See y'all on the flipside.HAPPY 2008!
P.S. Shower before midnight to wash away bad luck from 2007. (It's a Filipino thing, I think.)
Monday, December 31, 2007
NYE 2008.
Dave and I are taking ourselves out to dinner here, and then we're going to hang out with these fine ladies.
See y'all on the flipside.
See y'all on the flipside.
rock royalty.
Who knew that this
plus this
would equal this?
ROWR. Kurt Cobain and Courtney Love's daughter is fifteen and now stylish. Watch out, young Hollywood. Here comes another teen for the bad girls bunch.
Also, can we talk about this for a minute? How do they do it? Famous ladies, I mean. Really, I want to know. How do they wear such high heels and tromp around cities the way they do? Is it genetic? Is it some gene of endurance and extrastrong pain threshhold that they inherit along with their inborn famousness? Because I love high heels, but damn if I can't handle anything higher than a kitten heel anymore! It just ain't fair!!
(Thanks to Perez Hilton for the info.)
plus this
would equal this?
ROWR. Kurt Cobain and Courtney Love's daughter is fifteen and now stylish. Watch out, young Hollywood. Here comes another teen for the bad girls bunch.
Also, can we talk about this for a minute? How do they do it? Famous ladies, I mean. Really, I want to know. How do they wear such high heels and tromp around cities the way they do? Is it genetic? Is it some gene of endurance and extrastrong pain threshhold that they inherit along with their inborn famousness? Because I love high heels, but damn if I can't handle anything higher than a kitten heel anymore! It just ain't fair!!
(Thanks to Perez Hilton for the info.)
year in review ... as fake obituary.
It's kind of morbid (LOVEYOU, DELIA) to do "the year in review" as fake obituary. But I liked it very much, indeed.
update on the move.
We're despairing a little bit. Burlingame is so pretty, and our apartment so big. Why is it that every apartment we'd like to live in is in Bed-Stuy, a neighborhood that was a little too heavy on the "'hood" for my taste, if you catch my drift? Why is it that in the Brooklyn neighborhoods we want to live in, the only thing to be had for $1800 and under are studios or one bedrooms so small they cannot be fit for ex-Californians? Oh, and fine, I'll say the DUH statement: Why is Manhattan so damn expensive?
Blogwatch: awesomeness.
I love this woman's blog: The day to day, semi-normal life of a female Marine. She is smart, she is funny, she is snarky, and she is in the Marines.
She writes about the intricasies of life as a female Marine ... gender discrimination, new uniforms, having soft hair in a room full of bald men, et cetera.
And I loved her entry about the new year.
Check her out ... unless you already have since she was featured on Blogger's Blogs of Note and all.
She writes about the intricasies of life as a female Marine ... gender discrimination, new uniforms, having soft hair in a room full of bald men, et cetera.
And I loved her entry about the new year.
Check her out ... unless you already have since she was featured on Blogger's Blogs of Note and all.
sayonara, 2007!
So, Wife ended up staying on the Big Island to do New Year's at weli weli, not that I blame her, but still BOOO. But at least now the pressure is off to find a "cool enough" set of plans for NYE. Ha. Instead, Jenjen flies back from Honolulu tonight. Dave and I plan to grab dinner at some restaurant, then around 9pm-ish we're heading to Jenjen's to ring in the new year with her and Raquel. She's making hot chocolate cake (I shared the recipe but made her promise to miss me each time she made the cake, ha), we've got bubbly to drink, and we're bringing some fancy savory spreads and cheeses and such. Yumm. We'll be as slobby as we want to be, hanging off her comfy couch and watching terrible TV, like Tila Tequila's NYE special. YEAH!
Now. Onto important matters of business. No, silly, not deadlines, grad school apps and essays, and writing . . . End of the year surveys, duh. I would like to preface this end of the year survey with the disclaimer that I sometimes don’t follow directions well, and therefore can never decide on the one best in any single category.
five things that 2007 taught me:
1. As le cassandra has said for two years straight in her survey, “family really is the most important thing in life.” I count as family not only those you are born to, but those you find throughout life. And those you are lucky enough to marry into as well. I have a seriously raging crush on Dave’s grandmas … both of them.
2. Friendships can be found or forged in the most unexpected places. Thanks, Internet, for the gift of Laurel and Jeremy, Raquel, Cassie, and Brooke who somehow found me despite being in Thailand. And for all the friends who managed to stay in touch, despite the majority of the United States being between us.
3. If you want your dreams to come true, get off your ass and work towards them. Also known as “sometimes you have to throw your own parade” (thanks, Wife).
4. As I watch people crash lustily, deeply, shallowly, and sometimes quite destructively into each other all around me, I am so glad to have made it this far with Dave, and to be able to stand still together watching the trainwrecks. Ha, I sound like such a bitch, but I don’t mean it like that. I do know I wouldn’t last a day out there, in that chaos, though.
5. Writer’s block can be crippling. But I at least can uncripple myself by removing the Internet and Microsoft Word from the equation, at least until I have enough of a start to need to access Wikipedia for serious research.
five personally significant events of 2007:
1. our wedding
2. Lapa’s passing away
3. getting my tattoo.
4. Part A: hearing that we were moving back to New York. Part B: telling Wifey that we were moving back to New York, and witnessing her symptoms of aphasia from excitement. Part C: telling Jenjen that we were moving back to New York, and being strangely surprised and quite moved by how much she was going to miss us. I mean, shit, I love the girl too and was going to miss her, and I knew she’d miss us, but I didn’t know how deeply, evidently. Aww.
5. It’s now been two years since I left new york. In December 2005, I thought I would die when I left new york, mostly because I’m overly dramatic but also for several valid reasons. I totally didn’t die. In fact, I flourished. I made friends, cooked food, drank wine, explored a city, and fell even deeper in love with/got to know better a man I’ve already loved for so many years. Life was guuud. And you know what? Sometimes you do get everything you want because now I get to keep the guy and have back my city and my nyorkers! And I am even grateful for the loss of another great city, SF, and the hard-won friendships there, because it reminds me how resilient we are and how lucky.
five things i want to do in 2008:
1. hopefully get accepted into & start a MFA program in Writing.
2. Take our honeymoon, delayed a year for financial reasons, now delayed again because of our unexpected move.
3. go zip-lining.
4. visit the hot springs of Japan, and shed my clothes with my American Puritanity, like Khaliah.
5. hold strong to the joy of creating/writing.
five songs that i'll remember from 2007 (these songs may have come out before 2007, but they became important to me in 2007):
1. “How Lucky We Are,” by Meiko
2. “Konnichiwa, Bitches” by Robyn
3. “I’m Bossy,” by Kelis
4. “Love Is Red,” by (not my) David Poe
5. “Hey there, Delilah” by the Plain White Ts
And bonus #6, because I can’t follow directions? “Love Song,” by Sara Bareilles.
five people that influenced my life in 2007:
1. my mother. Always.
2. unfortunately, my father who decided to write me this year, and proceeded to write the most insipid letter that a man who hasn’t seen his 27-year-old daughter in 25 years could ever write. Seriously, man! And you call yourself a writer?!
3. my half-brother, Bluewater, who continues to amaze me with his gentleness and decentness. I hope someday we can be a more real part of each other’s lives, but right now it would hurt too many people for this to come true, so we are relegated to e-mail.
4. david, who is always interested in redefining what a life partner means, in more expansive and unexpected ways. My god is he incredible.
5. my beloved lapa-boy, may he ever rest in fuzzy peace in bunny heaven with endless carrots and yogurt treats, gentle people petting, nuzzling, and kissing him on his nose all the day long.
appearances
1. clothing item/outfit of the year: buttoned henleys. I love these things so deeply. I wore various ones with various tank tops underneath for most of the year. I would have one tattooed onto my body, except (a) that would hurt, (b) I’d be stuck with one color, and (c) I guess I’d still be naked.
2. hairstyle of the year: My sweepy, flowery, shiny wedding updo.
3. jewelry of the year: Tahitian black pearl necklace, earrings, and wedding ring. SIGH.
4. makeup product of the year: black liquid eyeliner. How did I live without it before?!
5. color of the year: green
6. car of the year: haha. I don’t know BART or Caltrain, I guess? Or Dave’s and/or Jenjen’s—as long as they are the ones driving!!
7. hottie of the year: DANI CAMPBELL, of “A Shot at Love” fame.
daily life
1. food of the year: Probably Baraka’s pistachio-encrusted baked goat cheese with honey, raisins, and spices. Forever. Ughhhh. I want some right now.
2. drink of the year: wine, wine, wine, so much of the time.
3. class of the year: Iolani ’97. I am deliberately misinterpreting this question because I have such a perfect answer for my misinterpretation. Why Iolani School, class of 1997? Because there are a bunch of them out here in northern CA with us, and it has been my absolute pleasure to get to know them and be so warmly welcomed by them. They absolutely shaped our time here in such a lovely way.
4. appliance of the year: Either our wine fridge or my automatic coffeemaker that makes me 12 cups of coffee and has it ready, scent gently billowing towards the bedroom, as I refuse to get up at 9am, 9:30am, and 10am (and okay sometimes later, depending on how much I didn’t sleep the night before).
5. recreational activity of the year: bike riding along the Bay trail.
6. best means of communication: E-MAIL, always.
7. most despised means of communication: CELL PHONE. I hate my cell phone. Except now I have my very cute “I’m bossy” ring, so I’ve started trying to answer the phone. Ha.
sentimental
1. gift of the year: My gift to myself, in remembrance: LAPA tattoo “a prayer for the wild at heart, kept in cages.”
2. holiday of the year: Christmas, which despite being non-Christmassy and involving me being so many kinds of sick, was so sweet because it was spent with family.
3. memorable moment of the year: Looking into Dave’s eyes and saying “I do.”
4. this one was missing when i copy and pasted, FYI. So … I will make a new category. (sadly, badly) memorable moment of the year: Lapa’s death, which actually had the biggest effect on me of anything else that happened.
5. miracle/blessing of the year: Coming through the loss of Lapa with Dave and the kind words of friends, family, and strangers on the Internet. It was a horrible, life-changing thing that will always mark 2007 for me, but I came full circle to not just thinking of his death but to really carefully thinking about and commemorating (see: tattoo) each and every minute of his life. I won’t pretend that I don’t still cry about him, esp. when I see beloved fuzzy animals in commercials on TV.
personal
1. embarrassing moment of the year: having a panic attack for the 48 hours preceding my wedding … and then getting to the wedding part and being absolutely fine. But knowing that the entire wedding party, my family, and dave’s family knew my business by that point. Oh well.
2. health issue of the year: the not sleeping. Gawd. If I can have nothing else for the new year, let me sleep.
3. fetish of the year: A Shot at Love.
4. phobia of the year: Having 200 people staring at me at the wedding.
5. crush of the year: The Jolie-Pitts. And Dani Campbell.
6. date of the year: May 27-30, 2007. Our pseudo-honeymoon, with all our closest friends and Dave’s adorable cousin Neily.
7. kiss of the year: After “I do,” when we made Kahu (the priest) laugh with how we went for it.
people/social
1. old friend of the year: Jenjen. Yesterday, today, always.
2. new friend of the year: (a) in life: Laurel & Jeremy. This friendship may be the most concrete and positive thing I carry away from the whole friendster/myspace* craze. (*Yes, I am now uncool. Again. As soon as I went to myspace, I learned I was supposed to be on Facebook. C’est la vie.) (b) online: le cassandra. And (c) because of how wonderful she is to my friend: Raquel.
3. best friend of the year: David. Always.
4. relative of the year: My new family, all google-billion on two sides (Poe, Padilla) of them.
5. enemy of the year: picketers in front of Planned Parenthood. Hey you, yeah you, you stupid & judgmental person … take your free speech and fucking shove it. I don’t want to hear about how you want to save my unborn children’s lives when I’m just trying to get a ladyparts annual exam. And esp. not before I’ve had my coffee.
6. reformed enemy of the year: Jo. It turns out I had her spectacularly, even phenomenally, misfigured out. I’m glad to have been enlightened and to have been given the chance to understand and love her better.
entertainment
1. musician/singer of the year: Robin (Konnichiwa Bitches), Marie Digby, and Meiko.
2. all-around celebrity of the year: Perez, Tila, and Lynne Spears (you did a bang-up job on those girls of yours, btw)
3. television show of the year: A Shot at Love, Desperate Housewives, and House.
4. website of the year: Blogger, Gmail, Wikipedia, Perez Hilton, and Craigslist. Oh, riiighhht. Like I could pick just one. Do you know how many hours a day I sit at my computer?!
5. book of the year: In my humble opinion, Haruki Murakami and Paul Auster can do no wrong. But favorite book I read this year have to be Murakami’s Sputnik Sweetheart.
