I never learn . . .

Communicating with some of my friends can be like pulling teeth sometimes. Everyone claims they love emails; yet no one bothers to reply. And then you have those who don’t reply, but do send you another email with completely different content. What gives? Typical scenario:

- friend sends email
- I reply

From there, it goes into two possible directions:

a: friend replies to my reply, I reply to that reply, and then nothing.
b: friend sends a new email, I reply, and then nothing.
b: nothing.

I’m never the one who drops the ball, so please, help me understand.

In other news, I’ve decided to start a list of things that I want to learn; similar to 43things.com, but less complicated. Here we go:

- archery
- gun shooting
- knife throwing
- woodworking
- glassblowing
- fishing

Em…to be continued.

On Seemingly Unresourceful Kids Who Ask You for Answers to the Homework via Your Facebook Wall (and food)

Background information: You are a college sophomore and there is a grad student in one of your classes. You are on good terms with the grad student, whom you met in another class last semester. You have previously asked said grad student for answers to various homework assignments via his/her Facebook wall, and were told that not only it wasn’t wise to ask this type of question on Facebook, but you’re also never going to get an answer to your questions.

Situation: You have a homework assignment due Monday, and you can’t find the answer to one of the questions (“What does [foreign language phrase] mean?”). Do you:

a) try to translate it yourself to see where it takes you?
b) plug the sentence into some online translator to see where it takes you?
c) search online forums and the web in general to see what you find?
d) go to your grad student classmate’s Facebook profile and write on his/her wall, asking for the answer?

I don’t know what to do with this kid. I’m not sure how many times I have to write him back telling him that I’m not going to give him the answer, and I honestly don’t understand why he thinks that I would even consider helping him. This isn’t me playing the grad student who thinks she’s better than undergrads here; the professor made it clear, both in class and on the syllabus, that this was meant to be individual work. Schools don’t fuck around with academic integrity. I don’t fuck around with academic integrity. And I don’t care that it’s not like cheating on an exam; I don’t care that asking for the answer to a homework assignment is seemingly harmless. The point is that rules are rules, and this is an assignment that we have to hand in. Furthermore, I am a grad student after all, which means that we are NOT on the same level academically. I’m enrolled in a one-year program with which I am less than happy; you think I’m gonna risk my ass to help you with one little question? You must be outside your mind.

Okay, never mind that he was stupid enough to ask me AGAIN on my Facebook wall, AGAIN. Does he think, does he really think that I am stupid?

His message says that he looked up the phrase online and found nothing, which I had trouble believing because it’s a very common French phrase and, chances are, the translation is everywhere to be found. Open a dictionary. Go to wordreference[dot]com. I’m sure you’re not the first one to wonder what the fuck that phrase means.

So, since I didn’t believe that the answer was nowhere to be found online, I went to WR and searched for it. Two words. Didn’t even use quotation marks. Guess what I found.

Precisely ONE thread about what that exact phrase meant. Guess who started the thread.

Him. Nothing told me explicitly that it was he who asked the question, but the poster’s handle happens to be his name in French (coincidence? keep reading). I logged on so I could see said poster’s history, just to take a look at the threads that he started. Interestingly, one of the threads pertained to an expression that showed up on one of our assignments last semester — and guess when that thread was posted? GASP!!!!! LAST SEMESTER!!!!!!!!!!!

And guess what else I just found? Another thread about something else pertaining to this homework assignment! Started a few days ago!

Ok y’all, that’s just too much. There’s no way this is all coincidental. And it’s not like he started that thread because I didn’t give him the answer — no no no. The thread was started last night, someone provided him with the answer last night, and he wrote on my wall about two hours ago.

My conclusion: he asked me because he wants to confirm the answer he got on the forum.

Ain’t gonna happen. And I hate it when people beat around the fucking bush. It’s always, “Hey, how are you? How’s your weekend? OHBYTHEWAYIWANTTHEANSWERTOTHISQUESTION kthxbye.”

?? Don’t be an asshole.

Action to be taken on my part: None, except write about it. I won’t bother tagging his wall and telling him again that I won’t give him the answer blah blah blah. I’m sure he’ll get the point if he doesn’t hear from me, and, if not, he’ll just ask me why I didn’t answer when he sees me on Monday. And then I’ll tell him.

