sketches from the other side

Poi O Boy

2012-02-01T14:59:00.002+08:00

This morning SB went for a morning stroll in Poi O with cousin Shoils (no biological relationship but they are quite the pair). He came home with a large, stinking backpack full of seashells, which he proceeded to wash out in our bathroom sink. Because he is who he is, the shells are clean now but the bathroom counter and floor are filthy. He happily told me that he was planning to make me a necklace out of the shells. He was delighted to show me how the shells already had little holes due to some evil sea snail that bores holes to eat the defenseless creatures inside.

Later I heard him phone Shoils to advise her to wash out her booty of shells right away because of how nasty they smelled. Perhaps Shoils is making a matching necklace for her husband. Steve and I can rock some faux Polynesian looks. I guess I should be happy that all SB brought home were shells, sand and muck. Previously he returned from a walk with Shoils with sea urchin spines embedded in his foot. He whined for the month it took for the spines to work their way out.

Er, thanks? I'm sure they will look great draped around my neck.

Shoils and SB; photo by Shoils.

Don't ask; I have no idea. Photo by Shoils.

slow news day

2012-01-31T15:24:00.001+08:00

This morning while waiting for me to buy water for our hike, SB perused the news stand and found pictures of our friend, H, plastered all over a Cantonese tabloid magazine. Apparently the tabloid trolled the Facebook page of a local model/artist and became interested in her friendship with H based solely on the fact that H looks like a tomboy. The tabloid published pictures of the two of them, source unattributed of course, with some statements that mutual friends translated as hinting of a torrid, lesbian affair. The pictures feature all sorts of compromising positions such as the two of them sitting with other friends in a restaurant and the two of them making peace signs at the camera. One picture shows the two of them standing very closely together...under an umbrella.

I wondered about warning her that she had become famous but I didn't want to be the one ruining her day. As we were returning from our hike I checked on my phone and saw that several friends had also seen the tabloid on their way to work and had commented on the snarky tone of underwhelming exposé. I wonder if anyone other than mutual friends bothered to buy a copy.

Recipe: Buttermilk Pancakes

2012-01-30T15:52:00.000+08:00

SB prefers fluffy pancakes while I like them more crepe-like. I am posting the recipe for fluffy, though you can add more buttermilk to think out the batter. Two key items to consider are that the batter should only be beaten until smooth and not over mixed, and use buttermilk instead of regular milk because the reaction of the buttermilk's acid with the baking soda add to the fluffiness.

Ingredients

2 cups (330g) all-purpose flour
2 teaspoons (4g) baking powder
1 teaspoon (6g) baking soda
1/2 teaspoon (4g) salt
4 tablespoons (55g) sugar
2 large eggs, lightly beaten
3 cups (700ml) buttermilk
2 teaspoons (10ml) vanilla extract
5 tablespoons (75ml) melted, unsalted butter
1 teaspoon (15ml) butter for griddle/skillet

Directions

Heat griddle on medium-high heat. Whisk together the first five (dry) ingredients together in a medium bowl. Quickly stir together the rest of the wet ingredients (except the butter reserved for the griddle) and then combine into the dry ingredients.
Whisk to combine until smooth. Batter may have some small lumps but do not over mix the batter. Let the batter rest for about five minutes. The batter should be fairy thick unless the buttermilk was too thin. If so, add a few more tablespoons of flour.
Lower the skillet heat to medium. Add a dab of butter to coat the surface of the griddle/skillet. Ladle approximately 1/2 cup (120ml) of the batter onto the pan and give the pan a shake to spread the mixture.
When small bubbles form on the top of the pancake and the edge is slightly dry (approximately at 2 1/2 minutes), flip the pancake over. Cook until the outside is a golden color (approximately 1 minute longer).
If there are large bubbles forming or loud sizzling the heat is too high.
Serve the pancakes with maple syrup. Real maple syrup, not the fake stuff.

Amazing

2012-01-27T13:50:00.001+08:00

Right now there are two teams from the Amazing Race show, running through Times Square looking for a clue. Talk about a needle in a haystack. I would rather search the sixth circle of hell.

I had a small conversation with a team before realizing that the cameras were running. I don't want to end up on television so I left but SB is still trying to help.

the day the gaydar died

2012-01-24T01:02:00.003+08:00

I used to have fantastic gaydar. Really, it was uncanny how accurately I could identify gay people. These days my gaydar is pretty much nonexistent. It's not that my gaydar has gotten rusty over time but rather it has become obsolete: unnecessary and ridiculous in these modern times.

Back in the day of my perfect gaydar, life wasn't so easy for 8% of the population. Like the early feminists who had to take up protestation and who have since been stereotyped as bra burning, men hating radicals, I believe that the earlier generation of "out" LGBT individuals tended to be advocates in the face of discrimination. They may have been purposefully noticeable while the more mainstream gays stayed hidden.

These days, life is much better. People still are stupid but at least we won't be watching that Oprah episode when an audience member asked two sisters who both happened to be lesbians if they had sex with each other. Unless you are Rick Santorum who believes that allowing any two humans to get married will open the door to allowing marriage with multiple partners and goats. Frankly, I don't care if you want to live in polyamory as long as all partners are consenting adults. As for goats, they can't give consent. Sorry.

So nowadays, in many civilized societies, sexual orientation is a non-issue and that 8% of the population includes all shapes and types of individuals. That guy wearing a rainbow vest and leather chaps is most likely gay but so is that Welsh rugby player. And like leprechauns and unicorns, gaydar doesn't really exist.

and a happy new year to you

2012-01-23T18:06:00.002+08:00

Chúc mừng năm mới; cung chúc tân xuân! Happy new year and gracious wishes for the new spring!

I wanted to use this for our greeting card but I chose a display of fireworks in the harbour instead.

young enough

2012-01-23T17:53:00.000+08:00

I am no longer reckless like I used to be. I know SB wishes that I still had more of the old wild streak but after a few years of living, I have discovered that I am impeded by knowledge of risk. In my twenties I didn't think about how fragile the human body really is; I certainly didn't consider what I had to live for or more importantly, what I would have lost. Now I know. I can look back at my wonderful life and my beautiful love and feel a twinge of pain at the thought that I might have missed it all. I could have easily missed it all because my old joie de vivre was synonymous with reckless stupidity. At the age of 23, when I almost drowned in a flash flood, my thoughts as I was fighting to keep my head above the raging water were simplistic: anger, bewilderment, exhaustion. I hadn't experienced enough of life to feel regret or sorrow. There was nothing to be missed. Oh how things have changed. I now look before I leap. I use logic over adrenaline (usually).

But I was young enough once. I was young enough to live for the moment, head empty of all thought except that rush of joy. Today as I turned down a ride on M's new, red Ducati I remembered a very late night in Texas on the back of Burt's Kawasaki Ninja as we flew down I-10 at 140mph. I recall my somewhat hysterical laughter as a combination of air differential and acceleration dragged me backward while I gripped frantically to his waist with my numb fingers. What a rush that was. How frightfully stupid. Exhilarating. Back then I didn't know that the feeling was soon going to be diminished by caution signs. I would have bottled that joy had I known.

oblivion

2012-01-22T14:53:00.002+08:00

SB picks me up and throws me onto the bed

Me: Ouch! What was that?
SB: Oh, there's the hanger.
Me: You threw me onto a hanger?
SB: I figured with the down duvet it would disappear into oblivion.
Me: Umm, no. Unless you oblivion is another word for my arse.
SB: Yes, now move your oblivion.

He's painfully romantic like that.

the mutant

2012-01-22T00:27:00.001+08:00

As per his usual compliments of me that are really compliments of himself my beloved told me that I had nice eyelashes though not as bountiful as his. "I have long lashes," I protested. Yes, but he thought that his were more abundant. "I always have to pull my eyelashes out because they are too many," he pointed out. Upon closer inspection I realized that he was correct. In fact upon really close inspection I could see that the lusciousness of his lashes were made up of two rows. "You're like Elizabeth Taylor," I told him, "A genetic freak." Take that mutant boy.

lights out

2012-01-18T15:55:00.000+08:00

If you had entered my building's lobby last night you would have been able to find quite a few of my elderly, infirm and obnoxious neighbors.

At around 6pm the lights went out in my building. There was just enough outside light coming in through my living room for me to locate my phone, which has a fantastic flashlight feature. I finished changing for rugby and stepped out into a pitch dark hallway. As I was descending the stairs with my trusty phone flashlight I could hear loud mewling in the building lobby from at least three flights above.

When I arrived at the lobby I saw a lady who was berating our building's harried looking doorman. Since the lights were out across the block I don't think that he could have fixed the problem. Standing next to her was a British lady who was loudly demanding that the person on the other end of her phone line tell her when the problem would be fixed. I then passed the elderly couple who always greet me in the morning when we share the lift and an elderly white man who I had never seen before. Outside the lady who lives on my floor was patiently waiting in her wheelchair and chatting with a few other elderly residents.

I felt sorry for the building residents who require the use of the lift because they were stuck waiting in the lobby with the other unstable residents who seem to be downstairs losing their sh*t at every inconvenience. Two years ago a major water main broke, sending an impressive flow of water down Wong Nai Chung Road, and the same crazy lady was berating a different harried doorman because she didn't have water for her shower.

how to end up sleeping on a couch

2012-01-17T15:19:00.000+08:00

If you are complimenting your girlfriend you may compare her to a flower or a jewel. You may compare her to dessert item or a wonder of nature. You may even compare her to animals if they are exotic birds. Do not, however, compare her to a rhinoceros even if it is just to comment on how she also has small feet because she will understand that you are commenting on how amazing it is that her small pins can hold up such an enormous body. You may show her that BBC article that inspired you to compare her to that odd toed perissodactyl but it will have little effect, rhinos being short tempered rampagers and all.

fade to red

2012-01-15T16:13:00.000+08:00

At the match yesterday I was driving forward, arms fastened around the ball, when I felt it: a painful scrape moving inexorably toward the outer corner of my eye. I shut my eye tightly and felt the finger stop, digging right into the corner. Unbelievable. Nothing I could do at the moment and when the ruck was over I had no way of knowing who had done it.

Oh, and let me tell you about the scrums. My opposition kept punching my arm on the referee's "touch." Maybe she was excited but the only other time this has happened previously was against the same blue and white striped team, and that girl eventually, accidentally punched the side of my face. So lo and behold eventually this girl from the same team also "accidentally" punched the side of my face. And that was all it took.

I stood up in the middle of the referee's call. "Hit me again," I remember saying and then other things came out of my mouth. They probably weren't pleasant. I was seeing red, literally. The referee felt compelled to inform me that he was sorry, but he couldn't allow me to do whatever I was explicitly telling my opposition would happen when she hit me again. My face was burning; the gouge in the side of my face was mighty aggravated by the punch. I had to leave the match at the half, angry and bleeding.

Our team won with a bonus point. We didn't allow them a single point. By then I had cooled off, the adrenaline from the match giving way to weariness. I even managed to shake hands with all of the other team, even the one I knew had punched me, even when I was feeling suspicious about how only their team's front row managed to consistently pop their opposite number in the face. It was only after my shower when I looked into a mirror that the anger came back. A nasty cut runs from the middle of my cheek to a pit of missing flesh at the corner of my eye. If my unknown gouger had succeeded with that one more centimeter it would have been serious. As it is I am worried about a scar. I have been religiously applying Neosporin and cursing that blue and white bitch.

oh boohoo

2012-01-10T23:35:00.000+08:00

I was serenading SB with "You'll always be my baby" and really getting into it, swaying from side to side and substituting a few words to make it personal when I saw him put his headphones on.

Sigh.

Some people have no sense of taste.

2011 in recap

2012-01-06T17:25:00.000+08:00

Instead of making my yearly forecast I decided to look back in 20/20 hindsight and pat myself on the back for accomplishing all of my goals for the previous year, revisionist style and all that.

Here's where I am on my list for 2011:

Travel more: I went to Bali and Boracay. And Yuen Long. Check.
Look for another home that has a decent kitchen with an oven: I couldn't have been bothered so I taught myself to bake with a toaster oven. With the exception of cake it wasn't a bad endeavor.
Figure out my long term goals with SB: It has been two years since he decided that he wants to marry me and I just know that he'll do it this year. Or not.
Invest in RMB: Check.
Work to live instead of living to work: I quit my job and love my life. I figure I can keep loving life for two more months before I need to start looking for ways to replenish my bank account.
SB has got to meet the parents: We talked on Skype. Does that count?
Finish that damn revision of my thesis: Check. Done. Basta Cosi.
Start studying again. We'll ask the rugby team if my Cantonese has gotten any better.
Roast a pig: Porchetta in the toaster oven. Not as large scale as envisaged but a worthy feat.
A memorable achievement: I only lost my sh*t on SB once this year, when he invited a bunch of people over for an impromptu Thanksgiving dinner at our place and then called me at lunchtime to see if I could cook the feast. Oh yeah, I'll put that 10kg frozen turkey into the toaster oven right away.

And now, my lists to cap off what was 2011.

The Good:

Repeal of DADT
Rugby World Cup
Leslie's wedding and my long overdue visit to Ithaca
My blog commentators who provided insight, instigation and inanities
SB becoming a "professional" ice hockey player at his ripe, old age

The Bad:

Famine in the Horn of Africa
Earthquakes, tsunamis and flooding in Asia and the Pacific
1780+ American troops killed in and around Afghanistan since 2001 (http://icasualties.org/oef/)
Execute and ask questions later (Troy Davis)
The casualties of the Arab Spring

The Wacky:

Supreme Leader, Dear Leader, and now Paramount Leader
Pouty politicians crapping all over each other as the national debt balloons and recession looms.
Berlusconi. No explanation needed. BTW spell check wants to change his name to coniferous.
Michelle Bachmann accusing Rick Perry's mandated HPV vaccine of causing mental retardation.
Michelle Bachmann

Foot fetish

2012-01-06T12:09:00.001+08:00

Nike must have released some new air basketballer. The Nike Basketball shop in Wanchai has a long line of young men wrapping it and only the employee entrance open to allow one customer at a time. As much as we make fun of women's shoe obsessions I have never seen them lined up for a pair of pumps.

old colonials

2012-01-03T18:50:00.001+08:00

When I was a little girl I thought British people were very strange. Almost all of my mother's white friends were French because it was her second language, or American friends of my father; we didn't know many British people other than my teachers. Then one day at a church social my mother and I were introduced to a British family who had just moved to Hong Kong. My mother extended her hand and introduced herself by her first name. The British woman told my mother that her name was Mrs. Smith.

