Wall-e Redux

Wall-E is released to the general public today! WOOHOO! In honor of this happy occasion, I've decided to post the comment that was left in my original Wall-e character analysis posting. Many thanks goes to the Anonymous commenter, who was gratuitously much better at translating his/her emotions into words. (I post with assumed permission to re-post.)

" Anonymous said:
I completely agree with you about Wall E. I haven't been able to forget about this character, this movie. Everytime I think about him, or the last scene, I either cry or get choked up. I have thought about it a lot and I think it is powerful because of contrast.

The contrast to our experience today is stark: 700 years alone, a destroyed planet, a superficial world on the axiom devoid of connection and meaning, even robots. The hope for and final appearance of love for us, and for both of these characters is so powerful because of the bleakness and uphill challenges its is contrasted against.

Wall E is effective because there is so much fear, loss, pain, and sorrow within it. The joint appearance of new life and love is powerful because it offers a way out of darkness, away from our worst fears : that we will destroy and lose our home, our way of life, end up alone, without all that we love, and in doing so end up soul-less, media attached and fat, losing what makes us human: hope and love. For Wall E on Earth, however much he had grown used to and accepted despair/destruction of green earth, we feel sorry for him, almost guilty. The appearance of Eve and transformative love offers them and us a way out of a dystopian nightmare and the confirmation of our worst fears. Wall E is a look in the mirror. Even now we see ourselves disconnected from each other, like the people on the Axiom, and as Americans stuffed on prozac, we dream of such deep healing connections with people as Wall E experiences with Eve. We are as happy for love in this sci-fi setting as he is; with love and new life, an offer of redemption is given.

The appearance of a single plant as a source of hope is elegant and speaks to the human drive to survive and continue in the face of death and darkness. It is literally new life. Biologically, photothsynthesis and the appearance of life on earth is exceptional; a miracle and a beautiful anomale in the vast lonely universe of space. The deserted and destroyed setting of dystopian Earth in Wall E resembles primeval conditions on the planet before there was life: hostile, vast, and soulless. The plant represents the unlikely appearance of life as it has always appeared and continues to thrive in the bleakest of climates. Salvation and hope lie with a single plant, a reminder and proof of the miracle of life; when humans alter their perspective they see that their fate is intertwined with the fate of life on earth. Upon embracing this symbol of life, they are brought closer to one another and their planet, a manifestation of the health of humankind, is revitalized. As Wall E shows us in equal and perfect simplicity, so magically appears love despite obstacles. When Eve and Wall e embrace, after overcoming their obstacles as a pair, and after the Captain states “it’s good to be home” the camera pans over new green growth rengenerating all over the planet. The planet’s and humanity’s health and happiness is tied in this final minute to the cultivation of life and love.

Love in this film is like the symbol of the plant, a single ray of hope in a world without any. N0 matter how bleak, love lightens/brightens, eleviates pain. The moment of greatest fear is when it appears that Wall E has lost his soul, at this moment there is the sound of a hollow and determined wind blowing, the music stops. When he is resurrected we instantly hear a love song, coupled by the convergence of their newly formed robot community, and they hold each other close. When you have lost or have come close to losing the one you love, you know that the measure of love is how much pain you feel in its absence. Thus fully loving includes the painful awareness that you must hold on and fight to keep the thing you love because of all the sadness you will inevitably feel without it. Thats why I cry when I hear the love song in the last scene and see them put their heads against the others. Love is what motivated them to act unselfishly, love is what saved them from a bleak world, Love that, however beautiful and meaningful, cannot last and so is clung to with every breath. The comforting power of love is contrast against the devastation, carelessness, and towering tasks behind and in front of them, which despite the circumstances provides hope, healing, joy, and relief from pain.

I cling to this movie because it offers hope, even though sadly like love, Wall E is fleeting. When contemplating this movie I am emotionally close to all that matters most to me, to most people: love, mortality, a planet that needs healing, a sense of responsibility, and a profound appreciation for those things in life that reminds us of love's power, things that add beauty and hope(like films such as Wall e) . I want to stay in the place that this movie brings me. The reflection and empathy inspired by Wall E as well as a vision of horrible consequences of our selfishness as a culture, remind us how valuable the things we love are; the people, the places, the moments, our home Earth, the time we have and the role we play in making a difference (in one person's life: Wall E for Eve) and for the future of mankind (Wall E's many sacrifices). The choices and meaning of life are made clear and stark in Wall E. Personally, after watching this movie, I held the ones I loved a little bit tighter and joined the Nature Conservancy (no lie.) Now that is a testament to the power of the arts and living proof of why Pixar is so damned good at what they do.
-October 2, 2008 5:14 PM"

Now go out and buy/rent the movie! :)

My husband is not...

