Pillow war.

As for February 14th, I participated in the annual San Francisco pillow fight by the Ferry Building on Embarcadero. It was more like a war.

A fellow fighter, David, and I rushed on our bikes 20 minutes before it struck fight time. As we locked our bikes into place to the setting sun, the clock struck 6:00 PM. As the last bell sounded, the whole street burst into a sprint, some swinging their bulging down pillows by their side, others hugging onto theirs tightly, stumbling as they ran with all their might. An older man with bottle-cap glasses and billowy white hair ran into the middle of the traffic, put up his hand to stop the cars and screamed at us, "GO! GO! GO!"
We ran for our fucking lives and dove head first into the masses in the plaza.

And then madness:

Pillows burst. People screamed, laughed, raged. Feathers exploded and flew. It was like rising snow.

A girl thought it would be a good idea to wear a helmet until she heard a team of vigilantes: "GET THE GIRL WITH THE HELMET!"
And they pummeled the shit out of her.

Wading into the midst of the action was like being a blind man finding his way through a turbulent sea of cotton, feathers and elbows. You swung left and right, upwards and downwards, really never knowing who or what you were hitting. You got a little thump in the face, or in the back of your head. It was what I'd describe to be... a comfortable moshpit.

You saw flirtatious lovers. You sensed intense teenage angst. You saw an adult world transformed into one of children. You witnessed children completely immersed in this fantasy land, riding on their fathers' shoulders, bopping people left and right. You saw those who came to play, those who came to watch and the few who came to hurt. People kissed, people raged and lashed, people tripped and fell and put their arms up in victory and defense.

It was epic.

I'll leave you with this video, which does the scene some justice.

Cleansing.

So my conscious effort towards abstinence has evolved to encompass more than just the physical. Maybe that was the underlying idea all along, or maybe it's a natural progression -- snip one problem at the bud and all associated thorns will also gradually die. Maybe it wasn't so much the act of hooking up as it is all the baggage that may come with it, as it always is when it comes to me.

Sex fucks things up. Anything leading up to sex can also fuck things up.

I've known for some time that I have a tendency to associate myself with unnecessarily complicated people and situations. It wasn't that I didn't recognize them to be what they were -- I always know, pretty much from the start, but I was constantly willing to take them on as "challenges," forcing myself to believe that I could deal with anything and everything, seeing it as some type of test of character or resilience. I think it started when I was about 2+ years into my 3-year relationship. I got a little bored, a little restless. Then when I was newly single, I pushed my envelope further and further. The worst was when I spent my year in London, where I honestly think I did whatever the fuck I felt like with little to no control. The more emboldened I became from testing shallow waters, the more I threw myself into increasingly turbulent scenarios which I tried to convince myself that I could handle. Or that I didn't care. Some people have a problem with putting themselves out there, afraid of what might happen. I have a problem with not putting myself out there, fearful of what I might miss out on.

Pride and stubbornness have taken me very, very far -- far enough to the point of discomfort, to this recent point where I've sat myself down and said, "Enough with this shit and stop fucking around. Where has this shit taken you? Nowhere. You don't need to prove anything to anybody. Even yourself."

So I want to clarify that I'm not trying to be abstinent for the sake of being abstinent. If things come together right, if I can have the foresight to say that I really do want to be involved with someone, then anything goes. But having given myself that chance to be devoid of all and any potentially complicated relationships... I have come to accept that a simple, awesome and genuinely reciprocating relationship is going to take a long, long while to refine and build. That, I will have time for when it happens. What I don't have time for are all the people who, on the whole, add absolutely nothing substantive to my life. I know when you're going to be worth it, I know when you're not. I've always known. Friends and more-than-friends alike. The only difference now is that I actually act on it. Early.

This newly discovered clarity is kind of really fucking strange. All that restlessness and anxiety that I so often felt before has been replaced with a consistent, satisfying calmness. An intense focus on all things I want to develop, internally and externally. Probably also helps that I smoke and drink a hell lot less frequently and have upped the exercising and healthy eating... which makes my bad nights that much badder and that much more fun.

For the first time in a long, long time, I feel like I'm really treating myself well as a whole. And for the first time in a long time, I feel very whole. Yet this is the most single I've ever been.

And all it took... well. Yup. That's all it took.

Rambles and shambles.

What a fucking week, man. I thought last week was rough.

Just registered for the June LSAT's. $130.
New Asics running shoes because my old ones are 2+ years old and my arches are bitching and hurting quite a bit. $80 (with work discount).
Rent. $950.
In a couple weeks, I gotta pay for LSAT courses. $1450.

Fuck. Fuck fuck fuck.

This/next month is not conducive to saving money. But I'm also not traveling for at least until past June. I'm going to try to save like a fucking Chinaman during that time.

