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.

The Homecoming

While I may now pledge allegiance to another land, Singapore will always lay claim to a piece of me as my home country. The tantalizing sights, smells, sounds, and general feel of these familiar surroundings still take me back to more innocent and carefree times, allowing me to be refreshed and rejuvenated during each visit, so that I can return ready to face the challenges commonplace in a more grown-up and jaded reality.

I'm reveling in the simple things,... Like the castanet chirps of a transient house gecko roaming across the ceiling, its slender pale body pressed up firmly against its padded feet. The cheerful "good morning" cries of the yellow-masked myna bird and its other colorful avian brethren who call the Southeast Asian tropics home. The rustling of the heavily-laden branches as my father reaches into them with a basketed wooden pole to pick ripened fruits from the backyard chiku tree; "must pluck them before the birds do", he remarks. The steady purring of the mobile air-conditioner, working hard to keep my melting foreign companion cool. And the food...*sigh*...every single meal we've savored from the hawker stalls, which boast a fusion of the various ethnicities that comprise Singapore culture (e.g., ikan assam pedas)

I love this place.

A Touch of Class

As my inner socialist cries foul, I must acknowledge that getting upgraded to Business Class on our two-legged 20-hour journey certainly was nice. (Yeah, mileage plus points!) It's so true what they say..."once you experience the 160-degree recliner seats and elevated foot rest, it's tough to go back." (Okay, maybe no one has said it yet, so I'm claiming it.) Some of the perks we enjoyed in this more spacious setting:

• Legroom, legroom, legroom!
• Welcome pouch of goodies, including practical travel items like ear plugs, sleep mask, lotion, toothbrush and toothpaste, and a pair of bathroom slippers.
  
• Tasty menu designed by world renowned chefs like Charlie Trotter.
• Mid-flight on-demand snacks, like warm peanuts, Ghiradelli chocolates, and cup-o-noodles.
• Roaming flight attendants who kept our glasses of water bottomless.

I propose a more age-based (vs. economically-based) status-class structure. How 'bout... Everyone over the age of 35 should always be assigned a Business Class ticket; and First Class tickets should be reserved for the grey hairs (say, 60 or older), out of respect. Yup, this 36-year old would certainly vote for that.

Christmas over the Pacific

'Tho the first leg of our journey to Singapore lasted only 11 hours, our interception with the International Date Line meant that most of our Christmas eve and Christmas Day were spent crossing the Pacific Ocean. We kept ourselves and those around us festive with our Santa hats, but otherwise -- except for our United Airlines pilot who was part of the Santa hat club -- there were few signs that the date was December 25th on our flight and here at Narita Airport in Tokyo. I got lucky on Google and learned a bit about how Christmas is regarded here in Japan. Anyway, we're enjoying the smiles and pleasant wishes (accompanied by polite bows) while walking through the airport in our pommed red and white chapeaux. Merry Christmas, everyone!

"Don't Forget to Breathe"

That's her constant mantra in Pilates-Yoga class, but often the last thing that enters my mind when sustaining a challenging pose. Her misty Professor Trelawney voice floats around the room as she stealthily glides from one body to the next, shifting a tense shoulder here, adjusting a trembling foot there, ensuring that all her students have achieved the correct stance.

"Yes,...YES!" she declares gleefully in a hushed cry as she gazes proudly at the lineup of statues she has molded. She savors a deep breath and then proceeds to hypnotically guide us into another core-strengthening position.

After an hour of down-face dogs, cat stretches, saluting the sun, bridges, the 100s, and all manner of contorting drills using the Magic Circle, she releases us from her spell to return to the innocence of child's pose. That's when we can truly experience her mantra, spent but invorigated, with limp arms flopped at our sides, our damp brows resting heavily on the mat.

"Breathe..."

Playing Saws

Our clock radio drew me out of slumber with some festive but haunting tunes today. Festive 'cos, upon a close listen, they were familiar Christmas carols. Haunting 'cos they were wailing renditions of the traditional songs, created by...playing saws.

I was first introduced to this alternate use of handsaws in the early 90s French film, Delicatessen, where a pair of soulmates (of macabre persuasion) duet on a rooftop with their bows and serrated tools. I recall being unexpectedly mesmerized by the long sustaining vibrato of each deliberate note.

Learn how to play one here. Oddly fascinating stuff!

