"South Africa anti-rape condom aims to stop attacks"
"A South African inventor unveiled a new anti-rape female condom on Wednesday that hooks onto an attacker's penis.... The device, made of latex and held firm by shafts of sharp barbs, can only be removed from the man by surgery, which will alert hospital staff, and ultimately, the police."
Wednesday, August 31, 2005
Welcome to the doghouse
Can you teach an "old dog" new tricks?
Based on years of experience and study, the answer is "NO"!
The "old dog" is now in the doghouse ... indefinitely.
Grrrrrr.
Based on years of experience and study, the answer is "NO"!
The "old dog" is now in the doghouse ... indefinitely.
Grrrrrr.
Tuesday, August 23, 2005
The rules
Just down the block from my home is this little hole-in-the-wall sushi restaurant. It's only open Monday through Friday, and only takes cash. I haven't eaten there yet, but I always see people outside the place, waiting for it to open at 7:00 p.m., or the place is filled (fits maybe 10 people max).
The other day I walked by the restaurant and noticed a new sign in the window that listed the "House Rules":
Lately, I've been on a quest to visit all the Korean restaurants in the area, but I may just have to try this little gem the next time I get a sushi craving.
Addition (August 25, 9:51 p.m.):
Walked by again to get the complete list of rules. Missing one. Hmm.
The other day I walked by the restaurant and noticed a new sign in the window that listed the "House Rules":
- Everything is good and everything is fresh.
- No forks, no soda.
- No teriyaki, no tempura.
- No rush orders.
- No to go.
- Cash only.
- No weekends.
- No complaining.
- Come back after 9:00.
Lately, I've been on a quest to visit all the Korean restaurants in the area, but I may just have to try this little gem the next time I get a sushi craving.
Addition (August 25, 9:51 p.m.):
Walked by again to get the complete list of rules. Missing one. Hmm.
Friday, August 19, 2005
Wanted: Duck killer
I'd like to see this bastard get run over by a car a few times ...
"Sadistic driver intentionally plows into hapless fowl"
"Reward in duck massacre grows to $14K"
"The birds were killed early on the morning of Aug. 5 by a man in a red Acura sedan who was caught by a security camera deliberately driving back and forth over the creatures, most of them babies from a newly hatched batch of 17 ducklings. At one point in the disturbing attack, the killer got out of his car to manhandle the ducklings with his bare hands."
Probably got annoyed they were in his way or something.
A follow-up article states that felony animal abuse can bring up to three years in prison. I hope he's found and gets the maximum sentence. Unfortunately, he'll probably only be charged with animal cruelty and have to pay a fine.
"Sadistic driver intentionally plows into hapless fowl"
"Reward in duck massacre grows to $14K"
"The birds were killed early on the morning of Aug. 5 by a man in a red Acura sedan who was caught by a security camera deliberately driving back and forth over the creatures, most of them babies from a newly hatched batch of 17 ducklings. At one point in the disturbing attack, the killer got out of his car to manhandle the ducklings with his bare hands."
Probably got annoyed they were in his way or something.
A follow-up article states that felony animal abuse can bring up to three years in prison. I hope he's found and gets the maximum sentence. Unfortunately, he'll probably only be charged with animal cruelty and have to pay a fine.
Wednesday, August 17, 2005
The DMZ as a nature park?
Hmm, Ted Turner?!
"A nature park for Koreas' DMZ?"
Perhaps after they clear the area of landmines ...
"There are tens of thousands of landmines and pieces of unexploded ordinance in the DMZ because of the heavy fighting during the war. There are also periodic explosions when animals such as a deer stumble into mine fields."
"A nature park for Koreas' DMZ?"
Perhaps after they clear the area of landmines ...
"There are tens of thousands of landmines and pieces of unexploded ordinance in the DMZ because of the heavy fighting during the war. There are also periodic explosions when animals such as a deer stumble into mine fields."
Tuesday, August 16, 2005
Stampede!
For used iBooks ...
"Panic ensues in rush for cheap laptops"
"One woman ... was so desperate to retain her place in line that she urinated on herself."
"Panic ensues in rush for cheap laptops"
"One woman ... was so desperate to retain her place in line that she urinated on herself."
Monday, August 15, 2005
The patter of little fingers
Tonight I was clearing off my desk and noticed that my keyboard could use a good cleaning. Then I remembered the hangul keyboard stickers I had ordered a year ago, still sitting on my desk. So after a good wipe down with Fantastic (the miracle cleaner), my keyboard has a new appearance.
Now, instead of hunting and pecking while looking at a reference sheet, I can hunt and peck while looking down at the keys. And now I can type away in hangul characters, even though I may not know what they say -- sort of like how I can read hangul and not have a clue as to what I just read.
You'll have to excuse me as I have to practice my typing.
잘 주무세요.
Now, instead of hunting and pecking while looking at a reference sheet, I can hunt and peck while looking down at the keys. And now I can type away in hangul characters, even though I may not know what they say -- sort of like how I can read hangul and not have a clue as to what I just read.
You'll have to excuse me as I have to practice my typing.
잘 주무세요.
Sunday, August 14, 2005
Tuesday, August 09, 2005
Proctor & Gamble needs a copy editor
I bought a bottle of Crest's new Pro·Health rinse the other day. So a few nights ago, as I'm swishing away plaque and preventing tartar buildup and gingivitis, I happened to read the label more closely.
The following two lines were above the product name:
Provides dentist
recommended benefits
I had to reread that statement. I thought to myself, "What dentist?"