6. magazine of the year: The Sun. But also Real Simple and the New Yorker.
Now. Onto important matters of business. No, silly, not deadlines, grad school apps and essays, and writing . . . End of the year surveys, duh. I would like to preface this end of the year survey with the disclaimer that I sometimes don’t follow directions well, and therefore can never decide on the one best in any single category.
five things that 2007 taught me:
1. As le cassandra has said for two years straight in her survey, “family really is the most important thing in life.” I count as family not only those you are born to, but those you find throughout life. And those you are lucky enough to marry into as well. I have a seriously raging crush on Dave’s grandmas … both of them.
2. Friendships can be found or forged in the most unexpected places. Thanks, Internet, for the gift of Laurel and Jeremy, Raquel, Cassie, and Brooke who somehow found me despite being in Thailand. And for all the friends who managed to stay in touch, despite the majority of the United States being between us.
3. If you want your dreams to come true, get off your ass and work towards them. Also known as “sometimes you have to throw your own parade” (thanks, Wife).
4. As I watch people crash lustily, deeply, shallowly, and sometimes quite destructively into each other all around me, I am so glad to have made it this far with Dave, and to be able to stand still together watching the trainwrecks. Ha, I sound like such a bitch, but I don’t mean it like that. I do know I wouldn’t last a day out there, in that chaos, though.
5. Writer’s block can be crippling. But I at least can uncripple myself by removing the Internet and Microsoft Word from the equation, at least until I have enough of a start to need to access Wikipedia for serious research.
five personally significant events of 2007:
1. our wedding
2. Lapa’s passing away
3. getting my tattoo.
4. Part A: hearing that we were moving back to New York. Part B: telling Wifey that we were moving back to New York, and witnessing her symptoms of aphasia from excitement. Part C: telling Jenjen that we were moving back to New York, and being strangely surprised and quite moved by how much she was going to miss us. I mean, shit, I love the girl too and was going to miss her, and I knew she’d miss us, but I didn’t know how deeply, evidently. Aww.
5. It’s now been two years since I left new york. In December 2005, I thought I would die when I left new york, mostly because I’m overly dramatic but also for several valid reasons. I totally didn’t die. In fact, I flourished. I made friends, cooked food, drank wine, explored a city, and fell even deeper in love with/got to know better a man I’ve already loved for so many years. Life was guuud. And you know what? Sometimes you do get everything you want because now I get to keep the guy and have back my city and my nyorkers! And I am even grateful for the loss of another great city, SF, and the hard-won friendships there, because it reminds me how resilient we are and how lucky.
five things i want to do in 2008:
1. hopefully get accepted into & start a MFA program in Writing.
2. Take our honeymoon, delayed a year for financial reasons, now delayed again because of our unexpected move.
3. go zip-lining.
4. visit the hot springs of Japan, and shed my clothes with my American Puritanity, like Khaliah.
5. hold strong to the joy of creating/writing.
five songs that i'll remember from 2007 (these songs may have come out before 2007, but they became important to me in 2007):
1. “How Lucky We Are,” by Meiko
2. “Konnichiwa, Bitches” by Robyn
3. “I’m Bossy,” by Kelis
4. “Love Is Red,” by (not my) David Poe
5. “Hey there, Delilah” by the Plain White Ts
And bonus #6, because I can’t follow directions? “Love Song,” by Sara Bareilles.
five people that influenced my life in 2007:
1. my mother. Always.
2. unfortunately, my father who decided to write me this year, and proceeded to write the most insipid letter that a man who hasn’t seen his 27-year-old daughter in 25 years could ever write. Seriously, man! And you call yourself a writer?!
3. my half-brother, Bluewater, who continues to amaze me with his gentleness and decentness. I hope someday we can be a more real part of each other’s lives, but right now it would hurt too many people for this to come true, so we are relegated to e-mail.
4. david, who is always interested in redefining what a life partner means, in more expansive and unexpected ways. My god is he incredible.
5. my beloved lapa-boy, may he ever rest in fuzzy peace in bunny heaven with endless carrots and yogurt treats, gentle people petting, nuzzling, and kissing him on his nose all the day long.
appearances
1. clothing item/outfit of the year: buttoned henleys. I love these things so deeply. I wore various ones with various tank tops underneath for most of the year. I would have one tattooed onto my body, except (a) that would hurt, (b) I’d be stuck with one color, and (c) I guess I’d still be naked.
2. hairstyle of the year: My sweepy, flowery, shiny wedding updo.
3. jewelry of the year: Tahitian black pearl necklace, earrings, and wedding ring. SIGH.
4. makeup product of the year: black liquid eyeliner. How did I live without it before?!
5. color of the year: green
6. car of the year: haha. I don’t know BART or Caltrain, I guess? Or Dave’s and/or Jenjen’s—as long as they are the ones driving!!
7. hottie of the year: DANI CAMPBELL, of “A Shot at Love” fame.
daily life
1. food of the year: Probably Baraka’s pistachio-encrusted baked goat cheese with honey, raisins, and spices. Forever. Ughhhh. I want some right now.
2. drink of the year: wine, wine, wine, so much of the time.
3. class of the year: Iolani ’97. I am deliberately misinterpreting this question because I have such a perfect answer for my misinterpretation. Why Iolani School, class of 1997? Because there are a bunch of them out here in northern CA with us, and it has been my absolute pleasure to get to know them and be so warmly welcomed by them. They absolutely shaped our time here in such a lovely way.
4. appliance of the year: Either our wine fridge or my automatic coffeemaker that makes me 12 cups of coffee and has it ready, scent gently billowing towards the bedroom, as I refuse to get up at 9am, 9:30am, and 10am (and okay sometimes later, depending on how much I didn’t sleep the night before).
5. recreational activity of the year: bike riding along the Bay trail.
6. best means of communication: E-MAIL, always.
7. most despised means of communication: CELL PHONE. I hate my cell phone. Except now I have my very cute “I’m bossy” ring, so I’ve started trying to answer the phone. Ha.
sentimental
1. gift of the year: My gift to myself, in remembrance: LAPA tattoo “a prayer for the wild at heart, kept in cages.”
2. holiday of the year: Christmas, which despite being non-Christmassy and involving me being so many kinds of sick, was so sweet because it was spent with family.
3. memorable moment of the year: Looking into Dave’s eyes and saying “I do.”
4. this one was missing when i copy and pasted, FYI. So … I will make a new category. (sadly, badly) memorable moment of the year: Lapa’s death, which actually had the biggest effect on me of anything else that happened.
5. miracle/blessing of the year: Coming through the loss of Lapa with Dave and the kind words of friends, family, and strangers on the Internet. It was a horrible, life-changing thing that will always mark 2007 for me, but I came full circle to not just thinking of his death but to really carefully thinking about and commemorating (see: tattoo) each and every minute of his life. I won’t pretend that I don’t still cry about him, esp. when I see beloved fuzzy animals in commercials on TV.
personal
1. embarrassing moment of the year: having a panic attack for the 48 hours preceding my wedding … and then getting to the wedding part and being absolutely fine. But knowing that the entire wedding party, my family, and dave’s family knew my business by that point. Oh well.
2. health issue of the year: the not sleeping. Gawd. If I can have nothing else for the new year, let me sleep.
3. fetish of the year: A Shot at Love.
4. phobia of the year: Having 200 people staring at me at the wedding.
5. crush of the year: The Jolie-Pitts. And Dani Campbell.
6. date of the year: May 27-30, 2007. Our pseudo-honeymoon, with all our closest friends and Dave’s adorable cousin Neily.
7. kiss of the year: After “I do,” when we made Kahu (the priest) laugh with how we went for it.
people/social
1. old friend of the year: Jenjen. Yesterday, today, always.
2. new friend of the year: (a) in life: Laurel & Jeremy. This friendship may be the most concrete and positive thing I carry away from the whole friendster/myspace* craze. (*Yes, I am now uncool. Again. As soon as I went to myspace, I learned I was supposed to be on Facebook. C’est la vie.) (b) online: le cassandra. And (c) because of how wonderful she is to my friend: Raquel.
3. best friend of the year: David. Always.
4. relative of the year: My new family, all google-billion on two sides (Poe, Padilla) of them.
5. enemy of the year: picketers in front of Planned Parenthood. Hey you, yeah you, you stupid & judgmental person … take your free speech and fucking shove it. I don’t want to hear about how you want to save my unborn children’s lives when I’m just trying to get a ladyparts annual exam. And esp. not before I’ve had my coffee.
6. reformed enemy of the year: Jo. It turns out I had her spectacularly, even phenomenally, misfigured out. I’m glad to have been enlightened and to have been given the chance to understand and love her better.
entertainment
1. musician/singer of the year: Robin (Konnichiwa Bitches), Marie Digby, and Meiko.
2. all-around celebrity of the year: Perez, Tila, and Lynne Spears (you did a bang-up job on those girls of yours, btw)
3. television show of the year: A Shot at Love, Desperate Housewives, and House.
4. website of the year: Blogger, Gmail, Wikipedia, Perez Hilton, and Craigslist. Oh, riiighhht. Like I could pick just one. Do you know how many hours a day I sit at my computer?!
5. book of the year: In my humble opinion, Haruki Murakami and Paul Auster can do no wrong. But favorite book I read this year have to be Murakami’s Sputnik Sweetheart.
6. magazine of the year: The Sun. But also Real Simple and the New Yorker.
Sunday, December 30, 2007
outsourcing to India.
I've often joked that we outsource everything to India . . . and now I'm not even kidding.As we sat around drinking coffee and messing around on the Internet this morning, Dave read aloud the following headine: World Outsources Pregnancies to India. The article details a small clinic at Kaival Hospital that "matches infertile couples with local women, cares for the women during pregnancy and delivery, and counsels them afterward." The clinic employs maids, cooks, and doctors to care for the women, who live together in a house, growing foreigners' babies.
I especially enjoyed this detail: "The young mothers of Anand, a place famous for its milk, are pregnant with the children of infertile couples from around the world" (emphasis added).
According to the article, the surrogate women are compensated generously, at least in terms of India's economy. For nine months of carrying and then delivering a healthy baby to term, these women earn more than most of them would be able to make in fifteen years. And for infertile couples in the West, the entire process is thousands of dollars cheaper than it would be for a comparable service within the United States.
However, the article points out: "But the program raises a host of uncomfortable questions that touch on morals and modern science, exploitation and globalization, and that most natural of desires: to have a family."
I so enjoyed the article. The whole concept is rife with fascinating problems to think through. Indeed, are we in the more priviliged West taking advantage of the economic needs of poorer women? Or is it a boon that a young woman in India can give a desperately desired child to an infertile couple in the West? Are we rewiring humanity by programming Indian women to ignore whatever "maternal instinct" and relationship that develops (if any?) between the pregnant woman and the fetus within by counseling women to "think of the pregnancy as 'someone's child comes to stay at your place for nine months'"? Is there such a thing as "maternal instinct"? Is it nature or nurture that turns a woman with essentially a foreign growth in her uterus into a "mother" with the accompanying instincts and behaviors? And really, should we have our panties so in a twist about all this? How different is this, really, from adoption, wherein women who physically are able to bear children yet who financially or emotionally are not able to raise them give up children to couples who desperately want them?
Dr. John Lantos of the Center for Practical Bioethics in Kansas City, MO, seems to find this a dangerous moment in history, pointing out the vulnerability of women in the Third World may lead them to disregard important concerns about their own health in the favor of a (relatively fast) buck. "You can picture the wealthy couples of the West deciding that pregnancy is just not worth the trouble anymore and the whole industry will be farmed out," said Lantos. (He may be right. Once upon a time, even I was weakened by the idea of how much money could be made by selling my eggs.) In another article I read recently, it was pointed out that it is not particularly the concept of bearing children for someone else but, rather, compensating someone for doing so: "It's really a bind because if you're not paying women, then you're not paying them for something that's burdensome, invasive and time-consuming," said Marcy Darnovsky, associate director of the Center for Genetics and Society. "But if you pay them, you're giving them an inducement to put themselves at risk and to discount the risks that they might know about but feel they have no other option."
So many things are being made possible with science, some of them awesome and some creepy --or at very least troubling. There may be a day and age where young women can freeze their eggs so as to bear children later in life, whenever it is most convenient, with fresh young eggs. One endocrinologist commented that someday "girls will get braces on their teeth when they turn 12, freeze their eggs when they graduate from college, and get pregnant whenever they want." One of J.D. Salinger's Glass family proposes a wonderful day in the future where we can choose if our babies have blue, green, or purple eyes, and black, white, brown, or see-through skin. Already it is possible to screen for inheritable diseases and birth defects. There is talk of the possibility to pick the gender of our children, as they lay baking in our wombs.
