Halloween Shmalloween

This is an actual conversation that took place in the candy aisle at Walmart, while my roommates and I "discussed" whether or not to buy Halloween candy.

Catherine: I don't want to buy Halloween candy. It's a waste of money.

Chantal: WHAT? How can you not buy candy? It's HALLOWEEN! We live in a real neighborhood! We're going to have a lot of trick-or-treaters.

Catherine: We can just turn out our lights and pretend not to be home.

Wendy: I agree. Plus, Halloween--going around and begging for candy--encourages gluttony. I cannot support gluttony. Especially with kids.

Catherine: Agreed.

Chantal: FINE. I'll buy all of the candy by myself. You can't have any. And, neither of you can come to the door and see the kids' cute costumes.

Catherine and Wendy: Okay. We don't care about the gluttonous kiddie costumes anyway.

I love holidays. I'm so festive.

Considering the purchase of a depreciation machine

It's official, friends. I recently made my final student loan payment... and I am now debt-free!

The first order of business, of course, is to determine what type of car to purchase or lease. The Honda Civic my dad has let me use since undergrad has served me beautifully... great gas mileage... super reliable car... smooth drive... etc. Economically, I realize that holding on to the Civic until it dies would be the prudent decision. However, my siblings and I all have this deep-rooted problem... we know absolutely nothing about mechanics... or car technology... but we still lust after cars. [Our "insightful" car classifications could be described as the following: pretty ones, fast ones, nice ones, sporty ones, etc.] Plus, I'd like to return the Civic to my dad so that he can use it as a compact car for commuting etc. instead of his true love, the Dodge Grand Caravan.

Since I recently decided that leasing might be a viable option for me, the increased pool of possible cars I am considering are the following:

BMW 328xi:
Advantages: xDrive all wheel drive, 230 horsepower, engine start/stop button, and hello... it's a bmw.
Disadvantages: flashiness (which will maximize the occurences of keying and dooring against my car), low gas mileage on a v6.

AKA: The car which, if purchased, will prevent any guy from ever asking me out.

Lexus IS250:
Advantages: all wheel drive, paddle shifters, rain-sensing intermittent windshield wipers, pretty good gas mileage with a v6.
Disadvantages: really crappy lease offerings [around $600/month? seriously?], designed to copy the BMW 3-series--who wants an imitation car?

AKA: The Japanese-riding BMW-styling imitation.

Audi A4:
Advantages: smooth drive, pretty body style.
Disadvantages: ugly dash, huge grill, depreciation machine, delay in acceleration.

AKA: Poor man's, slightly above-average performance European sedan.

Acura TSX:
Advantages: reasonable cost, sleek body style, 4 cylinder engine with lots of get up and go, beautiful dash.
Disadvantages: turning radius, lack of awd [though, rumor has it that the redesigned 2009 version will have awd].

AKA: Beautiful and economical, yet still zippy car.

Right now, the TSX is the frontrunner. Suggestions? Votes? Advice?

Don't try this at home.

A tragedy occurred this past weekend.

In an effort to be prepared for any natural disaster that might occur, my roommates and I set out to assemble 72 hour kits and bulk up our food storage. Included on the list of items that we needed for these kits were waterproof matches--to our dismay, Walmart didn't even have regular matches in stock. Wendy (aka pyromaniac), however, had a few matchboxes at home that we thought we could waterproof ourselves.

Apparently, you can coat the match tip with a thin layer of melted candle wax and thereby waterproof the match. We found a suitable candle for this project, but realized that the sides of the candle hadn't burned down properly--the wick and melted wax pool would be too low to dip an unlit match into the wax without burning ourselves. Wendy's solution was to cut the sides of the candle down so the wick and wax pool would be more easily accessible. [See picture of candle, above. Note that the candle has been cut down since 'the incident'.]

To accomplish this feat, she got out her trusty knife at about midnight. However, to everyone's dismay, Wendy cut the candle with a bit too much force and ended up gashing the knife through the knuckle between her palm and index finger on her left hand. She then jumped up and stated "I cut myself. I'm bleeding." and walked quickly into the bathroom to grab a towel to apply pressure to her hand. Her quick, calm response didn't tip me off to how serious her cut actually was.

From the bathroom, Wendy asked me to clean up the blood that had dripped on our carpet. I took one look at the blood, got unnecessarily queasy, and asked Chantal to clean up the blood while I proceeded to "help" by lying on the ground in fetal position. The rest of the events of the night are a bit of a blur. I only remember the following:

1. Wendy walking around the house with her hand wrapped in a yellow towel, raised high above her head while calling her friends (one being an ER doc, another a radiologist) to ask them what to do.

