Blurbs from Singapore – Day 5

The best food in Singapore is served on a plastic plate for $3 a person in a communal eating area cooled by dusty rotating fans. Bring your own tissue as napkins.

A distinctively local experience that I cherish each time I return is the neighborhood hawker centre. No frills, just down home authentic Singaporean cuisine prepared in a bustling cluster of 50-square-foot stalls representing all flavors and cultures of the region. Among countless others, there’s the…

• Malay food stall, serving up spicy dishes like mee rebus and beef rendang, all prepared Halal.
• Indian food stall, offering plates like vegetable briyani and roti prata with curry for dipping.
• Peranakan (a.k.a. Nyonya) stall, with its unique twist on traditional Malay dishes like laksa and fish head curry.
• Chinese stalls cooking up various noodles (soupy or dry) and rice plates, usually served with a heaping spoonful of chili on the side.
• “hot/cold drinks” stall, offering variations of coffee (kopi) and tea (teh), and an assortment of tropical fruit juices that are blended or squeezed to order while you wait.

Most storefronts display the sign, “no pork, no lard” as a welcome for Muslim patrons; and most shopkeepers can conduct business in English and Malay, and at Chinese food stalls, usually Mandarin and at least one other dialect as well.

Tonight, I watched sugar cane being squeezed through a mega juicer resembling a wood chipper that filled a heavy glass mug with refreshing green juice on ice for SGD$1 (or USD$0.75); and cheong fun (rice noodle rolls) being made from scratch, stuffed with a generous portion of shrimp, and cooked on a unique square steamer for SGD$2.50 (or USD$1.80) a plate. A trifecta feast for the eyes, mouth, and tummy. So many stalls, so little time...

Blurbs from Singapore – Day 4

It takes only 30 minutes to drive from my childhood home in Changi on the east coast, to the west coast district of Jurong. En route, along the scenic East Coast Parkway and Ayer Rajah Expressway that traverse the southern part of the island, we see signs of the nation’s ongoing march towards growth, progress, and in this economic climate, job creation:

• The Singapore Flyer, a 165-meter (541-foot) ferris wheel observation deck equivalent to the London Eye;
• The Marina Bay Sands Casino and Resort, comprised of three sleek 50-storey hotel towers capped with a 2-acre "sky garden", and a domed casino, slated to open their doors by late 2010;
• The Esplanade (or “Durian” as it’s affectionately called by locals because of its spikey resemblance to a favorite fruit), a performance arts venue with concert halls, theaters, and outdoor stages; and
• The Marina Barrage, the country’s largest reservoir where picnickers and kite-flyers blanket the museum’s garden roof.

This is certainly a different Singapore from the one I left 26 years ago. But even though I'd probably be lost around here without a map, a part of me will always find this place familiar and call it home.

Blurbs from Singapore – Day 3

I love the rain. Especially in the tropics, where:

…it brings a welcome respite from the heat;

…its heavy pitter patter on the corrugated tin roof makes for cosy curl-into-a-ball-type slumber; and

…the fruit bats on their nightly feeding visits to the backyard chiku tree seem to chirp a little louder to be heard over the showery din.

Blurbs from Singapore – Day 2

Day at the beach! We spent it at Pasir Ris Park on the northeast end of the island, where fishermen’s tents dot the grass-sand transition zone between land and sea. Wetland trees heavy with moss lean over to shade tiny fiddler crabs that scurry sideways across the beach, the males seeming to shyly hide their faces with their one oversized claw.

From the edge of the water, Dad gathered the folds of his casting net and, in one graceful stroke, released it like a smooth drape over the water. His first attempt brought in a pair of foot-long triangular fish with blue-tinged scales. “They seem to travel in pairs,” he remarked, which made me sad for their demise but would later be a distant memory when they comprised our dinner, along with other catch of the day and a couple of rice plates from a nearby hawker stall.

A friendly spectator in a floppy hat told us they were nicknamed “Lee Kuan Yew fish” among the Malay people because Singapore’s highly respected former Prime Minister was the first local Chinese to eat it. “Auntie,” the man had exclaimed excitedly to my mother, “they sell these at Changi Market for $3.50 per kilo.” He had earlier been wading along the shoreline himself, but instead of a casting net, he had wielded a changkol (Malay for “hoe”) and was digging for earthworms to use as bait for an overnight fishing expedition. When he proudly showed off his prize, a 2-foot-long worm in a plastic bag of writhing soil, I couldn’t help but recoil a little while trying to look impressed.

