secret asian girl

Voice Mail

2012-02-03T21:40:00.002-06:00

On the phone with the lawn guy...Mao climbs up the back of my leg and bites me on the butt cheek! So the message I left on his voice mail was, "Hi, can you come by this week and mow my lawwwAAIGGGHHHHGGH!! MOTHER F...!!" (beep)

George

2012-01-11T15:49:00.001-06:00

Oh myyyyyyyyy....

Rescue

2012-01-11T11:07:00.003-06:00

When I saved Mao, who knew that a year later,
she would save me.

Goodbye 2011

2012-01-01T10:42:00.000-06:00

MAOIE Christmas

2011-12-23T20:08:00.002-06:00

Maomao has been a great distraction for me these past few weeks. I'm trying hard to get her to love me and she's trying hard to remind me that she's still a little bit wild inside. I have to remember that Mao lost a companion too when Sam died. Recently, she's become more social with us, as if trying to own us but on her terms. One way she shows me is by attacking me whenever I whistle. She hates whistling but only bites me. I used to think she was mad that I whistle but now I think that when she rakes my foot with her claws or clamps onto my eyebrow with her teeth, she's simply trying to train ME. Christmas carols are especially offensive to her. It doesn't matter whether it's Michael Buble on my iTunes or Tony Bennett on television, she immediately comes over to me and sinks her still kitten-sharp teeth into my skin whenever she hears it. People say, "Why do you whistle if you know she's going to react like that?" I think I'm trying to see if it's just a fluke or if I am really interacting with her. All of my pets have always communicated with me in some way. Mao keeps me at paw's length but I can tell that as long as we are "talking," we have a bond. I think it's sort of cute, in a way. I just have to keep the Neosporin handy, that's all. This Christmas, our house is dark and my heart is heavy. But inside, I'm trying my best to coax a small black cat out from the underneath and maybe...just maybe, into my empty arms. Merry Christmas.

Climbing Back Up

2011-12-14T19:40:00.006-06:00

Overcoming grief is a little like climbing out of a very deep, dark hole. A part of you doesn't want to make the effort to ascend because it's an affirmation, an acceptance that everything has changed. It's like resurfacing, but missing one of your arms. I don't feel whole. Some might say that's the definition of depression. Whatever it is, I am definitely not in the holiday mood. This Christmas, there's a hole in my heart. And at least for now, I want to keep it that way. I miss you, Sammy.

Sam

2011-11-30T00:47:00.001-06:00

Tristan's My Sam

June 10, 1999 - November 28, 2011

RIP Sweet, beautiful Sam. Our hearts are broken into a million pieces. We will love you and hold you in our hearts forever.

"It's not that I am lonely for you. I am mutilated.
For you were a part of me." ~ Author unknown.

Why I've Never Spanked My Child

2011-11-11T15:00:00.002-06:00

This story is great. It perfectly exemplifies why I've never spanked my child.

"When I was about twenty years old, I met an old pastor's wife who told me that when she was young and had her first child, she didn't believe in striking children, although spanking kids with a switch pulled from a tree was standard punishment at the time. But one day when her son was four or five, he did something that she felt warranted a spanking--the first in his life. And she told him he would have to go outside and find a switch for her to hit him with. The boy was gone a long time. And when he came back in, he was crying. He said to her, 'Mama, I couldn't find a switch, but here's a rock you can throw at me.' All of the sudden the mother understood how the situation felt from the child's point of view: that if my mother wants to hurt me, it makes no difference what she does it with; she might as well do it with a stone. The mother took the boy onto her lap and they both cried. Then she laid the rock on a shelf in the kitchen to remind herself forever: never violence. Because violence begins in the nursery--one can raise children into violence."

From a peace prize acceptance speech given by Astrid Lindgren, author of Pippi Longstocking

Sickening

2011-10-21T16:24:00.001-05:00

Too little, too late. Today, Ohio Governor John Kasich signed an executive order cracking down on the ownership of exotic animals like those killed in Zanesville this week. This story made me physically ill. Why Terry Thompson was allowed to buy so many wild animals that he obviously could not afford to keep is bewildering and maddening. Ohio, like many other states, has some of the laxest regulations on the keeping of exotic animals as pets. While this horrifying incident has forced lawmakers into hotshotting legislation to keep this from happening again, it's obviously too late for the wild animals who were shot because they were being wild animals. Of course, blame should be placed on the idiot whose greed placed these creatures where they should never have been, but since he's conveniently dead too, then the onus should be on lawmakers whose job it is to protect us from our own stupidity. When I saw the pictures of these beautiful creatures, dead and stacked up on the lawn like bags of mulch, I seriously wanted to throw up. And even though experts from the Columbus Zoo and the a statement from the Humane Society of the U.S. assured us that shooting to kill was the proper course of action, given the lack of daylight and the frightened state of the animals, in order to protect humans, I was still not comforted. How could this have happened? Of course, had it occurred here in Texas, residents would have interpreted warnings of exotic animals on the loose as a call to arms and grandmothers and children would have joined in on some "good huntin'." Sometimes I am truly ashamed of my own species. It's no wonder the stories of bear attacks, mountain lion maulings and shark bites have increased in frequency in the news lately. Maybe it's God or Nature, or whoever you believe in, trying to tell us to leave the animals where they are and quit destroying them and their homes. I am sickened by what humans have done to other animals (yes, we are animals too) just because we CAN. There's no reason anymore for having circuses and zoos either. I don't need to go see a panther or an elephant in person to know that one exists. We have a new thing called "the internet" where you can see videos and pictures in high definition color of these creatures where they should be: in the wild. Seeing one chained up in a small enclosure decorated to look like the wild environment they belong in does not fool me into thinking I've seen one in the wild. Leave the animals were they belong and quit bothering them. Greed and ignorance will destroy creatures we are supposed to share this planet with, not manipulate for profit. I hope this nightmare strangles all businesses that profit from the existence of exotic animals, including circuses and some zoos. And don't even get me started on idiots who hunt for entertainment who I believe should meet their adversaries on equal grounds. Bear hunting may not be so much "fun" if the hunter were enclosed with the 7-foot tall grizzly with 8-inch daggers on his paws. THAT, I'd pay to see.

Black is the New Black

2011-10-21T14:05:00.000-05:00

What Secret Asian Girl is (Finally) Reading: The Help

2011-10-01T10:59:00.003-05:00

After two attempts, and threatened by a 400+ customer waiting list, I finally checked out The Help by Katherine Stockett,...and read it. No reason not to, other than being too busy. Once I got into it, it only took me a few days. No surprise that I really liked it. It's not the best historical fiction novel I've ever read, but it was easily read and emotional without being weepy. I did cry during the movie, which closely followed the book, only leaving out a few side stories. I love the plight of the underdog and, with a few exceptions, there's no more trod upon than the African-American woman, especially pre-1970. This is a story about strong women, both black and white, who had the courage to go against the tide, fearing not only the wrath of their fellow citizens but also the disdain of their peers. Although the heroism of this story is often aimed at Aibileen, the nose-to-the-grindstone maid who found strength in just taking one step forward each day after the death of her son, or Minnie, the smart-mouthed maid who struggled with knowing when to stop talking back or Skeeter, the reluctant Southern belle who saw injustice and dared to speak of it, I saw the most courage elsewhere. The bravest character, to me, was Celia Foote, a woman who, unlike the others, didn't enjoy the comfort of fitting in anywhere, but who continued to stand at the door of the party hoping to be invited in. While the others found sympathy in their friends or at home, Celia stood alone in her hooker clothes and fake boobs, not really sure why she was shunned. In the end, Celia became a stronger woman while losing the least. I closed the last page on this book wondering what happened to Skeeter and the others as the 1960's ended. The rest of the world changed but, as so often happens, not for those whose lives might be affected most. I'm also surprised at how white people have embraced this book, since it paints a not-so-flattering picture of how some attitudes were - and, in my opinion, continue to be. As a woman living in the South, I still see women who won't change their hairstyle without the expressed permission of their husband, or who decline lunch invitations because they have to rush home to fix a meal for their spouse. I'm curious about those women, and why they devalue themselves or need permission from someone else to live their lives. I can't decide if I'm more a Skeeter, who is unafraid to write what I think or a Minnie who speaks before thinking. Probably a combination of both. The fact that both these women can even be thought of as combined is a testament to how far we've come...and how far we have yet to go. I'd like to think I share both but I will tell you this: I have never burned my chicken.

Pure Fantasy

2011-09-20T22:35:00.005-05:00

Wildfires - Labor Day 2011

2011-09-07T19:20:00.002-05:00

Montgomery County wildfires, 3 days old, as seen
from my neighborhood.

Back to School

2011-08-29T09:44:00.003-05:00

The start of another school year brings back memories - of my own, and also of sending Tristan off to a new year, each one more dreaded than the last. I wonder if, in retrospect, he will look back upon those times as I do and think,
"Those were the easy years."

What Secret Asian Girl is Reading: Caleb's Crossing

2011-08-19T15:57:00.003-05:00

While I may have put off reading Caleb's Crossing because I was intimidated by its Pulitzer Prize-winning author, Geraldine Brooks, the novel's fascinating story drew me back in and I'm really glad. It's about Caleb Cheeshahteamuck, the first Native American to graduate from Harvard. What makes it unusual is the year: 1665. It's told from the perspective of a minister's daughter, Bethia, whose own quest for knowledge and desire to attend a school - any school, much less Harvard, will go unanswered. Not even progressive thinking at a soon-to-be major university will bypass the limitations imposed on her sex at this time in history. Acknowledging this, Bethia befriends Caleb and encourages him to explore her society's culture, religion and comparatively vast resources. She tells Caleb that by becoming educated, he can help his own people in ways that he can't imagine. He agrees, realizing that setting aside his Indian upbringing in favor of an uncertain future puts his own culture -and his personal safety - at risk. I found the story to be inspirational and uplifting, especially since Caleb Cheeshahteamuck was indeed a real person, a member of the Wampanoag tribe living on the American eastern seaboard in the 17th century, who did graduate from Harvard in 1665. The other characters, except for well-known scholars and leaders of the time, are fictional. Bethia's character adds a measure of irony as her aid and support for Caleb's (and other's) dream eclipsed her own dream of a formal education, which she was forced to gain by stealthy means: she took on the position of an indentured servant to help pay for her brother's schooling and continued to work there even after her brother realized that school was not his forté and left. By choosing a menial job in the Buttery, Bethia found she could listen to lectures through the walls of the next door classroom. She ends up every bit as educated and knowledgeable as the men in her life but sadly, is neither recognized nor compensated for it. As a woman, her options remain limited, but she is savvy enough to know that by supporting Caleb, and others like him, she improves the world for her children. This is one of the few books I've read that made me cry at the end, as much for the characters lives as for the conclusion of the story. I wondered, as I read the book, if the "Crossing," part of the title referred to Caleb's trip from the safety and innocence of his island to the intimidating world of foreign education and all the global implications of knowing what you didn't before or if it meant his returning to the roots from which he was born and accepting the part of you that will always be there - and to which you will always return - even when you know there are other possibilities. I think the term "Crossing" does not necessarily imply going to a better place but perhaps to an inescapable realization of your true self. All the other stuff is fanfare and flourishes. Wonderful read.

