Caffeinated Memories

Sunday Crabbiness

Sun, 13 Jun 2010 18:50:15 GMT

Another Sunday to ruin my day. Sundays make me so damn irritable.

I can be anything, be with anyone, do anything any day of the week, except Sundays.

I hate Sundays because it is the one day where I am forced to be around people in a pompous parade of religion and hypocrisy. The one day where I feel forced and I don't like being forced. The one day where I see myself trapped inside a building, for a predetermined, arbitrary time so that I can practice religion and worship God. Instead of being closer to God, I feel more distant.

On Sundays, I just want to retreat from the world and be left alone. I just want silence and solitude. I just want to shut myself away from the noise of humanity and listen to the silence. God speaks to me in silence. Why can't people understand that? When I die, I want my angel to take me on a Sunday so I can really see God and worship Him on a true Sunday.

Until then, I will worship him Monday through Saturday in doing what I can do to be good and help my fellow man, and then struggle with bitterness and resentment on Sundays. God forgive me for being so crabby and backward.

Asian Judgement

Fri, 11 Jun 2010 18:40:00 GMT

It's a difficult task for any Asian to be different in the Asian culture. The Asian code of conduct is so firm, ingrained, and rigid that is it impossible to escape. Even the most rebellious teenager will naturally and instinctively bow and defer to any elderly person. I think the worst that Asian teenagers can do to hurt their parents is to get an art degree and become an artist of some sort.

Asians can't be different. Even when they try to be different, they end up being collectively different in the same way. Doesn't make sense, but it makes sense to them.

Look at all the "rebellious", "bad ass" images of Asian youths. These youths try to project an image of "I don't give a damn.", but they do give a damn. They all look like they came out of the same fashion plate. And I know they give a damn because as soon as they get home from whatever they were doing, they do their homework, study for the test, and make their A's.

And if an Asian does break the code of conduct, then there are just three simple explanations.

"You lazy."
Any deficiencies in character will first go through the lazy filter. If laziness can explain away what you did or didn't do, then the Asian race has made it's judgement. You erred in your ways. It is unforgivable, but not totally unredeemable. You just need to work harder.

Didn't get an A on the test? Laziness is the illness, and hard work is the cure.

Didn't get the promotion at work? You did not work hard enough. Work harder.

You work 40 hours a week? You are taking it too easy. 65-80 hour work weeks are respectable. Weekends are bonus days to get more work done.

"You stoo-pid."
If you worked hard, studied hard, and were meticulous in planning the bank robbery, but you got caught anyways, then you must be stupid. You certainly weren't lazy, but you were stupid. How could you be so stupid? Your missteps and flaws are open to brutal judgement and analysis.

"Why you use old car for get-away car? Your car broke down and you got caught."
"Why you not use new car for get-away car? You get away faster."
"Noon, is wrong time to rob bank. I say three o'clock. People sleepy then."
"Aiyahh, you so stoo-pid. I can do better."

Finally, if you do work hard, make good decisions, but still defy Asian understanding then you must be "so gay!" Don't expect flexibility in thinking with Asians, especially old Asians.

You are a good kid, always on the honor-roll, perfect attendance, but you come home one day with a new hairstyle that your parents don't understand. This is what you will be asked:

"Why you cut your hair that way? You so gay?"

"Why you wear pink shirt? Men wear white shirt. You so gay?"

"Why you no married yet? You so gay?"

You disappoint your family. Instead of being another doctor in the family, you graduate with an art degree, work hard, and make lots of money. You aren't lazy. Making lots of money compensate for the liberal arts degree, but you are an artist. Why are you an artist? Why not a doctor, a scientist, a mathematician? There is no job security in being an artist - no hospital to work in, no laboratory or research facility to work at, no teaching position at a university, no government job. Something is wrong with you. You are different.

Aunts and Uncles will ask, "Why you artist? There is no job security. You so gay?"

Of course you are not gay. You are in a heterosexual relationship with two kids. But they are convinced that you are. They are smug and sure that you will come out of your closet one day. They are just waiting for that day. Until that day, whenever they see you, you will get the tired:

"You still artist? Why you so gay?"

Asian Pride!

Fri, 11 Jun 2010 17:00:25 GMT

Asians don't care what the rest of the world does. They only care about what goes on in their world.

There is no in between in the Asian world. It's DO or DO NOT - NO TRY! It's either success or failure.

Did you make an A on the test? Yes or No.

You must get an A! You did not succeed unless you got an A. Asians are not interested B's. Getting a B just means that you were lazy and laziness is unforgivable.

C's are marks of failure. You bring shame to your family. No Asian will post a C grade on any refrigerator.

D's don't exist in the Asian mindset because it is unthinkable. D's bring shame to your family and is an affront to ASIAN PRIDE!

If you dare to get an F, your one F has seriously set your race back 10,000 years. All 10,000 year's worth of perfect A's and extra credits are not enough to erase the blight of the one F. You bring shame to all Asians. You deserve to be disowned.

One Dream Husband

Sat, 01 May 2010 05:33:06 GMT

If only I had a gay husband...because the straight one that I have isn't helpful. Everything is "fine". My bad hair day was fine to him, my good hair day was, also, fine. The ugly dress that looked like a grocery bag on me was fine, and equally fine was the perfectly tailored dress. I need someone who will faithfully vow to spend his days listening to my thoughts and caring about the every detail of what happens to me. I need someone to say the following magical words:

"I didn't get all the details of what you just said, tell me again and don't skip anything."

"And what did you say?"

"And what did they say?"

"How did they react?"

"GASP! How dare they?!"

"What happened next?"

"Girlfriend, come here and let me redo your hair while you finish your story."

"What are you going to do about it?"

"Oo, this story is good. We need a cup of coffee and a cheesecake tonight."

Beautiful Tyrant

Mon, 05 Apr 2010 00:38:08 GMT

I write about my mother more than anyone in my life because she occupies my mind even when I don't know it. She never really belonged to me in the same way that other kids could lay claim to their mothers. I never really had her when she was alive, and she refuses to leave me even after she is long gone. She was always elusive and outside my grasp - the most beautiful creature that I couldn't call my own. So my mind wonders in circles, revisiting old memories and combing through them for the lost pieces to the greatest puzzle of my life: Who do I belong to?

I was the satellite orbiting my mother's world. Always circling her, wanting to get nearer, but forces beyond my control always kept us at a distance. We coexisted and went through the motions of living but we never knew each other. There was never a handshake, a touching of hands, any inquisitive "How are you?". We didn't share the simple courtesies that even strangers share.

