Geisha School Dropout

Numeracy Rant

Lately there have been rumblings in social media by women, mothers mostly, either stating or demonstrating a severe lack of math skills. It usually manifests in tweets or throw-away mentions such as "Johnny needed help with his homework today and I suck at math!" And Johnny is in third grade.

That makes me really worried about the future, because innumeracy is just as progress-limiting as illiteracy. Would anyone humble-brag that they could not parse a sentence in "The Babysitters Club" or not be able to spell the word "street"? Then why is it okay to throw one's hands up and give up on knowing basic mathematical survival skills?

Of course, I do not expect everyone in America to be able to throw down a Riemann summation 20 years after their last math class, but I hope to God that most people, and yes, even housewives (I'm being sarcastic of course), remember how to calculate the correct change when the total is $17.49 and they are given a $20 bill, that .2 == 20% == 2/10 == 1/5, or how to calculate the area of a rectangle when given the length and width.

This is a real-life example from today: an Etsy seller was selling a set of bangle bracelets. Someone asked her the size of the bangles, which is of course a totally reasonable question. The seller responded, "The inner diameter is 2.5 inches."

The original commenter FREAKED OUT, saying, "2.5 inches??? That's like a child size! I could never fit that over my hand! Darn!"

-__- I understand most bracelet sizes are labeled in terms of circumference, so a typical size would be 7-8 inches. Yes, 2.5 inches sounds like a remarkably small bracelet. But people, let's please raise our personal standards to be able to calculate the circumference of a circle when given the diameter. Please???

Okay, had to get that off my chest. :P I understand I must come off as a math snob.

Second Grade Playground Racism Called, and It Wants Its Joke Back

I have long been a fan of formerly-plus-size model Crystal Renn.  She was such a luscious bastion of perfection without being a size 0:

 

Although I will admit that I was a little let down at first by her steady metamorphosis towards the mainstream standard of beauty, I am still a staunch admirer.  This is what she looks like now:

Still gorgeous, yes; just a little less to love!

But now this:

From: http://www.refinery29.com/is-taping-your-eyes-to-look-asian-the-new-blackface

How was this allowed to happen?  And in the moment, how could this have been stopped?  Obviously someone amongst the team of stylists, editors, photographers, and make-up artists came up with and pushed for the eye-slanting for none other than Vogue Japan.   I personally can't see how Ms. Renn could have protested amidst all the other primping and prodding, so no blame lies with her, but I am angered by whoever associated her with the oldest Asian joke in the book. 

Was this somehow some clumsy and tone-deaf-as-fuck attempt at ingratiating Ms. Renn and Dolce & Gabbana to an Asian audience?  Because if anything, this just distracts from the clothes and her beauty.  First of all, the taping was done unevenly, so she looks odd.  But most importantly, she doesn't look more Asian at all because obviously, the rest of her face isn't Asian, and for the millionth time in my life, not all of us Asian people have "chink eyes"!!!  Argh!  If you knew Asian people at all, you'd know that 1. Dolce & Gabbana doesn't have to resort to racist editorial spreads to garner attention...Asia LOOOOOOVES them already and 2. If anything, we actually prefer BIG eyes.

I would love to hear other people's points of view on this.  Meanwhile, me and my round-eyed Asian ass will sit huddled in the nearest corner.  :(

I Think I'm Allergic to Summer

What is it about summer that brings out the extremes in things?  

Take my garden, for instance: birds, butterflies, and bees flit and flutter past in pairs, reeling under the influence of nectar and hormones.  Every flowering plant is a-flower, every fruiting tree is a-fruiting, and if you stopped right there, you'd be able to write sonnets about how full of life summer is.

However, my eyes see danger and doom.  Our grass has browned, and our chickens miss nibbling on it.  The grapes and tomatoes can barely keep standing under the weight of all their leaves and not-quite-ripe-yet fruit.  Once the fruit ripens, the grapes' leaves will fall and the tomato plants will die.   Food spoils faster both inside and outside the house, thighs get burnt on car upholstery, sweat and oil clog pores and flatten hair.  And of course, the heat is inescapable: it is in the air, the ground, my skin, my eyes.  

