Wine and Cheese and Stinging Nettles

I didn't grow up with cheese, so I never learned about cheeses (I didn't grow up learning about wine, either. My mom likes Beringer's White Zinfandel; that should tell you all you need to know). Now that I'm an adult and I live in San Francisco (as much as I bitch about San Francisco, I know it's the luckiest place in the country for people who love artisanal food) I try new cheeses all the time.

My boss introduced me to Brillat-Savarin at our deparment holiday party. Brillat-Savarin is my favorite cheese, now. It can be described as something between cream and the best sex you've ever had. It's better than chocolate. It's better than massage. It's better than ecstacy, the drug. (Okay, I wouldn't go that far. I've only dropped e twice and both times were amazing experiences.)

My favorite farmer, whose name is Peter Martinelli, is a very charming and delightful person, and I had a good time interviewing him and writing about him in our company newsletter a few months ago. One of the things he told me was that in addition to growing crops, he does a lot of wildcrafting, or gathering wild medicinal plants, herbs and wild edible plants. One of the plants he gathers is stingling nettles, and Cowgirl Creamery uses them for their springtime-only cheese called St. Pat's. St. Pat's is a little round of mild, mellow, delicious cheese (not stinky) wrapped in nettles. The nettles give the cheese a slighly vegetal flavor, like asparagus or artichokes. Peter gave me a gift of St. Pat's the other day, and DD and I had bread and cheese and salad for dinner. The cheese is super-delicious, and I'll have to get more soon, because it's only available once a year!

Work. Death. Denial. Upper Middle Class?

I've never wanted to write about work, because for one thing, whenever people write about work it's boring, unless they're a teacher, a prostitute, or a farmer. Another thing--it seems awfully ungrateful to bitch about a company whose mission and values I admire, and the company has been good to me. Hell, they changed the word "minorities" to "people of color" on our website when I bitched about it, and they give me responsibility and training.

'Course, there are always people at any workplace who are awful. There's one person I find particularly awful, and I try to avoid her as much as possible. She's so awful and weird that I have to break my code of silence to write about her. Her mother died yesterday and she said she needed to "get things done", that there wasn't a lot she could do for her family, and that she was coming in to work. I was horrified. Thankfully, I left before she arrived. But she came to work again today, wearing a red blouse, lipstick and with curled hair, for God's sake. She never wears lipstick and she never curls her shapeless, iron-gray-and-black hair. She smiled serenely through her day, got on the phone, made lunch reservations for the weekend, chatted with her two underlings, asked one of them whether she feels she gets enough positive feedback, and sat at her desk answering a bunch of e-mails.

My co-worker said that it's because she's a Scorpio, and they don't deal well with death. Is this true?

My mom wasn't even close to my grandma; in fact, she was disowned for about five years before my grandma died, and she still went to my grandma when she was dying; in fact, my grandmother fell on top on my mom at the last, and literally died on top of her. Then my mom handled all my grandma's legal stuff for her dysfunctional siblings and took in her coddled younger brother, who at age thirty-six is incapable of taking care of himself or of holding a job. I'm only using my mom as a counter example because she's the only person I know whose mother has died recently. I just don't get a person who would curl their hair, apply some garish lipstick, and come to work like nothing happened the day their mother died. Don't you have some siblings to support?! Some papers to sign? Some cousins to call? Some feelings to feel?! Some filial piety, sheesh. Or is filial piety only for us, because we're Chinese?

I'm sure this is horribly unfair of me, but whenever I truly just don't understand people, it's usually because they're a heterosexual upper middle class Christian white woman (yes, she is one). They're like the Stepford Wives. Donna Reed with a hatchet and a handful of prescription pills. Oddly cheap, for all their financial security. (This woman plans to make her daughter save money for Lasik eye surgery. "But why not pay for it?" I asked. "She inherited her terrible eyesight from you, and you and your husband can well afford it..." ) Prim and proper. Fake and phony and high-pitched and chipper. Evil inside and saccharine outside. Manipulative and passive-aggressive. She is all this and more, and I find her truly revolting. But it is just a cultural disconnect?

Skeepants

My favorite little rodent is almost 2 years old. Hamsters don't live much longer than 2 years, usually. Realizing this suddenly a few minutes ago, I woke him up, took him out of his little bed-nest, constructed a set with an Anthropologie gift box and a tube, fed him a few raisins, and took a picture of him.

