tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-220189092024-03-07T18:16:07.845-08:00How I love me some southern barbequesouthernbbqhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00689983459321351110noreply@blogger.comBlogger46125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-22018909.post-14157345268863150282009-08-07T03:44:00.000-07:002009-08-07T03:54:00.694-07:00The surrogate kidBeing a dog owner is a lot like being a mother, so I hear anyway. We have had our dog for over 5 months now, and in the rare moments that I am feeling self-reflective, I realize that I am as neurotic as my own parents. Bucky is cute in this eternal-puppy sort of way (it also helps that he is 'short' for a lab and even our friend's one year old towers over him). But when he is presented with food, he pulls forward his ears and exercises his Darwinism with his 'food face.' Combined with a slight cock of the head, he is seriously the cutest dog EVAH. I noticed the other day (likely in the middle of a rare chicken meal at home) that when Bucky's food face is on that he has a furrowed forehead. A couple of "V" wrinkles above his eyebrows. Without thinking, I told him to stop or his forehead would be frozen that way. Seriously, who does that? This along with the fact that I will take Bucky to the vet for any minor reason leads me to believe I am a neurotic hypochondriac mother in the making. One with some self-awareness at least.southernbbqhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00689983459321351110noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-22018909.post-84261737225197145602009-05-11T06:44:00.000-07:002009-05-11T06:52:45.845-07:00Thunder and LightningWhen we first got Bucky we admired him for his ability to withstand rainstorms with their loud thunder and bright lightning. I realize he was on his good behavior and in reality he is quite the chicken shit. Two nights this weekend we spent with him in our bed. He followed either Matt or I upstairs after we let him in when it started raining. He jumped up on our bed - no small undertaking given the fact he is frightened of descending anything, let alone that distance which spans all of eighteen inches. Matt lay him down between us, which was the only time his tail wagged with unabated glee at the comfort of his parents. Matt eventually carried him off the bed where he slept on our bathmat just off of Matt's sleepside.<br /><br />In the mornings Matt would carry him down the stairs and I would take him for a walk. <br /><br />Some could say that this is pathetic but I think he is just showing his quirkiness a bit more every day.southernbbqhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00689983459321351110noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-22018909.post-5997028559970239672009-04-19T07:08:00.001-07:002009-04-19T07:24:06.132-07:00Silly Ass DogIt is 10 PM and I am defeated. Today was a day full of negotiations with Bucky. Despite his easygoing nature, he can be finicky and strong willed, and he is very difficult to convince to do anything. Earlier this evening I was lifting weights and invited Bucky upstairs to join me in the air-conditioning. After some brief paranoia of flying weights I opened the door and let him go downstairs if he wanted to. Well...he didn't want to. A couple of weeks ago I let him sleep upstairs before Matt came to bed (again in the air-conditioning; poor boy pants an awful lot. When Matt came upstairs to retrieve him for his final nightly walk, somehow Bucky started down the stairs and fell, paw and face first (Matt said he was imitating Superman), into our 2nd floor landing. I was mostly asleep but heard a loud thud and the bellow of Matt's laughter. I think ever since that episode Bucky has been gunshy to descend stairs. I even tried to trick him with a treat that was slightly out of reach for him to come down. He dipped his toe as if he was testing the temperature of the pool, but otherwise no dice. Ten minutes later Matt carried him down, but there was a pool of drool on the top stair.<br /><br />The second negotiation was trying to get him to eat his immunization pills (we went to the vet today). I tried to make a beef liver peanut butter sandwich which was too big for his mouth. He did manage to eat 2/3 of the pills. Then I asked Matt to put the rest of the pills down his throat (efficient but not the most pleasant thing to watch), but Bucky kept hucking the pills up! Matt, Imee, and I realized that the horse pills smelled like penicillin and Bucky was having none of it. We then put it in chicken stock (his Achilles heel as far as we know so far) and he drank the stock but avoided the pills. Finally, I pulverized the suckers with a hammer and then mixed it with more chicken stock but that smell never went away and he just wouldn't have any of it. So I gave up. The last third of the medicine is just not to be. I hope that he isn't struck down with... Measles? Rubella? Bloody hell, I don't even know what he is being immunized for.southernbbqhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00689983459321351110noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-22018909.post-3693632127383914912009-04-12T21:39:00.000-07:002009-04-12T21:40:04.788-07:00On DatingGrowing up, I was only attracted to white guys. Growing up in decidedly not-diverse Stone Mountain and watching too many Matt Dillon movies (or do I mean drooling over Matt Dillon in BOP magazine? I forgot, I wasn’t REALLY watching movies when I was younger) I felt like the programming was complete. I was going to find my own white guy. <br />Fast forward to moving to Hong Kong in 2003. Never before had I been around so many Asian people. By and large I still felt the same. But I realized over time that Asian guys raised in westernized countries were ok. Cool. Irreverent even. Something intangible about funky glasses and a deadpan funny t-shirt.