Food recap, a requisite for any Singapore travel diary, whether you’re a foodie or not: laksa, nasi lemak, otah otah, curry puff; and for dessert, chendol, durian ice kachang, gula melaka, papaya, and longan. Good thing we’re doing lots of walking on this trip.

Blurbs from Singapore – Day 1

Greetings from the Lion City! Our 18-hour flight seemed part of a dream sequence when the whistles, squeaks, and hollow caws of waking tropical birds stirred me from sleep through the brightening dawn. The portable air conditioner blinked 27 deg Celcius (81 deg Fahrenheit), the same outdoor temperature that welcomed us when we emerged from the airport after midnight several hours earlier.

The rest of our day, Billy Joel-style: roti prata, pei dan jok, lontong, mee siam, Sam Sui chicken, kang kung belacan, mee suah, fish head curry, okra, eggplant, pre-WWII family photos, …, all in the company of folks I've known for almost 40 years.

*click* Archiving this emotional snapshot.

Uh, Okay Thanks, FB...

Thoroughly amused by Facebook's "unsolicited suggestions" feature in the top right margin of my Home Page. Recent highlights...

[friend's name]

He only has 13 friends on Facebook.

Suggest Friends for Him.

Leave him alone, I say!

[friend's name]

Poke Him.

Never mind that this person is my former Pastor. *awkward*

Almost a Juror

...of one of the most talked-about cases on the SF Peninsula, at least back in early 2006. On January 7, 2006, East Palo Alto cop Richard May was fatally shot while responding to a restaurant brawl. Within days, Alberto Alvarez was charged with murder. Almost 4 years later, my guy gets called in for Jury Duty on the rainiest and windiest day so far this season, and faced the possibility of serving an estimated 2 1/2 months on this case. A potential capital punishment case.

He described how, to his surprise, he and his 74 fellow juror candidates were ushered into a courtroom upon arrival and introduced to the defense and prosecution teams, including the accused himself; how the defendant seemed rather harmless sitting in his chair, cleancut and neatly dressed; but then how the same man, when dismissed, swaggered out of the room with a distinctive gangsta gait that promised a trial drama straight from the pages of a John Grisham novel or Law & Order episode.

When the bailiff announced the judge's verdict to grant my guy an exemption, based on various "hardship" claims, there was a flood of mixed emotions: relief that he wouldn't have to commit a couple of months to $15/day deliberations and possible sequestration from society; but also slight disappointment to have missed the opportunity for a role in a rather intriguing case....

CTA Musings

As I scan my surroundings on the inbound Blue Line train from O'Hare Airport, I'm delighted by how -- regardless of where I am in the world -- mass transit has yet to disappoint as a source of inspiration (see previous musings on BART and MUNI).

Chicago Transit Authority (CTA) train car 3061 is packed during the evening commute, the cosmopolitan crowd donning more layers of clothing than we'd see in SF even on the coldest summer day -- dark pea coats, some adorned with faux fur collars; and matching wool hats and scarves.

Every few minutes, the smooth voice of "CTA guy" rings out clearly over the din of the rumbling locomotive...

*Ding Dong* "Doors closing. Irving Park is next. Doors open on the left at Irving Park."

Posters along the curved ceiling advertise "Fraken Plaza at Washington & Dearborn (www.chicagoween.us)"; the Chicago History Museum, with beckoning portraits of Presidents Abraham Lincoln and Benito Juárez of U.S. and Mexico; and the Historic Chicago Bungalow and Green Homes Expo '09.

"Please be considerate when talking on the phone or listening to electronic devices, so as not to disturb other customers."

Above each train door hangs a map of either the Blue Line route or the entire multicolored "L" system.

"This...is Irving Park."

Ears plugged with headphones are just as commonplace in this crowd, but there are noticeably fewer white ear buds distinctive of Apple's i-products that pervade the SF Bay Area.

"Please keep your belongings off the seat next to you so that others may sit down."

Throughout our journey, we're beating the rush hour traffic on the freeway next to us. We descend briefly into a tunnel where stationary fluorescent tubes pulse like strobe lights as we roar past. Then the volume drops suddenly as we emerge into the dim evening.

*Ding Dong* "Doors closing. Damen is next. Doors open on the right at Damen."

"Standing passengers, please do not lean against the doors."

We soon pull up next to a platform that is identified not only with the station name, but also the location's grid number.

