Asian Mainstream

She peered out at me from under a Shinto headdress, dark eyes glistening against the pale backdrop of her face. She gazed down at me without blinking, her lips the color of ... actually, she had no lips. Hello Kitty has no lips. And here she was, dressed in a traditional Japanese bride’s costume. Yours for only $5.99 at McDonald’s -- not just any Mickey D’s, but Mickey D’s in Maui. I ordered my Breakfast Combo -- Portuguese Sausage, Eggs and Rice -- and my Hello Kitty doll, and could barely contain my joy.

Ahh, yes. The feeling of coming home, only better. Hawaii is like a crossroads, the birthplace of Asian America. I am thinking all of this as I watch my four-year-old son splashing in the pool. “I love Hawaii!” exclaims Miles, wearing his new swimsuit with built-in floats, “swimming” unfettered for the first time in his life. His joy is so genuine, I wish I could just bottle it up for him to use whenever he needs it in the future. Alas, I have not figured out how to do that ... but I have finally figured out how to work the camcorder, so I settle on videotaping his joy for future reference.

I love Hawaii, too. I realized during this trip that Hawaii brings me a sense of freedom as well, a feeling of instantly being “normal.” It’s the little things, really. Like taking your shoes off when you enter a house, even before you read the signs asking you to take off your shoes. Like going to Costco and finding industrial sized packages of li hing mui, nori, dried cuttlefish, and a book called, The Musubi Man, where a ball of rice gets chased around the island as he yells, “Run, run, fas’ as you can, you no can catch me, I’m the Musubi Man!” Like going to the McDonald’s, where you can order local food like the Chicken Katsu Mini-Plate Lunch Meal or a Portugese Sausage, Eggs and Rice breakfast meal, asking for some shoyu and getting it -- without having to explain that “shoyu" means “soy sauce.” And where Hello Kitty wedding couples come dressed in traditional Japanese, Korean, and Chinese costumes.

And it’s the big things, too. Like noticing that the news desk is anchored by two Asian Americans. And, not just two Asian Americans, but two Asian American men. This is unheard of anywhere else in the country, I’m sure. We have grown to expect maybe one Connie Chung-type female anchor on many newscasts, and perhaps a few Asian American men out in the field, but never have I seen two Asian American men on a news broadcast at the same time. As if that’s not enough, they are covering such topics as the U.S. submarine collision with a Japanese fishing boat, and the landing of a U.S. spyplane in China. And nobody’s questioning their loyalties, even though they have last names that are Japanese and Chinese. They cover another big story, the teachers’ strike -- where the professors from the University of Hawaii are on the picket lines just as the elementary school teachers in the Upcountry -- and I notice that all the union leaders, all the teachers, and even the governor (the “bad guy” in this stand-off) are all Asian American. And, they're wearing aloha shirts, not suits and ties, because that’s what you wear to work on Friday -- “aloha Friday” -- in Hawaii. (Oh, and you thought “casual Friday” was a mainland concept?)

Coming home to a place where I’ve never lived, where Asians are the mainstream.

I indulge for a week in this fantasy, where I can feel like I am part of the empowered, and the foods I was raised on are part of the local vocabulary, even if their origins are Japanese. When it’s finally time to head home, I pack up my Hello Kitty dolls -- one Korean, one Chinese, and one Japanese -- hoping to someday be able to buy them at the Mickey D’s down the street. A few weeks after we get home, our neighborhood McDonald’s has their Hello Kitty promotion -- “the crew” Hello Kitty wedding dolls, all decked out in their McDonald’s uniforms. On their wedding day. Sigh. I guess I’ll have to plan another trip to Maui ... for Hello Kitty, and my own sense of home.



This is a flashback post circa 2001 -- something I wrote before this blog existed.

The Amazing Race, part 2

The phone rang in our hotel room; it was my niece, Kelsey: “I’m hungry – let’s go out and get something to eat. There’s a strip mall across the street; I can see it from my room.” Apparently, the next leg of the Amazing Race would involve feeding the five of us armed only with my niece’s Lonely Planet phrasebook app.

We met her downstairs, and made our way across the street in the darkness, navigating around some large lion/dog statues and a moat. What we found sitting where the strip mall should be was definitely not a strip mall. It was a handful of shops on a small street adjacent to our relatively monstrous hotel. The five of us peered into the storefronts, sizing up the food establishments and wondering why a beauty salon would be open so late. There were basically two choices, restaurant #1 or restaurant #2. “This one looks a little more lively ... let’s go here.” Thankfully, Kelsey was not only hungry, she was also very decisive.

