Because I now get most (most, not all) of my news through social media, I’ve discovered enlightening information such as: which of my friends have gastrointestinal issues (next time, skip the chili); how I can work on a script no matter the device; and that purple squirrels quite possibly exist. So when a friend recently posted that “Today is the second day of the second week of the second month of the second year of the second decade of the second millennium.” I thought, now that’s something to celebrate. So I am. By kick-starting this here blog.

With the recent-ish new year (Happy Year of the Dragon!), I’ve been establishing new habits — which may or may not have been stolen from inspired by other blogs — that supposedly will make life happier and more productive. My favorite one so far: keeping a gratitude journal. The idea that by consistently focusing on the positive, negative hoodoo has a lesser chance of bringing you down.

The thing I love most about the gratitude list: after the first few days, when it’s pretty easy to come up with the big stuff (my groovy guy, my kick-arse kid, my darling dog), I start appreciating the small, obscure delights, like…

.
The kid preferring a window to a television.

Toys that don’t need batteries (or sing the frakkin’ ABC’s).

Bacon toast. Don’t judge.

So happy second day AFTER the second day of the second week of the second month of the second year of the second decade of the second millennium! And if you’re having trouble coming up with your own gratitude list or in need of something that makes you smile, click here for a dose of emergency cute.

Armed with my food truck review guidelines —

a) I have to order a truck’s signature/most popular dish.
b) the bill can’t total more than $10.

— I decided to try:

Mossie Lee’s Southern Cuisine: Tastes so good, makes you wanna kiss ya mama!

website: www.mossielees.com
twitter: www.twitter.com/#!/mossielees/
facebook page

They accept Mastercard/Visa
$10 minimum credit card charge.

According to their menu, they provide “Food for the soul with your heart in mind.” And that they are “professionals from families with Down Home Southern Roots.”

Their most popular dishes:
BBQ Beef Brisket Sandwich
Mac N Cheese
Peach Cobbler

My order: BBQ Beef Brisket Sandwich w/a side of potato salad
Total: $ 9

Keep in mind that while I do consider myself a somewhat Southern gal (with an Asian flair), I also know that Southern cuisine varies greatly from region to region. So even though I grew up in Texas, the hubs in New Orleans, my Dad’s family in South Carolina, and the hubs’ family in Mississippi, our definitions of barbeque differ. Wildly (wet. dry. don’t even get me started on North Carolina’s version).

Mossie Lee’s? They hail from Arkansas.

Overall:
While I enjoyed everything, I just wished it had more… oomph.

Considering how DIVINE everything smelled coming from the truck, this surprised me. Seriously, the sandwich almost didn’t make it home in one piece.

Don’t get me wrong, the food was pretty darn tasty. The flavors just didn’t linger.

The brisket sandwich possessed so many tantalizing components: incredibly tender meat, savory fatty pieces, smokey charred bits… I kept hoping the sauce would pull it all together. Instead, it was a tad thin and lightweight (again, this could just be a regional thing).

Even the potato salad had the same effect: where I enjoyed the initial bite, only to be left wanting. Then again, everyone seems to have their own favorite version of potato salad. For instance, the way I like mine makes the hubs cringe. What? I like pickles.

Will I go back?
Yes. Because I HAVE to try the peach cobbler and the hubs has already let it be known that he’ll gladly help me dispose of the mac n cheese.

So now I’m curious. Knowing that people can be so passionate and vocal about their style of barbeque and accompanying sides, what are your preferences?

I have a confession to make. I know I’m a little late to the party, but I’ve recently become a Gleek.

Oh, I’d watched an occasional “Glee” episode here and there (Sue Sylvester remaking Vogue? Hi. Larious. A mash up of Singing in the Rain/Umbrella? Genius) but they weren’t enough to make me a fan.

But then, after listening to my friends go on and on and ON about the show (as well as discovering one of the Glee kids is a neighbor but never knowing which one), I decided to see how it all began and viewed the pilot. And then proceeded to watch season one. Every. Single. Episode (darn you, Netflix).

Because of my newfound Gleekdom, all I want to do is belt out a song. Loudly. And not just in the shower. One problem:

I can’t sing.

I guess, technically, I CAN sing, it’s more that I don’t sing… WELL.

Somehow this didn’t stop me from being cast as “Marty” in Grease in high school. For those who don’t know, that character has a solo. Anyone who had to endure my vocal stylings back then, all I can say is… I hope you’ve recovered by now.

