Fat Asian Baby

Apparently some folks over in Texas think that the fact that a fiberglass statue of Jesus was found floating in the Rio Grande is "a sign that Christ is alive and with us." The Fat Asian Baby cannot understand what is wrong with some people. I mean, presumably hollow fiberglass things float (it would have been slightly more interesting and plausible a claim if the Jesus statue was, say, walking on water or something), and there's all kinds of nasty shit floating in the rivers in New York, but I guess old tires and actual bodies are considered undivine or something. Read the article and take an online poll as to whether the floating statue was just a floating statue or if it was a sign from Christ. Seriously. There is an actual online poll on the matter.

Since the Fat Asian Baby no longer has regular employment, or employment at all, come to think of it, I am no longer able to spend hours and hours each day surfing the net and reading blogs (though I do get a little research done during the many hours of computer lab "class" I am forced to suffer through each week, but in general there is an alarming lack of blogospheronet browsing in my life, which may explain, in part, the general suckiness of the blog these days). Therefore, it is often up to devoted and helpful friends like Viagina to point out important new discoveries to me. Like this blog which I'm pretty sure is written by my male counterpart in life if I actually had a job and wasn't a total Asian JAP.

Thursday:
Show 'em what you've got at the KRYSTAL SQUARE OFF WORLD HAMBURGER EATING CHAMPIONSHIP. $10,000 first prize and all the meat you can eat. Included with fair admission, $2-$10. 4-10 p.m. North Georgia State Fair, 2245 Callaway Road. 770-528-8989.

Friday:
The High Museum's LATIN AMERICAN FILM FESTIVAL presents the Atlanta premier of Cleopatra, an award-winning Argentine drama about the weekend exploits of two impulsive, road-tripping women. $4-$5. 8 p.m. Woodruff Arts Center, Rich Auditorium, 1280 Peachtree St. 404-733-4570.

Saturday:
Like the trucker hat except this is supposed to be cool, Matt and Ben has come to Atlanta. Actually, it's leaving, so this is your last opportunity to check it out. Rialto Center for the Performing Arts Tues.-Thurs., 9 p.m., Fri.-Sat., 7 and 9:30 p.m. , Sun., 3 p.m. $20-$35
80 Forsyth St. 404-651-4727.

Sunday:
I'm pretty sure that Usher used to be, like, really lame or something 5 or 6 years ago, but here it is anyway...USHER $49.50-$69.50. 7 p.m.
Philips Arena, 1 Philips Drive. 404-878-3000.

Monday:
Felix Dennis, publisher of girly guy mags Maxim and Stuff is opening up his wine cellar but you have to listen to his personal poetry. But anyway, it's free wine. DID I MENTION THE FREE WINE? tour. Free. 6 p.m. Compound, 1008 Brady Ave. To reserve seating, call 877-GOT-WORD.

Tuesday:
SALMAN RUSHDIE on Scheherazade as part of a series on alternative storytelling. Reading and signing. (I guess he just wrote a book). Free (tickets required). 4 p.m. Book signing at 8:15 p.m. Emory University's Glenn Memorial Auditorium, 1652 N. Decatur Road. 404-727-2223.

Wednesday:
Cocktails, hors d'oeuvres, and discounts at CLUB MONACO's event to benefit the Atlanta Botanical Garden. Apparently you can browse for free, whatever that means. 6:30-8:30 p.m. Lenox Square, 3393 Peachtree Road. 404-812-9441.

*Creative Loafing conveniently digested by FAB

"If your [sic] trying to track down the Mexican Love God that made your heart melt in Mazatlan or want to find the drunk girls that made your Bahamas rock in Nassau then help is at hand." Spring Break Reunion (via Thighs Wide Shut). FAB can't wait to read in the New York Times Weddings announcement that the goofy grinning couple first met on Spring Break Daytona Beach 1997 and were brought together years later by fate and the help of Spring Break Reunion.

According to Page Six, old school supermodel Kathy Ireland thought that Yom Kippur was a hot Japanese fashion designer. After spending her whole life in New York, the Fat Asian Baby mistakenly assumed that most people in this country had at least some basic knowledge about Jews and Judaism but has been shocked to find herself in many conversations explaining to people here that Jews are not actually into the whole Jesus phenomenon and other finer points of Jewish theology. At least people here seem to have heard of Yom Kippur, even if they don't actually know what it is.*

*point in case, FAB was miffed to discover her grad school department's annual picnic for Yom Kippur day. Feh.

