February 2012
1 post
Welcome to the Cubicle, We've Got Computers n'...
For the first time in six years, and the second time in my entire life, I am a full-time, salary employee. This would obviously be a pretty big adjustment for someone who has spent a good part of adulthood culling a lifestyle that was flexible and varied, with a string of guest-star roles that made work-dread and routine less likely.
But now that I have willingly, and enthusiastically, joined...
January 2012
1 post
Chitter Chatter, Bang Bang, Shoot Me
I have a low tolerance for boredom. This is not to be confused with purposely doing nothing. The former takes work; the latter is bliss.
Talking to boring people, for example, is exhausting. As a gal who’s lucky to be surrounded by people who are amusing, inspiring and witty on a regular basis, I sometimes forget that not everyone is born with a personality. There are, in fact, a...
December 2011
1 post
Yup, It's a Roundup
It’s the end of the year, which means it’s a time of reflection, evaluation and burnout. Hence, I bring you lazy writing.
What made my 2011:
10. Suckering 28 college freshmen into giving presentations on The Real World. For example, “Compare and contrast how Southern virgin Julie (circa 1992 NY season) differs from Southern ‘skank puppy’ Jemmye (circa 2010 New...
November 2011
1 post
The Rare, Glorious Payoff Song
One of my favorite things is rediscovering a song to be the most amazing piece of music you’ve heard in a very long time. It’s usually one of those numbers that starts off slow, builds and builds—your feet stomping, your head nodding in agreement with every fucking beat hit—until the chorus explodes all over you like confetti on an Oprah giveaway. You’re screaming...
October 2011
1 post
If Siouxsie Lived Under a Rainbow
A not-so secret: I was a pseudo goth in college.
I wasn’t into garish makeup, nipple jewelry or public-display bondage. Nor did I mope around any more than a normal, pained 19-year-old does. (I grew up in Hawaii for chrissakes.) But I did sport patent-leather boots, own a few long black skirts, and had my hair cut into a drastic triangle bob for awhile. Draping myself in uncomfortably...
September 2011
1 post
When You're the Kind of Person Who Makes Metaphors...
My flat iron broke right before my 34th birthday, which made me start to rethink my entire life. I usually don’t get too riled up about piling on another year, but the fitzing out of my most prized beauty tool was somewhat of a PTSD trigger, a flashback to a time when said straightener was bait in a slippery-slopey path to a strange-sort of adulthood.
See, when I turned 30, my boyfriend...
August 2011
1 post
How to Survive 36 Hours Indoors With Your...
1. Prepare for lethargy by drinking too much wine the night before.
2. Hide his ukulele.
3. Strategize what to eat first from the three bags full of groceries brought home by boyfriend.
4. Have cookies for lunch, followed by after-lunch cookies.
5. Put off watching the latest episode of “Jersey Shore” (aka the dangling carrot) as long as possible.
6. Waste 10 minutes...
July 2011
2 posts
In Defense of Catcalls
Once upon a time, I lived in Portland, Oregon, land of the ported and docked penis. There, in the young progressive capitol of America, men are too modern to leer and the mood is aloofness. Libidos are stifled further by the unrelenting greyness that looms overhead everyday, causing people to drink hand-crafted beers, which can often ignite a dulled libido, but can hinder satisfying one, too.
...
For 4th of July, an Exercise in Miranda July
I recently read a piece in New York magazine that said the “central tenet” of actress/writer/director Miranda July’s art is that she believes “openness and honest emotion trump cleverness and snark.”
This quote stuck out to me for several reasons. One: it pinpointed my wonky feelings about July. I’ve always liked her work—the few short stories...
June 2011
1 post
No Can Make Words on Paper Thingy
Here’s what I’ve not been doing lately: writing. I, for the first time in a few years, have been working too much, which means I now have money to go away for a weekend and entertain a guest, things that have also kept me busy in the last month. But this also means that most other nights, I struggle to stay awake past 10 for the sole purpose of not wanting to waste valuable hours...
May 2011
1 post
Mother's Day: Celebrated in a Heaping, Red-Sauce...
I’ve written a bajillion words about my mother, many of them composed and over-composed, all of them furiously typed, deleted, then typed again in an attempt to tell our story, my story of who I am through knowing her.
This is, and has been, a daunting task, one that I’m never sure I’ll get right as memories shift with maturity, perspective and often, lately, a reprieve from...
April 2011
3 posts
Making the BFF Draft
I’ve been fortunate to have met a lot of good people in my life. Wiseasses, creative freaks, the smartest of smarty pants, and my favorite: down-to-earth, genuine muthafuckers. And I’ve been alive long enough to know that friendships are more flexible and forgiving than romantic relationships—you can fall in and out and back again, sometimes when you least expect it—but...
Death by Network Television
Pertaining to post below, let’s be honest. This is 2011. How most of us choose to waste our time is by browsing the Interwebs.
