cindy's world

The avocado that I had brought with me to work yesterday in Grace’s bag had been sitting on my kitchen counter for a week and a half, still hard as a rock, and I figure that since it’s been like 60 degrees Fahrenheit in my house, the avocado hasn’t ripened because it thought it was in the refrigerator. It sat for a day on my desk at work, and then this morning, it did feel like a slightly softer rock than it’d felt all week. I decided to cut into it length-wise.

The reason I was eager to cut it was because, while I was complaining about its stubborn hardness in jujitsu last week, my instructor had asked, “Is it a very large avocado?” I told him it was. “Uh-oh. It might rot on the inside before it softens on the outside, because it’s so big.”

So the plastic knife I used strained and creaked against the hard avocado, which almost felt crisp as its skin reluctantly gave way to my sawing. I couldn’t get the knife to cut in closer to the seed, so I ended up having to pry the avocado open. After exerting some brute force, it snapped open. The seed’s thin brown outer skin separated from the whitish brainy-looking inside of the seed, such that half the brown seed-skin stuck to the inside of both halves of the avocado. I could not peel it off the halves. I tried to insert my spoon into the flesh of the avocado, but the spoon couldn’t break through the rubber avocado flesh. I looked closer at the white seed I pulled out, and it already has a half-inch stem coming out of one end! So this stupid thing was about to SPROUT and it STILL won’t ripen?! I bit into a little portion of the hard avocado flesh on the corner. It was bitter as rubber, too. Stupid tease of a fruit.

For punishment, I decided to put the white seed in a clear plastic cup in water and put it on display in shame. It really does look like a brain. If anyone asks what’s in my cup, I’m gonna say that I got attacked by a male mountain lion who, after I was through with him, is only half male now.


Sorry for the bad quality of the photos, all I have is my cameraphone. Rest your mouse pointer over the photos for captions.

My mom has gone from 1) hinting I should chop my hair when I’m at their house, to 2) blatantly telling me to cut my hair so that I’d look younger and less heavy and listless, to 3) telling me via phone to get my hair cut, to 4) emailing me today with a huge paragraph about how I need to chop my hair off. Her argument today in the email is that when I was 4 and she’d taken me to get my hair cut short, everyone kept commenting how cute I looked, which meant that she has great taste and I should listen to her. She also said that when my hair was cut, I had said, “It’s so ugly!” My opinion about that haircut remains constant. I think she associates short hair with looking young because in Taiwan, she’s used to seeing the “student hair,” which is the required uniform haircut for schoolgirls, i.e. hair no longer than to the bottom of your earlobes.

It’s not that I’m against getting my hair chopped. I’ve had short hair before, above the shoulders, but I usually do that every few years in the summer. In the winter, I like my long hair to hide evidence that I’m cold. My other arguments for longer hair is that I can’t wear my hair long when I’m old(er), so I may as well do it now while I can get away with it. Besides, guys like long hair on girls (with exception to Mr. W, who sides with my mom on this one and has already told me to make an appointment for this weekend). I also need it long enough that I can tie it back when I’m working out. The biggest thing is that short hair is high-maintenance, whereas long hair is wash-and-go.

It’s at that final argument point that I stop and think about something else my mom said in her email. “There’s no ugly women, just lazy women.” She encourages me to play up my youth while I still have it and make other girls jealous. I don’t think she meant it in a catty sort of way, she just means that while I have something to show off, I shouldn’t hide it behind ratty clothing and a messy mop on my head. A little effort is good in youth because it takes so little to look good, and looking good just starts your day off on a better note and your confidence makes you look more attractive in general.

Maybe I should take Wilco’s suggestion for goal #8 more seriously: Be hawt like wasabi at age 30.

(as always, rest your mouse pointer over the photos for captions.)

Since I didn’t post on Saturday, I’ll post some photos from Christmas in Vegas, 2005 to make up for it. (See December posts for event details.)

Incidentally, this is also why I’m no longer allowed to work for Santa.

Our little dinner crew:

In Jordan’s words, “This was the show at 3:45 a.m. The one they don’t advertise in the brochures.”

Here are some photos that I’ve uploaded. There’ll be more to come later. Unless I get lazy. Which is a high likelihood. Rest your mouse pointer over the photos for a caption.