I'm addicted to Facebook. Well, not really addicted just yet. I just signed up last week and before I knew it, I had 40 friends. That's more than my MySpace page that took months and months of friend-finding to accumulate just 30 friends! As I drove home this evening, I thought about all the people I'd lost touch with and their new boyfriends/girlfriends/wives/husbands and their $$-paying jobs and brand-new, single family homes. And had teeny tiny bouts of jealousy. Well, not so much jealousy as extreme curiosity that borderlines obsessiveness. The last time I had a bout of jealousy and whined about it, Jen looked me in the eyes and asked, "Why are you marrying Rick?" It caught me off guard, and she told me to remind myself why I was getting married at all. 'Cause I could play the comparison game until the cows come home, but all it did was make me feel dissatisfied with my life. Is the grass really greener on the other side?

On my way home, I thought about all the characteristics that could describe any man of any hetero couple. The ideal man who would be the trophy husband, fabulous arm candy to any woman who would be so lucky as to hook him. The epitome of maleness and the cliched definition of masculinity. This is obviously a social issue, so there's no right or wrong, but for the sake of my little comparison game, let's take each characteristic to the extreme stereotype. And, apologies for the likeness to those annoying email forwards. (And let's just call him my husband because I kind of really don't like the word "fiance".)

What My Husband is Not

My husband is not tall, dark and handsome; he has a baby face and big, brown puppy-dog eyes, and I never have to look up at him and feel inferior.

My husband is not the curly blonde, surfer-boy cutie; he has luscious, thick black hair, speaks intelligibly, and has a farmer's tan.

My husband is not poetic or romantic, hardly ever buys me flowers, and doesn't wear his heart on his sleeve; he holds my hand while we sleep and playfully pokes me in the ribs as I put on mascara, which shows me how much he cares.

My husband is not a muscular jock; his brain cells are intact, and he is drug-free.

My husband is not a drunk deadbeat; he respects himself and others, works hard, and uses alcohol socially.

My husband is not a successful lawyer, stock broker, or collections agent; he bends over backwards for his customers and then passively mocks them as soon as the door hits them on their way out.

My husband is not a rich mama's boy; he is a poor mama's boy, but knows that just because he's poor doesn't mean he has to act like it. And he honors both his mother and his father.

My husband is not a 4-year-college grad who participated in floor-cest and got drunk every weekend; he worked before high school, during high school, after high school, and learned the value of a dollar.

My husband is not an athlete; he is, in fact, flat-footed, and uses foot spray quite often to fight athlete's foot.

My husband does not yell, slam the door on his way out, or leave me in the middle of an argument; he is patient and tells me if he needs some time to organize his thoughts.

My husband is not a nerdy intellectual, does not know what Google Scholar is, and is not an expert on the computer; he lets me do the research, but he has endless vetoes and is in charge of the final decision.

My husband does not have to assert his Y-chromosome by abusing me physically or verbally; he is happy, secure, and unthreatened to step back and let me take control when I want.

My husband is not driven or ambitious; he will never be on-call, stay late at the office, or have insomnia from work stress.

My husband is not the exuberant, center-of-attention, life-of-the-party guy; he is a thoughtful host and can attentively sit through eight hours of marriage preparation class with 120 other people.

My husband is not a brand or label snob; he believes that you get what you pay for, so when his Kmart golf club breaks into two pieces, he does not throw a fit that everything that is crap is made in China.

My husband is not a renowned musician, tournament golfer, or professional stock car racer; he participates in these supplemental hobbies which contribute to his comprehensive knowledge, and they do not rule his life.

My husband is not great at cleaning or organizing; he makes a mean spaghetti and the best kind of homecooked meals (with love).

My husband did not buy me the extravagant 1-carat princess-cut diamond engagement ring that I demanded like a petulant child; he bought me an appropriate, demure oval tanzanite. On sale.

My husband is not (and does not do) any of these things, and that is why I love him. And that is why I'm marrying him.

My Wall-E Character Analysis

So I made a mistake. I've been strangely obsessed with Wall-E and decided to do some research on his character to hopefully find someone else's analysis that could eloquently explain my infatuation. Instead, I found rants about the gender-fication of the robots, the gender-specific constructs of the characters, racism, and generally why all Disney films just suck.

*sigh*

What is with all the haters out there? Why can't we all just enjoy a movie, analyze it in a way where helplessness and futility are not the motivations for the analysis, and not take every issue to the extreme?

Way to go, team.

Now, moving forward with the intent to put into words my super-strong emotional tie with this funny little yellow robotic character. He doesn't talk except say his name and Eve's, so one must understand him through body language, noises, and his expressions. When there is no superficial yapping, communication is deeper through indirect speaking. One quickly empathizes and feels compassion when words don't get in the way; and the bond between Wall-e and the audience is almost immediate (if the audience is paying enough attention and not getting distracted by trivial social issues).

I did not genderize Wall-e or Eve. I suppose it was subconsciously a given that Eve was "the girl" and Wall-e was "the boy," but I didn't register them as a particular sex, as did these other bloggers/ranters. Sure, it was a love story, but I didn't feel it was a sexified, hetero love story. I didn't see Wall-e and Eve shacking up and having hybrid robot babies. That's not what their relationship conveyed. It was so much more... innocent. And wonderful. This love could be comparable to unending parental love, sibling love, love of a pet, love of life. It could also be nostalgic of one's first crush in elementary school. It's that emotion of something much deeper and stronger than a friendship; it's even, dare I be cliche, a tie that binds.

