One of the things I seem to do frequently is observe people’s behavior. It’s not as though I set out to do such a thing, but if I’m waiting on a line or sitting down and having a meal, the hamsters inside my head have to move continuously in their wheels. I know, I know, I never said I was normal!

My guess it’s my desire to understand WHY people do certain things and what the underlying factor that would act as a catalyst for their actions, good or bad.

So I sit (or stand) and observe their behavior. Nothing’s documented, just noted mentally and filed away in a dark corner. It may be used in a conversation or an email or it may never be revisited again and left to dust.

Part of this mental exercise also partakes my personal understanding of the broad concepts and theoretical discussions held in work or school. Like a scientist, there is a need to have usable facts and substantial evidence to back up any theory. I have my own personal theories and I’ll relay them as soon as I isolate a specific or generic incident to substantiate my claims.

Just like that freshman paper on Asian-American assimilation. It was too new, too raw to be introduced, but timing is everything. When I delivered the finalized copy of my paper, Amy Tan had stirred up some public interest on the topic with the “Joy Luck Club”. Although my professors had trashed the topic and accused me of plagiarism, the school later commended on my efforts as being “innovative” and “brilliant”. See what an all-girl school does for geeks like me?

Whatever. I was always the one who embarked and tackled on difficult topics not because I was smart (no, not really), but due to my INTEREST. Common subjects were always the talk of the town and were frequently documented. Most of the subjects I chose had the least amount of printed material or general interest and always required extra work. Instead of writing about the life of William Shakespeare, I researched and crafted a paper about the Elizabethan era. Instead of writing a book report on a stupid Judy Blume novel in the 9th grade, I wrote about “Sybil” and her multiple personalities.

Interestingly enough, you would think that my teachers would encourage me to continue this sort of writing, yes? No. Not at all. I defied the norm, forced them work for their salaries and made the popular kids look like stale cream puffs. I was bestowed with the most unfortunate luck of having assholian teachers and there was nowhere to go but down. But it didn’t deter me. Not one bit.

So I continued my merry way of being unique (and loud) and applying what I’ve seen to what I’ve learned in the past. Unconsciously, I began profiling people and pegging them in categories based on their speech, attitudes and mannerisms. As I grew older, this ability helped me deal with certain individuals at work and speculate their motives.

I speculate because a part of me wants to know WHY. Their actions may not mean much, but again, there’s an underlying cause down there. For example, Lisa had perfectly manicured nails even though she had a bit of financial drought at the time. She wasn’t the vain type, so why was she so frivolous? She wasn't. The poor girl worked 60 hour weeks, got her ass sued over the sale of her house, had no time for herself, and desperately needed pampering to ensure her sanity. Yes, it’s the little things that add up to a much bigger picture than what you see on the surface.

A few years ago, I took an online course which determined what my learning style was and how to overcome my weaknesses in the financial arena. This life-changing lesson shed a new light on what I was observing all of these years and brought it to a whole new level. As a Project Manager, I needed to identify the people who could help me and who could not. It made so much sense to me because I now understood how to reach out someone who didn’t understand the material or to buy into my enhancement project.

It amazes some people how accurate I could be when I start to dissect their individual attributes. They think I’m psychic, but all the while, all it comes from plain observation.
I never knew my observations were called people-watching until I read a quote from Roland Orzabal about one of his songs. I always thought it meant scoping out someone in the dating scene!

Interestingly enough, I don’t do this to my friends or family. For whatever the reason, this only applies to people outside of my personal circle so I would know how to conduct myself w/o looking like some asshole (bottom line: I'm an asshole amongs friends and family! ROFL).
I can easily identify which categories my brother belongs and classify his weaknesses, but I don’t. If I have to give him constructive advice, then I’ll manipulate the comments to benefit him somehow.

Sometimes I let a few slip because I tend to get short-sighted. Since I couldn’t observe the individuals from afar, I will miss those obvious indicators that tell me much more than what comes out of their mouths.

I hate these templates...I may have to go back to the original one but I was tired of it. Gosh I wish I knew something about HTML and the whatnot.

(HEATHER!!!)

(SARAHHHHHH!!!!)

Okay, so it's a bit obvious that I need to flush out some of the toxins building up internally, both mental and physical. I think I can best serve everyone creatively and productively (lots of crap to do in the upcoming days and weeks) by blogging this random thoughts fluttering around my head.

Time to recenter.