For the last week, however, my boyfriend and I have been without our worldwideweb crutch. As we wait for our new router to arrive, we’ve turned to the old school moving-picture box for post-work, mind-numbing entertainment: the television.
Full disclosure:...
Emerging from the Merge
When you move in with someone you love, you don’t learn anything fundamentally new about this person. What you do learn is what they do when you’re not around. When no one’s around.
Naturally, you tend to be a little hyper-aware of this down time during these first few days of cohabitation. You feel you should look semi-productive, engrossed or entertained during those hours...
March 2011
1 post
The Gift of Trainspotting
As a journalist, I’ve often been interested in how a city defines, or how it molds, the people that live within it. How the two become symbiotic. How they become symbols for each other.
An example: New York City. I’m on a crowded train into Manhattan on a Monday morning. In the middle of the car is a rather large pocket of standing space. I make my way over and grab the metal pole...
February 2011
2 posts
Ma'am, Hag, 34, Same Difference
My students often try to guess how old I am. Most of them are a handful of years younger than me, others are closer to my age. I don’t wear khakis or corduroy, nor do I shop at Talbotts, so it’s understandable my age confuses them since their standard reference is Mr. Chang, the information systems instructor whose shoes have buckles and whose flip phone is always clipped to his...
Open Letter to the Churning Sludge in My Guts
Dear Hormones,
What’s the deal lately? Why am I crankier, weepier and generally more unpleasant to be around for PMS Week (which, by the way, is now closer to 10 days, not the one or two that Mrs. Tanaka explained in health class) than I was when you raged in my teenage loins like a oonce-ooncing rave? Why does it feel like 4,000 little fists are punching their way through my lower...
January 2011
2 posts
Warning: Sleep Induces Drowsiness
In college, sleep was a vital part of my daily routine. However, it wasn’t getting to bed I was worried about; it was having to get out of it.
At 33, sleep has once again become matter of importance, which is totally, utterly lame. Whereas in my yesteryears, I could hit the snooze button 17 times and immediately fall back under without each “ehhhh ehhhh ehhhh” rattling my...
I Resolve to Dissolve My Illusions of Resolutions
This blog is a giant middle finger to the notion of resolutions. With each passing year, I realize I cannot be something I’m not.
However, usually around 2 p.m. on Jan. 1, when the headache, pity and personal disgust set in and I’m lying in bed with a half-eaten pastry from 7-Eleven inches from my face, ruminating about every dumb thing I said from last night to the last time I...
December 2010
1 post
Badass State of Mind
“Getting bored is not allowed.” - Eloise, permanent resident of The Plaza, my role model
Every time I walk past The Plaza in Manhattan, I feel slightly overwhelmed. It’s on Fifth Avenue, The Fifth Avenue, land of serious storied architecture brightened by the best Christmas windows cinema can conjure. And on this intersection of Mighty Fifth with the behemoth Plaza at its...
November 2010
2 posts
Dip, Dollop, Slather, Plop
As we prepare to succumb to gluttony tomorrow, I’d like to take this time to pay homage to the food I’m most grateful for: mayonnaise.
Mayo’s legitimacy and superiority is in the name of its most amazing brand: Best Foods. Hollar.
Mayonnaise should never ever be mistaken for a condiment. Condiments ooze out hard crusty gunk from their nozzles. They leave their dribble along...
Gen Zzzz Will Send Messages Through Their...
I was born in 1977, putting me on the cusp of generations X and Y. Most times I don’t feel like I belong to either; I don’t feel so burdened by society that I understand Sonic Youth, nor do I feel so aloof toward humanity that I grasp the appeal of a Second Life.
However, which side of the line I fall is obvious in the matters of texting.
My techniques and mores about texting...
October 2010
3 posts
This Shows I Care, Right?
I’m a bad aunt. I’m so bad that instead of apologizing to my brother and sister-in-law for forgetting their son’s second birthday three months ago (as well his birthday last year), I’m going to compose crafty excuses in a neat little blog post.
See, I don’t have kids. I’m 33 and constantly surrounded by others my age who are also childless. We are of a people who live in a selfish bubble,...
Exercise Your Right to Crap TV
I joined a fancy pants gym this week. At my new fitness center (as opposed to my old Parks and Rec gymnasium, which for $72 a year, I had access to two very loud cardio machines and a view of a concrete wall), I am now in stimulation overload. Eight flat screens dangle from the lofty ceilings, and each 2010-edition elliptical machine comes with its own built-in television and a dozen channels -...
All Aboard My Vehicle to Unstarving Artistry
While I try to stick to the general theme of this blog (the general being the ownership of the personal) and (godwilling) offer a few laughs at the expense of my neuroses and half-cocked opinions, I’m not trying to fool you about what’s really going on here: any blog (let alone that of a writer) is just a marketing scheme to further a bigger cause (in this case said writer’s...