What Secret Asian Girl is Reading: Miss Peregrine's Home for Peculiar Children

2011-08-11T19:59:00.011-05:00

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Ham Solo

2011-08-01T20:21:00.002-05:00

No reason...just made me laugh.

Last Shuttle Launch

2011-07-08T12:24:00.004-05:00

In the late summer of 1971, I went to Hawaii with my uncle (who worked for NASA) my aunt, and my sister. My uncle was working on the recovery mission for Apollo 15, which was set to splash down into the Pacific in August and my sister and I were going to visit our grandparents who lived on Oahu. I remember being unimpressed by the fact that a space orbiter, containing astronauts David Scott, James Irwin and Alfred Worden, had just spent 3 days on the surface of the moon and was making a pinpoint crash into the ocean. It seemed....normal. I was homesick (in Hawaii, for God's sake) and missed my new puppy, Popi. Even though I spent my 10th birthday (in Hawaii, for God's sake) I was sad. Well, I never said I wasn't an idiot. The full impact of being a part of space history was inexorably lost on me. Inexorably, yes...but not irretrievably. A few hours ago, the very last shuttle to be launched into space left the launchpad in Cape Canaveral, Florida. A beautiful sight, one that, strangely, has become commonplace. I watched it with tears in my eyes. With the economy (and ideology) being what it is today, it may be a very long time before we see its like again. We lack the resources but also the clear vision for our long-term survival. Our short-term survival has become the focus. And understandably so. But there's so much more to explore out there. At what point do we look at what we have left and prepare for the day when what we have is no longer enough? Then where do we go? I guess that's up to politicians and purse-string holders. I've seen many, many rocket launches in my life - each one full of the dreams of so many, to "slip the surly bonds of earth...to touch the face of God." I've taken most of them for granted. Forty years later, 10 days from my 50th birthday...today, I watched the last one I will probably ever see in my life. I wonder about all the unanswered questions and if we've sacrificed our future because of our short-sightedness. I guess I'll never find out. God speed, Atlantis.

Back to Work

2011-06-27T10:51:00.000-05:00

Sunset

2011-06-23T17:19:00.001-05:00

The first measurable rain in 5 months produced
this sunset last night.

Interesting Film

2011-06-21T09:39:00.005-05:00

Zero

A stop-motion film by Christopher and Kristine Kezelos.
So many issues.

Does Over Parenting = Unhappy Adults?

2011-06-20T11:20:00.010-05:00

Lou Brooks

In terms of parenting, on a scale of 1-10, I consider myself a 14. I'm not bragging or patting myself on the back, though, because I'm beginning to realize that I (and so many of my friends who competed for Queen Mom) may have made a grave mistake. A recent article in The Atlantic suggests that over concentration on making your kids happy may doom them to unhappiness later in life. The article, "How to Land Your Kid in Therapy," is making headlines and I think there may be something to it. I know that whenever something is popular or desired (whether it be perfect parenting or Martha Stewart's lifestyle), there is someone out there who is chomping at the bit to bring it down, usually by producing data or quasi-proof that everyone is wrong. My instinct was usually that the critic was one of those people who likes to say, "All you people are going in the wrong direction. You're idiots." Sometimes that's true, but it's not just this article that has had me thinking this way. Little background: I have one child. One child with whom I was home for twelve years. He was the focus of my undistracted attention, which was also partly to blame for the demise of my marriage - but that's another story. I wasn't just room mom, I was PTO president. Sometimes he would say to me, "Can't you just be a regular mom?" But I didn't hear him. I mean, I heard his words, but I thought that if volunteering a few hours a month at school was good, then winning recognition for over 100 hours per year was better. And I wasn't alone. Most of my friends did the same -- I just took it one step further. I had snacks waiting for him daily when he came home, prepared with multi-colored bread I drove all over to find. I created paparazzi events when he boarded the bus on the first day of school, baked homemade croissants for my fellow parents at the bus stop, planned summer field trips for his friends and enrolled him in gymnastics, which ended up taking up 24 hours per week in practice and $6k per year in tuition and travel. He had a choice...sort of. It became his life and he didn't really know any better. But I did. I fell into the trap of getting sucked into extracurricular things that consume your life as a child and as a family. As his successes at gym grew, the rest of his life faltered. But I wanted him to be happy, or what I perceived it to be, even if it meant excluding everything else. I cheered him on, as I always had, at school and at competitions and I hoped it would be enough. When he had his almost inevitable sports-ending injury, everything came to a screeching stop. There was nothing to fall back on. He was a kid who had heard applause most of his life for things he could no longer do. At school, he stood out because of me, because I was a constant presence. He struggled with generating his own value...and it was my fault. It's not just my kid. I see his friends, who have also never known disappointment; who've never pumped their own gas, or had to work for a car or did anything without the safety net of their overprotective parents. They don't know failure or struggle or hunger - and not just hunger for food - hunger for something that they have to work for. There's no satisfaction in getting anything because they haven't earned anything. Everything is handed to them by parents like me, well-intentioned parents who want better for their kids. They go to schools where they are applauded for going to the bathroom, given bonus points for sharing, and trophies just for showing up. Individual accomplishment - as well as natural talent - is marginalized when everyone gets a trophy, why don't we see that? And so, we release these woefully unprepared kids out into the world and wonder why they're so unhappy. They had amazing childhoods, supportive parents, days filled with pool parties and summer vacations. Why are they so sad? Could it be because real bosses don't welcome you with snacks and sandwiches made with rainbow colored bread? There's no applause when you turn in your project at work and you don't get a trophy just for coming in to work every day. For my child, reality hit home a bit early. The divorce forced him into seeing the world a lot differently. He's had a job since he was 15, lives at home but pays for his insurance, car, gas and some groceries. It was a shock at first but I think he's proud of his growth...and so am I. We speak of it often, how he sees his friends as unhappy and how shocked he is at how naive they are. There but for the grace of God... He still struggles with disappointment and some sadness but I'm lucky that he's a very self-aware young man who understands why he feels this way. He says he's sorry that he had to give up that kind of life but says he wouldn't have had it any other way. He pities his friends who have yet to see the light of self-sufficiency and wonders how it will affect them when they're out on their own. I look at my mistakes and see new parents making those same mistakes and want to warn them but I suppose epiphanies are self-actuated. As parents, we do our jobs as best we can and cross our fingers that they'll be okHe makes mistakes, some spectacularly stupid ones, and I've learned to let him fall. It's crucial that he learns to pick himself up on his own. And when he does, I acknowledge, but I don't applaud.

Happy Father's Day!

2011-06-19T14:30:00.004-05:00

It's funny, when I think of my dad, I remember the times when he would thump me on the forehead and say, "You're a 'pohaku head.' No common sense." In Hawaiian, I think it means 'hard-headed, like a stone.' I now look at it as a term of endearment but at the time, it just hurt. Ouch. Happy Father's Day, Daddy. Miss you.

Happy 12th Birthday to Sam

2011-06-12T21:14:00.001-05:00

Happy birthday sweet Sam!!
You are the perfect puppy....sweet, smart, loyal and true.
I'm so happy you're here, beautiful boy!

Slow

2011-06-02T18:44:00.001-05:00

Goodbye Oprah

2011-05-28T09:24:00.002-05:00

They call it television history. The end of an era. As cheesy as it sounds, I will miss Oprah. The show was one of those staples, like coming home from school and always having a snack waiting for you. No matter what kind of day you had, it was nice to count on someone always there, talking about something you may or may not find interesting but nevertheless always familiar. And familiar is comforting. It bears repeating that she was like a good friend who everybody goes to for advice because she seems to know what she's doing. You felt like you could walk up to her on the street and say, "So I was thinking about what you said the other day..." Of course, you can't, mostly because her bodyguards would beat you down to the street. She's Oprah. In the past few years it seemed that she'd become a caricature of herself, believing in her own "persona." Sometimes she made me mad and I will confess to at least one hotly fired off e-mail to the show to complain that she'd lost touch with her audience; that she believed all the press about how she was above reproach. The show with Lisa Marie Presley, for example, irritated me when it seemed to me that all the questions were elitist and pompous: "So...ain't it great to be able to not have to worry about money?" I'm paraphrasing, of course, but I thought that she'd forgotten who her audience was (or at least, started as): housewives and exhausted moms who clip coupons to get by. Fortunately, there were few shows that showed that side of Oprah. The compassionate and sometimes self-effacing side of her is probably what touched most people. I loved watching her and Gayle on the road and Oprah trying to pump gas, something she admitted she hasn't done in 20 years. Television magic! Her generosity, not just of material things like cars, houses, full scholarships...but also her generosity of spirit, her willingness to share ugly personal things with the viewers and open to take in the ugly sides of others with little or no judgment. Those things were also appealing to me even though cynically, I always suspected that it was easy to be compassionate and generous when you had the world on a string and no worries yourself. I read an article recently about the "Gospel of Oprah," and how her flock of viewers interacted with her in the same way that a religious leader reels in the faithful of her constituents. I think there's some truth to that statement, even though I'm offended that I was preached to without even knowing it. She was always conscious of not revealing too much of her strong faith in God in her "message," even though it was obvious that it was a compelling force in her life. I respected that, her respect for not wanting to impose her own religious beliefs on me. But maybe it went through anyway. Normally, I'd be pissed, but somehow, it seems okay because it's Oprah. I put off watching her last show for a few days because I was convinced it would be too sad. And it was. And I got teary a few times. She talked about thanking the audience for the privilege of being able to come into their homes all these years. For being faithful and to remember to live each day being true to yourself and your calling. Sounds like a sermon to me. The transparent curtain of religious restraint came down altogether, though, as she talked about Jesus and I think her last words on the stage were, "Praise be to God." Again, that's okay. If I were her, I'd be on my knees weeping and thanking God and everyone else for the miraculously successful run I'd just ended too. Goodbye, Oprah, I'll miss you and...you're welcome.

Still Here

2011-05-22T00:58:00.000-05:00

Judgment Day at Jurassic Park

Lucky 13

2011-05-13T20:02:00.002-05:00

Friday the 13th? Yeah, so what?
I crossed my hoomin's path 36 times today. My work is done.

Happy Mother's Day!!!

2011-05-07T19:08:00.005-05:00

Always photogenic Sam....

Thus ended another Mother's Day - and also another camera.