I watched her go through life. My perspective of life became a disassociation of mind and body as I spent my childhood studying her and studying me and racing to catch up to her. I have plenty of sad, sepia tone memories of watching my mother walk away from confrontations, unpleasant truths, and me.

And now I think I have caught up with her. I am going to be 37 in two months, and as I look in the mirror, I see my mother looking back at me. It is startling to see her face staring back. I do look like my mother but not as beautiful as her, and yet, more beautiful than her. I see a reflection of the love and hate from within for a person that I want to run away from but I can't.

The love for her springs from the childish parts that yearned for her. The little toddler that remembered her leaving me behind and shoving me aside to make room for abusive men. The wailing, heart wrenching cries of a little one who begged for her mother. The young girl that needed a mother's guidance and protection but got none. These parts of me longed for that beautiful woman, suffered from the rejection, and thought that they were never good enough.

But the woman in me rages with fire and fury at the injustice of it all. After living life a bit and having kids of my own, I often walk back in time and revisit myself.

I revisit the little 3 year old softly crying at the gate. Her mother was taking her little brother, but leaving her behind, to visit a boyfriend. As she stands there crying, I sweep her in my arms and take her with me on a journey to revise history. I wipe away the tears and we play.

I revisit the young 13 year old who doesn't know what is to become of her. She is lost, unsure of her self, and doesn't feel worthy of love. She is crying and wants to die. I take her hand and show her what her future is. She does find herself and become more beautiful than the person who made her.

I walk in this world but I live in other worlds. I shift in and out, and along this journey I find that I belong to myself.

Holiday Newsletter

Wed, 30 Dec 2009 22:58:44 GMT

Happy Holiday Greetings From The Clydesdales!

Happy Holidays to everyone! This past year has been a wild year, but we are thankful that we survived it. Verne, the kids, and I are doing well, now. Verne is safe and sound at home now. His flight home was uneventful, although his trip wasn't. Who knew that he had such an imagination?

Somewhere back in March, Verne suffered a mid-life realization. He felt the need to find himself, and so he found himself gambling. The losses were small and big. After burning through all the saving accounts, he came to his senses and stop gambling. Then Verne realized he was missing the excitement and thrill of new things. Somehow, he managed to find himself chatting with another woman on-line. He fell in love with her, withdrew all his retirement money, took an international flight to Britain to meet her and start a new life. His secret woman turned out to a be man, who beat him up and robbed him of all the cash. Verne is recuperating at home. He has a bruised face, sore ribs, and lots of explaining to do. The kids and I still love him, but we are curious as to how much money do we still have left?

Despite the prospects of poverty, the kids are happy and cheerful. Our oldest, Stinker, made us proud this year. After years of obedience school, Stinker has finally graduated. In June, he received his "I Am Now a Good Dog" badge and the necessary obedience school certificate so he can go the Doggie Daycare while I go back to work. He no longer bites Verne's leg and he plays nicely with Sweets, our other kid.

Sweets, is happier these days since Stinker is nicer to be around. Sweets is no longer afraid to share the couch with Stinker. He is very happy to have Verne back home. He follows Verne everywhere and snuggles with Verne. Sweets just adores Verne. He will have no problem at Doggie Daycare. His wonderful temperament and friendliness will help him make friends.

Verne will continue to work and I will soon be the daytime activities coordinator at the retirement home. We will try to make small vacations this year, but we will mostly stay at home. With work and the kids, our year looks pretty full.

Happy New Year!

Love,

Verne, Julie, Stinker, and Sweets

To Be So Good

Mon, 14 Dec 2009 04:14:05 GMT

Once upon a time, when I was a nine-year-old kid, I actually whole-heartedly, truly believed in such a thing as living a sinless life. My mentors, the nuns, taught me so. The church said that it was imperative to my eternal salvation. The stories of saints were proof that I could. If I could believe it, then I could achieve it. I believed within my heart that I wanted to be a good person, living a pure and holy life without sin. I was determined to be so good as to not sin, and so I gave myself the grace of starting fresh the following day, hoping that I would not die that night.

I strategized: eat breakfast and ignore everyone, then brush my teeth like I should and ignore everyone, change my clothes and put them away neatly and ignore everyone, go to school and ignore everyone, come home and ignore everyone, and then go to bed.

The next day I woke up fresh and remembered my holy mission to be sinless. I said a morning prayer. It took one minute to say the Our Father, but that minute felt too long and burdensome. Then I made my bed neat and tidy. That felt exactly like what it was suppose to be -a chore- but the day was fresh and I was determined to outlast the day.

Breakfast was eaten and it was hard to ignore my rising irritation. I skipped the usual morning cartoons to devote time to brushing my teeth properly. I was determined to succeed. God died on the cross for me, so I chose to give up morning tv. God died on the cross for me, so I chose to brush my teeth. It was torture. I was losing precious moments to detailed brushing that could have been spent playing. My childhood was slipping away. I could have died in the next hour. Why couldn't God have made strong teeth that didn't rot?

I left the bathroom with a healthy conscience, knowing that for once I was turning that new leaf and starting to live right. Then who should I see? My younger brother. Just seeing him irked my nerves. Then having him poke me with his finger tempted me to knock his lights out. I let it pass. I let it go. I wanted to be good.

I changed my clothes and made a tremendous effort to neatly fold the clothes and put them away. The mental and physical toll of accomplishing that was unbelievable. I was exhausted before the morning was through.

National Healthcare Debate

Thu, 10 Sep 2009 01:36:50 GMT

To me this seems to be the gist of the national healthcare debate:

"Don't have health insurance? You're screwed? Well, I'm not, so screw you!"

It sucks to hear such mean, short-sighted thinking. It's depressing to think that such thinking exists.

Who Are You?

Mon, 03 Aug 2009 04:19:19 GMT

"Who are you?" commanded the soldier.

"I am an Amer-I-CAN! Sir, yes, Sir!" replied the second graders of St. Anthony Catholic School.

For their stout, faithful, inspired participation, all those young Catholics were awarded badges of courage, loyalty, strength! They were given licenses to shoot communists and anyone who dare to say that he is an Amer-I-CAN'T. They were also given small, hand-held American flags, American flag stickers, American flag rulers to embolden and encourage their spirits.

"Who are you?"

"I am an Amer-I-Can! Sir, yes, Sir!"

"If I come back here tomorrow and ask you, 'Who are you?', what will you say?"

"I am an Amer-I-Can! Sir, yes, Sir!"

In the whole blur of childhood and any attempt at an education, this one moment stood out. Almost everything was true. Obviously, the part about the licenses to shoot the communists did not happen. But believe it or not, my second grade class was told that anyone who had an Amer-I-CAN'T attitude should be shot. He said that in America anything CAN happen and we CAN achieve anything. Anyone who didn't try and believe in success is not an I-Can person, he is an I-Can't person, and I-Can't people are not Amer-I-CANs.