<br />Although I ended up with a white guy I am happy to know that I am not so closed minded as I once was (oh self-realization! Emotional evolution!)<br />But there is sort of an intangible icky feeling of looking at Asian men in a sexualized way. Even when I fly back to the States for a short trip, for some reason a chip on my shoulder emerges for being Asian. I am really self-conscious about it. Especially in Atlanta. And I cringe at the idea of being self-conscious. So I think if I was still living in Atlanta I would seek out a white guy (trophy boyfriend if you will). Because I would not want to be doubly self-conscious with another Asian. Isn’t that weird? I don’t think I would feel that way at all in Asia. I think I carry too much baggage still in the ATL.southernbbqhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00689983459321351110noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-22018909.post-44103829916931629752009-04-06T02:15:00.001-07:002009-04-06T02:15:33.157-07:00Diet rant and Adrien BrodyBeing on a diet sucks.<br />Right now it is 4:31 and I have been so hungry that I want to eat my left arm off.<br />Over the last couple of months I have succumbed to these cravings – as I am recently off of the wedding wagon and no longer have a need to fit into any specific piece of clothing (although thankfully the wedding dress was empire waisted and likely forgiving – but needless to say I was so strict last year with my eating I think my innards are conspiring a mutiny). But my face is a tad plumper than I would like, and my skinny pants are growing a flat tire at the top – so it is time to take action (or inaction).<br /><br />5:08 update – my hunger has passed! I have always contended that hunger is a bell curve – and it is. I was officially hungry at 4:19 and it is now almost an hour later and I am not. Yippee!<br /><br />On a totally unrelated note, I just saw Cadillac Records last night and Beyonce is really beautiful as a ‘50’s/’60’s doo-wop singer and I think she looks way better as Etta James (e.g. a proper weight) versus the Diana Ross-like character from Dreamgirls. Etta makes me want to wear fake eyelashes everyday (if, you know, I even had the energy to blow my hair dry properly everyday). Also, I absolutely adore Adrien Brody. I love that he is not a classically good looking guy but just has bravado and confidence and can kiss Halle Berry on Oscar night. Guys like Adrien will be appealing forever, long after their looks fade…southernbbqhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00689983459321351110noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-22018909.post-22373961756231641512009-03-31T21:45:00.001-07:002009-03-31T21:49:33.368-07:00He Barks!I am happy to report that Bucky has found an arch nemesis in our otherwise Pleasantville neighborhood. It is Large White Siberian Husky! I was walking Bucky through our park yesterday and he saw LWSH from a distance of 20 feet. He stood in repose and then ran towards LWSH and barked! 3 times from what I remember. I held onto him (barely as I didn't see this coming) and appropriately berated him for his boorish behavior. I thought that he had no vocal cords as I haven't heard anything from him before. I had never seen Bucky so agitated and I dare say, I was pleased.southernbbqhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00689983459321351110noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-22018909.post-62399686858852725592009-03-26T06:24:00.000-07:002009-03-26T06:43:50.746-07:00New Dog<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgpi7o6-Tz-_HNmQ2vZwCtRne8BFBaaQaipKtcXm7vKc_VTQhZ7RdaCQ5aUk48KVOQwXuLMg43hudp2YwXbEqbjdNDvC57fs2JZGAR6QqNGENFF4T1r-aR35IH9OetYCzpzleHTZQ/s1600-h/dumpy.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 214px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgpi7o6-Tz-_HNmQ2vZwCtRne8BFBaaQaipKtcXm7vKc_VTQhZ7RdaCQ5aUk48KVOQwXuLMg43hudp2YwXbEqbjdNDvC57fs2JZGAR6QqNGENFF4T1r-aR35IH9OetYCzpzleHTZQ/s320/dumpy.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5317487240989319170" /></a><br /><br />So we have a new dog. He is new to us but not new to the world. He came to us as Dumpy, but we thought his self-esteem might suffer being a reference for trash, so we held an online informal survey via Facebook (we have such a love-hate relationship with that site) and we ended up with Bucky. Bucky is the name of University of Wisconsin's affable's mascot and maybe our vocally loyal Wisconsin friends wholly outnumber our mascot-apathetic Georgia Tech ones. No matter - all the non-Americans we know think we are weird to name him this.<br /><br />Bucky is a chocolate lab. He is 4ish (or thirtysomething in dog years). His hair is more coarse than typical labs. He is kinda shrimpy for a lab (he is half the size of Matt's other dog Garrett). Speaking of Garrett, I tried very hard on my own accord to find a dog markedly different than Garrett so that Matt wasn't reminded so much of his beloved first dog. Alas, I falied miserably as Bucky is the spit and image of Garrett, except littler (I like to call him "Asianized").<br /><br />We picked him up from a private dog shelter on March 1, and Bucky is absolutely a dream dog so far. He doesn't bark! We wondered for a while whether he had vocal cords (we hear that some owners have them removed - oh the horror!) but sometimes he groans in his slept, much to our happiness! He doesn't jump up on the furniture, he has never gone in the house, he doesn't bite - he is (if a dog could be described as such) idyllic! <br /><br />The quirky things about Bucky is that he is distracted when he eats (not like other foodie dogs), doesn't seem to like to drink water (like doggie like father perhaps?), and he doesn't retrieve. At all. Our attempts to throw any object for him to retrieve have been met with icy stares of disdain. Perhaps he had a tragic retrieving episode in the past...