Life's Persistent Questions

Life and death

2011-05-24T00:49:00.003-04:00

Looking back, there are at least two memorable moments in my residency. One was the 90 year old patient been visited by his demented wife before he goes on comfort care. Other was the birth of first child for a fellow doctor who is my age. Perhaps they are memorable and reminds me of one another because of the symbolism of life and death, their diametric opposition, and that they happened almost exactly one year apart, book-ending one of the most difficult years in my adult life. The year has been a struggle. It had some brief highs, but mostly dark, soul-crashing, lows. I am still digging my way out of it. I was surprised by how intimate and personal it felt watch the old couple saying goodbye, one hopelessly comatosed and other blissfully ignorant. That was when I realized how close to the surface my own fear of mortality is. On the other hand, I was surprised by how deeply touched and truly happy I felt for the couple with their first baby. Perhaps people in their teens and twenty, lucky (or unlucky) enough to have had two or three children, have forgotten how truly special and precious it is. Having walked down the same road, I can imagine the inner fear and maybe regret of another physician having chosen the path and having to delay their own family. The tears upon hearing the first cry of the baby must felt like the culmination of a life's struggle. I am happy for them, and maybe one day...

Question: Dejavu

2011-05-24T00:27:00.002-04:00

Just driving to Westwood, preparing for my interview at UCLA. Suddenly, I had a flash back to three years ago, when I drove my parents to have dinner the night before my UCLA interview for residency. Driving back on 405, I had to smile at the memory of drining up from San Diego Freeway and getting lost on my way to my cousin's dorm party at USC. That was 10 years ago! Did time fly. College, med school, residency and now fellowship, I sometimes feel like the hamster running in the wheel. The world is out there. I have been "training" for it for so long. The obstacle remains the same-trying to convince other people to take my words and a few numbers on paper that I am good enough.

I shouldn't complain. If only the rest of the life is this simple. Words and number are not quite enough in real life and relationships, aren't they? I have never been shy about reaching for the stars when it comes to academics or career, yet that confidence stops there. People actually like my personal statement, so I have been told. Then why am I so inept with words in everyday conversation? Still looking for the answer.

Question: blame it on the government?

2011-03-18T01:32:00.002-04:00

Haven't heard from a certain person for a long time now. It occurred to me perhaps she is finally gotten engaged. Well, it HAS been a year. Moving on is probably good and it would make things less awkward when our paths cross again, which will be inevitable. If so, I imagine this must be the greatest time in her life, reaching milestones in both her personal and professional life. I'm happy for you, you deserve it all.

A lot of introspection and projection on my part. San Francisco no longer the dream, the ultimate fulfillment it once was. The emptiness is still there, demanding as ever. Will the answer be research in a new lab? Fellowship on the other side of the country? Perhaps even volunteering and missions? Why is it so difficult to make myself content and happy?

A revelation came as I watched my roommate's interaction with his father. He is also an only child, and I see shadows of myself in him and the way he orders and reacts to his father. My flaws are many, but one of the biggest was a fear of rejection. It is paralyzing and wrecks havoc in my social interactions. Looking back, my parents, and my extended family are nothing but nurturing. Despite their divorce, my parents clearly loved me. But it is precisely because I am the only child, the oldest child in the extended family, I never had to worry about competing for people's affection and being rejected. I expect unconditioned love from those close to me, their acceptance despite my imperfections, that I am intensely insecure in front of strangers. I wonder if this is true of other only childs. Do only childs have more difficulty with intimate relationships? Do they over-achieve to compensate for their fear of rejection? Can I blame my ineptitude in relationship on my parents reproductive decisions? Can I blame everything wrong with my life on the Chinese government and its One Child policy? I hope not.

Question: best meal ever?

2011-02-26T13:52:00.002-05:00

I love gnocchi. One of the best meals I have had was in Naples, Italy. It was there where I first tasted the fluffy, buttery morsels of potato heaven. Ever since, I have this craving for great gnocchi, and whenever I'm in a half decent Italian restaurant, I'm tempted to order it, trying to duplicate that meal. I have been to more famous, popular and fancier restaurants since, but it hasn't happened yet. Ironically, I don't remember the name of that restaurant. Or the neighborhood. Or whether it was the city of Naples for that matter.

Intellectually, I understand this phenomenon, Everything around that meal was serendipitous. I was on my first trip to Europe and Italy. The trip was a last minute, a spurt of the moment decision. I was traveling with one of my best friends from school. We just happened to run into two other friends out of the blue, five thousand miles and an ocean away from home. The restaurant was nondescript and unpretentious. The menu's English more "abstract" than functional. The selections were random. Of course the meal was magical.

I would never be able to find that little restaurant again. But I don't regret that. It gave me wonderful memories about a time in my life. My search for the great gnocchi is more of a yearning than a regret that I didn't stay there longer, take photos, or write down the address and the name. Isn't that the reason we continue to go to new restaurants, to recapture the magical feeling and create more memories? I realize this is much similar to a failed relationship. I should feel lucky that after the goodbye, all I have are the wonderful memories. For a long time, I was full of regret, but that is foolish. I should be grateful. The relationship is over just as I would never go back to that magical gnocchi again. What I have is the yearning for finding that special feeling again-that I truly loved someone and I was loved. I am the lucky one. I could be the one that left the relationship only remembering the shouting, the fights and the slammed doors. Just as I'm sure not everyone at that restaurant that night had as good of a time as I did, like my friend and his ex-girlfriend. So my search continues, for love and the love of gnocchi.

Question: do you know what holiday it is this weekend?

2011-02-20T18:29:00.004-05:00

President's Day of course. Well maybe. Leading up it, this was known among my friends and family as the NBA All-Star Weekend. No, not the All-Star Game, but a whole weekend, rookie challenge, skills competition, three point shoot out, slam dunk contest, and of course, parties. A weekend when the stars of NBA baseketball, along with their entourage and anyone who want a piece of these stars, converge on the city of Angels. Or Black Thanksgiving as David Aldridge or perhaps it was Michael Wilbon called it on CNN. He is catching a lot of flak for that.

However, 2100 miles east of Los Angeles, some people in Alabama are celebrating the President's Holiday honoring both George Washington and Thomas Jefferson's birthdays, so they say. They are doing so by reenacting the inauguration of another president Jefferson, Jefferson Davis of the Confederacy, that is. The motivation for the inclusion of Thomas Jefferson in the south for this holiday is patently transparent. The President's day celebrates two of the greatest U.S. presidents, Washington and Lincoln, both born in February. Thomas Jefferson was born in April! But JEFFERSON DAVIS was inaugurated in February 22, 182. Although he died in 1826, Thomas Jefferson Day was not written into law until 1938. But nonetheless, the occasion seems a good enough reason to get dressed up like rebels, scream some treasonous slogans, and reinvent the history.

I found this quote particularly powerful, as one Son of Confederate Veterans asked, "“What is it in a man...that would cause him to deny his fellow man the pride and dignity of his heritage?” I don't know what heritage he is proud of. Last night, I watched the players (who are black) compete in the dunk contest. No, to claim that dunking or basketball in general has become the black heritage would be an insult to African Americans and to basketball. But dunking two, three basketballs at once is not the basketball of Dr James Naismith, who invented the sport in 1891. The contribution of Black players to the sport is undeniable, and watch players soaring over the rim, twisting and gyrating, and finally punishing the rim, these are the distillation of their voice, their aspiration and their culture. To deny that NBA is not "black" is like to deny the Civil War had nothing to do with slavery.

I'm just glad that based on the ratings, the "Black Thanksgiving" has a lot more followers than Jefferson's Day.

"Every time I think I'm out...

2011-02-14T19:58:00.003-05:00

they pull me back in." I thought I can sleep in on Sunday after two weeks of nights at the county hospital. No luck. Three pages at 7am woke me up, and 10 minutes later, I'm racing back for another day shift when the rest of SF sleep off its hangover. 13 shifts in 14 days and probably around 170 hours is a little rough. Oddly, I love working at the county hospital-it is my favorite site. I rather stay up all night, popping in a-lines and cordises (sp?), and double fisting pumps to infuse packed cells and FFP into half dead guys than almost anything else in the world. Yes, on some level we all dread the lack of resource or technology at such hospitals that depend on government founding and hampered by state regulations. Not to mention the lack of medical history from most of the patients. And there is the language barrier, Spanish, Chinese, Tagalog, Vietnamese, the list goes on. But in some ways, it is more rewarding taking care of under-served populations. I always do my best and they appreciate that (even if they can't tell me in words).

Compare to the 20 year old that had the million dollar ( or three) work up for chronic fatigue, who needs another diagnostic surgery to make a futile grab at an impossible diagnosis and wants to dictate her own anesthesia, give me a break. Or that 50 year old with an allergy list longer most people's medication list, dear lord. Sometimes, it is us doctors' fault. The problem of working at a research hospital is that the doctors study zebras, collect zebras, and so they see zebras everywhere. What, a test is negative, then it's only more interesting because the zebra is more elusive.

I think I have found my calling in the county hospital. Just let me take calls. Traumas, emergency, not to mention gyne diseaster saves, they float my boat. Now, if I could only learn to speak Spanish. I cannot describe the awesome feeling when I walk into a room, after been told that "we need to get a Cantonese interpreter," then proceed to make the patient magically start speaking Mandarin, calm the freaked out patient and the frantic nurses down, and sail into the OR. Done and done. Imagine the double threat of Chinese and Spanish working in this city, it more than compensates for my lack of English.

THE Question.

2011-01-30T02:50:00.002-05:00

Still in search for that purpose and meaning in life. Am I defined by how others perceive me? Is my sense of self worth so dependent on what others think? Do I seek to be approved? This IS what I have been doing for most of my life. Approval from parents, teachers, coaches, and attendings. But this clearly will not last, not to mention is incredibly depressing. Do I want to be feared then? It is easy to do. Quick put downs, clever come backs, unpredictable burst of anger and an air of superiority are within my usual repertoire. I have been guilty of plenty in the past, but fear is draining, on me and those around me. Fear does not equal respect. Then, is it admiration what I am seeking? A life long over-achiever, I seek out areas that I excel, and try to be the best. Perhaps more than the approval from my elders, I want the admiration from my peers. "I am better than you." "I am smarter than you." "Look up to me." Admiration can be done from a distant, like a star, the light is bright but cold, and others don't have to get too close to me. No one gets hurt. But it hasn't been enough, has it? Do I secretly yearn to be loved more than feared or admired? Is that what I have been missing?

No, I refuse to believe that my life is defined by perception of others. The answer must be from within. All my life, I have been driven from within, whether it is fear, competitiveness, ego or vanity (but mostly fear). That is what is missing right now, FEAR. I'm not scared anymore by work/career. There is no more make-or-break tests that I have to ace. No more best school I have to enter. No more interviewer that I have to impress in 15 minutes or my life "would be over." I can be on cruise control and my life would be golden. What would motivate me now? The search continues.

Question: what's up with monkfish?

2011-01-28T22:58:00.003-05:00

Oh, I love monkfish liver. It's SO LUXURIOUSLY TASTY. Sashimi style. Lightly seared. Poach and with ponzu sauce. It's silly good no matter which way you cook it (or not cook it). Monkfish liver has essentially replaced uni as my favorite sushi in a Japanese restaurant. But monkfish itself remains an enigma to me. I have ordered monkfish in Korean restaurants several times, either steamed or in a stew, and I always left disappointed. The meat is chewy and tough, a lot of bones and very little reward. The same cannot be said about the pig. Every part of pig can be tasty. Chops. Loin. Ribs. Intestines. Cheek. Ear. And even, brain. Okay fine, I'm in love with the hog too. How is it possible that one part of the fish can be so heavenly and another so inedible.

Funny how I keep ordering monkfish in the restaurants. I should know better. I wonder if I'm letting my memories and love of its liver cloud my judgment. Yes, the liver was good when I can get it but it's irrational to continue to believe that I can replace my yearning for it with a different part of the fish. Kind of like another problem I have in my life, wanting something that I can't have. Oh well, I guess there is always pork.

Question: What's on the test?

2011-01-25T01:09:00.002-05:00

So a new study published in Science showed that test taking is a better way to retain knowledge than cramming, concept mapping (snicker) or repetitive studying. Cramming is the worst. Guess the fact that I survived medical school tests and passed my board exam actually made me somewhat knowledgeable in the field of medicine. Not sure what it meant that I crammed for those tests--does that negate the benefit of test taking on retention? Seriously, I think the study only demonstrated the benefit of test taking in short term (1 week) and whether its effect on long term memory is unclear. But taking to the extreme, does that mean taking a pop quiz every week will reinforce the memory and have a long term effect? No one would do that these days, right? Wait, my med school did that, oh but that's so 1999.

Question: irony or coincidence?

2011-01-15T23:40:00.002-05:00

Sad: the rampage by a mentally ill gunman in Tucson, AZ, last week.

Coincidence: the ABC affiliate in Tucson is KGUN9.

Irony: well, actually, this is not irony, which means "an outcome of events contrary to what was, or might have been, expected."

Perhaps, it simply reflects the common attitude of people of Tucson towards fire arms, evident by the turnout at the gun show this week. But since I never lived in Tucson, this generalization is likely wrong or too harsh. I don't intend on find out though. In any case, I cannot imagine having a station in San Francisco calling itself KGUN or KNIF.

Reflection on the new year

2011-01-02T21:36:00.003-05:00

As the clock was ticking down towards midnight on the eve of new year, I was stuck in a room watching paint dry, um sorry I meant, watching orthopods operate. But thanks to one kind attending, I got a break for 15 minutes around midnight. I celebrated with nacho chips and apple juice and a view of fire works by the bay bridge from the 13th floor of the hospital. Nearly everyone on-call in the five ICUs was there. Heart-warming, really.

For a long time I couldn't remember what I did last NYE. I remember the year before--a friend's place in Downtown Chicago (not to mention the nauseating drive to work 5 hours later). I remember the one before that--as a lonely tourist wondering in Taipei. Then it came to me. Maybe the memory was hidden because it was the beginning of the end. 12/31/2009 had some warm moments, a familiar face, few laughters, of course arguments, but a lot of silent angst on my part. Despite my years of trying, telepathy remained a weakness of mine, unspoken feelings stayed unspoken and my NYE ended up awkwardly and alone. Looking back things could have played out differently, but who can be sure. One year later, everything feels like a life time ago, I'm going through the pieces of my life and having to decide which ones to keep.

When I was younger, I thought my life was going to be a tragedy, based largely on some familial history. Sometime ago, I changed my mind. And up until recently I remained hopeful. Should I be sad that I had been wrong to change my mind? Or should I be satisfied that I had been right all along. I do enjoy saying "I told you so!" So here is one to number one. I am trying but I do recall a time when I was young, unattached, reasonably happy, moderately confident and exceedingly optimistic about the future. My life was not burdened or defined by rejections, heart breaks or tears. I knew who I was, who I was not, what I can do and what I would not do. And I was happy. Maybe I will be happy again.

So for the new year, I am searching for that PURPOSE. Perhaps this has to do with my marathon "Lost" viewing. The show's characters are frequently asking themselves about their purpose and the reason they are on the mysterious island. Purpose, aspiration, meaning of life, are they interchangeable? I am starting to think not. For a long time, my purpose in life has been goals and aspirations, and inevitably it involves the adjective "best." Best student. Best residency. Best anesthesiologist. Is my purpose to merely be the BEST of something? And should I be defined by my relationship to others--to be the best son/friend/husband/father that I can be? I am now doubtful. I suppose it is ironic (or is it inevitable): I am asking for my purpose in life on a blog called Life's persistent questions.

Question: When is a surprise not a surprise?

2010-12-14T01:12:00.003-05:00

Ready for a non-shocker of the week? Chinese students do well on a standardize test. Seriously, you take a bunch of Chinese kids 15 years old, still IN SCHOOL, around the time when they are taking entrance exams for high school, and make them take more TESTS. Trust me, just as the North Koreans are probably awesome at marching in unison, if there is one thing the Chinese school kids are good at, that is acing tests. Getting into elite high schools would making their chances of scoring well on their college entrance exam and thus entry into the elite universities that much better three years later. These kids are motivated and well prepared. Their counterpart in the U.S. are probably worrying about making the JV team, while SAT is still two years away. And this being China's first time, these kids are been showcased. Show me the test scores from kids in Qinghai or Xizang (if they are still in school), then I would be impressed.

