tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-40293630336964323512024-03-13T11:03:21.998-05:00The Absence of AlternativesMy therapy sessions...The Absence of Alternativeshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05395320989489560756noreply@blogger.comBlogger197125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4029363033696432351.post-37082465338586262852009-08-14T13:46:00.008-05:002009-08-19T20:10:33.136-05:00People in Germany need to have more sex. Or keep their clunkers. According to the Economist. Well, kind of.<span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"><br /></span><br /><a style="font-family: trebuchet ms;" href="http://www.economist.com/research/articlesBySubject/displaystory.cfm?subjectid=7933596&story_id=14191301"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; width: 400px; display: block; height: 280px;" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5369892742030999890" alt="" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_jgRy_WSn444/SoWw_3q0wVI/AAAAAAAAAQs/pvRr4X8pUsg/s400/Birth.jpg" border="0" /></a><br /><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"><br /></span><span style="font-weight: bold;font-family:trebuchet ms;">People in Germany really need to start having more sex.<br /><br /></span><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;">Otherwise they are really going to need Death Panel for Grandmas, you know, when there are no more young people to take care of the old people.</span><br /><p style="font-family: trebuchet ms;">That was my first thought when I saw this chart. </p><p style="font-family: trebuchet ms;">On second thought, sex does not necessarily lead to pregnancy, unless you are having it in the back of your parents' car. Or your very first beat-up old clunker. Better if you are drunk.<br /></p><p style="font-family: trebuchet ms;">So my <em>revised </em>word of advice:</p><p style="font-family: trebuchet ms;"><strong><em>Germans need to have more drunken sex in the back of their parents' car, or get more clunkers.</em></strong> </p><p style="font-family: trebuchet ms;">Then I saw this other chart, comparing government sponsored "Cash for Clunkers" programs in several countries:</p><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"><br /><br /><p><a href="http://www.economist.com/research/articlesBySubject/displaystory.cfm?subjectid=7933596&story_id=14205513"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; width: 382px; display: block; height: 400px;" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5369894376624711282" alt="" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_jgRy_WSn444/SoWyfBAVZnI/AAAAAAAAAQ0/3ffJ0HLnX2Q/s400/Cars.jpg" border="0" /></a></p><p><em>Hold on a second, while I take a mental note...</em></p><p><em>Note to self: Great cocktail conversation tidbit - "Do you know the U.S. is not the only one, and definitely not the first one, to come up with the 'Cash for Clunkers' program?"</em></p><p><em>Note to self, again: Scratch that. Someone is bound to say, "Exactly. Those are all socialist, or Facist, countries, or whatever, European! countries. That's why we should object to it loudly. Preferrably bring a loaded handgun with you to town hall meetings." And then the cocktail party, if I were ever invited to one, would go downhill from there... So, NOT A GOOD IDEA! Ok. Fine! Scratch the entire Note to Self 1.<br /></em></p><p>When I saw this second chart about Cash for Clunkers program in other countries, </p><p><strong>Eureka! I thought.</strong> </p><p>See how the government in Germany spent $7.1 billion on their "Get Rid of Clunker" program?<br />There you go, my friend. That is why the birth rate in Germany remains the lowest. </p></span>The Absence of Alternativeshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05395320989489560756noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4029363033696432351.post-36663153994133100862009-08-13T10:00:00.009-05:002009-08-13T10:25:38.946-05:00Live squid is not part of the standard diet in China, or Asia for that matter<span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;">Once in a while I get all riled up with my mouth foaming like a rabid dog. </span><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;">My irrational anger especially loves a good target of Stereotype Mongers and Exoticism Panderer</span><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;">s. This is that kind of moment.<br /><br /><span style="font-style: italic;">PMS. Whatever.</span><br /><br />The target of my rant today is this book:<br /><br /><span style="font-weight: bold;">Lost on Planet China: The Strange and True Story of One Man's Attempt to Understand the World's Most Mystifying Nation, or <span style="color: rgb(51, 51, 255);">How He Became Comfortable Eating Live Squid</span></span><br /><br />Look at that title, and please tell me it is not being deliberately sensationalizing.<br /><br />Mind you, I have a great sense of humor. Like all great Jewish comedians (by the way, I am neither) I have perfected self-deprecating humor. I can make fun of myself, ourselves, my people, my race.<br /><br />BUT I was not impressed with the passages my husband quoted me from the book. My "stereotype police" and "pandering to exoticism" antenna immediately went up when the author starts the book by talking about a restaurant menu full of internal organs of a goat. He claimed that was the first restaurant he walked in when he landed in China. Just picked it out of the random. His good luck then. I would not even know where to find one myself.<br /><br /></span><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;">Let me emphasize this again:<br /><br /><span style="font-weight: bold; font-style: italic;">WE DO NOT EAT LIVE SQUID OR GOAT BRAINS AS A DAILY MEAL. </span><br /><br /></span><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;">They are probably sold in some specialty restaurants. But NOT part of the standard diet. Can people just please get over it already?! Besides, you eat moldy cheese which is pretty sickening if you ask me. So there, we are even. <br /><br /><span style="font-weight: bold;">And seriously, I HAVE A QUESTION:</span><br /><br /><span style="font-weight: bold;">How come it is all chi chi, high class, cultured, sophisticated, and cosmopolitan to eat raw fish and octopus in a Japanese restaurant? And live squid is now, YEW. How disgusting. How barbarian.</span><br /><br />FUCK ME!<br /><br />After browsing through the <a href="http://www.goodreads.com/book/show/1975116.Lost_on_Planet_China_The_Strange_and_True_Story_of_One_Man_s_Attempt_to_Understand_the_World_s_Most_Mystifying_Nation_or_How_He_Became_Comfortable_Eating_Live_Squid">reviews</a> and seeing a high percentage of the people say that they knew NOTHING or little about the country and the culture before they read the book, <span style="font-style: italic;"><br /><br />GREAT. JUST GREAT! </span>I thought.<br /><br />I am becoming more and more agitated by the existence of this book.<br /><br />TTYL. Now I need to go find a book about how white people can't jump.<br /><br /><br /></span>The Absence of Alternativeshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05395320989489560756noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4029363033696432351.post-46438173701571951132009-08-11T06:58:00.008-05:002009-08-13T08:24:04.939-05:00"Raw information will become not just a commodity, it will be a nuisance"<span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"><span style="font-weight: bold;">Chris and Malcolm are both wrong...</span><br /><br />The title says.<br /><br />Once in a while I come across smart people (online only, since you know, we moms are notoriously boring and mundane in real life, and many may even suspect that we have few braincells left so we don't get engaged in intelligent conversations, in real life - AND that, my friend, was said with a sarcastic tone through gritted teeth, so don't you mommy police out there flame me!) who I really really want to meet in real life. I found one today<br /><br /><a href="http://www.unionsquareventures.com/bios/brad.html">Brad Burnham</a> at Union Square Ventures.<br /><br />His latest post on the Union Square Ventures blog, <a href="http://www.unionsquareventures.com/2009/08/chris_and_malco.html">Chris and Malcolm are both wrong</a>, is the most elucidating, thought-provoking, argument against both Chris Anderson's glossy, wrapped-nicely-in-a-package theory of "Freeconomics" and Malcolm Gladwell's <a href="http://www.newyorker.com/arts/critics/books/2009/07/06/090706crbo_books_gladwell">critique</a> of Anderson's book, <span style="font-style: italic;">Free</span>, in which the theory was mapped out, supported with anecdotal examples (a la Gladwell's own books?!), packaged, and sold, NOT for free, not any more.