La Vida 2008

Here's my playlist of songs* that hold some special significance for me this year.

• Viva La Vida (Coldplay)
• Mercy (Duffy)
• Today is the Day (Lincoln Brewster)
• Falling Slowly (The Frames)
• Hometown Glory (Adele)
  
• I'm Yours (Jason Mraz)
• Way Down in the Hole (The Blind Boys of Alabama)
• Madly (Tristan Prettyman)
• The Way I Am (Ingrid Michaelson)
• When Your Mind's Made Up (Glen Hansard & Markéta Irglová)

A shout out to YouTube, our modern-day surrogate for the after-school bliss of non-stop music videos during the "I Want My MTV!" era of the 80s. Maybe the new MTV Music site will redeem those lost years.

---
*Not necessarily released in 2008.

Breakfast at McDonald's...

...in an atmosphere that might be associated with "the other side of the tracks" but just a few blocks from trendy DuPont Circle. Happy Meals feature "My Little Pony" and "Mistika Bionacle" miniatures as gender-suggestive treasures. Promptly at 11, a young worker with muscular arms emblazened with fresh tattoos reaches up to flip the menu boards, replacing the breakfast items with lunchtime highlights. The Eagles croon overhead, hinting at the sins of Hotel California, appropriate for this audience of former Vietnam era vets in weathered trench coats and unkempt beards.

MUNI Musings

Snapshots on the outbound M-line, Jason Mraz's "I'm Yours" spinning on the iPod.

"Open up your mind and see like me"

• Elderly Asian man, rugged face sliced with creases, a plastic bag full of joss sticks bouncing against his knee with each lurch of the train.

"Listen to the music of the moment, people, dance and sing"

• Dozing student, fashionably-ripped jeans revealing a square inch of an albino white thigh. A stark contrast to dark tanned hands clasped across her lap.
  

"Scooch on over closer, dear"

• Young artist propped against the exit railing, wrist moving quickly, eyes glancing up and down as surrounding images are transferred onto his sketchpad,...including a pretty visage in peaceful slumber.
  

"So I drew a new face and I laughed"

• Slouching grey-hair in oversized khaki suit, chewing gum incessantly, twiddling thumbs over a pair of coy phoenixes on his Marriage Equality tote bag.
  

"You best believe, best believe I'm yours"

Ode to Babette

When my beau resolved to part with Babette,
I was the one to fluster and fret.
She was his first - the first bass he owned,
Over 17 years, their fellowship had grown.

Her chest-thumping rifts caused many hands to raise,
With him, her sole purpose was devoted to Praise.
How could he release her bright crimson torso,
To a complete stranger for a coupla Benjies,...o.b.o.?

(Bridge)
She headlined as "Hohner B2A Headless Bass" on Craigslist,
His narrative for her specs I found quite impressive:
Solid American maple body; smooth 24-fret rosewood fingerboard over maple neck; Steinberger licensed hardware; 2 Select pickups designed by EMG; Active Bass Boost switch; soft case included.

Mr. Short Red Beard who took her away,
Look after her well, we may meet again some day
On a another stage, in a more secular venue,
Until then, sweet Babette, we will certainly miss you.

Dismantling Maxtor

I'm recalling my first intro to blogs, years ago... I was peering over my guy's shoulder at his monitor, grinning in amusement over his shaking head. Our cellist friend had posted a series of photos she had taken while dismantling her toaster. Or was it a VCR...? Anyway, here's our version -- a tribute if you will -- to commemorate that moment, seemingly eons ago, and to bid farewell to our defunct harddrive.

Pausing for Veterans

As we pause to honor the veterans of this country, surviving and fallen, on this day, I'm also reflecting on war and the reason for it; and the shifting demographic that now includes an influx of young veterans returning to an economically-challenged society, with PTSD and other assimilation problems of their own.

According to the U.S. Census Bureau, as of 2007...

• There are 23.6 million military veterans in the U.S. 9.3 million of them are 65 and older. 1.9 million are younger than 35.
• Five states have at least 1 million veterans -- California (2.1 million), Florida (1.7 million), Texas (1.7 million), New York (1.1 million), and Pennsylvania (1.1 million).
• Six million veterans have a service-related disability.
• In 2006, government spending for veterans benefits ($72.8 billion total) went to compensation and pensions (48%), medical programs (46%), and other programs like vocational rehabilitation and education.
• The National Coalition for Homeless Veterans estimates that at least 1/3 of the nation's homeless are veterans.
  