2. Chantal saying that Wendy seriously needed stitches, and Wendy saying that ERs are a pain and she'd rather not go.

3. Chantal talking to Wendy's doctor friends to figure out how to fix the problem sans stitches [note: the doctors apparently told Chantal* that she needed to "oppose the tissues, then put a few layers of super glue over the wound." Chantal doesn't remember hearing this bit of information].

4. Chantal pouring super glue [well, actually it was "Elmer's fix all glue", which is substantially more viscous than normal quick-drying super glue] into Wendy's wound, while I sat with my head anchored against Wendy's head and my hands holding Wendy's arm in place, with Wendy gripping the door frame to the bathroom with her "good hand". I also definitely remember screaming.

5. Wendy saying that she thought she was going to pass out from the pain.

6. Blood. A lot of blood.

The wound was then covered and bandaged by 2am. When Wendy went and visited her doctor friends the next day, however, we realized that our medical efforts weren't quite... ahem... effective. Apparently, the super glue was supposed to seal the wound and not be poured directly into the gaping wound.

In short, the dried superglue lodged into Wendy's wound had to be removed--with scissors, a tweezer, and a bunch of lost blood. Wendy was grateful to be given the option of a shot to numb her hand, which she gladly took. The ER doc said that this shot would, and I quote, "hurt like the Dickens." Wendy indicated that the shot did not hurt to even a fraction of the degree of pain she experienced when super glue was poured into the gaping hole on her knuckle. Be informed that Wendy's wound was then stitched up by the actual doctors... but not within the usual 12 hour window during which stitches must be performed to be most effective. Despite delayed medical attention, we all hope for the best.

Oh--did I mention that Wendy also pulled her groin longboarding a couple days earlier and is still recovering from a large wound on her elbow from a biking accident? If anyone is looking for a reallllyyy beat up girl, you know where to find her.

*Despite her medically-inferior methods, Chantal should be thanked for actually having the gumption to face this wound head on. Wendy has dubbed Chantal the "hero of the night." I am apparently dubbed "wuss pants".

SAF, 27. Provo, Utah.

I'd consider myself to be a pretty loyal person. That loyalty was put to the ultimate test this past weekend. Let me explain.

Chantal, my roommate, is a teacher at an elementary school in our neighborhood [see school picture, left]. She regularly meets with her students' parents--more often than you would expect, the parent's voice drops to a conspiratorial tone and the question is asked--Ms. Cardon, are you dating anyone right now? During one of these experiences, Chantal was invited to a Halloween party--an "informal gathering of friends", which included a number of the parent's nieces and nephews and their friends. I am told that Chantal couldn't politely say no to this offer. And, as the loyal roommate that I am, I grudgingly agreed to go.

Only after we had traveled to within 10 minutes of the location in Sandy were Wendy (our other loyal roommate) and I informed that this party would not be at someone's home, but instead at a stake center. At this point, our protests to turn around were useless and Wendy and I relegated ourselves to attending this party and staying for as long as we could handle it.

We arrived. We entered.

Apparenty, everyone had just finished eating dinner and the games were about to begin. Let me set the stage for you: in the gym around the half court lines were eight large church tables set up in a circle with four folding chairs on each side of the table. All the guys were sitting on the inside of the tables while all the girls were on the outside. The tables were covered in white butcher paper, and topped with crayons and homemade castles made of construction paper. The stage was also fully decorated with a large version of a castle.

Then the "game" began.

Apparently, this "informal gathering" with games REALLY meant an exceptional experience in speed dating that was not awkward at all. Yes, you read correctly. Speed dating. The next 80 minutes were pure bliss. Besides the fact that many of the participants were cousins (which suggests that this dating game idea was wildly inappropriate)... I had some truly awesome experiences. Let me share one in particular.

This guy, we'll call him Jack, was sitting across from me and nervously asking me a string of questions. He then proceeded to take notes after I gave my answers with the pen and notepad that had conveniently been provided for each participant. I finally managed to steer the conversation away from myself and I found out that Jack was 18, and a freshman at BYU. He hails from a small town with a total population of 2,000 in the Tri-Cities area of Washington. His major concern in moving to Provo and starting at BYU was driving in such a big city. Who would have thought that I could find the perfect man for me in such a fun situation?!

We escaped after dutifully speed dating each guy in the place right before the next "get to know you game" started. On the way home, we stopped for smoothies and mozarella sticks, which Chantal treated us to as a 'thank you' for accompanying her to this wonderful, informal gathering of friends. I seriously considered making her buy me one of everything on the menu as punishment, but loyally refrained.

