Tasty and useful!

My god, I love Japanese ingenuity!

And on "Lost": SHE FREAKIN' SPEAKS ENGLISH!

Green green green

Yes, two two two updates for you! Few things will inspire a second update, but this...

I have no qualms about admitting when I'm jealous. So when my friend Rita (who still hasn't updated her site) told me she's participating in an Amazing Race-like event this weekend in L.A., I promptly flipped the fuck out. There's this couple in L.A.—no idea who they are or why they're so freaking awesome—who are organizing their second annual race. Last year, it was to celebrate the guy's birthday and of all the birthday presents in the world, PHIL KEOGHAN showed up! This year, it's a Halloween/housewarming thingy and it's happening this weekend. They make arrangements with different sites in and around L.A. (museums! cafes! observatories! graveyards!) and have volunteers camped out at the sites to pass out clues (or somehow convince employees there to do it). And then they have a party at the final secret location. I'm in the midst of a jealous fit right now. NGGGGGGHHH!!!

My senior year of college, some people at our dorm organized a Houston-wide scavenger hunt. This was before the days of ubiquitous cell phones and GPS devices, so we were pretty much at the mercy of payphones and maps. It was so. much. fun. Each clue required solving puzzles (math, trivia, word games) and you *had* to solve it to find the next clue. At one point, the organizers messed up the directions, which resulted in a caravan of cars circling inside a smallish graveyard. Even so, I had a blast. Who wants to organize a San Francisco scavenger hunt?!

Commuter's Corner and ARGH (and ick!)!

It's not even noon and already it's a doozy of a day. But first, a new feature I'm going call "Commuter's Corner--Thoughts on the Way to Work."

CC #1
The striking hotel workers should rethink their chants. It's probably in poor taste to criticize them, after all I sympathize with them, but the tired old, "What do we want? Health care! When do we want it? NOW!"? Sure, it's catchy, it clearly outlines what their demands are, and it does have a nice rhythm. But the second part seems…I don't know, unnecessary? I kind of get that you want it now. See: strike. I'm waiting to hear, "When do we want it? Well, we've consulted our Outlook calendars, and we're thinking that a week from this Thursday would be a pretty good time. You?"

CC #2
After watching the first half of Season 1 of "Alias" in three days, I can't pass a Bloodmobile without thinking it's a cover. I'm half-afraid to go in there for fear of stumbling across double agents and getting killed because I heard too much.

Now for today's work-related doozy: one of my "beats" at work is monitors, so I often get e-mail directly from readers asking me things like "what CRT is best for graphics" or "what should I consider when buying an LCD." In my inbox this morning was a standard, if grammatically challenged, e-mail to the effect of "I get eyestrain from working on a computer all day. What kind of monitor do I need?" I responded professionally, but received a very unprofessional—and sort of shocking—reply. He basically said, "Thanks for the advice. By the way, are you Asian? I've been to [several different Asian countries]. I love Asia and its culture and family values and I love your country! We have a lot to learn from your ways. Did you grow up here?" And the best—or worst—part of it? He included a picture. A photograph. Of himself. Yeah, I don't know where to start. I mean, "I love your country"? My country of ASIA?! And its single culture? If you haven't already noticed, Asia = lots of countries, therefore lots of cultures and beliefs and practices and religions and people. And what the fuck with the picture? I'm sorry, did I stumble across an Asian fetishist hook-up site? Does he think I'll call him and want Mr. Strong White Man to take care of li'l ol' me? And then, "your ways"?! My way of…brushing my teeth? Wiping my ass? I fully expected a soundtrack on the e-mail that includes a resonant gong and a picture of him bowing to me. What an asshat.

This reminds me of a regular customer at the café in New Haven. He was a hairdresser (and a poor one at that) who would make some sort of reference to Asia or China every single fucking time he saw me. He'd talk about China's history or culture—as though it was the only thing I'd be interested in discussing because I'm Asian, or the only thing he and I shared an interest in. Oh, and then, in an attempt to show his lack of bigotry and understanding that Asians are just like everyone else, he went on about how "Asian hair" is a myth and there's no difference. Uh, what? Actually, I said, there is. Oh no, he says, it's no different. And I wouldn't know because why again? Again, asshat.

