Gay or European?
Monday, May 09, 2005
Friday, May 06, 2005
Quelle Drame
Oh my oh my. The contretemps surrounding American Idol is blanketing the airwaves. Did Paula Abdul sleep with Corey Clark?! Did he have an unfair advantage?! Can we actually trust the producers of this program anymore?! What does this mean for the future of American Idol?! How could something like this happen?!
Okay. Breathe, people.
Could we take a moment and just ponder the juggernaut of mediocrity that is American Idol?
It is a show whose winning contestants are determined by PHONE CALLS. Do you hear me?! PHONE CALLS! You can call in as many times as you can get through to ensure that your favorite contestant goes to the next round. How PURE a process do we think this is?! Are we shocked and stunned that somehow it's not a Jimmy Carter-certified ballot box that made Ruben Freakin Studdard the last American Idol?! It's a TV SHOW--not the first election in post-Soviet Czechoslovakia for heaven's sake! It's a TV show featuring marginally competent vocalists, with a couple of really good ones like Kelly Clarkson thrown in to make it seem legit. For god's sake, can we stop talking about this?!
The irony of this situation is that it sums up the essence of reality television programming, even as it seeks to discredit it. That essence is as follows: taking something that isn't really dramatic or interesting (if you really honestly think about it), like 9 people you don't know on an island you've never seen--or 22 adolescents who think they can sing--or 9 punk ass teenagers in a tricked-out house "interacting" with each other---and attempting to create drama and interest around it.
Now ABC's Primetime Live is trying to do the same thing by talking about a reality show. Did Paula Abdul, eminent has-been, sleep with Corey Clark, no-talent opportunistic dork--before he got kicked off the show anyway for having a criminal record?
I don't mean to sound like an elitist, but does anyone REALLY care?! Anyone over the age of 20, that is? Is this an issue that has been troubling Americans, even as our troops die daily in Iraq, as John Bolton is a heartbeat away from helming our ship at the UN, as Tom DeLay still walks the halls of Congress?
Somebody make it stop.
Alternatively, somebody should do a reality TV show. About this woman, right? She has a daughter from China, right? And she writes a blog, right? And she has a weird sense of humor--and she pretty much wants to put her foot through the TV but for the sole saving grace of Jon Stewart, Seth Cohen of The OC, every Law and Order episode ever made and especially the ones with Fred Thompson, and the occasional dose of Oprah. What do you think?! Ohmigod! It could be, like, so totally dramatic and interesting! And Ryan Seacrest will even host it: "Tonight: your results are in, and E will either eat a Chipotle burrito or a bowl of Honeynut Cheerios for dinner after putting her child to bed. After the break we learn how E's dinner will go! Don't miss it! And stay tuned for scenes from next week's program where your votes will decide if E misses The Daily Show to pluck her eyebrows while b**ching about her 'combination skin' OR whether she goes to Gay Drunk Karaoke and tears the joint up with a Neil Diamond medley."
Who's in?!
Okay. Breathe, people.
Could we take a moment and just ponder the juggernaut of mediocrity that is American Idol?
It is a show whose winning contestants are determined by PHONE CALLS. Do you hear me?! PHONE CALLS! You can call in as many times as you can get through to ensure that your favorite contestant goes to the next round. How PURE a process do we think this is?! Are we shocked and stunned that somehow it's not a Jimmy Carter-certified ballot box that made Ruben Freakin Studdard the last American Idol?! It's a TV SHOW--not the first election in post-Soviet Czechoslovakia for heaven's sake! It's a TV show featuring marginally competent vocalists, with a couple of really good ones like Kelly Clarkson thrown in to make it seem legit. For god's sake, can we stop talking about this?!
The irony of this situation is that it sums up the essence of reality television programming, even as it seeks to discredit it. That essence is as follows: taking something that isn't really dramatic or interesting (if you really honestly think about it), like 9 people you don't know on an island you've never seen--or 22 adolescents who think they can sing--or 9 punk ass teenagers in a tricked-out house "interacting" with each other---and attempting to create drama and interest around it.
Now ABC's Primetime Live is trying to do the same thing by talking about a reality show. Did Paula Abdul, eminent has-been, sleep with Corey Clark, no-talent opportunistic dork--before he got kicked off the show anyway for having a criminal record?
