No Two Alike

White folks are so funny - sometimes. Minutes ago, I was riding the elevator up from the laundry room located in the basement of my building. I stopped on the ground floor to pick up two men, one with a cart loaded full of chocolate goodies and another younger guy with a backpack. I asked the candy man, "Halloween?" to which he rambled on about his and his wife's touring bus company that would be giving a spooky Halloween bus tour of Philadelphia tomorrow night. Within a few more floors, the other guy, the younger one, turned to look at me, lit up his eyes, broke into a smile and nearly jumped down my throat with quite possibly the most enthusiastic and friendliest "HI!" I had ever heard in my life. As wonderful as his intention may have been, it was all the more laughable once I quickly scanned his face and came up with nothing. I don't know you, dude; more importantly, you don't know me. I smiled anyway and returned the greeting. He didn't seem perturbed, though. He exchanged a few words with the guy with massive boxes of candy and stepped out. The elevator doors closed and the candy man inquired, "Do you know him from Wharton?" To which I cheerfully replied, "Nope! Never seen him before in my life." For a Wharton student, he's not very perceptive now, is he? He TOTALLY mistook me for some other short and stout Asian girl. Idiot. I kid when I say that all white people look the same, but seriously, if I can tell you apart, why can't you tell me apart from your Asian friends?

Healthily Working Your Way Through A Bad Breakup

What have I been doing this weekend? Some on-line shopping/browsing, one partial viewing of the second Bridget Jones' Diary movie, slivers of Dr. 90210, and several helpings of a new show on the Style Network called "Maxed Out." There's this terribly blunt bitch lady who serves up smack-downs to adults who have difficulty getting their debt under control. For shock value alone, it's quite riveting television. I don’t think it’s effective to approach money so harshly, but apparently it works for some people. “Maxed Out” needs to employ a therapist to clean up the emotional damage this woman leaves behind. Bitch lady has no problems telling people "you're a control freak – stop it” and “he already has a mother, he doesn’t need a second" and "you spent more than $10K on appliances and what do you have to show for it? Nothing!" and other in-your-face really mean statements that make adults cry on television. Having had enough of this negative energy, I returned to the almighty world wide web this morning determined to end my quest for a rug only to be welcomed by more crazy bitch energy.

Let me introduce you to The Ex Apple Green 5-piece Stainless Steel Knife Set. The description reads “A radical alternative to the typical block of wood, The Ex 5-piece Stainless Steel Knife Set lends a touch of morbid style to any kitchen. The high quality stainless steel knives deliver exceptional performance and are stored in an anonymous effigy dedicated to whomever you please.” Judging from the trademark symbol attached to this set, I gather this knife set is only one of an entire series. Entertaining? For a nanosecond. Scary? I'm going to have nightmares tonight. TOTALLY - FREAKS - ME - OUT.

Having never gone through a nasty breakup myself, I guess it’s inappropriate for me to criticize members of the marketing demographic who would readily purchase such a violent addition to their kitchen décor all after a bad breakup…actually, no, I think it’s safe to say that anyone who would buy this would never be a friend of mine. Too scary!

Naan+Samosas+Chicken Tikka Masala=Goodness

If I'm good at anything, it would be EATING. I found myself at a local Indian buffet for dinner on Tuesday. By the time I rolled my butt out of there, I had devoured four pieces of delicious naan, two generous servings of saucy chicken tikka masala, some cauliflower potato mash type dish, and somewhere in the process fit THREE samosas onto my plate. My mouth was in heaven. Of course my body underwent a severe carb crash that night which was none too pleasant, but gosh, do I love Indian food. I wish I had some samosas right now - maybe with a little of that tasty onion relish stuff. Drool.

Gooey-ness

Cereal bars don't have an ounce of nutritious value. If anything, they only provide a quick sugar rush. I didn't realize how true this was until today when I opened a squished apple cereal bar from the bottom of my bag. The weight of the contents of my bag had pressed the bar down flat into a near thick paste of gooey-ness. The first bite was nasty; the second worse; by the third, I had no choice but to throw it into my wastebasket. I don't think I'll ever buy another cereal bar again. What will I do with the box of six that I just bought on Monday?

Pwitty Flowers

Did you know that Monday the 16th was National Boss Day? I don't think many folks realized - or cared, for that matter. As a majorly strug-gull-ling boss myself, someone took pity on my sorry ass and surprised me with this bright bouquet. The colorful blooms brought some much needed energy into my office. I'm happy to report that they're holding up quite well in their new home. This picture was actually taken this morning, nearly two days after they first arrived. It's true what they say: flowers really can cheer up your day.

