This site will no longer be updated due to the fact that august23 has gone to Japan. She will return near the end of July. Please check back until then.

For now... a small poem to the people who protested the war...

"Wish You Were Here"

For all the free people that still protest.
You're welcome.
We protect you and you are protected
by the best.

Your voice is strong and loud,
but who will fight for you?
No one standing in your crowd.

We are your fathers, brothers, and sons,
wearing the boots and carrying guns.

We are the ones that leave all we own,
to make sure your future is carved in stone.

We are the ones who fight and die,
We might not be able to save the world
Well, at least we try.

We walked the paths to where we are at
and we want no choice other than that.

So when you rally your group to complain,
take a look in the back of your brain.

In order for that flag you love to fly
wars must be fought and young men must die.

We came here to fight for the ones we hold dear.
If that's not respected, we would rather stay here.

So please stop yelling, put down your signs,
and pray for those behind enemy lines.

When the conflict is over and all is well,
be thankful that we chose to go through hell.

written by
Corporal Joshua Miles and all the boys
from 3rd Battalion 2nd Marines, Kuwait

I got that from an email. Tah tah for now. --august23

Another Cowardly Act

From the NY Times:

"BAGHDAD, Iraq, Thursday, March 20 — Iraqi television broadcast a speech by a defiant Saddam Hussein this morning, a few hours after the first blasts on Baghdad. In it, he exhorted his people to "draw your swords" against invaders and referred to the United States government as "criminals" and "Zionists."

Now he's recruiting his people--untrained civilians--to participate in the war. Given that some of his own people don't like him, I don't think his call to arms will be taken seriously except for those who are as delusional as he is.

Saddam Is a Coward

From the NY Times:

“American military officials have been saying for some time that Mr. Hussein plans to make his final stand in Baghdad, a move that would allow him to play to world opinion and confront the United States with the prospect of urban warfare, possibly inflicting many casualties.”

Any man who puts his military defenses in a downtown area full of civilians and hopes to play on the sympathies of the United States military is a coward. He hides behind the safety of his people and puts them into harm’s way. Saddam is not a leader. He is a delusional power-hungry dictator who will ensure his “leadership” at the cost of innocent lives.

And the world calls the United States as heartless and blood-thirsty warmongers? Why haven't they seen first that Saddam is a monster for bringing the war so close to civilians?

Thank you, Kristina Sheryl Wong, for your humorous site. I'm still reeling from the Filipina Heart thing, and I needed a good laugh.

Filipina Heart, My A$$!

While working on this blog last night, the advertisement above my site caught my attention with this link: Filipina Heart. I thought, "Cool! A Filipino site!" So I clicked on the link, and I was almost offended. I did not think that mail order bride services still existed today, but maybe I'm that naive. 

Why did this site offend me? Two reasons: one--I am a bit of a feminist, and two--the site perpetuates stereotypes. First of all, the feminist inside of me screamed out, "Women are not possessions!" Although these women are not being bought or sold, per se, the site offers unfair services to men. Since this is a mail-order bride service, the men are not from the Philippines. Why would a Filipino man pay to meet Filipina women, you know? The men have to pay for using Filipina Heart's services, such as obtaining addresses of the women they are interested in. If they would like to meet the women, it's money out of their pocket to obtain immigration papers, such as visas, and possibly the plane ticket itself. This can get expensive, and the only men who would be willing to pay the financial costs and go through the legal paperwork often come from rich countries, such as the U.S. 

The fact that the women don't have to pay for using Filipina Heart's services perpetuates the "gold-digger" stereotype. In many third world/developing countries, people are desperate to leave their country for better opportunities. Filipino citizens are no different from other poor Asian countries, but the Philippines is a special case because of their connection to the United States. The U.S. acquired the Philippines in 1898 after the Spanish-American War and it became U.S. territory. The U.S. military built their bases and prostitution rose, giving birth to many stereotypes about vigorous Filipinas behind closed doors. And it was the military men in early 1940s that started stereotyping Filipina women as submissive and loyal--a stereotype that is still prevalent today about many Asian women, not just Filipinos. Here is a sample of Filipina Heart's generalization about its women using that very stereotype:

Why choose a Filipina? Women from the Philippines are noted for their beauty, grace, charm and loyalty. With their sweet nature and shy smiles, Filipina's posses an inner beauty that most men find irresistible. Filipinas are by their nature family-orientated, resourceful and devoted. What's more, English is one of the official languages of the Philippines, so communication is straight forward, and as the majority of Filipinas are Christian, cultural compatibility is easier than some other Asian countries.