I got a hamster because I had a few of them when I was a kid (in succession, not all at once. They're solitary and can only live alone, or else they fight), and I liked them. I had a few bad experiences with them (one of them was really bite-y, another gave birth to about ten babies a few days after we bought her and then she ate all her babies) but the last one I had I really loved. He was a mellow, fluffy thing, cream-colored, and I un-creatively named him "Creamie". I was around eleven, I think, and after that hamster died of old age, I was already a pre-teen and was no longer interested in such childish hobbies; keeping a hamster.

Suddenly, I wanted one again, so I got Skeepants. He was a baby when I got him; really small. He's the same color as the late Creamie, and also has long hair, like Creamie. I saw him for sale in a habitat with several siblings; they were all cute and fluffy and cream-colored, but they were all active and climbing all over Skeepants' head, and he looked like he was trying to fall asleep. When baby hamsters are really little, they don't mind being together, but once they reach a certain age, they really start to want to get away from each other, and he looked like he needed his own place right away; moreso than the others. I felt sorry for him, I wasn't sure if he was sick and dying or what. I bought him and took him home. I didn't tell Dear Daniel that I was going to do this and I was a little worried he wouldn't like the idea. Everyone loves a puppy: not everyone loves an animal that's closely related to a rat. DD stared at the hamster for a while and then said, "Can we call him Ski Pants?"
(This was because Skeepants waddles and his legs and butt are so furry that he looks like a chubby toddler in ski pants.)
That's how Skeepants got him name.

He's a very interesting and gentle little creature. He's extremely tame, and it's fun to feed him little treats and watch him do his little things, like cleaning himself, drinking water, gathering paper towels strips to line his nest, and cutest of all-- eating.
He's old now, but he could still live another six months, or even longer. I hope so!

Ranunculus

I bought these bright ranunculus at the Ferry Plaza Farmers Market today. Spring flowers are back!

Another great thing about the Farmers Market and spring: Bodega Goat Cheese is back! Goat farmer and cheese-maker Javier Salmon disappears from the market each winter, because the baby goats need all the milk. This weekend Bodega Goat Cheese was finally back! Their goat cheese is mild, fresh, and delicious.

There are lots of great things to be had at Arch drafting supply in San Francisco, like small notebooks from Japan, Rhodia paper, pens, folios, ink, and art and design books. I was torn between buying a book of drawings by Yoshitomo Nara and this business card case designed by Rod Dyer and made by Acme Studios.
Because my business cards have just been shoved into my little wallet with some various dollar bills, and that's not a very nice or professional way to keep them and to exchange them with others', I got this case. I'd been eyeing it online at modern goods store Unica for some time, so when I saw it at Arch I thought I should get it. It was the only one they had and it was in a case, which somehow makes me feel (hope) I won't see too many other people with the same one. I love black and white, I love the shiny enamel and the clean, unfussy design.

Spring Has Sprung

Warmer weather always brings out the shorts, the sickly pale legs, the camisole tops, and my personal favorite: the exposed ASS CRACK!

Someone once asked me how I manage to take pictures of people without their knowing I'm taking their picture. Oh, come on; it's so easy. I've done it in crowds, I've done it when their friends were looking right at me.
For this shot, I simply asked Dear Daniel to pose near the group of women who were sitting on the ground with their butt cracks peepin' out of their low-rise pants. "Smile!" I said cheerfully, as I pointed the camera not at DD, but at the stranger's butt. No one pays attention to anything.

I've also been asked whether I think I'm being unfair or cruel by taking photos of people without their knowledge or permission and posting them on my blog. The answer is no! They're always anonymous, and it's not like it's Britney Spears' genitals.

Everyone Needs A (Pink) Knife

Someone at work lost a knife last night. It's nice. I like knives a lot; my dad is a fisherman, and so I received ny first fishing knife as a gift not long after my first holy communion. The lost-and-found knife got Meagan and me talking about knives and how SEXY they can be and how sexy people can be with them. Everyone who likes knives has their list of dream knives that they would love to own, but this little pink number is very affordable not to mention very pink, and, well, CUTE! Do you like this one, Meagan?

Designed by Ken Onion. Kershaw knife.

Chocolate

I once made a list of chocolate beauty products that really smell like chocolate. I put the list in my 'zine. I'm making an updated version, since some things have changed.

First of all, a lot of chocolate beauty products don't really smell like chocolate. They smell like fake chocolate; like Tootsie Rolls or Necco Wafers compared to real, dark chocolate. I'm always on a quest to find the best chocolate beauty products.