<br /><br />I enjoyed reading Gladwell's books, but am always wary that easy reading and interesting stories that make you go "A-Ha" do not rigorous research/theorization made. Although I have not had a chance to read Anderson's book, <span style="font-style: italic;">Free</span>, I have read enough articles summarizing the thesis, AND his previous book, <span style="font-style: italic;">The Long Tail</span>, to also be wary of the same thing.<br /><br />So, thank you indeed to Mr. Burnham for the article in which his critique of both is summarized in this, ok, granted, nicely-packaged and highly quotable, paragraph<br /><br /><span style="font-style: italic;">My frustration with the debate about Free is that it seems like a last ditch effort to fit the internet economy into the familiar framework of the industrial economy. That isn't going to work. Free is not a pricing strategy, a marketing strategy, or the inevitable consequence of a market with low variable costs. It's a symptom of a much more fundamental economic shift. Until we agree on what resources are scarce and have a framework for how they will be allocated in the future we are not just talking past each other, we are talking about the wrong things.<br /><br /></span><span>Mr. Burnham's argument is that the new currency is ATTENTION (and participation), and it does not come free. Hence the "fundamental shift of economy".</span><span style="font-style: italic;"><br /><br /></span><span style="font-style: italic;">There is an exchange of value between </span><em style="font-style: italic;">users</em><span style="font-style: italic;">, the creators of the raw material - data, content, and meta-data, and the </span><em style="font-style: italic;">network</em><span style="font-style: italic;"> where that data is converted into insight. This exchange is still governed by the basic laws of economics but the currency is not dollars, it's attention. The network that takes attention and converts it into insight is also quite different than a traditional firm.</span><br /><br />Once again, per my usual excitable nature, I would quote the entire post if I could. Probably better if you take the time and check out the entire post on the Union Square Ventures blog.<br /><br />AND the last but the not the least, at least in my book<br /><br />NEVER once did he mention "paradigm shift". THANK YOU MY GOOD SIR!<br /><br />***Another great, and very useful, quote, that is absolutely t-Shirt Worthy!***<br /><br /><span style="font-style: italic; font-weight: bold;">"Raw information will become not just a commodity, it will be a nuisance."<br /><br /><span style="font-style: italic;"><span style="font-weight: bold;"></span></span></span></span><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;">(Thanks to <a href="http://twitter.com/leftunderbooks">@leftunderbooks</a>)</span><br /><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"><span style="font-style: italic; font-weight: bold;"></span><br /><span style="font-weight: bold;">Goodies! A debate!! Timeline of the chain of debate between He said, He said:</span><br /><br />Chris Anderson finally published his book, after he pre-released it to reviewers, <a href="http://www.amazon.com/Free-Future-Radical-Chris-Anderson/dp/1401322905"><span style="font-style: italic;">Free: The Future of a Radical Price</span></a>, this summer. (It costs $26.99 on Amazon! WTH?!)<br /><br />Malcolm Gladwell wrote a review for New Yorker, debunking Mr. Anderson's entire thesis, using, for example, YouTube's failure to make a profit as fodder, titled: "<a href="http://www.newyorker.com/arts/critics/books/2009/07/06/090706crbo_books_gladwell">Price to Sell: Is Free the Future?</a>" Mr. Gladwell's answer is not surprisingly, NO.<br /><br /><a href="http://www.businessinsider.com/henry-blodget-malcolm-gladwell-chris-anderson-is-wrong-about-free-2009-6">The Business Insider</a> immediately posted a long article, praising Mr. Gladwell's critique of the hole-ly thesis, "It's about time."<br /><br /><span style="font-style: italic;">Finally, a smart person who is widely considered cool calls b.s. on Chris Anderson's popular argument that everything should be free.<br /><br /></span></span><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;">The glee, oh, the glee.<br /><br />Mr. Anderson also started engaging Mr. Gladwell in a friendly intellectual debate on his blog: "<a href="http://www.longtail.com/the_long_tail/2009/06/dear-malcolm-why-so-threatened.html">Dear Malcolm, Why So Threatened?</a>" <span style="font-style: italic;">(If you ask me: the title itself is not very friendly at all...)</span><br /></span><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /></span>The Absence of Alternativeshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05395320989489560756noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4029363033696432351.post-61328456528027108172009-08-06T10:44:00.008-05:002009-08-06T11:22:49.169-05:00Armageddon is here: Twitter is down and Fail Whale is not even there?!<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_jgRy_WSn444/SnsAX8WjczI/AAAAAAAAAQc/zm8DcjE-gPY/s1600-h/twitterdown_610x381.png"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 250px;" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_jgRy_WSn444/SnsAX8WjczI/AAAAAAAAAQc/zm8DcjE-gPY/s400/twitterdown_610x381.png" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5366883792279794482" border="0" /></a><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_jgRy_WSn444/Snr6vNvjBhI/AAAAAAAAAQU/EPGRUYblh-k/s1600-h/fail-whale.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_jgRy_WSn444/Snr6vNvjBhI/AAAAAAAAAQU/EPGRUYblh-k/s400/fail-whale.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5366877595015251474" border="0" /></a><br /><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;">I can't believe I am saying this, but I wish Fail Whale will come back soon!<br /><br />We miss you, Fail Whale! We will never been mean to you and call you names again! Just come back!! You are so much better than a lot of other scenarios, we have now realized!<br /><br />So... by now you have heard, or tweeted, oh, no, NOT tweeted, but left frantic comments on <a href="http://mashable.com/2009/08/06/facebook-down-3/">Mashable.com</a> or <a href="http://www.techcrunch.com/2009/08/06/serious-twitter-outage-ongoing/">Techcrunch.com</a> or other websites where Social Media lovers hang out, after they have tweeted and Facebooked their hearts out, but still have something more to say.<br /><br />Mashable is keeping a tab on the impending doom of humanity through this post: </span> <h1><a href="http://mashable.com/2009/08/06/facebook-down-3/" class="fn url" rel="bookmark" title="Permanent Link to Facebook Down. Twitter Down. Social Media Meltdown.">Facebook Down. Twitter Down. Social Media Meltdown.</a></h1><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;">Thanks to our friend with the impossibly high cheekbones <span style="font-style: italic;">(I will need to write a blog about these cheekbones one day. I wonder whether it can cut through a piece of tissue? And what's up with the oh-so-appropriate and I-wish-my-dad-had-the-same last name, CASHMORE? Luck of the draw, I guess. But isn't illegal in the cosmic sense to be lucky in both the departments of Cheekbones and Family Names?)</span>, we have been kept abreast with the development of Armageddon in the making:<br /><br /></span><h1><a href="http://mashable.com/2009/08/06/twitter-downtime/" class="fn url" rel="bookmark" title="Permanent Link to Twitter Down Due to Denial of Service Attack (DDoS)">Twitter Down Due to Denial of Service Attack (DDoS)</a></h1><span style="font-weight: bold;"><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;">Now, my friend, is the time to panic!!!!!!! The sky is falling. The sky is falling!!<br /><span style="font-weight: bold;"><span style="font-weight: bold;"><span style="font-weight: bold;"><span style="font-weight: bold;"><span style="font-weight: bold;"><span style="font-weight: bold;"><span style="font-weight: bold;"><span style="font-weight: bold;"><span style="font-weight: bold;"><br /></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;">The sudden influx of </span>Twitter refugees to Facebook site, <span style="font-style: italic;">wherelse are we going to post constant updates and complain about our frustrations that Twitter is DOWN, and also to strive to be the first ones to announce the DDoS attack on Twitter? </span>has caused Facebook to go down as well.