the dabbler

So I thought I was done...

2011-07-24T06:35:00.005-06:00

then I go dabblin again...this time, in business. Well, sort of...

I've set up a booth at the Farmers Market here in Salt Lake City. Who knew my dabbling would lead me to become an entrepreneur? My love for sewing and cooking has led me to start a business selling guacamole & aprons through my new business called, Noona's Kitchen.

Of course without having started going to Mass again, this would've never happened. What's going to Mass have to do with my new business? Well, I actually took the Lent season somewhat seriously for the first time in my life. I actually fasted, and experienced what it was like to be hungry. It indeed gave me a real insight to what it must be like to not have enough food to eat on a regular basis, not to be able to just eat what I craved whenever I craved it.

So after going to bed hungry for weeks, I truly wanted to do something to help those in need. And of course, the rite of almsgiving being part of Lent, I started to mentor a refugee family here while giving money to help the North Korean refugees who've escaped North Korea but were in hiding in China, desperately seeking to leave the country that is hellbent on sending them back to the regime that will surely kill them or lock them up in labor camps.

Well, after two months, I'm still trying to make a profit so I can send some money to these poor souls. And this running a business thing isn't quite as fun as I imagined it to be. Coming up with the idea, shopping for equipments, researching kitchens and getting a business license was all exciting and new...especially when my business logo was made and my business card printed. But then having to make and package the damn cu-acamole and getting up at five in the morning on a Saturday to peddle my goods all morning is ruining my beauty sleep & making my hands look old!

Never having had to use my hands for much other than playing the piano and guitar here and there, they ache for days after the Market closes. Don't quite understand why...could it be the constant opening and closing of the guacamole tub to sample the damn cuacs? Could it be having to mash up 90 avocados? Or could it be loading and unloading the 160 lbs of sand bags, the canopy, the table, the coolers, and the cash box?!

And the worst of it is, I've spent about five grand and made about fourteen hundred. Well, having gone off to Europe for a month and leaving the business to others didn't help, as I have been selling out the last three weeks I've been back...but I'm afraid this dabbling is going to put me in the poor house along with the refugees and cripple my beautiful hands.

I mean the pilgrimage across Spain on my walk to Santiago ruined my feet for good, leaving me with hobbit feet Is this almsgiving going to ruin my hands as well? Damn...why did I not stick with my plan not to dabble anymore?!

Well, at least I'm writing again...(and trying something totally new, again!)

Surely, It Can't Be True! The End?

2011-01-10T19:37:00.007-07:00

I've had a sudden urge to write. I've been so consumed with life that I'd forgotten how much joy writing brings to my heart. I've neglected this blog, and instead, have dabbled at more frivolous hobbies. If you've been my reader since the start of this endeavor, you know why this blog is called the dabbler.

I had planned on writing way back in the summer when I spent two months in California...especially after I was informed by a friend whom I saw in San Francisco that he couldn't bare finish reading my last post because it was so f*'n depressing. I was confused as I never write about depressing subjects on this particular blog. I had also forgotten what I had written about. He said I had lamented about my dating situation back in Utah. I was even more perplexed since I never write about my personal life on the dabbler.

Well, suffice to say, I finally realized what he was talking about and laughed out loud. However, it did make me worry... I wondered how many others had not finished reading the entire post, and had been feeling sorry for me for all these months. The worst was that that had been the only post on this thing forever! I decided I'd better add another post just in case others also stop mid paragraph disgusted with my boy problems. But of course, I got distracted with my never ending hobbies and my life.

So...

Until disaster hit my basement again this winter, I spent this last autumn being a Mormon. I actually didn't know I was until my friend Chris laughed at me one night when I told him why I was too busy to hang out. I told him about my cake decorating class, my ceramics class, my Latin class, and my French class, and he told me I had essentially become a Mormon chick.

Well, he was right. The French class had future missionaries all trying to learn the language to convert the coffee drinking, cigarette addicted sex maniacs of La France; the cake decorating class had the future housewives who were gearing up to decorate cakes each week for the rest of their lives for their 10 children and the 100 grandkids; and the ceramics class had a whole bunch of overweight Farmington types who were there making Christmas presents for cheap.

Unfortunately, the Latin class was canceled due to the lack of pretentious douchebags you'd find in the East Coast cities where the need to acquire the educated language of theology, other sciences, and the highest English literature and art is great. In SLC, Twilight, New Moon, and Eclipse are the highly sought after literature of the day. And theology? Don't think God spoke to Brigham Young in Latin. I think the founder of Mormon church was illiterate on top of being a polygamist. Didn't he have some other guy write down what God revealed to him to create the Book of Mormon (before it was lost)? Yes, yes, you're right. What do I know? I'm only a wannabe Mormon. Wait, I don't think that guy was Brigham Young...BYU is named after Brigham Young, but I think the founder was named George Hamilton, or wait, just remembered, it's Joseph Smith. Sorry...

Anyway, not enough Catholics in town to take the Latin class with me, but I did keep myself busy with all those other Mormon classes, and believe it or not, for the first time in my life I encountered something I was not good at. I cannot for the life of me decorate cakes! It was so frustrating! All those Mormon girls making beautiful cakes like they'd been doing it all their lives. It made me so mad! And the ceramics class, I barely made 3 things, and those Farmington peeps were cranking out about a dozen a night, getting ready for the x-mas gifts for their thousand relatives. And Français? It's like God was working through them so they could spread the gospel and save the French.

And then disaster struck my abode, as I mentioned earlier. Just as my addition of the midget-room was coming to an end, and I was bursting at the seams at the prospect of having a little playroom for the little child in me, my basement flooded for the umpteenth time. Of course, that basically put a halt to my Mormon life. But it really was a blessing in disguise. No one close to me would've been happy to hear that I'd succumbed to the Mormon faith...especially my Catholic parents who hold my inheritance over my head.

But that my friends is old story now. All in the past.

My dabbling days are over, I'm afraid... but so is the chaos of my Sugarhouse shelter, thank god. After trying my hands at almost everything I've ever wanted to do in life, I've finally come to understand what I really enjoy doing, and don't feel the need to dabble any longer. I feel blessed that I've had the opportunity to play for so many years, and with that I end this particular blog. I know, this may be a letdown for many of you, but as that cliche goes, all good things must come to an end.

Thanks for reading & checking back even though I've not written for ages.

With much love, I say farewell.

~Rachel

Don't worry. It's not completely over. I hope to continue writing on my other blog, because writing really does makes my heart smile.

The Perils of having a Multiple Relationship

2010-04-22T16:35:00.016-06:00

I've had an off & on relationship with a few men in the last four years I've been in Salt Lake City. No matter how hard I try to get them out of my life, they seem to return time & time again. Each time they leave, I always walk them out my front door, and with a big sigh, I utter these words: "I hope I don't see you again. I pray this will be the last." And each time, they leave with a knowing grin on their faces because sooner or later, they know they'll hear from me again. And of course, inevitably, I end up calling them... again & again.

Making the matter worse is how I wait for them like a puppy waiting for its owner to come home, counting the hours, or rather the minutes. I think they get a kick out of having me wait desperately. They show up an hour or two late each time, and just when I can't take it any longer & am about to dial the phone mad as hell, I can hear their car pull up the driveway. And of course when they knock on that door, my anger turns to a whimper of sort & I open the door slowly, totally defeated, yet glad to see the familiar face.

As they rotate & take their turns, it always takes a few minutes to get reacquainted with each of them. We always start by shooting the breeze about what happened the last time they were here. It's never a pleasant conversation as it's a memory I'd like to forget. Not only is the experience always painful emotionally, but the angst I feel before & after they leave drains me for days. That's when I want to leave this house & everything in it, and start somewhere new. Each time, what runs through my mind while they are here for those few hours is why is it that I still can't find a reliable man or have a real man in my life so I don't have to call them up.

I cringe at the thought of them talking to one another. (Yes, they know each other.) I wonder what they say. It's probably something along the lines of, "That poor chick...what is she doing still living in that big old house by herself. So pathetic...when do you think she'll get tired of calling us & leave Utah?" I wonder if they talk about what their visits cost me & the fortune I've spent on them over the last few years.

Larry, who was here just yesterday said, "Don't worry. I'm only charging you for two hours." "Thanks," I said with a trace of sarcasm in my voice, but he didn't seem to notice. $400 bucks! (I really need to switch my line of work.) Steve had only charged me $150 when he was here last, but then he was only here for half an hour. He's good & works fast, I suppose. I guess I should be thankful it wasn't John. Last time he was here it was $1,500, and the time before that, $5,000! F***!

I really hate Utah. Why didn't anyone tell me the cold winter will mess me up? (I guess my ex did, but all he talked about was the weight I was gonna gain from hiding out in the house all winter long.) How the hell was I supposed to know to take the damn hose off the faucet?! I didn't last year & nothing happened! Why now?! Why me, god?! How is a valley girl from Los Angeles to know that that's a potential disaster? Seriously, how many times will I have to pull up the carpet in that damn basement of mine before I leave this house & move back to California?! How many times do I need to call Roto-Rooter & have Larry, Steve, and John rotate through my house with a smirk on their faces?! How many?!

All that money & not an once of pleasure! What's the point of a relationship with men when the groans that leave my mouth aren't from ecstasy but the pain that comes from my miserly salary going down the drain, literally!

Matt, thanks for keeping me company this time. It eased the pain & for a second made me forget he was in the house.

Another Passion?

2010-01-31T21:47:00.011-07:00

Every time I run into Mr. Wright, he comments on how stale my blog has become since I wrote about the miseducation of the American children. He is right. I've been neglecting my blog. Not only have I been busy since last August getting back into the real world of working 5 days a week, but the end of the year brought holiday cheers & no time for indulging myself in front of my computer spewing my thoughts online. Plus my mom spent a month with me here in SLC, spoiling me to no end, and I just became a lazy bum doing absolutely nothing but the one thing that led to my new passion.

So what's this new passion I speak of? Sewing! (I know, I know,my passion's forever changing on a whim, but hey, this is how I can live alone & never be bored.) A few months ago, I scored some free passes to go see a movie called Bright Star. It's a story about my new favorite poet, John Keats (Sorry Rilke, the English have such sexier accent than the Germans.) & his love, Fanny Brawne. Fanny's outfits were so amazing, the picture so beautifully shot, I ended up watching a ton of period movies while my mom was in town. I've always adored period films & once upon a time even contemplated going to a fashion school to learn costume design. Well, I just had to make one of those dresses.

I seriously was born in the wrong century & the wrong race. I simply adore the early 1800's & would have loved the life of Emma & others in Jane Austen's books. Lauren & I were lamenting how wonderful life would've been for us had we been born then...none of this having to work for a living, mortgage, worrying about global warming, but rather enjoying a quiet life in the country during the summer months reading books and having tea parties; and then spending the rest of the year in the city going to balls dancing with those dashing, eligible, educated gentlemen.

Well, I bought myself a serger & a new sewing machine, and have signed up for a sewing class online. It's not just any old sewing class, but a class that teaches you all about Regency Wardrobe making. I've already made a lovely 50's style apron for practice before I dive into more challenging ball gown I intend to wear to Mr. Wright's wedding party in May. As Mrs. Wright happens to be a super-seamstress as rumor has it, I hope to recruit other ladies & start a sewing group in my basement & serve tea. I hope to upload pictures here as I begin my journey & keep up this blog as well. Wish me luck.

Bright star, would I were steadfast
by John Keats

BRIGHT star! would I were steadfast as thou art—
Not in lone splendour hung aloft the night,
And watching, with eternal lids apart,
Like Nature’s patient sleepless Eremite,
The moving waters at their priestlike task	5
Of pure ablution round earth’s human shores,
Or gazing on the new soft fallen mask
Of snow upon the mountains and the moors—
No—yet still steadfast, still unchangeable,
Pillow’d upon my fair love’s ripening breast,	10
To feel for ever its soft fall and swell,
Awake for ever in a sweet unrest,
Still, still to hear her tender-taken breath,
And so live ever—or else swoon to death.

1819

Why Schools Don't Educate

2009-08-31T19:07:00.010-06:00

It's been a week since school started. Been thinking a lot about what I want to do differently as I always do at the start of a new school year. Traveling around the world & coming up with an original opera with the kids have kept things interesting, but I wanted to bring more of my current interests into the classroom. So I decided to start a vege garden with my six-year-olds & together learn everything we can about how things grow. With our own class garden, I figured I could bring in nutrition, sustainability, environment, and community (cooperatives) into the curriculum... That is until I went to a meeting that made me want to quit teaching all together.

What was the meeting about? Test scores & No Child Left Behind. Don't even really want to get into what was discussed in the meeting, but I left with a bad taste in my mouth. No matter how creative I try to be in my classroom & no matter how supportive my Principal is with the things I do with the kids, it always comes down to the damn test scores. Believe me, my kids' scores are phenomenal with the exception of a few who are constantly pulled out to get "extra" help to drill phonics & number sense.

So why am I pissed? Because half the stuff I have to do is bullshit. If I could have it my way, I would do away with stupid tests which only measure the kids' ability to regurgitate what's been fed to them, and let the children spend the entire day exploring & hanging out. Instead of me dictating what they have to learn, I want them to ask questions, inquire, and learn on their own. (I try to do this the best I can, but it's almost impossible in a public school setting.)

Just finished reading a fantastic article about education (a must read) from my all time favorite magazine, the Sun. Want to quit teaching public schools, move out of Utah, and go to Oregon or Northern California to learn the Steiner method of teaching at the Waldorf school. Perhaps then I can meet fellow educators who understand what it really means to be a teacher.

The Future of Food

2009-08-12T14:15:00.004-06:00

As you know, I write quite often about food... foods I grow, foods I make, foods I entertain with, and just my adoration for food in general. Well, I went to see Food Inc. last night. You must go see it, but I thought you might want to watch this for free here, first. It really makes you think about your food choices & what that choice means to the world we live in.
(Click on the image tab, and then click on the play button in the middle of the screen. I know you can't see it, but just move your mouse over. Might have to wait a bit.)

Fruits of My Labor

2009-08-05T08:43:00.011-06:00

Swiss chard, cherry tomatoes, cucumber, and zucchinis.

Peppers, eggplants, green onion, and my Camino bonnet.

My garden salad.

Stone baked pizza w/ homemade rye dough.

Garden style scrambled w/ homemade wheat bread & fresh squeezed grapefruit juice.

My lovely yard...Thanks, Christy!

All that hard work in the spring has paid off, and I've started to enjoy the fruits of my labor. Okay, I had some help, but it still is my garden so it's only fair that I get all the credit. Not just me though, but the lucky SLC peeps who get invited over for my lovely dinner parties. (Can't get that word out of my vocabulary having spent all summer around the Irish.)

