Rihanna: Epic Fail.
 
They say that you always hurt the ones you love…but should you also love the one who hurts you?  (Following is the purported picture of Rihanna taken by the police.  I cannot vouch for its authenticity nor its veracity.)
 

I realize that all the facts are not known and probably will never be known to the public in the case of Chris Brown physically abusing Rihanna, but Rihanna’s actions in the post-fight period amounts to nothing short of an epic fail.  (I always told myself I would never write that overused “epic fail” term, but I can think of no better term to ascribe to her choices.)
 
Is there ever a time when it is okay to hit a woman?
Of course there is.  If some crazy woman with a knife jumped out and tried to kill me or my wife, I would not hesitate to do my best impression of Lyoto Machida and take her down before calling the cops.  But let’s even suppose that Rihanna is the one who started this altercation with her words or fists.  Was Chris Brown’s response adequate?  If a woman ever decided to come after me punching and kicking, I would grab a hold of her arms, push her out of my personal space and then back away.  I would not, as it has been alleged in the Chris Brown case, punch, choke and threaten to kill her.  There is nothing appropriate in Chris Brown’s response, no matter which way you spin it, even if Rihanna started it.
 
Reasons women (and men) stay with abusers.
There are many reasons why certain people choose to stay with those who physically abuse them and I am not claiming to be an expert or have knowledge of all the reasons, but let’s examine a few, okay?

• I have nowhere else to go.  This is irrelevant in Rihanna’s case.  Her family (at least her father) has come out to speak on her behalf, she undoubtedly has friends and at the very least could depend on her manager to find her a safe place to dwell in.  She has amassed more money in her short career than most of us will in our lifetimes.  She does not have to worry about starving or freezing if she does not go back and live with him (if she was previously).
• I can’t leave my children.  She has no children with him.  There is a rumor, probably false, that she is pregnant with his child, but again, she has more than enough resources to not need Chris Brown for support.  When it comes to abuse, the cause, whatever it may be, is rooted in the abuser and not the victim.  Do you really want the same man who hits you to have access to your children?
• But I love him.  That may be true.  But do you love yourself?  If you do, then you need to GTHO of that relationship.   Transfer that to your daughter.  You love your daughter, would you want her to stay with an abusive man?  If not, then why subject yourself to the same?  Are you somehow worth less than she is? 
• I’m afraid of him coming after me.  This is a tangible fear and certainly one I can understand.  But in Rihanna’s case, again, she has enough resources to get away and protect herself.  (I’m sure Jay-Z could hook her up with some bodyguards with a kung fu grip.)  Without anonymity to protect him, there is no way Chris Brown could ever touch her again…unless she gives him the opportunity to.
• Jesus doesn’t want me to get a divorce.  Jesus also doesn’t want to read about your murder on TMZ.com.

I’m not judging women (and men) in the general population who choose to stay with abusers.  It is never a cut-and-dry situation with an easy escape.  Some victims feel enslaved to the bond of codependency and are unable to break out of it while some simply are not aware of the exit strategies that are out there.  It is a sad and unfortunate case all around from which some people cannot bring themselves out of.  But if there was ever a person who could break out of it and be an example, it is Rihanna.  A young and beautiful woman with the Midas touch at the crest of her career, Rihanna is adored and is a role model–whether by intention or not–for millions of young girls and is on her way to developing a music empire.  Beyond any emotional attachment, she has no need to be dependent upon Chris Brown for anything. 
 
In the aftermath of her fight with Chris Brown, Rihanna had the opportunity to step up and show all the women and young girls in the world that they don’t have to lie down and take it when a man physically abuses them, but in choosing to reconcile with a man who beat and threatened to kill her, she has unwittingly told them all that it is okay to give a free pass to a man that hits you.  And for that, Rihanna is an epic fail.

You deserve better, Rihanna, and so do all victims of domestic violence.
 
———
Here is a website that has a list of resources for victims of abuse:
http://www.ojp.usdoj.gov/ovc/help/dv.htm
For Asian women here is a site that has translators available:
http://www.nyawc.org

———-

Don’t forget to vote Quest!  (See post below.)  Have a great and SAFE week, everyone.