<br /><br />The cyber terrorists could not have planned it better.<br /><br />So now people, with their usual outlets having disappeared, have flocked to Mashable and Techcrunch to share their glib comments. On the one Techcrunch post, there are now more than 400 comments. And several Mashable posts dedicated to "Twitter Down!" have also received hundreds of comments. Most of them are like this:<br /><br />"Yup. Still down."<br /><br />(Thank you very much. Otherwise I would not have been able to find out on my own!!!!)<br /><br />It has also become a fun sport to ponder who the Cyber attacker(s) may be:<br /><br />Hugo Chavez? Iran? The Vatican?<br /><br />My bet is on The Birthers, who are mad as hell because we all made fun of them mercilessly on Twitter. <span style="font-style: italic;">(Even Ann Coulter made fun of them, which made me feel kind of sorry for Birthers...) </span><br /><br />But without Twitter as the forum, AND without the appropriate HASHTAGS #TwitterDown #DOS #WHOISBEHINDTHIS #TWITTERDDOS, the "Who Done It" game is just NOT the same...<br /><br />By now some of us have gotten a rude awakening: Just how much YOU ARE obsessed with Twitter. Like the required cup of morning coffee.<br /><br />CAN'T --- FUNCTION --- WITHOUT --- IT ---<br /><br />Speaking of coffee, I think I am heading downstairs to Starbucks so I can talk to random strangers about this new social phenomenon called "Life Without Twitter"... And also get myself a cup of coffee while I am at it.<br /><br />p.s. F*ck it! I knew it! As soon as I clicked on "Publish Post", Twitter came back. Great. Now I just seem more a dweeb than I actually already am by publishing this AFTER THE EFFECT. Stupid Twitter...<br /><br />p.p.s. I take it back. I love you Twitter. Don't ever leave me like that again, ok?<br /><br />p.p.p.s. Ooops. No. Twitter is STILL down. Yes! ... Oh. No. *sobs* Come back!<br /></span>The Absence of Alternativeshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05395320989489560756noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4029363033696432351.post-65094036541916962502009-08-05T16:03:00.008-05:002009-08-13T10:00:24.838-05:00Wanderlust, perchance?<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://www.boston.com/ae/books/articles/2004/11/03/author_enjoys_time_traveling_with_strangers____and_so_will_readers/"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 320px;" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_jgRy_WSn444/Snn5q14UGgI/AAAAAAAAAQM/xeh-l3G08fA/s320/bird+man.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5366594945401756162" border="0" /></a><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://www.goodreads.com/book/show/11077.The_Sex_Lives_of_Cannibals_Adrift_in_the_Equatorial_Pacific"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 207px; height: 320px;" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_jgRy_WSn444/Snn5q1HjXwI/AAAAAAAAAQE/hR6GGUle6bM/s320/cannibals.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5366594945197235970" border="0" /></a><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://www.goodreads.com/book/show/1975116.Lost_on_Planet_China_The_Strange_and_True_Story_of_One_Man_s_Attempt_to_Understand_the_World_s_Most_Mystifying_Nation_or_How_He_Became_Comfortable_Eating_Live_Squid"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 208px; height: 320px;" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_jgRy_WSn444/Snn5qkyaJeI/AAAAAAAAAP8/3gZtnnl8qSo/s320/china.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5366594940813583842" border="0" /></a><br /><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;">My husband and I share one Amazon.com account, registered to my email, and therefore every time he buys something, I know. Most of the time, I simply ignore it like the time when he ordered a bug zapper out of nowhere. Or the book, <span style="font-style: italic;">Pride and Prejudice and Zombies, </span>presumably for our oldest child, who by the way, is 11 years old and has not read <span style="font-style: italic;">Pride and Prejudice...<br /><br /><span style="font-style: italic;"><span style="font-style: italic;"><span style="font-style: italic;"><span style="font-style: italic;"></span></span></span></span></span>His purchase from Amazon today did make my eyebrows raise:<br /><br />The Bird Man and the Lap Dancer: Close Encounters with Strangers by Eric Hansen<br /><br />The Sex Lives of Cannibals: Adrift in the Equatorial Pacific by J. Maarten Troost<br /><br />Together with the book he just received:<br /><br />Lost on Planet China: One Man's Attempt to Understand the World's Most Mystifying Nation, also by J. Maarten Troost<br /><br />I am thinking, WHAT IS GOING ON?<br /><br />Wanderlust?<br /><br />Or is this a cry for something more exotic in his life, more than say, rice?<br /><br />I am more curious than anything. Not really worried about him running off to some exotic land and never to be heard from again since, thank goodness, he is a finicky eater.<br /><br />p.s. I am pretty sure my husband would be quite annoyed if I blog about all his purchases from now on... LOL<span style="text-decoration: underline;"></span><br /><br /><br /></span>The Absence of Alternativeshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05395320989489560756noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4029363033696432351.post-11401456862731158662009-08-05T15:45:00.003-05:002009-08-05T15:59:40.078-05:00How do you know that this Ferris Wheel is not for the faint-of-heart?<div><a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_jgRy_WSn444/SnnvnvyeBjI/AAAAAAAAAPs/RTOXK_P-o-0/s1600-h/IMG00462.jpg"><img style="TEXT-ALIGN: center; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 400px; DISPLAY: block; HEIGHT: 300px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5366583897110742578" border="0" alt="" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_jgRy_WSn444/SnnvnvyeBjI/AAAAAAAAAPs/RTOXK_P-o-0/s400/IMG00462.jpg" /></a></div><br /><p></p><br /><p>When there is a motion sickness bag inside each cart... </p><br /><p>Don't let the smiley Mickey Mouse on the Sun Wheel at California Adventure fool you. It is more like the Ferris Wheel of Doom, according to my 11 year-old boy who gladly rode California Screamin' half a dozen times whenever we visited Disneyland. He rated Screamin' as "Bor-ing" and the Sun Wheel as "OMG. It is the scariest thing I've been on!"</p><br /><p></p><br /><br /><a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/bredgur/2039493802/"><img style="MARGIN: 0px 10px 10px 0px; WIDTH: 240px; FLOAT: left; HEIGHT: 320px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5366586904578625842" border="0" alt="" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_jgRy_WSn444/SnnyWzesETI/AAAAAAAAAP0/qTvB5V-8-ZA/s320/2039493802_a30aa9d9c9_o.jpg" /></a><br /><div></div><br /><div></div><br /><div></div>The Absence of Alternativeshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05395320989489560756noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4029363033696432351.post-23269756117932840682009-08-05T13:44:00.003-05:002009-08-05T13:56:10.823-05:00Camping turns out to be not as painful as I thought it would be<div style="text-align: center;"><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_jgRy_WSn444/SnnTp8I3XqI/AAAAAAAAAPk/SfsOwC0XcSo/s1600-h/IMG00082.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_jgRy_WSn444/SnnTp8I3XqI/AAAAAAAAAPk/SfsOwC0XcSo/s400/IMG00082.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5366553148460064418" border="0" /></a><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;">View from Blue Mounds, Wisconsin.<br />Just to show you the perfect weather condition required to make me NOT hate camping... </span><br /><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"></span></div><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"><br />I am not against camping, provided the weather is gorgeous, not too hot and not too cold; supply of alcohol is constant; bugs are kept at minimal and away from me; fire is made and kept; smores are made to perfection and fed to me; an awning is erected over the picnic table to keep food and supply dry and in the shade; kids are entertained, NOT BY ME; modern bathroom facilities are within short walking distance, like within 1-minute walk; gourmet food is brought and prepared, NOT BY ME, including pancake, scrambled eggs, bacon, AND drip coffee for breakfast.<br /><br /></span>The Absence of Alternativeshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05395320989489560756noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4029363033696432351.post-29061260219932483192009-08-05T13:31:00.003-05:002009-08-05T13:37:47.503-05:00Is this what Easter Bunny looks like?