I've been busy entertaining since the beginning of the week, and it's only Wednesday. (3 more to go & I'll be done for the week...perhaps for this year.) Breakfast for my aunt on Monday was brilliant! (It's the Irish again...) Followed by afternoon drinks with Jeanette, and then Chris, Christy, Jack, and Hasen came over for some pizzas I baked on my never-used pizza stone. It really was quite lovely! (Wish had a brick oven though...anyone wanna build me one in my backyard?) Yesterday was spent entertaining a Swiss who made me feel like I was back on the Camino, and we even got in a lovely hike up to Lake Mary up Big Cottonwood Canyon. (Felt kind of weird walking without a heavy pack, though.) And tonight, I'm throwing a party for Jen's graduation & getting another use out of that fantastic pizza stone & my ice cream maker I got for Christmas which is still new in its box.

Wish my new Camino buddies were close by so they could partake in my end of summer soirees even though Super Hans may beg me to marry him again like he did the night I made dinner for a bunch of us in Arca do Pino. The only downside of all this entertaining is that my waistline is slowly increasing again. Perhaps I should just put a sack of rice inside my pack & start hiking everyday so I can eat whatever I want... like ice cream & chocolate on a daily basis.

Off to the backyard-farm to pick my veges for my lunch guest before I start throwing some dough around for another round of pizzas tonight. I wonder if there's a Camino like walk in Italy...that really would be BRILLIANT!

Yet Another Planting Season

2009-05-25T15:09:00.008-06:00

It's that time of the year again...weeding & planting time, that is. Once again, had to bring in help from California. This time, even had one from South Korea. Lucky for her, she was visiting my parents in LA, so when my mom & brother decided to visit me over the long weekend (Dad's out of the country at the moment) she got to experience the farm life in my back yard. I thought since she did come from my motherland, she'd be familiar with this farming stuff, but unfortunately, she grew up in the metropolitan city of Seoul all her life & never did step foot on a farm before coming to Sugarhouse...1934 S. View Street to be exact.

Since I had already done all my spring planting, all they had to do was weed. Remember that white flaky stuff that fell all over my yard last year... the ones I thought were so pretty, which eventually turned into little sprouting trees? Well, they returned with a force. They are everywhere. The Californians & the Korean tried their best to get it all off my beautifully landscaped yard, but it didn't work. They did however manage to pull the rest of the weeds which the kind Witch I hired from school didn't get to, (I have a helper in my class this year who's a genuine Witch & a master gardener!)

While I was overseeing the work that was being done in my front & back yard, I also thought of a brilliant idea for next spring. (This was my attempt at stopping the farm workers from crossing 2 state lines to come work in Utah from California.) I'm gonna get one of those huge nets they use in golf courses (or is it the driving range?) so the balls don't fly out of the area & hit people and cars nearby. Then I'm going to get Shane & Chris to put it over my house & let it slope on either side towards my neighbors' yards. (It's their junk trees that are spewing these seeds all over my yard & making me sneeze all spring until my nose is raw.) That will guarantee no drop-age on my yard, and crazy sprouting trees all over theirs. Hopefully that will get them to cut down those nasty suckers & plant some nice trees I'm not allergic to.

Anyway, I know I said that I learned from my experience last year that I was no farmer, and I probably should've stayed away from my little patch of farm this year; but I couldn't help it. I got caught up in the spirit of Spring. I caught the Spring Fever! I don't know what it's gonna look like in two months when I return from walking the Camino, but I'm hoping with the help of my generous friends who love me much, my yard will look as beautiful as it does today, if not more. I'll be thinking of all the lovely tomatoes while I trek through Spain.

Many thanks to my friends & family who helped me with this endeavor once again this spring. Many kisses!

The Junk Shop

2009-03-02T20:48:00.010-07:00

I remember the first time I went to a thrift shop in San Francisco. I was visiting a friend of mine from college who had transferred to Berkley from San Diego. It was not too long after I had graduated, and I was still under the influence of my sorority existence. My friend, however, had long shed that skin and had transformed herself into a hippie.

She lived in this fabulously old, turn of the century house with bunch of pot smoking artists near Fillmore, and introduced me to the "dingy" second-hand stores of the upper Haight where all the tourists go to find hippies that no longer exist. (This was before Haight street became all posh with the dot.com boom.)

Anyway, I remember walking into these stores, and wanting to gag because it smelled like the homeless (or at least it seemed to me back then.) I couldn't believe my friend was trying on stuff someone else had worn before (a complete stranger, to boot). I didn't want to come off as a sorority snob, so I tried on a few items myself while cringing inside & holding my breath as best I could. But that was as far as I went. There was no way in hell I was gonna buy anything, and I'm sure I was dying to shower, even though I can't really remember what I did next.

The reason I'm writing about this is because my mom just called me telling me she went to the Goodwill store. (That's the California version of DI for those of you in Utah.) I had discovered the store somewhat near my parents' place while visiting them two weeks ago. I ended up purchasing an awesome butcher block for $25, which I'm going to go get over my spring break. I told my mom all about finding goodies at thrift shops, and told her she should go check it out. Didn't think she would, but she apparently ventured into the store because she happened to be driving by.

"I don't know what I was expecting, but I can't believe you found that butcher block there. It was full of junk!" She said.
"You have to look carefully, Mom. You really didn't see anything?" I asked.
"No." A pause, then she said, "I drove home & washed my hands with anti-bacterial soap."

I laughed. I knew exactly how she felt, but she would die to know that she's drank out of second hand glasses at my house. Heehee!

It took me over a decade, but I love thrift shops now. Not only because you can find such cheap, cool finds, but think of all the reusing we're doing as consumers. Instead of constantly buying brand new things which not only depletes the natural resources but are usually made in China by slave waged workers, we can buy used items that would've ended up in the landfill if it weren't for thrift shops. It's an environmental miracle.

Anyway, I can't believe I used to think it was gross buying stuff others had owned before. Don't ask me why... you're speaking to someone who would give clothes away if someone borrowed it. You don't have to return it, just keep it. Or, sure you can have a sip of my drink. Actually, why don't you just have the whole thing. I was definitely a germophobic.

But after living in San Francisco & New York, and having really smelled homeless people (which you really can't in LA or SD because you're always in your car), I realize now that scent I smelled back then in that thrift store was probably all in my head. I don't smell anything in thrift shops anymore, and I simply adore second hand shopping.

Finding My Roots

2009-03-01T16:20:00.007-07:00

It's been two months of pure bliss (in misery). Only in misery because the weather's been so cold. But a bliss because I've been able to do what I love the most. Eat, eat, eat, and read, read, read. I've been hibernating for the last two months, and loving every minute of it. It's the Cancer in me, I think. I love to retreat & hide from the world for a bit because I need to recoup for the warm weather when the crazy Monkey side in me comes out to play. (I was born in the year of the monkey.)

I've also reconnected with my family & my Korean roots, and am falling in love with all these hot Korean actors. My Korean is getting really good with all the Korean shows I'm watching, and even the content of my fridge is slowly changing to resemble my parents'. I've even started corresponding more with friends and family back in Seoul, and visiting LA frequently to see Mom & Dad.

I don't know what it all means, but I think I'm finally wanting to balance the two cultures for the first time in my life, it seems. The Korean & American cultures are so different in so many ways, (it's no wonder I've always been in constant battle with my folks) yet I want to figure out a way to mesh the two somehow.

I've always gone in far extremes, such as moving back to Korea in my early twenties to become "Korean", only to realize I couldn't live in that society after growing up in the States. There were too many rules: who to associate with (social class), who to speak & not speak to in a honorary form, what I could & not do having been born a female...seriously, too many archaic things to list all here. Plus I got tired of people asking where I was from.

Then of course there were periods in my life where I was called a banana because I was so "white", whatever that means. Just because I hung out with white folks, I was excluded by the Koreans. It's like no matter where I went, people still asked me where I was from. So I ended up just surrounding myself with people whom I could relate to the most, and through circumstances, I've become virtually the only non-white person in a group of white friends.

Not that color matters, but there's definitely something to be said about having come from such a strong culture. I think that's why so many people do stay in their own groups. Not just race, but even religion, like the Mormons here. It's like you understand each other without having to explain. Anyway, I hear there are many Koreans in SLC. Perhaps I should start hanging out at the Korean market to bring some Koreans into my life. It might be fun to mix up the race a little in my group of friends, you know, balance it out a bit so it's not all white (and me).

My friends all love Asian food (especially Chris)...don't know why we don't have more Asian friends in our group so we can eat some more homemade Asian food like we did Friday night. (I know, my stories always do come back to food.) The Thai food we had at Jessica's birthday party was to die for. Following a recipe is never the same as the real stuff made by someone from that culture.

(What do you say, Chris...we should go hang out on the West side & meet some Southeast Asians.)

2008-12-14T10:12:00.001-07:00

Christmas has to be my favorite time of the year. It's my most adored holiday, and I love finding that perfect gift for the people I cherish the most. Intellectually, I know it's not about presents, but I can't help but get excited about finding gifts. Plus, I give money to needy children every month (not just during the holidays), so I tend to not have the guilt about spending some money on family & friends once a year.

I also love decorating the tree, and thank god each year that I was raised in a Christian household. (Sadly, that's the only time I'm thankful about being a Catholic...oh well.) My friends always make fun of the tree I select each year as they all agree it looks like Charlie Brown's Christmas tree, but I don't care. That's the kind of tree I adore.

One of the reasons why I can't get myself to leave SLC is that it snows here every Christmas. The snow here is fluffy, just like the ones you see in the movies or read about in books. It's gorgeous here when it snows, and trekking snow into the Cathedral of Madeline for the midnight mass is an enchanting experience. The children's choir sings like angels, and to experience that with my family is a tradition I hope will continue, always.

Boulangerie Chez Moi

2008-12-13T08:38:00.005-07:00

(Click on the photos for a better view.)

Cassie said she & Chris drove to a Chinese restaurant down south (not The South, but south of SLC) and saw an Asian bakery. Apparently, Chris said, "I didn't know Asians baked?!" to which Cassie replied, "Yeah, Rachel bakes all the time!"

Yes, I've found another hobby. I've been baking like crazy. People ask me where I've been hiding myself, but I haven't really been hiding. It's just that I've been busy with my oven the last month or so. (Hence the lag in my posts.) As you probably know by now, once I get involved with something, I obsess until I get bored. (Unfortunately, that's what's happened to my hat making in case you were wondering where yours is.)

Anyway, I've stopped using the bread machine, and have actually started making my breads by hand. It's really fun, and so good. (Just had some folks over for some homemade bread & soup on Monday.) I've also made this killer pear pie, only my second in my entire life, but it turned out beautifully...not too sweet with the perfect crust. And I also baked three cakes in the last month. So yummy, I can't wait to come home from work every day.

The problem is, I've added dessert to all the food I've been making, (read my last post) and my mirror is screaming, "Stop! Get a hold of yourself!" So I'm afraid my baking will have to come to a halt at the end of this month. (Plus, my gym just went out of business...damn Bally's!)

Welcome to America!

2008-11-08T15:31:00.012-07:00

Most of you know that I wasn't born in the States. My family moved here when I was ten, and with the move, I gained an eating disorder along with a new culture & a new language. You see, an eating disorder is not something you commonly find in a third-world country like my motherland; it happens to folks who have way more food than they know what to do with.

Let's just say that in trying to acclimate to the new culture, our family dove right in & began frequenting fast food restaurants as soon as we discovered all those fabulous drive-ins. What did my parents know about fast foods other than that a family of four on a budget (my dad didn't work for the first two years...we were living off of savings as he was here to study full time & well, my mom really had no skills other than shopping,) could eat at McDonald's for oh, I don't know, perhaps $5 back in the day?

Not only could we eat real meat for that cheap (red meat was very expensive in Korea back then...before they opened the doors to American cows which are imported real cheap, killing the Korean ranchers...but let's save that for another post ), but every time we went there, they gave us these little game pieces which we would lick & glue to the game sheet. It was called the Million $ Match 'n Win & it promised a million dollars & other cool prizes if we were able to match the game pieces. The only thing was, no matter how often we'd eat a big-mac at McD's, we could never get that one G-damn piece that promised us a cool Mil.

What did we know, we were immigrants?! We were fresh off the boat, and we thought, what an amazing country- not only do they sell inexpensive, delicious meals, but they also wanna give away money for frequenting their restaurants! My mom would call her best friend who had also immigrated not too long after we had, and tell her to go to McD's. She thought that maybe the missing game piece was in Chicago. They made a pact they'd split the winnings if either one of them won with the missing pieces they were going to swap. What suckers we were...

Anyway, back to my eating disorder... You've all seen Supersize Me, right? Well, imagine a ten year old kid who's never had fast food in her life, suddenly eating McDonald's every week plus that ever so healthy school lunch 5 days a week. You guessed it, I became a little porker. My parents, having no sense of what a high fat diet & soda (also something I never drank until moving here) could have on a child, just thought I was eating too much, and literally wouldn't let me drink water at one point thinking drinking too much water was also adding to my obesity. (Alright, not obese in the way Americans get big, since that would be scary for a little Korean girl, but pretty fat for a ten year old Asian.)

What they didn't know is that I was also buying KitKat every day at school with my left over lunch money. Everyone else was buying candy, and I wanted to fit in; so even though I was not a huge chocolate fan, I bought & ate this crunchy, chocolate covered wafers (the least disgusting of the bunch) not realizing it was also adding to my fat quotient. So My parents & I fought over my weight for 2-3 years.

Then I turned thirteen, and looked in the mirror one day and saw a fat, Asian girl staring back at me. I don't know how this happened...maybe I discovered boys for the first time, but probably more because my parents moved me to San Fernando Valley from Los Angeles proper. It was right around the time Valley Girl, the movie & song came out. Once again, with the pressure to fit in & realizing that to be a Valley Girl I had to be skinny & highly fashionable, I did what everyone else was doing those days- starving myself. I still remember having fights with my mom in Jr. High, not about eating too much now, but not eating enough. (I swear, I could never please that woman.) She'd bring in a tray of food to my room trying to force feed me, and I'd just throw the whole tray down, refusing to eat. (No, I never was anorexic, just lost enough to be plump, rather than fat.)

Anyway, let's just say, I've been struggling with my weight ever since. I don't remember having a stomach since those McD years, as I learned to manage my eating pretty well. I'd eat like mad for days, and starve for days. There were a few years in college when I did put my finger down my throat here & there (I know, it's real disgusting) but not sure if it was just from my binge eating or binge drinking. Could've been the binge drinking as what I discovered was that if I made myself throw up before crashing, I didn't have a hangover the following morning. (I know, real dumb, but hey, I was 18 & away from home for the first time. At least I wasn't snorting coke like everyone else those days even though everyone said it was the best diet drug.) But unfortunately, the stomach from the early years have returned. Not because of fast foods, (I know better now, and I also read Fast Food Nation.) but because I've all of sudden discovered how nice it is to pamper myself.