My mother later had a laugh with my father about that. She thought it was funny that British people were so formal. Years later I think about this and scratch my head. I have met plenty of British people and every single one of them, as far as I can recall, introduced themselves either by first name in informal situations or first and last name in more formal settings. No one has ever told me to call them Mr. or Mrs. Smith.

So now I am wondering if British people have become more relaxed over the years or if that Mrs. Smith was being condescending to my Asian mother and all these years we have incorrectly thought that British people were really formal. Anyone care to enlighten me?

with Senna, the magic died

2011-12-31T15:17:00.001+08:00

A couple years ago I discovered that SB used to be a Formula 1 fan. We were walking past our local pub and a race was showing. SB was drawn to the television and I was forced to continue home alone. I knew that he enjoyed watching Top Gear and occasionally spouted off car related facts that indicated more than a passing interest in racing but I was ignorant to the depths of his fascination. I later found out that Ayrton Senna was his childhood hero.

Two nights ago I gave SB a belated Christmas gift in the 2010 documentary, Senna. I knew that it was going to be heavy because of its inevitable conclusion. We sat mostly in silence, with me occasionally asking him for explanations regarding the F1 rivalries that he knew all about. It didn't take long to figure out that his childhood fascination with F1 was not idle but bordered on obsession. When we entered into that final season on the documentary no more words were exchanged.

At the death of Roland Ratzenberger I looked over to see that SB was crying. I have only seen SB close to shedding tears twice: once when we broke up years ago and I was bawling my eyes out he looked misty eyed and once when his grandmother died he looked distraught and may have shed one or two tears before walking out of her bedroom. I had never, ever seen SB actually cry.

Later he told me that he and his younger sister used to watch the F1 races together, that they loved Senna and were caught up in the Senna-Proust rivalry as though it were an epic battle from the Iliad. But when Senna died all of the magic died with him. They continued to watch the races but it wasn't the same anymore; the spark was gone from their lives forever.

SB told me that years later he had a discussion with an older friend who had been a motorsport fan in the 1950's. He said that after several racing idols died year after year he couldn't bring himself to enjoy it anymore. Years after Senna died SB had dreams where he was either driving the car on that fateful day or he was talking to Senna on the radio transmitter. It reminded me of my dreams about my uncle. While I was still too far in shock to understand the magnitude of loss when my uncle died, I now wake up from my dreams feeling wretched. I imagine SB had a similar feeling over his racing idol.

When SB mourns for Senna, he is also mourning for the loss of his childhood, for the end of a fantasy that he lived week after week through the races. Ayrton Senna was supposed to be invincible but in the end, the man who became a legend was only mortal and this fairy tale did not have a happy ending.

tales of a rugby whore

2011-12-29T15:04:00.001+08:00

Last night a women's motley joined with the Potbellied Pigs to host the USS Carl Vinson Gravediggers in a friendly rugby match. It worked out well because we alternated between the pigs playing fifteen minutes and then taking a rest while the women came on for a turn.

Oh yeah, for those who don't use the term, a rugby whore is someone who is willing to play for another team. At tournaments in the US there would be a sign up area to match single rugby players with teams that needed more players. The sign up sheets would read "whores" and "looking for whores." Technically I guess those looking for whores should be called "providers." Yes, I recently learned some new terms.

Most of the ship's players were new or fairly new. The men were in great shape and beat the pigs narrowly due to their fitness advantage even though their rugby skills were rough, kind of like that time when the US women won the Rugby World Cup. While the male navy players were very fit, the women were a bit soft in the middle. I suspect that they all are given the same servings of food on board.

Our motley crew was considerably stronger than the lady gravediggers so we divided evenly between ourselves for the last play session. Even though the navy women were probably a bit heavier than us, Liz and I decided to do the lifting because they had no experience. While Liz and I were showing the girls how to jump in a lineout I kept looking at the soft, round knees and thinking of how cute they were. I was pretty pleased that we got the girls up in the air; it speaks well for my weight lifting routine.

The lady gravediggers may have been at a disadvantage in skills but they showed great tenacity and put up some fantastic tackles. Your correspondent will admit that she went into contact expecting less and was shown the floor for her folly.

In the end we all departed for Wanchai where stories of the legendary match could be cultivated.

all creatures great and small

2011-12-27T23:51:00.000+08:00

Once again, the local police have been called in to clear the sitting area near the bus terminal of pets. The area is a lovely gathering place for a large assortment of furry friends; the two restaurants welcome pets at the outdoor tables and there is plenty of space for man and beast to interact. A little white dog who can hop through hoops and ride a skateboard rules the corner by the high planters, leading his tribe that consists of a Chow Chow, a Bichon Frise, two yellow Labs and occasionally a Bernese Mountain dog. A Corgi and an ancient retriever loll about near the benches while little dogs like to bark at each other from under the outdoor dining furniture. But every so often some cynophobic calls the police on the illegal gathering and the scofflaws are dispersed. I will give it a few weeks before they return.

Meanwhile it looks like a raccoon has joined the neighborhood.

the day after

2011-12-26T21:14:00.002+08:00

We had three Christmas dinners in three days so once can understand why we winced at the idea of waddling through Causeway Bay for boxing day. Instead we put on our elastic waisted pants and began to walk with no particular destination in mind. We visited some birds who were having their own Christmas meal on the grass seeds in Happy Valley.

In a park in Wanchai we watched groups of men playing checkers (at least I think it was checkers) and snoozing on the benches.

Eventually we did wander into Causeway Bay to eye other sorts of birds in their plumage. I love seeing the winter fashions in this town. Leg warmers with high heels and short shorts. Brilliant.

this is why we no longer have a Christmas tree

2011-12-24T16:28:00.000+08:00

Two years ago I came home from the office to find that SB had hung up his hockey gear to dry in an unusual place. The hockey gear had never smelled so nice. The same could not be said for the tree. And then there were the fir needles all over the floor. This is why we no longer have a Christmas tree.

Conclusions

2011-12-22T14:25:00.001+08:00

There are few things that I dislike more than settling down to a novel with promising beginnings only to find the plot unravel, break apart into illogical splinters and then be spackled together and tied into an abrupt bow in time for the foregone conclusion.

Of course it may be more realistic since life often splinters into pieces of absurdity. If only everything really did tie neatly in the end.

In other news I am spending Christmas with SB's second favorite exgirlfriend and her husband who shares a same first and middle name with SB. And the ex thinks that I am a ringer for her. Conclusions?

my rap

2011-12-19T21:57:00.001+08:00

SB asked me why the iPod only seemed to have a couple NWA songs on it when he owned several albums that I had downloaded to my iTunes. I am aware of the significant contribution that NWA provided to the history of rap and hip-hop but their misogynistic lyrics push my boundaries of acceptance. That, and too many memories of that ex whose name rhymes with Moseph, who played lip synced their most outrageous lyrics to me in his car when he was angry and passive-aggressive. "Punch the bitch in the eye, then the ho will fall to the ground (the rest is too graphic so you will have to look it up yourself)"

Of course I am aware of my hypocrisy as I happily play Jay-Z's 99 Problems (but the bitch ain't one). But I own the Ipod so I am the arbiter of tasteful music.

coincidental competencies

2011-12-16T00:24:00.002+08:00

I hated John Irving's Owen Meany; the story seemed so implausibly coincidental: a hero trained throughout his short life for achievement of seemingly random competencies that allowed him to perform the mission of his life in the end.

Last night my own random competencies turned me into another Owen Meany, albeit a much less effective one. The women of my family's "lala" genes, later proven to be very real occurrences of epileptic vertigo, allowed me to realize that what I was witnessing was not a crazy man repeatedly banging his head on the ground while on his hands and knees. My own experiences with concussions provided me with knowledge on how to care for the man and reassure him as he passed in and out of consciousness.

A history of broken noses and chipped teeth came in really handy after he fully regained consciousness and I was able to reassure him that despite the bloody face, split lip and aching teeth, there would be no permanent damage. His mouth looked bad but not bad like teeth would fall out. I would know.

Sadly when the EMT/paramedics arrived the first words out were, "Oh, you're drunk." No, but he did have a history of low blood pressure; thank goodness one of us thought to ask. Then they asked him to get up off the floor where I was elevating his feet to get checked out. No one helped him up until he began to sway again. I was glad that I told him about how he passed out twice while seizing so he could tell them since they didn't stick around to find out what really happened. As the very useful medical staff were escorting him out I made sure to firmly tell one of them that he hit his head very hard. In case anyone cared about concussions. I wonder if I should have put my history of snappy comments to use.

deck the halls with trolls and chorus

2011-12-12T16:37:00.001+08:00

The rugby holiday party was this Saturday after our match. A and R wanted to get ready at A's boyfriend's place but having seen their version of housekeeping I pushed to use the facilities at King's Park. I was outvoted and off we went to a colony of apartments in Hung Hom. It was a chilly evening so getting ready in a warm, albeit dusty, apartment may have been preferable to the drafty shower facilities at King's Park. The boyfriend was kind enough to pretend to be taking a nap on the couch while we flitted around him in the living room. I can only imagine how confused the neighbors must have been if anyone had looked into the large window and seen fully dressed man lying on the couch in apparent disinterest while surrounded by three nude women.

As we leaving we could hear really loud shrieks coming from one of the neighboring apartments. A explained that one of the neighbors constantly engaged in very loud activities with his girlfriend. "Not girlfriend," corrected A's boyfriend, "he hires hookers." To which we responded with varying reactions from disgust (A: ewww!) to humor (R: haha, how much?) to intrigue (me: how do you know this?). A's boyfriend somehow figured out who the neighbor was and while the details of the discussion remain murky, the neighbor voluntarily disclosed that he hires women who are vocal, thus why the noises in the hallway were similar even though the participants changed. Interesting neighbors. The only excitement in my neighborhood occurs when the couple down the hall get in a fight and start swearing in English. They conduct all of their communication in Chinese except when swearing and then the hallway rings with, "F*ck youuuu!" and "No, f*ck youuuuu!" I guess in Hung Hom it's the same, only a more literal event.

no thanks

2011-12-09T13:49:00.001+08:00

Last week a friend of mine sent a message on Facebook asking for donations to bring back to the village that she grew up in. She was soliciting on behalf of a family friend who had lost his leg in a car accident and was having difficulties providing for his two children. When I saw her husband on Wednesday I gave him an envelope with some money.

On Thursday she called to thank me. She was weeping. She told me how grateful she was and that the money would help her to buy metal sheeting to make walls for her friend's home. He had no walls. My mind was reeling; he didn't even have walls.

Later that night I told SB how rotten I felt that she was thanking me so much when all I did was give what I was comfortable with giving. It made me feel good to know that my money was going to help someone who very desperately needed help but it wasn't like I was doing anything really special. I should be thanking my friend because she is simply amazing. I have never seen pictures of her village but I have a feeling that it isn't exactly affluent. She works hard in a restaurant so that she can send money home to her family. Her difficult waitress job has helped to build a home for her father and now is building a home for a disabled friend. She works miserable hours but rarely complains because in her mind she is living the dream. She is married to a wonderful man who provides her with a home and support yet she doesn't want to tax him to provide for her family so she earns money for the houses while he earns money for the two of them. I think she would warm even the Grinch's cold, black heart.

pot,meet kettle

2011-12-08T14:31:00.001+08:00

The only times that I returned to the town where I went to high school were during spring break, and I usually passed the time in an alcohol enabled haze with my best friend. Aside from her, I would occasionally meet up with one other friend or my old boyfriend. I have not been back since 2006. This is probably why I only now realized something interesting about my friends.

When I was in high school I became involved in a ridiculous love triangle, only it was more like a parallelogram. My favorite boyfriend had previously dated my cross country teammate (I asked and received her blessing to begin dating him). We eventually broke up and got back together for the next couple of years during which he added several more of my teammates to the mess along with a few of his friends. With one exception we somehow all merrily muddled through our conjoined romantic messes. Aside from the exception we are still friends. While it seemed like the entire cross country team was tying itself in knots over bad boy surfer types there was one exception: teammate K. Teammate K was planning to go to theology school and had no interest in joining our romantic entanglements. She would just laugh at us as we shared our ridiculous exploits to her over lunch.

Now, years later, I saw teammate K in a picture with another friend and noticed a familiar last name. After a few minutes of Facebook stalking discovered that teammate K has been married for several years to a man who was previously my homecoming date. It was a memorable homecoming because I spent half an hour of it in the restroom consoling my date's ex-girlfriend and promising that I wouldn't sleep with him. For all I know he was dancing with teammate K while I was consoling the ex. Apparently she wasn't as separate from the mess as she let on; she just was much more discreet than the rest of us. I had no idea that they were interested in each other but now that I think about it they would have made a wonderful couple, both of them so sweet and caring. And sneaky. When I think of how she used to laugh at our shenanigans...that lovely hypocrite!

letter from a student

2011-12-06T09:22:00.000+08:00

I wanted to share an e-mail that I received from a student (my responses in red):

Hi [name redacted],

I'm [Student X], and I am doing an EE regarding the development at [school redacted]. As part of my research (I know it's late), I really want to meet up with the contractor and ask him a few questions about the design and construction/demolishing of the buildings. (Dear Student X, please explain what an EE is if you want me to answer your questions immediately so you don't flunk your late paper.)

These are the questions I am proposing to ask him:

1. Have you taken into account the noise, air pollution and disruption that you may cause the students at school due to the construction that will be going on. If you have, how will you try to minimise the disruption to the school life? Yes, there are strict ordinances to follow regarding construction in school zones that govern construction during class sessions as well as during exam periods. The contractor must submit an environmental management plan with noise mitigation measures for approval from the architect and environmental engineer before construction can commence.

2. Did you predict what the microclimates are going to be like around the new buildings when they are completed Yes. But wait, did you want me to say anything more than that?