Mirror, mirror

2010-12-07T02:24:00.002-05:00

Again from The Book of Qualities:

Blame is not honest... He insists that he admires and respects strong women. Maybe he does... in abstract. When he is in relationship with one, he is intent on suberting her power

This book is an unflattering mirror. I wish that I can look into it and see Truth, Honor, and Confidence. But instead, Blame, Confusion and Loneliness are staring back at me. Yet, for this I am grateful. Like a mirror that warns me to steer clear of a particular ill-fitting jean, the book accentuates and forces me to confront these imperfections and to remember that the sale is not final and there is a 30-day return policy.

How awesome is this book?

2010-11-30T01:58:00.002-05:00

The Book of Qualities

The first quality I flipped to, and what I read was uncanny.

"Loneliness loves to run, but he is afraid to swim... At age seven he vowed never to need anyone. It was as if he sealed himself inside his skin, separate from everyone.

"Once Loneliness almost changed his mind. There was a woman who he cherished. She surprised him. He loved her so much that he thought he would never be himself again. He trusted that such a relationship could not survive, and it didn't. Now more convinced than ever that companionship is a lie and joy is fragile..."

On a more positive note:

"Honesty is the most vulnerable man I have ever met. He is simple and loving. He lives in a small town on a cliff near the beach... Knowing I was on my way to him softened the fear. And in his presence the darkness becomes big and deep and comforting. He says if you are totally vulnerable, You cannot be hurt."

The book will be on my night stand for awhile.

Question: Can I learn anything from stupid pages?

2010-11-09T00:54:00.002-05:00

Oh, my sweet pillows. I finally get to lay down after a weekend of pain(-ful) call. It's Sunday night, I have been proactive and called everyone about every problematic patient, and it is all quiet on the western front. 11pm and now there is only 7 hours between me and sweet, sweet bliss of handing off the pager... F*&k! Why the hell is the pager going off? Of course, it's only 11:30! So I call back, explain to the cross cover intern how she had somehow read my consult note, but had came away with the exact opposite of my recommendations. I was curt and polite but surely my impatience and irritation were clearly transmitted despite the undependable AT&T network. She apologized profusely before I hung up. I admit I felt a twinge of guilt when I woke up this morning. I wonder if this is how a new parent feels whenever his child makes an incomprehensible boo-boo. Do residents or attendings who are parents make better, more supportive supervisors? None of us has memory as long as we thought we have. "I will never be as big a dick as that chief resident." That sounds eerily similar to "I will never be a distant as my father." The point is, I wish I could be a nicer person.

Question: Sportsman of the Year?

2010-11-07T23:53:00.002-05:00

Done. Stop looking. Sports Illustrated should give the honor to Edison Peña, the Chilean coal miner, who was trapped underground for 69 days, only emerged from hell 25 days ago, and completed the New York Marathon today. Apparently he was running 6 miles a day while trapped 2000 feet underground not knowing whether he will ever see sunlight again. This is the most inspiring sports story I can remember in a long time. As far as I can tell, he is just soaking in the celebrity that came with his unfortunate ordeal. Even if he ran the marathon with intention of seeking book or movie deals, he could be forgiven. He puts me to shame, and makes me want to get off this couch and put on my new running shoes. The hills, the occasional wind and the annoying bad SF drivers, no long seem to nuisances. So you read it here first, SI Sportsman of the Year, Edison Peña.

4 months and 5 days

2010-10-05T02:07:00.003-04:00

May 22, 2010. The day I realized the biggest mistake of my life. And the day that I made the biggest gamble in my life, thus far.

September 27, 2010. The day I realized that I have to wake up from my little dream. For a while now, I have been stuck in this tunnel without a light. I had this delusion that there will be light at the end of the tunnel if I just kept following the path. I didn't need to be in this tunnel and I had unknowningly walked into this dead end just a few weeks back. It is the classic case of stubbornness-I remain convinced of the correctness of my action despite the contrary advice from almost everyone else. Was I gullible? Was I been misled? Either way, pathetic. Staying up 2 hours waiting for a phone call, knowing that she was talking to someone else, made it crystal clear where I was on the priority list. Hoping ill for someone else is not who I am. My ship has sailed a long time ago, and even if things don't work out for them, I may not be Mr Plan B. I now see how unrealistic my previous argument about cutting the cord early in a new relationship had been. Hope is a powerful thing, and any new relationship is full of it, making one believe that it can overcome anything.

4 months and 5 days of self-inflicted torment. Another lesson learned-consider an interest on the past 7 years. C'est la vie.

Question: am I a parenthesis?

2010-09-26T01:05:00.002-04:00

Just saw the ending of the movie "Up In the Air." I like how this movie doubles down on bait-and-switches. First, it has George Clooney, who is like Andy Lau of US movies. Most guys could convince themselves to go watch a chick flick with their girlfriends just because he's in it. The ladies then convinced themselves that this was actually a romantic story a la "Jerry Maguire" despite all the coldhearted things Clooney said in the first part of the movie because of the line of "everyone needs a co-pilot." Of course, the movie ends all of this nonsense with "You are an escape. You're a break from our normal lives. You're a parenthesis."

Which makes me wonder these days, "Am I a parenthesis?" Probably. Too bad that I don't have 10,000,000 miles and can go around the world 20 times if I wanted to.

What's the point?

2010-09-14T02:08:00.002-04:00

I don't call you anymore. It's easy when I'm swamped during the day, running around work like a chicken without a head. But what's the point? I think of you the rest of the day. Like when I finally got my new bow and arrow set. Like when I hear a funny story on the NPR. Like when I come across a puzzling article about Singapore on the NYT. What about the new season premiere of HIMYM next week? Not talking to you is supposed to make me forget about you, move on with my life, and in the general spirit of that those which do not kill me make me stronger. I miss you and wonder how you are doing. Are you finally happy? Satisfied with life? Sure, I've told my friends that you are the ONE, but only one person so far has seemed to be impressed by that. I'm not and never will be perfect. I'm not going to win any personality contest, wow people with my athletic prowess, impress you with my knowledge in wine/music/art history, or entertain friends with a delightful house party. Gosh, I would be looking elsewhere too if I were a girl. However, there are moments when I can convince myself that a relationship built on trust and mutual respect for each other's ideals and aspiration can overcome any other shortcoming. Without respect for the other person's career, it would be dangerously easy to demand sacrifice from that person for the sake of the relationship. There are enough insecurity when two people are together. It's hard to imagine a life when one has to worry about both the relationship and one's career. This is usually the point when the line "you complete me" comes up and also the point when I come to my senses and realize things I wish for only happen in movies. I know I'm competing against a ridiculously high standard that I can't even imagine, let alone live up to. What's the point? I hope you can find and hold on to the happiness you are looking for. Someone recently used the phrase "incandescently happy" which struck me as quite ridiculous, but I hope you will find that one day (perhaps on match day). But short of that, perhaps "intermittently enthralled" by your work will suffice. I may or may not call you. You may or may not read this. I may or may not get over you. And we may or may not see each other again. But I know you will find what makes you happy one day. Let me know when that day comes, and I will drink to that.

2010-09-07T00:10:00.002-04:00

Today, it was one of those rare summer days in SF--the sun was out. As I was driving back into the city, the sight, the sound and the feel of driving on the Bay Bridge are starting to feel like home to me after a year. Then I was blindsided again. Zipping through the linear shadows cast by the steel beam over head, it reminded me how easily she used to get car sick because of the shadows when we drove through the tree-lined neighborhoods. I wondered if she still does that. Dammit. I thought about her a second time tonight as I finally got around to shred the papers that she left for me to dispose. Two baskets of confetti later I finally felt a little better. I wish if only it is that easy. I wonder how those people at Enron felt after their massive shredding party.

Question: How long is eternity?

2010-09-05T21:09:00.004-04:00

Has it only been a week? It feels like forever since I last talked to her. Of course, this has also been a busy and stressful week. I'm back on in the OR taking care of sick newborns and infants, and nothing gets one's adrenaline going like a concoction of blue babies and a lack of confidence. The hectic week was a blessing--helped to keep my mind off everything else. Now it's the three-day weekend, and looking back, it seems so long ago that we sat across a table, and shared a set of ear buds listening to TAL. Yet, as I was deleting my daily automated emails from match.com, my mind kept flying back that autumn night in 2003 in the Rendevous Cafe, like it was yesterday. Yes, we won't be talking anymore. I know I can do it now. I also realize the temptation will always be there because of last month, because how easy and how natural it felt. I tell myself it's because of convenience, because of reminiscence, but most importantly, I tell myself it's over. For the rest of my life, if that's what it takes, if that's what she needs to be happy. 7 years had seemed to be forever I barely remember the man I was then. What will I become in 7 years? How about 7 years after that? We all got about a dozen of 7 years before it all runs out, and what lies beyond that? I'm still an atheist, but I imagine it's such midlife contemplations that make agnostics and born-agains out of "sinners" like me. My last date had ended in a quick and merciful rejection. Was I too subdued? Was I too cool? Was I not "athletic and toned" enough? The irony is that I think I am better person now than I was 7 years ago, but maybe that's not good enough. When you are 26 you can afford to be flawed. When you are 33, you don't see potentials, only the imperfections. I know things will work out. Nothing last forever, so I keep telling myself.

Question: What would you do if you can't be a ____(you current job)?

2010-09-01T01:08:00.002-04:00

I love being a doctor, more specifically an anesthesiologist. I think my work is important. I feel it is a mixture of science, experience and art. Yes, other people make more money with far less school/training. Other have more freedom with their time and less responsibility. But truth be told, being a doctor is a power trip--I see you at your weakest moments, I put needles and tubes into your body, and I put you to sleep, relieve the pain, wipe the memory, not to mention controlling the working of your heart and lungs. I have seen things that cannot be unseen and done things that laymen would not understand. Do I feel superior to a banker or a lawyer, what do you think? I don't think I could have handled such responsibilities when I was 22 years old, and I still question my worthiness 10 years later.

Just a few days ago, I would not have traded anesthesia for anything else in medicine. But I've changed my mind. Had I seen it first hand in med school, I may well have chosen pediatric surgery as a career instead. Working with children, infants and newborns are surprisingly rewarding and satisfying. I don't even like kids most of the time, but I can't help but get a warm fuzzy feeling in my stomach at the end of the cases when their tonsils are out, their chemo catheters are removed, or their obstructed intestines are fixed. And the same pediatric surgeon did all of the cases: whether it was an ex lap or a thorascopic resection. I can't imagine the length of his training, but be able to fix something in a child and improving his or her quality of life and time that by the life expectancy, it is goddamn awesome. So count me jealous.

Question: am I a douche?

2010-08-05T00:55:00.003-04:00

Am I? I guess the current BF of my ex is not my biggest fan. Fair enough, I don't need to be his friend. Sure, I did begged my ex (of 5 years) to give me a third (maybe it was fourth or fifth) chance after they recently started going out for 3 months. Should I have been more "graceful" and simply bow out? But I didn't. I admitted to myself and confessed to her that I have always and still had strong feelings for her THE FIRST OPPORTUNITY I HAD to face her in person. I was honest and didn't hide my feeling while she continues to ask my opinions about her new relationship. Everyone deserve a final shot when it comes to this life changing decision while exposing oneself completely vulnerable. And I can honestly say that I never said single negative thing about him, actually (foolishly) encouraged the first date, and despite been an atheist myself, even put a positive spin on his "Christianess." On the other hand, should I be upset at someone who had known my ex years before me, whom when I met for the first time was completely transparent to me in having a secret crush on her, and patiently waited for his opening? Did they talk about her relationship with me while we were together? If I got pissed at every guy who hid a crush on my often oblivious ex while pretending to be her pal and buying his time, I would have never let her move out of my sight. Best of luck, you are better for her, you cook, listen, and can spoil her. Like we say, don't hate the player, because we are play the same game. You closed the game, good for you. Learn to accept the burden of having a great girl.

Question: What's the worst that can happen? Answer:

2010-07-08T01:47:00.002-04:00

A little ST elevation before anastomosis. Unable to wean off the bypass on the first try. Starting multiple drips (epi, neo, milrinone), placing an intraop balloon pump and arriving to ICU on about eight infusions. All in a day's work. Was it the smoothest surgery/anesthesia for a CABG? Probably not. Was it everything that I had hoped for/was afraid of? You betcha. Was it awesome? Totally. And I probably missed half the stuff that was going on. Next time, I don't care what my attending says about making things simple, I'm going to be more prepared so I won't be caught off guard. Maybe not right now, but I think I could do this one day!

Question: What's the worst that can happen?

2010-07-06T21:08:00.002-04:00

How often do we ask ourselves this question? Well, my answer today was "He won't come off the bypass, and possibly die."

Since starting my cardiac rotation, stress has been my middle name. I haven't done a cardiac case or seen the bypass machine yet, but the anticipation has been almost unbearable. I can say that I'm excited, but really, nerve racking is more like it. The entire concept of stopping someone's heart and lungs is so alien to what a regular anesthesia is trying to achieve it scares the shit out of me. Despite an unusually sunny and beautiful 4th of July and a fun BBQ with friends, my mood has been dark. Life and work are conspiring to make me miserable and I have no one to confess my fear to.

So I finally get a chance to do a CABG tomorrow. After talking to my attending for 20 minutes, he observes, "you looked worried... It would be fun... WHAT'S THE WORST THAT CAN HAPPEN?" It was at this moment that I realized how awesome my life really is. I get to be a part of a team that put a 65 yo man on complete artificial life support, fix his diseased coronary, and hopefully add another 10 to 15 good years to his life. How many people get to do that? (Okay, my attending did remind me that half million CABGs are done every year in the U.S, so quite a few people.) Nevertheless. Despite the fact that my personal life is in shambles, I'm grateful that I have the opportunity to work and learn along side some of the smartest, unassuming (well some of them), hardworking people in the world. I am where I am now because the decisions I have made in the past, some good (med school and residency) and many not so good (relationship). Yet looking ahead, really "What's the worst that can happen?"

Question: Who is Hu?

2010-06-23T01:04:00.002-04:00

Dang it! Hu Jing Tao of China just got bitch-slapped by Foreign Policy to be the 10th worst dictator in the world, somewhere between Ahmadinejad of Iran and Qaddafi of Libya. Really? Really! Really?! "A chameleon despot," at least it is a colorful imagery. This bugs me a lot. It's time like this I wish I could talk to my ex. I don't see Putin on the list anywhere. What about the Pope?

Question: a life less ordinary?

2010-06-21T01:08:00.004-04:00

Revelations have come in bunches lately. I was lamenting to my friend about my recent "discovery"/fixation of my own mortality, really for the first time in my life. It is difficult to parse apart whether my depressed mood precipitated this discovery or the preoccupation darkened the mood. "Am I too young to be thinking about my mortality?" I wondered out loud. My friend, a world traveler first, a comedian second and a perpetual bachelor third, surprised me with his answer, "I have been aware of mine since I was 19!" Coming from someone who works just enough to support his traveling addiction, it was a shock. My thoughts about the fragility of life has brought my focus back onto my career, family and ultimately old age and retirement. On the other hand, "time has been stalking" my friend since he was 19, and his response has been to experience life outside the mundane (school/work) and all the diversity the world has to offer. "You can work until you die, but how much would you pay, when you are old and weak, to enjoy life like you could when you are young?" I have in the past reflexively (but secretly) sneered at people who seem to follow their hearts and dive into the side streets of life with every impulse. I saw them as undisciplined and unfocused. Yet I have seen with my own eyes the colorful lives and impressive accomplishments that some of my best friends have achieved with this seemingly nomadic life style (yes including "the one that got away"). My conversation with my travel bug friend simply crystallized the idea of carpe diem. Funny how I have always thought myself as been mature beyond my years and controlling my own destiny while life has passed me by. I don't have to travel to Antarctica or swim with the Great Whites to be less ordinary. But some changes are in order.

Dream

2010-06-19T23:42:00.002-04:00

Life has been pretty busy lately. Q2 calls in the ICU, gym, archery lessons and studying take up most of my time. I'm never sure what works the best, maintaining an absolute focus (pulling the bow) or finding mindless distraction (drinking over the NBA finals). I shot outdoor for the first time, and absolutely loved it. Summer in SF doesn't have to be miserable--I actually got sun burnt after my lession in the GG Park. I can't wait to buy my own bow now, though I have a feeling that all these free time and energy will be exhausted soon when I start my cardiac rotation. A "funny" thing happened last night, the first night I had a good 8 hours of sleep in a while. I dreamt about her. I play the "Fresh Air" podcasts from NPR before my sleep every night, just to keep my mind off the pain. It will a long road. At least it's been 7 days since we last talked.

