No Photos For You

After spending two-and-a-half weeks in Asia, I have finally returned to the beloved USA. I must say, I have never been happier to step foot in a country so full of trees, grass, orderly lines, and general cleanliness. Of course, Japan was awesome and anyone who says otherwise is surely a Neanderthal, but China was a completely different story.

Now, some of you may be thinking: "Little Asian Girl, where are all the glorious photos that you promised to regale us with?" Well, the short answer is that it got stolen in Shanghai. Yes, some ruthless Chinese thug currently has in his/her possession a broken camera with over 900 photos of me and my mother in various tourist areas looking like silly Americans. The display on my $300 camera broke after taking photos in the rain in Japan, but those enterprising Chinese--God bless their hearts--will take advantage of anything they can get their grimy hands on. As we speak, he/she is probably selling it on the streets of Shanghai at a discounted price: "100RMB! GOOD DEAL BECAUSE DISPLAY BROKEN. LESS TROUBLE FOR PHOTOS TAKING!"

To all the naysayers out there, I do accept part of the blame for the loss. After all, I was carrying it in my messenger bag in the outside compartment rather than the inner one with a zipper where my wallet was. To be fair, it provided easier access since I was the resident photographer for the entire trip. However, you can be assured that after that incident I switched to a tiny purse with a 2-inch strap that I clutched under my armpit for dear life. Public transportation is a veritable goldmine for theft, so it's no wonder why everything in China is fake. At the very least, when stolen, you can comfort yourself with the fact that it only cost you 2 dollars to buy and can be easily replaced.

Anyway, that is the reason that I must continue my egregious habit of stealing other people's photos to post on my blog. I really wish I could show you original art, but at this point, I can't even fake it by snapping pictures around my house. I have no camera.

~Bon Voyage~

Warning! I must relate some news that may strike many of you as terribly disappointing: I am going on vacation!!!

Yes, although I will not be in the lovely US of A for the next three weeks, I will nevertheless think of all of you while I eat delicious fish babies and their parents. If I'm feeling particularly adventurous (and my travel companion has the energy), then I might also make it to the Tsujiki market to eat some live octopus. Be assured that I will post those pictures.

In the meantime, here are some photos that I continue to steal from the internet because I have none of my own. I provide them for your oogling pleasure (I totally understand the appeal of pornography. Blasted hedonism!)




Loving Japan is not enough. You have to love it
SQUARED!








Shibuya, Tokyo. Like NYC, only much cleaner and cooler. Gosh, I'm such a sucker for bright, blinking things.







I know that secretly, my mother wants to be this woman (FYI: Japanese, not a geisha).








Back to my roots! I hope they don't "errr" everything like the Beijing-ers. I'd like to understand my brethren.








The Fat Man who will bring me lots of money so I can pay for medical school.

A Pausch for the Ages

If you haven't heard of Randy Pausch, then you have seriously been living as a troll in some inhospitable part of Antarctica. For the benefit of such societal bums, he is a pioneer of virtual reality and has taught at such prestigious institutions as Carnegie Mellon and the University of Virginia. Although I have not had the pleasure of taking any of his classes or even seeing him live (I'm old like that, you see), I nevertheless have an antenna that steals TV signals from that corporate monster, ABC.

Having watched the special that aired tonight, I must say that Diane Sawyer is about as engaging as a colony of lichen. No really, even Randy had to pose questions for himself to answer, which is fitting given that he's a lot better at this "life" thing than she is. After being diagnosed with pancreatic cancer, he doesn't waste time asking "what about the children??!!!" (um, isn't it obvious? Spend time with them), but rather offers some practical advice for us morons who are so concerned with being PC that we fear asking the tough questions.

A few things that Randy mentioned which I found to be absolutely essential:

#1: Never lose your imagination
Whether your dream is to become a stripper to pay off medical school bills or to simply travel to Italy to drink some real wine, never lose your ability to dream the impossible. I have always had a passion for this. Case in point: I arrived 20 minutes late to work today because I was daydreaming and totally missed my exit on the highway. What was I dreaming about, you ask? Why, my kick-ass weekend! No, it wasn't anything productive like promoting world peace or alleviating world hunger, but dammit, I'm going to dream of my future life even if it interferes with the present one. Or at least deceive myself and then cry terribly when things don't work out like I'd planned.

#2 Always be honest
I don't know how seriously to take this because some things are better left unsaid (like the time I got really messed up after a wine festival and could barely make it to work the next day). However, although you cannot always rely on your parents' threshold for forgiveness, you can certainly turn to strangers on the metro and tell them that they smell real bad and need a shower. Hell, they'll probably even let you give them one! It's one of the amazing things about living in America. If they don't thank you, then they'll certainly try and shoot you.

#3 Always maintain a sense of humor
He didn't actually say this. It's taken from my co-worker's dad who is an awesome guy. But Randy provided a variation to the effect of being the Tigger in life rather than the Eeyore (you know, the cartoon character whose face looks more abysmal than his butt). I wholeheartedly agree with this statement because as cynical, dumb, irreverent, and cruel as I am, I really do love what I write about. It's just funnier when you make fun of it. However, I try not to take things for granted, and my method for doing just that is to point out the ridiculousness of it all. Life is crazy, hilarious, monotonous, boring, and really, really frustrating, but when someone leaves a burning bag of poop on your doorstep, you can't help but laugh. And then call the police to have them arrested.