We walked into the well-lit, informally furnished restaurant, and an older gentleman and a very young woman spoke to us in Chinese – which we did not understand – and walked us over to a table, handing us five menus.

I flipped through the menu and quickly realized none of it was in English, and there were no pictures to help us out. I looked up at the gentleman and said, pathetically, “English?”

The gentleman looked at me for a split second, then turned to my Chinese American husband and said what we all took to be “English?!!! What?!!! Are you kidding me? You look Chinese, don’t you speak Chinese?”

To which my husband replied, in English: “No.”

The man burst out laughing, thrust the menus and notepad into the hands of the young woman, and said, “Ha ha ha!!! Here you go, sweetie, you take care of them – you are studying English now at school, right? English! Ha ha ha!”

The young woman’s eyebrows rose into an unhappy, worried rainbow as she started asking us what we would like to order. I looked at the menu again, trying to decode based on my limited knowledge of Japanese kanji. Well, that has meat in it, so does that one, and that has fish ... hmmmm ...

Not wanting to wait for me to decipher the menu, the young woman proceeded to talk to us in Chinese, which to me sounded like, “something something something jiao zu something something ...” Wait. I know that word. I practically jumped out of my chair with excitement and blurted out, “Jiao zu! Yes! Jiao zu! We want that!” I had recognized a word that was somehow embedded in my memory, thanks to Ben Sun and Alex Te circa 1982, when they told me that “jiao zu” was the Mandarin word for the Japanese “gyoza.”

The waitress seemed unfazed by my enthusiasm and continued talking. “What kind?” is what we think she was asking. She walked me over to a chart on the wall, which I assumed was a pricelist of the various types of dumplings with brief descriptions. Unfortunately, I could not recognize any characters beyond “meat,” “fish,” and “leaf,” so we are not sure what to do next. I look up at Kelsey, and we simultaneously noticed that they were plating up some dumplings for another table, so we both pointed and said, “That! We want that!”

Luckily, pointing is a universally understood gesture. The waitress took our order and we sat down to wait for our food. There were a couple of kittens running around, eating peanut shells and other scraps that were on the floor. A toddler roamed about, his little tushy peeking out from his special potty-training pants, reaching up to a table and helping himself to a half-empty glass of beer and some nuts. We were guessing he was the child of somebody who was working there, since none of the customers seemed to be concerned about this. We took our cues and tried not to act alarmed. I turned off my Mommy Reflex and watched with amusement. If there were any health code or child welfare violations here, nobody seemed to be worried about it, so I wouldn’t, either.

I start to comment that the dumplings look like those Shanghai dumplings that we used to get at Wu Kong in San Francisco or at Shandong in Oakland ... when I realize that we are in Shanghai so of course we are getting Shanghai dumplings! Wow. We were really here, half-way around the world.

Our food came out pretty quickly, and the dumplings were delicious. Although we must have been somewhat of a curiosity to the other patrons, nobody seemed to be bothered by us, and it was nice to just blend in (well, as long as we didn’t try to say anything). My family was nourished and happy. We had successfully complete this leg of the race.

The Amazing Race, part 1

We were finally ready for our trip to Shanghai. Well, as ready as I was going to be. The house was not spic-n-span the way I would like it to be, but this has been an elusive fantasy of mine for years now. The kids pitched in and vacuumed and tidied up, though, so it is in better shape than it was, and it was much easier to use the vacuum with the puppy at the boarder's (instead of barking maniacally at the vacuum with every stroke). We made a stop at the mailbox to pay for dance lessons and basketball, the middle school to pick up assignments the teacher neglected to give our daughter, and almost stopped for gas since we were running low. Got through the Bay Bridge toll plaza and muddled through the City on our way to Park n Fly, the first leg of the Amazing Race, Woo Family Edition.

For our next task, we must feed a family of four at the SFO eateries that line the concourse. I went with my son to Andale ... which, ironically, took a really long time to prepare his burrito. I started eating my ginormous Chicken Caesar Wrap, under the watchful gaze of my hungry son. I gave him half, although he did not eat it all, because he was still looking forward to his burrito. Tick tock, tick tock. Fortunately, the burrito emerged from behind the counter, and my son's ability to eat his food really fast was put to good use. It is still strangely satisfying to watch him devour his food, even while I am wondering how it will ever digest in his tummy.

