Queer Eye for the Straight Guy Reboot

I have watched the Queer Eye Reboot Season 1. I wept quietly on my couch for about half the episodes, which is the absolute best. The show chooses the most remote communities, rural enough to make me nervous that I’m about to watch five gay men get gay-bashed, but fortunately, the show has profiled subjects who are much more open-minded than they seem. (Um, I should look at my own biases, maybe.) These unassuming men receiving makeovers are humble, warm, and grateful to these five experts, and I love seeing the five experts show off their professional skills! (ahem, the representative for cooking is very cute but maybe doesn’t know much about cooking since he mostly shows people how to cut an avocado).

The episodes have been nice because it’s men taking care of these burned-out men, showing them how to care for themselves both superficially and more profoundly. I love the show for the tremendous compassion I see the cast shows for the featured man in each episode. The grooming representative, in particular, is fully himself, tossing his hair in a theatrical fashion that makes me fear for his physical safety, but I like him because he often chokes up hearing about others’ pain. My other favorites are the fashion expert (who is of English nationality and Pakistani heritage. I love him for his exceptional eye but also because he is remarkably handsome in a way you normally don’t get to see in media) and the culture coach, because that guy has been hustling with the advice because he knows “culture coach” is vague and always about to get cut. Season two, of course, is not as strong as season one. They got some interesting men, including one trans guy, but the show is more famous and the subjects were more guarded, therefore fewer opportunities for couch weeping, and without that, what is the point?

more like beyonce, less like gwyneth

I don’t really understand the point of accruing enormous wealth unless you use it to make the world better. (My personal mantra: Make the world a little less sh*tty! This motto reflects my heritage of Korean pessimism, sets the goal low, and is easy to remember!) Like how much money does one need? Stephen King in his book On Writing says that all you really need is enough money to take your family to the movies, and that makes sense to me (though publishing friends have pointed out, he is an extremely costly author to keep happy.) Sometimes, “more money, more problems.” (I learned this from Tim Gunn’s book where he complained people are always hitting him up now that he’s well known for “making it work” on “America’s Top Model”…I know that’s not his show title but “runway” was in it….”top runway,” “runaway fashion,” “runaway cakes,” I cannot remember for the life of me.)

Regarding Gwyneth Paltrow and Beyonce, here’s a case study of two enormously successful, young/approaching middle-aged entertainers who are exiting the life stage of focusing on individual achievement, entering the seventh stage of human development. This is the stage where you begin to focus outwardly onto your community. (The psychologist Erik Erikcson developed a theory that we all have eight life stages, and community is number 7. Does that make number 8 death? Just curious. Also, if you look it up, I have the life stages all wrong, but go with it for now. Maybe we can form a study group to assimilate this information on this guy’s approach and we can quote from it together.)

To that end, Beyonce has invested heavily in college education – she has a bunch of scholarships available for ladies at Historically Black Colleges, she has given a lot of cash to rescue efforts in her hometown of Houston. Her art reflects her newfound politics, or rather, she has taken her political point of view public and integrated it into her art. She really thinks about using her platform to elevate others who may not have her opportunities, and on top of all that, she and her husband are supposed to be huge funders of the Black Lives Matter movement. She is an icon of African American excellence. And even if she didn’t any of that, she just, on a basic level, just gives people so much joy from her ability to perform, dance, sing, and write (she is supposedly a musical genius, which I love. Her only flaw, in my opinion, is she has terrible taste in clothes, ha ha ha ha)

Gwyneth Paltrow has also stopped focusing on her personal achievement and turned her gaze on her community. She launched a lifestyle company that has come under fire from the medical community for selling over-priced goods that are, at best harmless and expensive tchotchkes, but other times, actually harmful to her customers. So, she has turned to her community, but she is making money off them and their envy and insecurity. (She doesn’t actually seem to me like an evil person, but someone who is misguided and does not understand how she is pursuing a highly immoral path.).

Anyway, you can read these recent pieces yourself on B and on G and make up your own mind. In the end, I don’t think profit or money is a value that can serve as a trustworthy north star. It’s totally okay to make money. It’s not okay to profit off of the suffering of others or to sell goods and services on false pretenses.

In short, be more like Beyonce, less like Gwyneth.

Wave by Sonali Deraniyagala

This summer, I read Wave because everyone in my family was getting on my last nerve. (I continually fantasized about spending time in a sensory deprivation tank where no one would ask me of anything and I was just always cranky.) Wave is the story of a 2004 tsunami that wipes out this woman’s husband, two young sons, and parents on a Christmas time vacation in Sri Lanka. It is a well-written, brutal story and I have no idea how she came out of it or actually was able to write about it. People go through so much, and somehow, they can come out the other side. She speaks frankly about the horrific accident itself, the disbelief, the despair, the nonstop drinking. She goes through a long period of being blocked by family and friends from suicide attempts. Gradually, she rebuilds her life. She starts writing, she moves to NYC from London, takes antidepressants, goes to therapy (her shrink is like the ultimate awesome Buddhist shrink Mark Epstein), and eventually, begins to write about her ordeal. Her rough draft even gets a thumbs-up on her manuscript from her Sri-Lankan literary hero Michael Ondaatje. The story doesn’t end on a happy note exactly but I was left amazed. By digesting her tragedy and all the other steps mentioned, she has begun to rebuild her life. It is absolutely staggering. Any loss or traumatic event, I think, is in your thoughts almost the entire time. I don’t know how she does it. This book is a testament to the power of therapy, meditation, Buddhism, the incredibly healing benefits of writing and the exceptionally resilient spirit of this writer, because she does not think of this book as a story of grief, but a story of love. And that, my friends, makes me want to stab myself.

meal plan for working parents

I got it. I ask subscribers to send me $60 a month and in return I send them a box of Ritz crackers to serve their children for dinner. I will also sell Ritz-inspired jewelry.

