Double Birthday Dinner

I was in charge of setting the table, and got to use my great grandmother's china.


My grandpa's dinner plan demonstrates that my love of list-making must be genetic. (Also please note dinner's scheduled start time.)


Some pretty cool cards


I carried, but did not bake, this cake. It's a good thing I didn't bake it, because the experimental graham cracker chocolate combination proved highly controversial.

Cabin Modality

We spent part of vacation at my family's cabin on the Umpqua River.


Cabin modality equals sitting on the deck, reading, sitting around the fire, watching old VHS movies at night, sitting on the dock, and of course, ideal swimming conditions. Cameras are easily forgotten, but I did manage to snap a few gems that capture fun on the Umpqua.


I call this one, "Waterhorse Legend of the Deep."

Dog Lovers

I love dogs, like, a lot. If/when I live in the country and not the city, I suspect I will adopt every stray mutt I come across until I have an actual pack. This love is clearly genetic, because my every single person in my family is a total dog freak. Case in point, here's what a recent iChat conversation looked like.

Best & Worst Babysitter Award

So, I was supposed to go to Arizona for Christmas on Sunday evening, but my flight was canceled-- one of many victims of the blizzard this past weekend. I was not able to get another flight until Thursday, so I'm stuck in NYC for three days longer than expected. I managed to turn lemons into some awesome lemonade by booking some last minute babysitting so now every day, all day, until I leave, I'm chillin' with Emma. I'm savoring it because, once my new job starts, I'll no longer be babysitting her regularly.

So far we've been having a grand old time indulging in indoor, wintertime activities. Today, for example, we spent an unhealthy number of hours playing Super Mario Bros. on the Wii. I'm not really a video game person, but this is hands down the funnest game I've ever played. Every half hour or so I'd say, "maybe we should take a break," and then quickly follow with "after one more round." While this probably qualifies me as a candidate for worst babysitter ever, I think I managed to redeem myself with a kick-ass craft project: Emma's book report diorama.

Believe it or not, fourth graders get homework over the holiday break. Emma's was to complete the art component for a report on Morning Girl, a book about the Taino people that's part of her school's New York State history curriculum. Emma wanted to create a diorama that represented the themes of night and day in the book. Now flashback to when I was in fourth grade, also studying state history. A key part of California's curriculum was a unit on the Spanish missions, and each kid made a model of our chosen mission using cardboard, foam core, or rice krispie treats. And my (well-meaning) dad totally high-jacked my project. Even though I wanted to take the lead, I wasn't permitted to use the Exacto knife. I made some bells out of clay and painted a few shrubs, but my dad created blueprints, measured and assembled the entire structure. We even went to the model train store to buy miniature donkeys and monks.

I always found this memory comical, but today, I had to hold back from totally highjacking the diorama project. I came up with the dyptic design and cut paper medium, but I consciously limited myself to only making the skeleton structure and cutting paper to fit the various backdrops. I had Emma create all the artistic details, but when I complemented her design, she proclaimed, "I got all my design ideas from you!" Oops.

Exterior Night Scene (stars are made of tinfoil)

Interior morning scene.

I am exceedingly proud of our work. I hope we get an A.

In My Blood

Lately I've become quite interested in one room schoolhouses. I know, I know, dork alert. But I love everything about them: their aesthetic, their histories, and their educational philosophies. This year, a main item on my recently-mailed Christmas list was "anything about one room schoolhouses," which inadvertently sparked a mini-family history project. My dad suspected that my great grandmother Mabel (nicknamed Musee) had taught in a one room school, but after consulting my grandpa, I learned that it was in fact my great grandfather Joseph and great aunt Jessie who worked in one room schoolhouses. Grandma Musee was a classroom teacher, but in a regular, larger school. Nevertheless, how great is this picture (thanks, Grandpa!) of her and her class?
I definitely have that exact same expression after a long day of teaching...

Happy Birthday Nat

Wow. You're 21.

What I Did on My Summer Vacation

I just returned from a whirlwind vacation: Los Angeles, Santa Barbara, Phoenix and Sedona all in under two weeks. Admidst all the to & fro, I did manage to secure at least a couple of days comprised of nothing but TV watching. I am now officially obsessed with HGTV's Property Virgins and My First Place. I didn't do a very good job of photographically documenting my time, but a few highlights (I'm sure I've forgotten plenty) include:

- Korean foot massages with Meredith and my mom. Don't let the name fool you, they massage way more than your feet. Their techniques include pressing pressure points incredibly hard, rotating bones in the sockets, and scratching the tips of toes with their finger nails. Fantastic.

- Watching Meredith present at Visible Evidence XVI, held at USC's very fancy, brand new George Lucas and Steven Spielberg McMansion buildings.

- Getting to see Nat's new bachelor pad in Koreatown.

- Eating bimbimbob with Hye-Jean in Koreatown (do you see a theme here?)