In spite of my stressing out about being late due to burrito-waiting, we make it to the gate with plenty of time before boarding. We find our aunt, uncle and cousin there, looking very leisurely, as if they had arrived three hours before the flight, as recommended by the airline. My husband and daughter were already there, having gotten their lunches to-go, and eating in the waiting area. Boarding is uneventful. We walk by the Business Class section wistfully, and settle into Economy. I believe its code is "Y," and flying this trip on United, I began to understand why this is. I had many "Y" moments during the trip. "Y" is there no individual screen to entertain me on this flight, even though ANA, JAL and KAL all have that in Economy class? "Y" does my seat not recline properly? "Y" is the flight attendant's rear end bumping me in the face, again? "Y" is the food so bad? I was not prepared to feel so "Y"-ney about everything, but this was the worst overseas flight I had been on. It actually made me wish there were size restrictions on flight attendants. I am not proud that I had this thought, but I did. I suppose it is a natural reaction to being woken up by a flight attendant's butt bumping into your row repeatedly, just as you were dozing off to dreamland. Sigh.

Many hours later, we landed safe and sound in Shanghai. I love you, United Airlines, for delivering us safely to our destination. In the end, safety trumps discomfort on a flight. After getting our luggage, we push our carts through the passageway of drivers and guides holding signs with travelers' names on them. We were told that the local guide would be holding a sign with my husband's name on it, so we scanned the crowd expectantly. Nothing. We went back and scanned again, this time looking at the signs written in Chinese, too. Still nothing. Aunt Chrissy had the local phone number of the tour company, but none of us had a phone that was equipped to make calls in China. My niece, Kelsey, who had arrived a few hours earlier from Chicago, went over to the young men stationed at the World Expo information table, and they let her make a phone call -- which did not make a difference, anyway, since nobody answered. Things were starting to look grim. Finally, a woman named Megi -- who had been holding a sign that read "Champion Tours," with nobody's name on it at all -- came up to Uncle Leo, the most "American"-looking of all of us, to see if he was looking for a guide. She had apparently noticed the rest of us pacing back and forth along the row of sign-holders, but didn't think to ask us if we were her group. At least things were not so grim anymore. We piled into a micro-bus and made it to our hotel about an hour away from the Shanghai city center.

Finally, we had arrived at our destination.

betty crocker

It is 1:05 am, and I have finally gotten the kitchen (relatively) clean after a baking session with my daughter. This is not because my daughter is particularly messy or demanding -- it's just because baking is messy. Fancy baking is even messier.

My daughter got a cute little birthday present a few years ago -- an apron and a box of cookie recipes, each on a glossy card with gourmet photos that make the cookies look oh-so-yummy! She occasionally fingers through the box, pulling out different recipes, asking if we can make them. I always mumble something resembling "yes," but then the next thing on the list (usually making dinner) comes up and the cookie project is cast aside. Again.

Yesterday, my daughter asked if we could make some cookies from the cookie recipe box, and I told her, "Yes," and I meant it, so I had to add, "but we will have to plan and make them the next day, because we probably won't have the ingredients." With that, the wheels were set in motion. Cookie baking day was on.

She spent a good half-hour looking through and deciding which cookies to bake. "Can you help me decide which ones to bake?" she finally asked. "Why don't you narrow it down to two or three and then I'll help you." "Hmmmm. Two or three. Okay."

She set to work reading the recipes -- roll cookies, drop cookies, bar cookies -- the possibilities seemed endless. She finally settled on two very chocolatey looking ones. "Here, Mom. How about these? 'Chocolate Coconut' or 'Black Beauties.' We've made the coconut ones before."

"We have?"
"Yeah ... they didn't come out exactly like the pictures, though."
Okay, a vague memory of the Chocolate Coconut cookies is coming back to me now. I must have blocked that out of my mind for some reason.

We decide on the Black Beauties, a chocolate and nut meringue, glazed in a chocolate ganache. I pull out the Kitchenaid mixer (which I have not used much since I got it for myself for Christmas) and am grateful that I have it when I read that I have to make the egg whites turn into stiff peaks.