<br /><br />I am such a cruddy blogger but I thought I would try again with Bucky as my muse. We will see how it goes.southernbbqhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00689983459321351110noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-22018909.post-73967636328815420992008-09-06T06:56:00.000-07:002008-09-06T07:08:29.334-07:00Greetings from Singapore - and yet another Tea Lady rantSo - I have moved to Singapore - yet another city/state country that I now call home. If I could describe Singapore in one word it would be... idyllic. Truly. Sort of a utopian existance to raise kids and dogs. A veritable Discovery Bay on super strength steroids. People say Singapore doesn't have the buzz of Hong Kong. My answer to that is... who cares. I lived in a city with buzz (LA) and it was too tiring for me. Same as Hong Kong - maybe I am just too slow of a walker to keep up with the pace of these fast cities. So, at this point, I am not into the clubs, I am barely into the bars. So if the closest I get to a buzz is my company issued green tea in the morning then so be it. <br /><br />Speaking of tea, I really loathe the tea lady in the office. Perhaps I have bad tea lady karma? She is a total wench when she is cleaning the toilet, just really despicably inhospitable. The other day the water went out (ahem - the glamorous life of a temporary construction compound) and there was a communal bucket placed in the restroom with a typed sign that read "For Washing Hands." No separate mechanism to neutrally pour the water over your hands. Just a bucket to swish around in. Are you kidding me? How freakin' gross is that?<br /><br />So I went outside where there is a communal sink and I used a pitcher filled with water to wash my hands. And wenchy tea lady lectures me that this pitcher water is for drinking. I sassily retort that I am NOT washing my hands in a communal bucket. Blah - who would?<br /><br />I made a comment today that people in Singapore are collectively less cordial than they are in Hong Kong. But I don't care. I still love it here - despite the wenchy tea ladies.southernbbqhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00689983459321351110noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-22018909.post-333985006257329472008-04-14T01:04:00.000-07:002008-04-14T01:14:16.006-07:00Rebuff on CyberspaceSo I have joined Linkedin. I was linked out for a while (for no real reason I suppose). I had reached out to a guy I worked with and just figured out today how to find who has yet to respond to my inquiries to join my virtual 'network.' Well it turns out old colleague guy said that he doesn't know me! Hmmph. Did I mention I went to his wedding?<br /><br />I am not sure if this is a bona fide re-buff or just a result of a trigger happy finger, but needless to say, I am a bit miffed that someone I haven't spoken to in 4 years has (perhaps inadvertently) treated me this way!<br /><br />O well, I sent him another note. I will see how that goes or I will delete him forever...southernbbqhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00689983459321351110noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-22018909.post-4746705538050598392008-01-23T07:20:00.000-08:002008-01-23T07:21:09.758-08:00Celebrity Death rantSo Heath Ledger died today. And Christopher Bowman and Brad Renfro died this year. So far it has been a pretty dismal year for famous people, either on the up or on the down. All three have allegedly died because of drug overdose. Two of them had young kids! I realize that this can be labeled a tragedy by some, but I think that these guys (assuming that they all died from overdoses) were just plain self-absorbed.<br /><br /> <br /><br />My opinion has changed since I was younger. I remember when River Phoenix died – I was so saddened, like I had grown UP with him. This was around 1997 and I was in a less physically stable then, moving around quite a bit even though I was finishing up college. I have always been drawn to these young actor types. I was really kind of down about it. “Why him?” I would ask, as if he was a friend or even someone I knew.<br /><br /> <br /><br />But time passes and perspectives change. Now I am in a really stable place, both physically and emotionally. I have an emotionally steadfast partner who could give less of a shit about what is going on in celebrityville (or any of the Joneses, for that matter). Thankfully some of this perspective has rubbed off on me and I realize it is sort of silly to obsess over celebrities, like their shit doesn’t stink. So now I think about these three adult men and how they didn’t take responsibility for their lives and instead took their lives with their own expensive habits. These guys had serious cash flow – could they not have hired world-class therapists to help them cope with all of their “pain”? Life is a bitch when you are rich and famous – I suspect in all reality it somewhat is as it isolates your friends and I am sure everyday you question whether you are a fraud or worthy and if you can maintain this ride forever and not die a has-been at aged 30. It is quite strange because if I knew a user who wasn’t famous who died of an overdose, there would be no parades or song and dance, just some sympathy for the family and an idle cry out for why they didn’t get help sooner. <br /><br /> <br /><br />And this is how I care to think of these three dead men. As selfish souls.southernbbqhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00689983459321351110noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-22018909.post-52907359685296465672008-01-18T22:28:00.000-08:002008-01-18T22:37:57.681-08:00Grocery ShoppingI am always grocery shopping in Macau. I think that this confounds M to no end but he certainly doesn't complain about the end result. I am hopeful