China Daddy - a 15 post

[I've decided to write up a few posts that will last exactly 15 minutes. There will be almost no editing or proofreading. I've set the timer on my phone so that when the 15 minutes are up, I pull my fingers up and hit publish. Scary, but the only way I can get some ideas down instead of waiting for the perfect time or mood to write something up. You'll have to live with the typos and grammatical errors on this FREE-TO-READ blog]

I've been thinking about the phrase used in so many blogs, "your China Mommy" or "your first Mom" or "China Mom".

And the thing is, with Father's day that recently occurred.....why is there never any mention of "your China Daddy" or "your first Dad" or "China Dad"?

Seems we (guys) get a bit of the short shrift.

And then, of course, I try to see the view of the people writing these postings. Mostly women. I'm the rare Dude blogging (I don't see why women think I'm grouchy and expect me to be all feminine touchy-feely).

And of course, there is the issue of a Woman in China carried your child to term for 9 months. Your child was in the womb of a woman, not a man.

But at the same time, you (women) bloggers write about how your child's Daddy (here in America) loves your child more than life itself.

What about a man in China. Does a man in China "give up" a baby? Is he considered the one to pressure the China Mom to abandon the child. Is it implicit in y'alls writing that the woman was the one who didn't want to give up, that the man did want to abandon and most likely did it?

I don't know.

I hold my boy in my arms sometimes. I cuddle and play with him and do what a Dad does.

Why is it implicit that there was no Dad in China?

[and this is why this is a 15 minute post - I haven't really thought all the issues that tumble around in my head about this]

I think this first got to me when I read the book "I love you like Crazy Cakes". In the woman's writing it was always "Your birth mother in China" in the phrases. And after reading it for the umpteenth time, I realized to myself - this author must have adopted as a single Mom. So her viewpoint is that there is no Man needed or around or even in existence. (okay, a bit of sarcasm there). But from this, I already got the feeling that Dudes are considered a bit of second class citizens in the adoption world.

And maybe guys are supposed to be tough, suck it up, and fade in the background. However, I've always been a stickler for the concept of equality. If you're going to ask for true equality, you can't "short" one side.

How many of you do truly think of the China Dad?

[and this is where 15 minutes doesn't give me the time to soften some of the words - they come out a bit like crazy blogger]

If you appreciate me as "the rare A-Dad" who blogs, then wouldn't you give the same appreciate to your child's "First Dad" in China when you write poems or open letters to these PARENTS you'll never meet?

I think sometimes this gets to me when we see some tragedy in China (like the Sichuan earthquake last year) and they have on camera a father crying and grieving for his dead child. An Asian man crying publicly? That's true love - so yeah, there are

Bad Boy! Bad Boy!

[The title of this posting should be sung to the music from the TV show COPS. Deep fryer in da house! Bad Boy! Bad Boy!]

Yesterday, the Girl had a playdate with a classmate from kindergarten. I decided, on a whim, to take the Boy to an appliance store and finally buy a deep fryer.

This purchase has been discussed off and on the last 4 years between Wifey and myself. Some of the conversations have gone like this:

Me: Hmmm, I'd really like to have a deep fryer.

Wifey: Ugh. Fried food is bad for you!

Me: You like fried food!

Wifey: Whatever. It's up to you. [eyes rolling]

Or

Me: Hmmmm, I really could use a deep fryer. Maybe I'll go buy one.

Wifey: Stop it! You keep buying yourself stuff and you leave me with nothing to buy for your birthday or Christmas.

Me: I don't need anything for my birthday (it's true).

Wifey: You're hopeless! [eyes rolling, throwing hands up in the air]

Or

Me: Okay, so what am I supposed to do for Christmas? Make a list of things I might like?

Wifey: Yes, PLEASE.

Me: Okay, yeah. I'll put a deep fryer on the list.

Wifey: Mmmmm, okay. But we don't have any space for it.

Me: Hmmm, good point. Never mind. Scratch that one.

Or

Me: Hey okay, how about a deep fryer for my birthday then?

Wifey: Mmm, okay.

Me: But. What if you buy one I don't like?

Wifey: Just how many of them are there?

Me: Well, there are lots. Each has their pros and cons.

Wifey: Well, then just tell me the model you want.

Me: But then, I have to go do the research at the store (this is something you have to visually inspect to see if you could really see yourself using it). And if I go to the store, research, and like it....then why not buy it right then and there?

Wifey: Because you save it and let me buy it for you for your birthday!

Me: But, I want it now. Why should I wait 5 months? And besides, it's not really a suprise then, is it?

Wifey: I give up! [rolls eyes]

Or

Me: Dammit! I screwed up another attempt at fried chicken.

Wifey: Well, my grandma knew how to make great fried chicken.

Me: Good for your grandma - who is DEAD. I need me a fryer.

Wifey: You don't need a deep fryer. You should be able to make fried chicken in an inch of oil.