VOTE QUEST!
I feel like a teenybopper for posting this, but in case you missed it, the finals for America’s Best (Rigged) Dance Crew were last week, with Beat Freaks and Quest Crew as the last two vying for the win next week.  I’m big on the whole “Asians doing well in things besides violin and science,” so of course I want Quest to win, but I also think they deserve it.  Why?  Because you can see from the following that they are at a higher level.

Here is the head to head hip hop decathlon challenge.
Beat Freaks


I thought the beginning was good, but after the first thirty seconds it just became flat.  (Especially the crunk section…what was that?) I think the judges elevated them in their critiques because, you know, MTV wants them to win!  Compare it to Quest Crew’s turn:


Best performance out of all three seasons!  Twice the speed and difficulty of what the Beat Freaks did!  I liked how every member had his turn at the center in the spotlight.  And here are the final challenges:
Beat Freaks (watch how the final bboy moves are off at the end):


Now watch and see how they appear compared to Quest!

There is no way BF could replicate what Quest did there.
I’ve loved the Beat Freaks since their episode 1 performance, but this past week Quest killed them.  I read somewhere how you can think of the Beat Freaks as Hillary Clinton (older, more experienced women) and Quest Crew as Barack Obama (all minorities, younger, more energy).  And you all know what happened with that contest.

 Vote Quest!  Voting ends Wednesday!

My wife is a chimpanzee.

The other day I had an unforgettable conversation with The Wife™:

F.bunch™: I read more on that chimpanzee who attacked the woman. Its owner shared baths and her bed with it.

The Wife™: Gross.

F.bunch™: The victim got jacked up, might need a face transplant. You know, chimpanzees usually go after the face and the balls.

The Wife™: Face and the balls? Just like me when attack you! So you have a chimpanzee too!

[Before I lose all my revelife subscribers, let me clarify that this post has nothing to do with sex.  Carrying on…]

And you know what?  She’s right!  I was bamboozled.  When I first met The Wife™ I thought she was this very sweet and innocent wahine who couldn’t harm a fly, but after we were together I soon learned that she was quite the opposite.  She loves to attack me.  Examples:

• I’ll be lying on the bed or sitting in a chair watching TV when she’ll quietly saunter up with a loving look on her face before suddenly screaming, “HAI-YAH!” and swing her fist at my cradle of life, stopping just three centimeters from sterility
• Arranging the pillows and blankets to make it look like she’s sleeping underneath and when I come close to the bed she’ll jump out from behind and grab me
• Threatening to give me a donggjim in public (if you don’t know what that is, trust me when I tell you not to ask)
• The two-finger eye poke (think horizontal peace sign) if we’re in each other’s personal space
• Turning off the lights when I enter a room and play ninja, waiting to scare me

I often complain to her, asking for “more tenderness…less tenderizing,” but she’ll merely respond that she’s just making sure that I’m alive.  Since I’m usually even-keeled and very calm (especially at work), she does these types of things to get a reaction out of me.  Think of it as Chinese water torture, but perpetrated by a Korean girl instead.  (The inhumanity of it all!)

As it is quite diametrically opposed to who I am, I used to get really irritated and shake my head at her.  Why couldn’t she be more similar to me and just chill?!  But with time I learned the lesson that in relationships, synergy is more important than similarities.  Think about it.  We often have checklists to see if potential partners have “things in common” with us, but is that what healthy and growing relationships are about?  If I wanted to be with someone similar to myself, I’d just stay single.  It’s cheaper and I get to eat as much rice as I want!

Being from Hawaii, I’ve always been pretty mellow and while we weren’t exactly ballers (since my ‘rents came to America as poor immigrants), I never suffered as the son of a doctor growing up nor failed at anything (‘cept asking girls out).  As a result, I’ve never really been one to delve in confrontations or have a sense of urgency with my life.  I’ve never needed or had that hunger to drive me.  Although that has been nice, I realize that as a result I’m a bit too blasé at times and instead of fighting for what I want, I often resort to passive-aggressiveness, bathing in the contentment that comes with knowing that you are right and they are wrong.  The Wife™?  Life was a lot tougher for her and she’s had to depend only on herself.  What was straight and narrow for me was fraught with trapdoors and the discontentment that accompanies promises lost.  As a result, she is now one of the toughest people that I know and will stand and fight to defend her own.  “No one messes with my blood,” she’ll tell me with a wink before she strides out to fight for me.