that someone here will begin to carry shortening because I went to Hong Kong this past weekend looking for it and citySuper was out of stock. Christ. Grocery shopping is an ordeal, it is not just going to one superstore to buy everything. Because I a cook on the healthy side it is a bit more complicated. Lower fat peanut butter is available in HK but not Macau, but I can find lower fat mayonnaise in Macau. Rolos are nowhere to be found in the Pearl River Delta period. I went to Park'n'Shop today (the closest semblance to a superstore) and forgot to pick up whole wheat flour. This means that I will have to go back there tomorrow (which I hate as Park'n'Shop is so friggin' crowded on Sundays) so that I can buy flour to make bread. I leave the house with an empty backpack and always come back with several bags in hand and the backpack filled to the brim. Today I stopped at 2 stores, 1 drugstore (that oddly sells very few drugs), a houseware store, and a fruit/vegetable store. Two hours with my slow ass walking. This is typical. I used to try to go with M but he grew so impatient with my browsing that I realized it is more relaxing to break my back with an overstuffed backpack than to deal with his shopping impatience. This should be refreshing in that he is truly a guy's guy, not fussy about food details or the end product so much. But sometimes I sure would like a ride...southernbbqhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00689983459321351110noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-22018909.post-23369737133873136672008-01-17T05:45:00.000-08:002008-01-17T05:47:19.938-08:00Cleaning ladiesI work in a construction compound. It is the tidiest building I have ever worked in, except maybe for the other construction compound that I worked in a year ago. Although we are on a construction site there is seldom any dirt anywhere to be found. The floors are so clean you can eat off of them. <br /> <br />There are cleaning ladies (not to be wholly confused with tea ladies). They are sweet, Cantonese speaking. We acknowledge each other with friendly smiles but our exchanges end there. The cleaning ladies whose responsibility is to clean the toilet (the women’s anyways) and the adjacent pantry. I am in the toilet quite a bit throughout the course of the day because, well, I drink a lot of water and tea (green tea, my now replacement to teeth staining coffee). There is a window in the construction compound toilet that looks out into…dirt and muck that is soon to be a beautiful casino. Every time I go in the toilet after lunch I see the 2 cleaning ladies. Sometimes they drink hot tea overlooking the window. Today they were eating crackers. <br /><br />But do they really need to eat in the toilet? I mean, seriously, the pantry is 10 feet away.<br /> <br />If I have a long visit in the toilet, I really cannot be thinking about these poor ladies having their tea and crackers and really concentrate at the task at hand – and certainly that has got to be uncomfortable for them.<br /><br />Perhaps this is their domain, their office if you will. Their sanctuary in a bleak, dirty world. I can respect that.<br /><br />But I would really like it more if they would have their afternoon tea in the pantry.southernbbqhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00689983459321351110noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-22018909.post-71791090385811972052008-01-17T05:43:00.000-08:002008-01-17T05:44:45.060-08:00I have a love/hate relationship with coffee. I have been conditioned by Folger’s ads to have a Pavlovian response of, well, heightened alertness when I smell the stuff brewing. I would like to believe I am a coffee snob (only Peets or Coffee Bean when I was in coffee culture mecca LA) but the reality is if it is more coffee flavor than burned out water taste then I am all in. My consumption is hardly pathological – it is typically one cup in the morning with milk and Splenda. All part of my routine, the master plan of my day.<br /><br />I visited the dentist in December. He was a new guy. From Macau. Chinese in the face but when a Portuguese accent. As is de rigeur with these biannual visits I was told to floss more and to lay off the coffee. I looked at my teeth in the mirror prior to going to the dentist that day. They were the most yellow that they have been. I would like to attribute it to the coffee (an easy scapegoat) but my consumption has remained consistent. I realize it is because of the water. I know that my teeth have gotten more yellow since moving to Asia and now was unbearable. Dentist salt washed my teeth and got out the stains – but I realized that it was time for a change.<br /><br />So relatively cold turkey I gave up my coffee. And I have lived to tell about it. It is relative because I was vacationing in Laos and Vietnam and had the local coffee there (especially in Vietnam where coffee is mixed with condensed milk). Towards the end of the trip I was getting a bit sick and subsequently slept the entire next day after my arrival in Macau. I think this aided to get me off of my headache inducing caffeine addiction as I essentially started over with a clean, refreshed slate a day later.<br /><br />What have I learned from this? That the nebulous claims of coffee being bad for you are not enough for me to kick the habit. Yet vanity, as a means or an end, IS enough of a motivator.