Origins Cocoa Therapy so far is the best. It comes in bar soap, body wash, some shea-butterish stuff they call "Total Body Treat", lipbalm, a scrub, a little roll-on scented oil, and a rich body cream. The body cream is the best. It smells like real cocoa, with orange and some other scents that smell delicious and rich. I haven't tried the lipbalm, but all the other things are very good. The bar soap is soft and creamy and plush.

I also love Lush's Sonic Death Monkey shower gel shampoo, which smells like chocolate, coffee, stale cigarette, and lime. I know that sounds hideous, but it smells really good, smoky and yummy. DD smells really good after he washes with this.

My third favorite chocolate item is Giovanni Hot Chocolate Sugar Scrub. It's a handful of scrubby goo that smells like chocolate pudding, and it's a big jar for the twelve bucks. (The Origins cream is a bit of a splurge at $27 for the jar of body cream about the size of a small tub of whipped cream cheese.)

Those are the best chocolate beauty products out there. And I'd be happy to be be proven wrong.

Smells Like a Sexy Faun (or Satyr, Maybe)

I have sensitive hearing and a very sensitive (and fussy) sense of smell. The smell of Original Tide detergent is overpowering and frightening to me, and don't get me started on that most hideous perfume of all time: Clinique Happy. It should be called Clnique Horrified.

I like fragrances that are fresh and green, citrusy, peppery, gingery, and/or minty. (I also like chocolate, vanilla, cinnamon, clove.) I tried Annick Goutal's Mandragore the other day and I love it. It's considered a unisex fragrance: they describe it as woody, with notes of black pepper, mint, and anise.

To give you an idea, it's along the lines of these other fragrances that I've liked at various times: Clinique Aromatics Elixir (kind of), Clarins' Eau Dynamisante, Annick Goutal Eau De Sud, 4711, and the Diptyque Fig candle. Not that these things smell alike, I just think that if you like any of them, you'll like Mandragore, too. Its fragrance makes you think of lying around smoking hash in a meadow at twilight while weird sexy woodland beasts play flutes and dance...

Crane Paper

I love Crane and Co. paper, because it's heavy, thick, 100% cotton, and feels great. The paper sucks up ink beautifully; it's fun to write on. Seriously; the difference between your average sheet of notebook paper or Post It paper and Crane and Co. paper is analogous to the difference between Sprite and Veuve Clicquot. On a trip to NYC, my mother bought me some correspondence cards by Crane and Co., very simple cream colored cardstock with a little black lipstick tube with pink lipstick in the lower right corner. They were feminine and fun without being too frilly. I loved those notecards, and at the time I didn't realize that was a limited edition design, or else I would have bought all the boxes of it they had.

Most of Crane's current designs are a little conservative for me, so I stick with either plain cream or their solid colored correspondence cards and notecards. I have white, cream, turquoise, hot pink and orange. They have soft colors like pink mist, bar harbor blue and wasabi green, but I'm not too keen on those. I like the notecards pictured here, but I think I'd get tired of them after a while.

Anyone who still takes pen to paper and enjoys it, or anyone who still actually writes a thank you note when someone has been thoughtful enough to give them a gift should get themselves some nice paper. And if you don't write thank you notes, then you don't deserve the nice paper. (Maybe you don't even deserve the gift.)

The Orchid Thief

One night per month, or shall I say every twenty eight days, I have insomnia that's not related to stress or work or exciting ideas; instead it's related to my uterus. "Something weird is in the air," I complained to DD.
"Like what?" he asked, sleepily. "An earthquake?"
"Never mind," I said. "I'll get up and read."

I'm currently reading The Orchid Thief, by Susan Orlean. It's been around some seven years or so. it's kind of like one long super-interesting feature article about the history of the development of Florida, the fantastic animal and plant life of the Fakahatchee, the histories of European and US American orchid collectors, orchid cultivation, and John Laroche, the real-life orchid thief who stole a bunch of orchids from protected wetlands.

