Kanye Hates on…Reading!

I admit that reading a little salacious dirt about a celebrity feud can be extremely entertaining. Who doesn’t get a little smug satisfaction about how above it we all are when you read about Rosie versus that blonde twit from The View, Lindsay Lohan versus Hillary Duff over some ex-Backstreet boy’s brother and most recently Nick Cannon versus Eminem over Mariah Carey. But, the latest feud is so off-the-charts stupid, I can barely believe I’m blogging about it.

Kanye West is simultaneously hawking his first book while also promoting the fact that he’s a “proud non-reader.” What an idiot! Hating on books? Unbelievable! Now, now, I know that I’ve said in past blogs that we should not judge but what the hell? The man makes money making music which implies that he knows how to play music, thus being able to read notes, and write lyrics, ergo he seemingly can write words. How else do you learn how to do these things you jackass?

He went on to say that authors that write novels are “self-absorbed,” (seriously?) and that “I’m not a fan of books. I would never want a book’s autograph.” Hello! Has the man in the plastic 80’s sunglasses become so delusional that he now thinks books have grown appendages?

How ironic is it that Kanye’s late mother was a professor and the chairwoman of the Chicago State University English Department? She was also head of The Kanye West Foundation that was founded in 2005 to combat the drop out problem in high school. Kanye, a little newsflash, it’s easier for a high school student to graduate if they can actually read!

What have I done to my son’s head?

In the heat of this weekend, I was sure that I was ready to give my 2 year-old son Aidan his first buzz cut. His hair has been looking a bit too Little Dutch Boy/Bad Bowl Cut and I frankly was tired of people telling me how cute my twin girls were. I didn’t notice when my brother in law put on the number 1 attachment to the clipper (honestly, I had no idea what number 1 meant anyway) and after he took the first swipe, I nearly fainted. The number one clipper attachment is basically the closest length to bald that you can get!

So, after my husband splashed cold water on my face and I got my head straight I sat nervously as he continued to finish the cut and started thinking about seconding guessing and parenthood. It seems like everyday my brain goes through the ping pong match of trying to figure out how best to deal with things like how to get a kids to eat something healthy, how to deal with homework, how to deal with my daughter’s need to tattle tale on everyone and how to get my kids to sleep in their own gosh damn beds!

There are moments when I feel like a complete rookie in every way. Did I give my son the constructive criticism he needs without completely making him hate doing homework? Did I make too big of a deal about eating fruit and will it turn my kids into Twinkie eating fiends when they leave for college? Do I really need to deal with the tattle telling thing when she’s a good spy for future misbehavior?

I was staring down at Aidan last night as he slept and for a moment I felt like I was looking at a completely different kid. Change is good and in my day to day life of having to make decisions for a family of 6, second guessing isn’t so bad when at the end of the day you have a cute kid to look at before you go to sleep.

My first blog tirade

It’s May 27th and I’m just now finding out it’s Asian Pacific American Heritage Month. Excuse me, but how did I miss the memo on this month-long celebration? Oh, I don’t know, maybe it’s because no news organization has written about it, no networks have created new logos that flash on every hour like they do for Black History Month of Hispanic Heritage Month, featuring an Asian American and their contributions. Do I sound upset? I hope so because I am. I’m tired of being part of the invisible group of immigrants who continue to make amazing contributions in the U.S.

This month alone I have traveled to San Francisco, Chicago, Harrisburg and I work in New York City for Christ’s sake. Being a media whore, I read every magazine and newspaper I can get my hands on, watch every local and national broadcast and yet I saw nothing of this month-long celebration, nada! Not one report, not one Asian reporter giving a shout out, not one small news story, not even one network showing a calendar of events in their city.

In a time where Steven Chu (Chinese descent) is Obama’s appointed Secretary of Energy and where Obama chose to keep a Bush legacy White House chef, Cristeta Comerford (Filipino), the first woman to ever hold the position (big ups to Christeta!) and Bobby Jindal is largely thought of as the GOP’s last great hope for party progression, how can this month have gone by without a single bit of media coverage?