So many things are being made possible with science, some of them awesome and some creepy --or at very least troubling. There may be a day and age where young women can freeze their eggs so as to bear children later in life, whenever it is most convenient, with fresh young eggs. One endocrinologist commented that someday "girls will get braces on their teeth when they turn 12, freeze their eggs when they graduate from college, and get pregnant whenever they want." One of J.D. Salinger's Glass family proposes a wonderful day in the future where we can choose if our babies have blue, green, or purple eyes, and black, white, brown, or see-through skin. Already it is possible to screen for inheritable diseases and birth defects. There is talk of the possibility to pick the gender of our children, as they lay baking in our wombs.
And the heart of all of these things, of course, is just because we can, does that mean we should? Walk on the moon, genetically alter fruit, rent out our wombs, create the atom bomb (thanks, Oppenheimer), predesign our babies like customizing cars online (blue eyes here, a moonroof there)??
I even loved just the language of the article. Here are some of my favorite terms used in the article: wombs for rent, baby farms, commercial surrogacy. If Margaret Atwood hadn't already nailed this issue on the head back in 1985 with The Handmaid's Tale (and how much does that picture above make you think of that chilly story!), this would so be my Great American Novel. Oh, what the hell, it's been 27-28 years . . . maybe this will be my next short story? After all, the whole subject is quite ... wait for it, wait for it ... fertile.
Tila Tequila's myspace.
Posted Wednesday, December 19, 2007, on Tila's myspace blog:
MY DECISION FOR A SHOT AT LOVE...
So here we all are....and here I am with MY decision on who I want a shot at love with....I must tell you all that between Dani and Bobby, it was a very hard decision. In the beginning it was all fun and games, but as my feelings started to get involved, things got harder and harder and then in my mind I wish I had never signed up to do the show. Who would have thought I would fall in love with both people? So here I am with Bobby. Yes, I know a lot of you wanted me to pick Dani, and so did I.....but at the end of the day, I felt as though Dani and I became SOOOO close that I didn't want to ruin such a great friendship that we had built together. You know usually on these type of dating reality shows, things never tend to work out in the end because it gets all weird and awkward between 2 lovers....and so that is why I did not choose Dani as my lover, but as my closest friend. This way we would never have to "END" things between us. Also the fact that Dani is doing quite well for many reasons and I am happy for her: 1) She's really famous now 2) The world loves her 3) She's getting more girls throwing themselves at her then ever before in her life 4) She's really famous now. Ok so there you have it. Everyone wins......except for me I guess....I think I found love, and then the world bashes me for putting out my feelings. It was hard doing this show for me and my heart broke many times over, but I knew that this was an important journey and I knew SOMEONE had to take charge......and I guess God put it all on me. At the end of the day I just wish everyone happiness and I will never regret that I did this show. It was an experience of a lifetime and I am glad to have all of you, my friends, come along with me on the ride......cheers! LoveTila
PS-See us all together again for the REUNION show coming up next week! We are all very happy, with how things turned out...including Dani. She is pimpin now! So if we can all get along, then I hope you all can as well.....
WOW. No, really. WOW. There's a good way to start off a new relationship! Admit you picked one person because you didn't want to ever lose the other person, even if just as a friend. Two thumbs up, TT! Way to go!!
But I don't know . . . when I watched the finale and the reunion, I did believe TT fell for the Bobbynator. As she says in her superdeep letter above, what she seemed to feel for Dani was a close friendship. What she seemed to feel for Bobby was unbridled lust and cutesy giggly girly feelings.
Bah, I give them six months, tops. IN FACT . . . I think it's time for another poll! Check the sidebar for the "How Long Will They Last" poll and please come out and vote!
MY DECISION FOR A SHOT AT LOVE...
So here we all are....and here I am with MY decision on who I want a shot at love with....I must tell you all that between Dani and Bobby, it was a very hard decision. In the beginning it was all fun and games, but as my feelings started to get involved, things got harder and harder and then in my mind I wish I had never signed up to do the show. Who would have thought I would fall in love with both people? So here I am with Bobby. Yes, I know a lot of you wanted me to pick Dani, and so did I.....but at the end of the day, I felt as though Dani and I became SOOOO close that I didn't want to ruin such a great friendship that we had built together. You know usually on these type of dating reality shows, things never tend to work out in the end because it gets all weird and awkward between 2 lovers....and so that is why I did not choose Dani as my lover, but as my closest friend. This way we would never have to "END" things between us. Also the fact that Dani is doing quite well for many reasons and I am happy for her: 1) She's really famous now 2) The world loves her 3) She's getting more girls throwing themselves at her then ever before in her life 4) She's really famous now. Ok so there you have it. Everyone wins......except for me I guess....I think I found love, and then the world bashes me for putting out my feelings. It was hard doing this show for me and my heart broke many times over, but I knew that this was an important journey and I knew SOMEONE had to take charge......and I guess God put it all on me. At the end of the day I just wish everyone happiness and I will never regret that I did this show. It was an experience of a lifetime and I am glad to have all of you, my friends, come along with me on the ride......cheers! LoveTila
PS-See us all together again for the REUNION show coming up next week! We are all very happy, with how things turned out...including Dani. She is pimpin now! So if we can all get along, then I hope you all can as well.....
WOW. No, really. WOW. There's a good way to start off a new relationship! Admit you picked one person because you didn't want to ever lose the other person, even if just as a friend. Two thumbs up, TT! Way to go!!
But I don't know . . . when I watched the finale and the reunion, I did believe TT fell for the Bobbynator. As she says in her superdeep letter above, what she seemed to feel for Dani was a close friendship. What she seemed to feel for Bobby was unbridled lust and cutesy giggly girly feelings.
Bah, I give them six months, tops. IN FACT . . . I think it's time for another poll! Check the sidebar for the "How Long Will They Last" poll and please come out and vote!
Saturday, December 29, 2007
oh, Internet.
Wow. Not only are employers now looking for sketchy behavior via our Friendster and Myspace pages, now professors are checking Rate My Professor to see how they measure up.
And they're replying.
And they're replying.
web-savvy employers could seriously suck.
This scares the bejeezus out of me.
The evil side to the limitless powers of Google is revealed.
I mean, I firmly believe that if you can't bring yourself to admit you're doing something, you should probably not be doing it. But this in no way extends itself to employer's standards! If we all had to dress, behave, and conduct ourselves the way we do at work, it'd be a very buttoned-up world. Whatever happened to the notion of "Accountant by day, Bacardi by night"?!
The evil side to the limitless powers of Google is revealed.
I mean, I firmly believe that if you can't bring yourself to admit you're doing something, you should probably not be doing it. But this in no way extends itself to employer's standards! If we all had to dress, behave, and conduct ourselves the way we do at work, it'd be a very buttoned-up world. Whatever happened to the notion of "Accountant by day, Bacardi by night"?!
Khaliah on Cashmere Mafia.
Khaliah comments on my blog: "Cm* will tots rock....but would it kill america to have an educated well off black woman in New York? Damn..."
I completely agree with her. Why couldn't one of the women be a whipsmart African American writer, from the great tradition of black writers in New York (see, esp., Harlem and Brooklyn). I mean, there were entire writing movements started in NY, revolving around black traditions. Or she could be a successful TV personality, like a younger, hotter Oprah. Or she could be a whirlwind rise-to-the-top businesswoman like the ones scholars are studying here.
I mean I do think it would be a bit much if in the name of political correctness they had one African American, one Asian American, one Latina, and one Caucasian. It'd be a little too convenient or too conciliatory or too affirmative action or too something, you know? Unless that was part of the point of the show, that four racially diverse women somehow found each other in the midst of the big bad apple, or something. I mean, it's not unheard of! Look at the one writer's brunch I enjoyed while on hiatus from California. Pretty damn diverse, I'd say. Actually I'd say smart & pretty & damn diverse. Ha.
Especially because it's New York, which is known for its diversity (second only to California!). New Yorkers are of two breeds: the born-and-bred who live in the "outer" boroughs, and the ones who were born and bred anywhere else and have come to add to the diversity by making NY home. It's one the most delicious things about New York, I think. And contrary to what researchers have found in this disturbing study, which seemingly demonstrates that increased diversity makes people more paranoid about even their own race, diversity "works" in New York.
The other problem I have is in not including the dudes. My fabulous New York brunches of yesteryear were never gender segregated, thankyouverymuch. And I'm not just talking the gays, who can bond with the girls over fashion and fabulousity. What's wrong with throwing a few platonic hetero men into the mix as well?
So maybe the timing is ripe for such a TV show? Four-to-five fabulous, racially diverse, witty, successful, creative, and fashionable-but-on-a-budget ladies and gentlemen in their late twenties taking on the big bad apple. Prospective producers, please contact me for casting: I have a few people in mind.
I completely agree with her. Why couldn't one of the women be a whipsmart African American writer, from the great tradition of black writers in New York (see, esp., Harlem and Brooklyn). I mean, there were entire writing movements started in NY, revolving around black traditions. Or she could be a successful TV personality, like a younger, hotter Oprah. Or she could be a whirlwind rise-to-the-top businesswoman like the ones scholars are studying here.
I mean I do think it would be a bit much if in the name of political correctness they had one African American, one Asian American, one Latina, and one Caucasian. It'd be a little too convenient or too conciliatory or too affirmative action or too something, you know? Unless that was part of the point of the show, that four racially diverse women somehow found each other in the midst of the big bad apple, or something. I mean, it's not unheard of! Look at the one writer's brunch I enjoyed while on hiatus from California. Pretty damn diverse, I'd say. Actually I'd say smart & pretty & damn diverse. Ha.
Especially because it's New York, which is known for its diversity (second only to California!). New Yorkers are of two breeds: the born-and-bred who live in the "outer" boroughs, and the ones who were born and bred anywhere else and have come to add to the diversity by making NY home. It's one the most delicious things about New York, I think. And contrary to what researchers have found in this disturbing study, which seemingly demonstrates that increased diversity makes people more paranoid about even their own race, diversity "works" in New York.
The other problem I have is in not including the dudes. My fabulous New York brunches of yesteryear were never gender segregated, thankyouverymuch. And I'm not just talking the gays, who can bond with the girls over fashion and fabulousity. What's wrong with throwing a few platonic hetero men into the mix as well?
So maybe the timing is ripe for such a TV show? Four-to-five fabulous, racially diverse, witty, successful, creative, and fashionable-but-on-a-budget ladies and gentlemen in their late twenties taking on the big bad apple. Prospective producers, please contact me for casting: I have a few people in mind.
Actually, in my humble opinion, my idea would also make a great reality TV show. Like the Real World meets the Writer's Grotto. And you know I'd be first to sign up for that shit.
---
* Cashmere Mafia.
Friday, December 28, 2007
I should care, but . . .
So. Just give me the lazy girl version. Did something happen with the writer's strike? I care, kind of I do, but mostly I am just relieved that on January 6 I get to know what happened to Lynnette Scavo's family, who still lie buried under the rubble of the tornado that swept Fairview on 12/2/07!OH, JANUARY 6TH, I CANNOT WAIT FOR YOU!
After the 9pm showing of Desperate Housewives, I also have the premiere of Cashmere Mafia to look forward to!!
I am not a snob. I am not above loving Cashmere Mafia because of the overt reference to "Sex and the City."
I don't care if it's the same smell, different nostril (or as Dave says, same smell, different shoe). You can't create or destroy matter or greatness, so is it such a surprise that we continually recycle great things and trick ourselves into believing they are brand spanking new? No. I don't care, because look at the four gorgeous women, look at the beautiful city, and look at those fierce clothes and bags and shoes! Look at the friendship and the celebration of women in power. Who the hell cares if they make 20 shows about the subject, as long as they are well-written, smart, and provocative shows?! I'd watch any number of them, as long as they pass muster.
Anyway, Cashmere Mafia says it is different from SatC because the four women actually have to work, and they will show real live work being done. Ha. CM also won major points with me when they cast a non-white chick (Lucy Liu) as one of the major roles (I always said I was the low-budget, ethnic Carrie Bradshaw, but this is even better). And Lucy Liu being wicked, hot, and New York as they come (real New York! she's from Queens)--not to mention playing the role of a woman on top of the publishing industry--well, I can already tell she's going to be my favorite.
Oh boy! New TV to distract me from January stress!
TT's reunion sucked.
And in other totally important news . . .
* The "A Shot at Love: Final Round" (a.k.a. the Reunion) was booorrriinnnngg.
* TT and Bobby are booorrriinnnngg. TT seems "over" the show and ready to rumble with Bobby in the bedroom. If I had to watch them make out one more time, I was going to throw something at the television.
