new job...and thoughts on racial perceptions

Hahahahaha - I've got a new job...and I'm laughing because it just sort of happened and I'm not really sure if they actually wanted to hire me, or if I wanted to be hired. But I just went in meet them and the next thing you know they're saying, "Well, we'll work around your school schedule when classes start," and then, "Can you start tomorrow?" and then, "Oh, and we'll have to send you to Las Vegas to get trained." HAHA! The funniest part: it's being the manager of a small kiosk in the mall that sells expensive hair accessories and extensions. And I get to wear a wig everyday. Because I like being girlie. Yeah right...hey, at least I can pretend I'm Sydney Bristow! But, what can I say? The owners are super sweet (a husband and wife team), the pay is more than great (and I'm more than broke), and it'll be an interesting experience (the story of my life). I'm just still not sure if I'll be able to sustain it when classes start again, but I guess per their suggestion, we'll cross that bridge when we come to it.

This all came about because of my Korean connections, heh heh. What can I say? Connections do come in handy. But the lady asked me point-blank: "Most Caucasians don't want to work with Asians. Why do you want to work with Asians?" An interesting question. I can't really think of specific instances of white people who didn't want to work with Asians, but I get these kinds of questions all the time, mostly from Asians at church or elsewhere. It's not that I don't think prejudice exists, but sometimes I really wonder how we form these perspectives on what we believe other races think of our race.

My kids at church are so funny. At first I was told by some that the kids may not know how to react to me because I'm not Asian (and I had heard others say that their kids would cry and cry when they saw a non-Asian face), but now that I know my kids, I think this is a bunch of (misinformed) bull. After all, what does race matter except for the meaning that we as adults attach to it? Granted, this formation starts young, but I have found that kids under the age of 7 or 8 have no understanding of racial differences (at least toward me). One time I was teaching them about loving each other, regardless of our differences. We were pointing out specific ways that people could differ from one another, and at one point I asked them, "How about me? How am I different from all of you?" (They are all Asian and I'm white.) They said, "You're tall!", "You're our teacher!", "You're older!" They were so cute, they made me laugh...and realize that they didn't know that I wasn't Asian.

Just the other day I had a conversation with Skylar (7 years old) who mentioned something about our church being all Korean. So I asked her, "Do you think I'm Korean?" She thought about it for a minute and then said, "Well, at first I thought so because you're in this church." "What do you think now?" I asked. "Well, I don't know," she replied. I laughed.

Of course, Asians are not the only ones who are surprised to find a white girl in their midst. The other day when we were up in NYC, we were just standing around on the sidewalk, about 14 Asians and one "regular" (as Mia puts it) when a white guy came up to us and started telling us about his comedy club, encouraging us to come that night. The guys declined, but then he turned to me and said, "How about you?" I wasn't sure how to take that, I mean, I was standing right in the middle of the group. "I'm with them," I replied. "Oh." And then, "Are these guys a bunch of fun?" As if they couldn't understand English when 2 white people were talking amongst themselves. "You bet."

mixed emotions

My mom's closest and oldest friend, Andy, died this past week. She had been very sick for a long time, but she was only 56 years old and my mom is understandably upset. "Thirty nine years," she kept saying, "she knew everything about me." They had met as freshman at Drexel and then both settled down in South Jersey, not far from each other. It was really strange going to the viewing Saturday morning. Not just because it seemed so unnatural to see her lying there lifeless, but because I also had the arduous task of giving my condolences to her family, a family that I haven't seen in perhaps 15 to 20 years, though I have so many childhood memories of them – and isn't it true that childhood memories stick with you more than anything else? I hardly know them and I certainly wouldn't have recognized them on the street, but it was a strange place for a reunion.

Then I had to snap out of funeral mode and into fun mode as I departed from there and took the train up to NYC. A group of us were there for the day to visit and support a couple of friends from church who have had some success in the arts.

Jung Wha Ahn is a brilliant artist who specializes in oil-based abstract paintings. She's a tiny little woman who creates these huge masterpieces, some probably twice her height! Her work is currently being displayed on the second floor of the Agora Gallery in the Chelsea neighborhood of Manhattan.


Here she is in front of one of her paintings.

Joe Kim is a filmmaker whose 15-minute documentary Chan: Part of the Nation was accepted into the Urban World Film Festival this year. The film chronicles the rise of an Asian-American hip hop emcee who goes by the name Chan, and discusses racial relations and stereotypes in the world of hip hop.