Teasing Dogs

2011-05-07T17:59:00.002-05:00

Ota Benga

2011-05-06T18:33:00.010-05:00

Ota Benga 1883-1916, an African Congolese pygmy

There's been some buzz lately about a book called, Ota Benga: The Pygmy at the Zoo by Harvey Blume and Philips Verner Bradford. It's a fascinating story, one that I've never heard of, about an African pygmy tribesman who was captured in 1904 by a North Carolina adventurer, Samuel Verner Bradford (grandfather of one of the authors) and purchased for some salt and yards of cloth. His hunting group had been butchered along with his wife and children. Ota was displayed in the Bronx NY Zoo as an exhibit. The plaque on the cage read: The African Pygmy, 'Ota Benga.' Age, 23 years. Height, 4 feet 11 inches. Weight 103 pounds. Brought from the Kasai River, Congo Free State, South Central Africa, by Dr. Samuel P. Verner. Exhibited each afternoon during September." The cage was strewn with bones and grasses and Ota was expected to squat and weave things and occasionally pick up a bow and arrow and shoot it. Eventually, an orangutan was put in the cage with him and he carried it around like a child to the delight of zoo visitors. The zoo director saw nothing ethically wrong with displaying a human being in a zoo with animals and at the St. Louis fair, Ota was a popular attraction along with other human "oddities of nature" from the Philippines, Japan and South America. The one dissenting voice came from the Reverend James H. Gordon, of the Colored Baptists Ministers' Conference whose objection was to the blatant racism but also more theological in nature. He was afraid that showing a black human with apes would give people ideas of Darwinism and detract from his Christian message. The Bronx Zoo director, clueless as to the negative attention, insisted that "(Benga)...has one of the best rooms in the primate house." Ota was allowed more freedom but eventually, because of some violent episodes, he was released to Rev. Gordon's Howard Colored Orphan Asylum in Brooklyn. Here, he learned to write a little, along with children a third his age. He was able to work a few jobs and often paid bus fare with a wild bird egg or a rabbit. On March 20, 1916, Ota Benga, once a proud pygmy warrior, went behind his small house and shot himself through the heart. It's no wonder that this is not a well known story. It's certainly one that is easily shoved under the carpet or stored in the dusty closet of human nature. Still, while I really don't need any more affirmation regarding what some humans are capable of doing to each other and other living creatures, I'm anxious to read this book. Bitter, much? Sometimes it seems so.

Wonders Why No One Takes Him Seriously

2011-05-06T08:16:00.008-05:00

I hope now that a certificate of live birth has been produced by the state of Hawaii, we can put to rest all of the ridiculous (in my opinion) speculation. It was beginning to sound like veiled racism: he looks different, therefore he must be born elsewhere. In my humble opinion, it's the worst kind of prejudice without actually using that word. Most informed folks recognize it for the ignorant comment that it was and the stupid, bigoted people spreading rumors that the president is from Kenya....well, they're the same tiresome people who (after 50 years) continue to ask me if I'm an American. I won't show you my birth certificate but I will show you an ancient Chinese hand gesture. Not really Chinese, but how would they know?

William and Kate

2011-04-30T20:19:00.005-05:00

Yes, I did get up to watch. Not as early as I did when Diana got married in 1981, but I recorded it and watched the entire news coverage later. It's an historic event and the next chapter in a fairy tale I've followed for most of my life. It's the future of the British monarchy and a happy ending to what was, for the most part, a sad story about real people. I don't get how so many young people can be so disinterested in this real life story... about a family that, like it or not, good or bad, has affected the history of the world we all live in. They tell me that if an event doesn't have personal impact, why should it interest them? A co-worker said "All young people worry about is themselves nowadays." I hope that's not true. I worry about a generation who can't - or won't - see far enough into the past to know that the present exists because of what happened before. How in the world will they be able to learn from MY generation's mistakes? Whatever its significance, it was a beautiful day filled with hope, and a welcome escape from normal life.
Sorry you missed it.

Quiz: Is Your Cat Plotting to Kill You?

2011-04-23T18:07:00.002-05:00

What Secret Asian Girl is Reading: Swamplandia!

2011-04-22T13:09:00.004-05:00

Probably one of the most unusual novels I've read in awhile. Swamplandia! is creative writing at its best and reminds me of some very good juvenile fiction targeted towards more open-minded audiences. I don't see this one making it in to many Book Club circles, but this is precisely the type of book I'd like to discuss (which may explain why I'm not welcome in most Book Clubs). Author Karen Russell is obscenely young (28) - and is named as one of the New York Times' prestigious 20 Under 40 best fiction writers of the year and deservedly so. I'm impressed and disgusted at the same time. Swamplandia! is an impressive work: quirky, heart rending and achingly honest all at the same time. Like a bad car wreck, you want to look away but you can't. Our protagonist, 12 year old Ava Bigtree is part of an eccentric family who owns and operates an Alligator Wrestling Theme Park called Swamplandia! in the humid, murky swamps of Florida. At one time, the park was the talk of the everglades but hard times and changing entertainment preferences have put the park, and the family, into dire financial straits. To make matters worse, the star of the park, Ava's mom, Hilola Bigtree, has died from cancer. As you can imagine, a family that wrestles gators for a living has a "different" take on life and handles this crisis in a non-typical manner. The kids (older sister Osceola "Ossie" and older brother Kiwi) are pretty much left on their own while their father, Chief Bigtree (whose Indian name has no ties to any Native American tribe), slowly spins out of control in his personal grief. Ava imagines herself as her mother's gator-wrestling successor, "performing in the moonlight" as her mother did. Disgusted by their impending financial implosion and their dad's inability to save them, 16 year old Kiwi leaves home to find work at the newly built, so-advanced-it's-not-even-competition park, World of Darkness. His plan is to earn enough money to save Swamplandia!, and therefore, his family. When he discovers that he owes his new employers more money than he earns, he begins to understand the weird bubble his parents raised him in. Ossie's grief, meanwhile, manifests itself in beyond-the-grave ways, immersing herself in Ouija boards and self-imposed trances. She even believes that she's in love with a dead dredge man, accidentally killed while clearing the swamps of invasive plant life during a 1930's government-subsidized WPA whoopsies mission. All this drama takes place in the now abandoned and increasingly creepy amusement park overrun with deadly alligators that they call home. Among the Bigtree Museum are artifacts from generations of Bigtree family life: a yellowed wedding dress, gator skulls and the like. When Chief leaves his family to pursue another terrible plan (something about a salute to Darwinism), the sisters are left alone with little food or money. Ossie departs soon after to find the entrance to the Underworld so she can be with her imaginary dead lover. This leaves poor Ava alone and exposed to the glaring reality of life outside of her strange family. She sets off to find Ossie before her sister enters the dreaded Underworld and in her innocence discovers that gators with razor sharp teeth are marshmallows compared to the ugliest segments of humanity. Although the reader's instinct to want to save Ava is strong, at least as motivating is the feeling that Ava needs to wake up and realize that while her parents' eccentricities were endearing and unusual, they also became a handicap to the kids' preparation for life. This is a handbook in bad parenting skills. The descriptive narrative is excellent and you can actually feel the humid hopelessness of the failing park. I also loved the historical background on the area and the facts surrounding the government's attempts to fix something that wasn't broken. Ava is a modern day Mockingbird's Scout, whose big heart and wide-eyed courage transcends the best intentions of her gator-loving family. This novel is a big bite of delicious storytelling when you're hungry for a satisfying read. Ugh. That even made ME gag. Just read it.

Fukushima Shelties Are Safe!

2011-04-15T11:26:00.001-05:00

Japanese shelties abandoned in the radioactive evacuation zone around the stricken Fukushima nuclear plant have an angel in 56 year old Etsumi Ogino, a volunteer at an animal shelter. Ms. Ogino saw a news photo of these shelties left to fend for themselves when their owner was forced to leave after the disaster. A dedicated Sheltie owner herself, she contacted the photographer for a location and then called a local Sheltie Rescue group who risked their lives to round up most of the shelties and get them to a vet in the Kanegawa prefecture. They were found near Odaka Railway Station, most probably trying to find a train outta there!! (Shelties are SO smart!) Whew!! Sam is very relieved to hear that his brothers are safe. Mao....well, right now she's eating some tuna but I'm sure when she's done she'll be very happy the puppies are safe.

Hooray for Sheltie Rescuers!!

Please, please help as much as you can. Humane Society International or HEART, both are verified, authentic organizations. Or check out this page for more ways to help starving, injured animals affected by the Japanese disaster.

50 Things I've Learned In 50 Years

2011-04-10T18:07:00.002-05:00

I'll only get to do this once.

50 Things I've Learned in 50 Years

For the Love of a Dog

2011-03-31T00:48:00.005-05:00

Arigato Gozaimasu

2011-03-26T00:00:00.001-05:00

Maybe it's a misplaced criticism, but amidst all the horrific news that continues to come out of Japan following the devastating earthquake, tsunami and nuclear crisis is something that is niggling at the back of my mind. Where is the emotional outpouring of grief and sympathy from the general public? When Haiti suffered through a terrible (and although it's inappropriate to compare - not AS severe as Japan's) earthquake, every popular celebrity couldn't organize fast enough to generate donations, telethons and other charity events to help the suffering victims. That wave of compassion (forgive the metaphor) seems to be missing following the triple tragedies that have occurred in Japan. Where's George Clooney? Are Kanye and Oprah too busy? Or maybe after Katrina, Darfur and Haiti, a certain Crisis Desensitization has developed. There do seem to be a lot of natural disasters lately and not every one can be addressed, I suppose. Apple's iTunes released an album today benefiting relief efforts in Japan. I went to the iTunes Store to see what songs were available and was impressed to see the artists who have donated their work for this effort. In the comment section however, was an odd smattering of people saying "Why are we doing this? Japan is a rich, industrial nation who doesn't need our help recovering." Have you watched the news lately? Ten thousand confirmed dead, over 17,000 still missing, thousands homeless, food sources scarce or contaminated...the devastation goes on and on. Regardless of how powerful a nation is, none can survive something like this without help. Didn't Katrina teach us that? I could speculate on other reasons the Japanese don't appear to need help: the people seem calm and organized with no looting or wailing for someone else to rescue them. They're not destroying what little they have left but are instead hanging onto their dignity and trying to preserve their humanity. Although the Japanese people to do not appear to require assistance, they most definitely do. Their culture just doesn't allow for that kind of helplessness. Just look at the Fukushima 50, the nuclear power plant workers who volunteered to stay behind to try to contain the a possible meltdown at the plant. These heroes knowingly risk cancer every minute they stay there to try to save thousands more from exposure. One man was 6 months away from retirement but volunteered to do what he could to help. These people, and all the survivors, make me proud of my cultural heritage. The Japanese are a proud and dignified people who will rise from these ashes as they've done before, but they need help. Please donate to the American Red Cross or to Japanese Red Cross if you can. Or you can do what I did - help the Humane Society International rescue Japanese animals in need. And that iTunes CD is only $10 for 38 songs by popular artists like Beyonce, Lady Gaga and the Black Eye Peas. All proceeds go to the Japanese Red Cross. Arigato gozaimasu.