Despite any remaining sense of loyalty or friendship I have, please note that I will never, ever again be willingly dragged to a similar event as the one I blissfully enjoyed this past Friday night if I can help it. Ever.

What's in a name?

My nephew pictured here is pretty cute, right? Would he still be as cute if he were named Anchor, Hades, or Ufynya [actual names from "mytopbabyboynames.com"]? Only you can decide. Proceed with caution.

Every expectant parent is faced with a similar struggle and, at one point or another, begins to ask the question--what should I name my child? In a rush to make each child feel unique, parents are jumping on the "making up baby name" bandwagon. What happened to the days when I had three Kimberly-s and two Stephanie-s in each grade level of my elementary school? I miss those days.

I recently looked up popular baby names through the Social Security administration's online database. The top ten female names for 2006 were: Emily, Emma, Madison, Isabella, Ava, Abigail, Olivia, Hannah, Sophia, and Samantha. Those seem pretty normal, right? Then I dove a little deeper.

After doing a search by state, I found that Utah's 2006 list of the top names for female births includes: Brynlee, Nevaeh, and Brielle. Not to be constrained by Utah state as a whole, my good friend from "the EC" [Emery County] forwarded me a list of teenagers put forth by the local newspaper that listed members of a dance troop with an accompanying photo. That list includes names such as: Jazlyn, Taija, Kaymyn, Makiha, Tralysa, Chandrelle, Jadree, Jarica, Nizhoni, and Auminee.

Before you choose to name your child "Nizhoni" or "Kaymyn" in an effort to make him/her stand out, let me present the following experience for your consideration.

I was on a conference call with a number of businesspeople at a large national bank during one glorious work day a few weeks ago. One of those saavy businessmen proudly carries the name "Alpine." Two of my executive-level coworkers put the conference call on mute after introductions were made, and proceeded to discuss how silly the name "Alpine" was for the next five minutes. There was also muted laughter each time the name "Alpine" was mentioned on the call.

My point is this: be careful when naming your child. Clearly, a mockable name might subject your offspring to a childhood of playground misery and torture. However, as I learned by participating in that conference call--a "unique" name might actually set your child up for a lifetime of mockery. Like I said... proceed with caution.

Breaking the paradigm

I'm officially a mountain woman. All of my doubting friends should be proud... I spent two full nights in a tent, and five days running around rocks and national parks with my trusty camelbak and trekking poles. All this mountaineering gave me quite a bit of time to reflect. I have three realizations that I'd like to share with the world.

1. I'm a cynical person with an affinity for using citrus products as weapons.

I've never been one for shopping in boutiques. They seem to be filled with old, ugly, and overpriced stuff. However, Chantal found a treasure in a boutique outside of Zion's [see picture above]. As I was sitting outside the store, I heard Chantal call for me to come inside and look at a shirt that was "perfect for me." I went in, took one look at the shirt, and laughed for the next thirty seconds. Chantal's mom then piped in and agreed that the shirt was perfect for me. [In case you can't read it, the text is--if life hands you lemons... squirt them in people's eyes!] The shopkeeper told me she was trying not to judge me based on the fact that two people had confirmed that this totally rude shirt fit my personality so well. Should I be offended?

2. I do not, in fact, enjoy living in small spaces.

I was recently informed that Asians, in general, are accustomed to living in small spaces. The individual backed up his point by saying, "I mean, look at Taiwan... Japan... China... unless the person lives out in the boonies, they're usually in really cramped living quarters." Apparently, because I am Asian, I am accustomed to living in small spaces. Please consider the picture to the left above to be proof that I, Catherine Chou, do not in fact prefer small, cramped spaces to large ones. And, although I do not plan to live on top of that rock, the places where I enjoy playing can be analogized to a place I'd like to live. I like big spaces.

3. I like to scamper.

Fear? What fear? Fear THIS! [I promise, I'm really not adversarial.] The picture above and to the right is on the way up Angel's Landing at Zion's National Park. In case you can't fully tell from the picture, there is a sheer drop off on both sides of that skinny trail. Slip and you fall to your death = good motivation to pay close attention. The chain is allegedly there to help stabilize you, but with multiple people using and moving it, the chain tends to have too much slack to provide a sense of security, and too little slack to avoid things like me punching a rock when the chain smacks against the rock. Ow.

Later in the trip, we went to Goblin Valley--after a five mile "Sunday walk" through the slot canyons. Needless to say, our legs were trashed... but not trashed enough to prevent us from taking a cool jumping picture off the goblins. I'd like to use this picture as proof that I'm a significantly better jumper than Chantal, but I must also admit that she started on a lower rock than I did. However, be informed that after this picture was taken, Chantal rather un-gracefully went tumbling off to the side while I landed solidly on my feet.