Or maybe I’ll just look at him and ask, “Are you fucking serious?”

Moving on.

I’m happy to announce that my mom is doing just fine. I headed back to Philadelphia on Thursday afternoon to go to the hospital with her on Friday morning. The additional tests that the doctor wanted to perform were another mammogram and an ultrasound. Everything is fine, it was just a scare (and a waste of our time). But a stitch in time saves nine, right? All things considered, it was a good weekend. It was nice to be home and spend time with her, without having work bugging me the entire time (I had cancelled my DSL in Philly and so didn’t take my laptop with me).

The ride from DC to Philly was pretty smooth; the bus left Chinatown around 4:15pm, and, since it was a Thursday, it wasn’t crowded. I managed to hit Union Station after class to pick up some Neuhaus chocolate. Luckily there was a sale, so getting three boxes didn’t ruin me (one for my mom, one for our neighbor Bev, and one for my aunt and uncle).

On my way down to the Metro, I picked up a generous sample of shea butter hand cream, which made my hands quite slippery for a while.

I played Squirrel Mike’s City of Strangers during the entire ride home.

I watched the sun set and the cotton candy clouds go by. Violet sky. There really isn’t much in this world that can rival the sky — an ever-changing scene, a classic beauty. Calm, serene, light, jolly, dark, lonesome, stormy… Universal, infinite. I love it. When the sun is a glowing orange candy and all you want to do is taste it…

My lotioned hands smelled like cookies. I fell asleep, probably at the same time as the sun, and woke up a bit disoriented.

Kind of like today. It took me a while to remember that today was Saturday. I meant to step outside for just a moment, to breathe some non-apartment air, but it didn’t happen. Instead, I sat here all day doing homework and workwork. At least there’s still food in the fridge.

When I came back from Philly, I saw that the chocolate capuccino spread had been replaced by a jar of crunchy hazelnut chocolate spread. Sounds even tastier than just hazelnut chocolate spread, doesn’t it? Well, it tastes just like a Ferrero Rocher (which used to be called “Ferrero Roche d’Or” in France, by the way).  As of my departure on Thursday the 19th, I had consumed about half of the chocolate capuccino spread, which I bought a mere three days earlier. I’m not sure what happened to it, but I’m glad Crunchy Hazelnut Chocolate Spread is here.

On a semi-related note, I bought bananas on Tuesday night — they were being brought out of boxes, nice and green. Today they’re green and yellow, but definitely ripe — too ripe for my taste, actually. I wonder why they’re still green.

Tastes change. I never thought much of tofu until a few months ago, and now I’m crazy about it. Despite what many people say, tofu does have a taste — and don’t ask me what it tastes like, because I’m just gonna tell you that it tastes like tofu. I love the way it absorbs whatever flavor is around it. And it’s so versatile.

I like making a beet-corn-mushroom-tofu salad. Add balsamic vinegar, olive oil, some salt, pepper, and a bit of sugar.

Tonight I made angel hair pasta with garlic and basil tomato sauce, sliced mushrooms, and diced tofu. Mmmm…

I noticed that if I eat a lot for dinner, I get really, REALLY painfully hungry the next day. I wonder why.

On Not Having a Valentine (and not looking “like a grad student,” apparently)

Tonight, my phone conversation with my mom went something like this:

Mom: So you’re just working tonight? That’s what happens when you have no Valentine on Valentine’s Day.
Me: Valentine’s Day is tomorrow.
Mom: Ah, yes. Well you still don’t have one.

Isn’t she sweet. It’s funny, because “Valentine” in Chinese translates to “lover”. I was just following a thread on Yelp about casual dating and read some pretty interesting posts. I never used to think that dating around was okay; I thought it was so typically American — which, to me, always meant “bullshit”.

Dating around? Really? How A.D.D. are you?

Now that I think back on it (it’s been years since I first decided that it wasn’t an ok-thing to do), I suppose there’s nothing wrong with it. But maybe I should explain my previous point of view: I always thought that people who dated around were only playing a game (the dating game? “back in the game”?) and had no real interest in being committed (by that I mean an exclusive relationship — not “love and marriage”). I used to say that I would never be okay if the guy I was “going out with” was seeing other people, because, well, *I* wouldn’t do that.