"This...is Damen."

Life's Simple Pleasures

Too long for a Facebook status update...

Squeaks just enjoyed a quick and easy home-made lunch of fried egg and kim chee over rice, with a splash of soy sauce and a dash of pepper for extra flavoring. Takes me back to similar meals from my childhood in Singapore,... except instead of kim chee -- whose tangy flavors were still a mystery to me then -- ikan bilis (dried anchovies) and sliced cucumber accompanied the egg. Cook the rice in coconut milk, and you get nasi lemak, purported to be the national dish of Malaysia.

Sure, I'm wrestling with my fair share of stress factors today. But thanks to something as uncomplicated as comfort food, I'm able to pause... breathe... and appreciate life's simple pleasures.

61 Going On 20

I have an addictive personality. So I generally avoid temptations like video games, slot machines, chocolate*, vicodine... But in the interest of "self improvement", I gave in to buying a Nintendo DS Lite, for the primary purpose of "training" my mind with the Brain Age software.

According to Brain Age muse Dr. Ryuta Kawashima, "Simple math...and saying answers out loud activates the brain, particularly the prefrontal cortex, which governs the most essential living functions for humans, such as cognition, emotion and memory." So for the past 3 weeks, I've devoted at least 20 minutes a day to his brain training via simple math, word puzzles, and memory games.

At the end of each session, I get a "Brain Age Check". On Day 1, I clocked in at an embarrassing 61 years...(no offense, >61-year olds). Today, I'm 27 with synapses flaring, working towards Dr. K's recommended brain age of 20, and engaging in some healthy competition with my guy who can't accept that his older wife may have a keener mind. Give up, old man.

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*I lied. I rarely avoid chocolate.

Are You Prepared?

I was lying in the hallway with my guts hanging out, surrounded by a dozen others - some crying out in pain, others moaning in semi-consciousness, and a few silently deceased. James, an SFFD paramedic, moved swiftly among the scattered bodies, assessing the severity of our injuries and expertly tying colored triage tape around our wrists - yellow for non-life-threatening injuries; red for life-threatening ones; and black for the already-departed. The few green-tagged "walking wounded" helped calm the live victims with soothing words. Though I was tagged red and promised high-priority passage when the ambulance arrived, I knew -- as I gazed down at the bloody entrails on my lap -- that there was no hope for me.

This was one of several similarly dramatic scenes around SFO today during the airport's Earthquake 2009 Full-Scale Exercise. As a Community Emergency Response Team (CERT)-trained volunteer, I had the chance to get moulaged as an injured victim (along with >100 others) for this drill, which simulated rescue efforts after a 6.8 magnitude earthquake. On October 17, the Bay Area will commemorate the 20th anniversary of the Loma Prieta Earthquake, the last "big one" that hit the region.

According to SFO Director John Martin, "While federal law mandates we hold a major exercise only once every three years, SFO holds one every year to ensure that all emergency responders and our mutual aid support agencies are current and familiar with every facet of the airport's emergency response plan."

No matter how well-coordinated the responders, though, the main take-home message from this exercise, the CERT training, and Hurricane Katrina (etc.) is this: We the average citizen should expect to be "on our own" for at least 3-5 days following a major disaster. Time to restock those emergency supplies and revisit our family disaster plan.

Mad About Mendhi

I love mendhi (or henna), at least the way professional mendhi artist Deepali adorned our hands with it at last night's pre-wedding party. While the ceremonial designs looked best when the greenish black ink was first applied -- and then expertly accented with flourescent glitter, as a modern touch -- this ancient art reveals itself in the ornate patterns that endure on the flesh for days, sometimes weeks, in a deep orange hue.

Deepali, a self-taught 15-year veteran, estimated decorating 20 to 25 hands during her 2-hour shift. Her smooth and skilled control of the "cone" - a fine-tipped triangular tube filled with henna paste -- not only awed each woman receiving the treatment; she also drew a captivated audience who gawked in hushed silence and snapped photos without flash so as not to disrupt the artist's concentration.

Afterwards, we stood around in statuesque poses, holding our arms like opera-singers as we shrugged our shoulders to upbeat Indian music. As my mind wanders back to the question, "Do I like these temporary tattoos enough to make 'em permanent?" Hmmm...

Kickin' it Old Skool

We recently checked out Sunday Brunch at Cora Jean's Old Skool Café, a 1940s-themed "youth run supper club" that employs young folk from the surrounding Bayview-Hunter's Point community. Teresa Goines, a former correctional officer who founded the faith-based violence prevention program in 2004, named it after her mother, the source of her inspiration.

