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Triple A

Asian. Adoptee. Actor.

Getting Shit Done

Even I admit this is odd.

The building next door is undergoing intense renovation to convert it from a (I’m guessing) former factory/warehouse to (sure about this) multiple dwellings. The notice tacked up in our elevator warns that the first part of the process will be the noisiest.

Because, jackhammers.

In parts of Britain, they’re referred to as “Kangos.” It’s a brand name, apparently, and isn’t it adorable?

Because, obviously, the sonic effect of jackhammers is not.

But here’s the thing. It’s making me get shit done.

This morning, before coffee even, I manually removed myself from a catalog mailing list. Meaning, I did a live-chat with Maureen who promised it would happen within the next three months. I feel a kinship with Maureen. She’s on my side.

Normally, I would have griped about suddenly finding myself on the list for this wretched catalog (non-wrinkle travel dresses, foldable hats) but thanks to the jackhammers, I took action.

I’ve been “under” the “weather” for the past two weeks, so this feels major.

C just came over to show me what you can get on Groupon for eight bucks: a bluetooth selfie button.

It can be challenging not to just pull on the cloak of misanthropy and point a gnarled finger of accusation at the stupid world.

But back to productivity!

There is a brief lull in the hammering so C heads into the booth to record. I am suddenly in a writerly way, so we’ll see what that yields.

I’m not sure if this is a true pattern or not, but so far, jackhammers = G.S.D.

Little House on the iPad

Laura Ingalls Wilder and Me Part XVII: The Internets

LIW has discovered Buzzfeed.

My parents bought her an iPad air (the engraving reads FOR OUR DEAREST LIW), and she’s watched Americans try Asian Snacks about 50 times. Every time she watches she turns to me and says, You’re an Asian Snack, and if my parents aren’t around I give her a good, hard pinch.

She moves on to photos of Taylor Swift and is already mostly down that rabbit hole when I suddenly get my most genius idea ever.

Hey LIW, I toss out casually. She gives me a tiny amount of side-eye, and I can tell she’s still mad about the pinching. You should have a Facebook.

Like all people who still fall into such a category, she is arrested by this siren portmanteau.

She stops sucking on her braid and turns her whole head to stare at me.

I want that, she says.

Great, I say, and quickly set up an account. It’s dope, I say, trying out the word. Make sure you poke everyone. And be very political. And talk about God constantly. You’ll have so. Many. Friends.

LIW blinks. Friends? she asks.

Oh yes, I nod. Maybe even from Wisconsin.

Her cheeks flush slightly and she goes back to sucking her braid.

She takes a profile pic of her left eyeball and I back soundlessly out of the room.


(In)sanity We Trust

Somewhere in the murky past, I did Insanity.

That’s right. The Sean T kind of Insanity, where sweat is pain leaving the body and you do a lot of jumping in the comfort of your own home.

In all the workouts, there’s Sean T, motivating like hell and looking very positive. And there’s a group of devoted fitness friends, huffing and puffing and looking very taut. They’re all standing confidently on the prow of the good ship Sean T, gazes on the horizon.

Except for Shaneeta.

During the workouts, Sean T. strides around urging and shout-encouraging. Fitness Friends grin with glee.

Except for Shaneeta.

Sean T does a fitness double-take when he cruises past Shaneeta, who looks about three seconds from being unconscious. He shouts.


Shaneeta: I want to go home.

In that moment, Sean T looks so shocked, so betrayed, so totally murdered by Shaneeta. And you can see in his mind, the printer has just spat out YOU’RE FIRED in giant, dot-matrix letters.

There is a part of me that loves Shaneeta. That connects so intently with her unabashed id. Shaneeta knows this will be her last workout with Sean T; that they have limited takes and this is a fitness DVD and fuck it, she’s TIRED.

But the seduction of Insanity is so comprehensive that while perspiring profusely in my living room, doing power jacks until my vision is blurry, Shaneeta’s words seem like pure cowardice and I want to jump directly into frame, shove her to the side and shout back at Sean T: I’M FEELING INSANE!!!!!

Instead, I barely get out: (grunt) Oh (gasp) Shaneeta (groan)

I didn’t finish Insanity. I got so close – a few workouts away. But by the end, I hated it so profoundly I was worried it would exceed in damage to my mental state whatever physical benefits I had reaped. 

Sean T, I hope you’re not too disappointed. Shaneeta, I’ll meet you at the bar.

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