Somehow, my advice to my kids -- "as long as you try your best, that's what is most important" -- does not apply to baking cookies. Because if you try your best, but you burn the chocolate in the microwave when you are melting it, or you mistakenly put in unsweetened chocolate instead of semi-sweet chocolate, or you have only Hershey's cocoa instead of Dutch-processed cocoa, or you have regular granulated sugar and not 'super fine' sugar ... well, you get the idea ... if you don't quite get the recipe right with a 'gourmet' cookie recipe, the cookies just are not very gourmet.

Tonight I learned that burnt chocolate smells horrendous. But fortunately, it scoops out pretty easily, basically as a solid mass, so the rest of the melted chocolate is still salvageable, avoiding a second trip to the grocery store.

I also learned that it is a very, very, very bad to taste the unsweetened melted chocolate -- melted in a Pyrex bowl over a saucepan of simmering water -- before the corn syrup and sugar are added. It looks like a delicious chocolatey mess, just calling out to me to take a lick, but it is a cruel trick. Unsweetened chocolate tastes terrible. Actually, it's worse than that: it tastes nasty. My daughter agrees: "Ewwww, Mom, this tastes nasty!"

Another thing I learned is that my oven re-sets itself when switched from regular "bake" to "convect bake," and when one's eyesight is questionable and one's kitchen smells annoyingly like burnt chocolate, it is very easy to miss the fact that one has just changed the temperature from 250 degrees to 325 degrees. "Wow, these look burnt," I observe, approximately 45 minutes after I have switched the temperature, and five minutes before I realize the mistake and turn down the temperature (thankfully) for the second batch.

The best thing, although not a new thing, that was confirmed tonight, is that my family is very tolerant of my baking mishaps, and quite happy to try out whatever comes out of the oven.

"Mmmmm. Yummy."

I am Mrs. Lucky. My kids probably should be saying, "Ewwwwww, what happened to the cookies? Are the Black Beauties really supposed to be that black?" Instead, my daughter is happily spreading the ganache on the cookies, saying, "These still taste good." As I look at her now, she seems so mature, and I know that I have stressed her out during our cooking project because, well, she used to think I know what I'm doing and is now old enough to realize that I really don't. But she has learned to forge ahead, as I do, in spite of this lack of knowledge base or skill. And she is spreading the ganache just fine. The cookies look almost like they do in the picture!

Betty Crocker may be able to kick my butt when it comes to baking, but I can live with that. I am more than happy to just be Mrs. Lucky, eating burnt cookies with my smiling kids and Mr. Lucky.

more chain mail love

My daughter peeked over my shoulder as I was writing my last post, and thought that I should share this chain mail with you. She particularly liked the part where it says this chain letter has been circulating since the 1800's.

She also thought the "a peach is a peach" poem was gross. And that the rest of it was pretty stupid, and she noticed that even though the email is about "why boys like girls," it was basically girls sending this information to other girls, with only one or two boys listed in the recipients.

That said, I think I need to talk to her about this email and try to temper the be-coy-to-catch-a-boy message that it sends, not to mention all this talk about kissing and slapping. I wonder if there are girls and boys at her school who are truly taking this to heart as what is "normal" behavior and what girls are "supposed" to do at this age ... makes me cringe. I suspect my husband will want to build a tower for our daughter, a la Rapunzel, and keep her there until she is at least 30 years old.

I would love to meet this Anne Wichert person and tell her that it is quite common to get dumped for no good reason. It's not you, Anne, it's him. He would not have had a good reason, even if you had sent the chain mail within one hour to twenty five people.

Subject: RE: WHY BOY LIKE GIRLS! hahaha. i like this one
Date: Fri, 2 Apr 2010 11:33:46 +0000

This chain letter is real so follow the instructions and something good will happen

LISTEN TO THIS LETTER AND GOOD LUCK!!!!!

Sorry, but this chain letter is for real.
When Anne Wichert got it for the first time, she ignored it and a week later the love of her life dumped her for no good reason so BEWARE, and just send the stupid letter!!!!!!

The Lovers of the Heart
In order to form a more perfect kiss, enable the mighty hug to promote to whom we please but one kiss.

Article 1:
Statement of Love: The Kiss
1.Kiss on the hand
I adore you
2. Kiss on the cheek
I just want to be friends
3. Kiss on the neck
I want you
4.Kiss on the lips
I love you
5.Kiss on the ears
I am just playing
6.Kiss anywhere else
lets not get carried away
7. Look in your eyes
kiss me
8.Playing with your hair
I can't live without you
9. Hand on your waist
I love you to much to let you go

Article 2: The Three Steps
1. Girls: If any guys gets fresh with you, slap him.
2. Guys If any girl slaps you, her intentions are still good.
3.Guys & Girls Close your eyes when kissing, it is rude to stare.

