summer day 11

this is an article posted on KTVB's website about a car that also turns into a plane. Regis and Kelly discussed it this morning on their show (yes, hi, my name is Andrea, and I don't have cable so I actually lose IQ points when I turn the tv on) too. so...you'll make a car that FLIES and let people FLY in it after a short 20 hrs of training BUT WE STILL DONT HAVE ELECTRIC CARS TO SOLVE OUR FUEL GUZZLING PROBLEMS??? wtf.

may appreciate my love for french fries even more.

starting july 1,2011, hawaii will become the first state to outlaw the consumption of shark fin, according to a yahoo news article entitled, "no more eating shark fin in hawaii after new law" that was posted on yahoo's website approximately 2 hours ago.

the article states that shark fin harvesting has brought the species to near extinction. nearly 89 millions sharks are killed in international waters each year-- AP writer audrey mcavoy claims some fins are lopped off and the carcasses are just dumped in the ocean to rot. the article stresses that both chinese food culture and hawaiian culture include shark fin as a status symbol for those who can afford it ($17 for a cup of shark fin soup) and who ascribe to the worship of ancestral gods and legends. the article highlights both the popularity of shark fin but simultaneously its draw to the elite--"in hong kong, high end [chinese] restaurants can charge $1,000 for premium shark fin" (par. 9)--and chinese food culture loyals. even though the article reports that shark is rather flavorless, the sauces and preparation make the dish enjoyable. shark fin may prevent cancer and may provide other good nutritional benefits, which is one reason why the illegalization of shark fin upsets some people.

i was attracted to the plight of shark fin eaters because i too am an enjoyer of food. i love french fries, gummy worms, and many other empty calorie choices. the thought of a worldwide potato shortage sends me into immediate panic. what would i do without my golden sticks of comfort? like shark fin, french fries provide some nutritional benefit since they are made from vegetables; they are full of fiber and contain no cholesterol. but i understand that i may not be the only enjoyer of this product and could possibly contribute to the cause of its overproduction. as if the ban itself wouldn't be terrible enough, the government would meddle and intervene and establish a law to restrict the sale and consumption of this food item and distract important law makers from more pressing issues at hand-- like instigating world wars and approve low-life lazy hypocrites for medicaid.

enjoy your shark fin, rich people. as if there is no other food item on your ritzy menu that could reasonably satisfy your palate. and swim freely, little sharks, in the depths of the oceans doing whatever it is that you do that deserves protection under the united states government. don't feel guilty for depriving the patrons of kirin restaurant of their "'indulgent activity'"-- i'm sure they will find some other animal to nom on.

meanwhile, i cling tightly to my deep-fried potato wedges; whatever would i do without them.

may be clever like a fox.

have you heard?

"transformers 3" will be fox-less. how will they ever find another hot brunette to purse her lips, zip up a leather jacket, wear fake eyelashes in the middle of a frickin' desert, and crawl all over shia?

oh no, megan!

i have no idea how they will find someone else to work with michael bay-- since he " 'wants to be like Hitler on his sets'" and is " 'hopelessly awkward'"-- and find a "suitable replacement" for a girl who starred opposite lindsay lohan in "confessions of a teenage drama queen" in her only film prior to transformers. let's hope the "'quieter films'" you dream of don't land you back on "hope & faith." oh wait, that TV show was canceled.
at the end of the day, megan, you're still hot. i wish you the best of luck.
...and really really really hope bay chooses olivia wilde next!

may hit me one more time.

subtitle: in defense of brit brit.

i am not ashamed to admit that i like britney spears. in fact, i will even stand up for her. i've never met the girl, but i don't think she deserves as much crap as she's given. sure, her music is a little processed (but she listens to radiohead). and yes, she almost dropped her kid on the ground (but who hasn't?). oh, and there was the whole marrying a giant LOSER deal (but we all have skeletons in our closet).

britney stole my heart back in 1999 when she released "...baby one more time." she danced around in a little schoolgirl outfit and moped on the bleachers. i think i first really fell for her after watching a video of brit at dance practice for "hit me"s video. she was wearing a white sports bra and her hair flipped thisway and thatway-- i mean, most high school students (she was only 18 when her first album was released) couldn't manage a homework assignment, much less multiple dance routines, lyrics, and a skin-tight-tight-wardrobe-approved body. even if her music was less than stellar according to music enthusiasts (read: snobs), ...baby one more time has sold over 14 million records in the US alone. maybe the schoolgirl outfit was just too genuis.