That's why I am such an I-Can person. If my mother's work ethics didn't impress me, then that U.S soldier, from that moment in time, sure did. That soldier was probably just speaking from the heart, speaking from a source of pride and deep loyalty to his country.

We were in awe of the I-Can Man. We knew he was in war and killed lots of people. He probably rode in a tank. He probably just got back from war, where he killed lots of people, and he could kill us, too, if he found out that we were I-Can't people.

You Fat!

Thu, 30 Jul 2009 09:16:54 GMT

Asian woman says, "You fat!"

Anyone who knows an Asian woman intimately, will understand that, next to money, size is very important. No one is more critical and observant about this matter than an Asian woman. It's not about your weight, how skinny you feel- it's the size you are, the shape of you.

A size "2" is a respectable, standard size. "0" will raise eyebrows in silent admiration. "00" is darkly, secretly enviable, coveted.

Going up to a size "3", for an Asian woman, will signal the alarm bells. Kind aunts and relations will simply state, "You fat." There is no hurtful intention, just a simple, pure, honest observation that signals the need to do self examination and to be on guard. Asians pride themselves in honesty to their family, especially to their children. They will be brutally honest if they feel like they have to because they find it appalling to have their family, especially their children, make fools of themselves in public and bring shame to the family. (Note: very few Asian children will dare go on tv to make jackasses of themselves. Their parents, extended family, the whole Asian community are watching.)

Such honesty, should be appreciated, because when an aunt wails, "YOU FAT!", Asians believe it. The world will be deceivingly polite. Friends will want to spare feelings. People will say soothing things like, "You are just pleasingly plump, big and beautiful, perfect the way you are..." But it takes the Asian family to tell the truth - the real truth that is in the mind of people when they look at a person, their body, their shape. Asians don't buy into the self-delusion. There is no such words as "pleasingly plump" or "big and beautiful" in their vocabulary.

Asians trust their family because their family will not lie to them. If they do something stupid, they will be told so. They will get the total, unvarnished, "You stoo-pid!", "Why you rob the bank?", "Now you go to jail!". There will be no the-devil-made-me-do-it defence. You rob the bank, you apologize, you go to jail.

Now going beyond size "3", "4" and into the "6" and above will not get anyone jail time, but it will sentence the Asian woman to the constant, "You fat" until the message is heard and action is taken.

Wicked Me

Thu, 18 Jun 2009 17:41:06 GMT

People don't seem to think that I work. That's a shame. I am constantly being asked by inquisitive strangers and relations, "When will you go to work?" or some variation of that line of questioning.

I tell them, "Why work, Darling? I have achieved the American Dream. I have found a rich American man to work and support me."

For my husband's family to hear that, I am sure it irritates them to no end to think that a gold-digger , a no-good, lazy woman has her hands on their son's/ brother's money - the poor son/brother is getting the poor end of the bargain.

For my family to hear it, they must think that I have fallen into the American pit of doom: lack of ambition. To them, value is measured in money, and when a woman makes no money, she has no value. They are scared for me because I am not living up to my fullest earning potential, wasting away at home - they pity me because he will leave me and I will have nothing.

For the inquisitive strangers, they get the shock value that they deserve for questioning my life. In fact, anyone can take my statement however they like. How they react to my statement reflects more on their value than my statement alone.

It amazes me, that in world so fraught with violence, upheaval, turmoil, poverty, suffering, despair, and more urgent problems, that people find it more interesting to examine the validity of a housewife.

I guess, people in general, are vain in the sense that they think the world is always interested in their opinions,especially, the unsolicited opinions. While I find people's thoughts and opinions entertaining, I don't live by other people's opinion. If I did, I would be running a constant opinion poll, or run for office, or, better yet, ask for their opinions about how to live my life.

I am sure, I am not the only housewife who has had to suffer through the cross examinations about why they do what they do and when they will do something else.

Life is so short. I aim to enjoy it on my own terms, doing what is right. If people aim their poison arrows my way, the best I can do is to deflect them with a little bit of my own wicked humor and let these pesky people stew in their own interpretations.

Attention Dear

Tue, 05 May 2009 21:05:13 GMT

The world may be falling apart, but my world is rich. I am constantly finding myself falling into rich pots. All I have to do is call a phone number. Rich, dead people have left me their millions. I have won lotteries. Monarchs have needed my assistance, and promised of rich rewards.

Since I am so rich, I don't need the following money and so I can share with you all the following email that I just received. I know that by sharing this email, I am losing out on the money and inviting "another hoax", but I have tens of millions "in the mail".

Attention Dear.

Your overdue payments of $2.5million U.S.D had resolved to pay you in cash,by boxing the monies and put to FedEx to deliver to you,to avoid another hoax as your disappinted in the past and do not disclose this transaction with any person.contact them with the below information. DR. DAVID TANKO; Director General FedEx Delivery Company Benin Republic. Email::(fedex_express_cc@live.fr) Tel Fax Phone +22998688340.

The below are the information their need from you

Your full name______
Your home address______
Mobile Phone____
Your Country______
A Copy Of Your picture_____
Your Nearest Airport_______

Your shipping reference code:AXD-101-87529K, shipment recipient's (FedEx)

Yours Sincerely
Rev Paul Robert
National Co-ordinator Foreign Payment.
cell +22996443228

Violent Endings

Sun, 26 Apr 2009 04:39:13 GMT

We had a rodent problem. It was annoying as heck. It's unnerving to see scurrying shadows at night. And even worse, was to hear the rodents gnaw away the wood inside the walls. The noise from that was extremely loud and psychologically frightening. It was nerve wracking to know that support beams were being compromised.

We had a rodent problem until we left for vacation. I went to Wal-mart and bought the store out of all their glue traps. A man, seeing the amount of traps that I bought, commented, "That's some rodent problem you have."

"Yes, sir." I replied. "We do have rodents."

The night before we left I literally covered the kitchen and pantry floor with the glue traps. The next morning, we caught two. I replaced the two glue traps with fresh ones and we left for three weeks.

When we came on from a three week vacation, we walked into killing zone. We had caught 4 mice. From the blood splatterings, it was evident that they struggled and fought to the end to try and free themselves. Their ending must have been gruesome and prolonged. One mouse must have tried to tear itself free, because it left patches of skin and fur in different places on the glue trap. Others just got stuck, and died as they were.

If there were any surviving rodents, they must have scared off. Mice are smart, they can hear and smell fear. Maybe having the dead rodents linger longer than usual got the message across.