The lack of hyphen, along with the line break, confused me for a second. The statement should have a hyphen: "Provides dentist-recommended benefits."
I suppose the folks at Proctor & Gamble thought it might be odd to have a hyphen dangling after "dentist" and didn't include it. (Maybe they used all their cleverness in deciding to add the bullet in the product name.)
Well, it probably won't matter for most consumers -- only those anal about both punctuation and oral hygiene.
Addition: Oops, I really need a blog editor, too. Oh well, I already have a disclaimer (see footer).
Addition (August 15, 11:39 a.m.): On further inspection of the product label the other night, I found another case for The Hyphenator! Underneath the product name, the label read "Alcohol Free." I wish alcohol were free.
The following two lines were above the product name:
Provides dentist
recommended benefits
I had to reread that statement. I thought to myself, "What dentist?"
The lack of hyphen, along with the line break, confused me for a second. The statement should have a hyphen: "Provides dentist-recommended benefits."
I suppose the folks at Proctor & Gamble thought it might be odd to have a hyphen dangling after "dentist" and didn't include it. (Maybe they used all their cleverness in deciding to add the bullet in the product name.)
Well, it probably won't matter for most consumers -- only those anal about both punctuation and oral hygiene.
Addition: Oops, I really need a blog editor, too. Oh well, I already have a disclaimer (see footer).
Addition (August 15, 11:39 a.m.): On further inspection of the product label the other night, I found another case for The Hyphenator! Underneath the product name, the label read "Alcohol Free." I wish alcohol were free.
Monday, August 08, 2005
The Hoarder!
The Hyphenator! is afraid one day she will become The Hoarder!
After reading a column by Mark Morford on SFGate.com about crazy cat ladies and hoarders, I find myself horrified and yet enthralled by these stories of women who have houses full of cats and piles and piles of crap. Every once in a while, I'll come across these stories in the news, and for a period of time I was addicted to Animal Planet shows such as "Animal Cops" because they showed cases of abused animals being rescued from their terrible owners.
I think the crazy cat ladies began with the best of intentions -- taking in stray cats or adopting homeless ones -- and may have just become overwhelmed when the cats started having litters of kittens. And then the litters of kittens grew up to have their own litters of kittens. Next thing you know, dead cat corpses are filling trash bag after trash bag.
It gets so bad that the stench of urine, feces, and diseased and dead cats drives neighbors to complain to authorities, when it's way too late to help these animals. The cats are diseased and feral, and cannot be saved or adopted.
When I read about hoarders who have mounds of newspapers, magazines, and junk in their homes to the point that they become uninhabitable, I sometimes think of my grandfather and also worry I'll become one myself.
My grandfather's hoarding can be easily explained. Mine on the other hand is questionable. Not to say that either one of us lived or lives in a home that ought to be condemned, although my mom might disagree with that statement.
My grandfather lived through the Depression, and like many other Depression-era kids, he lived his life influenced by his early experiences. In his cupboards and basement, he stockpiled cans of food with "Best when used by" dates that had long since passed. I remember visiting him and every time I opened his refrigerator or freezer, I'd see it jam-packed with food (he lived alone, mind you). I never wanted to know what was hidden in the back of the refrigerator. He had a deep freezer chest that my parents cleaned out after he passed away. They found neatly labeled and packaged pheasants that someone had given him 20 years ago after a hunting trip.
Piles of brown paper and plastic bags lined his breezeway. He never owned a microwave, but he loved his toaster oven. In fact, he kept two of his old ones on a table in the breezeway, next to the stacked plastic containers and lids. On his kitchen countertops (what you could see of them), used tinfoil, plastic wrap, and Ziploc bags sat out, waiting to be reused ... again.
Up in the attic, trunks were filled with brand-new blankets, still in their original packaging. My mom donated garbage bags full of old clothes to Goodwill. Seems he never gave anything away, not even pants from his days as a svelte younger man.
Me? I have no excuse. I admit I have a hard time throwing stuff out. I keep junk for reference or for nostalgia. I haven't thrown out a movie ticket stub in ages. I used to write on the back of tickets the names of the people I watched the movies with, along with date and time (this was before the nice, computerized tickets you get now that have detailed information on them). I often mix up which movie I saw with whom ("Didn't I see that movie with you?" "No, dear, that was someone else.")
I've got old clothes from my school days: fluorescent Umbro shorts, Hard Rock T-shirts from all my traveling, and every single semiformal dress I ever wore to a dance, homecoming and prom (I figure my daughter will one day love playing dress-up with them). Suprisingly, I threw away a whole shopping bag of old shoes a few weeks ago. My fiancé was shocked. They were so old and falling apart that I decided that even though they reminded me of happy times dancing the night away, I had to get rid of them. Besides, have to make room for the new shoes!
Boxes in various sizes and packaging material (bubble wrap, packing peanuts, etc.) clutter my home office. You never know when you have to mail a gift or package to someone. Old magazines and catalogs are stacked underneath our coffee table, and receipts for groceries, restaurants, gas, clothes and wedding supplies are piled high on my desk.
My garage space is filled with empty, good boxes (the ones that have handle openings) for my next move, so that I can't actually park my car in the spot. I pay extra for a parking spot (necessary in San Fran), but instead use it for storage.
In one box in my garage, I have magazines that I couldn't bear to part with, even when I packed up and moved 2,000 miles away. Old celebrity hearthrobs grace the covers of some of the teen magazines, while models I found to be beautiful when I was younger (and even today) are on others.