This article in today's food section examines the confluence of two of the Fat Asian Baby's favorite things: food and booze. Apparently bartenders in New York are getting all uppity and making drinks from scratch or something. The article even mentions one of FAB's favorite establishments, but, once again, the Times is late to the party because Milk and Honey has been making yummy drinks for years.

According to Gothamist, a new study by the Rand Corporation says suburban sprawl is bad for your health. FAB mentioned earlier that Atlanta is bad for your skinand suffers from a serious lack of sidewalks and other symptoms of chronic drive-thru culture, but apparently "the findings suggest that an adult who lives in a more sprawling city such as Atlanta will have a health profile similar to someone four years older — but otherwise similar — who lives in a more compact city such as Seattle, according to researchers." I guess this makes it official: I'm gonna die four years earlier if I stay here. I wonder if this also means I'm more mature.

Apparently Brit may already be preggers. It sure is a good thing she and the fleabag are spiritually married. Nope, none of us ever saw this coming. Seriously.

As many of you may have noticed, the Fat Asian Baby currently resides in the ardently Republican state of Georgia. However, from all appearances, Atlanta is actually a safe-haven for liberal New Yorkers who somehow wound up in the Deep South; it is an enclave of relatively liberal thought. My neighborhood, being near a major university, is particularly staunch in its support of John Kerry. Yet, every day on my drive to school through the sea of Kerry Edwards lawn signs, I see one lone disharmonious piece of shit of a lawn ornament: a Bush Cheney sign. And every day, it takes every ounce of self control in my body (wait, I have self control?) not to jam on the breaks, get out of my car, and speed away with the offending eyesore in my possession. While FAB has been known to reappropriate various other less offensive lawn ornaments such as pink flamingos and other plastic fauna without as much as a twinge of guilt, I cannot help but think that no matter how much pleasure it would bring me (and oh would it ever), to steal or otherwise vandalize that sorry old Bush Cheney lawn sign would somehow just be really Wrong. And man does it kill me to know what kinds of dirty dirty things I could do to that sign. But you just shouldn't mess with the democratic process.*

*anymore than it's already been messed with by certain unnamed "elected" officials in this country.

Gothamist on a fat-headed Asian baby who got her head stuck in her trainer toilet, necessitated a call to 911 (thanks ViaGina). It's not too clear what the baby was doing with her head in her toilet in the first place, but the Fat Asian Baby is surprised and relieved that there are no such stories in her own past given how frequently she finds herself staring into the toilet on weekend mornings and how prone she is to ridiculous accidents in general.

So now they've opened a Barney's Coop on the Upper West Side. If that bastion of edgy uber-fashion that is the UWS now has it's own Coop, surely this can only mean that Barney's Coop Atlanta is in the works. I can hardly wait.

The Fat Asian Baby should work on channelling her psychic abilities for profit since apparently cheese and bacon promote psychic, uhhh, abilities, and fortunately, FAB already eats a diet high in both cheese and bacon (though of the turkey variety lately). Perhaps all of my neuroses are really just, you know, insights or something.
Still wondering what exactly it is that kids are doing in school for all those hours all those years over in Great Britain cause it sure as hell doesn't involve learning. Not only do they not have great facility with the English language, but it appears they're not too familiar with their basic anatomy either.

It's not often that FAB gets to read about MLB and Members of the Tribe in the same story. A La Koufax, LA Dodger Shawn Green is deciding whether or not to sit out both critical games scheduled on Yom Kippur.

The Fat Asian Baby could hardly contain her excitement when she read on Page Six via Gawker about a possible breakup between Nick and Jessica. I can't wait to watch the self-destruction unfold on next season's Newlyweds, though, to be perfectly honest, every season has been like watching the world's funniest slow motion train wreck. If train wrecks were to be funny, that is.

You look over at the car next to you at the traffic light and it's a cab. Only it's not like a yellow cab, or a checkered cab, or even one of those funny low budget cabs they have in DC, but rather it's a full blown SUV with tinted rear windows, something shiny dangling from the rearview mirror, and I kid you not, spinning rims. The next time the Fat Asian Baby decides to hit up Visions nightclub, site of the P. Diddy encounter, she knows which cab company to call.

Apparently the Fat Asian Baby missed Gothamist's post last April about Jerry Orbach's departure from Law and Order. I was devastated last night when I watched the Lennie-less premiere of L&O's new season. FAB finds Detective Fontana's wisecracks about expensive cars or Italian silk to be little solace for the loss of our beloved Lennie.
Perhaps this is old news, but the Fat Asian Baby was further devastated to learn that perhaps the reason for Lennie's departure is that Jerry Orbach has been undergoing treatment for cancer in New York.