I want to feel bad for the rodents, but somehow I don't. I am sorry that they suffered, but boy am I glad to be rid of rodents.

Supporting the Troops

Sat, 04 Apr 2009 03:33:35 GMT

Today, I went to Starbucks on Franklin St, in Chapel Hill and did my part to support our troops. I bought two pounds of coffee for the troops of the US armed forces, and as a reward, I was given two free cups of coffee and 10% off of my entire purchases. Starbucks will ship the coffee.

Miracle Child

Sat, 04 Apr 2009 01:41:23 GMT

I have a four year old miracle child. She told me herself. She said she fell asleep one night without brushing her teeth - and her teeth did not rot! It was a miracle. I was so happy for her, but I did warn her that miracles don't often repeat itself, so she shouldn't think that she can skip on brushing her teeth.

She asked me if I was ever a miracle child? Yes, I told her. The fact that I am alive is a miracle.

What about your teeth?" she asked

My teeth. There are no miracles there, only cautionary tales about too much candy and poor brushing habits.

When did you have your first cavity?

Before I had teeth, I had cavities. I was more of a Ripley's Believe It or Not child. I was just weird.

Raising Children

Wed, 11 Mar 2009 02:30:06 GMT

Having children, raising children, or just being responsible for children for any period of time is a frustrating experience of being around the selective deaf, dumb, blind, and mute.

They don't hear a darn thing when you need them to. They don't hear: no, don't, can't, not now, wait, I'm on the phone, let your sister have it, stop, etc... They can't hear a call to take out the trash, or the sounds of the things that they drop.

They know nothing when information is required. Who spilled the milk? They don't know. Who left the door open in the middle of winter? They don't know. Who tracked in dirt? They don't know. No one knows anything.

They see nothing. They never see the dirty clothes, dirty dishes, a full trash can, toothpaste all over the sink, mud on their shoes.

And they say nothing. They don't report vital information. When asked for a reason for their actions, none is given. They don't have any opinions. Nothing is wrong, everything is fine, the food was okay, and their day was nice.

They would make the worst witnesses ever. Detectives could spend hours pulling teeth and get nowhere. Anything gleaned would be vague and nonsensical.

"The bank was robbed. Did you see anything?"

"No."

"What were you doing in the bank during the robbery?"

"Oh, just waiting in line."

"Did you see anything happen?"

"No."

"What were you doing in line?"

"Just waiting."

"Did you hear anything while you where in line?"

"No."

"Nothing?"

"Nothing that I can remember."

"Did you even know that the bank was being robbed?"

"Yes."

"What made you think that the bank was being robbed?"

"The gunman told me to get down on the ground."

"So it was a man that robbed the bank?"

"I don't know."

"But you just said it was a "gun-MAN."

"I just guess it was a man."

"Did the gunman looked like a man?"

"I guess."

"Why do you guess?"

"I don't know."

Money

Wed, 04 Mar 2009 04:44:47 GMT

Money, it comes and goes - more often than not, it just goes, baby. Where it goes does not matter, it just goes. That's the nature of that beast. Don't worry about money, because the money won't worry about you. Enjoy what you have, save if you can, and let the rest go.

Money is meant to be spent. Your family will keep you and your pocketbook humble. Churches and charities will always be begging for money. The world will always be filled with causes for your money to champion. When the government runs short of money, you will be the bailout.

Be anxious for nothing, free fall into peace, and live. Pay your taxes, save a little, and spend the rest.

Pay your taxes. Don't mess with Uncle Sam. His arm is pretty powerful when he wants to reach out and smack you with audits, investigations, penalties, and jail time.

Save something. Save to provide for times of need, but also save to provide a mental barrier against brokenness and despair. As long as you hold a hundred dollar bill, you are not broke. If you whittle it down to your last twenty, you are still not broke. But if desperation drives you down to your last dollar, you are still not broke. Hold on to that last dollar as long as you can, because you are not broke as long as you have that. But if you're beaten down to pocket change, you are still not broke yet. As long as you have something to jingle, you are not never broke.

Spend the rest. Make the money work for you, not you work for the money. Spend money to provide for yourself and your loved ones. Spend money to make the world a better place. The money will eventually go, just make sure it's going in the direction that you want it to.

Two parents or Not Two parents

Thu, 26 Feb 2009 07:49:56 GMT

I read a blog today that had tempers flaring because I think the writer failed to use language that was conciliatory and peaceful when discussing a toxic topic that will never be agreed upon. The writer and I happen to be married to each other and we raise children together, and yet, we disagree. He says he wasn't trying to offend anyone. He only wanted to voice an opinion. I do think that his intent was well meaning, but his method was a bit rough. I think that just wanting to voice an opinion -especially about an emotionally charged one requires extreme sensitivity, caution, thought, and diplomacy. Therefore, he challenged me to try to write an argument for the topic "Children Need Two Parents", without seeming smug. (I had accused his blog post of seeming smug.)

I don't hope to please everyone. I just hope to be able to think about this subject in a different and less hostile angle.

                Children Need Two Parents
                     By Dvfmama

What is a parent? A parent is someone who parents. Some who has an active role in providing the essentially care to ensure that a child is loved and provided for.

Who are two parents? Two parents are two people who parent together to provide the essential care that ensures that a child is loved and provided for.

With that defined, I dare say that children need two parents. Why two? Because two is better than one.   Call it the buddy system. A backup system. Three might be better. Anymore will just be like the too many cooks that ruin the pot. But let's just stick with two for now.

I don't have statistics to offer, because statistics is just a mumble jumble of data, multiplied by some mumble jumble number, divided by other mumble jumble numbers. Statistics don't mean much to me when dealing with people because people are different and everyone's circumstances are different.

In my reasoning, the buddy system is the safe system because parenting is a taxing job that is very costly, does not pay one red cent, and offers absolutely no vacation time. Trust me, when "we" (as in my husband, four kids, and I) go on a vacation, there is no me in the "we". Everyone has a fun, relaxing time - except for me. My job travels.

Yes, one parent can do this alone, but not really alone. A he or she parent that ventures parenting alone will have to rely on at least one of the following resources: nanny, daycare, family, friends. These sources of help are additional parenting sources. So, unless the single parent is independently wealth and can be the soul care provider, then that single parent isn't really singularly parenting .

I am not saying that daycare qualify as parenting, not at all. What I am saying is that, single parents do need help in raising their kids, when they can't be available for their kids. Single parents often have to work, and childcare is needed. Family is the optimal choice in this situation. If grandparents are available, then they are wonderful people who can help co-parent. If aunts, or uncles, cousins, etc... are available and willing, then they can provide that co-parenting.

