Regarding Special Snowflakes...

You are not one of them.

Sorry.

The end!

Why I'm Awesome (Part 26 of 7412): YOU

Those of you to whom I've spoken recently are very likely aware about my rather precarious position at present, and by aware, I mean you know that I have made vague and unspecific references to such happenings as of late. Those of you who know me well also likely know that me being vague and unspecific is wildly unusual, and you'd be right.

Now, I believe in talking, in communicating openly, with friends, significant others, and family. I believe that if people knew what was going on in my life, they would understand certain aspects of my behavior, the change in my priorities, and how to accommodate me. It was a courtesy, if you will, and one that is of course applicable were our positions reversed. I appreciate knowing what's going on much more than I would appreciate avoidance and silence.

I have failed woefully at holding up this ideal.

Over the past two weeks I have restricted my deeply personal communications to a very obvious target, and I have made the excuse that since I have him, I shouldn't have to burden my friends with the same tired stories about my job, about my money, about any number of things that have been going wrong lately. I would not bring my friends down, so to speak, in terms of mood or personal high.

I reprimand my friends when they shut themselves away from me for fear of ruining a good mood. I now reprimand myself for the same.

I feel like I have insulted my friends and their integrity deeply, by somehow implying that they are not worthy of supporting me, by somehow implying that they cannot help me, by somehow implying that I thought they didn't care about me. While I may have wanted to keep my proverbial shit as far away from everyone else's imaginary fans as much as possible, the end result is that I appear to not want to deal with anyone, or that I am wallowing in self-pity.

I always want to deal with everyone, and I do not know how to wallow in much of anything.

So, to the question many have asked, this is what's been up.

My friends are the most important thing in the world to me, and it is heartbreaking that we are coming to a point where we are soon to part ways. In fact, it is because the majority of you are leaving Shanghai next year that I have chosen to time my departure around a similar period. I've already lost a lot of you, at least physically, and I don't know if I can handle it when the rest of you go. Understand that while I am excited to be laying down the groundwork to move on to another part of my life, I do it with a deep-seated wish that we could've all somehow managed to meet in a more stable city at a more stable part of our respective lives.

It is because I so greatly fear this eventual and inevitable parting of ways that I appear to have distanced myself from many of you, that I have latched on so tightly to the person who's located at my next destination, that I have spent increasing amounts of time building connections via the internet. It sounds counterintuitive, I know, but this has, historically, been how I have always dealt with moving away and moving on. Call it a defense mechanism born of the Third Culture Kid lifestyle.

But I guess that this time, I've realized how poor, childish, and perhaps downright stupid such a defense mechanism is. So I am resolving to change that.

I have also outgrown Shanghai, so to speak. This place is wonderful as a stepping stone, but as Alicat mentioned back in the day, "it's really just Never Never Land." We all know it. We all know our lives are at pause here. We all know it taxes our patience, bit by bit, the longer we stay here. Whether socially, personally, or even professionally, this place is one of the temporary for people like us. It's time to move on.

The final nail in the coffin of my self-ostracizing is the fact that, yes, in fact, my job is sitting on an increasingly uncertain precipice. At a time where I am craving stability, where the need for a stable environment drives my plans to relocate, the idea that I may or may not have a job by the end of this month is nerve-wracking. It would be easier to bear if I knew yes or no either way, but to not know is chipping away at an otherwise chipper personality. (The fact that I also heartily dislike certain things that have been happening at work doesn't much help, either, but that's another story for another time.) As few people want to talk about work when we're out hanging out, having all this on the forefront of my mind for the majority of my conscious hours is hardly ideal in a social situation.

Now, the most hysterical thing is that I am a very positive person. You may not see it when I'm bitching at a cab driver or an insulting waiter, but my attitude is one that chooses to focus on the things that I have rather than the things I don't. I despise defeatists in all their forms (which might make my current state of mind a highly hypocritical one, I'm not sure) and often choose instead to shake it off and do it right the next time, or shrug and smile at something that I do have to smile about.

