Always looking for an opportunity to avoid spending time with my family, I was elated to spend my first Christmas living in San Francisco actually in San Francisco! Wahoo. (Berkeley counts as San Francisco. And by "Berkeley" I mean "Wendy's house in Oakland." Shut up.)
My mother went to Taiwan because my grandfather on that side had some surgery, and my dad went to join her shortly after my brother's kid was born. My mother called me yesterday to say "Merry Christmas" and ask me if I am exercising. Well, a better way to put that would be to say that she called to ask me if I am exercising, but she said "Merry Christmas" in front of it to make it seem like she was just making conversation.
It's always vaguely insulting (...scratch the word "vaguely") and never unexpected, no matter how she tries to slip it in, but it's somehow worse when she asks me in Chinese. I think it's because the second character in the phrase for exercising, "yuen dong," is the word for movement in general. It thus always sounds as though she's asking if I have the ability to move, or whether my raging obesity has yet gotten to the point where my fat weighs my arm down such that I have been rendered incapable of reaching for the remote while spoon-feeding myself mayonnaise in my underwear.*
Of course, I do realize that that's not what "yuen dong" actually means. I realize that all she's asking is if I'm doing anything to combat my horrendously disgusting weight problem. You know, taking any steps to address my flagrantly self-destructive lack of self-consciousness about my appearance.
So, thank you Samin for the "How to Ride a Tiger" books, thank you Nichole for the book on Edith Head, thank you Wendy for the clothes, thank you Kevin for the Netflix subscription, and thank you Mom for reminding me why I'm so glad that I didn't put myself through two weeks of the same ol' shit this year.
* - I would hypothetically be in my underwear because presumably I would be too fat to go through the effort of getting fully dressed. Also, fat makes you hot.
Monday, December 25, 2006
Sunday, December 17, 2006
me gone stoopid? Leftist Propaganda
So those of you who know me know that I've got some screwed up problems with my body. Those of you who've lived with me have probably been coerced into jamming your elbow into my left shoulder blade at various points in your life. One of you in particular has ground me with a mortar (...or pestle...I never remember which part is which), which was AWESOME but you got tired fast.
I notice that my tendency to hugely favor my right side like a non-illegitimate eldest son is especially prominent when I sit at the sewing machine, or when I'm on my computer. These two positions have dominated my daily range of motion as of late, and while there's nothing really to be done about the sewing machine problem (clearly, there was a bias when Elias Howe invented the thing. Prejudiced right-handed bastard), I have switched my mouse over to left-handed buttons.
It's already begun to make a difference in the way that I sit at the computer, up straight instead of leaning on my left elbow with my slack-jawed face cradled on my left hand while my right hand does the mousing. However, there may be consequences I failed to consider before taking this on.
I first began to notice a problem when playing my new favorite computer game, Bookworm Adventures. Basically, it's RPG Scrabble with quirky design and writing and also it is the best game ever in the history of the world. But I switched the mouse from right- to left- handed buttons when I was in the middle of the epic saga that is Adventure Mode of this game, and all of a sudden noticed a marked change in my wordmastering ability. Check out a side by side comparison of some of the words from the score records:
Right-handed:
Ridiculous
Motivation
Titanium (there is a hammer you can acquire which deals extra damage for spelling words to do with metal. As I said, awesome.)
Acrophobia
Sanguines
Left-Handed:
tricks
slug
tan (there is a tome that does bonus damage for color words. This still didn't do as much as I might have hoped.)
pear
pears
teal
It occurs to me that the left- and right- sides of the brain control operations on the opposite side of the body, and that they say that different sides of the brain control different types of thought or skill as well. Artistic and/or creative people, for instance, are said to be "right-brained." And, as it is the right side of my brain that is now being exercised by putting my left hand to work, I fully expect my magical painting ability to increase tenfold. Any day now. Or I'll start to write real good. You'll see. It's start. Any minute. Bug.
I am going to continue this little experiment, hoping that my posture continues to prosper and that my handwriting with my non-dominant hand will improve above that of a childish scrawl. But if you don't hear from me for a while, uh...call me and check up on me, would you? I might have tried to retrieve my toast or a toy car from the toaster slots using a wire clothes hanger or something.
I notice that my tendency to hugely favor my right side like a non-illegitimate eldest son is especially prominent when I sit at the sewing machine, or when I'm on my computer. These two positions have dominated my daily range of motion as of late, and while there's nothing really to be done about the sewing machine problem (clearly, there was a bias when Elias Howe invented the thing. Prejudiced right-handed bastard), I have switched my mouse over to left-handed buttons.
It's already begun to make a difference in the way that I sit at the computer, up straight instead of leaning on my left elbow with my slack-jawed face cradled on my left hand while my right hand does the mousing. However, there may be consequences I failed to consider before taking this on.
I first began to notice a problem when playing my new favorite computer game, Bookworm Adventures. Basically, it's RPG Scrabble with quirky design and writing and also it is the best game ever in the history of the world. But I switched the mouse from right- to left- handed buttons when I was in the middle of the epic saga that is Adventure Mode of this game, and all of a sudden noticed a marked change in my wordmastering ability. Check out a side by side comparison of some of the words from the score records:
Right-handed:
Ridiculous
Motivation
Titanium (there is a hammer you can acquire which deals extra damage for spelling words to do with metal. As I said, awesome.)
