2006

2006 in Pictures



London for H-Bomb's birthday. It was one of the most laugh-filled weekend I've ever had.


Spanish cat Sebastian fell out of the our 5th floor window and plummeted to the floor. He came out with a split lip and a dislocated leg. The above picture was taken immediately after his vet visit, and he is hopped up on some feline version of pain killers.


(An image to show his recovery. Although, it was discovered later on that he had Feline Leukemia. Life is cruel.)


This image portrays the Best Idea Award of 2006. Idea: Doing the Robot in Rabat, Morocco.



All sorts of good nights were had in Madrid.


I had the best birthday in years. (My lovelies above, watching me blowing out the candles.)




I made priceless new friends in a country that has become so close to my heart. (Cheesy much? Manchengo cheesy.)



I came back to my amazing friends, two of which shacked up together, one who immediately left for Shanghai, and another that just continued being kicked around.


I also went to Japan for the first time in years. (That's a picture of me taking a picture in the AMAZING bathroom with toilet seats with lids that open automatically in Tokyo.)


And after doing some mind numbing temp work, I finally landed a job that allowed me to have a business card, while doing things I actually like with interesting people. One of my boss used to be the campaign manager for Jesse Jackson (when he was cool).

And finally...


My dog turned 10 years old yesterday, which is a mile stone in Dog Years. He's too dark to be visible in this picture, but we had very limited time to take it, because we were dangling a piece of prime rib to get his attention. We had about 2 seconds before he jumped for the kill.

Full year I must say! Since I spent half of it in Spain, I feel like 2006 was split into two different time periods in my life. I have no expectations for 2007, but only hopes that it will treat me well.

Someone cure me.

I don't know when it first began, and I don't know how to fix it, but since about a month ago I am even more scared of driving on highways than before.

I'm a bad driver. There's no point in lying, because it's pretty clear how poorly I drive. I hate adding to the Asian and female stereotype, but I am that woman you hate on the road. The slow one. The one who breaks for no reason. The one who slows down all the time before switching lanes and takes forever and a half doing it. I am all those things.

Therefore, I rarely drive on the freeway, for the better of the people. I'm better that way. We're all so much better that way.

Lately, on top of my previous aversion of driving in general, I've developed an inexplicable fear of speeding and driving on freeways. There is not a moment that I'm not nervous while on the road. I drive behind trucks to justify my slow speed. I'm genuinely afraid of the other cars on the road.

I try to track back when this all began, because despite everything, I was never this nervous. I've been in several car accidents, some more major than others. But, I think the decisive moment was when I actually saw a jeep swerve three lanes to the left, crash into the car in front and then to the ramp, consequently exploding into flames. A possible fatal accident. I couldn't drive home that night and ended up staying the night at my friend's house. People see accidents everyday so I don't know why I'm still freaked out.

Someone hypnotize me, train me, cure me from this anxiety. Sometimes, I decide not to go places because of the fear of going on freeways. You can imagine how impairing this is living in Los Angeles. It's SO annoying. I'm genuinely pleading for some kind of help. Let me know if you are my savior.

On a lighter note, I celebrated the first night of Hanukkah with some friends. Leanne brought these Hanukkah glasses that made everything Jewish. Let me demonstrate:

Regular Christmas Lights:


Jewish Lights:


Hanukkah Glasses:


The next day, I went Christmas shopping with Nudy at South Coast. I slept over at Nudy's and the next day, we managed to go to the Warehouse Sale to buy discounted designer jeans. It was retail hell this weekend, aka, my wallet is empty.

Trying on shiz:


$ HO $ HO $ HO!!! $$$Happy Holidays!$$$

New Job.

I love my new job, but damn... it's pretty hard.

First off, my Spanish... oh.. my Spanish. You see, I'm used to having daily conversations in Spanish. Shit about the weather, clothes, restaurants, gossip. etc etc. My friends back in Spain taught me well about all the colloquial terms and dirty cuss words I should know. ( I have an entire notebook to prove it.) But, never in our conversation did the topic of taxes and welfare come up, and that's what I'm dealing with right now. I thought I knew my Spanish, but I've been humbled down to become a stupid Asian Gringa.

