I have a confession. (((Deep Breath))) Last night I . . . well, I . . . I watched the last episode and the subsequent season post-mortem of Tila Tequilla’s Shot at Love. And no, VH-1 wasn’t the only channel I could catch that evening. I was channel surfing and there was something morbidly compelling about it that caused me to waste, er, spend two hours of my life watching these episodes. I’m sure it does not speak well of me or my taste in TV.
For the uninitiated, Tila Tequilla is a bi-sexual internet star. For this show, she invites men and women to compete for her affection in full “reality” TV style. It came down to two finalists: one man and one woman. Tila rejects the man, who professed his love and was obviously devastated by her decision.
Then Tila meets with the woman and offers her a “shot at love.” The woman declines and Tila is crying, shaking and in full “why me, what’s wrong with me, why can’t I find love” mode. The woman (I forget her name) says she rejected Tila because she is confused about whether she wants a relationship with a man or a woman and is also unsure if she can meet Tila’s expectations for a partner. She also mentioned she sees Tila more as a friend than in a romantic way. Ouch!
So, as one may be able to guess, the post-mortem / reunion show was strange, awkward and painful. When the man (I forget his name, too) confronts Tila, he is quite civil, but wanted an explanation why she did not pick him. Tila gives some lame excuses, which basically tells me she just wasn’t into him, even though she professed her love to him on several occasions (they showed clips of that).
The big confrontation occurred between Tila and the woman. The woman was explaining why she rejected Tila, but Tila was having none of it. She was obviously still hurt and embarrassed and it quickly degenerated into a screaming, name-calling fiasco.
Anyway, after watching this, I did not feel well. I didn’t feel dirty or anything, but it kind of hurt my heart to see all this pain, anger and selfishness up for public consumption. I was also kind of irritated that Tila seemed to blithely dismiss the man and his feelings and made it all about her – that somehow Tila was wronged and hoodwinked, but refused to see how she had done the same thing to others.
It made me start to wonder about love. What does love mean? What makes anyone think love can be found in the artificial world of a TV show? Have we (society) perverted love? Or have we created something unobtainable in our expectations of romantic love?
So here are some relationship lessons I learned in those two hours (see, they weren't a complete waste of time):
Lesson #1: Loving another person means humbling yourself and truly wanting what is best for them.
I think most of my irritation stemmed from the seeming hypocrisy of Tila going on and on about how much she loved this woman, made herself vulnerable and now is broken hearted, when it seemed more like her pride was damaged than her heart. Tila was mean, vindictive and hurtful when she spoke to the woman on stage.
Compare that with the man whom Tila rejected. The moderator asked him if knowing Tila got rejected after she rejected him made him feel any better. His answer was no. In fact, he said that it made him hurt more, knowing Tila was hurting and did not find her true love. That sounds more like love to me. Even though Tila hurt him, he cared about her enough to truly wish the best for her. Tila was not empathetic or sympathetic towards the woman at all. In fact, she was was not empathetic or sympathetic towards the man, either.
During another part of the show, the moderator created this hypo: what if the man and woman had been together with Tila to hear her decision? And then, after choosing the woman and being rejected, what if at that point Tila turned back to the man? Would he have started a relationship with her knowing he was her second choice? His answer: he was not sure. He said maybe they could go on from that point and forget the past and build something better together.
Wow, that was cool. That's humble love. Love without pride and self-righteousness. Perhaps when I feel that way about someone, I will know I am truly in love.
All this also goes along with Lesson #2: You can learn a lot about a person by how that person behaves and handles a situation in which he or she does not get something he or she really wants.
Lesson #3: Beware of hearing only what you want to hear and forcing everything to fit into the paradigm of your own construction at the expense of reality.
During their last date, the woman expressed her doubts and insecurities to Tila. Tila interpreted that as the woman being afraid to let herself be vulnerable and fall in love. Tila imagined herself being the one person that would make the woman feel safe so she could love Tila and be loved in return. What the woman really meant was, "I do not know if I want this. I do not know if I want to be with you."
Lesson #4: Tattoos are forever, but relationships may not be; therefore, if you choose to tattoo, please tattoo wisely.
Both the man and the woman got tattoos. While the man said he did not regret it, he did wish it was smaller and less gaudy. The woman's tattoo was of a star similar to one Tila has. The woman's brother, mom and dad all got similar tattoos to make it a family thing. Remember Johnny Depp's "Winona/Whino Forever?" A cautionary tale for sure.
Lesson #5: If you find yourself contemplating finding love on a "reality" television show with a bi-sexual internet personality, run quickly in the opposite direction.
Wednesday, July 9, 2008
Friday, June 27, 2008
Dazed and Confused
I do not understand why Barak Obama has refused public campaign funds. Here are my issues:
1. Earlier in his campaign, Obama promised, if he became the Democratic nominee, he would use public funds and would encourage/challenge his Republican counterpart to follow suit. Now Obama is going back on this promise. Why?
The two main reasons I can think of are both unflattering.
One reason might be that he did not realize how "broken" the system was when he made the original promise. If this is the reason, it makes him look like a political neophyte. Inexperienced. A babe wandering in the woods versus a savvier more knowledgable opponent who knows the landscape. This reason also opens the door to all the questions about Obama's inexperience. Yes, Chicago local politics is not like Honolulu local politics, but c'mon...it's not like being seasoned on the national and international stage. Obama has not served a full term as a U.S. Senator, and most of that term has been spent campaigning.