"Always" in America

A free sample arrived in the mail yesterday. The box was unusually large considering its content. I spent a considerable amount of time opening the box only to find that there was another box within. It was like a Russian doll scheme. Among another layer of blue cardboard and even more wasteful colorful paper inserts advertising Always pads, was, at last, the actual sample. One small individually wrapped thin maxi pad with a conveniently located wet wipe attached to the outside of the maxi wrapper. Whoop-dee-doo.

Can you imagine the amount of time, energy and resources corporate America wastes on marketing projects like these? How about spending even a quarter of that effort on feeding the hungry or making illiteracy a thing of the past? It makes me sick. Leave it to the Americans to do everything big. (By the way, I shot these images with my phone to give a sense of how ridiculously oversized the packaging was for the piddly little maxi pad inside.)

18/10

18/10. That's what they say you should look for when you're in the market for new flatware. The 18 refers to the percentage of chromium and the 10 refers to the amount of nickel in the metal, although they say whether 5 or 10, it's pretty much the same. Just avoid 18/0; zero would be like committing a crime. I had never bought flatware before. When I really needed utensils for my first apartment, a friend gave me her old set (18/10, of course), and although very much appreciated and fully functional, I found it too modern-looking for my taste. When yet another of the few remaining already half-mangled teaspoons from this very set found its way into the garbage disposal last week, I had had enough. I was stressed to the max at work and hearing the clatter of the spoon against the metal teeth of the disposal made me want to do something drastic - like break a dish Greek wedding style, or slap someone, or myself, for that matter. Instead, I quickly shifted focus and itched for some form of instant gratification. I went straight to the computer - soapy hands and all - and turned to retail therapy.

Everything I really wanted cost anywhere between $100 and $250 for a set of 8 or 12. But I was in crisis mode and needed to buy something. I compromised at SmartBargains and settled for functional ones for $60. I liked (not loved) the way the set appeared in the picture enough: and thus I idiotically settled even though I was skeptical of the set's "satin finish." BIG mistake. I should have known better than to have ordered something so high on my wish list on-line without ever having seen them myself, especially in a needy state like that. New flatware was on my grand list of "items to buy" for four years. So instead of getting what I really wanted, I'm stuck using these guys (see above right) for the next ten years.

It's Been A While

Yesterday I found myself seated on a pew in a church. If you know anything about me, you'd know that this is a strange occurrence. In the past eight years, I think I've attended maybe five proper services. That may not sound like much, but if you knew that I spent every single Sunday of my life until I was 17 in a church heavily involved in church activities, you'd know something was up.

How the heck did it happen, you ask? An acquaintance invited me to her home church where the concertmaster of the Philadelphia Orchestra was performing in a free string recital. It was pouring in Philly all evening and without an umbrella, I arrived and uncomfortably sat atop a bright green pew cushion with water dripping off the ends of my hair and my trench coat. It was an old church and smelled musty. I remembered what a friend had told me recently about the source of mustiness: black mold growing inside walls. But then why did the smell seem so comfortingly dry?

I thought physically being inside a church would strike me in some way, but it didn't. Throughout the performance my mind went blank. I found myself staring not at David Kim, but at the architecture of the chapel. In the middle of the god-awful Shostakovich trio in E minor (I confirmed that I detest 20th century composers), I wondered what my offering would go towards. For kicks, I reached for the Bible shelved on the back of the pew in front of mine and opened the good book to a random place. My eyes fell to Genesis 31:9, "Thus God has taken away your father's livestock, and given them to me." I read the full chapter for context, and I had several profound interpretations, but in the end, I just sat there like a bump on a log not moved in any particular way. Not by the music, not by the people around me, not by the Bible verse and certainly not by the sacred structure in which I quietly sat. What's up with that?

Peet-sa

As a kid, peet-sa was all about Pizza Hut. That greasy Supreme deep dish meant everything to me. In college, I developed a taste for broccoli and thin crust pizzas. I've since put the two together and enjoy pizza on a whole new level. My new thing is a Trader Joe's frozen margherita pizza topped with fresh vegetables. If I had extra mozzarella, I'd sprinkle some over the veggies, but I usually don't have any on hand. Mushrooms are also a favorite of mine - has been for years. I sauteed some nice thick slices of fresh baby bellas and loved every minute of it while the bro complained about the mushrooms stinking up the place. I don't know what he was complaining about - it smelled like freaking [delicious] sauteed mushrooms! I ate the whole pie in one sitting while watching a really bad Vin Diesel movie. The pizza kicked the movie's ass.

Chusok?