Weekend update

Chris and I had a good, mellow weekend, full of good food, funny coincidences, and scrumptious desserts. We went to a dessert party Saturday night, where Mae and I ran into someone we went to college with. I won't recount the convoluted connections that led to us all being there, but suffice to say, a visual aid is necessary. I also tasted the most amazing cake EVER at that party: Italian wedding cake. Is this an actual thing? Like, if I said, "Italian wedding cake" in Italy, would they know which particular cake I was talking about? Because I never want to be without it again! I asked the host if he'd ever consider making a wedding cake for, you know, a wedding, but sadly, he demurred, citing the pressure of it all. I'm a sad, sad bride. But the same host also lent me his videotape with the last episode of "Lost," so I can't be too upset with him.

Speaking of "Lost," still good, still perplexing, and I'm always tense on Wednesday nights now.

Speaking of being lost, still no computer, though things are looking up. The nice tech guy from the company that ate my computer was really helpful and got all the documents we need off the machine. And, speaking of coincidence, the PR rep who helped me is really good friends with one of our friends! Itty bitty world. Walls collapsing.

Vinny and Carlo are BFF now, in a very feline way. Wouldn't it be weird if we attacked and bit our best friends when we felt playful? Or sniffed their butts? Vinny has changed in one way that I don't like since we brought Carlo home. I used to like to pick him up and bury my nose in the thick ruff of fur around his neck, inhale deeply, and tell him that he smells good. The other day, I did just that…and came away with a noseful of sour fishiness! Vinny's neck stinks now! And, I realized, it's Carlo's fault. He likes to bite Vin on the neck and hang on for the ride, leaving his stinky fish-breath behind as a calling card. Pee-yew! No more nuzzling Vinny's neck.

As I sit here at work, I can hear the raucous party that's going on three floors down. Our building has this strange architecture I won't try to explain, but I can hear everything that happens in our lobby. One of our…subsidiaries? sections? areas? I don't really understand corporate structures...is having a blow-out party for some reason. A rep from that floor was nice enough to e-mail the rest of us to tell us about it…and also to tell us that we're not invited. Niiiice. From where I sit, I can hear the mariachi music and the laughing and the fizzing of the champagne…maybe if I make sad doggy-eyes at them, they'll give me some wine. Or maybe I'll just knock some heads together on my way out. That'll teach them to flaunt their party!

Bathing the beastly beauty

NOOOOO!! In my infinite stupidity, I totally forgot about "Lost" last night. Stupid, excitingly fun baseball game (Johnny Damon is my new favorite baseball player...such pretty hair)! Any chance someone taped it and would let me borrow said tape?

Chris and I gave Carlo a bath last night. Chris was worried that bathing him so soon after bringing him home would traumatize him, but so far, he's shown no signs of being upset by the changes in his situation. The night I brought him home, he hopped right out of his carrier, ready to explore and dominate. Also, unlike Vinny, I think he was never feral, because he's easy to handle and puts up with a lot of manual manipulation. I'm trying to accustom him to the idea of me sticking my fingers in his mouth (to brush his teeth) and he couldn't care less. So we bathed him—and lo, no crying or wailing or gnashing of teeth (I almost typed "rending of garments," but hee…he's naked). Easy peasy. He even let me towel him off.

The reason we were so eager to get him washed was because his fur was all nappy and I'm sure he was covered in SPCA funk. He didn't need to be locked in the bathroom overnight anymore, but I also didn't want him crawling in bed with us while all funky. And I'm kind of regretting the bath now, because he did, in fact, crawl in bed with us. And proceeded to hog all the pillows; toss and turn violently; make biscuits on our ears, necks, scalps, and faces; and flop sidelong ON TOP of our faces. Have you ever tried to fall asleep with a cat's paw up your nose? Or wake up with a stiff neck to find your cat stretched out languorously on your pillow while you clutch at the one tiny corner of pillow that you still have custody of? Oh, and to all you cat owners out there, I’m sorry that my cat stole all their purrs. That's the only feasible explanation for his non-stop, diesel engine-like rumbling.

Chris started work this week and on day two, was given his new leash…the dreaded Blackberry. I think it's just a matter of time before I start getting jealous of the little e-mail device, casting dirty looks at it, fantasizing about throwing it out the car window while bombing up Pine Street. Instead of inspecting his shirts for lipstick stains, I'll start snooping for telltale button impressions on Chris's thumbs, asking him suspiciously why the "business" lunch with the Blackberry took so long. And then, of course, the Blackberry will stop passing along my messages, causing in irreparable rift in our relationship, and I'll be left only with the hope that this little Blackberry bitch will one day feel my pain when Chris throws her over for a younger, slimmer model. Or maybe it's just a matter of time before the nice men bring me the pretty white jacket with the funny sleeves.