As an extra bonus, we got to see another excellent film at the festival: Street Fight by filmmaker Marshall Curry. It will actually be shown on PBS on July 5 – check for your local listings…you've gotta see it. I can't really do it justice to try and explain it, so I'll just quote it from the horse's mouth:

the tagline: "In Newark, NJ, elections are won and lost in the streets..."
the blurb:

STREET FIGHT follows the bare-knuckles race for mayor of Newark NJ, between Cory Booker, a 32-year old Rhodes Scholar/Yale Law grad and Sharpe James, the four-term incumbent twice his age. An urban David and Goliath story, the film chronicles Booker's struggle against the city's political machine, which uses harassment and voter intimidation to hold onto power. The battle sheds light on important American questions about democracy, poverty and perhaps most important: race. When Mayor James accuses Ivy League-educated Booker of not being 'really black,' the campaign forces voters to examine how we define race in America.

So, all of this was very interesting and enlightening, exciting and fun, but a couple of other events tipped the scales toward the other direction. First of all, on the ride up to NYC on the train, a man sitting by me was chewed out by the conductor for not having a ticket and not having money to pay for one. The man didn't seem to speak or understand English very well, yet he also seemed to be smirking about the whole situation. Nevertheless, I wanted to help him in some way, but I realized that the conductor was so red in the face that it probably would only make the situation worse. So I did nothing and the man was kicked off at the next stop. Then, a lady (actually, at first I thought she was a man) approached me on the street and asked me for money. I asked her what for, and she said she was hungry, so I asked her if I could buy her some food. I realized, however, that my attitude and my expression were not as loving as such a gesture should warrant, so I was standing there buying her the food and I felt like a total pompous arse, and was pretty sure that she felt that way about me too...I just hope that in some way God was honored - and I am thankful for a small lesson in humility.

Won, Jeannette and Steve were kind enough to swing back through Princeton so that I could pick up my car, and strangely enough the conversation turned to a discussion about medical ethics, Terry Schiavo, etc. It was a good discussion, but - almost eerily - the day seemed to come full circle and I went to bed with an unsettled feeling, dreamt even more unsettling things of which I have no recollection but which I know occurred because I just couldn't shake the feeling the next morning. I wish I could outgrow such hypersensitivity, but my mother would probably say that it's genetically impossible. As always, however, God's grace is there, anchoring my easily-swayed heart to him in the midst of truly pervasive feelings.

my daddy

My dad and me, circa 1979. Ok, I DID call my dad on Father's Day, but this post is admittedly a little tardy. My dad is one of the nicest guys you will ever meet, but can be rather goofy and sarcastic as well. He's also kinda nerdy...see the 2 pens in his pocket? Why do you need 2 pens, Dad? Well, at least he's not sporting a pocket protector.

A few reasons why I love my dad:

• He's always helpful and he knows everything. No kidding.
• He's always up for an adventure. Some of my earliest memories I have of my dad are of us just having a lot of fun together, and then of all the stories he would tell us of the crazy things he did as a kid growing up in different countries around the world. He would take us canoeing and let us sip his beer, then he would laugh when we gagged on it (which is why I still hate it to this day). He got a motorcycle when he turned 40, started a new business at 55, and is always open to new and different possibilities. He has always encouraged me to do the same, and even when I was a child he showed his trust in me by allowing me to do things that most parents would flip over.
• He has always encouraged me to be everything that I can be, to learn everything that I can learn, and he never withheld anything from me because of my gender.
  
• He has faithfully provided for me my whole life, put me through college, and is currently supporting me to get eye surgery. (And he pays for my phone bill and EZpass tolls.)
  
• He always calls me, keeps me well informed on issues, and keeps me up-to-date with all my computer needs.
  
• He has always tried to guide me while giving me my own room to make decisions...he was disappointed when I told him that didn't want to go to college right after high school, but after wrestling with the issue a bit, he let me make my own decision, and eventually came to fully support me. Now he doesn't understand why I can't seem to get OUT of school...but is always supportive of education.
  
• He may seem very calm and soft spoken, but watch out! He can really fight for you when necessary, like when I wasn't doing too well my senior year of high school but he told the school that no way was I going to summer school - instead I went over to his house and he stayed up all night to help me study for my chemistry final.
  
