The Ordeal of Freedom

My Greed

2008-03-07T18:49:00.000-08:00

I once heard somewhere that growing up means discarding your childhood dreams, one hopeless fantasy at a time. I suppose in the end you're left there standing dreamless, trapped, and shattered; that's when you can proclaim, "I'm grown!" Recently, the potential of this reality has hit me and it stings like nothing I've ever felt. For me, the most glorious thing about having an age in the single digits was the limitless identities and possibilities it subsumed.

At the early age of six I was a ninja, an astronaut, an artist, a musician, a soldier, a farmer, a scientist, a poultry rancher, and (of course) a superhero. Where did all those little versions of me go? Disappeared into the great abyss of adulthood and sound decision-making. And what if I'm just not ready to fucking let any of them go? The responsibility militia will break down my doors and drag them away like so many uncharged enemy combatants with little to no chance for a fair trial. Right now they're at my doors (the militia, not the combatants), demanding I hand over the mathematician, the economist, the computer scientist, the researcher, or the technical analyst. They don't care which one, as long as he'll scream in defiance as he's being dragged away.

My Lust

2008-03-05T16:38:00.000-08:00

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My Pride

2007-12-11T16:32:00.000-08:00

I find my most useful ability is absorbing and regurgitating information, especially in watering down and essentially bastardizing said information.

Office Theme

"Mother/Mother's Journey" - Yann Tiersen
(Major blunder at 1:20)

"Moon River" - Johnny Mercer and Henry Mancini

"Comptine D'ete No. 3" - Yann Tiersen

My Sloth

2007-11-05T23:47:00.000-08:00

Alright, I'll admit it. I've been really lazy about writing here. It's just that I have a couple very loose ideas floating around that just won't solidify. So I'm going to wing this one, just rapid fire transfer from thought stream to fingers to keyboard. No forethought, no premeditated structure, no preconceived ideas (other than shoehorning the title to the current theme), no outlining, and no obsessive proofreading. Of course, I'll utilize the good ol' fashioned spell check, but that's it.

I feel like I'm falling behind in everything: job searching, thesis, life. However, I have been getting a full eight hours sleep every night and eating properly.

NPR just got their custom web stream application, about time. Ira Glass was all over that shit years ago.

I realize I've been growing more and more dependent on plant products, and not in the pseudo-vegetarian diet I've been practicing. I'm talking about dependency on straight up vices: chocolate, tobacco(once a day, like a one day vitamin, but with cancer and burning), tea, and coffee. I'm tempted to say these plants are all related in that they're in the same family and they trick my brain into dumping those feel good hormones that aren't getting dropped naturally when I'm in this state in this State, especially when I'm in this State. Ha! see what I did there, discrete infinity (I think...probably not...probably just a run on sentence).

Recently I've been in heated discussions about non-human animals having language. They don't.

That Musharaff thing scares the hell out of me. When I read that my immediate thoughts were, 'what the fuck would I do if that happened here? What the hell could I do?'. He seemed like such a good chap when he was bro-ing down with Jon Stewart. He's barely paying lip service to making it look like it was legitimately for the security of the nation. The claim is 'not declaring a state of emergency would be suicide for Pakistan'. He's referring to the growth in Islamic fundamentalism. Pakistan was created because of Islamic fundamentalism! What! With the constitution suspended, the press shut down, the chief justice forced out, paramilitary troops on the streets, Parliament and Supreme court surrounded by enforcement thugs, and key members of the opposing party arrested, this is sounding like a contrived, standardized Hollywood script. It's as if he had a blueprint of some sort.

I've been writing for the school paper. Just this week General Abizaid was on campus giving a talk on 'Challenges in the Middle East'. One of my paper colleagues somehow snagged an interview and has written an article on his visit and lecture. Why didn't I think of that?! I could've sat down and talked with Abizaid! Fuck! Not only was I too lazy to make that happen, but I forgot the day he was coming and completely missed out. I've just been so spacey lately, you know?

I saw Azar Nafisi talk about a month ago and Orhan Pamuk two weeks later. Nafisi was amazing. She signed my copy of "Reading Lolita in Tehran" and made me feel very uncomfortable for being marginally attracted to a much older woman. Pamuk was a snoozefest. He just stood up there and read his damn books. After the regurgitation I had no reason to purchase any of his work because I just had it all babbled at me. Way to market, Pamuk. And way to earn that Nobel, jerk.

Oh! and I saw Dave Eggers and his collaborator, Valentino Achak Deng. They signed my copy of "What is the What?", but alas my copy of "Heartbreaking Work..." is back west. And what a relief to get a little glimpse back into west coast a la Eggers' humor.

So that's what comes out when I don't prepare these things, when my lethargy takes the reigns and says,'Eff it." This is kinda like getting to see a high maintenance chick(take that raging feminists!) first thing in the morning when she hasn't slabbed on a pound of makeup and blow dried her hair for a half hour. Or maybe it's more like getting a look at how sausage is actually made.

My Envy

2007-09-19T16:27:00.001-07:00

About a week ago I was waiting for my bus, anxious to assemble my new coffee table, which I had hauled all the way from Ikea via public transportation, not a pleasant or timely task. A trio of Chinese students walk by, two males and one female. The girl throws her head back and releases a laugh that can only be invoked by an artfully timed punchline following a particularly comical anecdote, possibly delivered by one of her male companions. The boys laugh in turn and some post-joke discussion follows. While waiting for the crosswalk to signal a safe passage, they continue discussing whatever it is that was so damn funny. They finally cross and as they step onto the opposite sidewalk, they cross paths with a blond girl who just misses the signal to traverse in the opposing direction. Traffic comes to a halt and she begins to walk, until she is hailed by one of the stopped drivers. She waves back in excitement at the familiar face and the driver motions for her to get in the car. Skipping across the road, she hurriedly positions herself in the passenger seat for fear of the light turning green which, naturally, would result in a choir of angry honks, or worse, dismemberment. After they leave I turn my head to the right and notice a couple coming towards me. They move with a blatant air of carelessness, as if to proclaim, "Yes, we are walking and we have no particular destination. But as long as this person is walking beside me, I couldn't fucking care less." I watch their unconnected hands, like two magnets desperately gravitating towards each other, but being held back by some invisible force. Every few steps their palms would sway closer and shy away at the last moment, a spectacle of suspense. They pass me, engrossed in smiling and conversation and I maintain focus on their hands. Not more than 30 seconds later a cyclist comes hurtling behind the unwitting girl and applies his breaks enough to avoid colliding with her. The boy notices and pulls her to safety. And there it was, forced by a reckless cyclist riding illegally on the sidewalk. Their hands finally found each other, a destined union written in the stars, I'm sure. I find myself mimicking their interlaced fingers with my own. My heart races for them as I imagine what they are both thinking, "The suspense is over, just don't let go, please".

It is these common to intimate interactions that my experiences have been devoid of. I miss being able to tell dead baby jokes and share racially offensive humor without getting the 'wtf?' look. And racist dead baby jokes?...Forget about it! I miss being comfortable enough in a crowd to drink. The source of this comfort was once the knowledge that someone will ultimately take care of me and make sure I don't pull a Hasselhoff, or that if I do, they won't take offense to the deluge of fuckwords that may slur out of my noise hole. Not that I ever consciously placed that burden on anyone, but the subconscious comfort allowed me to order that last glass of Scotch that would make my night a little more magical, and my morning a little more painful. Lastly, I miss being able to pick up the phone knowing whoever is on the other end will be down to hang out, be it at a quiet cafe, a familiar household, or a dank dive bar. God, I miss the dank.

As a natural introvert without these interactions, I've resorted to my default wallflower mode. Witnessing others take advantage of and perhaps take for granted the privilege of being truly connected with someone has been a slightly painful sight to witness. I can't help but think, "I once had that. I once was an insider on inside jokes. I used to connect with someone (several someones, as a matter of fact) at a level that seems dizzying now. Most importantly... I used to belong." I'm completely aware that those relationships take time, which makes the situation even more hopeless as I have gotten almost nowhere in a year and have another year left of nowhere-getting ahead. And sometimes, as awful as this may sound, it's comforting to know that I'm not completely alone in this struggle.