September 2010
3 posts
On Par Gaydar
I haven’t had much use for “gaydar” in a long time. When I see someone, their heteroness/homoness is either obvious or it’s not, and this is like noticing whether someone needs a haircut or is dressing too hipster for his age — it’s usually a fleeting mental note that has no pertinence or weight on the situation at hand.
The only time detecting someone’s...
When Applicable, Roll Over
Go ahead, leave the heavy lifting to men.
This is not a metaphor. I’m being literal. I don’t like to pick up, carry or move things. I’m not physically as strong as most full grown men, nor do I care to be. They can have that superiority over me. Actually, I prefer that they do.
But my sucking at moving has only partially to do with strength and size. This weekend I helped my...
F.U. Staycays
When I was in college and I lived with my parents, I visited 11 countries and 9 American cities in a three-year stretch. Back then, my living expenses were nil (aside from beer and Jack in the Box), and my savings account actually had a purpose.
Since moving out on my own and paying rent (i.e the last 10 years), the only new destinations I’ve traveled to are Canada and maybe three random...
August 2010
4 posts
Another Year Older, Another Heaping Bag
Today I turn 33.
Here’s a little sampling of what I’ve learned in the past year:
- my correct bra size
- my gut has all the important answers; listen to it
- deodorant stops mosquito bites from itching
- one could in fact sustain herself on peanut butter toast every day
- Rhode Island is a big fan of Dunkin Donuts
- the honeymoon phase doesn’t have to end
-...
How to Be a Nut Job Writer: The Cliff Notes
The best writing advice I’ve ever heard was from an author I’ve never read:
Ass in the chair. - Nora Roberts
I was recently asked by a friend what gets my ass in the chair. “Lunch,” I said.
As I’m typing this (ahem, pause) I’m eating a bowl of yogurt and berries. Food excites me. I will sit down for food. Then while my brain turns and churns, figuring out...
This Bud Is For Lordknowswho
I often wonder about the unfounded, generous lifespan of certain products:
1) Visors (just wear a proper hat for chrissakes)
2) Uggs (you look like a stocky brat, grow up)
3) Budweiser
After having a Bud (do people even call it that any more?) the other day, I was further perplexed about who actually walks down the beer aisle and selects Budweiser: The Original. It tastes like the my...
Next Step: Smuggling Mimosas in My Purse
When I first moved to New York, I was enamored with the idea of brunch. Here, brunch rarely begins before 2, or most likely 3, and often involves a Mediterranean omelet and bistro seating. In practice, this breezy meal gives New Yorkers balance: go, go, go, get your shit done for five consecutive days, ease into Saturday, then spend your Sunday leisurely—lie about, catch up on Glee, have...
July 2010
4 posts
The Face of North Is Not Pretty, and Neither Are...
This is a nappy, plush toy you win at the fair, not something you put on your person.
No matter how cold it is, you’ll never find me in gore-tex, polartek or any other kind of high-tech synthetic windbreaking, fleece-insulated zippered nonsense. (And hence why, I was not cut out for Oregon. My rain boots have kitten heels.)
Style wins over function every time. There is always a cuter...
Joy in a Flat-Rate Box
The contents of a recent care package from my parents:
6 pairs of athletic socks
4 bags of loose-leaf tea
the local freebie newspaper
July’s issue of Vogue
lip-moisturizing cotton swabs
a cute summer top from Free People
Nevermind that it’s 102 degrees in New York City right now and I don’t have a need for moisturizer, nor can I fathom boiling water for tea; I’m a...
Youth Trendwatch 2010: Summer Edition
What the cool kids are doing these days:
1. Wearing the princess silly bandz, not the animal, or lord forbid, the “texting” ones.
2. Sporting shudder shades with lens, not without.
3. Trying really hard not to like Justin Bieber.
Yes, it’s time for my semi-annual visit with my 14-year old niece and 12-year-old nephew. A time when I brush up on all things young and hip...
;P :~) :{ :=0 ;S :B =< :@
I am an LOL hater. Let’s not even go there with LMAO.
I’ll spare the the dissertation about LOL’s abuse. As someone who’s a lover of the English language, I’m more annoyed by its mere inception. Who had the audacity to condense one of man’s most amazing, uncontrollable urges into a single acronym? How can these three unfunny letters (“L” is...
June 2010
4 posts
The Nose Knows But I Don't Know That
I like to think of myself as a daisy. Daises don’t smell and neither do I. When people look at me, they’d never suspect rancid odors would emit from my flouncy feminine shell. Fresh and dainty, I am. Inconspicuous and unthreatening among an arrangement of more obtrusive flowers and unruly weeds.
Even wilted and soggy in the depths of New York City’s subway system, I think no...