<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://www.chicagotribune.com/features/lifestyle/green/chi-cc5rabbit20080821093148,0,5970604.photo"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 266px; height: 400px;" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_jgRy_WSn444/SnnQyJleJII/AAAAAAAAAPc/BgE81TJbSeI/s400/41751401.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5366549990973777026" border="0" /></a><br /><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;">I don't know why this picture so startled me that I could not stop laughing for 10 minutes.<br /><br />Oh my god! I completely lost my bearings so that my co-worker needed to tell me to "Get a hold of yourself, lady!"<br /><br />This goes to prove that NO, you do not want to see Easter Bunny come true, and that my instinct was correct all along,<br /><br />"Kids, now here is the thing: Easter Bunny is not real. Can you imagine a giant bunny bouncing around in our backyard, and on rainy days, inside our house, hiding candies? What? Are you more stupid than I think? Can you not imagine how gross that would be, a giant bunny?"<br /><br />Now they can see it with their own eyes. Awesome!<br /><br /></span>The Absence of Alternativeshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05395320989489560756noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4029363033696432351.post-70628828324506670942009-07-25T22:19:00.003-05:002009-07-25T23:11:44.796-05:00Do you feel guilty buying name brand products instead of the cheaper, generic, ones?<span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;">Well, I do. Especially after watching the Rosanne episode of Home-Ec where she gave Darlene's home-ec class a field trip to the grocery store<span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;">, I've always felt quite guilty reaching for the NAME BRAND product instead of the generic, store-brand next to it, the one that is shouting loudly from its display:<br /><br /><span style="font-weight: bold;">COMPARE TO NAME BRAND NEXT TO ME HERE, practically the same stuff and at 50% of the cost! Only a sucker and a snob will pick him over me!<br /></span><br />Reaching for the name brand would BRAND myself as a snob, an irrational person easily duped by flashy marketing, a bourgeois with too much money to spare... So what if the generic brand would ONLY save me a dollar? A penny saved is a penny, how does that saying go again?</span><br /><br /><object width="445" height="364"><param name="movie" value="http://www.youtube.com/v/zh6JXRVLeeI&hl=en&fs=1&rel=0&border=1"></param><param name="allowFullScreen" value="true"></param><param name="allowscriptaccess" value="always"></param><embed src="http://www.youtube.com/v/zh6JXRVLeeI&hl=en&fs=1&rel=0&border=1" type="application/x-shockwave-flash" allowscriptaccess="always" allowfullscreen="true" width="445" height="364"></embed></object><br /><br />(Watch from 4:20)<br /><br />Something happened recently that absolved me from the guilt associated with the Rosanne Home-ec guilt...<br /><br />In my last post I made fun of the confusing instructions that came with the Walgreen ant baits. Turned out that the instructions were not the only one that did not work... </span><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;">The Walgreen generic ant bait cost $0.50 less than the name brand, RAID. I dutifully purchased the generic brand, esp. at this economy, I wanted to show that I was not a frivolous consumer. Well, guess what? It does not work!!!</span><br /><br /><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;">The idea of an ant bait is that it is supposed to attract the ants to go inside the thingy. That is the most important step. In fact, that is the first step, and the ONLY step an ant bait is supposed to accomplish. </span><br /><br /><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;">After I put on the black housing on the floor, I watched the ants walk around it. Yup. They WALKED AROUND the darn thing! I tried to nudge them with chopsticks in that direction. They kept on during around, or, walked OVER the housing. They had no interest getting into the hole. </span><br /><br /><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;">I finally gave up and got the ones made by RAID. And they worked like a charm. Or at least, they worked the way ant baits were supposed to work: the ants swarmed the new baits I put down on the floor, while ignoring the old ones. </span><br /><br /><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;">Hallelujah! Tide laundry detergent, I am getting you next time I am at Costco! </span>The Absence of Alternativeshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05395320989489560756noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4029363033696432351.post-75782059050361561682009-06-28T20:05:00.001-05:002009-06-28T20:57:08.404-05:00It would have been fine if there were NO instruction...<a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_jgRy_WSn444/SkgfQcH8mKI/AAAAAAAAAPU/NspEXdOUO2Y/s1600-h/photo.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_jgRy_WSn444/SkgfQcH8mKI/AAAAAAAAAPU/NspEXdOUO2Y/s400/photo.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5352562524417726626" /></a><br /><br />I am completely confused by this ant bait by Walgreens. It should have been very simple, until I decided to read what the sticker says:<br /><br />"This surface is TOP. Bottom should be placed against floor or stuck on wall."<br /><br />The problem is, according to the photo on the package, the bottom is supposed to be the top, and the TOP here, flat surface and therefore why the sticker is conveniently placed there, should be the bottom.<br /><br />I started humming this Mother Goose rhyme after I was sufficiently confused and amused to take pictures of the Ant Bait. <em>(I can't believe I took pictures of Ant Bait procured from Walgreens!)</em><br /><br />Oh, the grand old Duke of York,<br />he had ten thousand men,<br />he marched them up to the top of the hill,<br />and he marched them down again.<br /><br />When they were up, they were up;<br />and when they were down, they were down;<br />and when they were only halfway up,<br />they were neither up nor down. <br /><br /><p class="mobile-photo"><a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_jgRy_WSn444/SkgTV1bcgpI/AAAAAAAAAPM/GvRvlrjxuC8/s1600-h/photo-727731.jpg"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5352549422970208914" alt="" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_jgRy_WSn444/SkgTV1bcgpI/AAAAAAAAAPM/GvRvlrjxuC8/s320/photo-727731.jpg" border="0" /></a></p>The Absence of Alternativeshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05395320989489560756noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4029363033696432351.post-42002709973843820032009-06-28T09:14:00.000-05:002009-06-28T09:19:21.952-05:00Sunday breakfast: somebody loves me!<p class="mobile-photo"><a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_jgRy_WSn444/Skd68ALlcJI/AAAAAAAAAPE/VIOGxvBORzE/s1600-h/photo-712560.jpg"><img src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_jgRy_WSn444/Skd68ALlcJI/AAAAAAAAAPE/VIOGxvBORzE/s320/photo-712560.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5352381853412454546" /></a></p><br /><br />Mr. Monk surprised me with a nice, healthy breakfast, much healthier than I prepare for them...<br /><br />He has been trying to mother me lately:<br /><br />Are you driving over the speed limit?<br /><br />Why do you drink so much coffee?<br /><br />You should have brrrkfast every day you know.<br /><br />And, this is the best one:<br /><br />Why are you returning those shirts? I bet they look lovely on you!The Absence of Alternativeshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05395320989489560756noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4029363033696432351.post-10956345883953380932009-06-25T00:16:00.001-05:002009-06-25T00:32:40.998-05:00"Mommy, is tweeting bad?"Nope. Didn't make this up. This came up in my conversation with my 6 year-old, Mr. Monk, in the car today. <br /><br /><span style="font-style:italic;">Most of our conversations happen in the car now, it seems. Could Mr. Monk be that smart so as to figure out that when I am driving, I am cornered and hence have to provide some sort of answers to the hard questions he throws at me?</span><br /><br />"Mommy, why do you tweet?"<br /><br />Gee. He got the lingo right. Many adults are still struggling with when to use Twitter and when to use Tweet...<br /><br />"Hmmm. Why SHOULDN'T I Tweet?"<br /><br />That's a complete cop-out. I know. <br /><br />"Is Tweeting bad?" See? He got that it's a VERB!