So instead of trying to find our similarities, I’ve come to embrace our differences, because those are what spur us to grow to become better people, with myself becoming more vocal and stronger, and herself realizing that sometimes she can just let go and not depend on solely herself, because I’m here for her, my chimpanzee, until the day that I die.

Just make sure you keep stopping at least three centimeters from sterility, okay, honey?

Have a great week!

———–

In no way, shape or form is this post meant to poke fun at the chimpanzee incident.  I wish the victim the best in her recovery.

I got touched by a man.

For the first time in my life, The Franksabunch™ was not the boss.  It didn’t matter where I wanted to be, I went where *he* wanted me to be.  Down, up, left, right…I was tossed about like a rag doll in an empty washing machine.  His hands, larger and more powerful than mine, established dominance early and asserted themselves often.  From the wet beginning to the end, he was in control.

And when it was over, I gave him a $3 tip for my haircut and said to The Wife™, “I just got manhandled!”

Ever since I got married, out of convenience I have gotten my haircuts at the same places she does so I have been accustomed to delicate, Korean FOB women enhancing my *cough* ruggedly handsome looks *cough*.  They’re all the same—gentle, very nice, sometimes bordering on flirtatious.  So imagine my surprise when The Wife™ took me to her most recent place and amidst a whole gaggle of young and older FOBs stood Kimbo Slice-sized Kimo, with his broad shoulders and Man-of-all-men hands (I swear he could palm a watermelon in each and still have enough space to peel a clementine), sticking out like a sore Republican in the post-Bush Senate.  And, as luck would have it, he was the next available person. 

Don’t get me wrong, he was a cool guy, very professional and did a good job on my hair, but, boy, was it a different experience.  Instead of caressing hands that reminded me of The Wife™, his Shaq hands dribbled my head as he cut and shaved. 

During the cut I wondered if my patients ever felt like that.  While I’m not exactly a ginormous former linebacker or anything, I’m still bigger than most people in medicine.  (I figured that out when I was medical student scrubbing in on a surgery and after reaching into the abdomen to hold something, the attending loudly exclaimed, “Damn, Franksabunch™, you have some big ass hands!”)  Though I am always gentle as I can be, there are sometimes in medicine, especially with certain procedures, that you have to, for lack of a better nonsexist term, Man Up and just push (“make haste slowly” is the best way I can describe doing procedures).  Did any of my patients ever feel that I was too rough with them?  Perhaps I could learn a thing or two from those Korean FOB gongjus and ajummas.

Contrasting Kimo to my prior haircuts, I thought it was a good example of how different men and women are.  But are men and women different like oranges and apples, or is it more accurate to say that we are simply different pieces that fit together, like orange slices and a glass of Blue Moon?  The latter has been more evident to me since The Wife™ left last week to go visit her family.  The feeling I have had since she left is not one of being lonely, as an orange in a fruit basket without apples, but rather being incomplete like a glass of Blue Moon without an orange slice.  So much so that I’ve taken to sleeping on her (left) side of the bed so I can smell her hair as I traverse the hypnagogic bridge into sleep.  Now that she’s gone I realize how little in this world I know how to do except practicing medicine and how to make-money-money, make-money-money-money (well, the latter is due to the former).  She’s the one who knows how to get rid of the irritating pop up on the Blu-Ray player, find things I can’t, nail stuff together, etc.  I guess it’s true what they say: A husband without his wife is powerless…just like Jessica Simpson without her boobs.

Perhaps if we approached our disagreements and arguments with all that in mind, things would not be so disharmonious at times.  In our relationships, instead of approaching problems as you versus me, perhaps a better way is to approach it as us versus the problem.  We are not different people fighting, but rather people fighting different ideas. 

I do miss The Wife™ dearly, and now realize that every argument we had in the past is inconsequential compared to the physical distance that is now between us.  The nice thing about this, compared to a big, irreparably damaging fight, is that I know that she’ll come back home to me soon.