I know this will fix itself with time, unless I'm an Asian Gringa to the core. I hope I'm not, because I do want to do this job well.

Secondly, the difference between the workload with this job and the last temp I had is like the sun and moon. I'm pretty happy about that, but I come home pretty tired. Again, something I should get used to.

But so far, the commute is great (which is SO important here in LA), my co-workers are all incredibly sweet, and my boss is hilarious.

I have a positive disposition about this new job. Wish me well.

In addition, some holiday pictures with me and the Mo, aka future roommate.





Pretty huh. I love the smell of Christmas trees.

HAPPY HOLIDAYS!! And, here's a huge ass Hanukkah menorah for my Jewish homies:

CONGRATULATIONS SUSETTE!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!
(if you ever read this.)

Let me tell you the weekend that I had...

Not really a crazy one, but an interesting weekend is what I had.

First, it started on Friday night, because that's when most people's weekend starts.

I went to Peter's co-worker's son's Boy Scout's Spaghetti Dinner. ( Yes, it's a stretch.) The event was at an elementary school cafeteria where all the tables and chairs came up to my knees and the cups were the size of shot glasses. We entered the cafeteria and the distinct smell of children and spaghetti instantly hit our faces.

The place was an absolute ZOO, and it made me not want children, because they were running around hopped up on sugar, and their dirty hands came very close to staining my nice Seven jeans. ( Discount 7 jeans, but nice ones nonetheless.)

We mosied our way through the pasta line and finally sat down to enjoy the overcooked spaghetti, when Peter found some friends of his from work at the next table. They joined us and we were having a nice chat. Peter works in the theatre industry so they were theatre people as well. Suddenly, kids starting gathering around our table, peering over at one of P's friends with great curiosity. Then, they started forming a long line in front of P's lady friend, and I wasn't sure what was happening. It turns out that P's friend, also known as Mary Jo was actually the voice of Mrs. Puff from Spongebob Squarepants, and the kids were fighting to get a glimpse of her. It was hilarious. They all had big round eyes, and asked her to do the voice of the character. Mary Jo was ever so patient and so sweet with the kids, and gave her undivided attention to every single one of them. When I watched the kids politely ask for her autograph (well, most of them) my previous heart of Grinch melted away and I instantly wanted children again. They were SO cute. If I could just bottle that part of childhood up, then I wouldn't mind going through the pain of childbirth. Then again, it's a clear sign that I'm not even close to becoming a parent, because the cute part is as far as I can take when they are in masses like that.

So that was Friday. I had spaghetti, I met a Spongebob character, and I contemplated parenthood.

On Saturday, it was my friend Ben's birthday, so we dared to go out in Old Town for dinner. The area was PACKED with USC and UCLA fans, (mostly SC), and I arrived right after UCLA won, so it was chaotic. I was walking through an alley of different bars, and I noticed 2 grown men with USC attire having a heart-to-heart talk. They were unusually close and were lowering their voices, so it seemed serious. When I passed by them, this is EXACTLY what I heard:

Man #1: "Man, you, you have to realize... You're more than USC. You're a human being. You're so much more than that."
Man #2: "But dude, man, I am going to DIE if we lose tonight. I'm serious. I'm going to die."

Give me a fucking break! Moments after hearing USC's loss, an ambulance with sirens blazing came running through the street, so I imagine that the man actually did die.

Anyhoo, good dinner, good company, and a great night of clubbing followed. One thing that dampened the night was when a 14-year-old boy yelled "SCROTUM!!" in my ear as I was about to cross the street. Even after telling him to fuck off, I was annoyed and wished I had kicked the little bitch down. No matter how old these male species are, their immaturity and ridiculousness never fails to amaze me.

So, that was my weekend. How was yours?

A REAL Job.

A couple of weeks ago, I mentioned my whole "crisis" about doing good things or getting rich. ( Thank you for all your encouraging comments, by the way. It really helped.)