Still Boldly Going

2011-03-23T00:05:00.003-05:00

Happy 80th birthday to William Shatner and also to
Leonard Nimoy who turns 80 as well on March 26.
Long life and prosperity.

Please Help

2011-03-14T21:48:00.002-05:00

The Humane Society of the United States is mobilizing to help animals affected by the disaster in Japan. Sam took one look at this photo and immediately whipped out his checkbook. Mao was unmoved. Please click here and give as much as you can.

The Tao of Mao

2011-03-07T19:23:00.000-06:00

I made this mock cover of the book I'm going to write.

Sleepy Sam

2011-02-23T23:43:00.001-06:00

Kitty herding is exhausting.

Portrait of a Mao

2011-02-21T00:31:00.001-06:00

Beautiful kitty? Or evil trouble-maker?

Either way, her response is: Meh.

Update: Battle Hymn of the Tiger Mom

2011-02-20T19:17:00.004-06:00

Now an update to my earlier post, Tiger Mom: Declawed. At the time, I hadn't read the book but wanted to comment on how I felt regarding the whole idea of culture-based parental pressure in general, and how it did or didn't affect my own life. Now, having read the book, I was hoping to find some sort of redemption in this mom's story: whether it was true concern for her children's well being or whether she had somehow discovered the motivation behind her actions, like a need to impress her parents. What I found was a woman who is wholly unapologetic for hijacking her children's early years and who doesn't even see a need to justify it. I've never understood it; although I've seen it time and time again, in my own family as well as in other "ethnic" families, a lack of self-esteem perpetuated through generations. Whether it's cultural or just habit, the parent believes that by putting down the child, it will somehow stimulate them to try harder. I don't believe that the put-down is even fully believed by the adult; it just seems to come naturally to them. A knee-jerk behavior. To Western sensibilities, this seems harsh, but to certain cultures, it's benign and even beneficial to the child. Amy Chua does allude to this but never admits that it could be harmful. She does acknowledge the differences in the two cultures but ultimately commits herself to the belief that a child cannot motivate themselves enough, that it is up to the parent to usher the child to success. That is, success being defined as perfection. So many times, while reading this book, I wanted to slap this woman...hard. With chopsticks. And not those disposable break-apart balsa wood ones, either. I don't believe that Ms. Chua's treatment of her children was motivated by her concern for their welfare. I also don't think that her parent's self-made success story inspired her to want her children to exceed their expectations. I think it's far simpler than that. I believe that her motivations are purely selfish: the need to brag and feel superior to others. Whether inherited by culture or by a personal lack of self-esteem, some people simply love to look down their noses at others. Based on what I know of her own accomplishments, Ms. Chua certainly has nothing to be ashamed of. Her resume is stellar and enviable. It's possible her personality prevents her from ever being satisfied which is too bad because her personal lack of fulfillment bleeds onto her children. My heart goes out to those kids, who don't know any different to comment on whether or not their childhood was short-changed. I told Tristan about this book and some of the things the author said to her kids and he said he could never have lived with a mom like that. I joked with him and told him that by her standards, he was an utter and complete failure. (No, we can talk like that to each other...it's okay, really) He joked back and said, "Not just by HER standards!!" We laughed and I thought to myself that I was glad his self esteem was healthy enough to make fun of himself and that our relationship was strong enough to be able to discuss such a topic. I learned a long time ago that I can't force him to do anything. I still try, but I know I'll only damage what we have. He's not perfect, but I tell you what - he's never stood up in a restaurant and shouted "I HATE YOU!!" like the daughters in this book. There's something wrong with me, as a parent, if my actions would ever incite my child to do something like that. Dear Tiger Mom, take a good look at yourself before it's too late for your kids. Stop trying to disprove your own self doubt through the achievements of your children. I'm a Tiger Mom too...but I'll fight to protect his life, not destroy it.

Happy Valentine's Day!!

2011-02-14T08:31:00.002-06:00

Snow In Houston

2011-02-03T23:21:00.002-06:00

No Comment

2011-01-29T13:02:00.003-06:00

Unshelved

2011-01-29T11:09:00.003-06:00

Every day...

Children See, Children Do

2011-01-27T00:09:00.002-06:00

Seems like these days, our children's behavior is
becoming less of a problem than our own.

What Secret Asian Girl is Reading Now: Sarah's Key

2011-01-16T17:00:00.004-06:00

I was just complaining to my co-workers that I need to stop reading crap (and by this I mean all that fast food, formulaic, co-authored pablum churned out by NY Times bestseller authors) when this book came along. Sarah's Key by Tatiana De Rosnay is one of those rare, can't-put-down novels that grabs you right from the start and ushers you through the character's journey instead of stringing you along to stretch a weak story. There's nothing weak about the storyline here: In 1942, a Jewish family living in Paris is growing accustomed to having family members abruptly taken in for questioning. To prepare for the inevitable, the father hides in the cellar nightly, telling his wife and two young children to pretend they don't know where he is. Even if he is taken in, he assures them, it will just be for a night or two. In mid July, French police, complicit with German occupied soldiers, round up thousands of Jews, mostly women and children, and keep them at the Vélodrome d'Hiver, a bicycle stadium outside of Paris. Their final destination: Auschwitz. Vél d'Hiv, as the roundup comes to be known, is a shameful black smear on the city's history and Parisians, then and today, strive to erase the memory. But back in 1942, the young family, thinking this is just one more overnight interrogation, cooperates with French police and go with them, all except for 4-year old Michel, who hides in the children's secret cupboard. Sarah, his 10-year old sister, locks him in, hoping to protect him for the night. She plans to get the key to her father when he comes out of the cellar. When Sarah's father runs out and insists on going with his family, Sarah is faced with the horrifying realization that she may have entombed her little brother in the cupboard, unless she can find a way back to unlock him. The story switches from then to present day, as displaced American writer Julia Jarmond prepares to move into a renovated Parisian apartment once owned by a Jewish family. Julia's research reveals the name of the family and Sarah's sad story but more importantly, an eye-opening account of an event in history that many would like to forget. Julia's obsession with finding out what happened 60 years ago leads her to Sarah's personal story and how her own family is connected to it. I only have one small complaint about the construction of the this novel and that's the end where the author needed to tie up the ends and get out. Instead, it sort of meanders through another few years then stops. But overall, I found myself staying up until 2:00 or 3:00 in the morning to find out what happens when the cupboard is finally reopened and how Sarah's key unlocks other secrets in Julia's life as well. Despite the setting, I wouldn't categorize this book as holocaust fiction, although without an event as traumatizing as that it's doubtful this story would ever have been plausible. If you're looking to shake off winter boredom but you can't find anything substantial that's not about vampires or millionaire playboy assassins, this is a good start.

Tiger Mom: Declawed

2011-01-15T22:10:00.003-06:00

Okay, let's talk about it. First, I have to confess that I haven't read this book, but its highly controversial subject has been all over the news lately. I have read excerpts from the book, however, and believe me, I know how this story goes down. Amy Chua's Battle Hymn of the Tiger Mother is as much a self promotion of the methods many Chinese parents utilize in child raising in order to achieve perfection as it is a bitter criticism of the way Western parents...don't. Her exacting and often brutal methods of raising her two daughters is bordering, in my opinion, on child abuse. To not allow children to exercise their right to be children, make mistakes, and enjoy the all-too-brief wonders of childhood is tragic. Ms. Chua tells a story about her daughter presenting her with a homemade birthday card. The childishly scrawled card was summarily rejected with the admonishment: Do this again. You can do better. Forget sentiment, forget the feelings behind the gift. It wasn't perfect. The author rationalizes her actions by saying, "You can't argue with the results." Maybe I can't, but I'm sure a slew of psychiatrists will able to when these poor kids grow up and try to figure out why they feel so worthless. Results are not the litmus test for happiness. Success...what is it, really? How much money you make? The title on your business card? Now, if you're going to argue that Asian (not just Chinese) students don't surpass other ethnic groups in terms of academic achievement, stop right here. It's a stereotype, a prejudice, a blanket racial epithet....and it's all true. Mostly. Having said that, I personally, never fit into the category. My grades were so-so (maybe exemplary by comparative standards) but certainly didn't live up to what you'd imagine a little Chinese/Japanese girl to produce. I've always been aware of the expectations but my parents were not the overbearing, perfection-demanding type. They never said, "You must be excellent," but it was implied. Looking back, I'm not sure if the expectation came from them or me. My sister, however, did fit the model. Perfect grades, perfect student...good citizen of the Model Minority. Maybe she bore the brunt of my parents' hopes, freeing me to pursue a more social life in high school. Nevertheless, if my parents had followed the handbook of the Tiger Mom, I'm certain I would have rebelled, as apparently, did one of the daughters in the book. I think one of the reasons people resent Tiger Mom is that she is unapologetic and downright smug about her methods. She insists that her own immigrant parents expected the same performance standards from her and it was "the best gift they could have given me." I'm sure they wanted her to be happy, I'm sure they believed, like many immigrants with less opportunities in their own country, that the way to the American dream was via academic success. I agree that the Western emphasis on individual fulfillment can produce spoiled, selfish Me kids. The current trend towards permissive parenting: letting kids run wild everywhere, afraid to correct bad behavior and overcompensating small achievements (clapping for using the potty - good grief!) is producing a generation of kids who don't understand why things aren't handed to them for their meager effort. After all, my parents treated me like a superstar, why doesn't the world? I've said it before: If you give everything to your child; do everything for them, you teach them to TAKE. They never learn how to GIVE. It's sickening and frightening. But surely there's a place in the middle between the two extremes of Tiger Mom and American Clueless? While we wrestle and argue about the best way to give our kids better than we had, a whole generation of brilliant, capable and self-sufficient kids forget that they have a brain that belongs completely and totally to them, and, if allowed, will find their own way - maybe not what we would choose for ourselves, but wholly their own. And they'll be surprised to find that it's good enough.

Self Discovery

2010-12-31T01:13:00.001-06:00

Mao critiques her own blog post. "Meh?"

Peace...FINALLY

2010-12-23T08:07:00.002-06:00

Sam and Mao wish you Peace on Earth.
Or, at least, no more hissing and biting.

