"Phantom Ships, Lost at Sea"

In 2001, I traveled to Philadelphia with my two good friends to see the sold out 'NSYNC "Celebrity" concert tour. We somehow won tickets to the backstage soundcheck, and were able to stalk our pop idols upclose. Looking back now, the highlight was really having BBMak as the opening act. The front man wore a tight, slightly translucent, patterned purple shirt, and that's about all I remember. The magic lay in the combination of these two boy groups. They were young and handsome, and there's always that girlish dream to win one or more of their hearts to incur the jealousy of millions of other girls around the world.

The show was loud, and we were seated far, but we still had a lot of fun. They sang their timeless tunes, "Back Here," then "Still on Your Side," and my personal favorite, "Ghost of You and Me". Haunting. I think I might have cried to that at several points in my life. Don't judge; I was 17 and imbued with violent emotions. The stadium was filled with tweens and their unfortunate parents, so we were playing the part of the tweens by screaming our heads off. There aren't a lot of places where we could have acted with such abandon and with minimal judgment.

A few months later, right before we left for college, my friend and I decided to get on line at the Union Square Virgin Megastore to get our BBMak CDs signed by the band. At that point, I had never been in such close proximity to anyone from whom I'd want an autograph. At the table, I breezed past the blond one, then past the frontman, and lastly paused at the third, brunette one: Ste McNally. He took his time with the autograph and asked me to repeat my name. There was a shyness and a sincerity about him that his other two bandmates did not seem to possess. And of course, there was the British accent. AND, his name was the longer part of the name of their band, without which, they would be known as "BBM: Bowel Bowel Movements". AND AND, he sings most of the difficult, high-pitched parts of the songs. Somehow, all this made a deep enough impression on me to have some lasting effects.



I didn't consider him conventionally handsome, but it's amazing how a combination of qualities can conquer any initial judgment on aesthetics. When I was young, sweetness of personality and intelligence went far beyond the mediocrity of someone's looks. As I grew older, just being sweet wasn't enough anymore; there had to be charisma, or what passed as charisma in college. Wit, sarcasm, unconventional pranks-pulling all worked to make someone who's a potential 0 become a 1, so to speak. A good example is Jack Nicholson. So sexy, and yet, how?

Exhibit A:

Boooooo. He's physically symmetric (when his mouth is closed; his teeth are not centered), and should trigger all sorts of coos and purrs, but no. NO. He is batshit crazy, and that erases any potential to see him as a viable male with whom to do sexytime.

Exhibit B:

Huzzah. Look at that devilish grin, that cigarette dangling raffishly off his lips, those teasing eyes. No, it doesn't take youth, or abs of steel, or a full head of hair to be attractive. I once thought that it was because of a certain je ne sais quoi that attracted me to J. Nich, but actually, I can point out the exact reasons: he's his own man, his own brand of crazy, he is successful at being his own brand of crazy, he seems naughty, he seems like a LOT of fun, and most of all, at the end of life, when all the dalliances flash before your eyes, he seems like he would stand out like no other. But of course, he's not the kind of person with whom I would consider spending my life. There's consequence-free fun, and then there's meaningful living.

Exhibit C:

Ah, c'est parfait.

Tabulae Rasae: Teens, a Pup, and Life

Ah, a blank slate.

I subbed for two beginners' Latin classes last Friday at my old High School. The students' ages ranged from 13-17. Being 24, some of my friends and old colleagues have expressed concern that I might not be able to maintain control over kids so close to my own age. Fortunately, I went to a geek-school, so the students were all civil and did not resemble the drooling, snarling masses that most people picture. There were your stock Kiss-ups, your I-don't-give-a-damn Smirkers, your Extremely Bright But Emotionally Stunted Ones, your Outgoing Social Butterflies, and your Fillers whom you forget once they leave the classroom. The surprising thing about being back in High School, albeit in the role of a teacher, is how easy it seems compared to when I was there as a student. I could smell the fear in the halls, and I could point out the pitifully nervous ones as well as the confidently insecure ones. Basically, High School is one big ball of insecurity. I am thankful that I realize that now, and can say that I am finally beyond it.

