thwalker

Moving.

2010-11-14T20:56:00.001-08:00

Moving to here. Please update your feed/bookmark. Thanks!

Slidetronica

2010-08-07T17:45:00.000-07:00

So, I quit Apple roughly two months ago. I've been living la vida desempleada. Why? I've decided that my career is in gaming, which means its time to bid audio driver engineering adieu. That begs the question of what I've been doing with my time.

The answer: Slidetronica.

You can read all about the 15-puzzle here, which has been around since the late 1800's. Slidetronica started off more as an academic exercise than anything else, but now with music I've composed and visuals by my friend Matt over at Area 5, I think we've created something that's actually worth playing. I keep official information on the app here, and I just submitted version 1.1.0 with a load of updates.

Slidetronica is free for now, but that may change in the future. It runs on all iOS4 devices at native resolution.

How fast is your 15?

33

2010-07-05T18:42:00.000-07:00

Thirty-three this year. Lots of threes. I turned 33 on the third.

I haven't blogged here in half a year. Blame the onset of my midlife crisis, but you won't find me out buying any convertibles. In fact, you won't find me buying much of anything extravagant for a while since a few weeks back I resigned from my previous job. After years of flirting with chasing a videogame-oriented job, I've finally left my cushy audio engineering position to study iPhone game and music application development. Everything I want to do for a career seems to either smile upon or require this type of experience, and I wasn't going to get it without cutting myself loose for a bit.

Yes, a risky game. It's jumping off a cliff and counting on sprouting wings on the way down. Like I said, blame the onset of my midlife crisis. I call it brewing the antidote to self-doubt.

In five years of audio engineering, I had never written a single application with a user interface. I'm used to writing software that runs whether you want it to or not -- software that never gets noticed unless something goes wrong. I'm used to debugging with remote connections and copious print statements. It's highly specialized work that pays well, but it's not for me any more. On the other hand, since I kissed my regular paycheck goodbye, I've completed the game logic for my first iPhone game. It's more of an academic exercise than anything else, but I've decided to treat it like the accomplishment it represents for me. It'll get an original soundtrack and some fun artwork. It'll be my game when I'm done with it.

Anyway, as I'm wrapping up development on game #1, I'm already planning the next project. My friend Rodin came up with a brilliant idea for an application that, while being neither a game nor a music app, is something that I simply must write for the iPhone. It also stands the chance of making a little bit of money given how useful it could be. That's all I'll say about that.

For my birthday, Rodin came to my place at 8:00 AM to make eggs benedict, one of my favorites. We beat Portal (again), watched trailers for Portal 2, watched the mind-blowing demo of Limbo on Giant Bomb, and then did a big screen TV code review of my iPhone game software.

Nerd-out bromance complete, Vincy came over looking smoking hot for our weekend trip to Carmel. We headed down to 17 Mile Drive, stopping to walk the dog at Spanish Bay and to take a few pictures at the Lone Cypress. Then we headed to Casanova for dinner; let's just say that I have a new favorite restaurant.

We wrapped up the evening relaxing in a friend's hot tub in Pacific Grove. The next morning I was up stupid early to rent scuba gear and hunt halibut on the ocean floor with a spear gun. We never saw any "flatties," but it was still a good excuse to spend an hour and a half underwater on the fourth of July.

Anyway, it's back to everyday life for me. I need to compose an original soundtrack for my iPhone game so I can wrap up development and then start on my next big programming project. Aside from that I've got things to sell, a house to clean, a dog to walk, a girlfriend to love, and a career to build.

2010

2010-01-03T13:04:00.000-08:00

I'd like to acknowledge the new year and decade. Yes, I noticed that you happened. Good job rolling over, there.

There is one thing that bears mentioning, though: one of the most significant events of last year took place on the night of December 31st. It was an extraordinary conversation.

I have a number of friends that believe in completing on the outgoing year before creating anything for the new year. Intuitively this makes sense; I'll wager that the majority of us bold enough to declare new year's resolutions have some failure in our wake. Creating new resolutions without clearing out whatever innate meaning you've attached to having not completed last year's sounds like a proper recipe for failure. I just didn't expect what I'd find.

There has been a deep pallor of dissatisfaction coloring most of my achievements for the latter half of 2009. I've known this for a while, but I could never put my finger on the source of it. All I knew is that it started shortly after my ex and I broke up. The thing is this -- for many months I have been clear that:

That was not the relationship I wanted.
I have no undelivered communication for her.
I'm open to having her in my life in some other capacity.

So if all that was clear, why did life seems so gray most of the time? If it wasn't the absence of my ex, what the hell was it?

"What did you make the break-up mean about yourself?"

I don't remember exactly what I said. I know I said something about having been completely vulnerable in a relationship for the first time ever. That's something I just don't do. For someone desperately concerned that if you really knew me that you'd see I'm nothing special, the last thing I'd want to do is bare my heart for someone else.

"What I heard is that you were fully vulnerable, and you still didn't get what you wanted. And then you decided you were done with being vulnerable. The ability to be hurt and failing at the relationship is more than you were willing to deal with. If you're going to fail, why also allow yourself to be hurt in the process? Can you see that?"

"Yes, I see it very clearly," I replied. Not willing to be vulnerable any more -- what has that been like for Vincy?

"Okay, so there's one last piece for you," the conversation continued. "Consider that you were vulnerable and that you got exactly what you wanted."

My mind exploded. I had been totally vulnerable, and all I wanted was to be free of that relationship. Yet I had been living inside, "Giving yourself fully to something still doesn't get you what you want." What followed immediately was a clear view on half a year lived half-assedly.

My eyes slowly filled with tears as I smirked and said, "I'm done with that."

For 2010, I declare a year of triumphs and heartbreaks inside my commitments painted in shockingly vivid colors. I will live for an entire year.

So be it resolved.

Links

2009-12-24T10:45:00.000-08:00

This blog is thwalker.blogspot.com.
Its companion relationship blog is vincysboyfriend.blogspot.com.
My full website is toomuchthw.com (including my music).

Holidaze

2009-12-03T12:11:00.000-08:00

My week-long Thanksgiving vacation in Mississippi produced three major results:

1. I spent more money than I intended to spend.
2. I had more fun than the past as dictated was possible.
3. I (naturally) gained more weight than I was prepared to gain.

This trip was Vincy's first opportunity to meet my family, and the expected result of mutual adoration was realized in short order. I have it that it's just easy to meet my parents. My father once said, "If you love her, we'll love her. If you break up with her, we'll just be nice to her." Vincy was walking down a street already paved with success, but the fact that she's open-minded, inspiring, and conversational certainly works to her advantage.

{As an aside, I remember when I never used to have girlfriend parent problems. Parents always loved me! That was, at least, until I started dating Chinese girls. Out of hand dismissal based on race is something I had mainly considered a relic of the past -- my parents' era -- but I've since learned that the women I've been attracted to lately risk running afoul of their family's good graces by dating me.}

My Thanksgiving break did nothing if it didn't heighten my anticipation for winter break in a few weeks. I'll have roughly two weeks to myself with no plans to travel and no other person to keep entertained. No offense to Vincy on that last bit, but all too often I find that the default context for "you're free and I'm free" in a relationship is "we should do something together." That viewpoint can turn into a nightmare for someone managing as many open loops as I am right now. I view completion as an access to personal growth, and I stand to be crushed by my current stack of outstanding projects.

In addition to plenty of QT, I'll be taking on the following:

Master Cleanse [link] from December 8 to December 17
Finish Assassin's Creed 2 [link] on Xbox 360
Finish Shadow Complex [link] on Xbox 360
Play and finish Uncharted 2 [link] on PlayStation 3
Finish Power Up [link]
Finish Opening Up [link]
Compose two new original songs
Daily dog walks
Replace my front door assembly and screen door

This is just thinking out loud, though ... some of these projects don't require much to complete (i.e., sit down or stand up and do them), but others require something more than just budgeting time. Completing projects of that ilk carries a far more pronounced cathartic effect than consuming media.

To that point, I suppose an accomplished vacation is precisely what I want driving me into the new year.

Cleansed

2009-10-19T13:16:00.000-07:00

I'm done with ten days on the Master Cleanse. All told I dropped about sixteen and a half pounds of stuff my body clearly didn't need. Jesus. The verdict is that I feel great, and my skin is clearer than its been in ages. Oh, and it might be time to go shopping for smaller clothes again.

I've heard a lot of concerns voiced about the Master Cleanse, so I'll share my personal experience from these last ten days.

I heard that you have very little energy on the Master Cleanse. - I hesitate to say "true" here. Your body definitely goes through a few spaces during the cleanse -- fatigue, foggy-headedness, headaches, and nausea -- but all are fairly short-lived and do pass. After about day five of the cleanse, I consistently felt as energetic as I normally do.
The Master Cleanse forces your body into ketosis because it thinks it's starving. - This is not true. Throughout the cleanse, you'll kill hunger pangs with a shot of lemonade sweetened with maple syrup. Since your body always gets some sugar when it's hungry, you shouldn't be entering ketosis like on Atkins-based nutritional approaches.
The weight lost on the Master Cleanse doesn't stay off. - This is a complaint of nearly every nutritional approach or cleanse, and I think the answer never changes -- if you go off the approach, you can regain the weight easily by going back to your old habits. No one stays on the Master Cleanse forever, so yes, if you want to keep the weight off, you'll probably need adjust your eating habits.
I could never go so long without food. - If you think you can or you think you can't, you're right. I've heard it recommended to do the cleanse along with others since it can be difficult to follow alone. The emotional desire to chew and swallow food can get pretty intense around days four and five, but I was able to brute-force my way through the cleanse alone.

