pizza or rice?

I felt somewhat uncomfortable when my coworker told me that her friends adopted a Chinese baby girl. You'd like to give adoptive parents the benefit of the doubt, but I always wonder about the motivation behind it all. Is it a form of cultural imperialism? Madonna always had a fetish for people of color and she's continually building a family that resembles the rainbow coalition. Angelina Jolie seems to see it as a philanthropic extension of her "UN work".

How about the non-celebrity people around us? Do they want an exotic trophy baby to parade around the community? Do they see themselves as righteous do-gooders rescuing a poor little unwanted soul? Racial stereotyping plays a part in coloring choices and shaping expectations. Are adopters expecting their Asian baby to be a "model" child - smart (math & science of course), quiet and obedient?

Equally interesting is how the adoptive parents act around Asians in public? In my community, some parents are somewhat self-conscious in two different ways. Some caucasian parents (I'm generalizing because most cases in my area involve caucasian people) have acted cautious around me - perhaps wondering if I'm passing judgment. In contrast, some other caucasian parents were beaming with pride and made a concerted effort to catch my attention as they strolled their adopted Asian baby in front of me. I guess they wanted to make a point that they're doing good for my culture (even though I probably don't share the same ethnicity as their baby). Interestingly, the baby usually stares at me too. I always wonder if the baby recognizes that my face kind of resembles his/her own face...

So why did my coworker's friends want to adopt a Chinese baby? Well, the mother had a difficult first pregnancy and an equally difficult time dealing with their infant son. Ok - I could understand that as a reason for adopting. But before I could ask why Chinese, my coworker blurts out that the couple simply wanted a Chinese girl. And especially the guy - he's always wanted a little Asian girl. My coworker tells me that the guy would see a little Asian girl in public and say to his wife "She's so cute...I want THAT!" Creepy. Yellow fever on red alert. I seriously hope this isn't some fetish being played in a disturbingly wrong way. And "wanting THAT" - is he talking about a baby or a rug?

So the asiaphiles traveled to China to pick up their little Asian girl. They expected the orphanage to be full of squalor with dirt floors, but were pleasantly surprised to find a nice operation. They were also expecting their new child to be a "demur little china doll", but found out their new daughter was just as much of a "little monster" as most American kids can be. I'm hoping the little girl makes them go apeshit.

Now my coworker is hosting a birthday party for her own daughter and not suprisingly, her friends want to show off their new Asian baby. My coworker worried if the planned lunch of pizza and burgers would be okay for the new Chinese girl. "You don't think I have to bring out rice and vegetables, do you?" I told her to stick to the plan and there's no need to bring out chopsticks.

you got served

Are your choices of service professionals racially motivated? Some of us people of color seem to dance the fine line of wanting to support minority-owned businesses and wanting to get good service from whoever can provide it at a good rate. But what about even simpler daily choices? For example, if there are 2 open cashier lines at the grocery store, do you make a decision on physical appearance or race? We know this is the case for our prejudiced caucasian brethren. Personally, I would try to observe which cashier appears to be quicker, more competent and friendly. But if there is no clear distinction in those categories, I would probably gravitate towards the person of color. Why is that? Unspoken kinship? Playing the percentages? Reverse racism (haha)?

One recent customer service experience (even though it didn't involve choice), made me think of this issue. Recently, I purchased an HDTV and called for Comcast to hook up the system. A Hispanic technician named Carlos went about his business, but once we started talking, he opened up about race. "You know some people in Cherry Hill and Medford (surrounding affluent areas) they're WEIRD!" I chuckled, saying that money makes people funny. Carlos replied, "Its not just money, b. I've worked in Brooklyn houses that cost more than these homes. And those homeowners were cool. But here, they watch over you with an eagle eye. My partner is African and he rested his hand on the wall while wiring. The homeowner, this white lady, yelled at him to take his hand off the wall cuz he might break it. It was a concrete wall! Concrete aint gonna break! Then she told us DO NOT TOUCH ANYTHING. I mean aren't we all supposed to be the same - all human? They bleed like we bleed." We shook our heads at the story and lamented on others as he wired the back of the TV. Eventually we simply rationalized that all people don't think like us and moved on to more cheerful topics. Then almost as an appreciation for our bonding, Carlos hooked me up with some additional services for free, exchanged a soul-brother handshake and left for his next appointment. I wasn't expecting to talk race issues with the cable guy, but it convinced me to ask for Carlos next time I needed help. Bottom line is to get the service completed, but isn't it icing on the cake to have someone who relates to your experiences?

Getting service from fellow Filipinos goes both ways according to my parents and elder titos & titas. They are affluent high-achievers, so maybe its a class issue. I've seen them happily tsismis-ing (gossip & chitchat) with fellow Filipinos who are servicing them. But I've also heard them caution against patronizing Filipinos when it involved serious matters. And if anything went wrong, they would jokingly perpetuate typical self-mocking stereotypes of the lazy, corrupt, fun-loving but incompetent Filipino.

I've only had two bad experiences with Filipino service professionals. Each time, I couldn't stop myself from bitterly retelling those old ingrained stereotypes. One incident involved a middle-aged Filipino tax accountant who came across more like a familiar uncle during our consultation. We shared laughs and bonded as he wove long-winded stories of the homeland and joked about his americanized kids. Meanwhile, he misinformed me out of a refund and into an audit. Afterwards, I echoed the taunting words of my dad, "Ohh, that's what you get for going to a Filipino. Too busy joking and tsismising to get things right. Don't pick a Filipino next time."

