Looking for Daylight (#329)

There is only one reason I would ever run for President.

My platform would literally have a single plank in it.

This is my whole speech:

“My fellow Americans, I swear to abolish the worst practice the United States has adopted during the modern era—the one responsible for at least a 6% increase in traffic accidents and workplace accidents, an 8% increase in strokes, and a 24% increase in heart attacks. The practice that annually and negatively impacts the mental health of all our students and their test scores.

If elected, I promise to end Daylight Saving Time immediately!”

Yeah. I hate Daylight Saving Time that much. Continue reading Looking for Daylight (#329)

Waiting (#314)

I am not a patient person. I was the kid in the car asking “Are we there yet?” every 10 minutes. My many siblings were equally impatient. Road trips were an endless chorus of questions about how long it was to the bathroom, restaurant, and destination.

Unsurprisingly, we didn’t go on many road trips.

My Chinese-American husband is patient (sadly, he grew up on Oahu, which is too small for road trips). I’m not sure if he’s naturally mellow, or if the tropical “hang loose” vibes worked on his personality the opposite way that the intense, political atmosphere of Washington, D.C. affected me.

Perhaps our different levels of patience exemplify the difference in our cultures. My Western mindset insists that I can control my destiny if I work, scheme, and worry enough. At the very least, maybe I can get someone incompetent fired if I document the crap out of his failings. But Andy doesn’t see the point; people are gonna be stupid and other people are gonna cover for them. That’s life, and you have no control over your own fate, let alone anyone else’s. Why exhaust yourself changing nothing? Continue reading Waiting (#314)

Riot Gear (#313)

I’ve been to marches, protests, and candlelight vigils. Sometimes the police are also in attendance. At the super white, super suburban Women’s March, all the cops wore affable smiles. Some even sported pink hats.

At BLM protests? Lines of police show up in riot gear, generally sparking the following chant:

I don’t see no riot here!
Why are you in riot gear?!

Yesterday, on January 6, 2021, there was an actual riot. Encouraged by the sitting President (and whiny sore loser baby), Trump’s fascist cult broke into the Capitol, trespassing, stealing, and vandalizing.

I watched it unfold on Twitter, NPR, CNN, and NBC News.

I saw no cops in riot gear. Continue reading Riot Gear (#313)

Election Night: Then and Now (#305)

Over 70 million Americans have spent the week holding their breath. We remember how confident we were four years ago. How we arrogantly assumed that the rest of the country saw Donald Trump for what he was: a hateful, racist, incompetent, misogynistic narcissist who would run the country into the ground.

I watched the numbers roll in on CNN and compared it with the New York Times website. And by 7 PM PST, it was clear that Clinton did not have the votes in Michigan, Pennsylvania, and Wisconsin. It was shocking, but true. Numbers don’t lie. The trend was obvious.

My Chinese-American mother-in-law was visiting. She didn’t understand why I was upset. “It will be fine,” she said.

“It will not be fine,” I told her. “With the Senate also Republican, there will be no checks on that man.” I fled to my bedroom. Continue reading Election Night: Then and Now (#305)

The Brilliance of the Teen Brain (#216)

I feel old. Yes, I did just have a birthday. No, I’m not going to tell you which one.

My knees started making noises. The orthopedist assured me that I’m young for creaky knees; it’s probably an unfortunate combination of too much dancing and volleyball. I feel decrepit anyway.

Even so, it’s not my knees that made me realize I’m old.

It’s my brain. Continue reading The Brilliance of the Teen Brain (#216)

Marching on Washington (#170)

In case you missed it, there was a Women’s March on Washington the day after Donald Trump’s inauguration. (No, I can’t bring myself to call him President. Since facts no longer matter, I guess I don’t have to.) The organizers had a permit for 200,000 anti-Trump protesters.

Over a half-million people showed up, with pink hats and hilarious signs.

I was one of them. Continue reading Marching on Washington (#170)

Broken Hearts & Pink Hats (#169)

I’m not a fan of pink. I scorned the traditionally feminine color as a child, insisting that all my clothes had to be blue. This was not easy for my parents, thanks to gendered marketing. Blue dresses were tough, and a girl’s blue bathrobe was downright impossible. They gave me a boy’s blue bathrobe. I loved it.

I wanted a blue winter coat. In the midst of a bitter divorce, struggling financially, my dad didn’t have time to hunt for a blue coat (this was before Amazon). So I wore my blue bathrobe to school. Continue reading Broken Hearts & Pink Hats (#169)

The United States of Junior High (#156)

13939564_570238006492153_633300365514635819_nOnce upon a time, there was a Junior High School in Washington, D.C. It was a public school. Each student was assigned a home room. Each home room elected a Class President.

The Class President did nothing. Until May.

In May, the school threw a carnival-themed fundraiser. The Class President was responsible for getting a game from the slightly insane (and thoroughly terrifying) Glee Club Teacher. She had a closet that clearly had storage space in another dimension. Continue reading The United States of Junior High (#156)