There is no point, after all, in lamenting the bad things that have happened or may one day happen. You might as well focus on the things you have control over at present and do the best you can with it. Because of this mindset, I'm pretty much always happy about something.

Okay, you say to yourself even as you wonder how you made it this far down the page, she says she's going to fix it. What the fuck is she going to do to fix it?

The truth is that I've been doing it; I have been doing what it takes to bring me into a more positive state of mind, and that's helping people in any way that I can. It was enough for a while as I advised and counseled through the digital walls of the internet, but now I also need something more hands-on, something more tangible. It's a selfish, self-therapeutic thing, I admit, but the idea that it will also do some good for somebody out there other than me makes it that much more powerful.

I want to make the effort to spend more time with my friends, to be more social, because the clock's ticking and, well, now that I have a deadline, my time with those of you in Shanghai is running out. You guys, the ones both still here and the ones who have since moved on, were my first friends in a part of my life where my family wasn't physically present to be my safety net, where we weren't all enveloped by the giant charade of independence known as college. That shaped me, significantly, and I am always grateful that I could be shaped by people of your very high caliber.

As for those I know strictly through the internet, that's where we built our friendship and so our primary mode of contact remains untouched no matter where I go, and it's perhaps for that reason that I value your friendship just as much I do those friends I have nearby.

And to those that I've already left behind in too many places around the world, I still remember pretty much all of you and the impact you also had on me, and I'm pretty sure I always will.

I love you all very much.

Shanghai Shorts: Racial Silliness Redux

So, I yelled at a white guy today.

I was on the metro, playing on my DS, and at Nanjing West Road station, on comes this white dude and his Asian coworker. They talk mostly in English but with snippets of Chinese, and from what I can tell the dude is either American, Canadian, or possibly Dutch.

Anyway. Jingan Temple, my station, comes up. I step forward to the door as the train slows down and the station appears beyond the train window. I very softly murmur "excuse me" to the white guy, who was standing just in front and to the side of me.

No response.

I say it again, slightly louder, still with polite tones.

No response.

I say it a third time and he responds, but not with a reaction I'd become accustomed to in all the other parts of the world I've visited or lived in. He moves out of the way and snaps, "We're not even there yet" in Chinese. ("我们还没到。")

So I frown and without turning to look at him, I say very casually but clearly, "Well, we're close, and where I come from that means you move toward the door so that you don't hold up traffic when it comes time to exit."

No response.

"I thought I was very polite. No need for the attitude," I add, with the unmistakable aggressive tone that I often use when crossed.

The doors swish open and I step out, hearing his Asian coworker (who sounded like he was from Hong Kong from his accent) laugh as I do so.

What I was tempted to say was, "If I were a white chick, you'd have gotten out of the way the first time I asked instead of thinking you've better manners than me just because I'm Chinese. You are the kind of foreigner that gives all the rest of them (us?) a bad name."

But I didn't. I had better things to do than deal with stupid little boys.

Now I don't go around looking for reasons to be mad (when I'm sober). But I don't think any of you can deny that if I were in fact a white chick, he wouldn't have had the nerve to snap back at me for just politely saying "excuse me" while getting ready to get off the fucking train.

Where *I* come from, when someone says "excuse me" to you, you apologize and get out of the fucking way.

This sort of silliness really does come from both sides. Sigh.

Shanghai Shorts: Horns a'Honking

I flipped off a taxi driver this morning.

Knowing me, you're likely thinking to yourself, "what else is new?"

I don't actually run around flipping off random strangers, you know. Today, I had a particularly good reason.

I woke up a little late for work so I had to cab it instead of taking the metro. My office is inside a hotel compound and its main entrance opens to this single-lane, one-way little paved bit of street.

So the cab pulls up to the main entrance and before he even comes to a full stop, I hear that noise that all of us in China have since grown accustomed to hearing whether it's necessary for it to be produced or not: the honking of a horn.