Another incident involved a Filipino ticket agent who messed up my airplane tickets, forcing me to run back and forth twice through the Las Vegas airport to correct it with another agent before catching a plane almost as it lifted off the ground. I verbalized the same reaction to my wife, "Damn Filipino messed me up. Talking to me like we were fam. That's the last time I use them." The positive experiences outnumber these incidents by a wide margin, but its so easy to fall back on those catchphrases.

the office

Read an interesting article in NYT about IBM proceeding with undisclosed layoffs despite being one of the few companies to post 1st quarter profits. One laid off engineer claimed that the company was using the recession as an excuse to layoff employees and mask increased outsourcing. Somebody get Lou Dobbs on the phone.

To say we live in uneasy times is a gross understatement. My company announced that the layoffs are finished for the year, but its hard to believe such proclamations when the health of the company is uncertain. You can project a certain percentage of losses but what if the drop exceeds that percentage? The emptier parking lots and vacant desks are daily reminders of the unease. So is seeing certain employees working multiple jobs to pick up the "slack".

Is your company shitting on you because of the economic collapse? And are you taking it because you're just happy to have a job? Interesting time in office life everywhere...

maui reflections

Just returned from a wonderful vacation in the peaceful paradise of Maui. We recharged our batteries with a week of 85 degree days filled with swimming, snorkeling, surfing and whale watching - before attending the main purpose of the whole trip - my cousin's wedding. While it's fun to remember those action-packed activities, I also can't help but reflect on my experiences with the people and within the culture of the island.

My wife and I felt right at home in Maui, which is populated with many Japanese and Filipinos. You can always spot the Japanese by their eating habits at a buffet. While the Americans and Filipinos indiscriminately heap one convoluted mound of mixed up food on their plates, the Japanese arrange several small and neatly separated piles of each food. Their plates end up looking like a bento box without the dividers... or the box. This difference holds true at our table as I shoveled spoonfuls of cornbeef/rice/egg/bacon/sausage/potatoes/veggies in my mouth while my wife took turns in picking at each of her 10 separate piles of fruits, veggies and rice. I observed an elderly Japanese couple pulling out their own condiments - including nori (seaweed) to add to their breakfast. My wife was also very happy to find many Japanese snacks and products in local grocery and convenience stores. And, I was happy to sample the local spam dishes!

Of course we also tried the traditional cuisine with the "Hawaiian Diet" dish at the Kaanapali Tiki Terrace. This dish featured chicken or fish wrapped and steam cooked in tea leaves with an assortment of sweet potatoes, purple yams, bananas and poi. The protein was lightly seasoned (if at all) and proved too bland for my relatives who are used to heavier flavors of Filipino foods. But I appreciated the healthiness of the plate and the lightly seasoned chicken/fish comes to life when eaten in harmony with its veggie and fruit costars. As for the poi, I don't hate it as much as other newbies...but I'm not going to claim it as my favorite new food either. Consistency was okay, but the overall sourness left it unfinished in my bowl.

With a mix of diverse peoples and the influx of tourists, there's always a potential to find humor in mundane situations.

One day we took the Sugar Cane Train - an old-fashioned steam railroad train that runs through the sugar cane fields. The caucasian conductor ambled up the aisle to check tickets and make friendly small talk with tourists. As he takes my ticket, he looks at our faces and asks where we are from. Whenever I hear that question from white people, I brace myself for the "Where are you from?/No, where are you REALLY from?" game. This guy did not disappoint. After I answered with "New Jersey", he asks, "Oh...and where were you from before New Jersey?" I deadpanned, "Maryland", while staring unblinkingly at his face. He seemed disappointed and mumbled, "Oh, that's close enough, I guess...", before shuffling on up the aisle.

"It pays to speak Ilocano in Hawaii." That was the observation of my aunt. Many of the workers at the hotel are Filipinos from the Ilocos region. While Tagalog is the national language, there are many regions and dialects in the Philippines. My mother's side of the family is from Pangasinan and speaks the dialect of the same name. My aunt requested dry cleaning service from the hotel and was prepared to pay the full price. When she spoke a few phrases of Ilocano to her husband, in perhaps an attempt to fish for a discount, the hotel employee brightened up and ate the bait, "Even though you speak broken Ilocano, I'm happy to hear it and will give you a family discount."

Are there separate prices for tourists and locals? I took my rental car for a car wash after a muddy drive through the famously curvy road to Hana. The advertised price on their sign read "$4.50 car wash with at least an 8 gallon purchase of gas." I head up to the cashier window and asked for the car wash without the gas. The Filipino-Hawaiian cashier smiles, looks at me and the car and charges $2.00. I wondered if they lowered the price, so I watched the caucasian tourist (obvious with camera around his neck) approach the window after me. He gets a $4.50 bill after explaining that he will fill up his car with gas. I guess I could fool people into thinking I'm a local. As a sidebar, whenever I travel to other cities, people always ask me for directions. My wife says people must think I look trustworthy...or I act like I know where I'm going (which usually is not the case)

My cousin's wedding listed barongs (traditional Filipino formal wear) as the preferred attire. I wore a beautifully colorful barong (courtesy of my aunt) with an island theme print. So before we left for the hotel, my wife and I posed for family pictures. As my father began snapping pics, I noticed a crowd of white people gathering behind him and pulling out their cameras. They started taking photos. At first, I thought they were taking shots of the scenery behind me - so I started to duck out of their way. Then I noticed they were all smiling and following me in my colorful barong and my wife in her sundress. Turns out they were taking paparazzi shots of us! So right now - somewhere in America or Europe, a white family is showing pictures of me and my wife, spreading misconceptions of "native" Hawaiian wedding attire. As the caucasian paparazzi snapped more shots of us, we continued to walk through the hotel lobby... and as my fresh barong flowed with me, I received some non-verbal props (smile & head-nod) from the Filipino employees. When I returned later that night, the maid left a note saying "Congratulations!"