Question: can a guy be best friend with a woman who is not his girlfriend?

2010-06-13T03:30:00.001-04:00

Answer: No.

It may seem obvious, but not so when it happens to yourself.

After talking to one of my best friends from medical school (a guy), the implication is obvious. Staying "best friend" with your ex is asking for disaster. It is not fair to the boyfriend/fiance/husband of your former-girlfriend/best friend. It will inevitably play mind tricks on yourself. Yes, it feels good and requires little effort to share your inner most thoughts with someone who you had cared about and who cared about you, but it is an illusion and dependence that need to be severed.

It is ironic. I always ended all communication with my previous ex'es. On the other hand, he had always remained on speaking terms with his, until "the one." It is all fine and dandy until you break up with "the one." Apparently, remaining friends only prolongs the suffering, according to him.

Intellectually this makes perfect sense, but emotionally, that intimate connection with someone is difficult to give up. Alas, in order to move on, it has be done.

Perhaps one day we will be friends again, sharing the ups and downs, the laughters and tears of life. In the mean time, I wish you the best of luck and my deepest gratitude for those beautiful memories of past.

Waiting game

2010-06-12T17:19:00.002-04:00

It is going to be a rough day. Three hours of mindless waiting. College graduation ceremony. Why do we make our family and ourselves go through this over and over. I am going to go nut here.

Moments. . .

2010-06-12T01:19:00.005-04:00

Laughing and sharing stories with friends over wine.
Rounding the ICU with one of the gods of ___________.
Sweating over an impossible a-line in a 80 year old atherosclerotic lady.
Straining to pull a 36 pound bow over and over without dropping my elbow.

These are the moments that the memories of the past and the REGRET leave me, replace by the joy of camaraderie, the excitement of discovery, and the intensity of 100% focus and utter exhaustion.

Yet, life is not made up of only such moments. The darkness still creeps in from time to time, usually in the dead of night. I am alone, faced with my own conscience, old memories, and crippling self doubt. But I like to remind myself one more moment--as I step out of the hospital after a hard call, suddenly and momentarily paralyzed by the rarest of phenomenom in SF, a sunny day. Beyond the park, the towers of Golden Gate Bridge are poking over the perpetual clouds to the north. With a some imagination, the streets of the Sunset district give away to the rolling waves of Ocean Beach to the west. The world is new again and everything seems possible if only I am brave enough.

24 months

2010-06-07T02:48:00.004-04:00

My last post was more than 24 months ago. It is not really that long. But everything has changed. 24 months ago, my whole life was ahead of me. Hopeful yet scared, San Francisco and residency were still a beautiful mystery to me. A decade in the Midwest were nearly behind me, and there are at least three more years of residency in front of me. Who knows where I will be and what I will doing after that? Who cares. I have long stopped counting the changing of seasons and the birthdays. Future is full of unknowns, but I believed that I had the time to figure it all out. Then there were other things in my personal life that I took for granted, which weren't perfect, but I believed that they will work out eventually.

2 years later. The residency and the field that I have chosen is no longer a mystery. I love my job and believe that I have found my calling. But suddenly, I feel like I'm running out of time. For so long, time seemed to have no effect on my life. 10 years had passed, the world turned up-side down, but I seem to stand still, only changing my zip code once. Now suddenly, in a matter of a few months, the one person that I took granted in my life has slipped away. Just at the moment when everything that I have worked for since entering college has finally come together, I suddenly have a giant void in my life that I couldn't fill. What is this feeling? Anger? Regret? Self-pity? I feel powerless of course, but also fear. Suddenly, time is my enemy. Everywhere I look I see its devious plan. I can no longer see the 90 year man who had a massive stroke finally put on comfort care and feel relieved that his suffering is near the end. I'm watching his daughters spending every minute at his side, wiping away secretions, holding his hand and whispering in his ear. I'm watching his wife, who has dementia, visiting him and having a smile on her face. I'm watching three generations of family huddled in the room. I'm tearing up. All I can think about are my own parents and how short life can be. Am I fearful for my aging parents? Am I jealous of the man's family? Is it the lack of meaning in my own life? Score one for Erikson's generativity vs. stagnation crisis, I guess I just got "punked" by middle age.

Losing perhaps the love of one's life is causing me some grief. Looking at the famous 5 stages of grief, it's mostly depression right now with a few pathetic stabs at acceptance, "I should be happy for her," "I will find someone again." Writing things down appear to help somewhat. Although this may strike people as cold or awkward, the habit apparently runs in the family.

Rumblings from a middle age man

May 3, Buffalo-Depew

2008-05-04T17:52:00.001-04:00

I had a 10-hour layover here as the train from Toronto dropped me off at 1:25pm and the train to Toledo was not going to arrive until midnight. The wait was a lot harder than I expected. To make matters worse, there was no Wifi! I had read half of the Saturday’s Globe and Mail from Toronto, solved the sudoko and half-way into my first cross-word puzzle. Yes, I was that bored. I realized too late that there were buses to Buffalo downtown and even Niagara Falls, and by my own calculation, I could have gone to the Niagara Falls and back in under seven hours. Having been to the falls just two days ago made the missed opportunity less upsetting. I did have the opportunity to catch the display of rainbow right before the sunset, which was breath-taking. So one hour from my last train ride, and only nine hours from sweet Ann Arbor, something that I never thought I would utter.

May 3, Wrong side of the tracks.

2008-05-04T17:51:00.000-04:00

During my trip from New York to Montreal, I sat in front of an elderly couple back from their annual trip to New York. The wife asked a question, “why do we always see run-down neighborhoods on the train?” The answer was obvious, who wants to live close to the train track, with its noises, rattles and perhaps in the old days, train-hopping hobos. It is true that besides farms and wilderness, the most frequent sights from the train include factories, power lines, truck yards, junk yards, graves, trailer parks and back yards of run-down houses. These images fascinate me, but until now I did not fully understand why. It was the same draw that led my uncle and his friends to photograph the old, soon-to-be-demolished parts of downtown Shanghai. All of the dilapidated homes and buildings were once new. They were once beautiful. Someone saw that factory raised from nothing but concrete and steel and the hope of something big. Someone built that tool shed and dreamt of weekends spent inside it with his childhood hobbies. Someone hanged that old tire to the oak in the back yard picturing endless summers spent with children he will have years later. All of them were loved and treasured by someone. We photograph them now because we see the passage of time on the physical and imagine the effect on people’s lives. What did the factory make and where did the products go? Do people still work there or have the job gone somewhere else? When did the owner stop painting the shed? Is the inside empty or still full of half finished hobbies? How many children did they have? Do they have children of their own now? Is this not the same reason some of us go to museums or collect antiques? The only things that I can think of that are made to look old and used are fake antiques and distressed fashion apparels, both of which I despise.

May 3, Side note

2008-05-04T17:47:00.000-04:00

The only thing that feels longer than my rail trip right now is the 2008 Democratic Presidential primary season in the U.S. When I left California, an Obama nomination seemed inevitable. Since then, Slate started a HRC deathwatch, Obama admitted something that Democrats in Blue States always thought about their “less fortunate” brethrens in the Red States, Clinton won primaries in a couple of states to maintain within striking distance in the delegate count, Obama’s pastor opened his mouth and the Clinton came back as the next great “White Hope.”

Oh, and I have switched my preference to Obama. The only three things that stuck out in my mind the last two months were the following: Obama’s speech on race where he compared Rev. Wright to his white grandmother, Clinton and Obama’s promises not to raise tax on Americans making under $200,000, and the gasoline tax holiday proposal. I was impressed by the first item though still waved it off as a mere pretty speech. I was dismayed by the second as desparate pandering on the eve of Pennsylvania primary. The third was a revelation. It was a new low for Clinton politicks, but we have come to expect the winning-at-any-cost mantra from her campaign. In fact, many people supported her exactly because she showed that Democrats can play hardball and dirty politics with the best (or worst) of them. Though one had to wonder, why she chose to align herself with the Republican candidate McCain on this issue.

On the other hand, one should admire Obama’s opposition. There was no cost to concur—it was a safe play, and it has been a tough two weeks for him, according to the media. Coming to term with the real price of gasoline is the first step for the country to move forward on the energy issue. During the early stages of his campaign Obama had stated that he want to be truthful to American and ask them to make tough decisions, but he had moved away from that as he became the front runner in recent months. The empty promise of no tax raise was the greatest departure, but the resistance to gasoline tax break signaled a return. Experience can be learned. Otherwise, there would be no term limit on the office. Integrity can be corrupted—it is saddest when it comes at old age. Principle, while transitory, gives one hope. And what is democracy but a hope for "the better angels of our nature."

May 2, The tales of two cities.

2008-05-04T14:48:00.002-04:00

Visiting two of the largest cities in Canada provided an interesting contrast. While Montreal clung tightly to its French-Canadian heritage, Toronto has long become a hodge-podge of skin hues and international languages. Since 1969, the province of Quebec passed a series of laws--Bills 63, 22, and 101--culminating in the Charter of the French Language, which mandated French as its official language. Even English, the other official language, was hard to come by during my time in Montreal. In Toronto, or rather Markham a northern suburb where I spent much of the first two days, I felt that I had been teleported back to Hong Kong, Taiwan or (for worse or better) Fremont, CA. Entire shopping centres were blanketed in Chinese signs. It seemed that every face I saw had brown eyes and black hair. I suppose the common theme here was that you did not need English to survive in either city, but that was not the point here. From what I have gathered, that since the passage of the Quebec act, many immigrants such Chinese have chosen to either move or settle in provinces other than Quebec, such as Ontario and British Columbia. Both cities have their own charm, depending on whether you prefer your foie gras with duck comfit or Peking duck. On a more serious note however, I do know it is more difficult for the French-speaking universities in Quebec to recruit international students and researchers. While broken English is the international language of science, the French empire has not seen its best days in 150 years. Of course, Montreal is still striving in its own right. Canada would not be the same without Quebec. Quebec City is celebrating its 400th anniversary this year, and how many cities on the continent could claim that?

April 30, What New York doesn’t want you to know

2008-05-01T21:31:00.000-04:00

New York does not have a monopoly on the best bagels and best pastrami sandwiches in North America. When my friend Louis told me to meet him after work yesterday and save room for a fresh bagel, I thought he was mistaken. Where I came from bagels are made fresh daily, in the MORNING. But I was wrong. There are shops here that make bagels CONSTANTLY. La Maison du Bagel is one of the best in the city. Anthony Bourdain, the idol of traveling foodies everywhere and the prototypic New York chef, once had to concede that the idea of having bagels at La Maison as one’s last meal was not as absurd as he first thought after trying them. I do not have a bagel tasting pedigree such as that of Bourdain, but the warm, light (almost fluffy) and slightly sweet sesame bagel I tried here was the best bagel I have ever had. Period.

Louis regretted that he could not take me to the best smoked meat sandwich deli in Montreal last night. So I made the solo pilgrimage to Schwartz’s this morning. And he was right again. The sandwich is simple—meat, mustard, and bread. The meat is good—tender, with just enough of fat trimmings, perfectly seasoned. The mustard is just enough to wake up your taste buds but not to saturate them. The bread, while almost an after thought, is just enough to keep your fingers from the grease while serving as the delicate boundary between unpretentiousness and uncivilized. That is until you give into the temptation of picking up every little piece of the smoke meat that escaped your initial onslaught. Best I have had. Period.

April 29, Parle vous francais?

2008-05-01T21:30:00.000-04:00

A friend once said after visiting Montreal, “It’s weird. People here look and dress like Americans. The city looks like America. But they speak a different language.” Such is bane for the American travelers in Montreal and the province of Quebec. Montreal, the second largest French-speaking city in the world, has a third of its population speaking English as their native tongue, yet English signs are still rare here. While Toronto is still well within the comfort zone of Anglo-Americans, Montreal does feel like a different country (Surprise)! So one is always grateful whenever a useful English phrase is discovered. Which reminds me, how about the increasing use of Spanish in the U.S? While it may seem like a waste of space on paper or extra seconds on the phone, what a life-saver it must be for new immigrants and visitors of Hispanic descent of the country? It is not difficult to imagine what it was like twenty years ago. Whenever I step tentatively into a shop or a restaurant in Montreal, the start of yet another scavenge hunt for English phrases, I am reminded of my father, who first arrived in the U.S. nearly three decades ago, in a time and place where bilingual education was unheard of let alone controversial and all of his money was in his wallet borrowed entirely from family in China instead of a friend with the initials, A.T.M.

April 27, Shea Stadium

2008-05-01T21:22:00.000-04:00

It was a miserable day at the Shea Stadium. It was a crowded afternoon game to be sure, and a near-sellout. My seat was back row of mezzanine section at near left foul pole. Sitting with another level hanging over my head, I had no light (though it was a cloudy day). It was a depressing without the sky. I actually went to the upper reserve to get some fresh air for the last two innings. Shea Stadium was entirely without any remarkable characteristic other than the spikes they had installed on all of the buttresses. Jets are constantly flying over the stadium from the nearby LaGuardia Airport. Only inches from the outfield wall, the new Shea Stadium was under construction and due to open next year. It has the brick-laid exterior that has come to be ubiquitous with every baseball stadium constructed since the mid 1990’s.

Before the game, I went to the International Photography Center. While my last experience there was eye opening, the exhibit on this day left much to be desired. Color me jaded, but sometimes I would just like to be awed by stunning scenes and amazing moments captured in a photographer’s lens. Instead, the ICP’s current exhibit was titled “Archive.” The pieces conveyed the artists’ own interpretation of the meaning and authenticity of record-keeping and documentation. Was this post-modern or maybe post-post-modern where anyone with half of an idea and some contrived or ironic explanation can be an artist?

April 26, A walk in the Park.

2008-05-01T21:21:00.000-04:00

I strolled through the Central Park today on my way to the Metropolitan Museum of Art. Many cities have similar parks, but I have not encountered one on par with Central Park in term of accessibility to and utilization by the city dwellers. With the skyrocketing real estates in many metropolises across the globe, it is hard to imagine another like it popping up anytime soon (here is looking at you, Shanghai). Of course, the Central Park of today, like the Time Square, may be unrecognizable to New Yorkers from 30 years ago. And for that, we have Rudy to thank.

The Met was great. Despite spending three hours there, it feels like I had barely touched the tip of the iceberg. I suppose that museums allow photography these days. Miniaturized digital cameras and cell phone cameras have become so pervasive trying to outlaw them would be futile. I suppose there are worse things in the world than for people trying to capture the magic associated with meeting with a magnificent piece of art.

April 25, New York, New York.

2008-05-01T09:19:00.003-04:00

I tried to visit the United Nation Headquarter after my arrival in Manhattan. Unfortunately, the guided tour had been sold out, my time there was restricted to the visitor’s lobby, gift shops and the lawn. This must be what the writer of the book of Genesis imagined when he wrote the story about the Tower of Babel. Visitors from all corners of the globe, speaking in their native tongues (though disproportionally in some form of Chinese) and some of the African friends were even decked out in their more colorful traditional garbs. I am fascinated or rather amazed that the UN could get anything done at all. I think most of the visitors just wanted to click pictures and tell friends at home that they had been to the UNHQ. This meant one of the items that received the most photographic attention was the set of portraits of UN Secretary-Generals displayed in the lobby donated by none other than the Republic of IRAN.

April 23, North End Market, Boston

2008-05-01T09:18:00.002-04:00

I took a food-themed tour on foot today in the old Italian neighborhood of Boston, the North End Market. Before the Italians, there were the Irish and the Polish, and before them there were the Jews. And now only 30% of the market’s residents have Italian ancestry. Such is the ever-changing demographic landscape of America. The story of the transformation of the neighborhood is the lessons of history of immigration and assimilation in the U.S. Unlike the Little Italy in Manhattan, North End Market still retains much of the Italian characteristic. During the tour, we learned about the connection and difference between traditional Italian cuisine and Italian-American food, various traditional Italian pastries (and tried), and the life-cycle of balsamic vinegar and olive oil. In addition to the pastry shop and the deli, we also visited a dry goods grocer, a green grocer, and a wine shop. The sampling of the pastries, cheeses, cured meats, olive oils and balsamic vinegar only wet our appetite to be sure. This is a nice way to see an ethnic neighborhood for anyone, but of course a great date for those foodies out there.

