my birthday was a month ago, and i've been promising to post pics and videos since then. the problem is that my only personal computer time since then has been on the shuttle to and from work. if the internet is a series of tubes, during my shuttle i'm sucking as hard as i can through a cocktail straw*. in such a situation, uploading and downloading videos is a no-no unless you want to be that guy. he's the one that's laughing out load at YouTube videos while you're staring at the gmail "Loading..." message for 20 minutes.
anyway, i finally uploaded two videos that Alex took at my birthday outing. first, a word about the venue: awesome. if you find yourself in the bay area, make a pilgrimage down to Sky High Sports. three rooms made out of trampolines. one just trampolines, one with a huge pit filled with foam blocks, and a third that serves as a dodgeball court. hoo boy, there's no 30-something birthday joy like watching your equally old friends revert at least 15 years as they try (and often fail) to eliminate 10-year-olds in a vicious game of trampoline dodgeball. everyone was sore as hell but i also have never been so genuinely thanked by so many people for a birthday gathering.
the gym has a policy against doing flips into the foam pit, but the kid manning the foam pit room just happened to be fixing the padding in the corner with his back to me while i did this:
and here are Ashley and Tamara enjoying some bouncing (crane next clockwise):
when i get another 10 minutes to myself i'll post some choice pics that Mark took with my camera.
best. birthday. ever.
* i'm bracing for the inevitable Hoover joke from Irv or Jonathan. i swear that nickname, originating in high school, has nothing to do with a sexual act, just a very thick milkshake. maybe this disclaimer will head them off.
Friday, December 7, 2007
Tuesday, November 27, 2007
if i'm ever on the Simpsons...
this is what i might look like. this was drawn by Francis Dinglasan, a Senior Animator on the Simpsons and one of the three lead Simpsons artists that came to work yesterday to give a talk and hand out copies of the somewhat-new Simpsons book.
tomorrow Woody Harrelson is coming to talk about mountaintop removal mining and how Google Earth is being used to educate and spur activism on the issue. unfortunately i won't be getting a Woody souvenir, i'll be working from home.
Wednesday, September 26, 2007
stick to Pop Tarts
in Berkeley Bowl a couple days ago i saw some fru-fru toaster pastries on sale, and i impulse-bought a box of the "cherry-pomegran" flavor. this morning i grabbed a couple as i was running out the door to miss the shuttle (actually i just barely caught it, but that's only because it was late). sometimes cherry flavor is good. sometimes it is just wrong. these fell into the latter category. they tasted like cherry Cepacol, that stuff you spray into your sore throat to numb it but that always ends up coating your tongue. strange thing was, my tongue started to feel a little numb near the end of the first pastry. i'm hoping it was just the association.as a sidenote, i Googled "cherry numbing" to help me remember the name of the numbing spray. the results were far more educational than i could have hoped.
Tuesday, September 25, 2007
why i'll miss Berkeley
there's a good chance the commute to my new job will force me out of Berkeley within the next year. if i leave, i will sorely miss this crazy place. but evenings like this go a long way toward convincing me that i can stand the daily three hour commute longer than i thought.
i got off the shuttle tonight in West Oakland a little before 7. driving home, i passed the Tuesday night Berkeley Farmer's Market over on Derby Street. (incidentally, that's two blocks from the second place i lived in Berkeley, about 8 years ago.) i decided on a whim to stop and pick up some goodies. the air was still warm, the light just starting to dim, and even while some of the stands were packing up, the market was still crowded. i scored some luscious heirloom tomatoes, a butternut squash, and a hearty handful of okra.
i got home, changed clothes, chugged a glass of Gu2O, synched my iPod to get the day's NPR podcasts, and took off at sunset for a run up Spruce. this has become my favorite workout and a surefire way to get my endorphin fix when time is short. the sunset was gorgeous and the views of the bay from Spruce were spectacular. by the time i reached Grizzly Peak and Marin (more than 800 feet above where i started), there was only the barest trace of color behind Mount Tam and the Golden Gate Bridge, the city was lit, and i could see stars overhead. (the beauty was lessened only by the smell of clutches burning as i walked down Marin.) coming back down Cedar toward home, i passed Gregoire. the sidewalk window into the kitchen was open, amazing smells were wafting out, and a dog was standing on its back paws at the window, resting its front paws on the windowsill (leashed to it's owner, a couple feet away). as i passed, the chef was saying "shake" in a french accent, and rewarding the dog with scraps. i wondered if he was getting the Australian lamb chops with garlic cream or the grilled Coho salmon...
these days i only get 2-3 hours at home in a typical night, which is difficult to bear. but maybe it would be harder to not have nights like this one, no matter how short.
i got off the shuttle tonight in West Oakland a little before 7. driving home, i passed the Tuesday night Berkeley Farmer's Market over on Derby Street. (incidentally, that's two blocks from the second place i lived in Berkeley, about 8 years ago.) i decided on a whim to stop and pick up some goodies. the air was still warm, the light just starting to dim, and even while some of the stands were packing up, the market was still crowded. i scored some luscious heirloom tomatoes, a butternut squash, and a hearty handful of okra.
i got home, changed clothes, chugged a glass of Gu2O, synched my iPod to get the day's NPR podcasts, and took off at sunset for a run up Spruce. this has become my favorite workout and a surefire way to get my endorphin fix when time is short. the sunset was gorgeous and the views of the bay from Spruce were spectacular. by the time i reached Grizzly Peak and Marin (more than 800 feet above where i started), there was only the barest trace of color behind Mount Tam and the Golden Gate Bridge, the city was lit, and i could see stars overhead. (the beauty was lessened only by the smell of clutches burning as i walked down Marin.) coming back down Cedar toward home, i passed Gregoire. the sidewalk window into the kitchen was open, amazing smells were wafting out, and a dog was standing on its back paws at the window, resting its front paws on the windowsill (leashed to it's owner, a couple feet away). as i passed, the chef was saying "shake" in a french accent, and rewarding the dog with scraps. i wondered if he was getting the Australian lamb chops with garlic cream or the grilled Coho salmon...
these days i only get 2-3 hours at home in a typical night, which is difficult to bear. but maybe it would be harder to not have nights like this one, no matter how short.