Regardless of my views on war, I respect and appreciate all of you for your sacrifice and service. For those of you who are already home, I wish you the best care; and may the ones who are still away return to us safely.

"The time has come," the walrus said...

..."to talk of many things: Of shoes and ships - and sealing wax - of cabbages and kings." -- from The Walrus and the Carpenter by Lewis Carroll.

On a recent mission to augment my beau's wardrobe, we poked into an eclectic store in Berkeley that featured very cool and original hoodies, t-shirts, and caps. Founded by Oakland native Matt Revelli, the line was created "to fill the fashion void between culture-based brands of clothing...with the belief that numerous social influences such as art, music, skateboarding, basketball, and street life could be combined into one brand of clothing that celebrates contemporary urban lifestyle without excluding anyone." (DrJays.com)

Will probably check out the rotating exhibits at their San Francisco gallery, Fifty24SF, currently featuring the "visceral" artwork of Paul Insect.

The Power of Gratefulness

Here's a condensed version of an "inspiring speech" that I delivered over the weekend at my Toastmasters club's multipurpose extravaganza (i.e., Speak-A-Thon / Fundraiser / Pre-Holiday Celebration). May you be inspired...

*****

Would you describe yourself as someone who “lives gratefully”? Do you take some time, once in a while, to pause and think about all the things that you’re grateful for? In recent years, I’ve discovered that this practice is good for me.

In looking back on those hurricane relief trips we took to Louisiana and Mississippi, the life lessons that the survivors of the Storm taught me were far more significant than any physical help we gave them. In the midst of a huge jumble of emotions, the one that emerged from this disaster as a source of strength for many of the residents we talked to was…the feeling of gratefulness that they even survived. Even though they had lost all of their worldly possessions and everything seemed out of their control, they were humbled and grateful for what they did have left. It may not have been much, but it was what they could cling on to, as an anchor so that they could look ahead at getting their lives back in order. What a humbling perspective that was for me.

I caught another glimpse of the "power of gratefulness" in my friend, Ms. R, whose mother has pancreatic cancer. When her mom was diagnosed earlier this year, the doctors had predicted that she probably wouldn’t survive more than 4 to 6 months. It was Month 10 when Ms. R gave me this update. I was struck by how Ms. R calmly described how grateful she was to have these extra months with her mother – “bonus months”, she called them. I marveled at how she seemed so at peace and grateful, while facing the reality that her mother won’t be around for much longer.

Making it a habit to be conscious of the things we're grateful for in life has been shown to have a positive impact in many ways. The Research Project on Gratitude and Thanksgiving, for example, suggests that you can increase your sense of well-being and create positive social effects just from counting your blessings. Living gratefully and living simply also seem to go hand-in-hand. When we are grateful for what we have, we tend to appreciate “the simple things” more – e.g., the kindness of others, the beauty of nature, etc. And when tough times hit, we may be more ready to remember and cling on to those things that we’re grateful for, in order to endure the challenge.

So I ask you, "What are YOU grateful for?"

We Asians...

...can be so weird.


And brilliant!

Life goes on...

...with a restrained skip and a jump. While I've long outgrown the naive expectation that epic events -- such the election of Barack Obama as this nation's 44th President -- will be able to "change everything", I am still basking in the ray of hope that is emanating from the outcome of this Election.

Granted, after the glow fades and we give our last round congratulatory hugs, we will each return to life as usual, digging in to face the realities and challenges of everyday life. Granted, after the President-Elect took a couple of deep breaths (if that) to savor his victory, he hunkered down with his camp to start devising a strategy to bushwhack our way out of a fairly thick mess.

But despite the bumps (and boulders) in our personal and the nation's political roads, I, for one, am forging ahead with an extra spring in my step, optimistic that the hope for change he has been speaking and writing about is not all that audacious.

Congratulations, Mr. President-Elect

OMG!!! Enuf said.

It's a Beautiful Day to VOTE!

My first Election Day as a U.S. citizen and registered voter began with a bleary-eyed peek through our bedroom curtains at a brightening clear day. Like any other day, we climbed into our exercise clothes and headed out for an early morning workout. Unlike other days, though, we made a couple of extra turns to scope out our neighborhood polling place en route to the Y. The lights in the community center poured out onto the dim street, but otherwise, all was quiet 45 minutes before the polls were to open.

