Tina's ProcrastiNation Palace

I was listening to the Las Culturistas podcast. The hosts Bowen Yang and Matt Rogers introduced Stephanie Hsu, the actress who played the daughter in “Everything Everywhere All at Once.”
Turns out they all went to NYU together and so had a very intimate talk, not a simple Q & A, and they were talking about their drama teacher Elizabeth Swados, who they credited for giving them permission and for pushing them into emotional spaces with each other they did not realize was possible. How exciting it was then and how strange and difficult it’s been to preserve and negotiate space for that artistic sensibility into their professional lives.
Their talk reminded me of that time in my youth when I first studied acting, how exciting it was to perform in ways you didn’t think were possible; demonstrating and proving to yourself you are capable of more than you realized. I was talking to Husband that it was probably my favorite time in acting – the beginning, heady days of discovery and excitement over unknown possibilities yet to come.

So anyway, this teacher, they said, taught and encouraged them to perform from a place of limitlessness — that really struck me. I live in a very limited way with a very limited perspective – I think constantly on how to shrink my workload, needs, thoughts within the parameters of the demands of the day, and my dreams have become very small. My thoughts mostly circle around to-do lists. I don’t remember when this started, but I live tempering m capacity for joy and happiness, to feel big feelings, and to think large, landscape-size thoughts. What the fuck happened. I think it developed out of a desire to protect myself from…disappointment maybe? Anyway, it got me thinking. How and what if I returned to the limitless mindset? What if I start to explore how to be free within the confines of my day and situations? That would lead to a very different kind of life.

I have a cat. Let’s not make a big thing about it. It happened. I didn’t plan to have a cat, but one of the kids (Wonder Twin Girl) and Husband really love animals. The boys do too, and I am adamantly separate from any instinct that would lead me to interact with another species.

But we have mice. Though Wonder Twin Girl actually wants a dog, she said she’d compromise so this cat joins us, and now, I have another creature to clean up after, feed, etc. The cat is quite skittish, given her Oliver Twist past, and hides most of the time. The mice run free. I think the kids are disappointed about not being able to pet the cat much, never mind hold her, but it’s just fine with me. You go you way, and I will go mine. We mind our business. Husband said “I’m concerned you’re not opening your heart to the cat.”

Jesus. I mean, I purchase the cat supplies and do the aforementioned cleaning and feeding. That’s all you’re going to get from me. That’s how I’m showing my “love.” I don’t have any desire to interact. And also, by the way, what I do give is significant. At the end of the day, after a day in the office and housework, I end the night by CLEANING OUT THE LITTER BOX. Do you think that’s what I want to be doing? No, of course not. Do you know how bad Meow Mix SMELLS? (On a side note, the woman who was sheltering the cat does this as a volunteer, spent $4,000 on medical bills for the cat, and gave it only organic food. When she came to our apartment for a home visit, Husband said he had to talk her off a ledge when she thought I had bought Fancy Feast, which is apparently the McDonald’s of cat food. I caved and got the organic stuff, but Cat got tired of it. Fancy Feast is back in full force. Also, quite gross smelling.)

However, I will admit, there have been some changes. Cat has stopped hiding and now will nap in the middle of the hallway. She lets the kids pet her. I have to say, sometimes, she looks pretty cute when she falls asleep with her paws folded at the wrist beneath her chin. She caught a mouse a week ago and the song “Crazy in Love” by Beyonce played in my head. When I rake the litter box, it doesn’t bother me as much. Sometimes, I might even think “it’s like a zen rock garden in a way.” And this Xmas, when I bought everyone a chocolate advent calendar at Trader Joe’s, I also bought one for the cat treat advent calendar. (I have lost it. The cat doesn’t understand holidays or advent calendars, my god, if anywhere my money didn’t matter, this is it.)

But I draw the line at petting or interacting. Let us peacefully co-exist in our shared space. Wonder Twin Girl is not really satiated with a cat. She’s been listing “dog” on all her wish lists. To which I say, “what about the cat?”

Who knows. Maybe we will get a dog too…and I’ll just find a nice pied-de-terre studio right by the park to live in.

PS I got to find that great image of Smashing Pumpkins’ Billy Corgan with his cats! What happened there!

I just wrapped a book draft. It’s not done, but I cracked what I wanted to say and I’m trying to find an agent now. If it gets picked up, it will be written at least five times more so I don’t want to get so attached to a particular version of it. Enough is there now that an agent can see if they love it and will fight for it.

But for me, I’m just lost. This book was my pandemic best friend. I poured my grief about my dad into it, I answered perennial life questions with it, and now that it’s done, I’m just floating. A funny thing happened during the pandemic. I stopped looking for solace in other people. I still have friends, and I enjoy and love them, but I guess I need them differently. It’s now a toss up on whether I want to spend Saturday night with my computer or a human.