Saturday, September 22, 2007
highs and lows of laundry
two things about laundry bring me down.
(1) the cap on the liquid detergent bottles. you know, the special spout cap designed so that detergent doesn't run down the side of the bottle [as much] when you put the cap back on? well, i remember seeing the commercials for the "new & improved cap" when i was a kid. it makes me feel old that this was a "technological advancement" that happened in my lifetime.
(2) dryer lint. ever think about what it is? it's little pieces of your clothing. you are slowly throwing away your favorite pair of jeans, one fuzzball at a time. dryer lint is the reason i feel justified in wearing jeans half a dozen times before i wash them (barring any stains or odors, of course).
on the upside, i'll once again have my pick of underwear, and my jeans will hug my butt again, even if only until i put my enormous wallet back in my pocket.
(1) the cap on the liquid detergent bottles. you know, the special spout cap designed so that detergent doesn't run down the side of the bottle [as much] when you put the cap back on? well, i remember seeing the commercials for the "new & improved cap" when i was a kid. it makes me feel old that this was a "technological advancement" that happened in my lifetime.
(2) dryer lint. ever think about what it is? it's little pieces of your clothing. you are slowly throwing away your favorite pair of jeans, one fuzzball at a time. dryer lint is the reason i feel justified in wearing jeans half a dozen times before i wash them (barring any stains or odors, of course).
on the upside, i'll once again have my pick of underwear, and my jeans will hug my butt again, even if only until i put my enormous wallet back in my pocket.
Sunday, September 16, 2007
back to the "real world"
this was the first week of the rest of my (foreseeable) life. that might sound a little scary, but it's actually quite comforting. there's no end point and no final goal to be attained, and for now i'm right where i want to be, so i can just focus on making the most of every day. it's such a relief, following the perpetual guilt and inadequacy of grad school. in some ways it's like the difference between dating and being in a committed long-term relationship. i've already found the temptations are similar, too. this morning i got an e-mail from a professor at the University of Amsterdam saying that i'd be a great fit for an open post-doc position there. i'm not thinking about leaving my new job, but being committed doesn't mean that other options stop being attractive.
the Real World Welcome Committee has done its job from as far away as Hong Kong (thanks everybody), but let's be honest, it's a stretch to call what i'm entering the real world. first of all, i work in Silicon Valley, which is host and home to many rich, eccentric, and/or mildly autistic engineers. you see things here you wouldn't anywhere else. on my first day, i sat looking out the front window of the shuttle bus as we sat in traffic on 101. in front of us was a shiny, mint-condition, red PT Cruiser with a native american-themed vanity plate and two stickers in the back window. one was a picture of a dream catcher, the other read “I Y VMWare”. a camoflage-sleeved arm held a cigarette out the window.
second of all, it's unfair, even by Silicon Valley standards, to call Google the "real world". i'm so pampered that, on my first Friday afternoon, i actually felt a little sad that i had to leave for two days. weekends mean i have to feed myself again and sit on a cold toilet seat.
but don't worry, that faded once Friday night got underway. in fact, i'm loving this notion of a "weekend", it's like getting a bite-sized vacation every week. and i think my two-week in-town vacation between Hawaii and starting work was good preparation for the weekends. for one, i learned how to cope with a stretch of free time in my natural habitat without triggering my guilt response. (perhaps unfortunately that laid-back attitude extends to getting blog posts up in a timely manner.)
now that it's Sunday afternoon, i am heartened by the thought that i'm going back to work tomorrow morning and i'm almost looking forward to getting up at 6am to catch the early shuttle. if i'm going to be working a 40-hour week for a paycheck, i guess i can't ask for much more than that.
the Real World Welcome Committee has done its job from as far away as Hong Kong (thanks everybody), but let's be honest, it's a stretch to call what i'm entering the real world. first of all, i work in Silicon Valley, which is host and home to many rich, eccentric, and/or mildly autistic engineers. you see things here you wouldn't anywhere else. on my first day, i sat looking out the front window of the shuttle bus as we sat in traffic on 101. in front of us was a shiny, mint-condition, red PT Cruiser with a native american-themed vanity plate and two stickers in the back window. one was a picture of a dream catcher, the other read “I Y VMWare”. a camoflage-sleeved arm held a cigarette out the window.
second of all, it's unfair, even by Silicon Valley standards, to call Google the "real world". i'm so pampered that, on my first Friday afternoon, i actually felt a little sad that i had to leave for two days. weekends mean i have to feed myself again and sit on a cold toilet seat.
but don't worry, that faded once Friday night got underway. in fact, i'm loving this notion of a "weekend", it's like getting a bite-sized vacation every week. and i think my two-week in-town vacation between Hawaii and starting work was good preparation for the weekends. for one, i learned how to cope with a stretch of free time in my natural habitat without triggering my guilt response. (perhaps unfortunately that laid-back attitude extends to getting blog posts up in a timely manner.)
now that it's Sunday afternoon, i am heartened by the thought that i'm going back to work tomorrow morning and i'm almost looking forward to getting up at 6am to catch the early shuttle. if i'm going to be working a 40-hour week for a paycheck, i guess i can't ask for much more than that.
Sunday, September 2, 2007
kitchen stories
in the last couple years, i've gotten very lazy about feeding myself. especially near the end of my graduate career, there were several weeks that i only set foot in my kitchen to boil water for my morning tea, and the rest of my daily sustenance was acquired elsewhere. on the upside, this was affordable thanks to the scores of cheap restaurants all over Berkeley (plus it almost eliminated dish washing). on the downside, all that restaurant food probably took years off my life. the internships i did at Google didn't help either. coming out of a six-month stint of eating three free, healthy meals a day in their gourmet cafes, i was overwhelmed by supermarkets, and attempts to cook for myself typically ended with a hasty run for Thai take-out. (i've heard more than one fellow employee joke that the free food makes us docile so we can't fend for ourselves any longer, thus reducing employee turnover. i doubt that's the primary reason they feed their employees, but it is an undeniable side-effect for some of us.) my fridge was a barren wasteland, often holding only old beer and salad dressing, and there were several nights that i waited too long and was too tired for dinner, so i just put off this eating thing for tomorrow's Future Me to figure out.