I can give you socioeconomic reasons for why Filipina women are this way. The family structure in third-world countries is traditional with male dominance and female submissiveness. It's not surprising to find women in abusive relationships, or to be surrounded by husbands, brothers, or fathers with Filipino machismo running through their veins. Sweet nature and shy smiles, my ass! It's fear, and it's a catch-22. This same fear is what keeps them at home. 

For those who are already married, let's face the reality that the Philippines is a poor country. Even if these women decided that they could leave, where would they go? They've got kids, no job, no money, therefore, they are "devoted." Filipina women--whether they were prostitutes or not--found it easy to leave the Philippines if they married a man from the military, giving rise to the "gold-digger" stereotype. I realize that the owners of the company have decided that the men have to pay for their services, and that indirectly makes the women look like gold-diggers. But I've looked through the ads and some of these women are well-educated with Bachelor degrees or students working towards a degree. They must have decent-paying jobs. So why don't they pay? Even if it is a mail-order bride service and they are the ones being "bought," if they can't afford the plane ticket or the visa, they can at least shell out some money for the international on-line service if they can pay for college. That's a pittance compared to what the men have to pay. 

Unlike old traditional mail-order bride services of yore, these women are not recruited. The feminist inside of me believes that this service should be fair and equal to both men and women. If women willingly sign up to use the service just like men, then they should pay for it just like men. The fact that Filipina Heart's owners have decided that only the men have to pay makes me suspicious of the owners' intentions. The owners of Filipina Heart are an Asian-Western couple, so they say. That's great, but it makes me wonder why they specialize in mail-order brides. If they had met through a regular on-line dating/personals service, like Yahoo! Personals, I'm assuming they wanted to start a matchmaking service to advocate that on-line dating is successful. If that were the case, they would have had equal services for both men and women to open up the field a little wider, like having Filipino men post ads, too. I'm sure that all on-line dating services like to hear that the people who used their services ended up in marriage. It's a success story that any service would proudly advertise, but marriage is not the ultimate end-goal. Yahoo! Personals encourages friendships, pen pals, and dating. If there was a fee for subscribing, it's equal that both men and women pay for it if they are interested in it. 

With Filipina Heart, the end-goal is marriage, and since it's the men who shell out the cash, it makes me think that Filipina Heart is merely a service to help Filipina women get out of the Philippines. The men pay a fee, and this obviously goes to the owners (part income, part website maintenance, I'm sure). The marriage aspect guarantees that the Filipina women will leave their poor country behind them, and that the men who sponsor them out of the Philippines are usually financially stable. For the men, it would appear that they are getting a "perfect" bride who is submissive and loyal. And vigorous. If any man is interested in using their services, I should give fair warning about a Filipina woman's loyalty. After you marry her, she'll start asking you to sponsor her family to come over. That's extra $$$ to get her mother, father, give or take a couple siblings to come to the United States or wherever you live. If not, both of you will be sending money to her family. Also, like adopting children from poor countries, you want to make sure that your new bride is healthy and free of disease, and that she gets the proper immunizations upon arrival. That's right, "upon arrival;" poor people can't always afford regular doctor check-ups. 

Anyway, I'm a bit sick of this right now. I need to forget the sadness of my country's situation. Not that I take this mail-order bride thing lightly. Quite the opposite. I do think about poverty every once in a while because my mother has lots of stories about it. I am Filipina, but I was raised in the United States. My parents met in this country after they had immigrated from the Philippines. No mail-order bride services. They met the traditional way: bumping into each other, and falling desperately attracted to each other's Filipino wiles and common interests in ampalaya recipes. Maybe I take it for granted that I live in a country that is rich, and I don't know how desperate I would be either if I were living in the Philippines today. While writing this, I realize the good fortune I have. I have the luxury of making choices and of having numerous options that I can choose from if I want to improve my life, and not one of them involves getting married to fulfill a financial need. I do feel sorry for some of these women. Their option is to find a way out of poverty first by "selling" themselves.

