SMELL YOU LATER 01/02/2011
 Someone needs to invent a spray that enhances the smell of my food. Because my nose isn't getting enough action, and my taste buds are hogging all the fun. And the end result is that my brain is screwed out of fully appreciating delicious meals. So if you happen to see me out at a restaurant, face planted in my food - don't laugh. Put your face in your food too, steal a giant whiff, and take comfort in knowing that together, we are slowly redistributing the wealth to our senses, one olfactory receptor at a time. 1 Comment 10,000 steps 05/24/2010
 I'm taking 10,000 steps a day. And I'm using a pedometer to count them. Pedometer strapped to my hip = unsexy. But achieving 10,000 steps a day = very very sexy. I'm doing it to cure the acute sense of agoraphobia that builds up when I've spent too much time working. To cure the fact that I've been in NYC for almost eight months now, and still haven't seen as much of the city as I'd like. To cure the extra poundage as a result of sitting on top of a computer every day, with my fingers jammed on the keys as if this little piggy had no roast beef and went wah-wah-wah, all the way home. To cure any fears of not being able to achieve something when all you have to do is get off your ass and take a few steps forward. There will be more to follow, I hope. Because it's Monday. Because it's time to move those happy feet. Because there are no more excuses left to not do it. Unless I find an iPad app that closes business deals for me, and takes me on tours of the city while putting chocolate in my mouth. Because then, I wouldn't really need 10,000 steps, would I. For Grandpa. RIP. 03/17/2010
  Under Construction 05/12/2009
   p.s. sneak peek at the booth I designed for TWOC at the expatshowbeijing.com. Time for this crazy, hidden rag to make a splash! Vanup 04/28/2009
 Got a new tattoo yesterday. Sitting on the corner of my left wrist, I see it every time I look down; it's there to remind me of my commitment to living the hell out of life. Not that I need a tattoo to do my mental butt-kicking, but being such a visual person, it's a nice little replacement for a permanent string on my finger. Benjamin Says Hi 02/26/2009
 I've recently been feeling a little off-balance. Work and workouts are great - other stuff is not. By the time I get home, I just want to zone out on the couch until the morning - hardly apropos for getting anything productive done on the off hours. And I have SO much I WANT and NEED to do in those few precious off hours I do actually have. Like send out that artist release for the children's book. And call the people who have left me messages on my mom's voicemail box in Texas (how did they get that number). And pay my TRC website bill. And work on TIP (new, ultra secret project). And meet with British Ed to crank out our freaking songs so we can perform already. And shower. And cook. And do laundry. And READ. And update you on ALL the things I am itching to write about. And. And. And. And yet, the only things I can manage to do are check my e-mails (but not respond to them), get my daily dose of NG and be a sack of shit for the rest of the evening. So, my mind has been exploding on the inside - because it has somehow shut off in the process of all this working and working out. But lucky for me, I have alter-ego Jenny, who knows just what to do, most of the time. Knowing me best, as only me can know me, alter-ego Jenny (let's call her Benjamin) understands that I can't just go from couch lauder to productive Nancy. So, the other night, smart little Benjamin was like: Why don't you plan a party? And I was like: Say whaat? (Yes, I talk to myself. Debate is the only way my better half will win) Yeah, get your mind off your big couch potato ass. Um, excuse you? I've been working out. You know - give yourself something fun to think about, and the work you need to get done will just fly by. Ohhh. Hm. You know I'm right. Yeah, well, maybe I'll try that concept. Thanks, Benjamin. No prob, Blob. Haha. Very funny. * Great. Get the guest list together. Buy the alcohol. Make a cupcake or two. And ta-da! Extensive Game Night at Benjamin and Jenny's! Followed by dancing and guzzling at whatever bars are lucky enough to house us. So far, the guest list is 15 and counting. I think my Beijing apartment can comfortably hold 10. Oops. And all of a sudden, my mind is breathing again, and ready to be productive. Oh, Benjamin. You are so smart. Nothing cures flat-lining better than the prospect of some good ol' ridiculous, liver-blowing, FUN. Snow Glow 02/18/2009
 Though it happened about a month and a half later than the rest of the world, thanks to the Mongolian skies, we were bestowed a deliciously crisp gust of soft flakes all yesterday and today. Last night, as I was shuffling back from the gym, the legs of my pants caked in muddy ice I would later rinse out in the sink, rather than fight my way through the slush, I stopped and stared. Because it was 9pm, the snow fell like millions of icy, miniscule feathers, brushing against my nose and prancing on the tips of my eyelashes. I looked up, deeply breathing in dusts of cold. The dark night sky had a pink glow, and for a very long time, I stood there, mouth wide open, catching melting crystal shards on my tongue and listening to the calm that only snow can bring. The loud traffic, my toes wriggling inside my wet socks, the taxis splashing by, the neon lights - everything fell away, and it was just me and those dots of white gently floating down, down, down, into nothingness. Then I realized that these gorgeous ice flakes were probably just polluted Beijing rain drops in disguise, and that I had better close my mouth. So I did. And even though my ears were numb and my sneakers soaked through on the walk home, it was still a glorious night. 10k 01/30/2009