Me: I suck at fried chicken. This is pointless! [throwing my hands up in the air]

Or

[Oh, there are even more conversations between me and Wifey, but I'm tired of typing them]

In the end, I think we've been watching a lot of cooking shows and I just got tired of seeing interesting parts of some meals where I know I can't make it because I need a deep fryer. Yeah, not healthy for me. I get it. Get over it!

But maybe, maybe this is all about my obsession about beating my arch nemesis......Fried Chicken.

And darn you Popeyes for not rebuilding the store that burnt down. You've driven me to this!

Poll

7:55 pm

It's going to be a brutal summer!

Investment Review

A few years ago, I wrote about how I took some Christmas money given to me by my parents and put it into Kiva.

I thought I might do an update. The initial amount was $110, with $10 of that amount as a donation to Kiva to cover their operating expenses. A month after that first deposit, I put in another $110, with $10 going to Kiva (someone has to pay for the electric bill!).

And then, I kinda forgot about it. Well, what I mean about that is that Kiva is very good at giving you email updates about loan re-payments or sometimes they give you a field report about how the person you loaned to is doing.

I sorta, kinda just delete the email. I'm not looking for thanks from these people. They'll never meet me and I don't need them to know who I am. I just hope that someone's life can be made better than their parents' life, if they come from a poor background. And it's odd, cause I'll never really know will I?

And then every once in a while, Kiva will send a message, "You've got money to loan. Why don't you think about loaning it!" Or something to that effect.

And so I log in, am astounded to find I do indeed have money to loan and make loans and just forget about it for another year or so.

Here's a screenshot of the spreadsheet they let you download from my account on their web page. I hadn't realized I've made a total of 22 loans from the original $200.

If you look at the picture (sorry, you gotta click on it to enlarge it), you'll see of the 22 loans there was 1 default. The very detailed note we got from Kiva was that the field partner (the one who disperses money, collects the money, and monitors the borrowers) was kinda.....sorta.....skimming the money and Kiva shut down any further business with this field partner. The story was that they added about 10%-12% on top of what the borrower originally asked to borrow and they kept that "skim" for themselves.

Eehh, it's what it is.

But I am very surprised I got paid back by so many people. When I saw a story about microloans on a documentary, it said that loans to groups (women in a village, typically) have a higher payback rate than those to single indviduals - because the group members are a constant form of peer pressure. You all went into this together and you'd better not let down the reputation of this group, in the eyes of the lenders. And the documentary was right - the loans to groups do pay back fast.

Where is my interest? Well, I don't get any back. So of the original $220, $20 went to Kiva operating expenses. And whenever I re-loan, Kiva will always ask (and you can always decline) to toss in 10% towards their operating expenses. So really, I've lost money where my principal is less than $200.

Today, I spent over $100 for my monthly (self-luxury to be sure) trip to my massage therapist. It was heaven.

But the $100 could have also gone to 4 groups* of borrowers looking to improve their lives.

I guess it's time to prime the Kiva pump and deposit more money for lending.

*Kiva limits each loan from people like me to $25 so that we'll spread-the-wealth to others. They don't want people on the bottom of the web page to get starved out and not get a chance to get a loan.

Mirror, mirror

With permission from Jo, I point you to adoptive twins who finally meet face-to-face.

Here is the back story.

Here are the amazing photos.

As with any blog by Jo, time of existence may vary with wind conditions.

[wink]

Oh, and she's a Brit. So here is a helpful translator.

[wink, wink]

Fur Get About It!

Here are the pics about the constant battle with dog hair. Pictures are not as bad as the last vacuum session. But I wanted to show a true before-and-after episode.

First about the Dyson. I love it, even with its warts. The brilliance of this and other competing "clear canister" vacuums is the psychological aspect of the design. By having a clear canister, you can see your own "before-and-after" and feel that you are getting a lot of value for your money. Also, from an engineering point of view, it's brilliant to let people know, "Hey, you need to empty me now! I'm full!"

I actually took the time to clean my Dyson out for a true "before" picture of an empty canister.

And this is the general look of our floors 4 days after my last cleaning. Looks okay, sorta, right?

But if you squat down you see some accumulated Dalmatian hair.

And if you take a longer perspective, you see how it is everywhere.

After the first pass with the vacuum. This includes laying on my stomach with the extension and vacuuming under the platform bed.

And now, the recently purchased attachment to vacuum the 3 dog beds. All this time, I've been ignoring vacuuming the beds. I would wash them about 3 times a year. This was a disaster as it resulted in clumps of white dog hairs in the filter of the washer and dryer. Idiot.

And the result of a pass on one of the beds. The sides of the attachment have these rough red edges and the hairs get stuck. Then, I have to hand-scrape these hairs off the red edges and let it get sucked into the canister.

Results of all the hairs I could find to clean from the bedroom and our attached study.

Sigh. It's good and it's bad.

And for the commenter who suggested a Roomba? Let me show you two dead soldiers who died in the cause of Dalmatian hair removal.

Wheels up in defeat!