her second album, oops!...i did it again was also very successful-- and i was pleased to hear that britney had grown up a little. she emerged in a full-body red latex suit in her video "oops! i did it again" and mocked titanic and all the sudden, brit brit was hawt.
she was everywhere. the tabloids. magazine covers. with justin timberlake. amidst rumors she wasn't a virgin. OMG she pierced her belly button. umm the vegas wedding to childhood sweetheart. and a whole bunch of other stuff. and then.
kevin federline. back up dancer. 2004. engaged after 3 months. his ex was 8 months preggo. but whatevs. it was love. married 10/6/2004.

and then they had 2 kids. and she got, like, so fat. and then they divorced in november 2006. and then, you know. she went "crazy"-- attacking paparazzi with an umbrella and shaving her head and having breakdowns and whatnot. yah, this happened:

but, come on. she married the supposed love of her life without a pre-nup, and they broke up (reportedly) over text messaging. the media constantly photographed her looking terrible (read: chunky and worn out). she started partying with paris and flashing the media (accidentally of course). there were rumors of a sex tape. she was denounced "bipolar." and her comeback failed. even though, seriously, she looks a hell of a lot better than most girls out there who manage to have boyfriends and stuff.


but, come on. failed relationships suck. failed career moves suck. failed parenting sucks.

imagine the world laughing at you. imagine the world reading about your mistakes through the sarcastic, bitter tone of people like perez hilton. imagine your parents admitting that you're a disappointment. imagine being constantly compared to who you used to be, years and years ago. have you ever had a bad haircut? have you ever driven without a seatbelt? have you ever made some bad drinking choices?

have you released 6 albums and 4 eps? have you starred on a hit TV show playing a hot secretary? have you posed for rolling stone's COVER 7 times? have you created and sold a perfume line? have you walked across your own star on the hollywood walk of fame? have you ever looked like this good in leather pants and wig:
have you been the most searched person for the year on google and set guinness world records? have you made out with madonna? have you ever performed for a superbowl half-time show? have you toured the world 5 times sharing your life's work with millions of people that relate to you, that understand what you've been through, that can only imagine how much you've sacrificed to have what you have, that really could never grasp how absolutely awesome it is to be you?
naw, that's britney, bitch.

may or may not be closer than they appear.

why do we dream at night? i know, i know, psychologists and other brain doctors will tell us that REM cycles include such fantastical explorations and exaggerations of reality to help stabilize our emotional and mental state. some theorize that dreams are a way of weaving our experiences into memory. i'm not content with either of these explanations though, because both suggest that we are unstable and perhaps require a split mind to solve these incongruencies-- one part of our brain is like "whooooooooaaaaa, help me out" and the other part takes over when we are not conscious (freaky!) and methodically rewires our thoughts at a very vulnerable hour.

my dreams are mostly unhelpful. for example, i dreamed that my mom was trying to drown me in a bathtub as a child. because i was small and the bathtub was unusually large, i was able to swim down to the drain and hide from her claw-like hands and super-human strength. the other night, i dreamed that i was feeding ostriches on a bird farm and they smelled like dry dirt and california valley heat. and, as always, i have the recurring dream that my dead friend's ex-boyfriend asks me to meet him in a deli, buys me a turkey sandwich, and tells me over and over that he is not my lighthouse. if my brain is actually sorting out my life events into some permanent memory, then my brain is sorely failing-- i am left with confusion and great disgust.

are your dreams productive? do they reveal new ideas or theories you may not have discovered in your waking hours?

in a blog post entitled "why do we dream?" from psychology daily, dr. ilana simons quotes freud's theory that dreams are poems we tell ourselves. she writes: "dreams allow us to be what we cannot be, and to say what we cannot say, in our more repressed daily lives" (par. 2). while i love the notion that i am artistically representing my experiences as metaphorical situations even in my sleep, i still find the idea of the split mind unsettling. why can't i confront my issues while i am awake? why must my brain handle it solo when i'm unaware?

what have you been dreaming about lately?

find some conversation

the oddest things set me off these days: "say yes to the dress" premiere, my pink chair (that i was trying to cover with a black sheet even though the chair is perfect fine pink), and my boyfriend's silly quest to figure out a nickname for me even though i rather despise nicknames. truly, my long unemployed days give me too much time to ponder and reflect my existence (and books like "play it as it lays" by joan didion surely don't encourage anything else). i'd like to dedicate this blog post to the exploration of nicknames: what they are and possibly their effect on our self-perception.