The second reason may be that Obama did not realize how much more money he can raise if he refused to take the public funding and once he saw that fundraising power, he opted for what he felt would give him the edge over McCain (co-papa of some of the most significant campaign finance reform legislation of our time, even though much did not pass). If this is the reason, Obama looks opportunistic and willing to compromise his "beliefs."
2. I have listened to Obama's reasoning regarding this issue. If I understand him correctly, he is not taking public funding because it is a "broken" system. Well, this raises more questions for me than answers. Does taking private funding eliminate the corruption? Not necessarily. Big business, conglomerations and the like can contribute heavily to Obama's campaign. Will Obama feel less indebted to them because they gave him money directly rather than through the Democratice Party (aka soft monies and slush funds)? I do not think so. Does Obama think so?
And frankly, the only way he could probably get around that is to promise not to accept more than a politically "nominal" amount from any contributor like Ralph Nader or Jerry Brown have in past elections. I have not heard Obama say anything like that.
Furthermore, is Obama saying that public financing of elections is so irrevocably broken that he cannot function at all within its tenents? How does refusing public monies (and its subsequent restrictions) serve to fix or heal the "broken" system? Public campaign financing was supposed to be the great equalizer. Even the playing field. Why not agree to use only public air time? No "purchasing" tv time for political ads. Obama could have called for that and asked McCain to join him. It would have put McCain in a tough spot, because he has served as the champion for reform in this area. Why not do that? You see what I mean about more questions than answers.
I am confused. Someone who understands, please explain it to me, because I do not get it.
1. Earlier in his campaign, Obama promised, if he became the Democratic nominee, he would use public funds and would encourage/challenge his Republican counterpart to follow suit. Now Obama is going back on this promise. Why?
The two main reasons I can think of are both unflattering.
One reason might be that he did not realize how "broken" the system was when he made the original promise. If this is the reason, it makes him look like a political neophyte. Inexperienced. A babe wandering in the woods versus a savvier more knowledgable opponent who knows the landscape. This reason also opens the door to all the questions about Obama's inexperience. Yes, Chicago local politics is not like Honolulu local politics, but c'mon...it's not like being seasoned on the national and international stage. Obama has not served a full term as a U.S. Senator, and most of that term has been spent campaigning.
The second reason may be that Obama did not realize how much more money he can raise if he refused to take the public funding and once he saw that fundraising power, he opted for what he felt would give him the edge over McCain (co-papa of some of the most significant campaign finance reform legislation of our time, even though much did not pass). If this is the reason, Obama looks opportunistic and willing to compromise his "beliefs."
2. I have listened to Obama's reasoning regarding this issue. If I understand him correctly, he is not taking public funding because it is a "broken" system. Well, this raises more questions for me than answers. Does taking private funding eliminate the corruption? Not necessarily. Big business, conglomerations and the like can contribute heavily to Obama's campaign. Will Obama feel less indebted to them because they gave him money directly rather than through the Democratice Party (aka soft monies and slush funds)? I do not think so. Does Obama think so?
And frankly, the only way he could probably get around that is to promise not to accept more than a politically "nominal" amount from any contributor like Ralph Nader or Jerry Brown have in past elections. I have not heard Obama say anything like that.
Furthermore, is Obama saying that public financing of elections is so irrevocably broken that he cannot function at all within its tenents? How does refusing public monies (and its subsequent restrictions) serve to fix or heal the "broken" system? Public campaign financing was supposed to be the great equalizer. Even the playing field. Why not agree to use only public air time? No "purchasing" tv time for political ads. Obama could have called for that and asked McCain to join him. It would have put McCain in a tough spot, because he has served as the champion for reform in this area. Why not do that? You see what I mean about more questions than answers.
I am confused. Someone who understands, please explain it to me, because I do not get it.
Tuesday, June 17, 2008
"Sicko" Inspiration
I saw Michael Moore’s film “Sicko” this past weekend. This film spotlights the state of health care in America with special emphasis on the effect of insurance companies. How many of you love your HMO?
Now, I know Michael Moore has his critics. Notice I said I saw his “film” and not his “documentary.” While Sicko has documentary elements, as a whole I saw it as more of a personal call to arms rather than a Frontline production. Critics say Moore cherry-picked many of the statistics he used. I believe it. They say Moore’s own point of view influences his filmmaking. That’s true. They say his self-aggrandizement gets in the way of the facts. That might be a bit of an overstatement, but there is some legitimacy to that, too.
All the criticism however, does not mean this film is not powerful, heartfelt and sincere. I was not surprised that this film moved me. Frankly, I would have been surprised if it had not. Tragic stories of death and struggle. Of pain and helplessness. Of overcoming all the hurt and loss. Stories of heroic fights against insurance companies and bureaucracies that ended in the death of a loved one. The tears, frustration, anger and resilience of their families. I expected to be moved by all of that. And I was.
What I did not expect was to be inspired. To have my inner self and my core values lit by the burning flame of belief in untainted democracy, the connectedness of humanity and the passion for righteousness.
Moore interviewed some really interesting people. I have a new hero. His name is Tony Benn. He has been involved in British politics for decades and he rocks my socks. The content and meaning alone of what he says is powerful, but when accompanied by his passionate, sincere delivery…well…it just takes his ideas and ideals to a whole other level.
