The Ballad of the Nameless Chinese Baby

When John and I were in Hong Kong last week, we spent a day at the Tian Tan Buddha Statue & Po Lin Monastery on Lantau Island. This 34-meter high, 250-ton Buddha is the tallest outdoor seated bronze Buddha in the world (I'm assuming there was a "Biggest Buddha" pageant at some point in history, and Tian Tan won the tiara and scholarship money). It was a fascinating, and spiritually uplifting, day. Even after climbing the seemingly-endless 268 steps to the Buddha's feet, I was still feeling nourished and calm (and if you read this blog only occasionally, you know those are two feelings I rarely possess).

But something just as fascinating happened on the way back to the ferry. John and I decided to take the city bus from Tian Tan back to the ferry terminal. Taking a bus in a foreign land is always an interesting experience, and the Hong Kong bus system was infinitely better than, say, Mexico's. Once, several years ago when backpacking through the mountains of central Mexico, I relied on the buses, a.k.a. caskets-on-wheels, to get me around. They only cost half a penny or something ridiculous like that, but the ride was a matter of risking your very life. Live chickens scrambled up and down the aisle, the smell of b.o. permeated the air, and the drivers could barely see out of the window because of the massive Christ-crucified-on-the-cross decal plastered over the front windshield.

The Hong Kong bus was thankfully less flirtatious with the grave, and the journey down the mountain was pleasant and cost-effective. At one stop, a young Chinese woman boarded the bus with her baby, swaddled in the Chinese equivalent of a Baby Bjorn. The only available seat was next to me, so she and the mummified child planted themselves in the open spot.

At this point, I (and probably John too, for I heard an audible sigh of frustration) was not feeling the whole baby thing. On our flight from New York to Hong Kong, the plane was loaded with about two dozen screaming Chinese babies, many of whom screeched and wailed for the entire 17-hour flight. I figured I would just ignore this baby on the bus and stare at the bald, liver-spotted head of the Australian octogenarian in front of me.

But as soon as I make rules like that for myself, I have to break them. There was no way I could convince myself to continue an Australian scalp check when a pleasantly-quiet baby was at my side. Babies are like Chia Pets to me: some makes and models are cute, but if you don't care for them properly, their beautiful green hair/foliage falls out. Well, you get my point.

And so, after a few minutes, I slowly, tentatively, turned my head to the Bjorn-ed baby. And hark this: the kid was smiling at me. Beaming, really. He had been grinning at me the whole time. Actually, she had been grinning at me (the yellow jumper threw me for a while, but the tiny pink shoes gave her away). Then she started to wave at me, and I, a quivering mass of sap at this point, waved back. I was a little surprised she was so taken with me, as babies tend to sense my Chia Pet phobia and don't concern themselves with me. (For the record, I'm usually fine with this chain of events.)

Yet Nameless Chinese Baby was different. She was cute, yes, and winning me over with her chubby smiles and lopsided waves, but she was connecting with me and touching upon that part of me that is typically dormant. That part of me that, despite my choice to be childless, is capable of great paternal feeling and affection. Yes, Nameless Chinese Baby sensed that, and said, "I will win you over." And that she did. Especially with what happened next.

She started to briskly pat her hands together, which I interpreted as an attempt at clapping. Since babies in movies are always clapping or playing peek-a-boo, I clapped lightly in response. Until I realized that she wasn't clapping at all.

You see, Nameless Chinese Baby was attempting to clasp her hands together. She was praying for me. At that point, I heard her mother say to her, in English, "That's right. Pray for each other." And with that, the baby smiled and folded her hands in a gesture of prayer, which is also the way (along with a slight bow) that Buddhists show respect. This baby, a stranger with sassy pink dwarf shoes, on a public bus in a strange land, was showing me reverence and respect. Not for what I have or have not accomplished; not for how much money I make or don't make; not for my nationality, religion, politics, gender, sexual orientation, or age. She was showing me appreciation for just being.

For a fleeting second when this was happening -- before the cold raw truth of poopy diapers and three a.m. feedings and endlessly torturous hours of Teletubbies and that freakish purple dinosaur set in -- I thought how it might not be so bad to have a kid after all. Obviously, Nameless Chinese Baby's mother was instilling some very important, very beautiful lessons in her daughter. I knew that if I had the same chance at parenthood, I would pass along those same lessons to my own child: respect everyone...for no other reason than we are all on this bus together.

Perpetual Blueness: 15 Sad Songs I Love

Feeling blue really sucks, and it seems I've spent the majority of my life in perpetual blueness. However, one of the upsides of the downside is the infinite plethora of music out there tailored to the expression of melancholia. I've put together a little list of 15 of my favorite sad songs. When it comes to feeling blue, these ditties hold the cobalt crayon for me. When I get to a low place, I often find it difficult to interpret what I'm feeling.