I don't mean to sound like an elitist, but does anyone REALLY care?! Anyone over the age of 20, that is? Is this an issue that has been troubling Americans, even as our troops die daily in Iraq, as John Bolton is a heartbeat away from helming our ship at the UN, as Tom DeLay still walks the halls of Congress?
Somebody make it stop.
Alternatively, somebody should do a reality TV show. About this woman, right? She has a daughter from China, right? And she writes a blog, right? And she has a weird sense of humor--and she pretty much wants to put her foot through the TV but for the sole saving grace of Jon Stewart, Seth Cohen of The OC, every Law and Order episode ever made and especially the ones with Fred Thompson, and the occasional dose of Oprah. What do you think?! Ohmigod! It could be, like, so totally dramatic and interesting! And Ryan Seacrest will even host it: "Tonight: your results are in, and E will either eat a Chipotle burrito or a bowl of Honeynut Cheerios for dinner after putting her child to bed. After the break we learn how E's dinner will go! Don't miss it! And stay tuned for scenes from next week's program where your votes will decide if E misses The Daily Show to pluck her eyebrows while b**ching about her 'combination skin' OR whether she goes to Gay Drunk Karaoke and tears the joint up with a Neil Diamond medley."
Who's in?!
Bless Her Heart
As Dolly Parton said in Steel Magnolias, "Now, you know I would rather walk on my lips than criticize, but..."
This is courtesy of a former colleague. It's unkind to laugh at it, but laugh I did. For several minutes. So this is the part where, in true southern style, I say, "bless her heart" before serving her up to you for (friendly, good natured, I hope) ridicule.
Wing Sings
(Click on "Samples" and go to "Dancing Queen" if you only have time for one song).
This is courtesy of a former colleague. It's unkind to laugh at it, but laugh I did. For several minutes. So this is the part where, in true southern style, I say, "bless her heart" before serving her up to you for (friendly, good natured, I hope) ridicule.
Wing Sings
(Click on "Samples" and go to "Dancing Queen" if you only have time for one song).
Thursday, May 05, 2005
F.D.Gay
The FDA has just determined that it will bar gay men from serving as anonymous sperm donors.
Nice.
Because I can think of about 7 straight guys from college--right off the top of my head--who would be higher risk donors than all of the gay men I know combined.
So if you are a straight man who takes a yearly Spring Break and sleeps with multiple women without protection every time, you can come on home and donate your sperm till you just can't donate no mo'. If you are a straight man who routinely uses prostitutes, you can easily be a "john" of sperm donation with no problems. But if you are a gay man who has been with the same partner for 15 years? Sorry. You are a risky proposition.
Helloooooo? Are the inmates running the asylum? Where is the science in this decision? How about measuring behavior and using advanced testing to determine who is or is not an appropriate donor? Although, with this administration, I suppose that hoping for evidence-based science and data-driven decision-making is a fool's errand...
Nice.
Because I can think of about 7 straight guys from college--right off the top of my head--who would be higher risk donors than all of the gay men I know combined.
So if you are a straight man who takes a yearly Spring Break and sleeps with multiple women without protection every time, you can come on home and donate your sperm till you just can't donate no mo'. If you are a straight man who routinely uses prostitutes, you can easily be a "john" of sperm donation with no problems. But if you are a gay man who has been with the same partner for 15 years? Sorry. You are a risky proposition.
Helloooooo? Are the inmates running the asylum? Where is the science in this decision? How about measuring behavior and using advanced testing to determine who is or is not an appropriate donor? Although, with this administration, I suppose that hoping for evidence-based science and data-driven decision-making is a fool's errand...
Tuesday, May 03, 2005
The O'Mommy Factor
All I'm sayin' is that I am gonna be madder than a long-tailed cat in a room full of rocking chairs (thank you, Dan Rather) if someone doesn't get me this for my first Mother's Day:
MothersDayGiftIdea
MothersDayGiftIdea
Monday, May 02, 2005
No Offense, But...
Okay. Having been home from China for about 7 weeks, I would like to take this opportunity to say the following things, and I mean them in the kindest, tenderest way:
To All the Caucasians:
I get it. She doesn't look like me. You think that's funny/cute/remarkable.