<br /> <br />Blah. Enough navel gazing for now.southernbbqhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00689983459321351110noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-22018909.post-52492901085409166242008-01-16T07:20:00.003-08:002008-01-16T07:20:52.222-08:00SweaterI own this sweater. It is a Ralph Lauren cashmere gray cable knit turtleneck. I don’t think it could be any more conservative. It is a good sweater – I have owned it for probably about eight months and I can only wear it when the weather is being, well, colder than I would like (on an aside it is not that I don’t like the cold weather. When else can I wear my amazing coat collection? I just don’t like that it isn’t consistently cold. A week can go by and it will only be cold here in Macau for 3 of the days, and not consecutive ones). Anyway – back to the sweater. I like it. It doesn’t pill at the underarms. I can wear it several times and it not get smelly. I bought this sweater at my favorite designer dud store in Hong Kong who claim to have authentic pieces (it is a high end ‘fall-off-the-truck store). At any rate, this sweater does not have a tag anywhere on its underside. Not even a care tag – nothing. As a result- I have no idea which way is front on this sweater. Because I am small breasted (finally – this comes in handy) there are no telltale lumps which show which way I wore it the last time. Whenever I wear this sweater it makes me laugh as a physical testament that I have a boy’s body.southernbbqhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00689983459321351110noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-22018909.post-58505478724911844832008-01-01T20:30:00.000-08:002008-01-01T20:36:57.077-08:00On BeautyI just finished this book by Zadie Smith last night. I really started strong with it, very much liking it. I thought the ending was a bit blah. It is a very long book at nearly 400 pages. Most of the book centers around Howard, a white British man who is very much in the middle of a midlife crisis. Part of the book frustrated me when he has embarked on his second affair with a rival colleague's daughter. He is resigned that he has a future of divorce and chasing younger skirts ahead of him, as if this is his inevitable fate. I think that this mindset was really off the mark. I don't think people have affairs and then divorce and are resigned about their fates so early on. I think that there is a lot of denial about it, a lot of anger and 'how did I get here' - going down the spiral of self-hatred and all that. To be so resigned so early (prior to a separation even) seemed rather naive - as if this is what the author thought (she is my age so early 30's) and was channeling this to the protagonist. Overall it was a good book but it all wrapped up in the last twenty pages. With so much going on at then end, I was sad that it didn't have a more resolved ending.southernbbqhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00689983459321351110noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-22018909.post-8460521112642192242007-12-11T06:24:00.000-08:002007-12-11T06:34:15.281-08:00F*ing Tea LadySo I work in an office where we have a full time tea lady (as you can see, I am not in America anymore). The tea lady is maybe from China? Macau? I don't know as I do not communicate with her with anything that isn't sign language or friendly smiles or grunts. I noticed the other day that she gives water to one of my co-workers as he comes back to his desk (conveniently Confucian). I ask M if get gets water at his desk given by the tea lady. "Yeah," he responded rather nonchalantly. <br /><br />I walk around the office; everyone gets water or tea from the tea lady except me (that I can see anyway). I feel like saying something to her - in my demand-equity-as-an-American sort of way - but then I think better of it. Try not to let this damn tea lady ruin my day.<br /><br />Maybe she thinks a girl in the office is weird and can get her own tea. But it makes me feel inadequate somehow, like I should somehow convince her to get me some water. I have even thought of asking the original guy who I first saw get water from her say something to her.<br /><br />But it is not worth it. Her constitution in unmalleable. I know my Americanism can come off as being boorish and evangelical in Asia, especially with my not-at-all corresponding Asian face that goes alone with the gusto.<br /><br />At the moment I get my own tea. Begrudgingly.southernbbqhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00689983459321351110noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-22018909.post-3162589999727770672007-10-24T06:20:00.001-07:002007-10-24T06:20:54.074-07:00GrandparentsI did not know my grandparents well.<br /><br />This wasn’t because of a lack of desire. Perhaps I was a bit indifferent. My parents, as strange as it may sound, were not super interested in us having a close relationship with them, as they haven’t really been for any member of our family, for some reason.<br /><br />So for a short period of time my dad’s mom and dad lived in Atlanta. It seemed ok. They got their own apartment not far from us. I was not involved in the politics of why they were even there. Much later it was discovered there was some falling out between my dad and his older brother. But this was not news, as my father was falling into and out of favor with all of his siblings.<br /><br />I remember that we would visit them and sometimes they would visit us. Nobody in either party except my father could really drive so it was a lot of chauffeuring on his part. I remember their apartment being sparse. Maybe there was a bed? I am not even sure, though in my mind they slept on the floor with thick, faux mink Korean blankets. <br /><br />My father was the spit and image of his father. My grandfather was unusually tall – perhaps even 5 foot 5 inches, which was even a shrunken version of what he must have been when he was younger. His hair line receded, but not into anything unattractive. He seemed like the more docile of the pair. I remember that his house clothes consisted of a white wife beater and long shorts. He had emphysema but still enjoyed smoking. He was not one to wear joy on his face, yet I do not remember he looking particularly sad either. I suppose he lived a hard life, living through the Korean War, having to relocate his family from and to Seoul again. Yet his face was a picture of pleasant resignation.