do the Republicans any justice by talking about them. I could try, but it would just be a waste of time for everyone.

We have two candidates left on our ballot (I mean, you are totally free to vote your conscience and vote for some of the other candidates like Edwards or Kucinich, but your vote would seriously be going nowhere...). Hillary Clinton and Barack Obama. Barack Obama and Hillary Clinton.
Let's be honest. Both are pretty middle-of-the-road candidates. They have questionable policies on a lot of different issues, be it the war in Iraq, immigration, or healthcare. Clinton voted for the war, while Obama came out against it. Both haven't really done much lately to stop it from continuing. Clinton and Obama both talk about "comprehensive immigration reform," a reform that involves sending people "back to the end of the line." (Question, with the line to enter the United States always growing, where does the "end of the line" start?) One touts experience, while the other promises change. Both would be historic nominees of the Democratic party.
So how does one choose?
I don't imagine either of their policy positions being shockingly to the left. They will both be competent at playing the middle, pulling in those moderate Republicans. Word is, Obama has a better shot against McCain (assuming he is the Republican nominee) than Clinton in the general elections. If you're shooting for the anyone-but-a-republican candidate, than that might help sway your decision.
Bottom line is, both candidates are quite exciting. Both are trying to mobilize groups of voters that get very little attention in this country. (Now if one of them would start courting the Asian American vote, I'm totally in). The question is, who will be able to attract the other's votes for the general elections. Who won't lose members of the excited Democratic Party if they win the nomination?
I'll be honest. I have more faith in Obama, if one could have any amount of faith in an elected official, particularly a national one. I prefer his background to hers (working as a community organizer in Chicago) and the excitement he causes amongst typically disenfranchised voters. His youthfulness could potentially carry young people into a new era of civic engagement. Clinton might have the experience and she may have done good things in her career, but she can't promise the same thing to me.
If I had my way, I'd vote for Jed Bartlett-like candidate, but that isn't going to happen so...
Tina says vote for OBAMA for the Democratic nominee for President because Michelle Obama would make a badass First Spouse.

If this wasn't enough for you, check out www.smartvoter.org, a comprehensive voter guide (the official, really). And do some research. You owe it to yourself, you ordinary person... because dammit, you can do some extraordinary things.

She works hard for her money...

2008-02-04T11:11:00.000-08:00

It was a shockingly productive weekend, these past two days. It was a happy combination of work, play, and everything in between.
Let's do an inventory, shall we?
- Pseudo-Obama Event #1 (read: dancing with roommate and friends)
- Brunch with Mentor (on the road to finding a job!)
- Fixed headlight
- Dropped off computer for life-saving surgery
- Lunar New Year Party
- Volunteered at Obama Event
- Purchased and Made care package for best friend abroad
- Watched '2046' and gained greater understanding of self (just kidding)

Things I should have done:
- Laundry (although, I'm not nearing the top of the laundry basket, so I'm okay)
- Attend Obama Event #2
- Work on resume
- Look up jobs

It's the month of February. I need to start setting up contacts for different jobs and start meeting with people about it.
Is is bad I just want to sit back and hope that something just falls into my lap (a little like Coro?)

One more day and its Super Tuesday.
While my roommate and I were shouting at the TV watching the Food Network's First Annual Wedding Cake Challenge, my upstairs neighbors were yelling for the Super Bowl. Shows you where our priorities are.
They won't know what hit them come Tuesday. Now THAT'S real excitement and suspense.

Suddenly I see / Why the hell it means so much to me...

2008-02-01T10:04:00.000-08:00

Standing lost in the aisle, trying to find a seat as close to the front as possible, I'm being passed by Assemblymember Ted Lieu and his wife. Clearly, the front two rows are slim pickings, so I start to move back towards the back, being hustled along by the police officer who is attempting to maintain some semblance of order on the Mezzanine level. I find an open seat (thank goodness for being alone) and grab it. As I'm looking around, I realize that Former Governor Gray Davis is in the aisle now, shaking hands with different people. His wife waves him over and he takes a seat in front of me. She tells him that the seats were offered to them by some other people and they wave to say Thank You. They're waving to Phil Angelides and his posse.

It's a surreal experience to say the least.

I'm surrounded by the creme de la creme of California politics at the California Democratic Presidential Primary Debates. If it weren't for the postcard sized badge hanging from my neck, I would surely be kicked out in a heartbeat.

Former Governor in the front.
Wannabe Governor to the right.
Tribal leaders in the back.
From the corner of my eye I see Richard Schiff (Toby from the West Wing) taking his seat.

What the hell am I doing here?