in my final weeks of freedom before i begin my full-time job (and forget again what to do with raw vegetables), i've been spending extra time stocking my fridge with yummy things and cooking for myself. it's relaxing and i've even had some minor successes, mostly thanks to Eating Well magazine, which my sister got for me a couple of years ago (she and i share a deep passion for using sticky tabs, which protrude from my magazines in every direction). in the last couple months, i tried whole grain pasta with creamy mushroom-pea sauce and turkey tenderloin with whiskey-cherry sauce. some of the successes in the last week include dairy-free brown rice banana pudding and squash saute with gorgonzola polenta, and just tonight i made both the frozen raspberry meringue pie and raspberry-almond crumb tart (both were yummy, but while the tart was a cinch, the frozen pie was a royal pain in the ass). tomorrow's project is the basque vegatable rice, and maybe after that a salmon dish and some squash risotto...
there have been disasters, though. if you've come over to my place for waffles on a Sunday morning, you may think of me as a confident and proficient cook, but you are watching me make the same easy recipe for the 38th time. get me on a recipe that i haven't made three dozen times, and i have the memory of a goldfish. i often burn things as i run back to read the instructions a fifth time, then pick up two steps past where i should be. the day i attempted broccoli and corn calzones was a hoot. it began with me reaching into the cabinet above the sink for my bag of flour which i then dumped directly over top my head. it was a real I Love Lucy-esque moment, but once the hilarity faded, it was a bitch to clean up (everywhere the flour contacted water it turned into a persistent paste) then i had to run out for more flour. that same experiment was also my first encounter with Trader Joe's whole wheat pizza dough. all i had to do was roll it out into a six-inch diameter circle. sounds easy, right? it was an epic battle, and while i won in the end, it wasn't pretty. the result looked more like a squirrel skin pinned down to a dissection tray, after being used for target practice. i managed to cook up a couple calzone only to reaffirm that i don't like eating that much dough, so i picked out the filling.
but the process of improvement is its own reward, especially when cooking. i'm trying to sign up for a cooking lesson at Kitchen On Fire in my neighborhood (the first class is on knives and cutting techniques, which is great because (1) it's crucial for faster prep, and (2) afterward i can earnestly use my "i can't, i need to stay home and sharpen my knives" date excuse), and i will continue to share (foist) my food (experiments) with (onto) friends. i don't expect that i'll ever come anywhere close to my sister's amazing culinary skills, but i'm having a ball anyway.
(as a side note, i borrowed the title from a quirky, lovable, understated Swedish film i watched last week. i continue to make only glacial progress through my Netflix queue, even when on vacation.)
in my final weeks of freedom before i begin my full-time job (and forget again what to do with raw vegetables), i've been spending extra time stocking my fridge with yummy things and cooking for myself. it's relaxing and i've even had some minor successes, mostly thanks to Eating Well magazine, which my sister got for me a couple of years ago (she and i share a deep passion for using sticky tabs, which protrude from my magazines in every direction). in the last couple months, i tried whole grain pasta with creamy mushroom-pea sauce and turkey tenderloin with whiskey-cherry sauce. some of the successes in the last week include dairy-free brown rice banana pudding and squash saute with gorgonzola polenta, and just tonight i made both the frozen raspberry meringue pie and raspberry-almond crumb tart (both were yummy, but while the tart was a cinch, the frozen pie was a royal pain in the ass). tomorrow's project is the basque vegatable rice, and maybe after that a salmon dish and some squash risotto...
there have been disasters, though. if you've come over to my place for waffles on a Sunday morning, you may think of me as a confident and proficient cook, but you are watching me make the same easy recipe for the 38th time. get me on a recipe that i haven't made three dozen times, and i have the memory of a goldfish. i often burn things as i run back to read the instructions a fifth time, then pick up two steps past where i should be. the day i attempted broccoli and corn calzones was a hoot. it began with me reaching into the cabinet above the sink for my bag of flour which i then dumped directly over top my head. it was a real I Love Lucy-esque moment, but once the hilarity faded, it was a bitch to clean up (everywhere the flour contacted water it turned into a persistent paste) then i had to run out for more flour. that same experiment was also my first encounter with Trader Joe's whole wheat pizza dough. all i had to do was roll it out into a six-inch diameter circle. sounds easy, right? it was an epic battle, and while i won in the end, it wasn't pretty. the result looked more like a squirrel skin pinned down to a dissection tray, after being used for target practice. i managed to cook up a couple calzone only to reaffirm that i don't like eating that much dough, so i picked out the filling.
but the process of improvement is its own reward, especially when cooking. i'm trying to sign up for a cooking lesson at Kitchen On Fire in my neighborhood (the first class is on knives and cutting techniques, which is great because (1) it's crucial for faster prep, and (2) afterward i can earnestly use my "i can't, i need to stay home and sharpen my knives" date excuse), and i will continue to share (foist) my food (experiments) with (onto) friends. i don't expect that i'll ever come anywhere close to my sister's amazing culinary skills, but i'm having a ball anyway.
(as a side note, i borrowed the title from a quirky, lovable, understated Swedish film i watched last week. i continue to make only glacial progress through my Netflix queue, even when on vacation.)
Sunday, August 26, 2007
pineapple tidbits
i'm two days back from my two-week trip to Hawaii. i woke up this morning again not knowing where i was for a moment and then feeling a little disappointed to discover i was in my own bed. the trip was better in every way than i had anticipated, but i couldn't help but compare it to the trip to Greece (more entries on that still pending).
in Greece, i was alone for almost the entire trip, separated from nearly everyone by a language i don't understand, while on this trip i shared a house with 10 friends and my alone time coincided with my limited unconscious time.
in Greece, i had my choice of what to do, eat, and see, while in Hawaii decisions were made by committee. it was one of the most informed, effective committees i've ever seen, but a committee nonetheless (picture of one deliberation at right). in Greece i was responsible for only my own entertainment and could change my mind on the spur of the moment, while in Hawaii i was the driver of one of the three rental cars and the owner of the only in-car iPod hookup which bound me to the desires and needs of others (and there are strong opinions when it comes to music choices). my time in Greece was inward and meditative, while in Hawaii my energy was almost always focused outward, which was sometimes stressful. when i'm surrounded by friends i can't help but attend to and be strongly affected by their moods and amusement, and there were many moments of tension and disagreement. i kept a journal in Greece. i didn't even send postcards from Hawaii.
