Yet another person who's cooler than me...

Dear Glob,


And he's not even 3 months yet... Gah, I need some street cred and fast!

CURSE-ive Writing

Dear Glob,

Growing up, I perpetuated the “hardworking studious Asian” student stereotype, always the super nerd who excelled at every subject… except for 1 - handwriting. Back in the day when grades only consisted of O’s (Outstanding), A’s (Average) and P’s (Poor), my report card always donned straight “O’s,” with the occasional “A” borderline “P” for Phys Ed.* Then came 3^rd grade along with 2 big writing milestones: 1) We were making the transition from baby-like pencils to grown-up pens (albeit erasable pens) and 2) Learning how to write in cursive. But, of course, there was a stupid little catch – you weren’t allowed the cross over from pencil to pen until you proved your penmanship to the teacher. I always thought handwriting was a joke, needing no real effort or brainpower. Who cared about nicely dotted I’s and crossed T’s when you were leading long division study groups and reading at a 5^th grade level by the age of 8?

In 3^rd grade, afternoons were spent completing assignments from the morning’s lessons. Once we finished and were cleared by our teacher, it was on to the best part of the day, playtime. Naturally, the first kids to finish not only had more free time to run amok, but also had first pick of all the toys, and the coolest of the toys were hands down the big cardboard bricks. Nothing was more satisfying than building a big castle with your friends, hanging out inside while maintaining a strict door policy of who was cool enough to gain admittance, and, best of all, violently knocking it down at the sound of the dismissal bell. I held a scared truce with the other 2 smart kids in the class: whomever finished first would claim the blocks and always allow the others in our fellowship of 3 to partake in the exclusive rebuilding and demolition of the cardboard brick castle. This cycle was flawless… until one fateful day when the cursive writing handbooks were distributed.

I remember this day vividly. After our teacher showed us how to execute the flow-y forms of a capital and lower case “Aa,” we were assigned to complete the first section of our new workbooks before our afternoon playtime. This was easy chump work I thought as I quickly and carelessly traced and wrote lines of cursive “Aa’s.” I triumphantly finished well before all of my classmates and happily skipped over to my teacher, expecting another gold star for my excellent work. But to my utter dismay, my teacher abruptly returned my workbook, sans gold star, and began to reprimand me for my sloppy handwriting. Surprised by her reaction, I dejectedly sat at my desk trying to make my “Aa’s” a little rounder and even. After one row of painfully slowly executed cursive “Aa’s,” I decided that was enough to clear me for playtime, but was once again ushered back to my desk. How unfair and unreasonable my teaching was acting! I coached other kids through remainders, read quietly and competently when my teacher struggled with other reading groups and here I was being punished for not caring about something as stupid and useless as cursive writing. Freakin' waste of my time! This attitude stubbornly stuck with me through “Bb” and “Cc,” and I gladly gave up half of playtime refusing to try harder in protest against the faux importance of cursive writing.

B is for BORING... and, not so coincidentally, Boston

It wasn’t until “Dd” did my teacher up the ante. After this particular lesson she circled the classroom handing out blue pens to students she deemed had perfect penmanship. Although I was still scrawling away in chicken scratch, I was shocked when I was not awarded a coveted blue pen. What was happening here? Wasn’t I in the fellowship of 3, who were always “O”utstanding? As I watched the lucky few write their “Dd’s” in blazing blue script, I decided now was the time to sell out and conform to cursive writing society. Easier said then done - For the first time in my life something school related did not come easy for me. Even if I concentrated extremely hard on forming each letter, I could not rise myself up to the elusive pen level. I was sick of having to sharpen my pencils as everyone else whizzed along with their never dull pens. My dull grey lettered work looked inferior to others penned beautiful sapphire blue ink. Just when I thought things couldn’t get any worse, then came the moment of truth – Report cards. Marring my wonderful streak of “O’s” was a red “A” blazing next to Handwriting. All my drive and ambitions flew out the window and I slowly began to deteriorate in all my subjects. My teacher was alarmed by my sudden academic decline and called me to her desk in order to determine the source of my undoing. Like a rushing flood, I lamented all my handwriting woes and despite my best effort was still stuck writing in boring old pencil. My teacher looked at me and reflected on my plight, and to my great surprise, she decided to take a gamble and promoted me to ink. I carried my precious new pen back to my desk and, lo and behold, beautiful lines of perfect cursive script flowed effortlessly onto the paper. When I finished my assignment, I brought it up to my teacher, who was floored by the progress I had made after a simple switch from pencil to pen. Inspired by my change of heart, the next day she promoted everyone else still struggling in pencil to pen and finally leveled the playing field. Although I enjoyed a brief season of lovely penmanship, the novelty soon wore off and I reverted back to the messy combination of print/script I use today.

