So I thought I was done...

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?

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

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 ounce 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?

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

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

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

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 veggies 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

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

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

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.)

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

(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!

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

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?

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!

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?

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

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

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!