I forgot to mention this yesterday, but Saturday night, Chris, Mae, and I went out to find a cheap, good place to have dinner. We consulted SFGate.com's Bargain Bites section, where we found an irresistable entry: Goood Frikin'Chicken. Yes, that's right. That's the name of the restaurant. With a name like that, who can refuse? So we went and guess what we had? That's right my friends, goood frikin' chicken. Note the extra O in good. It's really that good!

Vinny and Carlo are starting to put up with each other. They're so different. Carlo is fearless, lunging at Vinny when the mood strikes, climbing all over and under everything in the apartment, and my god, that kitten is demanding! I changed my mind: he's not a meower, he's a yeller. He's the yelliest cat I've ever known. I was in the shower this morning (and I had him locked in the bathroom with me because I didn't want to have to charge out of the shower dripping wet and soapy every 5 minutes to break up their hissyfits) and he started up again: yellin', hollerin', just generally making a racket like he'd drowned his little babies in the river. Finally, thinking that he was in some kind of trouble, I peeked out...to find him scratching and covering his shit in the litterbox. People, he yells when he shits. This is my new cat. Behold his greatness.

Manic Monday

Oo-oh, wish it was a Sunday!

Actually, yes and no. Yesterday (Sunday) was an eventful day, both good and bad. Which do you want first? Okay, I'll give you the bad, because the good is soooo good.

The Bad: I was testing a product for work and it killed our laptop, our one and only computer. I downloaded the software from the CD-ROM and restarted, per the software prompt's directions, and our OS went bye-bye. Darling Mike spent the majority of his day either on the phone with Chris or at our house trying to figure out the problem, but unfortunately, no dice. It seems that something in the software is squashing the OS, not allowing it to boot up. Believe me, this is going in the review!

The Good: A couple of good things. I attended my first 'Mas, hosted by the inimitable Miss Shannon, maker of extraordinary soup, divine pesto, and superlative brownies'n'ice cream. Wine was drunk, cheese was fawned over (and promptly devoured), and there was much talk of asses (owing to the Scorpio). In fact, I think we dubbed the night "Assmas" in the end. The second good thing—SO GOOD—is that Chris and I are pleased to announce the arrival of our second feline son: Carlo the Great. In fact, he is not so big: he's a baby at 5 months. He is wee and black, but he is loud. You know how people look at kids or dogs and say, "Wow, he will be big—look at his feet!"? I'm afraid that Carlo will grow into his meow because it is not a meow, it is a MEOW! In the sense of, "HEY! WHY AM I LOCKED IN THE BATHROOM WHEN THERE'S SO MUCH TO BE SEEN OUT THERE?! HEEEY!!!" I would post pictures from our digital camera, but see "The Bad." But he's adorable and a little love-bunny and so far, he is standing his ground against big brother Vinny. Vin let loose a few good hisses and growls, but mostly, he seems curious and bemused by the little one. It's cute to watch Vin reach out tentatively with a paw to tap Carlo on the head. And oh boy, this Carlo, he is a holy terror. Already, he's been racing full-speed up and down the halls (unlike Vin, who hid behind and under things for about a week before exploring his new home). I look forward to and fear the cat races.

Movers and shakers

Chris and I watched a KRON 4 special on earthquakes and the faults in California. So interesting, so informative, so scary and nerve-wracking. Apparently, the Hayward fault averages one M6+ earthquake every 130 years (give or take 40 years), and the last big one on that fault struck in 1868. So we're kind of due. Apparently. Oy. I hope I'm not too close to the Marina to be safe. My old house in SF not only survived the '89 quake, but the '06 one, too. It's a wooden structure, built on solid bedrock, so here's hoping that I'm over there when the next big one hits. Chris and I are going to put together some disaster kits this weekend. Even Vinny will get one. Maybe I'll make it backpack-style so I can strap it to him.