We see 30 minutes of Wall-e by himself and his little cockroachy friend. Wall-e talks to himself, plays by himself, and collects things that he thinks are valuable. We start to connect with him. We like him. His innocence is refreshing. We hope nothing bad happens to him as he's all alone out there, and these violent dust storms blow through. We watch him roll up and down these massive garbage skyscrapers as the view opens up and we see a whole city of cubed trash that is his lifelong work. I quickly forget that he's not a mortal human - and it's ok if he falls down or gets thrown into outer space where there is no air. We see him watch "Hello, Dolly" with great interest. And witness his longing to understand the holding of hands, as he clasps his own metal hands together, mimicking the motion. To touch. And dance. We realize he's alone. Not necessarily lonely, but alone. He seems happy enough with his bug friend, his daily trash compacting and collecting of artifacts. He's not needy.


Wall-e first sees Eve and this uber-romantic music starts playing, "At Last". It's cute. The audience giggles. You can almost see his non-existent heart start pounding faster and faster. He's really intrigued by her, wants to be her friend, and tentatively begins to build a relationship with her by showing her his collection of things and his home. He wants to hold hands with her. It's possibly love at first sight. But it could also be something so simple as friendship. Someone else whom he can bond with. Someone (or something) like him. It's reminiscent of the very first best friend a child has and holds hands with as they run off to the playground together. It's childhood.

Throughout the movie he demonstrates unconditional love. Unconditional friendship and loyalty. He tries fervently to wake Eve up when she's in "sleeping" mode after she takes the plant. He covers her from the rain, takes care of her. And when the mothership comes to take her back, he panics and jumps on board. He doesn't know where he's going, he's leaving the safety of his home and all that he's known and done in the last 700 years. All because of Eve, who's in a comatose state, but Wall-e can't just let her go. He gets in trouble, not understanding her programming or her mission, and just wants to be by her side. To spend time with her, and hold her hand. Some bloggers say he's the "stereotypic, idiotic male", but I disagree wholly. He's not stupid, he's 700 years old in analog form in a futuristic, digital world. Plus, he's been alone for so long. How could he possibly understand what's going on?

After Eve searches the planet, frustrated, she has more time to finally address Wall-e, and even tolerates his presence and tag-along behavior. It's not because she feels sorry for this loser who's stalking her. We (and Eve) can't condemn him for his naive character. And after aboard the Axiom, she time and again comes to his rescue. Why? We don't let children fall off slides if we can run over to catch them, now do we? Eve realizes (as she had been asleep for a long time) that Wall-e followed her to help her. Although she is a programmed robot, she too, is a learning robot, and after seeing footage of Wall-e that her "camera" captured during her comatose state, she suddenly realizes all that Wall-e has done for her.


Other bloggers like that Disney (finally) portrayed a strong female hero through Eve, instead of being a supporting character. She does end up saving the day, but I would never title this movie as "Eve". It's really not about the actions and tangible deliverables which we can define on paper - this movie centers around Wall-e and his emotions. And his humanity. The other sub-plots and distractions simply provide opportunities for Wall-e to demonstrate his character to the viewer.

The last evidence of Wall-e's loyalty is shown as he sacrifices his life for Eve's mission. He knew the plant was important to Eve and she said it needed to get back to Earth, to save all the humans. He supported her and therefore supported her cause. It is unclear as to if he ever understands why the plant is so important to the people or to Eve, but it doesn't matter; he has faith and compassion. The ultimate sacrifice of himself because he loved her. One could even go so far as to draw parallels to Jesus Christ and His ultimate sacrifice to save People, all for the love of a Father. This love is not romantic love, obviously. And I confess my heart shattered during those few minutes when he lost himself and was reverted into a programmed robot form, continuing his work, ignoring Eve as she tried to wake him from this stupor. Then he "reboot"ed and his soul was "resurrected".

I identified with Wall-e more than Eve, despite all discussion that he is male (or a gay male). He tugged at my heartstrings the whole way through, bringing out emotions associated with my first crush, a motherly possessiveness, a deep friendship, and an adoration of silly cuteness that I see in Rick. I hold a supreme fondness for Wall-e. Perhaps I'm simply a romantic at heart. Loyalty, trust, faith, compassion, and unconditional love. What girl doesn't want that?

For anyone who's seen this movie and has felt nothing more than ambivalence, you are dead inside. You need 100ccs of love and affection, stat. Have no fear, however, it's time for a group hug. And another screening of this feel-good movie.

Position and Positioning

My colleagues and I often discuss the nature of the people who work in our building. We came to a consensus that about 80% of them are super-shy, busy-in-their-heads, academia types who cross that borderline into blatantly rude and unfriendly behavior. Also, a handful of them are elitist, and therefore those who don't blip on their radar don't get a greeting in the hallway.

