Want to help Thai people who suffered the worst flood our country ever had in recent history?
Please donate to the Thai Red Cross Society. Your money will be well spent and will get to the flood victims most effectively.
You can wire the money directly with the instructions provided when you click on the main, green banner. Or choose another donation method by selecting “Donation Online” banner on the left and choose “”Relief for Disaster Victims and Disadvantaged in Rural Areas”.
I’m making this suggestion here and for everyone to spread the words around. I don’t know what Thai government has set up but I want you to consider NOT donating to them.
Then again, a lot of you already know about how donating to a government sometimes the money never reaches the intended target. In this case, sure, some of it probably will get to the people. However, there are evidence that the help being sent out the people have political agenda attached.
All I want to really say is that if you want you money to really help Thai victims of the flood, free and clear of any messages other than “THIS IS TO HELP YOU”, please donate through the Red Cross Society.
I would consider raising funds during NaNoWriMo this year toward the flood victims instead of for my mom’s scholarship fund. I think she would really like it better that way.
If you’ve been following world’s news a bit, you would have heard of the political turmoils and struggles Thailand has had for the past 5-6 years. The Red Shirts. The Yellow Shirts. This guy. And that gal. And what not. Even in our desperate hours, some people still can’t get their heads out of their asses to help their fellow citizens out of the goodness of their hearts.
The aid supplies distributed by “the government”–and some are now donated by other countries–are politically motivated. Some of the supplies for folks suffering are slapped with propaganda. But then turn around the other way and you have folks bitching about it while they’re staying safe and dry with their hoarded loot of bottled water and instant noodles.
For crying out loud, the country is going under and we’re still bickering!? If there was ever a sign from above for the country to shut the fuck up and unite, this would be it, folks.
Read the sign. Set aside the differences. Make the King, our “Father”, proud. HELP EACH OTHER.
This past Sunday last year was the last time I saw my friend Gregg healthy.
Gregg, Brandon and I went to the Los Alamitos Wings, Bolts,and Something show for a photographer day out. Gregg had said he’d been a bit under the weather but he thought going out for a nice day of walking would be good. So we walked down to the base to look at planes and classic cars.
We split up to get lunch. When I came back to see Gregg, he was holding a bottle of water in line for his food. He motioned to me to look at his hand.
His hand was shaking. Not a caffeine jitter kind of shaking. It was it’s cold out shivering kind of shaking. But it was 75F and sunny.
“Dude, I know you haven’t tweeted in about an hour, but…” I joked at first. He chuckled. “Do we need to get a paramedic?”
He shook his head and motioned me to come closer. He leaned in and spoke. His voice was coarse.
“And the weirdest thing is I lost my voice just as I ordered my food.”
“Okay. You just had your voice a second ago. You’re really worrying me now.”
“I think it’s the smoke.”
“Are you sure you’re feeling okay? We don’t have to go through this if you don’t want to.”
He waved all of that away.
“Let’s eat first, and then we’ll see,” he managed to croak out.
We blamed his not having had anything to eat earlier for the shakes and the smoke for this voice being gone for a moment. After lunch, his hands weren’t shaking too much any more, but he was still hoarse. We decided to continue on our day out.
The sky was blue. The sun was out. The temperature was just right. Lots of people but it wasn’t crowded. Well, except for the line going through the C-17. All of us took tons of photos. It was a great time.
Gregg bid farewell and promised to rest up.
As it turned out, his voice never completely returned. He thought it could be a sudden onset of laryngitis, but he continued to feel worse.
By Friday, Gregg was admitted to the hospital. Satursday was Halloween, and he was still in the hospital. Brandon and I decided to go visit him in costumes. Gregg did joke about me coming to visit in Slave Leia outfit. I thought about it but didn’t want to give anybody a heart attack. (David did point out that it would be a perfect place for anyone to have a heart attack. LOL.) So I donned my Jedi costume instead.
Looking back, boy do I regret chickening out on the Slave Leia costume.
We were told later that they had found a mass in his chest. And soon after he was formerly diagnosed with some type of rare cancer.