I've spent many years entertaining friends spending lots of money & many hours cooking fabulous meals for their enjoyment all the while eating cereal when alone. Depending on the boyfriend, I'd cook for him & share decent meals with him; but as of late, since that department's been kinda non-existent, I'd find myself only cooking when friends were over. But for some reason when summer ended, I decided it was time that I pamper myself by cooking for me each night. Not because anyone was coming over, but because I deserved a great meal just for me.

Unfortunately, however, I've gained a spare tire around my waist in the last few months (I've never weighed 120 in my life!) It's really sad, and I keep thinking I need to start my diet method from Jr. High, but I'm older & wiser to know that's a bad solution. But what do I do? I must do something 'cause I think the extra weight is causing my back pain; and because of it, I've been lagging on my yoga workout. People think I'm crazy when I tell them I've gained a lot of weight, but I know they're just being nice...or is this my thirteen year-old self with the eating disorder talking right now. The crazy thing is, just a few weeks ago when I went to visit family in LA, my brother complimented me on my looks! (I know many of you don't even know I have a brother since I never talk about him, but he does exist.) He never compliments me, and he said I look a lot better now than I did last Christmas, meaning he likes the weight gain.

I don't know what to do. Perhaps I should start sharing food with friends again, more frequently, and stop making yummy desserts every night. Or perhaps there's no cure for what McD's has done to me, and I should go sue them & get liposuction.

I'll keep you all posted on my decision.

(And sorry for the lag in posts...I've been busy cooking & stuffing my face!)

Shrinking Brain

2008-10-19T01:38:00.020-06:00

I've been in taxis many times in my life, but never in Los Angeles until this morning. Having a car is sort of a must when you live in LA since it's so spread out. There's even that song that was famous in the 80's called, Nobody Walks in LA. You really rarely see people walking in LA, and even though it seems to have changed a little now that there is that underground metro system, I wouldn't be able to survive without a car here. Plus, I'd be too afraid to ride in it with LA being an earthquake city and all. The possibility of being buried underground when the earthquake hits just doesn't sound like fun.

So when I woke up in my friend, Becky's bed this morning when her alarm went off at an ungodly hour of 8 (especially on a Saturday after a long night of too much fun & too much drinking), I couldn't fathom walking back to where I had parked my car the night before. I couldn't fall back asleep, and I felt like death. Phil was with us the night before, but he had already walked back to his car in the middle of the night to go home according to Becky who's eyes were shut closed, half dead beside me; and since she didn't have a car, I decided to call a cab. (Becky said it would take me an hour to walk to where my car was.)

The cab was no different than any other cabs I've been in. I sat in the back thinking how desperately I wanted to go home to my parents' as I was beginning to feel nauseous. I also looked out the window & felt bad that Phil had to walk all that way to his car. It really was far, and I would've been hating life had I had to walk all that way back. I imagined him cursing me, and hoped he wasn't too mad that he drove all the way to LA from Huntington Beach, and then had to walk all the way back to his car to drive home at 4 in the morning.

Then as I started digging into my purse for my wallet & my car key, I realized my key was missing. I was wrecking my throbbing brain trying to figure out where I could've left it, and decided it must've been at the Vermont (the bar where I had met Becky originally.) I knew the place wouldn't be open, so I called my mom to have her bring the spare. The poor woman had to drive 40 miles to bring her irresponsible daughter the spare key, and all I could think about was how shitty it was going to be to wait on the curb for her with a horrific hangover.

Well the hangover disappeared pretty quick when the taxi made its last turn to the street where I had left my car. My car was gone. I thought, g*d damn it! Did it get towed?! Sh*t, sh*t, sh*t! That's gonna cost me a pretty penny! What an expensive night this turned out to be...$20 cab ride, and probably $200 to recover the car. But when I got out of the cab & looked at the parking sign, I noticed that the 2 hour parking limit didn't start until 8, and it was not even 9 yet. And there was nothing that indicated I couldn't park there over night.

That's when I panicked. OMG, did my car get stolen? Did I drop the key next to the car? I remember pressing the button to lock the door as I was walking away from the car...or did I? Did I leave the key in the ignition? I thought I had just lost the car key, but I had lost my car as well! Great, I had lost my $40k car I had left behind in LA because I didn't want to be driving a B-mer, and I really got my wish...I no longer had a BMW.

I was about to call the police, but luckily a cop drove down the street, so I hailed it down. It was a big fiasco because I had an out-of-state driver's license, couldn't remember the plate number, and had to explain why I had a California registered car in LA, when I live in SLC. (Being a teacher wouldn't require me to have another car in a city I rarely visit.) I also had to explain that I had left the car over night far from where I was at because I was too drunk to drive it.

The guy kept asking me if I was drunk when I parked it, was the one parked up the street mine, was I sure I parked it in that spot, etc. I explained to him that I was a responsible teacher & would never drive my car drunk...hence the reason it was left there. Well, they finally found me in the system, and was told that I still have an active CA driver's license, but that I had $50k outstanding thingamajig I owed the State. (I don't...they were just messing with me by this time. The lady officer even gave me some gum since I had one foul morning breath from passing out drunk the night before. I must say, these LA cops were real nice & friendly.)

I thought, see, this is why I would never move back to LA. This is a sign...it's telling me this place is dangerous & I don't belong here. My mom eventually showed up as I was finishing with the police officers, and we drove home with her telling stories of her friends having had their cars stolen to only find out they had parked it elsewhere. "Mom, I wasn't drunk when I parked it. I know where I parked the car, and I'm not going senile even though I did leave my jacket in Kim's car." (Kim had picked me up from the airport, and I did leave my jacket in her car two days prior.)

I spent the rest of the day either hugging the toilet or passed out on my parents' bed feeling like death even in my sleep. I had to cancel all my plans for the day, and promised I'd never drink again...again, for the 100th time. Then in one of those half waken state, I saw myself walking to Becky's house from a car...but why wasn't I dropped off right in front of her building? Why did I have to walk like half a block to her apartment complex? (One of Becky's friends had driven us around all night in her convertible.) That's weird...no, but if I had driven my car, why would Becky not have said something this morning when I took the cab to my car? And she hasn't called... I must be delirious.

Well, I called Phil since I knew he wasn't as drunk as me or Becky to tell him about my stolen car, but to also confirm that we had been dropped off at Becky's by the girl with the convertible. He didn't pickup, but while I was passed out again, he left me a message.

Rachel, you're too funny. We drove to Becky's. You drove your car, I drove my car, and we parked it right across from her building. It was parked right behind mine when I left, I'm sure it's still there. And no, I didn't walk all the way back to get my car. It was parked only a half block away. You said you were fine to drive...had I known you were that drunk, I wouldn't have let you driven. But you did drive fine. Call me back.

Unbelievable...I had no memory of that part of the night. Holy sh*t, that report on NPR the other day is right. Drinking does shrink your brain...and I've been drinking for over 20 years.

When I called the police station to tell them that the car hadn't been stolen & that I was going to go get it in the morning from my friend's house, the guy on the phone said,

"Unless you want to have guns pointing at you & end up in jail until they can prove you didn't steal the car, do not go near the car. Call us when you get to your friends' in the morning from a neutral place, not too close to the car. The police will need to recover your vehicle first before you go near it, or you will end up in jail. I repeat, do not go near your car."

I swear, I'm done drinking... for reals.

Becky did eventually find my key.

Alcohol the Culprit?

2008-10-11T09:08:00.021-06:00

I was invited to a dry birthday party last night, and was told I'd be the only one drinking if I brought any alcohol. I was a little hesitant to go because I pictured us drinking milk and playing pin the tail on the donkey. But because it was a party for a good friend of mine, I decided to go. (Yes, such parties do exist if you've befriended a bunch of Mormons.) However, as the night progressed, some non-Mormons showed up with alcohol & I did get to enjoy a few glasses of wine. If you're wondering why this tidbit of background info, it is so you understand that there were a quite a few none drinkers at this party.

So as it always happens when you gather people around who work together, a few office stories were shared. Apparently, a guy was fired after a work party. He made some pervy comments to one of my friends, which bordered on sexual harassment. She was surprised (because she had thought the guy was kinda cool) & walked away; but when he didn't show up to work the following week she asked around & heard that he was let go after the party. She thought he must've done the same thing to others, and perhaps to a wrong person who reported it. Of course this is all speculation, but for a moment, few of us were discussing the topic of sexual harassment at work.

In case you're not familiar, sexual harassment is any behavior of a sexual nature that is unwelcome, unasked for and unreturned. It can be physical, verbal, written or visually offensive material, according to Google. My friend Hasen didn't think a guy could get fired for saying pervy things to a girl at a party, even if the company threw it. So whether someone could get fired for an out-of-work or off-site party behavior was in question.

This is when I heard the most ludicrous thing ever. It went something like (I'm totally paraphrasing here), "Well they served all that alcohol, what d'ya expect?" Plus a few more comments that emphasized the alcohol distribution by the company & the typical behavior of a guy under the influence. I couldn't believe my ears, but I kept my mouth shut.

An article I had read a few weeks back flashed in my mind. It took place in a little suburb right outside of SLC. A group of Mormons were pissed at the city council for letting restaurants serve alcohol in their neighborhood. One of the leaders who voted on the measure was screamed at by one of these Mormons, "You're going to burn in hell!"

I could not believe this girl was blaming alcohol for the guy's bad behavior. Not only has she never had an alcoholic beverage in her life, I don't think she's ever been to a work function. Doesn't matter how lax the work atmosphere is- it is still work, and you never, ever make unwanted sexual advances at a coworker. That's work etiquette number one, and unless you're a total douche bag, you don't use alcohol as an excuse either. If this girl's theory is correct-that alcohol at a work party is the culprit-then I'm surprised not more guys get fired after work parties since it is very typical for work functions to have free liquor for everyone to enjoy.

This is why we have people who blame the victim for getting raped. It's that same mentality. If she wasn't drinking & wasn't dressed like a slut, it wouldn't have happened. I know we're all different & have different beliefs, but it's really hard to understand the way others think sometimes...especially when they are so young. I can understand older people having backward thoughts because they just come from that backward thinking generation, but seriously, how is our society going to change at all when young people make comments like that?

Not all non-drinking Mormons think that way & hence the reason I've hung out with them as much as I have. They are pretty open minded about a lot of stuff. I just wonder how they can hang out with someone who has such uber backward view even if they do belong to the same faith.

I think they need to teach their ultra religious friends that quote: Alcohol may be man's worst enemy, but the bible says to love your enemy. Now if I could only remember who said it.

I AM Asian!

2008-10-09T21:00:00.011-06:00

My friend Chris is an amazing cook. Lucky for his wife Cassie, he cooks for her every night. If I was married to Chris, I'd be a tub o' lard, but Cassie's one skinny biotch...I hate her. But this post isn't about Cassie, nor is it about Chris. Surprise, surprise, it's about me. More specifically, it's about me & Asian cooking. The reason I bring up Chris is because he knows how to make incredible Asian food.

I was not a big Asian culinary fan. In fact, the first time I had sushi, I cried. I cried because my dad was forcing me to try it, and I didn't want to. Embarrassing to say, but I wasn't seven. More like seventeen. Not only was I spoiled, but I was a big cry baby until I graduated college. I also remember hating Thai food. My friends who had started exploring all these different types of foods, having finally left home to go to college, introduced me to some peanut sauce chicken dish & something else I can't remember. (They were going to UCLA hanging out at hip restaurants on Melrose while I was eating tacos at Roberto's taqueria down in San Diego.) I thought it was disgusting & stayed away from Thai food for ten years.

I had always been a finicky eater, and even though I lived in Korea until age ten, I grew up eating steaks, roasts & rotisserie chicken every week. Yes, I was a huge meat eater & liked my food kinda bland. Oh yeah, I loved, loved cheese. (Not many people ate cheese back then in the old country, and according to my family, probably the reason why I have White people's B.O. & have to wear deodorant when no other Koreans do. Did I mention they don't sell deodorants in Korea?)

So anyway, Vietnamese, Indian, Japanese, Thai...none of their foods fared well with me. (I did like Chinese, but not the super ethnic dishes.) But after moving to San Francisco, I gradually began to explore the Orient, and actually learned to like their foods even though I still preferred Italian, Spanish, Mexican, and French restaurants over Asian. It was during this time that I also discovered I was a pretty good cook. Have no idea how that came about as I grew up never having to lift a finger. We had a cook & a maid growing up in Korea, and when we moved to the States, my mom would get our meals from a restaurant or a caterer & pretend she made it. (She was a horrible cook.)

Well, I began throwing dinner parties once I moved out on my own, and realized how much I enjoyed entertaining. That tradition continued here in Salt Lake City. Amazingly, the group of friends I made here are also fantastic cooks, and that's when I experienced Chris' Asian cooking. He had all sorts of Asian sauces & ingredients in his kitchen...stuff I had never seen or heard of before. I mean, my kitchen was filled with spices & oils, but nothing that came close to what he had in his kitchen. You'd think he & Cassie were Asian by the looks of their kitchen. They even had a wok! I never had a wok until recently. I remember once when Chris was making dinner, I volunteered to make the rice. He seemed hesitant to let me do it, but I said, "C'mon Chris. I'm Asian. It's in my genes...I know how to make rice. Let me do it."

I burned the bottom of his pot (the rice on the bottom burned while the rest was mushy.) The truth is, I can't make rice. The irony is (being Asian & all), being a skillful cook as I've been praised of being, when it comes to making food from the Orient, I suck...I mean royally suck. I even mess up rice in the rice cooker. Chris won't let me go near his rice anymore, and he gives me this look like, and you call yourself Asian, you fraud.

So, I've been on a mission to change this. I've been practicing, with not much success at first; but this last weekend, I went back to the Chinese Market (Chris & Cassie turned me on to this place). Even though I wanted to gag because it smells real funky in there, I roamed around for about an hour & spent about sixty dollars. (That's a ton considering this place is super duper cheap.) I brought home all that stuff Chris has in his kitchen & more, and began cooking up Chinese & Thai all this week. The first attempt was disastrous. The Chinese eggplant dish was bitter & the meat tasted like barf. The rice was like porridge, and once again, I failed it in the rice cooker.

The next day, I tried Thai. I attempted at Pad Thai. I almost choked on it because the noodle was still hard & stiff. (Don't understand why I can't boil it like pasta...the recipe calls for soaking in warm, not hot, but warm water.) The lemon grass soup was pretty decent, but hot as hell. Tears were rolling down my cheeks because it was so damn spicy.

Thank god my aunt & cousin came over for dinner yesterday. (Yes, Alex was in town for a few days for those of you who thought I was lying to leave Park City early.) I couldn't make them be my guinea pigs, so I made shrimp & chicken Paella...a Spanish rice dish. It was fabulous. My first decent meal all week. What is wrong with me? Why can't I make Asian food?!

