Chris and I went to the Chinese Consulate office this morning to submit our visa applications for our upcoming trip to Mainland China. Neither of us has been since our separate trips before we knew each other 2006, and for whatever reason, this visa trip seemed to be so much more cumbersome than it was back then. Chris prepared our forms… yet somehow, he typed his form and hand wrote my form. And when we got to the front of the line, the woman reviewing applications turned me away, saying they have just stopped accepting handwritten forms and that all applications need to be typed. So, I’d have to type the damn form, print it, and bring it back. I was NOT happy.

Somehow, going to my own fatherland is so much more exasperating than going to any other country to date. I wonder why that is.

In New York, where space is a luxury, it’s amazing to even say that you live in an apartment with a standard-sized refrigerator and freezer. In our last apartment, we didn’t have a standard size for either, so when we moved into this place, it was like we had a field day stuffing the freezer with as many things as we could. It’s a pull-out freezer, so unfortunately, we end up stacking things on top of each other… and then slowly forget what we’ve purchased.

The one thing I never forget I buy when I go to Costco is a leg of lamb. They sell Australian lamb only at Costco, and it’s always the best price out of any place. I spent five hours today slow-roasting the leg in Persian spices and got to use my new pomegranate molasses for the first time. When one leg of lamb gets eaten, on the next Costco trip, it inevitably gets replaced. But that usually means we only end up having a leg of lamb maybe 2-3 times a year.

It ended up turning out tasty, but I’ll be honest and say I couldn’t taste the sweetness of the pomegranate molasses or honey at all. I guess this just means we’ll need to experiment with another lamb leg I’ll get on the next Costco trip.

While in Chinatown today, we were looking for a Vietnamese place to eat dinner and came across a spot that had relatively recently opened, so I decided to check it out. We ordered bun bo hue and banh xeo, both which were quite tasty and would mean we’d have faith in coming back to try other things. One of the things that caught my eye on the menu was bo 7 mon, or Vietnamese 7 courses of beef. This is one of those traditional banquet-type meals for special Vietnamese events, or historically, government officials, that serves Vietnamese beef in seven different and delicious ways. The first time I’d ever had this was in Westminster, California, the heart of Orange County, where the biggest Vietnamese population outside of Vietnam lives. I loved every single part of it, and have wondered when I’d see it at other places. Gradually, we found one spot in San Francisco that serves this, a couple in San Jose, and that’s really been it. And given that New York’s Vietnamese population isn’t that big, it was quite a surprise to see this on the menu here. Next time, I’m definitely trying this. I did notice that no price was set on the menu, and it simply said, “S.P.”

I came in for my bi-annual teeth cleaning today to see my dentist and his wife, who is also a dentist, but does all the book work for him. I can’t even remember how long it’s been since I first started seeing them since Chris recommended them to me, but it’s been quite a long time. I usually feel quite comfortable with them, and we tend to chat about all kinds of random things as though we are all old friends, everything from leisure travel to their dog to their remodeling project going on right now. They are always chatty with me, and at the end of my visit, they usually will give me a dental kit to take home.

This time, they actually gave me two sets. The toothbrushes were particularly sturdy, perhaps the latest innovation from Oral-B. So when I got home and unpacked it, Chris noticed it and asked where I got it. I told him that our dentists gave them to me, and he said, “Oh. They never give me anything when I go see them.”

Maybe all the friendliness and chatting pays off?

Last night, Chris and I saw the Arthur Miller play All My Sons on Broadway. I’d previous read and studied Miller’s Death of a Salesman (which oddly enough, resonated with me when I thought of my own family setup) and of course The Crucible, but I’d never read All My Sons or known the story line until last night. It’s based on a true story about how an aeronautical corporation conspired with army inspection officers to approve defective aircraft engines that would ultimately be used in the military during World War II. Joe Keller committed this crime and framed his business partner for this, and his partner ended up going to prison, but he continued to be successful and wealthy. It all comes to a head when his son wants to marry his business partner’s daughter during this show.

Joe Keller defends himself, saying that he lied and committed these crimes because he did it for the family, to ensure that they’d be comfortable and have everything they needed. But his lies and his crime resulted in the deaths of so many innocent people who fought in WWII, so is it truly justifiable to say that he “did it for the family”? Is family enough to justify the needless deaths of innocent Americans serving to defend their country and what they stand for? It’s a hard question when you think about it — what are you willing to do for your family and those you love, and how far are you willing to go, even if that means indirectly killing complete strangers?