I think the most valuable lesson I brought away from the Master Cleanse was the utility of having something present to deal with hunger at all times. On the cleanse, you'll always want to be carrying around your lemonade and water so that you can deal with hunger whenever it strikes. Why not do this regularly regardless of your nutritional approach?

It occurs to me that when I get hungry, I want to eat *NOW* and I want to eat enough so that I won't get hungry for a while. For the last ten days, I've always had my lemonade handy, so I never had to worry about staying hungry. Outside of the cleanse, however, I rarely have food readily available. I instead find the quickest way to get something tasty in my body, and for good measure I eat a lot of it so that I don't have to deal with that problem again for as long as possible. It's so clear now.

To combat this tendency, I'm going to be carrying around a load of plastic containers at all times. The goal is to always have some food on me that's okay to eat. If I go to a restaurant, I can eat until I'm no longer hungry (instead of "until full"), and then I can take the leftovers with me. I won't fear getting hungry again soon because I will always have food available. This does nothing to safeguard against unhealthy foods, but at least I'll be eating more, smaller meals.

I'm not exactly sure how this will work out in the long run, but today I brought to work rice porridge, two cans of chicken soup, and a bottle of orange juice to hold me until dinnertime. I think and hope it's more food than I'll be able to eat, but at least there is a cafeteria here at work if I come up short. It'll be another day at least before I can eat regularly again.

To be continued ...

Space

2009-10-11T11:17:00.000-07:00

Vincy is on business in China, and she won't be back for another week. It's odd having so much time to myself. At first it felt really liberating -- finally I can do all those things that I wanted to do but never found time to do! But that quickly gave way to, "I really miss her, and moreover she's not the reason stuff doesn't get done quickly." Actually, it's not even that things don't get done quickly; certain things that have never been done happen very quickly, and other things that just need to be done with regularity are postponed ad nauseam.

So it goes.

The first (and arguably the only) accomplishment I've had since Vincy left last Wednesday was that I finally broke the shrinkwrap on Batman: Arkham Asylum for the Xbox 360. I have a number of friends who spoke very highly of it, but I had managed to avoid playing it under the guise that the only time I really have to play the game is Vincy-time. Thanks to a few targeted conversations with friends, I realized that I was really just afraid of dealing with how my sedentary hobbies would land with Vincy. She always seems to be on the hunt for the next major outdoors activity.

Anyhow, since my girl is gone for 10 days, I decided now is also a good time to do the Master Cleanse that several of my friends completed recently. The meat of it (no pun intended) is just a fast while drinking lemonade with cayenne pepper in it, using either laxative teas or a sea salt water flush to expel impurities from the body. I'm on day 3 now, and I haven't had any solid food since October 8th around 8:30 PM.

My experience so far as been benign, and I understand that the worst of it is already behind me. Sometimes I go foggy headed (mostly at night). At other times I feel abnormally fatigued. I get occasional headaches. But all of it passes, and for the most part I feel normal. I sometimes have the accurate sensation that my stomach is empty, but hunger is effectively disrupted with a swig of the lemonade brew. I haven't found it difficult to keep the lemonade in reach at all times, and I haven't had an instance where my hunger won over the lemonade either. This is day three of ten, and I don't expect things to get any more difficult than they have been.

If that's the case, this will have been easy enough to do with a little discipline. Honestly, the hardest part is getting up in the morning and juicing lemons. The rest is straightforward. I can't say that I see why my friends were all insistent that I do it with someone else, but maybe that's coming in a couple of days.

The last major bit of news is that my Mazda 3 is back on the sale block after a friend who borrowed it for nearly a month decided yesterday that he couldn't really afford it. He did pay me handsomely for the use of the car, but now I've got an extra car to sell. I wonder if I could trade it to someone in exchange for doing hardwood floors throughout my house?

Romance

2009-10-01T16:51:00.000-07:00

I just finished session nine of a ten-session seminar on relationships, and we finally got to the bit about romance. As preparatory work, we were to recall our most romantic moment and to be prepared to share about it (in an appropriate way) for the class session. I never had to share my own, which is good since I had trouble digging up any memorable romantic stories.

That's kind of funny for me -- I had it that romance is something that guys do for women (and that it's not really my thing). I never took a moment to actually think what it means for a woman to be romantic with me. I wasn't looking for romance, so I didn't find it.

So, what qualifies as romantic for me? I had to look back through my relationships to see what I recognized as being romantic. Koko used to cook my favorite dishes for me and make bentos for me to carry to work. That was great. Shirley used to remind me that I wasn't playing my videogames enough; she'd urge me to play games as she sat beside me and caught up on her TV shows online, smiling at me and stroking me occasionally to let me know that we were enjoying our separate activities together. Incredibly romantic. Vincy hops on the back of the motorcycle with me and squeezes me tight or blasts me through the twisties in her Mazdaspeed 3 or my WRX. Exhilarating. My god, I always date romantic women.

As part of the assignment for the last seminar session, we are to fulfill on at least one of our romantic intentions and come back to session ten ready to share what happened. I have to be honest; I've had more ideas for things that I could do with Vincy in these last 24 hours than I've had probably in the entire time we've been dating ...

I'm looking forward to the weekend.

Three Things

2009-09-23T11:39:00.000-07:00

A week ago, someone asked me to name three things I wanted in my life that I don't yet have. I didn't even have to think.

"Hardwood floors, a new front door assembly, and a Subaru Impreza WRX hatchback."

At least in the case of the WRX, I've wanted that car since I was in graduate school. I test drove a 2004 WRX hatchback no fewer than five times, sometimes on monstrously twisty roads through the Indiana forests, and sometimes on flat, straight country roads in excess of 100 miles per hour. I blame Kenzo for my amaxophilia, and I had never driven anything as thrilling as this vehicle.

My history is plagued with reasons why I never bought one. First, I was in grad school without a job (but with enough fellowship money to probably make the payments -- maybe not the upkeep). Second was after I moved to California when my (now ex-)wife was putting on the pressure to buy another car because she couldn't work and was going nuts not being able to get around. We didn't have the money yet for a down payment on a WRX, so we went with a Mazda3. Finally, I paid the Mazda3 off; it still looks and runs great, not to mention the extremely low maintenance costs. Why would I get rid of a car like that?

I'm not going to blame Vincy for this, but she does drive a Mazdaspeed3, the turbo-charged, sport-tuned version of the Mazda3. My first, second, and third impressions with her car were simply, "This drives a lot different from my car, and I gotta adjust." But at some point I actually started to get that her car drives a lot different from mine for a reason. It's built to effortlessly do things that my car for the most part could only dream about. The last time I drove her car I didn't compare it to mine. I just melted into it and drove it how it wanted to be driven. I didn't even drive it aggressively. I was just in tune with its responsiveness.

Okay, I take it back. I do blame Vincy. It's not her fault, but I blame her anyway. I love my speed kitten.

"Hardwood floors, a new front door assembly, and a Subaru Impreza WRX hatchback." That was Wednesday night. I had made up my mind to go to the Subaru dealership on Saturday morning to see if they had any white hatchbacks that were configured in a suitable way.

On Thursday morning, my near-daily search for a suitable WRX yielded a new result: a 2008 white Subaru Impreza WRX hatchback meticulously kept (by a Subaru dealership employee) with just under 18,000 miles on it. That night I drove it home for just over $20K.

As far as WRXes go, the 2008 Impreza WRX is probably the "gushiest" WRX ever released. The suspension is a lot looser than Vincy's Speed3, and it's a tick slower than its predecessor though it has slightly better slalom performance. I've seen it written that Subaru is still wrestling with the identity of the WRX, now steering it well into the consumer-grade fun car arena instead of the raw power "I eat roads for breakfast" image of the past. The result is a really fun car to drive whose power delivery is also butter smooth. I like.

The Mazda3 should be sold this week, and then I'm on to the next big thing.

Rock

2009-09-15T14:42:00.000-07:00

Today Vincy went to lunch with her mom, and they got into conversation about her and I dating. This is what Vincy told her.

"Mom, I understand your concern about Torrey and I dating. I really see that you love me and you really want me to have an easy future. I love you too. I don't know what will happen in the future but there are some mistakes in life you have to be willing to let me make. I don't think dating Torrey is a mistake. And on the other hand, I'm not scared of making mistakes because I know that you and Dad will be here to support me. So thank you. And I love you too."

Then Vincy's mom said that if Vincy does choose to be with me that she will be disowned.

Vincy told her, "Then you may not have me around. I will still love you, and I would respect that you wouldn't want to see me anymore. And Mom, I just want to let you know, YOU can't do ANYTHING in this world that would make me not love you."

