Deodorant

I don't glisten, I sweat.  Like an athlete, sometimes, even though I'm not one.  When I first started to purchase antiperspirant/deodorant for myself ( I don't count that first yucky baby powder-scented trial size of Secret all us fifth-grade girls got in our Puberty 101 class) I picked out one of the Adidas kind.  It was amazing and smelled cool, crisp, and clean-- like soap, but better.  I think it was called "arctic fresh" or "mountain breeze".  Alas, one day I went to my local CVS and there were no Adidas deodorants to be found.  I was devastated.  That sounds like a hyperbole, I know, but I was very fond of that product and to have it taken away from me without warning made me very unhappy.  How could they do this to me?  My one true love, the one inanimate object that would never let me down!  Ah, but I survived and moved on.

Over the years I have tried various other brands, and currently I am in possession of four sticks of antiperspirant/deodorant.  Why four?  Well, why not.  It's nice to have options, and deodorant isn't as expensive as scented body lotions or perfumes. My favorite of the lot is my small Degree for men invisible stick antiperspirant and deodorant in cool rush.  It smells cool, clean, and just a little spicy.  I don't use it to stop from sweating so much as for its scent, and sometimes I'll just apply it to my underarms when I have to go out and I either don't have enough time to shower or I'm just too lazy to bother.  The other two are Degree for women in Pure Satin and Dove for women in the original clean scent.  You know how pregnant women have weird, strong cravings and sometimes can't stand even the smell of a certain food?  I think premenopausal women are like that, too; my female friends and I crave certain foods depending on the week in the month, depending on our hormone levels.  Most of the time I favor my Degree for men, but sometimes I just can't stand the way it smells and that's when I reach for one of the other deodorants.  Both have soft, slightly floral scents (most female-oriented body products smell this way) and sometimes they smell better to me.  Or sometimes I don't want to smell like anything at all, and I reach for my fourth stick of deodorant, which is Secret's pH balanced unscented deodorant.

But sometimes I use that deodorant on somewhere other than my armpits.  In the summer I'll rub some on my inner thighs, á la Pauly Bleeker from the movie "Juno" so that it's not so uncomfortable when the rub against each other:



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End of summer

Right before Memorial Day I posted a list of five resolutions that I wanted to accomplish by the unofficial end of summer, or today.  They were moderately challenging but doable.  I felt optimistic, realistic about the goals...

I forgot three out of five of them.  Oops.

I have technically read more than four books, and if you spread out the miles I've biked this summer it'd average to about two miles each week. But I didn't even touch my clarinet this summer and I think once or twice I played around on my guitar and attempted to look up tabs for Dream a Little Dream of Me but couldn't find play all the chords in the few versions I found.  And I'm too ashamed to even attempt to do 20 pushups in one minute.

But-- I've decided to challenge myself again, with the similar goals.  Except the one about biking once a week, as that will get very difficult.  I resolve to:
1.  Practise an instrument once a week
2.  Read four books (includes graphic novels, classic children's books)
3.  Do 20 push-ups in a minute
4.  Take a break from the computer every 45 minutes

These goals apply until December 18th.  That last one doesn't really correspond to any of my previous resolutions but I figured I should throw that in there to remind myself.  It's embarassing the amount of times I've realized that I've sat in front of my computer for hours, just visually-digesting God knows how much actual Important Information and complete drivel.

I'm thinking of a book...

I’m thinking of a popular book, one that was recently adapted into a movie.  It is set in the South around the 60’s and features a young white female protagonist who forms a strong and loving relationship with older black females.  No, it’s not The Help; I’m referring to The Secret Life of Bees.

There should be more words for "rain"

Types of rain (as encountered in New England):

1. Movie rain; or, rain that comes suddenly and unexpectedly, usually while there's been sun out for some time.  Goes away quickly, dries quickly.

2. Summer rain; creates intolerably humid whether, is precipitated by thick ominous grey clouds, comes with thick drops that stick to your clothes and skin.  Falls in sheets.  Leaves an earthy, pungent odor after it passes.

3. Wimpy rain; rain that falls to the ground the way urine might piddle out of a frightened puppy.

4. Thunderstorm rain; a subset of summer rain but falls more heavily and is accompanied by thunder and lightening.  This is my favorite kind of rain

5.  Spring rain; very cold, drizzly.  Falls carelessly. 

6.  Freezing rain; or, winter rain, which occurs when it's not quite cold and dry enough to make snow. Colder than spring rain, chills you to the bone.

My summer sandwich

I bled for this sandwich.  While I was shredding the carrots with a mandolin, the base of my thumb got snagged on the teeth.  Three days later I still have five little parallel marks to commemorate one darn tasty lunch.