To make things worse, my parents gave me all my childhood toys and books before I moved. I love having them, but aren't parents suppose to keep that kind of stuff? Then one day you discover them when you're cleaning out your deceased parents' home?
You'd think I would have seized on the excuse of moving across the country to throw out a lot of junk I'd collected over the years. You'd think so.
I did throw out some stuff and gave away other possessions: some plants (hopefully, they found a new owner who would remember to water them), a stereo system in which the CD player didn't work anymore but I kept anyway because I bought a portable CD boombox to listen to CDs, and an ancient JCPenney color television that my fiancé insisted I get rid of (hey, it had a remote and still worked). Luckily, one of my good friends saw the value in them that I did and took them.
Sometimes I wish I hadn't thrown away certain things, like my journals. (I know, I keep old teen magazines, but throw out my personal journals. Sigh.) Ever since middle school, I had kept a journal, detailing my crushes, heartbreaks, anger, disappointments and dreams. They filled two boxes, which I convinced myself to throw out since moving to California was suppose to be a new beginning. I regret that decision now. My friend jokes that some bum is reading my life story while sitting in a landfill.
I also miss my old bed terribly. When I moved into my first apartment, my parents bought me the bed, but I don't miss it for nostalgic reason. It was so comfy that I could sleep the night and day away in that bed. But alas it was only full size. My fiancé had a queen bed (a rock hard one) already, so I gave my bed to my parents for their spare bedroom (at least I get to reunite with my bed when I go home to visit). I wonder if my more frequent talking in my sleep is due to my fiancé's uncomfortable bed.
More and more I'm starting to believe that I shouldn't throw stuff away, unless of course it truly is garbage or a health hazard. Little things, even receipts, can trigger a memory. They help me remember when certain events happened or when I traveled where. Besides, without journal writing now, I need them more than ever.
You'd think my fiancé and I would be drowning in all my junk, but we're not. I'm very good about organizing, storing and hiding things in our apartment: in closets, in cupboards, under the bed, etc. We even have room for a pet.
Unfortunately, pets aren't allowed in our current place. I do not want to move again for a while, but when we do finally pick up and move, I'm making sure we can have a cat ... or two. I'd love to have a male and a female cat so that we can have a litter of kittens. One day, maybe you'll hear about me on the news -- the crazy, hoarding cat lady!
After reading a column by Mark Morford on SFGate.com about crazy cat ladies and hoarders, I find myself horrified and yet enthralled by these stories of women who have houses full of cats and piles and piles of crap. Every once in a while, I'll come across these stories in the news, and for a period of time I was addicted to Animal Planet shows such as "Animal Cops" because they showed cases of abused animals being rescued from their terrible owners.
I think the crazy cat ladies began with the best of intentions -- taking in stray cats or adopting homeless ones -- and may have just become overwhelmed when the cats started having litters of kittens. And then the litters of kittens grew up to have their own litters of kittens. Next thing you know, dead cat corpses are filling trash bag after trash bag.
It gets so bad that the stench of urine, feces, and diseased and dead cats drives neighbors to complain to authorities, when it's way too late to help these animals. The cats are diseased and feral, and cannot be saved or adopted.
When I read about hoarders who have mounds of newspapers, magazines, and junk in their homes to the point that they become uninhabitable, I sometimes think of my grandfather and also worry I'll become one myself.
My grandfather's hoarding can be easily explained. Mine on the other hand is questionable. Not to say that either one of us lived or lives in a home that ought to be condemned, although my mom might disagree with that statement.
My grandfather lived through the Depression, and like many other Depression-era kids, he lived his life influenced by his early experiences. In his cupboards and basement, he stockpiled cans of food with "Best when used by" dates that had long since passed. I remember visiting him and every time I opened his refrigerator or freezer, I'd see it jam-packed with food (he lived alone, mind you). I never wanted to know what was hidden in the back of the refrigerator. He had a deep freezer chest that my parents cleaned out after he passed away. They found neatly labeled and packaged pheasants that someone had given him 20 years ago after a hunting trip.
Piles of brown paper and plastic bags lined his breezeway. He never owned a microwave, but he loved his toaster oven. In fact, he kept two of his old ones on a table in the breezeway, next to the stacked plastic containers and lids. On his kitchen countertops (what you could see of them), used tinfoil, plastic wrap, and Ziploc bags sat out, waiting to be reused ... again.
Up in the attic, trunks were filled with brand-new blankets, still in their original packaging. My mom donated garbage bags full of old clothes to Goodwill. Seems he never gave anything away, not even pants from his days as a svelte younger man.
Me? I have no excuse. I admit I have a hard time throwing stuff out. I keep junk for reference or for nostalgia. I haven't thrown out a movie ticket stub in ages. I used to write on the back of tickets the names of the people I watched the movies with, along with date and time (this was before the nice, computerized tickets you get now that have detailed information on them). I often mix up which movie I saw with whom ("Didn't I see that movie with you?" "No, dear, that was someone else.")
I've got old clothes from my school days: fluorescent Umbro shorts, Hard Rock T-shirts from all my traveling, and every single semiformal dress I ever wore to a dance, homecoming and prom (I figure my daughter will one day love playing dress-up with them). Suprisingly, I threw away a whole shopping bag of old shoes a few weeks ago. My fiancé was shocked. They were so old and falling apart that I decided that even though they reminded me of happy times dancing the night away, I had to get rid of them. Besides, have to make room for the new shoes!