<br /><br />My grandmother had the spitfire personality that she passed along to my father. The spitfire part I learned from my parents later-- she was nothing but mellow to her granddaughters in her seventies. When I saw her in her place in Atlanta, she was maybe four foot nine. Her posture was horrendous and she walked with a cane but was hunched over, making her appear even smaller. God had made her breasts disproportionately large for her petite size, probably causing her back problems her whole life. There were lines on her face that were deeply etched grooves. I used to tell my mother that she had the face of a raisin. Her face wore every heartbreak and disappointment like a ring inside a tree stump. <br /><br />Min and my Korean was not good, but we could say hello and bow and talk about how good the food was and how well we slept the night before. Usually my parents did most of the talking. If we were left alone with our grandparents there was a lot of idle smiling and looking at each other and nodding of our heads. But usually we would just sit on the floor and skewer fruit that my mother carefully selected and cut with toothpick swords and eat raisins and dried cuttlefish and just listen to my parents talk to each other and my dad’s parents in Korean. There was little acknowledgment of Min or I, but that was ok. We were used to that being around my parents and their friends.southernbbqhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00689983459321351110noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-22018909.post-45389605403298267542007-08-01T04:28:00.000-07:002007-08-01T04:38:53.174-07:00The CureM and I went to HK on Monday night and saw the Cure. I am a fan of the Cure, but by no means a die-hard. I was disappointed to learn that I know even less songs that I thought I did. I also realized that, like most bands, The Cure essentially sing the same song over and over again. The nuance with The Cure is that song drones on for about 10 minutes before any vocals get chimed in. Speaking of vocals, Robert Smith is the only vocalist. There isn't even a microphone wired up to the other band members. Robert has seen better days of his svelte (but never quite heroin chic) figure. Luckily he wears black and it is slimming. He dresses like all of my alternative friends did in junior high but never grew out of it, I guess.<br /><br />Robert doesn't work the crowd (a sleek contrast to will.i.am's "HOOONNNNNNNNNNGGGGGG KKOOOONNNNNNNGGGGGGGGGG"). He could have been in Pittsburgh for all he cared. There was also a notable absence of any keyboard or keyboardist. I suppose the reverb on the guitars were on hyper over drive.<br /><br />The audience was pleasantly benign and the over 40 crowd dancing wildly to songs that my old friend Pete Williams would deem to be completely undanceable. <br /><br />Robert's voice was his salvation as he still sounds exactly like his [then] records.<br /><br /> I think M was nonplussed, just as I had predicted.southernbbqhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00689983459321351110noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-22018909.post-21975627147000732662007-05-29T08:44:00.000-07:002007-05-29T08:45:08.828-07:00Stream of consciousness postI am really tired. I am running myself ragged during the week to get it all done and crashing on the weekend. I feel my immune system is coming to a screeching halt.<br />Tomorrow I am in Hong Kong for part of the day. I loathe intraday travel as it is such a time suck. Immigration is a chore, my passport is busting at the seams. I just wish Macau and Hong Kong were twin cities. I was up at 6 this morning to get my morning run in. I am running most mornings and am really tired of my music but am too lazy to do anything about it. I miss mellow music. I am either listening to hard core running music but never the soft chill out music. It is a noticeable void. I am off to bed and fighting a runny nose. My head, my feet, and my nose are all running today….southernbbqhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00689983459321351110noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-22018909.post-51237314168186941352007-05-08T08:04:00.000-07:002007-05-08T08:23:58.646-07:00Grocery shoppingAt the insistence of minjenah I am updating my blog to a topic that is slightly more... uplifting.<br /><br />I love to grocery shop. I didn't so much in the US (except Trader Joes! I was totally tingly just walking through my old Manhattan Beach store in December!). But I also used to go thrift store shopping in the States which is virtually non-existent in the Pearl River Delta [this must be an Asian thing. My mom used to think it was so bizarre that I bought and wore used clothes! I guess if you grew up in war torn Korea where you were lucky to have your older brother's leftover threadbare clothes on your back it would be a bit ironic). So going grocery shopping is a bit of the hunt of the treasure that thrift store shopping was.<br /><br />Matt thinks that this propensity of mine to grocery shop continually is a bit eccentric. But you really don't know what you will find here, particularly in Macau. I am a lifetime Weight Watcher (which is generally boring but I have seemed to maintain some sort of gusto towards it these days) and it is difficult to find some items - like low fat brownie mix (which I get at Gateway in Sheung Wan HK) or steel cut oatmeal (which Matt just found at Oliver's in Central HK). Strangely, there are other things that I think are niche that are readily available here - like bulgur or unprocessed wheat bran. This I attribute to the Portuguese influence. A couple of months back all of Macau was out of salsa - so Matt and I made an emergency run to HK and stocked up. Now whenever we see salsa (anywhere in the world - most recently Singapore and Melbourne) we buy it. It is uncertain times that we live in and salsa is a staple for our equilibrium...