according to wikipedia, a nickname is "a descriptive name given in place of or in addition to the official name of a person, place, or thing." nicknames can be broken down into a few different categories such as: shortened names, titles or pseudonyms, and hypocoristic names (like terms of endearment or diminutives).

my parents ascribed me a nickname early in my childhood: andi. this shortened name-- or contraction-- served as an alternate to my full name; i think of it as a cuter version of "andrea." it's also harder to mispronounce. "andi" lasted a few years, but my paternal grandmother used to taunt me with a line from a childhood nursery rhyme: "andy pandy pudding pie kissed the boys and made them cry." when i was 4 or 5, kissing boys seemed like a vile activity that i did not want any part of. i boycotted "andi." in high school, a few friends tried out "drea" as a contraction, but that didn't stick either. "drea." the end. some remnants. a left over.

titles are rather short on my nickname list. past students called me several combinations of: miss johnson, mrs. johnson, ms. johnson, professor johnson, YOU. one family i babysit for calls me "miss andrea," which the mother insisted on because it creates a "clear boundary of authority." the pseudonym list is much longer:

• roadrunner: in 5th grade, my friends and i decided to form the "WB gang" or "warner bros gang" and title ourselves after WB cartoon characters. i was roadrunner. there was tweety, sylvester, and others. perhaps i resembled a roadrunner: i was a fast runner in my black suede hi-tops (i was stylin'), and i was rather slender.
• lucy dew: in 7th grade, mostly the same friends and i gave each other nicknames with a first and last name. the first name was some sort of trendy, cute girl name and the last name consisted of a kind of soda. i picked lucy after the hanson song "lucy," which i thought was a beautifully simple and sad love song. mountain dew was my favorite soda. i combined these two names to represent some aspect of my identity-- perhaps that i wanted to be a cute, longed-for sweetie.
• shandelle lynn carter and sari: when i was 14 and 15, i went through a weird, dark phase. i created a new name for myself because i could imagine a different me that was more elegant (doesn't shandelle sound pretty? it looks nice when you write it too) and flowy. "sari" was the name of a character in a christopher pike book that i no longer remember; she was a vampire. my french teacher wanted us to pick nicknames to use in french class (why? i don't remember), so i picked sari. i dotted the "i" with a star on all my papers.

in most of these cases, my nicknames were self-chosen. i was able to present someone else with a fake name, a persona, a label that perhaps better indicated my personality or how i'd like to be perceived. long after i created and abandoned these fake names, i looked up "andrea" in a baby name book, and under "name associations" for "andrea," it read: "fat." great. my ex-boyfriend also stated once that "andrea" reminded him of an annoying loud-mouth. great. no wonder i made up nicknames for myself. according to professors of communcation eimi lev and anat lewinsky from the university of haifi, israel, "nicknames are thought to reflect a person's identity better than the formal name." in my younger years and in my professional life, perhaps "andrea" just doesn't cut it.

terms of endearment-- or hypocorisitcs, basically the best word ever-- are really what ignited this reflection in the first place. we all have pet names for others, and we all have been called a hypocoristic. these are usually assigned by others and for some explicit purpose, and my list of "endearments" over the years is quite interesting. my friends have called/still call me:

• girly girl
• pudding cup
• sweets
• pumpkin pie
• andre the giant
• kiddo

they are a good combination of labels (like "girly"), terms of affection (like "sweets"), and sarcastic pokes (like "andre the giant"). these nicknames indicate that my friends view me as something pleasant and feminine (with one blatant exception). and i am.

the boys in my life also ascribe fairly diverse hypocoristics:

• poopy, poophead, poopface: brett and i certainly loved each other (as we should have after 4 years together), but i think we had an odd way of showing it. we each called each other a combination of poop + body part.
• my love: i'm pretty sure brett came up with this from the scene in "dumb and dumber" when lloyd drops off mary at the airport, reaches out his arm to her, says, "goodbye, my love..." as he runs into a car and deploys the airbag.
• babe
• sweetheart
• sunshine: apparently, i wake up happy and full of energy. apparently, this is enough to warrant a hypocoristic related to my AM-demeanor.
• lil girl: this was from the cardiologist, and it used to sort of weird me out.