My anxiety to travel kicks in every couple of months. It's starting to kick in hardcore at the moment, but can't do much about that. I guess I'm thankful that there's a slough of visitors all throughout February and through early March. Then it's lock-down study time until June.

--

I watched this Emmy-winning documentary yesterday: Return to Africa's Witch Children
It describes the serious problem on how young children, as young as babies, are accused of being "witches" and "wizards" by Evangelical "pastors" in the Niger Delta. Led into believing that these "witches" are responsible for financial and familial woes, these children are shunned, tortured, and even killed by their villagers and their own families. "Pastors" charge fees for deliverance and exorcising these children. Parents pay. Sometimes by selling everything they own, which isn't much to begin with. For so many reasons, I seriously recommend this to everyone. It'll take you out of your element. And you can also help.

So many issues come to surface -- the importance of education. The abuse of religious authority and of human desperation. The lengths that people will go to climb out of a hole they were born into. Africa has always been a raw, mystic place that I've always doubted I could handle. An incredibly strong and stable friend of mine studied abroad in Africa, only to return early with serious psychological and physical damage, described his time as such: "Everything you have ever known or believed to be true, everything you valued -- it means nothing. Absolutely nothing."

--

Finished Middlesex today. It was fucking amazing. So rich and expansive, yet eloquently and simply put together. It was like a drawn out 5-course meal paired with the perfect bottle and an incredibly sophisticated dinner date. Considering buying Virgin Suicides. I'd like to start digging in to some technology/science-related material. Also books on the history and development of religion -- anything that's reasonably easy to read and objective (Hitchens is on my list, very open to other authors of differing perspectives). Considering going through some Bible parts.
Recommendations for anything related to the above are requested.

Note: wasn't very big on Freakonomics. It kind of bored me.

--

And now, slumber.
Sweet, sweet fucking slumber. Then... FRIDAY!!!

Death to January.

January is officially over in 2.6 hours. Given that I don't completely fuck up my last month's resolution within that time, I've successfully quit smoking this month.

My roommate and I went out to celebrate the end of January. It's been a rough month. Maxing out my overtime. Barely sleeping enough. I've never enjoyed sitting around doing nothing as much as I have this month. We celebrated its demise with toasted sandwiches and a humongous brownie sundae. Then we made February resolutions.

Mine:

1) Have dumpling night.
I will devote one night to making hand-made dumplings. This is a long as process that I can probably only do once a year. But in a desperate attempt to show my Mexican and white roommates what legitimate Chinese food tastes like... I will sacrifice my right bicep for a night chopping fucking cabbages for an hour. My Mexican roommate will make Russian dumplings. It will be grand. We will rejoice.

Mmmm. So derishus.

2) Build my runs to 5 miles.
I suck at sprinting. I can't run fast for shit. But I can last long. If I don't get bored. I just wish there was a track at work instead of fucking treadmills. I hate that shit. But beggars can't be choosers. Plus I get to stare at hot Googz nerdz all day everyday.

Pretty sure this bitch is lying.

3) Keep consumption at bay to once or twice a month.
I'm going to try synchronizing this endeavor with show dates. Wild Beasts and Four Tet are up for February. So there goes.

C&C are not impressed by my goals.

4) Read more books.
Aiming a book a week. At least a book every two weeks. My brain needs exercise. LSAT classes start in March. Latest April. I need that shit oiled and ready to go. This will probably be something that spams over a couple months. Currently reading Middlesex. Hopefully move onto Google: The End of the World as We Know it. Then finish The Book Thief, which I started 2 years ago in Paris and for some reason forgot to finish it. Oh. Wait. First I need to finish Rorty's Philosophy and Social Hope. Now THAT is a fucking brain exercise.

Kind of my intellectual hero.

You know. I honestly don't know how the fuck I manage to spend so much money on food. On top of the free meals I get at work Monday through Friday, I managed to spend over $400 eating out for the month of January. What the F.

So I started a detailed personal expense sheet complete with color coding. See the difference for December and January below regarding food-related expenses, with the total on the upper right hand corner:

December '09

January '10

Yeah.

...

God damn it. My goal to save $1000 a month (???) has been modified to about $400.

February, please do me well.

"Perfection"

Jamie McCartney's "Vaginal Wall" based on molds of real vag

"The Perfect Vagina" is a documentary that tries to get behind the motivations of women (and girls as young as sixteen) who undergo vaginal surgery purely for aesthetic purposes.

The procedure in question is one where they basically snip off parts of your labia so that your vag looks more "tucked in," more "packaged," with nothing showing. Aka, no "beef curtains," no "hanging bits." They apply local anesthetic to your pom, then the doctor slices the extra flesh off and stitches the wounds.

Watching this documentary just triggered a flurry of thoughts.

