On cats

So I was walking towards the check-out line at Safeway today, when suddenly I slipped and did this awkward spinning thing, complete with flailing arms. As a bit of background, I’m wearing these semi-new shoes, the soles of which are quite slippery. After I regained my balance, I did a nervous-yet-casual 360-degree glance around the room to see if anybody was pointing and laughing. There was a woman standing behind me in the check-out line who clearly saw the whole thing, but she offered no acknowledgment. This struck me as a little unfriendly, since the least she could have done was to offer a little smile that communicated something like “Yeah you looked really dumb just now, but that’s okay, at least you didn’t fall on your ass and hurt yourself.” But instead she just kept her head down.

[It reminded me of how sometimes I see people I once worked with (or even currently work with) on the street or on the bus, and we pretend to not see each other, or if we do make eye contact, we pretend we don’t know each other. I think it’s the fear or abhorrence of small talk that prevents people from acknowledging fellow humans, and I wonder if it is more out of shyness/social anxiety than any sort of real malice or disaffection. Still, it is pretty sad to me. But I digress.]

So as we were standing in line, the woman put her items on the check-out counter: about 14 cans of gourmet cat food. And then I had a judgmental moment of realization: “Ah, so that’s why she didn’t acknowledge me: she’s one of those shy hermits that retreats to her house where she lives alone and speaks to no one but her cats.” This immediately made me feel better, but the very next moment I wondered why I jumped to this conclusion about cat-lovers. Is this a valid assumption to be making — that lovers of cats are naturally unfriendly towards humans and should not be expected to follow standard social norms?

I thought about all the cat-lovers I know. (Real ones, not fake ones like Chris, who used to terrorize our childhood cat, Millie.) All the people I personally know who are really into their cats are also really kind, gentle, warm people. But then I guess there are those I hear about that I don’t personally know, like witches, or Catwoman.

Then I thought, maybe it’s because cats themselves have the reputation of being cold and aloof. But then I thought about the time when I lived in the Mission and my roommate’s cat, Lunch, used to claw and throw her body against my door, trying to get inside my room so that I would pet her. I had to bar the door with my dresser to keep her from getting inside since my door didn’t shut tightly. She was one needy, friendly cat. A little too friendly...

So really there isn’t much of a rational reason for my prejudice against cats and their owners. I myself wish I could have a cat, except that I would want somebody else to take care of it, and I also would want it to outlive me, because I would hate to get attached to a pet, only for it to die several years later. I really don’t understand why people get so attached to their pets. Why not emotionally invest in people? Or at least in inanimate objects that won’t die? For me, I would want a pet so I could enjoy hugging it and petting it, since I like soft, furry, cute things. So why not just get a stuffed animal? Or if you want something that moves and doesn’t just sit there, why not one of those mechanical puppies or kittens that are small and cute and move around?

I hope I am not offending anyone. Perhaps it is just my pessimistic, fatalistic side. Or maybe it’s just a matter of taste. I think I would rather just enjoy the dogs and cats I see at the park. Or in those screensavers or calendars that feature adorable kittens and puppies doing cute things. I can handle that.

On a somewhat unrelated note, if I were to get a pet dog, I would want it to be fluffy and big enough for me to ride. I could go for rides around the lake or visit my local grocery store. Just an idea.

image from cute overload

family iChat

Kris got a shiny new macbook yesterday, so my parents gathered round and we decided to have a little family video chat.



I had ordered a few pairs of shoes and had them sent to my parents' house in Sacramento. My mom had already ripped open the package and tried them all on. I asked to see the shoes so she told my dad to go get them, so he ran off and came running back with the shoes. Here is my mom displaying one of them:



My dad left after that, so for a while it was just me, John, Kris, and Mom. I don't know why Kris kept making that face. He makes that face all the time and we call it the dead fish face.

fobby love

He is a skinny international student from Korea. He wears black plastic rimmed glasses, a beanie, skinny jeans, and chuck taylors. He might even have a slight mustache (or perhaps a few stray hairs above his upper lip and on his chin). He can be seen smoking outside from time to time, his gangly, lanky frame leaning against the building wall like a limp piece of kong namul.

She is an international student from China. She has big eyes, long black hair, wears tall boots and short skirts, and looks like Sailor Moon. She has a saccharine, high-pitched voice but keeps to herself and only speaks to ask questions or give one-word answers.

Both of them have a few things in common:

(1) They speak very little English.
(2) They look really young, like late teens.
(3) They both like to listen to their ipods while in class and never respond when the teacher talks to them.
(4) They are both in my printmaking class.

So I’m pretty sure they didn’t know each other on the first day of class. But as the weeks progressed, I noticed that they were getting more and more friendly with each other. One Saturday morning I was in the lab and happened to share a work table with them. I was on one side of the table, facing them. I watched as they flirted with each other, dabbing each other with paint, teaching each other words in their own language, pretending to fight with the wash rags. Maybe if they were alone, frolicking in the park, it would be okay. Maybe if it wasn’t Saturday morning during art class, it’d be different. Maybe if they weren’t acting like they were the only ones in the room, I wouldn’t feel like barfing. But it was pretty awkward and uncomfortable to witness this nascent stage of love unfolding before my eyes. And yet I was standing right in front of them, rolling my inks on the table, trying hard to look down at my work but whenever I looked up I would be forced to watch them or hear them gigglin’. It’s like sitting on the bus next to a window that has wingoo on it — you want to look outside since there’s naturally nowhere else to look, and you try to avoid the human face grease, but you have to strain your eyes, and whenever you want to relax, you automatically go back to staring at the wingoo. It’s unavoidable.

Or it’s like being forced to watch a really cheesy, bad movie. Like the time I stood in a long line in London during the Asian Film Festival, so that I could get in the theatre for the free screening of Windstruck, the prequel to My Sassy Girl. This turned out to be one of the most disappointing and unbearable movies I had ever seen. I was tempted to leave in the middle, except that I had waited for so long in the line; plus they were handing out free bottles of bulgogi marinade at the end. Oh, what I had to endure for that marinade.

Part of me felt embarrassed since the three of us are the only East Asians in the class; I felt somehow a part of their awkward romance by sharing a table with them. They also do not engage with anybody in the class except for each other, further perpetuating the stereotype of the snobby, isolated international students from Asia who keep to themselves. Anyway, there are only a few weeks of class left so my aim will be to avoid sharing a table with them, and maybe I can also bring an ipod so as to block out their noises. Call me a miser, but I’m not that interested in witnessing fobby love on a Saturday morning. I mean, I’m not going to sabotage their romance or anything. I just don’t want to be forced to watch it. Especially if there’s nothing in it for me (read: free bottles of marinade).