Temporarily borrowing space from Emmitt Powell's Soul Food Restaurant every Sunday through September 20, Old Skool Café is serving up a Gospel Brunch Series to raise funds to transform the abandoned 1912 Potrero Hill Police Station and Jail (pictured) in the Dogpatch district into their permanent home. Among their goals: to "re-connect the village" and "provide solid alternatives to a life of crime and poverty...through intensive mentoring, life skills and professional development."

We were met at the door by Ms. Goines' inviting smile, and efficiently ushered to our table by our nervous but amiable waitress Ashley, donned in a cute black dress and impressive red hat. The bustling atmosphere was comfortable and friendly, like one big cheery family. So it was apropos that our party of 3 ate "family style" and shared our main dishes (BBQ beef ribs, fried chicken, and fried snapper); and sides (mustard greens, red beans and rice, mac 'n cheese, and mashed potatoes), before diving into our own servings of peach cobbler for dessert. All the while, we were treated to some stirring musical talent that made us raise our eyebrows at each other in awe. I found 11-year old A.J. especially captivating as she belted out a gospel song, pulling the mic away from her with a deep frown and closed eyes as she hit the loudest notes.

They still need to iron out some kinks in their customer service -- like neglecting our complimentary cornbread muffins as we gazed forlorn at our neighbors'; and mixing up table checks -- but otherwise, at a prix fixe of $20, this was an afternoon well-spent on a good cause.

Poverty Sucks

We volunteered with CityTeam Ministries' meal service yesterday. Our foursome joined a group of 7 youths -- 6 guys proudly asserting their iGeneration coolness with sk8er tees and Zac Efron do's, and a lone girl who beamed at everyone with bright eyes and a muted smile.

We got instructions from Pedro, a chilled Latino in his late-50s who spends his afternoons ministering to the homeless on the less gentrified streets of the Mission; and Kelly, with the faraway look who bears a striking likeness to The Edge from U2, right down to the knit cap. Both men were formerly from the streets themselves and now in CityTeam's recovery program.

To the >100 weathered and weary faces who came for dinner, we served up sausages; mashed potatoes; garlic bread; a multicolored vegetable salad; chocolate-glazed donuts or whole nectarines for dessert; and ice water or chocolate milk to wash it all down. When we announced that there was enough leftover for seconds, the room murmured with resounding approval. Some couldn't wait for the youth volunteers to bring them a freshly-laden plate, and eagerly charged towards us with personalized orders: "Double the mashed potatoes and no salad, please"; "Can I get a coupla more sausages? For my dog waiting outside."

There was the blond headbanger guy with the nose ring, engaged in a continuous self-monologue. And the round-faced Asian girl in the oversized camo jacket, who darted askant glances at her dining companions while peeling three oranges, then shoved each one wholly into her mouth as if expecting them to be stolen from her. And then there was the scene involving Mike:

Mike had lingered longer than the others. After picking his plate clean, he pulled out a well-used plastic bag from his backpack as he acknowledged a volunteer's offer to bring him a second helping. When the plate arrived, he didn't dive into it like most others did. Instead, he stealthily scraped its contents into the plastic bag -- sausages, mashed potatoes, salad,...everything. He then loitered at his seat, examining the ceiling, the table, and his surroundings, until most of the room had cleared. That's when he sidled up to the counter. "What's left?" he asked with a wink. "One big scoop of mash and some salad," I replied. "Can I have it?" He was holding his plastic bag open in anticipation. I carefully added the remaining food to the colorful mush in the bag that would be his next meal.

And if one member suffers, all the members suffer with it; if one member is honored, all the members rejoice with it.
1 Corinthians 12:26

Contentedness is...

...feeling the presence of someone you love, without needing to be actually doing anything with them, while engaging in our own favorite pastimes -- him maneuvering a Swiffer around the house, me writing -- with Sumi Jo's seductive voice enveloping us.

7 Days in Korea

안녕하세요 (ahnyung haseyo; wazzup)? A few lingering images from our recent trip…at 4 o’clock in the morning (but hey, it’s 8 p.m. in Seoul).

• Day 1: Boarded the plane with several H1N1-fearing young ladies, fashionably accessorized with pink designer surgical masks. Played translator for an old Breton couple from France; my guy got them directions in Korean, and I translated for them en français. Ended our long travel day with a home-cooked feast (note recurring theme).

