Monday, June 29, 2009
Butterfly effect
You know the thesis of the butterfly effect? One person has a bad day and takes it out on everyone and that effects the mood of those he effects. And in return everyone is in a bad mood.
Thesis of my book-- edible women
Movement, a movement.
When I finish this book, one of two things will happen. I will find love or something that resembles love, or I will move out of Hong Kong.
I made a pact like this four years ago. I said to my friends in New York if this monkey (former president George W Bush) gets reelected, I'm outta here.
Four years later I'm wondering what kind of life I could have here in Asia, I just can't see it. So then what am I doing here? Other than wasting time.
I will either fall in love with a man or with Asia, but the four years I've spent here has produced neither.
I am giving myself twelve chapters. When this book is done, I might be as well.
When I finish this book, one of two things will happen. I will find love or something that resembles love, or I will move out of Hong Kong.
I made a pact like this four years ago. I said to my friends in New York if this monkey (former president George W Bush) gets reelected, I'm outta here.
Four years later I'm wondering what kind of life I could have here in Asia, I just can't see it. So then what am I doing here? Other than wasting time.
I will either fall in love with a man or with Asia, but the four years I've spent here has produced neither.
I am giving myself twelve chapters. When this book is done, I might be as well.
my first crush
My first real crush was on my tennis coach John Ruby. I was eight and even then I knew I liked older men. He drove a beat up Porsche, wore basketball shorts, and nicknamed me pornstar on the court. He made more money per hour than most of my dad's friends and he never graduated from highschool. He was my teenage rebellion love.
I wore matching socks and sweatbands to impress him. I practiced everyday and join the junior varsity tennis team to impress him. I served 76 miles per hour balls to impress him. I wanted him so badly.
One day his girlfriend walked on the court wearing a full length mink coat. She was gorgeous and had big hair. She was classy, put together ad did not belong on the court, not on my court! I aimed balls at her head as she would walk off and I might have even cried once when I saw her kiss him. He was my everything until New Kids on the Block came along.
At what point do I tell tell I'm tea person?
Barista cradled me to help me with my grip.
I wore matching socks and sweatbands to impress him. I practiced everyday and join the junior varsity tennis team to impress him. I served 76 miles per hour balls to impress him. I wanted him so badly.
One day his girlfriend walked on the court wearing a full length mink coat. She was gorgeous and had big hair. She was classy, put together ad did not belong on the court, not on my court! I aimed balls at her head as she would walk off and I might have even cried once when I saw her kiss him. He was my everything until New Kids on the Block came along.
At what point do I tell tell I'm tea person?
Barista cradled me to help me with my grip.
Tuesday, June 23, 2009
Mexico
Staring up at the glowing screens, we wondering where the day was going to take us. It’s been on my life’s check list to arrive at the airport and jump on the first flight on the departure board. Today, that box was gonna get ticked. 9.55 flight to Puerto Vallarta, Mexico.
It would be appropriate that fate would take me to the hot breath epicenter of the swine flu outbreak. The virus has been following me around since it jumped onto our worry maps. The first case in the U.S. was discovered in a highschool minutes from my family’s home; the first case in Hong Kong was documented in a hotel one block from my office; and now there is an infectious person living floors above me that has my building choked up. So H1N1 let’s streamline the process and let me come to you instead.
It would happen that the first time I check in luggage it would be lost in the vast network of chute and ladders and baggage merry-go-rounds. I think the airline said it was routed to India. So with no clothes, no batteries and no worries, I walk out empty-handed into the dusty sunshine of Mexico’s cruise liner county.
At Walmart, my girlfriend and I grab the best of gaudy swim fashion and matching cruisewear. We looked like lesbian newlyweds on our matching tracksuit honeymoon. Homeless Guy loved our uniforms and prop-induced campy mannerisms, he jokingly suggested we be his oriental concubines for the remained of this trip. The two Ivy League graduates in polyblend garb did not flinch at the thought of this one bit. Not because it was an outdated sexual perversion, but because orientialism was making a comeback as the modern day paradox of power and submissiveness. Queen Bee and Chinese cookbook author Eileen Lo said it best: Chinese women are now embracing the idea of being oriental objects because of the quiet power and control it holds.
We drive three hours through tequila country to the sleepy beachtown of Costa Careyes, best known for the careyes turtles that come onto the beach each July to lay their eggs. The three of us stayed at what was billed as the smallest hotel in the world, three shabby-chic bungalows on the beach.
The balmy air did not die with the sunset and we were left fanning eachother and sucking on ice chips in our cosy bungalow. With no books, no television, no computers and no blackberries, all we had were conversations and head space to plan for the future. We were unfamiliarly uncomfortable in our sensory-deprivation chamber where three city dwellers sat with no idea how to chillax. We made friends with the locals and they showed us their cliftside homes developed by an Italian dreamer who is crafting this nook of Mexico to resemble the coastal town of Positano, Italy. Stunning.