Well today, I attempted Thai again. My friend Eve stopped by with some clothes. She tried the Pad Thai & thought it was pretty good. The noodles were soft. It actually wasn't too bad this time. Of course after she left, I found two ingredients by the sink I forgot to add, but at least the noodles were soft. I also made this squid dish. Never touched raw squid before. I was kinda grossed out by it, but needed the practice for my seafood Paella & my future Calamari. So I persevered and sliced the heads off. It turned out pretty good, too. And finally, my jasmine rice was perfect. It didn't burn the pan (I forewent the rice cooker).

I was worried that I would forever be dubbed the Asian who couldn't make rice, but I believe I've turned a new leaf. I can make rice, god damn it! Just watch me make that sticky rice in that urn with the hat. (That last sentence is for Chris.)

How do I look, God?

2008-10-05T20:31:00.017-06:00

One of the perks of living in Salt Lake City is that you get free access to the BYU Mormon channels. Not being a huge TV fan, I don't have cable. So on those rare occasions when I just want to veg out, I find myself flipping through the channels and inevitably end up on one of these three stations. (Don't know whether they have 3 stations or somehow are able to show 3 programs on 3 different channels, but I receive all three on my digital TV.)

Today was one of those days. It rained, plus I partied all weekend because it was a friend's birthday, so I was pooped & just wanted to hide out in my basement. I purposely put my TV down there so I won't be tempted to sit in front of it when tired. (It's long ways down, and being the lazy bum that I am, I only go down there to do laundry on occasion.) Usually, I find other ways to amuse myself, but like I said, being a zombie in front of that box was badly needed today.

So as I'm flipping through the channels as nothing was on, (it is Sunday & football season I gather from all the football coverages...wait a minute...I thought football was on Mondays...Monday Night Football, right?) I stopped at one of the Mormon channels (the other two had some old men bearing their testimonies...the Mormons are always talking about bearing their testimony if you're not familiar...and don't ask me... all I know is that they cry while at it.)

Well, on that third channel, a pretty blond girl was talking about modesty. (Did I mention there are a lot of blonds here? I remember my first month teaching here joking to a friend in California, I can't tell my kids apart, they all look the same...they're all blond & blue eyed!) The girl was educating me through this program (since I was watching) that God loves us so much, he gave his only son to forgive us for our sins, and since Jesus sacrificed so much for us, out of respect, we needed to dress respectably.

Before going out the door, I'm to ask myself, "Would Jesus approve of what I'm wearing today? Would he be proud of how I'm dressed?" She actually demonstrated this by going through her clothes in her closet, looking at herself in the mirror, brushing her hair several times, putting on her earrings, necklace, & a bracelet, and then smiling at her reflection, obviously very proud of what she saw.

Hmm, this must be why a 6 year old kid in my class used the word immodest my first year teaching in SLC. I thought, how clever this little girl is, knowing a word like that at age six; but now I know, it's probably a word that's used quite often in her home/church environment. Now I understand why the Principal addressed the entire faculty & students via the intercom on how we should dress. It was me! She was addressing me! I didn't grow up in Utah, and missed the educational shows like the one I watched today dealing with modesty. I don't look in the mirror every morning and ask that critical question- Jesus, how do I look? You approve? (I also never brush my hair.)

I wear tops that show my shoulders, I don't always wear a bra...actually, I rarely do (I don't have them knockers everyone seems to have here...I swear, my first few months here, I thought I had somehow ended up in LA again), and I wear a dress over my jeans. (That's something I picked up living in San Francisco where it's always cold, even when it's sunny in the afternoon. You learn to layer because you never know how hot or cold it's going to be through out the day. So since you do want to wear those dresses you have, but don't want to be caught with bear legs in case the fog rolls in or be wearing boots if the fog rolls out, you compromise by wearing both your dress & your pants.) But I don't see how that could be immodest, other than the fact that many of my dresses have spaghetti straps...oh, I do have that one black one that has no straps. But seriously, how is showing your shoulders immodest in the eyes of Jesus & God? (Apparently, not adhering to the modest dress-code also means I have no respect for myself.)

Come to think of it, a parent from my class told me this summer that my first year at Beacon Heights (my school), my clothes were the talk of the community. Apparently, some of the faculty & my boss were concerned how the parents would react to my immodesty. I wonder if God would frown upon the indigenous people around the world who wear next to nothing because the climate is so darn hot. Aren't there Mormons in Europe? How do they go to the beach where all the females walk around with their bare boobies? Wait a minute, don't the Brazilians also take their tops off at the beach? I thought a ton of LDS Missionaries go to Brazil from here. I wonder if they take a copy of that program I saw to teach the natives how to dress so God will be pleased.

In the Name of the American Dream

2008-09-22T20:21:00.020-06:00

I've lost over $20k in the last twelve months...all due to the crazy stock market. It's one of those things people tell you to do...save for your old age- i.e., your retirement. Something I really never thought much about since I was a teacher & barely made enough to pay my bills. Plus, I literally thought there was somebody at the school district putting money away for me so I can retire when I turn 55 or something. I was young & couldn't fathom the idea of putting money aside (over what was being taken out of my paycheck) for later when there were so many things I wanted to do, like travel to Europe every chance I got.

But one day while still living in San Francisco, I saw an old woman walking, or rather, shuffling her feet down the street to catch the same bus I was getting on. I watched her waiting for the bus as she leaned her weak old body against the tree. She looked miserable, withered, thin & tired; and when the bus finally came, it took her about a million years to get on. There are many homeless people in SF, but for some reason, I had a panic attack watching this old lady painstakingly get on the bus.

I imagined myself at sixty, poor & old, having to take the bus because I was too poor to get around any other way. Being poor is no big deal when you're young, but the thought of having to live off of a $600/month social security check after retirement frightened me, especially since I tend to lust after poor boys & there was no chance of them ever supporting my ass. (Also my dad had always said he was leaving all his money to the poor when he died... so I knew I couldn't rely on a possible inheritance.)

As I tend to be with everything I delve into, I went nuts with this idea of not being poor & homeless at sixty, and researched high & low reading up on everything that could possibly help me secure my future, financially. Luck would have it, I found this Mayor's Housing Program which helps you buy a place if you're poor as most teachers are; and subsequently learned that our government gives us a huge tax break when we owe a lot of money to the bank like we do when we buy a house. (Unless you're very rich & can buy a house with cash, most of us can only afford to buy a house & pretend it's ours when the bank gives us a huge loan.)

So here I was, living in a phat loft in San Francisco with money borrowed from the bank & getting a huge pay increase because I didn't have to pay as much tax as I used to when I didn't owe anyone any money. So with that extra cash flow, I got on the internet & started looking at mutual funds-something my mom had told me to do a long time ago, but never paid any attention to. I started putting a little of what I could afford into something called the Roth IRA, rented out my place to rich NY yuppies who thought $3000/month rent was a bargain in SF during the summers months I wasn't working, and traveled to Europe.

I was living the American dream- owning a house, getting a tax break, collecting money as a landlord during my off months, fattening up my portfolio (the stock market) and traveling. While I was amassing my wealth, I patted myself on the back for being so smart with my money. I wasn't going out & buying brand name clothes but was saving for my future. I was not driving a fancy car nor shopping at Wal-Mart (strangely, I actually never saw a Wal-Mart until I came to Utah) or the Gap & doing other things that supported the big, bad corporations. I started frequenting second hand stores & educated myself by reading books like No Logo by Naomi Klein.

Until No Logo, I really didn't realize the price we pay, or rather some third-world country factory workers pay for the brands we can't live without or the cheap bargains we hunt for at places like Wal-Mart. I mean I always had the upper-middle class guilt for having grown up so comfortably with everything I ever wanted when so many lived without. But this book gave new meaning to consumerism & made me look at the choices I was making through a new lense. I paid attention to the way I shopped not only out of the middle class guilt, but also because I realized my choices affected people & societies around the world.

Stupidly however, I never connected my method of saving with the big corporations I had begun to detest (watch the Corporation ) until I stumbled on another book by Naomi- the Shock Doctrine. I've been reading it feverishly since I got my hands on it last week as well as reading the Nation on line. Consequently, a few days into reading this book, all this mayhem erupted on Wall Street. First I freaked that my savings had essentially dropped 20% & saw myself walking the streets as a bag lady in my sixties. Then as I continued to learn more about our global economy- the way free market & capitalism are essentially wiping out much of the so called "middle class or working class" around the world, increasing poverty as well as the mega rich (which none of us who read this post will ever be)- I realized my house buying & stock buying aided in creating this crisis.

Big corporations like the banks, investment firms, and huge insurance companies like the AIG have used ordinary people like me to amass a ton of money for the greedy few & now the stupid government is bailing them out which means our tax dollar, which should be paying for our schools, health care, and the elderly (so people like us don't have to worry about becoming poor in our old age), is essentially covering the cash those rich few (okay, a lot more than a few) used to buy million dollar vacation houses & toys around the world, I'm sure, while putting the rest in some secret Swiss bank accounts. (I know someone who bought a $3 million apartment in cash in NYC. He's a hedge fund guy who works for one of those investment companies, and he's considered poor next to some of these Swiss account holders.)

I'm not sorry about losing my money anymore. I'm shocked at what we have done in the name of prosperity & capitalism. It always astounded me how many people go hungry even in the States, and I wanted to murder people who'd say those people making $1/week working at those horrible factories that manufacture all the things we buy here in the States are better off than how they lived before. (They have a choice, I remember Miles saying...who's pro capitalism to the max,) but I could never really backup my argument against it or tell why I thought socialism was better with any solid facts other than my own lofty ideas...until now.

Well, from a person who's tried her damndest to stay out of politics (because in my quest for Zen, I've opted to work on myself rather than try to get involved in something I felt I had no control over), I'm telling you, you must educate yourself with the goings-on of the world with a book like this one. You have to read the Shock Doctrine by Naomi Klein. It will blow your mind.
(It's at the library.) And then read this article on the Nation & see what the Latin Americans are doing.

I know my blog is supposed be about the goings-on of my little life in SLC, but I'm consumed at the moment with the goings on of the world. Once you read this book, you'll understand why.

The Hat Maker

2008-09-12T15:51:00.010-06:00

I'm crazed. Been cranking out a hat or two a night, and have decided to either give them away to my cute little kids for x-mas, or sell them & start a side business. (I've received orders from faculty members already.) The kids saw me crocheting during recess & begged to try them on, so today, I brought 'em all to school & had some of the kids model them for me. Aren't the kids just adorable? How can I not love teaching these little cutie pies every day!

Life's Little Pleasures

2008-09-09T22:31:00.004-06:00

Just got done making my first crocheted hat ever. Actually, two hats. I knitted a couple of hats two winters ago when I got into knitting for a month (of course as always, got bored with it after I mastered it). I gave them away as gifts & didn't think much about hats until this spring when I saw a cute crocheting book at the library. I checked out the book and bought some yarn & a needle to attempt crocheting, but couldn't follow the written direction for the life of me. Even tried watching some 11 year-old boy do it on YouTube, but he was too fast (watched that thing about 10 freakin times!) So I gave up on making my hat. Plus summer was approaching & I had other projects I wanted to work on.

Then this morning while getting ready for work, I looked out the window & realized summer was definitely over. I could feel the cool breeze & I knew Utah winter would be here before I knew it. I started thinking about hats again and remembered there was a para (teacher's assistant) at my school I've seen crochet. So I took my yarn & needle with me to school & found the lady during my lunch break. She said she hadn't crocheted a hat in a long time, but showed me the basic steps to making a circle. (That's the part I couldn't figure out before.) She wasn't sure whether it would turn out or not, and promised to bring me a pattern tomorrow. But even with her warning, I couldn't stop. By the time lunch was over, I had a round doily.

After school, I brought the doily home & continued crocheting. (I go crazy when I start something new... I can't stop until I'm done.) Before I knew it, I had turned the doily into a fabulous hat. I was so excited I called my friend Cassie to tell her the news. She didn't seem very excited...she was in the middle of fixing her state-of-the-art espresso machine. Thought about calling another friend but realized I'd probably get the same reaction. So instead, I popped in a movie that was overdue and proceeded to make my second hat. (Sh*t's incredibly addicting.)

I think I was supposed to count the stitches, but got too involved in the movie to care, and soon I had a round hot-pad the size of a flour tortilla they use at those taquerias. But not to fear. The coolest thing about this crochet thing is you can undo the stitches & never lose your place the way it happens in knitting. Anyway, I'd become a pro at gliding the needle in & out, and used not knowing how many stitches I had to my advantage & ended up with the coolest shaped hat ever. Not sure if I could duplicate the hats, but I'm totally into it. It's way easier than knitting, and you only need one needle vs two. I almost want to cancel my trip to Lava this weekend so I can stay home & crochet.

That's the thing about being a dabbler...there's so much to do & not enough hours in a day. It's already time for bed, and I really want to crochet another hat...

Mid-Morning Treat

2008-08-27T17:05:00.018-06:00

Yesterday was my first day with the kids. 23 adorable little people I'll surely fall in love with in no time. I already have a favorite. (Don't believe it when teachers say they don't have one. It's a lie.) Her name is MayCee. There was this connection the moment we met, and the little munchkin gave me a huge hug and said, "I love you."

She likes watermelon. She told me so when we learned our first poem of the year titled, So Long Summer! It's a cheesy poem about saying good-bye to things we do in the summer and saying hello to school; and eating watermelon was one of them. She raised her hand to tell me how much she loves watermelon. (Just like me.)

Well, lucky for her, Ms. Lee owns a small organic farm, and one of the things that actually survived the "drought" was her watermelon. So I promised MayCee & the rest of the class that I'd bring one in for snack today, and they all cheered. (Gotta love those little first graders. They cheer just about every time I say I'm gonna bring them something.)

So I picked my little watermelon this morning & brought it to school. Wasn't big enough for everyone to share, but we had enough for all the watermelon lovers. It was my first organic watermelon, and theirs too, I'm sure. It had a ton of seeds, but no one cared. We had fun spitting 'em out.

I should totally bring the kids to my farm on a field trip. Wonder if I'd get in trouble for having them weed. It would be an awesome Gardening Unit, and we could learn about organic farms...

Om Shanti Shanti Shanti

2008-08-25T21:52:00.007-06:00

Earlier this summer, my friend Phil asked me if I wanted to get married. When I asked him why, he said he just wondered because I seem so content...meaning content with my life.

My "sister" Beau- an astrology expert- said the other day that he would not have guessed I was a Cancer (other than the fact that I was very nurturing) because I seem emotionally stable unlike many Cancers he knows.

For some reason, those two thoughts popped into my head as I was practicing yoga today. And it happened right after I had this strange experience. The only thing I could equate it to is what I'd imagine a religious experience to be. I literally felt a shift inside my body. I felt something lift away, and I was filled with total bliss. It was amazing. It almost felt like I was high on ecstasy, but it wasn't cloudy & dreamy. It really was ineffible.

