And the prize goes to...

What's the point of dog shows?
Does judging a dog by the shininess of his coat really make a difference to the world?
It probably doesn't to the dog, I mean, he's probably just as happy to roll in some mud puddles or indulge in a bit of scampering and general padding around here and there.
Why is it so necessary for society to arrange nature into a hierarchic system of blue ribbons and gold stars?
Roses generally don't care whether they are the most fragrant or most delicate. Roses generally don't care at all, actually.
So, why this inherent tendency of ours to judge? Are we so vain that we feel the need to surround ourselves with only beauty or do we require vast systems of categorization merely for the pretense of organization and order?
Personally, I don't differentiate between mutt and pure-bred. I just don't seem to ever get past those cute little puppy eyes!
And then it's all cootchie-cooing from there!

What's in a Name? Let me explain...

Anu. Simple. Two syllables. Very self-explanatory...NOT.

Since I was a child, I remember always having different variations of my name. Annu-eee was given to me by my kindergarten comrade, April, who I adored to bits. My last memory of her was during my final day at Monarch Christian school, and as I was walking to the car. I heard my name being yelled. I looked around only to see April running wildly across the field, pigtails flying, shouting "Anuuuuu-eeee!!" as she lunged into my arms and proceeded to bear hug me. However, not all of my variations involve gumdrop sweet memories.

It was middle school, seventh grade, I believe, a tough time to be a kid. We were all growing, changing, metamorphosing...it was a gross period in my life. Ashwin was new, and he exuded this nonchalant "I don't care about anything" attitude that I would later call stupidity. Anyway, we were not exactly on good terms. This not-on-good-termedness culminated in my next variation, one that would plague me for the rest of the year: "Anu-species that sat in anu melon and laid a tree-egg". We were sitting in Biology, with quirky Miss Santos lecturing in the front. What with the Filipino pronunciations and the constant coca-cola breaks, we were hard pressed to learn much of anything, let alone listen to what she was saying. Unfortunately the one phrase that managed to be communicated clearly was " a new species of trees". The phrase that started it all, and by all I mean the consequent harassing and teasing. Later on in Middle School, I would become El Anu, a mosquito, and Anus, the possessive form of my name on days when I was too tired to care about apostrophes and punctuation. Needless to say, astronomy and grammar became two very detestable subjects, and the planet Uranus was my enemy.

Recently, we have been immersing ourselves in Classical Greek literature, especially Hesiod's Theogeny, which depicts the entire creation myth of the Greek gods. With footnotes galore, each passage is analyzed and backed up with similar creation myths from various other civilizations, especially the Sumerians, whose Sky God, Anu, was the ultimate, omnipotent creator of the Universe. Cool, right, sharing names with an old civilization's ultimate god? Wrong...absolutely wrong. Apparently, due to his constant displays of hubris (Like my new and improved SAT vocabulary?) his wife, Kumarabi, bit or somehow cut off his balls, and his genitals sprouted new, little child-gods. And if history does indeed repeat itself, then I do believe I may have the power of asexuality, so my class likes to think. I think I will need to watch out for anyone who wants to cut off my balls...oh wait, that's right, I'm a girl...yeah. We may face a problem there. I don't know how I will possibly be able to acquire the necessary male organs in time for childbirth! Oh, darn! Suffice to say, that was an awkward history class. I don't think I've blushed that much in one hour!

So, in conclusion, my parents are incredibly wretched people for being remiss in their naming duties. In their next life, I hope one of them is named Dilbert or Richard (Dick). Ah, sweet revenge.

Twas a dark and...rainy day?

Here I am. Sitting in front of a laptop in front of a television in front of a window where I can see raindrops dripping and splashing. There was thunder earlier, but it stopped. There was sun earlier...way earlier, but it's hidden behind the puffs of dark, menacing clouds. I have a sick little child at home. She had surgery to remove four bloody wisdom teeth, and she's on vicodin and ibuprofen now, so she's a little woozy...and delirious. Laying on the couch, she's sweating, then complaining of chills, feverish, then cold as ice. I guess this is where I am required to show my instinctive skills as a medical professional and ease her pain...future doctor that I am. This is just one of those days that calls for cup after cup of hot cocoa and bowls of hot, thick soups. And long novels full of love and sunshine, and marathon after marathon of movies on Lifetime, movies whose name you can't remember when you wake up the next day. Did I mention soup? Alisha craves some, so I'm going to have to mosey on down to the kitchen and figure out how to make some out of frozen vegetables and half a can of stock...this is going to be interesting.