You have about one more month to keep saying it, but as soon as she understands what you are saying I'm going to shut you down HARD. And I'll do that by discussing YOUR looks ad nauseum: "My! You used to be so much thinner! You look nothing like your younger photos. Your son is quite a bit fatter than you. Your husband must be what? ten years younger than you?" Trust me. I'll do it. Because as funny/cute as you think it is, and as much as you think you are the first person to say it to me, it's getting old really fast. Not to mention that it's not actually that funny, if you think about it. It just IS what it is: a clueless person reminding my daughter that she is not "mine" and that she is different. She'll already know it and won't need you to comment on how not like her parents she is to feel that reality. So chuckle to yourself if you do indeed find it funny, but just assume I've heard it a hundred times before thinking you'll share the mirth with me. I get it. She doesn't look like me. How hilarious!
To all the Asians:
If my daughter is staring at you and/or smiling at you, it's because she does that to everyone. It's NOT because you are Asian and "familiar" to her. Seriously. I know you mean well. But really. That makes no sense. As I've said before, to assume that a random Asian person will be more "familiar" to my daughter than I am, or her father or her grandparents is ludicrous. She may notice similarities at her age, but children don't develop a sense of racial identity until much, much later. The fact that you are Asian is not what makes my daughter smile at you. It's because she smiles at lots of people. She also DOESN'T smile at lots of people, some of them also Asian. She smiles at people she wishes to smile at, end of story, be they fluorescently white Scottish people, dark African-American people or anyone in between. Again, I know you mean well. But, again, it's getting old. So if she smiles at you, take the compliment personally, not as a member of an ethnic group.
To all the Nosy People:
Don't ask me how much "it" cost. How much did your kid cost? Oh, you wouldn't dare put a price on your children?! Right. So why ask me to do it? I was asked this question this weekend and I answered with, "More than we had in the bank; far far less than she's worth." The questioner pressed with, "No really. Just a ballpark?" I couldn't believe it. Have you ever heard of google, dude? Look it up.
Okay, now I can go to sleep with that off my chest. You all can bill me for the full hour of therapy...
To All the Caucasians:
I get it. She doesn't look like me. You think that's funny/cute/remarkable.
You have about one more month to keep saying it, but as soon as she understands what you are saying I'm going to shut you down HARD. And I'll do that by discussing YOUR looks ad nauseum: "My! You used to be so much thinner! You look nothing like your younger photos. Your son is quite a bit fatter than you. Your husband must be what? ten years younger than you?" Trust me. I'll do it. Because as funny/cute as you think it is, and as much as you think you are the first person to say it to me, it's getting old really fast. Not to mention that it's not actually that funny, if you think about it. It just IS what it is: a clueless person reminding my daughter that she is not "mine" and that she is different. She'll already know it and won't need you to comment on how not like her parents she is to feel that reality. So chuckle to yourself if you do indeed find it funny, but just assume I've heard it a hundred times before thinking you'll share the mirth with me. I get it. She doesn't look like me. How hilarious!
To all the Asians:
If my daughter is staring at you and/or smiling at you, it's because she does that to everyone. It's NOT because you are Asian and "familiar" to her. Seriously. I know you mean well. But really. That makes no sense. As I've said before, to assume that a random Asian person will be more "familiar" to my daughter than I am, or her father or her grandparents is ludicrous. She may notice similarities at her age, but children don't develop a sense of racial identity until much, much later. The fact that you are Asian is not what makes my daughter smile at you. It's because she smiles at lots of people. She also DOESN'T smile at lots of people, some of them also Asian. She smiles at people she wishes to smile at, end of story, be they fluorescently white Scottish people, dark African-American people or anyone in between. Again, I know you mean well. But, again, it's getting old. So if she smiles at you, take the compliment personally, not as a member of an ethnic group.
To all the Nosy People:
Don't ask me how much "it" cost. How much did your kid cost? Oh, you wouldn't dare put a price on your children?! Right. So why ask me to do it? I was asked this question this weekend and I answered with, "More than we had in the bank; far far less than she's worth." The questioner pressed with, "No really. Just a ballpark?" I couldn't believe it. Have you ever heard of google, dude? Look it up.
Okay, now I can go to sleep with that off my chest. You all can bill me for the full hour of therapy...
Sunday, May 01, 2005
Get Me To The Church On Time
So I went to Atlanta to my dear friend's wedding. Went to the pre-wedding activities, went to the rehearsal dinner, (and with permission and urging of the bride and groom) brought the bambina to every event, where she was a total peach. She was even a peach on the flight down there, just sleeping and chatting and eating animal crackers.