Article 3: The Commandments
1. Thou shall not squeeze too hard.
2.Thou shall not ask for a kiss, but take one.
3.Thou shall kiss at every opportunity.

* Remember *
A peach is a peach
A plum is a plum,
A kiss isn't a kiss
Without some tongue.
So open up your mouth
close your eyes,
and give your tongue some exercise!!!

Here are a few reasons why guys like girls:
1. They will always smell good even if its just shampoo
2. The way their heads always find the right spot on our shoulder
3. How cute they look when they sleep
4. The ease in which they fit into our arms
5. The way they kiss you and all of a sudden everything is right in the world
6. How cute they are when they eat
7. The way they take hours to get dressed but in the end it makes it all worth while
8.Because they are always warm even when its minus 30 outside
9. The way they look good no matter what they wear
10. The way they fish for compliments even though you both know that you think she's the most beautiful thing on this earth
11. How cute they are when they argue
12. The way her hand always finds yours
13. The way they smile
14. The way you feel when you see their name on the call ID after you just had a big fight
15. The way she says 'lets not fight anymore' even though you know that an hour later....
16. The way they kiss when you do something nice for them
17.The way they kiss you when you say 'I love you'
18. Actually ... just the way they kiss you...
19. The way they fall into your arms when they cry
20. Then the way they apologize for crying over something that silly
21. The way they hit you and expect it to hurt
22. Then the way they apologize when it does hurt. (even though we don't admit it)!
23. The way they say 'I miss you'
24. The way you miss them
25. The way their tears make you want to change the world so that it doesn't hurt her anymore..... Yet regardless if you love them, hate them, wish they would die or know that you would die without them ... it matters not. Because once in your life, whatever they were to the world they become everything to you.. When you look them in the eyes, traveling to the depths of their souls and you say a million things without trace of a sound, you know that your own life is inevitable consumed within the rhythmic beatings of her very heart. We love them for a million reasons, No paper would do it justice. It is a thing not of the mind but of the heart. A feeling. Only felt.

This chain started in 1887.
It is a love chain letter........................

In an hour you are supposed to send it to 25 people. It is easy, just look into chat rooms and find them. Anyway, send it to 25 people in 1 hour. Now here comes the fun part. You then say the name of the person you like or love and then the person will say 'I love you,' or 'Will you go out with me?'

NO JOKE!!!!!

NOW THE CONSEQUENCES
The consequences are: If you break the chain letter, you will have bad luck in future relationships. If you don't break the chain, then you will be a happy camper!!!

CoNgRatULaTioNs!!

You have been chosen to participate in the LONGEST and the LUCKIEST chain letter on the Internet! Once you read, this letter you must IMMEDIATELY (meaning within the hour) be sent to 25 people After you send it, make a wish and it will come TRUE

YOU MAY NOT WAIT FOR A CERTAIN TIME TO SEND IT........ REMEMBER, IT MUST BE SENT TO 25 PEOPLE WITHIN 1 HOUR, OR YOUR WISH WILL NOT COME TRUE!
If THIS CHAIN LETTER IS CONTINUED UNTIL THE YEAR 2010, IT WILL BE PLACED IN THE GUINNESS BOOK OF WORLD RECORDS!

PLEASE CONTINUE IT NOW!!!
*WARNING* IF YOU DO NOT PASS THIS ON, SOMETHING BAD OR WORSE WILL HAPPEN TO YOU:
NOTE*
THE MORE PEOPLE YOU SEND THIS TO THE MORE LUCK YOU WILL HAVE IN YOUR LOVE LIFE.
IF YOU BREAK THE CHAIN LETTER (IT HAS BEEN GOING SINCE 1887) YOU WILL HAVE BAD LUCK WITH YOUR LOVE LIFE FOR SEVEN YEARS. THIS IS NO JOKE.
GOOD LUCK
But remember, don't send back.Or else the worst thing will happen in your life will happen forever.......I am sorry I send this to you,cause I don't want this things to happen in my life.So, I am warning you.If you don't send,I will have to tell you"What A Pitty Of You,Good Luck"

chain mail love

If you have a tweenager, then you undoubtedly have heard of or seen "chain mail." Tween girls seem particularly enamored with this type of socializing, passing on these email messages far and wide. I have a vague memory of "chain letters" back in the day -- but I cannot seem to remember what they said in them. Did they promise good luck? Threaten bad luck? Guarantee my true love would realize that I was his true love?