• Day 2: More feasting and family time! Discovered my new favorite Korean noodle dish, bibim nengmyun (spicy buckwheat noodles). Mashisoyo (deelish)!

• Day 3: Cousin’s wedding day! Rains caused some delayed jet lag, which we combated with a mid-afternoon catnap and snack of chicken kebabs and gimbap (Korean sushi rolls) from a street vendor in Myeong Dong. Teary but picture-perfect wedding, which featured some levity from a heavily Korean-accented rendition of “Bliidge Ovah Twoubled Wadders”; and a sneak peak of endearing love when the groom diverted piercing stares away from his sobbing bride – and tried to make her laugh – by giving their parents exaggeratedly dramatic chuls (respectful bows).

• Day 4: Day in the ‘burbs. Attended Sunday service at a quaint countryside church, then ventured across Han Kang (Han River) to visit other relatives. Savored the best meal of our trip, a variation of daeji bulgogi (barbecued pork) that we wrapped in lettuce and topped with thinly-sliced sweet onion and kochujang (hot pepper paste). W-O-W.

• Day 5: After a filling breakfast a la Imo (Aunt), explored the artisan district of Insadong with SF buds J&J. Encountered hundreds of old men gathered outside JongMyo (Royal Shrine), some playing Chinese checkers and Reversi; others holding court with lengthy monologues; most of them decked out in smart hats and full suits. Strolled around the Yonsei University district – site of the first Krispy Kreme in Asia and a movie scene location for My Sassy Girl – with an old friend from Chicago who’s teaching English over there.

• Day 6: Got chased by a group of schoolgirls today! Actually, they were in hot pursuit of our actor cousin of recent Korean drama fame, and we just happened to be with him at the time. Surprisingly quite a rush being surrounded by a giggly crowd of star-struck young paparazzis with camera phones. Also strolled through majestic Olympic Park, site of the '88 games.

• Day 7: Our last day in Korea. Awoke to nasally calls of duck-like birds and the crispy scent of frying fish in Gomo’s (Aunt’s) small apartment. As pleasantly expected, she prepared a generous send-off breakfast fit for a platoon of 10 for just the two of us.

While I didn’t get a chance to use my favorite random phrase from Rosetta Stone – goyangi-ka ladio wee-ay issoyo (the cat is on the radio) – I found myself more aware of my surroundings and able to “pick up” more dialogue on this trip, which gave my guy some respite from translating. Next time,..actual conversations with his family? 하자 (haja; Let's Do It)!

Where's Phil?

According to his daily blog, Phil Keoghan is in Hagerstown, MD, for the night. For the past 37 days, this suave and athletic Kiwi -- host of one of my favorite shows (The Amazing Race) and creator of the inspiring and adventure-filled No Opportunity Wasted series -- has been riding his bicycle across the U.S. to raise money and awareness for the National Multiple Sclerosis Society.

As reflected in the No Opportunity Wasted campaign, he lives by the philosophy of turning thought into action, carpe diem. "No more shoulda, coulda, woulda. Think big, challenge yourself, ditch the excuses,... live life NOW. Think. Write it Down. Then Do." (Reminiscent of wise Yoda's "Do or do not. There is no try.")

Phil began his 3500-mile cross-country trek in L.A. on March 28. He's due in NYC on May 9, which means he's averaging 100 miles a day. As of today, he has covered 3,152 miles. Tomorrow,... onwards to Washington, D.C.

Thinking about that list...

A Second Chance

We made our quarterly "guilty pleasure" run to Popeyes recently. After I placed our order -- "'Two Can Dine' Meal with mash 'n gravy and mac 'n cheese, please!" -- the woman behind the counter repeated my request, punched buttons on her cash register, accepted my payment, and gave me correct change. Seemingly normal customer service,...except that all this took place in slow motion, with earnest and deliberate movements. That's when I recognized her.

We had met a little over a year ago at a Project Homeless Connect event, an outreach effort to connect SF's homeless with various services like medical and dental care, HIV testing, housing placement, mental health exams, and welfare programs. As a Client Support volunteer, I was assigned to escort her to the various agency and non-profit booths at the Bill Graham Civic Auditorium. I can still picture her shuffling slowly beside me, her tangled hair tied back in a bun. I had tried to make conversation, but she wasn't in the mood to talk.