Don’t think I’m being hard on myself. I’ve got witnesses. And “magic” microphone.

Magic what?

Basically, it’s everything you need to do karaoke… in a microphone! Not only does it have the songs and lyric book built in, but it has some kind of numerical judging system. In. the. mic.

I first encountered this portable Simon-Cowell-type device a few years ago at a friend’s house. The hubs and I had just started dating, so I was still trying to impress him — and yet, this did not stop me from joining in on the karaoke fun. Clearly, I was suffering from some kind of “crush” delirium.

We all took our turns at the mic. And on a 1-100 point system, my friends registered a 96, a 97 and a 93 (I should’ve known they owned this thing for a reason).

Then I went.

Cringing. Wincing. Grimacing. All happened. Soon, my rating appeared onscreen. The good news: I made it into double digits.

Not one to leave me dangling, the hubs grabbed the mic and passionately belted out a power 80’s ballad. My heart melted — he was taking one for the team (while his skill far exceeds mine, let’s face it, that’s not saying much). Warm fuzzies engulfed me… until his score popped up onscreen: 98.

98. 9-8.

This meant the hubs beat not only me, but also all our friends. These are people who have been paid to sing. ON BROADWAY.

Maybe the mic wasn’t so “magical” after all. Or at least not for me. Which is why I never used it again.

Don’t worry, that hasn’t prevented me from resurrecting my solo career… mainly while I’m changing diapers (hey, it’s not my fault the kid can’t speak) or in the shower (I’m quite popular with the inanimate crowd).

So the next time you accept a ride from me, you may want to think twice. Especially if the radio’s blasting. I just might be getting my Gleek on.

If you don’t follow Jane Espenson on Twitter — appropriately enough @janeespenson — you should. Especially if you’re an aspiring writer (television or otherwise).

I suggest this not only because she’s groovy and you’re probably a fan of at least one of the shows she’s written on (ie: Buffy, Gilmore Girls, Battlestar Galactica, Torchwood: Miracle Day) but because she frequently encourages everyone to join her on a sprint.

This isn’t a put-on-sneakers-and-race-around-the-block kind (although I’m not going to stop anyone in the mood for a little exercise), it’s a sit-down-and-write-focused-and-uninterrupted type. These “sprints” last anywhere from thirty minutes to an hour (depending on how much time Jane has set aside for herself) and are usually given with advance notice… just enough heads up for you to prep your writing space.

Since becoming a parental unit, I admit sitting down to write has been… challenging. And to be honest, these sprints almost always come at an inopportune time — “Oh, she’s about to sprint! Wait, what’s that smell?” (trust me, locating the origin of that smell will ALWAYS win out) — so for me, sprints have become little reminders TO write. Or at least to THINK about the projects I’m writing. I may not have thirty minutes, but in the five minutes it takes to change a diaper, I can think of a more interesting character trait or a better joke to end my act break.

And on the rare occasion when I have been able to sprint, it felt nice knowing others were out there slogging through with me. Writing can be very isolating and sometimes just feeling connected to something outside of your head space? Sanity saver.

While I’ve singled out Jane, there are many talented writers whose blogs and tweets inspire and inform as well as entertain. I’ve listed a bunch in my blogroll and tweetroll pages (feel free to let me know of others I should add to the list). When you get a chance, check them out. I do. Because even though I’ve been fortunate to have worked and written on all styles of shows, I still learn something every day.

So gather up your writing utensils, clear off that keyboard (or notepad)… Ready? Set? Sprint!

NOTE: As Jane always points out, these “sprints” aren’t just for writing — they’re for anything that could use your uninterrupted, focused energy. Like cleaning out the fridge (not that I’ve ever done that, or even know what that entails, but I hear it’s an option).

Not sure what a fruity beverage has to do with iridescent-plumed birds, so I’ll go with both. I’m proud as a peacock AND punch to announce:

1) The theatre company I helped co-found, SeaGlass Theatre, is opening its newest production, KVETCH, by Steven Berkoff on Saturday, Sept. 17th. Described as “an absurdist look at those secret thoughts that brew within us all,” — the main thing you need to know is, hilarity ensues. And I’m not just saying that because I happen to be married to the director. Ticket and other information can be found at www.seaglasstheatre.org.