Then we added to the discussion our facility man who picks up the trash at our desks. While he is always very friendly to me (they say it's because I'm a girl), it seems one of my male coworkers has odd feelings about him and is either creeped out or simply uncomfortable in his presence. I asked if it was creepy like he was hitting on him; he said no. I pondered if it was a racial issue. He says this man is unfriendly and has an air of arrogance about him. I wondered if it was a defense mechanism for feeling inferior; I mean, picking up someone else's trash every day is a little humbling, no? Especially if you feel like it's always the white man's trash - and according to our other discussion about the people in our building, one must assume that the head-down ingrates never say hello to the man or thank him for his services. Perhaps he's always been a trash man and has had many people of "station" not acknowledge his presence or even worse, treat him badly. I wondered if he acted like this with all men. Then one day as I passed him in the hallway, he was chatting with a male security guard, commiserating about one thing or another. They both greeted me and I them, and so I had more confirmation: It's not simply a male or racial thing, it is more of a social status thing. Security guards are blue-collars just like himself. And then this popped into my head: Position and positioning are socially conditioning.

It's from a song in the movie-musical The Slipper and the Rose with Richard Chamberlain. It's a Cinderella story. I loved this movie when I was a kid and sang all the songs.

Position and Positioning [click for Youtube video]
(Written by Richard M. Sherman and Robert B. Sherman)

If my father were a chancellor,
How easy it would be -
The lovely Lady Caroline
Would be a proper wife, you see.
But my father was a servant
And my mother same as he.
So the lady of my choosing
Is a world away from me.
That's how it is and how it was,
And how it always shall be

Position and positioning
Are socially conditioning
How you're born, how you're bred,
Predetermine who you wed,
Which means there's nothing changeable;
Nothing's rearrangable,
Position and positioning are everything in life.

Farmer's daughters marry cowherds,
That's acceptable and right.
But absurd and quite unheard of
Is a milkmaid and a knight!

Position and positioning
Are socially conditioning,
People high, people low,
Keep the state of status quo,
Which means there's nothing changeable;
Nothing's rearrangable,
Position and positioning are everything in life.

When a lad first joins the army,
This is what he learns for starters:
Never court your colonel's daughter
Or he'll have your guts for garters!
That's how it is and how it was,
And how it always shall be.

For position and positioning
Are socially conditioning,
How you dress and hold your head
Predetermine who you wed,
Which means there's nothing changeable;
Nothing's rearrangable,
Position and positioning are everything in life.

All the servants in a castle -
They reflect the world outside.
They have rank and they have station
And adhere to them with pride.
All the staff that work below stairs
May have dreams to work above,
But they're locked in their positions by Tradition's iron glove.

That's how it is?
And how it was,
And how it always shall be.

We know our place and happily we bow and scrape and bend our knee,
But woe betide the woe begone,
Who try to join our echelon,
For privelege is not, you see,
Confined to just the royalty.
Behind these doors, I might suggest, I'm similarly blessed.

Yes, position and positioning
Are socially conditioning,
Though you work your life away,
Where you start is where you stay.
Which means there's nothing changeable;
Nothing's rearrangable,
Position and positioning are stuck with you for life!

Now this is not to say I condone this behavior or way of thought because it's just the way it is. Quite the contrary. But I acknowledge that the discord exists in reality despite the happy ending to this silly movie. I also believe that not only is it difficult to break away from one's station because of societal obstacles, often times one doesn't know HOW to break away since it is all one knows. Social conditioning. By the time you're old enough to think you want something better, all previous life experiences point towards the path of keeping the status quo. It can be so difficult that one resigns to the fact that this is just the way things are and things can't change. And unfortunately and ironically, the ones who are of higher position already (by birth or nature) are the ones who don't believe in settling.

The Best is the Enemy of the Good

So today as I'm playing hooky (well, a mental health day really saves my colleagues from being unfortunate witnesses of my emotional combustion and its outward effects) I decided to take it easy and not do much. Too bad my brain is still working on overdrive. I happened to stumble upon this post in this blog, A Practical Wedding, which addressed the age-old question: "What is it about human nature that forces us to strive for the best?"

As I'm well on my way to becoming an expert researcher as well as learning new things on the path towards my information science degree, I find myself having a hard time with what we call Satisficing, that is, stopping your research when you find answers that are adequate. People probably practice satisficing on a daily basis - looking for a definition of a word: check ONE dictionary, click on the FIRST link of your Google hit, etc. The answer there is adequate. There will be variant descriptions from all types of dictionaries and sources, but they'll all mean the same. So you stop looking. Satisfied.

When applied to other things that require more research, more importance, more authoritative warrant (OMG I'm not at work, am I?) this is when satisficing becomes difficult. When do you stop? How "good" is "good enough" when compared to the "best"?

According to the post mentioned above, the best is the enemy of the good (translated Voltaire quote). Things that we find good are often still not good enough as we search for the best. Human nature. But WHY? And once we happen upon the best, how do we know it, since we are always looking for something better than what we've got? The good get shafted and everyone loses.

I'm glad I found this post. And perhaps I'm making your brain crazy with too much thinking. I know mine is kicking me for doing this on a hooky day. But I'm glad I found this post because it alleviates the pressure I have on myself to find the Best flowers, the Best photographer, the Best dress, the Best.... To me, the Best means the cheapest for the greatest quality AND quantity (yeah, in an ideal world, huh?!). For example, a lone element does not determine the Best: roses, orchids, delphinium, or whatever we choose to match our colors, but they better be damn affordable for ALL the flowers we need or else they aren't the Best. Then it becomes a vicious cycle: can another florist do it cheaper? Are there alternative flowers that LOOK like what we want? What if we use less blooms and add more filler? What if we change the flowers altogether because these aren't the Best?