So what I didn't get to the other night: Phil Keoghan, of The Amazing Race, has a new show called "NOW," which stands for No Opportunity Wasted. The idea stems from a near-death experience he had when he was 19 and his takeaway lesson that he should go out and do all the things he wants to, instead of saying what we all say: I'd do X if I had the time and money. What he does is give people $3,000 and 3 days (he clears their schedules for them: work, home, any and all commitments) and lets them try to accomplish their goals. It has to involve doing: one woman put on a burlesque show, a guy made a music video, another guy wanted to ride a live bull for 8 seconds, yet another wanted to conquer his fear of sharks. So yeah, you can't, like, take the three grand and stuff your face with the world's most exotic foods for three days. It got me thinking about what I would do, and I honestly don't know. That realization made me kind of sad. How can I not know what I'd do with such an opportunity? It's made worse by the fact that 3 days and $3,000 is a situation I could realistically find myself in, without help from Phil or the Discovery Channel. It's not a lifetime and a million dollars. I gave it more thought, and these are the things I've come up with:

*I'd learn to scuba dive: I tried it in Maui and failed miserably. Getting the gear on and understanding what I had to do was all fine. But when I was fully submerged, my heart started hammering and everything closed in on me. Lo and behold, I get claustrophobic under water—or at least, in the ocean, with full scuba gear on. (Swimming pools don't bother me.) So I'd take 3 days to learn how to scuba dive, starting in a pool and ending with an ocean dive.
*I'd go to circus school for 3 days, with the goal being a trapeze routine at the end of it. I never did gymnastics as a kid and I wish I had. I want to learn how to hurl myself through the air without dying.
*I would learn how to sail a sailboat and sail from SF to LA. It just seems like a handy skill. Or take flying lessons.
*I'd swim with dolphins.
*I'd go to Italy or France to learn about food—yeah, this is vague. Sue me.

What would you do?

Unfinished post

A couple of quick notes before I get to my main post today:

1. You know what I said about the difference between the people on different bus lines? That was reinforced today when I took the 1 express home from downtown. When I got to the stop, the people were standing in line. In a nice, orderly, single-file line. That made a U-turn when it got too long. And then when the bus came, everyone filed on in the same order. In an orderly, quiet fashion. What the...? I'm so used to the mob at the 38 bus stop. Everyone just mills about doing their thing, and when the bus comes, it's every man for himself. And watch out for the little old ladies with canes! They'd take your kneecaps out if they thought it'd get them on the bus before you! I just hope that if I'm ever in a burning building, it would be with the people on the 1 bus.

2. Someone at work has Salt'n'Pepa's "Push It" as his cell ring tone and it goes off at least a couple of times a day. Normally, that would annoy me, but I really like that song, so I totally don't mind. It came out when I was in junior high and I totally remember shaking my ass to it. I think part of the reason I liked it so much was because it was about s-e-x and when you're 13, everything that hints at sex is thrilling. It's the kind of thing you had to whisper about and that only made all the more compelling. But apparently, the thrill hasn't worn off. I still love that song and my ass starts to shake of its own accord whenever I hear it. Which can be really embarassing at work.

Okay, no time to get to my main point today. Ha-ha! You shall have to wait. I'm off to meet a crew of 9th Circuit judicial clerks for drinks. And it's not as random as it sounds.

Swing low, sweet staaapler

It's been a good couple of weeks for the Swingline company, as far as its advertising to me is concerned. Not that I think Swingline is particularly worried about advertising to me so much, but I think they'd be happy to know their name is out there as a part of the greater pop culture. When I started at Big Internet Company, my desk setup was pretty rudimentary: computer, desk, file cabinet, trash cans, chair, and phone. I didn't have any desk accessories (not even a lamp!), nor did I have supplies. I foraged through the supply cabinets for pens, Post-its, and the like, but came up short on larger items like staplers or three-hole punches. The only item that I actively missed was a stapler, but due to my own inertia, I never got around to requesting one (I just used the one sitting by the copy machine/printer). I must have mentioned it to my supervisor (though in an offhand fashion, for I can't remember doing it), though, because he came to me yesterday and grandly presented me with a shiny, black Swingline stapler. He didn't really get my delight, though, until I explained the presence of Swingline in the larger cultural psyche due to the popularity of "Office Space," which one of the lab techs at work just happened to be playing on a personal DVD player at the very same moment I received my own Swingline! And it reminded me that on last week's "Gilmore Girls," Sookie made mention of Lorelai falling asleep at her desk, on her stapler, and having "Swiiingline!" imprinted on her face for the rest of the day. (You had to see the line reading—awesome!)