In a report published in April 2009 by the Committee of 100, a national non partisan organization composed of American citizens of Chinese descent, the committee found, “…that despite a positive trend in the attitudes toward Asian Americans, racial discrimination and suspicions still exist.” I thought we had come farther than that. What does this mean for my children? Yes, I admit we’ve come a long way in dealing with race relations, but clearly not far enough!

Hard Habit to Break

I am your garden variety girl scout. I don’t smoke, rarely drink, never let my car registration expire and have never shop lifted a thing in my life. My husband thinks my lack of vices will someday make me go on some kind of bad girl binge where I’ll end up in Reno in some seedy hotel room covered in tattoos and wreaking of last night’s tequila shots (pardon me while I pull my eyeballs back from rolling so far up into my skull, I thought they’d never reappear). Don’t worry; I’m much too much of a control freak for any of that to happen.

The one vice I cannot seem to break is buying women’s fashion and beauty magazines. Just like any other female, I am always curious to know, are there really bathing suits to fit every body, are there really 30-minute meals that my kids will love, can you really get catwalk chic for under $50 and what does Kate Winslet really think about her wrinkles (don’t you just love that girl?).

Unfortunately, the sum total experience of buying and reading these magazines is that while you do sometimes come across interesting articles, you are subliminally reminded on every page about someone else’s ideal of beauty. Having lived on this earth for 38 years, I can tell you that I’ve spent more than half of those years with internalized dislike for my appearance because I didn’t fit the standard of beauty that I was seeing everywhere; TV, magazines, billboards, movies and the Internet.

The other day my 6 year-old daughter asked me if I could put some powder on her cheeks. I told her, “You are too beautiful for make-up!” (Yes, it was a very McDonald’s commercial moment). After thinking about what I said she asked, “How old do I have to be before I can wear make-up?” Cut to me being on a slippery slope! How big of a hypocrite would I have to be to tell my daughter that she’ll never need make-up?

I didn’t use more than a little lip gloss until I was almost 27. It wasn’t that I wasn’t curious or I didn’t want to wear it but having grown up with strict parents, I wasn’t allowed to wear make-up and by the time I was on my own, I guess I just couldn’t be bothered (to this day I really don’t know how to put on eye shadow, pathetic I know). When I finally made an appointment at Sax for my first all-over make-up application, I left feeling that I looked like an Asian Trannie getting ready to do some kind of cabaret show.

I’ve since made my peace with wearing make-up and apply just enough to cover the 38 years that are becoming more and more obvious on my face. I hope I can make my two daughters feel so beautiful that they won’t feel the need to wear make-up until they absolutely have to. Best case scenario is that they’ll learn that no matter what the magazines say, beauty on the inside will always win out over what’s on a magazine cover. If not, I’ll be at their first make-up application appointment and make sure they don’t leave the counter looking like RuPaul.

Arkansas in the House!

Unless you are living in a tent in African Congo, you know that Kris Allen upset Adam Lambert to be crowned the newest American Idol. I’ve been a fan of both men throughout the season and know that both will get record deals in a hot minute. While I think it was clear that Adam out sang Kris in the final, Kris’ performance of Ain’t No Sunshine was pretty spectacular, better than the first time he sang it. Anyone that attempts Bill Withers and pulls it off is a winner in my book.

From his first audition Kris Allen was criticized for not believing in himself enough, for not owning the confidence (Simon called it vanity) that could convince a nation that he WAS the next American Idol. Even upon his winning he was gracious, saying that he thought Adam deserved to win. You’d have to be extremely cynical to think that Kris was being disingenuous. I for one applaud his humility and I’ll tell you why.

In a world where professional athletes perform “impromptu” dances in the end zone before the final score is tallied, beauty queens utter one controversial comment and get anointed a voice of a party and businessmen risk the economic health of a country by gambling that their overconfidence and hubris can keep a bull market going, what is wrong with a little humility? I’m all about self-love and self-belief but I’m finding that a little dose of humility can’t hurt in a world where delusional amounts of confidence is churning out kids that display no grace in winning and even less grace in losing.

Kris Allen was raised right. The people of Arkansas should be very, very proud.

The Tao of The Outsiders

Last week my perennially cheerful son came home with puffy eyes and had his hoodie pulled on like the Unibomber. After a little coaxing, he told me that some kids in his class told everyone that he farted and that after ceaseless taunting; he “accidentally started crying.”