April 22, RED SOX GAME!

2008-05-01T09:18:00.001-04:00

I spent most of last night and this morning searching for Red Sox tickets. Fenway Park has sold out since I was born, and only recently have the die-hard fans of Sox Nation been rewarded for their faithfulness and perseverance. I ended up paying $120 for a pair of tickets in the infield grandstand by the first base side. As it turned out, these were “choiced” seats, as in I had the choice of watching either the catcher or the batter from the seat but not both as there was one of the ubiquitous buttresses that obstructed my view. That’s life. But the game was by far the best experience I have had on this trip. An hour before first pitch, the stadium, the streets surrounding the stadium (especially Yawkey Way) and the bars nearby were all packed. Despite the obstructed view, everyone in the stadium was hanging on each and every pitch (though the actual witness of any was optional). It may have helped that I broke my self-imposed prohibition on $7 beers. My friend and I lost track after four rounds, or was that the fourth inning? The game was close, back and forth, with plenty of big hits and runs especially from the phenomenal centerfielder Jacoby Ellsbury. It was the first time where the fans of the visiting team were invisible and inaudible. Sox win and everyone went home happy.

On a side note, perhaps there is such thing as karma. Sports fan of Boston while knowledgeable have a collective disposition to bipolar attacks. Conversations on sports are full of the word, “ever,” and other words that end in “-est’s” and combination of them, e.g. “Is this year’s Celtics team the great-EST team EVER,” or “will he become the Sox’s b-EST centerfield EVER?” When you live and die by your sports team, and see only black and white in games, anything less than a 86-year long curse would be un-poetic.

April 21, Boston

2008-05-01T09:16:00.000-04:00

As I traveled from west to east, trains have become noticeably more crowded. The turning point was probably somewhere between New Orleans and Atlanta. One no longer has the luxury of having the seat next to you remain unoccupied. The Northeast Corridor, between Washington and Boston, was by far the most utilized as the area it traversed was the most densely populated region of the country. Nevertheless, between the big cities, the scenery outside the window was still dominated by forests, rivers, factories, junk yards and the occasional small towns. And once we were in Connecticut, bays and docks with sail boats and yachts became a fixture. I wonder if there will ever be a day when all of the cities from Boston to DC would merge into one of those Super-Mega Cities that one always read about in science-fiction novels.

I was happy to be back in Boston, finally at a time when the weather was more amenable to walking. I was also happy to see my friend Chris and his roommate, Josh. I know I was home the first time I was there when I found on their living room coffee table—Zagat’s Guide and 2008 PECOTA’s projections of baseball players. Rarely do I find the qualities of love of food and baseball analysis in people, but Boston seemed to be full of such lovely people. So not too surprisingly, we had some great home-made fusilli at a little pasta place called “Basta Pasta.”

A great irony was, that for the second time, I missed a great sporting even by the matter of hours. This was Patriot’s Day, and the Boston Marathon ended a few hours ago. With the unusual combination of Red Sox baseball game at 11AM (!) and thousands of people running through its streets, I imagine the day probably feels like St. Patrick’s Day and Holloween for Bostonians.

April 20, Philadelphia

2008-05-01T09:15:00.000-04:00

Cities are not all about the roads, buildings, waterfronts, museums or sports stadiums. While many escape the hustle and bustle of urban centers, lovers of big cities feel an affinity to those metropolises because its people and the energy they inject into a living city. Perhaps this is why I do my best to visit some markets in each city I visit. Baltimore’s Lexington Market was that city’s oldest, but not a tourist-favorite due its surroundings. Even before stepping inside, it was clear that people, shoppers and shop-keepers, worked, ate, and lived in the neighborhood. The Reading Terminal Market was clearly on the other end of the spectrum. It was more on par with the famous Pike Market in Seattle and Quincy Market in Boston. It had everything from cheese steak sandwiches to BBQ ribs, from ripened cheeses to fresh made cookies.

I saw the Liberty Bell, which was underwhelming. Interestingly, it was not named so until the mid Nineteenth Century by the abolitionists for their cause. I also saw the historic Pennsylvania Hospital, the oldest hospital in America. It is still been used for clinics and administrative offices. Beautiful grounds, but apparently at one point, its basement was used to house the mentally insane patients.

The best part of my time in Philadelphia was the mural art tour. The city has the country’s largest public mural program, boasting over 2800 pieces throughout the city’s neighborhoods. Tours vary their locations from week to week, and this week it was the south Philly which was fortuitous. After a brief foray into a predominantly Italian area, the trolley bus went head long into the most improvished area of the city. The murals there, not surprisingly, focused on civil rights, community, hope and religion. The neighborhood’s attitude toward these endeavors was clear as such murals were rarely defaced by graffiti. The tour was an excellent way to see parts of the city that tourists ordinarily would not venture into. I wondered about the ludicrous sight of the lumbering trolley bus carrying 20 well-dressed, White (except me) tourists meandering through a run-down Black neighborhood, snapping pictures. Though not nearly as bad as the so called “poverty tours” in other parts of the world, this was still disconcerting to me. Most of the residents were ambivalent if not friendly, though a few were less than that, which I could not blame them. I wonder how many of us would have driven into that part of the city, and if there, would had the luxury of slowing down to appreciate the art. After the trolley tour, I also visited a few more pieces in Chinatown suggested by a pamphlet from the mural program. Those pieces were smaller and less impressive. Such was the cultural bias nature of art appreciation.

April 19, Philadelphia

2008-05-01T09:14:00.000-04:00

I arrived in the city of brotherly love in mid-morning. On the train, I saw an article about walking tours in many northeastern cities that focus on food. Of course, this is right up my alley. Once settled in my hostel, I quickly called the Reading Terminal Market Tour. Unfortunately, the tour was offered on Saturday at 10AM and I was 30 minutes late. Nonetheless, I decided to walk to the market anyway just to check it out.

On the way I walked past the Independence National Park. The banner announcing the Baseball in America traveling exhibition was on display at the National Constitutional Center at the north end of the park caught my attention. Given the theme of my trip, there was no way I would pass that up. A lot of historical artifacts like balls, mitts, bats, jersey and all kinds of prints, the display was captivating for any fan of the game. I spent a good two hours there and the late afternoon game between the Phillies and the Mets was fast approaching. I was able to quickly walk through the Reading Terminal Market, grabbed a quick lunch buffet plus a gigantic chocolate dipped chocolate cookie, and vowed to come back the next day for a more thorough inspection.

Oh, this was a glorious Saturday. Temperature was in the 80’s with blue sky and fluffy clouds. My excitement was only dampened by the giant sign outside the stadium the game was sold out. I knew that two weeks ago, but apparently standing-room only tickets had been sold out in two and half hours before the game. Insisting to hear the bad news from a real person, I walked up to a ticket window. Amazingly, there were single tickets. One of the players just returned a ticket behind home plate 10 minutes prior, and after oh five seconds of hesitation, I bit the bullet and paid $50 for that ticket, the most expensive of the trip so far. Citizens Bank Park was brand new, though comparing to Nationals Park in DC, it was undistinguished and unmemorable. But it was packed with people two hours before the game. I weathered the blistering sun and tried my luck at balls for batting practice again. Some of the Mets players actually interacted with the fans, which was refreshing. The game itself was uninspiring. The star shortstop, Rollins, last year’s MVP, did not start and only pinch-hit due to an injury. The star first baseman, Howard, struck out three times. The Mets pitcher Oliver Perez was dominating, and the Phillies would lose 4 to 2. The game ended on a sour note, as the drunk fans on both sides became in a lot of verbal and occasional physical scuffles.

When I went back to the hostel, I was finally happy to see a lot more young faces than the one in Baltimore. Though the 24 beds in my room did give me pause, I was just glad that the shower was clean and the water was hot. I looked forward to the snoring lullaby to put me into dream land.

April 18, Baltimore, “Rule of Three” part 2.

2008-04-20T21:33:00.003-04:00

So the third thing to drop, after the bird poop and a batting practice ball, were my glasses. The cool cat that I was I hanged them on my t-shirt, which then caused them to fall when I leaned over. A piece of the lens popped out, and now I will have to go the rest of my trip without them. At least the string of bad luck is over.

First stop today was the Basilica of the Assumption of the Blessed Virgin Mary, the first Catholic cathedral in America. It was designed by the same architect, Benjamin Latrobe, who designed the Captiol in DC. It was interesting that both buildings were built in the neo-classical style. John Carroll, the first American bishop, chose it over the typical European gothic design because he wanted to convey a feeling of simplicity, openness, and republicism instead of the threatening and awe-inspiring gothic design.

I visited USS Constellation, the last all-sail warship built by the US Navy. It was pretty fun except the three decks below were so cramped that I spent 45 minutes hunched over. I would hate to be stuck on that ship for months on end.

The rest of Inner Harbor was what you would expect for a tourism hotspot. Lots of restaurants, shops, ferry and cruises, aquarium and museums. I did saw an acrobat class going on, which was pretty cool.

The American Visionary Art Museum has built quite a reputation online. One of the museum’s focus is on artists afflicted by psychiatric illness such as schizophrenia or depression, or mental retardation. It is a powerful experience to witness these artists channeling their concentration to produce great pieces in spite (or perhaps because) of their crippled minds.

April 17, Orioles game and the "Rule of Three," part 1 and 2

2008-04-19T23:45:00.002-04:00

While walking toward the ballpark, I felt a drop of water fell on my head. Thus begin my travail with the “Rule of Three.” Suspicious, because I was not near any highrise with window-AC, I rubbed it with my finger. The drop was clear. Still suspicious, I smelt it. The pungency almost knocked me out. It appeared that the birds of Baltimore had struck first. I had to find an excuse to walk into a pub and wash it out. Strike one.

The game at Camden Yards was tons of fun. I walked out to the ticket window and got a bleacher seat for $15. Later, I was surprised by the low turn-out at the stadium. Once again, I went to the right field bleacher to catch some home run balls during batting practice. I have figured out that the best place to catch balls is not against the railing at the wall. I usually stand about 5 rows back, in the isle. This way, I could move up and down the isle and move laterally in rows. I could catch balls on the fly or ran over to catch balls after a bounce. Amazingly, I suddenly saw a ball rising up and quickly coming my way. “It’s got a chance,” I thought as I shifted a couple of steps to my right. It was getting closer, and my mind was still trying to come to term with the fact I might have a chance to touch the ball. By now it was obvious if I did not reach out my hand, my chest would suffer a painful bruise. Still incredulous, I saw in slow motion the ball ricocheting of my right hand, and tumbling two feet in the air. By the time I recovered, I had to fend off people on both sides of me and scrambling to find the ball. After the dust has settled, I came away wistfully with only the sting of my right palm to keep as a momento. Strike two.

The game itself was the best of the trip so far. Three home runs within the span of one inning. The Orioles were down by 3 runs in the eighth. They scored one in the 8th. Along came the White Sox closer, Bobby Jenks. All 6 foot 3 inch, and 275 pounds, accentuated by a blond goatee, he throws, or rather, slings grenades that explode in the catcher’s mitt. Somehow, the Orioles scored 2 runs off of him in the ninth, annoying the White Sox fan next to me, while delighting everyone else including his girlfriend. They went on to win in the 10th. I stood for the last three innings and loved every minute of it. Good night to all.

April 17, Baltimore

2008-04-19T23:35:00.004-04:00

After Washington DC, the trains to the cities on the eastern seaboard have become regional services that ran multiple times a day, so there is much more of a commuter feel to them. They are also very crowded, at least in the morning. Baltimore’s Penn station continue the trend of restored train depots. It has these beautiful stained glass ceilings.

Baltimore’s downtown consists a narrow strip of few city blocks extending from Mount Vernon (a memorial for George Washington) to the inner harbor. The Inner Harbor has been extensively renovation from commercial piers to a shopping/dining/tourist trap. To the best of the harbor is the Baltimore Convention Center and Oriole Park at Camden Yard. I spent my first day near Mount Vernon, visiting some of the public buildings and museums there, before catching the Orioles’ game versus the Chicago White Sox.

My first stop was the Lexington Market. It was on the top of my list since it was the oldest of the public markets in Baltimore. I was initially curious why a different market was suggested in the NY Times’ “36 hours” guide to Baltimore. While Charles Street, which connected Mount Vernon to the Inner Harbor, was unremarkable as far as being yuppy-ish and commercial, Howard Street, only two blocks to the west, appeared deserted during the mid-day. Once I reached the Lexington Market the reason became obvious. There were crowds both inside and outside the market. They were mostly African-Americans, with some Hispanics and Asians. I suppose this could make some people nervous even during the middle of the day. The market itself was pretty run-down, only a few butcher shops and fresh seafood stalls. Most of the stalls were selling food. Curiously, a lot of the business was owned or run by what appear to be Koreans—even behind the Back-country Soul Food place. I had some $10 crab cake, though they blatantly reheated it in a microwave, it was still the best crab cake I ever had.

The neighborhood around Mt. Vernon was fantastic. I visited a Gothic-styled Methodist Church was a striking exterior made up of six different colored stones.

There was the Peabody Institute. It had a breathtaking library that I imagine harkens back to those at institutions of higher learning in England, or Hogwarts.

Then there was the Walters Art Museum. The museum itself has an impressive collection of artifacts and antiques from ancient Egypt to 20th century. I spent a lot of time in their collection of western European weapons, as they say, “boys will be boys.” There was also an exhibit on maps. Unlike the rest of the museum, there was an admission charge, and I ran out of time to see the majority of the maps. But I was thoroughly impressed by a map from the 17th century, which depicted Asia with striking accurate details.

April 16, Panda and Orangutans

2008-04-16T21:07:00.005-04:00

It was the National Zoo today. DC must be a great place for kids to grow up. So many public (free!) museums, parks and zoo and so few weekends and holidays! I only pity the fathers who have to carry the pink, Dora the Explorer backpacks that their lovely daughters are too tired to carry after 30 minutes. Of course, other than the precious children, the stars of the zoo were the Giant Pandas. Children's love of the cuddly pandas is universal across language and cultural barriers. Pandas have been the good-will ambassadors of People's Republic of China for the last three decades, as a symbol of friendship and peace. It is probably the most associated symbol of China these days that does not involve Tiananmen Square, tanks, or crying lamas. The Giant Pandas are an enigma though—carnivores with teeth and claws yet consume an entirely vegetarian diet and barely surviving while surrounded by external dangers. Is this what China should be in the eyes of its international critics? Let us adore you and sing your beauty as long as you stay within the “cage” that we have built for you. Quietly use your sharp claws and teeth to crush the bamboo that we gave you, but be careful not to discover what the true power of such tools. By the way, I also saw orangutans, among the strongest of the apes species. They were flying high on ropes 50 feet above the ground, hopping from one tower to another while pissing and flinging poo at people below. Who wants to be like that?

April 15, Washington DC.

2008-04-16T20:38:00.006-04:00

I went to the International Spy Museum today. It has been touted as the most expensive museum in the District, of course unlike most of the national museums, it is privately owned. Nevertheless, it was tons of fun. I found myself sinking four good hours in that place. Despite the museum's policy of allowing a fixed number of people in every hour, the place still felt somewhat crowded on a Tuesday. But it must be an even more exciting place for kids with the numerous hands-on opportunities. We are all fascinated by real life spies. We are envious of their exciting lives of action, deception, danger, and money. We read spy stories eagerly perhaps a part of us secretly wish they can retire successfully after mission accomplished. Yet the real life spy stories in the museum often follow the trajectory of "Cover," "Caught," and "Consequences." I suppose that truly successful ones never get caught or never kiss-and-tell.

I finished the day by visiting the National Cathedral. It was a beautiful building, inside and out. The sight of it reminded me of the cathedrals I had visited while in Italy. It undoubtedly would have evoked feelings of devotion and spiritual yearning in most people who were in its presence. I wish I could have followed one of those guided tours, but it was late in the day. One surprise was the tomb of Woodrow Wilson in the cathedral. Alas, long gone were the days of the scholar-in-chief.

April 13, Washington DC

2008-04-15T23:30:00.005-04:00

This leg of my trip, via the Crescent route, from New Orleans to Washington, DC, was the last of mine overnight train rides. It was more interesting than my previous trips because of a fellow passenger. A Vietnam vet/professional bungee jumper/expat, who is doing a similar rail trip, we talked for much of the first half of the trip. Or rather, he talked and I listened. One can imagine the topics given my previous qualifiers.