Boxes in various sizes and packaging material (bubble wrap, packing peanuts, etc.) clutter my home office. You never know when you have to mail a gift or package to someone. Old magazines and catalogs are stacked underneath our coffee table, and receipts for groceries, restaurants, gas, clothes and wedding supplies are piled high on my desk.
My garage space is filled with empty, good boxes (the ones that have handle openings) for my next move, so that I can't actually park my car in the spot. I pay extra for a parking spot (necessary in San Fran), but instead use it for storage.
In one box in my garage, I have magazines that I couldn't bear to part with, even when I packed up and moved 2,000 miles away. Old celebrity hearthrobs grace the covers of some of the teen magazines, while models I found to be beautiful when I was younger (and even today) are on others.
To make things worse, my parents gave me all my childhood toys and books before I moved. I love having them, but aren't parents suppose to keep that kind of stuff? Then one day you discover them when you're cleaning out your deceased parents' home?
You'd think I would have seized on the excuse of moving across the country to throw out a lot of junk I'd collected over the years. You'd think so.
I did throw out some stuff and gave away other possessions: some plants (hopefully, they found a new owner who would remember to water them), a stereo system in which the CD player didn't work anymore but I kept anyway because I bought a portable CD boombox to listen to CDs, and an ancient JCPenney color television that my fiancé insisted I get rid of (hey, it had a remote and still worked). Luckily, one of my good friends saw the value in them that I did and took them.
Sometimes I wish I hadn't thrown away certain things, like my journals. (I know, I keep old teen magazines, but throw out my personal journals. Sigh.) Ever since middle school, I had kept a journal, detailing my crushes, heartbreaks, anger, disappointments and dreams. They filled two boxes, which I convinced myself to throw out since moving to California was suppose to be a new beginning. I regret that decision now. My friend jokes that some bum is reading my life story while sitting in a landfill.
I also miss my old bed terribly. When I moved into my first apartment, my parents bought me the bed, but I don't miss it for nostalgic reason. It was so comfy that I could sleep the night and day away in that bed. But alas it was only full size. My fiancé had a queen bed (a rock hard one) already, so I gave my bed to my parents for their spare bedroom (at least I get to reunite with my bed when I go home to visit). I wonder if my more frequent talking in my sleep is due to my fiancé's uncomfortable bed.
More and more I'm starting to believe that I shouldn't throw stuff away, unless of course it truly is garbage or a health hazard. Little things, even receipts, can trigger a memory. They help me remember when certain events happened or when I traveled where. Besides, without journal writing now, I need them more than ever.
You'd think my fiancé and I would be drowning in all my junk, but we're not. I'm very good about organizing, storing and hiding things in our apartment: in closets, in cupboards, under the bed, etc. We even have room for a pet.
Unfortunately, pets aren't allowed in our current place. I do not want to move again for a while, but when we do finally pick up and move, I'm making sure we can have a cat ... or two. I'd love to have a male and a female cat so that we can have a litter of kittens. One day, maybe you'll hear about me on the news -- the crazy, hoarding cat lady!
Sunday, August 07, 2005
Hunting and gathering
I loathe the grocery stores in San Francisco. They are small, crowded, and overpriced. I often have to go to different stores to find a single item I need for a particular dish.
They all have their own discount card programs, so my wallet is full with their damn cards. I love how they always display the regular price along with the special discount price so you see exactly how much you can save. Just eliminate the &#$@*! discount program, and give customers the low price every day. The items are usually on "sale" most of the time anyway.
Today, however, I was in grocery store heaven. After a 20-minute drive, I found myself in a nice, big Korean grocery store, looking around in wonder.
Not that I hadn't ever seen a large Korean store before. A few years ago, my 언니 had taken me to a huge Korean grocery store in Virginia, which was absolutely amazing because it also had an unbelievable selection of housewares, CDs, DVDs and videos, magazines, books, and beauty products.
But in San Francisco, up to this point I had only found small stores in my neighborhood (which I love by the way because I can stop for 김밥 [kimbap] whenever I get a craving for it, and they often give me free stuff, too).
A Korean friend told me about the store I found today a few months ago, but I hadn't gone in search of it until now. I'm so glad I did.
I instantly fell in love with the store when one of the first items my eyes zeroed in on was 비빔밥 (bibimbap) ingredients already prepared in the deli section. Just add rice -- and I got rice, baby!
The store's meat counter was just lovely with perfectly cut beef for 불고기 (bulgogi) and 갈비 (galbi). No more asking butchers for special cuts.
There was an actual produce section, not a produce cooler, and multiple checkout stands. In the frozen foods section, I got almost dizzy from the array of 만두 (mandu).
If I'm shopping there one day and start to feel faint from hunger, not to worry. The store has a deli counter and dining area.
On my next visit to the store, I'm determined to spend more time exploring all the wonderful aisles and products.
But today, I left the store with bags of basic groceries (김치, 김, 만두, 떡, and meat for 불고기 and 갈비) ... and a grin on my face.
They all have their own discount card programs, so my wallet is full with their damn cards. I love how they always display the regular price along with the special discount price so you see exactly how much you can save. Just eliminate the &#$@*! discount program, and give customers the low price every day. The items are usually on "sale" most of the time anyway.
Today, however, I was in grocery store heaven. After a 20-minute drive, I found myself in a nice, big Korean grocery store, looking around in wonder.
Not that I hadn't ever seen a large Korean store before. A few years ago, my 언니 had taken me to a huge Korean grocery store in Virginia, which was absolutely amazing because it also had an unbelievable selection of housewares, CDs, DVDs and videos, magazines, books, and beauty products.