I made my decision and decided to go with the job that pays less but will let me do good things. I figure, I'll get rich later. I'm still completely lost on what I'm passionate about, but you guys had a good point when you mentioned that your job shouldn't necessarily be your passion. I just hope I like it. I'll just take it one day at a time, like I've always done. I'm SOOOOOO not a planner. I plan trivial things like what to wear for the entire week, but I never have planned what I'm doing 5 years down the line. Did I ever tell you how I applied to the college I ended up attending? My mom threw it in a pile of applications at the last minute. I halfheartedly completed the application form, didn't even take a look at the essay question and just sent in the same one I wrote for USC, and sent it off. Bada bing, bada boom. It's amazing I got in at all. ( I got rejected by USC, though. Them bastards. They'll rue the day, I tell ya.)

Anyhoo, eyes back on the original topic.

I took a new job at a non-profit service center as a Case Manager. It's a bit like a social worker, except that I won't be dealing with children and childcare issues. I'm supposed to help low-income families get affordable housing and employment. Most of the clients are Latinos, so I'll be utilizing my Spanish. Finally. I'm slightly hesitant about my language skills, but part of the interview was in Spanish, so I'm hoping it's good enough.

I'll be saying Adios to the temp on Friday. I have to say, with all things said and done (mainly bitching about it), I've learned quite a lot from this temp. First of all, the office was a completely different country. I learned some valuable business Japanese and customs. ( I do have some issues with the custom part, but I digress.) I learned a teeeeeeeeeeeeeeensy bit about banking. ( Minuscule, but at least it's something.) And most of all, the people were really nice. In the beginning, they were a bit confused as to how much Japanese I understood, or how much about Japan I knew and had experienced. There were times when they would ask me a question equivalent to "Do you know what a hamburger is?" and other times when they expected me to know complex structures of Japanese corporations. It's given my a prospective on how gray my position is in the wider spectrum of what it means to be Japanese, and Japanese American. I don't want to get all preachy and analytical, so I'll leave it at that.

I'm excited for my new job, and I'm sad about leaving the people at this one. But that's what I do. I move on to the next.

Oh by the way...

It's this person's birthday pretty soon...


So.

HANNAH I MISS YOU!!! I CAN'T WAIT UNTIL YOU COME HOME!!

I've been soooooo lacking in the picture department... I'll try to fix that.

CIAO.

Going hollywood

I'm currently going Hollywood and whitening my coffee-stained teef. I say teef because that is how I am currently pronouncing words that usually utilize your teef.

First reaction. This thing is making me salivate like crazy. I suppose that's what peroxide does besides bleaching things?

Second reaction. It's making my lips dry.

I had doubts about this thing, but I've heard many positive testimonials, AND, Queer Eye endorses them! We trust them gays, right?

The only thing is that it does make your teef sensitive (temporarily) so I'm going to do it once a day instead of twice a day as it suggests.

Oh my God, the gel from the strips has turned my finger tip white. Oh my God, I'm turning into Michael Jackson.

This may sound a little dark but...

I once told a friend that I spend far more time thinking about my funeral than my wedding, and she told me that I was really dark.  

But it's true.

I'm not trying to be unique or anything.  I just don't think about a wedding.  Ok, I think about a wedding dress some times, but I also think about what I'm going to wear Friday on Monday morning.  (  It's the only neurotic part of me, I believe.  I'm pretty specific about clothes.)

Mainly, I don't think about weddings because I have 0 desire to get married. I may not have a wedding at all, but I am DEFINITELY going to have a funeral.  In fact, I give you all the responsibility of setting one up.  I have faith that I have enough people who care about me to put together my funeral.

I want to take this opportunity to write out some of my desires in place of a living will.  We all know from Terri Schivo how important a living will is.  

Don't get me wrong, I don't want to die right now.  Yes, I eventually want to die.  I'm not much for immortality; life is too hard.  But I don't plan on leaving here until I've done all I want and that is not for DEEEEECAADES.  Chill.

First off, if I was in a vegetative state, PLEASE pull the plug.  No judgment against anyone, but it's just my style.  

Second, I also want to be cremated.  Rotting 6 feet under in a box is also not really my style.  I understand how people want to keep their bodies "just in case", but for me, once I'm dead, I'm pretty dead. I haven't yet decided where I want my ashes.  I've entertained the idea of spreading it across the sea, but I also can't quite let go of the idea of having one concrete spot where I rest.  I want to come back here, to Los Angeles.  That gives me the option of ocean and land.  But my exact spot is yet to be determined.