We took another detour past the building on our way home. This time, the venue was a little "livelier" with a couple of volunteer greeters flanking the doorway and a lone picketer pumping his triceps with a "Vote No on 8" sign outside the property perimeter.

Two hours later -- after a regular breakfast, a couple of conference calls, folding laundry, and "freshening up" -- we finally returned to the polling place for its primary purpose. There were noticeably more people, but not the lines or fanfare seen at other locations around the country. But I didn't mind. While enjoying my own mental voting party and the company of my voter buddy, I appreciated being outnumbered by friendly volunteers who efficiently directed me to the check-in desk and then to the eSlate polling booth.

Those 6 minutes in that black-curtained booth were among the most empowering of my life.

An estimated 13.6 million California voters are expected to cast ballots today.
As of 4:30PM, Pacific time, 4,031,535 people on Facebook had voted.

This is certainly an incredible day...to change the world.

'Twas the Day Before Elections...

Some images and voices that are characterizing this Election Day eve for me:

• Dueling day-laborers on opposite street corners, gyrating wildly while carrying large signs with the names of rival local candidates.
• Surge of e-mails from friends and family, in the U.S. and abroad, advising me on my Presidential pick based on excerpts from "unbiased sources" and self-proclaimed pastor prophets.
• Radio and TV news talk shows asking the same question, "Are you approaching this year's election differently from other ones?"
• YMCA locker room conversations among retirees who will be volunteering at the polls tomorrow, excitedly quipping about their much earlier-than-usual start to Election Day and the expected overwhelming turnout.
• Joining my co-worker in casting damp eyes to the ground and nonchalantly rubbing reddened noses as she recounted powerful emotions when she and her long-time partner received their marriage license at San Francisco City Hall last week. "We are officially part of each other's families now."
  

I'm probably pausing longer than most to savor each and every moment associated with this Election, seeing as this will be my first voting experience. But considering a black man is a major party nominee for the U.S. Presidency, and gay marriage is on the State ballot,... My guess is that, regardless of the outcome of these and other socially significant contests, the historic nature of this Election will no doubt be burned into the memories of all Americans, and perhaps even the world.

R.I.P, Studs

Studs Terkel, the father of oral histories, left us with thousands of personal accounts of "life of the common folk" when he passed away on Friday. He had inspired me and others (like NPR and its Story Corps) to follow in his footsteps in collecting recorded glimpses of everyday life. An oral time capsule, created by just taking the time to listen.

Blood Bank Musings

"Can I get someone who's an expert with butterfly needles?" I asked hopefully, catching a glimpse of my right hand involuntarily rubbing the crook of my left arm. "You have difficult veins?" the receptionist probed, peering at me over the top of silver-framed spectacles. She smiled reassuringly as I nodded slowly. "Just tell the intake nurse that your veins are hard to find."

(20 minutes later)

We held our breaths as my droplet of blood hovered at the center of the blue liquid. After a few quick glances at the second hand on the wall clock, the nurse leaned back as the crimson disc drifted listlessly to the bottom of the vial. "Longer than 10 seconds," she remarked. "You may not have enough iron in your blood," she continued, proceeding to collect a larger sample of blood by jabbing another thin tube into my middle finger, which was still throbbing slightly from the earlier pinprick. "But I will need to run more sample in a centrifuge to know for sure." She slipped out of the room quickly, leaving me thinking, "Not another rejection!" *insert exaggerated grimace*

(10 minutes later)

"Your hematocrit level needs to be at least 38%," the nurse prefaced when she returned. She paused for dramatic effect as I shifted to the edge of my seat. "You're at 40%!" she declared with a big grin. "So you can donate today, but,..." She leaned towards my exposed arms and poked the insides of my elbows. "Go get a cup of juice first, so that your veins will 'pop out' more." I did as I was told, deciding not to reveal that I was already feeling quite waterlogged. My veins are just stealthy that way.

(20 minutes later)

"Nothing," the phlebotomist whispered, staring blankly at the empty tube, then at the needle in my left arm. She gave me an apologetic look, then grabbed the wings of the butterfly again. I turned away as she gave it a slight twist. "Got it!" she exclaimed. I expelled a sigh of relief and turned to gaze at the dark red fluid coursing through the plastic tube into the pint-sized bag.

