A few years ago, my great aunt visited the family. She was my mom’s brother’s wife’s mother. My mom’s brother (my uncle) passed away when I was 3. After that happened, my great aunt took an oath. That she would never eat anything that touched a dead animal in order to protect the remaining family.

She couldn’t eat food made in pots or pans that had cooked animal food. Or anything with grease or oil. Not even eggs. It was more than vegetarianism or veganism. To a Westerner (like me), it was almost absurd. It was a simple Buddhism. But we respected her wishes. My mom cooked her food packaged in a clean tupperware container to bring when the family ate out. It worked well in Chinese restaurants where there was always a microwave and ready rice.

Until my great aunt demanded that they eat at my favorite restaurant. At the time, it was Chow in Lafayette, rated among the top 100 in the Bay Area. My parents protested, but my great aunt insisted. And so we went.

There I ordered my favorite dishes, recommending to everyone…except my great aunt. When the server came, I mentioned that my great aunt couldn’t eat most things on the menu. The server immediately suggested the bread. But my great aunt knew she couldn’t eat that…a pan touched by animal oils. “We have wonderful vegetarian selections,” he said.

And we shook our heads. When our dishes arrived, we asked the server if he could heat up the food my mom prepared for my great aunt. A microwave perhaps? But he shook his head saying that no microwave existed. He suggested that one of the chefs could heat it up in a pan, but my great aunt shook her head. My parents started making a fuss about how we should have eaten somewhere else, but my great aunt shushed them, saying that it was important to eat my favorite restaurant. Guilt crept up my arms as I ate.

And well really, nobody in her family has passed away suddenly.

If I haven’t mentioned it, I saw the Transformers last Tuesday. It was so good. Robots. Explosions. Aliens. Cars. Girls.

Chris cried in happiness from the anticipation. And the many allusions to other Michael Bay blockbusters. Like Armageddon.

I like my sister thought it was a typical summer blockbuster. I would like more character depth. At least the government official cooperated with the civilians. I liked the scene with the pseudo-Bush with red socks and his request for ding dongs.

It was after all a movie about a boy and his first car.

When we walked into New Wave City on Saturday night, it was nearly empty. We got there shortly before 10 pm so that we could pay the discount cover.

And I could figure out why. Chris took us on a tour of DNA lounge. The 2nd floor. A new area devoted to selling food. And this area that was a different room, different music.

We got drinks. A bahama mama. Midori sour. A gin and tonic. Then we sat in the strip of seats on one wall. On the small tables, there were anul mints. An allusion to the theme of the night.

The music wasn’t always the popular 80s. A guy dressed up as a white bunny dance his way in the crowd. It was hard not to ignore the puff on his behind. There was a wedding ceremony around 11:11 pm where the maid of dishonor and father underpants handed out fake rings. Then a contest for the best wedding costume after midnight. Of course, the most scandalous won.

And so it went until our feet hurt and we stumbled out of the club. Walking up Division and running to catch the 14, me holding to my tiara hoping it won’t fall out with my swinging strand of pearls…

Every time I hear Wolf Parade, I am reminded of the awkward, earnest moments last year. They wanted me. They really wanted me. I remember a conversation I had with the CEO last year around this time. A persuasive conversation that I had taken while sitting on my bed at home. I had to think about it.

I met them in New York City in midtown. I saw the sights from an apartment in a highrise. It was like a beginning and I was starting to think yes, I will do it. I will go on this untraveled path.

About two weeks later, I started. I listened to Wolf Parade in August and September on way my way to San Francisco and back home. They had said they loved the band too. They wanted to go to the concert. But days passed and we were busy. Always striving for the next deadline. I always remembered the day of the concert where I hoped that we would go together. But nothing. I still constantly listened to “Shine A Light” like a struggle for innocence. I let the concert date pass silently as if I had never mentioned it.

After all, we were busy.

A year later I am sitting at a new job, I hear the song on my ipod on shuffle. My favorite song last year. My favorite band from my last year. It had been months since I last heard it. I have this feeling, but it’s not nostalgia. It’s almost regret and a mixture of nostalgia. To have known then what I know now.

Shine a light for me.

I would love to work at the marketing firm that was behind the marketing campaign for the Simpsons movie. Aka the group that did the Kwik-E-Mart transformations.

Just because it sounds cool. But we all know those projects aren’t never true dreams.

BUT NONETHELESS. I shall go to the only one located in Northern California which is ridiculously located in Mountain View. I shall go to the Kwik-E-Mart to buy a Squishee, the Pink Donut, take some photos with the old man and scrawl alongside BART’s graffiti. I shall say hi to the Indian man who is playing Abu and run away in giddiness.

Quite often, we pursue certain things because it gives us a feeling of pleasure. A feeling of satisfaction. Contentment.

Like when we purchase something at the right place. In bliss. We have achieved so much.

Like when we go to the toilet. After holding it in for an hour. The relief is almost impossible to describe.

Like when we pull off a scab. Even though it’s probably unhealthy and unsanitary. Why does it give so much pleasure? Some would say they like the crunch. Some just don’t like the feeling of rough skin. Or the love of pain?

Just some thoughts.

A tree stands alone. In the stillness. Strong and willing.

A boy stands afar, admiring it. The beauty. The strength…

And.

And…the potential to climb it.

He scrambles up into the tree. Pushing everyone out his way. It is path now. Only his.

Mine. I can fly, he says as he looks below into the cliffs and then up again, to the people watching him.

Today. I touched 3 iphones and entered my phone number in. Along with personal information. Birthday. Address. Blog url. Position. Company. Nickname. Primary email address. Secondary email address. And of course, mobile phone number, work phone number and name.

I have to admit the interface is pleasing. Great innovative interactions of zooming in and out. And scrolling.

But typing? Not so good. After awhile, I wished I had a keyboard rather than this onscreen keyboard.

But besides that, I made sure I was in the favorites in my friends’ list. And a nice photo. With a great ringtone. aka bark. Boing. Or sci-fi.

Oddly enough, all the girls there didn’t have one. Mostly because we tend to drop our phones a lot.

Durability is key for me.

When planning a trip to TBD, I’ll think of this list next time.

Even though it may be an information overload.

Clean is happy.

According to Toto. The makers of toilets and other bathroom related elements. Including the Washlet.

That url was passed around at work as a showcase of video-based marketing. But really, it’s a showcase of gratuitous use of…imagery? Or was it all well-placed?

If I had a clean _____, would I be happy? In some way, probably. Healthier. After all, a friend bought me Victoria Secret’s gc (thanks Carol!) to feel happy and strong from the inside. Empowerment from within? Would empowerment also apply in this case?

Clean is happy. But clean is stressful. Clean is control. Clean dominates and becomes a never-ending quest.