Mao-Mao Part II

2010-12-18T11:20:00.006-06:00

Did I mention that I am NOT a Cat Person? And yet, I type this with a cat on my lap. What happened? Well, as you recall from the previous post, the library staff managed to capture the two homeless kittens, living behind the building. One went home with a co-worker and the other, Black kitty, went off to a shelter. As fate would have it, the shelter was closed to incoming animals on Thursdays, so back she came. "It's a SIGN!" a co-worker proclaimed. Yeah...right. We stressed, worried and pow-wowed about finding a home for her. I staunchly maintained my position: "No way...Sam would freak out...I know nothing about cats...I am NOT a Cat Person!!" but reluctantly agreed to take her home until a forever home could be found. An e-mail was sent out to other branches, along with cute photos, pleading for a home. We received one "maybe." A co-worker agreed to take her home for the night. We were thrilled but I quickly came to the (horrifying) realization that of all the people currently involved in the care of this small animal, I had the most experience with animals and am the biggest sucker. Crap. I went up to work on my day off armed with gloves, towels and flea shampoo to administer my very first cat bath. I was prepared to bleed...heavily. But as soon as I saw how scared she was, I abandoned the gloves immediately so I could comfort her and so she could feel my hands. She fought at first, but the minute I lowered her into the warm water, she relaxed and let me massage her with shampoo. As the fleas swarmed her head, she closed her huge yellow eyes and seemed to surrender herself to being cared for. I wrapped her in a warm towel and she immediately nestled in my lap and purred. Loudly... seriously, it was like a motorcycle. Then she went to sleep. Crap. I sat on the floor in the library workroom with this soggy, tiny thing in my lap and wondered exactly HOW mad Sam would be if I brought her home. Sam, who is fast enough to chase down cats...who has caught three already, and whose ears prick up at the sound of a meow and the thrill of the hunt? In the end, my trust in Sam and in my ability to control him won over and I agreed to take Kitty home until after Thanksgiving or until the "maybe" person could take her. That was a month ago. The "maybe" reneged and Harley (named for the motorcycle she sounds like when she's happy) has a "cautious" friendship with Sam. Neither one trusts each other; Harley is determined to gnaw on Sam's leg and Sam warns her with a teeth-baring snap when she swipes at him. They've finally started playing together. Sam will walk by, a black arm will shoot out and swipe his tail, she'll shoot off and he'll take off after her. Or she'll jump in a reusable grocery bag - Sam will stick his entire head in (duh, Sam!) and jump back when she swats him. And she thinks she's Asian... hiding in the wrought iron of the coffee table until Sam comes by and then silently dropping down behind him to attack. It is the way of Secret Asian Ninja Cat. I no longer worry that he'll hurt her or she, him. Both are too worried that I'll yell. I think I knew it was okay when I came out of the bathroom and both dog and cat were sitting outside, side by side, waiting for me. It's my fault that she doesn't respond to her name, Harley. I started calling her Mao-Mao when I called her, "Mao?" and she answered, "Meh?" which is our usual routine now because I don't think she knows how to Meow. I say, "Mao, are you hungry?" and she answers, "Meh? Meeeeh" and I hustle to warm her food. If dogs could roll their eyes, Sam would. So Mao-mao is her nickname. Weird or not, it seems natural. So that's how a Dog Person came to own a cat. My sister says Mao-mao looks and acts like "Toothless" from the movie, "How to Train Your Dragon." It's true. In this case, it didn't take a whole village to rescue her but it did take an entire library staff. I'm told that it only takes one cat to change your mind if don't like them. Mao-mao, I think, is that cat. She certainly has won my heart -- but I'm still not a Cat Person. (Visit Mao's and Sam's blogs by clicking on the Blog icons in the right margin -yes, they have blogs. You don't?)

Mao-Mao Part I

2010-12-18T10:17:00.005-06:00

I am a dog person. I've always owned dogs and, if I have it my way, always will. Dogs are whip smart, love you unconditionally, are loyal to a fault, and care whether you live or die. Cats are annoying, sneaky, irreverent, and if you are hanging off the edge of a cliff on the precipice of death, may - just may - wander over to see if you've fallen yet. I don't hate cats, I just prefer dogs. No cats! No, no no. And now, I am a cat owner. *sigh* Okay, here's the deal. Around October, the library staff at work noticed a tail-less gray cat and her two kittens (one fluffy gray and the other deep black, but all with bright gold-yellow eyes) hanging around behind the library, hiding under the shed in the back. We were compelled to do, what all animal lovers do, that is, we ran out and bought cat food and crowded by the window to watch them wander out and eat from chipped workroom dishes. Being the aforementioned "Non Cat Person," I participated in the care of the little family, scolded other staff members for forgetting to put out water and kibbles on my off days, and watched from the window during my lunch hour but tried to remain detached. More involved staff members bought kitty toys, tuna fish and spent their lunch hours sitting outside by the shed hoping to lure the kittens out. Mama Cat glared at us through the window, daring us to make a move toward her babies, who delighted us with kitten play. Our library family was drawn together; united toward the care of this little trio. Unfortunately, our worst fears were realized when Mama Cat disappeared, perhaps struck by a car in the traffic that raced alongside our building. Now our concern for the kittens was magnified and we redoubled our efforts to capture them before the weather got cold. Gray was captured in November and adopted by one of us, which left Black alone under the shed and became the focus of our efforts. Only in Texas can you say, "I need to catch a cat" and have six people step forward and offer traps. Traps...eek. The first few tries ended in disaster, with the capture of a nasty, snarling possum and then a huge black adult cat that I dubbed "Lucifer" due to its evil glare from the cage. Where was Black kitty and was she okay? I, the self-professed non Cat Person, went home worried every night. Finally, with the aid of a co-worker's determined dad, who showed up almost daily with traps, small cups of mystery meat and dressed in camouflage, kitty was captured! But now what? Gray kitty's new owner couldn't take in another and no one else was interested. Finally the decision to take her to a shelter (with dubious hopes that she would be adopted) was made and off she went. The right thing to do, certainly. But after all these weeks of worrying and watching, the emptiness was palpable. The library staff turned away from the window and went back to work. (Part 2 to follow)

Who Let The Cat Out of The Bag?

2010-12-11T00:23:00.000-06:00

Meet the newest member of our family: Harley. She's so named because of the deep, rumbling motorcycle sounds she makes when she's purring, which I'm told means she's happy. Her story is kinda sad but has a happy ending because we're happy she's part of our family. Sam...not as thrilled, but he's working on it. Maybe later I'll blog about how Kitty Mao-mao (that's her nickname), the no-tail kitten who doesn't know how to Meow, came to be: Secret Asian Ninja Cat.

Sheltie vs Kitty

2010-12-05T13:42:00.000-06:00

Uh oh...

Stuffed

2010-11-27T11:30:00.001-06:00

Thanksgiving is ofver? I is ready for left-ofvers.

The Kiddie Table

2010-11-26T20:33:00.009-06:00

Bill Melendez Prod., Charles M. Schultz

Every Thanksgiving dinner brings to mind the iconic status symbol of the real difference between generations. The ultimate measuring stick of the vertically impaired. The true distance between childhood and adulthood. Yes, I'm talking about the "Kiddie Table." I have fond memories of the Kiddie Table. As children, every holiday my sister and cousins and I were relegated not just to another table, but to a whole different room, separated from the adults. We were allowed to dip from the adult buffet table (pronounced "Boo Fay" by my family) but then were shooed into "our place" as soon as our plates were filled. And we knew our place. If one of us strayed into the grownup room and took a seat, the rest of us would immediately sense the infraction and scurry to correct the insubordination. New additions (adopted) or visiting cousins were given the shakedown by us older cousins and shown their empty spot at the card table. YOUR chair folds up, don't forget that. The grown up table was for serious conversations like, who was getting a kitchen remodeled or how much one could expect to pay for a used lawn mower at a garage sale. That was fine by us. The Kiddie Table was OUR area. We told gross jokes, mixed all our food up in one cup to create the Ultimate Most Disgusting Thanksgiving Meal Ever and then tried to talk the younger cousins into tasting it. We hid terrible things in mashed potatoes, dropped cranberry sauce into glasses of Coca-Cola when one of them went to the restroom, and excelled at quickly reverting to the the Model Minority - we were trained to be - whenever an adult wandered into our sacred domain. It was a mini hierarchy of sorts, with us older cousins acting as babysitters; some shaking their heads at the juvenile behavior of the others, some participating. Me, I was right in the thick of it, usually recommending what prank to play and then leading the charge against the uninitiated. I know you're shocked. I think of those days with great fondness, when we didn't even have to worry about cleaning up, much less preparing the mountains of food that magically appeared every holiday. After dinner, we'd scatter to play tag or Fruit Basket Turnover, which I just found out is an Asian game (who knew? I guess I'm oblivious; I still don't get Chinese Fire Drills). The grownups retreated into their requisite gender-specific corners: men in front of the television, women in the kitchen to clean up (that's another blog rant). Those were days unencumbered by scary news stories or those pesky government safety warnings. We burned leaves in ditches and leaped through the smoke, set off bottle rockets in the city, biked alone where ever we wanted and spent many summer hours on our stomachs dipping styrofoam cups into sludgy ditch water for tadpoles. Those were our Wonder Years, forever gone. Would I ever have let my son do any of those things when he was my age? Are you kidding? As an only child, I didn't let him light a match until he was ten, and he sure as heck never sat at a Kiddie Table. I'm glad for the extra safety precautions, I suppose. But sometimes I mourn the fact that he never got to experience the pure, joyful satisfaction of watching your younger cousin swill his glass of Dr Pepper, completely unaware of the nasty Brussels sprout waiting for him at the bottom. Ahhh. Eventually, we all graduated to the Grownup Table and, sadly, to all the work that came along with it. Had I known that, I would have stayed at the Kiddie Table forever (here Tristan would say, "well, you still fit!"), still wondering in blissful ignorance where all that food came from. No wonder they called it The Wonder Years.

Just Because

2010-11-26T17:42:00.000-06:00

Always beautiful Sam.

Happy Birthday Tristan!!

2010-11-22T01:15:00.005-06:00

"If you live to be a hundred, I want to live to be a
hundred minus one day, so I never have to live without you."

~ A. A. Milne

Happy 21st Birthday, Tristan!

(This is how I'll always think of you!)

Hard Times

2010-11-21T10:51:00.002-06:00

I'm In A Philly Mood

2010-11-08T00:53:00.002-06:00

Great song...great voice.

What Secret Asian Girl is Reading Now: Life in Eighty Minutes

2010-11-07T09:53:00.006-06:00

"There are lots of deficient numbers that are just one larger than the sum of their divisors, but there are no abundant numbers that are just one smaller than the sum of theirs. Or rather, no one has ever found one."

"Why is that?"

"The answer is written in God's notebook," said the Professor.

- exerpt from The Housekeeper and the Professor by Yoko Ogawa

What would it be like to only be able to remember your life 80 minutes at a time? Every 80 minutes, your memories would be erased and everything would start over. That's the premise of a sweet and substantial novel by Yoko Ogawa, The Housekeeper and the Professor. A young, single mother and her ten-year old son take on the daunting job of keeping house for a brilliant professor of mathematics whose mental abilities have been hampered (but not diminished) by a head-on car accident. Although he requires the aid of scraps of paper scribbled with notes like, "new housekeeper," and, "I can only remember 80 minutes at a time," pinned to his tattered coat to function, there is no forgetting the logic and comfort of his beloved mathematics. Math provides order to the Professor's chaos and his near-superhuman abilities to clarify the most complex mathematical equations give testament to the tenacity of the human mind even when injured. The only character with a name is "Root," the housekeeper's ten-year old son, so nicknamed by the Professor because his head is flat and dipped down at the end, like a square root symbol. "A symbol which is strong with infinite capabilities" is probably the highest compliment one can get from a math genius. Root triggers deep, grandfatherly feelings within the elderly teacher, and likewise Root learns how to make sense of his world through the teachings of the professor. Together they discuss math, baseball and life itself, in 80 minute increments. As the three become family, secrets are revealed, and even the housekeeper finds her mind wandering to mathematical equations to make sense of it all. As I read this story, I was amazed at how the professor could simplify the most difficult equations even for math-challenged people like me. Simpler, but still baffling. I think that's why some people like math so much. There's always an answer...one correct answer. But I prefer to lounge in the uncertainty of life's problems. Simple solutions come from simple minds, I always say. Life is more complex than that. As the professor explains, some things are unproveable and the answer is only written in God's notebook, not meant for any human to know. Still, I wouldn't be against forgetting some things I've experienced in my life. God's notebook has perforated pages, right?