scaring white suburbanites case #337

Ok, I haven't documented all of the previous 336 times, but they're filed away in my head. Files that provide a glimpse of minority life (8%) in white American suburbia. Most cases are very mundane and uneventful. I've talked previously about getting tailed by cop cars for no reason. Or cashiers who silently stoneface us while smiling and chit-chatting up the caucasians before and after us. Nothing earth-shattering or revolution-worthy, just examples for studying subtle (and not-so-subtle) expressions of prejudices passed down from past generations like family heirlooms.

At my local WaWa convenience store, a middle aged white lady was about to exit through the same door I was entering. Upon seeing me, she changed directions and exited through a different door on the opposite side. Her next move would clue me in to her views on race. If she kept going in the same direction after exiting the door, then she might not be racist. Maybe a poor sense of direction or forgetful in locating her parked car...but not racist. Now, if she exits the door and turns around 180° to revert to her prior path (before seeing me), then she's a racist. Not only racist but fearful of sharing a door with a person of color. So, I watched her with an eagle eye weighing the meaning behind her next steps. And low and behold, she exits, pulls a 180° and heads in the original direction that was detoured by my unfamiliar presence. I actually grinned at myself and whispered "Goddammit" for even giving her the slightest benefit of the doubt. I looked at my clothes and felt respectable (not like it should matter). But maybe the darkness of night added to her sense of apprehension.

The next morning, I'm standing in line with my wife at the local post office. Its packed like sardines - especially with everyone hugging boxes of holiday gifts to send off. To my immediate left, a four-foot tall white haired old lady had her back to me, scribbling forms at the counter. Suddenly, she looked up in confusion - like she forgot something, turned around and almost crashed into me. Her eyes, set at my arm level, widened - surprised that someone was right behind her back. After preventing a crash, she looked relieved. "Oh, excuse me" was probably on the tip of her tongue. Then she looked up at my face. Her relaxed expression turned to horror. Eyes bugged out and mouth gaped. Like I was about to cut her. The progression of her facial expressions was amusing. In a matter of seconds, she went from confusion to surprise to relief to horror.

Again, I looked at my clothes and felt respectable (not like it should matter). And its not a nighttime in a dark alley...we're in a fluorescent bright post office. The old lady looks away from my face with horror subsiding. Her attention then goes to the person next to me - my wife. The old lady looks at my wife face and gives another fearful look. She didn't look like she feared for her life. More like, "Where on god's green earth am I? And who let these people in here?" Finally she regains her bearings and gets around us. Maybe she went home to pack her bags and relocate. Good luck finding a more white-washed suburb than this one, granny.

fail / bail

Can my company get a bailout? Watching the economy implode has been frustrating and fascinating at the same time. But you don't necessarily feel the effects until your job security is in jeopardy. While the subprime mortgage mess got messier and Wall Street self-destructed, I continued to collect paychecks and paid my thankfully fixed-rate mortgage, bills and car notes. Even shopped a few times while shaking my head at the growing financial crisis.

Then came the layoffs at my company. 10% of the workforce gone. The president announced sales getting worse next year with more layoffs scehduled for next January. Yes, its not as bad as other companies - but it doesn't make it easier to hear. The whole culture has changed. What was always a stable work environment during my time has changed into a place of paranoia, nervousness and concern. People are wondering who's next. Unproductive people were cut first, but ultimately no one is safe.

One morning, I was talking to a buddy in another department at his desk. He was away on family vacation during the layoffs and said he was thankful to still have his job upon returning. 30 minutes later, he texts me from his home saying he was laid off (after 11 years of service). His wife has a struggling business and they have 2 kids in daycare and an expensive mortgage. Luckily, he gets severance and he'll collect unemployment. But they'll likely have to downsize housing, cram all their medical checkups before their current health insurance runs out. Pull kids out of daycare and look for more affordable care (or relatives). Lives get turned upside down and its mind-blowing how so many people are in this same boat. A boat with that Titanic feeling. This isn't the Great Depression, but are we approaching a "Little Depression"?

Call me late to the party, but now I've pulled back on my consumption. And now, I can see firsthand why the economy isn't moving. People don't spend or borrow when there's no job security. Worse when they're unemployed and in debt. Simple but true. I suppose we're paying for the sins of over-consumption and reckless spending. But for us common folk, we're paying for the sins of others. Reportedly, $300 billion of the bailout has been wasted - given to big banks for their own purposes (bonuses, shareholder benefits, unassociated acquisitions) rather than buying up clogged mortgage securities. How frustrating is this to watch when those AIG execs take a lavish half-a-mil spa vacation a week after getting bailed out? Or when those Detroit auto execs take a private jet to Washington to beg for taxpayer money? Its like going to collect welfare in a limo. You get the feeling that these fools will collect the bailout money and just commit the same mistakes again? Yeah, me too.

Just gotta hope Obama gets things in order. It seems he has all the right people on his economic team. Although its funny seing Robert Rubin advising when he directed Citigroup through its current mess...

black, white whatever

Although Hispanics are getting more love due to their sheer numbers, race issues in politics are still often discussed within a black/white scope. Even with this historical presidential election, mainstream media discussions rarely go beyond breaking down polling demographics by race. How about setting numbers aside and examining the issues concerning each group? While it is easy to cry foul, its more effective to force your way into the discussion. For example, why do Asian Americans get left out or shitted on? In part, because they allow it. Sounds simplistic, but there's some truth there.