Chicken Marsala

The interesting thing about growing up Taiwanese is that there are some "ethnic" foods you learn and enjoy late in life. For instance, Italian. I finally started eating non-spaghetti Italian food in my early 20's once I was on my own. Maybe that's why I really like cooking and eating Italian and Cajun style food?

This posting is more about cooking method or ingredients as it is about the actual food.

Take a chicken breast.

And pound it down. I use a heavy mallet and plastic wrap between the mallet and the chicken so that the mallet doesn't get chicken parts all over it. The thinner the better, as it lets the Marsala wine soak into the meat. However if it is too thin, then the chicken falls apart and you can't even get it off the cutting board and into the pan.

At this point, you're supposed to pick this up and lightly dredge it in a mixture of salt, Wondra flour, and dried oregano. But since I only discovered I was out of Wondra flour, I cheated and salted the chicken and then lightly sprinkled oregano and "regular" flour on the chicken.

All good Italian dishes seem to start with a base of olive oil and butter.

Place brest into pan and cook just a few minutes on one side.

Flip over to cook other side, add sliced mushrooms.

After a while, add Marsala wine. It has to be DRY Marsala, not sweet Marsala. When I first started cooking this dish, I picked sweet Marsala which pretty much ruins the dish. Cook down the dish in the wine and mushrooms.

The chicken was so wide that I sliced it in half and Wifey and I each had a half.

Serve over pasta or whatever you want.

The Boy's Responsibility

I've had this poll in my sidebar for a couple of months now:

Who is expected to care for your (or spouse's) parents in their old age? (multiple selections are allowed)

None - independence expected for all	14 (12%)
The male kids	2 (1%)
The female kids	14 (12%)
The oldest sibling	8 (7%)
The closest to them	19 (16%)
The most financially capable	18 (15%)
ALL of us	54 (47%)
Unsure	18 (15%

I kept putting off writing the post that this poll was based on. And then, I saw this New York Times article.

Ahhh, yes. I totally understand.

My parents are very frugal and they taught me financial responsibility. Of course, it must have all gone to me because my sister got hitched to a man, who although extremely conservative is an absolute idiot when it comes to money. More on this later.

When I was trying to get a down payment on my first house, my parents helped me out. My mother had the first of three "talks" with me. In our house, it's my Mom who has the talk about money with me - as my Dad is totally oblivious to anything that deals with money.

[As an aside, my mother is the one who provides my Dad with an allowance each week. Once, he pulled out money from his slacks and said to me with a conspiratorial tone, "I've got $200 your mother doesn't know anything about!"]

Anyway, my mother sat me down and said, "Now, we're glad to help you with your loan for your down payment. But.....we just want to know that you won't forget us if we ever get old or sick. We are perfectly healthy and fine. But, we want to know that you just won't treat us like typical Americans with their kids - just leave us forgotten in a nursing home."

I know what she meant.

I assured her that I would never just leave them alone, if they needed help. I also muttered in the same breath, "Well, where is [my sister] in this? Hah! Married to Loser!"

My mother immediately came back with, "Now, now. You have a good job, you have a good education. And she's part of his family now. Besides, she has her kids and her family to take care of first."

And that's what it comes down to. Although immigrants to America and having lived here over 30 years, my parents still have that Asian belief system that the woman marries into the man's family and leaves hers behind. It is then......left to the oldest male of the family to care for his parents in their old age.

Gee, has anyone heard of that happening in the Asian world? I wonder?

I don't resent it. Although it was only brought up when I was in my mid-20's, for some reason I was never shocked to get this talk with my mother. I think it was subtly embedded into me as I was growing up.

This conversation has happened twice since then. Each time this conversation has happened, it's always occurred before my parents have helped play banker with my finances. Yup, they gave my sister a rental house, but they loaned me chunks of cash so I could buy a lot and then later build on that lot. And each time, I kept thinking, "Yup, they have the right to ask me one more time if I will be taking care of them in their old age because I'm the one who came to them asking for a loan." And maybe that's why I feel comfortable borrowing from them because I know I am their fallback emergency social security plan.

Now, fair is fair. I told Wifey, while we were dating, that no matter what happened with us in the future (in other words if we were ever to get married in the future), that I had a responsibility to take in my parents if the time or situation ever got to that point. And, any woman I married I would also extend that promise to their parents.

Wifey looked like I was nuts. And typical Wifey, instead of saying that was sweet, she said, "Well....errr, my mother would never leave the little mid-West town she lives in now. What are you talking about?"

Never mind.

The last time my parents had the "Now, are you absolutely sure you will be there for us" talk, I said, "Listen, if you guys are really sick, I'm going to sell all your possessions and convert it into cash. Then, there is a very expensive nursing home literally one mile from our house. I'll put you guys there and I'll come visit every day. And, I'll use your money to pay for it. Okay?"

They were very, very pleased with that. I was surprised the mention of the nursing home didn't feak them out. But the fact that I had already picked a place, mentally in my head, and that was literally 1 mile from my house pleased them to no end.

I have a plan, and that's the assurance that really makes them happy.