The scenery on the Crescent gave one some flavor of the Southeastern U.S. albeit at 50 mph. It was similar to that of the Sunset Limited route between Houston and New Orleans, but it was more rural rather than wild with a lot of small towns and buildings. Also, I really loved the forest, which I believe may be some type of cypress.

The train ran on time, which was nice for once. We had a group of young people, mostly men, dressed alike with shirts, suspenders, and hats. I wondered if they were Amish since they were headed to Pennsylvania. They did share a curious accent and the same haircut. However some of them did smoke, so I wonder if they are on rumspringa.

The train was pretty empty when we started in New Orleans, but it started to pick up passengers in Alabama. I had both seats on one side to myself until around 3AM, somewhere around Greensboro, when another passenger took the seat next to my assigned seat. So this was the most uncomfortable night I had to spend on the train, and I was glad that it would be my last.

Arriving in Washington DC, I was excited to get a glimpse of the beautiful Union Station. I have read about the restored train stations on the east coast, and this one did not disappoint. Most Amtrak stations of large metropolitans are located conveniently in downtown, and their restoration surely would only add to any downtown revival effort. This was something that Houston could learn from. Then again, the state car of Texas appears to be the Hummer, but I digress. Having been to DC several times in the past, I nevertheless look forward to this visit. But boy, was it cold (compared to New Orleans) today.

April 12, New Orleans

2008-04-12T15:39:00.007-04:00

It was HOT. In hindsight, a pair of short would have been handy in Houston and New Orleans. Even in the evening, the air in the Big Easy was warm and humid. I also regret carrying my backpack. The St. Vincent’s Guesthouse in the Garden district was nice, and I met a few fellow passengers on the train there who were doing similar rail treks on passes. After settling down, I decided to walk to the French Quarter. The locals here had a way of naming directions according to the positions relative to the flow of the Mississippi River, which I was not too keen on trying to decipher in one night.

The walk was easy and I saw buildings some appear to have been renovated recently and some in distress often juxtaposed next to one another. Unfortunately, it was getting dark. I entered the French Quarter via Royal, and began my search of the boiled crawfish. The good news was that the crawfish is in season, evident by the farms of flooded cages during my train ride. However, several restaurants had run out by the time I arrived while others only serve them at brunch. I suppose that the best ones are probably at hole-in-the-wall joints infrequently frequented by tourists like myself. After an hour, I finally found it in the Desire Oyster Bar. The crawfish was over-priced ($8 per pound!) and somewhat smallish. But the crawfish boil seasoning carried a memorable punch. It was definitely a unique experience and delicacy.

French Quarter was what I expected. A lot of people and a lot of drinking on the street. I guess if anything, there was a lot less boobie-flashing than I imagined, but that was fine by me. Crowded live music joints next to crappy daiquiri bars next to stripe clubs next to drinks-to-go stands. Off the main Bourbon Street were more galleries and shops selling anything from antiques to art to voodoo crafts. Had they been open, I could have easily lost an entire day in them. I finished the night walking past the Saint Louis Cathedral, Jackson Square, Café du Mont and the river front. By then the heat had gotten the best of me, and I couldn’t wait to get back to St. Vincent’s for a nice long shower.

April 11, Going to New Orleans

2008-04-12T15:38:00.002-04:00

“…becomes humid during summer and like Florida it has the occasional hurricane.”
- USA by Rail, 6th ed., 2005

Perhaps THE understatement of the book, in light of Katrina. I am looking forward to the city though my stop will be brief.

Sunset Limited is a great route as it covers a vast area of the southern half of the U.S. Post-2005, the line east of New Orleans has been suspended due to the devastation to the Gulf Coast so one could not ride from New Orleans all the way to Orlando as of now. Nevertheless, from Los Angeles traveling eastward, I got to see the landscape outside my window transform from the Wild West to Bayou Country. The desert sunset and sunrise in Arizona. The rare green vegetation, such as that in front of the Tucson station, was always a refreshing change after a long day of delays in the desert. Then there was the seemingly endless of prairie in Texas accentuated by the patches of wild flowers here and there. After Houston, we entered the Bayou country, and the scenery became more varied. The nature beauty of rice paddies, crawfish farms, cypress forest, and swamp land has to compete with the eccentricities of back country homes, general stores, churches, lumber yards and auto shops. The land shifts from one color to the next. It was the cracking yellow of the arid desert. It was the beckoning orange of a Texas sunrise. It was the crispy green of a new spring. It was rusty red of the backyard tool shed. All of them were pitted against the back drop of the bluest sky I can remember. It was all so damn distractingly mesmerizing. Doing my best, but my photographs are hopeless trying to catch one tenth of the live show. Like the Amtrak’s brochure, “it is the best scenery you ever slept through.”

April 11, “Baghdad on the Bayou”

2008-04-12T07:18:00.003-04:00

Everything in Texas is big. It took us 12 hours and nearly 900 miles to go from El Paso to Houston. When it comes to size, Texas is definitely numero uno. From the steaks at the Taste of Texas to the constellation of hospitals at the Texas Medical Center, small is not an option. Not to mention the rockets and space shuttles at NASA’s Johnson Space Center. About the only thing that is built in disproportion to the state and the city of Houston, which is the fourth largest metropolitan area in the U.S., is the Houston Amtrak station. It is a small one story shack nestled, or rather tossed aside, under a highway overpass.

What I love about Houston? The FOOD. From the oyster po’boy to stinky tofu, I never ate so good in the U.S. when traveling alone. Thanks to my long-time friend, Patrick, I got to visit some of the venerable culinary institutions of Houston. The Goode Company has mastered the many of the Texas delicacy, from BBQ to seafood, from steaks to Cajun cooking. I will not forget the oyster po’boy I had right after I got off the train. My only regret is that I ate a hamburger on the train, which deprived me both the money and the extra room in my belly for a second po’boy. We later went to the Goode BBQ, and it was a carnivore-heaven. 3-meat combo dinner was only $11, and it came with jalapeño sweetbread and two “veges.” This presented two serious problems. I had to choose from a list of over ten meats—brisket, ribs, chicken, duck, two kinds of sausages, pulled pork, ham, and others. I HAD to settle for ONLY the brisket, sweet water duck, and jalapeño sausage. I also got to try a piece of the ribs. Like a father with kids, it would be insensitive for me to pick one to be my favorite. The second problem was that I don't really care for any veges. But a more careful examination of the menu revealed that the closest any of the items comes to resemble an actual vegetable is cole slaw. So I opted for baked beans and jambolaya. Next time, I will opt for the a la carte menu, “meat only” baby!

NASA’s Johnson Space Center, or rather the JSC, was pretty cool. I did took a wrong turn and had an hour of detour driving by the numerous chemical and oil companies along the gulf coast. Apparently the JSC has become much more restricted to the public since 2001, and the guided tour only showed us the original mission control center, now defunct, that was used for all the Apollo missions. Amazing how ancient the technology were, yet they put men on the moon with essentially 800 kb of computing power and some analog, rotary phones. We also visited the training simulation facility. I found it interesting that it has the emblems of space programs from nations around the world, and the only one missing, perhaps obviously, is the Chinese. The stalemate would only continue, given the recent political climate and the potential retreat of the Chinese from friendly engagement with other world powers. The rest of the space center open to the visitors play more like a children’s hands-on museum and science center. But you did get to touch a piece of moon rock. I easily spent more than four hours in it, which put me way behind schedule for Galveston…

…and that was a good thing. Once referred to as the “arm pit of Texas,” the Galveston I saw was pretty desolate. Perhaps it was the overcast day, or the salty humid sea wind that clinged to every square inch of my exposed body, or the empty streets in front of the “renovated” downtown district, I felt depressed. Once the biggest port in Texas and boasted an opulent city, the island today, at least on April 9, 2008, felt empty.

Yesterday, I finally got to visit the famed Texas Medical Center that I have heard so much about. Even after walking through the area, I am still confused about the affiliation of the various hospitals and the two medical schools, UT-Southwest and Baylor. My friend Patrick wondered out how the hospitals survive the competition from such close proximity. But they appear to be doing quite well, if the hospitals’ lobbies and soaring towers are any indication. My three days in Houston happen to be overcastted, but I still felt humid and icky when walking outside. Boy, was I hungry after walking around the medical center for four hours.

And we had just the right place to have lunch. There is a nice Taiwanese restaurant in the de facto Chinatown to the west of downtown. We ordered stinky tofu hot pot, snails stir fried with basil and deep fried intestine, some of my favorite. Hands down, the stinky tofu there was the most pungent I have encountered on this side of Pacific. Yum-yum. A brief stroll in the strip mall revealed a variety of establishments essential for survival by oversea Chinese: restaurants ranging from southeastern Asian cuisine to Beijing-style lamb hot pot; shops from video rental to Chinese bakery; Chinese grocers to stores where one can buy utterly useless but ultra-cute accessories.

Our last meal was steaks at the Taste of Texas. The restaurant was decked out appropriately with the paraphernalia of the state. Still recovering from our gorging at the Taiwanese restaurant, I was initially relieved to read that the steak was ordered by the ounce. That was until I saw in the smaller print, “16 oz. minimum.” Oh well, I went with my trusted old friend, the Rib-eye. And the steak was huge and was fabulous, probably one of the best I have ever had. It was no 72 oz freak, but I can still feel the sucker this morning.

Leaving for New Orleans today. The train is ONLY one hour and 40 minutes late today. I am sad to say good bye to Houston. With great friends, great food, and great achievements, Houston is a city I will be coming back again. I guess I will have to beat down my sorrow with a few pounds of boiled crawfish in NOLA.

April 9, Houston.

2008-04-10T01:18:00.002-04:00

Finally Houston. We were only seven hours late. Once we arrived in Texas, the train trip became a blur and so has the scenery outside the window. We arrived in San Antonio the morning after the NCAA Men's Basketball Final Four. The alamodome is right next to the train station.

Houston's train station is a piece of crap according to people online, and now I can confirm that. We drove through downtown, which seemed nice but a bit deserted. I saw the infamously expensive, unuseful, dangerous metrorail. And yes, it is all that.

We saw the Astros play the Cardinals. I absolutely love the Enron, I mean, Minute Maid Park. It is not much to look at from the outside,

but the stadium is gorgeous inside with a lot of details and nice gimmicks.

One drawback of having a new, expensive stadium is the price of everything inside. Unlike the previous two baseball stadiums, McAfee in Oakland and Angels Stadium in Anaheim, they do not allow food or drinks from outside. While the selections are plentiful, food and drinks are the most expensive of the three stadiums. Oh well.

April 7, Tucson and the Holy Grail.

2008-04-07T20:04:00.004-04:00

We are finally in Tucson, about seven and half hour behind schedule. I have been on a quest for the elusive electrical outlet since the start of the trip. My diligent online research has revealed that outlets are few and far between on these long distance coach cars. They apparently only exist at seats 19 and 55. I asked for one of them while boarding and got brushed off, was told by the ticket agent “I think I gave them away already.” Of course that was not entirely true. But I was initially buoyanted by the discovery that my assigned seat 33, next to the 250 lb guy in shorts and cut-off T-shirt, was an outlet not previously known to the entire Amtrak nation. I eagerly busted out my brand new power surge protector, carefully chosen from the South Coast Bestbuy for its right angle plug. Alas, the outlet was mostly hidden behind the seat, and the space was not enough to fit in my right angle plug. I then wondered over to seat 19, which was unoccupied. There the outlet is less hidden, but nonetheless is partially obstructed by the seat to prevent access. Twice crushed, I proceed to spend the rest of the day in the sightseering car where there are three outlets.

After our arrival to Tucson, seat 55 became unoccupied. I asked the conductor about switching to that seat and was again brushed off. The seat is labeled “reserved” but seats are only assigned when the passengers board. So I patiently waited until everyone boarded the train, then calmly took the unoccupied/unassigned/perpetually “reserved” seat 55. I watched as the conductor personally escorted a new passenger to her assigned seat and then offer her the option to switch to any seat she wants. She must be a VIP. Commoners like me just go on ignoring his repeated overhead announcement about the need to stay in the assigned seats. Ahab has his white whale, Arthur his Grail, and I the electrical outlet at seat 55. As Achilles of Pitt famously put it, “Glory. Take it! It’s yours!”

. . .

People are indeed attracted to power. In less than 30 minutes, my surge protector has been put to good use now. It is charging a laptop, two DVD players and a cell phone.

April 7, Still in New Mexico

2008-04-07T20:04:00.003-04:00

The trip continues, and I am guessing we are about 10 hours behind schedule. I am actually quite calm given the circumstance. I have forwarded the Astro’s tickets to my friend in Houston, through an intermediary. I will still have 2 days in Houston at the least (fingers crossed). I am just amazed at the wide open space in the West. I can do a lot worse with the view. Next stop will be El Paso, TX. From there, it is another 800 miles to Houston, still in Texas! I am tempted to rent a car and drive, but that would be totally insane!

Now that I have some, well a lot of, free time, I get to look at the Amtrak’s National route map. Did you know there is a Las Vegas, NM? What about Kissimmee in Florida? At the Texas/Arkansas border, not too far from Louisiana, there is a city called Texarkana. Of course, I still like to tell people about a little city in Michigan called Climax. This is unfortunate since it is located at the half way point between Chicago and Detroit and it is the absolute low point of anyone making the trip between the two cities.

April 6, Somewhere between Los Angeles and Palm Spring

2008-04-07T20:03:00.001-04:00

Who says the train is always on time? My image of the rail system as the well-oiled machine has been shattered. Between 5pm and 10 pm, the train has stopped three times—twice yielding for freight trains and once for break problems. The best I can say is that there is plenty of room to move around. However, it does appear the two and half hour leg to Palm Spring has turned into a seven and half hours. This has put my plan for an Astro’s game on the night of April 8, my day of arrival in Houston, into serious jeopardy. ETA +7.5h.
This is our train stopping for 2 hours.

April 6, Newport Beach/Anaheim/Santa Ana

2008-04-07T20:02:00.001-04:00

It was good to catch up with my friend P. He is getting married soon after all these years of “resistance.” My time in town is short, really about 36 hours, got in about midnight on Friday night and leaving at noon today. Yesterday I rode the buses to Angels Stadium in Anaheim, which took about 2 hours. For a long time, I had an aversion to public transit, partly because my disappointing experience with it in San Diego where buses sometimes run every HOUR. Also with public transit, you are at the mercy of others when it comes to the schedule and I am a stickler for promptness. However, with my recent experience traveling in China, I have a new appreciation for this mode of transportation.

The 2 hour long bus ride was uneventful. At around the time we rode past the South Coast Plaza Mall I noticed that there was not a single White person on the bus. Most passengers were Latinos. I later found out that the South Coast Plaza happens to be one of the ritziest shopping centers in southern California. As I strolled through the mall this morning pass the Tiffany’s and Armani's, I can’t help but think back to my fellow passengers on bus 57 the day before.

The Angels played the Texas Rangers last night. Our seats were by the first base side, but on the very last row (Section 528, Row 8).

Another pitcher’s duel, and the Angels won 2-1. Unlike the Oakland A’s, the game was nearly a sell-out, and most fans wore the home team’s color, red and white. Someone once asked me why I refer the teams I cheer for “my Niners,” or “our A’s.” This is a good question. As far as I know, only the Green Bay Packers is the only major professional sport team in America that is a public holding company. So I don’t own the A’s. The major league baseball players on average are finally making $3 million a year after years of subsistent living. When I am buying that $7 sausage, I think how lucky I am to have the afternoon off to watch My Team in action. I can only hope that some player on the team is thinking how lucky he is to be playing a child’s game while carrying the hope of a city on his shoulders.

Off to Union Station in Los Angeles. The next leg will be a 37 hour ride on the Sunset Limited line to Houston, which will include two nights. I haven’t decided whether to shell out the money for a roomette, which has a bed. The plan is to rough it out in the coach seat for one night, and maybe ask about an upgrade during the second night once the train leaves San Antonio.

Big screen TV.

2008-04-05T15:15:00.004-04:00

I missed my 32 inch Sony Wega. There, I said it. I love watching television. Buying that TV for $900 (including the stand) five years ago was the best luxury purchase I've ever made. For the last month, I've been stuck at my family home and making due with a 22 inch and only 60 channels of cable TV. Don't get me wrong, I still watch tons of TV, even if it includes classics such as "whose wedding is it" and "house cleaning."