It would be nice to hear your girlfriend say that she'll move the earth to be with you. But to feel the earth moving beneath your feet ...

Vincy, you rock my world.

Names

2009-09-02T11:14:00.000-07:00

"Have you ever accidentally almost called me the wrong name?" Vincy asked out of the blue. "Like someone else you've dated?"

"Uh, no, but it is a lingering concern of mine," I answered. "I keep thinking that I hope I never do that, and I never have. I was really scared of calling Shirley 'Koko' the whole time we dated, but I never actually did it. Well, at least never in front of her."

"It's okay. If you do it to me I won't hold it against you. I'll just say, 'Wrong girl!'"

And I wish to god I had been clever enough to say, "Okay, Shirley!"

Shook

2009-08-25T10:50:00.000-07:00

This wasn't intended to be my next blog entry, but I'm a bit shaken.

I was just riding in the carpool lane of I-280 N headed towards work at a speed of roughly 80 MPH when a large black luxury sedan being driven by a middle-aged Asian man with a phone to his ear passed me in the same lane at a speed in excess of 90 MPH. The clearance to the right of my motorcycle was roughly a foot and a half.

If I had needed to avoid a road hazard or even sneezed, our vehicles would have collided, and I would have gone down, down, down. Luckily, I did not.

I've been riding for a year now, so I've seen my share of scary incidents on the highway. This is the first I've encountered that I didn't know how to deal with. I mean, I saw him coming. I was confused that he would approach my tail end so fast. Then before I had decided what to do about it, he passed me without slowing down.

First, if you're in a car, don't do that unless you're interested in racking up a vehicular manslaughter charge.

Second, if ever rapidly approached from behind by a vehicle, I will accelerate like the dickens and get the hell out of the lane.

Long Time

2009-08-15T09:34:00.000-07:00

Vincy took me to dinner the other day at a restaurant called -- I shit you not -- Pho Kim Long.

(Interjection: if you don’t know, “pho” is pronounced “fuh.” Read it again.)

Upon reading the sign I said, “Uh, you don’t notice anything odd about the name of this place?”

“What, Kim Long?”

“No, Pho Kim Long.”

“Oh my god. I’ve been going here for seven years and I never noticed that.”

Incidentally, the food was quite good. All the same, I’ve decided to refer to the restaurant as Kim Long, as the full name now means something else entirely.

Five Finger Discount

2009-08-14T23:32:00.000-07:00

For the past several weeks, I've been wearing possibly the most comfortable shoes on the planet. And they aren't much more than what my mammy gave me.

The first time I saw a pair of Vibram Five Fingers, I remember thinking, "Those things are so ugly. I don't care how comfortable they are; you'll never see me in a pair." But when a friend of mine started singing their praises, I took a moment to listen.

"Dude, they are so comfortable! I never want to wear anything else."

"But they're ugly as sin," I countered.

"You have to try them out. I don't know how stylish they are ..."

"They're not," I interjected.

"... but they feel amazing. It's like walking barefoot."

"I don't enjoy walking barefoot that much. Why would I buy shoes to emulate something I don't really care about?"

"Just go try on a pair and see if you like them. I'll show you mine." So AJ went to fetch his pair of VFFs and with some difficulty managed to get into them. "They aren't the easiest shoes to get on," he added. When the straps were secured he stood up. "Ta-da!"

"You look fucking ridiculous."

"Oh," he managed, deflated. "I think they're pretty cool."

Vincy had heard about the VFFs as well, so she suggested we find a place to try them on when I mentioned them. The problem (at least in this area) is that they are so damned popular that basically no one has them in stock -- especially in my very common shoe size. We settled on Zombierunner in Palo Alto, but they didn't have any in stock either. I had to pre-order a pair in my size just to try them on. Vincy tried on a pair that was close to the correct size for her, but they weren't a perfect fit. She got on the pre-order list, too.

A couple of weeks later I got a call from Zombierunner saying that my shoes were in. I knew I was under no obligation to buy, but given that it had taken two weeks to get the damned things in stock, there's no way I wasn't going to make time to try them on. Besides, in the time I had waited, I had begun to make peace with the shoe's odd appearance. I was sure that odd footwear would be embraced at my workplace -- especially given that the manager of my old group goes everywhere barefoot. And I spend a good deal of my waking time at work, so in the worst case I'd only look ridiculous there.

Vincy was able to meet up with me for a caribbean lunch in Menlo Park and another trip out to Palo Alto to try on the shoes. When we got to Zombierunner, I removed my motorcycle boots and socks. I tentatively spread and flexed my toes. The salesperson handed me the first shoe saying, "Okay, to put these on, put your toes in first. Once you've got them all in, pull the back up over your heel." So I did. And I stood up.

"Hmph." It's still hard to explain how the shoes feel. It's like like having wet suit on your foot that goes between your toes and a little rubber between your foot and the ground. It mostly feels like there isn't much there, and there isn't. And they want $85 for them.

I started to walk around. "How do they feel?" Vincy asked.

"They feel good." I stood on my toes. I flexed my foot. I had the distinct sensation that I can do things in VFFs that I can't do in normal shoes, but I wasn't sure that would justify the cost. On the other hand, I was intrigued. I wanted to wear them for longer to see how they performed, and that meant they were going to have to go home with me. "I'm going to get them. We'll see if they're as good as AJ says they are."

Vincy asked if they had the shoes she had pre-ordered in stock as well. They didn't, but they had an alternate color to that admittedly looked way better on her than the black would have. They were a perfect fit, and she looked really happy in them. "You gonna get 'em?" I asked.

"Uh uh!" And just like that I had grown excited about my own purchase. New shoes!

For the next several days, I wore my black Vibram Five Fingers KSOs (keep stuff out) any time I wasn't on the motorcycle. The shoes provide no support, instead forcing your bones and musculature to support you. It's how we were designed. The shoes only provide a bare minimum of protection against sticky surfaces and sharp objects. You can pretty much step on a piece of bubblegum and tell what flavor it is. It's hard to state why such a sensation would be desirable, but let's just say for now you're far more connected to the ground on which you walk.

Vincy found this great article that discusses the damage that modern shoes are doing to our feet in great detail. It's a bit on the long side, but it's a fascinating read. And it might just send you running out to buy a pair of VFFs.

After wearing them nearly every day since the end of last month, the only real criticism I have of the VFFs is that since they are essentially a sock-less shoe they can get funky. In fact, there are very long threads on VFF funk (which apparently is the same as river gear funk) on a number of message boards. To save you the trouble of figuring out how to kill the bacteria that a simple machine wash does not, here is the current antimicrobial solution I employ:

1. Place the VFFs in a gallon bag.
2. Add one cup of vinegar.
3. Fill the rest of the bag with water and seal.
4. Let the VFFs soak for 5 hours.
5. Empty the bag and thoroughly rinse (or machine wash) the VFFs to purge the vinegar smell.
6. Dry in the sun or in a dryer on an "air only" setting.

I just got my second pair yesterday because I wanted some color variety, and I'm considering buying a third and final pair. Despite not being the cutting edge of fashion, I frequently get stopped by people asking about my footwear. "Those are neat!" or "What are those?" or "Those look comfortable!"

No one ever thought to say a thing about my silver printed Adidas shell toes, and I thought they were pretty fly.

Support

2009-08-07T09:13:00.000-07:00

I was in a communication seminar all weekend. While I sat in a chair for the greater portion of two days, Vincy said she would take care of whatever needed to be taken care of so I could be fully in the course.

Right now I just want to take the time to acknowledge her for some of the things she did.

Thank you for:

Watching over Mamezoh, who had been sick out of both ends for several days after I returned from visiting my parents.

Buying unsweetened soy milk so I can make my protein shakes

Putting away the things I bought at Target.

Leaving a note for me at nearly every session break saying you love me. (It has completely transformed my relationship to the words, “There’s a message in the back for Torrey Walker.”)

Jumping my car, which wouldn’t start on Saturday morning due to low charge.

Getting diagnostics run on the battery that revealed the need to replace it.

Buying me a new car battery.

Installing it by yourself.

Testing out the electrical system and trying to reset my head unit’s clock.

I know that’s not all she did; her generosity is more outstanding than my memory. I just won’t let it be left unsaid that I owe my peace of mind during the seminar to her. Moreover, it makes me smile thinking that even when she’s not around that she’s out there somewhere thinking of me, supporting me in what I’m up to, and standing for my having what I want.

I know who you are.

Ex-ed Out

2009-08-02T17:22:00.000-07:00

Koko and I didn’t end on the best of terms (in fact, I pretty much erased her existence from this blog altogether), but is it the worst thing in the world to discover you still love your ex-wife and want her in your life? I assert that it ain’t.

"Tell me about your ex-wife," Vincy said one morning. Totally out of the blue.

I began to recount the story of how Koko and I had met through her friend Jerry that saw me dancing at all the Japanese festivals in the Aichi and Gifu prefectures and how we went from being friends to being in a relationship (later a long distance relationship) and how I brought her to the states to marry me. I talked about our pre-wedding party, too, and it dawned on me that I still had our hardcover bound photo album somewhere in storage. "Would you like to see it?" I asked.