Dirty

I've been thinking about the concept of a dirty house and how we can become used to it and live in...well, not filth, but just......bleech...without realizing it. I think it is because it is Saturday (as I type this post up), the day of chores around our house, and Wifey and I recently visited each of our parents.

Also, I recently ran across an old blog posting of mine about how people look clean on the outside, and yet can live in squalor on the "inside".

When I first started dating Wifey, the first time I went to her house....I was in shock. It was a very awkward moment when I entered her house. Her entire house was covered in a layer of dust and Dalmatian hair. It was G-R-O-S-S. Now when you first start dating, you bite your tongue. And to be honest, I didn't know what to do. Most gals I dated didn't have their own house, but at least their apartments were nice and tidy. And because of my Mom (more on that later!), I have an obsession with keeping a clean and respectable toilet bowl.

Back to Wifey. If you've ever owned a Dalmatian, you realize that they shed like crazy. I didn't know this until I started dating Wifey as I didn't know anyone with Dalmatians. As you're petting them, little white hairs "puff" and fly into the air and land everywhere. After owning them for a few years, I think she was used to this layer of small white hairs everywhere. And since she was raised by my lazy MIL.....let's just say that she wasn't used to vacuuming every week like I was. But to be fair, I also have employed the same cleaning woman for almost 15 years now. I know that every 2 weeks, the house gets vacuumed, dusted, and the toilets get scrubbed.

So when Wifey moved in, the issue of the dog hairs was moot since I had a cleaning lady that ran a vacuum cleaner every two weeks. But when we underwent our renovation 2 years ago and pulled out the old carpet in our bedroom (where the dogs sleep at night), I kinda freaked out. There was a nasty layer of white Dalmatian hairs that was under our bed on the off-white berber carpet.

Fortunately or unfortunately, we put in wood floors. Now, I can see the Dalmatian hair and F-R-E-A-K. After I or my housekeeper cleans the floor, two days later the floor feels "sandy", like someone tracked in some sand from the beach. The sand feeling is a combination of Dalmatian hair and the pet dander. Now with wood, the pre-existing "dog dust" is no longer hidden as it was with the carpet (which also masked the feel of it). For a while, I just waited the two weeks until my cleaning lady came. But then I decided that peace of mind was more important. Now, I vacuum every 2-3 days or the disgust factor becomes too much, whichever comes first (it's gotten to the point where I've considered having an "upstairs" Dyson and a "downstairs" Dyson - because I also run the vacuum on our concrete floors because they essentially show the dogs hairs and dander downstairs).

But on the recent trips to our respective parent's houses, the concept of dirty houses has got me riled up again.

Wifey's Mom has 4 cats. Until a few months ago, she had 5. She's one of those people who give the cats "one side" of the house. Wifey was describing going into the room where all the litter boxes were kept. Even to Wifey, it was disgusting. The Girl had to leave that room because she felt sick to her stomach with the stench of that room. Knowing my MIL, I figured she can just mentally put it out of her head and says, "What stinky (and urine soaked) carpet?". But you can tell that in the back of her mind, she knows it is bad. Because the cats are not allowed on the other half of the house, that part is fairly clean and picked up. It's just my MIL is too lazy to deal with the cleaning part that comes with pet ownership. And ironically, Wifey told me, "Ugh, her house has just got a layer of dust and cat hair everywhere!" (ummmm, errrr...that sounds familiar)

Now, my mother.

Wow, since the days I've lived under their roof, she's really gone downward in terms of house cleaning. But come to think of it, maybe she had things under control because she had me and my sister as unpaid labor? They don't clean the upstairs bathrooms very often and they are not disgusting, just a bit "bleech". A few years ago, I told her, "You know Mom, when we come to visit, the bathrooms are a bit dirty." And she was embarassed and pointed out how she cleaned them the next time we visited. But now, she's gone lax again. Well actually, she's gone lax for a long time. I suppose it's a case of "out of sight, out of mind".

And again, if it bothers me this much, I've got to suck it up and do something about it. The next time we visit, I'm coming with one of those "bleach bars" and dumping it into the water tank of the commode. And, I'm bringing some simple cleaning supplies with me.

I'll have another post later in the week where I show pictures of the amount of Dalmatian hair that builds up.

F. A. M. Pt 2

For Atomic Mama

Shaken and Stirred

Recently, there was a stir about an upcoming horror movie. Apparently, the trailers showed an adoptive child being evil, etc. I hadn't seen the trailers until recently. And when I saw it TV, I said, "Hmmm, I can see why some are upset." But, I never joined in any campaign to alter the trailer because I generally don't work up any fury at movies. Sure, I get worked about Rosie "Ching-Chong" O'Donnell, but for some reasons I just shrug my shoulders at movies. One of my philosophies is if something offends me, boycott it and don't give it the attention they are hoping to get (I also boo Rosie whenever she flashes up on television).

So seeing the movie trailer triggered a post I've been thinking about in my head. Apparently, this week it's about the debris in my head, not the stuff I was planning to write about.

