And safety comes first.

Monday, August 30

A Heart O' Happiness

Age five was when I found happiness in my heart. I named it Barbara and wouldn't share it with anyone. With such happiness, I ran around the house a lot, laughed, and smiled all the time. But whenever someone noticed my happiness, I quickly went to a neutral face. I didn't want anyone to steal Barbara from me, so I had to pretend I was neither happy nor sad. Within a year I was seeing a psychologist who thought I was afraid of people, but I corrected her and informed her of Barbara. I was asked to draw a picture of Barbara, but I couldn't because Barbara didn't have a face. I said Barbara was just an abstraction--I just gave it a name the way powerful hurricanes get names too.

Sunday, August 29

Fans are Cool

Fans? I rub my hands together greedily at the thought that there are fans of this blog. My amusingly pessimistic ruminations made extra likeable by the presence of humility have steered their way into the hearts of those who like to read, but not too much.

I hate when people write like in the above sentence. It reeks of presumption--presumption that self-aggrandizement, loquacity, and a stale sort of cynicism hoping to pass for wit are appealing to anyone. If I was going to whine and be boring about it, I'd take a goddamn pen and do it in a bound book of blank pages to keep to myself. I mean, who the fuck cares to read shit like, "Why it is that people have to smoke so close to the building entrance because it defeats the purpose of non-smoking policies?" If you're going to be too lazy to supply an answer, then why bore your readers with a question that serves as mere observation? But you say, "No, dear Sylvia, it was meant to be a rhetorical question." I reply, "My apologies, dear thinker! Your fine rhetoric, then, is bound to save the lives of multitudinous potential second-hand smokers!"

Your readership sustains this blog. Your readership saves lives.

Saturday, August 28

The "All Day Buffet" Cruises

I use my limited vacation time for cruises. They're not what people think--cruises aren't only for older people. They are for young people like me who proudly lack any imagination about the otherly nations. When I want to eat, I don't have to struggle with one of those foreign language dictionaries to get what I want. When I want to play basketball, I can join some people from Cincinnati on the courts--at the same time, I have the opportunity to learn about different cultures. From my cruise experiences, I've learned that people from other states are people too. I'd like to endorse Carnival cruises, especially the ones that sail to paradise.

Monday, August 23

I'd Do Anything

...ANYTHING to be a shrimp and lobster honey.

Girl Scouts

I don't know about all this strong values, strong minds, strong friendships stuff, but those Girl Scout cookies...I'm feelin' those...

My Library and My Forks

Look, I'm Asian, but just because I happen to be strolling through Chicago's Chinatown, don't stop me and ask me where my library is. Besides, where's your library and why you gotta be using our library? If more people would look past the Asian eyes and see that I have the eyes of a wandering tourist, I'd be a happy Asian.

And I might look a lot like the people who are running the place, but I don't own this Chinese restaurant, so if I'm checking out the food like you, don't ask me where my forks are because my goddamn forks are back at my home in my kitchen.

To these insensitive louses, I used to say, "I don't know," the tone depending on my mood, but now I think I prefer a more effective approach: "Most regrettably, I, an Asian person, lack the adequate English language skills with which to offer you assistance here in America."

Wednesday, August 18

Someday my Price will Come

Eventually, I'll name my price at the publishing house and get all the shit on this blog published. This will happen when the masses decide they are tired of irony and demand the release of a single work to represent both the apex and the end point of culturally rampant irony-driven humor. I will be exalted, dubbed the "Master of Mediocrity" by the New York Times. When I walk into an Asian-Mexican-hot dog stand fusion restaurant where the staff is dressed in black and scrutinizes your plain, everyday man, I-got-this-at-Target outfit, I will be able to exclaim, "I just bought this motherfucking place, and I want my hot dogs brought to me with a smile!"

The Story about Henry and Me

Henry and I used to flip each other off in the high school cafeteria because that was the only time we'd see each other. I think there was something in the food.

(Notice how it's not "The Story about Henry and I" nor is it "Me and Henry use to flip each other off"? If Henry knows this, why can't the rest of you get it straight?)

Tuesday, August 17

I Didn't Grow Up in the Midwest

There were no funds to keep playgrounds with grass in East L.A. We got concrete. There was maybe a tree--a tree placed somewhere for looks. In contrast, many of my Midwestern counterparts got to frolic in grass--some even got to ride their own ponies. The closest I ever got to livestock was the lazy P.E. lady who never moved from her spot under the one playground tree, letting instead her whistle do all the work. I was never too excited about ponies anyway. In second grade, a girl let me brush her My Little Pony. After the second stroke, the whole tail fell off and the mortified girl snatched the My Little Pony and vowed to never let me play with her dolls again. What a bitch.

Tuesday, August 10

Knitting clubs are for...knitters.

Knitting clubs are for knitters--slow knitters, fast knitters, good knitters, bad knitters. They are also for non-knitters--rare, but valuable quasi-members who show up for the coffee and the scarf-fantasizing. Myself a non-knitter, I realize the risk one takes when one shows up at a knitting club without a ball of yarn and sticks--or worse yet, with one but obliviously not the other. If I ever do decide to take up this craft, I want to knit elaborately. I want to knit a tent or a pair of super, non-arthritic knitting hands!

Monday, August 9

Minneapolis: Most Literate City in the Country

Motivation for getting out of bed on a Monday morning

I got out of bed with the thought of picking up a Krispy Kreme donut on the way to work. I didn't--by the time I got out of bed, I didn't have time to stop for a donut.

Thursday, August 5

Celebrate your birthday with the Minnesota Twins!

Let me cut to the chase: It costs 40 bucks to have your name put up on the Metrodome scoreboard for your birthday. But if you write an extraordinarily self-promoting letter that doubles up as a request for fireworks in your honor and address it to the Minnesota Twins (a fine, small-market organization they are!), you, like me, just might find in your mailbox a 4"x6" picture of the scoreboard reading, "Happy Birthday, (insert your name), #1 Fan!" And the "#1 Fan" bit isn't normal procedure.

That was last year, and, when I was actually at the game the night of my birthday, there was nothing on the scoreboard, no free hotdog, no autographed baseball, no fireworks. Instead, I was accosted by the Twins mascot, Mr. Suited Up MN Twins Bear, who shamed me for wearing an Anaheim Mighty Ducks jacket because the Ducks at the time were in the playoffs with the Minnesota Wild. Little did the presumptuous bear know that I'd had my jacket about as long as the Ducks had existed. To compound matters, an usher decided to have some words with me regarding my attire, figuring he'd speak for the mute mascot.

Today a former co-worker e-mailed me, asking how I got my name up on the scoreboard and explained she wanted to do the same for a nephew whose birthday is coming up. I said I wrote a letter, and I got the picture two months later. I didn't mention that a little detective work had proven my name was featured on the scoreboard at some later date, based on the score on the board for that game. But I suggested she contact the PR office with her request. And that's how I found out about the 40 dollar charge. Boy am I enjoying last year's birthday now!