This doesn't only apply to objects and money, however. The tendency to over-think, over-research, over-analyze things are all part of the insatiable desire to be better, to be perfect. It was difficult for me to take a sick day today because we have visitors at work and I was planning on attending a couple of their presentations this afternoon. And I'm not unwell, at least on the outside. But as I lolled around in bed dreading waking up, getting ready, going through the motions, being hormonally imbalanced, analyzing life's too many social issues, I decided to give myself a break. I decided to break my perfect attendance record. I decided to play hooky, if you can call it that, as I'm actually and obviously unwell in the head. I decided to spend some QT with my Sammie, and she sits in my lap as I type. I decided to not be around people today.

Is that OK? Is that Good? Or is that the Best thing to do?

While you ponder that, take a look at photographer Miguel Mayo's website. We are having our free engagement session done with him in a couple of weekends. He isn't the Best of everyone I've found, but he's GOOD. Good enough? I'm beginning to think so. (The e-session is free and his full-coverage photography packages start at $1,500, a steal by comparison.) He might actually end up being the Best.. if Best is what we want...?

Perhaps redefining "good" and "best" is what I should do next... after all, I've always believed that "all adjectives are relative."

Closing doors

I’m blogging this lovely Sunday morning because after yesterday’s ordeal, I’m a mix of emotions: anger, frustration, futility, resentment, sadness. At least for once I’m not having an identity crisis.

Ah-Gong’s funeral was yesterday. I spent the day not thinking about it, Rick and I ran errands in the morning, and I took an hour and a half to get ready. Upon arriving at the funeral site with my sister and brother-in-law, I greeted my father and other relatives at the door of the chapel. I wasn’t nervous; rather, confident, because I was looking good and I guess had the intention of looking like the 27-year-old woman that I am to people I hadn’t seen in over 10 years. It was almost like a high school reunion where you show up looking like you’re accepting an award, and people look at you and marvel at how much you’ve changed since high school when you were a dumpy nerd with knobby knees. It didn’t work in my favor yesterday that I look very much like my mother.

The service was interesting. I’d somehow forgotten that, duh, the whole thing would be in Chinese, and surprisingly, I understood about 80% of it all. Go me. Although I wished I hadn’t understood that much. What was said wasn’t all that nice, a little self-indulgent on the ministers’ parts (of course, touting that this was God’s message and Ah-Gong was a saint), and very over-the-top preachery in a loud and dramatic way. I remembered why I never liked Chinese church, and especially why I stopped going to Chinese church in the first place. These people are pieces of work. I wondered if I was in a cult.

Grandma asked us to be in the receiving line after the service, and everything happened so fast and it’s not like we had rehearsed this, so off we went to stand there and shake people’s hands. Our father had told my sister that we could wait outside, but I didn’t know that was an option. We greeted about 100 people, about 10 of them I vaguely remember from my repressed childhood memories. 80 of the people were over 70 years old and gray-haired, and while they spoke my name, and I just smiled at them, I thought, Who the hell ARE you??

Going into this, I had intentions of being polite. I was going to be respectful and friendly because funerals aren’t really the time to be angry and slit-eyed and rehash old grudges. Too bad other people didn't come in with the same intentions. How naïve I was to think that by being open I could change perceptions. People, people that I didn’t even know or remember, thought it was in their Godly duty to take this opportunity to voice their opinions to my sister and me. There was even one of my dad’s cousins that I recognized who had been like an aunt and whom I had fond memories of, who now glared at me with disapproval and a jaw-clenched, puffy-cheeked frown (and of course, no greeting. What!? Do I owe you money or something?). We were told things like, “Let the past be the past,” and “You should have visited your grandfather more; he talked about you often, I expect to see you more at Grandma’s house from now on” and “He loved his sons very much; he loved his grandsons very much.” Period. Okay, then...

Three things boggle my mind:
1) Why are we the ones getting lectured and being told to forget the past? We are the products of divorce and all the adults involved (parents and grandparents) mishandled the situation, and continue to do so. We react to the lack of parenting and grandparenting involved. By that I mean lack of role models. If anyone should get a talking-to, it should be my father for his continuing indiscretions. My sister and I just look at each other and are confused when people approach us with this comment. Who’s not forgotten? We’ve gone on with OUR lives, get on with yours and OUT of OUR past!!! WHO ARE YOU PEOPLE?! And it’s none of your business anyway what goes on between me and my father! They turned a possibly innocuous re-meeting very ugly with unnecessary words. (Coincidentally, this is how my grandfather behaved.)