JAMAICA, MON!
Rivertubing at White River.


I never knew that in Jamaica, people drove on the left side of the street and the driver of a vehicle sits on the right side of the car. Our excursion guide said, “In Jamaica, the left side is the right side. And the right side…is suicide.”
Here, snorkeling at a reef off of a beach in Ocho Rios, Jamaica.

ON THE SHIP!
As many of you know, a signature of major ocean cruiseships is the different animals your cabin steward makes out of your bath towels and hides in your room daily. Here’s a bunny we found after coming back from a formal dinner.


Remember how I tried to give you women out there a nice shot of a hot guy across the bar from me when I was in San Francisco but couldn’t get a good enough picture? Well, here he is again, at the ship’s center Atrium, completely unaware that I was taking this picture. I think he should be flattered.

This is one of those ship portraits that I was talking about. We walked by after our formal dinner and they waved us over and posed us.

The image hosting site is back up, so let’s finish this post up. 🙂 So, it was Saturday afternoon/evening, and my friends Sandy and Johnny have me over at Johnny’s to cheer me up, and to join their holiday setup as well as enjoy the beautiful Manhattan Beach, golden sands one small block away.

Don’t tell me this isn’t sweet:

What I was laughing at is the pose I had before Sandy actually took the picture.

Me with my oldest friend in the world (not old as in age, old as in we were running around the pier in braids and pigtails chasing after Uno cards blowing around at 5am as over-bundled-up six-year-olds in sweaters, vests, jackets and shawls as our dads hung over the pier and fished and our moms…actually, I have no memory of what our moms were doing).

You know how you drink a little too much, look into your wineglass, and think, “Look at all the pretty colors! It looks likes a sunset over Manhattan Beach” ?

Back at the house, we finished decorating the tree with the antique ornaments, and Sandy and Johnny are now taking a break with their wine. Sandy and Johnny are both admiring their respective favorite things in the room.

“It’s Christmas-Chunks!” Sandy chirped delightedly at seeing Chunk the cat in front of the tree. I told her I thought “Christmas Chunks” sounded like someone threw up eggnog.

The tree lights were finally turned on, and after oohing and aahing, Sandy went to do some adjustments and finishing touches. Johnny, as you can see, moves *really* fast.

Johnny’s holding back tears at his Christmasy living room scene. “It’s beautiful, man,” he sniffles. Gruffly and masculinely, of course.

My girl friend Sandy and I had our first complete “real Christmas tree” experience on Saturday at Manhattan Beach. Her friend Johnny was thrilled that he gets to “kill two birds with one stone” by popping both our cherries in this respect. Remember the last time I was there and was upset for not having my camera? (see posts Out of Character, Part I and Part II) This time I made sure to bring my camera! I had so much fun, they’re wonderful cheerer-uppers, the location was beautiful, and there was lots of festivity, tradition, sarcasm, laughter, and a smokey cat named Chunk!

Memorial to the Vets next to the tree lot:

I never knew pine needles grew straight out of the tree’s bark.

Taking the tree home

Setting up the tree

Johnny showing you his blood, sweat and tears invested into the project.

Santa’s Workshop, aka Johnny’s Decoration Collection. Some of those things date back several generations to 1920!

Moon over Manhattan. Beach, that is.

Johnny about to break into song, inspired by the beautiful beachy sunset.

And what view is so inspiring for Johnny? This one:

Oops, the image hosting site just crashed. Something I did? I’ll post the tree photos in a followup entry. Rest your mouse pointer over the photo for a caption!

Mr. W dropped me off back at home about an hour ago from Thanksgiving dinner with his friends and the friends’ family, and he’ll soon be on his way to Vegas. The Thanksgiving food was wonderful, the company was warm-hearted and light-spirited, the fire in the outdoor firepit was lively and mesmerizing, and my cheesecake was a success. (It really does taste better chilled, with dramatic dashes of Hershey’s lite syrup and a fluffy floral swirl of chocolate lite whipped cream.)

But this is what I actually wanted to blog about, and ask for feedback on.