Now basking in the age of technology and, more significantly in term of this particular post, word processing, I wonder if they still push penmanship in elementary school. Reflecting back to the days of pens, cursive writing and scarlet letters, I scoff at everyone who has ever dissed my handwriting. Provided you are not a teacher, who still has to write on blackboards for the benefit of their students, when was the last time in your adult life you had to write more than 2 sentences for someone else to read? Yeah, I thought so…

*Yes, I also fall into the girl wuss stereotype that stands in the back corner during dodgeball.

My Dad is so cool!

Dear Glob,

I wish I had cool pictures like this of when I was a "rebellious young teenager."

Too bad the majority of my adolesence was spent with weirdly splotched bleach blond hair, braces and green/ox blood Doc Martins... Sigh, will I ever be cool?

I'm a Big Kid now!

Dear Glob,

Finally… the relocation has begun.

Since Monday, 2/12/2006, my state of mind has moved to Brooklyn, more specifically Prospect Heights. Oh loyal readership, words cannot the happiness I feel – and believe me, that’s not the only lame excuse for not posting new glob entries. Other than my lack of connection to the super information highway, I am slowly trying to reinsert myself back into civilization by meeting up with everyone and their moms located within the MTA system. No, I am not that popular (far from it!), but amazingly enough I have something to do almost every night next week! Not to completely dismiss the last couple of wonderful months with my former Roommates, but it’s damn good to be back!

My apartment is super fabulous! Being the small little girl I am, the space is almost intimidating (not to rub it in… kinda). SAP, D dot and Kristofferson, all knowing my sparse-lifestyle tendencies, joked on my first night that I’d probably never fully furnish my new abode and it would remain an echoing barren wasteland. Contemplating on what I could do fill the space, we came up with the following options: 1) Fill up the entire living room with plastic balls* and make it a ball pit obstacle course or, 2) Adopt 50 or so cats and become the crazy Cat lady with litter boxes strewn in every corner. Although I moved in some odds and ends today, we’ll see which direction my apartment evolves… Maybe the loneliness of living alone will eventually drive me to the nearest ASPCA, but as of now, it is pure bliss. I’m usually the biggest scardy-cat, who can’t even go into my sister’s old downstairs room for fear of Yoda living in her closet… So you can see why I had hesitations moving in by myself. When he heard that I was living alone, Younger Brother told me he would go nuts without another human presence. The Whale overheard our conversation and said that as you get older, you start to crave the alone-ness, and, subsequently, a good marker of whether not you should marry someone is if you don’t mind them invading your space for more than a couple of days. After a week of living in my apartment, I still can’t wipe this silly grin off my face I’m so gosh darn happy. Case in point: On Wednesday, I woke up from sleeping on my deflated air mattress (the pump was broken) to a snowy winter wonderland. Not having to shovel or worry about my morning commute, my green wellies easily trudged through the snow to the subway. When I got into work, people had roses or candy on their desks, sent to them from loved ones in celebration of Valentine’s Day. I am an ardent hater of everything winter and am usually bitter about my seemingly perpetual state of singledom. I should have been ready to throw grenades attached to boomerangs, but instead felt nothing but sweet sweet euphoria… So good. So good. Baby, its so good.

Again, writing is hard when all you want to do is cartwheel and proclaim how good everything is to anyone who will listen. Its kind of like how Alanis Morriset had a hit record when she wrote angry "You outta know" songs, but was soon revealed to be the chump she really is when she started singing happy tunes. So pardon this high peak in my biorythm, and give me a couple more weeks to settle down. I’m sure I’ll be back to my usual campy writing voice soon. But as of now… HUZZAH HUZZAH!

*BTW: If anyone finds themselves at a McDonalds with a play place, think of you buddy, Chewie, and grab a bucketful for my apartment.

In Transit...

Dear Glob,

Rush hour sucks. Today I got out a wee bit late from work, and had to haul ass in order to catch my bus back to Rockland. Fortunately Luck was my Lady tonight, and an express train rolled into the station as I was descending the stairs to the platform. Sweet. When I got off at 96^th to transfer, a crowd of people was already waiting for the Local. Sure enough when the train arrived, it was the usual push and shove to cram into an already jam packed subway car. You know, ever since I rode the Tokyo commuter rail at its peak (and subsequently believed I cracked my rib cage by the “smoosh force” I had to endure during the 20 minute train ride), I will never EVER complain about a crowded NYC subway. No matter how crowded a train seems, I will always find a nook or cranny to squeeze myself in. Today was no exception. After tailing behind a big guy who forced his way through the crowd, I calmly slipped between 2 people standing by the train’s door. Usually this kind of behavior warrants jealous stares from the platform or “Wait for the next train” comments, but not for the likes of me. Case in point: Today as I shimmied into the train, not only did passengers make way for one more on the fully crowed train, but people who were waiting longer than I on the platform nodded in agreement, knowing that only I could comfortably fit into the remaining space left in the car. Double sweet. Sometimes it pays off to be Small and Unassuming.