Pray to the Cake Gods

Oh cake gods, I need an affirmation that you hear my pleas and have agreed that this poor soul has indeed suffered enough as to be able to have a frosting that comes together and stays together without complaint! Can I have a sign? A sudden rippling of milk that solidifies the chocolate? Or a stroke of lightning, I hear that the Big Guy does that often enough. Or maybe just a loud crash, I would understand that, yes. Help me make the batter that didn't rise enough as soft as possible, and the frosting as smooth and creamy as I can whip it. I'm not sure how the cake gods like it, but I will light some incense at your feet...or something else...I don't know, that's what God apparently loves since everyone does it, but I'm not sure why ringing a great, big bell is pleasing to God. I would glare ferociously at anyone who woke me up with clamoring bells just to see me all tossed and trampled in the morning. Anyways, cake gods, next time, I will go shopping myself because my father does not know the difference between baking soda and baking powder, and so my cake is about one inch thick...Was that loud banging a sign! Are you agreeing that fathers do tend to impede the natural courses of cakes everywhere! Oh...no Alisha just woke up...

Well, thank you in advance cake gods. God speed. Not that you need it, though, seeing as you are gods...
I'm going to go finish my cake now. Yeah.

I Can See the Future

I watched the movie Funny People a few days ago, the one with the laugh-out-loud cast that can't possibly disappoint (Adam Sandler, Jonah Hill, Seth Rogen...come on, it has to be funny!) Well, it was funny..for a slapstick loving couch potato who reveled in the common fart joke with occasional hints of sex and his own penis. Suffice to say, it was alright...at times funny, at times excruciatingly painful, with moments where I felt my brain rebel at the obscene amount of juvenile humor.

However, this is not the point of this post. The point is that in the movie there is a scene where Adam Sandler is confronted by his large, gargantuan, blond male doctor who, judging by his thick accent, is a descendant of the Vikings. The doctor is delivering to Sandler the sudden, breaking news that he only has an 8% chance of survival. I guess this was supposed to be one of those deep emotional moments where Adam Sandler, the comedian, only knows how to channel his grief and sadness into what he knows best, his jokes. So he starts telling the doctor that his hideous accent makes the news sound worse than it is because he sounds like a villain from James Bond, and so on and so forth. Nearing the end of this lengthy roast-fest, the doctor, annoyed by these insults, asks Adam if he has any last questions and Seth Rogen, who accompanied Sandler, says, "Yeah, I have one. I bought a cabinet from you guys recently and I need some help." Guffaw, guffaw, guffaw...oh the hilariousness of it all...

But, this got me thinking abut Ikea. And when I think about Ikea, for some reason I start dreaming about my future home. Coincidentally, I also received the Ikea catalog, and that got the inner dreamer in me going at full speed. I've already planned out my living room and bedroom, which is madness! But, I love the whole Swedish mumbo jumbo about open, airy spaces with bright, bold pieces to match your inner personality...and the stuff's cheap, what more do you need? Well, here goes...

Bedroom: So I'm thinking pristine white, but with tons and tons of fluffy orange pillows on the bed and little hints of orange here and there...not even hints, more like little peeps. I want the bed flush against windows with sheer curtains just like this wonderful piece of inspiration. I'm liking the comfy bed, and those lights on the bed are key for late night reading sessions. Airy, ethereal, clean. And those plants! Woah, totally adds to the effect! I'm also thinking of nixing the orange for light, cheery yellows. I think orange might scream YOW! a little loudly for my taste.


Living Room: Yes. Bring on the mismatched, patterned couches, please. Living rooms need color! They're called "living" rooms for Pete's sake. They need sofas you can sink into, rugs that feel like air, bright lighting, bright colors...the works! And I'm thinking white walls with one accented wall of bright green...or orange. Not sure. But I do know that I want a living room looks and feels like a place you want to work in, play in...but never sleep in. I'm a stickler against sleeping in living rooms.


I've also realized that this post was rather odd with it's irrelevant beginning. But I think I can manage a small line about how life is sometimes disconnected, but in the end the small pieces all come together to form something intelligible, something real.

Ah, how I love a post with a moral ending :)

Let the Weight Games Begin!

Our house, or rather two of the inhabitants of our house, shall now be characterized as...unfortunately, and in some cases unsuccessfully, health-conscious. Well, not health-conscious per se, but rather weight conscious, as in having a tendency to consult with their weighing scale every few minutes and maintaining the illusion of being "comfortably hungry". What is "comfortable hungry" anyways? How can hunger be in any way comfortable? Well...I don't have the answer...you'll have to ask Alisha.