Gregg fought it tooth and nail. And we all went along with him on that fight. Friends and family circled around Gregg to stay with him, take him to his appointments, take care of anything he’d need. All I could do was to cook Thanksgiving feast for friends and family just in case it would be hist last. And it was.
We were there along side him all the way through when there was nothing left to do. I went to see him in the nursing home before I left for my New Zealand trip in early April. I brought him electronic drum set he could play while in bed, a throw back to our legendary Rock Band sessions at his house. I held his hand as he napped. I kissed his bald forehead goodbye, promising him to do a grand presentation of pictures from my trip when I get back, not knowing at all if I would ever see him again.
I have experienced so much in half a year than I’ve ever had in a long time. Obviously, I’ve experienced being completely and totally unemployed. I’ve experienced life as an independent contractor, working with a few clients on a few small projects; as a hired hand for any odd jobs; and as a party hostess and promoter for a product. And now as a full-time freelancer at a huge advertising firm.
I’ve always wanted to work in advertising since I made up my mind in 8th grade. I did summer internships at Ogilvy & Mathers in Bangkok the summer before college, and the following summer with Leo Burnett. I applied to any and all advertising jobs fresh out of college. But the dream veered into the dot com right before the peak of the boom and I found my true love in technology instead.
Now that my feet are in the door in an advertising firm working on tech projects, it is indeed a full circle.
This freelance gig is a huge eye opener for me for many reasons. This is my first freelance full-time contract job. This is the largest company I’ve ever worked for. This is also the most fun office I’ve been in. Well, since the dot com glory days.
It’s weird driving to work at 9:30 a.m. to a bustling office instead of shambling off the bus into an empty one a 7:30 a.m. Then again, I also never got to experience the empty 405 freeway at 2 a.m. either.
The hurry-up-and-wait, almost manic-depressive in nature, really, needs some adjusting to. I feel useless some times and I couldn’t leave my desk for a bit some other times. Never quite like that at the old gig.
It’s weird when we are encouraged to use instant messenger to talk to your colleague a few desks over when the old work place doesn’t even officially sanction Google Chat.
It’s weird not knowing everyone on your floor. But yet, there is always somebody walking around sharing donuts or cupcakes or some other food treats.
I often griped about having to dress professionally and rebelled against it with my knee socks and platform maryjanes to keep it lively. It’s weird now that I actually have to make a decision about which t-shirts to wear with my jeans. I never thought I’d be in a wardrobe dilemma when I can wear jeans everyday, but here I am. Then again, when you were getting really comfortable with your boxer shorts and fuzzy slippers working at home, putting on jeans and t-shirt seems to be a bit of a hassle. LOL
Everything is different now than what it was six months ago. Heck, it’s even different now that just a month and a half ago!
And in a month’s time from today when my contract comes up again, things may change once more.
I thought this whole experimenting with companies and career choices should’ve been wrapped up by the time you turn 30. Here I am, 2 months from turning 35, learning something new everyday and adjusting to a life completely different what I had 6 months ago. It’s definitely weird.
But when you’ve wandered around a while, you’re starting believe that you might really be lost.
Since my 6-year career at the nonprofit ended in March, I’ve been wandering in and out of small projects and side jobs, and online and in-person interviews.
I’ve wandered into the territory of full-time freelancing, puffed up with optimism and confidence. But some negative experiences with people along with what Seth Godin called “Lizard Brain”–the resistance part of your brain telling you to slow down and be careful–sent me packing.
Eventually, I return to the familiar open space of full-time job opportunities. The field is wide open–perhaps a little too wide open with too many players. In my general directions, the jobs I want are few and far between. My love for the quiet, suburban life clashes with my despise for a long commute. Some people can do it. I really just can’t.
Meanwhile, I keep passing along opportunities to friends who live in town, hoping that they’d get lucky and the good job hunting karma will come back my way.
In all of this, occasionally, I feel lost.
The wind is taken off my sail with every unanswered application and every rejection email. High hopes spun me around just to be left adrift in the middle of nowhere. When all is still like that, I would head toward he cabin to start a pity party.