Nuances of an Accent

This past Thursday, my parents and I drove up to Los Angeles to visit my sister in college. She was going to present her senior project to a committee of advisors and fellow students. Guests were welcome, so my family and I drove to see her. When we arrived, my sister was dressed in her sharpest suit. She looked very professional and confident. We sat down while her group rehearsed the last minute details of their speeches and refined the timing with their Power Point presentation. Her entire group consisted of fellow Asian students: a Chinese girl, Vietnamese guy, a Chinese girl raised in the Philippines and spoke with a Tagalog accent, and my sister the Filipina. 

While each member of my sister's group went up to present, their accents were noticeable, but the English was not difficult to understand. What I found most fascinating was my sister's speech--not the content of her presentation, but the way her voice sounded. Please excuse me while I go off on a tangent here, but my sister's presentation reminded me of an incident that happened approximately three years ago....

A friend of mine was driving me home, and while passing through the community that preceded my neighborhood, my friend asked me, "What are some good Filipino restaurants around here?" 

With excitement, I replied, "Oh, there are some good restaurants around here. If you go to that one, they have really good pancit. There's two shops on Eighth Street. One has really good lumpia, and the other sells baked goods like pan de sal, hopya, and --" 

"Stop it!" he sounded disgusted, but he was laughing. 

"What?" I didn't understand why he sounded so... "ugh." 

"You have an accent." 

"No, I don't. Do I?" The concept of me having an accent was impossible. 

"Yes. When you say Filipino words, like lumpia and pancit." He said the words without an accent, with elongated vowels and without the fluency of dipthongs. 

"Lumpia and pancit," I repeated. 

"You have an accent. Lumpia and pancit," he repeated as though I were to imitate him. 

"Lumpia and pancit," I repeated again. 

"See!" he exclaimed. 

I heard no difference, but he had. He said that there was a slight change of accent from English to Tagalog when I included foreign words in my speech. Since then, that incident has made me self-conscious of when I spoke. Not only that, I became more aware of accents--even amongst fluent English speakers. In the past years since that time, I've attuned myself to listen to the way people talk, and if I heard even the slightest difference in cadence, or even the way people talk in general, I ask where they are from. Most times I have been able to guess that they were not from California, or if they were from Northern California, from the east coast, or from the south. One time, I insisted that a co-worker had a southern accent. He told me was raised in Berkeley, in Northern California. I insisted that he had a southern accent or at least influenced by someone who spoke with a southern accent. He then revealed that his parents were from Georgia. 

Anyway... Now, back to my sister's presentation. My sister speaks perfect English. English was our first language growing up. In the house, with friends or family, English isn't spoken with an accent, not like a recent immigrant who arrived and has a noticeable thick accent. But when my sister stepped up the podium to present her section of the presentation, it was like listening to a different person. Her regular English appeared to turn up a notch to even straighter English. It was like professional English; she sounded like... a "white person." After she presented, she sat back down with her group. 

After all the presentations were finished, she came back to us and we talk a little about where to eat lunch. Her English went back down to the comfortable English... the English that is fading away from Tagalog influences, but never really was. Maybe the only thing that I heard was the difference between comfortable English used at home versus the professional English that is used in conference rooms. But it was like listening to someone who spoke with an accent suddenly erase it. 

Given that I live in a community with Spanish and Tagalog speakers, whenever I say foreign words, I naturally switch to their respective accents. I always thought that language was unique because of its sound. When another friend said that I had a beautiful accent when I tried to learn Japanese, I was flattered. I'll never be a native speaker of any foreign language, but I want to at least sound like one.

On Saturday night, while driving home from a party, a driver of Nissan Maxima (a very old one) drives into my lane without looking that I was there. I was able to avoid him, but not until I made it known that he could have avoided me. I honked the horn of my car then sped past the asshole. I swear I had flashbacks from my last accident; I almost collided with the center divide, and almost spun out of control. He drove casually like nothing happened--the damn fucker! What is it with Nissan drivers? It was also Nissan driver who cut me off and blocked my view before I hit that desk on the freeway last year.

This morning, I discovered that someone ran their key or knife alongside my car. There's a long scratch from the rear passenger door all the way down to the tail lights. It wasn't there yesterday afternoon when I was out with my parents.