Sure, a two parent, living together situation is very ideal. I would say that it is highly recommended because kids need security, especially in the American culture, where extended families don't share the same space anymore, much less the same block, city, or even state.

But life is never neat and tidy. Divorces, death, and who-knows-what are circumstances that can change an ideal situation quickly to a less than ideal situation. If something were to happen to my husband today, then I would instantly be in the single parent category. I would be left without a partner in parenting that provides income so I can be available for my family's needs. I would lose a partner in parenting that can step in when I am sick or worn out. I would also be left without a valuable sounding board to keep my own parenting skills in check.

If my husband were to disappear tomorrow, then I would need the help of my community: neighbors, family, friends, daycare, etc... I would need the help of these resources to fill the gap, and provide a safety net for me and my children.

My mother had an unfortunate life. War, bad marriage, divorce, displacement, bad life choices were the main ingredient. Her unfortunate life definitely affected my life. In the first six years of my life, I absolutely had very few memories of my mother and no memories of a father. Aunts, a grandmother, and a nanny had filled in the gap to care for me during my mother's and father's absences.

Did I feel different? Did I feel like I missed out on anything? Yes, and yes. Of course, I felt different. All the kids around me had traditional parents. I did feel like I was missing out on the special bonds and moments of having a mother and father. But my grandmother gave me her devotion. My grandmother provided the motherly love. She stepped off the boat that was suppose to leave for America, and chose to stay back in Vietnam to raise me. My days with her were slow, happy days, filled with laughter. Her sacrifice and devotion made up for most of all that my mother and father failed to provide for me.

A person contemplating single parenting, should definitely think more carefully about the consequences of raising a child alone, especially if "alone" really means a lack of a permanent support group like family, who will most likely be loyal and flexible in generosity and time. Daycare and babysitters, even friends, come with limits. Therefore, I will redefine a single parent who does not have the strong and consistent support of family as the "alone" parent.

All parents get sick, and an alone parent does not have the additional safety partner to kick in. All parents die, and an alone parent will leave his or her children alone, without a parenting source to help the bereaved children cope. The children in this case will become orphans - a common nightmare of parents and children.

I will dare say that any person, male or female, that purposely chooses to have children, when they lack human connection with any other, is probably looking at parenting as a way to fulfill a lonely void. That's is selfish. And I have a feeling that such selfishness, won't stop at that, and that it might extend itself into other harmful areas.

But recognizing or even defining the selfishness of wanting children will never stop people from having children. Because, having children is a selfish desire that ranges in degree, from the common "I want children to care for me in my old age", "I want childen to carry on the family name", to the ethical delemma of "I want children, more children, to provide a donor match to save my ill child."

Children are blessings. Young couples are blessed by them, so are women who find themselves yearning for children but don't have a partner, so are men who also yearn for children but don't have a partner. Biological or adopted, children are the sweetest things on earth. They deserve good loving homes, surrounded with loving people to parent them.

Found Things

Tue, 24 Feb 2009 03:23:52 GMT

I saw this lying on the ground in a parking lot. It is one of the more interesting objects that have come across my path. I have a fond habit of looking at where I am walking. Most of the time, I would see trash. But sometimes, I do see valuables.

I know someone will be missing this. I don't smoke, but I am aware of the cigarette prices because the cigarettes are displayed by the cashiers at my supermarket. A pack go as cheap as $4.00 a pack. At that price, a pack a day habit would be $120 a month. It surprises me, but I am not shocked. Coffee drinks at Starbucks can cost that much. A couple beers a day can cost more than that. It is so easy to spend a dollar here, a few bucks there, and not even realize how much it all adds up.

Oh well, maybe someone in need of a drag will pick it up and use it.

What Would You Do?

Sat, 21 Feb 2009 19:23:46 GMT

Everyone has played the hypothetical game at least once. The first, classic, one that comes to my mind is: if you are in a sinking ship, who would you save, your spouse or your child? My husband would pause to debate this one, but I definitely know, for sure, who I would rescue first. It is a heart-wrenching game of "what ifs" that plays with the emotions and the possibility of hard choices. It is inducing stress factors within me, just by thinking about it. Just thinking of my family in danger is inducing the fight responses - agitation, increased heart rate, nervous fingers, a small bit of panic attack (my body's physical response to an imagined danger).

Hypothetical games are good exercises. They prepare the mind and person for the what ifs that could arise. Although danger and disaster are never hoped for, they can happen anytime and they do happen.

I don't dwell on hypothetical games often, but every once in a while something in the news will trigger my mind to think, "What would I do if that happened to me?"

I am a mother of young kids. I debate the question of whom to help first in a disaster. One particular headline about a mother in an SUV with three small children reminded me to revisit one of my fearful hypotheticals. What would I do if my van somehow became submerged in water with just me (the only adult) and all four of my kids in it? What would I do and whom would I help first?

I would first remind myself of the fact that my van is electronic-everything. My windows aren't the manual kind that I can unwind. If my van hit water, I have about less than a minute to roll down the windows before all the electrical systems fail and we are trapped inside without any escape; thus, it is top priority that I roll down all the windows.

During that precious time, what would happen to my children? I have drilled into my children the protocols: unbuckle yourself first, then unbuckle the person next to you, then swim out and up.

Keep it simple. Too many steps in the instructions is not only dangerous, because it can muddle any adult in a time of confusion, but it is unrealistic and unfair to young children.

It is my job to ensure that anyone else that needs help get help. If I die trying, then that's my burden as the leader. I don't leave until everyone is out. That's a hard rule that, prayerfully, will NEVER get tested. It's very scary to even think of such possibility. But things happen. Sometimes, its the small things, either unnoticed or ignored, that are often the cause of bigger preventable disasters.

People who are closest to me think of me as a tough cookie, mysterious and guarded, not indulgent in opening up and showing vulnerabilities. Even the people closest to me, misunderstand me. In fact, I am very vulnerable. It is the awareness of my fragility that makes me take nothing for granted, assume nothing, and try to always follow my gut feelings.

I will describe the following true incident, and open myself to public scrutiny. First, ask yourself, "What would I do?" and then ask yourself, "What did she do that I think is right or wrong?" I would not change any of my actions in the incident, whether anyone agreed or not. The purpose of this exercise is for everyone to examine themselves and think of how they would act if they are caught in a real and ordinary situation that could have turned out badly.

It was a Friday. The afternoon was cold, with a temperature of 31 degrees Fahrenheit. My family and I had planned to do the following things: visit a comic bookstore, do some shopping, eat out, and then head to the local baseball stadium for ice skating with our church youth group. Everyone went out to the van, dressed how they usually dressed for the typical shopping trip.