You May Think It's Funny....But It's SNOT

2010-10-28T23:28:00.003-05:00

Why have I had a head cold all week?

"Honey, take your lieberry card out of your
mouth and give it to the lady!"
Good grief.

Get Your Flu Shot

2010-10-14T17:12:00.002-05:00

Swine flu is still out there so get your flu shot! It's a 3-parter this year but combined into one shot. Apparently, I'm too OLD to get the nasal spray. Pppbbttt!!! Check out this site for some popular misconceptions about the flu shot. Remember: You can pick your nose. And you can pick your friends. But you can't wipe your friends on the couch. Remember who told you that.

Tree Frog The Sequel: It's Not Safe To Go In The Back Yard

2010-10-08T22:12:00.006-05:00

Damn yoouuu, Tree Frog! Why are you terrorizing me?? Only a few moments ago, I had my second encounter with the tree frogs living in the passion fruit vine outside my back door. If you remember, the little "cuties" kept affixing their sticky little bodies to the glass door and then flinging themselves at me when I'd open the door to let Sam out. The last time almost gave me a heart attack. I've taken to opening the door in "armed Ninja protection mode." Okay, so I crack the door with a towel over my head and hold a salad fork (you use what you've got). I think those frogs must be training the newly born froglets in a sort of miniature amphibian Jihadist attack camp aimed at giving me a seizure of some sort. The past few days I've noticed a new fellow on the door, albino, I think because instead of bright green, he's mostly white with just a splotch of green on his back. I just now opened the door for Sam and the little critter was staring at me from about 6" above eye level. I tried to shoo him away and...he HURLED himself at my head (much like seeing a flying squirrel in full spread formation launch himself from a tree at you) straight at my HEAD, landing in my HAIR. AAIIIIIIYYII!!! Now, let's pause and take this moment to imagine the frenetic gyrations I was able to perform in order to shake the sticky booger out of my hair. I'll have to imagine with you because the whole episode is a blur to me. I vaguely remember screeching and flinging my head in and out of the curtains much like dancing the Hokey Pokey on acid. And at some point, there was a cold, wet, stickiness on my cheek. Unless someone pitched a pre-masticated GummiBear at my face, I'll assume it was Frogzilla. As for Sam, I think he watched me with detached interest for the first few minutes and... then left the room. Finally, I saw the terrorist all splayed out on the side of the couch (in my mind it was the size of my open palm) and I was able to gather my wits about me enough to herd the Great White Amphibian out the door and back into the wild from which it came. Leapin' lizards!! 'Course, I'm sure the frog is at home now going, "Dude, you should have seen it, it was freakin' HUGE. And that hair could use some conditioner..." Oh, sorry, I digressed. Sam, I'm sorry but you're never going outside again.

Book Review: Killing Mr. Griffin

2010-10-07T00:08:00.003-05:00

Each year, to celebrate Banned Book Week, I try to read a challenged book that I have not previously read. This year, I was intrigued by a selection that, the last time I checked, was #33 on the American Library Association's Most Frequently Banned Book List. In case you're not familiar with this list, it contains books that have been challenged. According to the ALA, "a challenge is an attempt to remove or censor materials based upon the objections of a person or group. A successful challenge results in a ban." There are many reasons why a book can be challenged: inappropriate language, offensive terminology, plot inappropriate to age...the list goes on and on. In effect: censorship. If you know anything about me, you can imagine how this makes the hair on the back of my neck stand up. The ALA Office for Intellectual Freedom has recorded 7,000 challenges since 1990; over 500 in 2002 alone. Lot of closed minds out there. And a LOT of sharp sticks where they shouldn't be. So I not only discourage anyone from paying any heed to the warnings, I ENCOURAGE young readers to go of their way to read what people who think they know what's best for us DON'T want us to read. "Read irresponsibly" is my new favorite mantra. So, this year I read Lois Duncan's Killing Mr. Griffin. This one has been around since 1978 and was ALA's Best Book for Young Adults in 1978 and 1994. The plot is what caused parents to freak out, and to be fair, I can sort of see why. A group of social fringe teens get mad at their English teacher and plot to kidnap him to scare him into giving them easier assignments. They rope in a nerdy girl who doesn't really share their grievances but agrees to help in order to be accepted. Old, old themes. Teen angst, teens trying to fit in, teens being stupid and using poor judgment. Unfortunately, the plan goes wonky when Mr. Griffin unexpectedly dies from a heart ailment that goes unmedicated during the kidnapping. There's a few curse words but nothing most teens haven't heard before 10 o'clock in the morning. Of course, the problem is the plot. The parents who challenged this book were afraid that reading about killing a teacher might put the idea into their children's brains and mayhem would ensue. I think kids are much more sophisticated (and smarter) than that. I WAS a teen in 1978, and although some twisted individuals might have entertained the idea after reading this, come on...it's not a NEW concept. Who *hasn't* been so angry at someone that you wished they would die? Not literally, but disappear from your life? Okay, maybe it's just me. But no work of fiction can *make* anyone who is not already predisposed to this kind of behavior commit an act of violence. Columbine caught us, as parents, asleep on the job. Yes, bad things can happen. So let's talk about it and understand why it's a bad idea. At least that's my opinion. If anything, I think a book like this is important for teens to read. Without being preachy or judgmental (which is more than I can say for the folks who filed the complaint), the book demonstrates the consequences of our actions and how frivolous ideas can quickly turn into life changing moments. Life can turn on a dime and doing something uncharacteristic just to "fit in" is simply not worth it. I think it stands up well for a 32 year old book. The story is more relevant today than ever and I believe kids will see themselves in the characters and will encourage critical thinking. Put this one on your teen's night stand and talk about it together. Read irresponsibly.

Can't Seem To Get Over....Unngh!

2010-10-02T14:57:00.002-05:00

It's like this for me every morning.

Mouthful of Goodness

2010-09-23T21:13:00.004-05:00

The Pioneer Woman Cooks|Ree Drummond

THIS is what's for breakfast. Cheddar Onion Bacon Biscuits

from The Pioneer Woman Cooks! website. Enjoy!

Ingredients

2 cups All-purpose Flour
1 teaspoon Baking Powder
¾ teaspoons Salt
¼ cups Vegetable Shortening (Crisco)
10 Tablespoons Milk (whole Milk Is Best)
4 Tablespoons Vegetable Oil
1 whole Egg
10 slices Thick Cut Bacon, Fried And Crumbled
1 cup finely Diced Onion
1 cup grated Sharp Cheddar Cheese

Preparation Instructions

Sift together flour, baking powder, and salt. Using a pastry cutter, cut in shortening until all combined.

Combine milk, oil, and egg in a separate bowl. Whisk together.

Combine flour mixture, milk mixture, bacon, onions, and cheddar cheese in a large bowl. Stir gently until all combined.

Spoon batter into greased muffin tins. Bake for 20 to 22 minutes in 375° oven until golden. Remove from pan and serve warm.

Book Trailer: Night of the Living Trekkies

2010-09-17T21:44:00.000-05:00

Remembering 9-11

2010-09-12T01:22:00.000-05:00

The Boy In the Striped Pajamas

2010-09-11T16:08:00.013-05:00

In reviewing my past few blog entries, it occurred to me that I've been a tad maudlin lately. My sister says that I have a dark side to my personality so maybe it's that, but usually when I'm feeling this way it's a reaction to something (or someone) that's disgusting me. The news has been offending me lately, with all the book burning talk, religious intolerance, friends and family losing jobs, YouTube videos of puppies thrown in the river, Sarah Palin "refudiating," general stupidity ...all to a Justin Bieber soundtrack. (((shudder))) Of my dark mood, I deeply apologize. That's why I was reluctant to watch this 2008 movie, "The Boy in the Striped Pajamas." Of course, I knew of the book, by John Boyne, and had a vague idea of the plot. Unlike a friend of mine who has a fondness for "Holocaust literature," (fighting urge to use the word "twisted" ha ha) I do not share this seemingly bleak desire to relive this boil on the butt of human history. It would just make me angry, and like I said, I can do that by watching the nightly news. Anyway, I finally did get a chance to see this film and I was pleasantly surprised. Unexpectedly, the movie did not make me as depressed as I thought it would. The story is about an 8-year old boy named Bruno who is the son of a high-ranking Nazi SS officer whose new job is to oversee a "camp," filled with Jewish prisoners. Bruno is unaware of the implications and horrors of such a facility and believes his father's propaganda films which show Jewish "guests" of the camp playing outside, eating at a café, all in general good health. This is confusing to the young boy, who befriends a fragile old man who works in the house named Pavel. Pavel used to be a doctor but now peels potatoes for the officer's family and is regularly a victim of casual brutality by younger Nazi officers. After spilling a wine glass at dinner one evening, Pavel disappears. Confused and ultimately bored, Bruno resorts to exploration and on one such expedition, meets a young Jewish prisoner sitting behind the barbed wire fence who happens to be his own age, named Shmuel. Through Shmuel's eyes, Bruno realizes the true nature of the camp and thus, the truth about his father's job. He struggles with the (currently relevant) question, "Why do we hate?" Is it because someone tells us to? The unlikely friendship blooms in spite of the obvious reasons it shouldn't, and the boys learn trust and forgiveness in the face of horrendous circumstances. The ending left me with mixed feelings of deep sadness tinged with an unsatisfying feeling of retribution. I expected to come away from this movie hating what evils humans are capable of. There is that, but I also came away surprised at the unadulterated kindness humans are also capable of. Perhaps this is what my friend finds when she reads so much on this subject: Despite the worst things imaginable, if we only listen to our own hearts...in the end, there is hope.

Read a Banned Book

2010-09-09T19:32:00.004-05:00

"A book is a loaded gun in the house next door. Burn it.
Take the shot from the weapon. Breach man's mind. Who knows
who might be the target of the well-read man?
Me? I won't stomach them for a minute.…
Take your fight outside. Better yet, into the incinerator."

Ray Bradbury, Fahrenheit 451

Celebrate Banned Book Week
September 25 - October 2, 2010

Go out of your way to read the books
"they" don't want you to read.