But in San Francisco, up to this point I had only found small stores in my neighborhood (which I love by the way because I can stop for 김밥 [kimbap] whenever I get a craving for it, and they often give me free stuff, too).
A Korean friend told me about the store I found today a few months ago, but I hadn't gone in search of it until now. I'm so glad I did.
I instantly fell in love with the store when one of the first items my eyes zeroed in on was 비빔밥 (bibimbap) ingredients already prepared in the deli section. Just add rice -- and I got rice, baby!
The store's meat counter was just lovely with perfectly cut beef for 불고기 (bulgogi) and 갈비 (galbi). No more asking butchers for special cuts.
There was an actual produce section, not a produce cooler, and multiple checkout stands. In the frozen foods section, I got almost dizzy from the array of 만두 (mandu).
If I'm shopping there one day and start to feel faint from hunger, not to worry. The store has a deli counter and dining area.
On my next visit to the store, I'm determined to spend more time exploring all the wonderful aisles and products.
But today, I left the store with bags of basic groceries (김치, 김, 만두, 떡, and meat for 불고기 and 갈비) ... and a grin on my face.
Saturday, August 06, 2005
Pillow talk
Since I've moved in with my fiancé, I find myself talking in my sleep more frequently.
In the past, I would sometimes talk in my sleep when I slept in unfamiliar surroundings, such as in a hotel or at a friend's place, but never on a regular basis.
Before I moved out to San Francisco, my fiancé would come visit me. One night while he was at my place, I woke both of us by yelling, "Go home!" At first he was hurt because he thought I was subconsciously wanting him to go away. I told him I had no idea where that came from or why I said that in my sleep.
Since I've moved, my poor fiancé is often woken up in the middle of the night by my nocturnal babbling. Just the other night, I woke up saying, "Don't you know how to wash the car?!?"
The weird thing is that I half wake myself up and I know I'm talking in my sleep, but I keep on talking and then go back to a sound sleep.
My mom told me that when my brother and I were little we would sleep talk together. Our bedrooms were right next to each other, and I'd say something in my sleep, yelling at him for something or other most of the time. He would reply, and we'd chat back and forth. My mom said it was the funniest thing.
In the past, I would sometimes talk in my sleep when I slept in unfamiliar surroundings, such as in a hotel or at a friend's place, but never on a regular basis.
Before I moved out to San Francisco, my fiancé would come visit me. One night while he was at my place, I woke both of us by yelling, "Go home!" At first he was hurt because he thought I was subconsciously wanting him to go away. I told him I had no idea where that came from or why I said that in my sleep.
Since I've moved, my poor fiancé is often woken up in the middle of the night by my nocturnal babbling. Just the other night, I woke up saying, "Don't you know how to wash the car?!?"
The weird thing is that I half wake myself up and I know I'm talking in my sleep, but I keep on talking and then go back to a sound sleep.
My mom told me that when my brother and I were little we would sleep talk together. Our bedrooms were right next to each other, and I'd say something in my sleep, yelling at him for something or other most of the time. He would reply, and we'd chat back and forth. My mom said it was the funniest thing.
Tuesday, August 02, 2005
A glitch in the Matrix
Earlier this evening, I IMed my friend Ji-in that I had another one of my déjà vu moments while in Chicago over the weekend. (And no, I'm not referring to the strip club.)
She replied with "glitch in the Matrix."
Makes you wonder. Perhaps there's someone or something controlling my life as if I were a character in the Sims game.
I haven't had a déjà vu moment in a while, but I used to have them frequently. Experiencing one always freaks me out. Did I dream it before it happened? Sometimes I think I dreamt the moment a year before.
Dreams also weird me out sometimes. For example, last month I dreamt that my great uncle in northern California had died. Later that day I called my mom to make sure everything was OK. I couldn't reach her at home or on her cell, but I left a message just saying to please call me back. My mom calls back later crying because she had found out that her uncle, who has prostate cancer, had a turn for the worse. I told her about my dream, and she wasn't surprised. She's had dreams like that, too. Even though were not biologically related, she thinks we have a connection on a different level. "Like mother, like daughter," or "You are your mother's daughter," she likes to say.
Another experience in college has always puzzled me. My friend, I'll just refer to her as my unni (언니), and I were planning to go to a new local attraction on my birthday. We decided to use the outing, but not my birthday, as an excuse to invite this Korean guy I had a crush on to join us. We had hung out casually on campus, but nothing more than that. I was thrilled when he accepted our invitation, but neither I nor my unni told him that it would be my birthday.
The big day finally arrived, we picked him up and laughed when we saw him. He was wearing a pink polo shirt. We were all wearing pink. What a nice start to my birthday. (I think men look hot wearing pink.) Unfortunately, since we all looked a bit silly in pink, he changed his shirt.
Anyway, later as we were walking along, he told us how he had this dream the night before, which was unusual since he never dreams or remembers them. He continued to describe the dream for us: He was out with some friends, and turns out that it is one of his friend's birthday but he didn't know it.
My unni and I just looked at each other with our eyes huge. He saw us and asked my unni if it was her birthday. She shook her head no. He then looked at me and asked me. All I could do was nod my head, embarrassed and yet confused. Did we have some sort of connection? Did my obsessive thinking of him somehow get transmitted to him? Perhaps even the pink shirts were a sign of our connection.