Back in my freshman year in college, I dormed in a closet sized room with a half-Japanese/half-American from Tokyo. Next door to us was a black football player and his South Jersey hillbilly roomate - they obviously didn't choose each other because that pairing would have made a great reality show. Two strong headed dudes from totally different worlds cooped up in tiny room. Lots of typical race-baiting discussions like "Why do you people use lotion so much?" "I don't know. Why are you white people always serial killers?" So, it wasn't suprising that they agreed to me and my roomate's idea of permanently opening the adjoining door between our rooms. I wanted more space and access to their video games...they wanted more space from each other. So we opened the adjoining door, shoved all 4 beds in one room, and kept the other room open as a 24 hour lounge for music, video games and parties.

There were only 5 percent people of color in this college - and they all seemed to hang out at our lounge. So the hillbilly, perhaps feeling left out or threatened, verbalized his frustration over the constant hiphop controlled by us 24/7. He turns to me and says, "Why do you listen to this black music?? You're not black!" Before I responded, the football player (who affectionately called me his n***a) jumps in, "He aint white either?! Why should he listen to your countrified bullshit?!" As they glared at each other, I interjected, "Yo, I just listen to GOOD music."

Nice spoken-word piece from Kelly Zen-Yie Tsai (from Def Poetry fame) pointing out that race discussions are more than just B&W.

coping & the culture of disclosure

We recently received sad news that my father in-law in Japan was recently diagnosed with liver cancer. Language barriers prevented deep conversations between me and him, but I always felt we had an unspoken bond. One of our shared activities in Japan was watching the Yankees game during breakfast in the morning. He enjoyed American baseball and we would conversate, smile and nod at each other between the plays. I always remembered our first meeting in Philly, when he mentioned to me (through my wife's translation) that I have "kind eyes". He is skinny as a rail, but he always projected a quiet strength to me. This is the strength that makes me believe that he will fight through his illness.

From my limited perspective, it is interesting to learn about cultural differences in cancer treatment and doctor-patient relationships. Historically, Japanese physicians do not disclose cancer diagnoses to patients. Instead, the doctor will inform the patient's family and they will decide if, when, and how much to inform their loved one of their illness. That process was difficult to comprehend as it would lead to ethics charges and lawsuits in the States - and personally, I would want to know every little detail of my diagnosis and treatment. But again, these differing perspectives are largely cultural. Recently, more Japanese physicians are moving towards selective disclosure based on age, psychological stability, decisional capacity, family support. But unlike most western countries, universal disclosure is not the norm yet.

My wife is fairly Americanized and she finds the doctor-patient relationship in Japan to be curious and at times frustrating. Its not common for older Japanese to question the doctor and at times information is left in the dark for patient and family. This is also a by-product of her mother not wanting to know developments if they are discouraging.

In discussing American strategies of full disclosure and pro-active doctor-patient treatment strategies, my mother-in-law suggests that these approaches are shaped by culture. In her view, many Americans have a stronger sense of self, individuality and a strong belief in some sort of religious faith. These characteristics help them face their illness head-on and foster a postitive working relationship with physicians during treatment.

My mother-in-law points out that the Japanese approach places a premium on delivering compassionate medical care. In her opinion, her husband does not have a strong sense of religious faith (she suggests that Buddhism and Shintoism are utilized as a way of life rather than a fervent faith) and his fragile state of mind would not take the disclosure well.

Coming to terms with helping a seriously ill parent is a difficult process - especially if you live on the other side of the world. Initially there is a sense of helplessness and regret. I consoled my wife towards overcoming these feelings by suggesting we can help by providing counsel to her mother over the phone. Let her talk through these stressful times. Its a form of therapy that works for all involved.

filipino foodie

Nice article in The Wall Street Journal on Filipino cuisine. Lots of yummy details and thankfully it goes beyond the typical balut experiences that seems mandatory on any foodie travelogue to the Philippines.

As I've mentioned before, my dad explains the lack of Filipino restaurants in America through the theory that Filipino food is best cooked at home. Why would I pay money for food that I could easily find at a party. We lived in a sizeable Filipino community in Maryland and every weekend had a house party with potluck dishes overcrowding dining tables. Titas that you've never met before would pile food onto your plate chirping "Eat, Eat. Eat!" right after the kiss-on-the-cheek greeting. After making a circuit around the table, your plate resembled a culinary car dump with 15 different foods piled up on top of each other. Nonetheless it was always delicious. Meanwhile, a Filipino restaurant would open up only to close shortly after. Grand opening, grand closing! Perhaps "filipino restaurant" is an oxymoron to pinoys who share my dad's perspective. What are other factors? I've heard that maybe the food is too simplistic, inaccessible or not exotic enough for Americans. Can it be elevated without being bastardized?

As for me? I grew up associating Filipino food with home cooking. But living away from mom's cooking and outside a filipino community makes me more eager to patronize a Filipino restaurant. I was shocked to find a "turo-turo" place nearby and I've tried some fusion and upscale joints in Philly and NYC. When I tell my parents of these places, I can sense the good natured smirks on their faces saying, "You got suckered into paying how much for what?"

eel squeal

Aside from an occasional work outing, my lunch usually consists of dinner leftovers from the previous night. Recently, my co-worker sniffed around my vicinity exclaiming, "Something smells really good...what are you eating over there?" With a mouthful of food, I replied without hesitation, "Its eel."