Benn talks about how good leaders are recognized by the people, as in, “Wow, look at the good things this leader has accomplished!” He said great leaders are not recognized by the people, instead the people say, “Wow, look what WE have accomplished!” He goes on to talk about how it is easy to govern a frightened, cynical, demoralized populace and much more difficult to govern an educated, healthy and confident nation.
America has become a frightened, cynical and demoralized nation. We are afraid of terrorists, so we give up our civil liberties. We are afraid of losing our homes and health insurance, so we stay in jobs that leech the life out of us. We are cynical; there is a pervasive feeling that nothing can change our circumstances. No matter what we do or say, we will not make a difference. Just look at how many eligible voters actually vote in our country. Our fear, our cynicism serves to demoralize us.
But Benn has an alternate vision. He sees the power of true democracy. He sees how it equals us, how it connects us and how it behooves us to be a moral people…not in the “my God is better than your God” way; but a society working to protect the voiceless, the disenfranchised and the powerless is a moral issue.
Which segues nicely to another individual interviewed by Moore in Cuba – Che Guevara’s daughter, who is a doctor there. She spoke so eloquently and so genuinely about how each life is precious and worthy. That providing care and offering dignity for each individual is a purpose worth fighting for and worth personal sacrifice.
I am not doing these people justice with my questionable memory and inelegance. And I know this comes across as socialist. But why is that a dirty word in America? The movie points to other areas where we readily accept these “socialist” ideals: police, fire departments, libraries, parks, public school.
When the people making decisions about what tests and treatments we can and cannot have, and what specialists we can and cannot see is a for-profit business subject to shareholders, there is an undeniable, colossal conflict of interest there. It seems rather obvious and straightforward to me.
When over 50% of families declaring bankruptcy do so as a result of injury or disease in there is something wrong. People should not lose their homes and what they spent a lifetime building because they got sick or were hurt in an accident.
Are we going to remain fearful and demoralized and sit here and do nothing, or will we become educated, strong and proactive? Will we storm the castle gates demanding health care for all our citizens? Our government is no longer scared of us…the people. They are scared of not getting contributions from big businesses and conglomerates. We need to once again become the people that cause decision-makers to shake in their little Brooks Brothers suits. We will no longer be manipulated and frightened so we stay quiet and hope no one notices us.
We need to get in touch with those buried revolutionary roots of ours. We need to remember that some ideals are worthy of the fight and sacrifice. We need to have confidence in the power of our voices. Methinks it is time for America to have another revolution.
Viva la revolution!
Now, I know Michael Moore has his critics. Notice I said I saw his “film” and not his “documentary.” While Sicko has documentary elements, as a whole I saw it as more of a personal call to arms rather than a Frontline production. Critics say Moore cherry-picked many of the statistics he used. I believe it. They say Moore’s own point of view influences his filmmaking. That’s true. They say his self-aggrandizement gets in the way of the facts. That might be a bit of an overstatement, but there is some legitimacy to that, too.
All the criticism however, does not mean this film is not powerful, heartfelt and sincere. I was not surprised that this film moved me. Frankly, I would have been surprised if it had not. Tragic stories of death and struggle. Of pain and helplessness. Of overcoming all the hurt and loss. Stories of heroic fights against insurance companies and bureaucracies that ended in the death of a loved one. The tears, frustration, anger and resilience of their families. I expected to be moved by all of that. And I was.
What I did not expect was to be inspired. To have my inner self and my core values lit by the burning flame of belief in untainted democracy, the connectedness of humanity and the passion for righteousness.
Moore interviewed some really interesting people. I have a new hero. His name is Tony Benn. He has been involved in British politics for decades and he rocks my socks. The content and meaning alone of what he says is powerful, but when accompanied by his passionate, sincere delivery…well…it just takes his ideas and ideals to a whole other level.
Benn talks about how good leaders are recognized by the people, as in, “Wow, look at the good things this leader has accomplished!” He said great leaders are not recognized by the people, instead the people say, “Wow, look what WE have accomplished!” He goes on to talk about how it is easy to govern a frightened, cynical, demoralized populace and much more difficult to govern an educated, healthy and confident nation.
America has become a frightened, cynical and demoralized nation. We are afraid of terrorists, so we give up our civil liberties. We are afraid of losing our homes and health insurance, so we stay in jobs that leech the life out of us. We are cynical; there is a pervasive feeling that nothing can change our circumstances. No matter what we do or say, we will not make a difference. Just look at how many eligible voters actually vote in our country. Our fear, our cynicism serves to demoralize us.
But Benn has an alternate vision. He sees the power of true democracy. He sees how it equals us, how it connects us and how it behooves us to be a moral people…not in the “my God is better than your God” way; but a society working to protect the voiceless, the disenfranchised and the powerless is a moral issue.
Which segues nicely to another individual interviewed by Moore in Cuba – Che Guevara’s daughter, who is a doctor there. She spoke so eloquently and so genuinely about how each life is precious and worthy. That providing care and offering dignity for each individual is a purpose worth fighting for and worth personal sacrifice.
I am not doing these people justice with my questionable memory and inelegance. And I know this comes across as socialist. But why is that a dirty word in America? The movie points to other areas where we readily accept these “socialist” ideals: police, fire departments, libraries, parks, public school.
When the people making decisions about what tests and treatments we can and cannot have, and what specialists we can and cannot see is a for-profit business subject to shareholders, there is an undeniable, colossal conflict of interest there. It seems rather obvious and straightforward to me.