In my constant battle to determine which role I should play, there are times where throwing in the towel would give me the highest satisfaction since the struggle appears to be futile and even never-ending.

Born in America but raised in a Chinese family, ABC's like myself fight to maintain the balance between our ethnic/cultural identities and the other "anonymous" lifestyles outside those four walls we call home. Assimilation has always been problematic because no matter which way you slice it or dice it, the stereotype always haunts us. Sure I can joke about it; in fact, I don’t get offended so easily. It’s the LEAST of my worries. But no matter what, there will always be a stigma based on my looks.

My parents did their best to raise us on their low wages and encouraged us to earn college degrees to become successful outside of the hellish world of sweatshops, laundromats, or restaurants. They hoped we wouldn’t need to suffer the physical hardships to make a living and to lead comfortable family lives.

Simple idea, right? Hell no, the way of thinking is far more convoluted. At times, they can be the biggest hypocrites with what they screech and preach. Because the Chinese have pessimism ingrained in their genes, they live and speak in opposites. ABC’s have an excruciating time dealing with this extremity as we have no friggen clue to expect. The underlying point gets lost simply because it is deeply embedded in a foreign tongue too farfetched for our level of comprehension. In other words, we’re too damn stupid to get the point.

For example, my mother would NEVER congratulate nor commend me for getting 3.9 GPA during my last semester at CNR. Instead, she would utter things like, “A-? What happened here?” or “Girls don’t need to do so well in school. You’ll be married off and your credentials will go to your husband” (Old China talking here). However, behind my back, she’ll boast her ass off to a bunch of people about what great daughter and student I am.

But I would never be in that secret audience. I would never hear of such praises because some unknown dark force would NEGATE the benefits. There is tremendous fear of how karma exacts its vengeance against you and your loved ones for “over”emphasizing and highlighting strengths. Showing that you have an ounce of self-confidence is deemed as being insolent and full of it.

To laud good behavior, believe it or not, the general assessment would be marked with “NEEDS IMPROVEMENT”. To illustrate, if you have a well-behaved child, then it is customary to say your kid’s a hellion, a brat, and incredibly disobedient. The problem with this? I grew up believing that my worth was nil. Nothing I did was ever enough or amounted to anything. Although everyone identified my strengths, I couldn’t see it for what’s it worth. However, all of these nay-sayings are well-tolerated and comprehensible to those who live and breathe authentic Chinese soil. Because their lifestyle greatly differ ours, women understand their place in that particular society.

Since I wasn’t culturally raised in my parents’ oppressed world, it's apparent how I would always miss the point. It would take many lessons, even years, before I finally grasped a level of understanding of this complex game. Heck, my brother’s 41 and he still hasn’t figured out the joke yet. He gave up a long time ago and decided to live around and outside of it.

Therefore, the older Chinese generation habitually lashes out at our generation for being too feeble-minded, too dull, and too spoiled to appreciate what has been supposedly sacrificed for us. ABC’s are perceived as foolish individuals living frivolously, disrespectful, and immature.

But they forget one thing. We live and breathe in this country, not in China (very egocentric country, I might add). We don’t need to master the same set of survival skills or conceit our elders thrived on, nor does our environmental upbringing require it. This country offers so much freedom and opportunities that there’s no need to deal with situations backhandedly; we can choose to confront our issues and resolve it. We’re allowed to get to the point without having to beat around the bush.

Another ironic point? The same Chinese elders have a fairly good understanding of how our society works but imposes their wayward beliefs upon us anyway. They even believe Americans are complete idiots for their humane acts of kindness. Favors are meant to be exploited, not to be considered as a gesture of goodwill or compassion. Remember? Everything taken must be given back.

Funny, although these thoughts have circled around my head for years, having this conversation with Ching meant more to me than it did previously. I guess because it hit home because I now have a testimony to substantiate my observations. During her 7 year absence, she made a break from her parents’ restaurant, acquired real-world work experience, and took back control of her own life. Now the playing field is levelled between her and I.

With more negatives than positives in our lives, we were so ill-prepared for the working world. The very methods & ideas our parents’ used to raise us spell disaster for us, especially in this cutthroat rat race. I see far too many Asians who don’t stand up for themselves, accept nothing, let their hard work go unnoticed, and gripe quietly in their respective corners of the cubicles. We're not supposed to question authority and assume quiet lives till we retire. Morbid fantasy, if you ask me.

