Jun 30, 2011

Hot Coffee: A must-see documentary that will leave you searing

The film Hot Coffee premiered on June 27, 2011 on HBO. An official selection of the 2011 Sundance Film Festival, filmmaker and former trial lawyer Susan Saladoff examines the dangers of tort reform through four stories.



Like the story of Stella Liebeck, the hot coffee lady, the national symbol of frivolous lawsuits, who sued McDonald's over a spilled cup of joe. Remember her? Well Saladoff skillfully uncovers several misperceptions surrounding the suit. Including revealing the gruesome photos of Liebeck’s third-degree burns, which required hospitalization and multiple skin grafts.

And the story of Jamie Leigh Jones, which Saladoff hauntingly recounts.

Twenty years old and working in Baghdad's Green Zone.
Scary.
Being the female that's harrassed by your male colleagues.
Scary.
Drugged, assaulted, waking up the next morning, discovering your body naked and severely bruised, with lacerations to vagina and anus, blood running down your leg, pectoral muscles torn.
It gets worse...
Being administered a rape kit that verifyies the assault, then locked in shipping container with armed guards.
It still gets worse...
Denied a day in court.

In 2005, Jamie Leigh Jones worked for Halliburton/KBR. She unknowingly signed a contract that any and all claims against her employer, including all personal injury claims arising in the workplace, must be submitted to binding arbitration instead of to the court system. Which means that her case could only be presented in a private forum in which Halliburton paid for the arbitrator and in which there was no right to appeal.

It was mind-blowing to discover enormous amount of money corporations have spent to get their tort reform messages across. More mind-boggling--how so few people really understand the issue. And never will as long as there are secret arbitrations.

As Dahlia Lithwick reported in Open the Shut Case (Slate, 1/28/10), the best place to trial such allegations is in court:

Halliburton/KBR launched a zealous public campaign to "correct the facts" about the Jones litigation—urging, for instance, that "Ms. Jones' allegation of rape remains unsubstantiated" and that she wasn't locked in a shipping container but rather "provided with a secure living trailer." Apparently KBR fails to appreciate the irony of demanding that all of its counter-facts come to light despite its love for secret arbitration.

Jones's lawsuit will finally be heard in a federal courtroom in Houston, almost six years after the alleged incident.

Whatever your thoughts are on tort reform, after watching Hot Coffee, I am left with a searing impression of the crucial function our civil justice system serves in our democracy.

Jun 28, 2011

How to Increase Your Likability

I came across this amusing infographic from Guy Kawasaki How to increase your likability. I guess I better start practicing... SMILING :)

Jun 27, 2011

Being Just Crazy Enough

I was recently sent a TED talk from Joshua Walters, a comedian/poet/mental health educator, on the relationship between manic depression and creativity.



I had the pleasure to hear Dr. Kay Redfield Jamison discuss her research on increased rates of bipolar illness in writers and artists. Her memoir An Unquiet Mind, which details her experience with severe mania and depression, sheds light on the complicated illness.

Reflecting on all the artisitic icons that impact my life, apart from living outside the mainstream, are they manic depressives too? Have a functional mental disorder? Or just simply touched with fire?

Walters dedicates his talk mainly to the manic side of the disorder. But for every emotion, there is an equal and opposite emotional commotion. For some, control and management of the disorder includes treating the less fun and sexy sibling, depression.

Breaking the Surface

Suddenly, I am Underwater.
I don’t remember being above ground last. Or breaking the surface. But I am sinking, sinking at an unbearable rate and with leaden weight.
Icy waters enfold the body, piercing every pore, closing every cavity—nostrils, ears, eyes.
Leaving me senseless and alone.
And with agonizing thoughts of what awaits for me below.

Suddenly, I am yanked out. With infuriating force, my body—every pore, every cavity—exhales. I vigorously fill up on air and take to the ground running. I cross streets and sidewalks, sprint past churches and schools, tear through banks and malls, and flatten offices and homes. An ecstatic, inexhaustible energy-surge shocks my muscles, tears hair off skin, meat off bones, veins from organs.