2) If someone hits you, doesn’t apologize, you’re supposed to forgive him. If they continue to hurt you, still don’t apologize, don’t think they’ve done anything wrong, you are still supposed to “forgive and forget.” Hmm. Do I have “walk on me” written across my forehead? Or am I just worth less than the one who’s hurting me? Do we tell this to victims of domestic violence? Do we teach our children this concept? If a child is getting beat up on the playground, do we say to him, “oh, just let the bully hit you, you need to forgive him for being mean.” Or do we pull the bully aside, talk to him, make him apologize and try to get him to see that what he was doing is wrong? The reason I bring this up is because my father and my grandfather have hurt me very much with their words and actions. Although I am an adult now, our relationships have been frozen in time; being the CHILD in all of these relationships, I don’t believe that it’s right to blame us for anything that ADULTS do or don’t do, especially divorce. My father and grandfather hurt me, so I made my feelings very clear, and left the environment. They did not apologize, or change to accommodate me in their lives, so I did not go back. How is this wrong? Just because they’re my elders I’m supposed to take the abuse? Every time I try to reconcile, let down my walls so we can start anew, one of the men manages to f*ck it up with the same words and actions, and I’m left hurt again. Why is this MY fault? Yet, I left the funeral yesterday with a heavy load of outsider judgments on my shoulders. There’s nothing like feeling misunderstood for 10+ years. I felt mentally and physically impaired and frustrated.

3) There are some people who don’t believe in divorce and take it to the extreme where the products of a failed marriage are somehow associated with it. So to some people, I guess my sister and I are bastard children who shouldn’t deserve to live, despite that for the first 14 years of my life I was an accepted individual human being who was allowed to play with their kids. Okay, then. Nice to have known you. I'll just go die quietly in the corner. (of course, the man who acted this way turns out to be a well-respected pastor)

So this is what’s REALLY going on: my sister and I stopped speaking to our father over 10 years ago. Why? Not because we “sided with our mother and she turned us against him” but rather because my father chose (and CONTINUES TO CHOOSE) very inappropriate relationships with my mother’s female cousins. These women have literally torn my mother’s family apart, as if the already shameful and unheard of divorce between our parents wasn’t enough. Their presence at the funeral was inappropriate and, ironically, therefore expected. One of the women approached us and tried to make small talk, telling me how pretty I’ve grown (and I wanted to say, “I wish I could say the same about you,” but didn’t) and asking if I still worked at the Getty (to which I responded with a curt “yes” and looked away, disinterested). And she knew my sister had a baby. How on earth would she, my mother’s cast-off first cousin, have known any of this information? I certainly know no one on my mother’s side said anything. It became quite clear that it was my father who is still keeping in contact with them. And obviously on a pretty regular basis, being that my sister had her baby no more than 5 weeks ago. She insisted on revealing that she knew personal information about us, and I wanted to scream in her face, “STEP OFF, BITCH!”

Although we had stopped speaking to our father 10+ years ago, we continued to visit our grandparents for a while after. By that time things were very ugly and my grandfather found out that we, two girls both under 20 years of age, were forsaking his beloved almost-50-year-old son who could do no wrong. So on two separate visits (with a 6-month falling-out period) our grandfather to our faces cursed our mother, saying that she squandered all the money he’d given us over the past decades, that she was a selfish woman, and the divorce was all her fault. We were so angry that we couldn’t even fight back with evidence of my father’s laziness as a husband responsible for maintaining a running household, immaturity as a guiding father figure, multiple infidelities brought into our home (my sister’s room, to be exact), and as a spineless son who was ordered to remarry to save face. In any case, stop using us as pawns in your twisted game! So we stopped visiting them as well, which was unfair to my grandmother (she enabled the behavior but we can’t really blame her for that).

After all the snippets of opinions we were hearing yesterday compounded with the fact that these women actually showed up at the funeral (and one bawled uncontrollably in my father’s arms like his mistress while my stepmom looked on, passively), we saw my father introduce them to old family friends – so my sister and I hightailed it out of there in contempt.

After doing so, I wondered if it was a bad decision. No doubt everyone noticed that we’d left early in a huff without saying goodbye, and thought, “There they go again, still acting out even at the funeral, those are [my mom’s name]’s daughters, how shameful, such poorly raised girls...” And while I can easily say, ‘well f*ck you all, you don’t know half the sh*t that’s going on!’ I also wonder if we just gave them more fuel to add to their already massive fire of misperceptions. What were we supposed to do? Acquiesce to the inappropriate behavior and witness it like we agree and are OK with it? I suppose none of it really matters; there was no changing their minds about us one way or another. We've been tagged for years already.

The offender gets away with it because he’s all smiles and act like nothing’s immoral about anything he does. He’s just an easy-going guy who’s friendly and charming. So when we react by putting on an ugly face and acting bitchy, we turn out to be the villains (aka [my mom’s name]’s daughters), and my father comes out looking like the poor, innocent victim of hot-tempered, ill-mannered, and sacrilegious children raised by the hellish ex-wife. (to which I say, hey, at least SOMEONE raised us...)