When I worked at the Mega-lo-Defense-Contractor, I worked with two gals who were pretty religious. Well, one was religious and lived by her beliefs. The other one...well, let's say she went to church regularly.

My friend Erin was the one I'd had many discussions about religion in the "whispered" privacy of her cubicle. You can have private talks, you just have to carry it on in a very low voice.

I went on two church (hers) week-long hike and camps in Colorado's San Juan mountains with her, her fiance, and about 6-7 members of her church. I don't think she viewed me as a....."Christian", but she also didn't view me as a pagan. I was/am/probably "halfway" towards anyone's belief system. So we would talk religion, but not as part of a debate - but just as friends exchanging ideas or learning about each other as friends.

I worked there three semesters, over 2 summers. And one of those summers there was a movie coming out called: The Last Temptation of Christ.

That movie drew the ire of the religious community. Many protests, some protest of the protests, but mostly television coverage of the protests.

During one of our private "cube chats", Erin and I had this conversation:

Me: So, what do you think about that movie "The Last Temptation of Christ"?

Erin: Ooooo, I'm not going to see it. Are you?

Me: Nah. I heard from the critics that it was actually kinda boring. Also, movies where guys get crucified? Mmmm, not anything I would like.

Erin: Oh, I didn't know if you were opposed to it.

Me: Nah, I could care less. What about you?

Erin: Well, I read about it in the church newsletter that it was a bad [anti-Christian] movie.

Me: [shrugging] Yeah, but it is just a newsletter based on another person's opinion. How do you know unless you go and see it if you think it is a bad movie? I mean, it is interesting. In order to know that a movie is B-A-D, you actually have to go see it. And all these people protesting the movie, they swear they'll never see the movie...then how do they know it is even bad?

Erin: [mulling it over as she's trying to figure out if I'm mocking her religious beliefs - and then decides we're having a conversation between friends] Well, I would be worried that if I saw the movie that it could shake my beliefs.

Me: Really?

Erin: Mmmm, yes.

At this point, I let it drop.

[I also want to point out that this is a fuzzy memory summation. I didn't have a tape recorder for the conversation, so I'm recounting along the lines of the ideas exchanged during our talk]

But.

To this day, the phrase, "it could shake my faith"still echoes in my head. For days after, and of course even now, I keep thinking....how could a movie affect your faith? It's made up. It is just photons on a screen made up from the mind of multiple screenwriters.

I really liked Erin, and she was devout and lived a Christian life. However...hmmmm....I thought her faith was stronger than that? I totally support her not wanting to see a movie that may have been blasphemous to her faith. But, I still mull over her words. "shake my faith"?

So, let's reverse that.

There was a book called The Satanic Versus. Remember that? And this book incited anger, protests, and book burnings (which is ironic as it helped drive up sales of books to burn) from a different non-Christian religion. In fact, the supreme leader of a whole country issued a Fatwa against the author and he had to go into hiding.

I wonder how many of the same people, who would be in a picket line for the movie offensive to Christians, would look at the Fatwa and say, "You people are nuts. It's just a book. And the part you are angry about is a dream sequence!"

But you know...... while typing this up I remember the story my bible school teacher told me about other religions. I went to the "Church of the Nazarene" for a few years (no drinking, dancing or movies!). My (teen) bible school teacher and his wife were probably about 12-15 years older than I was. He said that his brother set out on a mission to show that the Mormon religion was a false religion (sorry 'bout that my few Mormon readers). And while he dived into all the research and documentation....he feel in love with the religion and he converted!

And then it made me wonder how strong one's starting convictions were in the first place.

Maybe if a movie or a book can incite fear and loathing in someone because it might threaten their base belief system...then they need to examine the foundations before blaming the load.

And that's why I don't get too worked up about offending commercials or movies or books. By paying attention to them, it kinda defeats the purpose.

But.

I still stick my tongue out at you-know-who.

Suck it up

I was thinking about this post a long time ago, and had put it out of my mind. Let's see if I can type this up quickly.

I have this phrase, "Suck it up", which I believe a Southern gal in N.C. loves as well. [wink]

Besides being a little on the ornery side, I think my college years helped build this attitude. This has helped professionally as well. There is less time with "boo-hoo-hoo" and more time with "well, let's suck it up and figure out how to get ourselves out of this hole".

When I was a Co-op student and working at the Mega-lo-Defense-Contractor, a manager/programmer in my sister group told me, "You know, I love to hire Electrical Engineers as programmers. You get code out of EE's". And I whole-heartedly agreed (and the manager/programmer had a PhD in psychology).

I think a major point in this philosophy was when I was a sophmore in Electrical Engineering. I didn't know what I was getting into, but I signed myself up for 17 hours of classes. Essentially, I was taking 5 classes at the same time - and one of them was self-paced.