Anyway, I have no idea what my point is here, except that a strange cosmic confluence has led to three mentions of Swingline in two weeks, in my otherwise Swingline-free life. Maybe it's a sign that I need to work harder to keep everything together.

Crap!

I just had a weird experience in the bathroom at work. Our toilets have that auto-flush function, which, for the record, I am opposed to. Normally, they work well enough, though they are low-flow toilets, and often require two flushes to get rid of everything, which seems to defeat the purpose of having low-flow to begin with. Anyway, I digress. So I was sitting there, doing my thing (okay, I was pooping) when suddenly, the toilet flushed! While I was sitting on it! I find this somewhat alarming and terribly disconcerting. First, you have to worry about backsplash, because it happens and you don't necessarily want to still be sitting on the toilet when it does. And second, what in the world triggered the sensor that tells the toilet to flush? I'm just…sitting! Did a hand come out the back of my head like in the commercials for that creepy, new Sarah Michelle Gellar movie, "The Grudge" and wave at the sensor? (And speaking of poop, poor SMG--life after Buffy hasn't been so good. One might say her career is in the toilet.) And then it happened again! And again! Three times that toilet flushed while I was sitting there doing my thing (okay, pooping). I understand the concept of the courtesy flush, but isn't that something I get to decide, not the toilet? Is the toilet making some sort of statement??

Okay, I promise that's the last time I ever blog about poop. Not that I really talked about poop, per se. I talked about the toilet. But I was pooping at the time. It's been brought to my attention that I talk about poop a lot in my offline life, much to my father's dismay. Poor man, to be stuck with three women who talk about poop. A lot.

I should check my search stats after this posting.

Grab bag!

Man, my brain is just all over the place this week. Let's treat it like a grab bag and see what we come up with!

1. Every day, I pass the Funky Door bikram yoga studio on my way to work. If you don't already know, bikram is hot-room yoga. My mind automatically rearranges the letters so that I see "Funky Odor Yoga." You know it's true.
2. Oh, god. Just…no.
3. I took a different bus to work today. If you live in SF, you'll understand what I mean when I say today's bus (the 1bx express) is the "richy rich" bus line, compared to my normal 38L, express bus o' the masses. There is a marked difference not only in the way people look/dress, but in their demeanor. People on the 1 are so damn polite! And quiet! The 38 always has its crazy folk, with the drunkenness and the stinkiness and the yelling. Even though riding the 1 line means I don't normally have to worry about being talked up by the crazy guy*, I think I prefer the 38. It's a hell of a lot more interesting.
4. J.J. Abrams is pulling my puppet strings. I can't stop watching Lost, even as I expect to be sorely disappointed. Either he'll string us along for too long or the tree-stomping, pilot-mauling (but not eating!) thing will be something incredibly stupid. Either way, I'll have to put on my pissy face. But for now, I'm hooked. Do you really think it could really be the Iron Giant?! Oh, and thank you J.J. for Daniel Dae Kim. I love him, even if he is a jerk on the show.

*I sat next to a real-life Gollum/Smeagol on the 38 one day. This guy would rant in a deep, angry voice about "kill[ing] them all!!" and "let[ting] them burn in heeeell!!" and then switch to a gravelly, high-pitched voice to wheeze, "Peeeace! Peeeace!" I think he had some anger management issues.

Hee...

Courtesy of Julie. Yes, it's bad, but sometimes bad is funny. (Oh hell, who am I kidding? Bad is almost always funny!)

I'm not just Chinese

We just had dinner with our friends, Larry and Ruth, who are two of the loveliest people I've ever had the pleasure of knowing. Ruth brought homemade profiteroles, which were just divine. These are my favorite kinds of social engagements: having a few friends over, sharing a nice, simple meal, and good conversation. It's relaxed, engaging, fun, and I get to really talk to people. I think that's my problem with the bar scene and cocktail parties--I never feel like I have substantial conversations with people in those situations. I don't like small talk, and I feel like that's all that happens at events like that. Anyway, Ruth and Larry are great great people and I feel lucky to know them.