all of these nicknames demonstrate how others perceived me. i think these nicknames also affected me and my own perception of how i functioned in the relationship: i was the annoying one, the loved one, the sweet one, the happy one, the young one. can my role in a relationship always be relegated to x? especially in terms of what the other is not?

my current boyfriend has been trying out different nicknames for me, which has been an interesting exercise that has revealed what he seems to like/value about me:

• baby
• snookums
• gigglesworth
• lil asian

"baby" and "lil" are diminutive nicknames (and they usually come into play when i'm being difficult, much like a child), and "snookums" functions much like "sweets" by indicating a desired pleasantry. i do giggle. and i am asian. i think he's rather fascinated with my being short. and my being asian. although i really don't like that nickname...

our nicknames indicate what we think of ourselves-- both to ourselves and others. i'm interested in the desire we each have to represent ourselves to others with nicknames as both labels and symbols. i think our nicknames do have an effect on how we perceive ourselves and our relationships with others. perhaps we're just looking for that connection.

an attempt at reflection:

suddenly, i simultaneously resemble the grudge-holding, slightly neurotic character of billy (vincent gallo) and the people-pleasing, filled with ennui character of layla (christina ricci) in buffalo '66.

let's start with layla. (if this was an academic paper, i'd be criticized for reverse the order of items in my "thesis." well, this isn't academia. i hope you're okay with that.) layla goes about her own business, happily tap-dancing in class before she is kidnapped in the hallway by billy. he covers her mouth. he pulls her hair. billy "coerces" her into her car (which consisted of yelling, mostly), which she drives to his parents' house (because he can't drive a "shifter") and is introduced as his significant other. for the rest of the movie, she goes to a diner with him, goes bowling, gets a hotel room, and basically becomes his "reason" for life. layla is swept away by a crazy person who--only hours earlier--was just released from prison. she has choices, she has outs, but she doesn't take them. and it's not like billy is prince charming; he bosses her around. right before meeting his parents, billy said, "if you make me look bad, i'll never talk to you again. ever." right before billy leaves the hotel, she pleads with him to come back. "i love you," she says. billy mesmerizes her. she understands him.

here's the analysis part (again, if this was an academic paper, i'd be criticized for exposing my "skeleton" and intentions with explicit verbal cues instead of just getting to it): i've lately been wrestling with my own derailment from my seemingly content, bubble-like life as a student, friend, and daughter. you know: the usual. i wasn't whole-heartedly dedicated to continuing my education or to constructing an life independent from other people (like friends, or my parents' expectations, or the desire to be in a relationship with a boy). i let the newness of graduation freedom, the fear of confrontation, and my own passive personality sweep in and forge a new direction for my life. i didn't even throw a fit. i let billy in.

billy-- a character that simply could NOT be played by anyone BUT vincent gallo-- was semi-wronged by a strip club owner that he spends nearly the entire movie trying to track down so he can blow his brains out. he's mentally, emotionally, and physically cut off from the world. socially awkward. slightly violent. self-destructive. a thinker. in some ways, billy tries to reason with societal acceptance. he puts on a show for his parents (including his football-obsessed mother played by angelica huston) in hopes they'll break out of their prejudices to acknowledge him as he is. layla tries to hold his hand to put on the front that they are a happy couple for his parents, and billy freaks out. "we are a couple that doesn't touch," he scolds. when he's released from prison, he asks if he can go back inside. the world according to billy is full of goons and smelly people. he shows some semblance of feeling by buying layla a chocolate milk at the donut shop. he's not entirely unredeemable. he's just billy.

billy is not entirely rational. he makes decisions based on deep-seeded revenge and rebellion. i've been skeptical about the goodness of humanity for a while now, and many different events in life confirm for me that people just plain suck. my unemployment has caused more than one person to explode with anger; one even told me that i am "the greatest disappointment" of her life. at the time, i didn't think this statement would affect me so profoundly. but it has. i'm a disappointment? then 1) what it takes to not disappoint someone is clearly beyond my means, and 2) fine, i'll show you a frickin disappointment. another certain someone in my life criticizes me for not acknowledging his actions, when his words (and philosophies on relationships, interactions between men/women, etc.) often undermine and contradict what he does. like billy, peoples' outward actions mean nothing to me unless they are backed with a true, legitimate character beneath. i don't know what it means anymore to be loved. or to love. my heart is cold.