When over 50% of families declaring bankruptcy do so as a result of injury or disease in there is something wrong. People should not lose their homes and what they spent a lifetime building because they got sick or were hurt in an accident.
Are we going to remain fearful and demoralized and sit here and do nothing, or will we become educated, strong and proactive? Will we storm the castle gates demanding health care for all our citizens? Our government is no longer scared of us…the people. They are scared of not getting contributions from big businesses and conglomerates. We need to once again become the people that cause decision-makers to shake in their little Brooks Brothers suits. We will no longer be manipulated and frightened so we stay quiet and hope no one notices us.
We need to get in touch with those buried revolutionary roots of ours. We need to remember that some ideals are worthy of the fight and sacrifice. We need to have confidence in the power of our voices. Methinks it is time for America to have another revolution.
Viva la revolution!
Sunday, June 15, 2008
Democratic Nominee
Ambivalent. Yup, I think that is how I feel. Ambivalent.
Dictionary.com defines ambivalence as follows:
1. Uncertainty or fluctuation, esp. when caused by inability to make a choice or by a simultaneous desire to say or do two opposite or conflicting things.
2. Psychology. the coexistence within an individual of positive and negative feelings toward the same person, object, or action, simultaneously drawing him or her in opposite directions.
Barak Obama is the presumptive Democratic nominee and Hillary Clinton is out of the race. It's fairly accurate to say that I have positive and negative feelings about this.
I heard Hillary's concession speech and thought it was amazing. She hit all the right notes in throwing her support to Obama and in thanking her supporters by acknowledging the importance of what she (and they) was fighting for...and that it was not for naught. That their sacrifices and efforts on her behalf meant something. She was strong, gracious and nothing like the right wing's media pundits tried to portray her as: a shrieking, nagging wife. She was a viable candidate for President of the United States and they kept saying all American's would hear when she spoke was, "How many times have I asked you to take out the garbage." Bleh.
I know she was not the perfect candidate. She is institution. She is party machine. She began as the First Lady fighting the health insurance companies and ended up being the Senator who took contributions from those same insurance companies. She voted for the war in Iraq; and never publically acknowledged that was a mistake. But she is also savvy, has a vision and seems to genuinely want to provide all Americans with the same benefits and advantages she has had in her lifetime. The same can be said of Barak, too. I also believe he is savvy, has a vision and is genuine in his beliefs.
But his inexperience keeps rearing its head and getting in my face. When one applies for a job, the interviewer uses past experiences and behavior as the best indicator of how the candidate may act in the future. It is all he or she has to go on, since we don't really have Deloreans with flux capacitors. I know Hillary Clinton can handle criticism and legislative wrath. I know she can handle herself with international leaders. I know she can work with both sides of the aisle ( at least to some extent). I do not know these things about Barak Obama. He may very well be able to do them, but then again, maybe not.
Obama's crew has shown it can win campaigns. Does this mean he can be the CEO of the United States of America? I wish campaigning had more to do with one's ability to execute the duties of President. Great campaigners can be lousy leaders and vice versa.
And so I am ambivalent.
Dictionary.com defines ambivalence as follows:
1. Uncertainty or fluctuation, esp. when caused by inability to make a choice or by a simultaneous desire to say or do two opposite or conflicting things.
2. Psychology. the coexistence within an individual of positive and negative feelings toward the same person, object, or action, simultaneously drawing him or her in opposite directions.
Barak Obama is the presumptive Democratic nominee and Hillary Clinton is out of the race. It's fairly accurate to say that I have positive and negative feelings about this.
I heard Hillary's concession speech and thought it was amazing. She hit all the right notes in throwing her support to Obama and in thanking her supporters by acknowledging the importance of what she (and they) was fighting for...and that it was not for naught. That their sacrifices and efforts on her behalf meant something. She was strong, gracious and nothing like the right wing's media pundits tried to portray her as: a shrieking, nagging wife. She was a viable candidate for President of the United States and they kept saying all American's would hear when she spoke was, "How many times have I asked you to take out the garbage." Bleh.
I know she was not the perfect candidate. She is institution. She is party machine. She began as the First Lady fighting the health insurance companies and ended up being the Senator who took contributions from those same insurance companies. She voted for the war in Iraq; and never publically acknowledged that was a mistake. But she is also savvy, has a vision and seems to genuinely want to provide all Americans with the same benefits and advantages she has had in her lifetime. The same can be said of Barak, too. I also believe he is savvy, has a vision and is genuine in his beliefs.
But his inexperience keeps rearing its head and getting in my face. When one applies for a job, the interviewer uses past experiences and behavior as the best indicator of how the candidate may act in the future. It is all he or she has to go on, since we don't really have Deloreans with flux capacitors. I know Hillary Clinton can handle criticism and legislative wrath. I know she can handle herself with international leaders. I know she can work with both sides of the aisle ( at least to some extent). I do not know these things about Barak Obama. He may very well be able to do them, but then again, maybe not.
Obama's crew has shown it can win campaigns. Does this mean he can be the CEO of the United States of America? I wish campaigning had more to do with one's ability to execute the duties of President. Great campaigners can be lousy leaders and vice versa.
And so I am ambivalent.