And until then I’ll just have to get used to sleeping on the left side of the bed.

Have a great week!

Edit: Thanks OCRosie!  Oops!

Deleting your friends.

So the other week I finally upgraded to a smartphone (Blackberry Bold, because I’m straight out baller like that) and since then I have been slowly undergoing the arduous task of manually entering my phone book and currently I’m halfway through the letter M.  (I tried the switch the SIM card thing but it didn’t work.)  You wanna know a dirty little secret?

I deleted some of you. 

After a few names I began to triage like an ER nurse (minus the attitude and too much information scrubs) based on certain criteria:

• Do I call this person regularly?
• Is this someone that I don’t talk to regularly, but love catching up once every 6-12 months?
• Relative?
• Xanga celebrity?  (Just kidding.)
• Do I expect to keep in touch with this friend?

That last one was the hardest to figure out.  Ever since I left Hawaii for college, I’ve lived on both coasts and at each place made friends but in the end realized that some of the friendships would be ephemeral in nature.  The only group of friends in which all of them made it into my “bad boys for life” category are my friends from high school since we’ve all been down with one another throughout the years of struggles, triumphs and psycho girlfriends.  Everyone else?  Well, I’m just being honest when I say that not everyone who has come into my life will stay there.

Friends are like memories…some are worth cherishing for life while others are meaningful for the short time that they exist before they fade away. 

This does not mean, of course, that the latter were somehow not nice enough, good enough, [fill in the blank] enough or that I am better than them, but rather an acknowledgement of how in transit this life is.  It is nothing personal and I don’t take offense when the same is done with me.  Once I was walking down the street when I saw in the distance a friend from another state who had not called to let me know that he would be in town (and never called before he left).  Was I hurt or offended?  No.  I just realized that our friendship was not one that was meant to last beyond a proximity of convenience.  No insult was intended by him or perceived on my part.

So what makes the difference between a friend you hold on to for life and one that you let fade away?  As I pondered this question I wondered whether I was considered the former or the latter to others, not because I wanted people to hang onto my number, but rather because I hoped that with each friend I gave more than I received, listened more than I talked, encouraged more than I discouraged and, most importantly, forgave without hesitation or request.

After all, we have only one lifetime to make the lives of those around us better, so let’s make the most of it, okay? 

Bad boys for life.

———–

So for the 20+ Xangans who gave me their number…you still have time to plead your case so I won’t delete you.  

The Theology of Battlestar Galactica: Thoughts on Week One.

WARNING!  Do not read if you haven’t seen the first episode yet, this post contains plot spoilers.

One of the things that I love about Battlestar Galactica is how the writers take dogma and turn it upside down, making proverbial molehills out of mountains, swapping Technicolor with sepia and making the dewey decimal system and Google one and the same.  After all, since season one we have seen robots give birth to babies that look human, good guys immolating themselves as suicide bombers and fighter pilots morphing into politicians.  However, what has impressed me the most is how BSG has forced us to examine religion and the concept of what it really means to be human.

In the beginning things are quite cut and dry.  Good guys = humans.  Bad guys = cylon robots.  After that it all goes downhill…in an M.C. Escher kind of way.  The humans, the good guys, are polytheistic.  The cylons, the bad guys now in metal as well as flesh form, are monotheistic.

WHAT, CHICKEN BUTT?!

That’s quite a switch, no?  These days, monotheism (Judaism and Christianity in the western world, Islam in the middle east) is the predominant theology.  Polytheism has been relegated from religion to mythology, thunderous gods banished to bedtime stories and late night cable reruns.  BSG is not shy about the polytheism of the humans, with many references to “the gods,” but why use Hellenic deities for the good guys and the “one true God” for the bad guys?  After all, wasn’t it the Romans—polytheists whose liturgy bleeds Hellenic—that fed the monotheistic Christians to the lions?  In Judeo-Christian dogma, it is God’s chosen people who came first before the polytheistic Romans they were tortured and murdered by…only to be used by God to save them in the end.