Now, if you know anything about me, you know that I turn into a homicidal maniac when anyone messes with my brood. While I secretly wanted to hunt down these demon children and open a can of whoop-ass, I had to count to ten and try to find a way to make this a teachable moment for him. First, I told him that the kids that were making fun of him were not being nice (so wanted to drop the A-bomb!) and that it doesn’t matter what they said. Words are just words and their opinion shouldn’t matter. I also told him that it was OK that he cried, but that next time he should try to count to ten and then just ignore them.

Feeling very proud of myself for being so mature, I left for the grocery store to pick-up last minute pot roast fixings. When I got back, my husband was washing dishes and my son was at the kitchen table doing his homework. “How is Max?” I asked. “Fine,” my husband said, “I took care of it.” “Took care of what?” I asked. “I talked to him about the whole farting and crying thing,” he said. Oh Sweet Jesus! “What did you tell him?” I asked. “I told him the next time a kid made fun of him, to punch him right in the face!” He went on to explain that once Max got the reputation for being a guy that punches first and asks questions later, no one would ever mess with him again, or with any of his younger siblings for that matter.

Now, Paul and I are not in synch about much but what we are normally good at is being on-message and consistent with the kids. It was hard to know what to do next so I just went into the kitchen and sat down next to him. After talking to him about his math homework, I asked him if he talked to Daddy about what happened at school. He said, “Yeah, and he told me to punch them in the face next time, except for the girls.” There was an awkward pause and then I told him that it probably wasn’t a good idea to punch a kid for making fun of him. He just rolled his eyes and kept on adding and subtracting.

The next day he came home from school without a care in the world. I asked him about the kids that made fun of him and he acted as if he had no memory of the incident. Hopefully, he will have this same lapse of memory recalling his father’s advice.

NOTE: In case you were wondering, my husband is the guy on the far right of this photo.

Birthday Parties – Is restraint possible?

Walking down Michigan Avenue in Chicago on a Saturday afternoon, one would not believe that we’re in a global recession. I could hardly get past the department store formerly known as Marshall Fields without being elbowed, bumped or paper cut by a sea of shopping bags. The goal of my jaunt was to get some cardio and also figure out what to do for my son’s eighth birthday.

My husband and I have been grappling with the idea for a few weeks. We’ve at least agreed on what we don’t want to do:

- no jumpy castle and no scary face-painting clowns
- no Chuck E. Cheese party (I have no issue with the rat but with swine flu still around, I can’t risk having my two-year old twins swimming around in the dirty ball attraction and contracting the virus)
- no over-the-top shindig with themed goodie bags filled with cheap junk that will end up in land fills

You need only pick up any number of newspapers or magazines to read about the supposed age of restraint; people are using coupons and shopping lists! Sales at Wal-Mart and other discount retailers are booming! Car sales are down for the umpteenth consecutive quarter! While I believe many Americans have restraint on their mind, it is only because their 401Ks and IRAs have shrunk, their property values are down and many are afraid of losing their job. It’s not a rational decision; the behavior is born out of necessity, a feeling that they are no longer as wealthy as they once were, even if they’ve been lucky enough to still be employed.

So, how does one plan a birthday party in the age of restraint? A depression era theme where you ask people to wear sandwich boards and arrive with tin cups? Have an anti-gift policy and leave your child scarred for life? Plan a BYO sandwich meat party where we only need supply bread and we ask our friends and family to provide the meat?

One of the first big culture shocks that my immigrant parents experienced was the spectacle of birthday parties. In the Philippines, birthday parties are a rarity. They celebrated everyday that they did not die from Malaria, Polio, Smallpox, a monsoon or starvation. Growing up, my parents attempted to adapt to this tradition by singing Happy Birthday over carrot cake, banana bread or zucchini bread, all cakes made with no frosting, no character themed accoutrements or candles molded into the age of the recipient. Did it make me into a crack-head frosting fiend in my adult years? You betcha! Did I feel they loved me any less? Absolutely not.

I’m certain we’ll come up with some middle ground plan that teaches our kids that it does not take a fortune to usher in another wonderful year in their lives. However, you can bet whatever we choose to do, it will involve some type of frosting.