"Yeah, I'd love to!" I hadn't looked at that book since we got divorced, but I'm glad I still knew where it was.

Regardless of how I felt about Koko, I'd never be able to deny the quality of that photo album. The photographer took my single favorite photo of Koko and me:

The man has an eye. Or as Vincy would say, "Nice eyeballs!"

I unearthed the photo album and lay down beside Vincy. "This is Koko," I began.

"Wow she's so pretty!"

And we began to flip through the pages. Each page was spilling over with the love and fun that characterized our relationship for all the years Koko was still living in Japan. I pointed out her friends and mine. "Oh, this is where we did a little dance to 'Ain't No Mountain High Enough.' And she and her sister sang and danced to a song dressed like *THAT*. It was hilarious!" Then I remembered that "hilarious" was one of those words Koko always tried to use but, like a country preacher, could never seem to pronounce it right.

I don't know if Vincy asked or if I volunteered it, but we both got that I missed her. "You should call her," she said.

"I will."

"When?" Damn, this girl is serious!

"This weekend."

The next day Vincy texted me to ask if I had called Koko yet. I hadn't, so I did. I only got her voicemail, but I was glad that her phone number still worked. Koko and I played phone tag until I finally got her on the horn while sitting on the tarmac in L.A. about to leave for London to celebrate my 32nd birthday.

Now, after having not talked to someone for a year, I expect to hear lots of new developments. I expect that so much has happened that the other person has no idea where to begin and just can't shut up about all the changes in his/her life. But I guess that's just me because everyone else seems to have two or three major bullet points. So I listened to them and got that I hadn't missed out much on what happened while we hadn't talked. I had only missed out on what type of future we could build together as friends. We agreed to meet up for coffee when I got back from London, and she wished me a happy birthday.

"Thanks. I look forward to seeing you when I get back!"

"Me too!" she answered.

And then after a pause, "I love you!"

Another pause, and then she laughed. Koko has a musical laugh that shakes her whole body. I only heard it over the phone, but I know how it goes. "Wow, I'm surprised to hear you say that. Thank you!"

"Bye!"

"Bye bye!"

We met up the weekend I got back from London at a local coffee shop. I brought Mame. We talked and talked and talked. We swapped stories and laughed. I shared about work, my motorcycles, my breakup, my girlfriend, everything. In fact, after we had been talking for two and a half hours, I suggested that she come back to my place to check out my motorcycle and to meet Vincy. She agreed, and it was cool.

Before Koko left, I asked Vincy to snap a picture of us together.

you'll be given love
you'll be taken care of
you'll be given love
you have to trust it

maybe not from the sources
you have poured yours
maybe not from the directions
you are staring at

trust your head around
it's all around you
all is full of love
all around you

- “All Is Full Of Love” by Björk

Glued

2009-07-17T08:16:00.000-07:00

I’m in love. No, not with a stripper.

I’m aware that being in another relationship so soon after the ex called it quits reeks of a rebound relationship. In fact, when I realized I was falling in the first place, I had the image of a 7’4“ basketball player jumping up, snatching the ball out of the air, and bringing it to his chest with elbows extended. REBOUND! So what does that mean? I’m not supposed to date?

Aside from some core similarities (Chinese, and with at least one parent that hates black people -- I guess I have a type!), the most striking thing about Vincy before we partnered up was just how she said things I thought I’d never hear from my ex.

”I support you having confidence in all areas of your life.“

”I want to go riding on the back of your motorcycle so I can squeeze you while you go VROOM VROOM!“

”You should call your ex-wife.“

”You can say what’s on your mind. I promise not to hold it against you now or six months in the future.“

”I love you. So much.“ I should state here that I didn’t hear my ex say ”I love you“ for the final half year or so of our relationship except to the dog.

But that isn’t why I’m with her. Those things are just so dazzling by contrast that they have to be mentioned. Aside from that, she plays every guitar song in Rock Band 2 on hard or expert. She drives turbo charged version of the car I do and works on cars as a hobby. She speaks Cantonese and Mandarin, and she’s watched enough anime to have picked up quite a bit of Japanese. She plays violin and piano. Her dimples are national treasures.

That’s not why I’m with her either. I’m with her because I feel absolutely free with her. It’s a new feeling for me to be free in a relationship; I don’t feel like I’m giving up things. I tell her whatever is on my mind and trust that we’ll be able to work out any situations that arise through communicating. Sure she’s great, but it’s how she supports my freedom and everything else I’m up to that glues me to the whole deal.

My time with her is so dense with stories that I won’t have time to tell them all, but the next one is really special to me.

30 Days with EA Sports Active

2009-06-20T09:47:00.000-07:00

I’ve completed my 30-day challenge with EA Sports Active. Since it’s technically a videogame, I decided to do a massive write-up of my experience on Bitmob, a videogaming website billed as “when community meets press.” I can’t be sure which I am right now since I haven’t done a paying freelancing job all year, but in any case I posted my results.

It was promoted to the front page yesterday, so I thought I’d share it here for anyone considering losing weight through videogames:

30 Days with EA Sports Active

Loss

2009-06-13T08:29:00.000-07:00

I should have publicized this long ago, but for many weeks my fitness has been my top priority. The last time I was in shape was when I finished my master's in May 2004, and since then my weight, physique, and eating habits have been all over the place. I have been as high has 265 pounds and as low as 205. Okay, that's not fair. I haven't seen 205 since summer of 2004.

This won't be the first time I've tried losing weight since I put more on. I usually have mixed results. I end up taking off 5 to 10 pounds, hitting a weight loss plateau, and eventually lapsing back to the unhealthy habits that I had before. So what makes this time different? Two things. First, I've made the declaration that my fitness is my top priority. It doesn't matter what else I have scheduled or planned, it is always more important to eat healthily and get my workouts out of the way. No exceptions. It's because of this that I haven't missed a workout in over a month. Second, I have a community now. I tell everyone I encounter that I'm trying to lose weight and how I'm trying to do it. The frequent requests for progress updates keep me honest about the whole affair.

As an aside, in creating a weight loss community I began to get lots of advice from people on how to lose weight. Some of the people with advice are in excellent shape. However, I am disinclined to take most of their suggestions. It's not that I think they don't know what they are talking about. It's rather that I find it hard to believe that the techniques that work for someone who has never had real problems losing weight will work for me. If you were blessed with an active metabolism and a genetic predisposition to have a great body, I just don't think the amount of work I need to do has a strong correlation with your advice. If you have been chubby all your life and finally got down to a finely chiseled body some time well into your adulthood, I'm more likely to listen.

This brings me to the next point: I'm doing a weight loss challenge. The decision to participate kicked off everything else. The two hosts for my weight loss challenge were morbidly obese, and they've lost scores of pounds (maybe even over a hundred) using the techniques on which we are coached. It's easily 80% nutritional information; we rarely talk about exercise. Of course I can't help doing some because I want to get in shape as soon as possible.

Nutritionally speaking, I am cumulatively practicing the following:

* Drinking 120 oz. of water daily
* Limiting myself to 2 cups of coffee daily (usually none at all)
* Drinking at least one cup of green tea per day
* Supplementing my meals with protein shakes
* Gentle colon cleansing
* Eating more fruits and vegetables
* Controlling sugar and refined carbohydrate intake
* Controlling fat intake

My exercise routine consists of only two activities currently:

* EA Sports Active (http://www.easportsactive.com/) 30-day challenge (Nintendo Wii)
* Couch to 5K (http://www.coolrunning.com/engine/2/2_3/181.shtml)

And finally, the current stats:

Start weight: 239.4 lbs (More actually, but I didn't get my new scale until week two.)
Current weight: 226.6 lbs
Net loss: 12.8 lbs

There's a lot more to write about this, but I just wanted to get this entry out there for starters. The progress is great, but I have a long way to go.

The Fraud

2009-06-04T19:26:00.000-07:00

Sign that your relationship isn’t working: months with no pictures together but plenty of pictures.

Shirley and I are done. It’s a massive disappointment, but it’s time to move on for both of us. For what it’s worth, the breakup doesn’t have anything to do with her parents not accepting me on principle because I’m black. I think we could have dealt with that.

I take full responsibility for how things turned out, and in the end I learned something about myself that I never knew before. It is this:

People can have whatever friends they want without reservation.

I promised over this and promised over this, continually breaking my promises because I viewed them as temporary at best. I guess you can compromise a lot of things but not who you are. I was being a fraud, and Shirley didn’t deserve that.

This is not what broke us up, though. We broke up before this became clear. It was my broken promises that made the process of separating urgent. Before then, we may have been able to work things out. To allay our doubts. But not now.

Whatever lies ahead for us will be new or nothing at all.

Parallax Error Beheads Me

2009-05-18T07:19:00.000-07:00

I'm calling it. Album of the year 2008 is Max Tundra's Parallax Error Beheads You.

iTunes link
Lyrics

I've heard it jokingly said that Max Tundra puts enough ideas in his albums for ten albums, but I'm convinced that's not a joke. If it were instrumental, it would be fantastic. If the songs were half-length, it'd be fantastic. If the lyrics were dumb and he couldn't hold a pitch without autotune, it would be fantastic. If there were any justice in the world Max Tundra would be a superstar.