<br /><br />"No. Of course not. Why do you ask?"<br /><br />"I am just wondering why you do it." <br /><br />Hmm. Why did he assume it's bad just because I am doing it?!<br /><br />"..... Ok. It's just like how you and your brother play on Runescape? it's just something fun that mommy likes to do. Mommy enjoys talking to people on Twitter." <br /><br />Suave move, mom. Comparing Twitter to Runescape?! Let me turn the table on him...<br /><br />"Now, why does it bother you so much that mommy is on Twitter?" <br /><br />"I don't know. Because you get to do it all the time, without having to ask. We have to ask you or daddy when we want to play Runescape..."<br /><br />I wonder if I HAD a regular hobby like sewing or knitting whether he would have been so bothered by it.The Absence of Alternativeshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05395320989489560756noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4029363033696432351.post-88989406914181596232009-06-22T11:10:00.001-05:002009-06-25T00:11:46.091-05:00Now the Fedora is gone, we are into Berets...<p class="mobile-photo"><a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_jgRy_WSn444/Sj-s5H-loyI/AAAAAAAAAO8/PO9ZsrK5vyQ/s1600-h/photo-712659.jpg"><img src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_jgRy_WSn444/Sj-s5H-loyI/AAAAAAAAAO8/PO9ZsrK5vyQ/s320/photo-712659.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5350184979733521186" /></a></p><div>For the longest time my youngest had a <a href="http://secretinnerlife.blogspot.com/2008/11/trend-continues-hat-stays-and-i-am.html" target="_blank">Fedora</a>, and he did wear it throughout the last winter despite my initial prediction that it would only last one week. It was adorable when he tipped his hat to greet the ladies,</div> <div> </div> <div>"How'd you do, Ma'am?" </div> <div> </div> <div>You are allowed to do all these things when you are only 5 or 6. Even wearing a beret...</div> <div> </div> <div>Since we left our fedora behind on our trip to Taiwan, Mr. Monk has been on my case of getting him a replacement. Recently, he started a campaign of acquiring a beret. </div> <div> </div> <div>"Mom. I want to be an artist when I grow up. How am I going to be an artist if I don't have an artist's hat?" </div> <div> </div> <div>Finally I capitulated since I did not want to be the mother who stifles her children's artistic aspirations. Thank goodness we found one on Amazon.com for $5 that he deemed acceptable. </div> <div> </div> <div>Now he has been wearing that hat every single day. At first he also insisted on wearing his black turtleneck, complete with a plastic, colorful, "pipe" that came with the "bubble blowing kit". </div> <div> </div> <div>Like I said, when you are 6, you get to do all these role-playing make-believe things, even in public. </div> <div> </div> <div><em>I did finally put my foot down and said NO! to the turtlenecks when it was so hot this weekend that his face was all red from the heat...</em> </div>The Absence of Alternativeshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05395320989489560756noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4029363033696432351.post-3909538022971566842009-06-22T10:37:00.001-05:002009-06-22T10:51:41.896-05:00VeggieTales: Faith + Clean Sense of Humor sells OR Marketing Lesson 101<p class="mobile-photo"><a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_jgRy_WSn444/Sj-lUhxvGMI/AAAAAAAAAO0/wox7JAHti0M/s1600-h/IMG00028-774370.jpg"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5350176654422382786" alt="" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_jgRy_WSn444/Sj-lUhxvGMI/AAAAAAAAAO0/wox7JAHti0M/s320/IMG00028-774370.jpg" border="0" /></a></p>Ah, <a href="https://bigidea.com/index.aspx">VeggieTales</a>. After more than a decade, I am still marveled at their success. I am sure a lot of people watching their explosive success, have banged their heads against the wall, wailing, "Why didn't I think of that?" Since 2006, the animated veggies (with very expressive eyes and mouths since they have no limbs!) have also been part of the NBC network Saturday Morning Cartoon line-up. <br /><br />So now they have expanded to selling seeds in the gardening section. Amazing! But if you think about it, this is probably one of the few marketing / branding efforts that actually make sense. Who better to sell vegetable plant seeds other than Bob the Tomato and Larry the Cucumber?!<br /><br />Even though I am not Christian, I can see the draw of morality tales cloaked in cartoons full of catchy songs and silly jokes for parents who are at a loss in finding a moral compass in this world dominated by mass media. <em>(Wow. That's a long, and probably grammatically incorrect sentence....) </em><br /><em></em><br />Plus it really does help that Larry the Cucumber is completely insane and the champion of non sequitur humors, as can be witnessed in his perennial favorites: Silly Songs with Larry. The song that always makes me laugh and want to dance is Barbara Manatee... <br /><br /><object width="425" height="344"><param name="movie" value="http://www.youtube.com/v/GPJ1TfQpsQ8&hl=en&fs=1&"></param><param name="allowFullScreen" value="true"></param><param name="allowscriptaccess" value="always"></param><embed src="http://www.youtube.com/v/GPJ1TfQpsQ8&hl=en&fs=1&" type="application/x-shockwave-flash" allowscriptaccess="always" allowfullscreen="true" width="425" height="344"></embed></object>The Absence of Alternativeshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05395320989489560756noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4029363033696432351.post-44248962156455912312009-06-19T13:52:00.001-05:002009-06-25T00:12:19.736-05:00Others collect snow globes or coins. I collect airline barf bags...<p class="mobile-photo"><a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_jgRy_WSn444/SjveX9dPZFI/AAAAAAAAAOs/yrUSsUXaLvM/s1600-h/IMG00023-735051.jpg"><img src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_jgRy_WSn444/SjveX9dPZFI/AAAAAAAAAOs/yrUSsUXaLvM/s320/IMG00023-735051.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5349113485648159826" /></a></p><div>Actually, my collection started as a joke from my husband . I had asked him to bring souvenirs back for me from abroad. He decided that a barf bag is just as exotic and representative. </div> <div> </div> <div>"Honey! I have NO space in my carry-on bag!" </div> <div> </div> <div>What's very exciting is that someone reached out to me who actually DOES collect barf bags, and he is not alone (just do a <a href="http://lmgtfy.com/?q=barf+bag+collection">google search</a>: it's eye-opening!) He has as of now <a href="http://www.cowchimp.com/">281 bags</a> in his collection. Very impressive. It does seem that he somehow does not have American Airlines barf bag in his collection. I think we should try and get him one!</div> <div> </div> <div> </div>The Absence of Alternativeshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05395320989489560756noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4029363033696432351.post-73179734455812322232009-06-19T01:47:00.000-05:002009-06-19T02:02:13.659-05:00Mother fail<span style="font-family: trebuchet ms;">Mr. Monk (my 6 yo boy) and I got into a fight tonight. The source of it is as always: his need to be close to me whenever we are home. Especially when it is close to bedtime and he's tired and I am exhausted. I finally lost my marble today and <span style="font-style: italic;">lashed out</span> at him. Yup. Lashed out. I am still feeling shame and guilt from it, and am absolutely convinced that I will go to hell for hurting a 6 year old's feeling so deeply... <br /><br />The funny, sad, guilt-inducing thing is? He still asked for mommy when it's time he go to bed. <br /><br />In the midst of crying, sobbing, hiccuping, he said, "I am going to run away tomorrow."<br /><br /><span style="font-style: italic;">Hell. Is. Waiting. For. Me.<br /><br /><span style="font-style: italic;"></span></span>I apologized for being really mean and we were on our way to reconciliation. <br /><br />"Please don't run away. I would be very sad and worried if you do. How about the <a href="http://secretinnerlife.blogspot.com/2009/06/volcano-of-love-tis-cross-for-me-to.html">volcano of love</a>?"<br /><br />"It's shattered." <br /><br />Those were his exact words. <br /></span><span style="font-family: trebuchet ms;"><br /><span style="font-style: italic;">Hell. Is. Waiting. For. Me.<br /><br /></span>"Oh honey. I am so sorry..." <br /><br />"There is only one left now. But I am rebuilding them."