Archive for the ‘ kids these days ’ Category

I’ll Make You A Pun You Can’t Refuse

The veggie boyfriend saw “The Godfather” for the first time ever this week. We had a conversation via text about it:

VBF: Almost finished “The Godfather” this morning – so good! It’s easy to get sucked in. Now I know why you like the nickname Kae.
Me: Yay! I can make references and you’ll get what I’m saying. Wait ’til you get to the end – you’ll see why I find it funny when you tell me “Don’t worry about it.” Also, do you know about the oranges?
VBF: I have about 45 minutes left of “The Godfather I”
Me: When you’re done with the movie, google “godfather” and “oranges”
Me: That’s my name, don’t wear it out.
VBF: I won’t dignify that with a response.
Me: You just did. :)

Don’t IM Me, I’ll IM You

It’s been a little bit quiet over here, but that’s mainly due to a bum finger. (Yes, I’m still trying to get back into full typing mode.) In the meantime, enjoy this piece I wrote for the now defunct Anti-Social Networking blog that I co-wrote with the Slackmistress, Felicia Sullivan, and Sevenlies.

Talking. It’s overrated and compiles 60% of my job. Naturally by the time I get home I don’t want to talk to anyone for a couple of hours. It’s a quick hello to whoever is in the house and then I’m watching the Food Network or taking an early peek at [adult swim]’s weekend lineup. If you call me between the hours of 5PM and 7PM I let it go to voicemail. My mom thinks I’m being rude, but I pay for voicemail and I’m going to use it as I damn well please.

Me talking went out with this phone.

The best way to get my attention these days is to text me. (I would say IM or email, but my neighbors found out that I was “borrowing” their wifi and am reduced to sharing the PC with my dad for the internet. Hopefully TimeWarner [ha!] will come out and remedy this quickly, as the modem doesn’t seem to want to cooperate with my router.) And that’s actually my preferred method of communication. I would much rather type out an email to another hotel for room rates than pick up the phone and speak with the GM’s secretary or the Director of Front Office.

I used to love calling people up for a quick chat or to catch up with a friend, especially after high school graduation. If we did catch each other online, one would type “Hey, I’m gonna call you in about 5 minutes so we can talk.” It totally made more sense that way: I talked much faster than I typed. I would say that IMs and emails were only 30% of my chosen form of communication.

My European History AP teacher once said that instant messaging was taking us backwards, that instead of talking to people in person or over the phone we chose to be like primitive man with symbols in the shape of emoticons. I scoffed at that. We’d still talk to people over the phone. Instant messaging was just a cheaper way to talk to relatives in other countries.

But one day the house two doors down from mine from me proved me wrong.

My neighbor and her sister used to IM each other but were sitting across from each other. One would be in the kichen on her laptop and the other would be in the dining room, which was smack next door without any walls inbetween them! Instead of opening her mouth to ask for ice cream, one sister would IM the other with her request. The other sister would get up and go to the freezer, scoop out some vanilla, and place the dish next to her sibbling. And I was inbetween them, taking advantage of their HBO connection from the spare shabby chic armchair.

At the time I thought it was funny. They were silently communicating with each other but yelling out to answer their mom when she asked what our plans were later in the evening. It seemed too silly IM someone when they were right next to you!

Then it happened: I got an apartment with a gay friend and our bedrooms were separated by the living room and the kitchen. We were probably only 20 feet away from each other, but one night a message popped up on my screen:

J: Kath-er-yn!!!! I’m hungry.

K: What do you want to eat?

J: Dunkin Donuts!

K: We don’t have that here. Do you want to go to the store?

J: I don’t want store-bought.

K: Let’s get ice cream.

J: Diddy Riese?

K: Okay. You drive or me?

J: I’ll drive.

K: See you in the living room in 5 minutes.

And with that, we’d had an entire conversation via AIM.

It didn’t hit me until a few months later how we were now communicating with each other. He used to yell out to me or walk to my room and then scare the hell out of me. Sometimes I would go in his room to complain about work. And sometimes we’d just end up in the kitchen at the same time because we needed a drink. But now this was slowly grinding to a halt.

He would IM me if I wanted an apple martini. I would IM him to ask if he could move his car. We would IM each other to ask the other to come into our room and give an opinion on the outfit we planned to wear to dinner. My AP teacher had forseen this all.

The thing is, it just became so much easier to type things out than to talk. My roommate and I spoke the bare minimum at home but would send lengthy messages once we were in our bedrooms. Part of it was the convenience but a good chunk was because we were working retail and had several shouting matches with irrate customers over the course of the day. We were wiped out and didn’t want to speak another word.

Gradually I stopped calling people and moved exclusively to emails and instant messaging. It’s faster, leaves a trail, and means less interaction I have to make. You can also customize colors and backgrounds if you are so technically inclined, but I’m partial to traditional white background with black text.

Every now and then I get a burst of nostalgia and will call up about 10 people in a day to say hello. This, of course, is responded to with a text message or an email.

The topper on the cake? When I do get together with my old roommate, we email each other at work to set up a dinner date. This is then followed by a calendar invite via Outlook.

A Politically Correct Moment with Yours Truly

There’s a lot out there on the internet, and a lot of it is offensive. With websites like and, there’s no lack of gross-out pissed off attitude floating around. You get used to it if you’ve been on the internet for at least 90 days (and that probably applies to children as well).

Thing is, certain words still get me angry.