Ok, so now about my ceremony.

I don't want to require people to wear black.  I once read how no one wore black at Jim Henson's funeral.  At the end, in place of a eulogy, the puppeteers got up with their puppets and sang "Imagine" by John Lennon.  I thought that was a beautiful idea.  I won't restrict anyone from wearing black, because a friend once also told me that people have to mourn at a funeral.  But if you feel like lightening the day with brighter colors, that's fine too.

I remember my grandfather's funeral where everyone gave incenses and it was very solemn and sacred.  I think that's beautiful, but what I have in mind is something more celebratory.  Since I don't really belong to any church, I mainly just want people to gather and talk about the memories of me that they remember most.  Yes, I am self centered. It should be spiritual, but triumphant about the fact that I (hopefully) had led a full and great life.

I don't want a fancy coffin.  Those things cost a fortune, and I'm going to be cremated anyway.  Just some basic one would be fine, as long as it's not made of cardboard or something. There's a KISS coffin that "allows fans to rock in peace forever with their favorite band," and "can also be used as a Giant KISS Cooler, enabling fans and their friends to enjoy ice-cold beer."    That is the exact opposite of what I want.

I'll stop here because I feel I've written too much about this.  I'm scared my parents will get mad at me for writing about dying.  Remember, I don't want to die yet.  Not one bit.  I just, you know, like thinking about people gathering together for me.  

To lighten the post up a little bit, here's a potential wedding dress:



I get pretty plain when it comes to elegant shiz. I like this dress, but with a different neckline.

Ciaaaooo.

WHAT?!

What the hell was Fox thinking, and even more so, what the hell was OJ thinking when he gave an interview about how he would have killed his wife and friends? And WHHYYYY is this a 2 night event????

This is why my TV watching has been strictly on the FoodNetwork channel, no joke.

To be Rich or To be Good, that is the question...

I'm in a dilemma. A cul-de-sac. A crisis. Or some what.

I am facing two different job options. One that will make me slightly rich, and one that will make me a slightly good person.

Which do I choose??????

I believe that there are many types of people in the world. Two of those types are people who want to become rich, and people who dedicate their lives on doing good things. Most of the inhabitants of this world, I believe, are in the healthy middle. So, when presented with the two options like the one above, what does one do?

I generally don't have judgments against either groups of people. There are assholes (no doubt) within the get-rich-or-die-tryin group of people. But, a lot of people who want to become rich just want to live in comfort, and I see nothing wrong with that. After all, they contribute to the great cycle known as the economy, which is what makes our stupid country so powerful and livable.

I'm not going to lie. I want to become rich. I don't want to be filthy rich, but I do want to have enough assets and live my life comfortably without any realistic restrictions. But, I'm also equally serious when I say that I want to bring positives things into this society, and to be an actual contribution to the progress of other people's lives. So... the question is.... How do you find a balance? How do you find a balance between your desire and your conscience and live a healthy successful life?

From observing different situations, it seems like people do one first and then the other. They get rich first and then give back. Or, they do good things first, and then they focus on themselves. But how do you do that? What if you get into a non-profit that pays shit, in hopes of getting somewhere greater, but end up scraping the bottom for the rest of your life? Or, if you get into a big corporation and move your way up, but can't quite get out of it because money is such a sweet drug?

People say, that if you find what you're passionate about, then nothing should matter. Not money, not anything. But, what if you really don't know what you're passionate about? I find it rare for people my age to truly be passionate about something and be passionate about it for the rest of our lives. But, they say that now is the crucial starting point of your career path. How do you deal with everything?? How am I supposed to find what I want to do for the rest of my life while constructing a sure way to be successful and good?

It's too much. My head is about to explode.

In the end, I think this is an ultimate cry against growing up. It's an ultimate opposition against responsibilities. The three words that keep circulating in my head are "I don't wanna, I don't wanna, I don't wanna." But, I am an adult. I am obligated to fulfill certain roles and requirements. It sucks but everyone has to do it. All I want, though, is to find the answer, to find out what I'm really supposed to be doing.