Luckily, these songs do it for me.

15. "Holocaust" - This Mortal Coil. The Scene: Goth and spare, sung in a pleading tenor, allowing the crushing lyrics to smolder through. Favorite Line(s): "You're a wasted face/You're a sad-eyed lie/You're a holocaust". Overall Message: Nobody gives a shit, and we're all in this alone.

14. "A Case of You" - Joni Mitchell. The Scene: Though covered beautifully by two of my favorite singers (Tori Amos and k.d. lang), no one will ever touch Joni Mitchell's original lament of a heartbroken artist. Favorite Line(s): "Part of you pours out of me/in these lines from time to time". Overall Message: You were my muse, now you're gone, and I like to drink.

13. "In This Heart" - Sinead O'Connor. The Scene: Sung a cappella, O'Connor harmonizes with with velvety bass voices in lush, layered rounds. Favorite Line(s): "I am waiting for you/For only to adore you/My heart is for you". Overall Message: You're a blind schmuck. I'm here waiting for you.

12. "Unusual Way" - from the musical "Nine". The Scene: A musical theater ballad that captures eloquently the pain and yearning of unrequited love. Favorite Line(s): "You can't tell what it's like to be me looking at you". Overall Message: You'll never know what you do to me because you only see me as a friend, and now I'm a co-dependent blob of Jell-O.

11. "Someone Else's Story" - from the musical "Chess". The Scene: My other musical theater pick on this list, a girl bemoans her squandered chance at true love. Favorite Line(s): "She realized she'd left him behind/And sadder than that she knew he wouldn't even mind". Overall Message: You never realized what you could've had, and I'm a dumbass for not nabbing you when I stood a chance.

10. "Hallelujah" - Jeff Buckley. The Scene: The oft-covered Leonard Cohen classic, performed to aching perfection by the late, great Jeff Buckley. Favorite Line(s): "But love is not a victory march/It's a cold and it's a broken hallelujah". Overall Message: You destroyed me for any future love or happiness. Thanks a lot, kimosabe.

9. "Boxing" - Ben Folds Five; Bette Midler. The Scene: Though I enjoy Ben Folds, I've never heard his version of this stunningly unique song. I only know Bette Midler's passionate interpretation, in which she uses her voice like a series of blows in a boxing match. Favorite Line(s): "Well sometimes I punch myself as hard as I can/Yelling 'Nobody Cares!', hoping someone will tell me how/Wrong I am". Overall Message: I'm getting old. All I have to hold onto are past glories.

8. "My Father" - Judy Collins; Patti LuPone. The Scene: Judy Collins wrote and originally recorded it, but Patti LuPone's masterful cover is beyond compare. Favorite Line(s): "I sail my memories of home/Like boats across the Seine/And watch the Paris sun/As it sets in my father's eyes again". Overall Message: Dad never moved us to France as he had promised, but I didn't break my promise to my own spawn.

7. "Bridge Over Troubled Water" - Johnny Cash (with Rosanne Cash). The Scene: The famous Simon & Garfunkel song of hope and support becomes something quite different in Johnny Cash's hands (with lush, powerful back-up from daughter Rosanne). Favorite Line(s): "All your dreams are on their way/See how they shine". Overall message: I'm always here for you.

6. "Easy's Getting Harder Every Day" - Iris DeMent. The Scene: Iris DeMent, in her unique, plaintive soprano, captures the agony and emotion of a withering marriage. Favorite Line(s): The entire song is gorgeous, picking a single line or lines is impossible for me. Overall Message: I'm stuck in this unfulfillment.

5. "Don't Forget Me" - Marianne Faithfull. The Scene: I've always been a fan of Marianne Faithfull's tortured, scratchy voice: it's an instrument that's seen and done it all...and lived to tell about it. This song levels me every time I hear it. Favorite Line(s): "When we're older/And full of cancer/It doesn't matter now/Come on, get happy/'Cause nothing lasts forever/And I will always love you". Overall Message: Remember me no matter what...and keep sending the alimony checks.

4. "My Life" - Iris DeMent. The Scene: Another Iris song that I absolutely adore, this one's gotta be one of the best sad songs ever. I've blogged about it before as I often feel it is my own soul being expressed in its deceptively simple lyrics. Favorite Line(s): "An' my life/it's tangled in wishes/and so many things/that just never turned out right". Overall Message: I may have failed, but I've still got some good points.