On this second encounter a year later, I noticed that she wore a bun again but with neatly combed hair this time. She may still have moved slowly -- a likely vestige of her past tribulation -- but I beamed at her as I thanked her, my hope in second chances renewed.

Star Sightings

...or at least there's a chance for some this Saturday to next Wednesday. My office just received a media alert from our building management, about the half-week closure of King Street, a major road artery connecting our City by the Bay to the Peninsula via I-280. Turns out that the South Beach district will be featured in the filming of the TV pilot for "Trauma", which will include "simulated freeway crashes, explosions, and helicopter activity." The advisory goes on to say, "If you see or hear these, please know that there is no real emergency." (I sure hope Murphy's Law won't take advantage of this one...)

From Aimee Garcia, George Lopez's niece in his show; to Jamey Sheridan, formerly of Law & Order: Criminal Intent, this might be an exciting event for rubbernecking. Reminds me of some of my other close encounters with fame:*

• On a Pasadena sidewalk in the late 80s, when I accidentally stumbled onto a film set starring Patrick Duffy (who, incidentally, turned 60 on St. Patrick's Day this year).
• In a Bloomington club in the mid-90s, when I shared a smoke and laughs with bluesman Keb' Mo'.
  
• In an Emeryville office restroom in 2005, where I found myself washing hands next to the ladies of Top Chef: Season 1, who were primping (and practicing their drama-ness) before the day's taping.

Maybe I'll get to add "brush with 'Trauma' fame" to this list over the weekend.

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*Not including "crazed young person" handgrabs of rock stars during and after concerts.

Early Birds

Ever since we joined our local Y back in October, we've kicked off most days with an invigorating swim, a stretchy Yoga class, or a Nautilus gym workout. Today was the first time, though, that we were among the first dozen to not only walk through the facility's front doors, but to also be waiting in line before the front desk folks were even ready to scan us in.

As I gazed across our disheveled but cheerful gathering, I pondered possible motivations that dragged our fellow early risers to this place at 6:45 on a Sunday morning. Maybe some were early church-goers like us, or habitual dawn greeters, or perhaps hard core carpe diem practitioners. Regardless of our differing reasons, camaraderie was strong and chatter in the lobby animated this morning, ranging from commentaries on the frigid winds that blew us in, to the USC v. Michigan game this afternoon, to the day's headline-makers.

When a bleary-eyed staff member sidled up to the front desk from the back room, though, rubbing her eyes with one hand and palming a 2-liter tumbler of coffee in the other, conversations ceased abruptly. In the sudden silence, I imagined fingers being flexed and necks being cracked around me, as if we were lined up for a race.

Ready, set, go!

Bloodletting and Infectious Fainting

Fainting was in vogue at the Blood Center today. I kicked off the trend by letting my legs go on strike just 10 feet from the recliner where I had donated a pint of blood a short while earlier. It was my first time -- fainting, that is -- and it's just as people describe it. Hecka weird.

The room starts spinning, then darkens as the cold floor catches my back. Black. Voices in the distance keep repeating, "Can you hear me? Can you open your eyes?" Black. I force my eyes open and squint at the ceiling through a haze, past a ring of round faces. Black. Cold napkins appear on my forehead and neck. Black. I'm nestled in a moving wheelchair. Black. I'm back on the recliner, legs raised, sipping juice through a straw.

A half hour and two beverages later, I'm waving at grinning phlebotomists who chorus, "Much better!" Then their attention is diverted to another donor who is swooning after climbing out of his chair...

My Pump and Me

We've been tethered to insulin pumps since our training with Nurse L yesterday. While my guy is diabetic and I'm not, we're sharing the experience of minuscule doses of saline pumping into us during this 3-day trial period.

When he decided to replace his 4 times daily injection regimen with a pump that would require a jab once every 3 days, I had never thought of wearing one to "try it out". But when his doctor said spouses do have that option -- to help us empathize and understand the burden (literally) of living with diabetes using a pump -- I jumped on the chance.

Over the course of 2 hours, Nurse L patiently taught us how to program our CozMore-brand pumps, get it to administer a specified bolus, load the insulin reservoir, and ultimately, inject the cannula into our bodies using an infusion set. (Amazingly sophisticated technology with its own vocabulary.) I held my breath as I pushed the spring-loaded insertion device against my waist -- felt a prick like a bee sting -- then sighed with relief.

