Journalist, Author & Syndicated Columnist
I thought that all the hoopla surrounding Miley Cyrus’ performance with Robin Thicke on this past weekend’s Video Music Awards would’ve died down by now. But, it hasn’t. And while there has been some fantastic commentary about the meaning of their performance (as it relates to sexism and racism), I was disappointed to see that the majority of comments boiled down to this: Miley Cyrus is a little slut with a flabby rearend.
When my husband and I first started dating, he liked to tell his friends that I broke his arm. Technically, that’s not true. He did that all by himself. But, it is true that I was the one who suggested we go ice skating. Denton is good at most sports. He grew up skiing and won dozens of trophies racing BMX bikes. I skied once my entire life and don’t feel the need to do it again. As for cycling, remind me to tell you about the time I fell off my bike and onto my terrified 3-year-old child.
Kyle started kindergarten this week. It was all we could do to get that first picture. His friends were waiting for him across the street and he wanted to join them. To say that he was excited to attend the “big” school is an understatement. For the past four years, our little boy would run to the front door when he heard the noisy parade of children marching to school. He would try to open the door to join them.
So, ya’ll have read about Oprah and the salesclerk at some chi-chi Swiss handbag boutique, right? Ms. Winfrey wanted to see a purse that retailed for just under $40,000. The clerk repeatedly told her it was very expensive and wouldn’t show it to her. Have any of you had a similar thing happen? I have, on a much smaller scale.
Someone privately messaged me and asked why I wrote so much about things that had happened in the past. Do I write about it so much? I’ve been writing professionally for the past three decades and I’d estimate that my pieces surrounding race issues encompass less than 1% of everything I’ve ever written.
This has been our go-to dinner as of late. And so much of it is from our garden. We had a delicious caprese salad with our homegrown tomatoes (nothing like them!) and basil, fresh mozzarella and my balsamic vinegarette drizzled on top. The kid and I made pizza dough in our bread machine, and it tastes so much better than the dough we used to buy from Trader Joe’s.
Let me start this post by saying that I’m pleased that non Koreans like K-pop. When I was growing up in Chicago, few people knew that Korea even existed as a country. None of my American friends were interested in Korean music and they certainly didn’t idolize any Korean stars.
A while ago, I used to do segments on a local radio station. It was a popular show with a host who was vaguely shock jockish. We got along fine, and it was a good forum to promote the newspaper I worked for. One day, they called me at work and put me on the air live to tell them about some of the music acts coming to town that weekend. They kept me on the line as they began another segment, in which they called a bunch of establishments that were operated by Asian Americans — dry cleaners, Chinese restaurants etc. I would soon find out that the sole purpose of these calls was to make fun of the people speaking accented English.
As someone who worked in broadcast journalism—both on air and behind the scenes writing news to be read by reporters and anchors on the Teleprompter—I call a big B.S. on KTVU’s “mistake.” An anchor announced that the Asiana pilots involved in the tragic crash were “Sum Ting Wong,” “Wi Tu Lo,” “Ho Lee Fuk” and “Bang Ding Ow.”