Fortunately, that experience ended positively, resulting in one of the best birthdays ever. After learning it was my birthday, my crush took us out later that evening to celebrate my birthday.
She replied with "glitch in the Matrix."
Makes you wonder. Perhaps there's someone or something controlling my life as if I were a character in the Sims game.
I haven't had a déjà vu moment in a while, but I used to have them frequently. Experiencing one always freaks me out. Did I dream it before it happened? Sometimes I think I dreamt the moment a year before.
Dreams also weird me out sometimes. For example, last month I dreamt that my great uncle in northern California had died. Later that day I called my mom to make sure everything was OK. I couldn't reach her at home or on her cell, but I left a message just saying to please call me back. My mom calls back later crying because she had found out that her uncle, who has prostate cancer, had a turn for the worse. I told her about my dream, and she wasn't surprised. She's had dreams like that, too. Even though were not biologically related, she thinks we have a connection on a different level. "Like mother, like daughter," or "You are your mother's daughter," she likes to say.
Another experience in college has always puzzled me. My friend, I'll just refer to her as my unni (언니), and I were planning to go to a new local attraction on my birthday. We decided to use the outing, but not my birthday, as an excuse to invite this Korean guy I had a crush on to join us. We had hung out casually on campus, but nothing more than that. I was thrilled when he accepted our invitation, but neither I nor my unni told him that it would be my birthday.
The big day finally arrived, we picked him up and laughed when we saw him. He was wearing a pink polo shirt. We were all wearing pink. What a nice start to my birthday. (I think men look hot wearing pink.) Unfortunately, since we all looked a bit silly in pink, he changed his shirt.
Anyway, later as we were walking along, he told us how he had this dream the night before, which was unusual since he never dreams or remembers them. He continued to describe the dream for us: He was out with some friends, and turns out that it is one of his friend's birthday but he didn't know it.
My unni and I just looked at each other with our eyes huge. He saw us and asked my unni if it was her birthday. She shook her head no. He then looked at me and asked me. All I could do was nod my head, embarrassed and yet confused. Did we have some sort of connection? Did my obsessive thinking of him somehow get transmitted to him? Perhaps even the pink shirts were a sign of our connection.
Fortunately, that experience ended positively, resulting in one of the best birthdays ever. After learning it was my birthday, my crush took us out later that evening to celebrate my birthday.
Monday, August 01, 2005
Home, sweet home!
After a weekend trip to Chicago, man, am I ever glad to be home.
I wonder if some force is trying to make me return to the Midwest and stay there. Why, you ask? Well, read on ...
My fiancé and I traveled to Chicago this past weekend to attend a wedding. We were flying to Chicago on Friday, and had a layover in the city where I used to live. The flight from San Francisco was uneventful (even though we had to wake up at an ungodly hour to make the flight). We flew in over my old neighborhood, and I have to admit I got a bit teary-eyed as I saw some familiar landmarks. I even took some digital pictures from my window seat. After an hour or so for the layover, we were up in the air again for the 50-minute continuing flight to Chicago.
We were about 15 or 20 minutes into the short flight when the pilot came over the intercom to tell us we had to turn around and return to the airport because of a problem with the landing gear! Thankfully, the problem wasn't with the gear coming down in the landing position, but with the gear staying up.
We landed back safely at the airport, but we wondered if the problem wasn't with the landing gear in the down position, why couldn't we continue on for another 30 minutes or so to O'Hare? The pilot said it was better to be safe than sorry.
After missing our first rebooked flight due to horrible customer service and poor communication by the airline agents, we finally made it to Chicago after traveling for more than 12 hours. (I could have flown to Asia in the same period of time. Geesh!)
On our way home, we hit terrible traffic trying to get to O'Hare airport, ran into a slow-ass Hertz trainee (he actually asked for our discount coupon, something the employees never usually do) when trying to return our rental car and equally slow shuttle buses to the terminal, missed checking into our flight home by three minutes (and we weren't the only ones, mind you), had to fly standby for the connecting flights home (anxiously waiting for our names to be called by the agents for boarding passes, while at the same time wishing evil on the other unfortunate passengers on the standby list), and finally made it on the last San Francisco flight for the day.
Luckily, all of us in the group that had missed our original flight home were able to get on the last flight, even though it had been oversold by five seats. As we all lined up on the jetway waiting to board, we grinned happily at each other. While the whole flying standby process seemed cutthroat, we were all relieved to see everyone would make it home that night. Whew!
I wonder if some force is trying to make me return to the Midwest and stay there. Why, you ask? Well, read on ...
My fiancé and I traveled to Chicago this past weekend to attend a wedding. We were flying to Chicago on Friday, and had a layover in the city where I used to live. The flight from San Francisco was uneventful (even though we had to wake up at an ungodly hour to make the flight). We flew in over my old neighborhood, and I have to admit I got a bit teary-eyed as I saw some familiar landmarks. I even took some digital pictures from my window seat. After an hour or so for the layover, we were up in the air again for the 50-minute continuing flight to Chicago.
We were about 15 or 20 minutes into the short flight when the pilot came over the intercom to tell us we had to turn around and return to the airport because of a problem with the landing gear! Thankfully, the problem wasn't with the gear coming down in the landing position, but with the gear staying up.
We landed back safely at the airport, but we wondered if the problem wasn't with the landing gear in the down position, why couldn't we continue on for another 30 minutes or so to O'Hare? The pilot said it was better to be safe than sorry.