Student X, it seems that you are unaware of the roles between an architect, engineer and contractor. I would suggest a simple Google search of our respective roles for clarification prior to asking the contractor who has forwarded this message to me. Basically, the contractor builds what is proposed by the design team. On the design team, the engineer usually undertakes the CFD (Computational Fluid Dynamics) of the architect's design. Architects who have specialty in environmental design can also run a basic CFD model during the early stages to help decide how to orient their designs and take advantage of the microclimate and wind conditions but the engineer will usually undertake the "official" model. You can download a trial copy of Ecotect if you want to try it out; I find it to be a useful tool in early design stages.

3. What aspects have you included in your designs of the buildings which tries to minimize the effect that the new buildings are going to have on the existing environment once the buildings are completed? Again, this is not the contractor's job to design a building. The architectural design team would have studied this with the assistance of a heritage consultant. For the project you are asking about we have kept the building heights and mass in similar form with the existing site as well as using the original structure as the focal point of the new design. We also have taken into account the microclimate so that the original buildings maintain effective ventilation and solar exposure.

4. Are there any features that you have included in your buildings which tries to minimize the carbon footprint of the building? (grammar!) Features include recycled construction material, local or environmentally friendly building materials, solar heating, etc. A key factor to lowering the carbon footprint is how the construction is managed. Proper site management will reduce demolition waste, water waste, and construction waste.

5. Did you include any features in your design which tries to minimize the 'wall effect' that the buildings may generate? The low height and massing of this new building will certainly not create a 'wall effect' but it is an interesting dilemma for high rise buildings in HK where the land is so valuable that we tend to build up every available square millimeter. New regulations have been proposed to mitigate this problem but we have yet to see if they will take effect. Development interests here are quite strong.

6. Did you consider what problems a building that is mostly made out of glass may bring? I also would love to find out the marvelous technology used to create structural glass. If you can give me any examples of glass buildings I shall try to find out. If you are discussing this particular project, I assume you are referring to the large, operable windows in the recreation facility that are set back from the exterior balconies (thus, in shade) and take advantage of the site's local ventilation.

That's the questions that I will be wanting to ask him, but it will be fantastic if you could answer them as well! Thank you. SHE would be happy to answer. She also would like to suggest that when interviewing, whether it is for your late EE paper or for admission to a school, it is always pleasing for your object of interest to feel as though you really are interested, i.e. you did some research and know something about the subject of inquiry.

the awkward turtle

2011-12-04T13:49:00.000+08:00

The tutorial:

The awkward turtle is what happens when one experiences bumbling conversation, TMI over sharing, unintentional insults or any number of communication blunders.
When first experiencing mild conversational discomfort, place your hand on top of the other, palms up (some people prefer palms down but it isn't so awkward that way).
Move your thumbs back and forth in a sweeping motion when the conversation becomes cringe worthy, like the flippers of a turtle that has been upended onto its shell.
Use the awkward turtle whenever necessary rather than wringing your hands.

source: http://4.bp.blogspot.com/

An example:
(at an evening match, upon seeing an acquaintance)
Me: Are you playing the next game?
Acq: No, I just felt like getting here early.
Other acquaintance: How's it going with your girlfriend?
(she recently moved in with him)
Me: It's nice that you get to see each other more often.
Acq: She's moving out right now.
*Insert awkward turtle*

Two weeks later:
(at an evening match)
Same acquaintance has previously moving out girlfriend up against the rails and is trying to dislodge her tonsils with his tongue while everyone tries to look in other directions.
*Insert awkward turtle*

World AIDS Day

2011-12-01T23:41:00.001+08:00

In 1996 I went with my two friends to the National Mall in Washington DC to view the AIDS quilt. One of my friends had recently completed a panel in memory of her uncle who had recently died. The quilt filled the entire mall (that is 1600 x 120 meters). I spent the day meeting other friends and family members who had sewn panels in memory of loved ones. In many cases AIDS patients in hospices were working together to sew panels for each other so that they would not be forgotten. I remember protesters holding horrible signs at the perimeter of the area. I remember sitting on the grass in front of a panel with a cigarette encased in it; the deceased person's friend explained that when he was too weak to smoke he still enjoyed holding the cigarette to his lips. Later that night there was a candlelight march that lit up the mall in a sea of light. I returned to my room in the early morning hours and broke down crying.

It is 2011 and millions of people still die every year.

The quilt in 1996 (source: http://foundsf.org/images/f/f7/Gay1$names-quilt-dc.jpg)

make it stop

2011-11-30T18:34:00.000+08:00

I used to follow a blog but recently the blogger has turned into a raving bigot. Now I cannot drop the blog. I repeatedly tried to remove the blog from my Reader feed but it kept returning. Then I had an epiphany and logged into my Blogger dashboard and removed the blog from there. This removed it from my Reader feed also. Life was good for a few days but then the blog returned as soon as the blogger made another post. This time there is no trace of the blog in the Reader subscriptions or in the Blogger followings. I even went to the offending blog's site to try to remove myself from any subscription options but there weren't any. So now I seem to be stuck with a raving bigot who does not show up as a subscription to either of my two subscription services.

Does anyone else have this problem?

last week's roundup

2011-11-30T18:10:00.001+08:00

This is from one of the more recent rugby matches. I haven't talked about rugby in a while because the blog was starting to come up in Google searches and I was getting more recognition than I preferred. Yes, I am fairly easy to find if you want to find me but that is different from being found when people are not specifically looking for me.

smokescreen

2011-11-30T15:46:00.000+08:00

I'm about to reveal something about myself to SB's family that I would rather not but I am doing it for a good reason: many, possibly most, of my friends are potheads and I partake also. I have not smoked a bowl since meeting SB though I don't think he would care if I did. I used to smoke with my friends but never more than a couple drags because I didn't enjoy the effects like they did and felt like I was wasting their money when they shared with me. While I prefer a glass of wine or a Cosmopolitan (with very little cranberry juice) they would give up alcohol and cigarettes if only allowed to choose one vice. Now there were occasions when smoking weed did do it for me like if I needed to relax and go to sleep after a grueling night in studio or on the trip to Puerto Rico when everything around us was magical.

SB's family leans to the right, like mine. SB and his sister have long suspected that SB's stepmother may believe that humans roamed the earth with dinosaurs or whatever it is that literal biblical scholars believe. I am not excited to reveal my relaxed stance on recreational drug use but SB's father is still very uncomfortable with his chemo despite the heavy, legal narcotics that are prescribed to him and I overheard SB and his sister discussing marijuana for him. They were interested in suggesting the option but then didn't know how to go about procuring it and there I was thinking, I know sooo many people who could hook dad up. His father lives only 60 miles from Ithaca where I went to graduate school and I know several professors, a nurse, a mechanic and about a dozen hippies who would be more than happy to help him out. We are about to have the conversation with his father about smoking pot. If he is interested then I will be sharing more than I wanted to share but for a very good reason. And I will probably forever be known as his pothead, future daughter-in-law.

awkward, really awkward

2011-11-29T15:07:00.000+08:00

My first kiss wasn't an entirely consensual affair. I was 12 years old (I think) and had recently agreed to go out with my second boyfriend, Jerome C. Yes, the first boyfriend never actually got around to kissing me and our relationship consisted of him riding his BMX in circles around me and grabbing my ass in the school hallways as he ran past. I did always have a round bottom.

So there I was, walking back from lunch with Jerome when all of a sudden he stopped in front of my math class and grabbed me by the face. I had no idea what I was doing other than turning a deep crimson shade as I could hear the other students tittering nearby. I was having my first kiss in public, with a very experienced kisser, and everyone could see that I had NO idea what I was doing. Well, as it turned out only other experienced kissers had an idea that I had no idea what I was doing. When I finally made it into the classroom I was greeted with a round of applause. I wanted to die.

I eventually became a big fan of kissing, though I never kissed Jerome C again. Asshole. Looking back, it could have been much worse. I could have been like this couple:

muzzle it

2011-11-28T21:17:00.000+08:00

On Sunday SB and I hiked from Aberdeen to Black's Link. The trip took about three hours and provided scenic views out across the island. The last part of the hike occurred around 5:30 pm and it seemed to be the magic hour for matching sets of dogs. We passed a pair of German Shepherds, a pair of white and brown mutts, three Beagles and two Corgis. The woman walking with the Beagles was chatting on her phone as her helper pushed a pram beside the dogs. I was just thinking about how her voice was very regal when SB leaned over and whispered that her voice grated.

The Beagles and Corgis were wearing muzzles, which was unusual until we began noticing signs warning about dog poisoners. It is very sad that some sicko is out there harming our furry friends and I hope someone catches him and gets him the help that he very much needs.

Eriocheir sinensis

2011-11-27T23:09:00.000+08:00

I tried hairy crab for the first time. It did not start out promisingly as R and I, hairy crab virgins, tried to gnaw out the meat from spindly, little legs while A, hairy crab eater extraordinaire, kept raving to us about how great it was. As I struggled with my legs I fell further and further behind until A caught R trying to ditch her insect-like legs so that she could get to the body faster. Half an hour of struggle later I got to the good part. I am now a hairy crab convert. SB won't touch them; on his maiden voyage into hairy crab he broke out into large, red spots like a Holstein cow. They stayed that was for a few days.

I think he would be cute with large spots but I have blinders on.

things that make you go hmm...

2011-11-22T22:26:00.000+08:00

While enjoying a frosty beverage with friends the other night I noticed some loud chirping coming from an apartment above the pub. The couple that lived there were irate at the noise level and were vigorously making their displeasure known. I was informed that in the past they have poured water over the patrons below.

One wonders what they expected when they moved in above a pub.

a circular speech about a storm

2011-11-21T19:03:00.000+08:00

Once upon a time in 2010 my supervisor didn't know what a polder was. It would have been a non-issue if not for his unwillingness to admit that he doesn't know everything. That, when paired with his belief that underlings can't possibly know anything made things interesting. And by interesting I mean awkward. I would not have realized his ignorance if not for the fact that he then tried to play it off poorly. The other coworker asked him if he didn't know what a polder was; she was blissfully unaware of his issues. He became patronizing in response to her offer to explain it to him and ended the meeting soon after.

Moments later he sent us an email citing an example of polder architecture that he thought we should look at. It wasn't really related to the point that I had been trying to make. At all. I Googled "polder architecture" and guess what was one first results. The other coworker thought that the email was weird as well. "Why couldn't he say that he didn't know what a polder was," she asked.

Since the minor polder incident of 2010 Supervisor found many little ways to attempt to exert his intellectual dominance over us. He seemed to go out of his way to mention obscure bits of information relating to HK codes and then became condescending when we didn't know what he was talking about. He kept dropping comments about our respective universities until the awkwardness became straight out weird.

The nonsensical appraisal of 2011 was the hole in the dike that sunk the polder. A trickle became a deluge. I could no longer understand why I was standing waist deep trying to plug the hole when there were happier polders with windmills close by. I would have told the other coworker that I was leaving but she had sent her notice of bailing out a week previously.

last week's roundup

2011-11-20T17:46:00.000+08:00

SB and his boarding school classmate. They played ice hockey and lacrosse together.

the Philistine

2011-11-18T14:26:00.000+08:00

When I was in university I fell in awe with a visiting lecturer. He was well liked and moderately famous in philosophy/critical theory circles. Back then I didn't know about the campsite rule; it applies to May-December romances and states that they are acceptable if at the end of the affair, the elder partner should leave the younger in the same or better shape than they found them.

Needless to say, I was not left in better shape although being more cynical and guarded isn't always a bad thing. I ended contact when I read his feature piece in one of my favorite architecture periodicals and discovered several uncanny similarities to my own ideas. His response was that ideas are not copyrighted and I learned to guard my thoughts overnight.

I just saw his latest publication. It was a gorgeously written piece and I wondered whose young brain he had drained for information this time. I wondered if some other young woman was waking up to the dawning realization that she had been sucked dry. Maybe she would think it was an honor to be so used by the master; that's what he implied to me.

Scene III

2011-11-15T23:14:00.000+08:00

The sun's a thief, and with his great attraction
Robs the vast sea; the moon's an arrant thief,
And her pale fire she snatches from the sun;
The sea's a thief, whose liquid surge resolves
The moon into salt tears; the earth's a thief,
That feeds and breeds by a composture stol'n
From general excrement: each thing's a thief:
The laws, your curb and whip, in their rough power
Have uncheck'd theft.
Love not yourselves; away!

- Shakespeare, Timons of Athens

help needed

2011-11-15T12:16:00.000+08:00

We have a friend who has been in a funk for quite some time now. Recently, and not for the first time, she went MIA for a long period of time and SB spent hours knocking on her door and searching for her in her neighborhood while I went to check that there were no police reports bearing her name. Like SB and me, she has no family close by and as far as we can tell she has no established emergency contact here so we take it upon ourselves to check on her well being.

She used to work in the finance industry but quit her job when the stress became overwhelming. She talked to headhunters on and off for a very long time but no job seemed to interest her. In the meantime she talked about interest in the hospitality industry but has not attempted to actually pursue the interest. Now, years later, we are worried. SB, who is especially uncomfortable with conflict, has felt the need to intervene and she has agreed to let us pay for her to talk to someone. So readers, I am asking for recommendations for counseling of a Western educated MBA who cannot see her future.

USS George Washington vs. Potbellied Pigs

2011-11-14T23:53:00.003+08:00

On Friday night SB was invited to play with the Potbellied Pigs in a match against the Navy. The pigs are a charitable organization who travel the globe playing in tournaments and raising money for charities. One of their long term charities is an orphanage in the Philippines. The team consists of a few current rugby players and a lot of former high level players who have aged into jolly and somewhat round social players.

The Navy team consisted of a handful of players who had recently learned rugby and a lot of newbies. They had size, strength and fitness on their side. But they didn't stand a chance. At the end of the day wisdom and wiliness will beat youthfulness. It didn't help that at the end of the match the core pig players were tired and subbed on younger, fresher ruggers while the Navy subbed on their most inexperienced players.