- Meeting baby Theo, who squawked a bit and then promptly took a nap in my arms. He made me ponder the question: do babies dream?

- Dinner at Garland's with my dad and Laura. Such a magical place-- an old wooden lodge adorned with Navajo rugs and deer heads. Cocktails are served to you on picnic benches outside while you wait for the dinner bell to ring. Dinner involves things like crab apples and honey bourbon BBQ sauce. You have to drive over a little stream to get there.

And now, the one and only event that got properly documented, walking along Oak Creek with the pack. It was great to see Sprout getting in touch with her desert-self.


She got a cactus spine in her paw but didn't even whimper. Her white hair was stained with red dust for a days.

Unaccompanied Minors

Since recently writing about film adaptations of children's books, I remembered another horrendous example that is worthy of sharing: Unaccompanied Minors. You may not even recall the 2006 film, which, despite being directed by Freaks and Geeks director Paul Feig, totally bombed at the box office. Even after watching only the trailer, it's no surprise why.

It's based on a lovely essay by Susan Burton, which I discovered thanks to NPR's This American Life. The basic premise of the story is that a 15 year old Burton and her younger sister are stranded in an airport, where they meet a slew of other unaccompanied minors (or UMs) in the same situation. Her story is particularly poignant in that it takes place the day after Christmas. All the other UMs, like Burton and her sister, had been traveling from one divorced parent's house to the other. They form a unique and sort of melancholy camaraderie. It's worthy of a read.

As a former UM myself, I'm particularly fond of Burton's essay (and similarly not fond of the idiotic film version). For a couple of years, my brother and I traveled back and forth between parents on a monthly basis. Once, because of a bomb scare at LAX, our plane had to land in the International section of the airport, rather than the familiar Southwest gate A8. I was about 13, Nat was about 9. I guess we assumed our dad would have been notified of the change in pick-up location, but after about an hour of waiting at baggage claim with no sign of him, I approached an employee. We waited with a couple of other UMs until another employee arrived and loaded us and our bags into a mini-van. He drove us to another waiting area-- on the tarmac! It was the best behind the scenes tour of an airport ever, we got to see the action up close as we swerved under plane wings and past luggage carts. I think he took an extra long route because all of us in the van were oohing and aahing so excitedly. We were dropped off at the Southwest employee break room, where another gaggle of UMs was already waiting. Everyone was sprawled on worn out couches and watching the news about the bomb scare, the Southwest employees laughing when they recognized familiar faces of their coworkers. As if the car ride hadn't been enough fun, next we were delivered a huge box of dinner. It was McDonalds. Free fries and cheeseburgers! What?!

About three hours into the whole ordeal, my dad finally showed up, looking totally panicked. It never occured to me to be worried, I knew that eventually someone would point my him in the right direction and he would find us, and we had actually been having a great time.

Is it too much to ask that a children's film capture a little of that sort of magic?

The Happiest Place on Earth, Even on Memorial Day Weekend

This past Saturday, Meredith, Nat & I ventured to Disneyland. We set out early, fueled by Burger King breakfast, and braced ourselves for horrendous holiday weekend crowds. It was Meredith's first visit, and I had warned her that we might only get to do a handful of rides if the lines were too long, but I'm happy to report that we managed to hit not only the big name "Mountain" rides (Splash, Big Thunder, Space) but also some of the less-thrilling but more-charming classic rides, like Small World and Jungle Cruise [see animatronic baby elephant above]. The longest we had to wait for a ride was 20 minutes. Actually, the lunch line at The Golden Horseshoe was the longest we had to wait for anything, but the chili fries were worth it. All in all, a very successful visit. Some highlights of our happy day included:

- Meredith screaming so loudly on Big Thunder Mountain that the entire line of waiting riders were staring at us by the time the ride ended.
- Nat overcoming a traumatic childhood experience and riding Mr. Toad's Wild Ride without crying.
- Eating churros before noon.
- Getting to ride Space Mountain two times in a row after the attendant accidentally advanced our car instead of stopping it at the exit. Apparently, harmless mishaps abound at Space Mountain-- Disneyland fans might enjoy this video of the ride with the lights on.

And now for some photographic evidence. Funnily, we didn't manage to capture any pictures of us that actually demonstrate we were at Disneyland, so you'll have to take my word for it.

Jungle Cruisin'

Nat's funny face

Cotton Candy fingers

Nat getting in touch with his Japanese tourist side, and me holding the trusty map.
A ha! Finally some proof of Disneyland!

To: The Blog-o-sphere, Merry Christmas! From: Reappropriate This

In my theologically savvy family, we always actually followed the liturgical calender for Christmas celebrations. This means: the tree goes up the 3rd Sunday of Advent and it comes down on Epiphany (January 6th). The wise men from our nativity set usually had to hang out over on the piano or something, and wait until the 6th to join the fun. So we're a little bit strange, but it's nice to remember that there are actually twelve days of Christmas, beginning tomorrow! In order to celebrate, I'll be adding a carol-inspired post each day for the entire Christmas season.