The host’s niece asked me whether I watch “Gray’s Anatomy.” I don’t, altho I’ve heard it was a pretty good show. She said that there’s an Asian actress on the show and that I look “exactly like her.” No one else around the table said anything, altho they seemed to study me a bit. Before we left, the niece reminded me to watch “Gray’s Anatomy” on Sunday nights at 10pm on NBC because “you have to see that actress. I swear, you look exactly like her.” I asked if she remembered the actress’s name. She didn’t, but she suddenly remembered another movie that the same actress was in. I got a little excited. “What’s that movie when this woman just decides to go to Italy…” “Under the Tuscany Sun?” I asked her. “Yeah! That’s it! She played her friend.” Sandra Oh is the actress’s name.

Because everyone was leaving anyway, I didn’t say anything until Mr. W and I were back in his truck with the doors closed. I asked him if he knew who the actress is that the niece was talking about. He didn’t.

***
Margaret Cho is one of my favorite stand-up comedians. In one of her shows, she talked about an incident where a cab driver recognized her and raved on and on about how he loves her because she looks exactly like his sister. He then handed her a photo of his sister and Margaret’s first thought was, “Oh my God, she is sooooo ugly.” She then goes on, “Don’t you just hate it when people say how much you look like someone, and then you see the person they were talking about, and she’s sooo ugly?”
***

Even tho Mr. W said, “I think cross-racial identifications, especially on a first impression, aren’t exactly accurate,” I still felt compelled upon my return home to immediately take a photo of myself and give you guys a side-by-side comparison. So here is me, right now, no touching up whatsoever just the way the niece saw me, and actress Sandra Oh.


Photos of Sandra Oh courtesy of Yahoo!Movies:


Just for kicks, I’m even gonna show you guys a photo of me in which I look the most Korean:

I will say this: I take it as an extreme compliment that she’s really skinny.

For more comparisons of me to the few Asian celebrities in American media, see previous posts here and here.

Hi, um, my name is Cindy and for show-and-tell I brought my boyfriend’s favorite pictures. *shuffling around with photos* These pictures are from our trip to San Francisco last weekend. He took them himself. With his camera.

He calls this one “I heart SF.” That’s me sitting on one of the last San Francisco Heart Project pieces. I’m wearing a UCLA shirt. *giggle*

He calls this one “Go Straight to Jail, Do Not Pass Go.” It’s me in the jail hall at Alcatraz. All puffy in Mr. W’s big jacket in the cold.

This is “Boat Framed on Alcatraz.” This building was burned down by the Indians in the early 1900s during their protest. Mr. W had to climb on a railing to take this picture. I think it’s pretty.

“SF City View.” I dunno where he got that name from.

He calls this “Sailing the Golden Gate.”

“Merry X-mas from Pier 39.” I like this picture because it looks like a Pier 39 postcard. Lotsa pictures he takes look like postcards.

This is “Daytime Christmas Moon.” That’s the American Indian name for this photo.

He named this “Eerie Night.” I like the lights on the bottom.

Even tho he called this “Haunted Hotel,” I don’t know that’s really a hotel.

You guys did all remember to pass the mouse over the photos, right? 😀

There were lots of lions on our trip to SF last weekend. It started with the National Geographic magazine that Mr. W bought at the airport, which features the magazine’s 100 favorite or best photos they’d ever had in print. There was a beautiful photo of a male lion walking, and the photographer had written that the lion was majestic, powerful and completely indifferent to him. Typical cat. Looking at that photo, I wanted to sink my hand into the dense lion mane, touch a fingertip to the flame-shaped tuft of fur at the tip of his tail. Of course there were stone lions all over Chinatown, guarding front doors, keeping the evil spirits out. We had also seen a framed closeup painting or photo of a lion’s face somewhere, and I remember saying I wanted a lion. Riding to work on a lion would ensure that nobody messed with me. Talk crap behind my back? My lion will eat you. Or at least bat you around. It’s funny to imagine some catty chick giving me the once-over and then all of a sudden, out of nowhere, this huge paw smacks her upside the head.

One morning last weekend I woke up from a dream that I was hanging out with lions, playing with one’s gigantic paw, curling up against another one in a vast plain. When I opened my eyes I was in the San Francisco hotel room with an already-awake Mr. W. “I dreamt I had a lion,” I said sleepily, still disoriented and rather disappointed that there was no lion next to me. He smiled his boyish dimpled smile and said, “Well, how about a Leo?” I’ll take it.