I give the Navy highest marks for playing with great intensity and sportsmanship. After the match we all went to the Doghouse for beers and further abuse at the hands of the Potbellied Pigs' Kangaroo Court. I got to watch one of my favorite premiership referees being subjected to a tequila shot from the hirsute judge's armpit. and that wasn't the worst of it. I would say more but I don't want to abuse their hospitality in allowing me to observe their hijinks. You should come down to their next match and see for yourselves.

USS George Washington

2011-11-13T15:25:00.001+08:00

SB and I are fascinated by big boats so we jumped at the chance to see the USS George Washington when it came to port. We had toured the USS Carl Vinson at night so it was enjoyable to see the GW in daytime. Unlike the other carriers this one is stationed in Japan and the crew live expat lives. We had a nice chat with a young man who had been enlisted for only two months. He was spending his shore leave by providing maintenance for the Crossroads and Salvation Army charities. This guy works six days per week on the ship, eight stories down in the engine room doing maintenance and we were greatly impressed that he would want to spend his free time doing even more maintenance work. We are grateful to all the men and women who serve our country.

about those Penn State students

2011-11-12T00:52:00.001+08:00

I would be be more likely to riot if I found out that someone I respected spent a decade ignoring the fact that his assistant was a child rapist who was victimizing children through a program for disadvantaged/at risk youth.

Just saying...

wistful

2011-11-11T14:24:00.000+08:00

As part of my unemployed routine I had a long, leisurely lunch with a girlfriend. I was surprised by how many people were milling about; I somehow expected that everyone usually is working during the day like I used to do but in a city of 8 million people I should have known better. Girlfriend is single and was sharing the delicious details of her swinging life. I felt a wave on longing for those days when I was single, too. It was fun when I only needed to care for myself and could be as selfish and self indulgent as I wanted. I miss the lifestyle but not nearly as much as I love what I have now with SB. But still, I can reminisce on my past exploits and hope for future wickedness, this time with my better half.

Miss understood

2011-11-09T13:11:00.000+08:00

I am entering my fourth year in Hong Kong and I am still unable to sort our my correspondences. I am often addressed as a Mrs. not only by strangers but by friends and acquaintances. People who know that SB and I are not married still refer to me as such which is perplexing. Maybe they are indicating to others that I am in a relationship? Or wishful thinking? It is oh so awkward to correct my friends because I sometimes get the surprised look as though I am coming clean after allowing them to believe otherwise or I get the "oh, she's practically married," which seems to lead 50% of the people being introduced to ask about my future marriage plans. Ugh. And I can't get the right intonation when attempting to say, "No, I am not married," because it comes out as, "Noooo! I am NOT married (in psychotically defensive voice)," or "No (forlorn sigh), I am not married (followed by sad and awkward silence)." I am just stating a fact, people.

Although in my tax return form, when I have to choose the Spinster(!) option I am sorely tempted to lie and choose Mrs.

back with a vengeance

2011-11-07T22:16:00.000+08:00

It's wonderful what a couple of weeks will do to your outlook. Right before I left for my American vacation I left my job. I had been pondering quitting for over a year but couldn't bring myself to do it. I liked the company, liked the chairman, liked my director and had never left a job unhappy. But then the supervisor who was troubling me gave me that bad appraisal and I realized that my options would always be limited under his direction so I grew a pair and challenged him, starting with my appraisal. SB cheered loudly if not a bit smugly because he had been heavily encouraging me to stand up for myself, not to mention that that he thought a year-end bonus was a poor retention scheme for what it was costing me to stay. In the end I received a better package than I was hoping for (maybe I need to listen to SB's business advice more) and left very, very happy.

I had a few blissful weeks in the States where I visited friends, former professors and SB's family. Autumn is my favorite season in the Northeast and I was able to take many walks in the morning fog while kicking up fallen leaves and enjoying the idyll of the gorges and waterfalls. It began snowing on the day that I left.

Now I am back and taking it easy before committing myself to the job search. I have been enjoying Hong Kong through the lenses of a tourist: taking long walks across the Dragon's Back, spending long, wine filled lunches with friends and relaxing with a book and a pastry. For the time being, I am really enjoying this lifestyle. I know that I will eventually feel the need to work but for now life is good.

hiatus

2011-10-19T21:42:00.002+08:00

I am off to the States for a wee vacation. Blogging with be sporadic, if at all. I know all four of my followers hang onto my every word with baited breath but please forgive me.

keep hopping

2011-10-16T12:47:00.000+08:00

SB wheeling his hockey bag was too much for the night-time occupants of Wanchai to resist; all ages of men were executing mediocre kickboxing moves. Following in SB's wake I passed a fellow who was hunched over, holding his toe. He was yelling something at me that I couldn't hear but assuming that he had injured himself kicking the bag, I had little sympathy.

He grabbed me, I placed my palm on his forehead anticipating that I might have to fend, he punched me. I walked to the end of the block where SB was waiting, unaware of what held me up. Moments later the fellow and his girlfriend followed. He wanted to apologize and clarify that SB had run over his foot and it hurt. We shook hands. SB still had no idea what was happening so I brought him over to apologize for running over the foot.

Only after we got into the taxi did I tell SB that I had been punched. But not hard. SB tried to figure out how his bag caused so much pain because the fellow was still hopping up and down when we left. With a helmet, a pair of skates and various protection the bag wasn't light but should not have been so heavy either. I had two possible scenarios:

The fellow's foot had the misfortune of being in the path of the bag when it was kicked, and
It may not have hurt badly but one should always play up the injury to save face when attempting reconciliation and justification for punching the wrong person (and a female to boot).

I felt sorry for the fellow because he didn't seem like a bad sort at all and while I got to go home to SB fretting over my non-existent bruise he had to go home with his pretty girlfriend, red faced and clutching his foot.

sometimes

2011-10-14T15:12:00.000+08:00

Sometimes we sit on the bed and chat about nothing for a couple of hours instead of going to sleep. Sometimes the meaningless conversations become meaningful in other ways.

Sometimes he develops new nicknames for me, most of them culinary and round in shape: pumpkin, dumpling, etc. I remind myself that they are more about his comparable love for food and not comparable to my shape.

Sometimes I discover new things about him. He isn't ticklish but is really, unfortunately ticklish. It is unfortunate for him that I am eager to apply my new found knowledge.

those were the days

2011-10-13T16:47:00.000+08:00

One of my former classmates sent me a link to a ranking of the top ten graduate programs in architecture in the United States. It was published a few years ago but I had not seen it before. It features a picture of me under my school's ranking. Like many other architorturists my wardrobe consisted of a lot of black; it still does but now I throw in a gray scarf for a touch of brightness.

Oh how young I looked before four years of real world practice wiped the fresh glow from my idealistic face.

http://www.architectmagazine.com/educational-projects/the-graduate-programs.aspx

maybe a cure for cancer

2011-10-13T14:57:00.000+08:00

According to the Forrester Research (via CNET) the average American spends 12 hours per week on the Internet. As technology savvy as I am, that kid writing script to change to color of her avatar's hair would roll her eyes if she saw how long it takes me to add a feature to my architectural 3D model. I may be well read in Jean Baudrillard and Umberto Eco but these kids are living in hyperreality. But I do wish that they would get more exercise because borgs don't yet exist and Rocky Horror ain't gonna help you there.

So here is a headline that got my attention: Gamers Unlock Protein Mystery That Baffled AIDS Researchers For Years. The article by Leslie Horn for PC Magazine reveals that the crystal structure for a key protein in the development of AIDS, which had stumped scientists for years, was solved in just three weeks by online gamers using an online game called Foldit. The spatial analysis game has also aided in Cancer and Alzheimer’s research. I am optimistic and hopeful that the younger generation's ability to think critically in a virtual environment could lead to the breakthroughs that we have been struggling for.

(lowly) ode to the office printer

2011-10-12T12:31:00.000+08:00

Was it something I did

Because I fell stupid,

And you are making angry noises

With your light flashing red.

I was stunned into silence

When you came through the door,

Pushed by four technicians

And rumbling across the floor.

Perhaps your double monitors

Are making me most anxious,

Or was Arup's acoustic engineer correct

That your vibrations cause us to feel nauseous?

As I stand here before you

Like a bug drawn to your (multiple) screens,

I wonder where to place my lowly drawing

On the alter of my new scanner/copier/printer machine?

Saturday night drag

2011-10-11T18:28:00.000+08:00

When my best friend was married five years ago I made an appointment with a Clinique technician to learn the basics about makeup. Previously there were always plenty of women in my dormitory who were more than happy to doll me up but I figured that it was time to be an adult and do my own makeup. The technician was one of those immaculately put together women but she knew what she was working with and helped me to sort out daytime and evening looks that could be achieved in under ten minutes. The bride, a former pageant queen, approved of my evening look with only a minor adjustment of adding more eyeliner.

I more or less kept that look for the past few years, pulling out the same "spring wedding" eye palette for evening affairs though the lip color has changed with the times. This weekend, in anticipation of another big wedding event, I made an appointment with the Clinique counter in Times Square and came out with a rather different look.

I rarely use foundation but the woman insisted that anyone over 20 should wear it. She applied an undercoat (to smooth), a liquid coat (to attain an even complexion) and a powder coat (a finish layer). Looking at my reflection, SB remarked that I looked ill and he was right; any semblance of a healthy glow was replaced by a homogeneous, pale and painted look much like when you Gesso a canvas. Then came a very thorough application of eye makeup. At this point I had been sitting in the makeup chair for forty minutes and looked like a drag queen. My eyes were two dark blobs in a sea of black and purple and my face was getting cracks where I was frowning at my reflection. I decided to end the session before the blush and lip work began. The technician tried to sell me the three types of foundation and several tins of eye makeup but her work wasn't a ringing endorsement. I ended up taking home some greenish-brown eyeliner because I wanted her to have some profit for the time she spent spackling me. I wonder if she was just that bad or she was trying to use as many products as possible in hopes of lots of sales.

In the meantime I have two more weeks to figure out a new evening look. Sometimes I wish things were as easy for women as they are for men, who only have to change out their ties every few years. SB's body has barely changed in fifteen years and he can still wear the same slate grey suit that was made for him when he graduated from university.

yeah...I'll get back to you on that

2011-10-07T12:40:00.000+08:00

I recently completed my annual appraisal with the supervisor. At the second question in a questionairre that only Catbert could have written, regarding putting the company's interests above my own, Supervisor asked me about my extracurricular activities and I told him that I have a lot. Like coaching children and participating year round in various sports. Then he gave me a low mark. Somehow I feel that he missed the point of the question. It makes me wonder how much he deducted from the guy who participates in the company's charity racing team, basketball team and soccer team.

SB told me that it isn't a laughing matter because the low marks could affect my professional development so I guess I will raise the issue and several others on my feedback form. Including Supervisor giving me low marks for questions that were not applicable to my evaluation instead of leaving the question blank.

friends like those

2011-10-06T12:52:00.000+08:00

One of SB'c casual friends hit on me last night. We were having an enjoyable conversation and then he had to go and ruin it by getting drunk and becoming less friendly and more...friendly. First I tried to play it off as a jest and then I tried the subtle rebuff. In the end the conversation went something like, "I'm not interested, this isn't fun anymore and you're a d*ck." Then I fixed him with my magnificent stink eye and tried not to trip over anything on my way out. Overall I give myself a seven out of ten on how I handled the situation. I could have done better but I am not used to being hit on anymore. In my early twenties I would have dispatched him with aplomb but I have grown out of practice with good reason. In a city of seven million people there are younger, prettier and easier prey.

HK is probably close to paradise for white, expat men. Everyone seems to assume that white guys make loads of money. SB told me that when he was here in his early twenties he was inundated with pretty, local women. Even after they found out that he was a dirt poor intern only a few lost interest; maybe they were good at long term planning. He will never admit it but I have seen photos from the year that he was here without me and there were a lot of women around. I remember visiting him and noticing several women who wouldn't make eye contact with me and giggled at him like bird brains. Three years later these women are still around but have mostly moved on to other targets. Mostly.

selective hearing and other small wonders

2011-10-04T13:43:00.000+08:00

Last night I had to ask SB to fire up the water heater. I was very excited by the cooler weather and convinced SB to sleep with the windows open. We apparently were premature in our observations of autumn because at some point in the night SB woke up soaked in sweat and miserable. I slept on, unaware of him as he was forced to close all of the windows, cover me in a blanket and turn on the A/C. I only awoke briefly before dawn at the time when SB's metabolism plummets and he steals all of the sheets. He does this every night.

In the course of our relationship we have both made adjustments for the sake of harmony. One of the most effective adjustments for our mutual harmony has been in my sleeping habits. I used to be a very light sleeper but now I sleep like the dead. I have become conditioned to SB's snoring to the point of total oblivion. My parents complain to me about having to move to the guest room in the middle of the night due to each other's snoring and I wish that I knew how I changed into a deep sleeper. I could make mint teaching others how to sleep through anything.

I used to wake up several times every night to SB's loud, ever changing pitch. I remember being groggy and grouchy in the morning because only one of us got more that a couple hours' rest. I don't know if it was gradual or sudden but one day I woke up at our beach rental with X pounding on the door and asking if we had suffered any typhoon damage and I realized that not only did SB's snoring not wake me but a typhoon flooding our living room had no effect. Now unless he has rolled over on top of me I will not wake up. I wonder if I can turn on the temporary deafness when SB is whining at me for breakfast every Saturday morning. That would be a fantastic adjustment.

Ha!

2011-10-03T15:26:00.000+08:00

Ha! Wonderful! That's what Uncle Jon used to bark when discovering that more bad fortune had been added to a previous bad fortune. He said that a lot to the doctors during that last year; only the hospital chaplain laughed with him though.

I imagine that would have been his reaction to reading the latest article by Pamela Sampson regarding the domino effect caused by the future failure of the Greek market to meet their deficit reduction target. Hong Kong-based analyst Francis Lun was quoted describing how everyone (except China) is failing:

"I think Europe really could have done it better. They should have come out much earlier and said they are going to stand by Greece no matter what. Their procrastination really hurt market sentiment," and, "America spent the money incorrectly. To save the Wall Street fat cats, people are much poorer than before. The economic malaise is really caused by unemployment and unemployment is the result of a lack of personal consumption. When you don't have personal consumption, then your economy is going to fall into a tailspin."

right on

2011-10-03T11:05:00.000+08:00

I have decided that there is indeed a cheer more irritating than hearing "USA, USA, USA," ad nauseum; it is hearing the battle cry of "Come on England," at every phase of a match. And everyone yells it in the same deep grunt whether they be male or female.