Banned Books List

Read irresponsibly. I do!

Library Patrons

2010-09-06T12:16:00.002-05:00

Customer exchange I had recently. The names have been changed to protect the innocent...and also, me.

*********************************

Customer: I'd like to report a missing book.

Me: Okay, let's look at your account and see which one is missing. What's the title?

Customer: Mad House by Chris Grabenstein.

Me: Well, I don't see that book on your account. And could you be thinking of Mad Mouse?

Customer: Oh. Yes.

Me: That title is not on your account.

Customer: I know. I want to report it missing from your shelf. It should be there and it's not.

Me: (checking catalog) Our copy is checked out. Can I request it for you?

Customer: No, you're not listening. It's missing, I tell you. MISSING!! The catalog says it's on your shelf and it's missing.

Me: No, sir. We only have one copy and it's checked out to another customer.

Customer: The catalog says you have it IN at Woodoaks!!

Me: This is Oakglen.

(silence)

Customer: Oh.

Wearing White After Labor Day

2010-09-06T08:39:00.003-05:00

Believe it or not, there are still folks who will wag their finger at you after September 1st and say, "You're not supposed to wear white after Labor Day! ha ha!" I suppose they're trying to be humorous, but I want to wag my finger back at them and say, "This isn't 1955 anymore!" Different sentiment...different finger. But where did that saying come from? I looked it up and it turns out there's a practical reason for the admonishment. Labor Day, celebrated on the first Monday in September, marked the end of winter and white, being a summer color for clothing due to its ability to reflect light and heat, was no longer practical in the cooler weather. The saying became popular during the 1920's as a fashion warning to the nouveau riche who may have the money but not the sense enough to know that it's time to put away the lighter colored linens and cotton clothing they wore on summery escapes. During the mid-50's, the saying was meant to only apply to white bags and shoes. A practical application to the rule may have meant trying to avoid wearing light colored shoes during the cold and slushy winter months and getting them soiled. Like so many fashion rules, this one is also out-functioned and outdated. The weather here in Houston requires its own rules. When it's still 90° on Halloween, but the stores are selling wool turtleneck sweaters, you just have to throw the rulebook out the window. Even etiquette guru Emily Post has long ago abandoned the white after Labor Day rule. In fact, wearing "winter white" is considered very "fashion forward." Ask Michelle Obama, who wore a beautiful white gown to the January Inaugural events. And just try wagging your finger at the...Pope. Okay, too far! I'm trying to be more tolerant of the fashion-misinformed. I just can't promise that I won't slug the next person who tries to pinch me for not wearing green on St. Patrick's Day.

The Red Dress by Dorothy Parker

2010-08-29T16:15:00.005-05:00

The Red Dress
by Dorothy Parker

I always saw, I always said

If I were grown and free

I'd have a gown of reddest red

As fine as you could see.

To wear out walking, sleek and slow

Upon a Summer's day

And there'd be one to see me so

And flip the world away.

And he would be a gallant one

With stars behind his eyes

And hair like metal in the sun

And lips too warm for lies.

I always saw us, gay and good

High honored in the town.

Now I am grown to womanhood

I have the silly gown.

I like this poem...about growing older and letting go of idealism and other childish things. If I had a daughter, I'd have it framed for her.

Delusions of Grandeur

2010-08-29T13:18:00.000-05:00

The lesser known, "I Have An Ego" speech.

Pppppbbbbbttt!!!

Must See Movie

2010-08-27T12:10:00.002-05:00

Excellent film about a topic that needs to be discussed. Watch this with your older kids and talk about it with them.

Just For Grins

2010-08-26T00:14:00.000-05:00

Frog of Ridiculously Small Proportions

2010-08-24T00:21:00.004-05:00

It's like a sauna here in Houston even at 6 am. But it's not the humidity I fear when I open my door in the morning. It's a teeny weeny Frog of Ridiculously Small Proportions that lives in the passion flower vine by the back door. He's only about the size of your pinky fingernail, bright green and begs to be posted on cuteoverload.com. Not long ago, I sleepily made my way there to let Sam out, when a gooey, cold, wet thing flung itself at me, landed on my arm and hurled itself off onto the door. Even in semi-wakefulness, I was able to scream, fling my arms in the air and spin myself about as if performing an African fertility dance. This frenzy went on for about 2-3 minutes after which I was able to get the light on only to see Sam looking at me like, "Really?" If dogs could roll their eyes, he would have at that moment. Turns out this smallish amphibian takes refuge from the broiling heat in the freshly watered potted plants. I did find the terrified little froglet hiding underneath the blinds on the glass door hanging on for dear life with his sticky little fingers. It took both me and Tristan, and the aid of a mayo jar and a sheet of paper, to remove him and return him safely to the passion flower plant. Now that I know he lives there I try to water generously every morning and evening. I always peer under the leaves to find Frog of Ridiculously Small Proportions staring at me with that "yeah, so?" look they seem to have. Yes, he's cute, but I'm still afraid to open the door in the morning.

What Secret Asian Girl is Reading Now

2010-08-22T08:27:00.003-05:00

The book industry seems to be capitalizing on the reading public's softer side lately: its need to eat, pray and love and its need to cuddle with a soft, loyal friend who won't give us pink slips or lose its value and leave us with nothing. Except for a almost a year following the loss of a 13 year old dear and loyal friend, I have always owned a dog. That's why I'm drawn to the plethora of books being published about humankind's best friend. I can't get through the Marley and Me's, for obvious reasons, but I search for the stories that connect my deep feelings for dogs that only fellow dog lovers can understand. A Dog's Purpose, by W. Bruce Cameron is, finally, the book I've been looking for. There's no exhaustive sadness when the dog dies, because this dog dies many times. Let me explain. The dog in this book is born a mutt, living in a culvert with his mom and siblings, living off what little life has to offer him with no human assistance. It is a short and expendable life, but not one without meaning. This existence provides him with the relative experience he needs to learn to be grateful for his next life, as a family dog, Bailey. Bailey's happy time with his boy, Ethan, is the kind of life all dogs dream of: a full belly, a warm home, and a boy who loves him more than anything. Together, they grow older, fight evil, and learn to lean on someone who will always be there for you...as long as they can. Like all dogs, Bailey's life is all too short and he is unable to see Ethan through the remainder of his human life. Bailey begins to wonder what is the purpose of a dog's life, if not to be with his boy forever? Miraculously, Bailey is reborn as a German Shepherd puppy, whose destiny is to be trained as a police dog. Now a female named Ellie, but retaining all the memories and experiences (and feelings) of his/her previous lives, this time around teaches Ellie many things. Ellie learns to Find, a fun game that seems to make humans happy. Find is easy for Ellie, having had to Find Ethan or Find food as a stray. Being a police dog is another wonderful life for Ellie, and her end is not a sad one but one of satisfaction. Surely this must be a dog's purpose? But as Ellie is reborn yet again, this time as a pure-blood black lab and again as a male, he is depressed and ambivalent about going through yet another purposeless life. Worse, he belongs to a human who doesn't want him and ends up, like so many unwanted animals owned by stupid humans, dumped "in the country" to fend for himself. By sheer luck, our friend finds himself in a place familiar to him, where he used to play with a boy named Ethan. Could he use his new skills of Find to find Ethan? I won't ruin the ending for you but Buddy (Bailey/Ellie's new name) finds his purpose in life. Find is a wonderful purpose, but Save is even better. Buy a box of tissues, snuggle with your fur friend and read this book now. This one is for Lily, Popi, Duffy, Riley and of course...Sam.

Monster Mashup

2010-08-21T00:36:00.001-05:00

Mwuhahahaha!

Just An Old Fashioned Space-man

2010-08-15T16:55:00.003-05:00

awfullibrarybooks.wordpress.com

So he's not a great poet... He'd still be my first choice on an away team when breaching the space-time continuum if the fate of the universe is at hand. What? Like you wouldn't....

Opinion: Building a Mosque at Ground Zero

2010-08-15T12:57:00.006-05:00

bundesregierung.de

It's a sensitive subject: Is it okay for an Islamic mosque to be built anywhere near Ground Zero? This question has been in the news and the subject of many debates this past week. Probably more so in N.Y. than around here. I've watched and read some of the discussions and I can see it from both sides. Even the president has weighed in on the matter and was soundly thumped for an answer that perhaps could have been better explained. Still, if I had to choose, I'd have to go with the Constitution. In reality, it's two questions: Can it be built? And should it be built? The first one seems to be a purely legal issue. The U.S. Constitution provides for freedom of religion, no matter whether it's Christian, Muslim or Satanism. I know that's difficult to stomach but get used to it. So many people can't see past the noses on their faces to see the truth. Sure, the document *says* that but we all know it's really talking about the one TRUE religion, right? It says so, right on our currency! And if people can't get on board with that we'll just micro-legalize it in individual states and shove it down your children's throats until they all believe as well and don't even realize they've been propagandized. (Texas Board of Education...grrrrr) This reminds me of the white crosses that sometimes pop up along the interstate or at intersections where people have been killed. There was some bruhaha in my neighborhood a while back where some people objected to these, saying that they were offended by the overt display of religion in their neighborhood. These people couldn't see it as not so much an in-your-face show of faith, but a demonstration of the family's grief in the way in which they are familiar with being comforted: their religion. I'm fine with all of this as long as these cross displayers understand that the same laws that make their expression okay also protects others whose beliefs MAY not be in sync with theirs. Unfortunately, I'm afraid that while these folks may agree in theory, they might get their dander up if a goat head figure shows up at the corner of Melody Lane and Sunshine Ct. Hypocrisy has always been a bugaboo of the fanatically ignorant. So back to the Ground Zero debate. I give President Obama props for gently trying to remind everyone that this is still America and we have religious freedom here, at least in theory. Maybe it's still too fresh in our minds because his words were met with an uproar. The president later came back and said he "questioned the wisdom" of those making this decision. I agree with both. The answer to the first question is "YES," a mosque CAN be built on or near Ground Zero. Thank goodness for that because it's precisely that YES that is the reason the terrorists hate us. NOT letting them build is like saying you're right; we are bigoted and intolerant and narrow-minded and ignorant to the diversity that make us resilient as a people. As to the second question of SHOULD, my answer (for now) is NO. It's not a legal issue, it's one of good taste and sensitivity. No more should a Shinto temple be built near the U.S.S. Arizona Memorial at Pearl Harbor or a U-Haul rental store open next to where the Alfred P. Murrah Federal Building used to stand in Oklahoma City. It has less to do with faith than with reminding people of the senseless reasons so many people died. Sometimes you have to take emotion out of the mix to be able to listen to rationale. Our wounds are still too raw now to be rational but perhaps one day.... Just my opinion.

New Look!!

2010-08-03T23:05:00.001-05:00

Time for sumptin' diff'rent! Let me know what you think!

Hot Flash?

