Why I Will Never Register My Parents to Vote Again

My mother and I have been American citizens since I was about ten years old. During that next election year, I asked my mother if she was going to vote. Her answer to me was that she wanted to wait until I was old enough to vote, so that she could vote for the same person I would vote for.

This makes complete sense to me, because as a child of immigrant parents, I was the one who translated my school notes and had my mom sign them. Whenever there was a field trip, I would tell my parents that, yes, it was mandatory - so cough up the $15 so I can go upstate with the rest of my class to partake in a terrible production of Huckleberry Finn put together by people who couldn't even be bothered to remember their lines.

My parents always needed my help filling out any sort of legal form, which used to keep me up nights - because my Taiwanese wasn't that terrific, and I would worry that I explained something to them the wrong way, a way which might cause the government to come and take away our house.

I used to accompany them (and still do) to doctor's appointments. Once, when my dad's hay fever eyedrops fell behind the scalding hot stove at the restaurant, he called me and asked me whether or not I thought it was still okay to insert the drops in his eyes.

Me: Well, how hot does it get back there?

My Dad: I don't know, about a couple of hundred degrees? The drops were pretty expensive, so I don't want to just throw them out.

Me: Sure, use them...if you NEVER WANT TO SEE AGAIN.

During my sophomore year at Barnard College, I registered to vote for the very first time. I also brought home registration materials for my parents - and it was the first time either of them voted.

My dad is a staunch single-issue Republican. That is, he believes that Republicans will defend Taiwan in case of any war with China. I planned on voting for Clinton, and my mother had been promising that she would vote my way.

Cut to the day of the election. I went into the voting booth first and waited outside until my parents were done. My father comes out looking all proud of himself and I told him that it didn't matter who he voted for, because my vote cancelled his out, and I had an extra vote in my mom - at which point my mother looked rather sheepish.

When I asked her who she voted for, she looked at me, then at my dad, and then told me that she had to vote for who my dad voted for - and I said:

"I will NEVER register you guys to vote again. And that means that YOU'LL NEVER VOTE AGAIN."

Because essentially, they're too lazy - and the paperwork? Without me, it's more than they can handle.

Alan Alda's Baked Pasta

Alan Alda gave me the easiest pasta dish.

Because it's so easy, I now make this almost every week. I don't use as much olive oil, and I use my covered Le Creuset instead of aluminum foil to cover the pasta.

Alan says to stir it every 5 minutes, but I just do it every ten. Because the pasta is cooked in the oven, it gives it a different texture than boiled pasta. It's a bit gummier, in a delicious way.

Peter makes his own rendition of this. He puts in fresh tomatoes and zucchini and half a can of crushed tomatoes, along with some Italian herbs and spices.

Soooo good.

The NYC Marathon

Since it was a nice day, Peter and I decided to go to Park Slope, Brooklyn to look at some open houses. Yes, we just bought a place in Mount Kisco, but we don't think the suburban life is for us.

The problem is, that every time we try to go to Brooklyn, we hit a ton of traffic. For a split second, we thought that we might want to get married at the Brooklyn Botanical Garden. It took us about three hours to get to Brooklyn and we completely missed our appointment with the caterer.

Also, almost every time I meet my friend Maribeth, who lives in Park Slope, God throws down hurricanes and floods.

We completely forgot that today was the day of the NYC MARATHON. Traffic was really crazy - we were literally going about five miles an hour.

At one point, as we were on I-87, I said:

"Hey, look! See the runners?"

Peter looked.

Unfortunately, that was the same exact moment that the signs for I-278 West appeared and Peter completely missed it. So we had to turn back, but the ramps to go back on the highway were all closed off.

Finally, we get back on the highway. Then, for some reason, we overshot the exit, so we turn back on the highway to go back to the Tillary Street exit, which was closed going north. So I said, "since 29B is closed, let's take 29A."

Big mistake - since exit 29A without warning takes you straight into CHINATOWN!!

Let's just say it took us about 3 hours to get to Park Slope and Peter said:

"Maybe God is trying to tell us something...something like Park Slope is NOT FOR YOU!"

Q-Tip OCD

When I travel, I carry around a little plastic travel-sized Q-tip container. It is the perfect travel companion which can hold 30 Q-Tips if you line them all up.

I get genuine pleasure out of coming home from a trip, emptying out the now-messy clump of Q-Tips and lining up another batch of 30 and putting it back into our travel bag.

That'a recent addition to the other rituals I do, like using paper towels to open public restroom doors once I've washed my hands.

Jenny is No Longer Credible...or Easy to Love

My sister told me today that she is going to register as a Republican, and immediately I regretted ever having taught her how to read and for wasting my time and energy taking her to swimming classes at the YMCA.