2) I’ve joined team Club Mo in the Walk for Lupus Now fundraiser in hopes of finding a cure for the chronic autoimmune disease that affects close to 1.5 million people — including my dear, amazing, extraordinary friend Maurissa. Read about her experience on her blog It’s So Not Sexy.

How can you help? By sponsoring me here … OR come to the Walk itself on Saturday, Sept. 24th. There you can join me, the kid, and hundreds of your new bff’s as we walk so that one day our loved ones no longer have to suffer from this dastardly disease.

3) Get this, now you can support BOTH of these projects near to my heart, in one easy swoop: Whenever you buy a full priced ticket to KVETCH and use the code ClubMo, 40% of the proceeds will go to the Lupus Foundation.

That’s right. Every. Single Ticket. Just make sure you use the code ClubMo. Click here for details.

So what’re you waiting for? Buy tickets. Enjoy KVETCH. And while you do, know that you’re helping kick Lupus’ ass.

.

Take in a show and support Club Mo!

I’d like to thank Linda McCartney.

While there are numerous reasons to honor her life (accomplished photographer, passionate animal rights activist, adored wife, beloved mother, etc), I’d rather celebrate her death. And, no, I’m not one who delights in someone’s demise.

Back when my Mom had been diagnosed and given a bleak prognosis, I would always tell people she had advanced cancer. Advanced. Not terminal. Never terminal.

Because my Mom was THAT person. Spitfire. Ornery. Fighter. She embodied these words. If anyone was giving this bastard of a disease a smackdown, she would. She was going to kick cancer square in the nuts and laugh.

Heartily.

Not only did my Mom dutifully follow her chemo regimen, she attempted a few… um, non-traditional-type therapies, including drinking/taking/applying any lotion or potion my step dad brought back from China. My aunt even brewed tea from grass flown in from Taiwan. Grass that, when it arrived, had been COVERED with ants (my skin still crawls thinking about it). No matter, my aunt still made it and my Mom still drank it.

For a time, it looked like everything my Mom was doing was working.

Until it wasn’t.

I’ll never forget the look on my Mom’s face when her oncologist told us he couldn’t help her anymore: defeat.

That’s when the ‘woulda, coulda, shoulda,’ and ‘If only’ games reared their ugly heads. “If only I’d eaten better,” “If only I’d worked out more,” “If only I’d tried other treatments,” “If only my daughter had been a doctor…” Remember, she was still an Asian mom.

Then, Linda McCartney died.

Here was this woman who, at least to us, seemed to have lived an exemplary life: not only did she marry a Beatle (a huge thing to my Mom), but she ate right (nothing but vegetables!), she exercised (rode horses in open fields!), and had access to the absolute best care money could buy (she married a Beatle!).

And, yet, even she couldn’t take down the big C.

Seeing this, my Mom could finally realize she was not to blame. That she wasn’t “allowing” the tumors to win. That she was not a failure.

So thank you, Linda McCartney, for showing my Mom that no matter how hard you fight, no matter what resources you have, no matter how strong you are, sometimes, cancer has the last laugh.

Our last picture together - 我很想念你

When my Facebook and Twitter feeds went all aflutter and atingle this past weekend, I knew it had arrived. Comic-Con. Or, more accurately, “Comic-Con International: San Diego… home of the largest comic book and popular arts convention in the world!”

Unfortunately, I couldn’t go. Although, I REALLY would’ve loved checking it out. Not only were a bunch of my friends on panels (‘cause they’re groovy like that), but a few even moderated them. So while my peeps were in San Diego getting their geek on — and I mean that in the most loving and envious way — I was 100 miles up the coast spending the last weekend of my mother-in-law’s visit tourist-ing it up.

I can’t stress enough MeMe’s overall awesomeness. Which is why we wanted her last two days in town with her youngest grandchild to rock. And, if I can toot our own horn, I think they did.

Our plan? Hit up the Aquarium of the Pacific in Long Beach one day and Malibu the next. While we didn’t catch a glimpse of the “Twilight” cast, sing along with the “Always Sunny in Philadelphia” folks or see the trailer for the new season of “The Walking Dead,” I feel like we had our own mini version of ‘Con…

Some events were standing room only:

We ran into the occasional odd bird:

And even had close encounters with out-of-this-world creatures:

As for fangirling or fanboying? Most. Definitely. Evidenced here.

Just like my friends and the real Comic-Con, this household’s now going through a bit of withdrawal — but unlike with the real one, we don’t have to wait another year to experience it all again. Hear that, MeMe? (hint, hint)

My mother-in-law’s in town.