The self-paced class was kicking my rear end. It comprised of 36 chapters. The book was phenomenally well-written. You read one chapter, and then you went to the lab where graduate assistants gave you a timed test. Typically, there were 10 questions related to that chapter and you had to pass 8 out of 10 to go onto the next chapter. In theory, you could study 3 chapters at a time and take one test after the other.....except for the fact that chapter 8 depended on your clear understanding of chapter 7, which depended on your clear understanding of chapter 6.

The grade going into the final was the number of chapters you successfully tested to completion. I think (my memory is a bit fuzzy here) that if you finished 28 chapters, you qualified for a "D". If you finished 30 chapters, you got a "C", and if you finished 33 chapters you got a "B" and then 36 chapters equated to an "A" before you took your finals.

I was really behind about a halfway into the semester. I think I was floundering on chapter 10 or 11. And my engineering school was fairly brutal. You could only drop your class on or before the second meeting of that class. Yes, you heard that right. If new classes started on Monday, you had until end of the day Wednesday to drop the class you signed up for. The reason for this will be explained later.

So, halfway through the semester, I was staring a "F" or a "D" straight in the face. And, my other courses were suffering as well.

The rule was you couldn't drop the course (it still blows my mind when people talk about how they were able to drop a course mid-semester!)

Let's see.....the EE department basically laughed at me when I asked if I could possibly drop the self-paced course. I was really down in the dumps. I decided, "What the hell, let me talk to someone at the top! What are they going to do? Fail me?" So, I looked up someone, anyone in the registry and found an assistant dean of student affairs in the college of engineering. And, surprise, they let me make an appointment with him.

I will be forever grateful to this associate dean. I still remember him (although not his name). Now before I go further, I have to remind folks that my Dad was and still is a college professor. So growing up as the kid of a professor, I've seen the other side of things. I didn't blame professors for creating a self-paced book as their "class". I just wondered why I couldn't freakin' drop a class when other colleges seemed to treat that as a standard proceedure.

I told my story of woe to the assistant dean. He listened and nodded his head. He understood my pain, and then told me (very nicely) the realities of my world:

• We were a state college.
• By law and politically, they had to accept as many students as technically qualified.
• Although politically our state school had to accept qualified students, there was no law that said we had to make it easy for them to stay in school.
• More people qualify than they had seats for classes.
• And in fact, they wanted to discourage people who really shouldn't be at this big school from sticking around.
  
• Yes, I was taking a course (the self-paced) that might be considered the sophmore "flunk-out" course.
• It is meant to be the sophmore "flunk-out" course.
• There are other "flunk-out" courses in the junior-senior year because there aren't enough seats available for those years as well.
• And why couldn't the program be a 5 year program? Because the parents who went to school in the 60's and 70's viewed college and 99% of their programs as 4 year programs. to suddenly announce that the [insert name here] Engineering program was a 5 year program would bring outrage to parents scraping to put their kids through school.
  

That talk really opened my eyes to reality. I realized that, yes, "I'M JUST A NUMBER'. Nothing personal, but I was taking up the seat of another potential student who wasn't going to fail this self-paced course next semester. And the irony is the fact that I do accept that "I'm just a number" helps me get along and be willing to work these 20 years at the Mega-lo-corp (where I'm just a number).

So I had a little heart-to-heart with myself after that meeting. I could either just ignore the course and take an "F" on it. Or.....I could "suck it up" and go "guns blazing" and double my efforts.

And this is where built-in Asian shame comes in handy. Could I ever face my Dad by just wussing out? I couldn't blame "the professor" because it was certainly a well written book that was perfect for the course. Could I go to my professor Dad, in Electrical Engineering, and say this little-ol self-paced course kicked my butt?

Hell no!

I decided to go "guns blazing" and I started studying 3-4 chapters at a time. Eventually, I caught up and I ended up with a "B" in the class.

Sometimes at work or in life, someone will be frustrated and sigh, "That's it. Game over." When I hear that, my "fur" gets ruffled and I sorta glare at them. I usually come back with, "What the hell are you talking about. We're going to suck it up!" Seriously, life has worse things to throw at you. Are you going to just walk away, curl up in a fetal position and........do what?

Ever since college, the concept of rolling over and giving up has become foreign to me. It's helped me while I was pacing the halls of a hospital in Honolulu. It's helped me on a NASTY return adoption flight back from Shanghai to a snowed-out O'Hare. And, it's helped me recently with a dog spewing blood out of his nostrils.

I just tell myself to put my big boy panties on and suck it up and go.

Seriously...."game over"?

Puss.

Darn you cheap Mega-lo-corp

Buying my calendar 6 months late

Notes to myself - *Updated

Friday morning, and I've scheduled another 4-hour Friday meeting at work. When I first did these, I was worried that it would be painfully inefficient. I'm a person who dislikes long meetings, unless the meetings are extremely productive. Thus far, my three 4-hour meetings I've called have resolved many issues. So, I called one to handle a hodge-podge of unresolved or open issues. We'll see how it goes.

The meeting is in 2 hours, and I'm not really in the mood to dive into anything in the next 1.5 hours. At 1.5 hours, I leave to go buy the team breakfast tacos. Based on the assumption you can get more from a person with honey, me and my co-leader have been buying them tacos or bagels before each of these big meetings.