In flight, high on air, breaking the surface, I exhale.

I awake.
Not sure if I collapsed or am detained.
Feeling the weight of trodden towns and injured eyes.
Gasping for air, I inhale pins.
Shock, sadness, guilt—they enfold the body—piercing every pore, closing every cavity.
The surface begins to quiver.
As I hold my breath.



Jun 26, 2011

Anticuchos for Lunch

Anticuchos for Lunch by garrisu
Anticuchos for Lunch, a photo by garrisu on Flickr.
What's for lunch? Anticuchos!

For my non-Peruvian amigos, anticucho is beef heart, marinated with vinegar/garlic/aji pepper/cilantro, grilled on a skewer. My personal favorite, I love eating them with potatoes.

For the adventurous, you can purchase beef heart at any local grocery store's meat department. Here is a recipe I found online.

Or if you can frequent a Peruvian restaurant, try them. And don't forget the Cusqueña.

Jun 24, 2011

Cosmic Mess Makes Good Fertilizer


By Mundoo using the Creative Commons License
I recently came across a piece in Scientific American regarding the galaxy cluster Abell 2744, which astronomers have dubbed Pandora’s Cluster because it contains so many unusual phenomena. In order to produce a complete image of Abell 2744, astronomers used an arsenal of telescopes to explain Pandora’s strange and messy features. Well, it turns out it's actually the result of a simultaneous collision of four separate galaxies clusters.

I had my own strange and messy collision recently. On route to running weekend chores, the Hubby and I exchanged some brutal words. A routine car ride abruptly became a He Said/She Said shit storm that shattered and tattered feelings, egos and trust. And like a mature adult, I capped off our marital eruption with the silent treatment.

The Hubby and I have our differences. We come from different backgrounds, have different perspectives, different communications skills. Given these differences, I have always focused on unveiling our own histories and abnormalities, or as lead researcher Julian Merten put it, “how different types of matter interact with each other when they are smashed together,” for the sake of pointing out the wrong.  So what does our recent cosmic pile-up say about me and our relationship?

I acted stupid.

Following our blowout fight, I disengaged, went my separate way, let my ill feelings fester. The Hubby repeatedly tried to apologize but I refused. Yes, I was angry, hurt and frustrated. But honestly, I behaved stupidly. I have to fess up to my own foolish tendency— to blame others for my own unhappiness.

It’s contagious.

It’s easy to point the finger at people that did me wrong. To engage in ongoing, petty dramas and hold on to silly grudges.  Really, if I search hard enough, I can find somebody or something to blame. This is not to say he was faultless. Sure, he was wrong. But how is holding on to anger going to solve anything? All it does is isolate us further from each other. Interestingly, Pandora’s complex collision appears to have separated out hot gas and dark matter so that they now lie apart from each other, and from the visible galaxies. This puzzling arrangement may be telling astronomers something about how dark matter behaves.

Entertain me.

Why collide, explode and separate? Because it’s familiar, comfortable and hell of a lot easier than changing. Change is hard! Unfortunately, Life is a stage that requires its actors to be front and center, not in the far back seats. Because at the heart of change is connection, intimacy, love. Change implies constantly evolving to connect with each other on deeper levels. To see past all our differences, messes and abnormalities, and to focus on a stronger energy.

Love.

So yes, there will be many, many, many more collisions and without a doubt unusual and stupid phenomena in our future. But I will keep believing in those invisible, cosmic threads out there in the universe that connect us all.

Jun 13, 2011

My Monday Motivational Moment: Please Stop Telling Me To Smile!

Smile! Cheer up! You look soo serious.

This simple statement command, usually from the same source, infuriates me.

My wish list of smart comebacks include:

-No, and don’t tell me what to do.
-What are you, the f^cking smile police?
-Mind your f^ing business.

Or even better…I would, but I forgot my pearls, apron and tray of freshly baked cookies at home.