This morning, I turned on the TV and Joel Osteen was on. Osteen says that when God causes problems and commotions in our lives and closes doors, we shouldn’t be bitter and think, Oh, just another thing to happen to me... God closes doors whether or not we like it or are ready for it, changing the old and creating the new, and we shouldn’t keep trying to go back to how things used to be. We should look toward this new path and while we can think [fondly] of the old, now it’s time to create new memories and new traditions. Now I’m not an expert in theology by any means, and I admit I haven’t read the Bible all the way through, and I know Joel Osteen is a controversial preacher (or “motivational speaker”), but I like that his messages can be applied to my life and I can use positive ways to go forth. (Whether or not this is blasphemous is not for me to say; I make use of any tools I can get my hands on and try to be my best self.) So perhaps instead of laying in a fetal position in bed all day feeling like a sack of sh*t and wondering why I can’t have the warm and fuzzy relationship I had with my father in my younger years, I should keep this door closed and move forward without the man I thought I wanted to share my new life with. I’m even considering dis-inviting him to my wedding if he can’t comply to my now one-and-only rule: if I were to start sharing my life with him, he must immediately stop disclosing details of MY life and MY information with THEM. (And sadly, as easy and painless as that sounds, I don’t see him giving that up for me.) If that’s the case, I can stop asking “why” and “can’t he just” and “what if”. And especially stop hoping that my dad will start to take us seriously, really HEAR what my sister and I are saying, and choose us instead of his “friends” – perhaps this is a door that is definitely closed, and although I’m saddened by the prospect, it may be for the best for me and my future family.

Lists: the bane of my existence... or my savior???

It's been a couple of weeks since the last post. Can't believe it's already February. How time flies! Since I've been uber busy lately, I've been making lists to keep organized and sane. I usually don't like lists because I find them to be restrictive and stressful. Like going to the grocery store and bringing a list makes me feel like I can only buy those things on the list, get in and get out, and I had better hurry up! However, during times of stress like now, I turn to those lists with open arms and embrace their inherent stability and guidance.

My agenda for this week:
Wednesday - finish up Week 5 lectures. Hopefully start the assignment.

Friday - off-Friday! Finish my assignment for the week, start on the Final Project that is due March 15. Alyssa's 18th birthday party!

Saturday - assemble baby shower invitations with the other hostesses over breakfast. Chinese New Year dinner with my family - and FINALLY announce our engagement. I'm nervous because announcing something like this calls attention to us. And that is not always a good thing in my family.

Sunday - I have a free ticket to the movies that expires 2/13. Better use it today. The Rose Bowl flea market is also on this day. And I want to scope out the Amtrak station in Burbank to see where it is and where I need to go when I take it next month. Being a SoCal girl who has always had private transportation via automobile, taking the bus or train is a foreign concept. I'm better at flying than riding the bus!

My list of current open projects:
- Drexel.
- Wait on student loans for 2008-2009 school year.
- Taxes. Ugh. Unfortunately, I'm in a new tax bracket. I want my money back.
- Wedding, finagling the date... this fall or next spring. Do people usually pick the date they want before finding/checking their sites?
- Church, looking for one in the Corona area that does Sunday afternoon ceremonies.
- Reception site, not available in November except for Thanksgiving weekend. Bleh.
- Baby shower prep. I'm responsible for prizes and postage stamps for the invites.
- Crafting has been on the back, back burner. But my mom has given me some tote bags and appliques to put on them. And wants some by March.

Coming up:
February 13: Film crew to make a video of us at work for the Computerworld awards. :)
February 19: Mid-year review.
March 1: Hsin's baby shower.
March 10: Carli's birthday.
March 11-14: VRA conference. I'm taking the train down to San Diego. My first conference EVER! I'm nervous. I've never spent a night in a hotel by myself before let alone three nights.
April 25-27: 11th year anniversary trip to San Diego (we planned this before I found out about the conference).

And just a week ago (feels like forever ago for me) I got a new 17" LCD monitor flat screen here at work. And a new 19" LCD television to replace the old, fat, and no-sound bedroom tv at home. Not to mention the new printer I haven't set up yet, to replace the old one that will go to my grandparents' house's guest bedroom computer. And I haven't set up my mom's computer or digital camera yet - to-do's from my Christmas list!!!!!

With all of this going on, who has time for Super Tuesday?!

Irritated Iguana

So I decided to continue these posts with the animal alliterations. I think they're fun. This time I'm irritated. And I'm an iguana because they're slow-moving reptiles, and no matter how hard I've tried to get my life back to normal, things keep coming up to slowwwww me down from accomplishing things. But Mercury's in retrograde, so what can I say.

Today is Wednesday. And it took me 1.5 hours to get to work because traffic was a nightmare. Again. Seems like what used to be a nightmare commute is turning out to be the norm. Which really beats on one's patience. Especially mine.

To add to my ongoing irritation as of late, I was cleaning the apartment last week and in the process of being irritated and lazy, decided to stuff a whole jar of pickled carrots (sliced) down the garbage disposal in the sink. Not a good idea. I clogged the thing, whined, cleared it via telephone advice from my mother, and left it alone. Only to discover the next day that yes, I cleared the disposal, but the drain was clogged. So after a few days I poured Liquid Plumber down there. And then a few days later tried baking soda and vinegar. And entertained the idea of buying a cheap plunger and having at it. But instead I wrote a note to the apartment manager asking for her to call a plumber with a snake. OH SIGH. So now we're waiting for the plumber. But the manager couldn't get a hold of him, and now the owner of the apartment complex is involved; and she's given out our number to her Roto Rooter man. Who hasn't called yet.