The Fat Asian Baby was reading this article in today's Food Section of the Paper of Choice, when she came across this unassuming tidbit and stopped dead in her tracks: "Armando Gambera, an associate professor at the University of Gastronomic Sciences in Pollenzo who specializes in cheese, agreed." Um, wait, what am I doing here toiling away with biostatistics? How do I become a gastronomic scientist specializing in CHEESE?? Please somebody help me figure out how to make this happen? This reminds FAB of Marian Burros' recent article about cheese farming in New England which also sounded like a better career path than the one going down in A-town..particularly if I get to become the cheese-tasting wife of that yummy looking farmer they profiled.
Also tasty looking in today's Food section was the article about New York's food vendors like the arepa lady pictured which reminds the Fat Asian Baby of favorite arepa munching venue Caracas Arepa Bar in the East Village and the much beloved (particularly when hungover, which was often) empanada window on the corner of E. 3rd and C.
Now please excuse me while I go drown my sorrows at the 24 four hour Taco Cabana drive-thru.

In recognition of Ad Week*, I've decided to come up with a mascot and slogan of my own...Fat Asian Baby: Still exercising poor judgment after all these years. Despite the fact that I well knew I had a biostats test this morning at the charming hour of 9, I still decided that it was a good idea for me to attend a med school mixer last night. Apparently old habits die hard.
And of course my mascot is the Fat Asian Baby picture, which, to put the rumors to rest, is not actually a picture of yours truly. Sadly, I was never quite that well fed or that stylin'. And I am fairly confident that wherever I have issued from was certainly not a place where they were likely to have huge posters of Chairman Mao.
*yes I'm aware that Ad Week is like, old news or something, but this is Atlanta, folks. People here still think trucker hats are sweet despite my vehement claims that even jokes about trucker hats being old are old.

Okay so maybe it is Monday, but the Fat Asian Baby just FINALLY got around to glancing at the Sunday Times. At first I thought my eyes were deceiving me when I read "Prouenza Schouler" no fewer than three times on the first (online) page of Guy Trebay's gushy article about new fashion talent, Richard Chai. Did the fashion mavens at the Paper of Record (snicker) actually mispell the name of the fashion duo "who have developed in just a few seasons into establishment players?" I think so. I may not be able to afford it, but at least I can spell it.

So I came home about an hour ago after having spent all my waking hours struggling through various equations and numbers. Needless to say I was quite cranky, rather hungry, but not in the mood to go grocery shopping and even less in the mood to crack open yet another can of tunafish. Being true to my New York roots, I decided that this situation called for delivery of some sort. But being a poor grad student, I have avoided delivery or dining out like the plague, and apparently with great success as a ransacking of the menu drawer produced only one measly menu. FAB proceeded to call said establishment only to be informed that despite having delivered a takeout menu, they do not, in fact, deliver food. So next FAB calls friend A. who has lived in Atlanta for several years to inquire about places in the neighborhood that might deliver. Apparently the answer is only some Chinese/Mexican restaurant a couple of miles away. Since I did not have a menu to peruse myself, and I've eaten burritos for something like my last 13 out of 18 meals, I decided to go for Chinese. The Fat Asian Baby actually despises Chinese food but decided perhaps a MooShoo chicken wouldn't be so bad since it comes in a pancake and is sorta like eating a burrito. Well, let me just say, apparently I am a failed Asian AND Jew because I managed to bungle the Chinese takeout order so much so that when I opened the bag, I was greated by a greasy container of Chicken LoMein. What sort of self-respecting New York Jew doesn't know the difference from her LoMein and her MooShoo? Apparently an Asian one. 

Apparently they really weren't kidding this time when they said it was going to rain.
Sheesh! The Fat Asian Baby got muy drenched making the fifteen minute trudge this afternoon from shul (actually, services were in a church, well, a chapel to be exact) to class in tiny, tiny heels. I had cleverly packed a pair of flip flops into my purse in order to change after services, but after deciding to walk out of services early, I discovered that I could not access a bathroom or private area without walking back through the sanctuary and interrupting everyone's davening. Sadly, I was forced to conclude that the crowded lobby of a church (or synagogue, for that matter) is not the most ideal place to gracefully remove oneself from a pair of pantyhose. Alas, my shoes may be hopelessly waterlogged forever, and I don't think Max Azria shall ever forgive me.

