I am typing with one hand. This is taking me a long time.

Why am I typing with one hand? Why isn’t my other hand helping?

BECAUSE IT IS HOLDING A BOOK! More specifically, MY book! Crazy! It’s made of paper. It has a cover. And a back too. And look when you open the cover you see my ugly face inside. AWESOME you are in for a treat. Crazy! It’s available on Amazon starting April 3 and should be in bookstores then too. I am going to go into every Barnes and Noble and put the latest Harry Potter cover around my book so then people will actually buy it OH MY GOD BRILLIANT PLAN.

I just found out HAPPY BIRTHDAY OR WHATEVER is going to be translated and sold in Korea! I’m totally excited about this and I haven’t signed anything yet or found a translator or anything like that, but how cool is that? I SAID HOW COOL IS THAT? Pretty fucking cool, right? So you can read the book in Korean in a year or so. I have no idea how the translation of my mom’s English will go down, but we’ll figure it out. Or not. Maybe I’ll have nothing to do with it because the only words I know in Korean are nouns. Like if it’s a verb, forget about it. When I talk, it’s like a shopping list. “Need food, water, car, restaurant.”

I’m in Los Angeles now, for an education conference. I got here a few days before it started so I could visit my parents and why I do shit like this I do not understand. It’s like I could’ve just slipped into town quietly, gone to the conference for three days, and then go back to New York–simple, clean, no headaches, good times for all. But I decided no, no, better visit the parents and harsh my mellow. Anyway I get to their house and there’s a sticky on the door: “Gone to San Jose. - Dad.”

“He go San Jose?”
“I guess so. How come you didn’t know about it?”
“How come YOU not know?”
“Because I don’t live here. But you’re his wife.”
“So, you his daughter.”
“But you’ve known him longer than I have.”
“But you know him you whole life. I only know maybe half my life.”
“That’s still longer than me.”
“You relate more to him.”
“Dude, no one relates to him. He’s crazy.”
“No, I mean you relate. You his daughter. You have same blood. That mean you know him more.”
“That has nothing to do with it. You’re crazy.”
“See? You just like Daddy.”

Last night I went to the Upright Citizens Brigade Theatre and watched their MySpace show, where they bring up an audience member and show and discuss their MySpace profile and then do sketches based on it. Anyway I volunteered myself and I kind of realized while being up there that my MySpace profile is really boring and it doesn’t play music or blink or bounce or flash or scroll and there are no photos of me being “like, totally wasted.” Go look at it and fall asleep. I was kind of embarrassed about how absurdly lame it was and also because I have like 116 friends but they are book stores and inanimate objects. And I didn’t even friend them. I gave Doretta my password so she could just manage my MySpace for me. How sad is that? Plus two of the profiles belong to Micah. So basically I have like three friends. Anyway they did this one sketch where an author met an art director at HarperCollins for a book cover meeting in which they revealed a cover of a Leprechaun drinking whiskey while hitting someone with a stick. I was like SHIT THAT IS BRILLIANT.

Attention Chicago-heads!

Or anyone visiting Chicago in March!

I worked with a talented Korean video artist named Sujin Lee on a video piece that explores speech, race, and the translation of culture and language. It is now being shown at the Woman Made Gallery on 685 N Milwaukee Dr. in Chicago. Check out a description here. I haven’t seen the piece, but it will be up until March 29. Anyone passing through Chicago, take a peep and report back. That’s an order, soldier!

Also, I have bad posture.

Also, I went to an acupuncturist about my tendonitis which is approaching carpel tunnel (read: BOO BOO BOO) and she cupped my back, which is when they take these little glass round bulbs, heat them up to create a vacuum, and suck the crap out of your muscles. Not entirely sure what it does–maybe sucks out the ‘itis’ out of the tendons or maybe it sucks out demons–but let me tell you, it’s like getting really really big hickeys on your back.

Eastern medicine and I have a strange relationship. Which is to say, I’m not entirely convinced it works, but I keep going and trying stuff because the Western stuff doesn’t work either. But I guess in the end, I’m just spending money on Eastern and Western treatments and I’m still sitting here, hunched over with sore wrists and fingers and complaining about it. There has to be another option, though right? It’s America. We have options. What about Northern medicine? No one ever talks about that. Please advise.