OH SIGHHHHHHHH. I'm mad at myself because I caused it. Stupid me. And Rick's stupid pickled carrots. That he didn't even eat more than two pieces of because he said they tasted funny. Like pickled carrots would. Sheesh! ;)

Went to the library yesterday after work because there was a book sale going on. Got lucky with parking but when I went into the library, I couldn't find where the sale was. I knew it was upstairs... but the stairs going up to the children's library was closed off. I wandered around, found some GRE books that I was going to check out, and tried to find any stairwells and elevators. Nope. I was close to asking someone for directions (gasp!). I went back out towards the staircase I'd first seen and saw someone come out of the doors, so I decidedly ignored the "DO NOT ENTER" and "PAINTING IN PROGRESS" signs and went in. Smelly, yes, but I was determined to get to the book sale. And no one ran me down to stop me. At the top of the stairs, and into the children's department was a backwards sign that said "CLOSED," taped across the door frame. Oops. So I definitely wasn't supposed to be in that stairwell. I waited a few moments for the librarian in there to turn away, and snuck underneath the sign. I felt like a rule breaker! God forbid. Walked down the hallway and the sale was there, being held in what they called the "auditorium." And I thought, How did people get up here?! And then I saw the stairwell across from the auditorium and thought... Hmmmm. I guess there's a stairwell on the opposite side of the building where I walked in. DUH. Irritation.

Anyways, I went in and pored through the aisles of paperbacks and hardcovers, fiction and nonfiction, children's books, CDs and cassettes, textbooks and reference volumes, and found... wait for it... MUSIC books. I was floored. Literally, since the boxes were on the ground. (HAHAHAHA... ahem) Four heaping boxes of classical piano music books, brand spankin new, stuff that I used to pay an arm and a leg for every year depending on what my piano teacher had planned for me that year according to my level's standards. There were no signs saying how much the books cost, but I didn't care. Couldn't have been that much anyways because "small books" were 25 cents, "medium books" were 50 cents, and "large books" were $1. How do you distinguish what's what by that description anyways???

I squatted there in my 4 inch espadrilles and dress (ARGHH) and picked out a few choice books before finally having to get up and stretch out my toes and calves. Sheesh. Of all days for me to have decided to dress up for work. I made my way to the cashier after maybe an hour and the music books cost... wait for it... wait for it.... TWENTY FIVE CENTS. Of course, while I was there, I overheard some awful 90 year old librarian who had her panties on too tight complaining about her student volunteers who weren't do anything. OH SIGHHHH. Why do some librarians give us a bad rep? Those kids were in there volunteering their weekday evening (albeit a requirement for graduation), staying out of trouble and off the streets, potentially missing dinner, and she didn't even give them specific instructions other than "clean up and make things look nice," so what else were they to do but mill about and chat? Can't expect everyone to be proactive, especially with a control-freak librarian in charge.

If she had said, "You - take charge of the nonfiction section by making sure that all the books are facing right side up and whenever there are gaps, fill them in with other nonfiction books that are on the floor underneath the tables. You - do the same with the reference books and children's books" the kids would have had something to do and been accountable for their areas. The librarian was being passive agressive towards the kids and I heard her complaining to the other librarians about two kids and said, "I don't want them here, they're not doing anything, they must be from the community service club, they're bad" and I wanted to protest. Or slap her. The other ladies, who were nicer and seemed to just tolerate this lady's rantings, told her to just send them home. Which she did by saying to them, "Just sign off and go home. There's not enough to do and there's too many people here." Not enough to do? Then why complain about them not doing anything??? Perhaps if she gave them something to do, they'd do it, and then there would be things do to. ARGHHHH. Obviously, this lady had issues.

I even heard one of them ask her what he could do to help and she replied, "you mean like clean up like I told you to do, which you didn't??" (I felt my eyes widen as I thought "Holy sh*t!") and there was a long pause from him before he replied, "...but you told me to go over there, so I couldn't finish here," and she bit back, "Yeah, okay, whatever."

Ten bucks this lady was the classic, stick-in-the-mud, old-maid librarian who never married or had kids. And obviously had a problem communicating with human beings. I was irritated.

Off my tirade.. anyways, I was irritated. Again. Because although I made out like a bandit with my $3.25 armful of books, I sat in the Del Taco drive-through for FORTY MINUTES. I could have driven to my sister's house 30 miles away and had dinner there in 40 minutes. By the time I made it up to the one and only window, I was soo peeved (but not enough to leave), but as I looked into the face of the nice lady who was running around inside with two other workers, I couldn't be mad. She was trying her best and moving as fast as she could (and she was a hefty lady). She got my order right, gave me the right change, gave me a zillion packets of mild hot sauce, and was still nice to me, so I couldn't yell at her for the line being slow even if I'd really wanted to. I wished her a nice evening and she smiled and said, "Thank you for waiting."

Who can be irritated when someone else who should be irritated smiles and says, "Thanks"?