You see, when I said "unsuccessfully health conscious", I was referring to...me. Yes, that's right. I am a servant to my own stomach. I fall prey to the wiles of delectable, moist, chocolatey brownies and mouth-watering morsels of cake, gobbling them down, showing no mercy! Can't you hear those potato chips calling in the cupboards of the pantry? Or the warm slices of toasted bread that beg to be dipped into vats and vats of savory, garlicky olive oil? Food was meant to be eaten! Oh yes, food is meant to be cherished and loved and...

I gained two pounds! Shoot! You see what I mean? You see what food does to people! I can feel the outlines of my body slowly turning into the mush of apple sauce or salty guacamole with flecks of tomatoes and subtle hints of spices like pepper, chillies...Jeez! I'm doing it again! Why couldn't food have zero calories? Why couldn't it be that when you exercised you gained weight? Or, as Alisha says, why can't you lose weight just by chattering and blithering away the entire day? That would be oh so wonderful.

But, you see, it's not like that. In this world yum! equals fattening and yuck! is unfortunately good for you. Things that make you tired are the ones that help you maintain a healthy weight and things that are wonderful, like regular, timed naps at frequent intervals, are indescribably bad for you. What kind of world is this? I would rather retreat into my own cocoon where I suddenly have the body I want and I got it as a result of an angel food cake diet.

As if that would ever happen!

A Stare Down with My Boba

My Asian friends first introduced me to bubble tea, which they affectionately and probably more accurately call boba. With incredulous glances and much shaking of the head, they finally managed to push Alisha and I into a room of little furniture and much color, particularly loud flashes of orange and bright streaks or iridescent green. All of a sudden, time froze. Or at least so it seemed for every head in the little room was tilted so as to gain a better view of us outsiders. Women were seated primly, with crossed ankles and tall cups of liquid resting precariously on their knees. Men were sprawled on nearby sofas, treating themselves to either comics or a riveting game of cards, complete with outrageous bursts of what I perceive to be foul language and sudden gasps of delight, accompanied by tall cups of interesting colored liquid, of course. Pushed to the front of the counter, I stammered considerably, ready to put on my "Where am I? Who are you?" look, the one used during extremely difficult chemistry tests where I suddenly start thinking about atoms, and elements, and matter, and the meaning of life, and where dinosaurs came from, and what relativity is, and....and....where am I? Well, I didn't know what to order. Heck, I didn't even know what this place served other than tall cups of interesting colored liquid. So I muttered the only thing I was sure of, "Can I have something to drink?"

The petite Asian woman, with her indefatigable smile, paused long enough to consider this query then pointed to their vast menu that took up the entire expanse of wall behind us. "You pick drink? Show me." I was about to settle for a low profile, always safe chocolate chai when I decided to spring for the more exotic, the unknown. "Apple Rose Tea, please." "You want that with pearl?"
Pearl. I wasn't quite sure I would like to have pearls in my drink. White, milky orbs of calcium carbonate? Why would I want that? Coming to my aid, my friend hurriedly replied,"Yes. She will have pearls." I will?

Eagerly awaiting my apple-rose tea with...pearls, I stretched out, not failing to observe that Alisha and I were the only people of...a more brown hue. In fact, it seemed like most of the people who were here to enjoy their pearls and what not were mostly Asian, and I mean Asian in the not Indian or Pakistani way. It was interesting to see how the reacted to our presence...actually it was more weird than interesting. I was in their natural habitat, so it seemed. A watering hole of sorts. Where they came to socialize and relax, much like in a spa or coffee house, but this was so much more different. The vibe was young, fresh, energetic, and oh so cute! How had I never seen this place before?

When I got my drink, I sipped cautiously, for I finally realized that pearls were little black orbs that settled to the bottom of your drink and were imbibed through huge multi-colored straws. They looked like clear, little black eyes peering up at me from their home of shiny, beige liquid. From the intense neon packaging to the intimidating straw, this drink did not look appetizing in the least, but I manned up and gulped nonetheless. It was sweet, cold, smooth, with little marbles of delectable gumminess. It was delicious. I was thirsty for more...

Unfortunately, this one encounter began a tapioca craze in my household, starting with my sister and ending with my now reluctant dad. With shrieks of "TAP-OCA" every time we pass one of these fine establishments and constant arguments regarding the best flavor, our once chai dominated household has slowly expanded into the domain of fun, varying beverage options such as Jasmine Green Tea and Honey-Rose Milk Tea. After this first taste of the delights of this Taiwanese favorite, I can't help but marvel at the continuing intermingling of cultures and traditions that is occurring constantly nowadays. That's the moral of this post, of course. Just another lesson about acknowledging the benefits of sampling new cultures and praising the diversity that has taken the world by storm...But I can't help but mention again how much I crave the sweetness of another bubble tea. What do they put in the stuff? It's addictive!