<br /><br />Sometimes I believe that I do not deserve Mr. Monk as he is more mature than I am. He is an old soul. It awes me and worries me at the same time. He seems to know how his mind works is different from his peers. While crying about how he's going to run away from home, he made this statement,<br /><br />"I don't fit in. I am different. I don't fit in anywhere."<br /><br />Other than holding him very very tightly, I was utterly lost for words. Motherhood fail. </span><span style="font-family: trebuchet ms;"><span style="font-style: italic;"><span style="font-style: italic;"></span><br /></span></span>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4029363033696432351.post-88579655532906696432009-06-16T15:17:00.001-05:002009-06-16T16:06:10.804-05:00In praise of "Fallen Princesses" Photography Project by Dina Goldstein<a href="http://www.jpgmag.com/photos/645759"><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5348022429676844354" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 400px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 265px; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_jgRy_WSn444/Sjf-EJO1tUI/AAAAAAAAAOk/JmpP_CDa-z0/s400/645759_13649_72c2b1c3f0_p.jpg" border="0" /></span></a><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"><br /></span><div><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;">Courtesy: </span><a href="http://shar.es/ry90"><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;">JPG Magazine: Snowy</span></a><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"><br /><br /><br>I am absolutely in amour with this picture and actually, all the pictures by photographer, </span><a href="http://www.jpgmag.com/people/honey/photos"><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;">Dina Goldstein</span></a><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;">. She is currently working on a project, sort of like an alternative story telling, "</span><a href="http://www.jpgmag.com/stories/11918"><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;">Fallen Princesses</span></a><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;">." In her own words:</span></div><div></div><div><span style="font-family:Trebuchet MS;"></span></div><div><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"></span></div><div><em><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"><br>"These works place Fairy Tale characters in modern day scenarios. In all of the images the Princess is placed in an environment that articulates her conflict. The '...happily ever after' is replaced with a realistic outcome and addresses current issues."</span></em></div><div><em><span style="font-family:Trebuchet MS;"></span></em></div><div><em><span style="font-family:Trebuchet MS;"></span></em></div><div><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"></span></div><div><em><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"><br>"I began to imagine Disney's perfect Princesses juxtaposed with real issues that were affecting women around me, such as illness, addiction and self-image issues."</span></em></div><div><em><span style="font-family:Trebuchet MS;"></span></em></div><div><em><span style="font-family:Trebuchet MS;"></span></em></div><div><em><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"></span></em></div><div><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"><br>This is one of the best examples for:</span></div><div><span style="font-family:Trebuchet MS;"></span></div><div><span style="font-family:Trebuchet MS;"></span></div><div><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"></span></div><div><strong><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"><br>Motherhood does not make you stupid. It makes you THINK!</span></strong></div><div><strong><span style="font-family:Trebuchet MS;"></span></strong></div><div><strong><span style="font-family:Trebuchet MS;"></span></strong></div><div><span style="font-family:Trebuchet MS;"><em><br>p.s. I found this picture via </em><a href="http://www.twitter.com/god"><em>@god</em></a><em>, thank goodness he has a great sense of humor!</em></span></div><div><em><span style="font-family:Trebuchet MS;"></span></em></div><div><span style="font-family:Trebuchet MS;"><em><br>p.p.s. For a critique on how these pictures do not deliver the expected </em>Punch, <em>not subversive enough to destablize the stereotypes, please see </em><a href="http://bitchmagazine.org/post/a-not-so-radical-reinterpretation-of-princesses"><em>Bitch Magazine</em></a><em> </em></span></div><div><span style="font-family:Trebuchet MS;"><em></em></span></div><div><span style="font-family:Trebuchet MS;"><em><br>Cough cough, though I do love </em>Bitch Magazine's "Feminist Response to Pop Culture"<em> and agree with the perspective here, have to say I haven't found anything subversive enough to do exactly that, i.e. destablize stereotypes substantially long enough to have the destablizing take roots, other than cutting off our own tits... even at that, we would still be labeled as "</em>Suffering from hysteria<em>". The world will continue to stereotype any group of less power at will because that's how power is gained and maintained.</em> Ever wonder why stereotypes come in pairs?...</span></div>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4029363033696432351.post-36615518404282780362009-06-16T09:09:00.000-05:002009-06-16T11:00:11.203-05:00The Ability to be Oblivious OR Is there a manual for the multicutural world we envision?<span style=";font-family:trebuchet ms;font-size:100%;" ><span style="font-weight: bold;">Warning: </span><span style="font-style: italic;">The following text contains ruminations on </span>the color of our skins<span style="font-style: italic;">. If you feel uncomfortable discussing skin colors, wish that people would just stop obsessing over skin colors and go on with their lives, or believe that the insistence on talking about the colors of our skin makes the originator of the conversation a racist him/herself, there is nothing much I could do about it. But I thought I'd let you know since you may not want to read the following...</span></span><span style="font-size:100%;"><br /><br /></span><span style=";font-family:trebuchet ms;font-size:100%;" >Like most kids, Mr. Monk, my 6 year-old, is fascinated by people that look different from him. The problem is, even though my children are half and half, Mr. Monk is able to “pass” if I am not around. His older brother, however, stands out distinctively and has experienced name-calling at school and at extracurricular activities, much to my chagrin and surprise. </span><span style="font-size:100%;"><br /><br /></span><span style=";font-family:trebuchet ms;font-size:100%;" ><span style="font-style: italic;">Seriously. Which century are we in? </span>BUT I also believe that my oldest will grow up to be stronger and more compassionate. It’s funny, or disturbing rather, how my children will grow up differently, shaped by how the outside world view them differently…</span><span style="font-size:100%;"><br /><br /></span><span style=";font-family:trebuchet ms;font-size:100%;" >Despite my being an annoying PC Police, to my best intentions, I am utterly confused when it comes to educating the very young, especially my own. Even though I always wince whenever Mr. Monk refers to someone who is apparently not white by the color of their skin, I fear I may have lost my bearings… </span><span style="font-size:100%;"><br /><br /></span><span style=";font-family:trebuchet ms;font-size:100%;" >The other day while I was trying to demonstrate to him that we do not refer to people this way and also to challenge why he does not refer to someone of Euro descent by saying, "The White Lady" for example, I asked him,</span><span style="font-size:100%;"><br /><br /></span><span style=";font-family:trebuchet ms;font-size:100%;" >"So what color is your skin?" </span><span style="font-size:100%;"><br /><br /></span><span style=";font-family:trebuchet ms;font-size:100%;" >"I am white." He said without even a pause. </span><span style="font-size:100%;"><br /><br /></span><span style=";font-family:trebuchet ms;font-size:100%;" >Shock. I did not expect this answer. Well, when we discussed this before, in the context of Crayola rainbow of colors and how we, thank goodness, no longer refer to the “Peach” color as “Skin”, we had agreed that his was “Tan”… </span><span style="font-size:100%;"><br /><br /></span><span style=";font-family:trebuchet ms;font-size:100%;" >"Hmm. No. You are not white. You are only half."</span><span style="font-size:100%;"><br /><br /></span><span style=";font-family:trebuchet ms;font-size:100%;" >He started protesting. "I am white!"