yet, despite that coldness, i still seek acceptance. i want the people in my life to accept me, to advise me in productive ways, and to desire me not based on what they think i can be. i'm flawed. so are you.

so what? perhaps we all have conflicting aspects to our personalities: sometimes one screws up, one tries to console the other, both aren't strong enough (or viable enough) to exist as independent entities. they depend on each other.

or perhaps some of us have it figured out. i'm not one of those people.

breaking up with bro-dy

it's a well-known fact that brody jenner is dreamy: dark hair, long eyelashes, tan, rich, and "cool."

however, it's also a well-known fact that brody is, indeed, somewhat of an asshole. he hangs out with the hollywood elite (he's step-sister IS kim kardashian), has been nicknamed the Prince of Malibu (strike one), and routinely makes out with the so-cal blondes like haylie duff, nicole richie (pre-harlow, of course), kristen cavallari and lauren conrad. actually, his douchebag treatment of LC on season 3 of "the hills" put my celebrity crush on tenuous ground. strike two. don't mess with lauren.



strike three for brody all started with a harmless perusal of MTV's website to search for a TV show to watch online. (i don't have cable.) in the bottom right-hand corner, a picture of a bright orange and yellow sunset popped up with the show's title "BROMANCE" in silver block letters beneath it.

seriously????, i thought. so lame.

but then i looked closer at the black and white face centered as the "sun" in the sunset. perfect jawline. dark, mischevious eyes.

brody. jenner.

i clicked on the list of episodes. titles like "little jeans, big hearts" and "bro-athon" and "broast!" flooded my page. i suppressed the desire to gag.

it gets worse: MTV describes the show as an exploitation of an epidemic in hollywood, the "bromance" between two guys. the show's premise relies on the popular notion that Brody is "looking for that one special guy to join his elite entourage." the reality TV show sought out "regular joes" to become "bros vying for the chance of a liftime" who participate in a series of challenges, hang time (including sky-diving in las vegas, hanging out with playboy playmates, etc.), and eliminations. all of this boils down to the crucial moment when brody finds "true bromance" with his "true bro."

needless to say, things just aren't going to work out between brody and me. call it "irreconcilable differences."

tell me what you don't like about yourself.

a few years ago, i unassumingly flipped through television channels and stopped: on my screen in a dashing blue collared shirt, dr. christian troy pouted with his perfectly shaped bottom lip to his plastic surgery partner sean mcnamara about sucking the fat out of a size 2. words like "ethics" blurred with the sound of expensive shiny shoes tapping on the floor. a gorgeous white lamp glowed in the background.

when i subscribed to netflix, i browsed through the TV section (bad bad bad bad idea), and found "nip/tuck." i added all seasons. approximately 3 months later, i've watched all four seasons, or approximately 24 discs, or roughly 72 episodes.

let me attempt to explain how i could fall so in love with ryan murphy's brilliant show about plastic surgery in south beach, miami (even though it's actually filmed in los angeles):

1. the characters are dramatic but three dimensional. christian is a womanizer (oh. womanizer. oh.) but was sexually abused as a foster child by his father. sean tries to fix his son conor's disability because he, at one point in time, suffered from a physical abnormality that caused his parents to divorce. ava is really a man. and julia is beautiful, smart, and tragic.

2. after watching a DVD extra on the set design for "nip/tuck," i can't stop craving cold furniture, circular reflection ponds, and green & gray together. everything about this show's sets makes me dreamy.

3. you learn valuable lessons like: don't take blood money from drug lords because bad people like escobar gallardo will demand a facial reconstruction and then point a gun at your head, don't take a pretty face home from a bar or you may wake up without a kidney, and don't believe a man's rating system-- an 8 is wonderful.

4. joely richardson is magnificent. i love her. l.o.v.e her.

5. speaking of miss joely, john hensley is actually only 12 years younger than joely-- even though he plays her 18-year-old son on the show.

6. gerbils shit. a lot. and flushing them down the toilet is not a good idea.

7. just when i think i am numb and can't possibly be moved by anything, "nip/tuck" explores the devastating effects of alzheimers and a dedicated wife who undergoes intense surgery to look 20 years younger so her sick husband will recognize her. and julia decides to leave sean (again) but runs back to him outside the airport and whispers: "i love you, you know" as she wraps her slender arms around his neck. and christian is raped-- by a man.

8. everyone has flaws. some you can't see; others you can; all are what make us human.