But I just traded in that 22 inch for a 60 inch. Yesterday I sat in front of that screen, transfixed for 6 hours nonstop. I didn't even pay attention to the dialogs (tell you why in a bit) but the images themselves were worth the price of admission. Well, it was not an actual TV screen. It was the window in the viewing car of theAmtrak Coast Starlight train. But in the matter of hours, I saw junk car yards, residential neighborhoods, trailer parks, oil fields, and of course, the California coast line. It was like the "Sopranos" meet "Everybody loves Raymond" meet "My name is Earl" meet "There will be blood" meet "Baywatch." It was awesome.

Check out more pictures.

Balling across America

2008-04-04T01:41:00.003-04:00

Tomorrow the rail trip, after much planning and phone tagging with Amtrak, will officially kick off. Here's a map of the itinerary.

View Larger Map

High Sierra Travel Pack
Laptop
Camera
Cell phone
Passport
USA by Rail
Hoodie x1
Jeans x1
Cargo pants x1
T-shirts x6
All the underwear and sock I own
Total weight: 187 lb (me) and 28 lb (pack)
Coming soon to a town and a baseball stadium near you!

Glad I'm not the only one.

2008-04-01T16:16:00.004-04:00

The new Absolut Vodka ads have been bugging me for awhile. I can't quite put my finger on it until this morning. To confirm my suspicion, I did a quick search online. Boy, am I glad that I'm not the only one. Consider the demographic Absolut is targeting with the fruity flavors, I have to think this is intentional. And don't even get me started on this one.

Funny, but

2008-03-22T00:12:00.004-04:00

Check out Stuff White People like, it is exploding. Some people hate it, but most people love it. But looking at the list, shouldn't it be more appropriately named "Stuff Middle-Class Yuppies like?"

#90 Dinner Parties
#89 St. Patrick’s Day
#88 Having Gay Friends
#87 Outdoor Performance Clothes
#86 Shorts
#85 The Wire
#84 T-Shirts
#83 Bad Memories of High School
#82 Hating Corporations
#81 Graduate School

Forced hands.

2008-03-19T04:54:00.002-04:00

Dalai Lama accused Chinese agents behind some of the violence in Tibet. That is questionable. But the point that there are people with divergent motives is a good one. This unrest has brought the Sino-Tibetan relation one step backward. I would argue that the riots do not benefit the Dalai Lama, which is why he denounced it. However slim the chance of reconciliation between him and the Chinese just got slimmer. Deep down in his heart he must want to return to the land of his people and his ancestry, especially in his old age. The alternative is to continue the status quo and to allow the "cultural genocide" until it is the defacto reality in another generation. He may also be the last chance for the Chinese. Once he has passed on, his reincarnate, the 15th Dalai Lama, will not be guaranteed to be in the Chinese control, and will likely to be much more militant than the 14th. Is that what they want? Of course, perhaps the Chinese would like the repeat of the Panchen Lama fiasco, and render the two highest ranked spiritual leaders of Tibetan Buddhism meaningless and powerless. In some ways, the riots have forced the hands of the Chinese and the Dalai Lama, not too surprisingly since the younger, more international Tibetan generation is far more militant than his holiness.

Empire building.

2008-03-18T01:42:00.002-04:00

Anne Applebaum had a piece on Slate today about the Tibetan unrest. A journalist/Eastern European scholar, she drew comparisons between China of today and the European empires from the last two centuries. She is optimistic for the Tibetans, however,

And if they aren't worried, they should be. After all, the history of the last two centuries is filled with tales of strong, stable empires brought down by their subjects, undermined by their client states, overwhelmed by the national aspirations of small, subordinate countries. Why should the 21st century be any different? Watching the tear gas roll over the streets of Lhasa yesterday on a blurry, cell-phone video, I couldn't help but wonder when—maybe not in this decade, this generation, or even this century—Tibet and its monks will have their revenge.

She makes a familiar argument, correct or not, that often only annoys the Chinese. In their eyes, the comparisons are invalid because things are in fact different. They would laugh at the comparison between China and the imperial Western Europe. Those empires were based on technological advantages while China relies on its shear size, population and land mass (even minus its western region).

The Chinese if nothing but students of history know time is on their side. The French had their Algeria. But Algeria was more than twice of France's size. England and India, please. Notice the Dali Lama was most concerned about "culture genocide" not Ms Applebaum's "political manipulation, secret police repression and military force." Because in truth, the Han Chinese do not need those. Tibetans are already minorities in their own land. The parts of Lhasa that are burning are inconsequential because they are new, use by the Hans, have no real cultural value and can be rebuilt quickly. As long as the monasteries and palaces remain standing for tourists, and yes, some monks inside would be nice, all is well.

It is curious why Ms. Applebaum, who is American, fails to see the similarity between China and the U.S. Many Chinese will happily point out that today's U.S. owns much of its geography to expansion, sometimes by brute force but often less blunt, often by the mean of population migration. This is a sad time for someone like myself who hopes one day to visit Tibet. Let us hope the Lhasa of tomorrow will not be consisted of wide boulevards, ancient monasteries and gleaming casinos.

Cars.

2008-03-01T09:02:00.003-05:00

Driving in China is a dangerous endeavor. The life behind an automobile in Shanghai is entirely different from that of one in the U.S. or Europe. After being driven around the city for the last three weeks, I have come to appreciate the irony of the Chinese drivers. Politeness is out of the question. Defensive driving rules the day. Using Chinese idioms, one has to look in four directions, and listens in eight more. One reads into every slight deviation by his neighbors. Ones has to tailgate in China. One becomes suspicious when the adjacent car in the next lane does not tailgate. The chances are the car is looking to change lanes, and it inevitably does. Ultimately I have come to the realization that people in China drive their cars like they ride their bikes. Bicycles are nimble and harmless. The chances are every driver in China have ridden bicycles for the majority of their lives before they ever stepped behind a steering wheel. There is no lane change signals in biking. No lane period. Every crack is daylight to freedom. The damages done by an accident on a bike can be remedied by a quick apology. somehow that mentality has been transferred to the auto culture in China.

Yet the Chinese love their cars. The internet is full of stories of Chinese jumping into their cars, SUVs, or vans, racing toward the western frontier. Journeys to the West. They thirst for wild open space, for adventures, for an authentic experience of becoming singular with the sky, the land and one's own destiny. Much like the Wild West of the U.S, there are so much of China yet to be explored and experienced. Perhaps all of us hunger for a place to call our own, where 1.3 billion is but a number, and one's life path is not limited by the concrete jungle of steel highrises and narrow highways.

Things I love, things I hate (II)

2008-02-21T09:54:00.002-05:00

I love street food in China. My favorite, pan-fried buns. I love the table size cast iron pan. I love stealing glimpses of the white sesame buns when the cook had to periodically lift the cover and rotate the pan. I love the sound of buns sizzling in their own juice. I love the eruption of steam when the cover is finally lifted, revealing the offering of a culinary delight. The balance of paper thin skin on the top, crispy fried bottom, a perfectly proportioned pork filling bathed in a pocket of soupy ecstasy is a full sensory experience to be held.

I hate people taking pictures in museums. I hate it when they use camera with flash. I hate it when they take photo without flash. I hate it when they take pictures of each other standing in front/next to the art. It is almost as bad as craving "XXX was here," another common practice in China. The place for occipital appreciation of art is debatable. I hate when they take it with cell phone cameras. I saw someone today in Shanghai Art Museum literally took a picture of every painting in one gallery. Along with the cell phone camera is the annoying sound of the fake shutter and the subsequent ring tone telling you and the person you just took the upskirt picture of that the picture has been stored. I hate them all.

I hate the RMB 30 coffee in Starbucks, and the suckers, including myself, that crowd their multi-storied shops.

I love the elderly couple who grabbed my attention in a crowed street that a RMB 5 bill has fallen out of my pocket.

I hate the ubiquitous quartet of high-end shopping high rises anchoring every large intersection in Shanghai.

I love the hundreds of people lining up to buy shrimp and crab filled rice balls so they can share this traditional meal with their family on the first fifteenth of the lunar new year.

Things I love, things I hate.

2008-02-18T04:14:00.003-05:00

I love old school restaurants in Shanghai. They are named after place, people or their famous dish. The names made sense. There is certain degree of classical culture and education that went into such names. Of course, now most of such restaurants have franchises all over the city while charging premium prices for their names, but they are still true to their tradition.

I hate the names of new restaurants and bars in Shanghai. These names are often idiotic and show a complete lack of culture sophistication. For example, 锅比盆大, "Pot is bigger than the dish." It is a hot pot joint. Of course, the pot is bigger than the dish. I actually just found a afternoon tea place, 锅比碗大，"Pot is bigger than the tea cup." I love it. A second option is the purposeful misuse of characters with similar phonetic sounds. Chinese is prone to such abuse, but this phenomunom still gets on my nerves. But the worst is when people name their restaurant/bar to their locations. It may be fine if you have a single digit address on the Bund, but otherwise... I think this originated from the art galleries in the West. Western restaurants, bars and galleries love this practice. Well, stop, I don't think it is original and it only shows a lack of creativity and intellectual laziness.

18 years.

2008-02-15T07:21:00.002-05:00

This is the first Chinese New Year (CNY) I spent in Shanghai since I immigrated to the States in 1990. It has been 18 years. 18 years, one could become fully grown and be eligible to vote in most countries. 18 years, a single malt whiskey could fetch hundreds of dollars. 18 years, enough time for the walkman to catch on and go extinct. 18 years, a generation has grown up accustomed to KFC, Playstation (1-2-P-3) and more cars than bikes. So it is not so surprising then that I feel less and less a part of today's society in Shanghai. I wonder about the generational gap between this generation and the one before. The 1980's was such a tumultuous and critical time for the country, yet I suspect Chinese younger than 18 probably know less about the 1980's than any other decade of the twentieth century. Perhaps it is not so surprising that after a week of excessively extravagant banquets, my family has opted for a quiet meal at Meilongzheng, an old favorite Sichuan restaurant, and a meal at home that consisted of rice steamed with vegetable and cured pork, pork hock with bean and tofu with vegetable.

Hot potting.

2008-02-13T08:11:00.001-05:00

I enjoyed some curry hot pot with a few neurosurgeons last night. I thought it is interesting that doctors here also want to improve the health care system though they are more interested in the best way to compensate and motivate surgeons. It may come as a surprise to Americans that many of them look up to the U.S. One doctor even commented on how difficult it is find a solution that will work effectively within the market economy especially "when even the U.S. is having such a hard time."

Duolun Lu

2008-02-13T06:59:00.003-05:00

Duolun Lu or "Culture Street," was home to some of the left-wing writers/social activists of Shanghai in the 1930's. In the rush to modernize, the older neighborhoods of Shanghai have been inevitably falling victims to bulldozers until someone somewhere could come up with an economical reason why any such place should be preserved. Sometime it was the mere logistics of the land (too narrow a strip to build high rises), while more often it was the combination of the density of population and the price of "moving cost per capita." Duolun Lu is being preserved because its historical significance and the government's goal to transform it into a commercially viable attraction with an artistic twist. You can walk into small shops to satisfy your inner child as an antique collector. Truly, this is one man's trash another man's treasure. Mirroring the fate of the city's old architecture, most of the items on display were probably bought cheaply by the dealers from people who were at one point more concerned about that new color TV instead of the broken grandfather clock.

I spent most of the afternoon in the small alleys off the main road, playing with my the old canon EOS650. I tried to imagine the alleys without the ubiquitous AC outside each window and the growing herd of autos parked to one side. In some ways, life here is not so different than 30 years ago. There are the colorful flags--shirts, long-johns and underwear hanging off bamboo stick, waiting to dry. The new year's mascots--the smoked duck, pork belly, sausages and fish--are both enticing and intimidating. And finally there is the daily ritual of cleansing--the emptying of ma-tong. Listening to the crisp sound of national past time--mah-jong and the "washing of its pieces," is this what life is like in the 1930's?

Serious fire power

2008-02-10T11:42:00.000-05:00

I took a stroll around the Suzhou Creek Art District today with my uncle and his two photographer buddies. They were planning to shoot some of the abandoned factories near the creek. I had thought they would be shooting with digital SLRs so I did not bring the 20 year old Canon EOS I got from my dad. As it turned out, two out of three were shooting with BW film today. It was fun to observe them, and to just climb up buildings that were probably really too dangerous to go in. Anyhow, this has really inspired me to start rediscover my hometown through the camera lens. My uncle had some simple tips for me: get a simple semi-professional digital, shoot a ton, learn to appreciate photos of others, and start playing with use photoshop :)

I had dinner with my cousin and a couple she knew. All you can eat personal hot pot, yum. We then went to a live music venue at Xintiandi, the Ark--it was the guy's birthday. The band was terrible and so were the drinks. I guess this is life in Shanghai even when you are with people who are in the know. I am always amazed by singers that can sing songs in multiple languages that they do not speak. Well, the lead singer tonight sucked at English, Portuguese, and Chinese.

The highlight of the night was the firework. 5th day of the first lunar month is the date for the god of fortune. And people went nuts with fireworks again at midnight. Imagine 4th of July on steroids. There were people literally launching fireworks from the base of our residential building. The skyline was lit up by fireworks in every direction. How could this much firework not be fire hazard. Perpetrators were everywhere--sidewalks, parking lot, residential buildings, etc. I imagine this is about as close to Baghdad, April 2003 as possible for me.

M&Ms

2008-02-09T08:05:00.001-05:00

This has been one of the coldest winters in Shanghai's recent history. There are still piles of snow everywhere to prove it. I have not done anything outside the last two days. Centralized AC/heater is still rare, and even a trip to the bathroom, which is not heated, can be daunting. Of course, the temperature was not the only reason that I barely leave the apartment.

I was playing with my dad's old SLR Canon yesterday. Considering the number of photographers and gadget-philes in my extended family, I am rather a novice when it comes to photography. I soon realized that the best way to learn will be to pop in some film and start shooting. But that will require me going outside to the store.

We had dinner last night with my mom's extended family. The star of the gathering was the Guizhou Maotai. This was Chairman Mao's favorite drink. I wonder if this was because the only thing more irresistible than its bouquet and taste was its tendency to make its drinker talk. Oh, did my family talk, especially my youngest uncle. Not surprisingly, we could not stop until both bottles were finished--we had to find out if the two tasted differently because of the age difference of 15 years. The history of the family is intricately linked with the liquor. When my uncle got married in the early 80's, his brother-in-law who was from Guizhou brought with him 8 bottles of Maotai for the wedding banquet. They were RMB8 each at the time. Each banquet table costed RMB45, which was the monthly salary of my uncle. Maotai nowadays can be anywhere from RMB600 to 6000, and I would not venture to guess how much our meal costed last night. How time has changed. One of my cousins was unfortunate enough to bring his girlfriend (who was a psychiatrist). I wonder who is going to need therapy after she spent the whole meal listening to various people discussing the psychology in today's Chinese society and grilling the couple about a date for their wedding AND their eventual child.

Not surprisingly, the drinking continued after the meal at my uncle's place. A bottle of XO was the victim this time. Apparently I am only nice to dogs when I am drunk. Long story short, I got bit by their dog, I took my revenge by puking on their balcony, and after my dad somehow took me home, I proceed to fall asleep with the TV, lights and laptop on in my bed.

Also not surprisingly, I had to take today off. It was so cold that I just could not think of anything that I want to do bad enough to get out of the apartment. I ended up playing 8 hours of Majong. My techniques were based purely from a HK Majong movie I saw recently. I was winning at a decent frequency. Even after I got cocky and more greedy and missed opportunities to increase my winnings I still came out on the black in the end.

Maotai and Majong, only in China.

New Year Day.

2008-02-07T09:07:00.000-05:00

Jet lagged, I woke up this morning at 5:30am. The canons have started already; they are nothing else if not persistent. The fire crackers here are quite impressive. Even when I see them coming, I am still startled by their sound.

I went back to the old family home for lunch. Lunch is followed by the obligatory Majong game. After 3 hours, I bowed out and went for a stroll around People's Park. The city was actually not as crowded as I had expected, possibly due to the exceptionally cold weather. The major department stores were open, but closed early by either 5 or 6pm, while the smaller stores on the side streets remained closed. Walked by the middle school Ge Zhi, it has become unrecognizable. Gone was the old building with the hundred year-old ivy. In its place stood an impressive building that would appeared more appropriate in the fast changing downtown. I stopped by Shanghai Book City, a book store. It was definitely the busiest store I saw. I spent 1 hour browsing the travel guides, looking for ideas for short trips. I also found the medical section with several books on anesthesia, but could not decide which book to buy. Shadowing Chinese anesthetists may prove to be more difficult as I originally thought.