Friday, June 6, 2008
Smoke Gets in My Eyes
The other day I decided to make this yummy chicken dish with whole garlic cloves, lemon, rosemary, etc. I added hassleback potatoes, putting a sliver of garlic between every other cut in the potato. For this dish, you slow bake the chicken for 2 hours at a low temperature, then turn up the oven to 400 degrees for the last 45 minutes so everything gets some nice color.
As the chicken is slow baking in my oven, I start to smell those delicious baking chicken and garlic smells. Eventually I start smelling chicken grease smells. Then smoky greasy smells. The chicken fat is melting and overflowing from my obviously too shallow pan and landing on the bottom of my oven. The heat is burning the fat and making smoke. The smoke is coming out of my oven though the sides as well as the little vent in the back.
I start to panic.
You see, I live in an apartment. I live in an apartment that has a smoke detector, which is part of a building-wide system. This system automatically calls the fire department. Also, every apartment has sprinklers.
I do not know what will trigger the sprinklers. Is it smoke for a certain amount of time? Smoke plus a certain degree of heat? Just a certain degree of heat? I also do not know if only my sprinklers will go off, or will all the sprinklers on my floor go off (there are 5 other apartments on my floor and 18 floors in my building). Will the alarm go off and evacuate everyone? Ack!
I turn off the oven even though I have not done the high heat for 30-45 minutes yet. I get a towel and fan somewhat frantically below the smoke detector, trying to avoid a building-wide evacuation. The smoke detector’s red light blinks. Does it always do that or does that mean it’s ready to go off? Why haven’t I been paying better attention so I would know these things?
Eventually, after much pondering, anxiety and towel waving, I sense the smoke beginning to dissipate. The oven is off. All is well. I lower my arms in relief. I take out the chicken. The potatoes are not completely done and the chicken is not nice and brown on top, but it is cooked. I eat one. Yum. Needs a little more salt, but yummy.
My body begins to relax. I have a bright idea. Why don’t I engage the self-cleaning feature of my oven? Then tomorrow I will have a clean oven and can finish baking off my chicken and potatoes and have a satisfying meal.
Looking back, I can only blame the left-over adrenaline/endorphins that must have still been running amok in my system for thinking such idiocy was brilliant.
I turn on the self-cleaner feature of my oven and have the first niggling in the back of my mind that this may not be as brilliant an idea as I think. I should’ve listened to my Spidey-sense. But nooooo. I set the oven to clean and then take a shower. By the time I am out of the shower, smoke is coming out of my oven. Not greasy, chicken-smelling smoke, but dark, acrid, scary smoke.
Duh! When an oven self-cleans, it goes on super-high heat to basically annihilate any crusty left-overs and turn them into ash. Except I don’t have chunks of left-over food, I have chicken fat and olive oil on the bottom of my oven. I see flames. I have created a grease fire in my oven.
Double ack! Triple ack! There are not enough “acks!” in the universe to express my dismay. My trepidation. My intense bout of panic.
I turn off the oven (Thank goodness it turned off. I think some ovens, once the cleaning mechanism is turned on, do not turn off until it is done). I fling open my apartment door and start feverishly fanning beneath my smoke detector with my bath towel.
I start to pray.
The smoke is toxic. Like a tangible entity, it hovers menacingly, burning my eyes so I am tearing. It burns the back of my throat, which has already constricted in my anxiety.
Then I have another item to add to my list of horribles: my bunny!
If these fumes are toxic, which they very well may be, how will it affect my bunny? I run to get a fan and put it on high by his cage, hopefully creating enough airflow to disperse the smoke. I grab another fan and put it in the kitchen. But now I think I’ve somehow made it worse by causing the smoke to swirl around rather than find its way out of my apartment.
I take the fan out of the kitchen and hold it over my head beneath the smoke detector, because my arms are tired of flapping my bath towel around. I wonder if I look like John Cusack’s character in Say Anything when he holds the boom box over his head. Then I think the smoke must be getting to me, because that is asinine.
I pray some more.
Finally, after what seems like an eternity, the smoke’s tentacles seem to slowly disperse, becoming less black, less gagging, less scary. I am exhausted physically, mentally and emotionally. I am sweating from all my frenetic exertions and need to take another shower. My whole apartment smells like bad grease fire.
So now I have some new items to add to my list of successful apartment living:
(1) Do not make Cajun-blackened steak (first brush with smoke detector going off, luckily sprinklers didn’t follow suit);
(2) Do not broil kalbi (who knew how much smoke some short ribs would generate?);
(3) Bake chicken in deep pan so fat does not drip onto oven bottom; and
(4) Should #3 occur, under no circumstances should the oven’s self-cleaning mechanism be engaged.
I may not be smart, but at least I’m educable.
As the chicken is slow baking in my oven, I start to smell those delicious baking chicken and garlic smells. Eventually I start smelling chicken grease smells. Then smoky greasy smells. The chicken fat is melting and overflowing from my obviously too shallow pan and landing on the bottom of my oven. The heat is burning the fat and making smoke. The smoke is coming out of my oven though the sides as well as the little vent in the back.
I start to panic.
You see, I live in an apartment. I live in an apartment that has a smoke detector, which is part of a building-wide system. This system automatically calls the fire department. Also, every apartment has sprinklers.
I do not know what will trigger the sprinklers. Is it smoke for a certain amount of time? Smoke plus a certain degree of heat? Just a certain degree of heat? I also do not know if only my sprinklers will go off, or will all the sprinklers on my floor go off (there are 5 other apartments on my floor and 18 floors in my building). Will the alarm go off and evacuate everyone? Ack!