But someone else seems to have a different plan for me.
Like this past week.
The phone rang. Got a short term gig for you, he said. And so I set sail.
A few days into that journey, the phone rang again. An interview. And then a chat with a recruiter. The inbox that has been devoid of any job leads coughs up a few notes.
And then my calendar pops open.
USC football season starts 2 weekends from now. Italian lessons begin a month from now. I’ve also got to get started on the TARDIS dress. My weekdays will be filled for the next month–hopefully longer, and better yet, permanently–and my Saturdays are taken up through the end of the year.
I am no longer lost.
Hell, I won’t even have time to be lost, come to think of it.
Don’t get me wrong. I have been SUPER excited about seeing Cowboys & Aliens the moment the filming was announced. I have had Daniel Craig’s butt as my wall paper since it was first available.
But as I’m sitting here watching this promo of the movie, as a fan of Joss Whedon’s Firefly series, I’m insulted and outraged by all of these people cooing about how a mash up of sci-fi and Western has NEVER BEEN DONE BEFORE.
Bitch, please.
I understand you need to sell your movie but why do you have to go and insult the intelligence of your core audience: the fanboys and fangirls?
Just because Firefly didn’t go “mainstream”, it doesn’t mean y’all can come through and claim that you’re the first who’s mashed up the genre.
I’m not saying that Firefly is first to mash up. Wikipedia documents quite a bit of history of “Space Western”. I’m just pointing out that Firefly definitely mash it up before Cowboys & Aliens.
I admire your work, Favreau, but you ain’t first.
So, be excited, fellow geeks and nerds, that Cowboys & Aliens are coming to theaters. And go out to see it as I definitely will.
But be prepared to defend the honor of Firefly universe (or even Cowboy Bebop if that’s your thing).
This is a my call to arms to all Browncoats (and even Alliance) to unite and defend our place in the geekdom.
We were first. Don’t let them tell you otherwise.
Okay, fine. If you Cowboys & Aliens camp wants to say that you mean you’re first to put aliens in the Western and THAT hasn’t been done before, maybe you could claim that. I would fact check on that though.
But please, I beg of you, to stop it with being the first mash up of western and sci-fi, okay? Not only you are embarrassing yourselves among your fanboys and fangirls, you’re beginning to damage our calm.
Speaking of having my calm damaged, someone said this to me about Cowboys & Aliens.
“This is such a ridiculous concept for a movie,” she said.
“EVERYBODY knows there were no aliens back in those days. There wasn’t even electricity!”
I’m serious.
P.S. According to sources, that Chinese phrase in the image is “Chur ni-duh”, uttered by Wash in “Out of Gas”, which is slang for screw you, get lost, or go to hell.
When I talk about belief, why do you always assume I’m talking about God?
– Shepherd Book, Serenity.
That there was a quote that launched a thousand thoughts over this Memorial Day weekend.
It started on Thursday night when I watched Serenity with some friends. As a Browncoat—fan of Joss Whedon’s Firefly series and the subsequent movie–I’ve watched this movie several times.
At the core of it was about faith, not in a religious way, but a belief in something so strong that one is willing to live by it and die for it.
A kind of faith I’ve always witnessed in my friend Nora’s quiet grace.
We were up in her family’s cabin this weekend in Big Bear. We planned to head down the mountains and into the spa on Sunday evening. Not one to miss church, Nora asked if we could drop her off at church for Saturday mass for an hour or so, knowing that I’m Buddhist and Brandon would burst into flames upon crossing the threshold.
I asked if I can accompany her and said yes, just as she’s always done.
You would ask why a Buddhist girl–given, I was educated in Catholic schools my whole life–would want to go to church where she has no business of going. Well, for one, I’m in support of my friend. And more importantly, you could say that the Spirit does move me. But only when I’m in church with Nora and her family.