The Korean Thanksgiving holiday is just as much about family gatherings as the American one; it just occurs before the fourth Thursday of November. Chusok occurs on the fifteenth day of the eighth lunar month. Websites tell me that Korea celebrates Chusok for three days this year: October 5th, 6th and 7th. Damn, I didn't know my people were capable of partying for three days straight. Don't ask me about Chusok or how the lunar calendar differs from the solar - all I know is that it's a huge holiday (just like the American Thanksgiving) and the date changes every year.

My beef: I don't remember my family ever celebrating Chusok. It was as if my parents were too busy to celebrate, or perhaps they deliberately ignored the holiday since none of their family members were in the States. Similarly, Christmas was not a fun or joyous occasion on most years. Perhaps Chusok just marked the beginning of a miserable holiday season and therefore my family didn't put in the effort to acknowledge the gloomy days ahead.

All I know is that on Thursday, a professor walked into my office after one of his students handed out moon cakes in honor of her home country's holiday and he asked me if I knew what it (the cake) was. Of course, just as he asked me, another professor and two students walked into my office right behind him. As all four faces turned to me, I could do nothing but stare blankly back at them and pathetically confess that "I honestly don't know. My family never observed that holiday." And then I mumbled something under my breath to the effect of how pathetic this made me. This got a few chuckles and no one thought twice about it, but I sure felt dumb looking the way I do and not knowing about my parents' native country's biggest holiday.

I am seriously going to have to learn more about the motherland. Anybody care to share their experiences with Chusok? All I know is that on this Thanksgiving holiday, folks visit the burial sites of their ancestors, return home, eat lots of good food including dduk, play games and get several days off from work. Oh, and I know for a fact that there's no turkey or mashed taters on the spread.

Boy, it really sucked to grow up in the States without any relatives around. If we had even one uncle or aunt around, I'm sure we would have celebrated and I wouldn't have felt like such a moron on Thursday.

Faculty Privileges

I've checked out books from the main library on campus under various statuses (is stati the proper plural of status?). First, as a student, I was entitled to three weeks for each item before fines posted to my account. As staff, I was entitled to three months, or maybe it was four. As I finished and closed my recent loan tonight, I caught a glimpse of the yellow paper glued onto the inside of the book. As "faculty," I'm apparently entitled to a loan term of nearly seven months - that's nearly a full academic year! Talk about the perks of being part of the faculty. How do I sign up?

Unpopped Popcorn: Never Again

You know that awful I'm-gonna-hurl artificial butter smell emitted by microwave popcorn? And that all too familiar line on the bag that reads "all microwaves vary in strength?" Even if you decrease the prescribed three minutes and thirty seconds to just three, the microwave always seems to scorch one side of the bag so badly that you ruin the whole bag anyway.

Those days are over.

Say "hello" to the world of popping corn atop a gas stove. No, not Jiffy style, but in an actual metal kettle with a cranking wheel that stirs around the kernels. It's like freaking magic. A little half cup fills the entire pot. Then you drizzle butter that you've melted all on your own and sprinkle with salt as your mouth pleases. And all those unpopped kernels at the bottom of your burnt bag? Never again! A kettle pops pretty much every kernel perfectly. Case in point: I present to you the remnants of my last kettle corn popping session. Look how few there are! I would highly recommend mixing red and yellow corn for a pretty and tasty mix. I don't think I'll ever go back to microwave popcorn.

A Proper Oriental Rug

I've been lusting after a quality oriental rug forever; when I say forever, I mean for over three years. A 5'x8' or 7'x10' rug should do the trick for my current living room space, but the ones I like would mean that I'd have to miss a rent payment - not so sure my landlord would be ok with that. Do you know how unaffordable rugs are? Pile count aside, if you want anything decently made of wool, it's a downright investment. No wonder people's wills include heirloom rugs!

I've checked out Ikea, Target, Home Depot, and other stores of this nature, but their rugs are rarely ever made of wool and I don't like their styles. Call me an old grandma, but I really want an ornately patterned oriental rug and (pardonez-moi if I sound ultra snooty here) the cheap modern styles just don't meet my standards. But, alas, I want to feel the plush wool beneath my stockinged feet. I want to park my flat ass atop the soft pile and read my book of the week. I really just want a beautiful rug to grace the floor of my apartment. No doubt I would throw nasty looks and issue threats to anyone who'd dare attempt to eat or drink anywhere near it.

I periodically browse through catalogs or discount on-line sites hoping to find a bargain piece, but even then, I am undoubtedly drawn to the higher end items. It's funny to think that something one walks on could cost so much. These Smart Bargains picks range from $500 to $1000. If anyone is feeling particularly generous, I'm flexible: I'll accept checks (personal or cashier's), money orders, plastic, or heck, cold hard cash would work, too. I'm not picky :p.