Tuesday, June 29, 2004


After college ended and I returned to the real world, I floundered into a haze of confusion, mainly about my self-worth and place in life. Some would resort to drinking or drugs, but instead, I admit, I bought Anthony Robbin's CDs. Yes, the really tall, really loud self-motivator. Hey, I was lost. (Okay, natch, I bought the CDs after the drinking and drugs). But I digress.

I listened to it once, but I wasn't ready to understand his message. But one thing stuck in my head: Repetition is the key to mastery. Tony talked about how imperative it is to repeat a task until you perfect it and reach your goal - whether it's to quit smoking, speak impeccably or play competitive tennis. It's okay to mess up and hit a bad shot, but if you want something, repetition is the key to mastery. Try it.

When I find a moment, I'm going to listen to the CDs again.

Monday, June 21, 2004


I was going to celebrate his life. When people leave this world, you always want to remember their smile, their laugh, the shiny moment they crossed your path. But try as you might you are not going to remember his life. Vincent Chin's death - the aftermath of his death, the injustices - seems to overshadow his life.

Vincent Chin grew up in a suburb of Detroit, Michigan, as the only son of Lily Chin and her husband. After they discovered they couldn't have their own children, Lily and her husband adopted Vincent when he was about five years old.  I think when they brought him home it was Christmas and, in their tiny apartment, the small tree glowed softly.  They laughed in disbelief.  The immigrant parents spoiled their only child, but they raised him to believe in their American dream.  To believe in hard work, justice and richness of opportunities.  And despite the jeers at baseball games, the name-calling and the insults, they stayed in Detroit because they considered it the center of the America.  They saw hope everywhere.  And in Vincent, they saw the culmination of their American dreams.  In 1982, shortly after his father's death and a few days before his wedding, Vincent Chin was mistaken for Japanese and killed because of his race.  His killers, father and stepson, received three years probation and a $3,000 fine.  A heartbroken Lily Chin, shaken by the injustice, returned to China, leaving her American dreams behind...

Twenty-two years ago this week, on June 23, 1982, Vincent Chin died.  His death still resonants today.  It is a stark reminder that, despite belief to the contrary, we are, indeed, unequal.  And whether you admit it or not, whether you understand it or not, whether you see it or not, because you are white your life is worth more than mine.

Friday, June 11, 2004


A few months ago, a friend, and I won't mention who (mean bastard!), asked me when I was having my baby. I laughed. But a week later, I looked down to pick my belly button (I was bored!) and, to my horror, saw a swell of fat. I couldn't even wedge a finger into my belly button. It had disappeared! I was pregnant.

It was true, I was at my heaviest. I knew I had to diet, so I ate like mad, then told myself I'd do it next week, then ate like mad again and told myself I'd really do it next week. Well, you get the idea. Then I thought, Oprah said, "Discipline is doing it even when you don't want to." Inspired by the goddess that is Oprah, I ate, threw up, took diet pills and then gymed everyday. (Okay, not really the diet pill or throwing up part).

The other day, I looked down and found my belly button. It's so cute, even the black stuff. I like sticking my finger there. Wanna touch?