Does this make the cylons the Jews (Gods chosen people, from whom Jesus Christ arose out of) and the humans the wayward gentiles pre-conversion?  Another alternative religious corollary is that the cylons and humans are like Isaac and Ishmael, half-brothers that formed the human fork in the road of history between Christianity and Islam, with each believing his way to be the only Way, leading to centuries of bloodletting, much like the 13^th tribe splitting off from the original 12.

Before you think I’m crazy or too much of a BSG dork (okay…too late for that), consider these other parallels:

• 2,000 years ago there was the nuclear attack on Earth.  2000 years ago Christ was crucified.  And yet through both people were able to be reborn again.
• President Roslin is a messianic figure, per the prophecy leading her people to the promised land…and to her own death.
• The cylon named Number Six is the most seductive of all, with one gaining the codes needed for the holocaust from Baltar, another seduced Colonel Tigh and another was the leader of the breakaway cylon faction.  That’s 666, if you will.
• Baltar, who became a religious figure in the later seasons, proselytizes for the cylon God to his human followers, proving that the cylon religion transcends race.
• Grace Park is mad beautiful.  (Just wanted to throw that in somewhere. )
• The twelve colonies could be a reference to the twelve disciples.  The thirteenth colony?  Jesus Christ, their leader.  

But what does the journey and subsequent discovery of Earth by a combined team of Jews and gentiles—cylons and humans—tell us?  And why in the world does Dualla kill herself?!?!?!  To answer that question we need to revisit the question of what it means to be human.  The humans, of course, reproduce the old fashioned way.  The cylons at the onset of BSG could reproduce only by building more robots.  Experiments to use human ovaries to produce cylon-human hybrid progeny were unsuccessful…until Boomer and Helo produced a child.  To make the logic even murkier, Colonel Tigh got one of the Number Six cylons pregnant.  Yes, the Colonel Tigh who was later revealed to be one of the embedded cylons, so that makes two cylons producing a child together (well, an unfinished pregnancy since that Number Six was later killed).  The thought is that the missing link was love.  Love, and not science, is what is needed to produce life.  Members of the 13^th tribe who died on Earth were excavated and were found to be, surprisingly, cylons and not humans.  Ergo, the 13^th tribe 2,000 years ago were cylons who coexisted with humans before they left the other twelve colonies to be on their own.  But how can that be, since it was originally thought that the humans created the cylons…unless there really is no difference between human and cylon.  Perhaps cylon and human were once one and the same, much like we all used to be, before pride and prejudice arbitrarily separated us all by race, creed and class.

It turns out that we’re all sons of Abraham, after all.  We are all of the same blood, and neglecting that fact is why we continue to fight amongst ourselves to this day.

So why did Dualla kill herself?  When she dug up the jacks she must have had a flashback like Chief Tyrol (wall shadow) and Sam Anders (guitar) did and realized that she, too, is either a cylon or somehow related to them.  In finding Earth she found that the enemy she was staring at all this time was herself. 

Another explanation for that and the rest of Galactica tearing each other apart or drowning in their morose after finding Earth?  All of us, like the humans and cylons in BSG, are chasing our own personal 13^th colony.  Think about what it is that keeps you going in life.  Whether it is money, power, stability, marriage, children, drugs, the next Harry Potter novel, good food, washboard abs or a promotion, we all journey for something but invariably find that once we attain that which we strove for that we are still unfulfilled.  Betrayed by mammon in providence’s clothing we are left wanting and hurting for more. 

So what’s next for the crew of BSG and their new cylon comrades?  What does that mean for us, an originally homogenous human race that made itself heterogeneic due to pride and prejudice?  Human + cylon or cylon + cylon, it turns out that love was the answer to create life and perhaps is also the answer to the question of what it really means to be human, for love is the common denominator in us all, and only unconditional love can fulfill for all eternity.  And that unconditional love is available for everyone, no matter where you came from or how someone else defines you…black or white, male or female, Arab or Jew, gay or straight, human or cylon.

All you have to do is ask.

Have a great week!

————–

That AFC championship game was BOOOOORING.  As a result, I’ll be rooting for the Cardinals in the Super Bowl!

Bully.