But no, Max Tundra has silently delivered the closest thing I've heard to a perfect album in years. Chocked full of haunting melodies, complex chord progressions, frenetic drum programming, and brilliant and pure vocals, Parallax Error Beheads You is the type of album that permanently enriches your life once you truly get it. But even if it doesn't click after the first few listens, just take his advice:

"So load me in and let me reign
Cause I was born to entertain"

Your engineering knocks me out of my chair.

Down in the Tundra

2009-04-28T07:32:00.000-07:00

The intent for the first half of this entry was to extoll the musical talent of Max Tundra -- perhaps my very favorite musician -- who I saw perform live in San Francisco several weeks ago. In an effort to write something befitting his level of musicianship, however, I’ve let the second part of the same entry languish in a state of unwritten-ness. Though I would consider the first half of that entry more significant, I can understand if people have more interest in the second.

The second involves my first motorcycle accident.

On the way home from the concert, I was riding through downtown San Francisco through a series off traffic lights that were flashing red four-way stops due to the hour. After going through roughly 5 such intersections, I approached another where I didn’t see any lights at all. I also didn’t see any stop signs. After a moment I reasoned that it must be a two-way stop and that I had the right of way, so I began to accelerate.

I saw cross traffic the very next instant and appropriately enough, flashing red lights at the far corners of my periphery. I grabbed a handful of the front brake, locking up the front wheel in the process. It was my bad luck that the front tire was atop one of the notoriously slippery San Francisco manhole covers.

The bike began to go down to the left. I overcompensated for the lean with a sharp handlebar motion, causing the bike to spill to the right instead. My forearm and leg hit the ground first followed by my helmeted noggin. The sound of the smack against the pavement was loud, but my head didn’t feel a thing.

After a few moments of being sure I wasn’t still moving, I stood up. A few pedestrians ran to the intersection and asked if I was okay. “Yeah, I’m fine.”

“Are you sure?” one asked with a British accent.

“Pretty sure.”

“Can you move all your digits?” I held my hands up and wiggled my fingers. “And your legs?” he added. I lifted both knees to waist height. Then finally, “What day is it?”

After thinking for a moment, I replied, “It’s Thursday.”

“You’re right, mate,” he smiled. “It *IS* Thursday.” Some part of me was thinking WTF, but my attention quickly turned back to the bike.

“Can you help me stand the bike up so I can get it out of the intersection?” Two of the male pedestrians helped me to stand up the bike, and one tried to push it.

“The bike’s in gear; it won’t roll,” I volunteered. He just stared at me blankly. He has no idea what I’m talking about. “Just hold it there a second while I walk around to your side and get on? Thanks.” I mounted, squeezed the clutch and walked the bike onto the corner.

By this point, I knew I was going to have to check the bike out to see if it was roadworthy. I naturally feared huge black scratches down the side of my yellow motorcycle and bent, unusable handles and levers. But all told, the damage on my bike consists of the following:

* a BB-sized dent in the gas tank that you pretty much have to know is there to see.
* a scuffed side peg (the things on the bike that keep it from falling flat on its side if the bike goes down)
* a slightly bent but still usable rear brake lever
* a scuffed right grip wind guard

That’s all. I could spend a little over $100 and have the bike looking like new (minus the dent that I wouldn’t worry about). As for me, my right forearm and right wrist were sore for about a week. Yes, I know I’m lucky.

I took a couple of lessons away from my fall:

* Do nothing suddenly. Sudden movements upset the balance of the bike.
* If something looks off, it probably is. Trust your instincts, not your senses.

I rode the bike home safely afterwards, and I’ve purchased a new helmet to be safe.

Pencils Down

2009-04-21T08:26:00.000-07:00

Yo.

Pencils down on "The Boy Is Back." It's the first track I've completed in ages -- and I knowingly call this a track rather than a song -- but it feels good to share a few feelings that I've had recently. The idea for this song was birthed in a laundromat on my laptop while Shirley was grocery shopping next door. I wouldn't be surprised if it conveys some sense of loss.

The full track is here.

I went to a party in Oakland this past weekend and met one of Shirley's friends from her undergrad years. I'm more comfortable with the room-full-of-strangers dynamic than I've been with any point in my adult life, but there was one point where a smalltalk question shattered the glass bubble I've been living in lately. Shirley's friend asked, "So what's new?"

Odd question given that we'd only just met moments ago. "Everything I guess. What do you want to know?"

"Well, what do you do for a living? Unless you've got something more exciting than that cooking right now." I smiled and opened my mouth. Then I closed it. Then I furrowed my brow.

"Wow," I began. "I actually don't." This is quite an admission for me. I've always regarded myself as an interesting guy, and my diverse set of interests contribute to my having a high opinion of myself and my desirability -- which is at some level I'm sure compensation for fear that no one likes me and that I'm all alone. But dammit if I can't sound good on paper!

... dammit!

One thing is clear -- I’m aiming to be my own personal hero, and my personal hero would (among other things):

* make music
* show thoughtful attention to his attitude, fitness, and style
* write and/or speak about videogames for an audience

I’ve got work to do.

Definition

2009-04-14T22:10:00.000-07:00

Eye Irritation - (n.) an unpleasant sensation experienced in the eyes after riding a motorcycle down the highway through 40+ mile per hour crosswinds carrying dirt and other debris while wearing one’s contacts in the wrong eyes -- one of which is inverted -- thanks to the optometrist

Performance Drop

2009-04-02T19:01:00.000-07:00

I should really be ashamed of this, but since I got my new(er) motorcycle in January, I've scarcely taken the time to learn anything about it other than how the controls differed from my 1996 Suzuki GS500E. In fact, I didn't even get the bike checked by a mechanic until I had been riding it for over a month. That's a *DEFINITE* no-no for anyone purchasing a used bike -- I don't care how trustworthy the seller seems.

Anyhow, a random chat with a friend brought up the subject of taking a ride up to Pacifica and then down Highway 1 to Santa Cruz. He said that the trip was probably around 170 miles or so. I remarked that that's probably more than I get on a full tank of gas; the gas mileage of my new bike is probably the biggest disappointment I have with it. I was subsequently struck with the urge to research my bike's expected fuel consumption online. The consensus was 45 - 55 MPG.

I only get 38 or 39 on a 4.2 gallon tank. That's almost sport bike gas mileage. I reasoned that the likely culprit was the Techlusion chip wired in by a previous owner to increase performance. I decided to look through the documentation when I got home to understand it better.

Now, I'm no grease monkey. When it comes to motorcycle repair, upgrade, and maintenance, I still have far more money than I do patience. But it's a poor vehicle owner that doesn't at least try to learn the basics of a hunk of metal to which you entrust your *LIFE*. Bearing that in mind, I read the packaging of the Techlusion kit to see what the thing actually does.

This was my first eye opener: the kit claims to increase performance where performance is measured in carbon monoxide (CO) production. Carbon monoxide? Doesn't that *KILL* you? And I want more of it?

This is the part of my blog entry where I endure the ignominy of knowing nothing about gas-powered engines. Hot tears of shame ... and ... move on.

Staring at the graphs on the packaging, I also noticed one small band in the graph that indicated "good gas mileage." This chip apparently boosts performance well beyond the narrow "good gas mileage" window.

Anyway, the gears in my head started to turn, and I thought back to what it was like adjusting to my new bike. I remember thinking that the the SV650 was entirely too much bike for me because the throttle control was so unforgiving. Open it up and it jumps like a jackrabbit. Release the throttle and the bike pitches you forward like you squeezed the brake. I got used to it, to my credit. But only now did it occur to me that this was far from the stock tuning. My friend Bruce once commented that the SV650 had smoother power delivery than the GS500E (he has previously owned both), but I never found anything smooth about my SV650. Rolling on the throttle was unleashing the hounds of hell to a beginning rider.

I wasn't going to remove the chip (California emissions standards be damned, I might actually prefer the increased horsepower), but there had to be some way to disable it. So after studying the diagrams in the manual and recording the settings on the chip, I turned all the dials down to zero. Knowing as little as I do about my bike, I half expected it not to start. But start it did, and it made the same noise idling that it always does. The next thing to do was to ride it to work (and I packed a screwdriver for adjusting the chip settings just in case).

The resultant ride was smoother than a satin-covered pimp.

Measuring my new gas mileage will take longer since I need to complete a fuel cycle, but even now my trip meter reads higher than the mileage where I usually see the low fuel indicator illuminate. This is what I was missing.

Probation

2009-04-02T07:43:00.000-07:00

In keeping with my previous entry about thoughts of abandoning Dragon Quest V, I think I’ll detail the concept of “probation” that I’ve been applying to the backlog of media I’ve chosen to consume.

The idea is simple. Would you listen to an entire album of music if the first four songs sucked badly? Probably not. So why should I fight my way through a book, television series, or video game in hopes that it’ll get good again? And more importantly, how much time will I waste in the process while waiting to see if my efforts pay off?