Shanghai is cold this winter. Most people have very thick coat on, even when eating in some of the restaurants. I wonder if the businesses are been ernergy-aware. Will things change once the Three Gorge electricity come online?

Fire and ash.

2008-02-06T17:27:00.000-05:00

I touched down in Shanghai Pudong International Airport to a city of fire and ash. That is a good thing actually. As the tradition of Lunar New Year, fire crackers and fire works are the norm at such time. Having last been in Shanghai in 2006, I braced for another reeducation of the city I once called home. The airport just added another terminal building. The roads and highways leading away from the airport are constantly changing, so soon I found myself on one of such concrete serpents creeping toward the river and the downtown beyond. I was soon distracted by the shimmering lights in the distance. Imaging a typical display of fire work at a county fair on July 4th, then multiple that by 8, and spread them across the horizon. They were most likely uncoordinated displays by private citizens. As we weaved through the concrete jungle of highway, fire works lit up the night sky, like military flares warning the impending arrival of this half-foreign invader.

Forget the smog, I was immediately attacked by the smell of sulfur once I stepped out the car. Like a VIP, I was quickly hustled into my family's old residence, an old style Shikumeng building. Almost everyone from my dad's generation were there plus my grandmother. My dad and I proceeded to eat dinner with everyone watching--something my dad's family in Shanghai share with Jerry Seinfeld's parents, dinner was at 5pm, and we arrived at 7:30pm. Surprisingly no Majong was played, and we called it a night at 9:30pm.

At 11:30pm, I was somehow able to fall asleep with the sound of machine guns outside my window. Against the survival instinct and my better judgement, I peeked out once. Tracer bullets are flying everywhere, relentlessly slamming into the side of our highrise. As the sparks bouncing off the building, I was thankful that we were on the 24th floor. They are not going to capture me that easy.

How do they come up with street names?

2007-12-18T19:56:00.000-05:00

I just drove by a neighborhood. I was on Greenhaven Dr, and I drove past Greenway, Greenhurst, Havenhurst and Haven. Seriously, how do city planners come up with these names? I kind of imaging that someone sitting in a room, pickup a book randomly off his shelf, and start writing down nouns. Anyone has any clue?

Getting paid.

2007-12-17T04:50:00.000-05:00

Michael Lewis wrote for NYT about how college football players are getting ripped off by their schools. Of course he is right. How could coaches make millions of dollars from contracts and endorsement deals, when the student-athletes see jerseys with their names fly off the store shelf and not get a single cent? Lewis suggests a tiered system of pay-for-service, where players in skilled positions get more money than others. I have an even better idea.

How about setting up a graduation fund for every athlete in addition to the scholarships. The school pays into the fund a certain percentage of the program's annual net revenue. The account will only be drawable to the student-athlete after he graduates with a degree. It is obvious why this system is better than the current scholarship-only system. One, it is more fair. For those who believe tuition, room and board are sufficient for the poor athletes, think again. If the total NCAA football revenue is $1.8 billion per year, that means each player generated close to $150,000 (121 teams and 100 per team). Two, it obviously promotes graduation. For the players that leave school early to pursue professional careers, they would forfeit the money, which would be chump change compare to any professional signing bonus. But for the rest of them, one hundred grand could mean a down payment for a house, seed money for a small business, that knee surgery when he is twenty-eight or even tuition for graduate degrees. Remember, they are student-athletes.

Keep Cheney away from Scalia.

2006-02-13T02:19:00.000-05:00

So what will it be? NRA and gun rights groups' spin on Cheney's accident will have to address two separate issues: (1) how often does this type of accidents occur? and (2) who does this type of accident occur to? Three out of the four combinations sound bad:
a) they are rare and only happen to inexperienced and irresponsible gun owners, i.e. idiots;
b) they are common but only happens to idiots, i.e. non-NRA members;
c) they are common and can happen to anyone including experienced and responsible NRA members.
The last option: "they are rare and can happen to even the most red-blooded, 2nd amendment-loving, Wyoming cowboy/CEO, duck-hunting American male" seems to be the most unconvincing argument--if Mr. Cheney, who never make a mistake, could f*** up, then we are all f***ed. I wonder what they decided during the news blackout on Saturday.

So one more thing, I don't think the VP should go on hunting trips with Justice Scalia anymore. Mr. Cheney has been looking for nukes everywhere, we shouldn't be tempting him to create another opportunity for the U.S. Senate to push for the Nuclear Option.

National security crisis.

2006-02-12T16:29:00.000-05:00

No, not the questions concerning domestic wiretapping. Not the perpetual war on terrorism. Not the growing nuclear arsenal by the remaining Axis of Evil. I meant who's guarding the Vice President of the United States of America?

He just accidentally shot his hunting mate with a shot gun. Everyone would be jumping on the NRA angle. But I am more concerned about the implication--the VP is walking around with 70 year olds holding shot guns. It could just be as likely that Cheney is on the receiving end of the blast, and I doubt there were secret security agents diving in front of Cheney everytime one of the fellow hunters raises his shot gun.

Regardless of one's political leaning, VP Cheney is vital to our national security. We have enough to worry about everytime he trips, let alone checking into a hospital because of his bad ticker, do we really need him be surrounded by gun totting amatures? Quick, someone better take that chainsaw out of President Bush's hands before he hurt himself.

What goes up must come down?

2006-01-29T13:22:00.000-05:00

Right? Watching news coverage from the Middle East is often filled with people celebrating. Clearly there are so much to celebrate there. Births. Marriages. Funerals. Free elections. Terrorists winning free elections. And what do they do when they celebrate? They fire off AK-47. Com'n, this is their culture--think of the Chinese with their fire crackers at New Years or Mexicans with their pinadas. Fine. It's loud and grabs attention, not to mention counter fires from U.S. military.

But where do the bullets go? I used to worry these innocent gun totters injuring themselves when they fire into the sky and get hit by the bullets when they return to earth. But I noticed that they usually don't fire straight up, but at 70 or 80 degreess. Nevertheless the bullets have to come down eventually, right? Do they hit buildings? Or worse, people? Could we get some stats on this? Annual injuries due to celebratory fire. I got to know .

Tangy dream

2006-01-26T19:45:00.000-05:00

My gf mentioned Li Yiyun’s essay in the NYT Magazine, about her childhood and Tang, the oranged-flavored drink, in China. The mere mention of Tang triggered a flashflood of my own memories growing up in post-Mao China. Nostalgic, I proceeded to read Li’s essay and be disappointed. Her description of the craze surrounding Tang was wonderful and right on, but her conclusion left me scratching my head. Tang “lost its gloss because, alas, it was neither expensive nor trendy” now that she is in America? Or was it because neither her father nor boyfriend spoiled her by buying Tang when she was young? I had thought the essay was going to be about how we treasure our childhood memories, and thus, remain nostalgic about those items from our formative years even after we are grown and become jaded. Instead, I get someone either indicting the materialism behind the popularity of Tang in 80’s China or bemoaning the tragedy of love and marriage.

My own take on Tang is two-fold. I would bet a lot of Chinese people around my age, maybe even older, have a special place in their hearts for Tang. (Getting them to admit it, or buying it now is another story.) What Li seemed to have forgotten is that Tang was popular, not because it was expensive, but because it was from America. Yes, expensive and American are often synonymous in China, but not always inter-changeable. In fact, I can name, off the top of my head, a list of firsts from America that post-Mao China had found irresistible. Nescafe coffee. Hunter the detective drama. Full House the sitcom. Falcon Crest the soap opera. Marlboro the cigarettes. Yes, the good, the bad, and the ugly. But we loved it all. I would love to do a fMRI study on myself to see which parts of my brain are lit up while the old ad for Nescafe is played. The popularity of this first wave of American products introduced in the Chinese market was not based purely on materialistic greed. The flashy TV shows and the innovative, glamorous commercials were a window into an undiscovered country for us. America was a symbol of freedom, opportunity and plentiful—yes that sounds sappy now, but true. We craved information about this too-good-to-be true land, and to certain extend, the images and feelings projected by the drinks, the TV shows and Marlboro met our expectations and helped to launch the life-path of a daring generation who saw their future and the future of their children in the country across the ocean. The beautiful smiling nuclear family, sure I want that. Go to the best university and become an astronaut, why not my son or daughter. Even the cowboys Marlboro commercials gave us a glance of the spacious wild American west that seemed like heaven to those of us crammed in an apartment shared by four generations of relatives. To Li, Tang may have represented empty vanity and rash wastefulness, but to me, Tang reminded me of a time when the Chineses had finally begun to peak their heads above the wall after 30 years to look around.

That is not to say without Tang and Nescafe and American TV China today would look like North Korea. The opening of the country was inevitable. I think wistfully of Tang of the early 80’s for another reason. That was a time when only a few had TV, let alone colored ones. So when a show like Hunter or Falcon Crest came on, EVERYBODY watched. It was normal to have neighbors from all three floors to be packed into our study/living/bed ROOM to watch the show on our TV. The Magnificent Seven theme song used by the Maralboro ads would signify the beginning of the broadcast, and the neighbors, old and young, would gallop into your room. We snickered everytime Fred Dryer (“Hunter”), 6’9” towering over a bike, negotiated a sharp with his leg, and wondered what life would be like when cars would out-number bikes on our streets. What happened on the show would be discussed the next day. Description of the next show would be printed in newspaper and followed intendedly. Of course, that era is long gone. One would be hard pressed to find an equivalent event today to the amount of attention paid to those shows. Today, competition is fierce in China, whether you are selling soap or cell phone. Everyone has TV, one in every room, and one bigger than the next. TV is flooded with teary soap operas from Korea and Japan, and anyone in Shanghai is lying if he does not admit having at least 100 DVDs of foreign movies at home. Alas, Tang represented the “golden age” when a TV set becomes a community property for 50 minutes every night, and everyone you grew up with watched the same thing on TV. Is this what the baby boomers in America miss whenever they come across “pimp my ride” on MTV?

My memory of Tang is a simpler time, perhaps a more comfortable time than Li’s. I had a color TV. My mother could afford Tang. America seemed closer to me than to most others. But that does not mean it was an easier time. All these comfort was possible mostly because my father was one of the daring ones that left China alone, dreaming a better future for his family in the land of Tang, Marlboro and Nescafe. Maybe that is why Li’s essay irked me the most. To her, “every dream ended with this bland, ordinary existence, where a prince would one day become a man who boiled orange peels for his family.” What is left of ourselves without dreams? Did she not realize that her father also had dreams of his own? Whose dream is it that one day she would be standing in an American store rejecting Tang, and made that possible? I, on the other hand, am left to wonder what the orange peel drink made by my father would have tasted like had he stayed. Perhaps I am too harsh on the essay, or more likely, do not get author’s subtlety. Either way, I would raise an imaginary toast of Tang thanking her for bring up some fond memories of a distant China.

Copying originality.

2006-01-07T00:41:00.000-05:00

They keep saying it! NBC is calling "My name is Earl" and "The Office" the two most original comedy shows on TV today. Now, I've got nothing against either show, in fact, both are funny. But hello, "The Office" is the direct copy-cat of the British show BY THE SAME NAME! It has been slammed because the fans of the ORIGINAL British show think the NBC does not live up to its predecessor. So unless the NBC thinks a bad photocopy can be original, I don't think they can call "The Office" one.

Stop the leaks!

2006-01-06T23:37:00.000-05:00

I expect the White House to call for an investigation into who leaked this

secret study at the Pentagon, which revealed that many of the marines died due to inadequate armors.  Surely, this gives our enemy an advantage and endangers the U.S. soldiers.  If you actually believe the President that  terrorists are constitutional scholars, who only take pre-cautions to protect their murderous communications from legal wiretap, then this study that actually tells the Iraqi rebels where to aim is certainly worse.

Needless to say, I am OUTRAGED to find out, that given the technological and logistical advantage of my country, our soldiers have died needlessly.  President Bush,it   is time to have some accountability and fire whoever is in charge of this at the Pentagon.  I don't get this.  Instead of a backroom of cold blooded, calculating, win-at-all-cost, ball-breaking guys smoking cigar, it seems that a bunch of corner-cutting, penny-pinching, hoping-the-best college sophomores are running the country.  Wiretapping without asking for near automatic warrents--lazy.  Lowballing the production of armors--cheap.  Miscalculating the insurgency--dreamer.

Come on, this has gone on for too long.  WWII only lasted three and half years; when will we stop fighting in Iraq?  According to President Bush,it    may take FOREVER to win this war on terrorism.  Oh really?  For a man that skipped out on his peers during arguably the Saddest Generation (Vietnam), when will he start claiming that he is overseeing a war more important than the one fought by the Greatest Generation?

Whoops, did I just leak the most startling secret to our enemy--that people runing America is clueles rather than ruthless?  I think the secret has been out for awhile now.

Reggie Bush Bowl.

2005-12-19T18:00:00.000-05:00

Jan 1, 2006.

This is not to be confused with the Jan 4 Rose Bowl, aka Heisman Bowl where the three finalists for the award are competing in. Why Jan 1? That is when the San Francisco 49ers and the Houston Texans, each with 2 wins, meet for the final game of the NFL season. Whoever loses will claim the title of the Worst Team 2005 and the number one draft pick, which is likely to be Reggie Bush.

So enjoy.

Dog-napping?

2005-12-15T12:55:00.000-05:00

I don't get some of the stories CNN.com puts on its front page sometimes. Today there is a video story about survillance camera catching three teenager girls stealing puppies from a pet store. I found the owner's reaction especially amusing. She said, "I don't think it is shop-lifting. I consider it kidnapping."

No it's not. Kidnapping (definition): the unlawful act of captureing and carrying away a person against their will and holding them in false imprisonment. If you want to compare taking an animal to abducting a human, then don't mind me comparing to you selling an animal to human trafficking. And should we tack on the unlawful practices of eugenics (inbreeding) and imprisonment and public humiliation of those hidious doggy sweaters?

With all these talk about kidnapping and cameras, I wonder if someone at CNN is taking a subtle jab at the U.S.A.PATRIOT Act.

Name calling.

2005-11-20T16:25:00.000-05:00

I suppose it could be much, much worse for a tall, skinny Chinese guy, but I hated to be called "Yao Ming" by strangers. Drunk guys in bars do it. Kids at the playground do it. On the street, on the buses... you name it. That is until today. I was at work and the janitors were stripping and waxing the floors. One of them, trying to prevent me from messing up their work, called out "Yao Ming" to get my attention. Instead of getting annoyed, it hit me. Maybe all those times people call me "Yao" is not because they think it is funny, but it was just an awkward but friendly way to getting my attention. They just don't know my name, but neither do I know their names even though I see some of them at work everyday. Perhaps it is like calling someone who looked Indian, "Gandhi." Being a minority and on the receiving end of such greeting, I can be understandably a bit more sensitve--"is that all you know of anyone from China?" Yet, being compared to a multi-million international icon is not insulting but a compliment, albeit a crude one. So for the time being, I won't be getting mad by all the Yao-lings, and will try to learn more of the names of people I see everyday.

Meaningless Sacrifice?

2005-11-20T11:06:00.000-05:00

I heard stories from soldiers currently in Iraq on "This American Life," the radio show on NPR. Most of them don't want to stop the war because, to them, that would mean all the sacrifice and death of their comrads are for not. This argument is heart-breaking, has been used a lot, but is flawed nevertheless.

Beside the "sunken cost" argument put forth by economists--when some undertaking is obviously bad, past investment is not justification for further investment--there is another argument. Fighting a battle for a worthy cause with flawed plans while having the best of intentions happens all the time.

All new medical treatments to cure previously uncurable diseases are required to go through rigorous rounds of clinical trials. Gene therapy used to be a hot area of such research until a few years ago. A young patient died at the hospital of University of Pennsylvania as a participant in the gene therapy trial to cure his disease. The trial was halted. Other trials also had been stopped due to the occurance of leukemia in several patients. Clearly, doctors involved in these trials had noble goals, comprehensible planning (the best current science and technology can provide), and were treating patients that knew they were taking risks and consented to them. Yet the trials had to be stopped even though they could still provide invaluable data for future research and treatment designs. Did anyone say "we can't stop it now with the job half-finished. If we do, then Jesse would have died in vain." And if someone did, would the rest of the medical community listen?