I am now blogging so that at least I’m writing. I know it’s going to take time to develop something complex enough for me to have a love affair. (I kept sneaking out of the house to spend time with this previous book).

I don’t even know if I can get it published or if it’s even that “good,” but it doesn’t fucking matter. I loved this book. It helped me so much and now it’s over 🙁

After I caught Husband weeping at the end of “38 Madison,” an HBO short film on Jeremy Lin and what he meant to the Asian American community, I didn’t watch. After listening to Larry Wilmore wax poetic about not only the exceptionalism of his game but the tremendous racism this kid faced, I tuned in. I too wept. I remember Jeremy Lin’s spectacular run with the Knicks — it was ten years ago. It got me through my pregnancy with Wonder Twins. (I have blogged extensively about that time. I think I even did an obnoxious post, crediting the two men who were supporting me — Husband and Jeremy Lin.)

To me, someone who does not speak Sports Ball, Jeremy Lin’s spectacular run with the Knicks seemed like magical realism. He did well enough that even I could appreciate the tremendous athleticism on display. It seemed like he came out of nowhere. The media coined him a Cinderella story, and I think he was signed with the Raptors, and I never thought of him again.

This documentary goes through his seemingly meteoric rise and made me rethink how I see his success. Honestly, Larry Wilmore’s thoughtful, intelligent commentary also makes me see the story entirely differently. This was not necessarily a Cinderella story. The kid was working out like crazy and drilling himself all the time to get himself to an elite level. We didn’t know about him because no one let him play. he was the top pick in high school in California, and no one had scouted him. Don’t ask me to quote basketball statistics — but let me say, he is exceptional, yet didn’t get picked up. What is that about? Larry Wilmore thinks it’s racism that’s so entrenched — we are not accustomed to seeing elite Asian basketball players, that despite the evidence, Jeremy Lin did not compute. His run with the Knicks was not a fluke. He was capable of such greatness the entire time. He was just never given the chance.

I remember the joy Jeremy Lin gave Spike Lee — and I was like dude, I don’t know what makes me happier — Jeremy Lin, or Spike Lee’s reaction to Jeremy Lin. Spike Lee spoke with disappointment with Jeremy Lin’s decision to leave the Knicks, and I bought it. Now I understand that it was the Knick who didn’t decide to keep this kid — despite the hype he brought to the team and his incredible talent. How does that feel? When you have indisputable evidence of your greatness, and you still don’t get the job, but they frame it that it was actually your decision? Ay caramba.

The Larry Wilmore podcast also made me think of not only the racism people face but the racism they internalize and how they limit themselves, that it’s funny people’s reaction to “white privilege” is that of capitalism — “I didn’t grow up with money.” His point is no peeps, it’s about you’re allowed to be your full self; minorities are not even permitted to dream of a life beyond certain parameters. This whole old-school approach of raising kids to do well academically and not explore outside interests is from a scarcity mindset — this is your lane. This is where you can thrive and nowhere else.

It really makes me think about how I was raised and how I’m raising my children. (New flash: my mom and I are clashing over my management of my children’s academics. No surprise there.) When I encounter parents who are obsessed with “the right schools” and are focused on Ivy League-or-bust, it strikes me as old-fashioned. It’s also such a way of life that focuses only on the future. If you only focus on the future, you will never be happy now, and these children — they’re actually alive right now. I can see it in my kids — they’re already up and down, find school and conformity a drudgery. I mean, none of us can raise snowflakes. It’s the real world, dude. But I can offer them a mix of living for the future and living for now. Maybe my beef with the old-school way of raising children is that the dreams are too small. Dream bigger.

I’m working in a coffee shop today, and I have to tell you, it is shocking how many people order drinks with oat milk. Is it that good? This is seriously like the new almond milk.

Also, the owner is going through chemo. 🙁
Also, some people come to coffee shops to work and talk, and don’t seem to realize that’s not my bag

Deep thoughts.

I have noticed “LOL” is like the new way office people express passive aggressive thoughts. It’s either they’re really mad and they add “lol” to soften the message. Or they really want to challenge you directly so they ask a blunt question like “What the hell is going on with this project? lol” “As established by my previous email, which I’ve attached for your convenience, we’ve already concluded this matter.”

The ultimate act of aggression and “I told you so” is when someone forwards an email you missed and cc’s everyone and their mother.

It’s modern warfare! And it’s fascinating.

I cannot overstate how much I am sick of housework. There are several hours of it to take care of on a daily basis and it never seems to make a dent. Of course, the food and laundry stuff is priority. The rest falls by the waist side (is that the saying?), but the basics of shopping/cooking/cleaning up so the mice don’t enjoy an all-you-can-eat buffet take a few hours a day.