the question this raised in my mind was, which did i like more: being alone or having the benefits and drawbacks of company? and i realized this isn't just a trivial travel-related question. i am single and living alone for the first time in my life, and over the last 14 months
i've come to rather enjoy the perks of this lifestyle. the thing is, while there were a few moments of frustration and strife on the trip, i am deeply grateful to those with whom i shared the many fantastic moments, and those bright spots cast all the rest in a warm glow. hands down, i would take companionship any day.
in Greece, i was alone for almost the entire trip, separated from nearly everyone by a language i don't understand, while on this trip i shared a house with 10 friends and my alone time coincided with my limited unconscious time.
in Greece, i had my choice of what to do, eat, and see, while in Hawaii decisions were made by committee. it was one of the most informed, effective committees i've ever seen, but a committee nonetheless (picture of one deliberation at right). in Greece i was responsible for only my own entertainment and could change my mind on the spur of the moment, while in Hawaii i was the driver of one of the three rental cars and the owner of the only in-car iPod hookup which bound me to the desires and needs of others (and there are strong opinions when it comes to music choices). my time in Greece was inward and meditative, while in Hawaii my energy was almost always focused outward, which was sometimes stressful. when i'm surrounded by friends i can't help but attend to and be strongly affected by their moods and amusement, and there were many moments of tension and disagreement. i kept a journal in Greece. i didn't even send postcards from Hawaii.the question this raised in my mind was, which did i like more: being alone or having the benefits and drawbacks of company? and i realized this isn't just a trivial travel-related question. i am single and living alone for the first time in my life, and over the last 14 months
i've come to rather enjoy the perks of this lifestyle. the thing is, while there were a few moments of frustration and strife on the trip, i am deeply grateful to those with whom i shared the many fantastic moments, and those bright spots cast all the rest in a warm glow. hands down, i would take companionship any day.so that's the big thought. here are snippets for some of the highlights of the trip: 
"nonacid" white pineapple (the "champagne of pineapples"). 
banyan trees. floating in warm ocean water, watching the sun set behind kiteboarding sails. 
late-night games of mafia. the most sincere, touching, and unique wedding i 
have been to. really good mai tais, blue hawaiians, and lava flows. watching a sea turtle 
swim. partying all day on a sandbar, surrounded by ocean. doing karaoke with the local characters in Kona. sucking on fresh 
sugar cane. walking on the crater of a breathing volcano. a full rainbow across a barren lava field. tons of laughter and good conversation. finally getting to bond with long-time acquaintances.
but still i haven't seen liquid hot magma, dolphins, or a big waterfall up close. and i need to work on my surfing skills. so, who wants to go with me next time?
Wednesday, August 8, 2007
o lolli lollipop
it's been seven years. (well, if you don't count the two years i spent at Berkeley making the transition from Environmental Science to Computer Science and the semester of intro CS i took before that when i was still working in Virginia.) okay, fine, the point is that it took a long time and now it's over. today i filed my thesis and got my lollipop. technically, i'm not a Dr. until they confer my degree in December, but it's good enough for grad work, feel free to call me doctor. i'll even answer to Dr. Dre.
as my friend Jaety pointed out, at the end of our trying intellectual and emotional journey we are rewarded like kindergartners, with a lollipop and a gold star. so here it is (as requested by my Aunt Linda), a picture of me getting my lollipop, and one bonus pic of me with my rewards on the steps of Sproul Hall. (for the full action sequence, you can go to my photo album.)
as my friend Jaety pointed out, at the end of our trying intellectual and emotional journey we are rewarded like kindergartners, with a lollipop and a gold star. so here it is (as requested by my Aunt Linda), a picture of me getting my lollipop, and one bonus pic of me with my rewards on the steps of Sproul Hall. (for the full action sequence, you can go to my photo album.)
 |  |
lastly, two acknowledgments that didn't make it into the thesis. first, a big thank you to Emily and Paul Reichardt who joined me for the last leg of the journey and served as my historians. second, to Garrison Keillor for a quote that has provided much-needed perspective the last seven years:
Intelligence is like four-wheel drive. It only allows you to get stuck in more remote places.
Thursday, August 2, 2007
notes from Greece (after the fact) - day 2
some people swear by melatonin or Xanax, but i think my weapon of choice against jet lag is sleep deprivation and unsatisfyingly short naps. to my amazement, i almost slept straight through my first night in Greece, despite the 10 hour time difference, and woke up to my alarm, refreshed, at 6am. the word is to go to the Acropolis early or late in the day, and try to avoid the hot midday hours. especially good advice, given the minor heat wave while i was there. i wish i could tell you how hot it was, but i don't remember, the temperatures were always in celcius and every time i started to work out the conversion i was distracted by something shiny. (i missed the worst of it, apparently. a couple days after i left, it was above 110 and fires were raging.)
by 8:30am of my first full day, i was walking the hill up to the Acropolis, stopping to look at the sites along the way, like the
Theatre of Dionysus. it was the prototype for all the theatres in ancient Greece and apparently for Berkeley's Greek theatre as well (if you click the pic at right for a larger view you can see the throne chairs just below the main stands, just like Berkeley's). this was my second time to the Acropolis, and just like the first it activated my imagination. i worked to imagine what the buildings would have been like whole and the crowds of young philosophers in togas and sandels gathering on the steps of the Parthenon. i also struggled to imagine away the scaffolding and hoards of tourists. and i tried to put back in the Temple of Athena Nike, my favorite Acropolis structure, which they apparently dismantled and took away for repairs.
being at the Acropolis alone among so many families and tour groups was my first taste of what it meant to travel alone. one upside was that i didn't have to take pictures of my family or friends in front of the Parthenon like these giddy fools. the downside was that i didn't get to take pictures of my family or friends in front of the Parthenon like these giddy fools. i made a couple rounds and ducked and weaved my way back out amongst the snapping cameras.