• He is very gracious. When I totaled my first car because I went out in the snow and ice against my mother's wishes, he came to pick me up and just gave me a big hug. And after I quit my first job after college because I hated the corporate world, he let me stay with him for an eternity while I tried to figure out what I was doing with my life.
  
• He prays for me all the time.
  

Thanks for always being a constant and faithful figure in my life, Dad. I love you!

bob-isms

Oh, I know it's been a long time since I had a good one, but I haven't really run into Bob in awhile. Well, today I saw him and asked him if he had a stud finder because I wanted to drill some holes in my ceiling. I half-expected a smart-ass comment like this, but nobody can fully anticipate a Bob-ism. His reply? "Well, I find that they don't work very well because they always point back to me."

the city of lights

Hot and humid. That's the way summer is supposed to be, with the periodic rains to cool things down. It's good to be back (it was rainy and in the 60s in Paris during most of our stay). Well, I have a stamp in my passport saying that I entered the US on June 11th, but I did not acquire any French stamps this time around, for some unknown reason...so I guess I have no proof that I was actually there. One could argue that perhaps I was actually off on some secret mission...but, no, even spies take vacations. Actually, now that I'm looking, I realize that they didn't stamp my passport on my previous visit either. Are they trying to save ink?

Anyway, it was a great trip. I've posted some fun pics below, but other highlights include just hanging out at my favorite cafe in the Latin Quarter (and being told by a random guy not to think too much), meeting Mark and Marti Mylin and their little house church, as well as meeting Michelle's friend Matt who is a student at the Sorbonne (where I hope to potentially study one day).

As far as unfortunate mishaps...well, aside from the noctobus fiasco mentioned below, Sandrine, Cathy and I all made the terrible mistake of sitting down on the metro across from a middle-aged guy with short shorts, no underwear, legs wide open. I'm scarred for life. I was also flashed by a woman running by me who was wearing a short skirt and no underwear. Please God, no more. While Sandrine and I were weaving our way through drunk kids teetering on the edge of the Seine, someone asked her for a joint, but Cathy...well, Cathy is just harassed by pigeons, and is now more afraid of them than ever.

This time around I decided to do more touristy things, so I picked up Rick Steve's travel guide, which was generally good for our needs, but I just have one question for you Mr. Steve: What ZEH 'ELL is a "DAB"?! 'Cause it sure ain't an ATM machine. Oh, and a little more explanation on how to get INTO Versailles would have been helpful (FYI: Don't wait in any lines and don't get the "day pass" - just go straight in through entrance "A" and get your tickets inside from a lady sitting in a little booth in the corner.)

perpignan

A most excellent host family - our first stop was down in the south of France, on the outskirts of Perpignan, to visit with Sandrine's family, who also gave us their apartment in Paris to use during our time there.


Though there were warnings against going into town due to some Arab/Gypsy conflicts, Cathy was determined to get her hot coco.

paris

We enjoy our petit dejeuner in Sandrine's apartment overlooking the city before heading out for the day.


Besides cheese, wine and pastries, one thing that France does well is public transport - and what is not to love about the metro? Especially when you get the starving musicians serenading you with haunting melodies (or sometimes festive tunes that take you back to a carnival a century ago) that bounce off the endless maze of underground tunnels.


A true Parisian! Cathy becomes one of many faces on the metro.


Sandrine and I are thinking hard in front of Rodin's "Gates of Hell."


Notre Dame - incidentally, the first day that Cathy and I arrived in Paris, we were so exhausted from the red-eye flight that we were dragging ourselves around from cafe to cafe, just trying to stay awake. We wound up in Notre Dame, sitting in the quiet cool, listening to gentle whispers as they swirled around the cavernous cathedral. You get the picture. I quickly fell into a slumber that I tried to conceal by remaining as upright as I possibly could, but the soft voices around me kept echoing through my head. At one point I thought I heard someone behind me talking about how they were going to prepare dinner. Someone else asked them what kind of dinner and the first voice replied, "Well, a Turkish dinner, of course." I asked Cathy for a confirmation of this, but she assured me that it was all in my head.