* TT's laugh is not cute.
* Yes, I am still bitter that Dani lost. Seeing her again was the highlight of the Reunion for me. And TT's reason for breaking up with her was lame. Ohhhh, it was so hard for me. You're so invested in your life in Florida and in being a firefighter, et cetera. So, what?! Geographical discrimination! What, Dani has a job and this is a bad thing? What is TT planning to do with Bobby--have him drop out of school and follow her around the world eating strange things in foreign countries?! But Dani totally brought it! TT was trying to get out of being held accountable, so she addressed the audience, "Who doesn't love Dani?!" And Dani, quite bluntly, goes "You." HAHAHAHHA. At least she got the last word.
* 63% do not believe TT and Bobby will last.
and, finally . . .
* I was RIGHT! Besides casting about for potential suitors for a new (as of yet unnamed) bisexual bachelorette, MTV is doing a spin-off with one of the cast-offs from Season 1 of "A Shot at Love"! It will be called "That's Amore!" and will feature Domenico Nesci, a.k.a. "Little Italy." In an even weirder twist, the show will also feature country schoolteacher Ashley in the role of "consiliere," a word Ashley cannot even pronounce, which essentially means Ashley will assist Domenico in finding the American girl of his dreams, thumbs up on this one, nixing that one, and so forth. It should be . . . interesting. But no doubt Domenico is a sweetheart, so good for him! Supposedly, here are the audition videos (posted via YouTube) of American gals gunning for Little Italy.
Thursday, December 27, 2007
On the advent of a new year.
TAURUS (April 20-May 20): A December story, in three chapters. [Chapter One.] [Chapter Two.] Chapter Three, in which we back away from the doomsdayish conclusion hinted at in the previous installment. So I must admit, I'm kind of hoping I scared you a bit with the last horoscope… not because I'm a sadistic mindfucker, but because I wanted to motivate you to make this moment matter in the grand scheme of your entire life's trajectory. At this pivotal turning point, I ached to hear you declare: 'I'm choosing the wild unruly adventure over the security of always knowing how tomorrow will turn out—because, frankly, it's way more exciting!' I aimed to stir you up, so you'd stop dragging your feet… and start embodying the qualities of your monumental dream (whatever it may be) about what your life might mean, if you put your heart and soul into it. Did I succeed? Yes, you Tauruses tend to move slower than many. But there isn't ample time in a single lifetime to test out every step for a few years each, just to make sure it'll bear your weight before hopping to the next. Sometimes, you've got to leap on faith, knowing that, should the stepping stone begin to sink or the ice to crack, you're resourceful enough to hop back to the last, should you need to save yourself. Trust that knack for 'always being okay', as it serves you well. Let it be your safety valve. You are so close to making a big commitment toward some moral imperative, which compels you to do it or quit whining about it in no uncertain terms. Double-check the other alternatives one last time, just to be sure. Address the pesky little questions (though, ultimately, many of these are red herrings, attempting to lure you away from the big-picture goalposts, most likely out of fear), then move past 'em. Don't hurry the decision, due to some pushy individual's undue influence in one direction or another. Dare you get caught on one forceful opinion or pesky detail, you'll overlook the main point: your long-term happiness, not merely what's easiest now. That's a point worth betting everything on. I will be taking next week off, people. Your next horoscopes will be posted on Dec 31 07.
Thank you, Astrobarry.
As we inch our way towards the end of 2007, I notice a reoccuring theme. It is to dare to dream big . . . and then to actually, actively, pursue and live those dreams. This idea that we are the only ones who have the power to hold ourselves back. It sounds idealistic, naive, simple-minded, and it even looks that way on paper.
"Our deepest fear is not that we are inadequate. Our deepest fear is that we are powerful beyond measure. It is our light not our darkness that most frightens us. We ask ourselves, who am I to be brilliant, gorgeous, talented and fabulous? Actually, who are you not to be? You are a child of God. Your playing small does not serve the world. There's nothing enlightened about shrinking so that other people won't feel insecure around you. We were born to make manifest the glory of God that is within us. It's not just in some of us; it's in everyone. And as we let our own light shine, we unconsciously give other people permission to do the same. As we are liberated from our own fear, our presence automatically liberates others. —Marianne Williamson, from A Return to Love, Harper Collins, 1992
Everyone has heard or read this quote, whether it was attributed to Marianne Williamson or Nelson Mandela, or simply because they watched Coach Carter or Akeelah and the Bee or some other "inspiring" movie about rising up and out of one's (more humble) circumstances. And we think sure, easy to say but not so easy to do. We think that our decisions and dreams and choices are our own, but they are also not, because they ripple outward in consequence, like the cliche and/or "chaos theory" idea that the singular ripple of a butterfly's wings can upset a balance and effect change half a world away. I can decide to move across the country, to take up graduate school, to pursue a writer's life, to be closer to some of the people that have changed my life for the better, and to live in some of the greatest cities in the world . . . but it is not without the consequence of largely leaving other ways of being, other lives, other choices, and friends and family.
It isn't easy. No one said it was or would be. Not even Marianne Williamson, who goes on to say:
"What happened to my generation is that we never grew up. The problem isn’t that we’re lost or apathetic, narcissistic or materialistic. The problem is we’re terrified. A lot of us know we have what it takes—the looks, the education, the talent, the credentials. But in certain areas, we’re paralyzed. We’re not being stopped by something on the outside, but by something on the inside. Our oppression is internal. The government isn’t holding us back, or hunger or poverty. We’re not afraid we’ll get sent to Siberia. We’re just afraid, period. Our fear is free-floating. We’re afraid this isn’t the right relationship or we’re afraid it is. We’re afraid they wont like us or we’re afraid they will. We’re afraid of failure or we’re afraid of success. We’re afraid of dying young or we’re afraid of growing old. We’re more afraid of life than we are of death." (p. 5)
It's that last line that gets me: "We’re more afraid of life than we are of death." Living afraid is not the way to live. Similarly, "a life lived in fear is a life half lived" goes the tagline for one of my favorite dance movies of all time, Strictly Ballroom.
Now some people don't have the luxury, I would be remiss not to admit that. For example, I have a few friends who cannot disimbed themselves from their families, because their families so deeply rely on them. There is no one else. There are health crises, and dependent family members, and bills to pay, and multiple recent deaths in the family. Or, on the other hand, there are babies to support before dreams may be pursued. In some cases, it is both. For these people, I absolutely believe the saying "it is easier to leave than it is to stay" about Hawai'i.
But while I can, before my own responsibilities catch up with me, before I have to make those kinds of hard decisions . . . well, who am I not to at least try to live my dreams? Who am I to dream small? It hurts me and those I leave to leave, but at the same time no one I love would want less for me. It would be easy to draw a line in the sand, to say I should move home, pop out some babies, save for a permanent home and for retirement, have dinner with our folks at least once a week, be there as my friends' babies are born and raised, knit a life and a community about me. It would be easier to do those things than it is to put my neck out there, to take my heart and stick it tangibly and nakedly on paper when I write, to apply for a future that may very well reject me. It would be easier to do those things than to keep telling myself this dream of mine--and other dreams, like living abroad, or being a travel writer, or publishing the writing I do, or teaching creative writing to people who actually want to learn, or having a lifestyle that surrounds me with travel and books and words and affords me time to write--is as important to my life as any other I've already made: leaving home, going to college, not having our baby, not moving home.
As Delia often points out, what would--and could--this world be, if we all put ourselves out there? And as my own dear Wife constantly reminds me, sometimes in life you have to throw your own parade. As her alterego, von Hottie, continues to take over the world, Laura muses: "I think I keep doing this von Hottie stuff just to see how far it can go. How long will it take before someone calls me out on it? When they do I will laugh and laugh and laugh. And if they don't, I will be rich and famous and then the joke will be on them. Mua ha ha ha ha."
How inspiring and how true! What if we all just threw ourselves into living? What if we lived so hard and so full and so dreamy that by the time we died we were ready to--because we'd exhausted the full extent of possibilities and were ready for the Big Nap-a in the Sky? What if in doing so, we gave some silent permission to someone who was waiting for it, unknowingly, to let their own light shine? What if we were not afraid, and our bravery inspired others to let go of their fears? What if, what if . . .
To 2008, then. May we all be unafraid and unabashed in our living.
Thank you, Astrobarry.
As we inch our way towards the end of 2007, I notice a reoccuring theme. It is to dare to dream big . . . and then to actually, actively, pursue and live those dreams. This idea that we are the only ones who have the power to hold ourselves back. It sounds idealistic, naive, simple-minded, and it even looks that way on paper.
"Our deepest fear is not that we are inadequate. Our deepest fear is that we are powerful beyond measure. It is our light not our darkness that most frightens us. We ask ourselves, who am I to be brilliant, gorgeous, talented and fabulous? Actually, who are you not to be? You are a child of God. Your playing small does not serve the world. There's nothing enlightened about shrinking so that other people won't feel insecure around you. We were born to make manifest the glory of God that is within us. It's not just in some of us; it's in everyone. And as we let our own light shine, we unconsciously give other people permission to do the same. As we are liberated from our own fear, our presence automatically liberates others. —Marianne Williamson, from A Return to Love, Harper Collins, 1992
Everyone has heard or read this quote, whether it was attributed to Marianne Williamson or Nelson Mandela, or simply because they watched Coach Carter or Akeelah and the Bee or some other "inspiring" movie about rising up and out of one's (more humble) circumstances. And we think sure, easy to say but not so easy to do. We think that our decisions and dreams and choices are our own, but they are also not, because they ripple outward in consequence, like the cliche and/or "chaos theory" idea that the singular ripple of a butterfly's wings can upset a balance and effect change half a world away. I can decide to move across the country, to take up graduate school, to pursue a writer's life, to be closer to some of the people that have changed my life for the better, and to live in some of the greatest cities in the world . . . but it is not without the consequence of largely leaving other ways of being, other lives, other choices, and friends and family.
It isn't easy. No one said it was or would be. Not even Marianne Williamson, who goes on to say:
"What happened to my generation is that we never grew up. The problem isn’t that we’re lost or apathetic, narcissistic or materialistic. The problem is we’re terrified. A lot of us know we have what it takes—the looks, the education, the talent, the credentials. But in certain areas, we’re paralyzed. We’re not being stopped by something on the outside, but by something on the inside. Our oppression is internal. The government isn’t holding us back, or hunger or poverty. We’re not afraid we’ll get sent to Siberia. We’re just afraid, period. Our fear is free-floating. We’re afraid this isn’t the right relationship or we’re afraid it is. We’re afraid they wont like us or we’re afraid they will. We’re afraid of failure or we’re afraid of success. We’re afraid of dying young or we’re afraid of growing old. We’re more afraid of life than we are of death." (p. 5)
It's that last line that gets me: "We’re more afraid of life than we are of death." Living afraid is not the way to live. Similarly, "a life lived in fear is a life half lived" goes the tagline for one of my favorite dance movies of all time, Strictly Ballroom.
Now some people don't have the luxury, I would be remiss not to admit that. For example, I have a few friends who cannot disimbed themselves from their families, because their families so deeply rely on them. There is no one else. There are health crises, and dependent family members, and bills to pay, and multiple recent deaths in the family. Or, on the other hand, there are babies to support before dreams may be pursued. In some cases, it is both. For these people, I absolutely believe the saying "it is easier to leave than it is to stay" about Hawai'i.
But while I can, before my own responsibilities catch up with me, before I have to make those kinds of hard decisions . . . well, who am I not to at least try to live my dreams? Who am I to dream small? It hurts me and those I leave to leave, but at the same time no one I love would want less for me. It would be easy to draw a line in the sand, to say I should move home, pop out some babies, save for a permanent home and for retirement, have dinner with our folks at least once a week, be there as my friends' babies are born and raised, knit a life and a community about me. It would be easier to do those things than it is to put my neck out there, to take my heart and stick it tangibly and nakedly on paper when I write, to apply for a future that may very well reject me. It would be easier to do those things than to keep telling myself this dream of mine--and other dreams, like living abroad, or being a travel writer, or publishing the writing I do, or teaching creative writing to people who actually want to learn, or having a lifestyle that surrounds me with travel and books and words and affords me time to write--is as important to my life as any other I've already made: leaving home, going to college, not having our baby, not moving home.
As Delia often points out, what would--and could--this world be, if we all put ourselves out there? And as my own dear Wife constantly reminds me, sometimes in life you have to throw your own parade. As her alterego, von Hottie, continues to take over the world, Laura muses: "I think I keep doing this von Hottie stuff just to see how far it can go. How long will it take before someone calls me out on it? When they do I will laugh and laugh and laugh. And if they don't, I will be rich and famous and then the joke will be on them. Mua ha ha ha ha."