It's come to my attention that I am not the only nor the last Las Vegan to embark on this tortuous self-exile. The reasons for exile are generally similar: "I have to leave before Vegas eats my soul. I have to leave because there's a bigger world out there." What's funny is that none of us (I think) foresaw this inundation of loneliness and homesickness, despite it being glaringly obvious in retrospect. We have each dealt with this beast in our own ways. Some have resorted to cardboard cats to provide companionship in lieu of a more fleshy feline. Some have relied on the relentless exploration of their surroundings as if new ground was an infinite resource. Some are fortunate enough to interchangeably use the words 'coworker' and 'friend' . Some are too busy staying afloat in a foreign culture and language to worry too much about exile. Still there are others, like me, who continue to struggle to find that niche, that perfect fit, that groove on which we will ultimately find the justification for what we've done to ourselves. If we are diligent and (more importantly) lucky, we will find those laughs and inside jokes to share with those familiar faces. And if we're really lucky, we will find those hands that allow us to proclaim, "I couldn't fucking care less."

My Gluttony (In Two Parts)

2007-08-31T20:35:00.000-07:00

Sunday August 26^th, 5:16pm. I'm sitting in Reagan National waiting for my connecting flight to Pitt. Boarding won't begin for well over an hour, so I have some time to fill (Maybe the right word here is 'kill', but I would have to address my utility of time, a discussion I am not willing to have). I consider myself fortunate for having vultured a table so close to a power drop. The man next to me left his copy of "Dune" and his padlocked gym bag on the adjacent table so he can be more comfortable while standing in line for a burger. If the bag's contents deserve a padlock, why would he leave them beside a stranger? Perhaps I'm looking exceptionally trustworthy today. There’s a blond woman wearing white shorts on the other side of this power station who pushed two cafeteria chairs together to form a makeshift office. She’s using her power drop to charge her Ipod, while sorting official-looking papers from her tote bag.

I've had an excessively exuberant ten days. Summer is ending and I managed to squeeze in some vacation time before the flurry of school begins again. So sit back, or stop reading whenever you wish. This one will be of some length.

(---===Part I: My Peanut Butter Weekend===---)

Last Friday I was picked up from Boston’s Logan international (after a six hour delay in my flight. Thank you very much, United Airlines), hurried to D’s apartment to drop off the bulk of my luggage, then, at midnight, began the four hour drive to the Adirondacks with our tumblers maintaining our French pressed, black coffee at a tongue burning temperature, just how we like it. We drove through a terrifying rainstorm, which slowed traffic to that of a highly monitored school zone, and arrived at the cabin around 4am. We were greeted with 'sleepy time' tea and friendly conversation. When I woke up, my room was pitch black, which led me to the assumption that I could not have gone through more than three hours of sleep. Strangely, I was refreshed and feeling invigorated. Imagine my surprise when I opened my door and was assaulted with blinding rays of sunlight. It turns out the blinds in my windows refused every single particle of light from entering my room. The real time was 10am. I went for a walk and by the time I returned one of the cabin dwellers was awake. After inhaling peanut butter and jelly sandwiches, we went fishing. I caught my first fish and consequently chopped the head off a live animal for the first time in my life. “I’m sorry, little guy”, I apologized, at which point I began hacking and sawing as quickly as possible. He was delectable. That night, another cabin dweller had the brilliant idea of cooking some of the fish using peanut butter as a base. So for dinner we had peanut butter fish and non-peanut butter fish tacos as a side. To think that our food was alive less than 12 hours ago, it was definitely one of those "it really makes you think.." moments.

On Sunday, our party grew to seven. A party of four, not including myself, went out at dawn and returned triumphantly with four fish, a king's bounty in aquatic animals if I had ever seen one. Later that afternoon five of us took a quick hike to a small summit with a magnificent view. While waiting for sunset, we watched butterflies congregating (and possibly mating?) in the surrounding trees. After our descent, D and I ravenously annihilated a half pint of Ben and Jerry's Peanut Butter Cup ice cream. With our silver spoons colliding, we denied every molecule of the frozen treat to regress to its less appetizing liquid form. Dinner was started slightly later. I helped D conjure her Native dish of fry-bread wrapped veggie dogs (The Injuns had veggie dogs, right? Made of corn?). That same genius who came up with the peanut butter fish made a more refined sauce using the same peanut butter, and used it to cook bacon. It was little slices of amazing (don't judge me, I'm from a country where dirt is considered a toy). Lastly, the biggest of the morning's fish, Captain Stubbs (I named him in post-consumption), was stuffed with vegetables and seasoning before being slowly broiled. There were no plates, no napkins, and no burden of dividing the victim into equivalent pieces. It's a bit of a blur now, but I scarcely recall seven hands gripping seven forks clawing at the good captain and reducing him to nothing more than a semi-symmetrical skeletal structure.

We were in for a slightly more demanding hike on Monday. Not only was the trail longer and steeper, but we had to sneak into a country club and smooth talk ourselves onto their snooty bus to get to the foot of the trail. The summit overlooked a leisurely river slowly weaving and arching across the valleys of tree covered mountains. Naturally, we had to sneak back on the bus to return to W.A.S.P. territory. D and I left that same day and had dinner on the way back to Medford. Where and what we ate will be our embarrassing secret.

(==--My Week of Thai and Fried Fish--==)

Tuesday was spent getting lost on what was supposed to be a half hour walk to the closest metro station. My poor sense of direction was countered with my neurotic planning (I counted on myself getting lost and/or distracted, so I allotted myself more time), and I arrived one minute late to meet my friend, N, for a Thai lunch. At the Chili Duck I ordered mango fried rice, a dish I haven't seen in a forever. Admittedly, I was jealous of N's drunken noodles, a dish I have only seen at the Chili Duck.

I met D for lunch the next day at a different Thai restaurant. Hoping beyond hope that this place would have drunken noodles as well, I was sorely disappointed and opted for some greasy duck to cheer me up. I was dropped off at the Museum of Fine Arts, where I spent the rest of the afternoon meandering through galleries. I was confused about a particular painting in the American section, John Singleton Copley's Watson and the Shark. The confusion came from my viewing of this exact painting not more than two weeks ago in DC. I asked the closest attendant if he knew anything about the painting (mistake!). Although he did provide me with the information I asked for, which was that this painting was Copley’s second version, it turns out that simple question gave him the justification he needed to provide me with a detailed lecture on Copley and American art in the colonial period. In the end he pointed me to the most important American painting (which was by Copley). I was surprised. He was disgruntled by my surprise and soon allowed me to escape. That night N and I went to little Italy where we drank wine, sipped on tomato soup, and split a deliciously greasy plate of fried calamari. Desert was had at Mike’s Pastry where I could only hope my canolli was made by a greasy Italian stereotype hiding in the back with his slick, curled mustache.

This blog is getting too long for my taste. I'm only going to address meals from now on. Tursday's lunch was leftover duck. After she got off work, D and I went to the Institute of Contemporary Art and had dinner at the Barking Crab. We ordered beer, fish and chips, and the fisherman's platter, which consisted of scallops, calamari, shrimp, and cod (all breaded and deep fried). Somewhere in our feeding frenzy D and I realized that the problem with us eating together is that we've already seen each other at our worst and therefore have abandoned any sense of restraint and inhibition. As a result of our guiltless consumption, the food vanished in minutes and we were both incapacitated for the remainder of the night.

Friday's dinner was at a place called My Thai. The menu was all vegetarian; once again I ordered the 'duck'. It always amazes me how some places can get the texture of the 'meat' just right. Best all veggie, Thai place ever. For nighttime fun, N and I got our drink on at The Middle East and The People's Republic where we sat under a leaky air conditioning unit and criticized a marginally attractive girl across the bar for not smiling enough and leaving her wine glass practically full (Who the hell orders wine in a seedy bar, anyway?). We are charmers.

Hamilton beach was the destination for our Saturday outing. The ocean was a little cold, but that didn’t stop us from going out too far and subsequently getting whistled at by the life guard. After an unfortunate injury involving murderous waves bent on our destruction and a swollen ankle, the three of us had lunch at a local cafe. Once again I feasted on fish and chips. That was my last night in Boston and we spent it watching Cannibal the Musical and Suicide Club with a Dunkin' Donuts break for intermission, a bittersweet combination for a bittersweet ending.