The sun, giver of light and life, also doles out pain and disease.  I got sunburned on Monday playing in the pool with the kids, and now I feel flu-like symptoms as my skin starts to peel.  

I feel sorry for my kids: they love the outdoors and don't mind the heat.  Meanwhile, I feel like a BBQ pork bun about to burst. 

Maybe this is why I went through a goth phase, and why I enjoyed living in Seattle when I was 20.  Oy.

Where do you stand on summer?

Clown Car

Tap one of those open for Mama!

I have been carless for most of the last couple weeks.  While we were in New York, Tim took "It" the Ironic Mercedes in for routine maintenance when it was discovered that two of the three engine mounts were completely dead and because Mercedes Benz doesn't just sell individual mounts, all three had to be replaced.  There were also a couple lamps that needed to be replaced.   The total damage: $900.

Well, luckily we paid next to nothing for the car itself, so we figured it was about time we felt the full cost of ownership.  I went without a car over a weekend, and after coordinating alternate drop-offs for the kids, I headed over last Monday to pick it up.  They ran my card and handed me the key, and when I turned the engine, I did pleasantly notice that the car vibrated less and the engine was very quiet.  Sweet!  However, the "Check Lamps" message was flashing, so I asked them to reset the warnings for me.

That didn't work.  They apologized, asked for the key back, and offered to pay for a rental car for my troubles.  The next day, they called me back to say things are fixed, for reals now.  Turns out that the entire circuit board for the left rear light had to be replaced versus just a lightbulb.  Sigh, fine.  Additional cost: $180.  Gulp.

I headed back there after dropping off the rental car and I actually got to drive the car around for about a week.  Then on Wednesday, on my way to Isaac's school, the left blinker turned itself on and wouldn't turn off.  Well, it would turn off if I engaged the right turn signal, but that's it.  So I called them again, and they asked me to bring the car in again on Thursday, ensuring me it shouldn't be a big deal.

Thursday came and went.  Then on Friday  I got a call saying they finally figured out what was wrong, and it was the blinker handle itself!  Some plastic part broke inside the arm and again, because Mercedes Benz doesn't just sell individual plastic parts, I have to pay for another blinker arm.  Additional cost: $320.  DAMMIT!  But at least I'd get the car back in time for an epic-busy Saturday.

Friday afternoon, I got another call asking if I always had an air bag system warning light on.  Um, NO.  Well then, heh heh, they're going to need some more time.  No charge, though, thank the heavens.

Saturday came and went, and they weren't open on Sunday.  I couldn't even get another one of those complimentary rental cars because they were closed over the weekend.  I really started to hate this car.

So today is Monday and the car was finally finished at noon.  Emi has been home sick from school since Thursday, so she accompanied me to the shop.  Everyone doted over her and gave her candy, and I got my key again after paying up again.  I drove the car home!  Freedom, once again, was mine (well, technically my freedom was  Emi's).

Now everything's back to normal, except my credit card balance is annoyingly high and our food supply is annoyingly low.  I didn't have the heart to make Emi walk anywhere in her condition, and the stroller was at the auto shop with the car, so we subsisted on quesadillas, peanut butter crackers, and coconut water.  Could have been worse.

To celebrate, I took Emi to the drive thru at McDonalds...when I noticed that the window buttons don't work like they used to: I used to be able to push them all the way down and they'd lower all the way automatically, but that functionality doesn't work anymore.  But I figured, I can live with keeping the button down halfway to lower the window for the rest of my life.  I'm not going to tell the shop.  God knows what else would break in the midst of fixing that feature. 

I don't know why I'm spinning my tale of woe to you, except maybe to receive some online condolence hugs and to inspire some people to go into the auto mechanic industry; they seem to be doing pretty good in this economy.

Ah, my life is so glamorous I can't stand it sometimes.

Here's a good visual for how I feel:

MONSTER MOMMY! Hide Your Kids, Hide Your Wife

Back in November, I pledged to be a kinder, more graceful Julie, and I am trying, I really am.  But today I discovered that all it takes is one abnormal day to make it all crumble back down!

This morning, I picked up a banh mi after dropping Emi off at school (still in her unicorn pajamas, but I left her real outfit with her teacher).  As I nestled into bed with my laptop, relishing the first salty-crunchy bite of my sandwich, I noticed the meat tasted a little off.  Somehow I convinced myself that it wasn't that bad, and I finished it all.  BAD DECISION.