I've felt total relaxation on many occasions at the end of yoga when we lie there on the floor doing the savasana (the death pose). And on many occasions I've thought that I could just die right there in peace without any fear or regret. But never have I experienced this total harmony where I felt one with deity. It was weird, but so awesome.

The fact that the experience was followed by those two thoughts made me realize it must be yoga that's giving off that vibe to the people I meet, if that's the way they see me. And I do feel totally content tonight, especially having come home to a mowed lawn & a lovely note from one of my favorite friends in SLC, the HasenPfeffer. (If you haven't heard, I hate yard work, especially mowing, right there next to weeding.)

All the love I sent out to the universe during yoga came right back at me with an angel who mowed my lawn just because I asked... Yoga rocks!

Dumb Rules & Guilt

2008-08-18T10:42:00.019-06:00

Work officially starts for me tomorrow. Thought I was going to go in a day early to start the week off on a Monday instead of Tuesday, but can't seem to get myself out of the house. It was such a fun summer, I don't want it to end, even though it has ended. The thought of being around 30 or so grouchy teachers for a week before the kids show up is making me a little depressed.

I don't get it. I always thought teaching & being around kids were the reasons for my youthful looks and my silliness; but other than myself, many of the other teachers I have worked with look so withered, tired, and old, not to mention angry. Perhaps this is why I've never really made friends at work & keep a distance, and probably why most think I'm anti-social, and would be shocked to find out how easily I make friends.

I remember when I first started teaching, I was surrounded by either old timers who couldn't wait to retire (and hated kids) or young people who were those types that never shared their notes at school or ever let you copy their work. It loyally sucked being around downers like that, and so I kept myself away from the lunchroom and hung out with the kids in the playground. I could never understand what the big deal was that my students ran down the hallway ('cause I do sometimes, too) & didn't walk in a straight line like little soldiers, and began to hate all the dumb rules they had in schools. (Don't they remember being kids themselves? I used to wonder.) Of course I've grown up a bit and realize some of those rules are there to keep the kids safe, but I still say most are BS.

Like last year, I had this character in my class whom I adored. He was like a little midget (everyone thought he was a kindergartner even though he was in first grade) & funny as h*ll. He apparently got into a lot of trouble with his teacher the year prior, but with me, he became the star of the class. He wrote crazy, awesome stories after spending a week refusing to use capitals & lower case letters properly (hE thOugGht iT wAs reTarDed tHat hE couLdn't Use thEm aNyway he wAnTed) until I finally got him to understand why it was necessary; and even convinced me to let him stay in during recess with the argument that it was a better use of his time to help me or work on a project than walk around the yard aimlessly since he didn't feel like playing any games. How could I say no to that argument?

He actually became the most popular kid in the entire school because whenever we'd have school performances, he'd do this crazy act (sort of like the Hasen-dance if you watched the video clip on my earlier post). I thought he was hilarious and let him do his thing because otherwise, he would just be this weird looking midget everyone made fun of. But with his antics, he took the attention away from his size & became the rock-star as noted by all the six graders.

Well, I got called into the office and got in trouble for encouraging him. My principal thought Connor, the midget, was acting inappropriately, and ruined the performances when in my opinion, he's what made those boring performances actually enjoyable to watch. And each time we did anything in the auditorium, I was warned to keep him in line. So in order to keep my job, I had to beg Connor to be ordinary. Of course he tried to argue he wasn't hurting anyone (which is the one thing I try to teach them all year with being kind & compassionate), but when he realized I was in trouble, he gave in.

So this brings me to the movie I saw yesterday which also made me depressed: Brideshead Revisited. Not only did it make me depressed, but made me want to move. Had no idea it was going to have such heavy religious repression & guilt splashed all over it. I thought I was going to see a British literary costume drama with the plummy accents & hunky yet so civilized men, but came out feeling punched in the stomach by Catholicism & its lethal weapon. Not just Catholicism (I was baptized Catholic), but just religion in general with its moralizing, which in this movie drives a homosexual character to drink to escape the guilt (which essentially ruins his life) and poisons the love between two other characters.

The movie tried to show a comforting power of faith in midst of its power to destroy; but what I saw was how it manipulated a person into succumbing to what he could only view as comfort in the misery of his guilt-ridden, repressed life, or rather life full of lies and half truths. I see it all around me, especially in this State where most call themselves Mormon and "follow" the rules of their church. I've met quite a few gay men who are "trying" not to be gay, which is so sad because the church they love is telling them who they are is wrong. I know it's not just the Mormons, and this happens in most religions and cultures, but that's just it. All organized religions seem to say, our way is the right way, keeping people out who are different rather than embracing everyone for who they are.

So today I wonder if I want to live and work in a city where so many either live a repressed life because they've been told it's living in sin to drink, masterbate, have sex, be gay, etc. or live a life of half truths because they have to hide their lifestyle to their family. I know it's not all black and white, and am probably reacting to this so strongly because I, myself, was raised in a religious family; but do I want to raise my future kids in a city where they "marinate" because having premarital sex is wrong & beat themselves up for masterbating? Do I want them to be around kids who habitually lie & hide their true selves b/c their religious family will judge them?

Who makes up these dumb rules & why do they brainwash young kids into believing that so many things are sinful that they live in frustration & guilt? I just can't seem to help but grapple with this aspect of religion which keeps me away & makes me want to withdraw from it completely.

My New Little Sister

2008-08-16T11:05:00.008-06:00

I always envied my friends who had sisters. They always seem to have secrets, tell each other everything, go shopping together, gab all day, and just do lots of things together you can't really do with a brother.

Don't get me wrong, having been a tomboy as a kid, it was awesome having a little brother you could have sword fights with, skateboard with, and just run around with, with all the boys in the neighborhood. But when I got a little older, I envied my friends who could talk about boys, clothes, and sex with their sisters.

On the other hand, it's probably good I didn't have a sister because one thing I couldn't stand about girls growing up was how catty they were. Probably why I didn't have too many girl friends & enjoyed the company of boys much more.

But as so many good things seem to come my way here in SLC, I've found myself a sister...except he's a boy. He's name is Beau. I love him. We have so much fun, when we hang out, we can't stop gabbing. We talk and talk and talk about everything, including sex; and I give him lots and lots of advice because he's 28 & Mormon, and you know what that means.

We talk about all the girls he meets as he is a lady's man (look at his pictures, what girl wouldn't fall for him), we go shopping together for kitchenwares because we both love to cook (he went to a culinary institute), we play music together (he's a fabulous musician), and we decorate together because we both have an innate talent for interior design. It can be exhausting, believe me, but he is so adorable, I can't stop gushing over him.

April & Eve, my two friends here who are sisters have a Sisters' Night every Monday. They meet after work, just the two of them, have dinner and do what sisters do, I imagine- tell secrets and gab all night. Well, I'm no longer jealous, because I'm going to have my own sisters' night with Beau, my new adopted boy-sister.

My Little Babes

2008-08-16T10:24:00.005-06:00

It's a miracle. My little farm has produced edible goodies. Didn't think it was going to happen, especially after I was told by a self-proclaimed expert backyard farmer, Miles, that I wasn't watering enough. "Look at the leaves," he had said, "How could you not know you weren't watering enough? They're dying!" Well, frankly, I hadn't been going out there to even notice. It was too hot, even in my air-conditioned house. Why the h*ll would I go outside? Plus I had a new toy to play with- my piano.

Well, it finally cooled down yesterday... a breezy 85 degrees. It felt like fall, almost, so I ventured out to the back. Oh, I do have such lovely yard...too bad it's so hot here in the summer. I walked over to the little patch of farm to see how the leaves were doing, and I noticed something red. OMG, is that a tomato!? Yes, it was a tomato, bright red tomato! My own little tomato, and I found another one right behind it. I jumped up and down in excitement, almost falling off the ledge, and looked closer at the other plants. (My organic farm is separated by a small wall where I have to stand to look at the plants.)

OMG, I've got peppers, too! Oh sh*t, why did I plant so many? I thought one plant would yield about six at the most. Oh no, there's about thirty on each plant! Wait, what were they again? I had to dig around the ground to find the little plaque to figure out what kind of peppers I had planted. They were Anaheim Chiles. What am I going to do with all of these? Why didn't someone tell me I didn't need to plant so many? That Shane, some help he is!

Anyway, after the mini-drama I had in my head over all the wrong things I had planted, I proceeded to walk around the farm & found one watermelon, one eggplant, one jalapeno, two ripe cherry tomatoes, dead cucumbers, dead corn, and lots of green tomatoes hanging from the vine...is it called a vine? I couldn't help but smile looking at all my organics. No pesticides, not even any fertilizer or plant food, and I had myself my own fresh farm produce. I felt like a proud parent, even though I neglected them most of the time they were fighting to survive.

Now I understand why people do this every year, and kind of understand why people have kids. It's a lot of work & a pain in the behind, and at times you neglect them just out of pure frustration...but when they start maturing a bit & start looking like what they were meant to be, they're just so beautiful. Wow, I think I just grew up a little, maybe... I think my vege garden helped me understand that having children is not the end of the world, as I had always thought. Oh my, am I finally ready for a conventional life of marriage and family? Oh no, what has Utah done to me?

But I so do hate the conventional...hmm, we'll see what unfolds.

the Manifester

2008-08-13T14:52:00.007-06:00

About a year ago, I got it in my head that I wanted a Steinway. For those of you unfamiliar, Steinway is the Rolls-Royce of pianos, I would imagine, or a Bentley or whatever people seem to believe is the top-of-the-line car of the century these days. And if you know me at all, you know I'm not into brand names, and could care less what the logo says as long as it does what it's supposed to do without breaking apart in a week. I even get embarrassed and definitely have the middle-class guilt when it comes to owning nice things... probably why I gave away my BMW even though it drove stupendously. I even put out a disclaimer when people come over to my house for the first time, "Don't judge me for how my place looks. It's just a byproduct of how I was raised, but I'd be happier living in a trailer."

However, when it comes to musical instruments, I can't help but want the best. It's not a pair of jeans or a mass produced factory made product, (well in some cases, yes) but a work of art, crafted to sound just perfect in the hands of a talented musician (...and especially for those of us not as gifted because then whatever you play ends up sounding so much better.) The Steinways are built by hand, and it takes about a year to build this masterpiece. They've been doing it, I believe, since 1853.

Anyway, I had gotten into playing the guitar last year, and it subsequently got me into wanting to play the piano I used to hate as a kid. (I was tortured into playing two hours a day from age 5 to 10 until I escaped the Korean regime and fled to the States.) The painful memories of sitting in front of the giant black torture device while my brother & my friends played outside had finally eased up, and I actually wanted the monster back in my house. (I do have an electric piano, but it's just not the same.)

So I found a Steinway Dealership that sells these quality instruments and I went from one grand to the next like a kid in a candy store playing the only music I still knew how to play: Beethoven's Piano sonata No. 8 or part of it, anyway. Then came over the salesperson with the bad news. Fifty grand for the baby grand. $50,000!? I left the store, deflated.

Finish the remodel of the house or buy a Steinway? It was a tough decision, but in the end, my practical side won over and I shelved my dream of owning a Steinway. But as I always do when I badly want something, I pictured it in my house even though I knew I couldn't afford one on my teacher's salary.

Well, about a month ago, I got a phone call from my mom. Her friend was selling a used Steinway and wanted to know if I was still interested. $25,000, she said. "Mom, my birthday is coming up & I haven't made you waste money on a wedding...how about a piano?" She didn't think that was amusing. (My mom's been wanting me to get married since I was in my early twenties. She thinks I'm waiting for her to die so I can marry whomever I want.) She said if I got married, she'd buy me one. Seriously, here I am finally telling her I want to play the piano, something she's been wanting me to do all my life, and she dangles the marriage bit. I swear, nothing is free in life. People always seem to want something in exchange for whatever they're giving away...even your own parents.

Anyway, I finally convinced her to loan me the money, and got myself that sweet baby grand. (And Hasen, the only friend who was excited for me with this purchase, also gave me a fabulous idea for paying my parents back- my inheritance!) The piano came all the way from Chicago, so it needed tuning. I waited a month for this guy because he's the Master Tuner of all the notable Steinways in the city. He finally showed up this morning, and guess what? The piano's worth $35,000. Not only did I get the piano I wanted by visualizing it in my house, I made 10 grand in a month! How fantastic is that!?

So I've come to really believe what my friend, Lauren said about me. She said I was a manifester, and I think I really am. She said in the year she's known me, whatever I've said I really wanted in my life, I've gotten. And looking back on my life, I think she is absolutely right. It's not a wish thing, it's more of a concrete thing where I say I want this & I'm going to get it. How do you think I got my job, my house, and ended up in SLC? Try it. I don't think it's just me. I think anyone can do it.

I'm a Man, Apparently...

2008-08-07T07:11:00.018-06:00

So I decided to be real "good" and didn't have a lick of alcohol last night, even though everyone else was boozing it up. Of course, all the ladies at the toenail party gave me a hard time about turning Mormon on them; or rather saving myself to party with the Mormons, instead. But I stuck to my guns and came home sober at 11 pm. I had decided I was going to cut down on my drinking...plus, I was saving myself for the possible debauchery tonight at the Trapp Door. (Not sure anymore though, as I've gotten no sleep. I bet the toenail ladies put a curse on me after I left. Tekoa does have a voodoo doll.)

My plans for a good night sleep (so I could rip the dance floor tonight) backfired on me. I guess my body's just not used to going to sleep sober these days, and I freakin' woke up at 6:30 and couldn't go back to sleep. So what can you do at 6:30 in the morning, especially now that I have a roommate? Not much. So I sat in front of my computer and started reading my friend, Christy's blog from the beginning as she takes some awesome pictures and writes funny captions to go along with 'em.

That's when I stumbled upon this thing called Celebrity Collage by MyHeritage.com. You can upload a photo of yourself, and it matches your face to celebrities. How fun! So I started out by uploading the profile picture I have on this blog page, which my friend, Kimon took with his amazing camera at the library when he came to visit. I like it because I think I look mischievous.

Well, what d'ya know...I'm White. I knew it! Even my own family called me a Whitey when I was little because I had red hair & freckles, and that list of Stuff White People Like is so me in so many ways.

Take a look:

But I had to try another one. This time it's me playing around with my photo-booth on my computer a few months ago.

That's more like it. It finally recognized that I am indeed Asian. I don't know who Matsu Takako is, but she's hot and she's Japanese. No wonder people talk to me in Japanese when I visit Korea. In case you didn't know, I'm not White nor am I Japanese. (Nor Chinese to those of you in Utah.) From what I've been told, I'm a descendant of the founder & the first king of the Joseon Dynasty in Korea.

I don't know. I still wasn't convinced. These chics are way too hot. So I tried another picture. That's me right now, messy bed-head, shiny face from the night cream I put on before going to bed (hey, how do you think I stay looking so young!?), all puffy and look what it turned up...