(===---:---===)

It is now Friday, August 31^st, 10:03am. I’m riding an Amtrak to Philly. Maybe I can make an unnecessarily long entry of this weekend as well. Congratulations for getting through the longest blog ever.

My Name is Driftwood

2007-08-16T17:39:00.000-07:00

Last night I enjoyed a couple glasses of Walker Red while watching Futurama and folding my last bits of laundry, preparing them for transit in my massive, red suitcase. Something about that moment felt genuinely therapeutic. Was it the smooth Scotch whiskey flowing down my throat? Was it the zany antics of a cryogenically frozen, well-meaning loser and his hooligan robot best friend? Neither. I think it was the laundry. It felt like gradual closure for my time here, each fold a testament to the end of this experience and every crease a reminder to prepare myself for the choices and challenges ahead.

I’ve been moving around a lot, more so than I expected, especially in the past three weeks. Last weekend I played tourist one last time. On Saturday I saw the International Spy Museum and the Jefferson Monument. The entirety of Sunday was spent at the National Gallery of Art where my back started aching after so much indefinite meandering. The weekend before that, I spent in Vegas. This visit home was somewhat of a surprise, as my flight wasn’t confirmed until late Wednesday afternoon (My outbound flight left Thursday). Surprise or not, it was a relieving breath of fresh air to be home again, even for a short time. I always look forward to seeing every familiar, beautiful face and absorbing every precious moment at home. Finally, three weekends ago I was in Philadelphia. I almost feel guilty about how amazing my time there was. I must have saved a bag-full of drowning puppies while curing polio in a previous life to deserve such an amazing weekend with not one, but two of the most adorable girls I've ever met. I just hope I wasn't too much of a drunken chore.

So that was my three weeks of transience. Now my flight leaves tomorrow for Boston, where I will be picked up from the airport and immediately road-tripped to the Adirondacks for a weekend in a mountain house encircled by serene lakes and thick forest. After getting reacquainted with nature, it's one week and a weekend of bumming around in "Beantown"(Seriously, can there be a lamer nickname for a city?). I'm hoping for a rematch with those Russians and Eastern Blocers across from Harvard (getting pwned for sure, but whatever doesn't kill me...right?). In the end I'll return to Pittsburgh for a fresh semester. A very minuscule, microscopic part of me is looking forward to this trip. Regardless, I know it's a trip I have to make.

So much mobility has focused my attention on the concept of home (again). There's this great scene in Garden State where Zach Braff and Natalie Portman are sitting alone on one side of the pool. Braff brings up his thoughts on 'home'.

"You know that point in your life when you realize that the house you grew up in isn’t really your home anymore…all of the sudden even though you have some place to put your shit, that idea of home is gone...it's like you feel homesick for a place that doesn't exist…or maybe its like this rite of passage…Maybe that’s all family really is: a group of people that miss the same imaginary place."

I guess I've been going through the same thing. I suppose it takes some time to establish that 'new idea of home'. You know how a crab technically brings it's house wherever it goes? How's it's always moving around, but still encased in it's personal comfort zone. It feels like I'm that crab, except I've misplaced my original shell and am now scavenging the beaches for old tin cans, seashells, and grande Starbucks cups to serve as makeshift homes until I find that one shell that feels like home again. I just hope that what I'm missing wasn't imaginary. Holy shit, did I just simile myself into shellfish? Yea, I did. Wtf.

My Sylvie

2007-07-30T15:28:00.001-07:00

My Dearest Sylvie,

It feels like a string of eternities has passed since I last laid my eyes on you, since I last felt your tranquilizing voice dance on my eardrums. I've been meaning to write, I really have. Please don't take my deficiency in written correspondence as a lack of thought, or endearment. Despite what you may believe, I miss you every day and I think about you so much it's become a significant distraction. I miss the feeling of my fingers in the notches of your spine before I fall asleep. I miss the sight of parallel rays of dawn embracing your face in the morning, irrevocable proof that the sun keeps coming up because its gotten used to you. You gave me something to look forward to and a reason to come home after all those late nights.

I've been really busy with the internship. I was officially assigned to one engagement, but have been helping a lot with another. My time has been pretty much split between the two jobs. All my co-workers are super warm and friendly. they taught me the meaning of a 'Friday Lunch' just a couple weeks ago(It's actually a lunch break that lasts a little over 3 hours spent playing board games in a conference room). On top of that I'm taking an audio course on Middle Eastern history and using the Rosetta Stone somewhat regularly to continue my education in Farsi. Admittedly I've fallen behind in both, and my time out of school is coming to a close. I have, however, learned a couple new songs. I can't tell you how much I'm looking forward to playing them with you as soon as I get back, in four excruciating weeks.

I spent this past weekend in Philly with two of the loveliest ladies one could hope to spend a spontaneous weekend with. There were museum visitations, sushi sharing, taxi cabbing, and, yes, drunken dancing. An amazing rooftop dinner with a spectacular view made for a memory anyone would envy. I'm in great debt to them for being my damsels in shining armor and rescuing me from the depths of the mundane and monotonous.

I'm afraid the cafe is closing and I've played out my role as 'creepy laptop guy who never leaves'. So this will have to be it for now.

Wish you were here,

LoL

My Temple of Efficiency

2007-06-30T12:07:00.000-07:00

My fifth week as an intern has just come to a close. I haven’t written in a while; perhaps due to lack of content, perhaps due to my own laziness, perhaps because vacation alleviates the guilt resulting from spending too much time playing Warcraft III: The Frozen Throne. In any case I’m writing now, as things have slowed down at work and I’ve been getting my ass continuously handed to me by both Night Elves and Undead. That and the loss of my mouse makes it impossible to implement my l33t strat against those dirty elves.

I've been spending my weekends visiting the typical touristy sites here. Last Saturday I spent an entire day at an art museum because the two tours I wanted to go on had a five hour gap. I've been watching a movie every weekend as well. Last week was "Black Book", WWII spy story set in Holland. This week will be "A Mighty Heart". Of course, I'm hyped beyond words for the Transformers movie.

As I mentioned I’ve had five full weeks of a real 40-hour-work-week. Let me remind you this is not something I am familiar with. While in school I’m positive I average 50-60 hours a week of solid work. I made my own hours and started and stopped at my own discretion (and often regretted it afterwards). The past three weeks, I’ve been committed to a stringent schedule (be here at this time and leave at this time, give or take an hour). Much less wiggle room than what I’m accustomed to.

Through the rigors of routine and protocol, I started to notice the wonderful array of unspoken, unwritten laws we encounter every day. Society has somehow forged an array of implicit rules that we, as individuals, have, almost magically, absorbed and interpreted as the standard for interacting or not interacting with one another. You can name the simple ones quite quickly: Do not cut in line, do not talk with your mouth full, do feign some affection when someone shows you their newborn baby, no matter how ugly or gargantuan-headed it may be. These rules are not documented. There is no threat of repercussion when we disobey, but we generally abide by them nonetheless, even though most babies are ugly and, much like lawyers, a drain on society. Anyway, I want to take up space on the internet and discuss some rules that have come to my attention.

The men's room is a temple of efficiency. Therefore, There shalt be no social interaction in the men's room, unless ye be 'toasted' or injured. Some corollaries: no talking, no eye contact, no utilization of an unoccupied urinal adjacent to an occupied urinal(unless it is the only available choice). I find these rules, nay laws, are generally accepted, especially in public restrooms. However, I've observed at my place of work that this is not the case. When I walk in and someone recognizes me, I am met with a hearty 'hello!' or 'top'o th'mornin' to ya!' (There's a few Irish dudes at work. Ok, I'm lying because I would almost let that one go). If someone else comes in and recognizes me, again I'm greeted just the same (in mid stream, people! mid stream!). What I find most striking is strangers in the facility. Some folks who don't even know you will give you a general greeting, perhaps just a nod of the head. Complete strangers! greeting me in the MEN's room! If this is where society is headed, I want no part of it.Next, I want to discuss hallway etiquette. The distance that is acceptable for you to greet someone, either by hand or verbally, is positively correlated to your degree of camaraderie with the greeted and negatively correlated to your difference in rank. For example, if I see my supervisor three (hierarchical) levels above me from 200 meters, there will be no acknowledgment from either of us. However, if we were to continue walking towards each other and the distance between us reduced to 10 meters, there would certainly be pleasantries exchanged. On the other hand, if someone of the same rank or an acquaintance were approaching me from the same 200 meters, a friendly hand gesture of 'hello' should not be surprising.