Father: t-shirt, cotton sweater, and jeans.
Mother (that's me): t-shirt, long dress-sweater, wool pants, and long down coat.
Child 1: cotton shirt, sweater, light jacket, scarf.
Child 2: t-shirt, long-sleeved shirt underneath t-shirt, down coat, fleece pants.
Child 3: long-sleeved shirt, pants, boots, long down coat with hood.
Child 4: long-sleeved shirt, down jacket with hood, fleece pants, sheep-wool lined boots.

We were dressed for our typical shopping that usually had us inside warm buildings. We have never been to the stadium to ice skate and so we didn't even give it too much thought and planning. All we knew is that we were ice skating later in the evening.

I am sure those who have lived in the north can immediately see the mistakes. I, from the south, in this case, assumed that ice skating in the north, similar to ice skating in the south, would be inside a building. I assumed wrong. Also, anyone, looking at the itemization of the clothing for the family, can see that we were ill dressed for a long evening in the outside environment, totally unprepared for the unexpected turn in weather and bad circumstances.

We arrived at the stadium, at nightfall, after hours of being either in a warm van or a warm building. As soon as we walked out the van, we noticed the sudden darkness of the evening and the sudden whipping of the wind, at almost 23 miles per hour, temperature at 21 degrees F. We ran inside the stadium to buy our admission tickets and. I didn't have to see the skating rink to know that we were in trouble. The walk from the admissions building to the rink was a walk in a frigid wind tunnel.   We had not hats or gloves (see itemized clothing list above). My head, ears, nose, and skin stung immediately. My two kids that had down coats with hoods, didn't mind the cold too much, but the ones without any hoods were plainly miserable. "Father", with just his t-shirt, sweater, and jeans, was shivering. And the fact that the skate rental attendant had on a thick coat, cap, balaklava, and gloves on indicated that we were under dressed.

My mind raced to figure out what to do, while chaos swirled around me. People were everywhere; we were bracing ourselves against the wind and cold; the kids were screaming about skates and the cold; church friends were calling to us. In all this chaos, I withdrew into myself, and assessed the situation and my options.

First off, I realized we paid nearly $60 for admission and rentals, and the kids were anxious to ice skate for the first time.   I could stand there debating with "Father" about leaving. But I knew that standing there arguing over why we should chunk the $60 bucks and leave would be ineffective, and, considering that we were standing in the freezing cold, time was of the essence. We were going to be there, whether it didn't make sense or not.

Accepting the set of circumstances, I made the executive decision to leave the stadium and go buy the hats, gloves and scarves. But before I announced my decision, I sent Father out to get the emergency blanket from the van to wrap around himself. Then I switched coats with Child 1, who only wore a light jacket. I gave her my down coat so that she had something warm to endure the elements.   When Father came back, I announced my intent and brushed aside any objections. I also took Child 4, the youngest child, along with me.

Anyone who wonders why I did what I did then, should know that I don't like needless suffering, when I know that we were going to be out in the swirling, freezing cold for hours. If I was cold, then my young children were at least that cold too, and even if my husband wouldn't admit it, he was very cold.

Assured that everyone was reasonably safe for a short while, I dashed off with the baby of the family to Old Navy, which, I knew, was only a straight shot 2 miles away. Before I dashed inside the store, I looked my four year old in the eye and in a very grave voice explained that I needed her to follow me at all times now. It was her job to make sure that she followed me. The seriousness of my tone and the situation got through to her because she kept up with me as, hand-in-hand, we raced into Old Navy. In that moment she was no longer the baby of the family that was always asking to be carried. She carried her own weight.

Once inside, I saw to my horror, all winter items replaced with summer fashions. It's February for goodness sakes and already summer dresses were everywhere. I wasted no time, and rushed to the dressing room to ask the attendant there if there were any winter items left in the storage area. She quickly checked and said no. On the way out, I spotted the last remnants of warmth - nine, green fleece caps. The only winter items in the whole store, in the coldest part of winter! I grabbed all nine and checked out. All this time, my little one kept up with me as I raced around the store. I didn't have my hands on her but I did keep track to see if she was following.

Within that strip mall, the Old Navy was the only clothing store. There were Home Depot, Pets Smart, Barnes and Noble, Circuit City, Party City. These stores had no relevance me then.

It was 10 minutes since I left the stadium and I knew that my husband must be aching with cold. 10 minutes in frigid wind is 10 minutes too long. He had to have something else besides the small fleece blanket.

My mind flashed a message: there's a Salvation Army store one street over, and still on the way back to the stadium. I rushed there in my van. As soon as I ran inside the store, I grabbed the arm of the first worker that crossed my path and asked, "Where's your scarves, gloves, and coats?" Once again, my little one kept up with me. I didn't bother to look around this time. I just listened for her boot-clumping sounds. I raced and grabbed a couple scarves and six gloves.   My little one wanted to hold a couple mittens - I just gave them to her. Then I headed for the coats. Coats were challenging because there were so many, but I knew what I wanted. I was looking for down coats or leather coats, large sized coats. I skimmed the racks. Of anything I buy, the one item I will splurge for is a down coat. I love down and can identify a down coat just by touch and smell. Once I found a jacket, I quickly checked the label to confirm that it was down and that was in good condition, clean, and a suitable size. It took me seconds to do this because it is a habit developed by years of doing quick checks on my children before leaving the house to go to church. I was fortunate to find two coats quickly and no line at the register.

All this time, I knew that precious time was ticking. I raced back with my child and two large bags.

The first person I met was the a woman from church. She had a long wool coat on, but it wasn't enough. She was showing signs of extreme cold. I gave her a fleece cap. She was so cold that she couldn't talk very well, seemed dazed, and didn't even notice that her nose was dripping. She took the cap because it was new, but declined the coat because it was from Salvation Army. But minutes later, she asked for the coat and put it over what she had. Being warm was more important than the ick factor of used, unwashed clothing from Salvation Army.

People who knew me, rushed up to tell me that my husband was very cold. When I saw him, it was evident that he was freezing cold. I handed him the coat, a pair of gloves. I located my other three children and handed out the hats, scarves and gloves. It was very heartening to see that a friend of mine shared her son's cap with my son while I was gone. The boys had taken turns wearing it.

With everyone properly clothed, I finally looked at my littlest child, seated where I had deposited her. She was patiently waiting for me. She had on the Old Navy fleece cap, the Salvation Army mittens. I looked her in the eye, smiled, kissed her sweet face, and said, "Let's go skating." Father took her skating while I procured hot coffee for myself and my cold friend. My family had a good time. The kids want to come back again, and we will.