#4 Never listen to what a guy says. Only trust what he does
Admittedly, this applies mostly to the ladies, but also to a few fruity ones out there. I have not been given any better advice than this. If all women took the above statement to heart, John Gray would not be making millions off variations of Men are from Mars, Women are from Venus (you can bet he's laughing all the way to the bank. I myself thought about writing Men Might be Dumb, but Women are Idiots for Trying to Figure Them Out). Please. Just stop. We live on Planet Earth for crying out loud.

Land of Hello Kitty, Here I Come!!!!

Coming up with new blog topics isn't easy. However, when you live with my dad and travel to a few places, the process becomes a lot easier. Rather than regale you with more stories about England or my dad's many faux pas, I will instead fascinate my thousands of readers with my upcoming trip to Japan and China. Yes, given my penchant for living vicariously through other people, I have artfully stolen the following photo off the internet and painted myself in. I figure it's what you're going to see anyway--cities really don't change much from week to week (save Godzilla intervention, that is). So, violating all established laws of physics, this is me in the distant future:

A Poem For You

In celebration of National Poetry Month (thanks Wolfie), I have provided some leisurely reading below:

Where Are All the Lovers?

A strawberry for all lovers

Having had a series of conversations about potential mates with people of various ages and races, I decided that I would finally write about it. Now, it would seem that most people meet their romantic interests in college or (more likely) at work, but when both of these venerated institutions/vocations fail in the love department, where is a naive soul to go?

According to one co-worker, (we'll call her Young Twenty-Something or YTS, for short), one meets people during happy hours at bars around the city. Given the slightly rotten quality of her encounters, however, YTS is beginning to rethink this strategy. Although I am not a big fan of meeting people at bars, and really only reserve this fraternizing venue for people I know very well, I am willing to give people the benefit of the doubt. After all, if all bar people were sleazy, and you yourself frequent them, then what does that say about you?

Thus, I consulted another friend--Young, Musically-Inclined Male (YMIM)--who told me about the book The Millionaire Mind by Thomas J. Stanley, Ph.D. Clearly a doctorate in business administration knows where to go to get the "goods," and those places are: 1) The Church and 2) Classes. I'm not even going to touch the first idea with a ten-foot pole, particularly if you're going there with the sole intent of getting lucky.

The other possibility is to take a class. Or, like one woman in Stanley's book, pretend to study at the medical school library and bait yourself a doctor husband. I'm serious. She was smart, pretty, ambitious, and looking to get her MBA until she "happened" to meet a doctor while studying at the library, promptly giving up her education to throw outrageously amazing tupperware parties. Could this method work for me? I will be studying there too! But as I am informed, men will actually run away :*(**

Reaching the end of the line, I finally consult a social Mother-of-Three (MOTHR). Apparently one can find many good prospects on public transportation such as the metro and bus. I don't know about you, but I have never spoken to strangers on the train before. Most of the gregarious ones seem to be rather crazy, but who knows? Perhaps I'm being too hasty.

So in the end, the best way to meet a potential "friend" is to frequent bars in a highly religious town while taking MBA classes and metro-ing it in to work.

Other suggestions?

A Sad Excuse for an Asian

It is a rare occasion when my parents go out to eat. When they do, it's typically some faux-Asian dim sum place or The Cheesecake Factory (which is good save their obesity-inducing portions, but being Asian, of course we share). So after viewing the lovely cherry blossoms over the weekend, we decided to head over to China Garden for some greasy Chinese grub. For all you wannabe (or be) Asians out there, China Garden is a fan guan, or food hall in loose translation. This means that management attempts to squeeze as much cash out of their clientele by cramming in as many people as physically possible before some white person decides to call the fire department.





This is what it looks like on FDA inspection day




By the time we got there, there was already a 45-minute wait, and being too lazy to go anywhere else, we simply waited. As we sat there, my mom noticed a white guy sitting across from us reading a Chinese newspaper.
Sensing that some bad shit was about to go down, I held my breath and waited.

Mom: "Look, that white guy is reading the Chinese newspaper."
Me: "Yeah. He's pretty talented."
Mom: "How come you can't read the newspaper?"
Me: (looking around nervously for my dad) Well, they never taught us.
Mom: I sent you to Chinese school for 12 years and you can't even read the paper? You are a sad excuse for an Asian.
Me: ...

Yes. It is true. Despite speaking Asian Chinese to my parents everyday, I am less Asian than a white guy. As a child, I was rebellious and read such subversive literature as Curious George Goes to the Zoo (without his master's permission!!!) and Clifford: The Big Red Badass Dog. After a couple pages of Clifford, let me tell you, that pooch was headed straight for the state penitentiary. Forswearing such juvenile propaganda like Sesame Street's A...B...See? (printed for the foolish masses, no doubt), it's no wonder that I turned out the way I did.

[Actually, I did try to read in Chinese. Once I asked my mom about a panel in a Doraemon comic, and she replied: "It says: HA! HA! HA!" Me: "That's not funny at all"].

[I also wonder, do white people comment when they see me reading The Post? "Billy Bob, why cain't you read no paper? Even 'dem orientils can do it"].

So goes the story of my life. I studied the likes of Shakespeare and Milton in college, only to graduate and manage the finances of some poor, ailing corporation who probably knows more about balance sheets than I do. And, in a few short years, this very same individual will be making crucial decisions about your health when you are two breaths away from the Grim Reaper.

Inspires one with confidence, doesn't it? Thank goodness for the American Dream where even a non-Asian Asian girl can succeed in society.