I first had the idea of putting media on probation when I was reading Pulitzer prize winner The Brief Wondrous Life of Oscar Wao. It can be argued that literature is often a hard read any way you slice it, but Oscar Wao has the added preponderance of Spanish-laced dialog and descriptions offered without a sliver of translation (this is, after all, literature). My brother Randy said he was enjoying the book without knowing a lick of Spanish, to which I replied, “Well, the lick of Spanish I do remember is drier than a motherfucker.”

Reading requires heightened concentration as it is without the foreign language obfuscation, but to be honest, the book got boring to me when it delved into the story of Oscar’s sister. The book collected dust for a month before I picked it up again, and my foremost thoughts were, “What if it’s still boring? What if it gets good right after this?” Subscribing to the notion that I can subject myself to almost anything with a suitably short duration, I decided to put the book on probation for thirty pages. If it wasn’t clear that I wanted to turn the page and keep reading after thirty more pages, I would retire the book and move on to something worth finishing. Probation served the book well; knowing that it was in danger of losing the reader, it quickly wrapped up Lola’s backstory and got on with the plot. As an added bonus or apology, it sped me along to the end.

I like the concept of probation because (pardon the Southernism) it “sits better” than quitting cold. It broadcasts intent while allowing for the possibility of having been mistaken. It gives one last chance to work things out before walking away forever.

Along those lines, here are some mini-impressions of the media I’m consuming:

* Dragon Quest V - for lack of quest and story variety, you are placed on two-hour probation.
* Madworld - for the sins of godawful camera control and weak level design, you are placed on one-hour probation.
* Dead Space - I’ll admit, I’m just afraid to play it. It’s still shrink-wrapped. Two-hour probation.
* The Wire: Season 4 - proceeding fantastically.
* If Chins Could Kill by Bruce Campbell - a bit slow at times, but an easy read. I plan to finish.

Having catalogued these thusly, it occurs to me that I have 5 hours of probation auditing in my future. It only makes sense to treat probation cases as my top priority.

The Problem with JRPGs

2009-04-01T22:18:00.000-07:00

When I was younger, I thought I lacked the dexterity to ever be good at video games. I was taken by the graphics and music, but until I played my first exemplar of a particular genre I thought the best I could ever hope to do was watch someone play who was better than I. That genre is the Japanese role playing game.

I wouldn't claim to be a scholar in the distinctions between JRPGs and western RPGs, but the classic RPG style involves towns (for plot advancement through dialogue, upgrading weapons and armor, replenishing health and magic, and saving the game), an "overworld" that exists merely as a world map to connect points of interest, and dungeons -- the combat-centric thrust of the main gameplay. Where the JRPG tends to differ is in the details, some of which are as follows:

1. There are random encounters in the overworld and in dungeons -- i.e., when walking about, suddenly and without warning you will find yourself in a battle with a group of enemies that was heretofore unseen.
2. Combat is turn-based -- your group of adventurers performs actions (attack, defend, use item, magic, etc.) in a sequence determined by some statistic, and the game's action usually freezes while you're making your decisions. For this reason, quick reflexes are unneeded.
3. Repeatedly defeating enemies (a.k.a. grinding) is necessary to gain experience, which increases the stats and abilities of your characters.
4. Difficulty comes in two flavors: finding out what to do next, and increasing your stats (not to mention using the correct strategies) to defeat enemies.

Enough waxing scholarly; I wrote this entry to say that I'm getting bored with Dragon Quest V for the Nintendo DS, a game that holds rigidly to the above formulaic description. That's unsurprising given that the Dragon Quest series pioneered this form of gameplay and that each subsequent iteration duplicates this gameplay with new characters and a new story. I've never finished a Dragon Quest game, but given the recommendations of like-minded friends, I thought this would be the first. I can't even recall the last turn-based JRPG I finished, though. Maybe Shining in the Darkness for the Sega Genesis? I finished that on emulation in 2000 though the game was originally released when I was in junior high school.

Anyway, to enumerate why I'm getting bored:

1. I'm sick of grinding. When your stats are high enough, most fights are brain-dead.
2. Every non-player character (NPC) has something to say, but less than 5% of dialogue is relevant in any way.
3. Town, overworld, dungeon. Town, overworld, dungeon. Town, overworld, dungeon.
4. The story, while punctuated with some excellent moments, is spread far too thin to remain engaging.

I think the number one reason I'm thinking about kicking DQV to the curb, though, is because I feel that in an hour's gameplay that I should feel some sort of accomplishment. The plot should have advanced in some way, or I should be doing something new and stimulating. I get this from other kinds of games and even other RPGs. I even get this from watching plot-driven television shows. DQV, however, robs me of that experience.

Frankly, if I'm going to sink hours into a game, I want to feel like I'm playing it, not the other way around.

Wires

2009-03-28T17:41:00.000-07:00

After numerous tips from people connected in no way whatsoever, I took an interest in watching the HBO original TV series The Wire. Hailed unanimously by said tipsters as the best piece of television ever, I thought I couldn’t go wrong for buying the entire 5-season boxed set for $85 on Amazon.com. The same set now goes for $174, and you know what? It’d be worth it.

Only moments ago I finished Season 3, widely regarded as the peak of the series (after which “but all of it’s good” is a common corollary). This is a spoiler-free zone, but the things that happen -- they’re all so morally conflicting. Perhaps the most striking aspect of the writing is that any character that gets major screen time is ultimately (if not initially) likable and serves as an FDIC-insured emotional investment bank. These characters come into conflict as they clearly must, and when shit goes down -- and shit will go down -- the viewer is left as a doe-eyed bystander that witnessed the whole reprehensible affair without the power to do a thing about it. The whole thing just leaves you in awe.

Even thinking back to what I just saw, I can only think, “People will do what people will do. The fact that we try to make some sense out of it changes that not one bit.”

At season 3 of 5, The Wire has my highest recommendation. Only if the last two seasons were episodes of Hammerman would I rescind it.

Two Much Vegas

2009-03-28T08:54:00.000-07:00

Today I’m returning from my second trip to Las Vegas in as many weeks. Last trip I was out to support Shirley during a pool tournament, and this trip was business. I invited Shirley to join me on this trip as well (especially given the quality of accommodations on my business trips, but she declined). I guess it was too much Vegas for her. Me too.

Still, I certainly felt the loss given at least four other employees had friends or significant others join them on the trip. One actually traveled with his wife, so I made the obligatory jokes about bringing sand to the beach. Immediately afterward I felt a pang of jealousy and added, “But at least you get to go back to your hotel room and play in the sand.”

My pieces of wisdom for this trip to Vegas are as follows:

Be the party you seek. Even the entertainment capital of the world has a ton of establishment with weak atmospheres.

Make time to explore. Sometimes it’s good to have no plan. Everything doesn’t show up on a web search or billboard.

Always take in a show. There’s something you want to see whether you’ll admit it or not. I regret having not seen Wayne Brady’s “Making %@it Up.”

Plan downtime. Going all day and all night can be done for exactly one night before being reminded of your age.

I can’t wait to get back to Campbell.

Far From Zen

2009-03-26T08:11:00.000-07:00

I am too cool for Zen Lounge, and I’m not that cool.

After a dinner of Indian-Chinese fusion that was more like authentic Indian with cheap soy sauce bottles on the table, Shirley and I crossed the street to pay a $5 cover to get into Zen Lounge for an evening of drinks and dancing. After a $3 coat check fee per coat, I promptly needed a few $8 Scotches to have any hope of my dancing to the weak DJ set being served up on a black MacBook next to the dance floor.

While the earlier crowd gave the illusion of this being a classy establishment at best and a decent lounge at worst, the night devolved into a drunken meat market with Asian guys on the prowl at all corners of the establishment. While I was in the bathroom, Shirley was approached by one such predator with lines like, “You’re too pretty to be Chinese,” and “When are you breaking up with your boyfriend?” (And much later, “Is he gonna beat me up?”)

Sadly the most interesting part of the night was when an Asian guy who had clung to the side of a spunky but apparently disinterested mixed white/Asian girl finally had his efforts pay off as they drunkly kissed on the dance floor. Shirley was simply fascinated. She had wanted to tell him to give up over an hour earlier, and now here he was messing up her hair in a comical manner and kissing her. I give her another 30 minutes where she could still stand, which probably translated into a lucky night for the guy who wouldn’t take “whatever” for an answer. Both attractive enough people to be sure, but the execution was just so ... sloppy.

Maybe that’s how people hook up in Zen Lounge. I don’t know. All I know is that it felt like I shouldn’t have been there, that I had intruded on an alternate dimension. From now on, I’ll stick to where things make sense.

Candy

2009-03-22T08:12:00.000-07:00

I've been playing Dragon Quest V for the Nintendo DS for a few weeks now, and when I first sat down to play it while waiting for my motorcycle to be serviced, I noticed that the Sony earphones I usually use for the the DS weren't in my case. They were in my jacket pocket at home.

Shirley had report cards to do that week, so she had already driven me to a nearby coffee shop before I noticed my headphones weren’t on me. Not content to start the game with no sound or blaring through the tinny Nintendo DS speakers inside Starbucks, I walked next door to Staples and bought the cheapest earbuds I could find that weren't butt-ugly. These are they:

http://www.skullcandy.com/shop/inkd-p-107.html

The white ones for $15 plus tax. At that price I wasn't expecting much. To this day I still can't find any marking that indicates which earbud is left and which is right, something that drove me to eventually scratch one side just to tell them apart.