How inspiring and how true! What if we all just threw ourselves into living? What if we lived so hard and so full and so dreamy that by the time we died we were ready to--because we'd exhausted the full extent of possibilities and were ready for the Big Nap-a in the Sky? What if in doing so, we gave some silent permission to someone who was waiting for it, unknowingly, to let their own light shine? What if we were not afraid, and our bravery inspired others to let go of their fears? What if, what if . . .
To 2008, then. May we all be unafraid and unabashed in our living.
hello again, dear friend.
It's been a while. What can I say, after I wrote the last entry, we went to the reunion, ate a really late dinner at Zippy's with his parents and my mom, and tried to go to sleep at Dave's parent's house. He was snoring too loud so I ended up crawling in bed with my mom in the spare bedroom for about one hour. Then, next thing I know, we're getting woken up--again--to catch a cab to the airport to head for Hilo, Hawai'i.
I had no sleep.
Again.
This was the theme of this trip home: being sick and having no sleep. Dave said it was my body telling me I actually needed a break. A break, time to sleep and relax and focus on taking care of myself rather than my intense To Do List as of late, rather than a vacation, where you spend your time rushing around trying to see things and do things and secretly viewing the people in your heart as bullet points on a checklist. It's terrible, but that is what Hawaii has come to be for me. Sometimes I fantasize about coming back but skipping O'ahu . . . just going straight to Kaua'i or even better Moloka'i or something. Somewhere where I know no one and no one knows me.
The lack of sleep was being headcold sick, or sick to my stomach, or nervous, or unable to breathe from a stuffed head, or other people's snoring, or the bright chirping of the coqui frogs, or the chickens that didn't know they were supposed to only crow at dawn, or the people who were partying Christmas in hardcore next door--the latter two mediated only by the heaviness of the Hilo rain. Take your pick.
So. Hilo. When they call it a "sleepy town," they mean it. We (Poes, mom, Dave, and I) arrived on Sunday, went to Dave's Grandma's house, took the short tour, and then took a nap. A, like, three hour nap. Then we got up and went to his best friend Levi's house, drank copious amounts of beer, sang/played ukulele/played guitar, and played so much Wii my arm hurt for a few days afterward. It was lovely, if exhausting. We got there around 2pm, our parents left around 9pm, and we were still going a few hours later . . . before we crashed in Levi's spare bedroom. And being around Dave and Levi is how I imagine it is like for others to be around Wife and I. At some point, it exhausts even the most stalwart with how many stories they share that you still don't know, how many inside jokes, et cetera. Ahh, but whatever, I could see how much they were enjoying this moment in time together, so I kept on keeping on and called it karma for how I am with Laura.
The next day was Christmas Eve. It was a loooooooooong day. Relatives were coming over all day long to talkstory and/or meet me, if they hadn't already met me at the wedding. Or remeet me. It was CRAZY. We sat outside and talked the whole day long. When they finally cleared out in the late afternoon, I had to go take a nap, and thus missed another couple relatives who came for a late lunch. Intense, dude. But it was okay, because they came back for dinner. Ha.
Tuesday was Christmas. I woke up after barely sleeping through the night, and we were supposed to go to breakfast. I could barely hold myself upright without feeling nauseated, but I hid it because this was supposed to be my mom's offering to the family: breakfast at the famous Ken's House of Pancakes. So I pulled it together, put on a festive green shirt, and headed out into the Hilo rain. I had delicious coconut pancakes, which had coconut meat in them, shredded coconut and powdered sugar on top, and coconut syrup on the side. Not to mention other choices of syrup like guava, liliko'i (passionfruit), strawberry, and maple. YUM. If you're ever in Hilo, you should totally go there because Ken's is delicious, 24-hours, and something fun to do. It sucked, though, because I was still feeling so ill I could barely make a dent. Then Dave's parents attempted to give us a tour of Hilo town, but I was feeling so ill I told Dave to postpone it, and we went home to Hilo and--I'll give you two guesses here--
yep. took a nap.
After I woke, Dave's father, David II, tenderly felt my head and gravely said, "You pooor ting. You really sick." I looked up, nodding, hungry for sympathy, because I am a big baby when I'm sick. And then he said, "You get Hilo fevah." And then I realized he was teasing me. Ha. So much for sympathy, then. He went on to explain that Hilo was veeerrrry slow-paced and he could barely keep his eyes open when he and Dave's mom came home to visit.*
Anyway, I perked up after that three-hour nap, and we headed back out into the day, visiting Big Island Candies and Mauna Loa (now owned by Hershey's). The former was amazingly posh for being set in the middle of nowhere, Hilo town, with glass windows where you could watch the delectables being made, glorious holiday decorations, and every manner of tropical deliciousness--quite closely reminiscent of the fancy-dancy chocolate shops they were opening up in New York before I left (such as the Chocolate Room and Jacques Torres). Then we went sight-seeing through Hilo town, including Coconut Island and the related park, past old houses the Padillas had lived in, to the graveyard to say wassup to Hilo Grandpa, and to Rainbow Falls. My Dave (Dave III), as you can imagine, was snapping pictures with our Nikkon in earnest throughout all of this, despite the ever-present Hilo clouds and rain. We did dinner at Grandma's house again, then talked story till late. Grandma also bequeathed us a million things she'd been saving for Dave, things she made, but things we unfortunately don't really have room for right now, considering our move east will definitely put us back into a smaller living situation. We are now the proud owners of about five or so patchwork or yarn blankets, a crocheted table runner and placemat thingies, two baby blankets (you read that right), a dinner plate set, a cut glass punch bowl with matching cups, oven mitts, over the oven handle hanging towels, and two plastic bag storage bags. I drew my line at the knit toilet seat covers.
It's hard. This is Dave's legacy, you know? In even one generation from now, I doubt many grandchildren will have baby blankets that their own grandmothers made them because learning to knit, sew, quilt, and so forth was not baby boomer priorities. So I didn't want to be the bitchy new wife who only wants a stylish home with Crate & Barrel plates and West Elm blankets and throw pillows. At the same time, while I appreciate that aesthetic (and it was all over Grandma's house!), it is not me. And it is not us. So the solution for now is that we carefully folded and tenderly placed everything in a storage box for later.
Anyway, that was the trip home in probably too much detail. We left the next morning at 7am, had tender goodbyes with Hilo Grandma and Nana Rose. I adore his family and feel like the Evil Witch for being the biggest reason Dave's moving more east than west come next month. But we're doing our very best to strike a balance: to follow our wildest dreams without forgetting where we came from, to have both roots and wings.
And that's all we can do right now.
---
* I kind of don't know what to call my new in-laws. It feels weird to call them "mom" and "dad" without making it a joke. Like, Mom to the second power or Dad squared. It's just that, well, I know who my mom is, you know? And she is always Mom. So I still call them Auntie Pat and Uncle David. Is that fucked up and bad wife-ness?
I had no sleep.
Again.
This was the theme of this trip home: being sick and having no sleep. Dave said it was my body telling me I actually needed a break. A break, time to sleep and relax and focus on taking care of myself rather than my intense To Do List as of late, rather than a vacation, where you spend your time rushing around trying to see things and do things and secretly viewing the people in your heart as bullet points on a checklist. It's terrible, but that is what Hawaii has come to be for me. Sometimes I fantasize about coming back but skipping O'ahu . . . just going straight to Kaua'i or even better Moloka'i or something. Somewhere where I know no one and no one knows me.
The lack of sleep was being headcold sick, or sick to my stomach, or nervous, or unable to breathe from a stuffed head, or other people's snoring, or the bright chirping of the coqui frogs, or the chickens that didn't know they were supposed to only crow at dawn, or the people who were partying Christmas in hardcore next door--the latter two mediated only by the heaviness of the Hilo rain. Take your pick.
So. Hilo. When they call it a "sleepy town," they mean it. We (Poes, mom, Dave, and I) arrived on Sunday, went to Dave's Grandma's house, took the short tour, and then took a nap. A, like, three hour nap. Then we got up and went to his best friend Levi's house, drank copious amounts of beer, sang/played ukulele/played guitar, and played so much Wii my arm hurt for a few days afterward. It was lovely, if exhausting. We got there around 2pm, our parents left around 9pm, and we were still going a few hours later . . . before we crashed in Levi's spare bedroom. And being around Dave and Levi is how I imagine it is like for others to be around Wife and I. At some point, it exhausts even the most stalwart with how many stories they share that you still don't know, how many inside jokes, et cetera. Ahh, but whatever, I could see how much they were enjoying this moment in time together, so I kept on keeping on and called it karma for how I am with Laura.
The next day was Christmas Eve. It was a loooooooooong day. Relatives were coming over all day long to talkstory and/or meet me, if they hadn't already met me at the wedding. Or remeet me. It was CRAZY. We sat outside and talked the whole day long. When they finally cleared out in the late afternoon, I had to go take a nap, and thus missed another couple relatives who came for a late lunch. Intense, dude. But it was okay, because they came back for dinner. Ha.
Tuesday was Christmas. I woke up after barely sleeping through the night, and we were supposed to go to breakfast. I could barely hold myself upright without feeling nauseated, but I hid it because this was supposed to be my mom's offering to the family: breakfast at the famous Ken's House of Pancakes. So I pulled it together, put on a festive green shirt, and headed out into the Hilo rain. I had delicious coconut pancakes, which had coconut meat in them, shredded coconut and powdered sugar on top, and coconut syrup on the side. Not to mention other choices of syrup like guava, liliko'i (passionfruit), strawberry, and maple. YUM. If you're ever in Hilo, you should totally go there because Ken's is delicious, 24-hours, and something fun to do. It sucked, though, because I was still feeling so ill I could barely make a dent. Then Dave's parents attempted to give us a tour of Hilo town, but I was feeling so ill I told Dave to postpone it, and we went home to Hilo and--I'll give you two guesses here--
yep. took a nap.
After I woke, Dave's father, David II, tenderly felt my head and gravely said, "You pooor ting. You really sick." I looked up, nodding, hungry for sympathy, because I am a big baby when I'm sick. And then he said, "You get Hilo fevah." And then I realized he was teasing me. Ha. So much for sympathy, then. He went on to explain that Hilo was veeerrrry slow-paced and he could barely keep his eyes open when he and Dave's mom came home to visit.*
Anyway, I perked up after that three-hour nap, and we headed back out into the day, visiting Big Island Candies and Mauna Loa (now owned by Hershey's). The former was amazingly posh for being set in the middle of nowhere, Hilo town, with glass windows where you could watch the delectables being made, glorious holiday decorations, and every manner of tropical deliciousness--quite closely reminiscent of the fancy-dancy chocolate shops they were opening up in New York before I left (such as the Chocolate Room and Jacques Torres). Then we went sight-seeing through Hilo town, including Coconut Island and the related park, past old houses the Padillas had lived in, to the graveyard to say wassup to Hilo Grandpa, and to Rainbow Falls. My Dave (Dave III), as you can imagine, was snapping pictures with our Nikkon in earnest throughout all of this, despite the ever-present Hilo clouds and rain. We did dinner at Grandma's house again, then talked story till late. Grandma also bequeathed us a million things she'd been saving for Dave, things she made, but things we unfortunately don't really have room for right now, considering our move east will definitely put us back into a smaller living situation. We are now the proud owners of about five or so patchwork or yarn blankets, a crocheted table runner and placemat thingies, two baby blankets (you read that right), a dinner plate set, a cut glass punch bowl with matching cups, oven mitts, over the oven handle hanging towels, and two plastic bag storage bags. I drew my line at the knit toilet seat covers.
It's hard. This is Dave's legacy, you know? In even one generation from now, I doubt many grandchildren will have baby blankets that their own grandmothers made them because learning to knit, sew, quilt, and so forth was not baby boomer priorities. So I didn't want to be the bitchy new wife who only wants a stylish home with Crate & Barrel plates and West Elm blankets and throw pillows. At the same time, while I appreciate that aesthetic (and it was all over Grandma's house!), it is not me. And it is not us. So the solution for now is that we carefully folded and tenderly placed everything in a storage box for later.
Anyway, that was the trip home in probably too much detail. We left the next morning at 7am, had tender goodbyes with Hilo Grandma and Nana Rose. I adore his family and feel like the Evil Witch for being the biggest reason Dave's moving more east than west come next month. But we're doing our very best to strike a balance: to follow our wildest dreams without forgetting where we came from, to have both roots and wings.
And that's all we can do right now.
---
* I kind of don't know what to call my new in-laws. It feels weird to call them "mom" and "dad" without making it a joke. Like, Mom to the second power or Dad squared. It's just that, well, I know who my mom is, you know? And she is always Mom. So I still call them Auntie Pat and Uncle David. Is that fucked up and bad wife-ness?