<br /><br />A typical week involves 4 grocery stores - Park 'n' Shop for 98% fat free soup and Fifty 50 oatmeal (and generally horrendous lines), the fruit market 4 doors down, the grocery store by McDonald's that has proper Australian milk, dill pickles, and a (comparatively) impressive Mexican food section, and the French market down the road for day-of needs like broccoli and garbanzo beans. Once a month I will go to Hong Kong to get whole wheat flour and canned pumpkiin.<br /><br />My piece de resistance this past week was Hormel Turkey Pepperoni at the market near McDonald's for a mere $42 MOP ($5 USD). At CitySuper in Hong Kong, this easily goes for $75 HKD (roughly $10USD).<br /><br />I would easily win some sort of Western food version of The Price Is Right here in Macau...southernbbqhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00689983459321351110noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-22018909.post-13004213109634390142007-04-19T07:24:00.000-07:002007-04-19T07:42:31.361-07:00Rant about the shooting f*erOk - so it is hard not to be fascinated by this psychopath VT student because he was like me - a Korean American who grew up in the South. Over the Slingbox I am watching local Baltimore news trying to deconstruct the killer - what was going through his mind, etc. A dialogue that was happening between two rather white bread (bred) newscasters. I think that there is something that is unique about being an immigrant that you just cannot explain to someone who hasn't LIVED it - it is a visceral experience that I know Matt will never fully comprehend. I am not saying that Cho wasn't unstable - as he certainly unquestionably was - but let us be real - he exhibited warning signs long before he started stalking girls on the VT campus. Some people suggest abuse in his childhood. But I think people don't realize that the abuse was probably far more psychological than physical. Why didn't his parents do anything when he was growing up? I can tell you that my parents never cared whether I had friends or assimilated - that wasn't their priority. I am sure his were the same. His parents were (the prototypical) dry cleaners. I am sure that there was some guilt with the sacrifices they made for him to succeed in America (generally an Asian immigrant mentality). His sister had recently graduated from Princeton - I cannot imagine that there wasn't some 'why didn't you get into Yale' crap that was happening behind closed doors.<br /><br />Of course, all of this is projected conjecture, but I do think that the Korean culture could do a better job acknowledging mental illness so that it can be diagnosed and treated. I get so over the 'showing a good face' all the time crap that I have a well-calibrated bullshit meter. I cannot stand people who only live inauthentically just to look good.southernbbqhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00689983459321351110noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-22018909.post-44083178193849871362007-04-17T07:31:00.000-07:002007-04-17T07:45:09.741-07:00Hypochondriac Part 2<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEinNeZQHvSYEy07EVsxiP_7Tk08ZEATked1nNbR2fpJ1AV3PQuFhUGY-Ac6KlFSvgKg8TtB3MA71JZmtPix9Ug88pFQ15V4sOqVCjKlv3Lq2zEXlAJxg2_l7OPxO5aPzSkatKJcVQ/s1600-h/DSC01215.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEinNeZQHvSYEy07EVsxiP_7Tk08ZEATked1nNbR2fpJ1AV3PQuFhUGY-Ac6KlFSvgKg8TtB3MA71JZmtPix9Ug88pFQ15V4sOqVCjKlv3Lq2zEXlAJxg2_l7OPxO5aPzSkatKJcVQ/s320/DSC01215.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5054405713568731170" /></a><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgpbKh9bSia6SJ5kZIgoaFTXWbY5BxNN0NpnnnB5jRr7Sfo9-f_slQKkFHv_hHe9YZqyD3fVBIuv4s9KutwS1RyYQQSMPqNAZPO7HZAM73449NshXr7JspHdMPE6l8OdDbdxFSs0Q/s1600-h/DSC01209.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgpbKh9bSia6SJ5kZIgoaFTXWbY5BxNN0NpnnnB5jRr7Sfo9-f_slQKkFHv_hHe9YZqyD3fVBIuv4s9KutwS1RyYQQSMPqNAZPO7HZAM73449NshXr7JspHdMPE6l8OdDbdxFSs0Q/s320/DSC01209.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5054405717863698482" /></a><br /><br />In Malaysia Matt and I were eaten alive by sandflies (these gory photos show the evidence). Up until yesterday I was itching like mad, even drawing blood through my khakis on Saturday (eww). These exotic Southeast Asian bugs tend to leave me bruised for some reason. I feel fine even though I look like I was knocked out by a shadowboxer. At dinner on last Thursday, the discussion migrated to flesh eating diseases, which I was certain I was then plagued with (I have since crawled down from that fatalistic ledge).<br /><br />Sandflies are evil because you can't see them biting you at 2 inch intervals. I even feel like I am Pig Pen - mosquitoes tend to swarm me because I have other bug bites, I think. Or I am just paranoid (and mosquitos liking me would certainly not be news).southernbbqhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00689983459321351110noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-22018909.post-51674533180576990112007-04-14T09:24:00.000-07:002007-04-14T09:38:12.705-07:00Hypochondriac Part 1I have been doing a lot of websurfing recently - these days it is about various things that ail me. I am not 100% obsessive compulsive but I think being sick brings out this side of me more. I had a kidney infection 3 years ago that required a weeklong visit to the hospital and now I think everything is afflicting me. I dropped an ice skate on my toe almost six weeks ago (causing what is appropriately named toe trauma) and I am debating going to the doctor so they can drain blood from under my nail (it is still green and the greenness does not seem to be growing out). I cleverly disguise my ailment with bright red polish that never leaves my nails except for my bi-weekly pedicures. Some nutty websites actually suggest a DIY solution of taking a drill bit and a steady hand and DRILLING A HOLE IN YOUR TOENAIL to drain the blood yourself. Oddly, Matt suggested the identical solution independent of my exhausting internet research. Are these people mad? I cannot be trusted with putting a car in reverse, so how could I be trusted with putting a drill in my nailbed?