With hallway greetings comes the issues of gait. Gait can communicate much of information, but most of it is beyond the scope of this blog. That said, let's take a concrete example where gait communicate the desire or disdain for further interaction. Say Jamie passes Alex in the hallway(you'll notice the names are asexual for your feminists who have not discovered the wonders of un-bunched panties), and the following dialog ensues:

J: Hey, Ashe, how are you?
A: I'm fine, thanks. And yourself?
J: Good to hear. I'm fine as well.

Now, what follows is completely dependent on the gait of the two individuals involved. That is, a decrease in speed in one's gait indicates a desire to communicate further. An unchanged gait indicates indifference. An increase in velocity indicates a desire to avoid communication altogether. If Alex observes Jaime decelerate, then it is expected of Alex to also slow down and possibly come to a complete halt for the sake of entertaining whatever babbling small talk Jaime is interested in initiating.

That's it for now. I think I'm doing ok, generally. I'm enjoying my job. I'm getting intimate with a new city. My thesis was in the backseat until about a week ago, but I recently felt guilty enough to start hitting the books/papers again. I realized I'll always have trouble making friends. I only end up comparing people here to people back home. And the new folks just don't have a chance. Through no fault of their own, of course.

For the Horde,
LoL

My Impermanence

2007-04-30T19:24:00.001-07:00

It was the Summer of 2005, I had just finished eating lunch at a Buddhist temple/cafe/bookstore on Massachusetts Avenue. Approximately equidistant from Harvard and MIT, the Shangrilas of any would be career student, including myself. I wandered over to the shelves of Buddhist literature for sale and noticed one shelf filled with multiple copies of one single book, "Safeguarding the Heart: A Buddhist Response to 9/11". A nun explains to me that it had been written by one of their own, another nun named Yifa who resides here in Massachusetts. Realizing I would not likely see this book again in any other bookstore, let alone the temple/cafe/bookstore frequented by its author, I made the purchase. The book started off simply enough, explaining the fundamental tenets of Buddhism, most of which I have already familiarized myself with. The rest of the book was precisely what the title presented it to be, a Buddhist response to 9/11. But one concept leapt out at me, the idea that nothing in our known universe is permanent, absolutely nothing, especially the towers.

About two weeks ago, while taking a study break, I thought I would indulge in my go-to distraction. "The Wonder Years" on YouTube. In the Fall, watching Kevin Arnold fumble through the minefield of adolescence was a perfect sanctuary from PowerPoint slides and published papers. A single episode was refreshing enough to keep me going for another couple hours(at which point I would need another fix). To my dismay and immeasurable disappointment, all episodes have been deleted from YouTube. Not only that, the account with the largest collection, Guardedheart, has been suspended. It's important to note that the "The Wonder Years" is not available on legitimate dvds. With financial competition factored out, Warner Bros. could not have taken action for any other reason than pure malice. Here's to you Guardedheart, be well my friend, be well.

I was depositing a check at the bank, when I noticed one of their aggressive marketing campaigns. "Use your debit card and earn points!". The ad had a list of vendors where this generous offer was valid. One of them was my Mecca, Dunkin' Donuts. I've been living in this city for almost ten months now, and the only Dunkin' Donuts I've seen is boarded up and obviously not offering points of any kind. One of the first things I did before deciding to make this life altering choice was Googlemap for Dunkin' Donuts. One turned up near my prospective apartment, and I was elated. When I finally settled in, I discovered it was closed down. Not only that, all other locations are located too far from me. This ad gave me hope. I asked the teller about the ad and queried about any nearby Dunkin' Donuts nearby. She told me she had no idea, and that as far as she knew they've been systematically shutting them down. Her words cut me like the Master Sword at its full strength. Now to learn that Dunkin' Donuts might be moving out of town, might be abandoning me like so many deadbeat fathers I have yet to become acquainted with, is simply unbearable.

Now this concept of impermanence should have been clear and obvious. For myself, this was only so clear after reading Yifa's words. I guess the fact always rested in the back of my mind, but its complete implications were never addressed. Everything and everyone I know, love, hate, or am ignorant of will eventually cease to exist. This includes friends, family, strangers, sheets of paper attesting to my education, my home(Hell, the only thing left of the house I grew up in is a shoddy cement foundation), my electronic files, and my Sylvie. The execution list doesn't stop there. It extends to things intangible: relationships, emotions, ideas, language, culture, law, and on and on. So that was my moment of clarity in a temple/cafe/bookstore in Cambridge. Now, one would assume that such a moment would make me more accepting of change and loss. However, one would be wrong.

My Mistaken Identity

2007-03-30T08:20:00.000-07:00

Last week, Tuesday morning, 4pm, I'm stumbling my way to the bus stop in a haze of sleep deprivation and despondence over a particular mid-term grade. The idea of claiming my fifth hour of sleep for the week as soon as my head hits that pillow is all I can think about. I reach the stop and there's a man already waiting, short, rotund, and honestly, slightly unkempt. I hear him address someone in a foreign tongue I am by now familiar with and am confused as there is no other person around. To my surprise, he's addressing me, "jgkfizrld", he repeats. "I'm sorry, I thought you were {Insert Eastern-Hemi country here}." I'm taken aback by his statement. "What an amazing compliment", I immediately think, "This is almost as good as the time I was declared honorary Black by my coworkers on MLK and Washington". I bask in the sweet multiness of my multiculturalism for a moment, then politely correct him. He asks me where I'm from. "The Philippines", I reply. He asks me how many states my country has. "I dunno, It's just a bunch of islands", I answer. He goes on about how his country has several states, just like the U.S. and then goes on naming some of them. I realize I have just been duped into a penis measuring contest, but that's ok, it was endearing in a strange way. He presents a package of what looks like medicine and asks what the recommended dosage is. His eyes aren't so good; he has glasses but they don't work anymore, so he says (Suddenly my mistaken nationality isn't so exciting). I examine the small box of No-Doz, and it recommends 1 every 3-4 hours. "One every 4 hours", I tell him. He thanks me and tells me that one of his friends said it would be good for headaches. I inform him that it's primarily used to stay awake, but that it would probably help headaches as well, considering caffeine is the primary ingredient in most headache medicines. He looks puzzled. "Caffeine, you know? coffee?". Oh, coffee! he realizes, making a coffee drinking motion with the box of No-Doz. Looking slightly disappointed that the magic box his friends had given him is no more exotic than a cup of Joe, he puts the No Doz back in his pocket. Soon his bus arrives and bids me good day.

My bus arrives shortly after. After ascending the steps and a quick scan, I spot empty seats in the back. Just as I'm about to pass into the rear half of the bus, I see someone in my peripheral scoot over, offering me a seat. For the sake of politeness I accept and sit down. I sneak a glance at my benefactor. Cute, dainty, silky hair, exposed University ID. I have a sneaking suspicion she's Persian. It's currently NoRooz and it would be rude and omissively insincere should I not wish her a Happy NoRooz. How often would an opportunity arrive to wish a genuine Persian, in this city, 'Happy NoRooz'? Rarely, that's how often. After an eternity of internal dialogue("You're being creepy, just keep quiet.") and debate pass, I muster the minimal nerve required to squeak out,"Excuse me. I hope you don't mind my asking, but are you Persian?". I was met with an enthusiastic smile and welcoming eyes followed by a concise "Nope". Failure. I become so busy in self reprimand ("This is why you don't talk to people, remember, idiot!") that I almost didn't notice her excuse herself past me as the bus arrives at her stop. A nod and a smile goodbye and she's gone and my mind turns back to the prospect of that fifth hour of sleep.