My car is jinxed. When I go to Japan, my dad can do whatever he wants with it. There's been talk behind my back about trading my car in for a truck. I don't care anymore.

Live Journal vs. Blog

I've been trying to understand the difference between Live Journals and Blogs. These are two different Internet tools where people can express themselves and be published. But what makes one more appealing than the other?

Here's a fun link: Live Journal Drama. They don't have these for blogs, do they?

Squirrel fishing. I still can't decide if it was a valid experiment.

My Damned Writing Process
a vicious cycle that is stuck at step three

I tried my hand at creative writing again. I've only written a two page prologue so far. I've emailed it to my sister, who recommended that I should rework it because she got confused. Ah... the writing process...

Should I define what English teachers call "the writing process"? It's a step-by-step scaffolding method in which we teach to students to try to understand their own writing style and process. It goes something like this:

A) Pre-writing: students jot down ideas. They can outline them with the traditional Roman numerals, they make bubble clusters, they can draw diagrams, etc... It's like making a layout of all their ideas. If they have a ton of ideas, this is where they can see what is relevant, what should they focus on, and where their ideas are going.
B) Rough draft: students write a rough draft. This is where they are to actually write in words, in a structured format, no bubble clusters or diagrams. This is where they develop their ideas into a focused paper.
C) Editing/Revision: students share their work to edit. This can be with the teacher, who reads the rough draft and puts comments on it; or it can be a peer-edit with their own friends or classmates who also put comments on it. Then the student can revise their work.
D) Publishing: this is the final draft where the student turns in their work. Publishing doesn't necessarily mean that it gets published; it just means that it's a final draft. In some cases, like creative writing, publishing can mean "does it appear publishable?" With Internet activities, could the piece that the student wrote be put on a website? If it was a writing project, is the paper in a publishable format, such as in a writing portfolio; does it have a writing cover?

Before I even taught, this was already my writing process back in sixth grade when I first started writing silly stories. When I saw this method in a teaching course from college, it was like putting a name to a face. I already knew it, I just needed to put it in words. I still have short stories and ideas from eighth grade that are either at step one or at step three. These stories haunt me because I never finished them.

With my current story, I'm stuck at level three. I'm either a perfectionist, or I'm just never satisified at what I write. I've gone through a dozen revisions with this story already. The prologue alone has gone through several drafts and revisions. Then there's the other questions that come into play: first person narrative or third? Third person limited narrative or omniscient? Female narrator or male narrator? Was this character useless? Should I change that character's name? Was this scene needed at all? Did the mood and tone come out right?

I'm looking at my prologue, and I like it. Sure, there are a few loopholes that my sister noticed and got a bit confused. If I revise this prologue, I hope I can stick with this draft that it can move on to step four, at least. Back to the drawing--er, writing board.

Once in a while, I'm tempted to publish something of a creative endeavor on this site. But I'm paranoid that someone will read it and then steal my ideas...

I'm going to write... the old fashioned way... with pen and paper.

Marilyn Monroe Rediscovered

This is a cool story. I wish I could view that short piece of film.

I did 11 miles of bike-riding yesterday. My legs feel like heavy cramped iron. Next weekend, with a new riding buddy, we're pushing for 15 miles around a lake. I feel it's going to be torture, but I'm going to do it anyway.

Yes, it's fun.

If California's school district superintendents were to hire a professional fundraiser, who would it be? Certainly not Governor Gray Davis. I wonder if Californians would support massive fundraising beyond bake sales and car wahes for their schools?

In my quest to find something to do on a weekend, as I am no longer a full time teacher, I invited a friend to attend a recital with me on Sunday night. It's been a long time since I stayed up on a Sunday night without feeling guilty, and it's been a long time since my friend's been to a concert. So, who did we see? My one and only favorite satirical goth band: Rasputina.

I've always wondered how Melora Creager can play a cello and sing at the same time with a tight corset wrapped around her stomach. I was amazed by her versatility and talent--that woman has got some mad skills with a cello. She plays that instrument like Joe Satriani plays his guitar. I wish I could play like her. The bow literally bounced off the strings of the cello yet there is a full complete sound and timbre that doesn't scratch like screechy violins. It resonates like a natural echo in a grand auditorium.