First. Like all other forms of perfection that we (women) seek, whether it's your body, hair, face -- the desired change is always a result of some type of comparison. You see a girl slimmer than you, with longer legs than you, with clearer skin than you. You want what she has. You see it in the magazines, the models, the clothes, the glamor. You want what they have. When does a woman actually make the decision that her vagina doesn't look "right" or "pretty"? Unlike dicks, which seem to be much more openly discussed by men and women, there really isn't much conversation surrounding vaginal aesthetics. I mean, having to look at porn a good 70% of my time at work, I've probably seen every type of vagina you can imagine.

Nikki Tyler's vagina -- have it for $80

But what normal female does that, and who perpetuates this concept of an ideal vagina to the point where these women want to go under the knife? Porn? Doubtful, but maybe. Comments from men? Maybe. The latter is fucking ridiculous and appalling, but surely does the most damage. It also seems to be the more common factor amongst the women in the documentary who opt for surgery. That blows my mind and breaks my heart. To be honest, I've thought about vaginal surgery before. Not really thought about it, but I can somewhat understand the thought process. I've looked at my pom and thought, this really isn't all that attractive. But then again, I think... whose really is? I'm not going to get older and have a vagina that looks like it belongs on a 15 year old.


Second. How much of this pressure for perfection stems from ourselves, and how much can we really blame on external influences? I really want to say, "ALL of it." I want to say that we all have the ability to stand up to pressure and live the way we want.. but how many turn that theory into legitimate practice? Insecurity is something that stems from an inadequate understanding of what is "real" and "normal;" we've been conditioned to aspire to unrealistic and unhealthy ends. I understand that external forces via the media and celebrities are incredibly powerful, but I find it more difficult to understand how children aren't raised to love themselves and question what is forcibly spoon-fed to them by society.
I didn't grow up in a traditional Chinese family, but I know them well enough to know that Asian parents will give it to you straight when they think you're fat. I also know Asian culture well enough to know that the widespread concept of "normal" and "skinny" are in fact, not fucking normal whatsoever.

When you grow up in an environment like that, can you really expect you and your friends to know any better? I wrote a post a long while back about my body image in high school. I've been there. I'm not really sure what made me snap out of it. Maybe I grew up. Maybe I got tired. Maybe I just suddenly realized that I really didn't change by dropping 20 pounds. It was a part of my life that I'm so happy to say is long over.
You know what my mom said to me the other day? "You were so pretty when you lost all that weight. So pretty." Needless to say, that conversation ended as soon as it started.

And what about men? How far and how often do they perpetuate these expectations? Out of all the men I've dated (and I've had my share), only one has ever made a comment about my tremendous appetite in a... "concerned" manner. I told him to fuck himself. But I'm not going to deny that it made me self conscious. I'm also not going to deny that all the jokes people (mainly dudes) make about my eating has never had an effect on me.


Third. The double standard is still fucking at large.

Stay classy as always, D&G. Of course you're Italian.

Yes, I know men have body image issues. But honestly, guys, the pressure on young girls is ridiculous. It stems from external sources, then it's passed along from girl to girl with their constant comparison to each other and their critical eye. Nobody is more fierce than one girl judging another girl. We're constant in competition, and for what? Men, it seems. We seem to feel that we need that constant reassurance that we're worth it, more than others. My ex-boyfriend once told me that "99% of men do 99% of what they do for women." Well, you know what, I feel like the reverse is often true. To the point where we're now snipping off our labia so we can look "tighter." Don't even get me started on hymenoplasty.

I have one friend who got her nose done and got botox at age 20.
I have a few beautiful friends who are convinced that breast implants will make them happier.
I have one friend who had bulimia and went through therapy at age 22.
I have a couple friends who have all tried the starve-yourself-skinny method to lose weight.

People call them crazy. Shit, I call them crazy. But is it really that crazy?

Paying homage.

Tartine with tapenade, creme fraiche, sun dried tomatoes, salad and prosciutto -- Nice, France

On my "life's best" list, food is number one, hands down. It's then probably followed by music and traveling. Nothing else comes remotely close. Traveling probably gets a credit boost for being so closely tied to food.

Lemon butter sole crepe -- St. Malo, Normandy

Prosciutto, thyme and lemon pasta -- Rome

Indian/Pakistani food -- New Tayyabs, London

I can't remember when I came to grasp my unadulterated love for food and all things related. It probably had to be sometime in college, when I really got into cooking and slowly gained some means to check out restaurants that I wouldn't have otherwise been able to afford in high school. Not to mention that I had a body image issue in high school which resulted in my capping my caloric intake to 600-800 a day for a while.

Definitely 600+ calories (French toast -- Universal Cafe, SF)

I'm going to try my best to explain my complete devotion to food the best way I can, because I just don't think some people understand, and I don't even know if I'm capable of doing it justice.



I eat a lot.