The Kodak Theater is a strange place to have a oh-my-god-so-that's-it moments in life, but what the hey... I'll take it where I can get it.

I've never been able to get over that "What the hell am I doing here?" moment, wherever I have been.
I'm deeply rooted to what my life, and particular my parents' life, was like. It's strange to give my mom updates on my life and tell her that I was in a meeting with some hot-shot in the business/government world or that I'm going to Washington DC, AGAIN.

My parents immigrated when they were in their early 20s. My dad came first to work for a year or so to earn enough money for my mom and my brother to fly to the states. Their immigration circumstances were extremely fortunate. My dad had an aunt who was already in the states, so he and his brothers were able to take advantage of the Family provision and all come over together with their parents. My dad took a job as a janitor and earned enough to bring my mom and my brother over. There was no dangerous boat journey, or false documentation, or border crossing. My parents were the right people at the right time with the right family members.
For the early part of my life, my mom was a garment worker and my dad was a janitor. I used to go with my dad on the weekends to help him clean these huge office buildings. I would sneak a candy out of the receptionist's jar and hope that my dad didn't notice. My dad also did some minor jobs, doing upkeep for some apartment buildings. We would share the work-- I would clean the windows on the lower half of the entrance doors and my dad would do the high parts. My mom worked from home because my brother and I were still too legally young to stay at home alone. She set up shop in her bedroom, withi large sheets of clear plastic covering her bed and furniture, because the dust would sometimes be thick after a day's work. Sometimes my brother and I would sit with her and help her fold the pieces she made to be bagged up and sent back to the factory. She used to wake me up at 4 in the morning, bundle me up in my blanket, and put me in the passenger seat so she could deliver her week's work and use the carpool lane. She would have to get back in time to make sure my brother was ready for school and without the carpool lane, she would be stuck in rush hour traffic.

My childhood is marked with strange memories.
I remember refusing to get in the car when my dad came to pick me up because he had to borrow an employee's junky car. I was in middle school and I was too embarassed to admit that my family wasn't rich.
I remember sitting in their factory, with the lights only half on, as their friends streamed in to help unstitch the hems of clothes that were sewed incorrectly.
There were weeks where my brother and I didn't see our parents, because they would get up earlier than we woke up and came in close to midnight. Those were the hard times when they were still trying to figure things out.

All these things come to mind when I'm sitting in a room like yesterday.
I'm a child of immigrants.
My father will be voting in his first election since his naturalization last year.
My mother is still waiting to be processed as a citizen.
I went to public schools.
I am an Asian American.
I am a woman.
I am young.

None of these things screams "POLITICS"
If anything, they say that I shouldn't be in the room-- that I shouldn't be taken seriously.
I have difficulty getting past this. No matter how accomplished I am, I will always feel out of place, that I will be asked to leave because I don't belong.

Perhaps this is why I have such a fondness for Obama. I disagree with him on some very core policy issues, which makes it difficult to throw all of my support behind him. But then I look at who he is.
He is the child of an immigrant.
He came up in a single-parent household.
He has half-brothers and sisters... not your idea of the perfect American household.
He admitted to using drugs.
He is black.
He is biracial.
And he sure is skinny.

He doesn't fit the mold in the least bit.
If there is a chance that this country will allow a man like that into its highest position of leadership, perhaps someone like me can sit in a room like yesterday and not have to feel out of place.
If there is a chance that people can support a candidate with his background, it means that there just may be a fundamental shift in how we see people, how we see leadership, how we see... everything.
It's not him that I'm supporting. It's the idea of him. It's the idea that this country is capable of changing itself after 200 years of stupidity and blind judgement.

With all of this, I'm learning what I have to change about myself.
It has nothing to do with confidence or social grace. Those things I can manage pretty well.
My next step, and perhaps my REAL new year's resolution, is to learn how to get those nagging voices out of my head that tell me that I'm not supposed to be here, doing what I'm doing.

He's a 20th century boy...

2008-01-30T10:48:00.000-08:00

http://batterblaster.com/

I love pancakes, mostly because I love brunch and breakfast foods.
But, c'mon... pancakes in a can?!

The great irony of this product is that it comes in an aerosol metal can (bad for environment, because it doesn't get recycled and goes into landfills), but tries to play up to the green yuppies by stating that it's organic.

You want pancakes? I'll make you pancakes and NOT from a can.

I want to believe in more than you and me...