I've been a fan of Rasputina since their debut in 1996, but I have never seen them in concert. My first impression of Melora: she's really tiny. All the pictures in the albums make her look tall. In reality, she's a petite thing, but that's the lovable irony that is her--she's cute in her small petite way, yet she's got bite in her whole attitude when she plays. Zoe, the relatively new cellist, was tall and graceful. During the recital, she whispered to Melora that she had to go to the bathroom, and Melora made the general announcement to the audience that they had to take a pee-pee break. That was funny.

I wish I had known that cameras were allowed on the premises. I would have taken pictures to last me a lifetime. But really, there are no words to describe the bewildering awe I felt while watching Melora and Zoe play heavy rock music on classical instruments.

I subbed again today. Given it was a Friday afternoon, the kids were very squirrely. They pushed my buttons but I was lenient... until one of the students drew phallic pictures on the white board. I drew the line and started writing up referrals to the assistant principals and started holding students after class. Their regular teacher called me after school was over, and we laughed and discussed the penalties for these students. When I handed the referrals to the AP's secretary, she nonchalantly shook her head as she read the names off. They were familiar to her, and she knew that I wasn't over-reacting by handing out referrals to these students.

During the day, I bumped into more of my former students, and they complained about the grades I had given them for the last semester. When one of the teachers who inherited my kids approached me about parents calling her regarding first semester grades, it raised some flags in my head. I think I may have bubbled the incorrect grades for one class of students. I'll have to go back in on Monday to see the roster of grades for my former classes.

Ugh... I have to look over grades and make parent phone calls again. >_<

*august23 pounds her head on the keyboard*

I bought Lasgo's new album. I don't know why I did. For the past two months, I've passed by their CD at the listening stations numerous times at three different stores. Each time I've always stopped to listen to it. It always appealed to me in that mind-candy way. Now that I bought it, it's not all that great. I'm not really a fan of repetitive techno-dance music, but I thought I was expanding my musical tastes. At least it was on sale.

I should just stick to what I know.

Subbing

Since I won’t be doing anything for the next month before I leave for Japan, I decided to help out my fellow English teachers and offered my services as a substitute teacher. Today was my first “sub job.” It’s a whole new experience. I actually have to sign-in and pick up stuff from the front office.

You know that feeling when you’ve been given a pass to access entrances freely without question, like having an ID with an access code that can get you through the back door? Let’s just say that having to sign-in at the front desk was like having those privileges taken away. I don’t have a parking permit, so I can’t park in the staff parking anymore; I don’t have my own keys to a classroom, and my computer account expired last week. Out of habit, I went to the teacher’s lounge and almost picked up my mail from my mailbox. But it’s not my mailbox anymore… it’s someone else’s box… although my name is still on it. Oh, the memories…

I’m a substitute now. *sigh* This bites. I feel like I'm totally out of the loop.

As I walked through the halls, many of the teachers were surprised to see me, and they were glad that I was subbing for a while. I bumped into a few of MY students, who all objected to their new teachers. My supposed white supremacist spotted me in the parking lot, and he said to me, “Hi, Ms. G. You’re supposed to be our teacher.” (Yeah, he said it just like that.)

“Hi, K------. How’s the new teacher?” I asked with a suppressed laugh.

“She’s mean.”

“She started this week, right? It’s only the second day you've had her.”

He shook his head. “She's mean. She's young like you, but she's mean. We all want you back.”

When I smiled at this, he said, “Have a good one. I’ll see you around.”

Oh, be still my aortic valve! They miss me. Throughout the day, I've encountered more of my students who all insisted that I come back because I was still their teacher. Oh, how sweet… But remember: I am only the lesser of two evils.

*august23 radiates with egotistical glow* Until I hear that my kids have warmed up to their new teachers, I shall bask in all the flattery they give me.

So many thoughts go through my head as I read Mr. Baluchi's story. I laud the man for an honest and humble attempt at world peace, acts like his are futile when you think about the world at this moment: peace will not come in our lifetime. Then again, he could be a border jumper, just like INS suspects. Why else would he want to delay bail, stay in jail, and not want to go back? The most that Mr. Baluchi can get is a nod from the Guinness World Book of Records.

There are artists... then there are weird artists...