<br /><br />My pedicurist also lamented that my toenail will likely fall off. This is distressing to me, as I learned from my x-rays when I first experienced the trauma just how crooked my feet are. Their saving grace is well groomed nails (cut square at my insistence [I swear the default toe nail style here is rounded and long and red, sort of dragonlady toes based on what I see on the street]). If I am without a toenail, I would (a) be grossed out and (b) be without the my neutralizing trait that counteracts the effects of my bunion driven crookedness.<br /><br />Looking on the bright side (which I seldom do in medical matters) it is at least not broken. <br /><br />Now I need to find some wood to knock on and not knock into.southernbbqhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00689983459321351110noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-22018909.post-68462198898420887962007-04-11T07:29:00.000-07:002007-04-11T07:46:49.576-07:00EngagementWell, I have been on Matt about us getting engaged for a while now. Nothing like the steady, deliberate pressure from the likes of me. We went to Malaysia this past weekend - to Kota Kinabalu. I actually had a bit of a commitment in Taiwan the day before so I was a bit out of sorts and focus on my usual pressuring ways (indeed one of my less endearing qualities). We had been at the Shangri-La for 22 hours, the sun was setting and we took cute couple pictures in the golden glow of the twilight. Typical Matt arm length face shots where my moon-face is wholly magnified. After some of this Matt suggests we walk to the water to watch the cloudless sunset, which was stunning in a Key West caliber way, surprisingly. I had a quest to sort out my Sony camera's settings and right the sun in its memory. Matt wanted me to sit on a bench but I was committed to the camera. Matt then suggested we head back to the terrace of our room (we were on the first level so we could walk to the water). He asked me to sit down but I was restless and hungry, so I got a snack to eat on the terrace (a Golden Grahams cereal bar imported from Portugal). He told me he loved me and he wanted to be with me and got down on one knee (not a trivial feat as he is down one foot at the moment) and asked me to marry him! I hesitated for a second because I didn't see it coming (and I always thought I would see it coming) and asked if he was kidding. I then said yes and we hugged and kissed and I put my ring on my finger and were excited in the now darkness.<br /><br />We then dined on a seafood grilled dinner along the water. I let Matt eat most of the steak and I wrestled away the larger prawn. I insisted that we have 2 glasses of champagne at dinner and was quickly tipsy thereafter. We then walked over to the surprisingly cool bar of the hotel, where I had a riveting cranberry juice and a fun Canadian cover band sang our favorite Black Eyed Peas tunes.<br /><br />This was April 5. I called my sister and parents upon my return to Macau. Minjenah was appropriately excited and Mom was too in her typical conversationally-absent demeanor. My mom suggested that she just let Dad know because he was on the can. She certainly knew how to let the wind out of my sails! But I wouldn't let her completely deflate me. Not during MY engagement.southernbbqhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00689983459321351110noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-22018909.post-87341121422969888952007-03-23T22:10:00.000-07:002007-03-25T08:53:39.520-07:00JuicyI was living in LA when the whole Juicy Couture thing hit its hayday. Leave it to America (and Los Angeles) to attempt to add style to what is the quintessentially amorphous sweatsuit. I suppose that during Flo Jo's days (may she and her bling nails rest in peace) it was the running suit that women everywhere would wear on their weekly grocery errands. But thanks to that no-name wife of John Taylor (God I love Duran Duran) - we had an update - a low rise, flared, psuedo velour sweatpants in a variety of fashion forward colors. Juicy was outrageously expensive to me (during my Nordstrom shopping days) and I found the gold lamme "Juicy Couture" in a baroque font to be, well, dangerous to my more Ann Taylor / Banana Republic days.<br /><br />So it never struck me how entirely too casual these togs were until I arrived in Hong Kong in mid 2003. Juicy was no where to be found among the skinny jean Converse high top sea of humanity that greeted me in Asia. So over time I adopted - not too the style of my fellow HK people, but to be a little less LA casual (in my myriad of monkey faced T-shirts) when I was not working. <br /><br />Earlier this week I was in Hong Kong riding an escalator at a train station when I was behind a thirtysomething Asian lady who was wearing a full-on purple Juicy outfit. And at that very moment, I understood. It is what my sister has succintly deemed as AOA - Absence of Ass. This trait plagues many of us Asians. Fortunately low rise jeans seem to help this issue for me, but there needs to be some form to the fabric for this cut to work. The Juicy style has no formed it and therefore does a a disservice to the ass challenged.<br /><br />Practically speaking I am glad that this style never hit in Hong Kong. Thank goodness for prevalent mirrors!southernbbqhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00689983459321351110noreply@blogger.com0