When faced with a problem, there usually are more than one way to approach it, right? Do you try all of them at the same time? No, you don’t; you try one, you chuck it if it doesn’t work, and you move on to the next one.

But what the fuck do *I* know? You can’t actually use that model for dating. People come and people go; you can’t acquire several potentially datable (also: dateable) people, and try one out while you shelve the rest. Who’s gonna wait for you to come around? That’s the main “danger” of serial dating (as opposed to multi-dating), I guess: if you date exclusively (but not “seriously”) and it doesn’t work out, it might take a while to find your next date. Sure, freedom is nice, you get to have some single fun, spend some “you” time. And then? How long is that gonna last? How long until you get tired of being free, having single fun, and spending time ALONE?

I’m not saying everyone should go out and collect phone numbers from everything that moves (and has a phone), but if presented with the option to date several different people at one (not literally “at the same time,” people) you should do it. It’s all about maximizing your chances and using time efficiently.

I could talk about dating for hours; what to do, what not to do, blah blah blah… it’s too bad I don’t have anyone on whom to test my theories.

The other thing I’d like to discuss tonight, before I retire myself, is some nonsense I heard about “looking” like a grad student.

Well, “heard”; I had lunch with a very nice sophomore today and she told me that I didn’t “look like a grad student”. Then we took the Metro, going in opposite directions, and I was left wondering what the fuck she meant by that.

That was at 4pm, it’s now 2am — officially the next fucking day — and I’m still wondering. Any ideas?

What she could have meant was that I don’t “act” like a grad student. From my observations of other grad students who have been and currently are in my classes, I can deduce it to mean one of two things — or maybe both: that I am not silent in class, or that I talk and socialize with undergrads. Now, let’s be honest: most grad students probably don’t think much of undergrads, much like undergrads don’t think much of high school kids, and so on and so forth. With that in mind, being “stuck” in a class with 95-99% undergrads is probably not the ideal situation. And so, since undergrads aren’t technically our peers, we see no reason for befriending them. Or talking to them. Or you know, looking at them. I mean, some grad students are TAs, they have shit to do, places to go, people (who are more important than undergrads) to see, etc.

Newsflash: so do undergrads.

I don’t get the whole I’m a grad student attitude. I see it all the time, but I don’t get it. It’s oh-so-serious and important. But, o, venerable grad student: you KNOW damn well that when you’re with your friends you act like a silly little freshman does with his or hers.

This just in: your shit doesn’t smell any better than theirs.

You should see me in class; I’m a fucking ray of fucking sunshine. The undergrads love me — those who aren’t intimidated by my being a grad student, that is.

But what I think she meant was that I don’t look my age — I literally don’t look like a grad student. Some would agree, some wouldn’t. But honestly? I’m 24; there isn’t much of a difference between someone who’s 21-22 — e.g., a senior in college — and someone who’s 24. Maybe it’s my clothes? Am I supposed to change my wardrobe suddenly? Wear dress pants and blouses instead of jeans and t-shirts? Maybe a pair of heels would do it? Some lipstick? Bullfuckingshit. That’s just like the attitude thing and the whole taking-yourself-too-seriously act.

I’m only talking about clothes here because I refuse to think that people could ever come to the conclusion that a particular individual could not be a grad student — no way! — because their FACE looks young. Or because they’re short. Or because their face looks young AND they’re short.

Ahhhhh, but what do they know? They’re undergrads.

SNOW FOR DUMB FUCKS

Oops, did I just offend someone? Would “dummies” make you feel slightly better, even though they essentially mean the same thing?

Moving on. I meant to write this yesterday, after I got back from the half-assedly shoveled streets of my residential neighborhood.

PEOPLE:

- After you shovel, you’re supposed to sprinkle SALT on your little piece of concrete so as to prevent the formation of a sheet of ice, should the temperatures drop overnight and freeze the slushy mess left over by bipeds.

- In the same vein, you’re supposed to sprinkle salt AFTER you shovel; what on earth do you suppose a little grain of salt here and there will do in two inches of snow? I’ll tell you what a little grain of salt here and there does in two inches of snow. NOTHING USEFUL. It’ll melt itself a nice little hole of about one inch in diameter AND THAT’S IT.