i spent a few more hours wondering the Plaka neighborhood near the Acropolis and some other ancient sites. i hit the Roman Agora (agora being the word for markeplace), then the Ancient (Greek) Agora, which was the political and commercial center of ancient Athens. it was amazing to think i was standing on the ground from which our culture grew.
in the afternoon i went back to Christos' and Efi made me more food, including tiropitas, savory cheese-filled pastries, just like my grandmother used to. then i
napped through the hottest hours of the afternoon, and after i got up, the Papadimitrious family arrived home. i was more relieved than i expected to speak again in full, English sentences. that night they had a small dinner party out by the pool (they live in a small enclave of duplexes clustered around a clubhouse and swimming pool). everybody there spoke English, but most of the conversation was in Greek. it was actually fun to figure out the tone of the conversation, if not the subject, from the pattern of interactions between the nine people at the dinner table. every once in a while Christos' daughter (who goes to an English-speaking school) would lean over and fill me in on the current topic. i went out that night with a guest from the dinner party and her cousin to the patio of the Hilton's top-floor bar, where i sat in the warm night air, sipped Jameson and looked out over downtown Athens. he's from South Africa, living in England, and she's born and raised in Athens, just back from university in England and working for Coca-Cola in Athens. our main topic of conversation? American politics.
by 8:30am of my first full day, i was walking the hill up to the Acropolis, stopping to look at the sites along the way, like the
Theatre of Dionysus. it was the prototype for all the theatres in ancient Greece and apparently for Berkeley's Greek theatre as well (if you click the pic at right for a larger view you can see the throne chairs just below the main stands, just like Berkeley's). this was my second time to the Acropolis, and just like the first it activated my imagination. i worked to imagine what the buildings would have been like whole and the crowds of young philosophers in togas and sandels gathering on the steps of the Parthenon. i also struggled to imagine away the scaffolding and hoards of tourists. and i tried to put back in the Temple of Athena Nike, my favorite Acropolis structure, which they apparently dismantled and took away for repairs.being at the Acropolis alone among so many families and tour groups was my first taste of what it meant to travel alone. one upside was that i didn't have to take pictures of my family or friends in front of the Parthenon like these giddy fools. the downside was that i didn't get to take pictures of my family or friends in front of the Parthenon like these giddy fools. i made a couple rounds and ducked and weaved my way back out amongst the snapping cameras.
i spent a few more hours wondering the Plaka neighborhood near the Acropolis and some other ancient sites. i hit the Roman Agora (agora being the word for markeplace), then the Ancient (Greek) Agora, which was the political and commercial center of ancient Athens. it was amazing to think i was standing on the ground from which our culture grew.
in the afternoon i went back to Christos' and Efi made me more food, including tiropitas, savory cheese-filled pastries, just like my grandmother used to. then i
napped through the hottest hours of the afternoon, and after i got up, the Papadimitrious family arrived home. i was more relieved than i expected to speak again in full, English sentences. that night they had a small dinner party out by the pool (they live in a small enclave of duplexes clustered around a clubhouse and swimming pool). everybody there spoke English, but most of the conversation was in Greek. it was actually fun to figure out the tone of the conversation, if not the subject, from the pattern of interactions between the nine people at the dinner table. every once in a while Christos' daughter (who goes to an English-speaking school) would lean over and fill me in on the current topic. i went out that night with a guest from the dinner party and her cousin to the patio of the Hilton's top-floor bar, where i sat in the warm night air, sipped Jameson and looked out over downtown Athens. he's from South Africa, living in England, and she's born and raised in Athens, just back from university in England and working for Coca-Cola in Athens. our main topic of conversation? American politics.
Monday, July 30, 2007
notes from Greece (after the fact) - Day 1
anyone who wonders why making Guantanamo detainees maintain fixed positions without sleep for long periods of time constitutes torture never flew coach in an aging 737-300 for 12 hours after one hour of sleep. (i'm not saying that air travel approximates our country's interrogation techniques, just that it can take a lot less than you'd think to weaken your spirit.) 24 hours after i left my home (and after only 4 additional hours of sleep), i arrived at Christos' home in Kifissia, Athens. (who's Christos? a professor at Berkeley, a key member of my "band", and one of the most surprising and awesome people i have had the pleasure to meet.) i was greeted by Efi, the Papadimitriou family's long-time friend and household assistant. she showed me around, made me dinner-breakfast-lunch (they barely feed you in coach on airplanes, even when you're at their mercy for 17 hours), offered me everything in the kitchen, and told me a bit about her history with the family. this was all done in pantomime since Efi doesn't speak a word of English and i speak only 20 words in Greek (almost all food words).
at Christos' place i had a room to myself off the kitchen, which is where Scarlett hangs out. Scarlett is a Persian that looks like a cross between Mr. Bigglesworth (pre-freezing) and Salvador Dali. my picture doesn't fully capture the unlikely curve of her whiskerstache.
(for those interested, there's an entire book on Dali's mustache.)
at Christos' place i had a room to myself off the kitchen, which is where Scarlett hangs out. Scarlett is a Persian that looks like a cross between Mr. Bigglesworth (pre-freezing) and Salvador Dali. my picture doesn't fully capture the unlikely curve of her whiskerstache.
 | + |  | = |  |
i laid down for a couple hours, and dragged myself out of bed around 5pm (an attempt to get on Greek time). after a "shower" where 1/3 of the water ended up on the other side of the bathroom (i still don't understand the fixtures in Greece), i caught the subway to th
e Acropolis. i got there too late to get in that night, so i walked all around and then up the hill across from it. there i sat on a warm rock and watched the colors of the setting sun reflect off the Parthenon. after dark i walked through the Thission area back to the Metro. it was a weeknight, but the cafes, bars, and restaurants were packed and the night was filled with Greek conversation and laughter. only a few hours in Greece, and already it was amazing.