Saturday, December 22, 2007
ode to antibiotics.
Well. Thank god for drugs. I am totally better now, and while I'm still not getting eight hours of sleep it's because I'm too busy having fun with my friends. Last night I was really naughty and hung out with my friends Jenjen and Mahina and I drank even though I was on prescriptive drugs and probably damaged my liver or something, but damn was it a fine time anyway. We got to talking about how long we'd known each other and all the wonderful memories we share and we drank and we ate and we laughed and we scared all the other patrons at Ryan's because we were so loud and we watched Sex and the City episodes and then Jenjen's mom brought us hot chocolate and brownie bites so we ate and drank some more. Like I said, mighty fine time. PLUS before it all began, we went to Mahina's house and said hello to her husband and then FELL COMPLETELY IN LOVE--for, like, the tenth time--with her darling two-and-a-half year old, Kahea. OMG. Let it be said: I do not like little girls but I ADORE this one.
Tonight we go to Dave's ten-year high school reunion. Hopefully it will be fun. There's a lot of friends to reconnect with. Of course, it has also inspired nightmares as of late, mostly involving boys I used to kiss. The evening has potential but the jury is still out on that one.
Today we had lunch with my sometimes boss/ kind of mentor, Chris Pearce. And he just amazes me. His little pinky has lived more lives than some people do. How many people do you know that have been a rice farmer, a translator, a hippie, an Editor-in-Chief, a publisher of well-known magazines, and a sake importer? I look up to this man so hardcore.
Then on Sunday, Dave's parents, Dave, my mom, and I head to Hilo to stay with Dave's grandma "Hilo Grams." We'll be BBQing with Levi, one of Dave's best friends (his best man from the wedding, in fact), and we may even see my Wife, if we can get up to Kona-side.
This is what I'm talking about, Hawai'i. This is the kind of vacation to be having. Not sinus infections and hacking up stuff and whining like a baby because other people can sleep and it's not fair.
In other news . . . sigh. Someday, maybe not too far from now, I will be ready to be back. I will. I will be ready to be here, awake at seven and to bed by midnight. To be awoken by birds and dogs and the wind whistling its way through the trees. To go hiking and beach swimming and talking story with all the people I adore whose roots are firmly here. Fully I will be ready to go to the grocery stores and ocean and cafes and malls and everywhere see such beautiful people. I mean that. They are, deeply. Good inside and out and all that. But also in a shallow way where hot damn you just can't help checking people out, left and right, male and female. People are pretty. (This post could also be known as the ode to the tall dark drink of water on his phone in line at the bank by Star Market.) And someday after that . . . I will be ready to move home and live in a house and have some kids and walk some dogs. Someday.
We will return to our semi-regular programming after Hawai'i. Till then . . . ALOHA!
Friday, December 21, 2007
MIA
So I've been meaning to post, but then I got whacked upside the head by a nasty--I mean, nasty--head cold/flu type deal. If I ever recover, I will post a meaningful entry about the fourteen kinds of saimin/ramen/won ton min to be had in the greater Honolulu area. When you see me next, I'll probably be superskinny because I've been involuntarily put on a liquid diet by my own body.
SUCKS.
So, in short . . . I'm home in Hawaii, I'm sick, I'm miserable, I'm leaking gross stuff out my head, and all I want for Christmas is a night of perfect sleep.
Happy Holidays!
Wednesday, December 19, 2007
I can do *some* math.
So, the final results rolled in right around the time that I was mopping my heart up off the floor and composing the marathon blog entry that precedes this one.
12 total voted on "Who will Tila Tequila ultimately choose?"
5 voted for the divine Dani.
7 voted for the boy Bobby.
7+5 does indeed equal 12, but c'mon, Blogger Poller! I may have gone to Sarah Lawrence College, but even I know that 41 + 58 does not 100 make!
12 total voted on "Who will Tila Tequila ultimately choose?"
5 voted for the divine Dani.
7 voted for the boy Bobby.
7+5 does indeed equal 12, but c'mon, Blogger Poller! I may have gone to Sarah Lawrence College, but even I know that 41 + 58 does not 100 make!
Tuesday, December 18, 2007
what?! (*&^%$#*&@)
I LOVE DANI CAMPBELL. DANI-4-EVER!! DANI-4-PREZ!!!
Sadly, this may be the last time you see those words on this blog. What is UP with the TT?!
Tila's Pick? Bobby.
Season Finale = Tila minus one fan.
Really, though, TT couldn't do too wrong with her choices tonight. As much as I've been in Dani's corner 2000%, I recognize that Bobby is also a good person. The tension had me sitting on the couch biting my nails, drinking copious red wine, and muttering/yelling at the TV. I realized that the tension would continue for the better part of the hour, because no matter what there was going to be no happy ending. At the beginning of the episode, Bobby nails it on the head when he suggests that Dani and him start at opposite ends of the room, run as fast as they can, and try to smack themselves into one single person. His point was something along the lines of they are both so similar, and he could see why she liked each of them, so they should just combine themselves into one person. Oh, I don't know, it was more cleverly put in the episode. Go watch it for yourself.*
But my heart started sinking as the episode went on because of the flashbacks of Tila kissing Bobby vs. Tila kissing Dani. I believe TT when she says that she does love Dani, but she's in love with Bobby. You could see it in the kissings. Unfortunately. Tila lit up when she was around Bobby. With Dani, TT would go in for the kiss, but her heart (and mouth parts) were shyer than they were with Bobby. When TT made out with Bobby, she went in for the kill. Poor boy didn't even know what hit him. Every. Single. Time.
The finale scene at the pool on the plexiglass stage was truly heartbreaking. (I was definitely over there with my wine and my Kleenex. Seriously.) I don't know if it's the way the show is edited, or if the pauses are really that pregnant, but DANG, that is just mean. And I seriously thought that when she ran after Dani all my dreams might be coming true, and TT might be coming to her senses, and . . .
Then nope, not at all. She just was whine, whine, sniff, sniff, sob, sob trying to say goodbye to Dani. You know what? FUCK YOU, TILA. Dani got out of there because she didn't want to watch your joy in finding love with Bobby. And you cannot blame Dani for that. It's called self-preservation. But no, you have to get everything you want: Bobby and a tender goodbye with Dani. Still Dani was a pro. She must have been hurting and she must have wanted to bust out crying but she was gracious to the end. Towards Tila and Bobby. What a fucking champ.
If I can have an out-of-body experience and forget about Dani for a minute, it was pretty funny to watch Bobby's reaction. He, like, didn't react till TT asked him if he was interested the second or third time. He revealed in the "The Hangover" that he had been strategizing the quickest and best way to get off that stage without falling in the water and making a worse ass of himself, because he had assumed Dani won and that the two women would be embracing: should he try to go behind Dani or in front of her?
During "The Hangover" for this episode, both Dani and Bobby were on-hand to discuss the finale. At one point, the host asks Bobby what made him the most nervous about Dani . . . essentially what did he think Dani had that he didn't have that might hurt him in the end?
His answer? "A vagina."
So, in the end, I guess what Tila Tequila needed (that Dani couldn't give her) was PENIS. Gross. What about all that true love and she became gender blind and as the show went on she stopped seeing boy, girl, boy, girl, and just saw Dani and Bobby? As Dani quite memorably says, "Dammit, bitch! I ate testicle for you!"
I hated that on "The Hangover," the host made Dani sit there while Tila's private lovey-dovey, smoochie-woochie message played to Bobby. Dani made a gagging motion, and damn if I wasn't right there with her. How much time, by the way, elapses between when a contestant leaves the show and when "The Hangover" is filmed? Because that would be really hard to do, go on TV and get teased for losing, when your heart was still hurting.
OKAY . . . It's time for the farewell to Dani gallery . . .
Despite Tila's best efforts, Dani is the only one who both literally and figuratively "works" a pole. A firestation pole, that is.
And who can ever forget TT's very special Granny lap-dance? I know I can't.
Oooh, girl! That is some GOOD hair.
Ooohh. That hair is FIERCE. So fierce, in fact, that I might still be a fan of TT's after all.
Sadly, this may be the last time you see those words on this blog. What is UP with the TT?!
Tila's Pick? Bobby.
Season Finale = Tila minus one fan.
Really, though, TT couldn't do too wrong with her choices tonight. As much as I've been in Dani's corner 2000%, I recognize that Bobby is also a good person. The tension had me sitting on the couch biting my nails, drinking copious red wine, and muttering/yelling at the TV. I realized that the tension would continue for the better part of the hour, because no matter what there was going to be no happy ending. At the beginning of the episode, Bobby nails it on the head when he suggests that Dani and him start at opposite ends of the room, run as fast as they can, and try to smack themselves into one single person. His point was something along the lines of they are both so similar, and he could see why she liked each of them, so they should just combine themselves into one person. Oh, I don't know, it was more cleverly put in the episode. Go watch it for yourself.*But my heart started sinking as the episode went on because of the flashbacks of Tila kissing Bobby vs. Tila kissing Dani. I believe TT when she says that she does love Dani, but she's in love with Bobby. You could see it in the kissings. Unfortunately. Tila lit up when she was around Bobby. With Dani, TT would go in for the kiss, but her heart (and mouth parts) were shyer than they were with Bobby. When TT made out with Bobby, she went in for the kill. Poor boy didn't even know what hit him. Every. Single. Time.
The finale scene at the pool on the plexiglass stage was truly heartbreaking. (I was definitely over there with my wine and my Kleenex. Seriously.) I don't know if it's the way the show is edited, or if the pauses are really that pregnant, but DANG, that is just mean. And I seriously thought that when she ran after Dani all my dreams might be coming true, and TT might be coming to her senses, and . . .
Then nope, not at all. She just was whine, whine, sniff, sniff, sob, sob trying to say goodbye to Dani. You know what? FUCK YOU, TILA. Dani got out of there because she didn't want to watch your joy in finding love with Bobby. And you cannot blame Dani for that. It's called self-preservation. But no, you have to get everything you want: Bobby and a tender goodbye with Dani. Still Dani was a pro. She must have been hurting and she must have wanted to bust out crying but she was gracious to the end. Towards Tila and Bobby. What a fucking champ.
If I can have an out-of-body experience and forget about Dani for a minute, it was pretty funny to watch Bobby's reaction. He, like, didn't react till TT asked him if he was interested the second or third time. He revealed in the "The Hangover" that he had been strategizing the quickest and best way to get off that stage without falling in the water and making a worse ass of himself, because he had assumed Dani won and that the two women would be embracing: should he try to go behind Dani or in front of her?
During "The Hangover" for this episode, both Dani and Bobby were on-hand to discuss the finale. At one point, the host asks Bobby what made him the most nervous about Dani . . . essentially what did he think Dani had that he didn't have that might hurt him in the end?
His answer? "A vagina."
So, in the end, I guess what Tila Tequila needed (that Dani couldn't give her) was PENIS. Gross. What about all that true love and she became gender blind and as the show went on she stopped seeing boy, girl, boy, girl, and just saw Dani and Bobby? As Dani quite memorably says, "Dammit, bitch! I ate testicle for you!"
I hated that on "The Hangover," the host made Dani sit there while Tila's private lovey-dovey, smoochie-woochie message played to Bobby. Dani made a gagging motion, and damn if I wasn't right there with her. How much time, by the way, elapses between when a contestant leaves the show and when "The Hangover" is filmed? Because that would be really hard to do, go on TV and get teased for losing, when your heart was still hurting.
OKAY . . . It's time for the farewell to Dani gallery . . .
Awwww. Look at them, all cuddly and shit.
Despite Tila's best efforts, Dani is the only one who both literally and figuratively "works" a pole. A firestation pole, that is.And who can ever forget TT's very special Granny lap-dance? I know I can't.What I guess remains to be seen is how will Bobby fare when TT continues to be TT--posing near naked on magazine covers, etc.? Jealousy is cute for about one minute, but it gets real old, real fast. Then again sharing your girlfriend/possible wife/life partner with the world while she's nearly naked would probably get old fast too, I imagine.
As for Dani, she is now America's most eligible lesbian--and most entertainment news sites and 'zines are already saying so. They should do "A Shot at Love" starring her! Except she's not bisexual, right, forgot. Well, she should get her own damn show. Except that is not really Dani's style,** to play a dating game for the kicks of it. It was hard for her to open herself up that much, that fast, when her heart hung in the balance. TT was giving love back too but as hard as it was for TT, it was much harder for those who had to go home, empty-handed and broken-hearted.
Stay tuned for the "A Shot at Love with Tila Tequila" reunion, scheduled for this Sunday, December 23, 2007, at 10pm.