I turn off the oven even though I have not done the high heat for 30-45 minutes yet. I get a towel and fan somewhat frantically below the smoke detector, trying to avoid a building-wide evacuation. The smoke detector’s red light blinks. Does it always do that or does that mean it’s ready to go off? Why haven’t I been paying better attention so I would know these things?
Eventually, after much pondering, anxiety and towel waving, I sense the smoke beginning to dissipate. The oven is off. All is well. I lower my arms in relief. I take out the chicken. The potatoes are not completely done and the chicken is not nice and brown on top, but it is cooked. I eat one. Yum. Needs a little more salt, but yummy.
My body begins to relax. I have a bright idea. Why don’t I engage the self-cleaning feature of my oven? Then tomorrow I will have a clean oven and can finish baking off my chicken and potatoes and have a satisfying meal.
Looking back, I can only blame the left-over adrenaline/endorphins that must have still been running amok in my system for thinking such idiocy was brilliant.
I turn on the self-cleaner feature of my oven and have the first niggling in the back of my mind that this may not be as brilliant an idea as I think. I should’ve listened to my Spidey-sense. But nooooo. I set the oven to clean and then take a shower. By the time I am out of the shower, smoke is coming out of my oven. Not greasy, chicken-smelling smoke, but dark, acrid, scary smoke.
Duh! When an oven self-cleans, it goes on super-high heat to basically annihilate any crusty left-overs and turn them into ash. Except I don’t have chunks of left-over food, I have chicken fat and olive oil on the bottom of my oven. I see flames. I have created a grease fire in my oven.
Double ack! Triple ack! There are not enough “acks!” in the universe to express my dismay. My trepidation. My intense bout of panic.
I turn off the oven (Thank goodness it turned off. I think some ovens, once the cleaning mechanism is turned on, do not turn off until it is done). I fling open my apartment door and start feverishly fanning beneath my smoke detector with my bath towel.
I start to pray.
The smoke is toxic. Like a tangible entity, it hovers menacingly, burning my eyes so I am tearing. It burns the back of my throat, which has already constricted in my anxiety.
Then I have another item to add to my list of horribles: my bunny!
If these fumes are toxic, which they very well may be, how will it affect my bunny? I run to get a fan and put it on high by his cage, hopefully creating enough airflow to disperse the smoke. I grab another fan and put it in the kitchen. But now I think I’ve somehow made it worse by causing the smoke to swirl around rather than find its way out of my apartment.
I take the fan out of the kitchen and hold it over my head beneath the smoke detector, because my arms are tired of flapping my bath towel around. I wonder if I look like John Cusack’s character in Say Anything when he holds the boom box over his head. Then I think the smoke must be getting to me, because that is asinine.
I pray some more.
Finally, after what seems like an eternity, the smoke’s tentacles seem to slowly disperse, becoming less black, less gagging, less scary. I am exhausted physically, mentally and emotionally. I am sweating from all my frenetic exertions and need to take another shower. My whole apartment smells like bad grease fire.
So now I have some new items to add to my list of successful apartment living:
(1) Do not make Cajun-blackened steak (first brush with smoke detector going off, luckily sprinklers didn’t follow suit);
(2) Do not broil kalbi (who knew how much smoke some short ribs would generate?);
(3) Bake chicken in deep pan so fat does not drip onto oven bottom; and
(4) Should #3 occur, under no circumstances should the oven’s self-cleaning mechanism be engaged.
I may not be smart, but at least I’m educable.
Thursday, May 29, 2008
Some Cheese to Go with Your Whine, Mademoiselle?
I do not think of myself as a whiner. I don’t particularly like whiners—even if they’re little kids. Whining is unattractive, annoying and unimaginative. It isn’t clever or thoughtful or insightful.
But after yesterday, all I can say is, “Bring in the brie, havarti, cheddar, mozzarella, maytag and parmesan, Baby!” I had enough whine in me to handle all that, plus more!
I think what I did (because I am still not absolutely sure) was completely wipe the hard drive in my father’s computer. Pictures, e-mails, copies of letters, investment thing-a-ma-jiggas are all gone. Lost forever in the deep, dark, morass known as cyberspace.
It all began when my dad’s computer froze on me. No amount of creative threats, mouse shimmying or pressing ctrl+alt+del made an iota of difference. So I did the only thing I knew to do: I unplugged the computer. I waited 30 seconds. Then I plugged it in again. As the computer was re-booting (or whatever it is called, yes, I’m one step away from being a Luddite), I saw on the screen: “F10 = System Recovery.” I thought to myself, “Yes, I would like to recover whatever I may have lost when I unplugged the computer.” I proceed to press F10.
BIG mistake. After it goes through the “recovery” process, I am left with having to set up this computer like I just took it out of the box! All the user names are gone. I even have to go through the process of setting up the internet connection. Now why in the name of all that is logical and not misleading would the computer equate “recovery” with “wiping your hard drive clean”?!? That is not “recovery,” that is erasing. Starting over. Clean slate. According to the dictionary, “recover” means: (1) to get back or regain; (2) to make up for; make good the loss or damage of; (3) to salvage.
Pressing F10 did the exact opposite of all that! I lost, damaged and wiped clean so as to begin from scratch.