Acrophobia
Sanguines
Left-Handed:
tricks
slug
tan (there is a tome that does bonus damage for color words. This still didn't do as much as I might have hoped.)
pear
pears
teal
It occurs to me that the left- and right- sides of the brain control operations on the opposite side of the body, and that they say that different sides of the brain control different types of thought or skill as well. Artistic and/or creative people, for instance, are said to be "right-brained." And, as it is the right side of my brain that is now being exercised by putting my left hand to work, I fully expect my magical painting ability to increase tenfold. Any day now. Or I'll start to write real good. You'll see. It's start. Any minute. Bug.
I am going to continue this little experiment, hoping that my posture continues to prosper and that my handwriting with my non-dominant hand will improve above that of a childish scrawl. But if you don't hear from me for a while, uh...call me and check up on me, would you? I might have tried to retrieve my toast or a toy car from the toaster slots using a wire clothes hanger or something.
Wednesday, December 13, 2006
It Begins
My first official audition as one of those starving actor things is this Saturday at 11:20am.
With this momentous occasion comes the reintroduction to an old habit that I'm taking up once again, one that I hope I'll keep up with this time: ah, blogging, how I've somewhat missed you.
While I was fairly consistent with my first blog for a good couple of years there, it became overpopulated and I lost the interest and energy to keep filling it up with my piddling little everyday non-adventures. I start this new one to usher me into a new phase in my life, one in which I no longer go to school, one in which I live in San Francisco and not in my parents' house or in a dorm, and one in which I am a fully-fledged acting hopeful, not a full-time student/costumer/something else who occasionally does plays er sumthin' on the side sometimes. In my few days of unemployment (today is the third), I began reading for leisure again, something I have missed more than I realized until I was browsing bookstores, killing time in Berkeley over the weekend. Starting a new blog is also one way of attempting to light a fire under my ass and get me writing again, even if nothing more than a paragraph about how I patted a happy dog today. The anecdotal, the trivial, the senseless, the significant, the monumental; all of these will find their way onto this thing (maybe).
We begin with the anecdotal:
I had dinner with my friend Natalia yesterday in the Mission, after which I walked back home along 18th. Passing by Delfina, I glanced in the window as I always do, and happened to catch a glimpse of a patron who looked exactly like Gael Garcia Bernal. I did a little double take, but did not slow my pace; after all, it probably wasn't him (what would Gael Garcia Bernal be up to in San Francisco?) and I don't make it a habit to stare at people while they eat their suppers. I did, however, whip out my cell phone and call roommate Kevin that I had just spotted a lookalike, even though I was on my way home and would presumably be seeing him in a few moments, anyway. What can I say, I was excited.
I got home, saw Kevin, chatted for a while, and was lounging around on the sofa when roommate Lacy showed up, dressed up all purty-like and excited to share the details of her evening: she had just attended Gorgeous&Green, an eco-fabulous event where she had spotted the likes of Leonardo DiCaprio, Orlando Bloom, Gael Garcia Bernal, and Salma Hayek.
I totally spotted Gael Garcia Bernal in a restaurant on 18th St.
Wahoo!
Now the really beautiful thing would have been if he had walked past the barber shop on 18th later, the one that sports a headshot of Señor Bernal in the display window for no apparent reason. I'm sure he probably didn't, but it would have been very special.
With this momentous occasion comes the reintroduction to an old habit that I'm taking up once again, one that I hope I'll keep up with this time: ah, blogging, how I've somewhat missed you.
While I was fairly consistent with my first blog for a good couple of years there, it became overpopulated and I lost the interest and energy to keep filling it up with my piddling little everyday non-adventures. I start this new one to usher me into a new phase in my life, one in which I no longer go to school, one in which I live in San Francisco and not in my parents' house or in a dorm, and one in which I am a fully-fledged acting hopeful, not a full-time student/costumer/something else who occasionally does plays er sumthin' on the side sometimes. In my few days of unemployment (today is the third), I began reading for leisure again, something I have missed more than I realized until I was browsing bookstores, killing time in Berkeley over the weekend. Starting a new blog is also one way of attempting to light a fire under my ass and get me writing again, even if nothing more than a paragraph about how I patted a happy dog today. The anecdotal, the trivial, the senseless, the significant, the monumental; all of these will find their way onto this thing (maybe).
We begin with the anecdotal:
I had dinner with my friend Natalia yesterday in the Mission, after which I walked back home along 18th. Passing by Delfina, I glanced in the window as I always do, and happened to catch a glimpse of a patron who looked exactly like Gael Garcia Bernal. I did a little double take, but did not slow my pace; after all, it probably wasn't him (what would Gael Garcia Bernal be up to in San Francisco?) and I don't make it a habit to stare at people while they eat their suppers. I did, however, whip out my cell phone and call roommate Kevin that I had just spotted a lookalike, even though I was on my way home and would presumably be seeing him in a few moments, anyway. What can I say, I was excited.
I got home, saw Kevin, chatted for a while, and was lounging around on the sofa when roommate Lacy showed up, dressed up all purty-like and excited to share the details of her evening: she had just attended Gorgeous&Green, an eco-fabulous event where she had spotted the likes of Leonardo DiCaprio, Orlando Bloom, Gael Garcia Bernal, and Salma Hayek.
I totally spotted Gael Garcia Bernal in a restaurant on 18th St.
Wahoo!
Now the really beautiful thing would have been if he had walked past the barber shop on 18th later, the one that sports a headshot of Señor Bernal in the display window for no apparent reason. I'm sure he probably didn't, but it would have been very special.
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