We kinda went on a road trip.
A last-minute, no destination kinda road trip.
The best kinda road trip.
Jay kinda drove all the way. I kinda chatted, navigated with a map, snapped pictures and snored all the way.
See our unplanned adventure that included Jay shoe-boarding down a slope in Glacier National Park in Montana and me getting really cold feet in the Columbia River in Eastern Washington.
We had fun. Really.
Life’s a bitch.
We all know that. And it sometimes takes a little detour towards good friends and family and adorable kids to make you forget the evil in this world.
Oh yeah. You heard meâ€â€EVIL.
Jay said to me yesterday after an extremely trying meeting with the City and the Clubowner (which started out well, but disintegrated towards the end when the Clubowner showed up), “Now I know how wars are started.”
Apparently someone in the Clubowner’s party who had never ever spoken to us before, showed up and casually said, “What’s the big deal?”
Uh-huh.
No sleep, crime, drugs, bullets.
Jay and I are exhausted. Our neighborhood is exhausted.
It takes one totally stubborn and ignorant person (calculating enough to continually scream racism every time) to make you go crazy. For the record, Mr. Clubowner, I am sure if you call me racist one more time, I can sue you for slander.
That’s why we all need to avoid nasty people in our lives and hang out with people under five.
In their world, all that matters is “Can you give me that cherry tomato on your salad?” and “Can you pick me up and throw me in the air right after that?”
Sure I can.
So after you’ve been put on hold for 26 months, it’s time for something called civil disobedience.
Can you imagine that? Even the word “disobedience” makes my Singaporean ass fearful.
The final straw came today. A man was shot and killed on the street next to ours.
Our neighborhood had complained (and complained), written letters, called and protested and…still, the Mayor ignored us. We pleaded. The noise is unbearable. The illegal club is attracting illegal activity. There’s drug dealing on the streets. There’s armed robbery. Bullets in the night.
I have many irrational fears. But I consider bullets through my windows to be a totally rational fear.
And finally, it came to this. A man got killed.
Camera crews came. We decided enough was enough. The Mayor had to see us now. We decided to march to the office and demand to see the Mayor. My neighbors were prepared to chain themselves to the office furniture until the Mayor appeared. I asked Jay, “Er, can get arrested or not?”
The fearlessness of my American neighbors and their strong belief in their individual rights to be heard was refreshing and admirable.
[Especially after reading news about the police investigation of 30 people who showed up in brown T-shirts at City Hall MRT to support blogger mrbrown.]
We made all the TV news reports today (Count the cameras! ALL FOUR CHANNELS!). It is sad that we had to leverage a man’s death to get coverage and to get a Deputy Mayor to show up and promise to schedule a face-to-face with the Mayor.
So I guess what I learned in journalism school the first day holds true: If it bleeds, it sure damn hell leads.
After our brush with crime recently, Jay and I decided to go to Home Depot to buy a lock and a new BBQ grill. The lock cost us, like, one piece of good steak, while the grill was a good 20 pieces. (For those keeping a meat count, a new propane tank was selling for six steaks.)
As we picked up the lock from the bottom shelf, we both saw the graphic at the same time and started laughing hysterically. We must have looked maniacal on the Home Depot security cameras.
No, not that lame ladder-on-van picture, but the other one.
How is it that Kryptonite (one of the best lock-makers in the business) chose to use as their “example graphic” a picture of a BBQ grill and a propane tank chained to a deck? Do they know something we don’t?
You mean people buy locks for their grills?
Where did we stupidly think we were living this whole time? Pleasantville?
Apparently, the answer is yes.
It’s probably appropriate that I’m recording this between July 4 and August 9, being the schizophrenic Singaporean Living In America that I am.
Many Singaporeans have responded to mrbrown’s call (inspired by the Canadian Molson Beer ad) to record a message for National Day, coming up.
(Google “I Am Canadian” in youtube and you’ll understand where he is coming from.)
Thanks to Jay, here is my 2-minute homemade video.
Check out other iamsingaporean podcasts.
I try not to waste brain cells over this, but for those who might still be following the saga and downloading the original low-res movie that started it all, Jay has now created a site with much better audio and video recordings of this continuing illegal act.
Like I said, not wasting brain cells.
The hardest thing about bowling is coming up with a new expression each time you turn away from the lane after you throw the ball and walk back towards your waiting friends. You know what I mean.
A strike solves the problem easily. You naturally laugh, jump, shout, grin, hi-five…
Anything less than 10 pins (and progressively down to a gutter ball) requires careful arrangement of one’s facial muscles. When zero pins fall, there is that added awkward Walk of Shame back to the seats.
The point is, EVERYONE is looking at you. There are only so many “Aw shucks” weak smiles you can make as you shuffle back.
I noticed that today when the office posse went bowling. People started making the same faces as they returned to their seats, especially in the three pins to seven pins down category.
I bet I was repeating myself too.
But one thing’s for sure, no one outside of Sunset Bowls owns a pair of socks like the ones I bought at the vending machine. For $2.75, I am so styling.
I totally suck at information detox.
Yes, I promised Jay I’d try it for 24 hours.
I made it to nine. Barely.
Diary of a Mad, Info-Deprived, Asian Woman:
10 am – Woke up on July 4th
10.01 am – Resisted the urge to check emails and read the news
10.15 am – Drank my tea very slowly and avoided NYT magazine on table
10.45-noon – Walked aimlessly around small house
noon – Lunch (Thank god for the distraction)
1-4 pm – Watched Jay dig a hole in the backyard
4 pm – Took random pictures of random things (see shadow picture above)
4.15 pm – More aimless walking
4.30 pm – Organized closet
6 pm – Dinner
7 pm – Complete and utter breakdown. Turned on television and watched re-run of Hot Shots: Part Deux.
Jay and I were victims of a crime.
Our wedding presentâ€â€this glorious Weber grillâ€â€was stolen from our porch last night while we were sleeping.
*$#*!!
$#*!&!!##!*
And #@$*#**!!!!
All of our appropriate responses are not appropriate for print.
The irony (and agony) that it occurred on the day before the 4th of July was not lost on us. Where will all my marinated meat go?
Damn you, you dastardly thief! Damn you!
May the Weber Q never light up for you.
BIG POSTSCRIPTâ€â€I am embarking on a 24-hour info detox (on Jay’s orders) and will not be allowed to touch the computer, TV, magazines, newspapers or books. There will be no blog update tomorrow.
What is art?
For reasons unknown to me, I felt compelled to photograph these two pieces at the Seattle Asian Art Museum.
One is a prized piece of art, cordoned off, and (according to the write-up) representing Jesus Christ on some metaphysical level.
I didn’t get it. I liked the sweater, but I didn’t get it.
The other, it turns out, is a public bench. But oh, it was beautiful. I sat on it, I ran my fingers over it, I wondered aloud what it was made of.
I guess I got it.
In a time when one Gustav Klimt painting can sell for $135 million, I guess you can say I don’t get it.
Who are these people putting arbitrary values on art? It’s such an insider racket.
Sometimesâ€â€just sometimesâ€â€I think art doesn’t need a billion-dollar tag, security guards, and bullet-proof glass to give it value.
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