This has been a rough week for Scottish rugby fans. First a controversial defeat to Argentina, then losing the lead against England in the dying minutes of a match and finally the hope extinguished as Argentina came from behind against Georgia (coached by Scotland's own Richard Dixon no less) to take the second place seat for the knockout round.

In local rugby, my club's top tier men's team is looking good so far after two pre-season warm up matches. The second division team is not looking as good but I will attribute it to over-exuberance of players trying to break into the first division lineup and hope the discipline improves once everyone calms down and the season begins. In the break between matches SB called me over to the lower pitch at King's Park where a softball game was progressing so that I could take some photos of two of his ice hockey teammates who play softball. One of the guys eventually looked up and noticed us. "Hey [insert SB's last name], what's up," he called out and strolled up the stairs toward us as SB returned his greeting. The British lady who was standing nearby told us that she liked how casual we were. I assume she was referring to North Americans because we are American and Bob is Canadian. I also assume she was referring to our easy greetings of each other and not our countries' diplomatic relations. Because politically I don't think they like us very much and we might not like them either if we knew anything about politics.

Later that night we were expressing our sorrow for the Scottish by patronizing Carnegie's before the fireworks when one of our English friends came over with a "Are you alright?" Even though I now know that this is a greeting in similar vein to 'what's up,' and not a question regarding my health or personal woes I still freeze when responding. This leaves a nice, awkward silence as I try not to ask why he is asking me if I'm alright. Luckily this time SB jumped in to save me with a, "Right as rain," response. Now it was our friend's turn for the weird look. Yes, these international colloquial relations are going swimmingly.

into the hills

2011-09-29T12:58:00.000+08:00

As the T8 warning seems to be holding, SB and I have decided to head out for a hike on the Dragon's Back. I wonder if we will run into the T8 Harriers; one of SB's friends was going out to meet them for a noon hash. And I really hope the warning won't get lifted because I'm not going back to the office at this point. After having to pay the taxi driver $60 to take us from Happy Valley to the MTR, which is usually a $20 fare we are on our way. SB loves these storms and is very excited to experience the wind from up above as well as view the ocean from down below in Big Wave Bay. I am going because I don't trust him not to go swimming in dangerous waves. We will probably stand at the headland and argue over just what constitutes a dangerous wave until one washes us both into the ocean.

deviant domestics

2011-09-28T13:58:00.000+08:00

I no longer read my free copy of The Standard to preserve my sanity; the only thing that I miss is the elderly newspaper distributor who would always exchange pleasant greetings with me.

Last night I had to make an exception when one of my Filipina friends brought out the paper to point out a story about the methods used by domestic helpers to gain residency. Without citing any sources or data the "journalist" stated that Indonesian helpers try to marry SE Asian men with permanent residency whilst Filipina helpers prefer Chinese men. Perhaps the writer was a single lady concerned with her marriage prospects since she would be competing against women who can cook, clean, run a household and rear children with time to spare?

The other residency achievement method involved purposely getting pregnant on home leave and giving birth in Hong Kong. The only source used in the article was some lady who bemoaned her helper having gotten pregnant and not being able to do heavy lifting. This reminded me of the horrible lady who lives in my neighborhood that is always screaming verbal abuse at her helper; last month she was standing at the tram stop waiting for a taxi while the helper had to haul all three of her suitcases for her. She couldn't even be bothered to manage the small carry on, which would have greatly lessened the helper's burden of moving three suitcases with only two arms.

I wonder when The Standard will get around to reporting the statistics of births by ladies on domestic worker visas. What are the odds of your helper getting herself knocked up and not being able to carry your 12 year old son to his piano recital?

animal picture of the day

2011-09-28T12:37:00.000+08:00

Can you believe this pwecious wittle seal pup was outcast from his colony for being ginger?!

Neither can I.

Source: Caters News Agency

Nevermind

2011-09-27T16:31:00.000+08:00

One day you wake up and are confronted with the news that Nirvana's breakthrough album is twenty years old. Has it been two decades since your twelve year old self bought that CD for a older friend's birthday party and immediately became the birthday girl's favorite party guest? But oh, yes, it really has been twenty years since you showed up at the party with that tacky, see through red blouse with the black lace bra that frankly had nothing much to cover up. Flat chested as you were, John C still found a reason to sneak you into a closet and make out with you while In Bloom blared in the background.

Back in the present I have been playing the album on my Ipod at the office. My friend at Microsoft tells me that her radio station in Seattle has been playing Nevermind almost nonstop.

and on and on

2011-09-27T14:24:00.000+08:00

On Saturday I went on one of my semi-annual benders although I wasn't really drinking so I don't know if it counts as one. I used to force SB to stay awake with me but in the past couple of years he has run off to sleep and left me to my own devices. He does not like long spells of unrest whereas I was conditioned through seven and a half years of architecture school to all night work sessions. It has come in handy at the office a few times.

The day started with us meeting SB's former classmate who was in town on business. Next, I spent the rest of the afternoon cheering three squads of my club's rugby players who were playing in friendly matches at Aberdeen Sports Ground. Then I was off to the Jockey in Happy Valley for a farewell party for Elliot, the manager of the past five years. Throughout the evening a large assortment of patrons and hospitality staff from other pubs came and went, presenting a living slide show of his life at the pub. I limited my drinking to a couple glasses of wine over the span of almost twelve hours of revelry. I intended to stay awake until 3am to see the France vs. new Zealand rematch but the next thing I knew it was 6:30 and I had missed the match.

With more speed than a vampire in the moments before first dawn I scurried home and attempted to sneak into bed without SB noticing the time. Unfortunately he was in the center of the bed with the sheets rolled around him in a large cocoon with two large feet sticking out at one end and a dishevelled head sticking out of the other end. I managed to squeeze into the space next to him and then attempted to subtly nudge him to his side of the bed. Maybe I could take one end of the sheet and drag him or slowly unroll him in one direction. My attempts woke him up but thankfully he is not a morning person and so true wakefulness was eluded. He lifted his head out of the cocoon and make a few smacking noises for me to kiss him before falling back asleep as I was heaving him in one direction. We both awoke by 9am with him none the wiser about my very late night.

to the edge

2011-09-26T16:19:00.000+08:00

SB brought his skates with him when he went home for the express purpose of getting them sharpened by Michelle at Ambis Industries but it was closed on the day that he drove through town. As far as we know the quonset hut that houses Ambis is no longer used for any other metal works even though the equipment is still there. Word of mouth is that no one had the talent for more complex metalwork after Mr. Ambis passed on but the family continues the tradition of skate sharpening a few times per week. As a side note, boilermakers make a very healthy living these days due to their rarity.

Being committed to achieving the perfect edge, SB drove on for 57 more miles to McKie Sport Shop in Syracuse where his skates were ground and honed to his preferred radius and rocker contour. When he arrived home, he had me stand in front of him while he gently and lovingly removed the purple, velour blade covers and unveiled the glorious sharpness of his skates. So now I know what he was doing instead of picking up my engagement ring. I wasn't sure if I should clap my hands in delight over the shininess of his blades or strangle him.

On Thursday night SB attended the draft for the upcoming hockey season at MegaIce. He was drafted into the Div. 1 league as well as the newly inaugurated contact league. For him this means that he will be allowed to check other players for the first time in years. For me it means twice as much stinky gear drying in the entryway. Ugh. SB was instructing one of the new contact players on how to complete a check when I left the draft. I have to give props to these young guys who have never played contact but are willing to take it on. It was nice of him to offer advice rather than going Godzilla on them.

SB did express pleasure at the thought of taking on one particular player who has been a bit of a teacher's pet (in this case a referee's pet). The two of them played on the same team for the scrimmage before the draft. According to SB their conversation went like this:

SB: I'm really disappointed that we're scrimmaging on the same team. I was looking forward to hitting you.
Referee's Pet: There must be another reason why you're playing in this league.
SB: I'm sure there is; I just can't think of it right now.

chopped liver

2011-09-23T14:21:00.000+08:00

While watching the Rugby World Cup, SB and I began a lively discussion over certain infringements at the breakdown. A referee has to interpret the law in a multitude of ways when watching two sides contest for the ball. The referees have been very strict about tacklers releasing players or being on the wrong side of the tackle (seemingly too strict on some occasions) but other infringements are overlooked such as ruckers not really being on their feet to begin with or going back to their hands and knees in the middle of the ruck and continuing to ruck.

At some point in the discussion another person in the pub joined our discussion, except he didn't really join the discussion as much as he began talking to SB and ignoring me. Another person joined in and they managed to stand in a way that completely cut me out of the discussion. This was not deliberate (I don't think so anyway) but rather they both focused on SB while moving in closer, which caused me to be pushed out of the group and left me staring at their backs. A few times while they were talking SB looked to me for an answer but as soon as I gave it the backs were turned again and discussion continued with SB. Eventually I rolled my eyes and wandered off.

I was irritated and said as much to SB later. He had sympathy for me but that isn't the same as including me in the conversation, much less pointing out to those guys that I was better able to discuss technical aspects of the game. SB asks for my advice when we are together but he isn't exactly forthcoming to others that I know more. I have played the game for longer than he has and I am an IRB qualified coach yet both women and men assume that he is the most knowledgeable one. Last summer when I was coaching a tournament SB came down to observe me. One of the parents who doesn't often go to the matches asked SB how her son was doing, missing the obvious clues such as the fact that I was wearing a kit that read "coach" and was carrying a clipboard with their lineup and statistics while SB was standing at the sidelines wearing flip-flops and carrying a coffee.

sweet revenge and other just desserts

2011-09-22T14:15:00.000+08:00

SB reminds me that correlation does not imply causation but there are high numbers of coincidences between activity with my phone provider and telemarketing activity. Every time that I make a change to my service plan, whether it is to extend the contract or upgrade a service, I am inundated with annoying telemarketing callers within a week. It is very irritating to know that China Mobile and other service providers are happy to sell my information to people who will call me during office hours and late evenings while I am also paying for the phone service that they are indirectly clogging up with unwanted calls. I am especially irritated that some of the telemarketers call from unknown numbers because it would seem that my service provider doesn't care if it sells my info to disreputable and unethical companies.

Therefore it is with a smirk that I read a series of text messages that were recently sent to my phone from China Mobile, warning me of receiving unsolicited offers from another company to change service. It appears that China Mobile sold off its customers' numbers to a competitor who is now asking us to switch over to a more enticing offer. My disgust for my provider is tempered by my admiration for the cleverness of the competitor who was able to obtain a list customers by taking advantage of China Mobile's greed. Not only do they have a high chance of offering a competitive deal due to knowing who we are all presently subscribed to but the competitor may actually be more careful about selling out our information considering how they got to us in the first place.

packing it on before she packs it in

2011-09-21T14:25:00.000+08:00

My coworker B was a wonder to behold over lunch today as I watched her attempting to stuff her face with a barbecue platter. She is usually a healthy eater but she is a few weeks from giving birth to her first child and was undertaking desperate measures to catch up some weight.

For the entirety of her pregnancy B has only put on 13 pounds. At last week's checkup she had only put on half of a pound from the previous week. Despite this, the doctor claimed that the baby was 1.5 pounds bigger than the previous measurement and estimated it to be around 7.5 pounds. I reassured B that I weighed 5 pounds when I was born so if the doctor was correct then it should be okay. "So what is it?" she exclaimed to me, "If I only put on half a pound and the baby put on 1.5 pounds does that mean that I am malnourished?"

When she asked the doctor he laughed off her concern and remarked that it was a good thing because she wouldn't have to worry about all the weight she had to lose after giving birth. Contrary to what the doctor thought, this answer did not please her at all. B is not one of those vain women who diets or calorie counts during pregnancy though she appears to be one of those rare women who retain their perfect figures almost immediately after birth. As much as she may enjoy that fact later, right now she would rather know that her progress is typical of other pregnant women and the variation is upsetting her. Our other coworker is only ten weeks pregnant and has already put on ten pounds but is now avoiding telling B of her progress during B's final weeks.

For now we are treated to the sight of our small boned coworker constantly munching on snacks while looking like a snake who swallowed a bowling ball.

Ithaca: where literal meets figural

2011-09-20T15:28:00.000+08:00

2004: I returned from rugby training to find the letter waiting for me on my kitchen counter. Unlike the large envelope that contained my undergraduate acceptance, this letter was a one page missive and I initially thought that it was a rejection letter. I was disappointed but not surprised considering that my undergraduate school's military tradition and athletic accolades didn't provide much advantage when applying to the top two architecture schools in the country, and Ivy League institutions no less. My joy upon discovering Cornell's acceptance of me was briefly shared with my friends (no one wants to hug a sweaty rugby player for too long) and then I spent the rest of the summer planning my move to New York.

When I arrived in Ithaca on a very rainy fall afternoon, having driven 1800 miles in two days with almost all of my worldly possessions in my car, I did not know that my history was already tied to the area. Later while searching the history of the Fingerlakes region I discovered that an ancestor with my name and birth day had lived in the neighboring lake two hundred years previously. It is strange to see your name and birthday on someone else's obituary. After that I was informed by my landlord that I was living in E.B. White's former home; she told me this fact the indifference of someone who lived in a town so small with a history so rich that almost everyone who lived in Ithaca had experienced a piece of its history. I was told stories of how during the 1950's the local school bus driver was at a loss over what to do with the weird man who was riding along with the children. The weird man later went on to write a story about Humbert Humbert and a nymphette.

Instead of registering for classes with an advisor, students would attend sessions where instructors gave short presentations of their courses and then the studnets would choose the programme that was of the most interest. Sebatien Marot's highly exuberant and somewhat confusing montage of Duchamp, the Iroquois Confederacy, geologist Dr. Ralph Tarr, Simeon DeWitt and Rem Koolhaas was intriguing so one week later I made my way to his lecture to give him a chance to interest me and he delivered. The course provided fodder for his work in progress about the superimposition of Ithaca's geological, political, and literary layers. He took his structure from Duchamp's The Bride Stripped Bare by Her Bachelors, Even (La mariée mise à nu par ses célibataires, même) which we referred to by its informal title, The Large Glass. Much like how Duchamp used physics and mythology to frame his work, we were instructed to find our own medium with which to construct a narrative with Ithaca or Cornell as the bride while bachelors were our choice.