Once, twice, three times more as I get my cash out of my wallet to pay my cabbie. I am getting annoyed. It's not like I'm being slow like some of the other people we also see in this city, taking hours on hours to get out of a cab (and even then you are generally courteous and wait on them if necessary, you don't want them to leave shit behind just because you're an impatient little cocksucker, there is usually no reason to rush someone getting out of a cab no matter how long they take).

I whirl around in my seat and glare at the driver through two sheets of glass. The honking stops.

I thank my taxi driver, step out of the cab, and walk round to the back of it to stand right in front of the honking taxi behind us. I stand right in front of his cab so that he can't go even as my own cab takes off. I lean forward, and, with a nasty look on my face, up goes my middle finger.

And off I go into my office, making it to my seat with minutes to spare.

Why this city feels it's necessary to honk at EVERY SINGLE THING in the goddamn street, I'll never know. I recently heard a story about a bus driver honking at a bike rider who'd fallen off his bike after a collision with another cyclist and couldn't get back up, and because the dude on the ground was "in the way," the bus driver then, very annoyed, steered his bus around the obviously injured man.

What the fuck, Shanghai.

Shanghai Shorts: Racial Silliness

Recently I've been getting a lot of calls at my current workplace. All of them call, speaking in English, looking for the owner, a foreigner with a very Western-sounding name. He's not in the habit of taking calls from people he doesn't know so I do what I can to deter them. (I am, for the record, not his secretary; my phone number just happens to be his old contact one.)

Sometimes they'll catch on and realize that okay maybe this dude isn't the way to go, maybe I can give them the name of our company's CEO instead?

So I'll prod and pry and see how likely it is that it is a sales call and sometimes I'll go, okay they seem legit, I'll give them my boss's name.

My boss, like me, is also a foreigner, but he's Chinese by race and his name reveals as much.

The second the person on the other end hears the name, their reaction changes. They ask "Oh is he Chinese?" Expressions of shock abound!

So I'll ask them, in a very sharp tone, "Is there a problem?"

They'll stammer and mutter and you KNOW there is a problem just based on a violent shift in their attitude, but they'll eventually realize they gave themselves away and then recollect themselves and say "No, there's no problem, I would just like to know if he's Chinese."

Then I get playful. "What difference does it make?"

"No difference, ma'am, we would just like to know."

I decide to test my theory. "He's a foreign-born Chinese."

"Ahhhhh, foreign-born Chinese. Okay okay. Yeah it's just... *lots of hesitant stammering* no problem, no problem."

"Would there have been a problem if he wasn't a foreign-born Chinese? I would imagine if you're sending business documents that they should go to the right person in the right position."

"No ma'am, no difference. I'll send the documents within the hour. Thanks for your help, goodbye!"

This is just the tamer of the phone calls. Once I got a call from a Chinese speaking woman asking if any foreigners worked at our office. I said yes, there were two, me and my boss. She asked for our names because she wanted to send us a free expat-only magazine. I gave her our names. She said, "Hang on, are these people Chinese?"

I snapped and said, in English, "You asked if we were foreigners, and I answered you honestly. Neither of us hold Chinese passports. We are expats working in Shanghai. Is there a problem? Are you calling me a liar?"

She stammered, clearly not fully understanding what I was saying nor how to react, and told me, now in English, to "hold on" as she'd talk to her manager. She returns some minutes later saying, "I apologize, there's been a misunderstanding. Sorry, I didn't mean to waste your time." And she hangs up.

Don't get me started on a rant about how Chinese people are treated like second-class citizens on their own goddamn turf BY OTHER CHINESE PEOPLE. I thought this shit was over and done with last century, guys.

I know that expats are a target group for specific marketing campaigns and initiatives. That's fine. That's narrowing a target demographic, everyone does it. But racial profiling WITHIN the group of expats, just because we're not white or not visibly distinct from Chinese people? We took the fucking time to learn to speak multiple languages fluently, to understand multiple cultures, and this is the thanks we get?