Souvenir shopping


Moulin Rouge


We thought we would visit a Korean (Coreen) restaurant in Paris. A bit pricey, but good, and hey, free tattoos (Cathy is sporting hers on her left arm).

olympics 2012

Despite being one of only two countries to reject the European Union's new constitution (due to the current unemployment rate of 10%, which is blamed on the EU - though some say the no-vote was specifically aimed at the current French government in retaliation against such problems), and despite the familiar train greve (strike), the French ARE excited about the potential to host the summer olympics in 2012, and are doing EVERYTHING in their power to prove it to the world. We were quite surprised to see not only the entire city lit up in Olympic colors, but an actual day of festivities, complete with mini-Olympic expositions all along the Champs Elysees.

Above: the volleyball teams prepare to face off on their sand court in the middle of the grand avenue. Below: some boys take advantage of one of the many large drinking fountains set up along the sides to keep everyone hydrated (believe it or not, they CAN be efficient when they try hard).

duc des lombards

A well-known jazz club in Paris, complete with too many people crammed into a small darkened room, smoke curling from the fingertips of the musicians, who somehow managed to each smoke a pack in between their intricate finger work. Need I say more?

The only down side was trying to figure out how to get home after the metro shut down for the night in our first and last so-called "noctobus" fiasco. Even if you can find the right one, it won't really go where they say it goes. It was utter chaos. Even the French were confused. And forget trying to get a taxi.

the hamlet at versailles

Marie Antoinette had a little hamlet built on the far side of the vast (which is a huge understatement) gardens surrounding the palace at Versailles.

She created it to be an idyllic portrait of the peasant life. Unfortunately for her, she was a bit ignorant of the squalor that 80% of the population was living in, a misunderstanding that cost her her head only a few years later during the French Revolution.

the market at boulevard grenelle

Giant green bean, anyone?


Shoes! Bewildered man looks on. (I got myself a nice pair for 10 euros, thank you very much.)

across from the trocadero cafe

Though we did NOT have the luxury of a smoke-free dinner, these pics are certified hallucination-free.

cute european cars

This is called a "Smart Car." Ophelia (my car) would feel so at home here!


Three guesses what this means...and how they feel about SUVs!

travel buddies

Our last night all together in Paris, strolling by the Seine River, across from Notre Dame Cathedral.

the french connection

I finally discovered the secret to overcoming the infamous Parisian rudeness to Americans. It's all about culture. When you walk into a shop, in their eyes, they are doing you a favor by serving you, so remember that you are indebted to them, even though you are giving them business. On top of that, French is naturally full of pleasantries: when you greet someone, you always say "good day, sir" and smile, rather than just walking in a saying, "I need this and that." When you ask for something, you always ask super nicely, saying "if you please, sir" and "I would like," and then when you leave, you always say "thank you very much, sir" and "have a good day" or "until next time!" (Kind of like the way we used to talk in English, long, long ago.) Of course, then there's the problem of Americans just walking into a place and speaking English right off the bat...don't do this. At least learn the above mentioned French phrases and then ask them, "parlez vous anglais?" They will appreciate this much more. Of course, this formula isn't fool proof, either. Some French people will hate Americans no matter what. AND, even if you do speak some French, if they detect your accent, they will automatically switch to English because generally, their English is much better than your French. But, you can always do what I do and pretend you don't understand English...then they'll be forced to help you practice your French, et voila.

paris adventure

Well, it's hard to believe my time in Paris has nearly come to a close deja, but it's true! We sent Cathy off to catch her flight today. About 5 minutes after she left, Sandrine found Cathy's entire set of keys on the floor and said to me, "Do you want to run after her, because I'm not dressed!" and I said "Neither am I!" (and if you've ever seen my hair in the morning, you know that it somewhat resembles the Eiffel Tower). Nevertheless, we couldn't leave her homeless for 2 days until I got back, so I dashed out the door, tucked in a quasi-fetal position while running as fast as I could. Bursting from the elevator when it let me out on the ground floor, I nearly ran over an elderly French lady. Fortunately, she thought it was somewhat funny as I yelled, "excusez moi!" and kept going. Rounding the corner to the front door of the apartment building, I tried to ignore the bus stopped out front, full of people gawking at me, wondering if I was really running for the bus in my condition. No sign of Cathy - hmmm, which way would she have gone to the metro? I hopped across the street, cutting off the bus and trying not to lose my slip-on shoes, shuffling at full speed around the corner. Finally, she was in sight and far enough from the metro station that I would still be able to catch her. Keys delivered, crisis averted, and whaddya know, a Parisian adventure to blog about!