I was wrestling with the idea of identity recently. Not for too long, mind you. It didn't take much time to realize that stepping into the Colosseum of introspection while my subconscious played Cesar is utterly futile. I will always be ravaged by the fanged beasts of insecurities and barbarous gladiators of self-deprecation. Perhaps the memoir I'm reading had something to do with it. Perhaps I've watched one too many documentaries on Bernays. Perhaps coming home to an empty apartment is losing its already limited charm. Or perhaps that intensive psychoanalysis I underwent left some questions open. In any case, I ended up dwelling on queries for which the answers are unlikely knowable, or even if they are, the means of discovery would not justify the ends. How much of our identity is internal, a personal treasure trove of our secret gems and closet skeletons, and how much of the remaining, if any, is externally observable? Can we reconcile our environment's interpretation of us, with our own? I tried to picture how others would approach this issue and take stock of the multitude of haphazard components that compile them. "I am insincere", "I lack discipline", "I am heartbroken", "I am afflicted by Trichotillomania", "I am a Sith Lord", "I am competitive to a flaw", "I am laden with neurosis", "I am attached to my paranoia", "I colonize stem cells, "I love tablespoons of peanut butter", "I am a perfectionist", "I want nothing, but to watch Scrubs all day", "I am embracing my mediocrity". Ultimately, my mind's skulduggery got the better of me, but my momma always taught me that touching base with one's thoughts can help prioritize and bring some order to a potentially chaotic life. Besides, having a dialogue with yourself doesn't necessitate schizophrenia, does it? No, it doesn't.

My Winter of Discontent

2007-02-13T08:45:00.000-08:00

-7 degrees Fahrenheit. NEGATIVE Seven degrees Fahrenheit. That was the low a little over a week ago. Then it started warming up. The clouds separated. The sun reared it's neglectful face, but today...Oh today. Storm warnings? Public school cancellations? Over two inches of snow with a maximum estimate of seven? I thought those things only happen in films and movies. You know, fiction, bad fiction. The worst is convincing myself that climbing out of my toasty bed will ultimately be worth it in the long run. Then there's the difficult choice between unmanageably wrinkled fingertips or leaving the steamy bliss of a hot shower. I'm also wearing leg thermals on top of underwear, which makes peeing significantly more involved. Grocery shopping is even more of a chore. I've decided to be brave and walk the 10 minutes distance to Trader Joe's. My last grocery excursion ended in a climactic and classic slipping on the ice on the sidewalk in front of my building. Most fortunately, I had decided not to purchase any eggs. I thought my Huckleberry friend, currently residing in Prague, would be able to commiserate. I was wrong. The last thing I ever thought I would be envious of is the 30F weather in Prague.

On the bright side('bright side' being very much metaphorical, as I've only seen the sun in pictures these days.) this season has brought its' own lessons, specifically in causality. Due to it's 'served hot' nature, soup has suddenly become more appetizing. Clam chowder preferably, of course, followed by egg drop soup. Most desirable would be arroz caldo, but the availability of Filipino restaurants here is, well, there is no availability. In normal circumstances I would refuse to eat it unless it was prepared by my mother or in my hometown, but I would be willing to make an exception here. I've had this particular pair of jeans(I'll never understand the semantics behind using the word 'pair' here to reference what is obviously a single article of clothing.) for some time now, years. My legs are abnormally short, so since they've come into my possession they have been cuffed at the same exact spot and a crease has developed over time. The crease only recently started tearing, maybe around last semester. It was a mystery to me why it would tear now, after I move that is. Well, I am proud to announce that the mystery is solved. A combination of my change in diet, namely a decrease in consumption, and the wet weather are jointly responsible for my damaged denim. You see, since I'm spending most my time staring at the monitor, or buried in some sort of course literature, I've been eating much less, causing my waste size to drop. Additionally, my belt has been adjusted to the same hole(setting?) for the same smaller, likely malnourished, waist. As a result my cuffs hang a little lower and are exposed to the deteriorative nature of the wet, winter sidewalk. Thus the jeans have a very particular rip located exactly at the crease.

As for classes, they're generally going well. However, this has been sitting under drafts for over a week and it's time I release it into the wild.

My Inevitability

2007-01-15T09:33:00.001-08:00

I've stood on my balcony indulging in what has become by far my favorite vice. I've opened the doors to my bedroom in my apartment to find my crumpled pajamas still draped over my bedraggled bed (ha! alliteration). I've played a small tune on my keyboard (does favoring the black ones over the white ones make me racist?). I've walked by my bank and peered in to check on my favorite banker. I've sat in my office and degraded my eyesight. And I've strolled through my campus thinking the library would be open, it wasn't. And what exactly indicates these things to be 'mine' other than the word 'my'? Nothing. I'm afraid I've been spoiled over the break and have only been reminded what a home is supposed to feel like. And it is not the cold in my apartment, the isolation of my cubicle, or the sometimes overbearing prestige of my campus. It is in the laughter I've shared and the music I've experienced with the most amazing people I could hope to know. It is in the ideas we've exchanged on life, love, art, and how we could better improve our wingman skills. It is in the drinks we've consumed in celebration and otherwise(mostly otherwise). And finally home can be anywhere I park my car overnight because my conscience, and consequently the law, says it just wouldn't be right if I drove home. A wise woman once said "Life is the inevitability of hard times, which we survive only because of the moments of joy in between". I've had about a month of absolute joy. Now comes the inevitable. I want to take this chance to thank everyone who kept me company during my intervalled breaks from classwork. All those phone conversations, gchat communiques, and AIM messages truly helped in keeping me from becoming a proverbial ball of stress.

I just got out of my first class. I've been feeling out of sorts since I got back, but shrugged it off as being sad about leaving again. It was infinitely harder to leave this time, almost as if someone told me I couldn't drink water anymore. It really all came together when the professor started lecturing and something in my head got switched on and it was ok, for the time being, to make these sacrifices.

Well It's raining and my feet are wet. There's a hole at the bottom of my sweatshop free "Chucks" that's allowing puddles to seep in. I have another pair at home, but I'm so attached to these guys. Perhaps I'll just wear them on dry days. Well, I have to pee and I'm starving. So I'm cutting this short. Good day.

My Temporary Asylum

2006-12-14T16:10:00.000-08:00

Before I begin, some notable quotes:

From a bus ride this morning:
girl1: "I don't like Philosophy. Like, I'm not good at it"
girl2: "Yea, like, I took it last semester for a humanities requirement. I thought It'd be more like psychology."
-Two undergrads(I hope) from a neighboring university(I really hope) I overheard on the Bus.

From a bus ride about a week ago:
(Cute mousey-looking Chinese Girl walks down bus)
dude1: "yea, them Asian girls is so cute"
lady1: "yea, well you know they all look the same to me (laughs)."
"once ya seen one ya seen'em all, am i right?" (both laugh)

On to business. At 8:30am EST Today I started my last exam for the Fall. At 1200pm EST it was finished, along with this semester. The first and only afternoon nap of the semester was my reward. I keep going back and forth between "Oh my god I did awful!" to "Meh, That should be enough to maintain a B" and then to "Whatever, I'm effin' done". I just emailed the professor(Doctor Gandhi, what an awesome name!). I just want to know how to really feel right now. There's nothing worse than being in limbo about this kind of information.

Exciting news. I've chosen a thesis project. It involves an adaptive software trading agent. That is, a software agent specialized in adaptive trading. Perhaps some definitions are in order. A software agent is, according to the almighty wiki, "an abstraction, a logical model that describes software that acts for a user or other program in a relationship of agency". My particular agent will be concerned with adaptive trading, which I will liken to learning how to become an expert middle-man. There's annual competitions where a group of customers and a group of manufacturers are simulated for the agent. The customers want to buy computers from the agent and the manufacturers want to sell parts to the agent. It's up to us lowly humans to design an agent that will intelligently make the optimal choices as far as responding to customer orders and accepting manufacturers' offers. It's pretty much what I've always wanted to work on with a little economic theory thrown in the mix (double bonus!). This particular agent is about 3 years old and has already been in past competitions. There are currently a couple other Grad students working on him.

So it took me a while to really come to that decision. My other choices were to pursue a project in cryptography with a well known security expert(as soon as he answered my emails, of course) or wait it out another semester and see if anything pops up. I'm nominally in a security program, but my first and true love will always be A.I. Don't get me wrong Cryptography is enticing in that it's tightly coupled with number theory, algorithm complexity, and not to mention that whole cloak and dagger aspect. It just lacks the sex appeal, the pizazz, the vivacious curves that molding an artificial mind out of binary, electronic scratch can offer. Besides, I believe a great philosopher once said, "My problem in life is I only wanna do shit that's fun", though I fail to see how that is perceived as a 'problem'.