An hour later, I felt hot and the room spun around me, but I couldn't throw anything up.  I just clung onto the bed for dear life and waited for it to stop.  Another hour later, I was well enough to drag myself to the kitchen and chug some coconut water, and I actually got a lot of work done despite the lingering headache and nausea.

Soon it was time to pick Isaac up from school, and from the second I saw him, he kept asking me these insane questions about lightning and how it would strike various objects.  It was hard enough driving through the after-school hysteria traffic, but this barrage of irrelevant questions really got my head spinning again.  After 10 minutes of this, I asked him why he was thinking of lightning at all, and he replied, "Nothing."  I asked him to tell me about his day.  "Fine."  Did anything interesting happen?  "No."  

On to the post office to mail a package to Portugal.  Why?  Because I found my old Massive Attack Singles Vinyl box set in the garage, and I couldn't just throw it away; I wanted to sell it to some other music fan.  I listed it on Amazon, and found a buyer fairly quickly.  He's some dude with 7 names who lives in Portugal.  I sold the records for $48.99 and Amazon gave me $6 for international shipping.  Turns out shipping actually costs $51.30.  Accounting for Amazon's commission, I just lost money in the weirdest way possible. 

Then on to Trader Joe's for some grub, and while I was checking things off the grocery list on my iPhone, I accidentally dropped it onto the tile floor.  I didn't even notice anything was amiss until I noticed I was smearing blood all over my screen, which was CRACKED TO HIGH HEAVEN.  Amazingly, it still works just fine, it's just a minor health hazard.  And right when I made this realization, CRASH!!!!!  I turn to see Isaac sheepishly standing next to an overturned shopping cart, all our groceries strewn on the floor.  He didn't fall with the cart, so I have no idea how this happened.  No less than 3 employees came to our aid, and then I got mad at Isaac for not saying sorry or thank you to the nice people who helped us.  If you're gonna be a pain in the ass, at least acknowledge it, right?

After that, I had to clean out the refrigerator to accommodate the new groceries, and out came alien-like leftovers and rancid meat.  My stomach churned and I was dry-heaving like crazy, but still no relief.

I spent an hour with Isaac on his homework, where we had an argument over his birth year.  LIKE I DON'T KNOW HIS BIRTH YEAR.  

Then it was time to drop Isaac off at Tae Kwon Do and to pick up Emi.  She was still in her pajamas.  Sigh.

We had dinner at Chick-Fil-A, and Isaac was still in his do bok.  A girl kept kicking and flailing her arms at him, demanding Isaac to teach her karate.  He replied, "I don't know karate, I know tae kwon do" and the girl looked at him like he was an idiot.  I was in no mood to educate the ignorant.

Once we got home, I busted out an apple pie we got at Trader Joe's.  After I opened the packaging up, Isaac said he didn't want a piece after all.  I carefully put everything back together, but then Tim and Emi asked for a piece each.  I opened it back up and heated their slices up.  I wrapped everything up again.  Now Isaac wants a slice after all.  Now I'm totally annoyed at the world.  To add insult to injury, no one even finished their slices.  Half a pie wasted.

By now my head is pounding and I almost pass out transferring laundry from the washer to the dryer.  I feel like no one cares about poor nauseous me, and so the yelling begins in earnest.  Now the rest of the family is hiding from the Monster Mommy.

Image from Tehe He's Wearing a Bra

I feel like everything would be fine if I could just evacuate my GI tract.  Some moms are waiting to exhale...I'm just waiting to vomit.

Advice, Part 3: Asian Interracial Dating

Hey, Asian dudes!  Let me talk to you for a sec.

It seems like it STILL bothers a lot of y'all that your female Asian American compatriots seem to be dating outside the race.  In fact, according to KoreAm Journal, 35% of Korean Americans marry white people while 30% marry other Korean Americans.  Therefore, I'm going to assume that Asian interracial couples outnumber intraracial couples (or at least give them a run for their money), and it's also safe to assume that the majority of these couplings involve an Asian female and a non-Asian male.  That seems very unfair and troubling, so I understand your frustration.  Oh, believe me.  I really, really do.