(9 minutes later)

"You're all done!" I hadn't realized until I heard those words that that I had been in a tense state for the past hour. I became acutely aware of my shoulders relaxing and my breaths deepening as I beamed proudly at the plump red bag lying next to me.

See you nice Blood Bank people in 8 weeks!

It's a Girl Thang

This has been a good week. Among other reasons, I reconnected with four girlfriends with whom my one-on-one catch up time was long overdue. The revival of these neglected ties gave me a renewed appreciation for the importance of female friendships.

Interestingly, I encountered these four women during different phases of my life - in my teen years, in college, at work, and as a new Christian. In reflecting upon our rendezvous via Skype video conference, phone call, dinner date, and a mid-afternoon visit, respectively, I marveled at how our friendships had evolved over the years, and how far we've come in life since we first met. They are reminders of the journey that has led me to this resting spot. And they will help me find my bearings as I forge ahead.

Here's a shout out to J.A.G.S., the special women who warmed my heart this week. You may not know each other, but you each hold special places in my heart.

"There's no wax on them..."

...explained the tan Latino man in the plaid shirt, hands tucked into his jeans pockets. "These come straight from the farm." But his customer wasn't satisfied. Holding up a brown-spotted Fuji apple and shaking her head, she insisted, "But they don't look fresh when the skin wrinkles up in just a day or two. They still taste sweet, but they just don't look good like in the stores." The farmer pulled his hands out of his pockets, crossed his arms, and shrugged. "Try putting them in the fridge," he suggested, matter-of-factly.

I love people-watching at the Farmer's Market. The Fujis were the sweetest I had ever tasted -- thanks to the samples provided in tupperware containers -- so I splurged and picked up $5 worth (or 6 apples). Our motto is "Once we go Farmer's Market, we can't go back". Not too catchy, but true. Chain grocery store fruits just aren't as flavorful. Thanks to our local Farmer's Market, eating fruit is enjoyable for me again, like "back home" in Singapore, when we plucked chikus and bananas straight from our backyard trees and devoured them right there.

As for whether waxing is good for fruit, I found at least one source that says so. But I prefer mine fresh and "unwaxed", thanks.

Maggie, Barack, and Me

...and my co-pilot, of course.  We took a 4-day roadtrip down to SoCal recently with our newly-adopted Magellan GPS, the Roadmate 1412 (a.k.a. "Maggie"); and the Senator from Illinois, who accompanied us via dramatic recorded reading of his book, The Audacity of Hope on CD (see excerpt). The four of us turned out to be quite compatible traveling companions.

Truth be told, Maggie got the cold shoulder from me when she first joined us.  I pride myself in having a better sense of direction than most and often claimed the role of chief navigator among my friends after I left the nest of my wise Mother who groomed and mentored this course-plotting grasshopper.  So when Maggie entered my travel world, I felt threatened.  And with good reason, as her confident commands and forecasting of upcoming streets endeavored to usurp my powers and render my map-rustling directions obsolete.  But she is slowly proving herself worthy of my respect.  I'm learning to swallow my pride each time she detours us away from traffic jams and covers for me when I've misplaced a map.  Granted, we're no BFFs, but I'm appreciating her more these days.

As for Mr. Obama, he certainly knows how to captivate this audience,...though perhaps not enough to prevent occasional snoozes when he launches into excessive detail.  Anyway, I need to finish the remaining 1/3 of his inspiring narrative by its library due date on Friday.  Then, onwards to Faith of My Fathers by his presidential opponent John McCain.  As I've always believed and Barack clearly articulates, "No one is exempt from the call to find common ground."

What the...?

Oh my goodness!

"Thin Line Between Heaven and Here"

Some wisdom from Bubbles, a Baltimore Police Department "C.I." (confidential informant, snitch) on my latest free-time addiction, The Wire. We were so captivated by the first disc of Season 1 that, on the same day we dropped it in the mail to Netflix, we dashed out to pick up the second one from Blockbuster...and finished watching and returned it.

I almost wet my pants during the Kitchen scene in Season 1, Episode 4. And I'm fearing for Bubbles. Not sure if I can wait another day for the next installment. *wringing hands*