Back at Starbucks I started the game for the first time, and the Dragon Quest V theme thundered into my ears with a richness I thought impossible on the Nintendo DS. Either the sound design was really good, or these headphones sucked a lot less than I thought they did. Or both.

A quick check with Tipper's Wobble Factor on my iPhone proved that these were not a pair of (if you'll pardon my The Wire: Season 3 reference) "burners." These were headphones I planned to keep around for a while. Not only are the highs and mids smooth, but the extreme low end is clean and pronounced -- and perfectly tuned for bassheads. These buds sound like my car with the system cranked -- which, while not being unheard of for in-ear headphones, is unheard of for $15.

It’s amazing what $15 buys these days when it comes to headphones. I wonder what I should expect now for $50?

The Intrinsic Worth of Text Messaging

2009-03-13T14:53:00.001-07:00

I have a growing number of friends who are actively avoiding the text messaging phenomenon, some by free selection and others rather snobbishly. As for the snobbish ones, the most frequent argument I hear is that text messages have no real worth since information could have as easily been passed through a short phone call or voice message. To that argument, I’d say that texts do have a purpose.

I consider the purpose of texting as follows: to immediately and clearly send a small piece of information of which there is a (potentially) permanent record with a tiny data footprint for the sender and receiver that can be viewed and optionally responded to.

Texting in the United States might have a bad rep in part because not everyone uses texting this way. They use it as a plea for attention. Unlike emails and voicemails, they have a sense of immediacy to them, and some people get offended when they don’t receive a reply fast enough. Internet chatting went through the same phenomenon; this too shall pass.

If you’re going to give me a phone number, email address, or physical address that I will need soon, please send it in a text message. If you just found out that an album by my favorite artist just posted on the iTunes Music Store without my knowledge, text me. If we’re meeting at 8:30 PM instead of 8:00 PM and you don’t get me on the phone, text me. If you want to give me your business card, sign up here, and I’ll text for it.

I’m flying to Vegas tonight, and it’s time for me to sign up for flight status by text message. I’m glad I have the option because I hate watching the boards.

This is why I use texting. I pay for 200 per month, and I haven’t gone over yet. I don’t love texting, but I do love that I have the option.

The Not To-Do List

2009-02-15T14:42:00.000-08:00

I used to think there weren’t enough hours in a day -- that I wish I had more time to do everything. Then I got laid off.

In the several months I spent involuntarily self-employed as a full-time videogaming freelancer, I found that writing about games and job hunting still didn’t use up all my time. Invariably I’d fall into some rhythm of screwing around on the Internet or playing games for pleasure, and then I’d start to feel guilty about how I was spending my time. Even if I had spent the whole day contacting people and refreshing my resume, doing anything that resembled a hobby evoked powerful feelings of guilt. In fact, the only time I knew I wouldn’t feel guilty was when I was actively job hunting. At those times, I traded my guilt for embarrassment that I hadn’t found a job yet.

I did find another job. That’s not the point. The point is that even gainfully employed, I end up with a lot of the same feelings. If I needed proof that it’s not the circumstance of having a steady job that determines my emotional state, my continued guilt is it.

I don’t need more time. But I could do with a lot less guilt about how I spend the time I already have.

Even while writing this blog I’m beating myself up for not making music today. Or not trying to finish up a videogame so that I can feel guilt-free about buying Street Fighter IV when it comes out in a few days. Or not walking on the treadmill this morning while I was watching The Wire on DVD. Or not vacuuming.

My to-do list is too long. It always will be. That’s just how I’m wired!

Or wait. Maybe my not to-do list is too short.

In a conference call a few weeks ago, someone said the oddest thing I’ve heard all year. “Why are you feeling overwhelmed with too much to do? Take some things off your to-do list and put them on your not to-do list until you don’t have too much to do. Then just get it in your head that there are some things you’re not going to do right now.”

My not to-do list is empty and wanting.

Justified

2009-01-30T08:07:00.001-08:00

I want everyone who wants a relationship to have one. A great one. A lasting one.

Relationships fascinate me. From the meeting to the first kiss to the first “I love you,” there’s an ongoing dance of genuineness, mild subterfuge, and a healthy dose of the past at work when two people hook up. When we were children, everything was just so simple. You’d just go up to that other little boy or little girl and say, “I like you.”

Then (s)he breaks your heart, and you learn never to do that again. So begins the dance.

Last night as Shirley reclined on my weight bench, she mentioned that a friend of hers ended up with the complete opposite of what he said he wanted in a woman. From drinking/smoking habits, tattoos, piercings, etc., this girl was exactly what the guy claimed he wouldn’t want to date. When Shirley called him on it, he just shrugged. She suggested that perhaps the carnal attraction trumps all, and he just shrugged again. I think they’re engaged.

Assuming it’s not just a bunch of shrugs, I’d love to hear his story.

“One of the greatest things about being in a relationship is not having to defend your standards any more,” I said.

“What do you mean?”

“Well, people who want a relationship but haven’t had one in a while have standards like everyone else. But the longer they‘re single, the more they ruthlessly defend those standards and feel justified about being single. And then when you call them on it, they’re all like, ‘WHY SHOULD I HAVE TO LOWER MY STANDARDS!?!’ I’m not saying you have to lower them. I’m just saying that the way you defend your standards is what keeps you single.”

“Hm,” she said. It wasn’t consent or dissent. It was just I-heard-you-now-let’s-go-to-bed.

There’s nothing wrong with being single. It’s just that being justifiably single places the reason on a pedestal. I think the pedestal should be reserved for the significant-other-to-be, and a big fat reason for your being single doesn’t give him/her much room to stand.

I guess I was way ahead of that thinking curve the last time I was dating. One of the (clever?) loaded questions that I asked when online dating was this:

“How did you make the decision to return to single life?”

The great thing about this question is that it invites a discussion of the past without being invasive. It’s just whatever you feel like volunteering. As a bonus, people who are *CRAZY* always make it known here. But more often than not, people will immediately reveal either their standard. Usually it’s “don’t be like the last person I seriously dated” or “be like the last person I seriously dated, but don’t do that last thing (s)he did.” You get to decide whether to call a red flag on the response, but by doing so, you’re just enforcing your own standard over theirs.

There’s something to be said for acknowledging that 1) you have standards, and 2) a person doesn’t meet them. Hell, no one may meet them, and that’s totally cool. But people confuse lowering standards with putting them aside. By lowering them, you can certainly invite some trash. But by putting them aside, you sometimes find a real treasure. By clearing off the pedestal for a moment, you give someone a place to stand.

I think a lot of people in relationships will tell you that they didn’t think they’d end up with someone like they did. I’m one of them, and I’m very, very happy.

Dance, Suckas!

2009-01-27T07:22:00.000-08:00

Hudson Mohawke’s Polyfolk Dance EP is now available on iTunes. It’s the sickest electronica and/or hip hop I’ve heard in ages.

You can get it here.

Stacks

2009-01-18T20:47:00.000-08:00

Stacks of things to write about, so I'll keep it brief while reserving the option to go into greater detail at some point in the future.

First up, I started the new year off with a new(er) motorcycle, a naked yellow Suzuki SV650 that I'm calling Lemonjello -- a nod to the urban myth that a woman named her twins Lemonjello and Orangelo. The name wasn't a hard choice given that I had already named my car Orangelo.

The reasons for my updating my bike so early are manifold, but there were three things that really put me over the top. First, I was dying without fuel injection. If you've never had to warm up a bike for nearly 15 minutes before you can reasonably expect it to not cut off at the first stop light or intersection without the choke, consider yourself fortunate. Adding 15 minutes to each of my rides was getting old fast. Second, I love the styling of my old '96 GS500E, and the SV650 looks like a newer, more aggressively styled version of it. Third, the bike was yellow and has never been dropped. It looks sooo hot. It almost hurts sometimes.

Growing into the 650cc displacement engine has mostly been smooth. It feels weird to get to 60 MPH in under 3.5 seconds, but I rarely have occasion to accelerate so awesomely. What bothered me more was the fact that I managed to lose traction to the front tire for about a quarter of a second going around a curve at night due to invisible gravel, and while I managed to not drop the bike, I was scared to lean the bike at all for nearly a week. And for those who don't know -- to take a turn at more than, say, 15 miles per hour, the bike must lean.

Next, I haven't written about music in a while. 2008 passed without so much as a peep as to what I thought were the most interesting music releases of last year, and frankly that's still going to have to wait a while. I can't even remember most of what was released last year. Lucky for me iTunes does. I'll have to create a smart playlist for albums released in 2008 and comb through them when I have more than just a few moments to write.

What I can say, however, is that I have recently discovered Hudson Mohawke and Heralds of Change (the intersection of which is Hudson Mohawke), and I'm positively convinced that I'm listening to the future. From the several Heralds of Change EPs already available on iTunes to the new Hudson Mohawke EP that's supposed to go on sale this weekend, I can't get enough of this sound. It's the intersection of everything relevant to me right now -- like someone reached their hand into my soul and started bobbing my head for me like a sock puppet.