Photo by s8 using the Creative Commons License.
But in the end, I don’t fire any amusing ammo. Instead, I nod my head and shoot a quick, fake smile. The Smile Monitor leaves and I am left wondering, my mind laden with self-loathing and doubt. Do I look angry, sad, depressed?

I don’t consider myself a f^ing killjoy. I am a pensive person, an introvert going about my business. I’m certainly not prancing about the hallway with a cheesy smile plastered across my face.

Why does such a friendly request cause such a volatile reaction? Smiley is just asking for a simple smile, right?  

The truth is Smile! makes me feel belittled and, embarrassingly, bullied. A command that I feel is usually directed towards women, Smile! is loaded with sexist notions of what a woman should look like apart from how she’s really thinking or feeling. Instructing me to Smile! overlooks my very personal and private thoughts and emotions. So not surprisingly Smile! has the complete opposite reaction: it makes me defensive.

And whether I am overanalyzing an innocent comment made with the purest of good intentions, I'd like to suggest substituting the command with the general question, How's it going'?

So rather than unleash some snappy, witty (and yes 100% gratifying) comeback or go into some long-winded explanation to try to explain myself, I’ve chosen a better response: No thanks. I’m ok.

Jun 9, 2011

A Butt Smacking Good Time


Making my way to the kitchen, I walk past the Hubby sitting on the couch reading the paper. I move in slowly, ease my pace slightly, and subtly place the butt into eye view. Three-quarters into my turn, I feel a swift smack. We have contact and all is good.

Equivalent to a hug, smooch or holding hands, nothing says I love you like having my bottom slapped. In the kitchen, running upstairs, getting in the car—all fine opportunities for a good smack.

Photo by ilmungo using Creative Common License.


Why the behind? Like most Latinas, I have been bestowed with a rather round rump. The object of shame for many years, it has been ridiculed, hidden behind baggy t-shirts and sweaters, and treated with fad diets that failed to diminish the derrière.  And like the ugly duckling that transformed to a beautiful swan, Cinderella’s rags to a ball gown, my badonkadonk has too changed from a thing that taunts to one I flaunt. 

And though I enjoy receiving the Hubby’s other conventional means of affection, the booty slap is surprisingly the most loving. And before anyone suggest that it’s degrading, I’d like to enforce that the act is 100% consensual, done privately, and one I completely encourage.

So rather than condemn, I’m going to lose the baggy sweats and low(er)-body confidence for my sexiest accessory—confidence—and praise all my God-given assets.

Jun 8, 2011

Springing and Sinking into Motherhood


I place my hand on my sister’s pregnant belly.

My niece/nephew’s kicks instantly transport me to my pregnancy days—of utter excitement—when I first felt my baby’s movements—and heartbreaking fear—of the seemingly impossible task ahead.

I offer countless pointers—on baby slings and baby toys, from breastfeeding to tummy-time. I recount the first time I held her, when our eyes met, my awe as she hit each milestone.

  Photo by Gonzalo Merat used with Creative Commons license.
Our conversation sinks into murky territories surrounding messes, frustrations and fatigue. Determined to dispel myths about motherhood, I ineptly end up shattering her expectant spirits. Sharing is now scaring and I stop.

Motherhood has been a springboard. I am grateful to have taken that exhilarating jump, proud to break ground, and humbled when I open my eyes and run out of air.

Jun 5, 2011

Body Imperfect: Real Beauty and Anti-Eating Disorder Ads

My sister recently directed my attention to a 1998 ad campaign from The Body Shop showcasing “Ruby,” a pleasantly plump anti-Barbie, intended to challenge stereotypes of beauty. 

So rather than inundate you with my feminist rantings about how the beauty industry encourages low self-esteem, poor self-image and eating disorders among women...or how over-sexualized images of girls leads to their objectification, which in turn plays an important role in gender inequities…

I will say simply: I’m loving Ruby’s rubenesque lady lumps.