Her eyes bugged out, "Huh?" I thought she didn't hear me through my chewing and I confirm her fears, "IT'S EEL OVER RICE." Her jaw drops to the table. Unagi is one of my favorite dishes and I've been eating my wife's Japanese cooking so long that I forget that many of my fellow Americans would have the same reaction as this woman. They don't eat some of the foods we eat. I tell her that its available at the local Korean Mart - but she thinks a tour guide would be needed. I try to convince her that its worth a try...but no luck. She confesses good naturedly that she might be too white to attempt such foods.

She mentions a recent No Reservations episode in Japan which blew her away - especially the scene in Kyoto featuring artistic presentations of traditional Japanese seafood, sashimi and mountain vegetables. Now, salmon is adventurous eating for her, so these foods were completely alien. This only heightened my appreciation that I was fortunate enough to eat traditional Kyoto cuisine a couple years ago. She then mentioned the Vietnam episode showing the fish sauce making process that seemed "dirty". The concept of fish sauce escaped her "So if you use that everywhere...then everything tastes like fish?"

Its interesting that food provides such insight into cultural differences. It also retells history - for example Filipino food reflects exposure to Chinese culture and Spanish colonization. As for my coworker, her tastes reflect New Jersey suburban white mom. The "eel situation" reminded me of that "Bizarre Foods" commercial.

Livestrong

I recently ran a 5k for LIVESTRONG (Philly) - Lance Armstrong's bike/run/walk charity event promoting cancer awareness. I participated in support a friend who is successfully fighting liver cancer after being diagnosed a year ago. I was also informed recently that my aunt is undergoing a second bout with breast cancer - so I had even more motivation to run well with their conditions in my thoughts.
It is one thing to donate money to charities and pat yourself in the back, but its so much more gratifying to actively participate in a charity event attended by thousands of people. It was inspirational to see cancer survivors like my friend racing harder than anyone else and it was uplifting to unite with others in supporting the fight against cancer. This groundswell of positivity along with random people cheering you on from their porches and yards made the run feel like a walk in the park.

slanguistics / labor day

Marketing people can oversaturate your senses with sarcasm, so it was refreshing to take our genuinely curious and appreciative Japanese friends around Baltimore on Labor Day weekend. Their command of the English language was fairly good but they - like many Japanese - are perfectionists and become reticent for fear of making mistakes when speaking. So we reassured them that actual content is more important and grammatical mistakes will disappear with experience.

My wife shared a very helpful learning method when she first arrived in the states: soap operas. I'm not saying its quality T.V., but soaps offer a multitude of situations beyond the textbook. And since the Japanese language tends to be flatter in tone, the overacting soap stars actually provide good examples of english enunciation and cadence. Then if you need to learn some slang, change the channel to Maury - where you'll learn about the proliferation of unwanted pregnancies and paternity tests.

Back to the soaps: I spent a good chunk of my childhood watching the CBS soaps lineup of Young & The Restless, As The World Turns and Guiding Light as my Lola took care of me during summers. Recently, I flipped on these same soaps during a sick day and amazingly found the same actors playing the same characters perpetrating the same nonsense storylines! And none of them look older ... just more plastic-y. Made me feel like I was 8 years old again. All I needed was Bob Barker back on The Price is Right.

Ft. McHenry seems like the typical tourist destination, but it was fairly entertaining. First presentation featured an old method actor playing an early 19th century sailor manning the canons. He squinted in the sun, sweated through his stained shabby uniform and mumbled out of the side of his mouth about his daily life - including drinking grog, sewing his own clothes, carving wood, twisting rope and being illiterate. He rambled to no end, but his mannerisms were peculiarly fascinating. Even after his presentation ended, he maintained his character while posing for pictures with kids. This guy deserves a shot in Hollywood! He could play the ubiquitous craggly old guy character that Jon Voight (National Treasure 1&2, Transformers, Glory Road) seems to have a stranglehold on.

Afterwards we made a brief trip into the Science Center for their creepy Body Worlds 2 exhibit on the human body. Informative in real representations of diseases, disorders and injuries. Creepy in that it uses real donated human body parts. Its never nice to see parts of a child corpse - even worse when they exhibit a skeleton child holding hands with an adult skeleton.

Back to Bo Brooks to overwhelm our guests with an avalanche of crabs. As usual, my father took joy in teaching the techniques of eating crabs. "The Key!" Its all about "key" in opening the crab. Nonetheless even the dainty member of our group enjoyed herself.

The Baltimore Museum of Art didn't wow me with their featured exhibit but they possess a nice collection of European art favored by our guests. And it was free - which led to one of our friends saying, "This is a great country!"

curs(ed)ive

How often do you actually write with a pen on paper anymore?
When is the last time you wrote in cursive?

Recently, I was writing a greeting card (I'm talking about an actual physical card that you send in the mail with a stamp...the fact that I have to explain this supports the theme of this post) with my usual writing by printing method. I remarked to my wife that my printing looks fairly neat but somewhat child-like. After assessing the card, she remarks that my printing is small and uneven. She suggests cursive for more sophistication and quickly adds, "Do you even remember how to write in cursive?" I'm fully aware that technology has transformed some skills from fundamental into forgotten, but still I laughed her off, "How can anyone forget how to write in cursive?"