</span><span style="font-size:100%;"><br /><br /></span><span style=";font-family:trebuchet ms;font-size:100%;" >“Ok. So what do you think mommy is?”</span><span style="font-size:100%;"><br /><br /></span><span style=";font-family:trebuchet ms;font-size:100%;" >“You are white too!” <span style="font-style: italic;">(I am very obviously not and we both know it)</span></span><span style="font-size:100%;"><br /><br /></span><span style=";font-family:trebuchet ms;font-size:100%;" >Now here came a moment when part of me thought, “I really should drop this. Maybe I should go back to school, take more child psychology and postcolonial theory classes, before we continue this discussion…” </span><span style="font-size:100%;"><br /><br /></span><span style=";font-family:trebuchet ms;font-size:100%;" >Yet the other part of me insisted, “No. We have to discuss this especially when they are young and malleable and forming their self-identities.” <span style="font-style: italic;">Sometimes I think that if I were my mother I would hate me. </span></span><span style="font-size:100%;"><br /><br /></span><span style=";font-family:trebuchet ms;font-size:100%;" >“Ok. Could you please tell mommy why you think you are white?”</span><span style="font-size:100%;"><br /><br /></span><span style=";font-family:trebuchet ms;font-size:100%;" >“Because we learned in school there were slaves…” he stopped abruptly and would not go on. </span><span style="font-size:100%;"><br /><br /></span><span style=";font-family:trebuchet ms;font-size:100%;" >Silence. </span><span style="font-size:100%;"><br /><br /></span><span style=";font-family:trebuchet ms;font-size:100%;" >“Mommy. Are there still slaves in the world?” </span><span style="font-size:100%;"><br /><br /></span><span style=";font-family:trebuchet ms;font-size:100%;" >Oh, gee. <span style="font-style: italic;">What is going on in that tiny head of his? </span></span><span style="font-size:100%;"><br /><br /></span><span style=";font-family:trebuchet ms;font-size:100%;" >In the midst of trying to explain to him that in some parts of the world, yes, (WHY do I have to be so brutally honest with my children, I do not know. Damn liberals I guess…) but<span style="font-style: italic;"> not</span> in this country, Oh, god no, he does not have to worry about ever being enslaved, we dropped the discussion on the color of his skin.</span><span style="font-size:100%;"><br /><br /><br /></span><span style="font-style: italic;font-family:trebuchet ms;font-size:100%;" >Here is what I wish I had sometimes, with guilt of course, for myself and for my children:</span><span style="font-size:100%;"><br /><br /></span><span style="font-weight: bold; font-style: italic;font-family:trebuchet ms;font-size:100%;" >The ability to be oblivious. </span>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4029363033696432351.post-79448701820672859032009-06-13T01:55:00.001-05:002009-06-13T19:51:09.653-05:00Nothing cures narcissistic self-pity better than a rabid case of road rage OR how I found reality<p class="mobile-photo"><a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_jgRy_WSn444/SjNNVGd460I/AAAAAAAAAOc/ivlpd7WT0yE/s1600-h/IMG00015-716289.jpg"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5346702207527480130" alt="" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_jgRy_WSn444/SjNNVGd460I/AAAAAAAAAOc/ivlpd7WT0yE/s320/IMG00015-716289.jpg" border="0" /></a></p>After Starbucks, which seemed to be closing since even the cops outside were leaving, I continued to wander in the night. Blasting Sarah Betten's Scream, I mindless drove first on 53 N, which turned out to be a stupid move since it goes nowhere and ended even before the end of the album. <p>I turned around and moved onto 90 E, downtown Chicago here I come! </p><p>Sarah started singing </p><p><em><strong>I used to know how to change the world<br />I lie awake at night and envy that girl. </strong></em></p><p>This got me going. For the first time on this fucking crazy shitty day tears came. Flood gate. Cliche always true. I sobbed uncontrollably. Fuck fucking fuck. I am not going to be anybody ever am I ? I will never be truly happy will I ? </p><p>All of a sudden, traffic stopped. What the fuck? It is 12:30 AM!? And I was sandwiched between giant trailertrucks. In one second, road rage took over the sobbing ruminating mess. Proustian stream of consciousness self-narration is not a match for </p><p><strong><em>Get out of my way you fucking brute</em></strong> </p><p>As I passed by the truck who cut in front of me right before the lane ended. I got in front of him just in time being THIS close to the orange cones because I drive a tiny car. </p><p>Yeah! Reality! </p><p>I did drive all the way downtown, enjoyed the moment when you get to the end of Ohio facing Sears Tower. I always love that 5 second stretch. Then I turned the other direction. </p><p>Thank goodness for highway oasis. 24/7. Otherwise wayward mothers like myself would have nowhere to go... </p><p>I could in theory check in a hotel. But I would cross some sort of line, wouldn't I? </p><p>Wandering in the night I am just the insane me... </p><p></p>The Absence of Alternativeshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05395320989489560756noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4029363033696432351.post-44700836694638909382009-06-12T22:36:00.000-05:002009-06-13T17:05:23.215-05:00How I got a girl night out OR I walked out of the house Part III<p class="mobile-photo"><a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_jgRy_WSn444/SjMe8ZODDhI/AAAAAAAAAOU/dTcNJxjM-CQ/s1600-h/IMG00014-741765.jpg"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5346651205529701906" alt="" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_jgRy_WSn444/SjMe8ZODDhI/AAAAAAAAAOU/dTcNJxjM-CQ/s320/IMG00014-741765.jpg" border="0" /></a></p>"You are an asshole." I yelled into the phone before I hung up. Because nothing gives me more pleasure and later more regret by having the last word, NOW! <p>When I got home with CHILD, husb was sitting in the comfy chair reading a comic book. Looking very relaxed. Which irks me more than anything since I can't remember the last time I ever relax at home. I am such a bitch. <p>I looked over, he was giving me a finger! <p>"What is your problem?" <p>CHILD looked in his direction, he smiled and said, "Hey! Nothing." <p>Then said, "Maybe you should leave now. Don't come home. Since you don't want to be home." <p>After ignoring him and giving CHILD a banana, I thought to myself, <p><strong><em>"Hey, he's offering to watch CHILD!!"</em></strong> <p>So I grabbed my semi packed bag (I travel for work quite often) and a change of clothes, all the while thinking, <p>"Ok. I am going to do this now. What do I bring? Where do I go?" <p><em>How does one walk out of one's house? </em><p><em>How do you walk out on your children? </em><p>"A hotel? I can Hotwire it maybe?" <p>I remembered that I have some free tickets from when I got bumped. <p>"New York?" <p>I remembered that I have NO family in this frigging country. <p>All these happened fast in less than 5 minutes. <p>While I was rummaging for the tickets, I found some discount gift cards for Aveda from Costco. Maybe I'll go get a facial?! <p>In denial. <p>Big time. Since before I left aveda, I made an appointment for a massage next Friday for husb for Father's Day. <p>God. I am completely insane and unstable... <p>This is how I got a GIRL night out, notice there is no S... <p>Tis 10:30 pm. Starbucks open past midnight because this one is where the cool people hang out... Maybe I will go catch a movie or two... <p>Parents behaving badly. Parenthood never guarantees maturity, does it? </p>The Absence of Alternativeshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05395320989489560756noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4029363033696432351.post-10896970147845765982009-06-12T22:06:00.000-05:002009-06-13T19:17:00.412-05:00How I got a girl night out OR I walked out of the house Part II<a title="The Culprit" href="http://twitpic.com/77mry"><img alt="Went to lunch and this guy followed me back to the office... LOL on Twitpic" src="http://twitpic.com/show/thumb/77mry.jpg" width="150" height="150" /></a><br /><br /><span style="font-family: trebuchet ms; font-weight: bold;">The Culprit</span>The Absence of Alternativeshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05395320989489560756noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4029363033696432351.post-75700599368494759822009-06-12T21:49:00.000-05:002009-06-13T17:07:37.963-05:00How I got a girl night out, OR I walked out of the house Part IFirst of all, I am typing this out on my iPhone which does not have a SIM inside a Starbucks. A hip & happening one, not like the one at my train station. <p>What is up with people being young and cool and happy and beautiful and hanging out and happy and talking and laughing and no children in sight and happy...