Shanghai may like to call itself "modern" and "progressive" and "multicultural" but man the shit some of these people pull is pretty fucking archaic, if you ask me.

Shanghai Shorts: Squat Pots and Sexy Legs

Anyone who has ever visited Shanghai (or, frankly, any city in China or Southeast Asia) has likely come across what we as English-speakers have affectionately termed "squat pots." These are toilets which are essentially a porcelain-lined hole in the ground, over which you squat and do your business.

Westerners often call them archaic, obsolete, outdated, dirty, and, well, let's face it, a bit physically taxing. Squat pots are generally uncomfortable as you don't get to rest your body down on anything solid, and instead must remain in a squatting position for however long it takes for you to do what you gotta do. On top of that, you're probably worried about the Splatter Effect.

The Chinese, on the other hand, refer to them as clean and efficient. The reason? Well, it does make sense: your butt doesn't actually come into contact with what other people's butts have touched.

The truth is that while Westerners would argue that a proper toilet seat and bowl are "advanced" versions of toilets and generally preferable to squat pots (I myself wander through various Chinese public bathrooms until I find a toilet with a seat), many Chinese argue the opposite.

It is not rare for a Chinese woman to approach a "Western" toilet and stand up on the toilet seat and do what? Squat like they would over a squat pot.

While most modern facilities and buildings do provide the seated toilets rather than the squat pots (because quite frankly the increased Splatter Effect of a squat pot does give also increase a bathroom's the Odor Factor), this doesn't quite change how the toilets are used once the doors are closed.

It's a changing, evolving habit, to be sure. I'm not saying ALL Shanghainese women stand up onto a toilet seat to pee, but a good portion of them do it enough that, well, it makes a good story.

Plus I guess if you have to remain in a squatting position for however long it takes to pinch out a good ol' Numero Dos, you probably come away from the experience with fantastically fit thighs.

Why I'm Awesome (Part 25 of 7,412): NAÏVETÉ

This post is brought to you by an unnerving lack of jetlag.

Some recent events have brought to light something that I've known for a long time but never openly owned up to: I am an unbelievably naïve person. More often than not, I find myself trusting others with little to no question, always giving the benefit of the doubt. This is, in fact, part of the reason why I am a very open person, as I generally assume people are not out to get me. Naturally, this can sometimes get me into trouble.

I can get screwed over. I can be lied to. I can be deceived. I can be misled. I can be made to look like an absolute fool. I can be ridiculed. If I wanted to be melodramatic, it could also one day put me in a dangerous position. There’s a lot of bad things that could potentially maybe sort of one day possibly happen. I know it. Some nasty things have happened as a result of it. But I also know that this is true of basically any other kind of personality trait one can possess, and it comes down with how I as an individual choose to handle it.

I don’t have a problem admitting that I am very naïve, that I am too trusting. More to the point, I don’t have an issue with staying that way. But why, if I am well aware of the risks involved, or if I’ve already gone through the downsides thus associated?

My answer is simple: I know that if proverbial shit should hit the equally fictitious fan, I can take care of myself. It's easy to give the benefit of the doubt until the person actually gives you a real reason not to trust them. It's better than taking the chance that I may insult, hurt, or vilify someone else's intentions just because I was being paranoid.

Sure, there may be tears or shouts or pouts or even punches thrown for a little bit if things come up tails when I called heads, but I am a strong enough person that I know that once tensions have cooled, I’ll be fine. I bounce back quickly, efficiently, and with as little impact on those around me as possible. It’s in fact why it’s so important for me to have someone around who knows to let me vent and not try to stop me in the middle of a tirade of emotional release. I need someone who knows that once it’s out of my system, the next step is for me to recover on my own and get over it and move on. I am lucky, then, to have so many of those people in my life.