I am also thankful for my puppy, Hektor. I am NOT, however, thankful for pee and poo all day long. No matter how much you prepare yourself for the immense amounts of excrement, and the impossibly frequent appearance of it, it will not be enough. I have been dreaming about Hektor for years now, and have read most of what is online and in bookstores about French Bulldogs. My boyfriend, with whom I live, is my partner in this undertaking and successfully splits my responsibilities in half. Still, in retrospect of this past week, I think that we were ill-prepared in regards to our expectations. There was no way we could have been warned of our quads getting sore from all the squatting and mopping. There was no way we could have been warned of the constant worry about this little being's health and safety. There is no good way to warn anyone of the exact meaning of "constant vigilance". We understand that it is a great responsibility to take the life of an animal into our hands, but the palpable reality of it is something unimaginable.


Currently, we are still trying to house train Hektor. He is still frequently relieving himself on our floor, but there are good days mixed in with the ones where we are seemingly never free of the mop and bucket. He was also diagnosed with Giardia, so he's on a 5-day dose of Panacur. We are hoping that this intestinal parasite is the main contributor to his AWFUL gas. It is room-clearing gas. There is something so amusing about a 10-pound thing producing such gargantuan stink. Wow. Suffice to say, we have a box of large kitchen matches lying around in the open all the time.

I have left work two and a half weeks now, but it has felt like months. I can't be idle and unproductive for long, so it's only a matter of time before I either find something lucrative to fill my days or learn another craft (the first craft I learned during my last bout of free time was knitting). I've been bent on leading a more bohemian life after my Institutional Equities job. A person can only be materialistic for so long, and my limit is 20 months. It was absolutely lovely to acquire all those nice things that a contemporary, American girl desires: bags, shoes, jewelry, dinners, trips. It was super to waltz into the trendiest venues of one of the greatest cities on earth, and be able to afford them. It was more than I had hoped for to have enough money to take care of all the tedious fees of life: rent, loans, utilities bills. But the enjoyment of all that has a limit, and I reached it when I finally accepted that I am wasting my days doing something I do not like. Life, youth, is more than paying fees and loans. I am aching with the energy to do something that is part of the uncharted region of life. No more "two years until your next promotion and raise, ten years minimum until a directorship," etc. I need to be my own boss, because this life is my own, and I am not okay with someone else calling the shots anymore. Life is so much more glorious than that.

Anyway, I'm sleepy and rambling. Until next time, I will have seen at least 15 puddles of pee.

"Still I Think You're Rather Tasty"

We have a new neighborhood: Boerum Hill cum Cobble Hill cum Carroll Gardens cum cum cum cum. The walk home from the nearest subway station is tree-lined and quiet, with nary a pool of vomit along the way, unlike our old neighborhood of Chelsea. There is a newly opened Trader Joe's, boutiques galore, and plenty of eateries full of goodness with which to fill our bellies. Plenty of dogs, too (how's that for juxtaposition; I am Chinese). And baby strollers. My, aren't there loads of baby strollers. I counted 14 one morning during my stroll around my 'hood, with the majority of them being Bugaboos, and then McLarens. From a random eavesdropped conversation in the couch department of Ikea, I learned that Bugaboos, particularly the super tricked out design with the all-terrain wheels, and the elevated seat, cost about a grand. One thousand dollars to hold your mini-me. This type of decadence falls right alongside my coworker buying a space heater to put underneath her desk in the summertime, because the company air conditioning is turned up too high. Aaand, that is why America and its economy are going to hell right now.

With more free time, I've been exploring hulu.com, and have unfortunately, and inescapably, become addicted to a few shows. I now love Lipstick Jungle and Fringe. The choices of full length movies run the gamut, but I think for the time being, I'll be entertained by the crappy/fun movies first, like The Scorpion King, and Bring It On. As for the TV shows, since I've already blazed through the full seasons of these two shows, I'll probably go to Family Guy for most of my stock entertainment. I have cable, don't misunderstand. I just like that I have full shows at my fingertips whenever I want them. It is a powerful feeling.