And no, I don't need Amy Tan to confirm what I've struggled or articulate the issues I've dealt with. Even before she acclaimed her fame to the "Joy Luck Club", I was already writing term papers on the subject in my freshman year. My professors struck down my thesis because the subject matter was barely a whisper in the wind and was of no interest to anyone at the time. My only source of reference was Maxine Hong Kingston's "The Warrior Woman" which is an excellent read. Okay, she's a little bitter, but who wouldn't be? She was brutally honest and shooting straight about the topic. Amy Tan preferred the usage of fluffy terms to describe her bits of her turmoil in a series of novels while Maxine knocked it out in one book. Then again, timing is everything. Amy emerged at the most opportunistic time during the early 90's and took advantage of business ventures presented her.

So the debate goes, in a circle which may never be broken. Without our parents’ traditional ways, we would never know who we are, why we have to abide by certain customs, or learn a language other than English. Granted, maybe being completely “American” (or non-Chinese) is simple and less burdensome, but there’s still the war going on with stereotypes of being the model minority and having almond-shaped eyes.

No, not George Orwell’s.

There was a post on the TFF boards by a member who wanted to know what the lyrics for “Fish for Life” by Mancrab.

Although I’ve browsed through pages of TFF stuff and history, for whatever the reason, this post kept igging me all day and night Friday. Of course, it’s not really the first time Mancrab has been mentioned or notated, something, just something, had the wheels in my head turning.

Maybe it’s coinciding with the tourography project. Maybe not.

I began to question my own actions back in the mid-eighties…like did I really buy that vinyl record even though I didn’t have a record player at home? How did I come across the information to go out to Second Coming Records on Sullivan Street and brought home a new copy of Graduate for $30? How did I hear of Mancrab and what made me take the 45 home?

I remember feeling brilliantly cool carrying a bag of vinyl records out of the store. It made me feel like a VIP because I enjoyed music which I didn’t have to share with anyone. I would go to my classmate’s apartment, have him/her record the music and stash those special LP’s safely inside my closet. Man, those were the days. The one thing I missed the most about records are the sheer size of those album covers - the artistic expressions that CD’s can’t even come close to replicating.

I still haven’t found my LP’s, I think I’ve relocated them to another part of my closet which requires some muscle and height for removal. But it did spark me to find those recorded cassettes of the precious TFF music. So, off I go…

At a lonely corner of my closet, I found a small pile of these recorded tapes. Penned with my high school penmanship, I curiously unearthed the dusty piles to find “Fish for Life” and whatever came across my fancy that night. It didn’t take long and one by one, I popped these little projects into my sturdy Panasonic walkman. Yes people, I STILL have one of those!!!

Surprisingly enough, I knew most of the lyrics to the songs I haven’t even heard in two decades…OMG – the thought is chilling!! TWENTY YEARS!!!

Then I closed my eyes and went back in time…the music booming through the headphones was a true testament of how time has gone by.

I felt a wave of goosebumps engulf me – the first song on this unmarked cassette was, “Everybody Wants to Rule the World.” I still remember the day when I entered the electronics store in Chinatown to purchase a blank audio cassette – this particular one grabbed my attention with its two golden reels. Hark! I felt ‘high tech’ for a 13-year-old.

The sound quality was unlike any other – in contrast to my other recorded tapes, most of the music was dubbed from a worn cassette or from popular local radio stations here. I had completely forgotten that MTV actually played on an ultra-secret FM station which was received only by my mega-cool AIWA walkman. My brother had bought me this overpriced and inconceivable walkman when I was a kid. He set aside some of his summer wages so I could have this high tech recordable gizmo.

[So that’s how I recorded “Scenes From the Big Chair” on an audio tape! Because my father refused buy us a regular radio, I had to find a way to record my favorite music on audio. I was extremely diligent, listening to the radio for hours and pressing red “REC” button whenever the hit came on.]

As I listened to radio version of EWTRW, a wave of nostalgia washed over me. There’s just something strangely special about a song played flatly with a bit of cackling noise in the background, lacking the CD quality and enhanced bass sounds. When I auto-reversed it (remember having to manually take out the tape and FLIP the damn thing on the subways?), I heard the unmistakable voice going, “Rain on the Outside, Rain on the Inside”.

Then I remembered the moment where I saw the video on MTV (only once) and gushed over Ian Stanley who stood like an awkward geezer strumming a guitar with ants in his pants.