Joan actually recounted this to us in another meeting, "I was telling someone about our 4 hour meetings. And they responded with - Poor you! I said, yeah they aren't a lot of fun....but they do bring us food to eat.....so it's not that bad."

Exactly.

And if I can't even get Mega-lo-corp to buy me a wall calendar (I've been paying it out of my own pocket for the last 3 years), do you think they're going to reimburse me for breakfast tacos or bagels? Nope.

Things I've been thinking about, but just don't quite have the time to write them up (and ironically, I spend my time writing up about how little time I have to write things up!)

Hawaii - not done with that series

Automatic for the People - not done with that series, although I should be. It ended with Bubba's bleeding nose, and I'm supposed to go back to the original story about buying a new car.

Houston - a few thoughts about my fine, fine mid-Western home town of Houston. [cough]

Taking care of your parents - This is related to the poll that's been sitting to the right side of this blog for the last several months.

Twenty years at the Mega-lo-corp - Been here 20 years!

*Update Being a Control Freak - I have a old, dusty draft on this called "Herding Cats"

*Update Top Chef Johnny - An idea! And it's somewhat related to "Being a Control Freak"

At work, in my free time, I'm supposed to be working on a "wiki". Instead, I'd rather write up a short blog posting. Errrr...not good.

This current job is great. It's just a lot of sprinting and I'm sitting on the bleachers taking a rest.

postscript: And for some reason, I'm more invigorated with blogging lately. This seems to happen when do a bunch of quick picture-posts with my iPhone.

Kongrats to Kris!

Congrats to Kris on her LOI!

What am I doing?

This just popped up on my computer's automatic background changer.

Wow.

August, 2004. And by the looks of the bedspread, it has to be in GZ at the White Sawn.

At this point, we've had the Girl probably...10 days or so?

I can't believe she's letting me hang her upside down to get giggles.

Today, she woke up with a frown. Literally, she had a scowl on her face when I opened up her bedroom door.

What happened to that little girl?

Ahhh, time does slip on by.

Whereby I wish to become a subsidiary of Salsa-in-China-Corp

There's a phenomenon in any of these public/networking tools (Facebook, Blogger, MySpace, etc...) where you wonder:

• Is anyone out there?
• Am I writing, and no one is reading?
• Did/Do I offend anyone?
• Does anyone like me?
• Blah, blah, blah

I've wondered this, and I've seen this manifest itself when people type, "Please leave comments to let me know you visited!" or you get Facebook invites. By the way....about FB - it is a bit nefarious. It goes to your email address book and SUCKS all the contacts you've ever possibly exchanged emails with (YES, you do have to click a button allowing it to do so) and blasts it out to EVERYONE.

I'm a bit embarassed that some people know I have a FB account, in some cases and I didn't even realize I sent them an invite. (Also, someone turned me down because in my FB account, I'm still "Johnny Blog" - and that's cool.)

So, we resort to visit counters.

And then you get confirmation that you're not as popular as you wish - and that keeps you levelheaded about things.

I remember when I visited Mary-Mia once, and we were sitting around talking about blogging. I asked her how many visitors she gets daily. She replied, "Ummm, I'm not really sure. I think 800 or 900?"

I almost spit out my drink.

Now talking about visits is like bragging about how many FB friends you have, or bragging about how much money you make. It's not brought up in polite conversation.

Still, I had to laugh at myself. I'm lucky to have about 100-120 visitors per day.

As an example, recently Mary-Mia linked to me in one single post. Can you figure out when it happened?


As I was writing up this post, I remembered this has happened before (Mary-Mia linking to me).

Numbers spike up to some ungodly numbers:

• Head swells.
• Gut not as floppy.
• Stand a little taller.

And then, back to normal. People come to realize I don't have cute adorable twins.

And, I'm not as nice as Mary-Mia (she is as nice or nicer in person than her blog personality)

So hi: Ford, Jo, Catherine, Sarah, Juliette, Doris, and Rhonda.

See, I know my visitors by their first names cause they are the only same people (but I LURVE you so much!) who visit me daily.

But, I wish that Salsa-in-China-Corp would make me an offer to become a wholely owned, but independently run, subsidiary.

Good for the ego, ya know.

Split Trips

Wifey had been trying to plan a trip back to the mid-West to visit her mother. Well, let's back up here. She tried to plan this 3 years ago, but her mother's laziness was just too much for Wifey to handle.

(and Whew! I got a reprieve)

I've never been to Wifey's home town. It's in the mid-West, it's small (about 12,000), and it holds my MIL.

Let's see I've:

• Insulted the mid-West, sorry about that. I'm sure the mid-West is lovely. But wouldn't we say that about every place just to be polite? I digress. Nothing personal.
• Insulted small towns, sorry about that. I'm a big city boy and I don't like the big city either. However, I can't imagine myself living in a town of 12,000 because I think I have a inherent boredom factor built into me.
• Insulted my MIL. Sorry Ooops, wait. Wasn't there a comedian that said that there were no bad MIL jokes? Actually, my MIL is sweet but drives me crazy. Hmmmm, maybe that's not the right phrase. Bat-shit crazy? Anyhoo....