But isn’t The Body Shop and more recently Dove, with their Real Beauty Campaign, in the money-making business? Aren’t they just marketing a positive-self-image-message for profit?

I don't want to go off on an anti-capitalist rant either, but rather admit to my own self-doubts, insecurities and impossible ideals of beauty. And, more importantly, valuing other’s opinions—whether it be The Industry, The Man, or The Hubby—above my own. I’ve done my fair share of rating body parts, double triple quadruple checking myself in the mirror, or assailing the hubby with does my ass look too big in this?

Where does this overreliance on other’s acceptance come from?

I wore a rubber band around my wrist for a day, and snapped it whenever I had a critical thought about others or myself. I snapped it quite a bit a lot. A popular practice among smokers trying to quit, I too came to realize my own unpleasant addiction, an obsession with perfection.

Wanting perfection, fearing I won't achieve it, and feeling inadequate if I can't be perfect.  

Three dirty habits I’d like to lose. And replace with courage—courage to be imperfect. My courage campaign would feature the real women in my life—how I love them for who they are and not for their ability to meet certain criteria.

Before I place any more reliance on an industry—positive messaging or not—I’ll place more heed on my own opinions and start the revolution first from within.

Jun 3, 2011

Decisions, Decisions

Responding the nation’s obesity epidemic, the USDA recently did away with the food pyramid—our nation’s guide to healthy eating—replacing it with a MyPlate, a plate divided into four main food groups: fruits, vegetables, grains and protein. Represented as a cup to the side is dairy.

The new food icon demonstrates the proper ratios in which foods should be eaten rather than emphasize daily servings and sizes, as its predecessor did.

Will this new symbol encourage healthier eating for the two-thirds of American adults and one-third of children who are currently overweight or obese? Is the plumping of America a question of balanced choices or are we all just overloading our plates?

In high school, while I was touring colleges, my father and I stopped at a roadside diner offering the staple of American dining—the all-you-can-eat buffet. As we walked down the line, I filled up my plate, ecstatic by variety of food and overwhelmed by the many choices. My father took one glance of my plate and said, Dear, you overloaded your plate. Can’t you make a decision?
For me, it wasn’t a question of making the right choice. It was question of making a choice (and still is). With so many available food groups prepared in so many ways—fried, steamed, grilled, baked—and offered with so many condiments—syrups, butters, jams, creams—no wonder that those of us who are chronically indecisive overload our plates by weighing too many options.

I've read the nutrition books, I know all about right choices and proper ratios. For me, it's about narrowing the options available in our home and at work. Having healthier options readily available increases the likelihood that I won't overfill. (Note to self: avoid cruises).

If I had my very own food diagram it would read: keep it simple. What would your food diagram look like?

Jun 2, 2011

La Fuerza

I come from a long line of strong women.

We are proud and stubborn, hard-working and family-first, sentimental and defensive. We are a puzzle.

Some rights reserved by lanuiop
I asked my husband once, Am I tough?

He quickly responded, No. Arguing pursued, as my feelings were evidently hurt.

Weakness was not an acceptable trait growing up. We women were taught to have hard exteriors, to guard our emotions, and fire our fierce tempers when necessary. The rule of thumb: Conceal all signs of weakness.

We’ve crossed oceans and raised children alone in foreign lands. We’ve sought after positions once available only to men. We’ve built businesses. We’ve battled our husbands’ infidelities. And fought disorders that devoured our spirits.

I provided countless life examples to prove his statement wrong.

You’re strong, but not tough, he reiterated.
What’s the difference? I asked.
His response: You let people get to you.

I escaped to our bedroom to ponder the distinction. We women are not tough. We accept others’ criticism and actions to heart. We suffer the pain of their wounds. We pick ourselves apart, examine the pieces, analyze the possibilities, and reassemble.  After endless scrabbling, we persevere.

There is nothing wrong with having moments of weakness. As long as we awaken–new, vibrant and ambitious. We are strong.

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