The women on Lipstick Jungle, by and large, irritate me, with the exception of Kim Raver as Nico Reilly. Her name is intriguing (German like Nico Rosberg? Philippino like that annoying kid in my High School technical drawing class? But she's supposed to be a Greek girl from Queens! Ohhh, Nico like Nikos? I's get it!), and when I first saw her, was led to distraction by how utterly unattractive I found her. Her facial shape reminded me of a slew of cartoon characters, so made it hard for me to watch her in a drama with any seriousness. I stopped watching 24 after Season Three, missing her appearance on it completely. I also did not follow Third Watch, so her presence on the silver screen has until now, been completely unnoticed by me.














Nico's storyline is the more intriguing of the three, despite the writers' darnedest to write in a coy billionaire beau for the Eurasiannoying Lindsay Price as Victory Ford (VF, where's the D?). Having unwittingly wasted her youth by marrying her college professor in her twenties, Nico's caught up in an affair with a 26 year-old aspiring photographer, Kirby. Unlike most other illicit affairs on women-oriented shows, there's no grating dialogue about how horrible she feels, or how she's betraying her husband, or how she's so grateful that she's tapping some tight young ass even though she's a melty, desperate 30-something woman. Sweet Zeus, her husband won't have sex with her! Let the woman find another way to feel alive! Seriously though, I do believe that cheating is wrong, but since I've been slammed by bouts of crippling fear of death and not living life to the fullest, if I were ever in Nico's situation where I've been married for 17 years and I still look as good as she does, with a husband who doesn't even notice, and a 26 year-old were showing me that life is most worth living between the sheets with him, it is a great possibility that I would say, "Yes, please."

What I like most about this actress are her husky voice, and her eyes, which first seemed buggy, but have now become "soulful". Nico's been pressed into some tight corners, what with her best friend thanking the Lord that she's not a mother, because an indiscreet woman is clearly unfit to be one, and what with her slimeball coworker, Mike Harness, itching to usurp her place on the totem pole. During each exchange, no matter how harsh the things spoken against her, she keeps her cool, looks at her attacker unbelievably, and actually musters up the self-control to just walk away. I would like to think that I'm much more of a spitfire than her, and would in her situations cause such a verbal ruckus as to render my attacker to tears, or to violence. The reality of it would probably be me, reduced to tears, and remembering the hurtfulness of the situation for years to come. Her calmness and control escape me. I never said I am a strong person. Anyway, I have developed a major girl-crush on her.

Speaking of crushes, I cannot exclaim loudly enough that Joshua Jackson is back and better than ever! I've never been a serial watcher of sci-fi shows, so I can't judge the quality of Fringe in that respect, but as entertainment, it is topnotch! You have your quintessential crazy old man as knowledgeable authority figure on all things sci-fi-ey. You have your blond tough girl who's been through her fair share of emotional trauma. You have your quick-talking, smart-alecky young guy who walks around spreading his jaded wisdom with a twinkle in his eye (this is Joshua Jackson), and a sideways grin on his face (so charming this grin). And of course, you have your slew of absolutely fucked up cases that might or might not be caused by the above kook and some omniscient all-powerful corporation. It's so good.

I've had a crush on Joshua Jackson since I was eight years old, when I first watched The Mighty Ducks on the big screen as part of an after school activity. Movies were pretty special to me, because I didn't see many in the theaters, and because this movie in particular contained that magical Disney oomph to embed it in my heart to this day. Charlie was shy, but resilient and strong. The character eventually became quite feisty and prone to teenage troubles, but he never lost his charm for me. The one scene in The Might Ducks III when a grown Charlie looks at the camera as he's zooming past on his skates, and then nods his head to bring his faceguard down: the stuff of dreams. It's been 17 years since that first sighting, but still I think he's rather tasty. I leave you with this: