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Friday
Mar102006

I used to be Chinese

ais.jpgI found my old college ID today. My first thought was "holy crap, I need to call the Hair Club for Men!" My second thought––was that I used to be Chinese. I’m not sure I am anymore.

My dad, George William Ford Jr.—was 100% Chinese. And despite the Western name (long story), he spoke fluent Cantonese. My mom on the other hand was Betty Crocker white. So I have a lot in common with Mr. Spock. We’re both half-breeds sporting bad haircuts. (There’s that hair thing again––calling Dr. Freud).

Growing up, there was no mistaking it. I was that one ethnic looking kid in all my class photos. I remember kids asking me things like "do you celebrate Christmas?" No, but Pearl Harbor Day is quite festive.

And when I graduated from the largest high school in Washington State, of the 400+ grads, there were only about ten of us that knew our way around a set of chopsticks. It was so bad that people on occasion mistook me for my good friend Rey. Keep in mind, I’m half-Chinese. Rey was Hawaiian/Filipino, six inches shorter, thirty pounds heavier and sported a mustache. Yup, aside from that it was like looking in a mirror.

I grew up in your typical Chinese-American home. We had decorative Buddhas all over the place, Chinese prints, Asian lamps and furniture. My dad ran a Chinese restaurant and taught martial arts on the side. If you ever go to an "authentic" Chinese restaurant, where the cashier is the only one who speaks broken "Chinglish", where little kids run around like they live there––that was me.

But now that I’m exploring adulthood I’ve realized how American I’ve become. My wife is blond (usually, shhhh, don’t tell). And except for my daughter Madi, who has Asian eyes so beautiful they could stop traffic, the rest of my family looks pretty much like their last name could be Von Yorgesbergerstein. Or simply, Ford.

With that in mind, I’m nourishing my roots through my work. You can catch a glimpse of it at Tribe’s Flashing in the Gutters.

There’s a little ditty entitled Dim Sum. Let me know what you think.



Thursday
Mar092006

Gallery of the Absurd

vdtaralo_2.jpgWow, I stumbled upon this blog by accident--much to my dee-lite. Hilarious celebrity art (like the lovely Tara Reid here).

Enjoy.

www.galleryoftheabsurd.com

Wednesday
Mar082006

How old is too old? Put on your bifocals and read this.

354943-288209-thumbnail.jpg
Dick "Methuselah" Clark celebrates his 138th birthday
In my twenties I dabbled at writing. Dabbled the way Star Jones dabbled at dieting. I gave myself plenty of time. I’d get to it later, after all––I was young right? I thought, "Robert Heinlein didn’t get a book published until he was thirty-something. And that’s old".

Now I’m thirty-something. 37 to be precise.

The age you actually begin to think about what a gastroenterologist really does. You look at the cholesterol count as if it might matter soon. You wish you’d flossed more in your wild younger years.

So it got me thinking. Am I too old? Has the train of relevance left the station for good? Just look at Christopher Paolini. The guy is basically a fetus with shoes, signing a multi-book deal before his first bout of acne.

But then I remember my hero. Norman Maclean. The man publishes his first book, A River Runs Through It at seventy-freakin’-four year’s old. There’s hope for us all! Because for every Rossini, who wrote The Barber of Seville at 23, there’s Verdi—who wrote Othello at 74 and Falstaff at 80. And for every Dorothy Straight, who was 4 when she wrote How the World Began, there’s Sarah Louise Delaney, the oldest published author whose second book was released when she was 105.

It was titled A Century of Great Sex. Ok, not really, but it was still a big deal.

Monday
Mar062006

Jessica Simpson plans to bare her commodious lexicon

Simpson.jpgParis City Light announced a new power generation facility built at the Père Lachaise Cemetery where Oscar Fingal O'Flahertie Wills Wilde is interred. Engineers have hooked up a generator to his casket taking advantage of the dead poet spinning in his grave over Jessica Simpson’s planned book of poetry. The vapid vamp announced her poetic yearnings in this month’s copy of W Magazine.

In related news, MTV Productions have shelved their planned reality show Jessica & Nick: The Divorce. Instead they’ve put production weight behind the new horror-infused reality show Jessica Simpson takes the S.A.T.

(Major props to Vic Correro at Writesville for breaking this latest sign of the Apocalypse).