I felt awful. Still do. So what did I do in this moment of crisis? Was I stoic? Did I begin reparations? No. I started to whine. (Yes, it helped as much as one would imagine, that is to say, not at all to negatively…refer above to the irritating/annoyingness of whining).
I whined to my brother-in-law who happens to be our family’s computer go-to guy (Whaaaat do I dooooo?). I whined to my parents in apology for losing all their stuff (I’m soooooo sorrrryyyy!)
My mom said: “It’s only computer stuff.” Of course, my mom only uses the computer to play spider solitaire. My dad uses the computer to e-mail, manage his investments, keep copies of business letters and to store pictures taken on vacations and other important picture-worthy events.
At best my whining made me feel better in the short-term…like an indulgence. But then I started getting annoyed and irritated with myself for being such an annoying, irritating whiner. Plus I was feeling weak for having indulged myself in such a wallowing pastime.
Seriously, why could I not have left well enough alone? If I had not pressed that idiotic F10 button, everything would have been fine. But for that F10 button, I would not be loathing myself so entirely right now. For being an idiot. For being a whiner. For indulging in my whininess. For being an indulgent idiotic whiner. Bleh.
I am all for equality and not showing favoritism, but I must say, I will never be able to look at the F10 key in quite the same way again. A part of me will always loathe the F10 key.
I’m sorry, Dad! Deceived by the F10’s siren call of “recovery,” I led your computer into cruel rocks and taunting waves only to be torn asunder. Waaaaahhhhh!
Now, gimme some cheese!
But after yesterday, all I can say is, “Bring in the brie, havarti, cheddar, mozzarella, maytag and parmesan, Baby!” I had enough whine in me to handle all that, plus more!
I think what I did (because I am still not absolutely sure) was completely wipe the hard drive in my father’s computer. Pictures, e-mails, copies of letters, investment thing-a-ma-jiggas are all gone. Lost forever in the deep, dark, morass known as cyberspace.
It all began when my dad’s computer froze on me. No amount of creative threats, mouse shimmying or pressing ctrl+alt+del made an iota of difference. So I did the only thing I knew to do: I unplugged the computer. I waited 30 seconds. Then I plugged it in again. As the computer was re-booting (or whatever it is called, yes, I’m one step away from being a Luddite), I saw on the screen: “F10 = System Recovery.” I thought to myself, “Yes, I would like to recover whatever I may have lost when I unplugged the computer.” I proceed to press F10.
BIG mistake. After it goes through the “recovery” process, I am left with having to set up this computer like I just took it out of the box! All the user names are gone. I even have to go through the process of setting up the internet connection. Now why in the name of all that is logical and not misleading would the computer equate “recovery” with “wiping your hard drive clean”?!? That is not “recovery,” that is erasing. Starting over. Clean slate. According to the dictionary, “recover” means: (1) to get back or regain; (2) to make up for; make good the loss or damage of; (3) to salvage.
Pressing F10 did the exact opposite of all that! I lost, damaged and wiped clean so as to begin from scratch.
I felt awful. Still do. So what did I do in this moment of crisis? Was I stoic? Did I begin reparations? No. I started to whine. (Yes, it helped as much as one would imagine, that is to say, not at all to negatively…refer above to the irritating/annoyingness of whining).
I whined to my brother-in-law who happens to be our family’s computer go-to guy (Whaaaat do I dooooo?). I whined to my parents in apology for losing all their stuff (I’m soooooo sorrrryyyy!)
My mom said: “It’s only computer stuff.” Of course, my mom only uses the computer to play spider solitaire. My dad uses the computer to e-mail, manage his investments, keep copies of business letters and to store pictures taken on vacations and other important picture-worthy events.
At best my whining made me feel better in the short-term…like an indulgence. But then I started getting annoyed and irritated with myself for being such an annoying, irritating whiner. Plus I was feeling weak for having indulged myself in such a wallowing pastime.
Seriously, why could I not have left well enough alone? If I had not pressed that idiotic F10 button, everything would have been fine. But for that F10 button, I would not be loathing myself so entirely right now. For being an idiot. For being a whiner. For indulging in my whininess. For being an indulgent idiotic whiner. Bleh.
I am all for equality and not showing favoritism, but I must say, I will never be able to look at the F10 key in quite the same way again. A part of me will always loathe the F10 key.
I’m sorry, Dad! Deceived by the F10’s siren call of “recovery,” I led your computer into cruel rocks and taunting waves only to be torn asunder. Waaaaahhhhh!
Now, gimme some cheese!
Wednesday, April 23, 2008
Japanese Mind Meld
I’ve been brainwashed (well, at least I’m pretty sure).
At some point in my life, unbeknownst to me, I learned stuff I did not even know I was learning (though I guess that is true for many things, but I am just realizing it now . . . yeah, no wise remarks, after all it was slow and steady that won the race, baby). I do not remember my parents (or any of my family for that matter) verbalizing any of this. I do not recollect discussing this with my friends. I know I did not learn this in school or at church. But somehow I know:
• That when I step out into the world, my actions do not only represent myself, but my family and (to some extent) all those who share my ethnicity;
• That just as my actions reflect on others, my family and other members of my ethnicity reflect on me and how I am perceived by the world; and
• That my ethnicity means Asian in general, and Japanese in particular.