Merry Christmas to all!

Texts to Korean.

Text message from my mom: "Glad your presentation went 355 9355"
My brother's reply: "Gaia! So funny!"

Halloween-Themed Post #2

Favorite Halloween costumes of the past.

LITTLE BO PEEP: I was five, my brother was barely one, and he got to go as my sheep.

ENCHANTRESS: This the closest I've ever been to dressing up as a witch (don't tell the cooperative preschool). I never wanted to be something scary or gory, so this was an elegant compromise. I've maintained my dislike of dressing in frightening Halloween costumes to this day. In fact, the only use of fake blood in a costume of mine has been a very tasteful bloody nose the year I dressed up as Mia Wallace.

PIERROT THE CLOWN: I think I was at least 10 years old the year I dressed up as this Commedia dell'Arte character. Kind of a bizarre choice considering my friends were dressing as cowgirls or hippies, but in hindsight, I'm glad I had the guts to go for it.

MAD HATTER: One year, Miranda (my elementary school best friend) and I thought we were very cool for assembling our costumes out of second hand items found at Aardvark's on Melrose. We also sacrificed our entire collection of band-aids (unused!) to decorate our old Converse. The shoes really pulled the whole thing together.

CLARIFICATION: that is NOT me in the picture. Same costume from a catalog, but not yours truly. My version of Pierrot had a tear face painted on. Sad Pierrot.

20 on 20

Happy Birthday Little Brother.

I got me a scanner

First order of business: a family portrait I once drew. My mom added the captions.

Nothing but Clear Skies & Floating Clouds

This week I helped move my 19 year old brother into his new digs in Thousand Oaks, CA. I'll admit he scored a pretty great deal by renting a room from a friend whose wealthy parents bought him a house (!) to live in while in school. And it's not just any house, but a three bedroom, ranch style house complete with back yard, dishwasher, plentiful space for a giant flat screen TV, and two fridges. Two. Not the typical setting for a bro-tel.

My life in the City of Dreams has prepared me for the inevitable tinge of jealously I feel whenever I see the homes of my peers who live elsewhere, but this house seemed especially cosmically unbalanced. I couldn't get over the fact that, at age 19, my brother is taking up residence in the suburbs. To me, suburbs are to be avoided at all costs. Sure I fantasize about moving out of my doll house size Brooklyn apartment someday, but I imagine a loft in a converted school house, or a farm house in New England. Unless we're talking about Agrestic, CA, I really don't enjoy the suburbs or their creature comforts. I felt somewhat queasy as we drove past golf course after golf course, horse stables, perfectly manicured lawns that have no business looking so green in the dry chapparal ecosystem. Streets had names like "Clear Sky," "Floating Cloud," and, I'm totally serious, "Easy Street".

I worry that my brother is going to have a totally warped sense of what it means to live on one's own as a twenty-something. Moving into my current apartment, my roommate and I shrieked with glee upon discovering it had a sink in the bathroom and not just in the kitchen; brother-of-mine bemoaned the difficulty in hooking up the cable box to the TV in his room. One of my first orders of business was dragging a futon mattress up to my loft bed, while his was buying a second set of sheets to have on hand for the days the maids come to change them.

For said set of sheets, we journeyed to the neighborhood Target. Oh Target, I must confess, this is perhaps the one exception to my hatred of the suburbs. How I long for a source of affordable and stylish home furnishings just a GPS-guided car drive away. Those Martha Stewart throw pillows would so nicely accent the slightly broken chair I rescued from the curb. After Target, we got back in the car to drive across the parking lot to lunch (a phenomenon recently noted by one of my most favorite bloggers). America! I'm part of the problem!

After cobbling together some trusty wire frame shelves, and helping my brother organize his comic books and complete collection of Star Wars novels, my mom and I drove off, leaving him at home in suburbs. I felt smug in my big city lifestyle, my hip zip code. I am content with Target.com. On the other hand, I felt a hint of worry. Five years younger, and not yet through college, my brother had reached a sort of life milestone most don't experience until further down the road. It was as if, through a lucky turn of events, he had snuck into the exclusive, sought-after white picket fenced American Dream. Though I struggle to understand the allure of the suburban dream, it's undeniably there. Now it will be part of my brother's life, and part of my visits home to California. Who knows, after a year there, he might be done with the suburbs forever, and this new house is just a matter of a great deal and the chance to live with a best friend. Yet I kept recalling the time when he was about nine, and my mom drove him down to Tijuana for a weekend adventure. They stayed with a family friend in San Diego. Upon pulling into their neighborhood, my brother gasped, "Mom, what is this place?" to which she answered, "it's the suburbs, honey". Wide-eyed, he dreamily sighed, "I love The Suburbs".