I often find myself feeling sorry for those who are always suspicious of others or are always afraid to trust and thereby potentially get hurt. I know it sounds elitist of me, but that is truly how I feel and usually I respond to such personalities by being someone they know they can trust.

The fact of the matter is that you’re going to get hurt. It’s part of life. It will happen regardless of what kinds of measures you take to prevent it, if any at all. It can be intentional. It may be unintentional. Sure you can have your guard up, as past experiences should always be learned from, but at the same time, you can’t always assume people are out to get you, either, otherwise you just end up inadvertently hurting those who meant no harm. What you can do is let those shitty experiences make you a stronger and better person.

Is your definition of strength being self-reliant and not needing anyone else, and that’s how you justify your mistrust? If yes, then we shall agree to disagree. Strength, to me, is to know how the people around you are able to support and help you while you yourself find your own way to solve the problem or resolve the conflict and learn from what happened so that it doesn’t happen again. It’s a mix of self-sufficiency and humility (i.e., knowing that there are some things you just don’t have to do alone, nor should you).

So for every nasty thing that happens to be as a result of my naïveté, I at least know how to read the signs a little better than before. That said, I know I may still be naïve and fall into easy traps, but I’m all right with that. I don’t learn from my mistakes as easily or as efficiently as I probably should, but I deal with it by knowing that no matter what, I’ll be just fine and I will likely come out of it a stronger person.

Why I'm Awesome (Part 24 of 7,412): SEVEN

Oh man I hope you guys are ready for a cuteness overload.

This post is brought to you by the little girl who lives on the 24th floor in my building.

Well, okay, how adorable this actually ends up depends on how well you know me and my capacity for being adorable, your ability to imagine me saying certain parts of this post in that 4-year-old Cantonese girl’s voice, and if you have ever seen a picture of me when I was 4 or 5 years old.

When it comes to things that I deem my "favorites," it is perfectly normal for me (i.e., an insane person) to load that favorite thing with all kinds of personal meaning and history. I'm not necessarily unique in this respect, but when I saw my favorite color is that particular shade of blue-green you see right in between the shallow coastal waters and the deep blue sea as you fly over a particularly clean patch of ocean, that color is my favorite color for a multitude of reasons well beyond "I like it."

For instance, that color is my favorite not just because it looks good on me and not just because "I like it," but because it is exactly the shade of blue-green that you can only see in the situation I just described above. I saw this once while flying overhead in Hawaii and I have never seen yet another perfect duplicate of its color. It is barely describable, and no it is not that cheesy bright turquoise you see near the coast. Anyway, my love of all things the ocean is well-documented, so this should really require much more explanation.

Another example is, well, go back to the post where I tell you why I like backs. Oh god. One moment please while I let some images flash through my brain.

Aaaaaaaand back to your regularly scheduled programming.

Perhaps the most in-depth "favorite thing" that I have in my laundry list of "favorite things" is the number 7. Seven, sept, qi, pito, siete. Funnily enough (and contrary to what might have been mentioned way back when I explained the number 7,412), the fact that it is regarded as a "lucky number" by Westerners doesn't particularly matter to me.

First and most obvious is that it is the month in which I was born. July. Best month. Next.

Second is that if you rotate the number, it becomes the letter V. Also obvious. And I swear I came up with that idea long before I ever saw the movie Se7en.

Third, and closely related to that, are the seven deadly sins. It's not so much the fact that they are sins so much as I view them to be seven things that need to be balanced. I've always thought everything in moderation is a healthy thing, and this is no different for the 7DS. A little wrath is nice to release those pent-up emotions. A little sloth is nice to relax and slow yourself down. A little gluttony is nice because goddammit eating is one the best things about being alive. Too much of any and that's how they become "sins." I use the 7DS to often remind myself that there is no absolute right or wrong, that everything is relative, and that it ultimately comes down to what you are able to deem the best balance that suits you.
There are other reasons, too, but the one I wanted to share with you today is one that I don't think I've ever mentioned aloud or on paper to anyone other than myself.