Now compare a well-designed medical trial to rid patients of life-threatening diseases to a poorly planned war, to rid people in foreign land of their dictator, without their consent. The war is going badly, and after two years, maybe it is time to consider different strategies. And removing U.S. troops should be one of the alternative solutions to be considered. No, that does not mean the life lost and/or ruined will be rendered meaningless. I hope people will learn the true cost of war and the passion of a hostile civilization under occupation, just as doctors at Penn and elsewhere learned fromt the unfortunated patients in their trials.

God and football.

2005-11-19T02:00:00.000-05:00

Mr. Jerry Falwell, ironic, isn't it? The football team of the Liberty University, a school you founded and serves as the Chancellor, is 1-9. Division I-AA or not, a 1-9 record is pretty much a disaster for a football team, even if it is nicknamed "the Flames." So what does Falwell, a fundamental evangelical Christian, do? Give personal inspirational speeches to the coaches and players? Stress the importance of Christian values in the face of adversity? Scrap the football progam that has lost $7.4 millions last year, and give the money saved to the victims of real natural disasters? Nope. He fired the coach and the athletic directors. Surely, if he really believed in the miraculous power of God, he should have prayed harder, and eventually the team will be saved. But apparently he is short in faith and really wants a top-20 team when he is still alive.

Perhaps, he should listen his fellow fundie, Pat Robertson on the topics of God and disasters. Robertson "lectured" the residents of Dover, PA, on the consequences of rejecting Intelligent Design:

if there is a disaster in your area, don't turn to God, you just rejected Him from your city...And don't wonder why He hasn't helped you when problems begin, if they begin. I'm not saying they will, but if they do, just remember, you just voted God out of your city. And if that's the case, don't ask for His help because he might not be there.

So, the question to you, Mr Falwell: why has Jesus Christ, the Lord and Savior, has forsaken you and your $7.4 million football team?

P.S. It's not Dr. Falwell. He graduated from Baptist Bible College, Springfield, Mo, and only has honoary degrees from three theology schools. So no, that means you are not a "Dr," Mr. Falwell.

Arm chair quarterback

2005-11-08T00:53:00.000-05:00

I love playing video games of football and baseball games, specially when I could manage the rosters and call plays. And I love second-guessing coaches and managers of professional teams on TV about every decision they make. Somehow I got this idea that without actually playing these sports, I am just as competent as these men who have spent all their lives living, breathing and dreaming about the sport. And I am not alone.

No, I am not talking about Joe Blow from the sports bar yelling at the big screen every Sunday, I am talking about people at the White House. They feel qualified to tell everyone how to fight a war and interrogate suspected terrorists without have ever done it themselves. Meanwhile, former generals (Powell) and ex-POWs (McCain) who have personally experienced the ugly side of warfare and torture are up-in-arms about the conduct of this on-going war. Maybe Cheney has extensive experience in torturing and that is why he is so admant about keeping the door open for the CIA. The defenders of Cheney are usually law professors and TV/internet commentators whose tortuous interrogative skills have been well-honed, I presume, on their law students and callers to their radio shows, while I do not hear much murmur from actual CIA officials who are pro-torture. But hey, after burning the midnight oil three nights in a roll to watch an entire season of "24," everyone should know how successful Jack Bauer is at extracting information from terrorists. Speaking of which, where is Jack, and how many 24-hours does he need to get Osama?

What does Ray Schalk and Harriett Miers have in common?

2005-10-04T11:10:00.000-04:00

Never heard of Ray Schalk? Then you must not love the national pastime, baseball, and its prestigous Hall of Fame, whose purpose is to "Preserving History. Honoring Excellence. Connecting Generations." And one way to honor excellence is by inducting past GREAT players into the Hall. And this is where Schalk comes in. What, a .253 batting average seems, well, only average to you? Then, you don't know how a Hall of Famer is selected. Most people are familiar with the votings done by BaseBall Writers Association of America, but fewer know that there is a back door into the Hall. There is a veterans committee, consists of baseball "old timers" and they vote to let in people that baseball writers have deemed unqualified. So what are a few undeserved votes among friends? Cronism, schmonism. Schalk got in, and it is for, well, forever.

Speaking of eternity, the Supreme Court of the United States is another institution in which an appointment to its famed hall is permanent. The newest nominee, Harriett Miers, has taken some lumps from both sides of the political persuation. Unlike John Roberts, she just does not seem so qualified--no constitutional law experience--regardless of her politics. She may just squeak in because of her personal and professional relationship with the President. It is disappointing to think that is all it takes to become of SCOTUS justice, similar to how Schalk got into the Hall of Fame. Here are my few thoughts.

1. Is she a conservative, the "true" conservatives ask? Of course, she is. Bush hired her as his lawyer, both in Texas and in D.C. She is unlikely to be a brilliant constitutional scholar like Roberts, but the capacity for scholarly thoughts only make one more vulnerable to the "liberal" tilt of the justice bench.

2. The real problem is that Miers is not the constitutional heavy-weight that conservatives are looking for. That is not to say she will be easily persuaded by other justices to change her mind, no, not our "pit bull in size 6 shoes." More likely at stake would be her (in)ability to persuade others to interpret laws more friendly to her ideology. Every vote counts, and a 6-3 decision is a lot more firm than 5-4.

3. The Democrats are scratching their heads. Miers' gender and complete lack of constituional law background will make any attack on her, emotional or rational, difficult. So after the big NUCLEAR OPTION FIGHT, the democrats may end up allowing the appointment of as many as five of their most detested "conservative extremist" judges onto the federal courts, and not be able to use filibusters on neither Roberts nor Miers. I guess they told Bush. All things considered, they may just let Miers pass, it could be worse--the alternative could be someone who is conservative AND SMART.

4. Bush got the woman he wanted in SCOTUS. A bitch-slap to Alberto Gonzales, who was the man he wanted, and the man he specifically mentioned for the job. Haha, that was funny. Oh by the way, is it polite to compare Supreme Court justice as a member of breed that are aggressive and violent prone?

Deceptive C-SPAN

2005-09-29T12:09:00.000-04:00

John Roberts was confirmed as the new Chief Justice of the U.S. Surpreme Court. I looked up the roll-call votes by senators on the C-SPAN website. I saw that Biden voted "no," no surprise, expected to appeal to the Democratic base. I was happy to see Clinton vote "yes" since I felt that Roberts is immensely qualified to be on the SCOTUS. Then I realized something strange. The N's and Y's line up neatly next to the Republicans' name, but the ones next to the Democrats are slanted. So much so that when I retraced the N's and Y's down to Clinton's line, it was actually a big fat "no." This is obvious because the N's and Y's ran out by the fourth to the last Democrat names on the list. What no one know how to format at C-SPAN? Or is this some Democratic wishy-washy plot to evade criticism by confusion?

Why the gasoline shortage?

2005-09-23T14:41:00.000-04:00

People are fleeting Hurricane Rita in Texas. But traffic jam and overheated cars are making the exodus difficult. This all lead to the gasoline shortage in the area. Surprising?

Picture is worth a thousand words. Or rather, in the case of all the SUV and trucks in the picture, worth a few thousand dollar in unleaded gas.

My next car is gonna be a hybrid. Unless of course, we find 100 billion barrels of oil in Alaska.

Sports and politics.

2005-09-14T11:25:00.000-04:00

Well, maybe the title is redundant, since politics in today's America resembles so much of the take-no-prisoner, win-at-all-costs attitutdes we often associate with atheletes and sports in this country. Recently, people have been jumping all over the US Supreme Court Chief Justice nominee John Roberts' metaphor of comparing judges to baseball umpires. I find the post from the New Donkey especially clever. Here is a snibit:

Worried about Roberts' disposition towards Roe v. Wade? Maybe he should get this question:

SEN. FEINSTEIN: Judge Roberts, it's safe to say the American League's Designated Hitter rule, adopted in the same year that the Supreme Court announced Roe v. Wade, overturned a rule of play that stretched back to the beginnings of baseball. The DH still upsets a very large number of people who view it as a violation of the sacred canons of the game.

We only have one Supreme Court, not one for each "league," not one for pro-choice and pro-life Americans. Do you think as an "umpire" you should have the power to overturn a precedent of more than thirty years, and change the rules? Would you call out every designated hitter?

Brilliant.

Tolerant of intolerance.

2005-09-12T16:26:00.000-04:00

Canada abandons plans to introduce sharia law.

Sounds like a no-brainer. It started with a report from the former Ontario Attorney General Boyd that recommanded the introduction of Sharia when it comes to settling family disputes in Canadian courts. Surely many, and I myself included, had pointed to this as another example of non-U.S. "western" democracies' tendency for moral equivalence and the resulting inability to stem the growing militant Islamism by those countries.

However, it appears Mrs. Boyd has us fooled. She argued that sharia should be considered in family courts because these courts already make concessions to Christian and Jewish traditional laws. With the Premier of Ontario rejecting not only the sharia but also those of other two religions, Boyd has forced the hand of the Canadian government to reaffirm the separation of civil legal codes and traditional religious "laws." Yes, I fully expect proponents from the Christian and Jewish sects to argue about the rights of women in their "progressive" religious laws, and to defend against their critics, who would point to examples in the Old and New testaments that denigrate women, by saying such religious laws are "living" laws. But how will that be different from moderate Muslims and their Koran?

I have no idea what the real motivation of Mrs. Boyd's report was. But I am glad that it brought the issue of the role of religious traditions in family courts to the forefront. How many people knew that Christian and Jewish "laws" in the Canadian courts? Is there similar examples in the U.S. courts? And should that be allowed? In hindsight, this is much less to do with government's tolerance for intolerant views, but simply fairness.

Words.

2005-09-07T14:03:00.000-04:00

With the disaster in the Gulf of Mexico, we Americans have come to hear, and perhaps will take a few minutes to learn the true meanings, of some familiar words.

Refugee:
n : an exile who flees for safety

I know some people take issue with labeling the unfortunated people escaping the tragedy in New Orleans as refugees, but I think it is probably appropriate. Does it surprise anyone, that regardless of what one's nationality is, refugees everywhere look so similar to each other?

Diaspora:
n. refer to any people or ethnic population forced or induced to leave their traditional ethnic homeland being dispersed throughout other parts of the world, and the ensuing developments in their dispersal and culture.

I have heard this word a lot on NPR, and it bothered me. Certainly, Diaspora, with a Capital D, is usually referred to the dispersement of Jews. Nonetheless, the non-capital form implies the end of something that was homogeneous and unique, but is that the case in New Orleans? Too often the city is labelled, fairly or not, as the heart of Blues and Jazz or worse, Mardi Gras. Too often, the News anchors proclaim the city's refugees "so poor and so black," with pictures to prove it. But surely, the city is more than its most famous musicians and one week in Feburary, and its suffering occupants cut across all demographic lines. Furthermore, I truly believe that the city of New Orleans will be rebuilt, backed by sound science and practical urban planning, and flourish, and perhaps one day to serve as the model for the some of the world's largest metropolitans that sit gingerly on coastlines where the clash between land and ocean happens so often. It would be fitting for a city that is known for its annual celebration that precedes "Ash Wednesday", a day that reminds the believers of their human mortality and foreshadows the miracle of ressurection some forty-or-so days later.

Price gouging:
n : pricing above the market when no alternative retailer is available.

Price gouging is essentially opportunistic profiteering, based on short-lived local emergency, by sellers who have monopolized markets. I hear about this a lot, even in places like Michigan or Georgia. What the hell? I thought the emergency is in the Gulf states. Everyone is scrambling to find scapegoats for the spike in gasoline prices, and the need to blame is so big, a category 4 hurricane is not enough. Drivers blame the gas stations, stations shifts it to oil companies, companies to states' gasoline taxes, and now the states are scrambling to suspend those taxes. But the prices for oil and gasoline have been rising for a long time now, and the spike in price the last two weeks is the direct result of a natural disaster. Natural, as in the same word in "natural resources," which petroleum is one. If this is not a wake up call for conservation and moving full-steam ahead into the next energy stage, I don't want to get out the bed tomorrow.

Helluva/heck:
adj. Slang Used as an intensive.

President Bush caught a lot of flak for saying FEMA director Mike Brown is "doing helluva/heck of a job." Sure that sounds like an undeserved praise for a job not done. But as I have pointed out before, the president is quite the wordsmith. "Helluva" is theoretically neutral, merely adding emphasis. Since he did not add another adjective to follow the adjective, so it could easily be "Brownie, you did a hell of a shitty job." Fitting considering the state of the water currently the city is stewed in.

Yao Ming to da BANK.

2005-08-31T16:54:00.000-04:00

Yao Ming, the Chinese-born, All-Star Center for the Houston Rockets of National Basketball Association, has signed a gigantic contract extension. Not the biggest, but LARGE still. He will be guaranteed to be paid a quarter of his team's total (theoretical) salary budget. As a fellow native Shanghainese, I am happy for Yao, but I have to wonder how this will impact the rest of the team. Especially since Tracy McGrady, Yao's smaller (in size) partner in crime, has an equally bigger contract. This will mean that two players will take up at least half the team salary, which will dramatically limit the manuverability of the team to sign free agents and re-sign productive teammates.

Problems solved.

2005-08-23T14:13:00.000-04:00

Problem #1: China's "one-child" family planning policy and age-long preference for sons have led to a shortage of girls. The ratio for boys to girls is approaching 1.2.

Problem #2: Australia and New Zealand are experiencing "man-drought," possibly due to the migration of male workers.

Yes, see where I am going with this? Extra Chinese men and extra Outback ladies. Sure, the two group hardly seem a match made in heaven. And the 20,000 surplus of women from Down Under will hardly fix the problem of China, which has a population wrong side of 1 billion. But surely there are other countries in need of some able male bodies. Russia maybe? Hey you want globalization and exporting? How about exporting the extra Chinese bachelors, eligible or not.

Culture of death.

2005-08-23T12:25:00.000-04:00

Why are we so fixated on death? Are we not trying to foster a "Culture of Life?" People are always celebrating the passing of luminaries. Do you know that James Dean died today, August 23, 50 years ago? Or that Linus Pauling, the famed biochemist and two-time Nobel laureate, died this month, August 19, 11 years ago? Or that Groucho Marx, comedic genius, died on that same day, 17 years before that? And how about this, Mel Gib...er, I mean, William Wallace, the Scottish rebel, made famous in "Braveheart," was executed today exactly 700 years ago.

The TV news love to bombard us about anniversary of death for famous people. Why? Why do we celebrate the loss of these remarkable people, whose contribution made our lives that more rich and livable? Should we not be celebrating their births? Were those not moments of great joy for each mark the beginning of one human being's search for meaning of life in arts, science and ultimately, the power of human spirit? While one's death is a neat and convinient puncturation to mark the end of a life time's work, I believe that the event itself does not deserve so much attention. Save the anniversary of death for people we despise like Hitler and bin Ladin. And remember instead, that on this day, David Chappelle was born and destined to make us laugh and make us question about ourselves and the country that we live in.

Memories of Murder

2005-08-17T13:16:00.000-04:00

That is the English title of a 2003 South Korean crime thriller, Salinui chueok. Excellent movie. Despite its lack of physical action and idiosyncratic Korean behaviors, the movie soon sucked me in and pushed me along for 2+ hours. It is really impossible for me to describe to anyone who has not seen it how the movie was able to capture me so thoroughly. The movie is based on a true story about a serial rapist-murderer in 1986 in Korea.

However, the point of this post is not about me trying to become a movie critic, but an interesting side note. It may be considered a spoiler despite my effort, so be warned. Apparently in 1986, forensic DNA testing was just becoming available. But not in Korea. So the Korean police had to send their DNA samples to the U.S. or Japan for testing. Now fast forward 19 years. The table has turned. South Korea has become the world leader in genetic cloning. The irony is not lost on me.

Now, Korea may never challenge the economic prowess of the U.S. However, it is clear that, with focus and determination by its policy makers, a country the size of state of Indiana can compete with the U.S. in specific areas of science and technology that have far-reaching consequence in the future of man-kind. Some in America could claim the ambiguous moral high ground of "a Culture of Life," or the pseudo-philosophical superiority of "Intelligent Designer" criticism of biological evolution. In the end, igorance is not bliss, and the U.S. should be wary of following the footsteps of the Catholic Church, which went from the Keeper of Knowledge during the middle ages to the Inquisitor of Galileo and Darwin.