Ingredients:

Two slices of bread, toasted if you plan to eat it later, untoasted if you plan to eat it immediately after sandwich is constructed

One medium-sized carrot, shredded

3 tablespoons hommus (my favorite kind is garlic hommus)

One large leaf of Romaine lettuce, cut in half

3 tablespoons of your favorite shredded cheese (I think I used a pizza blend with mozzerella and asiago and two other ones I can’t remember)

Optional: one teaspoon of your favorite mustard

1. Spread a thin layer of hommus on each slice of bread (1.5 tablespoons on each side)
2. Pat the shredded carrot onto one slice
3. Put the lettuce on the freshly-carroted slice
4. Pat the shredded cheese onto the other slice
5. Drizzle mustard over that
6. Sprinkle the green onion over that
7. Unite the two slices of bread

Eat sandwich when ready.

Hair, part I

http://www.nataliedee.com/

I will grow out the hair on my head.
Not because I think that having longer hair will make me look more traditionally feminine (which it will).
Not because I think it'll look nice (it won't).
Not because I think it's practical (especially during the summer, in the middle of a heat wave).
But because I want to.
Because I'm curious to see how long I can stand my hair to be before I go crazy.
Because my hair has never grown much past my shoulders.
Because I want to test my patience.
Because I will be able to style it in more and different ways.
Because I can, I will grow out the hair on my head.

July the Fourth be with you

I wonder how the rest of the world feels about America and its/our Independence day (or "independence" day) celebrations.  Probably something like this?

It's so easy to be cynical about the state of the union nowadays, isn't it?  But it doesn't hurt to spend just one day of the year to appreciate the positive positive aspects of this country.  God bless America indeed.

I Heart Carbs



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 http://www.nataliedee.com/
Twice or thrice I've given up bread for Lent (going with the whole "man does not live on bread alone" thing).  I allowed myself crackers, pita wraps and lavash rolls; I disallowed anything else leavened, in the Jewish Passover sense.  On top of this I am vegetarian, and what got me the most was having to give up pizza and sandwiches.  But I survived.

Today I visited my local megamarket and I feel like I melted as I approached the bakery section and got a whiff of some of the paper bagged-breads.  Oh, carbohydratey goodness!  Why did I ever forsake thee?  The smell of baked goods is more tantalizing to me than any other food; it's a scent of home, of safety, of warmth and love.  If I had to choose between cooking and baking I'd choose the latter, not because I'm better at baking but that it evokes in me a greater sense of heartiness and, well, magic.  When cooking on a stove the food changes right before my eyes, but when it comes to baking I put in a pale and tentative-looking object into the oven and it emerges as a golden-brown and delicious product.  There are few things as satisfying as the pow of hot, scented air that hits my face when I pry open the oven door for a peek at how the food's progressing.

Baking is slightly less satisfying during the summer, when so many different attempts are made at keeping the house cool.  I've heard good things about grilled pizza and hope to try that out soon-- maybe this weekend.  But I'm definitely going to continue baking throughout the year; maybe I'll get daring enough to make my own baked good recipe.

Halfway there!

Well looky-here, I'm halfway through the year!  I think I've done a good job in delivering quantity over quality, and I'm slightly surprised that I've persevered and lasted this long.  I wouldn't say that writing daily has become a habit or a compulsion, as some days I really have to force myself to think and to write.  But some days I do look forward to writing about something that happened to me or something that's been marinating in my brain. 

Improvements/adjustments for the second half of this year:
1) Rely less on random YouTube videos or movies for inspiration/filler for days when I'm uninspired to write
2) Use more GIFs
3) Proofread my posts more than once before publishing

The ever-growing booklist...

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My booklist is growing every day, with each "Summer Reading List" featured in the many websites I check on my daily cycle of sites (my "vitals").  I'm very excited by each new book I add to my list, but it's unrealistic that I'll actually get around to reading all of these this summer (before Labor Day), or this year, or in my lifetime.

Without further ado, the list (in the order I plan to read them):
1. Lolita by Vladimir Nabokov (currently reading)
2. The Illustrated A Brief History of Time/The Universe in a Nutshell by Stephen Hawking
3. The Handmaid's Tale by Margaret Atwood
4. Black Boy by Richard Wright
5. Marched by Ally Condie
6. Delusions of Gender by Cordelia Fine
7. The Curfew by Jesse Bell
8. Nom de Plume: A (Secret) History of Pseudonyms by Carmela Ciuraru

I'm certain of the order of the first four books, but that of the last four is subject to change.  There are thirteen other books in my regular booklist, but these are the ones I've "curated" for this summer.  We'll see how this goes; as far as promises/commitments to myself I've been pretty good, actually.