I'm a man. No wonder I get hot for girls when I'm drunk. That's my uninhibited male side coming out. Hmm...could this be why I like skinny, pretty boys in real life?

Family Ties

2008-08-04T13:33:00.019-06:00

It had been a while since we were all together at Chris & Cassie's. Andrew was out of the hospital, Jake's new girlfriend was out of town which meant Jake was back with us again, and Hasen-Beau were gone so I was present. We were all there, and it was just our old gang again (except for this one lady from St. George not too many of us knew).

As much as all the fun I've been having with my new friends lately, there was definitely a sense of familiarity & sort of a coming home feeling to the evening, like the way it felt when I used to go home for the holidays in college. It was like being with my family again and realizing how much I adore & missed being with them all, even though I've been neglecting them a bit with the excitement of being around the Logan crowd.

To top it off, Chris showed us a bunch of Youtube clips of sitcoms we used to watch as kids, and we all sang along. (Punky Brewster, Family Ties, Silver Spoons, Growing Pains, Alf, the Wonder Years, Different Strokes, Small Wonder, Mr. Belvedere, Who's the Boss, etc.) We ooh-ed & ahh-ed over all the great shows commenting on how they don't make tunes like that anymore. I must admit, I got a little teary-eyed singing along to Family Ties because I was surrounded by people who love me the most in SLC - my family, my true A-team.

Crazy or Brilliant? Does it matter?

2008-07-28T11:45:00.019-06:00

As most of you know, I've been teaching for a long time. Over the years, I've taught hundreds of kids, and each year there's always a kid or two who leave a lasting impression. These are the kids I'm forewarned about...the kids nobody wants because they were horrible the year before. They have a reputation before I ever meet them, and lucky for me, they seem to always end up in my class. Having always been the youngest teacher or the newest teacher in school, I'm blessed with these little monsters who spent most of their prior years hanging out alone in the hallway because they were kicked out of their kindergarten or 1st grade class for being naughty & disrespectful.

The crazy thing is, these are the kids who make my days teaching so much fun. As much as I want to strangle them at times, they are the ones who entertain and challenge me. I'm fascinated by the way their mind works, and as exhausting as their antics can get, it keeps me on my toes, and they help me to become a better teacher. I learn to be more tolerant and learn to be in awe of how different people's brain works. And usually, these are the kids who are brilliant with a mind of their own & these are the kids who question rules they are told to follow. They usually end up being the sweetest and most loving (even though they don't appear to be on the outside) and they excel in my class because I let them be who they were meant to be.

I have a friend who reminds me of one of these kids. And the reason I'm writing this post is because I just found a copy of an online chat he had with a gear expert at Backcountry.com. (I had to print it out because it was so outrageously funny.) His name is Hasen (pronounced /haw-sin/). He's crazy...but oddly, brilliant. About two months ago, he and my other friends Matt and Phil (who's also weird & talented) came over for dinner. We spent the evening hanging out, talking and playing music. We were up in my bedroom/loft playing piano & guitar while Phil tinkered on my computer. It was a pleasant evening, nothing out of the ordinary, just me getting to know the boys a little better since they were all fairly new friends.

Next morning, I remembered I'd forgotten to turn off the computer. So I went over to my desk and clicked on the mouse to shut it off & noticed an on-line chat screen still open. This is what I found:

Chat information. One moment please while we route you to a gear expert. You're currently number 1 in queue. Like hot deals on gear? Check out www.steepandcheap.com & www.whiskeymilitia.com for killer deals on the best gear on the planet. We'll be right with you.

Thanks for holding. Chat Information. Thanks for contacting us. My name is JJ, how can I help you?

Jason: I'm looking for something that can hold a lot of milk. (That's my friend Hasen. So you know, he doesn't own dogs, not even one.)
Jason: Like, a lot. I have 2 St. Bernard dogs that come camping with me and I need to feed them tons of milk.
JJ: Ok
Jason: They slurp it down like water but the other problem is carrying that much on the trail.
JJ: Let me see what we have.
Jason: Ok.
Jason: They won't drink water, it has to be milk. So it has to be lactose friendly.
JJ: MSR Dromedary Bags - click here
JJ: We have that available in a large 10L size.
Jason: Is that one lactose friendly?
Jason: Is that one alright? What's the diff between a camel and a dromedary? Is dromedary milk?
Jason: Wait, hold on, dromedary is just the name.
JJ: Yes, that is the name of the bag.
Jason: I can put any milk I want in it, right?
JJ. Yes
Jason: Got it.
Jason: So...how do I carry that thing?
JJ: You could just close it up and put it in your pack.
Jason: It's not its own backpack?
JJ: No, it is not.
Jason: Ok.
JJ: Would you rather have a backpack style, those come with a smaller capacity, usually max of around 3L.
Jason: How do I get my dogs to drink out of those? Some sort of dog straw or something? Or I could just pour it into a small dent in the ground or just bring a bowl...
Jason: But they would fight over it and they're big.
JJ: Ruffwear Quencher Cinch Top Dog Bowl- click here
Jason: And it's scary as heck when they fight.
JJ: That is a great portable bowl.
Jason: Oh.
JJ: You could get 2 of those and they will fold up small for you.
JJ: Mountainsmith Dog Trippin' Kit - click here
Jason: I could separate the dogs and tie them to a tree so they can't fight, but then they'd just cry.
Jason: One time the one, Jarb Honey, bit me cuz he got pissed at me.
JJ: That is a pretty cool kit with the bowl, food dish, bed, and dog pack so they could carry their own milk too.
Jason: No shit? Let me look at it real quick.
JJ: Ya, pretty cool, I'd always make my boy carry his own food if he wanted to come with .
Jason: Cool. My dogs are gonna be lovin that leche.
Jason: That means milk.
JJ: Nice
JJ: Let me know if I can help with anything else.
Chat Information Thanks for chatting with us today.

(I wonder what JJ was thinking chatting with Hasen.)

The thing is, I don't think any of us knew he was having this on-line chat while we hung out. When in god's name did he do this, and why in god's name did he decide to query about a leche bowl for his imaginary dogs in the middle of us hanging out, I'll never know. But like I said, it's fascinating to be around people like him, and I bet he was loathed and loved by his teachers, depending on how crazy they were themselves.

Watch him dance:

Little Miss Molly

2008-07-23T13:58:00.036-06:00

Just had a little visitor. Normally when people knock on my door, I duck & hide. (My front door has glass panes & you can see in.) I can never say no when they want me to buy something or sign up for a "good" cause, so I've resorted to hiding. Also, you never know if it's going to be a Jehovah's Witness or a Mormon Missionary trying to give out stuff for me to read. Last time, it took me four months to get rid of the Book of Mormon this guy left me. Didn't want to throw it away & I couldn't get anyone I know to take it.

I've also tried pretending to be Chinese not speaking any English or broken English at least, but that never works because I'm awful at it. I should take lessons from Hasen since he's so good. Speaks to me with the oriental accent when he thinks I'm having a difficult time understanding him. So rude. (He doesn't get that it might have something to do with him talking 100 miles per hour.) Anyway, I inevitably end up laughing or turning bright red from being embarrassed & feeling guilty.

That reminds me of this time I was at the beach with a friend of mine. This creepy looking dude (okay, not creepy, but no matter how hot they are, I hate being approached at the beach...don't ask me why) came over to us. I was laying on my stomach so it was my friend who ended up talking to him. Since I wasn't participating in the conversation, the guy says, "Your friend's really quiet," to which my friend Grace replies, "Oh, she's a foreign exchange student from China. She doesn't speak much English. I'm in the Chinese class she TA's in." I had to put my hand over my mouth so I wouldn't bust out laughing.

Dude: Oh, so you speak Chinese?
Grace: A little. Enough to hang out with her.
D: Will you tell her I think she's beautiful?
G: Sure. To me, "#$%^&*()__)(*&^%$%^&*"

To which I can't help but bust up with my hands over my face.

G: She's shy, but I think she's flattered. Look at her turning red and giggling.
D: What's her name?
G: Sheshuan.
D: Hm, Sheshuan. Does she have a boyfriend?
G: Not that I know of. Why don't you talk to her? She understand a little.

D: YOU HAVE A BEAUTIFUL NAME!
(Why do we all yell when someone doesn't speak English. I find myself doing the same thing...it's not like they're deaf.)
Me: Thank you, (with the best foreign sounding accent I could muster up.)
D: YOU SPEAK VERY WELL! I DON'T DETECT AN ACCENT! WOULD YOU LIKE TO GO OUT ON A DATE SOMETIME?

I look over to my friend who's sitting there with a straight face. I wanted to kill her for putting me on the spot & as funny as it was watching her speak to me in "Chinese" I started to feel guilty. She pretended to interpret for me with a few more @#$%^&*($#$%^&* and finally told the guy that I had a man waiting for me in China.

Sorry, went on a tangent. Back to my little visitor.

The knock on my door was strong. I knelt to the floor up on my loft and crawled over to the short wall. I slowly moved my head up so I could peek below without them seeing me, but couldn't make out anyone. Then the knock, again. It had to be a dwarf. A kid couldn't knock that hard. I was curious to see what the dwarf may be selling and ran downstairs. When I opened the door, there stood Molly, a cute little red head with freckles- a student of mine from this past year. She stood there with her arms out with a large card she had made for me in her cute little hands. (Have no idea how she knocked so hard.)

Molly had missed me as much as I've been missing her and stopped by with her grandma to say hello. I picked her up and twirled her around and we hugged for a long time. She and I were all smiles and I listened to her as she timidly told me what she's been up to all summer. (Kids get weird when they see you outside of school...hence the timidness.) Sadly, her family is moving to Red Lodge, Montana so her dad can manage the ski resort up there. (And she had promised to teach me how to ski next season so I wouldn't get stuck on a black diamond like I did last year.) I was heartbroken to hear the news, but she assured me she'd come visit.

So that was my little visitor today who came not to sell me anything or talk me into changing my religion, but to just give me lots of love. I miss that about being a kid...just going over to friends' to say hi just because. When did we get so uptight & weird that we have to make appointments to see our friends?

Locally Grown, the Easy Way...

2008-07-22T10:18:00.008-06:00

I need to move back to San Francisco. Remember my farming post? (My Farming Fantasy) Look what my friend just sent me... a link to an article about a hired backyard farmer.

Getting Aquainted with the Mormons

2008-07-21T10:19:00.030-06:00

Before I met my ex (he's the first Mormon... well, ex-Mormon I had ever met & the catalyst for me being in Salt Lake City,) I thought Mormons were Amish/ Jehovah's Witnesses. Basically I didn't know the difference and thought the tall, skinny bike riding guys with the white helmet & backpack in the city were called Jehovah's Witnesses when they came knocking at your door, and became Amish with seven wives when they returned home to ride their buggies and work the land. (I was obviously confused.)

So the first time I went to Provo to visit my ex's parents (who unlike my ex are still LDS) I was excited to spend a week in a house with no electricity and wondered if I should bring a full skirt, cape, and apron so I didn't stand out in my New York winter garb. But to my disappointment, his childhood home looked more like a page out of Architectural Digest and his parents looked as though they had just stepped out of Bloomingdales.

To help me better understand the culture he had left behind (in seeing my confusion), my ex showed me Southpark's season 7: All About the Mormons. That's where I learned everything I know about the Mormon church and Joseph Smith. So when I moved to SLC against the wishes of my friends, my ex, and my parents to wait for the housing bubble to pop so I could move back to San Francisco, I promised I'd stay away from the Mormons and their divine inspiration from the golden plates, aka the Book of Mormon. The move to Utah was strictly a business venture in my eyes and a way of making another fortune through real estate so I could go back to the city I adore.

For two years, I was pretty successful at staying away from the non-drinking, perpetually happy, Book of Mormon toting populous of this City. Then I met HasenPfeffer. He showed up at my house one night (I had thrown a party for a friend's birthday) uninvited with my friend Phil's ex-wife who I also had never met. Being the gracious host that I am, I walked up to them and said, "Hi. Hmm... I should know you, but I can't seem to recall... Where do I know you from?" When in fact, I was thinking, Who the h*ll are you & why are you on my property? Well, he ended up staying, drinking and partying with the rest of us and even entertained us with a song. Then I found out he was Mormon. A church going Mormon who drinks and parties. I was intrigued...really intrigued.

He was Mormon alright. Without me asking, he came over with his friends and took all my empty bottles from the party to the recycling place at the golf course. In all the parties I had thrown, no one had ever really helped me clean up the mess; and this Mormon I hardly knew volunteered to help. Not only was he nice, but as I subsequently found out in hanging out with him & his friends (he lives pretty close), he turned out to be incredibly cool.

He and I had many discussions about the Mormon religion while getting intoxicated with vino & beer over the next several weeks, but it was never really in-depth as we were partying with friends. Then I met Beau. He is Hasen's friend, and a real Mormon meaning he not only goes to church every week, but follows the church doctrine to a T. But unlike the gray-suit wearing church goers I see on Sundays, he is hip. The first time I met him, he was on his way to church, but looked more like he was going to a young, hipster fashion show in Soho.

Beau and I have had extensive dialogues about his faith in the last few weeks. I even went to the Mormon church with Hasen-Beau last weekend. Even last night I was on the phone with Beau until 2 a.m. exchanging our ideas and beliefs about god. I'm finding out that Southpark might have not been the best source for learning about the Mormons. I'm also realizing Mormons aren't freaks as so many people think they are. They don't have seven wives, they don't have tassels on the nipples of the undergarments they wear ( I don't know where I got that idea), and they actually are quite fun to be around. (Oh and not everyone wears those undergarments.)

Not to worry, I'm not converting. However, what I am being is being open to the people I swore I'd keep away from. Instead of judging and excluding a group of people just because they don't drink coffee & believe in some golden plates, I've decided to embrace them for who they are. My non-Mormon friends here think I'm crazy & on a mission to deflower all the Mormon boys, but that's not it. I've found that a lot of things I believe in are in sink with what the Mormons believe in. It's just that we use a different language to explain our faith.

I love my new Mormon friends, and as my friend Kevin (a native Utah-n who was raised Momorn) from SF always says, "Utah-rds are people, too, you know..." And they really are.

Underpaid & Underappreciated

2008-07-03T16:13:00.017-06:00

Teachers get so much slack for getting the summers off. Everyone always says how easy we have it... getting off work at 3:15, working 180 days out of the year, and getting paid during the summer. But that's total bullsh*t. We don't get paid during the summer. They just stretch our nine-month pay into twelve months. What's more, most teachers attend workshops during the summer on their own time, sometimes even forking over their own dough to be there.