Korean BBQ -- Brothers, SF

I'm known amongst all my friends to eat a lot. My nickname while studying abroad in Paris was "Jaba." My regular nickname is a food item. Despite the fact that my work pays for all my meals Monday through Friday and I don't ever buy groceries, I still manage to spend hundreds of dollars a month on food. This isn't just some hormonal or chemical tragedy.

1 pizza each -- Rome, Italy

Brodard Chateau, Orange County

I love the sensory aspects -- visuals, the smells, the textures, the amazing spectrum of taste.

I love the science and the art behind the creation, the manipulation of ingredients and the innovation in cooking methods and styles.

Thanksgiving in London = Skype video session with mom in Chicago for step-by-step guide to making the perfect turkey

I love the social implications behind food. It's a form of identity, homely comfort, and social/cultural interaction.



Perhaps one of the best things about food is sharing. It does something to us that I can't quite explain. Food is a labor of love.

Lamb chops with balsamic reduction and glazed onions -- home made!

Think of the last time you really craved something specific -- whether it's a regional cuisine, something from your grandma, or whatever other gastronomic void you needed to fill. Maybe you were hung over, sick, or simply starving. Think of when you satisfied that thirst. That moment is fucking amazing.

Steak frites -- Bistro de Beaubourg, Paris

House burger -- Father's Office, Santa Monica

Raspberry and cream waffle -- Amsterdam

Gyro avec frites - Paris

The first few months that I moved to San Francisco, I tried the whole pescatarian thing, considering there are tons of vegetarian options at work and the city is so vegetarian friendly. I did well for a couple of months, eating out often at vegetarian or vegan restaurants.

Guacamole and vegan ensalada caesar -- Gracias Madre, SF

I've since given up, for the most part. I've now admitted to being an "aspiring pescatarian" that consumes meat when I deem appropriate. And by appropriate, I mean "special occasions" that involve eating at particular restaurants and/or certain dishes outside of my normal routine.

Chacuteries = special occasion (Fernandez and Wells, London)

How the fuck are you going to eat Asian food without eating meat. I mean.. I am in San Francisco. A gastronomical heaven.

I've concluded that I'm just not willing to give it up.

I'm not willing to give up yakitori.

Yakitori Totto, NYC

I'm not willing to give up lu rou fan (滷肉飯).
I'm not willing to give up Taiwanese sausages or In-n-Out.

Patties: two thumbs up. Grilled cheese: two thumbs down.

I'm not willing to give up duck confit or peiking duck.
I'm not willing to give up chorizo.

Tapas and beer - Barcelona

Fuck giving up dimsum too.


If you've seen my face when I take the first bite of something that hits the spot (my food o-face), maybe you'll get a hint of what I'm trying to communicate.


You'll never see me happier.

Primary.

I'm back in the blogosphere. Not really sure why I quit in the first place.

Oh. Right. I wanted more private release. I wanted my very own digital confessions booth. So I turned private. Turns out, I didn't much to confess to myself. I had some solid posts, but they were always darker things that I would rather avoid as the consistent thread in my writing. It also didn't seem to quite make sense to try to be funny by yourself or to receive no feedback regarding opinions you are itching to unleash. Things change when you know there's a potential audience.

I gave up two things recently. Not so much as new year's resolutions, because frankly, I don't really believe in that shit. My decision for self improvement just happened to dawn on the eve of 2009.

1. Smoking.
I've witnessed a rising anxiety level which I've thus far replaced with exercise. Operation Hot Bod and Operation No Ash are so far working hand in hand.

2. Casual hook ups.
So the last casual hook up I had turned out to be something like this:

I'm hanging out at home and receive a text.
"Hey, what are you doing."
I raise my eyebrows at the sender's name. "Nothing. At home. What's up"
"I want to come over and play with you."
I stare at my phone. This motherfucker. Seriously? Apparently some men still believe that repeated no's mean yes. My fingers punch the keyboard with more force than usual: "Stop texting me this bullshit with the pretense of wanting to be friends. No means no."
An almost immediate response: "LOL that's the funniest thing you've said in a while girl. Come on, be real."
Another text immediately follows: "I will eat you out like there's no pussy left on earth."

...

Then follows an hour-long stream of unanswered texts along the lines of, "I respect you but expect you to fuck" (it's almost poetic), "You're a slut and I'm a whore so let's get it on," "You deleted me off Facebook??? You can't deny what you really are... whore."

So Mr. Psycho isn't exactly representative of the general male population, I understand that. I just thought it was a good story. Not to mention that homeboy tried to add me on Facebook again two months later.

But let's be real. I can't do no strings attached, and frankly, unless both people have incredible emotive controls, consistent hook ups will most likely fuck shit up. All casual hook ups have gotten me is drama and/or confusion, so I'm quitting that shit.

I'm going to be a sober nun for as long as it lasts me. World, rejoice!