They say that you're supposed to dedicate your life in finding that out.

that sucks.

I wish...

aaahh, what i would give for that.

PAZ

P.S. We took back the House y'all!! Now it's all on Virginia.

Conspiracy of the day....

Conspiracy of the Day:

Saddam Hussein was sentenced to death this morning, right before the midterm election...


The End.

It was taken out of context.

Maybe it's because of the looming election, but, I've been increasingly impatient with people who don't take responsibilities for their own comments. I don't understand how people can blame others, but I especially don't understand how people can take very clear and non-ambiguous comments and say they were, "taken out of context." If you say something like, "That girl is a raging bitch," you can't go back and say that it was taken out of context. People who only hear that statement will get the same idea as the people who have been participating in the conversation all along. Unless you meant that the girl was actually a female dog, as in the animal with four legs and fur, there's no other way of understanding that sentence. You can't blame anyone else for bad-mouthing a person you don't like. Own up to it!! That is the one thing I can admire about Rush Limbaugh, despite the fact that he is basically the scum of this universe. He does own up to his comment and run with it, however screwed-up and bigoted it can be. ( Poor example, but I couldn't think of someone else at the top of my head. It's 3AM.)

In other un-related news, here is a photo re-cap of Saturday night:

Food Porn

Lion

Tiger

What can I say. It was only days after Halloween, and there were random costumes lying around.

Peace.

A Weekend as a Blonde.

I love Halloween, and everything about costumes and disguise. However, I'm amazingly lazy and a gigantic procrastinator. Therefore, sadly, I've never had a fantastic original costume.

This year, I was even less motivated because I was not planning on going to a costume party. I decided that I would buy a great wig, and I would go out to Hollywood and that would be enough. It really was. I had never had such a response in my life. Just the color of your hair can change the way people act towards you, and this weekend was a truly fascinating testimony to that theory. I observed the people's behavior in almost an empirical fashion while taking shots and eating olives. (I tend to steal olives from the bar. Sometimes I ask for them. Most of the time, I steal them. )

From the moment I got off the car, I got stares and cat calls. This is not me just talking out of my ass. My companion Peter was equally amazed at all the commotion. I got hit on about 200% more than usual. I got offered drinks a lot more than usual. People asked my name and my number left and right. I had a fake number and name ready. I'm sorry for the person whose number is actually 867-5309, but I am even more sorry for the guys that do not realize the fame of that number. ( It's part of a song, by the way, for you non-80's fan. )

They say blondes have more fun. I think people let blondes have more fun. They approach them more light-heartedly. They ask more fun (and dumb) questions. They feel you take more risks because you let peroxide take over your head. They believe all the ridiculous crap that falls out of your mouth. You know, they eat it all up. It's so easy to trick people when they're not paying attention to your intelligence.

Anyway, if you met a Jenny with the number 867-5309, you've been punked. (I'm kidding. I was not sly enough to say that my name was Jenny. My name was Mia. Mia Lee.)

I liked being a blonde. I think I'm too lazy to keep up with it, though. That's what Halloween is for, and even more so, that's what wigs are for.

Here are some snaps:




For more of The Wig, go to Facebook.

PEEAAAAACEEEE.

Metro Stories

About once a month, I encounter some abnormal behaviors on the Metro.

First comes the Flasher with the Afro
I was sitting across from this huge black guy with a bigger afro, which was kept under a fishing hat. The hat's top was missing, so the bush was standing high. He seemed nonchalant. Then, he spread his legs, and held out his penis out of his basketball shorts. The other people sitting next to me were all women, and we were a bit stunned. I couldn't take it so I moved to another seat. He turned out to be a homeless man that kept riding the train. Once we reached the final stop on the line, he got out and went across the track to the train that was leaving to go the opposite direction. Freak.