BeJesus! I'm so done polluting my conversations with school. I can't seem to think of anything else lately. Our department had a holiday party. There was much bad karaoke(the only kind) and your standard convention food. Found myself wondering,"Why can't I just mingle like normal human being?" The only person I talked to was a classmate's husband. He entertained my asinine questions about India and it was the only real conversation I had that night. I managed to score a couple extra drink tickets and consequently my plans for studying the rest of the night were shattered. Bah! There it is again.

Anyway, aside from the post-final stress residue, I am in fact completely,utterly, and indubitably done with my first semester of Grad school. And it's been quite a ride: broke RSA encryption, ate hella legit Indian food, overflowed some buffers, learned "Comptine D'une Autre Apres Midi" by Tiersen, ate HELLA legit Indian food. Most surprisingly I've realized that despite all my planning, calculation, and stratagems I seem to have forgotten my heart in Vegas. But what has really turned my world upside-down is learning that double spacing after periods was an old convention from the type-writer days and is no longer required in conventional literature. In closing, I'm coming home and it is my intention to always be in either of two mutually exclusive states, inebriated Xor unconscious.

My Countdown

2006-12-03T02:33:00.000-08:00

It's 5:34am and I'm still at my desk. Granted I was in the lab for the past 3 hours and I haven't actually been at my desk, but the point is I wasn't home in bed. Finals start this week. I have a big one on Wednesday, computer security. There's a presentation in Web Privacy on Tuesday on our semester long project and the final report is due Friday. And the following week, two finals, Monday and Thursday. I'm almost there. There's a flight to Vegas on the 16th with my name on it. I think I'll be ok this Sem, but I have a couple choices to make. My bus is due in 8 minutes. I can't produce anymore coherent thoughts until a good 3 hours sleep. I guess I just wanted to make three points: I'm still alive(for whoever is checking this blog and being continually dissappointed at the lack of new content. Don't think I'm not watching. I am. and you're being creepy.), 13 days and counting until I can feel whole again(Yes, you reading this. You complete me), and Peanut butter is still sticking to the roof of my mouth.

Good day.

My Shortcomings

2006-10-30T15:57:00.000-08:00

I was holding off writing here until all my midterms were returned. That time has come. I think the best way to present this topic is in matching-game form. I've conjured a scale(below) which will be used to gauge my failures and disappointments. Being the perpetrator of said failures, I've already had the time to weigh and measure them according to the scale. Those measurements will not be revealed here, and such is the premise of the game. On top of the hats you already wear as my reader and creepy, non-comment-leaving voyeur(JJ and my Huckleberry Friend excluded, of course), you will temporarily don a player hat. I will describe failures and shortcomings I've accomplished (or whatever the negative version of accomplished is) and you will rate them according to the provided scale. You will compare you weighings with mine, which will be available in less than a fortnight, and the one closest to my ratings will be deemed the victor.

Please press any key to continue

Weight: [0]
Diction: Negligible Drawback
Equivalent Event:Spilt Milk. Burnt Toast. Peeing on the toilet seat.

Weight: [1]
Diction:Correctable Misstep
Equivalent Event: Siding with Tony Stark and not Steve Rogers.(note: One Mr. Parker has proven such an action is indeed 'correctable')

Weight:[2]
Diction: Grievous Error
Equivalent Event: Frodo initially using The Ring, Sam not expressing his true feelings for Mr. Frodo before he sailed away to the Blessed Realm.

Weight: [3]
Diction: Irredeemable Blunder
Equivalent Event:
14. Qf3 Bd3
15. Rd1 Be2

Weight:[4]
Diction: Heartbreaking Tragedy
Equivalent Event: Katrina(the hurricane).

Weight:[5]
Diction: Unimaginable Disaster
Equivalent Event: Katrina(the Federal response to).

Weight:[6]
Diction: Hopeless Fiasco
Equivalent Event: Operation Iraqi Freedom.

Item 1: Political Science
I won't be participating in the democratic tradition and privilege of voting. I've had too much on my plate. Between synchronizing concurrent processes, defending against blockiness attacks on steganographic images, collision resistant pseudorandom permutations, and most importantly rustling up the perfect hash brown(see item 6), my time has been completely depleted. Of course this is no excuse for depriving myself of democratic participation and therefore depriving my fellow men(Yes, I said 'men' and no, I don't feel it necessary to be p.c. here. In fact I think it would be superfluous on top of being ridiculous) of a more perfect democratic process. on the other hand, any vote Icast now would be vastly ignorant. Is a non-vote bettern than an uninformed vote? Also, my voting state is on the other side of the country. Not only would I be voting on local issues that aren't at all local to me, and therefore relatively irrelevant, but I would be voting on officials concerned mainly about said irrelevant issues. Yes, I understand their congressional representation is at a national level, that's why this is considered one of my many 'shortcomings'.

Item 2: Foreign Language
My progress in Farsi is unimpressive at best. I've acquired "The Rosetta Stone" software to help me and have finished the first lesson, but it's currently gathering dust. I've resolved to learn the alphabet before taking the lessons any further. In two months I've come as far as the first five letters and the realization that Persians love the 'z' sound.

Item 3: Agriculture
Through my veins runs the repressed, exploited blood of a long line of farmers. My apartment has a balcony which would be perfect for growing eggplants or tomatoes, but I haven't taken advantage. And a floral arrangement would be welcome company out there whenever I de-pink my lungs(see item 5). Whatever, It's winter here anyway. I can express my inner, overworked farmer in the Spring.

Item 4: Interior Design

This is not how I intended to decorate my apartment. I wanted Van Gogh's and a cute tea set, maybe a very rectangular coffee table, definitely a Persian rug. But I've encountered some desperate times.

Item 5: Chemistry
C₈H₁₀N₄O₂ and C₁₀H₁₄N₂ have found their way into my regular consumption. Though the amounts are generally limited to a single dosage a day. My concern here is whether these daily ingestions signify a chemical or physical addiction, or an addiction at all for that matter.

Item 6: Culinary Arts
I still can't get fucking hash browns right! The shreds stay together, but some parts are burnt while others are still a little raw. What the hell am I doing wrong? I shred the potatoes, melt the butter in the pan, let it get a little hot, and toss the shreds on the heated surface. There's a probabilistic combination of stirring and flattening that follows. Once the shreds start to darken I execute one more flattening and let it sit. After a few minutes of sauteeing, I flip the flattened mass of root to the uncooked side('flip' here is cutting up into manageable pieces, as I am not dexterous enough to flip it as an atomic unit), of course the fucker breaks apart. Now the previously uncooked side takes its turn for a couple minutes. At this point I turn the heat off, slide(this I am dexterous enough to do) the monstrosity onto my plate, and force it down my throat for the sake of avoiding waste. There has to be something I'm missing, or not doing, or doing too much. Can anyone help? Please?

Item 7: University Studies
As of now I'm taking only three classes, down from my initial four. In Web Security, Privacy and Commerce, I studied a paltry five hours and scored a 97% where the average was an 85%. In Computer Security I studied four to five days and scored 49/100 where the average was 46, unimpressive. Lastly and most disappointing, I studied three to four days for Embedded Systems and scored 13 under the 76% average. Wtf? I made some boneheaded mistakes in preparing for and taking that particular exam. Also, my decision to drop my packet switching class is proof of my unexplainable cowardice when it comes to hardware and the lower levels of the OSI stack.

Item 8: Sociology
Despite my minimal to mediocre efforts to better integrate myself with my peers, I've not progressed any personal relationships beyond 'lab partner' or 'office mate'. Meals are almost always taken in solitude.

Item 9: Economics
Due to a combination of my poor calculations, oriental excursion, and refusal to suffer through two years without a piano of some sort, I am now in more debt than I'm comfortable with. Nothing I can't handle, I hope, but a testament to my lack of control over these accursed plastic rectangles.

item 10: Creative Writing
I make my best efforts to keep these entries short and manageable in a single sitting so as not to demand too much of you, the reader/non-comment-leaving voyeur(JJ and my Huckleberry friend excluded, as before), but I'm afraid despite my intentions this one has ran past its course.