When the song ended, I finally understood why the post lingered over my mind for days.

It was passion.

This isn’t about Tears for Fears (although it does seem so), but this is about the passion or the lack thereof. At that age, I was filled with hopes and dreams and had set my mind to do something about my future – to see Europe, to live a successful creative life, to delve into subject matter that was not influenced by societal norms. I woke up every morning diligently hoping to capture every audio or video that would bring me happiness. My attention to detail, to seek out information and to concoct a fulfilling lifestyle could have been a formula for something much greater than I what I’ve achieved today.

Somewhere in my adult journey, I lost this passion. It was cast off for a more practical solution in life which never truly suited me.

Although it isn’t too late, the good news is that Mikayla will be spared as this belief/thought has certainly failed in personal endeavors.

Well, I've got a ton of ideas, but no inspiration nor time to pen the thoughts down. I'm contemplating to hang up the blog for a few months and come out with a new one.

Still thinking...nothing's final yet.

Well, Miki off this week and I was scrambling all last week doing mommy duties. I was absolutely appalled last week with the children in Mikayla's class that I went home with a migraine after her birthday party on Friday afternoon.

Okay, it's one thing if the kids are undisciplined and rambunctious brats. It's another when they cross the line of being SNOTTY, OBNOXIOUS, and DISRESPECTFUL.

OMFG - I wanted to kill the little snots and their parents. It's one thing that the class has gone amok because the teachers are useless and inexperienced, but it's the parents' job to curb this premature nastiness. Some believe it's a good survival skill, while some believe it's a way for the child to expand their creativity and intelligence. But when you're talking about a roomful of mean-spirited kids who deliberately set out to hurt others, that's whole other ball of wax.

3 little girls...condescendingly declare other little girls for being born with physical defects while claiming themselves as being fairest on the land. Little boys out to grab anyone's attention by being boisterous, loud and belittling other children. Every one of those mini-Mao's are so into tattletaling that they'll fib a story to get an adult's attention. I no longer found any joy in being with these children like I once did.

Last Thursday, I accompanied Mikayla to her on a class trip to see Sesame Street Live. Unlike the previous years, I refused to share any treats with her classmates and reserved it only for 2 children. I used to buy enough to feed an army, but now, I couldn't even give a rat's ass. Without reservation, these children (I don't even know these brats) would come up to me and demand, not ask, for stuff. [Goddamnit, get out of my face and it's YOUR mother's job. She ain't here, that's such a cryin' shame, ain't it?] WTF? Where are your manners, child?!

I convinced my daughter out of eating popcorn because it was very dry and I didn't want to be stuck buying a large drink. Guzzling a liter of soda equates to serious potty time and going to a public bathroom is a real chore at Madison Square Garden. Plus, carting extra stuff around wasn't a picnic either. Instead, I offered to buy her a mylar balloon and it was a wonderful exchange - Miki loves ballons and her eyes were gleaming with delight.

I decided to buy two balloons, one for her, and the other one for her best friend. I pulled Joyce to the side and explained that she would get the balloon when we returned to school. However, a little nasty hobbit overheard my conversation and immediately flew up to my face screaming, "MIKAYLA'S MOM! JOYCE SAID DAT SHE DONT WANT HER BALLOON AND SHES GIVIN' TO ME!". Not once, but three times. Even after I told her to bug off.

Then on Friday, the noise levels were so high that my head was reeling with oddly shaped stars and spaceships. The birthday party was ridiculous as the teacher had absolutely no control of the kids. It was over in less than an hour and I couldn't wait to get the hell out of there.

The two days I spent at school had set me in a foul mood. I don't know what it is, maybe bad energy or whatever, I found their behaviors so descpicable that it left a weird aftertaste in my mouth.

But I am fortunate...my daughter is still a sweet and shy 6 year old. It may change, but at least my kid is a kid. Not a fresh-mouthed little sh-t or a snooty princess in the making. She's sweet, she doesn't bad-mouth other children, and thank goodness, those hurtful remarks by those girls roll right off of her. Mikayla is a tomboy, she doesn't care to wear dresses nor does she draw girly girls. Instead, she's fixated with cartoon characters like Spongebob, Catscratch, and Dragon Tales, as well as her famous love of dinosaurs.

And no, she won't be swayed by Cinderellas in ballgowns or Ariel pining for her prince because being beautiful isn't her forte. However, Simba and Nala hold dear in her heart because Nala can chew your ass to bits.