2008-01-29T12:14:00.000-08:00

Dear Senator Obama,

This letter represents a first for me--a public endorsement of a Presidential candidate. I feel driven to let you know why I am writing it. One reason is it may help gather other supporters; another is that this is one of those singular moments that nations ignore at their peril. I will not rehearse the multiple crises facing us, but of one thing I am certain: this opportunity for a national evolution (even revolution) will not come again soon, and I am convinced you are the person to capture it.

May I describe to you my thoughts?

I have admired Senator Clinton for years. Her knowledge always seemed to me exhaustive; her negotiation of politics expert. However I am more compelled by the quality of mind (as far as I can measure it) of a candidate. I cared little for her gender as a source of my admiration, and the little I did care was based on the fact that no liberal woman has ever ruled in America. Only conservative or "new-centrist" ones are allowed into that realm. Nor do I care very much for your race[s]. I would not support you if that was all you had to offer or because it might make me "proud."

In thinking carefully about the strengths of the candidates, I stunned myself when I came to the following conclusion: that in addition to keen intelligence, integrity and a rare authenticity, you exhibit something that has nothing to do with age, experience, race or gender and something I don't see in other candidates. That something is a creative imagination which coupled with brilliance equals wisdom. It is too bad if we associate it only with gray hair and old age. Or if we call searing vision naivete. Or if we believe cunning is insight. Or if we settle for finessing cures tailored for each ravaged tree in the forest while ignoring the poisonous landscape that feeds and surrounds it. Wisdom is a gift; you can't train for it, inherit it, learn it in a class, or earn it in the workplace--that access can foster the acquisition of knowledge, but not wisdom.

When, I wondered, was the last time this country was guided by such a leader? Someone whose moral center was un-embargoed? Someone with courage instead of mere ambition? Someone who truly thinks of his country's citizens as "we," not "they"? Someone who understands what it will take to help America realize the virtues it fancies about itself, what it desperately needs to become in the world?

Our future is ripe, outrageously rich in its possibilities. Yet unleashing the glory of that future will require a difficult labor, and some may be so frightened of its birth they will refuse to abandon their nostalgia for the womb.

There have been a few prescient leaders in our past, but you are the man for this time.

Good luck to you and to us.

Toni Morrison

I trust I can rely on your vote...

2008-01-28T16:46:00.000-08:00

Selecting a presidential candidate to support has been a difficult decision for me. I'm compelled by both my practical desire for a winnable Democratic candidate and my idealistic desire for a candidate who shares my views and inspires me to stay involved in this damn system. Suffice to say, the decision has been difficult because no one really fits either profile. Clinton and Obama both could win easily or lose miserably (polls just aren't working in the favor of Edwards) in November. Edwards is saying the right things in terms of his policy stances, but Obama's life and professional experiences makes me feel like when forced, he will act like I would. Clinton, for whatever reason, has never registered with me under the values column... I feel like we are worlds apart sometimes.

A co-worker sent me this piece written by Michael Moore. A little old, I'm sure, but it captures the arguments I've been having with myself nightly, pretty well.

Who Do We Vote For This Time Around? A Letter from Michael Moore
January 2, 2008

Friends,
A new year has begun. And before we've had a chance to break our New Year's resolutions, we find ourselves with a little more than 24 hours before the good people of Iowa tell us whom they would like to replace the man who now occupies three countries and a white house.

Twice before, we have begun the process to stop this man, and twice we have failed. Eight years of our lives as Americans will have been lost, the world left in upheaval against us... and yet now, today, we hope against hope that our moment has finally arrived, that the amazingly powerful force of the Republican Party will somehow be halted. But we know that the Democrats are experts at snatching defeat from the jaws of victory, and if there's a way to blow this election, they will find it and do it with gusto.

Do you feel the same as me? That the Democratic front-runners are a less-than-stellar group of candidates, and that none of them are the "slam dunk" we wish they were? Of course, there are wonderful things about each of them. Any one of them would be infinitely better than what we have now. Personally, Congressman Kucinich, more than any other candidate, shares the same positions that I have on the issues (although the UFO that picked ME up would only take me as far as Kalamazoo). But let's not waste time talking about Dennis. Even he is resigned to losing, with statements like the one he made yesterday to his supporters in Iowa to throw their support to Senator Obama as their "second choice."

So, it's Hillary, Obama, Edwards -- now what do we do?
Two months ago, Rolling Stone magazine asked me to do a cover story where I would ask the hard questions that no one was asking in one-on-one interviews with Senators Clinton, Obama and Edwards. "The Top Democrats Face Off with Michael Moore." The deal was that all three candidates had to agree to let me interview them or there was no story. Obama and Edwards agreed. Mrs. Clinton said no, and the cover story was thus killed. Why would the love of my life, Hillary Clinton, not sit down to talk with me? What was she afraid of?