- And of course if you’re stupid enough to just put the salt and the snow together, I would hope that you’re not dimwitted enough to shovel it all away. Which means that you don’t shovel. BUY A SHOVEL AND GET TO WORK!

Is it icy outside today? Aw, shucks. I hope you enjoy the ice skating arena that you and people like you have inadvertently created! I’ll be working from home in my pajamas if you need me.

Laundry Woes, or How People Are Useless

MAN I hate being pissed up at not-even-nine-in-the-morning. And yet the world conspires to tickle my angry bone every chance it gets! Why is it that I’m always up doing laundry at the same time as the most clueless and/or inconsiderate people? Why does the world harbor such unfortunate souls who clearly cannot accomplish a task as simple as laundering?

It pisses me off even more because I can never bring myself to take some jackhole’s clothes out of the washer, even if the cycle’s been over for a good fifteen minutes — and this purely out of my own consideration for his/her clothes, when that person clearly has no consideration for the laundry room rules, or other people for that matter. But that is partly my problem, unlike the following: what am I to do if, after waiting for someone to come retrieve her clothes from two washers and put them to dry, said person walks in and, while measuring another cup of powder detergent, declares that “These two machines aren’t gonna be empty, if that’s what you’re waiting for. I’m sorry, I have to run them both through again, sorry”?

Do I:

a) go ape shit and make her eat her powder detergent through her nose?

b) bitch and moan and tell her that she should be more considerate of the rules and others in particular?

c) glare at her and walk away?

d) be civil and tell her that “It’s okay, I’ll just wait for my first load to finish, then”?

After running these several scenarios in my head, I figured that d) would be the more reasonable and less damaging option.

With that said, I should probably hurry and get my laundry lest someone else take it out.

I’m not sorry, nor do I know if I should be

You know, I appreciate you standing outside in the bitter cold, working for a cause in which you really believe. What I don’t appreciate, however, is YOU getting all up in my FACE with that stupid binder/clipboard of yours, trying to desseminate all the facts and horrors compiled in your shiny little brochure and gather whatever personal information you need from me.

1. I’m listening to music. Partly because I need to get that song out of my head by listening to it at least 20 times in a row (which never works but hey, I never learn), but mostly to avoid people like you. And you can see that I’m listening to music because my earphones and the wire connecting them to my iPod (product placement WHAT!) are white, thus totally contrasting with my black down jacket that contains many dead birds. Point is, I stuffed my ears with things that emit sound so that I can actually not hear you instead of merely pretending. See that hand in my pocket? It’s turning up the volume. It means get away from me.

2. I’m not looking at you. When did my eyes ever meet yours? Never. I don’t want to look at you because it would somehow be an invitation for you to talk to me, and, in case you haven’t been following, I don’t want you to talk to me. Plus I’m sure you people have some hypnotizing powers, because I always see someone stuck in your invisible tentacles with a pen in hand, scribbling stuff on your binder/clipboard.

3. Not only am I not looking at you, but I’m also frowning. At you. Indirectly. In any case, it’s a meanie face. Don’t come near me.

4. I’m walking uber fast. Am I in a hurry or am I just trying to get away from you? Next time you see me, ask yourself that question. Actually, don’t bother; it’s either one or the other, so either way I can’t and/or don’t want to talk to you.

And despite all this, some of you folks just never learn! Do you do that at bars and parties, too? Jesus jumping up and down…

I don’t care about babies/pandas/polar bears (I actually happen to hate polar bears) enough to stand out there and freeze my ass off in the cold with you. That’s YOUR job; I’ve got mine to do. And, for your information, people who really care don’t wait to be asked on the street by some nagging stranger before giving money; they seek out charitable organizations on their own. Like I do. From the comfort of my home, where it’s rarely below freezing… because, you know, when you ask me to save polar bears in the bitter cold, all I can think of is how nice it would be to have their fur wrapped around me at that very moment.

The world’s coming to an end

and there’s nothing anyone can do to stop it.