I followed my gut instincts and did what I felt was right. Of course, now I am stuck with extra caps, gloves, scarves, coats that I didn't have to buy if we hadn't left our coats, caps, scarves and gloves at home. I am going to wash all the purchased items and keep them in the trunk of the van along with the emergency blanket.

What do you think? If that was you and your family, what would you have done? Some could argue that being out in such frigid condition for a couple hours wouldn't necessarily kill anyone, and that people have survived much colder conditions.

Do you think that spending $50 to buy those things were frivolous?
Would you rather be freezing cold, then wear used clothes?

How I Came To America

Fri, 20 Feb 2009 02:05:24 GMT

My coming to America is nothing spectacular. I wish I had some fantastic story to tell, something heroic that can be splashed across the headlines: Toddling Vietnamese tot outruns the Viet Cong, emerges from the jungle without a scratch, escapes to America by using teeth to hang onto a passing boat.

I am embarrassed to say that I didn't suffer any hardship. When I did make my grand entrance into the US, it was by plane. My grandparents sponsored us over. We had documentation and a waiting community of Vietnamese to help us transition into the new culture. The story is really short and boring.

I do have a few memories of visiting a refugee camp. We stayed there to pass medical inspections. I know that these memories are not made up because I distinctly remember my first taste of Coca-Cola from a glass bottle. It was the sweetest brown liquid that burned going down the throat. The camp was very primitive, with open faced buildings, dirt everywhere. The day before we left, my mother took us to eat noodle soup, the Thai version of pho. I don't remember the food, but I remember my mother complaining about how sweet the Thai fish sauce was compared to the Vietnamese kind. The next day we flew to the US.

The only tragedy occurred during a layover in Japan, when my mother bought my younger brother a plastic toy gun that whistled, lit up and sparked. Of course my brother loved that toy. I only remember the incident because my brother loved it so much that he couldn't put it away for the one minute that we had to board. My mother had put the toy away and he threw a fit. Because he threw a fit, he got what he wanted, and the stewardess took it away. That's my six year old memory and feelings of the event. I can still recall the incident like yesterday. I felt sorry for him because it was such a cool toy. I didn't understand why the stewardess was so unmoved by his cries. My little two year old brother kept begging my mother to go back to Japan and please get him another one.

Then we landed in Hawaii, and from there to New Orleans. That's about it.

S-O-D-A

Fri, 20 Feb 2009 01:10:57 GMT

S-O-D-A, the dirty, four letter word that can ruin a child's meal - or at least any child who acts like my children. Soda, soda pop, carbonated drinks, soft drinks, Coke...call it whatever. Brand name or generic, it is all sweet and tempting and E-V-I-L.

But the evils of soda drinks go beyond ruined appetites and uneaten meals. Any person can benefit from consuming less soda. Soda is high in empty calorie - calories that creates few healthful benefits. The high concentration of processed and refined sugars not only contribute to the weight problem in our culture, but they (the sugars) also dehydrate the body. It's hard to believe but sugar does dehydrate the body.

My children didn't believe that sugar can really dehydrate a body, until I showed them a real life experiment. It happened during an afternoon of making carrot cake. I had them grate two pounds of carrot, then dumped the grated carrots into a strainer that was sitting inside a glass mixing bowl. Following the recipe, I sprinkled a cup of sugar onto the grated carrots. Then I told my children to watch what happened next.

For two minutes nothing happened. Then like magic, they saw the carrots bleed orange water. Drip, drip. One by one the drops of orange water came down, until one cup's worth pooled at the bottom of the mixing bowl. The sugar leeched the water, minerals, and coloring from the carrots.

"This my children," I declared, " is what happens to your body when you consume too much sugar."

"Wow! Cool Mom!" were their awed responses.

I could go on and describe how soda drinks leech calcium, destroy the enamel on teeth. But, I won't because this stuff is general knowledge. Everyone knows the warnings of S-O-D-A, but bad habits and indulgences don't just disappear with knowledge.

It takes effort, action, and resistance. No soda, or sweet drinks at home. Milk, coffee, tea, or water. Controlling the flow of contraband into the home is easy. There is no way I will pay $1.50 (the current price at my local supermarket) for Coca Cola that will cause cavities and ruined meals. Don't buy soda and it will not be available.

But we aren't always locked up at home. Often, we are on the road - short and long distances from home. Many times, the days are eventful and hectic and fast food joints lend their helping hands. But eating out at fast food establishments does not mean that we have to surrender to bad habits.

I had to wrestle with the sodas that comes with my own meal and my children's meals. It seems wasteful to opt out of a big drink when it paid for with the meal. I don't have to have the soda, but my kids want their sodas. Nope, they can't have it either, but they don't complain too much because I always ask for chocolate milk as a substitute drink. At Burger King, my children's favorite burger place, it does not cost extra to substitute a chocolate milk for the soda. Cheeseburger, fries, and chocolate milk for all the kids. Happy eating without so much guilt.

But not all fast food establishments will allow chocolate milk substitutions without charging something. Wendy's will require an extra charge of 35 cents and Subways will charge 35 cents extra for substituting any bottles drinks (that includes chocolate milk) for their fountain drinks. Even if the milk does cost extra, it's worth it.

Spinach Bargains

Tue, 17 Feb 2009 07:30:45 GMT

I have always loved a bargain. Even if I suddenly inherited a million dollars, my bargain hunter instincts won't go away. This love of a good bargain will make surviving this crazy economic time seem like a game.

Food prices have totally skyrocketed. I have watched the prices of a cartoon of jumbo eggs go from a dollar to the current $2.59 within a ten month span. While the egg prices skyrocketed, milk prices went down slightly to the current $4.29 a gallon. I don't understand it. Twelve eggs cost a little more than half a gallon of milk.

Meat prices have definitely gone up. 80% lean ground beef, at the local supermarket, is now selling for $2.39 a pound courtesy of the manager's special - meaning, they are trying to get rid of the meat before the expiration date. Normally, the same grade meat would sell for $3.99. I remember not too long ago when ground beef was as low as a dollar a pound. That's a 400% increase!

If my grocery budget for the month can only increase 400%, then I wouldn't be so concerned. But I am concerned because I feel like I am not being wise in stretching my grocery dollars.

I know of women, mothers, grandmother, who are experts are stretching their dollars and having extra to save, even when they don't have much money to start with. They are resourceful and cheap. They have the discipline and steadfastness in watching every dime. I admire them, and want to be like them - up to a certain point, though.