Back when we lived in Hong Kong for the second time (i.e., from the ages of 4 to 7 for me), my family and I lived in this apartment building on Kotewall Road. Number 9, I think it was. Anyway, we lived in apartment 7B.

Now, I cannot for the life of me remember how tall I was back when I was 4 or 5, but I sure as hell remember being TINY and constantly wishing I was taller. I was so short that I, in all my pig-tailed glory, could not reach the 7 button in the building's elevator.

I would stand right by the elevator's button panel and gaze longingly at the 7 button, declaring in my mind that TODAY WOULD BE THE DAY I OWN YOU. Then I would reach up and barely make it to the 3 button. I would bounce up and down and make little whiny noises until my nanny or my daddy or my mommy would either hit the button to shut me up or, were they in better moods, pick me up and then I would press it.

Every time I failed to reach that button, I vowed with all my non-English-speaking mind that I would eventually get tall enough to press that stupid button without any help. I would even jump up and try to slam at the button but I'd never quite reach it or hit it hard enough for it to light up.

Of course, there were days where I just didn't care about that button because my face was buried in a zhi bao dan gao (or tsee bao dan gou in Cantonese I guess), which, back then, was a sponge cake with a chocolate topping that was wrapped in paper and was as big as my head. My nanny got me one every other day right before I got on the bus back from school because I was the best little kid EVER until of course I got home and my parents yelled at me for spoiling my dinner. (Plus I recently went back to that cake shop and got one and man it's about as big as my hand now. What the hell.) The cake served as such a magnificent distraction from all my shortcomings as a midget, however, I didn't particularly care.

Slight tangent aside, I remember the glorious day in question. I was 7 years old and, as my parents had noticed, in the middle of a growth spurt (that would eventually leave me at 5'8" at the age of 14). I stepped into the elevator, face covered in the crumbs of what was once a sponge cake, and looked menacingly at the button panel.

Then, like it was nothing at all, I reached up, hit the number 7 button, and it lit. My nanny gave me a pat on the head and said I was getting tall.

Me, well, in my head I had reached some divine level of strength and power, like I was unstoppable. No longer would people tower over me and press buttons I couldn't reach! No longer would I rely on the strength of others to reach the number 7!

Of course, little did I know (or care) that 7 was not the highest number in the elevator. But that day, I was GOD.

Last night as I returned home from my haircut, the adorablest little anklebiter and her mother (I presume) stepped into the elevator with me and pretty much did exactly what I described, only her sights were set significantly higher: the 24th floor. Eventually I smiled at her and helped her use my ridiculously huge umbrella (courtesy of Michelle and Parkway Health) to press the button. Her mother was highly amused. The little girl gave me the hugest grin and for one of the few times in my life, I didn't feel like loading a little spoiled Chinese kid into a cannon and blasting him/her out to sea.

Being that it made me super happy, that 7 is my birth month and that 24 is my birthday, I took it as inspiration to write this post.

GOOD LUCK TO YOU, ANKLEBITER OF THE 24TH FLOOR. Jia you!

Why I'm Awesome (Part 23 of 7,412): ANIMALS

This post brought to you by Shorty who inadvertently led to me asking this question to a bunch of queers on SE++.

Originally, this was going to a satirical compilation of questions that I would actually think about asking, as Shorty puts it, "potential mates." Realizing that advertising these questions would in advertently kill my game ("OH NO VIV ASKED ME IF I LIKED PICKLED EGGS SHE IS WANTING ME OH NO"), I instead focused on one particular question that I did end up asking a bunch of queers on SE++ and am genuinely curious about.

Simply put, I took a joke and overthought it to the point of irrelevancy, as only we with those two X chromosomes can do.

List your five favorite animals (be as specific as you like).