My Experiments

2006-10-09T16:51:00.000-07:00

Before I get into this week's topic, allow me to digress into something completely unrelated. Now, aside from 'The Simpsons', 'Futurama', 'The Daily Show', and 'Newshour with Jim Lehrer', I never watched much television. I alluded to Scrubs in a previous entry and for good reason, it's an amazing show. It's got that 'coming of age' theme that so totally applies to me at this point of my life. Anyway, I don't want to prattle on about it. I just want to discuss some strange parallels in my own recent experiences. J.D. (Zach Braff) is always trying to gain the approval of his mentor/supervisor, Dr. Cox, who is a classic alpha male. While I'm no stranger to mentorism (There's a couple professors at the ol' alma mater (haha...I can say alma mater (and use triple embedded parentheses, as it were)) who I really looked up to, and I hope I can figure out a way to thank them one day), I keep seeing Dr. Cox reflected in my Computer Security professor, who also seems like a classic alpha male, and I find myself wondering if he's noticed my above average quiz grades. I'm thinking of a plot to somehow fenagle him into being my thesis advisor. J.D. is constantly tormented by an antagonistic janitor, aptly named 'Janitor'. There's a surly janitor in our department building, and sometimes I'd wish he'd purposely remove a 'wet floor' sign so I may slip on it and comically slide into the next room. Much like my current rough patch adjusting to a massive workload, J.D. also has a terribly rough time settling in at his hospital. Most unfortunately, there's no female parallel that could begin to be comparable to the stunning, yet Canadian, Sarah Chalke. In 'Scrubs' J.D. has a token minority best friend....Being a token minority myself, I'm not counting on finding this parallel. Now on to business.

When I moved out here I promised myself I'd learn how to cook. So I've been experimenting in the culinary arts. My entire family, father and mother side, laughs at me when I tell them I've been cooking, perhaps rightly so. It's mostly been fried rice with vegetables and tofu, but I've had some successes with a so called 'tangy carrot chowder' and my mamma's eggroll recipe. My mashed potato pyramind was better served for entertainment than consumption. I find I burn a lot of things. I knew I was in trouble when I had to tell myself, "Self, you're not going to UN-burn it by adding more teriyaki sauce". I think my problem lies in my refusal to follow recipes. My process involves glancing at the materials required while not really heeding the suggested portion amount. That part is just a suggestion, right?

There was also a surprise experiment happening in the cupboard where I keep my potatoes. As I was reaching up for a fresh russet potato, I felt something squishy. I took a closer look and found it was a previous bag of potatoes. There was a single object in the bag, and alas what was once a savory potato was transformed into a foul mass of sludge. I brought it down for a closer look and placed it on the counter. To my disgust some liquid oozed out of the bag and onto the vinyl. But that's not all that escaped, amidst the brown puddle was a white worm of some sort. Tots, I named him Tots(after his dwellings), looked as if he was most uncomfortable in his new setting. So I decided to do him a favor and out him out of his misery via garbage disposal. The rest of his brethren, assuming there were others in the sludge, went straight to the trash can and promptly tossed out. And speaking of surprise organisms, I've had the same two bags of cheese since I first went grocery shopping, pepper jack and sharp cheddar, and they're only now starting to grow mold. I find their resilience to be moldless very impressive.

It's been getting cold here and I do believe my winter wardrobe arsenal is complete. A pair of NoSweat high tops for the snow, few pairs of hella thick union-made socks, two union-made beanies, multiple pairs of thermal underwear, standard issue scarf, fair trade alpaca scarf, a heavy wool coat with nylon lining, and one cute-ass peacoat. I've been wearing at least two of these items on colder days and getting a feel for what dressing for cold weather will be like. However, as I was raised in the tropics and spent the past nine years in the Mojave, I am absolutely aware that my apparel will be inevitably insufficient. I hope we learned something new here today. Scrubs is good. Cooking is hard. Potato sludge is gross. Eat around mold. Weather is merciless.

Coincidentally, at this moment I'm watching the Futurama episode where Bender pursues his passion in cooking.
Leila: "You're a robot you don't even have a sense of taste."
Bender:"Honey, I wouldn't talk about taste if I was wearing a lime green tanktop"
Fry: "Bam!"
..Hilarious

------------------------
Dinner for 01
------------------------

My Mental State

2006-09-26T05:55:00.000-07:00

"breath, breath, breath, walk, step over mantle, sip...Not too quick, it's hot!, ...Needs some cream, but you already sat down, get up, walk, walk..." This was a paraphrased version of my internal monologue yesterday at the coffee shop. My mind may just be collapsing from the pressure. I watched all 5 seasons of Scrubs over the Summer, and Zach Braff's character always has some sort of internal monologue going (kinda like Wonder Years, except in his present voice and in first person), which may explain my own internal monologue. I also recently finished Dostoevsky "Notes from the Underground", which explains how the monologue can sometimes be both unyieldingly narcissistic and overwhelmingly self-deprecating("We met the first day of class, why doesn't that guy ever say 'hi' did I do something wrong? He's probably just threatened by your awesometitude"). I'm also not having any significant conversations unless I'm on the phone or on-line, which explains why the internal monologue often develops into dialogue("I wonder what the deal is with this whole 'popped collar' phenomenon"; "I don't know, why don't you look it up on wikipedia"; "Yea, good idea, I'm sure they'll have some sort of explanation...Hey look, an entire article!"; "See, told you, wikipedia's the best!"; "true that!" ). That was this morning.

The last week was intense and this week, despite hopes beyond hopes, isn't looking out to be much different. There was a quiz yesterday in Computer Security, which I think I may have just pwn3d. I have a presentation due today, but it's with a group and our leader guy will be doing practically all of the talking. There's a paper review and a test tomorrow in Packet Switching. there's another low-level programming assignment due in Embedded Systems due Thursday night. Lastly, homework#2 is due on Monday for Web Security and Privacy, and I haven't even looked at it. When I say 'homework' that sounds like a miniscule amount of work, but 'homework'#1 (which I pwn3d 100%) involved writing a small program that cracks RSA using the extended Euclidean Algorithm. Sleep has obviously found its way into the expendable department and my waking hours are spent on reading tech papers, powerpoint slides, and programming.

My Dear Vegas

2006-09-16T21:49:00.000-07:00

Dear Vegas,

Classes are starting to bury me. I've been here four weeks and haven't found anyone that can hold a candle to you. Perhaps I'm judging preemptively. I wanted to write so you could know how much I miss you. I miss sleeping on your couch come finals time. I never told you, but half the time it was just so we could hang out. And I still recall the time I threw up in your tub because I was just too drunk and weak to lift myself up to the toilet seat. I slept like a roofied up sorority girl on your bathroom floor.

I miss your humor and ability to make light of almost any situation. Who else could come down with Krone's disease and still make jokes when I visit them at the hospital? I don't think I could have ever thanked your dad enough times for fixing old blue, or your mom for being so patient with the semi-weekly noise sessions.

That fateful Labor Day eve is ingrained in my memory for ever, and consequently in my permanent record as well. Who knew our innocent night of chalk and caution tape would escalate into 24 hours of court TV and stale, stale cake? I now smirk every time I see a Cobra or Viper. Admittedly, that was probably one of (if not) the most invigorating and eventful night thus far.

Hotel parties...I'll miss the hotel parties and the short notices, classic Vegas. And of course video game nights. I swear on my brother's grave that I could've wasted you if I had a mouse and keyboard instead of the clunky xbox controller. Anyway, how many times did I tell you to stay away, from our women? But you wouldn't listen, I'm glad you didn't. When I told you adverbs modify verbs, adjectives, and other adverbs, you wouldn't listen. Though I could definitely use an impromptu lunch date right now, regardless of your listening skills. Only no sushi! I just can't anymore since we got back. Maybe next time we go we can find ourselves a native widow to marry like we had planned.

If there's anything I learned from you, Vegas, it's to never make plans. I never planned on losing so many months due to petty misunderstandings, but I think that lost time was most beneficial in testing the waters of a friendship in need of redefinition. You always built that first bridge though, be it with a surprise AIM message or a bag of (the correct) Dunkin' Donuts left on the hood of my car.