Tuesday, July 10, 2007
big, steaming pile of theses
this morning i wrote the conclusion for my thesis and printed out three copies. then i divided the big, warm pile of paper into three envelopes and hand-delivered them to the offices of my committee members. my friend Charless observed that if i set them on fire, i'd be leaving flaming piles of theses outside their offices. but that would make them hard to read, now, wouldn't it? now i can finally relax for a bit and keep my fingers crossed that nothing in there angers or dismays them.
another bit of good news in the last 24 hours: i will be going to Rio in October! back in April, i submitted a paper to a conference and i got the reviews last night, and they are good. really good. like they mixed up the babies kinda good.
there were posts i wanted to write since the last one (and some additions to that last one, in particular musings on unattended baggage that didn't make it in the first time), but it will all have to wait. tomorrow morning at the ungodly hour of 3:30am, Bayporter whisks me away again, this time to Greece. hopefully i'll return in two weeks with some good tales and photos.
another bit of good news in the last 24 hours: i will be going to Rio in October! back in April, i submitted a paper to a conference and i got the reviews last night, and they are good. really good. like they mixed up the babies kinda good.
there were posts i wanted to write since the last one (and some additions to that last one, in particular musings on unattended baggage that didn't make it in the first time), but it will all have to wait. tomorrow morning at the ungodly hour of 3:30am, Bayporter whisks me away again, this time to Greece. hopefully i'll return in two weeks with some good tales and photos.
Tuesday, July 3, 2007
please report unattended baggage
my trip to the DC area this week began with a 4am Bayporter pickup. it would have been 3am, but i had words with the operator (why on earth would i need 2 hours to get through Oakland airport before the sun is even up?). still, 4am hurts.
i get to OAK, scarf down a breakfast burrito and wait at the gate, resting my tired head in my hands. i look up, and count the young children. it occurs to me that there's no way i'm going to sleep on this plane, which means i won't get thesis work done either. weariness is setting in, then inspiration strikes. back up to the counter. yes, i have enough miles. yes, they have first class seats open on both legs. i relax instantly. now if only i'd planned ahead, i would have saved room for the mimosas and fresh-made french toast.
something about first class makes me feel very strange. is it the lovely, free wine served in a real, stemmed glass? or the napkin laid down before my hand-cooked meal is presented? it doesn't make sense, these aren't very luxurious things. it isn't that i stick out, it actually isn't all white business men. there are a couple college-aged girls in sweats and an older couple that could have been a quieter version of George Castanza's parents, among others. but i still find myself thinking, maybe i should have put in my expensive earrings or put on make-up. or showered. maybe it's because i'm thinking of all the souls riding in the back, wishing they had a drink of water. i overcompensate for my guilt by being more deferential than usual. i thank my seat-mate something like 10 times for letting me go to the bathroom.
from Reagan airport i hop on the Metro. when i'm on public transportation and i don't have something to read, i like to occupy myself one of two ways. either i sneakily observe details about other people or i stare off at a point in the distance and try to look like i'm contemplating something deep so that, if anyone else is observing me, they'll wonder what it is i'm thinking about. joke is on them, though, i'm just thinking about how to make then wonder what i'm thinking about. sometimes i get really into it, like i'll lean my head against the pole and stare off, squinting my eyes and pursing my lips, but just a little. really, i doubt anyone is actually paying attention, but i'm amused. i have another game kinda like this i play when i have to wait at the DMV.
i make it to my mom's house, and the social whirlwind begins. in the next 3 1/2 days, i'll drive all over the county and into Maryland to squeeze in quality time with my mom, dad, sister, cousin, college friends + baby, and high school friends (plus helping my sister with a catering gig in Baltimore), and in the gaps i'll try to post to the blog, maintain e-mail correspondences, and keep up with NPR before it swallows my hard drive. oh, and finish my thesis, which i've promised to give my committee in a week.
postscript: i didn't get around to tying in the title when i first posted. while i didn't leave or lose any suitcases, i did spend a good part of this trip thinking about my unattended baggage, perhaps spurred by hearing that message repeated a dozen times while i was waiting to board my flight. heavy on my mind was a new friendship, one that has been steeped in murky waters from the start, and an old friendship, which is simultaneously one of the most meaningful and most painful relationships of my life and has probably affected every relationship i've had since i graduated from high school. i sat at the gate, thinking, perhaps we should have that announcement playing throughout our daily lives, barely audibly, in a sweet, soothing voice. it could be a gentle reminder to sort our shit out.
the other inspiration was an article i read on the plane in The Week titled "The land of lost luggage" (there was an Atlantic Monthly article by the same title from back in 2002). where does lost luggage go? Scottsboro, Alabama, as it turns out. (as the article points out, in the parlance of the industry, it's not "lost", it's "unclaimed", as though the owner decided they didn't want it any longer.) there, United Baggage Center, a family-run monopoly since 1970, buys the bags by the pound and sells off the contents in a department store filled with lost treasures. among others, the article lists Dolce & Gabbana handbags, a 41-carat emerald, ancient Egyptian artifacts, used underwear, the guidance system for an F-17, and MC Hammer's concert backdrop.
i get to OAK, scarf down a breakfast burrito and wait at the gate, resting my tired head in my hands. i look up, and count the young children. it occurs to me that there's no way i'm going to sleep on this plane, which means i won't get thesis work done either. weariness is setting in, then inspiration strikes. back up to the counter. yes, i have enough miles. yes, they have first class seats open on both legs. i relax instantly. now if only i'd planned ahead, i would have saved room for the mimosas and fresh-made french toast.
something about first class makes me feel very strange. is it the lovely, free wine served in a real, stemmed glass? or the napkin laid down before my hand-cooked meal is presented? it doesn't make sense, these aren't very luxurious things. it isn't that i stick out, it actually isn't all white business men. there are a couple college-aged girls in sweats and an older couple that could have been a quieter version of George Castanza's parents, among others. but i still find myself thinking, maybe i should have put in my expensive earrings or put on make-up. or showered. maybe it's because i'm thinking of all the souls riding in the back, wishing they had a drink of water. i overcompensate for my guilt by being more deferential than usual. i thank my seat-mate something like 10 times for letting me go to the bathroom.
from Reagan airport i hop on the Metro. when i'm on public transportation and i don't have something to read, i like to occupy myself one of two ways. either i sneakily observe details about other people or i stare off at a point in the distance and try to look like i'm contemplating something deep so that, if anyone else is observing me, they'll wonder what it is i'm thinking about. joke is on them, though, i'm just thinking about how to make then wonder what i'm thinking about. sometimes i get really into it, like i'll lean my head against the pole and stare off, squinting my eyes and pursing my lips, but just a little. really, i doubt anyone is actually paying attention, but i'm amused. i have another game kinda like this i play when i have to wait at the DMV.