While this strikes fear/rage/paranoia into the hearts of many a friend in regards to their own MILs, I, on the other hand, delight in her presence. Seriously. I adore her.

In addition to being able to chat it up with me for hours (much to the hubs’ chagrin), she’s a hoot to be around, she CLEANS (so that thing you’re doing is called, “dusting”?), plus, and this is a BIG PLUS, the kid thinks she’s more fun than a cardboard box. And if you know how much tykes love those darn boxes…

But when we get down to it, the best thing about grandma being here?

FREE BABYSITTING.

This past Saturday, the hubs and I took full advantage of it.

We had ourselves a little date night and took in a play. Although, since he’s technically IN the play, I guess it doesn’t really count as a true date night.
Shameless plug: www.caughttheplay.com

Definitions aside, what matters is that I got to spend a Saturday night out of the house, hanging with my guy. I even gussied myself up and everything. Wore makeup. Jewelry. Heels.

HEELS.

Frankly, I looked hot.

And since I didn’t take a photo of this rare state of being, you’ll just have to take my word for it. My neighbor, who didn’t even recognize me at first, commented on my awesomeness — which only got a tad disturbing when she wouldn’t stop gushing about my appearance, “No. Really. You should do this look more often. REALLY.”

Post-show, the hubs and I hung out with some of the cast as well as the producer and the playwright. We talked. And talked. And… well, we didn’t make it home until after 1 AM.

Unlike my last excursion (http://bit.ly/q231w8), I didn’t bring the pump with me — actually, I did, but I’d left it in the car and somehow trying to convince this group to come back with me while I did my business, didn’t seem quite the option — so by the time we arrived home, I couldn’t attach myself to the machine fast enough.

I finally fell asleep around 2:30am. Which, normally (read: pre-kid), suits me just fine. My preferred bedtime? Somewhere in the 1am-3am block.

I’m a nightowl. The kid, however, is not.

And yet, every week I make the mistake of thinking, “It’s the weekend. I can sleep in!” Funnily enough, and by that I mean, not funny at all, the kid does not share this philosophy.

So less than four hours after my head hit the pillow, I found myself stumbling about, making my way to a chatty, squealing, bright-eyed, bushy-tailed little bugger, full of up and at ‘em (seriously, whose child is this?).

And even though I was paying the price for our late night date night… waking up to these eyes:
makes it worth it (except when it’s before the sun comes up, ‘cause that’s just wrong).

I groggily attempted to start my day, when it dawned on me. You know who else isn’t a nightowl?

Grandma.

Before I could take another step, she cheerfully swooped in, cuddled and then whisked the kid away. As their giggles and laughter filled the house, I crawled back into bed. I don’t know about sliced bread, but I can attest that my mother-in-law beats cardboard boxes any day.

A couple of weeks ago I attended a nearby food truck festival. That’s right. A festival. With nothing but FOOD TRUCKS.

Yes, I did a happy dance. No, I don’t have it on video.

Because of the plethora of choices, I decided this would be the best place to try out my new food truck review guidelines:
a) I have to order a truck’s signature/most popular dish.
b) the bill can’t total more than $10.

First up?

Bool BBQ: Korean Tacos & Pastels

website: www.boolbbq.com
twitter: www.twitter.com/#!/boolbbq/
Cash only.

How they describe their food: “The perfect marriage of asian flavors with staples of central and south american culinary history. Bool is what fusion should be.”

My order: Short Rib Burrito
Total: $ 8

I’d been leaning towards the tacos, but when the guy said the short rib burrito was their most popular item… one of those, please!

Overall, I liked it.

I’m a huge fan of kalbi (Korean BBQ short ribs) and this was like having it, along with some cabbage fixin’s, wrapped up in a flour tortilla. I chickened out on the heat level, though, and got it medium/less spicy than how it’s normally prepared. Not the smartest move. Because I had held back, the dish suffered. I think the flavors would’ve stood out more with that extra kick.

My only real criticism: the meat’s a little too fatty. And this is from a person who likes fat (http://bit.ly/qXJCMU). That said, I still couldn’t wait to devour the other half of my burrito — did you see the size of that thing? — the next day.

Will I go back?
Definitely. Except next time I’d try the tacos — to see if a different meat, lettuce, tortilla ratio makes a difference — as well as accept whatever I order at the suggested spiciness level. They don’t call it a kick for nothing.