</p><p>Anyway, I seem to be the only person here alone and typing on my iPhone AND Blackberry. Trying to compose a blog entry. Struggling with tiny letters and resulting typos. Wishing I had a book with me.</p><p>So it all started from La Bamba downtown which has the burritos as big as your head. It's true: it's their tag line. I went there for lunch today. This was a restaurant that my husband and I loved when we were still at school. There was one on campus. We didn't know it's a<br />chain... Till recently. So I went to the La Bamba downtown for lunch and was very excited. They have their 20 year anniversary bobblehead "doll" for sale. Ok, it's not a doll. It's the Burrito Man. I thought, </p><p>"Wow. That would be cool for Father's Day!"</p><p>My co-worker who usually thinks I am a crazy ass spaz actually agreed this time.</p><p>"I would think it's cool shit if someone gives me that for Father's Day!"</p><p>As Murphy's Law would have it, because I had set up my mind to give it to husb tonight, can't wait for another week, I forgot it as I was rushing for the train home. I made the split second decision to go back to the office to get Burrito Man and take a later train...</p><p>When I finally got off the train and got to my car, it's already 6:15, and daycare closes at 6:30. I called husb just in case he had got the boy. I know a phone call from me that close to "deadline" is going to put him on alert and defense, so I softened my approach,</p><p>"Hi, I was just calling IN CASE you have got CHILD..."</p><p>"No." Brusquely. "You are supposed to get him." and then,</p><p>"B-y-e." like he couldn't be bothered with.</p><p>My temper flared, after my softened approach backfired. Before I hung up, "You are an asshole!" I yelled into the phone...</p>The Absence of Alternativeshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05395320989489560756noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4029363033696432351.post-54728069382926793152009-06-12T10:12:00.001-05:002009-06-12T10:39:15.748-05:00How do we learn Hip Lingo if we don't watch TV, OR What you don't know won't hurt you<span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;">6 yo offered to make me a "pocket" with paper. </span><br /><br /><span style="font-family:Trebuchet MS;">"Is it ok if I use pink paper for you?"</span><br /><br /><span style="font-family:Trebuchet MS;">"Pink will be great! If you use pink it would be<strong> <em>HUGE</em></strong>!" Channeling my inner Paris Hilton for a second over there. </span><br /><br /><span style="font-family:Trebuchet MS;">Puzzled look. "What do you mean it will be <em>Huge?"</em></span><br /><br /><span style="font-family:Trebuchet MS;">"Uh. I </span><span style="font-family:Trebuchet MS;">meant it would be <em>awesome..." </em></span><br /><br /><span style="font-family:Trebuchet MS;">Relieved look. "Oh. Great. I thought you meant the pocket would become <em>Really Big </em>if I use pink..." </span><br /><span style="font-family:Trebuchet MS;"></span><br /><span style="font-family:Trebuchet MS;"><em>Bonus Round: <strong>My son, the Statistician...</strong></em></span><br /><span style="font-family:Trebuchet MS;"></span><br /><span style="font-family:Trebuchet MS;">"Mom, I think you will be the first in the family to die."</span><br /><span style="font-family:Trebuchet MS;"></span><br /><span style="font-family:Trebuchet MS;">"Why?"</span><br /><span style="font-family:Trebuchet MS;"></span><br /><span style="font-family:Trebuchet MS;">"Because you are the oldest. So there will be a 100% chance you will be the first to die, and 90% chance for daddy to be the first to die, and 0% chance for me to be the first to die." </span><br /><span style="font-family:Trebuchet MS;"></span><br /><em><span style="font-family:Trebuchet MS;">Bonus Round II: <strong>Learning human anatomy...</strong></span></em><br /><strong><em><span style="font-family:Trebuchet MS;"></span></em></strong><br /><span style="font-family:Trebuchet MS;">Overheard 6 year-old to 11 year-old: </span><br /><span style="font-family:Trebuchet MS;"></span><br /><span style="font-family:Trebuchet MS;">"Do you know your wiener is not your guts? Your guts are here" (pointing to his tummy)</span><br /><span style="font-family:Trebuchet MS;"></span>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4029363033696432351.post-57994905174155496352009-06-11T12:18:00.001-05:002009-06-11T12:35:27.033-05:00Are we really at odds with each other?This is an age-old debate and for sure I am opening an ancient can of worms. And for some, this is probably opening up some disappearing scabs from long-since-forgotten battle wounds as well...<br /><br />But I don't know why something this trivial bothers me. It leaves my working-mother-core shaking. It makes me question myself whether my being a working mother is truly ruining my children's childhood.<br /><br />Guilt is a bitch.<br /><br />It all started when my 11 yo was invited to a friend's house for a "playdate".<br /><br />(They are probably too old to have something called "Playdate"... For lack of a universally understandable term to describe an event when a child goes to another child's house, usually against the latter child's mother's quiet wish while granting the mother of the former child, if she otherwise stays home with the child, some much needed respite, I will use this term for now).<br /><br />... and the earliest train I can take does not allow me to be there in time to pick him up at the said end of playdate.<br /><br />The problem with being a working mom with regarding to playdates is that: it is next to impossible for me to reciprocate. And I do feel guilty about it. I do. And I let the mothers who are kind enough to invite my non-reciprocating child to their houses know how much I appreciate it, and how guilty I feel.<br /><br />You know that I work, DOWNTOWN. My kids go to a childcare facility. I am sorry. I cannot come home during lunch hour to do that. I cannot take off from work just so I can drop off my child at your house to play with your child.<br /><br />I did that once already: I took a day off from work once just so I could drive my kid, in less than 5 minutes, from the daycare to your house. I know I should not expect you to offer to pick up my kids from where he is and bring him to your house. You do not owe me that. And I am totally sounding like an ungrateful bitch to some, if there is anyone out there reading this, actually.<br /><br />I contemplated hiring and PAYING someone to drive that 5-minute stretch so he can have the playdate with your child. I did. Would you be terribly insulted if I asked to pay you? You would, I guess. I know the point is not the money, or how easy it is. The point is "the principle" right? That we working mothers are so used to being granted all these special treatments and considerations. We should not take it for granted. I should not even be writing about this on my blog right now.<br /><br />So I guess our children will never have playdates again.<br /><br />It is a shame. They apparently played quite well together and that's why you invited him back. Thank you. And sorry that we had to cancel the playdate scheduled for today.<br /><br /><strong><em>p.s. The irony with this whole crazy shit incident is that I am so shaken with guilt, doubt and undeserved self-righteousness that I may as well go home early. Calling in sick.</em></strong>The Absence of Alternativeshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05395320989489560756noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4029363033696432351.post-67520228243696922332009-06-09T13:34:00.000-05:002009-06-09T13:45:30.298-05:00My apology to Kathleen Parker. Frank Gaffney is way crazier...Now I feel bad for lambasting Kathleen Parker for hinting at a tenuous relationship between Obama and Osama because of the rhyming last names.<br /><br /><em>(This reminds me: is it now a good time to resurrect the old Internet sensation the <a href="http://www.albinoblacksheep.com/flash/llama">Llama Song</a>?)</em><br /><em></em><br />I was alerted to an article by Frank Gaffney, "<a href="http://unhub.com/t56a">America's first Muslim president?"</a> Turns out Ms. Parker's criticism is quite reasonable compared to Mr. Gaffney's read of Obama's Cairo speech.<br /><br />Is he for real? It's got to be a parody. Simply too good to be true. But it is. I. Don't. Know. What. To. Say.<br /><br />Read it for yourself.<br /><br />Wow.Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0