Perturbed by my incredulous response, she asked me to prove it. As she began dictating sentences, something funny happened: I couldn't do it perfectly! I mean, I could write in cursive but it wasn't a smooth process. I would have failed 2nd grade handwriting with this sample. I had to pause and think about how to write certain uppercase letters because my first impulse was to render it in print method. I paused in the middle of words to think about how to render certain letters. Some of my letters like "r" and "s" ended up being printed and it all became a bastardized mashup or cursive and printing.

Of course after more practice, it began to come back to me and I completed perfect sentences...but that first brain-dead attempt was shocking. I guess it shouldn't come as a suprise since I spend most of my waking hours on the computer. Yup, I'm either typing, mousing or holding a remote. I gotta log off now!

first friday

We strolled around Old City on a First Friday, (a much calmer event during the summertime) taking in some of the local Philly art scene. The sidewalk street shows always conjure up the notion of discovering a diamond in the rough, but usually its a mix of possible potential and unpolished amateurism. That's just my opinion and its all subjective anyway. Who knows what the hell art is anyway? In the grand scheme of things, popular critiquing and recognition of masters help structure perspective and art history... but at the molecular level, I tend to approach it on a more personal level. Its an act of call and response. Does this piece speak to me? I don't care if its in the MOMA or on a table in North Philly.

So back to First Friday - one kid had a collection of graffiti influenced street paintings featuring rappers and revolutionary icons on hectic backgrounds. His perspective struck me as simply "young" - mostly because it reminded me of when I used to draw my favorite musicians or rappers and stick them on my bedroom walls. Most of the street shows were held by the not-ready-for-primetime-gallery kids mostly at art school age. They usually are still caught up in the angst of their own world, occasionally noticing observers browsing their artwork. A rare greeting or conversation is offered but usually its very quiet. Such a stark but expected contrast from the self-promoting gallery artists catering to spectators full of wine, cheese and pretentious chatter. I know I'm stating the obvious, but like any other business, the art world is all about marketing and promotion.

travels

I've been fortunate to travel to many places around the world since I was a kid. While I would never describe myself as a worldly renaissance man, it's interesting to meet people who never step outside their sheltered little world. This doesn't just include physical travel - as I know that work and money constraints can slow your roll - but we're talking opening one's mind. I've met South Philly folk that have never been in Chinatown - in the same city!

Lately, I've been a Travel Network junkie - living vicariously through Bourdain, Zimmern and Samantha Brown. If I hit the lottery, I would probably go to school and study something totally impractical, but ultimately I would travel the world. Pipe dream of a guy stuck in the office 9 to 5.

So we were talking about Bourdain's recent show in Colombia at work and someone remarked that they find the fish markets to be odd. "I mean the fish is just sitting out there outside in daylight...all out in the open...doesn't it go bad?!" So I replied that its the absolute freshest way to have fish. People usually buy & eat on the same day and probably visit the market several times a week. I then chronicled my amazing visit to the Tsukiji fish market in Japan where I sampled a vast array of seafood.

What I was tempted to say was, "Lady, not everyone drives an SUV to a pseudo socially conscious luxury supermarket like Wegman's or Whole Foods and buys enough meat and fish to feed a village only to spoil or sit in a freezer. The majority of the world shops at outdoor food markets." She also expressed curiousity about Kimchi after watching the Vietnam(???) episode. I pointed her towards a Korean market nearby and she replied that she would need a tour guide to find the kimchi. They do speak english in there you know. When I told my wife about this story, she simply replied that this lady needs to travel outside of Jersey suburbia.

I wonder if fielding white people's questions about the "outside world" is part of my duty. Why is it that all these businesses in African-American communities are worked by Asians? How is the status of women in Asia? Any better? Why do kids leave the reflecting sticker on their baseball hats (and they never bend the brim)? Do they really use this slang term (references Urban Dictionary word of the day email)?

empowered & misunderstood

After living in Philly for 10 years, I moved to the Jersey side - aka "the other side" aka "the dark side" according to my Philly people. For the last 4 years, I've been completely submerged in white suburbia. It's a state of mind that I deal with at work and in my neighborhood. Now, I grew up in the suburbs of Maryland, but you deal with it differently as an adult.

It can be harmless - like when co-workers express curiosity and inquire beyond their "world". Beyond that, I don't encounter blatant in your face racism that often. But its fairly easy to read racial profiling and stereotypical assumptions. When I first moved to this area, I was followed once by a cop car for 10-15 miles from his checkpoint until I reached my neighborhood. You'll notice some store clerks giving you the silent treatment or being curt after being chatty with regulars. Or they might eye you as you browse the store. I'm not saying I live in Klan-sville, U.S.A. There's plenty of nice people here, but there are occasions when you become acutely aware of your minority status. None of this is new. You learn at an early age that ignorance and fear go hand in hand in race issues. And it can be humorous when you can flip it.

Recently, I was rushing through a slew of errands - speedwalking through a parking lot with shopping bags flailing like unnecessary appendages. I jump in my car and lower the windows all the way down to release the heat. The engine fires up and the music starts right where it left off - at full blast. I think it was on "Yolanda's House" by Ghostface.

Apparently when I yanked my car door open to get in, I unintentionally hit the car next to me. Not hard enough to make any damage but enough to make a decent sound. Apparently that car's owner was on the other side of the car loading bags with his wife/girlfriend. I hear him exclaim "What the Fuck?!" right before "Yolanda's House" starts exploding at high decibels. My peripheral vision catches him - a white man in his 40's sporting dockers and a tucked in short-sleeve button down. He storms from his side and goes around the back of the car towards the narrow space between us. Undoubtedly he wanted to see if there was any dent and confront the perpetrator.