Commuting, le sigh - although it’s the main reason why I’m leaving my super cool Roommates and moving into Brooklyn (mark your calendars, dear Readers – 2/10/2007), I must admit it’s not that bad this time around. In addition to my foolproof commute home, my morning counterpart has become a regular routine. Around 7:00am, Mother and I hitch a ride with our good friends, Tita K. and Tito J.* I usually zone out as the conversation flows in and out of Tagalog, until around 7:30am when the Phone Tap comes on. For those of you blessedly not up at this hour, or do not have the pleasure of listening to Z100’s morning show, the Phone Tap is your classic crank call that is previously recorded and aired on the radio. Listeners write in to propose ideal situations and supply unsuspecting victims for a couple of minutes of Radio stardom. The taste levels range from Z100 DJs posing as airlines representatives who tell a bride-to-be that airlines tickets booked for her destination wedding have been canceled, to calling up parents informing them that their daughter has been arrested for participating in a communist rally.** Although some are worse than others, I can’t help but cringe every time this segment comes on. To make matters worse, Tita K. and Tito J. live for this show during our commute, ceasing conversation, pumping up the volume and gleefully announcing that the Phone Tap is about to begin. Not wanting to show my discomfort, I smile and politely laugh along through all the curses, curt comments and craziness instigated by the Z100 pranksters and co-conspirators. Its not like I don’t understand what’s funny about the situation – I could even laugh on cue, knowing exactly when people who genuinely find this kind of thing funny would laugh. I just don’t understand why people are amused by other people’s frustration, especially, in most situations, by other family member’s frustration. My friend Tree long ago tried to explain the humor to me, citing the idea, which also happens to be the root of the Z100 Phone Tap tagline: “Bringing families together, while tearing them apart.” By being able to play these kinds of jokes on family members or friends shows/promotes closeness. I agree that forgiveness is the cornerstone of some of my best relationships, but testing the patience of someone you love by poking at an already sore spot for the sake of amusement? No, I don’t find that funny.

Although I do find this funny… So who am I to judge about tasteful humor?

*Funny side-story: Before Mother and I started commuting with them, Tita K. and Tito J. would give their regular GW Bridge toll guard a sandwich every so often, coaxing him into charging them the carpool rate despite not having 3 passengers. Pretty smart, huh?

**This particular Phone Tap could warrant its own post – With information provided by his daughter, Z100 harassed a Romanian immigrant father, picking on everything from his accent to his home country’s communist roots. Right now, I don’t feel well informed enough to write an educated response to this on my sing-song campy glob, but listening to him trying to assert his “American-ness” hit close to home in the wake of post-911 backlash against foreign born citizens.

Excuses, Excuses

Dear Glob,

Yes, I know. I've been slackin' with the whole updating regularly resolution, but justifiably so. With my new job, early morning commute and planning a loyal reader's upcoming Birthday, I can't achieve the usual level of wittiness and meaningful thought provoking themes (ha!) in my writing. Please bear with me during this time of transition, and I promise you bigger and better posts once I'm settled, living by myself and have all this blessed free (but not "monotonous unemployed free") time.

As a last attempt to persuade you all to continue to regularly check my glob, here's a sneak peek of a couple of posts-in-the-making:

1. Stereotypes are the Language of Hate... until they work in your advantage: Why I would be the perfect Drug Smuggler

2. You've just been Phone Tapped! -or- Ben Stiller sucks: An exploration of "watching people suffer" humor

As well as updates on my new job, apartment and, of course, Sam.

I am a TV star -or- Martha Stewart is my new Hero

Dear Glob,

Yesterday at 6:00am on the coldest morning of the season, I was snugly lying in my bed wondering what I had got myself into. About a week ago, my fellow globber-in-law, Paulatina, invited me to a taping of the Martha Stewart show. I was pretty skeptical about the whole deal, especially the “be at the studio at 8:30am” part, but in the end decided to tag along and spend some quality time with Paulatina before she and P-love jet off to the motherland… I’m not going to lie; that morning I was seriously tempted to bail. Was it really worth the struggle to untangle myself from my sweet sweet warm blankets at the crack of dawn just to watch someone teach me how to properly fold a fitted sheet?