The Sun Marks its Victory
Wearing sunblock in Hawaii is the equivalent of using an umbrella in Portland, Oregon—though sensical, something only an unconditioned non-native would do. Or a complete pussy.
In high school, I’d oil myself up a thick coconut tanning spray, praying it would turn my pale haole skin into that of a golden Polynesian goddess, or at least like the exotic temptress on the tanning...
You One Portagee If...
My dad and I once concocted a scheme to be the first Portagee restaurateurs in Hawaii. We thought, every other ethnicity has dozens of their own restaurants (the Korean have their BBQs, the Vietnamese their pho shops), hell, even ethnicities that don’t represent Hawaii’s population have some kind of eatery (taco shops, pasta by the pound), why not the Portuguese?
We both agreed this...
Five-dollar Chardonnay, Chicken of the Sea, and...
I would like to think I’ve become more environmentally conscious over the years. I spent about a month studying the breakdown of how to recycle in NYC. I even played recycling cop at my parents’ house in Hawaii, monitoring the trash bag for things like milk cartons and jugs of orange juice—giant objects I could easily pick up from the top of the pile and place in the adjacent...
May 2010
5 posts
Wiggle It. Just a Little Bit.
Dancing is the cure. For everything. The sad part is, like taking a fourth shot of Jager (which, by the way, is not the cure for everything), you rarely do it unless you’re completely shitfaced.
However, I believe the world (or at least your psychie) would be healed if we remembered to boogie every once in a while.
Good times to get down on it:
1) A lingering project, a...
The Cupcake Conspiracy
A genius died yesterday. No, not Dio, but the man who put my two favorite desserts together and charged $2.50 for it: Mr. Chipwich, Richard LaMotta.
At its core, the Chipwich is the best of the simplistic sugar bombs. Some will argue that the cupcake holds this distinction, but I believe these people have been brainwashed. The media, The Man, the hipster in the cutesy cupcake truck have made...
Returning to the Real World
I have an 18-year habit: The Real World. This supersedes my addiction to both booze and the Internet. To be fair, my Real World fixation wasn’t always consistent or life sucking. There was a time when I was on the wagon, when the Real World couldn’t drag me into its depths. This was in my mid to late 20s.
When I started watching season one, I was an optimistic high school sophomore....
Primal Beast
A beard is sexy. Sometimes. I hesitate to write this for several reasons.
1) It outs me as an unimaginative, conformist hipster and hipster lover.
2) Proves I lived in Portland too long.
3) Not all beards look good on all dudes. Beards should not be an excuse to forego grooming or to stop working with/improving what nature gave you. Or a lazy way to look cool. (See #1 and #2.)
4) Shows my age....
Tonight's Forecast: Dark with Scattered Darkness...
Hi, my name is Jessica and I’m someone who talks about the weather. I’m aware that this is the equivalent admitting I don’t know how to engage, or not being able to recognize when I should just say hello and walk away. But I think my problem is far more serious than my being awkward or my fear of being awkward; the weather has become something that actually fascinates me.
For...
April 2010
9 posts
The Art of Breaking Up
I’ve always believed in a clean breakup. In other words, I do the breaking up and then I insist we have no further contact.
That is why I was struck by this sentiment uttered by performance artist Marina Abramovic in the New Yorker: ”People put so much effort into starting a relationship and so little effort into ending one.”
The obvious rebuttal is “duh.” Of...
Continue to Rock My World
I’ve been concerned about Bret Michaels all weekend. I immediately googled him when I woke up on Saturday, even foregoing my email Inbox and Facebook statuses, to monitor the condition of his health.
This isn’t because Poison was my favorite band growing up; it wasn’t even one of my favorite hair metal bands (ahem, Guns N’ Roses). But “hair metal” as a...
An Ode to My Tempurpedic
My dad travels with pillows. Not a “travel pillow” in the shape of a puffy half-eaten donut, but an actual rectangular, goose-down accoutrement upon which to lay your entire head. He will forgo the carry-on bag in lieu of his pillow because he doesn’t trust that the hotel, even the Hilton, will have one that meets his standards, and at his age, he doesn’t have time to...
Subtlety with a Side of Nuance, Please
This past Sunday I saw shit smeared on a wall, a man going down on himself, babies being sucked back up the birth canal and a giant pink phallus. But I’ll get back to that in a moment.
As a contemptuous private school teen in bright, sunny Hawaii, my general mission was to stand out. I wore black patent leather go-go boots, fishnets and glittery polyester shirts tied at my navel. I drove...
Eh Brah, Whatchu Lookin' At?
Having grown up in Hawaii, I’m often asked if it’s true that Hawaiians* hate all white people. I usually tell them what my mother, a white woman from Louisana who worked with the roughest, most challenging kids on the island, told me: If you treat people with respect, they’ll respect you.
I find this to be true and is often the way I try to live my life. I go into situations...