Cool? Shall we crowd-fund this?

Husband has occasionally wondered “why do you complain about cooking? I have always enjoyed it. It’s a creative outlet and you’re nurturing people.”

And I’m like, yeah, you think that way because it’s not your family job. (His is laundry. I have not really done laundry since 2010.) When you cook for five people and you put in a few hours a day in the kitchen, with a lot of effort getting rejected or if it works, the food (which I call my work) gets eaten so quickly, you don’t love it so much. Five people eat a lot, and it’s not the type of hustle that results in anything lasting….so Ritz cracker earrings? Anyone?

everything will be alright (written 2011)

When things seem impossible, those are the only words I want to hear. You know, it’s funny, whenever I run into a tough situation, I call my mom and I tell her all about it. I probably shouldn’t. My friends tells me not to. She is a worrywart and starts feeling anxious immediately. She usually says the exact last thing I want to hear — either voicing my innermost fear, focusing on all the worst possibilities, or emphasizing the most trivial point of the situation. I call her because I want the type of mom whom I can tell stuff to when I need to. Friends always warn me to keep my mouth shut, and yet, I usually don’t.

This weekend, she’s headed to Turkey. I worried.

But I tell myself that Everything Will Be Alright.

clothing (written in 2012. no longer give an f about clothing)

I really love clothes, and I love shopping for clothes. Now that I’m a mom, any shopping I do is inevitably online, but the time I spend looking through the well-lit photographs on beautiful models is still a pleasurable time. It’s all still lovely until I look at my anemic checking account balance, and the beautiful piece of clothing arrives in the mail and I try it on.

I’m not as bad as Tony Takani’s wife in this great Haruki Murakami short story who hyperventilates when she has to return a dress and I’m not a high-end clothing shopper (I’ve always preferred to be gifted at bargain-hunting than having a lot of money). Now that I have a kajillion children, it is difficult to find time to go to a physical store.

Sadly, Husband and I are going through what I call our FBT time or Fat/Broke/Tired phase. Regarding the fat, what can I say other than, people keep offering me their seat on the subway. When it happens once in a while, I can maintain a good sense of humor about it. When it happens once or twice a day? Ay caramba. Got it, World. Got your memo! But even if I didn’t get that message, the clothing I labor over choosing says the same thing. Because the thing about clothing — it’s designed for people with waists. Oh, I suppose you can wear willowy dresses and tops, but even those are really for tiny people. Like the wind blows the fabric against the body, revealing all, so if you’re skinny, you’re like, “Oh, I accidentally showed you my slender body” etc. etc. If you’re a bit chunkier, you’re like “I swear I’m not expecting…anything.”

I have a closet full of clothing for a life I don’t lead. It’s like I think I’m in the Great Gatsby or something. My real life is time in the office and pieces where spit-up has a chance to be camouflaged.

Anyway, I found this delightful art project by Sarah Lazarovic who painted pictures of expensive items of clothing that made heart go faster, in an attempt to not buy them. I tried to do the same thing, a journal of sketches and words about outfits I loved. I only got one done before I ditched.

sick day (from 2008)

So I finally succumbed to my three-week cold and stayed home, and welcomed Mom and Dad, since they were both home sick too. Mom happily ensconced herself on my couch in front of her Korean soaps we DVR’d for her (she digs this contemporary one where all the handsome men have metrosexual hair and the characters go on for inordinate amounts on mundane things like the nature of sleeping pills or how to best take care of a pet bird, in between family and class clashes) while my father cleaned my kitchen.

It was great to have the company, as I hate staying inside all day. As I was having one of my coughing fits, Mom rubbed my back, just like the good old days of childhood, and gently said, “You know, you’re really getting old,” which only made me choke more b/c I know who to turn to when I need a pep talk. I think the only thing she says that’s funnier is when she practices her words from Spanish class on me. Like she’ll call, and just count to twenty-six in Spanish with her Korean accent. It’s pretty awesome.

By the time they left, I was still a cough-a-holic, but passed a few hours quite amicably in their company and my kitchen looks fabulous.

swish (written in 2011)

You know, there’s a point in pregnancy, when you flip to your side while lying down, where there’s like a two-second delay for the rest of my innards to catch up. It’s such a weird feeling.

working moms (written in 2011)

More intelligent people with access to mad stats have written much on this topic, but I think the lack of women in the upper ranks in law, finance, and film, among other places can’t just be in part due to unfriendly attitudes to ladies — I think we lose female talent because they are the ones who have babies. (This is not to pooh-pooh workplace sexism, because I believe that stuff is still present…as is workplace racism. Oh, the comments I could share! They are delightful.)

Once a woman decides to have a child, it is extremely difficult to climb corporate ladder like a monkey on Aderall. Children demand your time, mental real estate, help, consciousness, imagination. The housework alone that comes with a kid is mind-boggling, so unless you are outsourcing your childrearing, I don’t know that one can put in the minimal 60-plus hour work week and travel demands of the upper crusty gigs around these parts. Higher-rung gigs means long meetings leading to Numb Bum, travel, politics – none of which are my favorite.

I actually need to work — not just for the money, but for the structure, intellectual stimulation, adult time, hours outside the family, house, etc. Of course, children can be a source of tremendous delight, but how many games of peek-a-boo do you have in your day