You were there when I met my future wife, remember? She said I was "insane" for driving so far to see her. She called me lazy for having two copies of the same album, one for my car and another for my room. At which point she gave me a hug, and for the first time in my life, it felt like I was exactly where I should be. We saw her again and that time you gave me courage enough to take a picture with her.

You, Vegas, have been a seemingly endless source of inspiration. Your ability to conjure iron-clad logic out of thin air is something to be admired, as is your persistence and dedication to playing the Lwin opening despite the hecklers. Thanks to you I was enriched with prime triangles, factoral dimensions, Wittgenstein, and e^i*pie + 1 = 0. I still entertain the thought of what ambiguous fun we'd have if you were more than a would be room-mate. My Wednesday nights will never be the same and my Friday nights are sadly no longer associated with any kind of cardinality(finite or otherwise), but we'll always have Helsinki.

Well I'm tired. School is burying me. I could sure use the kind of sleep I once got on a return flight from Boulder city. I know you were disappointed in my passenger side snore-fest, believe it or not, that was seriously the best sleep I can remember myself having, and I should thank you for that.
And, Vegas, I should thank you for so much more than stolen naps, drunken strip pilgrimages, borrowed couches, and sweat-inducing chess games. but doing so would take up more space than Google would be willing to support, just know that I do. That's it. Good Night.

Yours,
0100110001001100

My Consumption Problem(s)

2006-09-07T15:08:00.000-07:00

I'm sitting in my cubicle and there's a small trash receptacle behind me. It's a black, trapezoid-ish shape with a matching black liner. The contents, at least the ones you can see without touching them, include two '100 grand wrappers', one 'Doritos' bag of the ranch flavored variety, one rice krispies treat wrapper, one 'gummy soda' wrapper, and one 'fizzy gummy soda' wrapper (the fizzy one was sour, tangy, and therefore superior to its predecessor). I'm not proud to say these containers were emptied of their of their contents and placed there by none other than yours truly. This wouldn't be so bad if the time frame in question was more than 24 hours. I'm falling into a habit of heavy snacking which supports my theory that there is a fat kid residing within me and he's trying to liberate himself from this his slender prison. Well not today fat kid! The next time I go grocery shopping health snacks, Nutrigrain and cereal bars maybe, are definitely on the list.

My caffeine intake also needs to be restricted. Every schoolday I have a huge break between 1120 and 300. I don't go home(travel time just isn't worth it). So I stay in school and do homework or veg on the internet. By the time 3pm comes around, I'm exhausted from my (in)activities and have been falling asleep all week. The solution here is simple...Caffeine. But the timing must be just so. Today was the first day of this experiment and it was only semi-successful, and symmetrically a semi-failure. I started drinking a cup of black coffee about a 20min before web security and finished about 10min into it. Now, I haven't had much caffeine this summer so my tolerance is a bit low. Instead of falling asleep, my thoughts started darting everywhere, from mashed potatoes to transformers to stegosauruses(stegosaurusi? surprisingly enough, this last one was the most relevant to web security). So, game plan: start drinking coffee tomorrow more than 20min before class starts and compensate for any rise in tolerance I may have. Ready? Break!

Of eggrolls

2006-09-04T16:51:00.000-07:00

I'm facing the beginning of my second week. The classes look absolutely brutal. All but one of my four classes have require some sort of massive project of series of semi-massive projects. Embedded systems has four labs all concerning the Xscale motherboard from intel. That means I have to touch circuits'n shit....I hate touching things....especially circuits. I'm a software guy. I write stuff so the motherboard has a greater purpose than being a paperweight. I don't wanna poke around on motherboards with those metal needle thingies. Eff all that!

I made my first eggrolls last night, totally out of scratch. Except for the wrapper, of course. I think I put too much ginger...I could've sworn it said TABLEspoon, oh well. This is a life milestone for any Asian.

A keyboard isn't going to happen this month for me. Friday night I was intent on maxing out my card to get one, but Thursday morning came with the early chills of winter and I realized the warmest thing I have is an old English airforce sweater. The phrase 'Catch-22' are printed on one of the shoulder pads. Maybe the creators were going for a 'no one wins in war' thing. Anyway, it's cute, but their philosophy isn't going to keep me warm during a Pittsburgh winter, so I opted for winter clothes instead of the korg sp300 with internal speakers and hammer weighted keys. Or the Yamaha p90 with 66 note polyphony and GRADED keys...Graded!!...drooool. Whatever, there's always next month.

Motherfuckin' Snakes

2006-08-26T15:02:00.000-07:00

Due to my infinite genius I missed Thursday orientation, but thankfully I made it to orientation Friday. It started at 9am. Breakfast and lunch were served between talks about campus security, careers services, and a QnA with our program advisors. This tedious portion was fortunately followed up by a boat cruise of Pittsburgh's three rivers. It was like high school all over again. I couldn't find anyone to sit with, so I sat alone. Some folks finally took pity and came and sat by me. I've always had a hard time in large crowds, especially where I didn't know anyone. I'm not the type to just walk up to someone and introduce myself. I met a few others as well, some Chinese guys and a LOT of Indians(dots not feathers).
Class starts tomorrow and I've taken it easy on the shopping so I can relax before the work pours in. I saw 'Scoop' yesterday and I honestly expected it to be more funny, but it had the classic, quirky Woody Allen humor, which I enjoyed. Today I'm just chilling at the public library and maybe starbucks later. Oh, I still don't have a bed, it turns out my wonderful hammer makes a sound equivalent to half a dynamite stick. So I'll wait until the weekday when I'm sure most people are awake or gone.

I've actually had a terrible day, but won't get into it. I have a pictures I'd like to share here. A book display in the public library and it can only be the work of genius. It can only be really appreciated if you zoom in on the particular books. Please please do I promise it's worth your time.

Hammer Time!

2006-08-22T15:37:00.000-07:00

I finally have a hammer! now I can finish putting my bed together and not sleep on the floor. Though admittedly, I was starting to enjoy it as it provided Japan-related nostalgia. I took a trip to Ikea today in hopes of buying a coffee table and nightstande. Alas, the delivery charges were exorbitant and I am lowly public commuter. I now also have a bath towel. That means no more drying myself in front of the air conditioner, but that also means no more excuses for walking around the house buck naked.
Let me tell you about this robot receptionist. Well I can't really yet, I haven't gone to see her. But I've heard about her, and I'm plannign to see her tomorrow. I'm sure she's so beautiful I'll rip her out of her sockets and run away to Canada where I'm sure human-robot marriages are legal....those crazy knucks!
I'm gonna keep this short, because next post I promise pictures, one in particular that will blow you effin mind!

Irony

2006-08-19T15:36:00.000-07:00

"Remember yesterday when you asked me what the meaning of irony was?"
-Random character from "Family Guy" shortly before being tackled by an octopus Stewie.

So I have three umbrellas in my closet...yes three in addittion to a poncho, all for me. One umbrella is from Vons. It's black and white, and I bought it for a San Fransisco trip where it never reained. The next umbrella is green and black. It's from Japan and it's got a traditional look with a littel modern twist. The last one is small, portable, and the entire dome part is Monet's "Lilipads".
I'm here in my department building on campus, two miles from home, and it starts to pour. And how many umbrellas did I bring with me...fucking none. I hope I can find a break in the storm so I can wait this out. Otherwise, I'm sleeping in the lounge. On the bright side there's some Indian students up here with me and they're way friendly and their accents are like music to my ears.
It's my second day here, and today I bought some groceries. More importantly I bought Chopin vodka so I can drink myself to sleep and maybe not miss all you jerks as much. I'm already homesick, but at the same time It all hasn't sunk in yet. I keep telling myself "self, this is our home now", but I'm not buying it completely.
My bookshelf was the first to be assembled. There's a lot of room still, but it will be filled in no time. I'm sleeping on a mattress for now. I heard weird scratchy sounds on my balcony last night, I just hid under the covers and convinced myself it was just a cat. I still need a towel, nail clippers, hangers, and shampoo. But at least i have Chopin, that's the important thing. well, there's a break in the storm. I better take it.
I'll update this guy as often as I can and post pictures soon as well.