Quelle surprise (or not, perhaps) that 90 minutes before the wedding, my lil peach had THE MOTHER OF ALL MELTDOWNS and completely lost it. Not just "threw a tantrum" or "cried a lot." Nope. Lost It Totally. I realized about 30 minutes into the meltdown that you can fly a baby to a wedding weekend but you cannot make her attend. And so I took off my dress, put on my jeans, and laid down next to her as she finally napped for two and a half hours--right through the wedding.
In the end, the bambina did manage to wake up and get happy and dressed up enough to attend the reception to see the bride and groom, but I was profoundly depressed at not seeing my friend marry the love of his life. Everyone was tremendously gracious and agreed that it was less offensive to miss the wedding than to bring a screaming baby, but I still felt sad that I had missed out on something so important to me.
As I drove the sleeping bambina home after the reception I realized that while I had missed something very important, I had also experienced something that should have been equally important to me. I had just had my first experience as a mother where, without thinking, I put my child's needs before my own. She needed to be alone, to just be held by her mama, to not have to meet any more new people, to just be a baby and nap for a couple of hours--and she got exactly what she needed. To be honest, before I had her, I always thought it would be more of a struggle to do that, but it wasn't. Which is not to say that I wasn't disappointed beyond words, but that I was surprised in hindsight about how easy it was to just say Uncle and put her need for comfort before my own need for socializing.
In the past, when I've been asked about when I'd have kids, I always joked that I would not do it till I was ready, and that I'd know I was ready when I would gladly relinquish the last slice of pizza to my child. I'm pretty territorial about my food, especially my pizza, so for me to not even flinch at the thought of giving The Last Slice to another person, was for me, a good indicator of when I'd be ready for children, on the theory that if you are too selfish to give your kid a slice of pizza that you would rather eat yourself, then you ought not to have a kid to deprive of pizza in the first place. On Saturday night I felt like I had truly crossed over into motherhood, because I gave my daughter something that I actually wanted for myself...and although I was bummed...I knew I had done the right thing.
Moral of this story? Be sure to order a topping your kid hates.
Quelle surprise (or not, perhaps) that 90 minutes before the wedding, my lil peach had THE MOTHER OF ALL MELTDOWNS and completely lost it. Not just "threw a tantrum" or "cried a lot." Nope. Lost It Totally. I realized about 30 minutes into the meltdown that you can fly a baby to a wedding weekend but you cannot make her attend. And so I took off my dress, put on my jeans, and laid down next to her as she finally napped for two and a half hours--right through the wedding.
In the end, the bambina did manage to wake up and get happy and dressed up enough to attend the reception to see the bride and groom, but I was profoundly depressed at not seeing my friend marry the love of his life. Everyone was tremendously gracious and agreed that it was less offensive to miss the wedding than to bring a screaming baby, but I still felt sad that I had missed out on something so important to me.
As I drove the sleeping bambina home after the reception I realized that while I had missed something very important, I had also experienced something that should have been equally important to me. I had just had my first experience as a mother where, without thinking, I put my child's needs before my own. She needed to be alone, to just be held by her mama, to not have to meet any more new people, to just be a baby and nap for a couple of hours--and she got exactly what she needed. To be honest, before I had her, I always thought it would be more of a struggle to do that, but it wasn't. Which is not to say that I wasn't disappointed beyond words, but that I was surprised in hindsight about how easy it was to just say Uncle and put her need for comfort before my own need for socializing.
In the past, when I've been asked about when I'd have kids, I always joked that I would not do it till I was ready, and that I'd know I was ready when I would gladly relinquish the last slice of pizza to my child. I'm pretty territorial about my food, especially my pizza, so for me to not even flinch at the thought of giving The Last Slice to another person, was for me, a good indicator of when I'd be ready for children, on the theory that if you are too selfish to give your kid a slice of pizza that you would rather eat yourself, then you ought not to have a kid to deprive of pizza in the first place. On Saturday night I felt like I had truly crossed over into motherhood, because I gave my daughter something that I actually wanted for myself...and although I was bummed...I knew I had done the right thing.
Moral of this story? Be sure to order a topping your kid hates.
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