Wifey has given up on trying to show me her home town. It's that point in your marriage where your spouse just gives up on certain matters. But, she was determined to show the Girl her home town. And I was determined to....errrr...show such total lack of enthusiasm that she didn't bother persuing it with me.

Win-win for both of us, I think. And if you think of it, me not being there and rolling my eyes at everything my MIL said, was a win for my MIL as well.

Win-win-win!

The Girl's last day of Kindergarten was on Wednesday. So Wifey picked her up from school, and they headed North to her home state.

I decided to visit my parents with the Boy. Since the post about grandparents and their grandkids, I've tried to be a bit more pro-active about having my parents see my kids.

I only had to deal with one backhanded compliment from my Mom. [shrug]

Oh, as a bonus, look at the post below:

A Picture of a Picture

My Mom has a framed picture of my sister, her husband and their 9 kids.

If you're new here and you think you are confused and misread that, welcome.

Pork Roll

This is a dish I haven't made in a long time. And once again, it's a "not only is it not Kosher, it's really NOT Kosher" dish to my Jewish buds.

A slightly modified recipe from something I saw on TV. In clockwise direction: dried cranberries, dried apples, brown sugar, ginger, apple juice, shallots, and allspice.

Cut up and mix together and add some apple cider vinegar and cook together for 15-20 minutes.
Take a pork loin. The butchers at the store went ahead and gave me a "tri-cut". And all these years I had to do it myself! Who knew?

But, it's not flat enough. I take a mallet and pound this down a bit thinner as it has to get wrapped up.

My own twist: Andouille sausage.

Take it out of the casing and put it up against the flattened pork sheet that has been salted and peppered.
Take the solids out of the pan and put into a food processor. Keep the syrup as a glaze to put on the final dish.
At the last second, I decided to add candied pecans. Grind it up and then spread the paste on top of the Andouille.
Alas, I forgot to take a picture of the apple/cranberry/pecan mixture on top of the Andouille. Wrap it up and tie it up with twine and salt/pepper the outside.
I like to put meats to roast on a rack so air flows under the meat. I've been using these cooling racks for many, many years (I don't bake cookies, etc).
A little over one hour later.
Sliced.
I drizzled the syrup over the slices and started eating before I forgot to take a picture!

Secret Handshake, Revealed!

As we've discussed in the past, if we A-Parents only had a secret handshake.....

This weekend, at the Houston "Double-Secret Probation" Adoptive Parents Conference on the Secret Handshake (D-SPAPCSH)*, we finally hashed out the long anticipated "Secret Handshake" by which to identify and confirm you are, indeed, A-Parents.

First, the long-distance sign of recognition:

Second, the handshake. While smiling, you grit your teeth and say, "Which province?" If they answer "Province?", then you immediately break contact as they are "posers".


Then, you check for hidden microphones and wires. This also doubles for the "frisk" that I've long advocated when meeting another A-Parent.

And then, this seals the deal. Gotta be an A-Parent by the time you get to this point.


Oh, I had to assure TubaDad** that, although I was very pleased to meet him, it really was an iPhone in my pocket.


*Sorry Houston A-Parents. If we had announced the Double-Secret Probation conference, then it wouldn't have been Double-Secret!

**Kudos for TubaDad for going along with this important post. Although, he might have to see a chiropractor soon.

An interesting species

Ran into a species called "Twinadoes Kalifornus"

Chill out

Slinky!

Lurves brushing goats

A Boy who loves carousels!

Quintissential Houston

With grandma & grandpa

Note whose hand he chooses to hold, much to Mom's frustration.

Somewhere on the road

Ham & Eggs

Sorry Jo, he's an "any-vore"

A Boy Who Lurves His Veggies

The Boy absolutely loves rice and vegetables. Just the two of us at
our fav Thai place.

Mmmm, cows!

Abby is an Australian Cattle Dog, but more commonly referred to as a Blue Heeler.

They were bred to herd cattle or horses. They don't typically herd sheep as they are too rough (bite) on them. And the way they herd is they lunge and try to nip the hooves (heels) of the animal in question.

When she's very playful, she tries to nip or wrap her two front paws around our ankles so she can go in for a more concentrated nip.

While this is cute, it means you're getting both sides of your ankles scratched/clawed by her paws and then there are the teeth.

I playfully swat her away, which is exactly what she wanted anyway! And so that revs her up even more.

It drives Wifey crazy because you sometimes can't walk, either due to the pain of getting scratched or the fear of stepping on her paws.

But hey, that's why I love them.

The other night, I was channel surfing and on the big TV was a documentary about how cows are sacred and yet left to wander in India.

Cow-p0rn for my gal.

Whaaa? I can't help myself. Did you see them wandering all over the place without being told what to do?


Seriously, cows!