The assignment was (literally) a nightmare. After struggling for a month and not coming up with any direction or methodology I began combing through Cornell's archives, hoping that inspiration could be found in the millions of books located in the stacks. A few weeks before the end of the course I had amassed a mountain of interesting pieces of history and not much else. I stopped attending Marot's office hours because I had nothing further to say. I had dreams about failing the course when I stood up to present and had nothing. Then one day as I was walking home across the suspension bridge I found clarity. Or sorta clarity. I was standing on the bridge looking out at the gorge and began to picture the layers of rock abstractly as layers of people. I would have a three layered Mise-en-scène with a geological bride and each layer represented by a Cornell bachelor whose work pertained to the layer! I rushed home to share my burst of inspiration with my roommates who in turn looked at me like I had hit my head on some of those layers.

One week later I presented the class with my apparatus. Using a system of hinges, springs and slides the shaky and clearly last-minute assemblage of a box slowly unfurled to reveal three representational layers. The bottom was my sub-terra of Ithaca's deep gorges and glacial lakes, shown through my interpretation of the research of Tarr. The middle layer was the terra of physical earth and spiritual inhabitants represented through my interpretation of Nabokov's gnostic themes. The upper layer was the extra-terra and could only be represented through Carl Sagan's lens. As I unfolded the components of my box into its final, sculptural form I spoke abut the works of Tarr, Nabokov and Sagan and how they expanded the fields of geology, literature and astronomy. Then I waited in silence for what seemed like an eternity. I began to rethink my presentation. The other students had lectured for much longer amounts of time with visual aides while I spoke as an aid to my visual apparatus. Then, finally, the silence was broken by a juror scraping his chair across the floor as he scooted in to grasp my project. He liked it. They liked it. I passed. Hallelujah.

Cornell is in Ithaca, NY, Where Greek meets Indian

2011-09-19T14:24:00.000+08:00

The above quote from E.B. White marked the beginning of my course taught by Sebastien Marot. It was uncanny how much Marot's dissertation would reflect upon my life. I came to Cornell as a tabula rasa in many aspects and left the weight of Ithaca's history imprinted upon my person. More on that in the next post but for now I will share the words of one of my favorite instructors.

"Sub-urbanism and Super-urbanism may be considered the most significant subversions to which the concept and practices of urbanism are currently subjected, one being initiated from the realm of landscape architecture, and the other by one of the most creative vanguard of contemporary architecture. While sub-urbanism could be described as a design experiment which holds the site as the matrix in which the program is to be deciphered, super-urbanism, quite to the contrary, stands for an attempt at literally inventing the site through the manipulation and building of the program.

The contemporary hero of super-urbanism is Rem Koolhaas and Delirious New York its undisputed manifesto. For several reasons, which are interesting to reflect upon, sub-urbanism has not yet found such a hero, and has certainly not produced a tale that would have the power of challenging Koolhaas’ “Retroactive Manifesto for Manhattan”. Our ambition, however delirious or playful it may seem, is to correct that by moving the stage set from Manhattan to Ithaca (the seat of Cornell University) where it happens that Koolhaas actually started to work out his theoretical and poetic plot.

Our intention, drawing, like Koolhaas, on the critical paranoid method, is to gather the ingredients of a relative manifesto for sub-urbanism able to suggest both that sub-urbanism can only be advocated relatively (not absolutely), and that super-urbanism is but a moment of sub-urbanism. A tale cannot be challenged, except with another tale.

The lecture will link several narratives, moments and people that were critical in shaping the “topolitics” of Ithaca and Cornell: geographers, scientists, agronomists, engineers, architects, artists and writers. In so doing it will seek to illustrate the idea that every landscape is made of a dense fabric of tales, representations and constructions, and that every building or project is a poem composed and written in that three (or four) dimensional page already saturated with real and virtual constructs.

...In 1978, the year Colin Rowe's Collage City and Oswald Mathias Ungers' "Berlin: The City as a Green Archipelago" both came out, Rem Koolhaas published Delirious New York, A Retroactive Manifesto for Manhattan, a theoretical and poetical masterpiece which can be considered as the manifesto for contemporary super-urbanism (the program fashions the site). Interestingly enough, those three urban manifestoes, each magnetized by a fetish metropolis (Rome, Berlin, New York) share the same "distance point" in the little city of Ithaca, NY, seat of Cornell University where their three authors interacted in 1972-73 and started to build up their theoretical plots. By a curious loop in history, it so happens that this frontier town, located on the inlet of a lake that could figure the geographical antithesis of the Island of Manhattan, was founded by the designer of New York's famous grid (surveyor general Simeon De Witt). Exploiting those coincidences within the laudatio urbis of a hyperlandscape where the poetical adventures of Robert Smithson, Gordon Matta-Clark and Vladimir Nabokov each found their "North-West passage", our ambition is to reverse Rem Koolhaas' demonstration in Delirious New York and produce a relative manifesto for sub-urbanism (the site invents the program). In other words, to quote Fitzcarraldo in Werner Herzog's film, "I am planning something geographical"."

- Sebastien Marot, 'Palimpsestuous Ithaca: A Relative Manifesto for Sub-Urbanism'

Francesco Marullo wrote a fantastic breakdown of Marot's lecture here:

Dear Rick Perry

2011-09-16T10:53:00.000+08:00

How can someone with so little faith in the government be so certain about capital punishment?

234 authorized executions in Texas place you at numero uno of any governor in the history of the United States.

You say that you don't lose any sleep over that fact but I would be having nightmares over the death of Cameron Todd Willingham who was executed for the murder of his three daughters in a case of arson that was later reexamined by the Texas Forensic Commission and Craig Beyler, a fire scientist, and determined that no evidence existed to conclude arson was committed.
But you replaced the chair of the commission, who cancelled the meeting that would have finalized the conclusion that an innocent man was executed under your reign just before Beyler was to present his evidence to the commission. You denied Willingham's family the peace of mind of knowing that the fire was a terrible accident and their son and husband was innocent but at least it kept your record clean. Maybe someone who would make such a cynical move without qualms can sleep very well at night.

fitting a square peg into a round hole

2011-09-15T11:47:00.000+08:00

When we moved into our flat last year I decided to switch dining tables. Our old set was inherited from the previous tenant whose flat SB had subleased when he moved here and it was miserably uncomfortable. My posterior quarters actually went numb during Thanksgiving dinner in 2009. I found a replacement set online from an expat who was leaving Hong Kong. The viewing times for her moving sale were during my office hours so I would be buying it sight unseen but it was originally purchased from G.O.D. so I went to the store to view it there. The store no longer carried the same set but had a similar one with zebra wood and I liked it a lot. However, when the second hand set was delivered it became clear that the table was much, much bigger than the one I had viewed at G.O.D. It took up almost the entire dining area! One of the movers looked at me with a deadpan expression and suggested that I could move it to the bedroom and place a mattress on top. We kept it in the dining area even though it significantly reduced the space. In the meantime I have heard endless comments from SB besmirching my architectural abilities.

Recently my firm has upgraded our printers. The new color plotters arrived last week and are slightly larger than the previous ones, taking up a bit of the aisle in the printing shop. The last of the copiers was supposed to be installed today but we ran into a problem: it does not fit. The ink cartridges alone are larger than my personal printer. The thing is so large that it would not fit through the opening of the office and even if it did, it would take up all of the circulation space. It is about the size of a small car.

There is not much worse than the sight of half a dozen architects standing around with measuring tape and scratching their heads.

tick tock

2011-09-14T15:43:00.000+08:00

I am attending two weddings next month. One of the brides met her future husband a few months before SB proposed to me. This fact led me to bring up our delayed/aborted wedding plans with SB. He told me that he had been thinking a lot about our wedding plans and then began to list out ideas in a way that sounded like some kind of stream of consciousness performance. The conversation died a painful death soon after.

With each passing day of our years' long engagement I become more convinced to elope. I do not think that I will survive wedding planning with SB; his ADHD will push my patience to the breaking point. Since his informal proposal in 2009 he has thought really hard at short intervals about my ring but there is still nothing in the works. I told him to just ask his mother for the ring that his father gave to her but he forgot to do that when he was visiting her last month and hasn't thought about it since. I originally wasn't sure that I wanted the ring because his parents are divorced but any squeamishness has been overridden by despair at the thought of him choosing one for me before this decade is over.

He has all sorts of random and varied ideas about how he would like our wedding to be but he has done absolutely nothing to bring anything about because his ADHD makes him adverse to decision making and favorable to procrastination. I have no interest in planning a wedding alone, especially since I am sure it would include having to buy the ring and arrange for when he should give it to me down to writing the proposal script. Yeah, not interested. At. All.

I can't even pretend to support his ideas anymore because the more he talks, the further away it becomes. I want to give him a deadline to put a plan together or else we should elope and get it over with. I am stuck between Scylla and Charybdis because he hates being given deadlines and yet he only makes decisions when forced to. I want the wedding to be a joyful occasion but it is becoming an endless frustration waiting for him to dream on while several of our grandparents have literally dropped dead in the meantime. We both agree that happily ever after is our goal rather than the wedding itself. I would even live happily ever after without the legal bindings if only we could just get it over with, one way or another. Oh please let it be over soon.

a whole lot of shaking going on

2011-09-12T14:18:00.001+08:00

The floor underneath me has been shaking on and off since this morning. My coworker thinks that it is from some nearby MTR construction or pile driving in a neighboring site. I work at the Hopewell Centre in Wanchai. If anyone can tell me why the ground is shaking I would really appreciate it. I am feeling more skittish about it than I probably should and would like to ease my mind.

a decade later

2011-09-09T13:52:00.000+08:00

I will tell this story to the best of my recollection.

SB's friend K is a remarkable man. Years ago he quit his finance job and spent years traveling around the world, engaging in all sorts of exciting activities. He kayaked from Canada to the Gulf of Mexico. He rode his bicycle across the United States. While in India he grew a beard so that he could enter Yemen with minimum attention.

Ten years ago during he worked in a finance company on Church Street in New York City. One morning he was having a meeting in the center of his office when a huge explosion rocked the building. Nothing was spoken after that; the meeting broke up as each colleague ran for an exit. Interestingly, each of the four colleagues at the meeting chose a different emergency exit. Three of them made it out of the building in minutes but K had chosen the wrong exit.

He ended up in a mass of confusion as people were running in both directions. The exit floor had become blocked with debris and smoke so eventually he made his way onto a refuge floor with several colleagues. After about half an hour later he went back to the staircase and discovered that some of the smoke had cleared and firefighters were ascending the stairs. Some of the people on the refuge floor opted to wait but he decided to go down the staircase. The fire at the bottom was not as bad as it had seemed.

Once outside he began walking from the building with a couple of women who had exited with him. He had lost his colleagues. As they walked away a loud noise drew his attention. He looked back to see a sight that most of the world has now also seen. He told the women with him not to turn around but they did. One woman fell to the ground. Eventually they did the only thing left to do and began walking again. He lived close to his office so he took the women to his home where they stayed for some amount of time before going on. I didn't ask if he found out their names or ever saw them again.

Most of us know where we were at that time. I spent that morning in the stairwell of my school, offering comfort to a stranger. We have forged a friendship out of the day that we were united by our grief and fear though we have never spoken about it. But I am writing it down now as a record or what was lost and gained.

horrible

2011-09-08T10:08:00.000+08:00

Like many other media sources this morning's Standard reported the airplane crash that killed most of the members of KHL's Lokomotiv Yaroslavl. They also couldn't resist including a picture of a body being hauled out of the wreckage, unlike other media organizations. Scanning through the rag at my bus stop, I was unprepared to come across the image but was immediately disgusted. I also felt horror because the body had more than a passing resemblance to SB's physique. I would have been devastated to see my beloved's body plastered across a newspaper.

I will agree that images of death can be important to convey the gravity of a situation. I can even agree that they are truthful images that are part of a record. But I do not agree with the tabloid-like exploitation of such images for shock and titillation value. I will say no thank you next time the paper is offered to me at my bus stop.

face time

2011-09-07T12:24:00.000+08:00

SB and I occasionally break our fast at the HV Classified. He likes the muffins, I like the bagels and we both like the coffee. Aside from a few fellow rugby players, we notice that the breakfast crowd there consists of nicely dressed individuals who we don't usually see in our weekend meanderings. I wonder if this is because they socialize in the fancier clubs of LKF where SB and I rarely venture. We would probably never go to LKF if it weren't for our Cornell friends' invitations.

During breakfast a couple of women sat at the table adjacent to ours and began a somewhat exuberant conversation about a man who one of the ladies was interested in. From the snippets that I heard, she was complaining to her friend about him showing his true colors or something to that effect, I gathered as a result of drinking heavily during a party the night before. The conversation caused me to reflect on when I used to be single; the women next to me were not different from my girlfriends and me. I remember meeting up for brunch after a memorable evening and having similar discussions. During the summer of 2004 I was immersed in a humorous soap opera involving a French rugby player, a 21 year old wrestler and my former university crush who had suddenly developed an interest in me though he had never looked twice at me during university. During those days it seemed that dating conditions only occurred in flood or famine; there were either no single men to be found or they were coming out of the woodwork.

In the single girl days I wore summer dresses to brunch much like I do now, only then I would have accessorized with a purse and earrings while now I simply throw on the dress and follow my starving partner out the door. The girls sitting next to us were of an entirely different league of women from my friends and me. They were dressed in clinging, cotton dresses that I would only have worn in the evening, with full makeup and jewelry. I was impressed.

I couldn't stop glancing over at the woman sitting across the table; she was flawless. I have always viewed such women with a mixture of awe and curiosity. I know plenty of women, my mother included, who would never leave home without battle paint. I wonder if they are happy with their naked faces when they wake up in the morning. Is the makeup viewed as enhancement or a concealment?