I just got back from my summer workshop. It started last Thursday night with a 3-hour, torturous viewing of one of my least favorite operas, the Magic Flute. It was done as a modern adaptation by the NY Metropolitan Opera. They probably spent millions, but it was crap. It felt like the medieval coffin torture and it didn't help that we had to watch it on one of those ancient, large screen TV (the size of a refrigerator) some douchebag invented (the quality also sucked making the viewing even more painful)... you know the one - the ones most meatheads used to salivate over so they could watch football with their buddies screaming bloody murder. (I wonder how the landfills are doing with those suckers now that we can't watch TV on them starting February of next year.)

This week, it was a painful 8 hour day deal (which I must admit I was a few hours late to on one or more occasions, but that's only because I've been to them before & they're very similar except for the Operas we study), just so my students can have a fabulous learning experience. If you were lucky enough to have teachers who did cool stuff with you, you have to realize, they spent many unpaid hours, days, and summers preparing for that sh*t. So don't give me this crap about teachers getting paid plenty for having the summers off!

My friend just emailed me who's spending her summer with her two boys at home for the first time because they are no longer on a year-around school schedule. She writes: I'm going nutso with my kids home 24/7 for the whole summer...I'm not sure I am going to survive!!! And these are her own children she's talking about. We have to deal with 25-34 kids, 7 hours a day for 180 days. What do you think will happen to us if we didn't get the summers off!?

So those of you always giving me crap about how little I work & how much I get paid...shut it. Plus, I'm tutoring a kid who struggled all year with her math without pay, just because... I would like to know how many of you work overtime without pay unless you have to, just because...

And so you know, I stayed up many nights without sleep and without pay so my kids could have this experience at the Rose Wagner Theater. (It's a small clip, but enjoy. Watch the parrot on the right.)

Officially Deflowered

2008-06-30T10:13:00.042-06:00

The first time I thought I went on a real camping trip was when I sailed over to Catalina Island from L.A. with a reservation at Parson's Landing campgrounds. What made it "real" to me was that there was no shower and I had to lug my own two large bottles of Evian mineral water on my back like a one-humped Arabian camel in the desert. (This was before Nalgenes.) Luckily we were camping by the beach & the only other thing in my "pack" was a towel, a toothbrush & some sunscreens (SPF 55 for my face & 30 for my body), because not only was my school backpack too small for anything else, but we had to hike 7 miles to this secluded beach. It also helped that my camping companion was a 6'2" rock-climbing instructor with hands of David & body of god who carried everything else we needed.

Having to use the port-a-potty was totally roughing it for me, and I boasted about having gone real camping for years, until I moved to Utah. When I told the story about having gone to Catalina to camp out for two days without running water, people laughed. "Rachel, sleeping on the beach with a port-a-potty is not camping!" mocked my friends. So I was really excited about my road trip last summer when I heard we'd be camping out, and bought all my camping gear from Backcountry.com including a portable toilet seat which I was going to use over the hole. (I was told we'd be digging a hole in the ground for our nature's call.) But to my disappointment, every camp site had a shower and a toilet, and I never did get to have that real camping experience in the wilderness. Only thing real about the experience was that I was eaten alive by mosquitoes, and those vicious, carnivorous black flies took chunks of my skin and left it bleeding like bullet wounds from an assault rifle.

Then came an invitation for a real camping experience this weekend from my new camping buddies, the A-Team. Well, it was going to be car camping, but not to fear... no running water & no toilets. As we drove up to the Uintas, I couldn't believe I had never ventured east of Park City in the three (well, almost three) years I'd been here. The scenery was breathtaking. Huge reservoir (right in my backyard!), and green & purple trees covered the mountains like a soft mossy blanket on a slippery slope against the backdrop of crystal blue skies with puffy cumulus clouds... and I'd thought all of Utah was dried-out, red, and bare like an overcooked, tasteless lump of pork roast.

As soon as we turned off the paved road and hit the rocky terrain, I knew I was in for an adventure. I was being tossed in the truck like the dice in the pop-o-matic, die rolling bubble on that board game called Trouble I used to play as a kid; and at one point, our little red pickup was centrifuged, stuck on a rock with the other two cars nowhere in sight. By the time we finally made it up to our campsite, my ass hurt from squeezing it so tight for over an hour of rumble & tumble in the car, but it was all worth it. (Get your mind out of the gutter. Plus, that imagery only works if I were a gay man.) We had our little slice of heaven - a quiet, pristine lake all to ourselves surrounded by tall, majestic trees. (Okay, not majestic, but that sounds better than tall, skinny, half dead trees.)

We drank, we sang, told scary stories, and made curry over the fire in our dutch oven 'cause somebody forgot the fuel for the most awesome JETBOIL cooking system ever. (That was me.) We had too many bossy cooks, including me, and no knives to cut the half-rotten onion (that was me, also) & the potatoes. But we managed by using the 1-inch foil cutter that comes attached to the wine bottle opener (of course we'd remember the tool for the alcohol); and after about two hours of mayhem in our outdoor kitchen (very much like Hell's Kitchen if you've ever seen that show), we devoured the curry like a famished Ethiopian. In the end, we congratulated each other for the perfect meal and sat under the dazzling stars telling more ghost stories and bonding over the fire that kept us warm.

So short & sweet was the trip that I didn't need to dig a hole, but my bare bums did flash the trees a few times. Teeth didn't get brushed, no washing of the face, but did have a toasted bagel with cream cheese for breakfast. I was shocked to hear someone had brought a toaster at first & wondered who had sneaked a generator to our wilderness trip ruining my real camping experience, but I soon found out that all it was was a long handled metal box that closes at the end with hinges to put over the fire. Awesome! Too bad I didn't bring any eggs. Could've had the perfect egg-mitt bagel for breakfast.

So now, I've officially gone real camping. I'm no longer the camping virgin. But am I ready for a 3-day Fourth of July backpacking trip, meaning no cars? Hmm... does anyone know a tall, muscly dude who'd be willing to carry the extra stuff that won't fit in my pack like my tent, sleeping bag, stove, and food?

My Farming Fantasy

2008-06-26T12:51:00.037-06:00

Ever since my road trip last summer, I've been daydreaming about living on a farm. After spending a few days on a 3-acre organic farm in Ithaca owned by Miles' best friend, and now my friends Aaron & his wife, Megan, I had a new mission in life: to find me a farm boy & to live on a farm since it would be too hard to do on my own. It was awesome to watch Aaron and his family work the land & to live off the land. (Well, kinda...Megan is a PhD student at Cornell & gets a stipend... but not a whole lot.) Our meals consisted of everything they were growing & we even had duck eggs for breakfast. It was amazing.

So for a while I researched small farms all over the country and was even thinking about moving to Oregon, specifically Corvallis, where there's a strong Agricultural Science Department at the State University & quaint farms all around. When Aaron & Megan came to SLC in January with their farm grown strawberry jam, I knew we had met for a reason. They were my catalyst for living the life of my childhood dreams, just as I had imagined when I was small watching Little House on the Prairie in the house my parents bought because I begged and begged. (It had a huge vegetable garden in the back and a half-pipe on the side for skateboarding... Sadly, both were taken out & grass put in b/c the garden went to sh*ts since none of us were farmers & too many boys came over distracting me from my studies.)

Reading Animals, Vegetables, Miracles by Barbara Kingsolver also fueled my desire; and the fact that she wrote this book while working on the farm made it even more enticing since my other childhood dream was writing a book on an old typewriter in a barn. But when the snow finally melted and I started working the land (the little patch of dirt in my backyard I set aside for my vege garden) I realized I was in over my head. There was all this crap that took over my nice dirt area, which I subsequently found out was weed- not the kind I would've liked but the kind you have to dig out from the ground & chuck into the trash bin. So as you might recall from my earlier post, It's not who you are...but what you see, I had to bring in help from California. (No, not the Mexicans, gees... The Koreans.)

When the weeds were gone and my landscaper put in a nice, fresh new top layer of dirt called mulch, I was ready to start my little farm which was going to be a practicing ground for my real future farm out on the West Coast. The only problem was that it had been over twenty years since I'd touched dirt, and I had no idea where to begin. But not to fear. I knew a few Utah farmers who owned their own backyard farm and enlisted their help. Of course they were all busy with their own spring planting, but one was willing to lend a hand. We, meaning Shane, put up some trellises for my climbing veges, and planted tomatoes, yellow squash, eggplant, red & green peppers, corn, watermelon, basil, rosemary, strawberries, parsley, and other cool stuff I can't remember.

I was going to be part of the new growing sector in America, the Back-to-the-Land, Slow Cookers, who not only backed local foods, but grew their own organic stuff. I was ecstatic, and with my state of the art irrigation drip line, all I had to do was look forward to the gathering season when all my fruits & vegetables would be ready for my tummy.

Then as I attempted to be my own gardener mowing the lawn once every week or so (since my whining didn't bring anyone over to help), I noticed this white flaky stuff that landed all over my yard, including my little patch of farm. I ignored it thinking they were just flower petals from the neighboring trees and because they actually looked quite pretty like snowflakes on the ground. I also noticed that nothing much was happening to my newly planted crops, except for the diseased parsley that had fried in the sun. Why else would it just keel over and die since it was getting the same water & sun the other crops were getting. Then a week or two passed & I started to notice these little sprouts sprouting all over the yard, including my organic vegetable patch. I don't remember planting any bean sprouts, I thought. Then Gaby & her mom came to visit one day and told me the bad news. They were not bean sprouts but baby trees from that white flakes that fell.

Since that revelation, I've been dreading my backyard. In my excitement over living on a farm, I had glossed over Megan's complaint about having to weed all the time. I thought all I had to do was plant, water, and voila! Beautiful fruits & vegetables in the fall and late summer. Every night I'd go to sleep promising to weed the following morning before it got too hot. But no, I'd find excuses after excuses not to. I had gone underground. I started to hate the little patch of farm I started and even tried to get the Californians to come back, but my mother said, "We're not spending $500 to fly out there to weed your yard again. Sorry hon, but your father and I are going to Cancun." I always knew I was adopted! So much for the unconditional, parental love & support. I cursed my parents and I cursed Little House on the Prairie.

After hiding out & only venturing out as far as my deck for the last few weeks, I finally made myself pull out the sprouts Monday morning under the shade of my farmer's hat since I had nothing to do & was deathly bored. (I had burnt myself out entertaining way too much last week in my excitement of having the summer off.) And this morning, I went to get some cages for my tomatoes & bought some more herbs so I could start a boxed herb garden on my deck so I don't have to walk all the way out to the farm for the little basil and cilantro I seem to need on a daily basis. (Never knew how lazy I was until this stupid Back-to-the-Land fantasy began...)

Well, what d'ya know... my little patch of farm has grown in the last few days since I pulled out the weeds and cut back some of the branches from my neighbor's tree. My corn plant has grown tall (and that Miles told me it would never work!), my tomato plants are tremendous, I already have some cute little serrano peppers growing, and everything else looks robust and healthy. I could feel myself grinning ear to ear, and for a second, thought about that beautiful farm in Oregon... Not.

As much as I adore seeing my veges grow, I've realized, I'm not a farmer. And as much as I love the idea of living on a farm, writing my memoir sitting on a hayloft in my beautiful, rundown red barn, and having mind-blowing sex with a tanned, lean, farm boy/husband, I think I've come to terms with the fact that I much rather shop local foods than grow local foods. So much for the city girl living & working on a farm.

At Home

2008-06-20T12:54:00.007-06:00

Just got back from having a lovely brunch at the Park Cafe right by Liberty Park. What a beautiful summer day in Salt Lake City, my home. Yes, my home. Never in my dreams would I have imagined calling SLC my home, but somehow it's become just that. When I was restless & planning to leave the city a few months back, a friend said, "You know, many come here and never leave. It's a hard place to leave." To which I replied that it's in my nature to move & I'll be leaving soon. Plus, I'm a Californian and my stay here is temporary. I only came because of my ex. But as I sat across from my friend today, I realized I may just stay here forever.

As I look back on the week having entertained most of my friends on my deck, I realize how lucky I am to have met such amazing people. I adore them all. Every one of them fill me up, and I've felt more peace here than any other place I've lived. Maybe that Brigham Young guy really knew what he was talking about when he said, "This is the place!"

Even with friends, who are all fairly new friends between a few months & a few years, I'm amazed at how quickly I've become close to all of them & love having them in my life. They've become my new family in a town where I didn't know anyone, and now I understand what Tekoa meant when she said she could never leave this city because of all our friends. And that also explains why Lauren keeps coming back wanting to leave NYC for good.

I'm in love with the sweet Utahns who call cauliflower, caulaflower, and mountain, moun'un.

Becoming My Mother

2008-06-11T18:15:00.015-06:00

So I was kinda bummed that I had no travel plans this summer, and was very jealous that Hasen, Phil, and Matt were taking off to Puerto Rico. Almost thought about tagging along to have a fling with a hot Latin man while the boys were off making googly eyes at half-naked Latinas; but I'm so glad I didn't. (Last time I decided to have a summer fling, couldn't get rid of the guy for 5 years even though I tried to break it off as soon as summer ended.) But that's not why I'm glad I didn't follow my future Latin lover. It's because I'm having so much fun just being here. I'm so tickled to death at the fact that I can get up whenever I want & do whatever I feel like that I can't even get myself to buy my ticket to San Francisco as I promised my friends.

However, it's crazy how time flies by. Summer officially started for me Monday with school being out, and already the week's almost over. Okay, it's only Wednesday, so half over...but I can already feel it slipping by. I remember as a kid how the days seemed endless... but why is it the older I get, the days seem to get shorter & shorter? My mom told me once that life goes at the speed of your age. She said I should enjoy it now because when I get to be her age, the day's over as soon as you wake up & have breakfast.

But that's exactly it! I am enjoying my days so much, it's gone before I know it. If I had nothing to do, I bet it would drag on, like if I had to sit behind a cubical all day. But doing all the stuff I've been wanting to do, which I didn't get to do because I had to work, is making my summer speed by way too fast. Life's so unfair!!!

Anyway, I realized today what a cool setup my mom's had all her adult life being married to my dad. While the poor guy went to work every day slaving over people's nasty mouths, she basically had a summer vacation that's never ended. I never realized, having traveled every summer, how nice it is to just get up every morning & not have a schedule or be anywhere in particular. I mean, I could never understand women like my mother. I thought how boring their lives must be, nothing to do but have lunch with their boring friends, play golf, & waste their life away at the mall. No ambition in life, hanging at the mercy of their spouse's income, rotting away under all their Gucci & Pradas until death finally knocks on their door. But it dawned on me this afternoon that my mother's life was flying by not because of her age, but because she's having so much fun.

She used to always say, "Rachel, why can't you be more like me!?" Meaning, why wasn't I dating doctors and lawyers instead of losers who didn't have jobs. And I'd reply, "Because I'm not a gold digger. Plus they're talented & passionate, and I want to support their work! I don't care about money & I'd rather be the breadwinner than be stuck with a money hungry a-hole!" (Not that my father is... but he's an exception to the successful career minded men.)