i make it to my mom's house, and the social whirlwind begins. in the next 3 1/2 days, i'll drive all over the county and into Maryland to squeeze in quality time with my mom, dad, sister, cousin, college friends + baby, and high school friends (plus helping my sister with a catering gig in Baltimore), and in the gaps i'll try to post to the blog, maintain e-mail correspondences, and keep up with NPR before it swallows my hard drive. oh, and finish my thesis, which i've promised to give my committee in a week.
postscript: i didn't get around to tying in the title when i first posted. while i didn't leave or lose any suitcases, i did spend a good part of this trip thinking about my unattended baggage, perhaps spurred by hearing that message repeated a dozen times while i was waiting to board my flight. heavy on my mind was a new friendship, one that has been steeped in murky waters from the start, and an old friendship, which is simultaneously one of the most meaningful and most painful relationships of my life and has probably affected every relationship i've had since i graduated from high school. i sat at the gate, thinking, perhaps we should have that announcement playing throughout our daily lives, barely audibly, in a sweet, soothing voice. it could be a gentle reminder to sort our shit out.
the other inspiration was an article i read on the plane in The Week titled "The land of lost luggage" (there was an Atlantic Monthly article by the same title from back in 2002). where does lost luggage go? Scottsboro, Alabama, as it turns out. (as the article points out, in the parlance of the industry, it's not "lost", it's "unclaimed", as though the owner decided they didn't want it any longer.) there, United Baggage Center, a family-run monopoly since 1970, buys the bags by the pound and sells off the contents in a department store filled with lost treasures. among others, the article lists Dolce & Gabbana handbags, a 41-carat emerald, ancient Egyptian artifacts, used underwear, the guidance system for an F-17, and MC Hammer's concert backdrop.
Sunday, July 1, 2007
i missed you
yesterday was Corinne Crawford's memorial ride.
i was originally planning to be in Phoenix, hanging with the women of my extended family in the pool, sipping my uncle Steve's 100-proof martinis all day, trying to take some of the shine off my buns. but i got to Phoenix Thursday and decided that night i had to come back early. the fare home had gone up $100, but no change fee. mad props to Southwest Airlines for their change policy, i fly with them when i can [get a flight without three connections and an arrival two cities away from my destination]. less than 36 hours after i arrived, i was back at the Phoenix airport with time to kill. two of those hours were spent in an airport sports bar, sipping Manhattans and reading a Neil Gaiman novel until my flight. (ever get the sense you don't entirely fit in with your surroundings?)
i only learned of the accident Wednesday, and the corners of my mind were still stretching to wrap around the whole thing. i went to the memorial service Wednesday, but that was only about 3 hours after i found out about the incident, and i could do nothing but stare off in a stunned silence. (a great strategy in this situation: gravitate toward the most talkative person you know, preferably someone that requires no feedback to keep talking.) this was sandwiched in the middle of a 14-hour work day... i was trying to get a draft of my thesis to my advisor before the next morning, so i had to will myself not to think about it all before and after the ceremony.
i rolled up to Sproul Saturday morning and found many of my former teammates, most of whom i don't have much occasion to see these days, now that i'm slower than fuck on a bike (i was exactly as slow as fuck when i was on the team). the last time for some was at the same party where i saw Corinne for the last time. do you ever have the experience that you forget to miss somebody until you see them again? it's like you retroactively miss them, even when it hadn't crossed your mind until that moment, and it doesn't even really make sense because they're now in front of you. it was kinda like that... i had forgotten to miss Corinne since i saw her last, and as i stood around, it suddenly all caught up with me, like a sonic boom, only instead of seeing her again, there was just her memory. and the guilt that i hadn't missed her sooner.
i am so thankful that i made it to the ride. the sight of the policemen stopping traffic as almost 100 of us rolled through red lights made me cry. it can be strange what things get us. the time at the site was a needed goodbye and a chance to make it real. i forced myself to contemplate her broken fork. the ride back was really good, it was the first ride in a long time with my former teammates and friends, and i sprinted harder to the Brazil Building than in years (proof: i hit my max, 188). for me, it was a chance to grieve, but also a chance to celebrate the friendships and camaraderie that live on. i think she would have liked that.
i was originally planning to be in Phoenix, hanging with the women of my extended family in the pool, sipping my uncle Steve's 100-proof martinis all day, trying to take some of the shine off my buns. but i got to Phoenix Thursday and decided that night i had to come back early. the fare home had gone up $100, but no change fee. mad props to Southwest Airlines for their change policy, i fly with them when i can [get a flight without three connections and an arrival two cities away from my destination]. less than 36 hours after i arrived, i was back at the Phoenix airport with time to kill. two of those hours were spent in an airport sports bar, sipping Manhattans and reading a Neil Gaiman novel until my flight. (ever get the sense you don't entirely fit in with your surroundings?)
i only learned of the accident Wednesday, and the corners of my mind were still stretching to wrap around the whole thing. i went to the memorial service Wednesday, but that was only about 3 hours after i found out about the incident, and i could do nothing but stare off in a stunned silence. (a great strategy in this situation: gravitate toward the most talkative person you know, preferably someone that requires no feedback to keep talking.) this was sandwiched in the middle of a 14-hour work day... i was trying to get a draft of my thesis to my advisor before the next morning, so i had to will myself not to think about it all before and after the ceremony.
i rolled up to Sproul Saturday morning and found many of my former teammates, most of whom i don't have much occasion to see these days, now that i'm slower than fuck on a bike (i was exactly as slow as fuck when i was on the team). the last time for some was at the same party where i saw Corinne for the last time. do you ever have the experience that you forget to miss somebody until you see them again? it's like you retroactively miss them, even when it hadn't crossed your mind until that moment, and it doesn't even really make sense because they're now in front of you. it was kinda like that... i had forgotten to miss Corinne since i saw her last, and as i stood around, it suddenly all caught up with me, like a sonic boom, only instead of seeing her again, there was just her memory. and the guilt that i hadn't missed her sooner.
i am so thankful that i made it to the ride. the sight of the policemen stopping traffic as almost 100 of us rolled through red lights made me cry. it can be strange what things get us. the time at the site was a needed goodbye and a chance to make it real. i forced myself to contemplate her broken fork. the ride back was really good, it was the first ride in a long time with my former teammates and friends, and i sprinted harder to the Brazil Building than in years (proof: i hit my max, 188). for me, it was a chance to grieve, but also a chance to celebrate the friendships and camaraderie that live on. i think she would have liked that.