P.S. What do you think of Tila's new haircut? It's featured on "The Hangover," the previews of "The Reunion," and commercials for the NYE party she's hosting with none other than Perez Hilton! I'm not loving it . . .
. . . but it's probably a phase. In her short 26 years of life, TT's gone through a lot of hairdos. Check out my favorite below.
Ooohh. That hair is FIERCE. So fierce, in fact, that I might still be a fan of TT's after all. ---
* See, especially, the part where Dani rahwks out! Yeah! Go, Dani!
** And Dani totally has style, including plans for her own clothing line "Futch."
2.5 hours to go!
People, people, people . . . why are you voting for Bobby in my poll?! Really, I'm not pissed, just puzzled. I'm being serious. I want to understand why. I warmly, warmly welcome comments explaining how you think such a travesty will occur in 2.5 hours . . .
On strike.
As a writer myself, I fully support the fair compensation of writers.
That said, it's been six weeks, and I am hanging on a thread here. How the #$^%& am I supposed to function when the image I have in my head is of Lynette Scavo emerging from the debris of the tornado that hit Fairview and screaming like a bloody banshee because Mrs. McCluskey's house has been destoyed--and her entire family was in it!
So, what the hell happens?! Does Lynette really lose a husband and five kids?! No, Marc Cherry, no!!
And now they're taking away the Golden Globes and the Oscars?! CHRIST!!
That said, it's been six weeks, and I am hanging on a thread here. How the #$^%& am I supposed to function when the image I have in my head is of Lynette Scavo emerging from the debris of the tornado that hit Fairview and screaming like a bloody banshee because Mrs. McCluskey's house has been destoyed--and her entire family was in it!
So, what the hell happens?! Does Lynette really lose a husband and five kids?! No, Marc Cherry, no!!
And now they're taking away the Golden Globes and the Oscars?! CHRIST!!
oh my holy god.
Delia Fricken Rimer is a genius, beautiful writer person. Can we just talk about this for a minute? Have you ever read anything as beautiful as this:
"I always wanted to go back in time. To when my brother was younger, before I came along. Cos I thought everyone looked so much happier in the photos. I thought I was born at the wrong time, and I had missed out because the looks on their faces were not what I knew."
And this:
"People change over time and I know after my sister's birth and death that they were not the same, my mother, my father, my brother. I was born after it all. I had no idea. I hadn't lived through it. I was born optimistic, but raised in a house of pessimism and loss."
And, again, this:
"How can I bond with them if I didn't understand their pain? All I could do was try to identify with them. And I've been trying to do that with them all my life."
If I believed in God, I would totally say God bless her. And thank God for her.
"I always wanted to go back in time. To when my brother was younger, before I came along. Cos I thought everyone looked so much happier in the photos. I thought I was born at the wrong time, and I had missed out because the looks on their faces were not what I knew."
And this:
"People change over time and I know after my sister's birth and death that they were not the same, my mother, my father, my brother. I was born after it all. I had no idea. I hadn't lived through it. I was born optimistic, but raised in a house of pessimism and loss."
And, again, this:
"How can I bond with them if I didn't understand their pain? All I could do was try to identify with them. And I've been trying to do that with them all my life."
If I believed in God, I would totally say God bless her. And thank God for her.
What women want.
As you can see to your left, I am doing a last-minute poll of who will take Tila's heart tonight on the season finale of "A Shot at Love." And, uhmm, well . . . really?! You readers out there really think that Tila's gonna pick the Bobby-boy? Well, shit! Another good poll, I guess, would be (a) who does she pick and then (b) who does she run after and so (c) who does she really end up with, in the long run? And maybe (d) will she be single again by the time of the "A Shot at Love reunion"??
The finale last night of "I Love New York 2" only proves that (1) my reckoning is often wrong and (2) so is much of America's, because who the heck thought that New York (a.k.a. Tiffany Pollard), who has shown herself to be often shallow and materialistic, would pick the skinny, balding white boy over two delicious, chiseled, big, beautiful black men? Then again, Tailor Made did buy her nice presents. OK, OK, I'm going to be serious here for a minute . . . I do think she actually made the right choice for herself. If I can put aside who I would have picked for one second, I do see that Tailor Made has his heart in the right place and is absolutely bananas for her. The perfect metaphor was demonstrated on their last one-on-one date in Jamaica: Tailor Made was scared shitless, but he threw himself headlong off a cliff for her, because he wanted to show her that he could be anything she needed.
Look how sweet and genuine the boy is. I don't think you can fake this kind of feeling.
Despite whatever Tailor Made did to "win" New York (snitching, spitting on someone, conniving, wearing facial masks, buying her affection), nevertheless he did it for her. He was in it to win it, not to make boy friends. Dare I even say, New York went for the "nice guy."* (That is, nice to women. It ain't never nice to spit or snitch on somebody.) She proved there is a heart beating beneath that bodacious exterior. Good for her.
Check out these other videos from "I Love New York 2" (post-finale extras and interviews).
The Finale: With Commentary from Kicked-Off Guys and Some Random Chick
Buddha: She Loves Me Not
New York and Tailor Made: gettin' steamy**
Boys Will Be Boys: Having Trouble with the Competition
Tailor Made: A Look Back***
The Rawness suggested to me that he thinks Buddha got let go partially because VH1 plans to give him his own dating show next. Well, if Buddha is the guy that he was in the post-interview, the guy that he was sometimes on his blog, and not the guy he was on "I Love New York 2," I'd probably watch. I mean, he is kinda sexy, what can I say, I can be shallow too.
Is it wrong to be so invested in reality TV? Well, if it's wrong, I don't wanna be right, because it feels so good.
---
* Check out this fascinating blog entry about "nice guys" and women who say they want them, but go for jerks.
** Of which, by far, the memorable quotes were "Lemme just tell you, big things come in scrawny, skinny packages that have hair plugs" and "Who would have thought that this man was hung like a @&*^%$ racehorse?!"
*** Of which, the best quote, from New York to Tailor Made, was "See you later, Wifey." That comment followed New York's musings that Tailor Made was perfect for her because she could completely control and dominate him.
The finale last night of "I Love New York 2" only proves that (1) my reckoning is often wrong and (2) so is much of America's, because who the heck thought that New York (a.k.a. Tiffany Pollard), who has shown herself to be often shallow and materialistic, would pick the skinny, balding white boy over two delicious, chiseled, big, beautiful black men? Then again, Tailor Made did buy her nice presents. OK, OK, I'm going to be serious here for a minute . . . I do think she actually made the right choice for herself. If I can put aside who I would have picked for one second, I do see that Tailor Made has his heart in the right place and is absolutely bananas for her. The perfect metaphor was demonstrated on their last one-on-one date in Jamaica: Tailor Made was scared shitless, but he threw himself headlong off a cliff for her, because he wanted to show her that he could be anything she needed.
Look how sweet and genuine the boy is. I don't think you can fake this kind of feeling.
Despite whatever Tailor Made did to "win" New York (snitching, spitting on someone, conniving, wearing facial masks, buying her affection), nevertheless he did it for her. He was in it to win it, not to make boy friends. Dare I even say, New York went for the "nice guy."* (That is, nice to women. It ain't never nice to spit or snitch on somebody.) She proved there is a heart beating beneath that bodacious exterior. Good for her.
Check out these other videos from "I Love New York 2" (post-finale extras and interviews).
The Finale: With Commentary from Kicked-Off Guys and Some Random Chick
Buddha: She Loves Me Not
New York and Tailor Made: gettin' steamy**
Boys Will Be Boys: Having Trouble with the Competition
Tailor Made: A Look Back***
The Rawness suggested to me that he thinks Buddha got let go partially because VH1 plans to give him his own dating show next. Well, if Buddha is the guy that he was in the post-interview, the guy that he was sometimes on his blog, and not the guy he was on "I Love New York 2," I'd probably watch. I mean, he is kinda sexy, what can I say, I can be shallow too.
Is it wrong to be so invested in reality TV? Well, if it's wrong, I don't wanna be right, because it feels so good.
---
* Check out this fascinating blog entry about "nice guys" and women who say they want them, but go for jerks.
** Of which, by far, the memorable quotes were "Lemme just tell you, big things come in scrawny, skinny packages that have hair plugs" and "Who would have thought that this man was hung like a @&*^%$ racehorse?!"
*** Of which, the best quote, from New York to Tailor Made, was "See you later, Wifey." That comment followed New York's musings that Tailor Made was perfect for her because she could completely control and dominate him.
Monday, December 17, 2007
"Tailor Made" for New York.
Well, the results of the "I Love New York 2" season finale are in: Tailor Made (a.k.a. George Weisgerber, which may be The Unsexiest Name for a Man, Like, Ever) won New York (a.k.a. Tiffany Pollard's heart).Out of all these guys . . .
. . . she picked this one. 
Well, don't look at me! I don't get it either. Tailor Made does seem to adore her, and I give him props for the Manolo giving, jewlery buying, cliff diving, and snitching. He did what he had to do, as he points out in this interview. But is she truly in love with him?Well, according to this interview with Miss New York, she is. Disobeying the producer's rules, they moved in with each other after the finale wrapped in Jamaica. They took pains to be circumspect about it, driving in separate cars and dining in restaurants after they had closed, but it seems all is well with them. She says jump and he says yes please. He goes to buy toothpaste and tampons for her, but first checks which brands she prefers and so forth.
Booorrrriinnng. Stay tuned for the New York 2 reunion on January 6, 2008. Maybe she'll break up with him by then!
talk about depressing.
The rental rates make me want to throw myself off the Brooklyn Bridge, but damn isn't it pretty?!
up next on my bookshelf: MFA writer/teachers.
Everything is now about (a) the move or (b) the mfa. Forgive us here at May in the Bay if we start sounding like a broken record.
These four authors teach at one or another of the MFA programs I'm trying to apply for.* I figured I would start directing my rather concentrated reading as of late towards such authors, even though I know better than most that a great writer does not always a great teacher make. And, for that matter, vice versa.
Whatever. Anyway. To the books!
---
* I don't even want to talk about the MFA stuff too much. I'm scared I'm going to jinx myself and not get in anywhere. This is my newest and most awful nightmare.
These four authors teach at one or another of the MFA programs I'm trying to apply for.* I figured I would start directing my rather concentrated reading as of late towards such authors, even though I know better than most that a great writer does not always a great teacher make. And, for that matter, vice versa.
Whatever. Anyway. To the books!
---
* I don't even want to talk about the MFA stuff too much. I'm scared I'm going to jinx myself and not get in anywhere. This is my newest and most awful nightmare.
Sunday, December 16, 2007
from Burlingame to Brooklyn, part II.
This is the post that will now also be known as the "Trying not to rough it" post.
Here's the thing. What’s hard about moving back to an urban area is where we’ve been living for the last year. Burlingame is called “City of Trees,” based on 18,000 trees that grow within its limits. It is pretty with its tree-lined streets, its boutiques and restaurants, the Library and its elegant Spanish architecture and brand-new lion statues.* It is lovely, it is neighborly, it is bourgeoisie, and it has a gentle, plodding pace to it that is not unwelcome.
Fastforward to the last three days. The whole move is happening so fast. We have to scout places to live, sign some lease, pack, and move all within the next month … in addition to two work deadlines, my graduate school applications, and a weeklong sojourn home to Hawaii for the holidays. So, Dave and I decided to take a quick trip (under 48 hours) to New York to at least scout neighborhoods.
It was immensely helpful. We rented a car and drove the streets of Brooklyn, mapping out with pencil the areas we liked, literally down to the street or avenue. Fort Greene seemed cool east of the park to Washington Avenue, south of Myrtle, and north of De Kalb. We ruled Bed-Stuy out completely. We loved Cobble Hill, liked parts of Boerum Hill, and were so-so on Carroll Gardens. We had an absolute crush on Park Slope, and some parts of Prospect Heights. And for us—by far—Brooklyn Heights took the award for charm.
We also spoke with a couple different friends about which neighborhoods in Brooklyn they would recommend. We were also extremely lucky to be staying with two friends--a newly married couple, in fact--who have a lovely apartment in Brooklyn Heights, and over two nights of dinner got to pick their brains about what they liked about living in Brooklyn.
‘Course if you know Brooklyn at all, you probably have your own opinions. Keep in mind we were doing this within the confines of one day’s time.
And, finally, we don’t really like to “rough it.” It’s the truth.
I know that it is politically correct to disparage gentrification,** that urban renewal is hotly contested, that it is unfair to push low-income residents out of their homes to make room for yet another neighborhood of boutiques and brunch spots, and that it is even more unjust that the new residents of these neighborhoods often despair of those who are displaced, left homeless, or who turn to crime because they lack better, equitable options. I understand that the history behind neighborhoods and the diverse peoples that built them are what make the neighborhoods. I know these things and I agree with them.