Acabo de pensar de esto la semana pasada

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Estaba hablando con una amiga quien me dijó de cómo pidió su novio una hamburgesa: queso extra, sin lechuga, sin tomate, con salsa de tomate.  A él le gusta el tomate pero no lo comerá si lo mezcla con otra comida, pero le gusta el sabor de la salsa de tomate.  Este me confunde; me gusta ambos tipos de tomate.  Algo que me encanta sobre el verano es la variedad de tomates que puedo comprar, en varias tamaños, colores y sabores.  Ahorita mi especie favorito es el tomate bistec: es enorme y sabroso.

Estaba leyendo este artículo sobre el tomate, y cómo se cultivan y cosechan tomates hoy en dia para mantener su color, su aparencia de sabor y ya no tiene ningun sabor.  Es una lástima, es este problema.  En otras estaciones encuentro este problema, de comprar la "manzana de amor" y comerlo y me aburre la lengua.  Pues, es probable que la rebanada de tomate que casi era comido del novio de mi amiga tuviera ningún sabor, y si lo tuviera, ahogara del sabor del salsa de tomate.  Quizás este explique por qúe tanta gente come el tomate en este forma, en la forma líquida: porque es más interesante que la tomate fresca...y es más barato.

If today were a song...

... it'd be this one



I have no idea what she's saying, and I'm not even sure what language it is.  It's the tone, the mood of the song that really do it for me.  Where I live it's been cloudy all day, ranging from drizzly to heavy-- not a miserable day, but one that encourages thoughful reflection in the dry indoors.

I take it all back, I do not hate summer

I had a kiwi for dessert today and ohmygoodnessitwasdelicious.  I didn't feel like eating it with the peel this time around, and as I was peeling it I had its green juice dribble down from my wrist to my elbow.  Oh how I was tempted to like it! But, as we all know, it is impossible to like your own elbow.  Okay, maybe unless you're Gene Simmons.  Mmh, but it took more time to peel than to eat; I must've finished it in three bites. For most of this year a great bulk of my fruit consumption was in the form of canned peaches-- which I love-- and now finally, FINALLY there's an abundance of fresh fruit to be had.  And farmer's markets, with fresh local produce; ah, it'll be nice to eat a tomato that actually tastes like one rather than just simply looking the part and offering very little excitement for my taste buds.

Yesterday I made pizza dough (I've been really into baking lately) and had to make the very difficult decision of figuring out what to do with it.  Make pizza? Or focaccia, as I did last week? Or prepare it to stuff, roll and bake tomorrow morning as sticky buns? Oh, the difficult decisions that I am faced with in the summertime...

Casi insoportable

I know, I know, the weather's your typical safe, boring conversation topic, but here in New England the weather's always changing, always a genuine topic of interest.  Last night the weathermen were threatening that we'd hit up to 100 degrees Fahrenheit up here; thankfully it's only in the mid 90s (<-- HA!  After an almost record-breaking amount of snow and unusually long winter it's amusing to think that I actually typed that sentence).  The heat and humidity are casi insoportable-- almost unbearable.  I say almost because I don't mean to employ the 'hyperbole by youth' by bemoaning the current weather conditions as "like, the worst thing everrrrrrrr, amiright?"; I'm sure somewhere it's got to be worse out.  Somewhere out there.

Still, I have to admit that I really dig thunderstorms; they can be really spiritual.  I don't mean this in the obvious, cleansing sense of 'washing away sins' or anything like that, but just the fact that weather can be so powerful and electric, and the sense that this experience is being shared with you  by countless other people.  As humankind we've tamed rivers by building dams, harnessed wind and solar power; we've been able to clone animals and genetically alter plants to be sweeter and aesthetically pleasing-- and yet we can't control the weather.

Mellow yellow

I think my skin is naturally a bit dark, as far as Koreans go.  My skin does tan but I never intentionally tan, as I'm happy with the color of my skin as it is.  I wear sunblock but I'm not very attentive with it; if I get tan lines I get tan lines, and I've only ever gotten sunburn twice in my life.

I have very yellow skin.  Sometimes I feel that I don't tan so much as I get a deeper brown-yellow tone.  Generally I don't mind my yellowness in the literal sense.  I like that I have a warm skin tone.  I don't like pastels (spring tones) and look terribly jaundice and sickly when I wear any soft, creamy color.  I only started to notice this in high school; funny that it was then that I began to be more attentive to color in the literal and figurative sense.

Character sketch: Juror No. 9

This character needs no pseudonym; memorable as she was, I don't think I ever learned her name.

As juror (gah, what a difficult word to pronounce; it's like "flirt" or "nurse" in that it sounds basically the same without vowels) number 8 I sat at the beginning of the second row, with no one on my right and juror 9 on my right. Oh my goodness, where to begin...I'll start with her feet.  They were bulbous, dry and crusty; I distinctly remember juror 10 commenting that they looked like they belonged to a pterodactyl, and that description and image have stuck in my head forever.  I had jury duty in the summertime so of course the climate in the courtroom was set to "arctic shill", yet she wore sandals to court and always took them off when we were in session.  Sometimes they'd point at the juror 10, sometimes at me.  They were enormous in proportion to her height. Thank God they didn't smell, they were creepy enough already. 