I just hope she'll stay this way just a wee bit longer. The only drawback of her behavior is her inability to defend herself with a class filled with cocky little imbeciles, so she's an easy target. She doesn't plow right through and refuses to draw attention to herself. Some people feel that she's "slow" and that I should allow her to run amok with the "wild". Heck no. I can't stand those little Emperors & Empresses, so there's no way I'm raising one. While her passive behavior isn't exactly one of her more remarkable traits, I do worry about her getting picked on. But like me, she'll eventually learn and hopefully will gain a bit of confidence later on.

For now, I've forcibly uprooted many of my mother's "bad" habits - she literally waits on Mikayla like a maid - and drilled my kid into doing things independently. At this day and age, she should be putting her own shoes and feeding herself. My mother is willing to do everything for her and is impatient at Mikayla's penchant for moving like a snail.

I mean, she's SIX! And she's smart enough to know that grandma will do everything for her. Last month, I barked up her tree for being unable to zip up her coat. I said, "Mommy isn't going to be around at school to do this for you, so what's going to happen when you go to the big kid's school?!!!" Her response? "Joyce will do it for me!"

Aiyah.

I got way more than what I bargained for.

Due to the lack of detailed information, the party favors I ordered blew me away. The cheapie Pooh Art Kit was as expected - a set of markers, colored pencils, a crude pencil and a flimsy ruler. The outer packaging made it more attractive than its inner contents which is really the perfect party favor. Usually people don't hand out ultra-expensive gifts unless you're in one of those snooty private schools. Fortunately for me, the bar for these birthday events have been significantly lowered, BUT the number of spoiled brats have gone up.

So, I'm spending approximately the same amount as I did last year with nine more children.

The second item I ordered were the Paint-It-Yourself picture frames. I presumed the frames would be approximately 5x7 and made out of lightweight balsam wood. Uh no. These fricking suckers were 8x10 (with a 4x6 picture insert) and the blank wooden canvases were detailed with images of busy springtime insects. It actually came with a little paint set and a brush. This lot of 36 frames weighed nearly 50lbs. Great. Now I gotta find a way to LUG this crap to school...oh happy day for me!

Upshot is, I found a true bargain and some quality items. Although I'm not keen on the children, this is a fine way to rub some dog poo back to those nasty parents who were throwing knives on me. Some found me to be unreasonable regarding the situation between the principal and the new teachers, while some, simply abhor me because of Rich's profession.

Go to fricking hell, you f--king twats. They even try to lure me into their little cliques, either to screw with me or to up their snooty body count. Oh, it disgusts me so. I don't even relate to them - these folks don't speak English fluently, they cling on to traditional HONG KONG ways, and last, but not least, they're full of it. Ugh. This makes me want to go back to corporate America. Seriously.

For those of you who have nasty run-in's with CSR's and lost rebates, here's a great link on how to beat up those little shits -

http://www.fatwallet.com/t/24/314746/

I've forgotten how useful this info is and it's nice to have it documented somewhere. I used to work for a marketing shithole processing poo[l] rebates and was a superficial and toothy-smiled manager of the Tax Services Customer Service Group. Obviously, I know how to get around and give people hell if I'm dissatisfied.

It's unreal.

Mikayla is SIX years old today. Wasn't I changing diapers last month?

The child is spoiled when it comes to her birthday. Usually, we have a small celebration at home because my brother and his family comes home for the new year's and it's really convenient to celebrate her birthday on the holiday. This year comes with a twist - she finally learned how to read the calendar - so she didn't think last week's mini-party counts as anything. Tonight, we threw her another mini-party and we'll be hosting her school party in two weeks.

Because I'm anti-school, I didn't even bother preparing anything this year. I spent the past 3 days surfing HOURS on the web looking for bonanza deals on party favors. Unlike the previous years, I had an idea, an action plan, and solid organization. This year, I wanted something quick and dirty, but mostly CHEAP.

Wasn't too thrilled about this year's classmates, so I was hesitant to go all out. Fortunately, I was able to find a website selling wholesale clutter for those 99¢ shops. Because I have to provide favors for 33 brats, I needed to find the right quantity and price on this website. With so much crap online and poorly designed navigational links, I literally had to go through every link to ensure I didn't miss something good.

My job was done. Liberation from parental obligaitons in the time being.

Will blog some more!