After missing our first rebooked flight due to horrible customer service and poor communication by the airline agents, we finally made it to Chicago after traveling for more than 12 hours. (I could have flown to Asia in the same period of time. Geesh!)
On our way home, we hit terrible traffic trying to get to O'Hare airport, ran into a slow-ass Hertz trainee (he actually asked for our discount coupon, something the employees never usually do) when trying to return our rental car and equally slow shuttle buses to the terminal, missed checking into our flight home by three minutes (and we weren't the only ones, mind you), had to fly standby for the connecting flights home (anxiously waiting for our names to be called by the agents for boarding passes, while at the same time wishing evil on the other unfortunate passengers on the standby list), and finally made it on the last San Francisco flight for the day.
Luckily, all of us in the group that had missed our original flight home were able to get on the last flight, even though it had been oversold by five seats. As we all lined up on the jetway waiting to board, we grinned happily at each other. While the whole flying standby process seemed cutthroat, we were all relieved to see everyone would make it home that night. Whew!
What happened to 'Always be prepared'?
Check out these recent articles on the Boy Scouts:
"300 scouts collapse in the heat waiting for President"
"Calif. Lightning Strike Kills Scout Leader"
Not to make light of the tragedies, but what ever happened to the Boy Scout motto of always being prepared? You would think that scouting a safe location for a tent, whether it be a pup tent or a dining tent, would be on the top of the Boy Scout "To Do" list.
And did the jamboree organizers not read the weather forecasts? I'm sorry, but anyone with some common sense knows not to be in the sun in humid, 100° heat, especially in full dress uniform. No way would I be out in those conditions (or any other conditions for that matter) waiting for Shrub.
Then again, I was a former Girl Scout.
Addition (August 3, 3:12 p.m.):
Whoa! God, or Mother Nature, must seriously have something against the Boy Scouts these days ...
"Lightning Kills Boy Scout at Utah Camp"
OK, so this tragedy probably did not have anything to due with a lack of preparation or training, but ...
"Camp Steiner is the highest Boy Scout camp in the country at 10,400 feet elevation in the Uinta Mountains, a magnet for thunderstorms on summer afternoons about 60 miles east of Salt Lake City."
Another issue with scouting a safe location for a camp?
Addition (August 11, 2:35 p.m.):
More scout carnage ...
"Girl, 8, Killed by Tree at Boy Scout Camp"
This time it was a Girl Scout, but maybe she was mistaken for a Boy Scout ... she was at a Boy Scout camp.
"300 scouts collapse in the heat waiting for President"
"Calif. Lightning Strike Kills Scout Leader"
Not to make light of the tragedies, but what ever happened to the Boy Scout motto of always being prepared? You would think that scouting a safe location for a tent, whether it be a pup tent or a dining tent, would be on the top of the Boy Scout "To Do" list.
And did the jamboree organizers not read the weather forecasts? I'm sorry, but anyone with some common sense knows not to be in the sun in humid, 100° heat, especially in full dress uniform. No way would I be out in those conditions (or any other conditions for that matter) waiting for Shrub.
Then again, I was a former Girl Scout.
Addition (August 3, 3:12 p.m.):
Whoa! God, or Mother Nature, must seriously have something against the Boy Scouts these days ...
"Lightning Kills Boy Scout at Utah Camp"
OK, so this tragedy probably did not have anything to due with a lack of preparation or training, but ...
"Camp Steiner is the highest Boy Scout camp in the country at 10,400 feet elevation in the Uinta Mountains, a magnet for thunderstorms on summer afternoons about 60 miles east of Salt Lake City."
Another issue with scouting a safe location for a camp?
Addition (August 11, 2:35 p.m.):
More scout carnage ...
"Girl, 8, Killed by Tree at Boy Scout Camp"
This time it was a Girl Scout, but maybe she was mistaken for a Boy Scout ... she was at a Boy Scout camp.
Wednesday, July 27, 2005
Here comes the dress
I did it. I finally picked out my wedding dress and placed the order, with a hefty, 50 percent payment.
I would post a picture of it, but I can't seem to find a photo of it online anywhere, and I couldn't take pictures at the bridal shop.
BTW, if you live within driving distance of San Jose, I highly recommend Elegant Lace Bridal. They have a lovely selection of dresses, and the service was excellent. My first visit there I spent almost two hours trying on different dresses. The saleswoman kept bringing me beautiful dresses she thought I'd like based on the styles I told her.
The dress I finally picked is a strapless Angelina Bridal Couture dress, style #7007, in a natural, off-white silk (love it!) with buttons down the back. Sigh. Simple, elegant and it makes me look like I have hips.
Four months and it's mine, all mine!!!!!
I would post a picture of it, but I can't seem to find a photo of it online anywhere, and I couldn't take pictures at the bridal shop.
BTW, if you live within driving distance of San Jose, I highly recommend Elegant Lace Bridal. They have a lovely selection of dresses, and the service was excellent. My first visit there I spent almost two hours trying on different dresses. The saleswoman kept bringing me beautiful dresses she thought I'd like based on the styles I told her.
The dress I finally picked is a strapless Angelina Bridal Couture dress, style #7007, in a natural, off-white silk (love it!) with buttons down the back. Sigh. Simple, elegant and it makes me look like I have hips.
Four months and it's mine, all mine!!!!!
Tuesday, July 26, 2005
Monday, July 25, 2005
A sporting weekend
Well, it was quite the sporting weekend.
Lance Armstrong won his seventh Tour de France, and the win also marked his retirement after 14 years of professional cycling.