“Jap” is definitely on the top, if not the #1 word on my list.

The funny thing is, it wasn’t directed at me. It was on another Asian person’s online dating profile – an adjective he used to describe his hair.

This isn’t the same kind of angry I get when I see some of the dogs that are with us at Bill Foundation. That kind of angry is a whole other blog post (but would involve me ripping out the heart of the human who abused a cocker spaniel mix to the point where she snaps at anyone who makes eye contact).

As I mentioned on Twitter earlier, you can consider me old fashioned for not liking the term. You can use the term “Nip” or, if you’re in a rush and don’t want to play guessing games, I won’t get too touchy about being called a “Chink.”

But please, refrain from the abbreviated J-word. Thanks.

Could you be more “pacific”?

Kevin and Bean of KROQ had a little segment on words that are mispronounced horribly incorrectly. It started with the word “mayonnaise” and how it often gets pronounced “man-naise“.

I admit it, I’m guilty of omitting the “yo” of mayo. I say “mannaise.” And it drives my mom insane.

Thing is, I don’t really care. I hate the stuff and it’s sweet revenge to mispronounce it. Mannaise, mannaise, mannaise.

But this post is not about how I pronounce the condiment. This post is about the words that came up during the segment. And some of these words I have never even heard of before.

For example, the word pacific. As in, “I’m looking for a pacific brand of cake flour.”


Or the word “fruss-ta-ted” instead of regular old frustrated.

One that irritates the hell out of me: irregardless. Two negatives make a positive, people.

Supposebly gets used in exchange of supposedly, allegedly.

All of this makes my head hurt.

Mary HAD a Little Lamb: How a Childhood Story got Murdered

I was going through the mail pile on the dinning room table and saw this book:

the lamb

My mom had brought it home from work. The lamb’s head looked so soft and inviting, so I reached out to pet it. It was just as soft as I imagined. I continued to pet the lamb when this caught my eye:

the lamb

The lamb was partially blind. And that was just sad, because any wounded animal hits a tender spot in my heart.

I flipped open the book and was horrified when this happened:

the lamb

Double u. Tee. Eff.

What the hell happened to the lamb’s head?

It was hanging from the edge of the cover.

I asked my mom why she brought home a damaged lamb, and she responded that one of the kids from her class ripped the head off. She was hoping to glue it back on.

Storytime has definitely changed since I was in kindergarten.

the lamb

As of this post, the lamb’s head has yet to be glued back on. Now I’ve got this creepy book hanging around the house, and I’m not quite sure how I feel about it.

I’m Showing My Age

When a pop song gets stuck in my head, I have to play it over and over again on YouTube until I get annoyed or tired of listening. In recent weeks, it’s been a lot of Beyonce due to “Glee” (Single Ladies and Halo that got featured in a mashup).

The South Park episode “Whale Whores” had the unfortunate/hilarious cover of Lady Gaga’s “Poker Face.” Cartman, Kyle, and Kenny are playing the song on Rock Band, with Cartman on lead vocals. Which lead to an extended version during the battle montage against the Japanese.

“Poker Face” got stuck in my head, and that eventually brought me to “Just Dance.” After multiple hearings on YouTube, I started picking up lyrics. Most were clearly heard, but some eluded me, so I did a Google search.

I’m going to be frank: I am kind of put off by the meaning of the song. In short, the girl is completely shitfaced – nay, near blackout, but she feels it’s okay to just continue to dance. Seriously, if I lost my keys, my phone, couldn’t see straight, didn’t know where I was, and somehow managed to turn my shirt inside out without my knowing, the last thing I’d want to do is “just dance.” Instead, I’d probably ask someone to bring me some water, throw up in the ladies’ bathroom, and then ask for another round of water.

The closest I’ve ever been to being as drunk as that was the last time I spent an evening with my gay boys in West Hollywood. I made the mistake of having 3 martinis in an hour and (in retrospect) was very glad to have been in a primarily gay club with friends. I was completely safe

Silly pop songs aren’t bad in moderation. I just don’t think the target audience should think that being totally smashed with the attitude of “I’ll just dance it off” will work every single time. I admit that I’m a sensible drunk: I always keep water nearby and will obtain food so I won’t get sick. Once I get home, I will drink even more water to prevent a hangover.

Judge for yourself; I think the drunk body count in the front yard of the house makes a point.

Commentary On Kids These Days

Chiquita brand bananas have been coming up with some pretty catchy lines on their stickers as of late. Silly things like “Potasi-yum!” bring a smile to my face and to my roommate’s as well. (Sometimes we even go as far to compare which sticker we got after making a run over to Trader Joe’s.)

Last week I got stuck with jury duty, so my grocery schedule got thrown off a bit. To compensate for the crappy cafeteria food offered by the courthouse, I’d stop by Pavillions to see if they had sales on ice cream. And bananas (you know, to balance out my dietary habits).

It wasn’t until I got home that I realized my normally fun/cheesy Chiquita sticker was pretty lame:


Seriously? You have to put ads on stickers for kids to be spontaneously silly? When I was little, you didn’t have to tell me twice about putting stickers on my head. And I always felt compelled to up the ante by running around, announcing that I’ve got a sticker on my forehead.

You know it’s a sad state of affairs when kids have to be reminded by their fruit to be a little bit goofy. Sure, I would have been thrilled to own the Wii instead of my NES, but I kind of doubt I would have the over-active imagination I own today.