Nora and her family really do go by the word of their God. Their door flung open to this cynical sort-of Buddhist at Christmas time. Their arms embrace me in their house of worship despite being of a different creed. Whatever I may be, I’m God’s creature too. And Nora, my best friend, accepts my mad, hedonistic way and puts up with—and forgives– our occasion jabs at Christianity as a whole. Bless her heart.
As I quietly watched Nora went through the motions in mass, I marveled at the strength of her faith. It is a part of her. It is who she is.
That makes me wonder about my own faith. What do I believe in, if I believe in anything at all?
For damn sure, organized religion isn’t for me.
I could call myself a lapsed Theravada Buddhist. But could one be considered a religious person if she actually disagrees and/or questions parts of the doctrine?
I was raised to be a Buddhist in a country that Buddhism is a national religion. My grandmother was definitely more religious than anyone I know. My mom was more religious than any of us in the family as my dad is more of a scientist. Some of her friends are even more so. I can’t really blame my disinterest on my generation either as some of my friends are even more religious than me. My “cousins” go to temple almost weekly with their parents while I could barely force myself into one once a year for the anniversary of my mom’s death.
I believe in Buddha’s teachings and believe that karma is real, so I’m very Buddhist in that regards. I’m a Buddhist because I believe in doing no harm unto others. I believe that what goes around comes around. I believe in the consequences of my action. I believe in moderation, taking the “Middle Path”. (Hey, I said believe in it…doesn’t mean I practice all the time!) I believe in generosity. I believe in finding happiness within myself.
What I don’t believe in is the structure of the religion itself.
Even when I was young, I always wonder why women couldn’t become monks. Why did we have to do so well in this life so we could be reborn as a guy so we could be a monk to have a better shot at nirvana? Why can’t I just do really good now and get to nirvana? Nobody can answer that for me. It’s just the way it is.
I found some research that said that women actually weren’t banned from the practices and were actually female monks back in the early days of Buddhism. Somehow through time, we were written out of the book, quite literally.
Gee, poorly transcribed and/or translated holy text handed down from generations? Why does that sound familiar?
My last straw in all of this was the sermon that was given when I went to the temple for my mom’s anniversary a few years back.
The monk was talking about how monks are our gateway to nirvana—how supporting the monks and the temple nets you more karma points than doing anything else on your own.
Are you kidding me?
Did he pretty much just say, “Yeah, you can feed the hungry on your own and it’s like putting pennies in the piggy bank. But if you feed the monks or donate money to the temple, it’s like getting your karma matched by corporate and you’ll get to your goal sooner”?
I’m sorry, Mommy, that you will not get the crap ton of good karma by way of me donating to these monks.
And since when has making karma become some kind of sports or something you expect to do? Doesn’t it defeat the purpose of doing good if you’re doing it for the reward of good karma?
That was the moment I lost my faith in organized Buddhism. And that’s why, it’s probably more appropriate to call me a Theravada Buddhism-based spiritualist.
So after all of this, what do I believe in enough to die for? What do I have faith in?
I have faith in being of service. Making someone’s day a little better, that I have faith in.
My Mater Dei’s friends and teachers are going to die of shock. LOL. My Catholic school also drilled into us the importance of service, not only to God but to the community. After all, our motto is “Serviam”—“I will serve.” Sure, in the most religious of context, it meant “I will serve God.” But you do that by serving God’s children.
But hey, kindness and compassion is also in Buddha’s teaching. That’s where it all started, I am sure. But the bottom line is the same.
It’s not just about volunteering or raising fund for the poor, to me, everything I do to help someone counts. Holding open a door or spotting someone his/her lunch. Pitch in a buck when someone is a little short. Even doling out random compliments to strangers, that ought to make his/her day.
Brandon is also a generous man. More than once he’s offered to help strangers jump-start their cars. When no one would stop to assist a bicyclist who crashed on the sidewalk, he did. And that’s why I love him.
Whatever we can do that ends in putting a smile on someone’s face, that’s what I believe in.
The Cult of the Smiley Faces? I think it has a nice ring to it.
What do you believe in?
Also a quote of Shepherd Book’s | Flickr @ Of the Fountain