I want to be thrifty and pinch pennies, but I don't want be afraid to splurge and have fun once in a while. I like to splurge and have fun, it's a part of my impulsive and fun nature. I want to cut back and be wise, but I don't want to be so hard and rigid that I put money before people. Thus, I am searching and seeking ways that will work for me and my family to stretch our dollar so we can eat and still have room for some fun.

The first challenge is: how do I take advantage of a great sale on spinach at the grocery store? I love, love, love spinach. Spinach, along with other veggies, are the food items that are served because it is so good. Thankfully, the majority of us enjoy it, so spinach wins. There is nothing wrong, and everything right about spinach.

The spinach was 3 bags for a dollar. The sign said, "Buy before it goes out of code!" What a deal! The spinach was perfect, nothing wrong. I could buy 3 bags for a third of what is costs at the regular price.

I bought lots and lots. I knew that the Greek women at my church freeze their garden spinach for year round use for their oh-so-good meals. One of my favorite is a rice and spinach dish that was totally satisfying, especially during the Lenten fast.

I came home with 12 bags, used 2 bags to make a spinach and garlic sautee'd for that night's dinner, and stuffed the remaining 10 bags in the fridge.

I looked on the internet for the best ways to freeze spinach. I read of some odd and ignorant suggests. One suggestion said to just put the raw spinach in the freezer until needed. I know this is the wrong method, just from listening to others, and through my own I-won't-believe-it-until-I-see-it habit of testing things. I am a true skeptic. For some reason, I like to challenge all advice. I have tried to freeze some veggies in their raw state and discovered that they become soggy, mushy, and gross. In fact, it isn't the freezing that ruins raw veggies, it's the thawing process where the cellular walls burst that creates the soggy, mushy result.

I have heard of blanching vegetables to preserve the color and texture. My intent was to get specific directions, and I found them all over the internet. There are the bad suggestions, good suggestions but with unclear directions, and there are good suggestions with wonderful directions that any reasonable person can follow.

One site, ehow.com, was helpful. From that site, I discovered that spinach could be steamed. Hmmm... that got me thinking about which method is better: blanching or steaming. Blanching requires dipping veggies in boiling water for a couple minutes and then quick cooling in an ice bath, and steaming is placing the food above boiling water using steam energy to quick cook. Steaming seems quicker, less messier, and the better choice for someone like me - an overworked person, afraid of adding on more endless work.

I steamed 5 bags to freeze for future uses my Greek dishes, and I sautee'd the remaining five bags with garlic to freeze for future meals. And to ensure that all this work doesn't get forgotten, I marked on the calender the days spinach is to be used for meals.

Toiling Through Blood, Sweat, and Tears

Tue, 10 Feb 2009 06:02:38 GMT

As of today, I have earned a balance of $57.88 on Mechanical Turk. I am to the point where I feel like I am burnt out. After expending blood, sweat, and tears, I am tired out. In my attempt to try to walk in the shoes of a third world worker, I have some understanding of the degrading drudgery of trying to earn a dollar. I find myself spending way too much time and energy trying to earn a 5 cent hit.

At first, the thrill of earning easy money, quick money was fun and exciting. Like a greedy kid in a candy store, I became lost to Mechanical Turk, doing all the work I could. I was too busy having fun, completing 5 minute tasks for 5 cents. As I continued to work, the 5 cents added up to a dollar, two dollars, three dollars, and so on.

It took many hours to earn $57.88. The work was not quick, and the money was not easy. Not all the work were paid because there were a couple shady people who will rejected half of my work because they didn't want to pay. Any rejected work doesn't get returned to the worker, nor is there any way for the worker to even know which particular work was rejected. It's arbitrary. In fact, I was so mad that I even emailed the one person who rejected half of my work with a statement that gave him no permission to use any of my unpaid works. I'm sure it was an unenforceable gesture on my part, but it was a stand.

But there were also good people who gave interesting work and paid quickly. There were tens of thousands of hits to sort through and pick through. I learned to weed out the acceptable from the objectionable. I mainly chose interesting work like the mental tests. For those hits, I was paid a quarter to have the time of my life taking verbal and math tests with added bonus money for correct answers. There weren't many of those tests, and that was too bad. I had a feeling that those tests were used to gage the intelligence of mechanical turkers. They were hard as heck. For the one hour, I earned on average of 70 cents.

Interesting hits that I also looked for were: "write the sentence five different ways". I had fun with the creative challenge of writing a simple phrase 5 different and unique ways. I had to rewrite a sentences like, "Did you go the bathroom yet?", "Do you need help to go to the bathroom", "Don't forget to take your medicine". I had 20 original sentences to rewrite in order to get my 80 cents. After a long time and lots of brain work, I discovered that those sentences seem to be the kind of sentences that would be used in a nursing home. The work was exhausting because it was timed and I was working against the clock. I had to think, recreate, and type fast in order to have 100 new sentences within the allotted time of 30 minutes. I must have submitted 6 of these hits before they ceased to be posted. My best time was 15 minutes. I had gone through several of them by the time I reached my best time. I was in a groove.

It was terribly fun and addictive. I liked the race against a clock and the rush of adrenaline. But I didn't like to fail or have any bad marks on my score card, so I worked seriously - too seriously. One time, I was sweating bullet and the adrenaline worked its magic. I was close to the end of the assignment and the sensitive mouse pad refreshed the page. I lost all the work, and was left with the assignment blank. I had about 10 minutes left to redo the work. My fingers flew and I was able to finish with a couple minutes to spare. After the sigh of relief, I had a moment of triumphant joy - I was doomed to failed but I didn't. After euphoria, realization set in and I knew that I was doing exhausting mental work for peanuts so someone can transform my work into some sort of training manual to make themselves millions. That's when I began to feel how third world workers must be feeling as they work long hours for peanuts so that companies like Nike can make millions.

Anyone thinking of doing Mechanical Turk work, should definitely try it. Do it for fun, but don't depend on it to pay the bills.

The Best Time to Eat

Fri, 06 Feb 2009 20:49:03 GMT

Meals are best eaten when words like famished and starving and ravenous are used to describe the state of hunger.

Food become more than just food when one feels like he can eat a horse or just about anything that walks too close to the dinner plate.

To truly enjoy food and to truly relish the joy of eating, eating must take place at an appropriate time - timing is everything. When the appetite reaches the point of hunger, where the stomach is growling, the mind can only think of food, the nose is sniffing for smells of cooking, and the mouth is drooling, that's the time to sit and eat, and savor.

When the body, mind and senses are focused on food and eating, then all the flavors of the meals are appreciated, savored, and enhanced.

Any cook can appreciate a hungry crowd digging into a dish with passion and gusto.