This final picture to the right, while not the most flattering picture ever, is of us in Little Wild Horse Canyon near Goblin Valley. Scampering and shimmying up walls is pretty much the awesomest thing ever.

The mark of a true professional

I have avoided accepting the fact that I am a working professional until now. I think I've put up a pretty good fight--post graduation, I've attempted to escape my current working situation by considering changing jobs, moving, or going back to school to get a masters degree in something non-law-related that doesn't make me want to poke my eyes out from boredom.

Lately, though, I've started to embrace this special stage in life, which started one day when I bought some girly BR shirts. I suppose turning away from my propensity of dressing like a metrosexual male shouldn't be considered a bad thing. I've also recently replaced my masculine Franco Sarto loafers with some girly flats for work... but the true leap towards becoming an adult came yesterday.

We hit up the Coach outlet in Park City in an effort to find a present for Qing Ping to take back to my mom who lives in Taiwan. And... there... I found a pretty bag that I've decided to start using as my work purse/lunch sack. I suppose I can't really be frustrated that my coworkers consider me to still be a student since I've carried my North Face backpack to work every day since starting my job last September. Embarassing. So, to all those who think I still look like I'm 16 and to all my coworkers who think I'm still an undergrad, let me bring your attention to my new red bag that I now carry with my graduation present of a briefcase. I'm moving up friends, moving up.

Welcome to America

My first mission companion (Qing Ping) from Taiwan is in America visiting for a few days. My task: introduce her to American stuff and convince her to return to Taiwan and report that Americans don’t sit around watching tv and movies all day, while eating only hamburgers, french fries, and ice cream.

First on the list: American steak! Taiwan has this franchise called “Noble’s Steakhouse”, which we’d eat at after saving up money during the mission. Their cheapest steak is less than $4, which also includes the price of an unlimited salad bar, ice cream, and fruit juice/soda. Needless to say, those Taiwanese steakhouses serve, ahem, premium cuts of meat.

Nonetheless, we decided to take Qing Ping to eat REAL American cow—we called Outback and were informed that the wait was 35 minutes for a party of 5. Imagine our surprise about 30 minutes later when we got there and the wait was in fact an hour. [We confirmed with a couple that looked starved that they had already been waiting for 70 minutes. Interesting]. We then called Ruby River and they told us that the wait was only ten [10] minutes. Not believing the hostess initially, I annoyed her by asking her to confirm twice that the wait was in fact ten minutes. We got in the car and drove directly to Ruby River, which took about ten minutes—the hostess at Ruby River then cheerily informed us that the wait time was 50 minutes. [I smell a conspiracy]. Future plan: call and ask what the wait time is while I’m walking into the restaurant, then scream “LIAR” when the hostess grossly underestimates the wait time to get me in the door.

In any case, after I discussed my prior phone call with the hostess and indicated that we had just driven to Ruby River from Outback Steakhouse, we were seated within 25 minutes. We then proceeded to order and consume massive amounts of beef. Unfortunately, the pictures attached fail to include a photo op that we missed—Wendy was sitting in front of Qing Ping and watched as Qing Ping took her first bite of steak. Despite the fact that Chinese people are usually stoic and expressionless, my roommates analogize her expression to one that a baby gives after getting their first taste of ice cream—confused bliss. Like I said. America serves real steak. Heather, Wendy’s BFF from childhood and our honorary roommate for the night, piped in and explained by saying: “This is why we live in a place with so much land where cows can roam freely. So we can eat them.”

Since then, we’ve taken Qing Ping to eat Costa Vida Mexican salads, play miniature golf, play random video games, and eat dippin’ dots. The fun has only begun.

Also worthy of report—Chantal destroyed us in miniature golf. I then played Qing Ping in air hockey. I briefly considered putting aside my overly-competitive spirit and letting her win when she, in desperation, grabbed a neighboring table’s air hockey puck and was fruitlessly trying to guard her goal with both hands and both pucks. Result: I beat her 7 to 3. I still have some growing to do.

I is the Chinese people

Newsflash: I didn't actually get killed by the party of seven Chinese people who came to get me to notarize their documents. My lack of patience almost killed me, however, as I was contacted via work phone three separate times between the hours of 9:30 and 10:00am to try to navigate the lost people to my office. [Anyone who knows me well understands the fact that I have no sense of direction at all--it's a good thing that Chantal recently taught me that the mountains are to the East. Oops.]