I prepare myself to apologize and point out that there is no damage. Out of the corner of my eye, I see him halt his approach and retreat cowardly back behind the opposite side of his car. I then realized that he got intimidated by me and Yolanda. I don't think I look particularly thuggish but considering the setting, all things are relative. I shrug to myself and begin pulling out of my space. I thought about apologizing while driving away, but he was crouching behind his door - avoiding eye contact and pretending to mess with his bags. I looked at him for a few seconds to see if he would look my way. But no luck. He was scared. His stereotypical assumptions caused him to cower from his initial urge to confront me. So, I just zoomed off with a chuckle. There is a feeling of power when you can control somebody's actions but it's not completely satisfying when you're being misunderstood. If I was an asshole, I would jump on his fear and be up in his face. But I'm the total nice guy type that would have gladly assessed the whole situation with him from the start. Oh well, his loss. I simply moved on with a funny story.

That situation reminded me of my current neighbor at my condo. He's a big white guy. 6ft tall, 250+ lbs (albeit mostly blubber) – and scared of me. I'm probably 5 inches shorter and a 100lbs lighter than him. It all started when we first moved in next door. He's the type of guy that blasts his music and TV at all hours of the night. I patiently gave him a few days. But after a week, we realized it was going to be nightly thing. He wasn't the partying neighbor type but he just sat there alone being loud all by himself every night.

So one loud early morning - around 2 AM - I sleepily stand outside his door in a wifebeater with my eardrums pulsating with his cacophony. I pound on his door. I'm way too sleep-deprived to be cordial. So when he finally opens his door - I give him a curt greeting and immediately lodge my complaint. I tell him that his music is going through our walls and point out what time it is. I try to be somewhat diplomatic and tell him that I don't customarily like to tell people what to do with their business, but I'd appreciate some peace and quiet after 11pm. He doesn't say much, but he sheepishly mumbles "Its nice to meet you" and closes the door.

For the next few weeks, he occasionally plays his music loud but cuts it off around 11pm. Then for a couple nights, he reverts to his old ways and blasts his music past midnight. I look at my watch and give him a few minutes. My wife becomes irritable and suggests that we call the police and complain about the noise. Again, I look at my watch. Finally, I go to his door and pound on it. No response. I pound it with more determination. Nothing. I ring his doorbell continuously and pound on his door furiously. No response. I glare at his window to see if I can catch him peeking out. I normally don't confront people in this manner but when frustrating situations escalate, the philly part of me comes out. Again, I was too sleep deprived and angry to consider that I might be scaring him. Finally I give up. I write a stern note with a red sharpie marker and tape it to his door. I return to my house and slammed the door with all my might. 5 seconds later he turns off his music. I curse him until I fall asleep.

I cross paths with my neighbor a couple days later. He says that his girlfriend was alone in the house that night and was scared. I told him I was sorry about that (even though I knew he was lying - I've never seen a girl around him - and I knew he was just sitting in there scared). More importantly, I reminded him of our previous discussion about the noise level late at night.

Since that day, the guy avoids me at all costs. If we arrive at our condos at the same time, he sits in his car and waits for me to go in my place before getting out of his car. I've tested his tactics a few times. One time, I took my time exiting my car, wandered around the lawn to the mailbox and read some of my mail outside. This dude would not leave his car and go to his house! There's some empowerment in intimidating a guy but again its not completely satisfying when you're being misunderstood. I am not going to shoot you - I just had to make my point! I guess we're never going to be chatty or neighborly, but at least he's quiet now.

heat

It was disgustingly hot today. 95° with the humidity pushing the heat index over 100°. The ground cooked with that visible sizzle and the air hung hellishly humid. To make things worse, the AC in my car was busted (more on my car situation later) and driving with my windows down merely fanned the invisible flames. Its probably 120° in the car. My sweat soaked shirt clung to my skin which perpetually perspired a film of sweat. I'm sticky and irritable. As I drive on, I try to make some jokes to lighten the situation but my wife says its too hot to laugh. She crinkles her face and achingly proclaims "Atsui!" (Hot in Japanese) over and over again.

Has our ability to cope with heat diminished that much? Years ago, we nearly withstood a week of 100° heat without air conditioning in a 3rd story apartment in Philly. Oh we had an air conditioning unit, but we chose not to use it until a heat-related death entered the realm of possibility. Our initial motivation was saving money but later on we persisted on bravado. We were inspired by others in the neighborhood who didn't have the luxury of air conditioning and sat on their apartment stoops below. We urged each other to hold off and soon enough we dared each other to see who would succumb first and flip the AC switch. It seems foolish in retrospect, but we felt like defiant survivors of a disaster movie challenging mother nature to bring it on.

Now at our condo, I flip on the AC at first instance of discomfort and the vents pump air until I find myself covered with blankets.

weddings

I made a return trip to Chicago for my cousin's wedding. My own church wedding was fairly intimate with 75 people attending the ceremony and reception. And as a groom, the whole process is a blur. Now my cousin's wedding was a typical Filipino wedding (groom is filipino, bride filipina/brazillian) with 300+ people and a full schedule of events. In my role as the best man, I got a close up view of how these events can be so stressful and hectic for many of the principal participants and organizers.