Academically I agree with them. But, well, call us bourgeoisie, call us snobs, but we just don’t like to “rough it.”*** We don’t particularly care if a neighborhood has an equitable distribution of ethnicities, we just want to feel safe to walk the streets as a lone woman, or as a man coming home from work at all kinds of weird hours. Sometimes I think that the people who can afford to really take a stand about gentrification are the ones that grew up without the experience of being poor. Like the example of many of the flower children of the 1960s, children of privilege who chose to reject their backgrounds and upbringing. But if you’ve gone without and can afford better, you take every opportunity to remove yourself from that kind of environment.
We’re due back in Brooklyn sometime in early January, to finish scouting about and sign a lease. Hopefully our recon mission will help us make a more informed decision.
Now if only we could map our way around winter and find something in Brooklyn Heights for less than $1800.
--
* Indeed, after the NY Public Library’s iconic lions.
** Whoa. I found a dude who was anti-anti gentrification: http://www.robertscottleyse.com/abouttheauthor_eastvillagenyc.htm.
*** It is okay if you kind of hate me for this. I kind of hate this about myself, but nevertheless there it is: the truth.
Here's the thing. What’s hard about moving back to an urban area is where we’ve been living for the last year. Burlingame is called “City of Trees,” based on 18,000 trees that grow within its limits. It is pretty with its tree-lined streets, its boutiques and restaurants, the Library and its elegant Spanish architecture and brand-new lion statues.* It is lovely, it is neighborly, it is bourgeoisie, and it has a gentle, plodding pace to it that is not unwelcome.
Fastforward to the last three days. The whole move is happening so fast. We have to scout places to live, sign some lease, pack, and move all within the next month … in addition to two work deadlines, my graduate school applications, and a weeklong sojourn home to Hawaii for the holidays. So, Dave and I decided to take a quick trip (under 48 hours) to New York to at least scout neighborhoods.
It was immensely helpful. We rented a car and drove the streets of Brooklyn, mapping out with pencil the areas we liked, literally down to the street or avenue. Fort Greene seemed cool east of the park to Washington Avenue, south of Myrtle, and north of De Kalb. We ruled Bed-Stuy out completely. We loved Cobble Hill, liked parts of Boerum Hill, and were so-so on Carroll Gardens. We had an absolute crush on Park Slope, and some parts of Prospect Heights. And for us—by far—Brooklyn Heights took the award for charm.
We also spoke with a couple different friends about which neighborhoods in Brooklyn they would recommend. We were also extremely lucky to be staying with two friends--a newly married couple, in fact--who have a lovely apartment in Brooklyn Heights, and over two nights of dinner got to pick their brains about what they liked about living in Brooklyn.
‘Course if you know Brooklyn at all, you probably have your own opinions. Keep in mind we were doing this within the confines of one day’s time.
And, finally, we don’t really like to “rough it.” It’s the truth.
I know that it is politically correct to disparage gentrification,** that urban renewal is hotly contested, that it is unfair to push low-income residents out of their homes to make room for yet another neighborhood of boutiques and brunch spots, and that it is even more unjust that the new residents of these neighborhoods often despair of those who are displaced, left homeless, or who turn to crime because they lack better, equitable options. I understand that the history behind neighborhoods and the diverse peoples that built them are what make the neighborhoods. I know these things and I agree with them.
Academically I agree with them. But, well, call us bourgeoisie, call us snobs, but we just don’t like to “rough it.”*** We don’t particularly care if a neighborhood has an equitable distribution of ethnicities, we just want to feel safe to walk the streets as a lone woman, or as a man coming home from work at all kinds of weird hours. Sometimes I think that the people who can afford to really take a stand about gentrification are the ones that grew up without the experience of being poor. Like the example of many of the flower children of the 1960s, children of privilege who chose to reject their backgrounds and upbringing. But if you’ve gone without and can afford better, you take every opportunity to remove yourself from that kind of environment.
We’re due back in Brooklyn sometime in early January, to finish scouting about and sign a lease. Hopefully our recon mission will help us make a more informed decision.
Now if only we could map our way around winter and find something in Brooklyn Heights for less than $1800.
--
* Indeed, after the NY Public Library’s iconic lions.
** Whoa. I found a dude who was anti-anti gentrification: http://www.robertscottleyse.com/abouttheauthor_eastvillagenyc.htm.
*** It is okay if you kind of hate me for this. I kind of hate this about myself, but nevertheless there it is: the truth.
from Burlingame to Brooklyn, part I.
Here is the story of what I was going to write a few days ago, before our whirlwind minitrip through Brooklyn, trying to find somewhere to live . . .
Despite having lived in New York for the better part of eight years*, my preconceived notions about Brooklyn were many. Brooklyn was a place I would go when I had someone else to lead me there. The majority of times I went there (which I could probably count on ten fingers or less) involved illegal screenings of "Sex and the City" at the Blah-Blah Lounge. What little sense of direction I had regarding Brooklyn was most often rendered obsolete in the face of the many martinis consumed at the Blah-Blah. I had some vague ideas about more closet space, lower rents, and higher crime.**
Nevertheless, when JAL let us know that Dave got transferred to JFK, we started looking--almost exclusively--at living in Brooklyn.
You might ask why. And I would tell you that it will be easier for Dave to get to work on public transportation. That, indeed, there seems to be marginally more closet space and less rent than Manhattan proper. That I have no idea really about the crime and so that we're hoping for the best. That our combined relative ignorance regarding Brooklyn will mean that Dave and I can explore it together; instead of returning us both to "my New York," we can discover a new New York that is ours together.
But finally I would mention that I am just grateful to be back at all, to be living anywhere in the metro area. New Yorkers are so easily jaded, drawing lines like "I will never live in Brooklyn" or "I will never live in Jersey" and so forth, but they forget that they are living not only their dreams but also dreams belonging to people all over the U.S. and the world, many of whom--financially, career-wise, and for a variety of other considerations and limitations--never have the opportunity to live in NY. To me it is a dream to be back at all, for however long and by whichever means.
---
* Various parts, mind you, including Bronxville, Astoria, and Manhattan.
** Thanks, Frank. Feeling strong, feeling strong ...
Despite having lived in New York for the better part of eight years*, my preconceived notions about Brooklyn were many. Brooklyn was a place I would go when I had someone else to lead me there. The majority of times I went there (which I could probably count on ten fingers or less) involved illegal screenings of "Sex and the City" at the Blah-Blah Lounge. What little sense of direction I had regarding Brooklyn was most often rendered obsolete in the face of the many martinis consumed at the Blah-Blah. I had some vague ideas about more closet space, lower rents, and higher crime.**
Nevertheless, when JAL let us know that Dave got transferred to JFK, we started looking--almost exclusively--at living in Brooklyn.
You might ask why. And I would tell you that it will be easier for Dave to get to work on public transportation. That, indeed, there seems to be marginally more closet space and less rent than Manhattan proper. That I have no idea really about the crime and so that we're hoping for the best. That our combined relative ignorance regarding Brooklyn will mean that Dave and I can explore it together; instead of returning us both to "my New York," we can discover a new New York that is ours together.
But finally I would mention that I am just grateful to be back at all, to be living anywhere in the metro area. New Yorkers are so easily jaded, drawing lines like "I will never live in Brooklyn" or "I will never live in Jersey" and so forth, but they forget that they are living not only their dreams but also dreams belonging to people all over the U.S. and the world, many of whom--financially, career-wise, and for a variety of other considerations and limitations--never have the opportunity to live in NY. To me it is a dream to be back at all, for however long and by whichever means.
---
* Various parts, mind you, including Bronxville, Astoria, and Manhattan.
** Thanks, Frank. Feeling strong, feeling strong ...
Wednesday, December 12, 2007
Pumpkin-carving party.
Aha, at long last, here are the pictures from our pumpkin-carving party. It takes me forever to load pictures, so you can expect the ones from the Christmas party we went to a few nights ago sometime around St. Patty's Day. Ha.
Here are a good many of the finished pumpkins, in all their carved glory:
Now, here in this picture, I particularly like the juxtaposition of the pumpkins and the pumpkin beer. You will note in the pictures to follow that Dave and I are in few of the pictures, and I will freely admit that none of those pumpkins are ours. It was partially getting too caught up in host and hostessyness, but it was also the drinking, eating, schmoozing . . . we, uh, forgot to carve one ourselves! HA! No, actually, that is a total lie. We got intimidated by the sheer skill of the group involved. Dude, I'm used to carving out three triangles (eyes and nose) and a jagged line (mouth) and calling it a day. But these folks were HARDCORE!
Jenjen and Raquel went for a Polynesian tattooed haole pumpkin. It featured shark designs and fishhooks. Hands down, this is the only time in my life I have seen a tattoooed pumpkin.
Here are Tricia and Byron, two of our very intrepid pumpkin carvers, who came with pumpkin carving tools. This means "better than a big ole butcher knife." Dude, they were prepared.
Here Darryl and Gina proudly show off their surfer pumpkin. Hott.
Joanna had to go, but she took a pumpkin with her and swore she'd carve it with her boyfriend, Josh, who hadn't been able to make it to the party that night. LIAR!! I totally saw it uncarved in its gorgeous red-orange glory a few weeks later. Oh well, it was kind of a nice pumpkin intact.
Here are a good many of the finished pumpkins, in all their carved glory:
Now, here in this picture, I particularly like the juxtaposition of the pumpkins and the pumpkin beer. You will note in the pictures to follow that Dave and I are in few of the pictures, and I will freely admit that none of those pumpkins are ours. It was partially getting too caught up in host and hostessyness, but it was also the drinking, eating, schmoozing . . . we, uh, forgot to carve one ourselves! HA! No, actually, that is a total lie. We got intimidated by the sheer skill of the group involved. Dude, I'm used to carving out three triangles (eyes and nose) and a jagged line (mouth) and calling it a day. But these folks were HARDCORE!
Jenjen and Raquel went for a Polynesian tattooed haole pumpkin. It featured shark designs and fishhooks. Hands down, this is the only time in my life I have seen a tattoooed pumpkin.
Here are Tricia and Byron, two of our very intrepid pumpkin carvers, who came with pumpkin carving tools. This means "better than a big ole butcher knife." Dude, they were prepared.
Here Darryl and Gina proudly show off their surfer pumpkin. Hott.
Joanna had to go, but she took a pumpkin with her and swore she'd carve it with her boyfriend, Josh, who hadn't been able to make it to the party that night. LIAR!! I totally saw it uncarved in its gorgeous red-orange glory a few weeks later. Oh well, it was kind of a nice pumpkin intact.
Here Jeff shows off his amazing negative space pumpkin. His facial expression mimics one of the sides of his pumpkin, which all in all spelled out B-O-O-! Or, like, kinda spelled that out. If you squinted your eyes and viewed his pumpkin as Cubist art.
Suh-Young and Karen made a bad-ass spider & web pumpkin. We were very jealous. We kinda hoped they would forget the pumpkin at our house so we could lie to our neighbors and say we had made it, but no such luck.
Nina the dog looks really excited about her pumpkin, doesn't she? Tricia made it just for her.
Jeremy made a Charlie Brown pumpkin! From scratch!!
Meanwhile Laurel went for a little fish getting eaten by big fish, sideways-turned pumpkin. It was pretty bad-ass as well.
Here Byron and Mikie show off their respective jack-o-lanterns and matching grins. RUGGED!
All in all, a good time had by all. It was lovely getting to hang out with so many fun people. But most of all, it was downright incredible that they all fit into our apartment at the same time . . . and amazingly mostly around the food table. Hawaii people, go figure . . .
Suh-Young and Karen made a bad-ass spider & web pumpkin. We were very jealous. We kinda hoped they would forget the pumpkin at our house so we could lie to our neighbors and say we had made it, but no such luck.
Nina the dog looks really excited about her pumpkin, doesn't she? Tricia made it just for her.
Jeremy made a Charlie Brown pumpkin! From scratch!!
Meanwhile Laurel went for a little fish getting eaten by big fish, sideways-turned pumpkin. It was pretty bad-ass as well.Here Byron and Mikie show off their respective jack-o-lanterns and matching grins. RUGGED!
All in all, a good time had by all. It was lovely getting to hang out with so many fun people. But most of all, it was downright incredible that they all fit into our apartment at the same time . . . and amazingly mostly around the food table. Hawaii people, go figure . . .
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)
All rights reserved by author. In other words, NO STEAL. My watchdog (grrrrooowl) is Sitemeter, feel free to check me out.