The provision in parentheses is of course to make allowances for those who are almost obsessive in their attention-to-detail, but I suppose what I should have added was “and explain why.”

Let us explore my own answer to this telling question and what that might imply about my personality, based nothing on my own inflated sense of self-importance and dire need to inform certain individuals what my preferences in the animal kingdom happen to be.

5) Blue shark. I remember when the family and I were at El Nido resort in Palawan, Philippines, and suddenly everyone by beach suddenly freaked out and ran out of the water. (The resort, for references sake, has a small little private cove of a beach formed by a breakwater.) My sister and I go to look and there, gliding around in the shallow waters of the little beach, a small blue shark had made its way past the breakwater and into the cove. I was mesmerized, mostly by the shape of its tale and the way it glided through the water with seamless grace. It was too small to be terrifying (being that blue sharks are a kind of groundshark and therefore supposed to be huge, I was baffled, but upon asking the guys at the resort they confirmed that I was right in guessing that it was a blue shark), but to be fair I have always loved sharks, this is just the one I prefer above them all, simply for the shape of its tail. Tiger sharks are perhaps my second-favorite kind of shark.

4) Siberian white tiger. Of the five, this is the one animal I find the most beautiful. I cannot explain it, I have just loved the way they look. I spent half an hour staring at one the first time I saw one alive.

3) Gray wolf. I love wolves. Every Jack London book I have ever read has made me love them. Their pack mentality, their resilience in the wilderness, and their innate sense of teamwork have always been appealing to me. Plus they are pretty-looking. I honestly sometimes wish I could own one as a pet, one with two different colored eyes (a motif that appears in many places in my writing project, by the way).

2) Black panther. More specifically, the black Melanistic jaguar. It’s a deadly predator that moves with the grace of a cat and all the sinister visual connotations of a shadow. It’s graceful and beautiful and honestly I would give anything to be able to pet one, even if it might snap my hand off.

1) Dusky dolphin. Really, any kind of dolphin will do it for me. This should be of little surprise to anyone who has actually been to my apartment (either in the States or in Shanghai), what with the old dolphin shower curtain and the dolphin statuettes and Lilienne’s drawing of a girl and a dolphin hanging on the wall. My favorite thing about our trip to Hawaii all those years ago was that I got to swim with and pet the dolphins. It was beyond amazing and, even better, later on during the same vacation, while we were fishing with our grandfather on this super-nice boat (called the “Marlin Magic,” I recall), we happen to sail right by some dolphins! Wistful reminiscence aside, however, my love of dolphins stems purely from the fact that I love the ocean, plain and simple. They are cute and soft and warm-blooded and they are also vicious when provoked by the right kind of predator. Much love.

So, really, except for the dolphins, I just noticed that my favorite animals are all, well, predators. Angry ones. Though technically the wolves can be considered scavengers as well. It also appears to be the reason I like them. Deadly yet gorgeous animals, some capable (or even preferring) to hunt alone while others move in skulks and packs to take down a target together.

I wouldn’t call myself an animal lover, but more of a deeply respectful admirer. Man I could only hope to be so beautifully badass. I COULD ONLY HOPE. But nooooooo I only get so far in presentation but when push comes to shove I am the softest kind of softy. Sigh.

Got any favorites you’d like to share? I will admit that this is something I am always curious to know about pretty much everyone I meet.

PS. I just realized that this is the second "list a bunch of things" post I have made in a row. I promise next time I will post something more interesting.

Why I'm Awesome (Part 22 of 7,412): SUPERPOWERS

This post is brought to you by a comic book overdose.

Everyone, comic book/graphic novel fan or not, has pretty much been asked what kind of superpower they'd want if they could have any one they can possibly imagine.

After having read a ton of graphic novels/comic books over the last couple of weeks (from the very excellent, non-superpower-related-unless-you-count-a-penis Y, The Last Man to Ultimate Fantastic Four to Runaways to Cable & Deadpool), catching up on existing series, seeing the Iron Man movie, and mounting excitement over the upcoming The Dark Knight and Watchmen movies, I naturally find myself idly pondering this question every time I get up from my seat and go get a glass of water.