However!  The empathy does not 100% turn into sympathy.  Cry into your unshared pillows, gentlemen, because guess what?  I cried for you all back in the day.  There are no more tears left in me.

Cue pity party!

Let me explain.  I grew up in a town that was 75% Asian.  I was very much a red-blooded teenage girl who wanted nothing more than to date Asian boys.  Daily, I primped myself into some semblance of an attractive person.  Not only that, I kept up with your favorite sports teams, listened to the music you liked, went to your churches, chauffeured you around, let you copy my homework, laughed at your jokes, got you thoughtful presents...all while maintaining a 4.0 GPA I might add!  I was so ripe back then, and more importantly, I was an interesting person who was always up for an adventure.  But I was INVISIBLE to you!  You all pined for the same 5 Asian girls who wouldn't give you the time of day.  Sure, they were devastatingly beautiful and perfect in every way, but hello, if you really wanted some play or a relationship, there were about 500 Asian girls dying for your attention that you rejected.  You!

And it's not like those 500 girls were second-rate by any means!  We were cute and actually took the time to develop multi-faceted personalities.  The phrases that I kept hearing in high school were "Julie, you're an awesome friend."  "Julie, I wish my girlfriend was fun like you."  "Why can't all girls be like you?"  Meanwhile, my loins were ON FIRE, guys!  Does the photo above make sense now?  I would have given it up for any single one of you if you played your cards right.  But you didn't even ante up.  Fuck you.

So guess what?  I eventually found some Asian boys willing to touch me in non-platonic ways, boys from other schools who found me novel.  And I kissed them instead of you.  And once I was shipped off to college and quickly discovered that the situation there was exactly the same, I opened up the playing field and kissed my way around the motherfucking globe and for the most part, it was awesome.  But in my heart, all I really wanted was for a nice Korean boy to discover me.  It just would have felt good being accepted by my own people, you know?

I know I know, you're probably thinking I'm a big hypocrite because I ended up marrying a gorgeous half-Japanese, half-white dude.  But guess what?  Before I agreed to meet Tim, I was talking to a Korean dude and he told me we'd be so perfect together but he expected someone thinner.  Ouch, right?  Rejected by my kind.  Again!  Sorry to lump you guys with this asshole, but being in contact with thousands of Asian men in my life, the only thing that separated him from the rest of y'all was the fact that at least he was honest about it.

So, my advice to you is this: diversify your fucking portfolio, and not just along racial lines, either.  You know that shy, cute, chubby girl who is super-nice to you?  Ask her out.  Or how about the girl at the gym who is kinda hot but isn't quite as hot as the Top 3 Hottest Girls in the Gym everyone lusts after?  Ask her out.  Stop pining for these alabaster-pedestaled statues!  Go out with a real woman.  She knows real stuff and gives REAL HEAD.  Try it sometime, it's much better than IMAGINARY HEAD.

 

An Open Letter to "Akihabara Majokko Princess"

Dear Japanophiles and Japanophile enablers associated with this video:

If you must exist at all, can you PLEASE find something else to latch on to?  Step.  Up.  Your.  Game.

I GET IT ALREADY, OKAY??? Japan is one big crazy clusterfuck of people who do nothing but walk hurriedly amongst neon billboards and vending machines when they're not smiling giddily behind rice paper doors. I have already given up trying to debate the fact that Japan has more to offer than that, but at least stop filming the same things over and over again, all the while pretending it's fresh and edgy.  Save your money and just borrow footage from any other movie or home video filmed in Japan.

And I also understand by now that Japanese people are hideously dull and ugly compared to a dolled-up white woman.  Look at their flat, emotionless faces and funny glasses and weird hair!  Wow, Kirsten Dunst looks like an angel in a sea of trolls.  She wouldn't look nearly as leggy, cute, and alabaster-skinned in a European country, right?  Sigh.  Props to the kids who looked bored and aware of the obvious commercial objectification, and for the partygoers near the end of the video for providing the only real humanity in the entire video.  More people like you, and maybe they'll take the hint finally and find some other people to exploit.

