Why I hate my birthdays.

Me with my cousins (starting from the left) Sandra, Rebecca & Jeffrey

I've come to this conclusion after 22 of them. Each one secretly leaving me sad, except maybe my 7th birthday where I got a duck statue from my grandpa (that still sits on our lawn), an electric pencil sharpener from my uncle (that I still have), and I wore this black and white polka dotted dress with a red ribbon on it. I still remember the time I opened a heavy large cardboard box to find a statue of a duck with a slew of newspaper. I believe I was excited. Maybe because I didn't really have pets growing up except a few goldfish, two turtles that died and this dog I had for one day. I am currently in Vietnam so I don't have those photos with me except the one above. (It sums up my sentiments about my subsequent birthdays pretty well.)

I was five. I remember being grumpy (and I was celebrating my birthday with my uncle who was also born in rabbit year). I don't know why I was grumpy. I just remember stomping in the hallways with my little legs trying to make alot of grumpy noise so that people knew I wasn't happy. Someone called my name as I stomped.  I remember making that face in the photo (pouting) for the entire day and being whiney. Why is she acting like that? I acted "like that" even more when I heard that. I probably cried at one point? To this day I think that is how I secretly feel in each of my birthdays but since I am no longer five years old, stomping doesn't quiet have the same effect so my true sentiments are now well hidden.

I guess I can't handle the attention or what seems to me as the default "I have to care about you on this day because you were born into existence" type of deal. Maybe its the fact that on this day I realize my existence is close to moot and that there is really no reason to celebrate this day because any other day is just the same except that people have to put things in boxes to give to you so you know that they care for you. Or maybe its just overrated and my five year old self knew that already.

My birthday also happens to fall mid summer and while all the cool kids with non-summer birthdays celebrate and get recognized in school by their friends, my birthday is at a time when people are in transition, school is over, and/or they've moved. One time in middle school my friend decided to very sweetly celebrate summer babies' birthdays by giving us all balloons nearing the last day of school. Although I somewhat felt like charity. People wishing me happy birthday even though it wasn't, then getting confused as to why I had a balloon, then me having to explain the whole sha-bang to them. I am ever so grateful for my friend for thinking about us though. I think that was the only time something happened at school. From what my memory serves me I have never been surprised on my birthday.

My milestone birthdays haven't been so great either. Great as in "I want to boast to people about the bomb ass party I had for my (insert milestone) birthday." But it doesn't quiet end up that way. For my 16th birthday I planned a birthday with a few friends over, my mom cooked a feast, and we sang karaoke. Nothing too eventful. I remember having a cupcake decorating party and made everyone wear purple. I was also strangely sad that night and felt like weight was taken off my shoulders when it ended. For my 21st I had a small home dinner party with my family.  For my 22nd the same. My last two birthdays was spent very disappointed at a particular person. Like every birthday I'm usually glad when its over.

However, besides my rather lamenting feelings towards my birthday (except I do like the actual day 28), I absolutely love love love love love love love love love love love love love love love love love love love love love love love love love 

birthday cakes.

This is not to be confused with loving my birthdays even though birthday cakes and birthdays come hand in hand. It is possible for someone to love birthday cakes and not their own birthday. I love them with all my heart and all they have to offer, even Vietnamese ones, with the snowmen and dogs and dragons all on one cake! I think this is why people sometimes people get confused and think I love my birthdays but really I just love the cake.

When I was younger I was notoriously known to ask about the cake when I came to birthday parties.
I love other people's birthday parties, no pressure on me, I'm celebrating another close one's birthday and I get cake! Someone else is in the spotlight. The candleblowing, the process of slicing it, the camera picture taking that occurs after, and then the repeated candle blowing because some cameras couldn't "capture" the moment just right and it needed to be authentic with the whole "blowing the candle" shot and then the "posing with the cake tilted forward" shot and finally the "fake cutting the cake" shot for the money win. Some little kids wanted to practice their mad candle blowing skills as well and some spit blowing while they are at it.

When I was younger I was obsessed with creme flowers that go on top of Chinese styled cakes with the red clear icing occasionally sprinkled with a few Chinese characters. That was the ONLY part of the cake I wanted to eat. And when my dad gave me an entire slice of cake I remember bursting in tears and running to my aunt crying into her dress because I wanted the fucking flower and nothing else.

Now I come into my next birthday with very little expectations and only plans for myself that don't really involve anyone else. In general, I never really ask anything of anyone because I don't want to be disappointed. My birthdays just seem like I'm asking people for some type of recognition and maybe that's why I hate my birthdays. I don't like asking. That is why for this birthday I am going to ask for nothing. My only plans are to buy a cake, share it with others and run around Saigon.

I know what my Halloween costume will be.

Lucy Van Pelt.

I thought about being Charlie Brown to follow up on my previous years of being a boy character, Nobita Nobi from Doraemon, Alvin, from Alvin in the Chipmunks, Ash from Pokemon. Super great if you've never tried it you should. Nothing like walking down the street with your posse. Like the time I stumbled late into a meeting with Brock and Misty trailing behind me or when I lost Simon and Theodore running around in Santa Barbara to be left with just a dinosaur.

Anyways I'm recruiting for my peanut gang.

Back in Vietnam and I feel lost as ever.

After my two week break in Australia now I am back in Vietnam to continue my work. My energy seems to have waned. Hopefully I can get it up soon and focus my energies like I'm almost always talking about.

HOW DID I MISS THIS?!

Depressing. I am so mad at myself.

19 March 2010 - Singapore, Mosaic Music Festival 21 March 2010 - Malaysia, Kuala Lumpur, Bently Music Auditorium 25 March 2010 - Hong Kong, Hitec Rotunda 3 27 March 2010 - Indonesia, Jakarta, Upper Room 28 March 2010 - Indonesia, Bandung, Sabuga(venue TBC) 31 March 2010 - Philippines, Manila, venue to be announced 2 April 2010 - Taiwan, Taipei, Legacy 4 April 2010 - Korea, Seoul, Olympic Hall 6 April 2010 - Japan, Osaka, Club Quattro 7 April 2010 - Japan, Tokyo, O-East Tickets are on sales for all the shows.

Occurred sometime in March. Makes me want to start a music blog about the scene in asia like now. Currently in Australia to be with family for a short bit. I petted a Koala. Another life goal accomplished.

I spend Sundays mostly wading.

A knock and a wail wakes me up this Sunday and similar to other Sundays I wake up tired from the week. But there is something about Sundays that bring ends together. For the last few months I've spent my Sundays being lazy and not doing much, but Sundays were always about that for me. While on a plane early this morning I flip through the newspapers to (excitingly) find a cartoon section (!!!!!!!!!!!!). Boxes entertained my eyes, as Garfield, Calvin & Hobbes (never really liked that one) bounced from one square to another, making some statement on the goodness of donuts or childhood nostalgia.

Maybe this is where my creativity came from, or at least one of them. Comics in the Sunday newspaper. On days I spent lazily. On Sunday mornings my parents would go buy the Sunday Los Angeles Times, not to read articles or be updated on the recent current events of whatever the press likes to mention that week, but for the coupons. In goes $1.50 into the newspaper stand, and as always and penny pinching they take three newspapers. Three because that was the limit of how many coupons can be used on one item at the grocery store (back in the day) and with double coupon ability my mom was the best and smartest shopper I knew. She somehow was able to turn $67.87 turn into $3.45. The women behind her were amazed and probably grumpy from staying in line so long. The machine probably out-beeped its days worth too. She was smart. She searched for the unsuspecting teenager cashier who never looked carefully at coupons. Maybe something about moving to a foreign country with very little resources allowed this coupon-money-saving-talent grow or maybe it was innate. But as whiney American wannabe kids, we wined and made it hard for my mom. 

Why do we have to shop for so long...

Man, are you done?

Noooooo, I don't want to stay in line!

and complains galore as any two little kids who probably spend more time in grocery stores not buying things than kids who steal things.

I knew my grocery stores in Ontario and Chino, CA, maybe in Covina, San Dimas and West Covina too. I knew which one had free food samples, which ones had reduced price chicken after 5 pm, which one were most crowded and popular, which ones looked old and remodeled, which ones had the newest carts, which ones had the nicest managers or the dumbest clerks, I knew them all.

The pile of newspapers drops in the car seat or on the dinner table, and instantly my brother and I rip them apart. We each grab for different things that we like to read. So with three sets we are able to each have a copy. If we woke up late our parents would get to the coupons at first then leave the rest for my brother and I to search through. My brother was rather systematic in the way he took out his favorite sections of the Los Angeles Times. Always neat. Mostly they were the electronic store ads. He read them in a certain order and always put it back neatly into the recycle bin as if no one had touched it.

I cannot clearly recount my own process but I knew exactly what I wanted. I wanted the cartoon section, not the lame section with women who complain about their weight cartoons, cartoons with soldiers or the kiddie section with lame crossroad puzzles. I quickly skimmed the front to get through all the "political" cartoons really quickly because I didn't get it. Then the second page was the classics with the peanuts gangs. Then with the third being the charm it was my favorite page with all the "modern" cartoon strips, with non-sequitor and the likes. Then I read the Calendar for stupid celebrity gossip, their small section on cartoons, Ask Marilyn, and possibly an article or two if I found it interesting. Then onto the New York Times magazine to glaze over pretty photos of rich people's houses. Then now onto the colorful ads of each store in town from circuit city to best buy to target to see if there was anything that I can pretend to want to buy. And MAYBE just MAYBE I would actually read the newspaper but that was hardly ever the case.

My Sunday mornings would end with a full recycle bin and cut coupons scattered across the dining table and the rest was spend hoping that school wouldn't have to start. I enjoy routine. Or maybe I just miss it.

On Sundays my mind wanders from the weeks events. It's going to be Monday again, what happened? Time falls faster than I can catch it sometimes. Sometimes I don't catch it at all. 

Six minute moments

As a radio dj I loved 6 minute songs. In the studio 6 minutes fly by as if it had wings, but gave me enough time to breath. And maybe sit for a second to process what I was playing. Systematically 6 minutes are great, but on air listener's get restless after 3 minutes. Due to the loveliness that is college radio I could pretty much play whatever the fuck heck I wanted. Minus cuss words. Excuse me for my lack of posts. I've been a tad lazy.

Here were some of my favorites:

My tongue doesn't get burned

nor does my picture get taken.

Subtle interjection of narcissism is needed sometimes. Although you can argue that this entire blog is made for that. Hah! Photos of me in action can be exciting. As exciting as putting jelly on your peanut buttered bread.