The U.S. men's soccer team won the Gold Cup championship, beating Panama in an exciting penalty shootout 3-1 (I'm not even a huge soccer fan).
The funny thing? Both sports are immensely popular around the world, except in the United States where American football, baseball and basketball reign supreme.
Lance Armstrong won his seventh Tour de France, and the win also marked his retirement after 14 years of professional cycling.
The U.S. men's soccer team won the Gold Cup championship, beating Panama in an exciting penalty shootout 3-1 (I'm not even a huge soccer fan).
The funny thing? Both sports are immensely popular around the world, except in the United States where American football, baseball and basketball reign supreme.
San Francisco: A love/hate relationship
Love: "Where are you from?" means "What city/state did you move here from?" and not "What race/ethnicity are you?"
Hate: Non-Asian guys with Asian fetishes (Not that this is anything new, but the guys here sort of freak me out sometimes. They can tell I'm Korean and say hello in Korean.)
Love: Walking in the city and not being the only Asian amidst a sea of white people
Hate: The vast number of skinny, "pocket-size" (as my friend Ji-in likes to say) Asian women
Love: Walking down my block to eat Thai, Chinese, Vietnamese and Korean food ... and sushi ... and dim sum ... and ...
Hate: Walking down the street and having dust and dirt blown onto my contacts (Ouch!)
Love: Warm, sunny days at Ocean Beach
Hate: Warm, sunny days turning cold and damp as the fog rolls in over the city
Love: Victorian houses with bay windows
Hate: Rental and real estate prices
Love: Finding a new, trustworthy car repair shop run by Asians who aren't going to rip me off
Hate: Having to find a new doctor, dentist and optometrist
Love: Lying in the sun on green grass during January
Hate: The lack of green lawns and huge backyards
Love: Not having to deal with -30° windchill
Hate: Missing the vibrant fall leaves of the Midwest
Love: Funky little neighborhood boutiques and gift shops
Hate: Lack of shopping malls (Gimme a break! I grew up in the Midwest, home of the first enclosed shopping mall. Malls here also have parking lots that are horribly laid out.)
Love: Working somewhere where I can IM and am not the only minority
Hate: Driving 20 minutes to travel 3 miles to work (I know! I should stop using a gas-guzzling, polluting automobile, but I love to drive and can't stand the hour commute by bus.)
Love: Yelling at stupid, inconsiderate drivers who run over bicyclists
Hate: Drivers who don't signal and don't stop at stop signs, as well as impatient drivers (Buddy, if I could move, I would!)
Love: Meeting new people
Hate: Meeting new people
Love: My new (well, not so new now) co-worker who loves watching television, shopping and celebrity gossip as much as I do
Hate: Missing my best friend who loves watching television, shopping and celebrity gossip as much as I do
Love: Being 2,036.5 miles away from my family
Hate: Being 2,000 miles away from my friends back home
Other hates: Public transportation and the lack of parking
Other loves: Watching a major league baseball game in an open-air stadium, the dahlia and rose gardens in Golden Gate Park, Escape From New York pizza, Brothers wood charcoal Korean barbecue restaurant, bougainvillea, palm trees on city blocks
Hate: Non-Asian guys with Asian fetishes (Not that this is anything new, but the guys here sort of freak me out sometimes. They can tell I'm Korean and say hello in Korean.)
Love: Walking in the city and not being the only Asian amidst a sea of white people
Hate: The vast number of skinny, "pocket-size" (as my friend Ji-in likes to say) Asian women
Love: Walking down my block to eat Thai, Chinese, Vietnamese and Korean food ... and sushi ... and dim sum ... and ...
Hate: Walking down the street and having dust and dirt blown onto my contacts (Ouch!)
Love: Warm, sunny days at Ocean Beach
Hate: Warm, sunny days turning cold and damp as the fog rolls in over the city
Love: Victorian houses with bay windows
Hate: Rental and real estate prices
Love: Finding a new, trustworthy car repair shop run by Asians who aren't going to rip me off
Hate: Having to find a new doctor, dentist and optometrist
Love: Lying in the sun on green grass during January
Hate: The lack of green lawns and huge backyards
Love: Not having to deal with -30° windchill
Hate: Missing the vibrant fall leaves of the Midwest
Love: Funky little neighborhood boutiques and gift shops
Hate: Lack of shopping malls (Gimme a break! I grew up in the Midwest, home of the first enclosed shopping mall. Malls here also have parking lots that are horribly laid out.)
Love: Working somewhere where I can IM and am not the only minority
Hate: Driving 20 minutes to travel 3 miles to work (I know! I should stop using a gas-guzzling, polluting automobile, but I love to drive and can't stand the hour commute by bus.)
Love: Yelling at stupid, inconsiderate drivers who run over bicyclists
Hate: Drivers who don't signal and don't stop at stop signs, as well as impatient drivers (Buddy, if I could move, I would!)
Love: Meeting new people
Hate: Meeting new people
Love: My new (well, not so new now) co-worker who loves watching television, shopping and celebrity gossip as much as I do
Hate: Missing my best friend who loves watching television, shopping and celebrity gossip as much as I do
Love: Being 2,036.5 miles away from my family
Hate: Being 2,000 miles away from my friends back home
Other hates: Public transportation and the lack of parking
Other loves: Watching a major league baseball game in an open-air stadium, the dahlia and rose gardens in Golden Gate Park, Escape From New York pizza, Brothers wood charcoal Korean barbecue restaurant, bougainvillea, palm trees on city blocks
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