Being that I am poor and cannot afford much to else to drink and since water neutralizes hunger pangs, this actually takes place pretty often.

I fondly recall that, in such discussions in the past, my sister would almost always choose the powers of Lifeguard (c/o Marvel), who can borrow/assimilate the powers of pretty much anyone else. THIS IS CHEATING, DAMMIT.

Before I go into ultra-geek mode, however, let me just add that anyone who thinks graphic novels/comic books are for "kids" or are for "nerds/geeks/dorks" or are "immature forms of literature" or really anything along those lines should really pick up Y, The Last Man or the Watchmen. Either one of these will change your mind in an instant and they currently rank among my top two favorite stories in the medium. (SE++, feel free to add your recommendations, as I know you will.)

Okay. Justification over with, I think I should also mention that I like powers that are simple but have a wide range of practical and creative applications. None of that reality-shifting nonsense.

Without further ado, I present to you now my top nine favorite superpowers. (Why not ten? Because "10" has two digits and throws off the alignment of the list and man that kicks my OCD-like insanity into overdrive.)

9) X-ray vision, a la Superman (Justice League). Though not technically X-rays, but more like being able to see through layers of solid objects. Like clothes. I constantly fantastize about being able to see through someone and see them punch in their PIN at the ATM.

8) Durability, a la Luke Cage (Avengers). Not really invulnerability, but I can take a ton of hits before going down. I've always thought this was badass, though I'd be hard-pressed to explain why.

7) Healing Factor, a la Wolverine (X-Men) or Deadpool (Marvel). Finally, my fear of fire defeated if I know I could just heal back from it. Plus, staying young forever? Yes, please, absolutely. It'd take care of this stupid skin nonsense of mind, too.

6) Teleportation, a la Nightcrawler (X-Men) or Blink (Exiles). This way I can cross the damn street without standing around waiting for a car to slow down or a light to change. Yes I am constantly in a hurry. No I do not like waiting. Yes I would love to be able to teleport across oceans.

5) Underwater breathing, a la Namor (Marvel) or Aquaman (Justice League). My love of the ocean should leave this as no surprise.

4) Forcefields, a la Invisible Woman (Fantastic Four) or Violet (The Incredibles movie). Not invisibility so much, but definitely the forcefields. At least the spherical ones that can slice through anything if you toss them into a solid object. That be bitchin'.

3) Animal morphing, a la Beast Boy (Teen Titans) or technically Wolfsbane (X-Men). People who are familiar with the UNIFIED game we were prepping for on SE++ will know what I'm talking about, as I created a character who could transform into any animal (with the limitation of only one species per genus). If you want to see what kind of uncanny supernerdery I'm talking about here, check this out. And no, smartasses, furriness has nothing to do with this.

2) Intangibility, a la Shadowcat (X-Men). I dream constantly of walking into Shanghai traffic with this superpower. That, and sweeping an arm into an ATM and yanking out a stack of the red stuff. Ooh, ooh, or walking off the subway without having to shove people out of the way. Imagine what that would do for my anger problems!

1) Photographic reflexes, a la Monica Dawson (Heroes TV show). Aka muscle memory, where you just look at someone do something and you know how to do it, too, though not including superpowers. Stuff like playing a piano, busting out a wrestling move, craaaaaaazy Guitar Hero skills, firing a gun, piloting a helicopter, etc. All awesome. Basically went straight to my number one spot after I saw it on Heroes, haha. Bumped shadow manipulation (a la this character I also did for UNIFIED) right off the Top 9 list.

A lot of my thinking is done at an ATM, honestly.

So sure, while it may seem childish to fantasize about being super-human or whatever, I think it's sometimes therapeutic. And you can't tell me you never wondered about this stuff, either.