It’s a disturbing thought when you think about it. It’s capitalism here in America, and it seems like most people will stand up for themselves, their families, and no one else. So in other words, we’re almost incentivized to be more and more selfish.

It finally feels like spring outside in New York. I wore a lighter jacket to work today and didn’t even need to wear a scarf. My neck felt so liberated!

A colleague and I took a break in the afternoon to get bubble tea and some fresh air. As we walked past Madison Square Park, I noticed so many women wearing dresses, skirts, and sandals exposing their toes. That’s how you know spring has come — when women’s wardrobes switch from bulky waterproof and down coats to flowing skirts and heeled sandals.

And since I’ll be in Orlando the next couple of days, I’ll be able to further enjoy some warmer temperatures. We’re finally being freed from the filth of winter.

Last year, I was really unhappy with myself when I booked five consecutive days of work travel. I felt bored on my own for the most part and although I was eating decently well, I wasn’t really enjoying myself very much. I promised myself I’d never do that again, and then here we go, almost a year later, when I have literally done that to myself again, with travel to Orlando this Thursday-Friday, then Chicago Sunday through Tuesday, and finally a day trip out to the boondocks of New Jersey via Amtrak for Wednesday. That’s nearly six days of travel with only one day of a break in between.

I am not necessarily at the beck and call of customers now since I no longer work at a agency, but in these moments, I feel like my schedule has been taken over by someone else.

I’m not a great jokester. I would say I certainly have a sense of humor, and I definitely laugh a lot and say silly things pretty often, but I’m not the kind of person who plays pranks on others and derives joy from that. But for those who do find joy in playing pranks, there’s always April Fool’s Day as a “holiday” to mark an entire day of pranks.

One somewhat amusing prank I saw posted was a colleague of mine having a text conversation with her husband. There’s a fashion jewelry brand she loves that has a bracelet she’s been eyeing for a long time… that costs over $6,500. She texted him and said something along the lines of, “I’m finally using my bonus to treat myself!” And then sent him a screen shot of this bracelet with the price. He didn’t believe it at all and said it was so predictably false, especially given the day of the year.

I’m pretty certain if I did something like that with Chris, his response would simply be, “Out the door.”

The greatest thing about spring’s arrival is that I know warm weather and travel for pleasure are just around the corner. The worst thing about spring’s arrival is that I know that my favorite winter squashes will no longer be available, and that instead, the only squashes to be seen at the farmer’s market or any grocery store will be summer squash… which I have never enjoyed and think are some of the most boring things to eat in the world. I’m somewhat scarred by a summer squash I once bought for soup that I pureed and later discovered was more bitter than actual Asian bitter melon. I ended up throwing the entire soup away because I found it inedible. That was a huge waste of effort.

So today, I bid farewell to winter by cooking butternut squash for the last time. Granted, it’s the last day of March, which means we’re technically already in spring, but I made a dish on my to-make list that I’ve been wanting to do all winter: butternut squash Mac and cheese made with my own pureed and roasted butternut squash, with Banza chickpea pasta shells.

I don’t do pasta that often at home, nor do I do pasta bakes, but this baked pasta with a broiled end was enough to make me re-think how seldom I do this. It was relatively simple and didn’t even require that much work, yet it yielded a very satisfying and filling result.

Tonight, we went to the Women’s Project Theater in the Upper West side to see the show Hatefuck… or Hatef**k, or Hatefk, depending on how able you are to digest profane language. The show tells the story of a very intense and opinionated literature professor who accuses a best-selling novelist of trading in anti-Muslim stereotypes in exchange for fame and fortune. They are both Muslim of varying degrees, but despite their initial clashing, they end up finding themselves attracted to each other. The play begs the question of… how much are you willing to do in order to have your voice heard? How far are you willing to go in order to be paid well and “respected,” even if that means portraying your own people in a way that is not actually true?

There’s a very powerful scene where the professor and the novelist are yelling at each other, and the novelist says to her that people of their color do not have the right to complain about things like sexual harassment or mistreatment, that that is what only white people have the luxury and privilege of doing. They have to take every chance they get and suck up everything else because they have no choices, and that given that white people have the majority of the power in the world we live in, sometimes you have to accommodate and pander to what they want in order to have your voices heard, because otherwise, who will give you the chance? Your own people don’t have the power to give you that chance, but the white people do, so are you really going to pass that rare opportunity up?

That was probably one of the most depressing scenes I’ve seen in theater in a long time… Because it is so true.