During one of these phone calls, I realized that two people trying to navigate their way to my office were speaking Cantonese to each other, instead of Mandarin which is the language I purport to speak. That immediately brought me back to my deep issues stemming from people around me thinking that all Asian people are the same. Luckily, in this case, the individuals whose papers I notarized did in fact speak Mandarin in addition to Cantonese.

Instead of boring you with personal stories that give rise my own Asian American crisis issues, let me illustrate by paraphrasing from a Season One Grey's Anatomy episode.

[For your reference, the Grey's Anatomy stars shown in the picture to the left are, from left to right, Christina, Merideth, and Izzy].

Scene: Izzy is working in the clinic at Seattle Grace Hospital. She comes across an Asian lady (A) with a large cut on one of her arms and keeps trying to suture the cut while the Asian lady seems perplexed, won't let her suture her arm, and speaks quickly in Cantonese.

I to A: Hold on, I'm going to find someone who speaks your language. [Izzy then goes to ask Christina for help.]

I to C: Can you talk to this lady? I don't understand what she's saying.

C: What? I can't communicate with her.

I: Why not? Don't you speak her languge?

C: No. I grew up in Beverly Hills.

I: But...

C: And, I'm Korean. She's Chinese.

I now realize that this isn't merely a Utah phenomenon. However, having been born and raised in New Jersey, I realize that this phenomenon might be a lifetime battle for me... and that I'll continue to come across people who will ask "Where are you REALLY from" when I tell them I'm from New Jersey, and people who shout "NEEE HOW" really loudly when they cross my path. For the record, I is the Chinese people. But I is also the American.

TMI

I am your friendly neighborhood notary.

The only reason why I achieved this lofty status was to notarize work-related documents for my coworkers. At my company's request (and expense), I crammed for exactly 2 hours one day and took an online test, which qualified me to order a stamp that identified me as Notary Catherine. Little did I know that this hasty decision would ultimately lead to my downfall.

At about 4pm today, [by which time my brain was completely dead at work], I received a call--the caller id identified the caller as "Bank of America." Thinking that I'd be entangled in some strange work-related contract negotiation, I grudgingly picked up the phone. The lady identified herself as Barbara from Bank of America, and asked for me by name.

Barbara proceded to ask me if I spoke Chinese, then explained that she had two Chinese-speaking clients who needed something notarized. Barbara also indicated that she had secured my contact information from some Utah agency, and verified such contact information including my home address, cell phone number, and work number. [Creepy.]

She then went on to tell me that the two Chinese-speaking individuals wanted to make an appointment with me to notarize their documents. At the time, my mind missed the obvious question--why would two Chinese individuals, who allegedly have bank accounts with Bank of America and therefore some sort of ID, need a Chinese-speaking individual to verify that they are, indeed, who they claim to be? In any case, I provided my current work address and set an appointment for those individuals to come to my place of work on Friday for me to notarize their documents.

After I returned home, I recounted the situation in my mind and found it rather odd. I decided to do some research--I searched online for the Bank of America and looked for the phone number of the Highland office, Barbara's alleged place of business. Apparently, Bank of America has no offices within 100 miles of Highland. [Red flag].

My plan is to call the Lieutenant Governor of Utah tomorrow and ask him if my name and information could, in fact, be disclosed if someone were seeking a Chinese-speaking notary. I'm not quite sure what I'm going to do after that.

I may not be with you after Friday. I have decided that I definitely need to get over this aiming to please thing. In a last effort to please, however, I have promised to give my new 46" Samsung tv to Wendy if I die.

Remove THIS!

I’d like to extend a special thank you to Sir David Habben who created both the banner for this blog as well as the “staple remover picture” in this post. The story behind this picture is as follows:

My boss’s seven year old, poorly behaved niece (we’ll call her Madame Destructo or MD for short) came into our office. Refusing to be distracted by the “quiet activities” we were suggesting, MD proceeded to terrorize us by smashing markers on the white board, cutting random things that weren’t meant for cutting, and using a white out pen with reckless abandon. The true low point of that afternoon came, however, when MD found a staple remover. After quickly becoming bored with staple removing paper and wood, MD came over to me and attempted to remove the invisible staples from my nice sweater. This is the exchange that ensued:

C: See the edges of this staple remover? Those are sharp. My sweater is soft. If you do that again, you’re going to cut my sweater. Do you think that’s a good idea?

MD: YES! [repeat action]

I told Mr. Habben this story, and he interpreted it as a delightful opportunity to commission this piece of art. Pieces of art can have many different interpretations. The original version of this picture showed either flames or some kind of bright light engulfing MD. I chose to interpret MD as being on fire, and greatly miss that feature of this piece of art.

I also happen to be wearing that same sweater today. Ahh, memories.