Then comes The Phantom of Heavy Metal
This guy wasn't very threatening. He didn't attack anyone nor did he show anyone anything one would not want to see. His only offense was singing out loud at 8AM in the morning, and "singing" along to death metal, no less. His exact lyrics were, "Fuck mankind, Fuck my kind, Fuck all man, FUCK FUCK FUCK FUCK!!!" He had gloves on (in August) with skeleton hands printed on them. Actually, his other offense was taking up more than one seat by putting his feet up. In the end, I think that bothered me more than the alleged singing.

Then today.

Stalker with the Bible
People making small talk on the train is not so unusual, but sometimes you meet rather "special" individuals. Today, on my way home I was reading my book, when a guy around my age came up to me and started chatting about nothing. I got the sense that he was hitting on me, so I dismissed the whole thing as trivial and nothing to be concerned about. I noticed that the only thing he was holding was the Bible, but again, not threatening. I got off the subway and briskly walked toward the next train, when I noticed that the same guy was walking right behind me. I gave him the benefit of the doubt and assumed that he must be going on the same train. However, I was also weirded out so I sped up. He sped up too. I ran up the three flights of stairs and he was on my tail. Eventually, the guy was literally running after me. I got scared so I ran even faster towards the train and finally got on and sat next to someone so he couldn't sit next to me. But, he sat directly behind me. I slightly felt his breath on my neck, and got even more freaked out. I called my friend Naoko and explained the whole thing to her in Japanese. For a moment, because of his Bible, I feared he might be Mormon, and might have gone to Japan for his mission, and therefore would know all the shit I was saying about him. However, I grew up with a lot of Mormons and I was pretty sure he was not holding the Book of Mormon, and for the most part, they're not threatening. After hearing my situation, Naoko suggested that I get off the next station, and catch the next train that comes, as to not reveal my actual location of my hometown to this freak. I did just that, and he didn't follow me, so this story ends with relief.

Naoko asked if it was a possibility that he just wanted to talk about God to me because I looked like a Believer. I doubt it, because if he was, then that was the worst way possible to spread the word of Jesus. It can almost act as aversion therapy. I do not approve.

Not all Metro People are stalkers and flashers. One of the subway conductors greets us through the intercom like this, "Goooooood Morning, good morning, GOOD MORNING!! It's a beautiful day, it's a beautiful Monday. Please don't run in the station because you will fall, and now, why would you want to do that to yourselves? Take care of yourselves. Life is beautiful. Today is a beautiful day." He makes me laugh because I feel like I'm hearing someone from Sesame Streets on the dirty old subway.

That's all that has happened to me in the last 3 months that I've been taking the Metro. We'll see what happends in the next 3 months.

Just for fun...

AAANNNNDDDD...




Kanye West? Just because I got fat lips, they gotta make me into a black man... Stereotypes!! Brandy and that Charmed girl are sad comparisons though. I feel bad that they were picked to fit my fat lip face.

Today's blog was brought to you by the special features on my webcam.

Totally Clueless

I recently watched "Clueless" for the first time in several years. When I saw that movie for the first time (more than 10 years ago.. GASP), I loved it because I thought that was how fun high school was going to be like. I didn't understand most of the jokes, and references, or how socially important it was. I just had NO CLUE.

People have told me before that I know a lot of information, but that is because I used to be the most naive fuckin bonehead this side of the Mississippi. I'm not kidding. I didn't know any early pop references. New Kids on the Block, Ace of Base, all those things flew past my head. I didn't know what pot was. I had never even seen or smelled it until college. (That quickly changed after going to the most Reefer Madness college in this country.) Sex? Fuhgetaboutit. Well, when this movie came out, I was only 11-12, so it's not completely strange that I didn't get a lot of it. But let me tell you the things that I found out after watching it in my twenties.

First of all, Travis.
Ok, I did NOT know that his name was Travis BIRKENSTOCKS. Are you kidding me with this? And when he donates his box of shit to that flood drive, I had no idea those things were bongs. For at least a good 8 years, I thought he had donated a twisted pepper grinder and a honey bear bottle with a gigantic belly button.

Christian.
Gay was not in my vocabulary, nor knowledge, so the character Christian was just a weirdo to me.

Josh.
What undergrad college kid gets to help out on a multi-million dollar lawsuit? And, how tight were his pants? Especially when he kisses Cher.