The woman across from me was groomed from her perfectly sculpted and lined brows to her exceptionally even, soft and glowing complexion. I am a reasonably talented artist and can build architectural models with surgical precision (I even use surgical forceps to place tiny mullions) but I would be unable to replicate her facial mastery. I wondered if the effort was for herself or for her quarry and if it was successful.

SB had finished his coffee and was ready for the day to begin so I was forced to halt my amateur anthropology and follow him out but I'm still wondering.

Probably the biggest of my biggest irrational fears

2011-09-06T20:29:00.002+08:00

if ever were whenever

2011-09-06T13:22:00.000+08:00

Last night I was flipping through our sports channels when I found the Texas A&M vs. SMU football game. I immediately ran to put on my Aggie ring and yell along with the rest of the 12th men. After watching one of their strongest showings since 1999 I flipped the channel to see that Setanta was showing highlights of the Harlequins match so I could ooh and ahh over the mad skillz of my beloved Nick Evans. I reminded SB for probably the 50th time of how I just knew Nick Evans was something special after watching him in 2004. Then I reminded him for probably the 30th time of how Graham Henry should have done more to keep Nick in New Zealand and given him more chances to start for the All Blacks because Dan Carter's understudies have so far been underwhelming.

SB remarked that he was sure that Nick Evans appreciated my loyalty. Not likely since he has thousands of fans now but maybe in 2004 he would have liked to hear my sentiments. If I had been on Facebook in 2004...I probably still would not have shared my sentiments. Never mind. The only person I share my regards with is USA 7's player Justin Boyd and that is mostly because we both played rugby for Texas A&M. If I recall correctly he was class of '06 while I was class of '03 and he was a real pleasure to watch. It is still a pleasure to read his posts and share in his successes.

"This is the best night ever!" I enthusiastically informed SB after watching several hours of sports. He immediately sought to bring me to reality by turning to the Animal Planet where there was some show on about animal psychics or haunted cats or something. Seriously, how was that show even able to last one season?

burn

2011-09-05T13:39:00.000+08:00

SB brought back a lacrosse stick for me from his trip back home so we spent a few hours throwing a ball back and forth on Saturday. I had not wielded a lacrosse stick in three years so my forearm and side were very sore yesterday.

Later SB and I ran a few defensive drills. They were mostly for his benefit because women's lacrosse does not allow such contact to my chagrin. In ice hockey you can have the option of playing with or without contact and I wish that women had the option of playing with men's rules. We had a fun time with SB dodging back and forth while I lightly checked him with my stick.

As we were running back and forth a man with a heavy Scottish accent came running up to us to ask, "Is that lacrosse?" He was practically reaching for my stick so I handed it over to him. "This is a girl's stick," I told him, trying to explain the differences in the pocket and how you can't do a windup like with the male sticks. Then I realized that it didn't matter because he probably had no prior experience. He and SB tossed the ball back and forth; he was impressive using it for the first time and I wondered what previous sports he had played so that his coordination was so good. Maybe ice hockey?

Later another family came over to observe and I offered my stick to the children to play with. The little boy was very pleased but his older sister shook her head and hid behind her mother. It caused me to wonder if that behavior was innate or learned? I have friends whose children do the same thing and it is so often that the boys will be bold and the girls will hide. But yet when the children are very young they are equally shy or bold. With the six year olds that play rugby they are equally bold and timid but in the general population I notice a gender division in behavior and I can't imagine that we would teach our kids to be shy on purpose.

crying out loud

2011-09-04T12:37:00.000+08:00

This weekend SB and I have been playing the collection of music on my ipod in alphabetical order by song. We are in the latter part of the C's. I can't believe how many songs are Crazy, Creepy and Criminal.

get over it

2011-09-02T10:56:00.001+08:00

As SB was showing me pictures from his holiday back home he pointed out an image of the family at the lake. When he had shown the pictures to Molly, his childhood girlfriend, she had asked who was the muscular guy in the background. "It was me," he crowed while I rolled my eyes.

Last night after the HK Cup, which the US won over Canada by 5-0, I was chatting with one of the Canadian players when SB emerged from the shower, shirt unbuttoned in is his usual post game state because he continues to sweat for hours after physical exertion. The Canadian player is the only person who spends more time shirtless than SB; he is a good looking, young Apollo with a glowing tan and abs that are almost obscene. On the other hand, SB's physique resembles Hasselhoff in the Baywatch days: older and fuzzier but not without his special charm. When SB was young Apollo's age he was a beast but now he has whittled down to a strapping, middle aged man with less hair on top. Or maybe it is just migrating South.

As young Apollo and SB exchanged barbs about each other's physique I caught myself staring at SB. Or to be more specific, I was leering. Young Apollo's visually pleasing, smooth golden-ness doesn't have quite the effect as my mountain man. Cousin Shoils thinks that he may have too much testosterone, and she may be right, but I can't help how my heart goes pitter-patter when he's around me, oozing sweat or testosterone from his pores. I probably ought to get a hold of myself one of these days. I imagine it is quite awkward for SB to be having a conversation with one of his buddies while I am eyeing him like he's a giant chocolate bunny. But I do have a sweet tooth.

who stoops to conquer?

2011-08-31T12:52:00.000+08:00

As the only native English speaker in my company I am often asked to review colleagues' abstracts and papers. I don't mind performing the extra task because I enjoy learning about their work. I also must admit that I have a need to practice proper grammar and formal language; I have concerns that I might be learning too many bad habits here. I recently heard myself asking a server, "Can I have a glass of water?" I could almost hear my father responding with, "I don't know; can you?"

I especially enjoy editing one particular colleague's papers because he writes mainly about environmental issues that interest me and he has a good command of English. His mistakes are usually easy to correct. Today he sent an eleven page paper which had me pulling at my hair. His typical succinct and meaningful style was replaced by a barely coherent ramble through several loosely related topics with no apparent thesis or conclusion. The language reminded me of a time when I tried to use Google Translate to read an archaeological paper that had been written in German. I had an uncomfortable suspicion that my colleague was not the author of the paper but who plagiarizes something that is drastically below his own level of intellect?

I once sat on a tribunal at Cornell concerning a student who was accused of plagiarizing a piece of Spanish literature. The facts were mind boggling: the student was in an intermediate level Spanish literature class despite the fact that he was a native Spanish speaker and he had previously completed the beginner level Spanish classes with obviously straight A's. He may have become too lazy considering that he probably never had to study for any of his exams. For the literature class all he needed to do was write a story or poem in Spanish but instead he submitted a story that he had copied from a Bolivian author. In most cases a professor would submit a written statement regarding a plagiarism offense but the Spanish professor was so enraged that she personally attended the tribunal. She ranted at the lack of requirements, which allowed a native speaker to enroll in elementary classes of his language and spoke scathingly of the type of student who would repeatedly enroll in the most basic of such classes. But the gravest offense was that he had plagiarized from an author who she considered to the lowest form of hack. From her description his paper was the English equivalent of submitting an excerpt of Dan Brown's Da Vinci Code to a class taught by Umberto Eco. I still marvel at his gall.

if you had to choose

2011-08-30T23:04:00.000+08:00

I know, I know but I do like him so. This time I won't post semi-nude images of him.

Bill Maher: If you had to choose between a great meal and mediocre sex, what would you choose?
Anthony Bourdain: ...depends on who's cooking and who's f@cking

video here:
http://jezebel.com/5828721/bourdain-food-and-sex-mix

we respectfully request to exercise our right to protest

2011-08-30T15:02:00.000+08:00

My building's management sent out a notification that there would be a protest in our lobby cum public open space. Don't get me started on how developers are able to build beyond site area restrictions by claiming marble gilded office lobbies are for public consumption.

Here is what was contained within the notice:

Special Notice
We would like to inform you that there will be a demonstration in the following date & time :-
Date : 31 － 08－ 2011 (Wednesday)
Time : 2:30 pm to 3:15 pm
Organization : Concerning cross-border students
Forecasted no. of demonstrants : 40
Forecasted affected location : 2/F main lobby & corridor
Should you have any queries or need any assistance, please contact us on 2893 9369.
The Management Office
Remarks: The demonstration is well noted by the Police and the relevant government departments already. The management office and the Police assured to coordinate and monitor the demonstration until all demonstrants leave the building.

I like how accommodating the protesters are. Not only do they obtain prior approval to use the public space due to safety concerns or whatever reason there is, but they are within a group that can be easily contained and within a time frame when hardly anyone in the area will even know that they are present. I certainly would never have known a protest was going on downstairs if it weren't for the notice; I wonder if they are seeking any visibility of their plight.

just one of those days

2011-08-29T16:55:00.000+08:00

I should have gone back to bed when I woke up but the day looked pretty bright from my window. I kissed SB goodbye and bounced into the elevator. From there everything began going down. A couple got on at the fourth floor and I smiled in greeting, only they did not smile back. After a dismissive glance at me the man turned his back; his wife didn't even return my gaze but stood in front of the door so she could be the first to exit. On the ride to work no one wanted to let our bus merge into the turning lane while cars in the lane behind us began laying on their horns. At the office I held the door open for the woman behind me and she walked through without bothering to thank me . I didn't recognize her so she may be new but I'm hoping that she is only visiting.

At noon my supervisor sent me an email with an assignment that was to be turned in to our director by 2pm. He claimed that he had sent me the email on Friday but somehow the mail did not go through. Funny how often this happens and only right before a deadline. So I worked through lunch while hunger and irritation gnawed at me.

I am trying to think happy thoughts right now to lower my blood pressure. Baby pandas. Fresh lime soda. Mango shaved ice. Laughing with the girlfriends. Bedtime pontification with SB. I really should have gone back to bed.

fishing

2011-08-26T13:31:00.000+08:00

When I was a little girl I lived in Braemar Hill, in a community filled with families. Our complex has lots of space for me to ride my bicycle at breakneck speeds (I have a large scar on my shin to prove it) and a natural area with ponds and trees where I would build forts and hang rope swings. during the mid Autumn festival the pond area would be packed with children, all carrying our lanterns. We would make paper boats and place the candles from our lanterns into the boats to float across the pond. More candles were adhered with wax to the bridge over the pond as well as the pond edge. Once per year the pond would come alive with flickering lights and laughter from dozens of children.

My sister always had a winged creature for her lantern while I always had a cellophane fish. This was my favorite holiday, even more beloved than Christmas. My family was very practical and Christmas was never a blowout of outrageous gifts like it was for my friends; I would receive one or two toys, some clothing and a couple of small items. But during the mid Autumn festival I was given a beautiful lantern with a candle and allowed to go to the park after dinner for an hour of unsupervised revelry. With fire! I made use of every drop of wax before my sixty minutes were over.

Lately I have seen several cellophane fish lanterns in store displays and I have begun to yearn for one. None of the stores with fish lanterns is selling theirs so I will have to figure out where to buy one. Does anyone know where I can buy a cellophane fish lantern?

full fare

2011-08-25T14:16:00.000+08:00

SB arrived back from the States and promptly unpacked part of his bags so that he could repack his hockey bag, his priority placed on participation in the Hong Kong Cup. Only four teams compete: Hong Kong, Canada, USA and the World. Switzerland makes up half of the world and is not very neutral in this competition.

My job was simple: leave the office at an hour that would afford the necessary time to be at the rink by 10:10pm to watch my fuzzy American skate around, trip over his feet, clobber a few people, get whacked in the knees by someone's stick and all the other shenanigans that happen when somewhat talented amateurs take to the ice. Unfortunately simple is not a word that appears in my vocabulary.

I arrived at the office an hour early so that I could leave by 6:30, get in a run and then continue to the rink. Instead I was handed an only too typical late afternoon assignment that was due the next morning. In the meantime SB realized that he had forgotten to pack his skates so I had to rush home and grab them, eliminating the possibility that I could take a bus to Megabox. I was attempting to send a message to SB to let him know that I was on my way when my taxi was cut off by a crazy lady in a minivan. The taxi had to brake so hard that the skates launched into the air and my phone flew out of my hands. Boy am I glad that I put blade covers on the skates; they were recently sharpened in Syracuse and have deadly edges. Once I ascertained that the skates had not caused any mortal wounds I turned my attention to finding the phone but it was nowhere to be seen.

As I was removing the floor mats and crawling on the floor the taxi driver took notice and passed me a flashlight to aid my search. I turned over everything in the back of the taxi with no luck. Then he tried to call my number but we could not hear the phone ringing. We tried a few more times until my phone suddenly answered. Then the phone hung up. Then the phone returned his call. At this point we came to two separate conclusions. The driver thought that I was mistaken and had left my phone behind somewhere. Since I had been in the process of texting SB I knew this was not the case and concluded that the phone had somehow slipped in under the seat. This seemed very unlikely because the phone had to have fallen into the small crack where the seat belt is but it was the only explanation I could think of for why the phone was answering and redialling: my movement on the seat above was activating the functions.

Eventually the aggrieved taxi driver pulled over to let me search his car. We pulled all of the mats out and I ran my fingers through some disgustingly grimy crevices. Finally I asked him to remove the seat. "You cannot remove it," he protested. "Yes, you can." I assured him, pointing out two crusty release latches. I could see that he was reluctant and for good reason because the seat would probably be a nightmare to put back but a simple math equation told me that the phone was worth more than he would probably make during his entire shift so I was willing to pay for him to stand by the side of the road all night long while I tore apart and put back together his car. He decided to help me and we removed the back seat to reveal a gruesome scene. Underneath the seat was a collection of tissue, paper, food bits, money and my phone.

I gingerly plucked it from the mess. Then I noticed that some of the coins were of high value. I pointed out the ten dollar coin near my phone and he quickly grabbed it. Feeling grateful for his help in locating my phone, I helped him to grab some of the spare change in the pile. We pulled out about $40 in coins before he reached to replace the seat, probably wanting to get me to my destination before any other disasters occurred. The seat was not as difficult to replace as I had feared and only took three tries to line everything up in the dark.