An actual line from the movie I watched earlier:
"Enjoy the river of snatch that flows toward your cock."
The sheer creativity of Hollywood productions these days never ceases to amaze me.

On another note, posting may be light the next few days due to Rosh Hashanah. On the other hand, posting may be heavy the next few days due to the fact that I'm supposed to reflecting upon my transgressions of the past year.
Hmm...

The Fat Asian Baby is finally a part of Atlanta culture thanks to her recent to trip to the famed and much touted Clermont Lounge. For you New Yorkers, this is like the Holiday Cocktail Lounge meets typical strip club. FAB was such a hit with the Clermont Lounge that the bouncer's friend even tried to convince me that I could have a lucrative and satisfying dancing career at the Pink Pony (a slightly more upscale establishment in Atlanta) after paying a $350 license fee to the government. I will certainly have to consider this as a sideline from my illustrious and slightly less glamorous career as a poor-ass grad student.  

So I was hoping that today would finally be the day when I didn't spill something I was either eating or drinking on myself, but I just logged into Friendster and my Friends had all suddenly and inexplicably up and moved to the Other Side Of The Screen! What the hell is going on here?
And now I have an overpriced pomegranate juice stain on my equally overpriced skirt. Fantastic.

Last night I came home from a party and slept with my biostats textbook. Something is horribly, horribly awry.

So a little bit of the NYC decided to pay a visit to the Fat Asian Baby last night in the ATL, but oddly enough the big burley men standing between me and His Puffness could not seem to find FAB anywhere on the VIP list despite the obvious fact that I should be drinking champagne from the Diddy's bottle (and no I don't mean that metaphorically, you pervs). Note to self: invest in a more absurd wardrobe. 

 

What is it about passing middle age in suburbia that inclines one towards the acquisition of dayglow clothing and the pursuit of speed walking as sport in aforementioned dayglow or fluorescent attire?

/awkwerd/ adj. 1 ill-adapted for use; causing difficulty in use. 2 clumsy or bungling. 3 a embarrassed (felt awkward about it). b embarrassing (an awkward situation). 4 walking into a bar to discover a guy dressed from head to toe in University of Georgia apparel gesturing wildly at you who, upon investigation, turns out to be a guy who responded to your profile on a dating website to which you quite conveniently kept forgetting to reply.

If for some reason your local mall is lacking a Claire's (although I'm not convinced this condition actually exists), fret no more. Oh yes! now you can satisfy all of your crappy jewelry needs with the new Paris Hilton Collection on Amazon.com (via the Superficial). The Fat Asian Baby derived particular pleasure not from admiring those oh-so-classy Swarovski "crystals," modeled by Paris herself, but from the v. v. informative biography provided below the collection which mysteriously makes no mention of Paris' star-making turn as an adult entertainer. Who knew Miss Hilton was such the entrepreneur? FAB can only hope that she'll be miraculously selected as a contestant on the Apprentice 3. Just imagine the possibilities...

Reading this almost made me cum in my knickers.

In the Daily Star via the New York Times, Rami G. Khouri attributes the current situation with regard to terrorists and anti-Western sentiment in the Islamic World to a "home-grown sense of indignity, humiliation, denial and degradation that has increasingly plagued many of our young men and women" as opposed to oh, I dunno, some sort of inherent evilness of people over there or whatever it is our Commander in Chief thinks the problem is. As I have been muttering for several years now, the root cause is probably something more like the perceived lack of personal agency and autonomy rather than Muslims are just really into their religion and like to show it in a cruel and irrational way... which is why I didn't think the whole invading Iraq thing was gonna be such a big hit, even if it really was just to "bring freedom." Apparently George never got my memo. He seems to underestimate the degree to which people don't like to be told what to do. I myself am happier when I think that I'm my own boss and creator of my own destiny, but whatever. Maybe the President is right and that's not such a priority for other people.

Does anyone else find humor in this? Hollywood stunt pilots? And now we have space capsules "hurtling through the air like a runaway hubcap, then crashing into the desert?" What is up with NASA these days? I thought they were supposed to be serious scientists over there.