To add to that, she had the distinct raspy voice of a pack-a-day smoker, and asked if she could go out for a smoke during our breaks.  Her request was denied.  She took it well, though, and merely shrugged her boulder-like shoulders so that they brushed her frizzy mousy-brown bob. "Can't win 'em all," she muttered colloquially to no one in particular.

I know a lot about being perpetually late.  I'm terrible with time management and I think the only event I ever came to ahead of schedule was for my birth (by two weeks-- 336 hours; I think if you added up all the minutes I've been late for something in my life, it probably adds up to something like that amount).  But for the four days that I had to show up for jury duty I made sure to come early, if not on time.  I had been 18 for 6 months and was the youngest juror; I didn't want to lose respect by acting the Negligent and Careless Teenager.  Instead it was juror 9 who was always the last one in, and was always 5-10 minutes late in the morning and for returning from lunch breaks. 

As easy as it is to riducule her for living in her own world and caring little for what people thought of her, I have to admire her a little bit for that.  I still think that she should've acted with more tact in light of the situation we were in.  It annoyed me, how she spoke so casually with everyone despite the fact that we were basically total strangers who didn't care about each other past reaching a verdict (and almost everyone made remarks about her when she wasn't around).  Even if we said disparaging remarks to her face I don't think she'd give a hoot.  Annoying, but admirable.

Things That Drive Me Batty, part II

If I ever got a one-off from behaving properly I would probably take that chance to stand outside a tanning salon and punch people as they come out, fresh from their tanning session.  It's mostly the tanning beds that I rail against, and I completely support any and all efforts to ban them.  Too many people-- especially young women-- have been diagnosed with skin cancer and malignant tumors and it makes me sick to think that this type of disease is one of the most easily preventable.  Lying in a tanning bed is so much more UV exposure than just spending a summer day at the beach without wearing sunscreen. Gah! And for what?  For skin that is temporarily darker, for the fleeting opportunity to look slightly slimmer or whatever.  And I doubt that it's cheap.  And in the long run these same people will be shelling out loads more money to counteract the wrinkles and age spots they wrought because their excessive exposure to skin-toasting treatments have sped up the aging process of their skin!  I feel myself launching onto the broader issue of The Beauty Myth, a topic for another day and time... I have only slightly less acerbic feelings toward spray tanning.  But mostly I take umbradge in the use--nay, the existence of tanning beds and the salons that own them.

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Scar stories: Right knee

It was the first day of camp during the summer of '96. My family had just moved to a different town and I knew absolutely no one at that camp. I was nervous about navigating through my new surroundings, but everyone was really nice and I instantly hit it off with a handful of girls in my group.

Of course I had a good time. That first day of camp was long but full of excitement. There was an outdoor pool! We made boondoggle keychains! We inspected each others tongues after eating popsicles! Every activity seemed fun and new, and I already couldn't wait to come back tomorrow and do it all over again.

When camp was over we were allowed to either stay in the gymnasium or play in the playground until someone picked us up. Obviously my friends and I (of course we were all already friends by then) opted to play in the playground. The new (well, new to me) playground, which was infinitely better than the tiny one at my old school. It had a bigger slide, a merry-go-round, three seesaws, rubber bottom AND plastic flat-bottomed swings and plenty of space to run around. Truly, a wonderous sight to behold. I had to go on everything and do it quickly, before one of my parents showed up.

I never liked anything that involved lots of spinning; I hate getting dizzy, and get car-sick easily. Still, I figured that I'd give the merry-go-round a go, since I'd never been on one, and I would make sure not to go too fast. But I hadn't considered my new friends' feelings about spinniness. While running to push the wheel around I felt like I'd be fine, but once I jumped onto the platform I realized we were going fast. Too fast for my liking. I lowered my outside leg to the ground, thinking I could slow us down by dragging my foot in the ground. Somehow I lost grip and found myself flying off, my right knee scraping against the ground.

I thought I was okay. My palms and forearms burned from impact, but weren't scratched. My knee, though... it hurt. It was covered in dirt, so I spat on my right knee and rubbed at it with my fingers and revealed a thumbprint-sized wound, bleeding thickly around the edges. Then a counselor called my name, and I collected my backpack and hurried toward my mother.

We headed to the camp nurse's office, where my knee was cleaned, iodined, gauzed and bandaged. I wouldn't be able to go swimming for a few days and would have to change the bandage regularly, but I'd be okay and still able to enjoy my time at the camp. The next day I learned the word "gangrene", and of course I showed all my friends what had happened to me. We boycotted the merry-go-round for the rest of the camp session.

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