The word Crimson Tide.
I did not understand why Cher was late to class that one day. Little did I know that the Crimson Tide would curse me as well.

I understood the extravagant life style and how it's not really real, so nothing new with most of the girls, except the transformation of Brittany Murphy. And how little transformation Donald Faison went through from Murray to Turk on "Scrubs". I love him, though.

What a great movie. It gives me nostalgia about my clueless-ness and the generation that I grew up with.

I leave you with a quote that best reflects my opinion about refugees and immigration:

"So like, right now for example, the Hatians need to come to America. But some people are all, 'What about the strain on our resources?' Well it's like when I had this garden party for my father's birthday, right? I put R.S.V.P. 'cause it was a sit-down dinner. But some people came that like did not R.S.V.P. I was like totally buggin'. I had to haul ass to the kitchen, redistribute the food, and squish in extra place settings. But by the end of the day it was, like, the more the merrier. And so if the government could just get to the kitchen, rearrange some things, we could certainly party with the Hatians. And in conclusion may I please remind you it does not say R.S.V.P. on the Statue of Liberty. Thank you very much. "

MJ is a woman.

Michael Jackson dressed up as a woman.

Wow. But Wow, as in I-could-kind-of-see-that Wow.

HALLOWEEENNNNNIE

The Halloween Season is upon us, so I will start my story today with the next sentence:

It is my understanding that my life was once saved by a ghost.

I used to have a very dangerous habit of lighting candles before going to bed and a very wasteful habit of leaving my DVD player on so I would fall asleep watching a movie. I usually never intended on either of those things happening, but one night, it did. I was watching "You've Got Mail" and lit some orchid candles in my single room, junior year of college. Sure enough, I fell asleep, and the candle light was still dancing in the night. (That was poetic.)
Suddenly, I heard a noise, and I woke up, just fast enough to see a dark figure rush out the door, and CLOSING it. My candle was blown out, with smoke still rising from it. Must be the wind, I thought, and checked the window. Nope. Windows closed. Must be one of my suitemates, I decided, and I went back to bed. That semester, I lived in the same suite with a wild pack of big burly lesbians, a semi-nudist, and a hippie and her 30 year boyfriend. It wouldn't have surprised me if one of them had snuck into my room to blow out my candles, because that's what lesbians, nudists, and hippies do. They take care of one another. I felt relieved and thankful for not having burned down the entire building.

The next morning, I asked my colorful suitemates if any of them had came into my room that night, and all of them said no. I was confused and started thinking about how maybe the candle just went out. However, I was positive that I had seen a something go out the door, and I KNEW that the door closed. What else could it have been, but a ghost? I decided that it was indeed a visit from the supernatural that had potentially saved my life. In my head, I imagine it as a Casper-type ghost, who just flies around to find something to do. I know these encounters are rare, so I now never light candles at night if I'm alone, because I probably won't meet such a generous ghost again.

This was a light-hearted story, but does not go with the true spirit of Halloween. I leave you with her to give you what this month is supposed to be about.


So children, be good, lest this woman haunt you for your wrong-doings! (Cue thunder bolt crash. MUAAAHAHAHAHAHAHHAHA)

I spent last Halloween in mass at a gigantic cathedral in Santiago de Compostela, or as my friend Janet called it, "a huge Catholic orgasm." What will I do this year....?

NASTY (lookin) FOOD

I am a HUGE ( and I mean gigantic, magnanimous, ridonkulous) affectionato of culinary arts. Whenever I talk about food, I advertise about how appetizing something could be. Today, I am going the exact OPPOSITE direction, because I went to the LA County Fair, a place where only the words Fat, Fried, and Deep-Fried exist when it comes to food.

First up, we have a plate of Deep-Fried Oreos. My friends thought they were good. I thought it tasted like soggy Oreos soaked in oil.

Next, the typical fair food: Giant Turkey Leg and Aussie Battered Potatoes. The potatoes were actually delicious.
Next, a rabbit on a cake that looked like a pile of poop.
And last, but not the least disgusting, a Crispy Creme Chicken Sandwich. That is a glazed Crispy Creme doughnut sandwiching a fried chicken patty with Swiss cheese. It takes like what it looks like. Chicken and donuts.
I (accidentally) flung that shit on the ground when it was my turn to take a bite, because even starving children in Namibia would not eat that off of Brad Pitt and Angelina Jolie's hands.