Those of you who are longtime readers of mine may remember that 11 years ago I wrote a chapter (in my first book) entitled, "My Forbidden Love for Hillary." I was fed up with the treatment she was getting, most of it boringly sexist, and I thought somebody should stand up for her. I later met her and she thanked me for referring to her as "one hot s***kicking feminist babe." I supported and contributed to her run for the U.S. Senate. I think she is a decent and smart person who loves this country, cares deeply about kids, and has put up with more crap than anyone I know of (other than me) from the Crazy Right. Her inauguration would be a thrilling sight, ending 218 years of white male rule in a country where 51% of its citizens are female and 64% are either female or people of color.

And yet, I am sad to say, nothing has disappointed me more than the disastrous, premeditated vote by Senator Hillary Clinton to send us to war in Iraq. I'm not only talking about her first vote that gave Mr. Bush his "authorization" to invade -- I'm talking about every single OTHER vote she then cast for the next four years, backing and funding Bush's illegal war, and doing so with verve. She never met a request from the White House for war authorization that she didn't like. Unlike the Kerrys and the Bidens who initially voted for authorization but later came to realize the folly of their decision, Mrs. Clinton continued to cast numerous votes for the war until last March -- four long years of pro-war votes, even after 70% of the American public had turned against the war. She has steadfastly refused to say that she was wrong about any of this, and she will not apologize for her culpability in America's worst-ever foreign policy disaster. All she can bring herself to say is that she was "misled" by "faulty intelligence."

Let's assume that's true. Do you want a President who is so easily misled? I wasn't "misled," and millions of others who took to the streets in February of 2003 weren't "misled" either. It was simply amazing that we knew the war was wrong when none of us had been briefed by the CIA, none of us were national security experts, and none of us had gone on a weapons inspection tour of Iraq. And yet... we knew we were being lied to! Let me ask those of you reading this letter: Were YOU "misled" -- or did you figure it out sometime between October of 2002 and March of 2007 that George W. Bush was up to something rotten? Twenty-three other senators were smart enough to figure it out and vote against the war from the get-go. Why wasn't Senator Clinton?

I have a theory: Hillary knows the sexist country we still live in and that one of the reasons the public, in the past, would never consider a woman as president is because she would also be commander in chief. The majority of Americans were concerned that a woman would not be as likely to go to war as a man (horror of horrors!). So, in order to placate that mindset, perhaps she believed she had to be as "tough" as a man, she had to be willing to push The Button if necessary, and give the generals whatever they wanted. If this is, in fact, what has motivated her pro-war votes, then this would truly make her a scary first-term president. If the U.S. is faced with some unforeseen threat in her first years, she knows that in order to get re-elected she'd better be ready to go all Maggie Thatcher on whoever sneezes in our direction. Do we want to risk this, hoping the world makes it in one piece to her second term?

I have not even touched on her other numerous -- and horrendous -- votes in the Senate, especially those that have made the middle class suffer even more (she voted for Bush's first bankruptcy bill, and she is now the leading recipient of payoff money -- I mean campaign contributions -- from the health care industry). I know a lot of you want to see her elected, and there is a very good chance that will happen. There will be plenty of time to vote for her in the general election if all the pollsters are correct. But in the primaries and caucuses, isn't this the time to vote for the person who most reflects the values and politics you hold dear? Can you, in good conscience, vote for someone who so energetically voted over and over and over again for the war in Iraq? Please give this serious consideration.

Now, on to the two candidates who did agree to do the interview with me... Barack Obama is a good and inspiring man. What a breath of fresh air! There's no doubting his sincerity or his commitment to trying to straighten things out in this country. But who is he? I mean, other than a guy who gives a great speech? How much do any of us really know about him? I know he was against the war. How do I know that? He gave a speech before the war started. But since he joined the senate, he has voted for the funds for the war, while at the same time saying we should get out. He says he's for the little guy, but then he votes for a corporate-backed bill to make it harder for the little guy to file a class action suit when his kid swallows lead paint from a Chinese-made toy. In fact, Obama doesn't think Wall Street is a bad place. He wants the insurance companies to help us develop a new health care plan -- the same companies who have created the mess in the first place. He's such a feel-good kinda guy, I get the sense that, if elected, the Republicans will eat him for breakfast. He won't even have time to make a good speech about it.

But this may be a bit harsh. Senator Obama has a big heart, and that heart is in the right place. Is he electable? Will more than 50% of America vote for him? We'd like to believe they would. We'd like to believe America has changed, wouldn't we? Obama lets us feel better about ourselves -- and as we look out the window at the guy snowplowing his driveway across the street, we want to believe he's changed, too. But are we dreaming?