We live in a world of savages — or, at the very least, my mother lives in a city of savages. The crime rate in Philadelphia is going up. Wake up, people! I remember when in the winter there were talks of lower crime rates; I bet now everyone’s wondering what the hell happened.

I’ll tell you what happened: the winter ended.

Criminals are like roaches: when it’s cold out, they stay indoors; when it’s warm out, you can find them all over the streets.

I’m really sick and tired of what’s happening currently. Have we no respect? Have we so little shame that we’d go so far as raping and murdering an 84-year-old woman, beating and robbing an 83-year-old man? What the shit is this world coming to?

I want to know what the fuck goes through these people’s hollow heads. Wind? Because it’s certainly not reason.

COWARDS. You really have to be a fucking coward who’s got nothing better to do (certainly no job in sight) than gather up two of your friends to beat on a senior citizen. And rob him, adding insult to injury. Though I’m not really quite sure if their intent was, from the very beginning, to rob him. They got away with something like $50. FIFTYmotherfuckingDOLLARS. Are you fucking shitting me?

Really? Fifty fucking bucks? Split amongst three people or are two of them the third one’s bitches? Because, frankly, either way you look at it, $50 won’t get you very far nowadays.

And then, on a larger scale, bombs are going off in India, trains are colliding in L.A., passenger planes are crashing in Russia, we’re a total hurricane magnet and China’s still fucking with everyone’s consumables.

It’s time you all start praying to your respective gods.

I’m almost wishing the flicking of the switch on September 10 had killed us all. If you’re gonna end this world, make it quick and painless — or at least make it so that we all go at the same time.

How (not) to eat a croque-madame

Look at you, so posh with your glass of white wine accompanying your brunch; so clean because you’re wiping your fingers and your lips after every bite. It’s too bad you practically destroyed your food. Here are a couple of tips I would like to share with you:

1. You do not put the fried egg IN your croque-madame. It was served to you a certain way for a reason.

2. You do not eat said croque-madame with your hands.

I totally dig the look you gave me, though–that heavily condescending glance that asked me what the fuck I was looking at, all the while doubting that I even knew how to pronounce anything written on the menu.

But remember, you’re at a French restaurant; it’s only sloppy because you’re stupid.

Ignoranus: A person who’s both stupid and an asshole

Let’s get a few things straight:

When French people laugh, it does not sound like, “Hon hon hon hon hon!” Yes, we eat frogs. Yes, we eat snails. And you know that cute pet bunny you had as a kid? A French person probably ate it. And it was most likely delicious.

Yes, I’m Chinese. But why you think I absolutely must speak your obscure dialect of not-even-Cantonese I have no idea. Stop talking to me! I have no idea what you’re saying!

I’m not an animal; I won’t respond to your whistling or that annoying clicky sound you make. “Yes, I’m Asian. No, I will not love you long time.”

You can’t speak sign language. Sorry.

“So, how many languages do you speak?” is not an appropriate follow-up question to “I studied linguistics.”

And I don’t walk fast; your ass is just slow.

There are worse things in life…

At the risk of sounding incredibly selfish/egocentric…

How many of you have heard, upon sharing your troubles with someone, that “things could be worse”? that “at least you’re not [insert situation that is more unfortunate that the one you're currently in]“?

People who say these things are either trying to make you feel better or belittling your problems; if it’s the former, thank you. If it’s the latter, fuck you.

But we all know that things could be worse. Yes, there are people starving in the world. Yes, at least I have food on my plate every day. Sure, my problems are insignificant compared to that — but by no means does it actually make my problems smaller than they really are. You’re not making my troubles vanish when you tell me that. You’re not even remotely decreasing the importance that they have in my eyes, so, while I do appreciate your efforts to make me feel better about my current situation, I’m gonna have to ask you to stop.

Because you’re doing just the opposite. Because you have now successfully made me feel like an asshole for complaining about something that, compared to other things, is so tiny it’s not even worth mentioning. Because things ARE worse; I’ve got my problems AND people are starving in various parts of the world.

And I don’t think you understand how disgusting this actually is. What you’re basically doing is getting satisfaction from the fact that people are starving elsewhere. “Oh, at least I’m not one of the people who are DYING OF HUNGER in, like, Africa or something! My life is now much better! THANK YOU FOR OPENING MY EYES!”