H. Hsu Word Salad

And no, I DON”T mean anthropolgie the clothing store. I mean anthropology as in cultural study, observation, analysis.

We found ourselves at the Golden Skate on a Saturday night for a friends’ birthday celebration.  “We are going to an ice skating place in San Ramon,” P said.  We meandered in the suburbs until he spotted the brassy neon sign in the night.  Golden skate? It looks like…a tavern.  Sure enough, inside featured a Western motif including mine shafts and saloon trim.  But the feature? An amazing, slick white floor with disco colored lights and a DJ. It’s not ice skating- it’s roller skating!

The local inhabitants were fascinating.  I scanned the food offerings which made one alternately fear diabetic shock or cardiac failure.  Pitchers of soda, licorice ropes longer than the kids sucking on them.  Scary cafeteria style nachos and pizza clotted with questionable queso.  Settled on a root beer float to fuel my field work.

There was the tall man who performed ice skate style socows, lutz spins, even a sideways bent over, “yoga on wheels” move with one leg extended out, another crossed over, and a torsa parallell to the floor at high velocity.  Then there an entire pack of rather obese indivduals who wobbled mightily as they danced and skated simultaneously.  P gaped. “OMG”  I had no idea that one body could jiggle in 4 different directions pretty much at once.  On cue the dj hit Sir Mix a Lot’s “Baby got Back” (which is so gleefully cheesy that I actually quite enjoy it as one of my run tunes).  After all, P and I are NO fans of skinny.  Nuh-uh, no flat butts need apply for my attention.  In our Asian home countries we are both actually toting what would be considered a serious wide load.  Apparently the locals have taught us the parameters of the “like big butts” tendencies.  The extra wide load did’nt really perturb me, but the pendulous guts immediately send my brain screaming into warning.  I suffer flashbacks of the fat enrobed internal organs we saw at Bodyworlds and shudder at the diseased look.

Afterwards, we found ourselves at an In-n-out at 11 pm.  Which is almost an outing on its own since I eat a burger maybe…4x per year at most.  The crowd consisted mostly of teens in identical sweatshirts.   Things got more interesting as a post-formal group of teenagers began trickling in.  6 foot gangly boys in tuxes and blonde girls in evening gowns which likely cost more than more people’s wedding gowns (or mortage payments).

One man sat alone, waiting for his order number to be called.  His entire skin was mottled with uneven pigment, one entire earside purple and knotty.  Blotches of red alternating with what one assumes is his normal Causian taupe.  The teens studiously tried to ignore him from the front, and stare from the back.  He studiously ignored everyone around him.

I told P that I think about this sort of thing when I am having a bad face day.  Yeah, most of you have bad hair days- but I am prone to exteme  bad face days when the hormones and stress run wild & I think the entire world is going to focus on a facet of my cystic acne.  I find myself wanting to call in sick to work and hide at home feeling sorry for myself.  But my self talk then kicks in.

“Oh come on, H.  You are so god damned lucky to be healthy.  What if you truly were disfigured or scarred? Would you give up your life and stay home? Get over yourself!”  I wonder sometimes if I would be brave enough to carry on with normal life if I has such disproportionate looks.  I truly hope I would  be.

P asks if we are on vacation again.  I don’t know what he means. Because we are eating a bunch of crap like on vacation mode? He points out that we are the only non-white people in the room again.  I look, and it’s true.  So funny. It’s as if we are again on Isla Ometepe or Crooked tree village.  Asian America seems like distant land in here.

Beside us we hear teen girls talking about a boy from school who “has gotten SO FAT, like twice, like double  his size, OMG…” P says he needs to leave.  I concur.  We dash out to the car laughing uproariously with the sheer joy of being liberated from high school forevermore.

I found myself mildly irritated by the tongue in cheek cover of my latest Bliss (from our spa to your skin) catalog. 3 super cute cartoon gals in spa gloves and towel wraps are portrayed protesting under the title “fight for your beauty rights”.Much like Barbie, they are portrayed as ethnically diverse in skin color and hair color – yet mysteriously have identical faces and proportions.The white gal is armed with a bullhorn and raising a fist, the others hold placards with such deep thoughts such as “Save Face (and the earth)!, Ban Cellulite, and Give “pores” a chance. Sigh.

As a rabid reader, I was fortunate enough to happen upon sociological and marketing treatises in my younger years.From these I realized how much brainwash us women are all subjected to, to spend all our time and money upon an elusive, synthetic, ridiculous aesthetic ideal.Can you imagine what political power women would hold if the multi-millions conned out of us by the cosmetics and fashion industries were channeled into Political action committees or environmental and social justice campaigns!?

Si Se Puede!

Instead, well educated women are critiqued for their pantsuits and hairdos…and I have caught myself devoting precious time and energy to insipid activities such as grooming minute hairs on my eyebrows, blending eye shadow perfectly, or dousing my head in noxious chemicals. Chalk three up to beauty rights and intellectual wrongs.

Well, let’s take a look at this Bliss catalog.Hmmm. If I go with the recommended daily skin care regimen, I would spend $671.00 on the products alone. (mid-range, NOT their priciest offerings).  Approximately $250.00 on make up, $175.00 for the shampoo, conditioner and hair masque, as well as $180 for the curling iron and $169 for the uber hair dryer.So let’s see, that takes us to a total of $1,445.00, with 3 of those item categories requiring replenishments a minimum of 3x a year…which brings it to $4,684 to maintain my beauty rights. All this not including basic body care (shower gels, shave or wax paraphernalia, moisturizers, nail care) to say the least of the more exotic wares (anti cellulite creams, self tanners, fat-reducing sandals and shoes).

You know, for about 5 grand, I could take a luxurious vacation (for two) to Belize, Nicaragua, or Thailand again, and the benefits for my sanity, serenity would be phenomenal.I would learn about other cultures, experience nature, share quality time with P, get exercise, and relax.Trust me, that is the most guaranteed manner in which to relax these frownie lines on my head!  Rather than hole up in the bathroom alone with my 5 grand worth of over priced potions “Hope in a Jar” (there is a book titled thus for those interested in the history of the industry).

Yesterday P and I went to the local park for a run around the 2.2. mile lakeside trail.There was the chatter of birds, the sound of water and wind, the feel of heart and lungs working hard, and the presence of my beloved beside me.   The sun was warm, skies blue, and there was a mild glee in passing other runners.  It was bliss.And it cost no $ at all.