And just for fun, here's a question: what would Naoko and I look like if we had red bobs? Answer: cartoon characters. ( Especially Naoko.)

The End

Jump Around

Jump up jump and get dowwwwwwwwnn.






PEACE

p.s. thank you hannah's friend for posting that picture up and giving me the opprotunity to steal it. tell hannah that i miss her oodles.

Do you have an accent?

The answer is always "yes." No matter who you are, no matter how you speak, the answer is always always "yes." Unless you some how have no form of communication, you always have an accent.

It always catches me off guard when people are incredibly prejudiced against a certain accent, and how accepted it is within normal conversation. Or when people profess that they don't have one. If you pronounce a word, you have an accent.

To me, having judgments about someone's accent is pretty much as marginalizing as having judgments about someone's skin color, or other physical features. Of course, I have different opinions about physical features; I mean, let's be honest. Who doesn't. But I feel that someone's way of speech, just like skin color, is something people don't have choices about. You grow up in an environment, and you speak the way people around you do. You process all this information and influence since the day you were born, so what options do you really have?

I suppose it's inappropriate to compare skin color with accents, because it is possible to make a choice about accents later on in life, but my point is... Why are such blatant stereotypes OK when it comes to the way of speech?

I wanted to make this point, because I think it does more damage than most people are aware of. A couple of years ago, they did a study on accent association with physical appearance, where they took a recorded speech made by a native English speaker, and played it while presenting two different photographs. One was a photograph of a white woman, and the other one was an Asian woman. The tape was played in front of two different groups, while one of the photographs was being shown, and each group was told that the woman in the picture was making that speech. When asked if the woman had a non-native accent, a significant amount of people from the Asian woman group said yes; despite the fact that it was the same recording.

They also did a similar study where they had a recording of a man speaking with a Southern accent, and another with a man speaking with what people call "Standard English." They were asked if either one made any grammatical mistakes, and a significant amount of people said that the Southern person did. When they played back the tape, the Southern man had made no grammatical mistakes.

So you see, people form opinions about important things, like someone's intelligence, based on these associations, and it's often unjust. My only wish is that people would stop and think about it some times, and give it some consideration.

You're probably wondering why I feel so high and mighty about this. You see, unfortunately, I probably would have the same opinion about these things with the majority of society if I weren't a Linguistics major in college. It was only through classes where I was able to discuss openly about these things. Hopefully, I would have thought about the cause and effect of accent prejudice at some point in time, if I hadn't been a linguistics major. But it would probably had been much later in life, or maybe even never. I probably make the same mistakes today about people's language, the way that those experiments had proven. Hell, I make speech mistakes all the time, but I can't control it. They don't call it verbal diarrhea for nothing.

In the end, we walk through the streets everyday passing judgments about other people. The important thing is to know that there are consequences to these judgments, and that it can be very hurtful and wrong. The wrongness of judgment is something you've been told since you were a child, but it's human nature. You're going to have an opinion about someone without knowing who they are. What I strive to do everyday is to stop and think about it, even just for a second. I hope you do too.

I'm Back!!

I am back from Tokyo! Never in my life has 10 days gone so far. Who knew that I had so much to do and so many people to see.

Well, without further ado, here are some pictures.

The Food Section


1. Rice Burger : burgers made from rice buns.


2. Omelette Rice. Rice wrapped in an omelette. The picture makes it look plastic, but BELIEVE ME, it is SO good.


3. Scary fish. I ate it all, and it was delish.




The Japan-is-The-Queen-of-Making-Everything-Cute Section

1. Onion Head


2. Cute Stuff


3. Turtle Bread


4. Monkey Candy



The Japan-Makes-Everything-Mechanical Section



And finally,

The I-Had-Lots-Of-Fun Section






Now THAT is what I call a blog entry. Few words, and gallions of pictures. (I hope you all actually read my words as well.) For more, go to Facebook. Yes. There's more.

PEAAAACE and Sayonara bitches.