I've loved orchids all my life; my maternal grandfather had a collection of cymbidiums and oncidiums in his homemade greenhouse, and I loved to assist in the process of repotting and splitting the orchids, playing with the bark chips and dusting a few stray ants off the long stems when the orchids were in bloom. My grandfather had a beautiful garden that surrounded the house; the house was on a corner and the yard went all the way around; you could run around and around the house, and the path took you past the greenhouse, across the brick patio which was overhung with wisteria (I loved the long, velvety-green seedpods), over pebbles and under a bamboo grove, past the earthy damp shaded parts where moss grew on the stepping stones, to the front of the house and the rose garden. There were slopes covered with ivy, which grandpa and my mom later dug up and built terraced planters for. There were orange and red nasturtiums trailing along and up the fence grandpa had built, and I would examine the vines for dried blooms, because each one had a seed inside. The seeds were as big as garbanzo beans and very easy to germinate. I liked to do that, and had my own little seedling nursery at my grandparents' house. Grandpa was always working outside, planting and weeding and building, but the yard always did have a wild feel to it; I could always find pretty and unexpected and weird things like a fallen birds' egg, perfect spider webs, lizards, and a tarnished silver cross that may have been dropped by a raccoon.

My grandpa was always offering me orchid plants but I never accepted them for fear I'd kill them. Since he died I've had a few but I've never had success getting them to bloom. Reading The Orchid Thief, I think I understand them better, and feel I was too hard on myself when it came to my orchids. It seems they're tough and stubborn plants; they'll only bloom under the right circumstances, and they're not at all native to San Francisco, so the right circumstances have to be carefully created in a place like this. My grandparent's house was in Southern California; in comparison, San Francisco seems cold, damp and salty. I've seen orchids growing and blooming here, but I don't blame mine for not wanting to.

Bobbi Brown On "Asian Beauty"

I'm involved in my company's latest project: project website update. I'm the point person, contact person, touch-base person or whatever-other-business-type jargon person for our graphic designer/brand builder/web genius woman. As a result of my working with her and of listening to and taking notes while everyone on the web committee picks apart our site (and other sites, for comparison and contrast), I look at websites in an entirely new way. I scrutinize. I wonder about code. I hate their flash animation or love their flash animation. I want to barf when I read their copy.

I've long toyed with the idea of blogging all things related to being an Asian American woman, especially since I'm insulted, assaulted and annoyed on a daily basis by all the ways Asian American women are stereotyped, maligned, advertised to, belittled and just generally fucked with in the media - and heck, I don't even watch TV. But usually I think it's just not something I want to devote myself to - it's an exercise in frustration, and not a very pleasant pursuit.

In my insomniac listless web surfing and online shopping fest, I clicked my way over to makeup slinger Bobbi Brown's website; I purchased two cream blushes from this company several months ago and also heard about some kind of magical tinted moisturizing balm I wanted to read about. Behold: Bobbi Brown's photo! Hey, I knew she was into "natural" ... but I didn't know she was this natural. I'd really rather buy makeup from someone who looks like a drag queen (regardless of sex and gender). It's just more fun.

The Bobbi Brown website also has a drop-down menu for special looks, or special "problems" to overcome with makeup.
"Ageless" is a category, you know, to combat the problem of aging. She tells you what to use to look "ageless".
Oh, and Hispanic is a category, you know, to combat the problem of, uh, being Hispanic, I guess. "HISPANIC WOMEN HAVE AMAZING SKIN AND HAIR COLOR" reads the blurb, and yes, this rather patronizing and meaningless sentence is written all in capital letters. Never mind that "Hispanic" is a controversial and political term, but would we expect a big cosmetics corporation to know anything about the history of "Hispanic", "Latina", "Chicana" and "Xicana"? Well, no.

The statement on "ASIAN BEAUTY" reads as though someone wrote it after a few gin martinis. All I can say about Bobbi Brown and her strong beliefs about my yellow skin is I think she should mind her own business, talk about color and features without grouping them by race and ethnicity, and, uh, try not to sound like an ignorant whitey.

And I wish Kevyn Aucoin were still alive and working.

Gelly Roll Pens

I've amassed a pretty big number of Gelly Roll pens (the maker is Sakura)in a short amount of time, and because a lot of colors look the same in the pen, for example black, dark green, dark blue and purple all look like black inside the frosted barrel of the pen, I labeled all the look-alikes with P touch labels. Dear Daniel, who exhibits signs of obsessive compulsive disorder at times, made all the labels for me. Some of the colors are ones that he picked out, and those are labeled in such a way as to be read when the pen is being held by a left-handed person, since he's left handed.

I don't actually covet ALL the Gelly Roll pens Sakura offers. I like the bold point ones because the inks flow so freely, and I like the medium point ones that are metallic, because they write on dark paper, and because the metallics don't come in bold.

You can do a lot of fun things with them. I like to doodle and draw little flourishes when I'm trying not to think in any one direction but to let ideas come to me instead.