Not that I've changed my mind about being with a talented, passionate man, but having a summer vacation that never ends sounds fantastic right now. For example, yesterday, April & Nancy came over for lunch. Most of you know how much I adore cooking for my friends. But this was even more special because I didn't have to rush. I got to stroll over to Whole Foods with my shopping bag after I woke up & had made myself a wonderful breakfast. I decided on an Italian theme, so I bought a melon, prosciutto, grapes for the cheese, fresh greens they were putting out, fresh summer fruits, etc...I felt like I was in Europe and I had not even left Sugarhouse.

We had a fabulous meal with oven-fresh, thin crusted Italian pizza, prosciutto wrapped melon for antipasto, fresh green salad with all sorts of goodies like blueberries, and I had espresso ice cream for dessert. Nancy read my charts afterwards, and I have to say, I had one of the most delicious afternoons I've ever had. It was bella, bella, bella! I even had a siesta after they left, and then went to yoga to relax even more. Finished the day with a great movie & another fantastic meal. (Indian, from scratch.)

Today, April called me up while I was prepping to sew curtains for my sleeping area (so I can sleep in without being woken up by the bright sun) & we went to Gateway to have lunch & go underwear shopping. When I finally made it home, I got an email from the ladies in my book group inviting me over even though I had not gone in months. So I went & had a lovely evening drinking pinot noir & discussing the book I hadn't read about the good life in the 20's (the Gatsby Era) when friends got together every week to eat, drink, and be merry.

Don't think I'm gonna start hanging out at hospitals looking for my future sugar-daddy, (I much enjoy being a sugar-mama more at this point) but I'm definitely going to continue enjoying my mom's life, even if it's just for this summer, and see if I change my mind about the men, or rather, boys I like when it's all over.

I'm going to have lunch with friends I can muster up (so far I have two lined up...that's you, April & Louisa...need three more), read, play music, paint, sew, write, meditate, garden, walk, bike, and have friends over for dinner so I can finally make some of the recipes I've wanted to all year long. And if I could get Hasen to write plays, how fabulous would it be to put on plays on my deck like the English did during the summer months in the country? Or maybe I could find a projector somewhere & have movie nights in my backyard!

Pick a night or a day of the week, and I'll make us a fabulous meal. (And if you find out you weren't part of my summer dining group, too bad. That's what you get for never reading my blog.)

Nightmares

2008-05-09T15:29:00.000-06:00

People seem to have cool nightmares...you know, like being abducted by aliens or being attacked by a shark or being chased by monsters or something neat like that. Not me, though. I mean I've had dreams where I wake up in sweats, but it's never been cool like that. I can’t remember what kind of nightmares I had when I was very young, but as far as I can remember, my dumb nightmares have always been about schools.

When I was in college, I had nightmares about being late for finals. Come to think of it, that dream continued even after I graduated for several years…you know, the one where you wake up thinking, "Sh*t, not again!” to realized it’s Sunday and it’s the middle of summer.

Well, I guess for me it was worse because I did miss a final my freshman year. You would think I was a straight "A" student being a teacher and all (and because all Asians are smart); but back in college, I never went to class. (Okay, not never, but rarely.) The lectures were held in buildings a block from the beach in La Jolla (that’s San Diego for those of you unfamiliar with the city) and in the rare occasions I did decide to go to class, I’d have a bikini on underneath my clothes just in case the sun came out.

I was an Economics major back in school, (have no idea, why) and most of my classes were held in buildings across the street from the secret path that led you down to the famous Black’s Beach -- the nudist beach, also the best surfing spot in La Jolla-- where all the cool surfers hung out. I know what you dirty-minded people are thinking, but no, not to watch the naked boys, (only old, fat people got naked) but to watch my friends surf. So except for the cute, nerdy boys I’d befriend for notes, I really didn’t know many people in my classes. (Didn’t help that there were about 500 students in those freshmen classes...)

Anyway, the day before my math final, I spent the day at the beach & went to a late night movie with these cool, older surfer boys I used to hang with who weren’t in school. Because I’d already taken Calculus in high school, didn’t really worry too much about my final; and so the following morning, I had my usual bowl of cereal, biked over to the lecture hall, and strolled into my class finding a seat next to one of those brainiacs with coke bottle glasses. I was a little early, so I looked at all the faces, or should I say, the backs of heads of all the people I’d been missing out on the entire quarter. (UC schools are on a quarter system, not semester.) Man, everyone looks so intense! Look at them all studying their notes...they need to chil-lax.

“So, you never took calculus in high school, huh?” I asked the boy next to me engrossed in his notes.
“Yeah, I did. Why?”
“Just wondering why you are studying so hard. Isn’t this all a review for you?”
The boy stared at me through the coke bottle lenses like I was crazy.
“What are you talking about? This is nothing like calculus. It’s the hardest math I’ve ever had to take in my entire life!”

I saw heads turning from the seats in front of me, and as I looked into their faces, my stomach sank & the heat shot up to my face.
“Is this Math 10A?” I asked in panic.
They all laughed, “No, it’s 193B, Actuarial Mathematics!”
Actuarial Mathematics!? What the h*ll is that!?

I ran out of there, my face flushed, frantically flipping through the schedule of finals. I was in the right lecture hall. Sh*t! Where is everyone!? I knew no one looked familiar & looked really smart, but I thought I didn’t recognized them because I never went to class. I looked at the schedule again, and grabbed a guy walking in. “What day is today?” “Thursday,” he replied.

I looked down at the page to see Math 10B Tu 11:30-12:30.
Unbelievable...I was two days late. (Did I mention I was coerced into joining a sorority in college? This totally was a typical, air-headed sorority move!) And that’s only the beginning of my finals mishaps in college, which I won't get into today.

Well, for the first time in weeks it seems, I didn’t drink last night. Came back from the Opera (Don Giovanni-- an excellent show) quite early around 10:30 or so & made a few phone calls trying to get rid of some food I didn’t want to waste (without any luck) and went to sleep around 11:30.

The phone rang.
“Hello?”
“Miss Lee? It’s the office. It’s 9 o’clock, and we were just wondering where you were. Did you call for a sub?”

I turned my head, looked at my alarm clock & it flashed, 9:02! I jumped out of bed with the phone still in my hand, “OMG Maggie! My alarm didn’t go off! I just woke up! Sh*t, sh*t, sh*t! Sorry…I’ll be there in 15 minutes!” and with that, my adult nightmare of being late for school became a reality today.

It's not who you are...it's what you see.

2008-05-03T16:32:00.001-06:00

A few weeks ago, Hasen told me a funny story about taking a bunch of Japanese girls on a week long river trip. (When is his story ever not funny, right? ) Anyway, he said on the final day of the trip, the girls wanted a picture with the guides. So one by one they sat on his lap for a souvenir photo shoot. Well, one of them turned to him & asked, "Which one are you?" He told her he was Hasen, and the girl giggled and said "So sorry. You all look the same. Can't tell you guys apart," with that cute Japanese accent.

Funny, right? Because most Anglos think all Asians look the same. Well, let me tell you something. It really has nothing to do with being Asian or Caucasian. It's not about what you are, but rather, what you see. Or more like what you're used to seeing. I know this from my own personal experience, having lived in an Asian dominant culture as well as an Anglo dominant culture.

I too remember the days when I thought all Anglos looked the same. That was back in elementary school when my parents brought me to the States from South Korea. I remember going home complaining to my mom that the teacher was making me sit next to a boy & he was going to be my buddy for the whole week. (This of course was when I thought all boys had cooties. You know, before they grew facial fuzz, had b.o. & the cracking voice to help me distinguish their gender, before I thought they were hot...go figure.) So poor Sally was dubbed a boy in my virgin eyes (this also was before I could distinguish the boys' names from the girls'), and I spent the first few months of school totally frustrated because everyone looked the same. But eventually, my eyes finally adapted to the Anglo features, and Sally the boy and I became fast friends.

Fast forward a few decades to Salt Lake City, Utah, late April of 2008. I've been here two and a half years, and I have to say, after having lived in cities like Los Angeles, San Francisco, and New York, it was a bit of a culture shock to step off the airplane to see so many blond, blue-eyed white folks. (It's a myth that the Californian surfers are blonds. All the stereotypical California blonds live in Utah.) In fact, it is rare that I go to an event here and run into a fellow Asian or any other "people of color" for that matter. I'm like the token minority friend my friends have here; and seriously, I even forget that I'm Asian sometimes except when I see one staring back at me in the mirror while brushing my teeth. I basically live amongst the whites, and actually don't even think about race or any of that stuff except when my friend Jared says, "Oh look, our Chinese friend has arrived," in his endearing way.

So what's the point of this long-winded background story?

Last Monday, my parents came to visit from LA. My aunt was picking them up from the airport on her way down from Layton. I wasn't expecting them for another hour or so, and was doing the dishes when a car drove up my driveway. I looked out the window to see three short Chinese people getting out of the car. What are these Chinese doing in my driveway? I'm thinking as I turn off the water and walk over to my front door. There are no Asians in my neighborhood!

Well, what d'ya know...the Chinese walking up the stairs to my door were no Chinese at all! They were my parents who flew all the way from California to weed my yard because their daughter (who thought they were just some random Asians walking up to the wrong house) never learned to do yard work. But for reals... I bet you anything, if you went and lived in China for a year or two, you'd all come back thinking all your relatives looked the same.

(And don't judge. Grew up in LA, for Pete's sake. No one works in their yard. That's what gardeners are for...)

American Express

2008-04-12T11:40:00.000-06:00

It's not everyday that I rave about a credit card company. Matter of fact, I hate that credit cards make it so easy for people to spend money they don't have. Their ads make it seem as though we should all be striving to live the lifestyle portrayed in them; and unfortunately, too many of us grow up with this strange feeling of entitlement to things we can't afford.

I remember being baffled by parents who come to parent/teacher conferences telling me why they have not been able to work with Johnny at home. We've been unemployed for months, and we're struggling to make ends meet, and just don't have the time or the wherewithal to help Johnny with his school work. This is all the while Johnny comes to school wearing a brand new outfit every day of the week.

I also remember going to the Projects in Brooklyn to tutor struggling kids. Projects, for those of you unfamiliar with the concept, are public housing provided by the government to help families who are impoverished- basically, subsidized housing for the poor. I was always amazed at all the toys they had. I'm talking big screen TV, state of the art stereo system, all the new video games, and over the top, sort of in- your-face, flashy items displayed all around the house.

It's easy to say it's not the credit card, but rather, the people who misuse it. But when you are inundated with images all of your life which promote happiness via spending and acquiring, can you blame any one of us for wanting & purchasing things we can't afford? I mean, I remember credit card companies hounding me to give me cards I should have never gotten. They enticed me with miles for flights...what a great idea! The more I buy, the more miles I get, and closer to that European trip I've always wanted to take. What a concept! They're brilliant! And off I went to Europe at age twenty-one. What, you've never been to Europe? But everyone goes right after college!

Yeah, I learned my lesson early in my adult life. When my teacher's salary could barely make the minimum payment on my credit card bills and I saw the balance skyrocketing with the crazy interest rates, I knew I was in trouble. It wasn't just me, though. My friends were all going through it, but that didn't help me sleep any better at nights. Finally as I was drowning in debt, I did the unthinkable and asked my parents to bail me out. It was humiliating, embarrassing, and I felt like a loser. I blamed the damn government for not paying teachers enough, but subsequently realized it was my own fault for living the lifestyle of the MTV's Real World cast.

So why am I promoting a credit card company today? Because I just got off the phone with a nice lady at American Express who gave me a credit of $23.89 plus tax for the case of Coronas that fell out of my trunk & shattered all over my driveway. They call it the Buyer's Protection Plan: Eligible purchases made entirely with the Card are protected against theft or accidental damage for 90 days from the date of purchase-at no additional charge. Coverage is good for up to $1,000 per occurrence and $50,000 per Cardmember account per year.

Consumables, like beer, isn't covered, but the lady was sympathetic about the beer situation & happily gave me the credit. If I could've, I would've gone through the phone line to give her a kiss! (I was on my land line.) I said, "I love you! I love American Express! You guys are awesome!" and she laughed. I know... I'm sure American Express has done some sh*tty things like Wal-Mart; but today, they're far down on my sh*t list of big bad corporations. Plus, the great thing about AMEX is that you have to pay off your balance each month so you know not to spend more than you can afford. Hmmm... I wonder if they'd give me some money for promoting them on my blog. I should give them a call...

The Renaissance Woman

2008-04-05T16:34:00.001-06:00

Someone called me a "Renaissance Woman" last week. I laughed because in the Renaissance times a Renaissance Woman was supposed to marry well, be loyal to her husband and give birth to boys. She obviously doesn't know me very well & forgets I'm not from Utah.

I think what she meant to say was that I was a Renaissance Man, who unlike the woman, had to be well-educated, or excel in a wide variety of subjects. (It's a prerequisite for being a first grade teacher these days.) I guess in old Italy (around the 1400's) some dude named Leon Battista Alberti said a man can do all things if he will. It basically considered man the center of the universe, limitless in his capacities for development, and led to the notion that men should try to embrace all knowledge and develop their own capacities as fully as possible.

Well, I call it dabbling; or if I had a therapist, he'd probably call it a scheme, an ego driven attention getter, a means to get noticed, especially by my mom who favored or should I say favors my brother. (Yes, sibling rivalry & jealousy, still at this age...pathetic, I know.)

But seriously, I tend to dabble...quite well according to my fans. Unfortunately though, I quite often get bored with it because I obsess over it. I met a guy who climbs, so I bought my gear & climbed walls for a year. I had a photographer friend, so I got a range-finder and took pictures for months. I knew a great artist in San Francisco, so I started painting & making art for a year or two. I met poets in New York, so I wrote poems and recited them in public. (The list goes on...) Most recently, about a year ago, I met a friend who plays music & writes songs, so I bought a guitar & started making up songs. I've subsequently surrounded myself with musicians and even created a Myspace page so I could have my music up in cyberspace.

Well, just last week, I met a blogger...my first ever. I was intrigued, read his stuff (quite good, and really funny), and found that I had met two other bloggers all within a week. Interesting, I thought... Then I remembered what that French-Jewish clairvoyant said to me before I left NYC. "You're with the wrong man. He's a child. You'll not meet your soul mate until you start writing." This, of course, was a deduction on her part after she looked at my hands. She probably thought I like to write after she noticed the bump on my middle finger from never having learned to hold a pencil correctly. (I press way too hard & have a fat callous that never goes away even though the only writing I do these days is sign my name on the credit card receipts. Hmm, that could explain the 115,000 miles on my Delta card.)

So, since it's been over a year since I dumped the "man child" & have yet to meet anyone, perhaps it's time I start writing. So here I go...the modern Renaissance Woman, dabbling again so I can become the Renaissance Woman of the Renaissance times.