Today, I had lunch with my trainer-turned-friend, C, at Rumi, an amazing Persian restaurant down by the Village. I had spent the previous evening, contemplating into the wee hours, trying to figure out the mental trigger that would fire the synapses through my mind, into the joints of my body and move it until I reached my ultimate goal: to be the strongest, leanest, healthiest, most flexible me I can be. That’s why I hired C, to kick my ass into shape. Lunch was an excuse to do some heavy brainstorming. Do-Different 01/28/2009
 It might be the thought of a chance at a second new year (Chinese New Year), although the first one wasn't that long ago, or it might be this week that I have all to myself, but there has been a very distinct urge tugging at my heart strings, pulling harder and harder as the days pass. This little feeling, maybe the size of a coin, radiates a heat that bakes my insides and traps me in my own body, waiting for me to release it. No, it's not flatulence (you think you're so clever). I finally figured out what it was on Monday evening, as I was lodged on my static-inducing, hair catching, lime green couch (provided by le landlord, since in China, many apartments come fully furnished, usually with odd pieces that were mostly likely the love children of Bai Ling and Kimora Lee Simmons - love you girl, but some of that Baby Phat's got to go). Anyway - what I figured out was that my little, hot, coin-sized, mental itch was yelling for me to do something different. So that’s what I decided to do, a do-different. That evening after I made dinner, instead of inviting my usual dining mates, Movie or Internet, I strolled to the ugly lime monster, situated myself in the middle of its spongy cheeks, and ate in silence. Well, silence was relative, since the Chinese New Year fireworks brigade was stilling running rampant across the city, throwing explosives into the air every hundred feet. But I sat there, quietly chewing, and listened to the symphony of pyrotechnics, letting the echo of each whistle and roar settle serenely into my bowl of ground beef and onions. Upon savoring every bite, I learned this. Paying full and glorious attention to your food fills you up sooner. From the tiny spicy spouts on my tongue, I could tell that I had put in too much diced onion, and that the white, long-stemmed mushrooms made the beef slippery in consistency, and that for the first time in my short and unsuccessful amateur cooking career (i.e. client=myself), the beef was finally not over-done, and that maybe a little mustard would be good between the slices of cheese I had melted in the whole wheat tortilla. Sure, eating in silence might be something normal to most people. In fact, it was normal at one point in my life, when I still lived at home, and all meals were at the table. But not once, in my independent, live-in-my-own-apartment, 20-something life away from home, have I ever eaten in silence. There are just too many distractions. And so my do-different quota was filled that night and the urge fell asleep. Until the next day. Tuesday evening. I got curious and pulled out one of the frozen fish the Office had graciously bestowed upon me (Chinese New Year gift), cut open the bag, placed the fish on a pan, put a chunk of butter on top and stuck the whole thing in my toaster oven. 20 minutes later, I could hear a sizzling sound. When I pulled my dinner out, it didn’t look too bad, smelled good and seemed ready. Maybe cooking isn’t so hard after all, or so I thought: The first few bites were pretty good, although Mr. Fish did seem a bit scaly. Hmm, as I got deeper, the insides didn't seem fully cooked, but hey, sushi's raw, so it couldn't be that bad for me. Right? But wait – what is this bulbous thing in the middle, right near the stomach area? Ew, is that the stomach? I dunno. Moving on. Mmm – this part is tasty. (Spit more scales out). Hey, this bulbous thing is getting to be pretty obtrusive. I sliced the thing open – it WAS the stomach, guts and all. “Haha,” Bryant later laughed at me over Skype. “You’re supposed to clean the fish first.” “How am I supposed to clean a frozen fish?” “You thaw it out, dummy. In salt water.”  “What? I thought that if they sell it to you frozen, it was ready to cook.” “Nope – they just catch ‘em and freeze ‘em.” Grr. Ew. Gross. I’m never doing that again. But in honor of my new do-different attitude, the next night I decided to tackle the two remaining fish the right way. After all, what’s trite about scaling and gutting a fish? Nothing, that’s what. The next hour was filled with activities even more horrifying than discovering the stomach of a cooked fish. Mind you, I say horrifying because I am the type of person who gets itchy just thinking about bugs. The sight of anything with more than four legs will make me bolt; and worms, slugs, snails and intestines definitely make me throw up in my mouth. It’s just who I am. Anyway, I digress. There is a good reason everyone who scales fish on TV is in full protective gear: apron, boots, rubber gloves, a rain hat and definitely a hefty pair of goggles. Those bastard sequins of nature got everywhere. Crevices I didn’t even know existed made friends with each little shit piece of confetti of the sea. And, god – I know I’m Chinese, but I am not eating that fish head. It’s one thing to be served a full, beautiful fish; it's quite another to have to prepare that fish. So, off with the head. Oh, but wait – the giant butcher knife I’m using isn’t sharp enough. Ok. What to do. I got it – get the scissors out. I’m not sure this is entirely correct form, but cutting and chopping are both methods of decapitating, right? Okay, head off. Purple guts are spilling out. Agh. Gag. Breathe. Hee, hoo. Hee, hoo. Now what? Right: filet it. Fish filet. Filet o’ fish. Jenny filets fish. How do I do that? Well, I’m not risking maulling my hand with the dull butcher knife, so scissors it is, again. Snip. Snip. Snip through the underbelly of Mr. Fishy, and right into the intestines. AHHHH. Ew. Ew. Ew. Nothing like fingers swathed in unfolding strands of black red goo. This fish better taste amazing. Okay – stomach and guts are out. Now for the fins. Cut that one off the side. And that one over there. Oh, and there’s another cute wittle one on the back. Crunch. Crunch. Horror. Did I just cut through the backbone? I notice the fish still looks like a fish in my hands, not like those succulent salmon steaks that sit proudly behind the counter at the grocery store. Getting seriously faint on the inside. Still cutting through the backbone. Must. Get. It. Off. Crrrrrrrunnnch. (I’m pretty sure no chef has ever done it this way. Skimming off the top of a backbone, horizontally, seems pretty inhumane to me) Done. Phew. Sigh. I would be the worst surgeon ever. Suffice it to say, none of my recent experiences related to fish have been all that pleasant, but at least I experienced them. And although I’m still picking scales out of my hair, and touching fish guts probably doesn’t even faze you, I feel alive for having done it. * So, what exactly defines different? A do-different is a moment you reserve to: 1) take an action that has yet to make it on your portfolio of life experiences, or 2) do something not present in your daily life With just these two rules, the options are endless. And the beauty is, they don’t have to be giant gestures of passion or zeal. They can be as small and subtle as chewing quietly on a couch, or wearing a pot over your head while lip-sinking to Janis Joplin (have you ever done that?), or if you prefer, even streaking down the road in nothing but your dignity and a pair of sturdy shoes. Whatever your do-differents are, as long as you keep at them, they will add up. One day, looking back, you will realize just how satisfying your time on this earth has been. They might have even saved your life. On another note, do-differents are also particularly good for people my age. As 20-somethings, we are riding the line of adulthood, determined to transition without losing our youth. We try to play the mature card, which means waiting patiently for our successes to compile and reward us, and yet it seems Time can’t pass fast enough between our actions and the results we crave. The do-different world is the loophole for instant gratification, a sacred space where we can create experiences entirely unusual to our usual. And for those of us who can’t commit to weeks worth of a task, the do-different is just enough to get us to the next baby step. It doesn’t overwhelm; it just changes your life, and can in quite a significant way. * Standing in front of my kitchen window, open so as to waft away the looped visual in my mind of guts spurting out a fish’s neck, and trying to figure out what my do-different for Thursday would be, I peered through the screen; just below the window was a ledge holding an air conditioner of some sort - I almost climbed out on it. No folks, I did not end up squeezing myself through the two by four frame (I figured “different” shouldn’t equate to death on a rusty ledge), but the point is that I felt brave enough to do it. I had sanctioned out one moment of each day, where I was allowed to act on something entirely foreign to my daily routine, and having that moment made me feel alive and invincible. Perhaps my do-differents may not be as exciting to other people as they are to me, but they don’t have to be – because they are just for me, an exercise to push myself outside my own box every day. Can you imagine if you did a do-different, even just once a week, for the rest of your life, how much more fun you would have? It's an exciting thought, figuring out something that seems so obvious, but really isn't: I create my experiences, my breaths of fresh air, my do-differents and my life. And so can you. |
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