And the same request for you, Takashi Murakami: I know you have raked in gonzo bucks with your happy flower/bear/yadda yadda yadda characters, what with the Louis Vuitton and Kanye West partnerships, but can you please create something else?  I could have handled sitting through a mediocre video starring a stoned Kirsten Dunst if it debuted some new fresh art; instead it tried to eke out every last penny from the same tired designs.  But props to you for your little cameo inside a furry human-sized soccer ball, that was cute, although I do know at one point you actually sold $400 soccer balls, which lowers your quirk factor quite a bit.  You are probably more businessman than artist after crossing that threshold.

And Kirsten Dunst!  Were you totally blitzed out of your mind, or were you actually terrified cavorting around these natives dressed as Rainbow-Brite-fist-fucking-Sailor-Moon, which from the many shots of anime-porn posters featured in the video, you probably guess is Salary Man Ogle Bait?  You looked overtly uncomfortable during some of your mystical wand-waving.  Maybe you were just nervous that the people who invented karaoke would give you a low score on your rendition of "Turning Japanese."  Or maybe you're a little bit smarter than McG gave you credit for and a part of you felt a little, I dunno, EMBARRASSED to be singing that song in front of real Japanese people.  Anyway, your dimples have not lost their charm, so I will give you the benefit of the doubt and think of you as the biggest victim of this clownshow.

Sincerely,
Me

PS: AAAAAAAAARRRRRRRRRRRRRRGGGGGGGGGGGGHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!

Shut Up, Dummy

I usually hate confrontation, but sometimes, it just has to happen.  I was over at the Red Cross giving blood when my Conservative Blowhard Spidey-Sense starting tingling towards the direction of the recovery snack table.

"Hey Obama, you stand him next to Lenin, there's no difference, man.  Well, except for THAT difference, huh huh huh."  I groaned and concentrated on bleeding.  When that didn't work, I stuck my nose into the novel I brought with me, "The Namesake," and I wondered what Jhumpa Lahiri would say about this man.  That was enough to drown him out.  But I did hear him claim he wasn't a conservative, he was just "a free-thinking independent."

Once I was done with my donation, I shuffled over to the snack table and grabbed some Oreos.  The Blowhard walked towards me and rubbed my shoulder, "You feeling okay?  You feeling strong?" 

"I would feel better if you stepped back a couple feet."

"Oh, sorry."  He obeyed.  "So, what did you do for Easter?"

"I took my kids to an Easter egg hunt and paid my socialist taxes."

"So, uh, guess what I learned the other day?  You know how most people think men choose babies?"

"What on earth are you talking about?"

"Like, whether the baby is a boy or girl.  Most people think the sperm chooses?  Well, guess what?  It's not true!  I, you know, hang around some PhD guys, and they told me the truth."  Then he went on to tell me that women create an "environment" for the sperm, and if the environment is nice, the "male sperm" is faster and gets to the egg faster.  But if the environment is not nice, then the "slower, clumsier female sperm" survives longer than male sperm, and will wait around for the egg.  I kid you not.

Then he started talking about immigrants.  "Oh, you don't gotta speak English anymore, all this ESL and the road signs in Spanish.  Listen, I don't have cable so I watch a lot of Spanish TV, and you know what?  All they show are ways illegal immigrants can get government money.  THEY'RE learning how to take OUR money through the TV!  Is that legal, I dunno."

I started clearing my part of the table just then.  I had no time for anti-immigration rhetoric.  But he fucking kept going.  "Hey, I know we're all immigrants here.  My ancestors were Irish.  When they came here, oh, 1801 or so, guess what?  It was learn English or get the hell out of Dodge, right?  Did you know the Irish have their own language?"

"Yes, I know that."

"Right!  Well, I don't know it, because they came to America, and learned English.  Like look at you, your English is good.  The Mexicans, they don't gotta learn any, they have all these government services."

I grabbed my purse and stood up.  I felt a little dizzy, but I couldn't handle it anymore.  I decided to let 'er rip.  "Listen, when your ancestors came here, the Americans didn't like them either, for the same exact reasons.  I don't appreciate you spewing your bullshit to people who are doing a great service for their communities, many of which are immigrants.  EXCUSE ME!"  I yelled to the Red Cross staff.  "This man is a racist creep and he needs to get out of here!"  Then I exited.

On my chest is a sticker that says, "Be nice to me, I gave blood today."  That just about sums it all up.