I seem to remember one of the requirements being that one would meticulously copy the chain letter, word-for-word, and then give them to one's friends and hope they didn't break the chain. In the modern day version, all a girl has to do is click and send -- complete with misspellings and grammatical errors -- just click, and your world is a better place. Or else. Here is an example of one my daughter was reading recently:

A girl asked a guy if he thought she was pretty , he said... no . She asked him if he would want to be with her forever ....and he said no . She then asked Him if she were to leave would he cry ? and once again he replied with a no .
> She had heard enough . As she walked away, tears streaming down her face the boy grabbed her arm and said....You're not pretty you're b e a u t i f u l . I don't want to be with you forever . I NEED to be with you forever , and i wouldn't cry if you walked away...I'd die ...
> I like yo u because of who you are to me . Your a true friend , if i don't get this back i'll take a h i n t .
Tonight at midnight your true love will realize they like you. Something good will happen 2 you at 1:00-4:00 PM tomorrow , it could be anywhere AOL, yahoo, outside of school , anywhere . Get ready for the biggest shock of your life . I If you break this chain letter you will be cursed with 10 relationship problems for the next ten years . If you send 1 5 ppl this in 1 5 min you're safe.

Wow. If this thing works, something good will happen to my daughter tomorrow, she will have the biggest shock of her life, and she and her true love will have no relationship problems for the next ten years! It's too bad that barely gets them past the legal drinking age ...

motherhood, again

The puppy was my idea. Well, it was the whole family's idea, but I was the one who led the charge to adopt one. We had just finished our big adventure in Paris, and my son reminded me that I had mentioned ... merely mentioned ... that we might get a pet after we came back from our spring break trip. I scoured the internet, applied for rescue dogs and dragged the kids along to every animal shelter and SPCA within a ten mile radius.

On Mother's Day, we went to La Boulange in Hayes Valley, then to the San Francisco SPCA and the San Francisco Animal Control facility. We managed to leave without adopting any of the adorable animals we met, and it seemed as though we would make it to the movie theater, as planned, to see Babies. But we didn't. Instead, we took a tiny detour to Oakland Animal Services, where we had almost adopted a puppy a week before, and I was certain there were no puppies available for adoption (according to the internet listings). The internet lied. When we got to the shelter, there he was -- looking all cute and puppyish. He had me, and he seemed not to care. He was happy to be had by anybody and everybody. I filled out the forms, and we carried him out to the car. We had a puppy.

My son summed it up when he said, "Mom! You're a mom again!" The big difference, of course, is that human babies don't have super sharp teeth -- thank goodness, since I breast fed both of my human babies -- and, another is that human babies are expected to wear diapers. Puppies could wear diapers, but this is considered inappropriate in the dog-person world. Lots of things are considered inappropriate in the dog-person world, many of which I did with regularity with the dogs I grew up with as a child. Like table food. Table food is a no-no. Why? Because, then the dog will always want table food. (Well, of course -- but what's wrong with that?) Instead, we have to find the right formulation of dog food, and stick with it until the dog will no longer eat it, and then slowly wean the dog off of the current food by blending it with a new food, and then we must stick with that one until the dog will no longer eat it, and the cycle begins, again. I have failed on the table food prohibition. I actually cooked some rice specifically for the puppy and made little bite size rice balls for him. I blew on them, to cool them off, too. And he loved them! It was organic brown rice, so I told myself it was okay, even though I am confessing it now as if it could land me in jail. (Okay, I have also given him the crust of some sunflower seed-rye bread, which he also loved. Other than that, I have been pretty good. Really.)

I was pretty proud of myself for having some self-restraint in the table food department. Then we went to puppy training class, and the teacher says to us, "Don't use regular dog treats to train your puppy -- you need something much better, much more enticing, like hot dogs or cold cuts." What?!!! All this time I had been restraining myself on the table food, and the teacher is telling me that I should have been giving him table food. My people-food-deprived pup quickly learned that, yes, the teacher's treats were much better than mine. He could not keep his eyes off the teacher's assistant, following her longingly with his gaze while I tried to get his attention with my plain old organic dog treats from Whole Foods. I've been spending a small fortune on organic dog treats, when I could have just been buying Oscar Meyer.

Woof.