It's the sort of feeling you get when you break up with a guy after he does something horrible and all the good memories are tainted by the bad thing that he did.

I might as well give her Dixie Chick CDs to burn and a large glass so she can fill it up with that good'ole Republican Kool-Ade.

What's the point of educating these children if they're going to run off and listen to Rush Limbaugh?

But tonight I watched the pilot episode of Shark (which is terrible - and stars James Woods, who I think was the one super-glued by Sean Young) and one of the characters said:

"It's easy to love someone who is easy to love. But when you really love someone, you have to love them when they're not loveable."

When I got off the phone with Jenny, Peter saw I was upset. When I told him about this, he said:

"If she's going to go down that road, that girl's going to lose all her credibility."

Cold Feet

For some reason, right before bed, my feet turn into icicles. I usually try to sneak them onto Peter's feet to warm them up. He used to want to help me out, but he's become less and less amenable to it. Finally today, one week before our two year wedding anniversary, he says to me:

"Nuh-uh. No more. Put on some socks."

This is Who They Hired

As you know, I did not get that copywriter job. Ever since, I have been really curious about who they ended up hiring. This is the newest issue of the magazine and I laughed when I read the first sentence.

"Though the American press may not have known what “secure location” Vice President Cheney was in on September 11, 2001, prompting much idle speculation, Marine Corps Lt. Col. Bob Darling ’87 did, because he was with him."

I mean, what the hell is that?

This reminds me of an interview I saw on TV with a famous chef regarding Rachael Ray.

"Yes, she's very charming. But a chef? I don't think so."

I read this woman's article and my feeling was this:

"I'm sure she's lovely, but a writer? I don't think so."

We Really Missed Liz Cho

Peter and I are back from our three-day vacation in Vermont - well, we thought we were staying in Vermont because the house we rented was advertised as Vermont, but when we got there, it was upstate New York. The old bait-and-switch.

Peter and I watch ABC news with Liz Cho and - without fail - she flubs her lines at least three times during every broadcast. This drives us nuts and Peter says, "Sue Simmons would never do that. She and Chuck Scarborough are total professionals." It also drives us nuts that Liz Cho makes stupid side comments about news stories.

We also think that Scott Clark should stop with his wacky "Out of This World" and just concentrate on doing a real sports report, GODAMMIT. Although, that's not nearly as annoying as Len Berman's "Spanning the World."

So why do we keep watching ABC news?

For some reason, it's the channel the TV's already on when it's time for the news and God forbid we change it.

While we were in not-Vermont, the local newscasters were ridiculous. They kept flubbing their lines every other sentence and making stupid side commentary like nobody's business. Peter looked at me and said, "Maybe I should audition to be a newscaster. I mean, at least I can read."

"I don't understand how they can keep their jobs," I said. "I mean, if I had a job where I made twenty mistakes a day, I would get fired."

Their local weather man wore a white shirt with the cuffs all rolled up. Where was Sam Champion with his impeccable suits and pretty hair? It was all wrong.

The sports report was the last straw.

According to Peter:

"They're leading with the GIRL'S HIGH SCHOOL SOCCER GAME? I don't care HOW GOOD THEY ARE."

"I really miss Liz Cho. I mean, at least she's pretty."

There are Tailies at The Office

Peter and I love the show "The Office," which reminds us of the place we both worked for when we met. We had a boss who clipped his nails in his office and played favorites. Michael is actually a much better boss than the one we had because at least Michael would not have cut people's work hours so that the company could deny them benefits which padded the bottom line and therefore padded his Christmas bonus. Yes, that guy is going to be carried in a handbasket straight to Hell.

What I don't understand about this season in The Office is this:

Why is Jim working at the Stamford office, and why are we subjected to these new Stamford office people?

This happened on "Lost" - during the second season, we were introduced to "The Tailies." They were the survivors who were on the tail end of the plane.

I just want to concentrate on the regular office, I DON'T want to know about these new frat-boy/sorority-girl types and I hope that they go away. I like Pam and Jim. I DO NOT like this new girl the show is foisting on us.

Peter, on the other hand, says he likes the new girl better because "she's prettier."

Me: Even though Pam is better you would pick the other girl because she's prettier?

Peter: (big pause)...Yes.

It's a Turn Lane, People

Our condo complex is right off Bedford Road, which is extremely busy. Usually, the only way to make a left when you come out of our street is to wait for all the cars going left to right to pass by, turn into the turn lane, and then wait to get into the right lane.

But very often, people on the right lane get FREAKED when you get into the turn lane. I guess they don't see the turn lane and assume that you are planning on crashing your car into their car. Sometimes I get a lot of beeps from people, but the other day, a little old lady was screaming at me and giving me various hand gestures.