Over these 3 days, a continuous drip of saline (simulating insulin) will pump into us -- larger amounts at mealtimes, depending on our carb intake -- as we get used to this new attachment. These pumps aim to help insulin-dependent diabetics take another step towards a "normal life", with fewer injections and more consistent blood sugar levels. The main downside is being attached to the thing all the time.

So far, my pump has accompanied me to bed, the shower, on trips to the bathroom (TMI?), and for morning stretches - and both of us have emerged unscathed. The ultimate test will be Pilates-Yoga (a.k.a. contortionist) class tomorrow.

So how does it feel, 24 hours into it? I don't think about it most of the time, but when I do, I sense a dull ache where the cannula is attached. To be honest, there have been moments when I've wanted to rip it off and chuck it out the window. But my guy won't have that option. Hopefully that sober realization will help make me a better support for him.

"Spiders with hooves?

...I can scarcely wait for tomorrow!" It was suspenseful cliff hangers like this that wrapped up each Radio Expedition podcast that kept me company on my solo Powerwalk around the neighborhood this morning.

Between friendly encounters with neighbors (e.g., exchanging 안녕하세요 [ahnyung haseyo] greetings with the Korean old lady down the street) and comments to myself (e.g., "Hey, that bookshelf next to the garbage can seems in good condition"), I caught up on my backlog of those 10-minute audioblogs, co-produced by National Public Radio and the National Geographic Society.

In a half-dozen podcasts, some dating back to mid-2006, I traveled to the Amazon, Sumatra, and Tibet; gained an appreciation for the beautiful calls of the treehopper; and shared the passion for the arctic wilderness with Olaus and Mardy Murie.

Prepare yourself for an adventure, and have a listen.

It just seems perverse...

...to have a good time or feel happy when others are suffering,...or dying.

You are in our prayers, Jimmy.

Shuttlecock Justice

For the "Yes, You Can!" category, here's an interesting story featured in the Wall Street Journal and mentioned on NPR this morning about a defiant 86-year old badminton player in our fair city of San Francisco.

The Gist: Ed Leong and his fellow badmintoners had long been playing at SF's Park & Rec courts for free. Then earlier this year, as part of dealing with the City's budget shortfall, the Agency introduced a $4 court rental fee for 45 minutes of badminton play. Trouble is, basketball and volleyball players weren't charged to use the same facilities. Led by Mr. Leong, local badmintoners cried foul, accusing the City of discriminating against Asians who comprise 90% of Bay Area badminton players. In response and after the dust settles, Parks & Rec will revise the policy and charge $1 for 45 minutes to all court users starting in April.

Nicely played.

What the...??

The barreleye fish (Macropinna microstoma), discovered live for the first time by the Monterey Bay Aquarium Research Institute in the deep waters off the central California coast.

Another amazing alien specimen, left behind to explore our world.

Science Nerds, Unite!

My overseas science teacher cousin used our address just once to order some classroom supplies, and we're now on the mailing list of places like Educational Innovations and Edmund Scientifics. Although I'm going to ask to be removed from their lists, I must say that those catalogs are just plain FUN.

Whether you're a scientist or not, who couldn't use a set of cuddly GIANTMicrobe plushies*; an Air Zooka Vortex Launcher to get the attention of someone across the room; a Fingerprint Kit to reenact your favorite CSI episodes; Beaker Mugs for your next house party; or some Instant Snow Polymer to enhance those Christmas decorations?

Not everything in the catalogs are fun and games, though. A glimpse of the Molecular Model Set gave me shivers and a sudden headache, bringing back the psychological trauma of my organic chem days.

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*I'm partial to the "Common Cold".

Weight Lifted This Month: 1 Elephant

According to my YMCA FitLinxx account, which tracks my workouts in and outside the gym, I've...

• done 528 minutes (almost 9 hrs) of cardio activity
• burned "1,472 calories = 18 apples"; and
• lifted "8,935 pounds = 1 elephant"

...so far this month. What an amusing way to think of exercise!

Kaleo Musings

From yesterday...

"Wow, they've got, like, whole carrots in here!" my coffee house companion exclaims, stabbing his fork into the hefty cake slice we're sharing.

A Hawaiian singer coos in country-western style with quivering notes, his slack guitar rift punctuated with occasional crashes of cymbals. (Odd, but it works.) My bird's eye view from the Kaleo Cafe balcony captures my fellow patrons, most of them staring at laptop screens or strewn papers on round tables. Our uniting factor is the characteristic white coffee/cocoa mug adorning each of our workspaces, our ticket to use the free wi-fi service here.