When I look back, I know all this was somehow ingrained at a young age. It manifests itself in the following ways, which explains why:
• I cheer for the Asian person in most contests (Top Chef, etc.) Though I have also been known to cheer for the female (especially if it is in a male dominated field);
• I felt inordinately proud of Michael Chang when he won the French Open (and it’s not just because I have a crush on him that continues to this day…and no matter what you may have heard, I did not stalk him at the U.S. Open in 1999…);
• My heart fell(even more) when it was released that the Virginia Tech shooter was Asian, was slightly relieved that he was not Japanese, then went back down again wondering if people would even know the difference (which is shameful, I know. I’m not proud that these thoughts even crossed my mind.)
This indoctrination is very subtle; because in the ordinary course of my life, I do not feel the weight of my ancestors upon me. I do not feel the shame/disappointment/joy of my family. If my parents/siblings accomplish or excel in something, I do not feel the residual brightness fall upon my head. I do not think any thing I have done adds to anyone’s cache except my own (and to a smaller extent, perhaps to my parents).
I was born and raised in the United States. Raised in Christian church. I did not grow up hearing about ancestors or the “old” ways (except I knew my mom thought it was important to visit my grandparents’ graves. I just thought it was a respectful thing, but I see now it is also a cultural thing for her). I cheer for the U.S. during the Olympics, know next to nothing about Japan, can’t speak the language, don’t know the culture and am definitely more Euro-centric than Asian-centric in my thoughts and preferences (to this day my sister insists I should have been born into an Italian family; and there is some Italian family out there with some changeling that likes rice more than pasta, fish more than red meat and sushi more than antipasti).
The traces of these connections to my ethnicity and to group mores and ideals are faint, yet surprisingly tenacious. What on its surface looks almost wispily ethereal is anchored into a substantive foundation. And the reason why this came to the forefront of my thoughts? Because I read some guy’s blog.
He wrote about a particularly awkward and upsetting interaction with two men in Japan, seemingly yakuza types. Their exchange, which was written with humor, nonetheless embarrassed me because these men who acted so beyond the scope of appropriate behavior were Japanese. I do not know any of these people. Yet I felt responsible . . . so responsible that I actually apologized to this stranger (replied to his blog entry) about the behavior of two other strangers. That is not normal.
It’s surprising how deep-rooted these feelings of responsibility and ethnic representation are – that they do not even have to be articulated to take hold. Perhaps it is a secret government project using shame to control the masses: Japanese Mind Meld.
At some point in my life, unbeknownst to me, I learned stuff I did not even know I was learning (though I guess that is true for many things, but I am just realizing it now . . . yeah, no wise remarks, after all it was slow and steady that won the race, baby). I do not remember my parents (or any of my family for that matter) verbalizing any of this. I do not recollect discussing this with my friends. I know I did not learn this in school or at church. But somehow I know:
• That when I step out into the world, my actions do not only represent myself, but my family and (to some extent) all those who share my ethnicity;
• That just as my actions reflect on others, my family and other members of my ethnicity reflect on me and how I am perceived by the world; and
• That my ethnicity means Asian in general, and Japanese in particular.
When I look back, I know all this was somehow ingrained at a young age. It manifests itself in the following ways, which explains why:
• I cheer for the Asian person in most contests (Top Chef, etc.) Though I have also been known to cheer for the female (especially if it is in a male dominated field);
• I felt inordinately proud of Michael Chang when he won the French Open (and it’s not just because I have a crush on him that continues to this day…and no matter what you may have heard, I did not stalk him at the U.S. Open in 1999…);
• My heart fell(even more) when it was released that the Virginia Tech shooter was Asian, was slightly relieved that he was not Japanese, then went back down again wondering if people would even know the difference (which is shameful, I know. I’m not proud that these thoughts even crossed my mind.)
This indoctrination is very subtle; because in the ordinary course of my life, I do not feel the weight of my ancestors upon me. I do not feel the shame/disappointment/joy of my family. If my parents/siblings accomplish or excel in something, I do not feel the residual brightness fall upon my head. I do not think any thing I have done adds to anyone’s cache except my own (and to a smaller extent, perhaps to my parents).
I was born and raised in the United States. Raised in Christian church. I did not grow up hearing about ancestors or the “old” ways (except I knew my mom thought it was important to visit my grandparents’ graves. I just thought it was a respectful thing, but I see now it is also a cultural thing for her). I cheer for the U.S. during the Olympics, know next to nothing about Japan, can’t speak the language, don’t know the culture and am definitely more Euro-centric than Asian-centric in my thoughts and preferences (to this day my sister insists I should have been born into an Italian family; and there is some Italian family out there with some changeling that likes rice more than pasta, fish more than red meat and sushi more than antipasti).
The traces of these connections to my ethnicity and to group mores and ideals are faint, yet surprisingly tenacious. What on its surface looks almost wispily ethereal is anchored into a substantive foundation. And the reason why this came to the forefront of my thoughts? Because I read some guy’s blog.
He wrote about a particularly awkward and upsetting interaction with two men in Japan, seemingly yakuza types. Their exchange, which was written with humor, nonetheless embarrassed me because these men who acted so beyond the scope of appropriate behavior were Japanese. I do not know any of these people. Yet I felt responsible . . . so responsible that I actually apologized to this stranger (replied to his blog entry) about the behavior of two other strangers. That is not normal.
It’s surprising how deep-rooted these feelings of responsibility and ethnic representation are – that they do not even have to be articulated to take hold. Perhaps it is a secret government project using shame to control the masses: Japanese Mind Meld.
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