Get a hold of yourself, people.

It's a turn lane.

Oh, the Places I've Been

All the places I've been - I haven't covered much ground at all...

Peter's so going to kick my ass with this map. Actually, maybe not, he only visited a ton of teeny-tiny European countries and I've got CHINA!

But then again, he got to be a rock star, so I guess he still kicks my butt.



create your own visited country map

The Smoker is at it AGAIN!

That smoker is forever smoking outside. I think he's actually smoking cigars because the smoke is really heavy and dense.

Do you think it would be too passive-aggressive to get the fan and blow the smoke back in his direction?

What to do?

Today I told Peter that we shouldn't be pissed-off at someone who is just minding his own business and he said:

"Well, how would he like it if we kept farting outside HIS window?"

If only we could.

Cafe Antico

I found this cute cafe during my mad search for the Mount Kisco Post Office. It was sort of in the middle of nowhere in a sort of industrial part of town. Today Peter and I tried the food there.

We don't like to try new restaurants unless it comes pre-recommended, because we like good food and feel gypped whenever we pay for a bad meal. But we were feeling plucky today.

When we got to the restaurant, there was a sign that said it was "Zagat-rated" so we took that as a good sign. I mean, if Zagat is bothering to rate a restaurant in Mount Kisco, it must have something to it.

The restaurant is located across the street from a cemetery and everyone eating there was about 80 years old. It's more than a bit odd that old people are eating fancy Italian meals while looking out the window enjoying a view of tombstones. Peter and I were the youngest people there. The food was pretty good. I had Lobster Ravioli and Peter had the Tortellini.

One thing I noticed about Mount Kisco is that whenever we go to a restaurant, the owner comes out and says hello to everyone. He (the owner's usually a he) walks over to every table and chats with his customers about their vacations, knows all their kids by name and asks after them, and dispenses a few chuckles at each table.

I'm getting a little paranoid because the owners never come over to introduce themselves to us. So now I'm feeling self-conscious about this. Do we look unfriendly?

Of course, whenever I'm being treated differently by any person or organization, my mind immediately spins over to - "Is this because I'm Asian?"

Peter thinks that this is ridiculous and always points out that he is not Asian, to which I say to him:

"Well, I AM, and since you are with ME, you are perceived, not as the white person, but rather, the person with the asian person. Just like when we go to a Chinese restaurant, the waiter plunks down two forks at the table. My Chinese-ness is negated in your presence."

The Count of Monte Kisco

Peter now wants to be referred to as the Count of Monte Kisco.

I guess that makes me the Countess?

The Post Office is NOT a Post Office in Mount Kisco

In the town of Mount Kisco, there is a beautiful building on Main Street with "UNITED STATES POST OFFICE" in large serif fonts clearly etched across its front. I had a large bag full of packages to mail and walked down to - what I thought - was the post office.

I get to the building, and a paper sign outside says:

"This is not the post office. This is a private office building. The post office is located..."

Apparently, the post office is a historical building which is no longer the post office. I think there should be a larger sign people can read FROM THE STREET so that we don't find parking (which, by the way, is not free in this town), lug all our stuff to the post office, just to find out that the post office is not the post office.

The Smoker Outside

In our new apartment, we like to open the windows and the sliding glass door which leads out to the terrace. It's really nice to have a terrace - we go out there to sit on our $7/piece Home Depot outdoor chairs to watch the sunset. The terrace is also the place where we have placed the grill we got on sale last month, which sits unused because we have not gotten around to getting a propane tank.

Unfortunately, the smoker who lives a few doors down likes to use his terrace to suck on his cancer sticks. The smoke wafts into our windows and fills up our apartment with tobacco smoke. Apparently, he smokes about 300 cigarettes each night. Basically, he's slowly trying to kill himself and bringing us all down with him.

Although I am a person who truly believes that anybody who wants to smoke has a right to do whatever the heck he wants, I find all this really irritating. I mean, this guy isn't doing anything other than enjoying his terrace and not stinking up his house with the foulest of foul stenches. But he's stinking up MY HOUSE with this stench most foul.

What is my recourse? I wish that I could ask him to give me a warning, so that I can close all my windows. The part that really annoys me is that he doesn't even live that close. He's about five apartments down from us. He either smokes super-potent cigarettes or that the physics of this complex is created so that any odor molecules are magnified exponentially as it drifts down to our apartment.

What Happened on Grey's Anatomy?

Since we moved into this apartment, we have had issues with our cable box. I've had three different cable guys come in - for some reason, the HDTV DVR boxes we've had take one look at this apartment and say to themselves, "No way am I working HERE."