3. "Lied Ist Aus (Frag' Nicht Warum Ich Gehe)" - Marlene Dietrich. The Scene: Hell if I know, it's in German. All I can tell you is the title translates to "Don't Ask Me Why I Cry". It's Dietrich's heartbroken, husky crescendo that always brings a lump to my throat. Dietrich's voice is the story here, and it transcends language. Favorite Line(s): Hell if I know, it's in German. Overall Message: Hell if I know, it's in German.

2. "Non, Je Ne Regrette Rien" - Edith Piaf. The Scene: One of Piaf's signature songs, this one tells of a life and love affair lived to the fullest, as only Piaf could express it. Favorite Line(s): "But no tears will be shed/There'll be no one to blame/Let it always be said/We attempted what came" (translated from French). Overall Message: I messed up. You messed up. And it was all worth it.

1. "Over the Rainbow" - Judy Garland. The Scene: It's Judy and I'm gay. 'Nuff said. (Note: for the quintessential version, listen to the Carnegie Hall concert recording). Favorite Line(s): "If tiny little bluebirds fly/Across the rainbow/Then why oh why can't I?". Overall Message: Somewhere, someplace, there's got to be some sense and happiness in this world. Now Liza, get Momma her pills.

Conjuring My Inner Sally Field: A Treatise On My Six Month Work Review

Today was my first day back at work after a three-week vacation. I had hoped to dip my toes back in slowly, which I figured was pretty realistic given the fact that I don't really do anything at my job. And also because the single task I have (answering the phone on the off-chance it rings) is now impossible since they took my phone away from me and gave it to the new guy. I feel more and more like Milton Waddams every day. Soon I'll be sitting in the basement, mourning the loss of my Lucent Multi-Line and checking the rat traps for rodent corpses.

Anyway, all plans to ease myself back into the workaday world were blown to bits when I learned -- literally three minutes beforehand -- that I was to have my six-month review with my boss.

Let me just say right now that I adore my boss. She is cooler than cool and is one of the only aspects of my job that make it not-entirely-painful to show up every day. But I've never excelled at improv, and I need a little warning before sitting down to chat with the boss about my job performance. I need to sort out my own issues in my head, prep them into something resembling coherence, and then psych myself up for a "serious talk". Because the issues my job brings to the fore are, for me, quite serious, I require time to plan my words.

Yet I wasn't given that opportunity, and in a matter of minutes I was sitting face to face with my boss to hear my "performance evaluation". Performance Evaluation. Who the hell am I, Mary Lou Retton?

Don't let me mislead you with sarcasm. I would be remiss if I didn't tell you that nearly the entire review was positive, complimentary, and appreciative of the work I do. But being a work review, there were, as could be expected, talk of "areas that need improvement". Or, as I prefer to call it, "parts of the job where you suck camel-toe".

These slightly-less-glowing observations were certainly understandable. There were only a few of them, and I do agree with most of the points mentioned. I find fault with myself easier and quicker than anyone else does (I don't think that makes me a doormat of low self-esteem: I think it makes me human). There was one issue brought up to which I did take umbrage, but being I had no time to effectively prepare an eloquent response beforehand (for I knew this issue would be inevitable come review time), I really could say nothing in reply.

Then the bombshell. I'm getting a raise. It's not massive, but it's significant enough to make my paychecks a tiny bit bigger. And this was the moment that my Inner Sally Field started to rumble.

Allow me to explain. Though I adamantly aver that I do not have Multiple Personality Disorder, or any other dissociative illness, I do claim to have several celebrities living inside of me. Aretha Franklin, Joan Collins, and Shirley MacLaine, just to name a few. There might be a Gary Coleman someplace in there as well, but the jury's out on that one. And, of course, I have Sally.

My initial reaction to learning of my raise was all Sally, circa 1984, when she won the Oscar for "Places in the Heart" and uttered the words which will forever be her catchphrase. "You like me! You REALLY like me!" I wanted to shout. I wanted to shake my Jheri curl and bounce my pert little boobies and exclaim to the world how thrilled I am at being liked. REALLY liked!

But on the heels of 1984 Oscar Sally came 1989 "Steel Magnolias" Sally. I felt like squeezing my little hands into fists, pressing my eyes shut, and bobbing my brown football helmet hair. I wanted to shout, "Whhhhhhhhhyyyyyyyy??? I wanna know whhhhhhhhyyyyyyyyyyyyyyy!!!" I mean, I don't do anything. Why give me a raise? The toaster oven, or the water cooler, or even the toilet bowls contribute more to the company than I do.

Does anyone have a urinal mint? Maybe if I put one under my tongue I would feel more deserving.

Argh. I'll just shut up now and take the money.