The night before, Paulatina and I were discussing what we should wear to the show. Apparently, Martha’s people sent out an email to all audience members outlining a strict dress code of slacks or nice jeans, conservative tops, and no white since the show was filmed in HD. Because of the frosty weather, I ditched my original idea of khakis and a twin-set (ha – like I even own one), and went for my warmest outfit (NOTE - this is important information in order to spot me “Where’s Waldo” style out of the audience): An oversized purple and grey striped turtleneck, jeans and my fuzzy brown boots. At 6:45am Filipino time, I piled into a car with Paulatina, Tita O., Tita O.’s gym friend Terry, and our chauffer P-love. Everyone, minus the XY chromosome, was garbed in bright colors to enhance their hopeful television appearance and overly chipper during our commute into the city.

After a couple of excruciatingly cold minutes waiting in line, we got our tickets and eventually were ushered into the waiting room. Since the show didn’t start for 1.5 hours, there were TVs playing past Martha shows, computers hooked up to the Martha website, and refreshments consisting of bottles of water and super yummy (I should know, I ate two) Sarabeth’s scones. Sitting on the bench in front of us were 2 women Paulatina and I dubbed the Upper East Side rich housewives. Both of us had confessed to have noticed the cool blue cowboy boots one of them was wearing, but agreed they must have cost an arm and a leg, along with the rest of her designer outfit. Unlike us normal folk who signed up on the Internet for tickets, we assumed they had their personal assistants call for tickets and didn’t have to wait in line for good seats… And what do you know, when seating began, they were the first tickets to be called. So not fair.

We soon get to our seats and they’re pretty sweet, located 2^nd row center. Paulatina scanned the coveted floor seats for our UES housewives and, low and behold, they are seated in the front row. Figures, huh? As Martha warm-up guy, Joey, worked up the crowd, Paulatina and I watch ed the crew, who all looked like NYU hipster Tisch students, set up the stage. I’ve been to a couple of tapings before, but this set was abuzz with activity: From people baking in the kitchen to crew members setting up Candy Topiaries. A pump-up soundtrack was blaring in the background, with a crowd-friendly mix of Hip-Hop and Rock music. When Usher’s “Yeah” comes on, a couple of girls started crazy dancing and Paulatina and I joined in with a couple of “Thunderclaps.” Afterwards, KT Tunstall’s “Black Horse and the Cherry Tree” came on and immediately killed our mood. I asked Paulatina who would consider this a “pump-up” song, and she gestured in the direction of the UES housewives. As if on cue, they both started grooving to the music… Dude, I wish I were making this up.

Enter Martha. Just her presence commanded my attention, and I stifled any impulse to act unruly, committed to being a good audience member. To my pleasant surprise, the show turned out to be incredibly interesting and fun to watch. Not only did her household tips have me nodding my head in agreement, but Martha also completely outsmarted all her guests with her witty comments and questions. At the end of the show, Martha nicely agreed to short Q&A session with the audience. One of the audience members asked her for a restaurant recommendation near the studio, and after rattling off a couple of spots in the area, Martha then said, “But if I had the time, I would eat at Momofuku,” which happens to be one of my favorite ramen places in the East Village. Could she be any cooler? As we were walking out of the studio chock full of free giveaways, I thought about how I had almost missed out on account of sleep and cold. Hands down, this was the best taping I had ever been to. Martha Stewart is my new Hero.

I really need to learn how to Photoshop...

Naturally after the show, we all headed back to the Japunan household to watch the show on DVR. Again, having been to other tapings I wasn’t expecting much but BAM! we were all up in that ish. We have not 1, but 2 decent screen appearances! To see me in action click here - then go to archives/past shows/January 17th show entitled “Sweets for All.” I’m in the 2^nd opening audience pan, and at the beginning of Erin McKenna: Mini Brownies segment. Below are screen captures of our awesome TV appearances.

YAY MARTHA!!!

1. Tita O. overacting 2. Me trying hard to behave myself 3. Paulatina, the misfit, waving directly at the camera

Sigh. For those of you who know me, know what a ham I can be. I always want to be the Diva of Karaoke or the Ramona of Dinnertime, but when I actually had a moment to shine on national TV, I missed my chance and was completely overshadowed by Paulatina. Although I am happy for Paulatina’s big break, I was seething with jealously as I watched her deviation of proper audience conduct while I obediently followed the rules. Oh well, you can’t win them all.