2010-08-01T13:02:00.010-05:00

Ahhhhhh....
Wonder where all this HEAT is coming from? Visit Dr. Jeff Masters' WunderBlog to read about how our heat is related to the Russian Heat Wave of 2010 and those floods in Pakistan. Or...it could just be another pesky hot flash.

What Secret Asian Girl is Reading Now

2010-07-29T22:18:00.017-05:00

In general, I'm not a fan of this type of "pop fiction," or "chick lit," whatever this genre's nom du jour is. The Island by Elin Hilderbrand is like cotton candy, fluffy and sugary with nothing really substantial to it. Plus, it's completely unrelateable to most readers. A totally narcissistic family, so engrossed in each of their own pleasures that they don't see other family members crumbling around them. Every conceivable human drama or tragedy is stirred into this story: suicide, divorce, rock climbing accident, engaged to one rich handsome brother but actually in love with his not-rich-but-still-handsome rock star brother...there's even some lesbian dabbling thrown in. "But how will that affect ME??" Wah, wah, wah. What a bunch of whiners! Compounding the dynamic is the fact that all of them are drowning in money, which, at the first sign of trouble, enables all of them to pack off and spend a whole month in the family's beach house on an island near Nantucket - ostensibly to HEAL - eating foie gras and raspberries delivered daily by a sun-bleached blond hunk of the month delivery stud (whose young wife is dead and who has left him with two impossibly cute tow headed boys). Wahh... what a terrible life. The cell phones don't get great service, proving that they're roughing it. Every venture each of them has tried in life has been wildly lucrative: the youngest food editor ever for a national magazine, a sought-after computer programming whiz...even the mom's divorce was amicable and generous . The fact that AFTER the success came the reality of some tragedy is supposed to make us sympathetic to the characters. Nope, not buying it. Most people don't even get to taste a morsel of the luxurious life these folks have enjoyed. If reality is too harsh for these immature, spoiled brats afterward, oh well. I gave this book a few pity stars because as a beach read, it's quick and escapist, without having to connect to the characters. In the end, everyone ends up deliriously happy, on the outside, at least. Looks good on the outside, but is it? Sort of like fat-free cheese. This was the first book I've read by popular author Elin Hilderbrand and will, most likely, be my last. I guess I got caught up in the whole "fun summer reading" whirlwind of excitement. That, and I am drawn to her novels' beautifully photographed covers. If you see me reading another book of this kind, please, for God's sake, slap it out of my hand and replace it with something by Chris Bohjalian! Gag. Bleah.

Klingon Panhandler

2010-07-27T23:38:00.003-05:00

Just because I like this picture.
lIjSoS ghajtaH Hab Quch!
(Translation: Your mother has a smooth forehead!)

You Oughta Be In Pictures #91 Fun With Photos

2010-07-17T16:45:00.014-05:00

This assignment was just too tempting for someone like me. I love image generators! Fotoflexer is familiar to me but BeFunky was a new site. I really liked the variety of special effects you can add to your uploaded photo. Unfortunately, you do have to register at the site if you want to save it. You can "share" your edited photo from its home site but not save it to your own files. I edited the photo of my dog, Sam, in both Fotoflexer and BeFunky. The finished product, below, is a cartoonized version courtesy of BeFunky. I liked the quality better and the woodcut effect I ended up with was very cool. The logo watermark doesn't really bother me. If you're not interested in precise matching, FaceinHole is a lot of fun. This Baywatch photo may not be very funny to some of my co-workers but what the heck! I'm sure they don't mind sacrificing some dignity for a training exercise! he he BigHugeLabs also looks like a creative resource for future "experiments." The other plus with BHL is that you can create monthly calendars, movie posters, stickers, jigsaw puzzles and mosaics all from your own photos. There are also links where you can find out what time sunrise and sunset is going to occur at any geographical location in case you're interested in taking that "gorgeous sunset" shot you've always dreamed about. I think all of these sites are terrific resources for playing with, and learning about, digital photo manipulation. And if you happen to get a few laughs at the expense of a friend or ahem, a co-worker or two....so much the better!

You Oughta Be In Pictures #90 Sharing Photos

2010-07-15T13:25:00.005-05:00

Used to be, if you wanted to share a classic photo, like the one left, you'd have to hurry to finish your film roll, rush it to the drugstore and then wait for a phone call to go pick up your prints on photo paper. Then you'd have to mail it to someone via good ol' U.S. Mail and hope they received it in good condition. With the advent of digital technology, you could save it on a floppy diskette, e-mail it and wait for your recipient to respond. Now, thanks to sites like Flickr, Photobucket, and other digital album storage sites, your friends and family can readily access the images at their own convenience immediately and you don't have to pay for processing. Who wants to wait for a picture like this one? I've had a Flickr account for awhile and use it mostly to store photos I've taken from my digital camera but also favorite photos I've scanned from old family albums. Not only is it easier to access an on-line album, but it's a way to preserve and archive the old paper images that have become family heirlooms. There are also editing capabilities to crop or rotate your image. For beyond basic editing, you can always use a free site like Picnik to get out red-eye or adjust color saturation. I watched the video introducing all the different photo sharing websites but I've already explored the ones listed. One is really just as good as the next one but I suppose I prefer Flickr. Protecting the privacy of my images is important to me but I'm not naive enough to think that once that picture is out there, whether on a blog like this one or on Facebook, the chances of it showing up elsewhere is pretty good. Fortunately, there are billions of photos out there to steal so why choose mine? Still, it should always be in the back of your mind that anything published is now public. And really, now that you've seen this image, it's gonna be hard to get it out of your mind anyway. Yikes.

Life Cycle of a Tree

2010-07-12T01:26:00.003-05:00

Berkeley Breathed used this unusual "treed bike" as inspiration for his children's book, Red Ranger Came Calling, a unique holiday story about a boy's waning ability to believe in the unbelievable and how he restored his faith in the abilities of others. This real bike is located on Vashon Island in Washington. What story could you make up about how this bike-in-a-tree came to be?

Harry Potter and the Deathly Hallows Pt. 1 - November 19

2010-07-03T08:08:00.002-05:00

What Secret Asian Girl is Reading Now

2010-06-26T09:35:00.015-05:00

I started reading this book with a good deal of skepticism. A notorious atheist interpreting the parables of Jesus? Good Lord! Er, you know what I mean. Interestingly, this novel is one of a group of books called The Myths series, which "brings together some of the world's finest writers, each of whom has retold a myth in a contemporary and memorable way." Margaret Atwood, AS Byatt, Michel Faber and Alexander McCall Smith are some other authors on the project, launched in 2005. I'm not against religious criticism (in fact, I'm for it) but it's at least courageous and at the most pure genius to choose this guy to retell the Bible. Truthfully, it's not really that offensive. The premise is that Jesus Christ was not born one man but rather, twins: one Jesus and the other, Christ. Jesus went about his business pretty much as the Bible states, although exhibiting more average human traits like frustration, anger and sometimes mean-spiritedness. His twin brother, Christ, acts as PR man and chief chronologist, and sometimes Spin Doctor when required. A mysterious "stranger" appears to Christ regularly and goads him into certain actions (often involving manipulation of his brother) for the good of humanity. Christ believes it's an Angel but possibly a Satan figure...or perhaps some of both. Parts of the book were boring, parts were surprising and some were laugh-out-loud funny. I enjoyed the story at the Pool of Bethesda where the smelly, crippled beggar asks Christ to hug and kiss him to prove humanity is essentially good. Christ has to vomit several times but finally manages the task whereupon the man proceeds to relieve Christ of his wallet. Also the line (same scene) where a blind man calmly states, "I don't see any good." Metaphor Alert!! Ha ha... Is this Monty Python? Pullman's disgust for organized religion is obvious as Christ's spin on his brother's good deeds and ultimate betrayal of him (that's right, Christ not Judas) is rationalized by the conviction that after Jesus is gone, his myth (uh oh) and martyrdom (look out) will inspire goodness of humanity through an organized entity, a.k.a. the Church, something not possible if Jesus were to remain alive. The well orchestrated con - removal of Jesus's body from the cave in order to make people think he had "risen" and Christ's appearance as his twin brother to Mary Magdalene - is kind of gutsy even for Pullman but I suppose required of such a premise and not really shocking if you've read anything else by Pullman. Slow start but good ending and gives the reader pause, IF they're able to open their minds and allow the possibility of another way of thinking. Stick-in-the-mud zealots will pooh-pooh this offering and ignore it. That's okay. Go back to reading your safe, non-controversial Janet Evanovich novel. This book will take you a couple hours to read but you'll think about it a lot longer.

How BP Has Changed Children's Books

2010-06-25T09:36:00.005-05:00

Yes, I made these up.

One fish, two fish...No more fish. Ever.

What's Goo in the Blue?

The Very Hungry Petroleum Conglomerate

Murky With A Chance of Tarballs

Charlie and the Chocolate Factory...Wait, That's Not Chocolate!

Goodnight Fishing Industry

The Barren Stain Bears

Harry Potter and the Bucket of Sludge

Let's See What's Washed Up Today!

Tony Hayward and the Terrible, Horrible, No Good, Very Bad Summer

The Little Containment Plan That Couldn't

Save A Purple Pelican

Curious George Goes To The Beach And...George! For God's Sake Don't Touch That, You'll Get Cancer!

Winnie the Goo

Horton Doesn't Hear A Who Or Any Other Sign of Life In the Gulf Anymore

Where The Wild Things Aren't

Angry Librarian

2010-06-25T07:32:00.001-05:00

Why "Sanity Days" are needed from the Library and why I'm posting this from home today.

You Oughta Be In Pictures #89: Basic Stuff

2010-06-23T22:47:00.015-05:00

Now we're getting to the good stuff. I love using these kinds of programs to play with, to experiment with and to post in my blog. Ever since I first learned to use photo editing programs to make birthday cards I've loved the fun things you can do with a simple photo and a little creativity. I've been a longtime user of Picnik and used it to make this "LOL Dog." I don't know how we ever managed photos without digital cropping, rotating, resizing, color editing, etc. I suppose we whipped out our handy scissors and whacked away. In this "Mr. T" picture, I flipped it to make the dog look the other way and then added the caption. I sometimes contribute funny pictures to the site, ihasahotdog which is the dog version of the wildly popular cat caption site, icanhascheezburger. I have to admit, though, cats are much more surly, which makes for great captions. (Dogs are cuter, though!) I agree that Photoflexer and the free version of Photoshop are good but not very user friendly if you're just starting. And unless you can write it off on your taxes as a work expense, how many of us can spend between $200-700 on the "pro" version? For the average user, Picnik, and even Flickr provide enough basic photo editing for our needs. I used Picnik to "zombify" myself at Halloween (surely you remember that!) and ihasahotdog.com to experiment with sheltie pictures. Great fun!!

Definition of Irony

2010-06-20T10:19:00.001-05:00

Photo taken at a BP gas station.

BP Spills Coffee

2010-06-11T07:14:00.002-05:00

NSFW...a little profanity, but justified.