One box refused to change channels or communicate with the remote control. It would seize up and demand access cards be inserted - even though the access cards were already inserted.

The next box would invite me to press the remote buttons. When I did, it coyly laughed in my face by freezing its screen.

The third box seems to be the charm - it records great! It changes channels when I press the remote! It does not demand access card insertion with the petulance of an irate child! --- However, for some reason, it did not record Grey's Anatomy!!!!

So the first thing I do is call my sister, who picked up the phone and said, "Did you just watch Grey's? Wasn't it great?"

When I told her I wanted a synopsis, she said:

"It was such a great episode...Izzy was lying on the floor of the hospital and wouldn't get up...an abandoned baby was found and they had to find the mother...the Chief's wife left him...and...oh, yeah...for a little while, they all thought they had The Plague."

My reaction was "WHAT?" "What happened to the underpants?" "Did Izzy get kicked out of the program?" "Who did Meredith choose?" "Did Burke get his hand back?" "Did he forgive Christina?"

"WHAT'S GOING ON IN THAT SHOW?"

L'Anjou Patisserie is Rude

Before our drive into the city, Peter and I stopped at the local patisserie for some breakfast. We were in a rush, so we ordered two croissants to go. The girl they have working the cash register could not get it together. She charged me $18 for two croissants, a coffee, and a juice.

When I pointed out that it shouldn't cost that much, the old lady who works there acted like I was trying to sneak off with a pastry under my shirt. She insisted that the total was correct. I told her (very nicely) that I wasn't paying $20 for two croissants.

Of course, during this whole exchange, Peter is sitting at a table, munching on his chocolate croissant because he "couldn't wait a minute longer" and watching this whole exchange as if he was just a casual observer not in the process of consuming what may well have been $8 worth of croissant.

It took about 10 minutes for me to spell out what I had ordered and for them to straighten it out. While the old lady was punching in the numbers, she said - under her breath, "I bet you'll end up paying even more."

The total came out to be $9 and I said, "Where I come from, that's a lot less than $18."

After all the hubbub, we got in the car and I was so annoyed at the old lady. I couldn't believe that she made that snide comment.

"Oh, come on. She was just joking. You can't read people at all," Peter said.

She was so NOT joking - but Peter didn't want me to blacklist the patisserie because he likes their food.

I get settled in the car, take a sip of my juice, and on the Saw Mill Parkway, I bite into the ham and cheese croissant.

It was ice-cold, and rock-solid. I couldn't believe it!

I spit it out, turned to Peter, and said:

I am NEVER going back to that place EVER AGAIN!!

I Interviewed for a Job

I interviewed for a job today at a college.

Anyway, I applied for the copywriter's job there, mostly because it seemed like a great job opportunity - but I'm 90% sure that I'm not going to get hired.

Instead of asking me pertinent questions about my job experience or what I can add to the college, the interviewer wanted to talk with me about what I enjoyed reading. She also told me that in her last interview, she talked about reality TV shows. I really didn't know how to steer the interview back to my qualifications and the job. I've never interviewed for a writing position where they did not ask for any writing samples and did not give me a writing task.

I think that, to the interviewer, writing is very much like stocking oranges and apples at the A&P - anyone can do it.

I wasn't sure if she was a really inept interviewer or if she already had someone in mind for the job and was going through the motions. I thought that perhaps she was not that bright and considered explaining my qualifications - like:

Barnard College is a really good school, it's a top-tier liberal arts college, not one of the top 250 colleges in the Northeastern region like this one.

My graduate degree from NYU is really prestigious - they only accepted 20 students the semester I attended, out of the thousands of people who applied. The program is the 6th best program in the country according to US News and World Report.

I wrote for the New York Law Journal, which is the most widely-read legal daily newspaper in the country.

During my interview, I came to the realization that, perhaps I should be interviewing for a job where my skills and talents and credentials actually mean something, because according to Peter, the same lady who was interviewing me once said something disparaging to him about "people with fancy degrees."

Which all boils down to this. I think I should work at a place for "people with fancy degrees." I might fit in better.

We Have Been Traumatized

So the movers we hired - Seaman's Movers from the Bronx - SUCK BALLS.

They broke our bookcase, overcharged us for everything, and hit our new neighbor's car with their gigundous moving van. I am traumatized, Peter is traumatized, and the dogs are oblivious.

Also, the foreman was a complete jerk. Instead of wrapping our furniture in blankets like ALL previous movers have done, he decided to use boxes that he charged us $20 each, to wrap our furniture - hence breaking our stuff.

In the future, I plan on interviewing and personally meeting all moving foremen. Either that, or I'm NEVER moving again.

I'm just going to throw out all my stuff and buy all new stuff.

That would be MUCH less stressful.