And then there's John Edwards.
It's hard to get past the hair, isn't it? But once you do -- and recently I have chosen to try -- you find a man who is out to take on the wealthy and powerful who have made life so miserable for so many. A candidate who says things like this: "I absolutely believe to my soul that this corporate greed and corporate power has an ironclad hold on our democracy." Whoa. We haven't heard anyone talk like that in a while, at least not anyone who is near the top of the polls. I suspect this is why Edwards is doing so well in Iowa, even though he has nowhere near the stash of cash the other two have. He won't take the big checks from the corporate PACs, and he is alone among the top three candidates in agreeing to limit his spending and be publicly
funded. He has said, point-blank, that he's going after the drug companies and the oil companies and anyone else who is messing with the American worker. The media clearly find him to be a threat, probably because he will go after their monopolistic power, too. This is Roosevelt/Truman kind of talk. That's why it's resonating with people in Iowa, even though he doesn't get the attention Obama and Hillary get -- and that lack of coverage may cost him the first place spot tomorrow night. After all, he is one of those white guys who's been running things for far too long.

And he voted for the war. But unlike Senator Clinton, he has stated quite forcefully that he was wrong. And he has remorse. Should he be forgiven? Did he learn his lesson? Like Hillary and Obama, he refused to promise in a September debate that there will be no U.S. troops in Iraq by the end of his first term in 2013. But this week in Iowa, he changed his mind. He went further than Clinton and Obama and said he'd have all the troops home in less than a year. Edwards is the only one of the three front-runners who has a universal health care plan that will lead to the single-payer kind all other civilized countries have. His plan doesn't go as fast as I would like, but he is the only one who has correctly pointed out that the health insurance companies are the enemy and should not have a seat at the table.

I am not endorsing anyone at this point. This is simply how I feel in the first week of the process to replace George W. Bush. For months I've been wanting to ask the question, "Where are you, Al Gore?" You can only polish that Oscar for so long. And the Nobel was decided by Scandinavians! I don't blame you for not wanting to enter the viper pit again after you already won. But getting us to change out our incandescent light bulbs for some irritating fluorescent ones isn't going to save the world. All it's going to do is make us more agitated and jumpy and feeling like once we get home we haven't really left the office.

On second thought, would you even be willing to utter the words, "I absolutely believe to my soul that this corporate greed and corporate power has an ironclad hold on our democracy?" 'Cause the candidate who understands that, and who sees it as the root of all evil -- including the root of global warming -- is the President who may lead us to a place of sanity, justice and peace.

Yours,
Michael Moore (not an Iowa voter, but appreciative of any state that has a town named after a sofa)

And in case you're wondering, with Super Tuesday coming up, I have made a decision.
Can you guess who?

I fell in love at the seaside...

2008-01-28T14:32:00.000-08:00

I remember being in New York City about six years ago thinking that I couldn't live in the city for very long because the sun would never set over the ocean. The Atlantic is no comparison to the Pacific either. Our oceans are cold, but at least they aren't gray.

When I started my fellowship, I told myself that I would start journaling so I could keep track of all the experiences I was having. I figured that with the workload, I probably wouldn't have much time to process everything and knowing how much my brain has atrophied over the last five years, I'd probably forget almost everything too. Well, it's a little over four months into my fellowship and I'm just getting this together, but I figure it's better late than never.

//

As of January 28, I am a 22 year old female, living and loving Los Angeles (the city, not the ambiguous region).

I entrenched in the world of public affairs as I try to avoid thinking about my future and pretend that I'm changing the world. I've convinced myself that I will be the bridge between progressive, grassroots politics and mainstream politics, translating progressive values into the institutions that make this country operate. This year is supposed to be about figuring out how to do that, but I have yet to come up with any concrete plan.

I love following polls and statistics, a throwback to my days as a math and science geek. My eyes light up the minute I start talking strategy.

The stomach may be the way to a man's heart, but geeked-out conversations are the way to mine.

When I'm bored or stressed out I love to bake cupcakes and cookies.

There is nothing I covet more at the moment that an up-right Kitchenaid mixer (and Coachella tickets).

I'm known to incite drunkenness amongst friends and friends-to-be.

I'm also trying to incite the next revolution.

I've been blessed with the most amazing individuals one can call friends, but unfortunately they are spread across the globe (literally). They are my heart and soul and I thank technology every day for keeping me connected to them. They too are revolutionizing the world.

Welcome to my life.
Nice to meet you.