At first we were ridiculous when it came to playing out the stereotypes of oriental princesses. Homeless Guy would tell us his stories and we sat smiling and mute. We walked in unison two steps behind him everywhere we went and allowed him to speak for us; this was mostly because he spoke fluent Spanish and we were helpless without him. We secretly loved relying on him to take care of us. And he took pleasure in this fact.
My girlfriend and I would don our matching sarongs on the beach and took turns feeding him almonds while massaging him for laughs and shock value. By the end of day one our exhibitionist gag was tired and we returned to our power-equality selves.
Strange thing is I didn’t realise I carried on role playing days later. I was quite content toppings his glass at meals, washing our beach clothes each evening, bringing him tea post-dinner, stroking his back until he fell asleep at night, and letting him make decisions for me throughout the week. Though I was consciously acting out the parody of an oriental pearl before, this wasn’t role play anymore. There was nothing perverse about this. These were things people do for people they care for. And we were just taking care of eachother.
In the morning, he would wake up before anyone else and bring us sencha in bed then quietly slip in the kitchen to whip up a heavenly-scented chorizo scrambled eggs on grilled bread breakfast. We would feast in our bathrobes and watch stone crabs take their morning stroll across our bare feet. In the afternoons, we drove out to roadside taco stands and drank Bohemia beers with locals. And when the three city dwellers were finally relaxed, we had one last surf and one last mesh outfit to parade before our sun-kissed holiday came to a bow.
It would be appropriate that fate would take me to the hot breath epicenter of the swine flu outbreak. The virus has been following me around since it jumped onto our worry maps. The first case in the U.S. was discovered in a highschool minutes from my family’s home; the first case in Hong Kong was documented in a hotel one block from my office; and now there is an infectious person living floors above me that has my building choked up. So H1N1 let’s streamline the process and let me come to you instead.
It would happen that the first time I check in luggage it would be lost in the vast network of chute and ladders and baggage merry-go-rounds. I think the airline said it was routed to India. So with no clothes, no batteries and no worries, I walk out empty-handed into the dusty sunshine of Mexico’s cruise liner county.
At Walmart, my girlfriend and I grab the best of gaudy swim fashion and matching cruisewear. We looked like lesbian newlyweds on our matching tracksuit honeymoon. Homeless Guy loved our uniforms and prop-induced campy mannerisms, he jokingly suggested we be his oriental concubines for the remained of this trip. The two Ivy League graduates in polyblend garb did not flinch at the thought of this one bit. Not because it was an outdated sexual perversion, but because orientialism was making a comeback as the modern day paradox of power and submissiveness. Queen Bee and Chinese cookbook author Eileen Lo said it best: Chinese women are now embracing the idea of being oriental objects because of the quiet power and control it holds.
We drive three hours through tequila country to the sleepy beachtown of Costa Careyes, best known for the careyes turtles that come onto the beach each July to lay their eggs. The three of us stayed at what was billed as the smallest hotel in the world, three shabby-chic bungalows on the beach.
The balmy air did not die with the sunset and we were left fanning eachother and sucking on ice chips in our cosy bungalow. With no books, no television, no computers and no blackberries, all we had were conversations and head space to plan for the future. We were unfamiliarly uncomfortable in our sensory-deprivation chamber where three city dwellers sat with no idea how to chillax. We made friends with the locals and they showed us their cliftside homes developed by an Italian dreamer who is crafting this nook of Mexico to resemble the coastal town of Positano, Italy. Stunning.
At first we were ridiculous when it came to playing out the stereotypes of oriental princesses. Homeless Guy would tell us his stories and we sat smiling and mute. We walked in unison two steps behind him everywhere we went and allowed him to speak for us; this was mostly because he spoke fluent Spanish and we were helpless without him. We secretly loved relying on him to take care of us. And he took pleasure in this fact.
My girlfriend and I would don our matching sarongs on the beach and took turns feeding him almonds while massaging him for laughs and shock value. By the end of day one our exhibitionist gag was tired and we returned to our power-equality selves.
Strange thing is I didn’t realise I carried on role playing days later. I was quite content toppings his glass at meals, washing our beach clothes each evening, bringing him tea post-dinner, stroking his back until he fell asleep at night, and letting him make decisions for me throughout the week. Though I was consciously acting out the parody of an oriental pearl before, this wasn’t role play anymore. There was nothing perverse about this. These were things people do for people they care for. And we were just taking care of eachother.
In the morning, he would wake up before anyone else and bring us sencha in bed then quietly slip in the kitchen to whip up a heavenly-scented chorizo scrambled eggs on grilled bread breakfast. We would feast in our bathrobes and watch stone crabs take their morning stroll across our bare feet. In the afternoons, we drove out to roadside taco stands and drank Bohemia beers with locals. And when the three city dwellers were finally relaxed, we had one last surf and one last mesh outfit to parade before our sun-kissed holiday came to a bow.
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