The Fat Asian Baby does not understand why it is necessary for every train passing through Atlanta in the night to lean on its horn the whole way through. In case we're deaf and hadn't heard the loud approaching train noises (and in which case, that lovely honking wouldn't do much to help us out anyway), I think the lowering of the gate and flashing lights should be enough to alert us to a train's impending arrival. But then again maybe that's just me and my superior intuitive skills again. I understand that the horn blowing is probably some sort of safety thing, but couldn't we maybe suspend it for, say, the hours between 1 and 7 in the morning? Have we ever asked ourselves if disturbing the sleep of every resident of this part of Atlanta multiple times nightly is really worth the life of some potential ass-clown driver or pedestrian who happens along in the middle of the night? If said individual really doesn't understand what the flashing red lights, lowered gate, and rumbling noises mean, I say hit 'em. I mean, do we really want to live in a society where people that idiotic are allowed to walk the streets?

These people are sick! Sick I tell you! Haven't they milked this whole fear thing for personal gain enough already?
And in related news, I met a guy this weekend who told me that he gets all his news from Fox News. I said I like watching the Simpsons but don't really consider Fox in general to be a reliable news source. He looked at me funny. Does this mean he's a Republican? I wasn't sure, so I went to get another beer just in case.

If only I knew how to post these pictures side by side. Sigh. 

 

This may be my new favorite site.

I don't know what it is about these Atlanta guys, but in four nights total out on the town, I have encountered a ridiculous number of men who are so intoxicated that they cannot construct coherent sentences, yet somehow these drunkards seem to want to try out their verbal stylings on the Fat Asian Baby, prohibitive inebriation notwithstanding. I mean, I don't think I'm being overly critical. I'm not looking for a guy to help me understand post structuralism here, I think as a rule of thumb, if you're trying to wow that cutie at the bar, a simple statement with a subject AND verb and maybe even a noun somewhere in there might be indicated.

The Fat Asian Baby desperately needs to reset the threshold parameters of her Gaydar. After years of living in New York City, my Gaydar was honed with particular accuracy to detect even the most minor details to help distinguish between a guy who simply may pay particular attention to his appearance and a guy who may pay particular attention to his appearance but also likes to do other guys. Please note, I am being careful to avoid using the dreaded M-word to describe the former. At any rate, I am quite accustomed to accepting that a guy may be well groomed but is still definitively playing for my team. Well, after some careful research, FAB is fairly convinced that the M-word type guys are few and far between in Atlanta, thereby upsetting all of my delicate calculations. While I'm busy trying to readjust the settings of my Gaydar to make it less sensitive, here's my new working paradigm:
If an Atlanta guy looks like he's wearing an expensive pair of jeans and maybe took more time styling his hair for the night than I, or perhaps using personal hygeine products in addition to shampoo, toothpaste, and cologne - off limits.
If he's wears flannel, drives a pickup, has long hair in a ponytail, or alternatively wears a baseball cap, or looks straight out of the frat, or is a little more sophisticated and consistently wears blue Brooks Brother's collared shirt - fair game.

Dermatological health, that is. I don't know if it's the humidity or what, but since moving here three weeks ago, I have sprouted some real prize-winners smack dab in the middle of my face. This second wave puberty will not do. The last time I had this many new zits was the eruption of a fine layer of acne on my forehead following the chocolate milk binge of sixth grade, which, mind you, still persists today. Next thing you know, I'll be increasing a cup size too. And we all know that's the LAST thing I want.

Reading all of the convention coverage in the New York Times and on Gothamist makes the Fat Asian Baby even more regretful and jealous that she's missing out on all the action in NYC. For those who are lucky enough to be there, take part, goddammit.
Phooey.
Btw, anybody know how I get me one of them Lick Bush t-shirts? I am sure it'll be a huge hit in Hotlanta.

Dear Readers:

If you like what you find here, please, by all means, tell your friends about it. The more the merrier. However, please do not, under any circumstances, tell the FAB Ma or FAB Daddy about it (or anyone who is likely to mention it to FAB Ma or FAB Daddy in casual conversation). I know I have mentioned this before, but we have had some rather close calls lately. Due to the sensitive nature of topics discussed herein, I assure you any type of disclosure can only lead to Very Bad Things.
Thank you.

The Management.

I bought a standard size jar (I think this means 1 quart) of Hellman's mayonnaise to stock up my new kitchen. My two roommates have recently informed me that neither of them partake in mayonnaise consumption*. How long will it take the Fat Asian Baby to eat an entire jar of mayo by herself?


*Incidentally, I have been told that "black people don't eat mayonnaise," but I always assumed that this was a stereotype perhaps somewhat based in reality, something along the lines of "black guys don't go down," but judging from my study of one, black people indeed do not eat mayonnaise. Go figure.