With attendees coming from all over the country and the world, arrivals and accomodations could have been a logistical nightmare. My uncle and aunt handled much of the pickups and shuttled many of our relatives from O'hare to a nearby hotel for much of the first day. There were numerous flight delays and late baggage to complicate things. It proved fairly exhausting to fly in and throw ourselves immediately into the schedule of events - starting with a rehearsal & dinner located 2 hours away from our hotel. We were shuttled in a fleet of vans for the long commute which took us through downtown Chicago on Lake Shore Drive - past the southside into a town called Olympia Fields. Many of the guest quietly grumbled about the distance and one of my distant cousins asked me, "Why did they pick this church?" Well, as we learned later on, the bride was baptized at this particular church and she wanted to get married there. Can't bitch about that one - it is the bride's day after all.

The rehearsal went by smoothly. Its difficult to even articulate the large size of my extended family. I met second cousins and nieces and non-blood relatives that I've never met before. It was even more difficult to explain it all to my wife. I can't tell you how many times she asked me the identity of an unknown relative - to which I answered "I don't even know...must be a cousin of a cousin." I learned that I had nieces and nephews ranging from baby age to 28.

Filipinos are known to entertain - so the rehearsal dinner featured a video montage of photos set to music. Suprisingly there weren't any skits or songs but there were plenty of speeches and gift-giving. Mmm to get sentimental over some tasty pasta.

stripped

So I attended a bachelor party at Scores in Chicago and enjoyed the spectacle. There were several bachelor parties going on and its funny to see the mob mentality behind it. Groups of guys surrounding the bachelor's stage performance like a pack of dogs cheering the girls to increase his punishment and humiliation.

Strip clubs are not as much of a sexy experience as an interesting case study of human interaction and behavior. There's no denying that strippers have beautiful bodies (if you stick to the classy joints), but after a few minutes, even that effect is desensitized.

After a while you find yourself observing how the strippers work the money out of guys' pockets. Its equal parts visual as well as walking the walk. In many cases guys are happy enough to have a "hot" chick look at them. Simply walking past the bar will net a garter full of singles.

Talking the talk involves the most transparent form of flirting (no such thing as subtlety in this environment) with a dose of psychology. A stripping of the male psyche. A stripping of his wallet. She will eye an insecure type of guy and feign interest in his most inadequate interests to pump up his self-esteem. She'll approach an average joe type with a mundane account of her daily "girl next door" activities. Maybe she senses a sensitive guy and mention school loans and even kids for pity and awe. If she really wants to lock it down, she'll declare that she loves porn and sports. "Yo man, can you believe she's got that type of body with 2 kids?! And she loves watching football?!?"

As you can see, strip clubs are just like life - you can't believe anything you hear. But in the end, there's a sucka born every minute. Before you know it, the guy is head over heels littering her with 20's for a lapdance. Its pretty amusing. I'd like to think that most guys are aware of the role playing but you always come across a guy that falls for it. Those are the dudes that you pity. You'd have to ask a stripper to find out if this is empowering or whether its just a night's work in providing a needed service. Or both.

running free

Stepping outside on Spring's first warm day is an uplifting baptism of sorts. Finally, I freed myself from layers of clothing like a reptile shedding old skin. My new skin felt like a second skin: a crisp t-shirt, jeans and a fresh pair of AM1's. So simple, yet full of swagger splashed in a palette as bright as the sun. I love how bright colors just jump off people of color. The majority of people at my office don't dress like me. But the majority of people at my office don't look like me. Might as well be a minority in all aspects and celebrate our differences right? Thankfully, being in a "creative" profession allows me certain freedoms of workday apparel.

My coworkers and I decided to take advantage of this 80 degree Friday by taking a 1 1/2 hour lunch at an authentic Italian pizzeria with outdoor seating. Service was cafeteria style with a choice of pastas, salads, and pizzas with a variety of fresh toppings inspired by the owner's hometown near Naples. The servers spoke with thick jovial Italian accents, stereotypical enough to make you chuckle. I ordered one slice with thick white cheese dripping with delicious green pesto sauce. Greasy goodness with an earthy grit. My second slice was a lighter composition of red peppers, red sauce, onions and sausage. The peppers offered a refreshingly juicy contrast to the pizza dough. I don't know if it was healthy, but it tasted healthy. Warm weather bathed us as we polished off our plates and talked movies on the sunlit terrace. The beauty of spring weather is the lack of humidity. Humidity alone makes many summer days in Philly feel like a trap of hot steaming garbage. Today was perfect and while we (barely) made it back to work, my mind was clearly elsewhere. A 9 to 5 gig makes you appreciate the outdoors that you took for granted so often as a kid.

So, I left work early to literally run outside. There's a nice 3 mile trail that runs from my house around a lake. As much as I mock the sleepiness of my suburban surroundings, I must admit that the lakes and greenery are very scenic during this time of year. Of course, before I got home, I endured an hour of traffic. I suppose everyone else had the same idea of leaving work early. Unfortunately, my commute intersects with the route to the shore - which complicates things in the summer, especially on Fridays. Rt. 73 stood stagnant for miles beyond what I could see. And I sat there...caged in.

If traffic is full of frustration and mental fatigue, running is mentally uplifting in the spirit of breaking free. Free from the daily grind. Free from unreasonable clients. Free from traffic jams. I'm probably writing this with a residual runner's high, but my first outdoor run of the year was exhilarating. With the wind at my back, my legs felt non-existent and the trail felt like one downhill charge despite the contrary. The stillness of the lake quietly energized my fluid strides on the gravel path. I smiled between breaths while watching oncoming cars yielding to a group of geese cautiously crossing the road ahead of me. Their leader ventured out a quarter of way onto the road until quacking the rest of the anxious group to follow. As I got closer, I mentally whispered to them, "Take your time..." as I peered down the line of waiting cars. "Take your time, cuz it'll make the other side more enjoyable."