I gave the taxi driver a $50 tip for being so helpful. When I exited the cab he pulled away to the waiting area on the other side of the street. I strongly suspected that he was going to pick up the back seat and finish scavenging for change. I arrived at SB's tournament covered in black grease stains but since I wasn't carrying food he didn't notice a thing.

cuts and razors

2011-08-23T13:43:00.000+08:00

Never attribute to malice that which is adequately explained by stupidity.
- Hanlon's Razor

"...Republicans (and spineless Democrats) get away with eschewing science, logic, and morality in these cases simply by taking advantage of the laziness of the American people. We really don’t wanna think about anything too hard, so we’ll generally accept any two sides of an argument as legitimate, even if one or both are clearly absurd. I call it Occam’s Sledgehammer: If someone says something, and you want to believe it, you’ll take their reason as valid."
- "Occam's Sledgehammer" by Avery Walker

Source: Wikipedia

Other interesting bites offered up by Mr. Walker in his informative if not ranting cloumn:

"As several small nations prepare to evacuate because of rising ocean levels, and the Pentagon draws up arms-transfer scenarios after India’s fall to climate change, Americans prefer to believe that all of this is simply the product of left-wing lunacy. "

"So I wonder: Exactly how much evidence does it take for Americans to be convinced that a thing is true? And how much evidence to the contrary does it take for Americans to abandon an established belief? When I look at America’s widely held beliefs on subjects like global warming, drug safety, or even evolution, the only answer I can come up with is, “An arkload.”"

"Many farmers who claim not to believe in evolution actually use it to breed livestock in between harvesting genetically-altered plants."

"...we know that water vapor, CO2 and other greenhouse gases trap heat, which can be proven quite easily in any setting. We also know that our atmosphere is made up of 78 percent nitrogen, 21 percent oxygen, one percent argon, as well as traces of water vapor, CO2, methane, and other heat-trapping (greenhouse) gases. We know that these gases hold heat from the sun. And, finally, we know that in the last 250 years, we have increased the concentration in our atmosphere by 31 percent. So, one would expect that this would cause the temperature of the Earth to increase, as more heat is trapped in the atmosphere. Doesn’t take a genius—or a “think tank”—to hypothesize the outcome of this grand experiment. Lo and behold, it seems that our non-genius is right: the temperature of the Earth is, indeed, rising—by .08-.22 degrees centigrade since 1979."

counting the days

2011-08-22T12:04:00.000+08:00

Now that a couple of weeks have gone by the novelty of sleeping the whole night through without waking up to box SB and indignantly squeak at him for squishing me has worn off. It's not that I don't mind having a good night's rest; I happen to look very refreshed in the morning and my body doesn't ache from being flattened throughout the night. It just happens to be that I miss him. A lot. I have gone from the first few days of "yippee, I have the whole bed to myself" to "hmm, it's awfully quiet" to "boohoo, I have no one to talk to."

I miss the continuous banter. I miss the nightly story telling and laughter. And dammit, I even miss the morning ritual of forcing Mr. Grouchypants out of bed.

He says that he misses me as well. His voice sounds so sweet that I think he means it. But I happen to know that he is in his favorite place in the world, listening to the soulful calls of the loon that nests in the lake outside his window and sleeping with his sister's dog who happens to be his favorite dog in the world. I can't compete with that. I do not curl up on his feet during the cold Adirondack nights. And if I did manage to curl up at his feet it wouldn't have the same effect here where it is one degree cooler than Hades. He would probably kick me.

Dear GOP

2011-08-19T13:49:00.000+08:00

I’m not sure how it happened but the changes have been occurring so rapidly that even this loyal fiscal conservative has been shocked out of complacency. There was a time when we wouldn’t leave a child behind but that time has long since passed, replaced by a tilt so far to the right that I suspect the entire party has suffered a catastrophic stroke to the left side of the brain. How else can I explain the paranoia, memory loss, incoherence and moody outbursts? How am I to take you seriously when you extol the virtues of Reagan, an adherent of bipartisan compromise, and then hold the country hostage to your demands?

I have also shifted from concern to alarm at your declining level of intelligence. I don’t need to digress into explaining the worthiness of science and those who undertake scientific inquiry; I can only state as strongly as possible that if the majority of scientists believe in global warming then I will take their word for it. If not their word then I can always look at the research and draw the same conclusions. It is almost amusing that Rick Perry disavows global warming when Texas is under the worst drought in recorded history, which will likely cost over $4 billion USD in losses. And for the record, evolution is a theory, meaning that it is supported through repeated testing. Evolution is also supported by evidence of natural selection, adaptation, heredity and Mendel’s laws of inheritance. Yes, laws as in indisputably observed and expressing a fundamental scientific principle. Creationism is not a theory as it is unproven and yet very clever because its supposed proof rests on the belief in a miracle: a event of divine intervention, statistically unlikely and by definition an interruption of the laws of nature.

But the most serious cause for concern is your disregard for the principles of our country. All men are created equal. All men have a right to life, liberty and the pursuit of happiness. Call it American exceptionalism, Christian reconstructionism, whatever –the fact remains that singling out a group of people based on religion or sexual preference and denying them their rights is discriminatory and contrary to the tenets of our great constitution. If there were no other impediment in place I still could not in good conscience support a candidate who denies the civil liberties of another American. This is my generation’s Mason-Dixon line and I know where my feet are planted. Until my party replaces its addled, ailing leadership I cannot in good conscience support it. So F you very much GOP for breaking my heart.

I'm going back there someday

2011-08-18T14:50:00.000+08:00

Who doesn't love the muppets? Actually, I don't want to know who. Probably only Disturbed individuals would not like Jim Henson's entirely lovable, marionette puppets. I admit that my enjoyment of Australian rugby commentators is tied to my fond memories of Statler and Waldorf.

Back in their heyday the muppets collaborated with a large assortment of musicians ranging from Ozzy Osbourne to Stevie Wonder. And who could forget about Victor Borge and Rolf's performance of Hungarian Rhapsody No. 2.? Now, my favorite muppet tunes have been remade by the current generation of musical artists in The Green Album. OK Go starts it off with the Muppet Show theme song followed by Weezer covering The Rainbow Connection. Though not as diverse as the original offering of the muppets when they introduced children to everything from classical music to heavy metal, the album evokes similar joyful feelings that I had a a child.

You can stream the entire album through NPR's website, linked here: The Green Album

Goggles Office Edition

2011-08-17T10:13:00.000+08:00

I have a supervisor who clogs my inbox with dozens of messages. He sends out e-mails for every thought that has ever crossed his mind to the point that his Internet traffic could qualify him as a spam-bot. I am left to sort through them and determine the necessity of the messages and then turn to him and answer as he sits less than five meters beyond my desk. As an aside, it is interesting how the use of capital letters and exclamation points is inversely proportional to the actual importance of the message.

It is not uncommon to receive a request to complete a task that was previously completed and provided to him. It is also not uncommon to receive a directive to do something that is entirely contradictory to what the team agreed to do which then causes our director to chastise all of the team members since he also is copied on the contradictory emails and thinks that we are idiots.

I have spent many a morning steaming over my inbox and have come to one conclusion: Google needs to develop a Gmail Goggles application for businesses.

Currently Goggles is a Labs feature that was developed to stop the e-mail version of drunk dialing. It can be set up so that if you send an e-mail at a certain time of night (i.e. between midnight and 4am) you will be asked to confirm if you really want to send it. It also has a feature that requests for you to solve a few, simple math equations before your email can be sent to verify your state of mind.

(image courtesy of gmailblog)

I think that a Goggles Office Edition would be highly beneficial in terms of time saved and blood pressure reduced. It would be worth its weight in gold for me not to have to spend one more minute biting my tongue as our director tries to puzzle out why the team can't seem to recall anything that we agreed upon, in some cases less than five minutes after a meeting. A simple reminder of "Was this issue resolved in the meeting while you were playing on your iphone?" or "Are you sure this isn't redundant?" may reduce my inbox load and my blood pressure significantly.

you bright young people

2011-08-16T18:08:00.000+08:00

Happy birthday to seventy-eight-year-old former U.S. surgeon general Joycelyn Elders (born Minnie Lee Jones on August 13, 1933). In honor of one of the only appointees in recent times who spoke from scientific reasoning rather than religious-biased or politically softened mumbo jumbo I offer the following kernels of advice from Ms. Elders:

"You bright young people — and I love you — but you don't know what it was like for us old folk, when you couldn't have birth control pills, when condoms were not as readily available and we didn't have all the other contraceptives that are now on the market. I think if the women of this country — whether black, white, young, old, Democrat or Republican — cause the reproductive rights of any of our citizens to be lost, then we should never forgive ourselves."

source: http://www.theroot.com/views/root-interview-jocelyn-elders

robo-rick

2011-08-15T16:52:00.000+08:00

Texas governor Rick Perry has thrown his hat into the ring this weekend. I had suspected that he would and am very curious to how the nation perceives him. In an appalling GOP atmosphere of extremism I think he will either go over like a firecracker or sink like a dud.

When I lived in Texas I had some customers at my bar who moved in those circles. They were the most gossipy group of men other than rugby players, always engaged in wheeling, dealing, back stabbing and intrigue. It is common knowledge within the state that despite being governor and lieutenant governor, George Bush and Rick Perry had no love lost between themselves. Perry seemed to have both an inferiority complex and a superiority complex to the wealthy Bush family. I had to respect that Perry picked up his own boot straps and got himself to where he was through his own merit but that may be where the respect ended. Compared to Perry, George W is a liberal. Whereas W is a "compassionate conservative," i.e. his policies allow for social welfare and immigration reform, Perry is hardcore conservative all the way. His views, including "American exceptionalism" (oh the irony) echo those of the religious right as well as the tea party but he may be too reasonable to fall in with the wild conspiracy theories that seem to have taken a hold of the Republican party.

If there was one theme that was repeated to me from my politically well placed customers it was that Rick Perry has no personality. He apparently is all god and politics with not much else. Though Pawlenty has exited the race Jon Stewart may still be able to use his oak tree representation of a candidate. But it is not as though his personality suffered due to his educational steadfastness.

There's the issue of Perry's poor academic record. His grades make Bush look brilliant; barely anything above a C including a C in U.S. History, a D in Shakespeare, a D in the principles of economics, a C in gym (seriously?!), a D in veterinary anatomy, a F in a second course on organic chemistry and a C in animal breeding. It may explain why as governor he thought is was a great idea to gut the university system and implement a business type model; if only he could have paid for better grades back in the day.
As someone who voted for Kay Bailey Hutchinson over Perry for the Republican nomination and is still confused over how Perry became governor I can only shake my head and watch.

these chavs burning down Selfridges...

2011-08-10T16:43:00.000+08:00

"These chavs burning down Selfridges etc...what they don't realise is that they are putting their chav chop-assistant girlfriends out of work. Their chav jobless girlfriends will then need money to pay for their chav clothes (from primark and JJB), and their chav perms (from Stacee's House of Styles)...Who do the chavs tink their chav girlfriends are going to turn to for said money? Fail."

- quoted from a friend who shall remain nameless

The above presents a study of cultural anthropology. I have no idea of the cultural norms of British society but the statement hints at a lifestyle for a certain segment of the population who may be running amok in the Tottenham High Road. Chav perms. Who knew?

the Tenth Dan

2011-08-10T12:02:00.000+08:00

Photo credit: Lance Iversen / The Chronicle

I wanted to share an uplifting story via The San Francisco Chronicle. Sensei Keiko Fukuda was recently the first woman ever promoted to tenth dan after a very long wait (she is only the sixteenth person to have achieved this rank). At 98 years old she is the last living student of Judo founder Kanō Jigorō and has been practicing since 1935. Previously she had waited for two decades before a prohibition barring her from being elevated to sixth dan was reversed in 1972. Sensei Fukada teaches judo three days per week at a dojo in California.

I am so with you

2011-08-09T14:23:00.000+08:00

“I think the reason why twentysomethings are so fixated on age is because we feel a pressure to be a certain way at 23, at 25, at 29. There are all of these invisible deadlines with our careers and with love and drinking and drugs. I can’t do coke at 25. I need to be in a LTR [Long Term Relationship] at 27. I can’t vomit from drinking at 26. I just can’t! We feel so much guilt for essentially acting our age and making mistakes. We’re obsessed with this idea of being domesticated and having our shit together. It’s kind of sad actually because I don’t think we ever fully get a chance to enjoy our youth. We’re so concerned about doing things “the right way” that we lose any sense of pleasure in doing things the wrong way. Youth may be truly wasted on the young.”

- Why Do Twentysomethings Always Feel So Old - Ryan O’Connell
via jennabee (via juneandafter (via littlelaur))

I had the list of to-dos also. I have had damn lists since I was thirteen telling me when to move to each base in a relationship, where to be in terms of job vs. career, where to go and what to do. I have rewritten my manuscript of lists compulsively and religiously. But I accomplished a lot of those lists while managing to have a good time so it isn't half bad.

Now that I'm in my early thirties I can't be bothered with a list. I reap the rewards of a previously hard driven era in my life. I also must undo some of my moronically unimportant goals. Why was growing up/settling down so important?

momma shoulda warned you

2011-08-08T14:22:00.000+08:00

On Saturday night I watched the England-Wales match at my local pub which has a decidedly more mature crowd than the youngsters at Carnegies. I was joined my my young friend A and her boyfriend. A is a looker; even if she wasn't so gorgeous she would capture notice due to being an almost six feet tall Asian. Thankfully her boyfriend is on the of most laid back people you can meet because she gets a lot of attention anywhere we go. That evening a somewhat intoxicated older gentleman was very keen on her. His two friends brilliantly executed a blocking maneuver where they stood between A and her boyfriend and tried to strike up conversation with him while their friend was turning on the charm with A. The boyfriend was amused enough with their strategy that he played along for a few minutes before executing his own move by casually standing up to his 6'4" height and causing everyone to take a step back, thus clearing away the blockers. I was impressed.

The older charmer was very good; I think he might have said everything a woman would want to hear from a man within the first ten minutes of conversation with A. Mommas should warn their daughters that if a man says everything you ever wanted to hear in the first ten minutes you should run for your life. You should also run if he has more than three buttons open or if he has no buttons where there should be buttons (unless he is a cast member of Dancing with the Stars). The men regrouped and made another attempt, this time attempting to befriend me. As if I would turn my back for a second with those wolves. We left the bar soon after and finished watching the match at the beach with some other friends.