Now, it's my turn to discover whole carrots in this cake...

Street Fairey

...alias of street artist Shepard Fairey, who created the shadowy OBEY Giant visage 20 years ago. Inspired by the late wrestler (and "Princess Bride" star) André the Giant, and subliminal messages in the campy 80s film "They Live", his recognizable "big brother" stare is now ubiquitous in subways, tunnels, and other urban settings around the world.

More recently, Fairey has gained fame as the guy responsible for Obama's iconic and viral Hope poster, which spawned similar-styled images*. About his latest work for the Adopt-a-Pet campaign,

"I'm a big believer in speaking up for all who suffer injustice, regardless of gender, race, sexual orientation or in this case, species! And I'm all for adopting from the shelter. The image I created for this print reminds me of a dog I had as kid, a mutt named Honey."

To some, he's a communist, propangandist, and vandal. As for me, I'm inclined to call him a gifted social commentator.

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*Create your own Fairey-styled poster here.
**Random trivia: Spelled a little differently, "Street Faërie" is one of my all-time favorite albums by Cree Summer.

Ocean's Six

We hailed from all over, the six of us* who gathered for an eventful weekend in Vegas. We each brought a special skill to "the job", ranging from the coveted Monk-like ability to return everything to its proper place, to ancient family wisdom of finding winning slots. While our heist failed in that, as the Treasure Island pirates might say, "we left port without our booty", we enjoyed a great time nonetheless.

Some highlights,... Ready, Go:

• Shuttle driver Yolanda, who schooled us in surviving on The Strip, in her deep booming voice over blaring hip hop hits
  
• 3-hour buffet lunch at the Mirage and running into our wedding DJ at the tilapia station
  
• Comedienne Rita Rudner and her decorative pillows (no innuendo intended)
• Dancing fountains at the Bellagio that evoked mouth-dropping awe like when I was a 6-year old at Disneyland
  
• Papa John's pizza ("papa-sized") and wings at 2AM
  
• Blue Man Group, still a must-see with loads of new material since I last saw them 10 years ago
• Cab driver Earl from Chowchilla, CA who kindly offered to let me steer while he scribbled on his clipboard

Our next caper? Portland, perhaps.

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* Ocean had already left the scene at time of photo.

Taco Truckin'

I tasted my first taco truck burrito the other day, from a taqueria-on-wheels on Harrison between 19th and 20th. El Tonayense had two occupants when we arrived - an older portly guy who greeted us with a gruff but friendly "Hola!" before taking our orders; and a cook in a plain white T. who smoked up the joint with some intense sautéeing soon after acknowledging our requests.

My al pastor (shredded roast pork) burrito infused with hot sauce was handed to me as a dense roll tightly wrapped in aluminum foil. The spicy juices and aroma poured out eagerly when I peeled back the silver lining. I thought I had landed the best item on the menu,...until I snuck a taste of the carnitas quesadilla that my guy picked. Never expected those rich flavors to come out of a mobile kitchen!

Our mid-afternoon snack companions included three others, a well-dressed Caucasian couple who emerged from a white Audi, and a loner Hispanic male who pulled up in a lime green Oldsmobile. As we munched on our portable eats, we leaned carelessly against the adjacent schoolyard fence while intermittent cheers of Superbowl fans roared through loft windows across the street.

Paid in Coconut Milk

Once a week, I teach English as a second language at a nearby community center. Most of my students are immigrants from China and are older, in their 50s to 70s. What they left behind in "the old country" -- to live with their children and grandchildren in the West -- range from affluence as engineers and accountants; to more rustic lifestyles as farmers and seamstresses. Here, they are united by the common bond of devotion to family, and a language and cultural barrier that sometimes renders their fascinating past moot to strangers.

As a volunteer instructor, I am unpaid, finding it payment enough to be welcomed by eager students hungering for skills to help them fit into their new surroundings. The bonus is hearing about their lives in China, the home of my forefathers.

Occasionally, I'm pleasantly surprised by their expression of thanks -- sometimes verbally, accompanied by a wave and a respectful nod, on their way out of class; other times with a simple gift as a token of their appreciation.

Like today, when I entered class to be greeted by a grinning student in her 60s, holding a can of coconut milk. "The best kind!" she exclaimed, thrusting it into my hands. "When you try this one, the others no good," she declared confidently, then turned to take her seat. That simple gesture, that practical gift, really made my day.