I have always wondered why some people choose to become bullies.  Of course, being one that believes in the concept of original sin, I am more than aware that humans have a propensity to seethe rather than soothe and hurt rather than heal.  (Which explains why reality TV is still in existence.)  But choosing to torment another human being is usually reserved for the worst of the worst–individuals who either find joy in sadism or who are misanthropes in every sense of the word.  Lori Drew (pictured above in a photo taken from MSNBC, with her daughter, Sarah) was convicted of multiple misdemeanors stemming from her (along with her daughter and assistant) creation of a fake myspace account to “cyberbully” Megan Meier, who hung herself after being rejected by the faux love interest they created.  (Yes, the girl probably had her own issues, but while the girl put the noose around her own neck, Drew comment-kicked out the chair from underneath her.)

Today I finally saw a picture of the two tormenters. My initial reaction? I immediately noted how fat and ugly the mother and daughter were.

I was picked on a lot growing up.  None of it was physical, of course, because as an Asian boy who would eventually grow to 6’1″ in the only state where Asian Americans are the majority, I was not an ethnic minority and I was also bigger than 95% of the population.  (That last part is not a statement of race, because I’m bigger than 95% of the population of every state.)  No.  My torment would be the teasing I would get over being overweight and smart.  When I think back to those who teased me, I remember not how perfect they were, but rather how flawed they were.  That one was ugly.  That one was dumb.  That one smelled like rotten tampons. That one (girl) had a thick moustache, thick enough to buy beer with.  I remember how flawed they were because in retrospect, they were more flawed than myself. The proof lies in the present, that I’m now an attending physician, well educated, well read (or rather was well read before medical school killed my reading list), have a nice job serving the community and won the lottery by marrying a wonderful girl who won’t let me in the kitchen while they ended up not going to college and/or are probably on welfare or sick from diabetes and in one case dying young.  (Just being honest.)

Not one of the people who bullied me were those who had the right to.  Let he who is without sin cast the first stone, the good book says.  Likewise, only those who have it all together plus a bag of chips really have the right to bully others.  People like Tom Brady, winner of multiple Super Bowls and the Gisele sweepstakes, or Tim Tebow, Heisman-winning quarterback of the Florida Gators.  But the funny thing is that guys like Tom Brady or Tim Tebow probably didn’t pick on the weak and lame in high school because they didn’t have to in order to find some meaning in their lives.

Bullying, you see, has more to do with your own flaws than those of your victim.

There is nothing to be gained by spraypainting a Picasso and neither is there any edification to be gained by smothering love with hate. Unfortunately, those who are lacking in life have yet to learn that and seek to fill the holes in their own hearts by digging ones in the hearts of others.

So does that excuse the fat and ugly mother and daughter team of Lori and Sarah Drew for driving a young girl to commit suicide? Of course not. But perhaps more time as public enemy #1 will teach them that you cannot find fulfillment with hate, and perhaps the death of a young girl can do the same for us.

——-

For those of you few in the know, yes, I am recycling because I’m lazy this week.   Have a great rest of the week, everyone!  Go Gators!  Beat Oklahoma!

Edit:  How did a post get featured with 6 eprops and no recs?  I’ll never understand this new system.

You are not invited.

Did you know that the inventor of the Heimlich maneuver (Mr. Heimlich, that’s who!) has never actually used it to save someone who forgot to chew their ribeye before swallowing?  I remember reading during my first aid class in college. The same goes with us doctors, in a sense.  It’s few and far between where I get to opportunity to throw off the Clark Kent glasses and don my Superman cape outside of the hospital.  In fact, The Wife™ still doesn’t believe that I’m a very capable doctor since all she gets to witness is me doling out lukewarm advice to random people at parties asking me silly questions like, “why does my left eyebrow twitch when I urinate?” (The answer?  Because you’re stupid!  Leave me alone so I can enjoy my diet pepsi!)

The new year starts tomorrow and there will be the usual promises to eat less, exercise more and drink less, but how about this?  This year, instead of making a resolution to make yourself better, why not promise to open yourself up to someone who is different from yourself?  (Well, unless that person is Canadian, in which there is no hope. ) And who knows, the world could very well be a better place for it.