A friend told me about thinking about time as a budget — hopefully, you get about 8 hours of sleep, then you have to work 9 hours at least (more like 10-15 currently), then you have about 2 to 4 hours a day of housework, which leaves you with…three hours a day to do what…An hour to tuck in kids and maybe hang with them? An hour to hang with hubs? An hour to lie on the couch and wonder WTH as you stare a teetering pile of board games, laundry, and miscellaneous mysteries on the floor?

No more housework. Housework is banned. It is not inspiring. I will do the bare minimum, which is time-consuming enough, but I’m going on strike.

Oh my god, Wonder Boy Twin told me that my dad used to sneak candy into his hand.

My dad has always loved children, and even handicapped, etc. towards the end, you still tell he possessed an incredibly impish spirit. Loved to joke and lit up whenever children were around. He kept candy in all jacket pockets, and when I’d come see my parents, while my mom was yammering about some kind of life course correction requests, he would shake my hand and walk away. When he shook my hand, he passed a candy. It was so funny because I could be over 40 and he still did it to me. “Don’t tell mom,” he’d whisper along with the pass.

I told Wonder Twin Boy this whole history and he informed me my dad said the same exact thing to him — “Don’t tell Mom.”

Now, I think it’s rude. Ha ha ha.

Just kidding.

You can’t change an act that works this far into the performance.

Do you ever get over missing someone? Do you ever get over loss? Does the heartbreak go away? Asking for a friend.

The first time I went to Palm Springs, CA was to go to the Palm Springs Film Festival, which was organized by someone I did an indie movie starring very famous people. Like Marissa Berenson was the lead, and the guy playing her husband was in “The Truman Show” as Jim Carrey’s dad and shushed me when I said I didn’t like Laura Linney’s hyper-articulated acting style. (He said she was so lovely. And I didn’t like her acting at the time of “the Truman Show,” but I am freaking obsessed with her now. Have you seen her Lady MacBeth turn in ” Ozarks”? Please. Like she does have this weird, stylized way of talking, but man, does she connect with her material. I bow down.) I was the maid having an affair with this white guy I just mentioned, and this film festival founder was like Marissa’s therapist or something in the film. Man, I had no idea how famous these people were. I was just bopping around my own business, going to wardrobe, getting weird like dust applied to my eyelashes to give the mascara more real estate to land upon, looking quizzically at the camera dude who said “Wow, Korean people are so pretty!” (like what was that? Was that flirting? Should I have tried to “get with that”? Humans are sometimes totally perplexing to me.)

This Palm Springs guy said “oh you should come out to the festival!” I don’t think he meant it. It was just like a nice thing to say to someone, but that year, I had broken up with my boyfriend of four years, whom I had loved for so long, since high school. So I decided, yes, I should go. I shaped like a post-breakup, independent woman itinerary. Yeah! Look how bad ass I am! I booked a flight, hotel. Headed to the West Coast on my own. First part of the trip, Palm Springs, me alone; then later in the week, an old college friend, whom I used to be close to who then had become weird towards me, was going to visit with her boyfriend.

It was a terrible idea. I don’t like to drive, so I bought tickets to films and went alone. The only people who walked were homeless people and people who were out jogging. I’d get to films, the only one who arrived by foot, sweaty. Then I’d walk back to the hotel and cry. I was so desperately lonely. I had not known that’s how I would feel post-breakup. I hadn’t experience many relationships. I’d call my poor parents at night and weep and say how lonely I was, and they were upset with their helplessness.

But then things got easier. The film festival owner was a very kind man. He and his wife kind of took me under their wing, on what was probably the most insanely busy week of their year. I got tickets to the festival’s like most exclusive pic, a lesbian love story called “Aimee and Jaguar” and the festival guy’s wife drove me. I just took the kindness for granted, as a young, inexperienced person would. But when I look back on it now, I so greatly appreciate their kindness. Humans can be so incredibly lovely at times.

The last bit of my trip, my old college friend came to visit. Things had not warmed between us necessarily, but she enjoyed making fun of her boyfriend (now her husband). I remember how he would drive us to movies but in order to get the most affordable (free) parking spot, he had kept a bike in the trunk. He’d drop us off and pick us up, but bike to his car. She has since married him and had four children, and by all social media accounts, seems fine. We were so close freshman year and then she had to leave because of a medical condition. She was distant when she returned and we never returned to that closeness.

Anyway, tonight, I remembered that intense loneliness I had felt as a young person, and though sometimes when you’re young adult, you don’t want the comfort of your parents, I called them anyway. It didn’t comfort me at the time, but tonight, I recall that time with great fondness for the people all three of us were.