Saturday, June 30, 2007
slippery litle suckers
when i first set up this blog, i chose the title in reference to my adventures with match.com. i thought for a while i would write posts about some of the stranger aspects of that experiment. i would have written about the guy who posted pictures he took of himself shirtless in his living room, wearing ski goggles. or about the e-mail exchange that culminated in me being told to use a pair of forceps to pull out the bug that crawled up my vagina and died there. (how that one went so far astray still baffles me.) or the time i was called a racist after a polite "no thanks". or about the guy who, after two dates, needed to have "a talk" wherein he shared a 20-minute literary allegory about blind, misdirected love, followed by a speech about how nobody gets him. we didn't have a third date.
i should have written about them, i think it would have been fun to write and fun to read, and perhaps i would have found a new perspective or nugget of truth that would have affected someone else.
but i let the moment go. slippery little suckers aren't they? and the last week or so, i've been thinking about just how slippery.
i've been thinking about how often i choose not to share my thoughts and observations, for fear that they not be received or understood. and it's so much easier to let the moment pass, to busy yourself with something else, or claim an obligation (which is most often just an excuse in a suit and tie). i've got to-do lists scattered about my apartment and running through my head and on my computer, and when faced with a choice, it's so easy to choose the simple, mindless tasks, which can be easily crossed off, over beginning the difficult undertaking. i think many of us do this to some extent. when studying for finals, did cleaning your dorm room suddenly seem more appealing than ever before?
two things happened this last week to bring this into sharper focus. first, i went to see a one-man play by Mike Daisy at the Berkeley Rep, called Men of Genius. i went on L. Ron Hubbard night. i can't capture the material or the performance in a description, except to say that he masterfully wove tales of one batshit man's life in with observations about human nature and dark events from his own life. i laughed a good, deep laugh and was deeply affected, in a way that's stayed with me a week already. i don't consider myself an artist or a real performer, but for the first time i saw the potential value in putting my observations and insights out there for others.
the second was bigger, in every sense. an acquaintance from the Cal Cycling team died this week. she and i were casual acquaintances; we'd raced together a couple times and chatted at parties and didn't know each other very well, but i was always glad to see her. you know that moment that you walk into a big party where you don't know some of the people and you're figuring out how work your way into the crowd? well, she was that person that you could walk up to first and she would always make you feel like you were at the right place. i regret that i didn't take the time to get to know her better. hearing other people's stories makes me terribly sad; i've gotten to know her better in the last couple days than when she was alive, and the fault is my own. she put herself out there, in her personal interactions and in her writing, including her race reports and her blog, and she had an amazing mind. she seemed to fearlessly share herself with other people. she burned bright, and everyone close to her knew it. i wish i had paid more attention.
i want to know more about the inner lives of those around me, which these days means reading more blogs. i was resistant for a long time, and i still prefer to go for a walk or share a meal and hear about a friend's life from their lips. but the opportunities are fewer than the events in our lives and so much slips by. and i want to start to open up my own inner life more. my biggest fear is i'll discover there isn't enough of it. second is a worry that my references and observations won't come through. but i figure it's time to try, even if i'm only winking into the void.
i should have written about them, i think it would have been fun to write and fun to read, and perhaps i would have found a new perspective or nugget of truth that would have affected someone else.
but i let the moment go. slippery little suckers aren't they? and the last week or so, i've been thinking about just how slippery.
i've been thinking about how often i choose not to share my thoughts and observations, for fear that they not be received or understood. and it's so much easier to let the moment pass, to busy yourself with something else, or claim an obligation (which is most often just an excuse in a suit and tie). i've got to-do lists scattered about my apartment and running through my head and on my computer, and when faced with a choice, it's so easy to choose the simple, mindless tasks, which can be easily crossed off, over beginning the difficult undertaking. i think many of us do this to some extent. when studying for finals, did cleaning your dorm room suddenly seem more appealing than ever before?
two things happened this last week to bring this into sharper focus. first, i went to see a one-man play by Mike Daisy at the Berkeley Rep, called Men of Genius. i went on L. Ron Hubbard night. i can't capture the material or the performance in a description, except to say that he masterfully wove tales of one batshit man's life in with observations about human nature and dark events from his own life. i laughed a good, deep laugh and was deeply affected, in a way that's stayed with me a week already. i don't consider myself an artist or a real performer, but for the first time i saw the potential value in putting my observations and insights out there for others.
the second was bigger, in every sense. an acquaintance from the Cal Cycling team died this week. she and i were casual acquaintances; we'd raced together a couple times and chatted at parties and didn't know each other very well, but i was always glad to see her. you know that moment that you walk into a big party where you don't know some of the people and you're figuring out how work your way into the crowd? well, she was that person that you could walk up to first and she would always make you feel like you were at the right place. i regret that i didn't take the time to get to know her better. hearing other people's stories makes me terribly sad; i've gotten to know her better in the last couple days than when she was alive, and the fault is my own. she put herself out there, in her personal interactions and in her writing, including her race reports and her blog, and she had an amazing mind. she seemed to fearlessly share herself with other people. she burned bright, and everyone close to her knew it. i wish i had paid more attention.
i want to know more about the inner lives of those around me, which these days means reading more blogs. i was resistant for a long time, and i still prefer to go for a walk or share a meal and hear about a friend's life from their lips. but the opportunities are fewer than the events in our lives and so much slips by. and i want to start to open up my own inner life more. my biggest fear is i'll discover there isn't enough of it. second is a worry that my references and observations won't come through. but i figure it's time to try, even if i'm only winking into the void.
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