Chris and I had a very social weekend. Something that came up in conversation bothered me, though, and I had some time to contemplate why while stirring the risotto tonight. One of his friends, an older man, commented that his nephew might also be dating a Chinese-American woman, and wouldn't it be funny if they got married too, because what a coincidence! I opted out of that conversation, because I didn't feel it would be productive (and I was suffering from a hangover and waiting for food and coffee--a situation in which you should hope to never encounter me). He said it a couple of times, too, which, if it's true that race is not an issue for you, why do you keep mentioning it? What does the girl do? What is she like? What are her interests? Because if being Chinese-American is all we have in common, I don't feel like we're that much alike. Maybe, if we lived in, say, Podunk, Idaho, it might be quite a coincidence if two good friends both dated Chinese-American women. But in California? It's kind of hard not to date one because we're kind of everywhere. You can't swing a dead cat without hitting one of us (I do not, however, advocate swinging cats, dead or otherwise, nor do I support hitting anyone with said cats). And we're not that novel, especially not so much that our ethnic background should be the main thrust of any conversation about us. Maybe if she was obsessed with food and cooking, had a penchant for Powerpuff Girls, loved cheerleading movies, and thought her cat was God's one stroke of genius, then we can talk about being very similar and yeah, it would be funny if his nephew married this girl. Bring on the jokes about the two guys marrying the same girl. But because we're both Chinese-American? Please. It felt like one of those stupid conversations where someone says, "Oh, you're Canadian? You should meet my friend, Stan. He's Canadian!" Uh, yeah. What? It just makes me feel like race is very much an issue and that it's still a novel concept, this wacky interracial marrying. It's very much not an issue. Chris and I do not sit around talking about me being ethnically Chinese. It comes up when there's some sort of misunderstanding between him and my parents due to differing cultural assumptions. It comes up when I explain that yes, those are chicken feet and yes, you are supposed to eat them. And it comes up when I invite Chris to dinner at my aunt's house to celebrate the mid-autumn festival by eating mooncakes. But I do not walk around actively being Chinese. It colors my understanding of the world. It gives me a cultural background that's different from Chris's. I speak a second language (badly) and sometimes, I use that language because there are idioms that better express what I am trying to convey. But I don't constantly think, "I am Chinese," and I know Chris doesn't think that. It's part of the laundry list of ways I describe myself, but it's not the first item; it's not even in the top 10.

And yeah, I'm probably preaching to the choir, but goddamnit, I am not a novelty because of my race, so don't act as if I am. I've already experienced that (hellooo, Greensboro, NC, 1987!!) and I'd rather be gawked at because I am the only person I know who will happily cook for four days straight to throw a dinner party and because I'm one-half of the Sadistic Olympics planning committee. Seriously, it's waaay more interesting to talk to me about why everyone should participate in the Sadistic Olympics. Try it!

I share a brain with Mark Morford

Holy crap, Mark Morford is funny! And is he living in my head? Because I was thinking this just last night.

My kingdom for a garter

You know how sometimes one little thing will just put a damper on your whole day? Like someone being extra-jerky on the bus or discovering that you're out of your favorite breakfast cereal when you wake up starving? My "thing" today is my socks. My socks keep creeping down my ankles and wedging themselves under my heel. It's like they're trying to hide or something. And no, I wasn't so stupid that I picked out the dead pair and am now totally shocked that they suck. They're in that tricky in-between stage where they look and feel fine, but they're so totally not. They're clearly on their last legs (heh); I just wish I'd known that before committing to them for the day. GAH!

Sometimes I wish I had cameras set up throughout my house, "Newlyweds"-style, to capture those funny moments that can never be done justice during the post-moment retelling. Like yesterday, when the cat came tearing into the kitchen from the hallway, fully intending to leap up onto the kitchen table, and then realized mid-stride that the table was full of stuff, so he reared back and skidded to a halt! On his butt and hind legs! Just like in the cartoons! Hee!…see? Less funny now than it was then.

I'm glad I work in an office where people have a sense of humor. I almost guffawed out loud yesterday when I read a new review of this 3-in-1 gadget that combines an MP3 player, a digital still camera, and a camcorder into a tiny package the size of a Bic lighter. We have to include a "who is it for" blurb in each review, and this one read, "Gadget hounds; fans of convergence products; spies." Hee…I couldn't stop thinking about the spies in "Spy vs. Spy" tiptoeing around, snapping their fingers while grooving to sneaky spy tunes.