"You see a girl you like ... hit her with the Bopgunn"

Finally, to combine two popular memes:

My president is black. It’s the end of an error.

Ring In

2009-01-08T21:42:00.000-08:00

One of the first things I did this year (besides kiss Shirley and sip champagne at a sleepover in my pajamas) was to look over my resolutions from last year. I had ten (yes, ten), and of those I think I managed to keep five.

“Ten’s too many!” I was told. Maybe it is, but I was committed to something being different last year.

I think I’m beyond resolutions, though. Resolutions start as good ideas, but I’ve got plenty of good ideas. And if I ever run low on them, I can always reread How to Get Ideas. But having new ideas is not the challenge. The challenge is the structure that allows you to keep track of and capitalize on your ideas. After all, an idea without followthrough is functionally equivalent to having had no idea in the first place.

If I have a resolution, it’s to make sure that Shirley meets all of my best friends this year. That means we need to make a trip to Atlanta and one to Boston. But aside from that, I guess it’s better to just let it be known what I’m up to. I’ve got two major projects going, and they are definitely straining the limits of what I thought possible for me.

First is being stylish! I had a couple of nice outfits for dating from around the time I met Shirley, but after we had been dating for a while, it was back to jeans, t-shirts, and sneakers. (I should interject here that that doesn’t necessarily have to be an unstylish combo, but none of the constituent elements were “nice.”) Anyhow, I’ve always had it in my head that if I just lost weight, I’d look better in everything I owned, and that would be the end of it. It only recently dawned on me that I can start looking good now and then lose more weight so I can look better in a wider variety of styles.

Shirley is taking on this project with me. By my 32nd birthday on July 3, we both plan to be more stylish than we ever recall having been in our adult lives.

The second project is music production. The last time I seriously produced music was in undergrad in 1999. I’ve done a few tracks since then (mostly because of Benkei’s recital parties before he and the wife packed up and moved to Michigan), and pretty much the entire canon of my music has been featured on the recently shuttered 1UP Show. I made a promise to myself that I would make music because I loved it and because I could, and I’ve broken that promise many times over.

Simply re-promising to make music is likely to meet with a similar fate. It’s going to take something -- some new structure that helps me to keep my promise. For me that was shelling out $99 for Apple’s One-on-One service to get lessons on using Logic Studio. Under the program, I can have a one-hour lesson every week for a year on whatever Apple-branded software I want, and the only thing I want to learn how to use is Apple’s flagship digital audio workstation software. Hell, even if I just went once a month, it’d still be cheaper than lessons for any other instrument. We’ll just say that I’m learning to play the spacebar.

My goal is to have ten full songs produced by March 30, and collaborations are okay.

So 2009, let’s get started. There’s still a lot to do.

Over Fro-Overs

2008-12-05T11:30:00.001-08:00

On Monday I spent about an hour cutting my hair lower and lower until eventually there was nothing left. It’s not the first time I’ve shaved my head, but I think every other time I did it that it was just one of many options.

The reality is that my hair is getting thinner and thinner. “If your hair goes thin in the front, you’re a great thinker. If it goes thin in the back, you’re a great lover,” said my Uncle Adolph.

“But my hair is getting thin in the front and the back,” I said.

“That means you think you’re a great lover.”

My hair’s thinning is not a new phenomenon. The last time I grew out my afro, I went through a self-conscious phase over how clearly my scalp was visible under the hair growth at the crown of my head. As it grew longer, my scalp became harder and harder to see. By the time I was rocking a grade-A natural, you just couldn’t tell at all. I’m ready to call that now what it was -- a fro-over.

A fro-over, you ask? It’s like a comb-over. It’s when your hair is so long and curly that it can mask thinning hair patches or even baldness. Dad rocked a fro-over until he was fifty; Mom was expert at styling his hair into a full-looking afro every morning.

I didn’t have much work to do to maintain my fro-over. I have (had?) just enough hair growing up top to look normal when my hair is over two inches long. It’s just when my hair is under that length that there’s nothing to be done about it besides wearing hats and showing my thinning hair to the world. That’s where I was prior to my last shaving.

I wouldn’t say that thinning hair on me looks particularly bad. Just old. And I don’t feel old, so why look it? We can always revisit this conversation as long as my hair continues to grow, anyway.

As for now, I’m over fro-overs. I’ll shave my head with pride.

Purge My Draws With Hyssop

2008-12-01T12:31:00.000-08:00

When I was in junior high school, my older cousin Jimmy and I sang in my church choir together. The oddest song lyric I ever had to learn during that time was purge my dross with hyssop. I think it’s a lyric from “Touch Me Lord Jesus.” There is no way that any sane junior high school student (or even college student) would know what that means, much less when taught phonetically.

“Purge my draws with hyssop?!?” my cousin Jimmy questioned with incredulity. Draws of course being a contracted form of drawers, namely underwear.

“Dross, not draws,” the pianist retorted. Laughter ruined the rest of that practice.

Shirley and I are now living together. We had spent a lot of time together before then, sure, but now all her stuff is here and we have a joint account for handling household expenses. It’s worth pointing out that the condo was already “filled” with stuff before she brought all her things in October (which were enough to “fill” the condo again), and only now is the place starting to come together in any sort of order where we don’t feel like we’re living on top of each other. And what has been key to that development? Purging.

We have sold, given away, recycled, and trashed so many of our belongings in the past month that I’m starting to feel dangerously close to what I call a “two-week move”: having few enough things and those things organized enough to easily move yourself with only two weeks notice. And with Shirley’s touches around the condo like a monkey-themed bathroom and a shelf full of pictures of our friends and family, the place feels more like home than it ever has.

We still have a little bit of work to do in the office and living room, but I’m starting to feel like it’s time for a house re-warming party.

Fundament

2008-11-17T08:40:00.000-08:00

I feel a mixture of pleasure and shame at having just finished another work of fiction, Walter Tevis’s Mockingbird. The pleasure is naturally because there is something that reading does to the mind that’s difficult to describe; the shame is only because I rarely afford myself the opportunity to truly delight in reading -- partially because I choose to engage my mind (or not) with other things and partially because once I’ve begun to read, I find it difficult to stop.

Yesterday as I began the book at a Starbucks in walking distance of my home with Shirley seated across from me, I awakened something in myself that I sometimes forget is there: the absolute synchronicity that springs from being absorbed in the thoughts of another person, all triggered by tiny pictures called letters that humans have created and given meaning. Yet the images and words in my head aren’t usually birthed by pages of paper printed with ink. They instead issue from lit displays and are with few exceptions devoid of any real significance. Where I once lamented how infrequently I read for pleasure, I now realize that I read for pleasure most of the day. It’s just what I choose to read is information, transient and uninspired.

I’m glad to have mostly disengaged myself from sites like digg and reddit that do nothing but serve up whatever bit of information on the Internet that the largest number of readers find interesting, but I still spend hours every day sifting through RSS feeds to make sure that I’m not missing any bit of information that I would find interesting. I must read less than 10% of it, but I check it nearly constantly. And I wasn’t using RSS readers a year ago. Back then I was just refreshing a bunch of websites, and now I can’t decide which is worse.

One thing that I can say in a book’s favor is that it has an end. I can read for hours and days at a time, but at some point I am guaranteed that there will be nothing left in the book, at which point I will close it and put it away -- usually for good. With RSS feeds and digg and reddit, it seems as if the moment I’ve read to what was current the last time I checked that there is now even more to read. There’s always so much more to know, but I feel not the slightest bit more intelligent from knowing most of it. Sure, there are some laughs and a couple of flashes of insight, but on the whole I’m mindlessly searching for the next distraction.

When I was in college, I used to sit on my carpeted floor and listen vinyl recordings of electronic music that I had purchased in Little Five Points. Sometimes I would just listen. Others I would listen and read. I miss those days.

Correction

2008-11-10T11:38:00.000-08:00

Mom pointed out that I erroneously used the Daily Times Leader, West Point’s local newspaper, in place of the Daily Corinthian.

I do not know what was on the front page of the Daily Times Leader on November 5, 2008. I apologize for the confusion.

Progress

2008-11-07T13:44:00.000-08:00

I read this post on my brother’s blog today:

http://randybandit.blogspot.com/2008/11/mississippi-goddam.html

I wanted to take a moment to add my own thoughts.

I talk with my father pretty much every Wednesday evening, and the last time we talked, he was irate about ~~my home town’s local newspaper, The Daily Times Leader (mockingly known in some circles as “The Daily Times Liar”),~~ The Daily Corinthian's (*) not running a front page article on the election of Barack Obama on November 5. Coincidentally, my father runs a daily ad in this newspaper for his law practice.

The details of the conversation are unimportant, but let it suffice to say that there was an unveiled accusation that if McCain had been elected president instead that there would have been more than just a small associated press article on the third page about it. This may very well be the truth, but given how I voted in the last election, I’m glad that I’ll never have to find out for certain. My brother’s blog entry expresses the same emotional sentiments as my father.

I also recall my father once saying that Mississippi had made more progress in racial relations than any other state in the union. This was, however, due primarily to the fact that it could go nowhere but up.

From what I’ve seen, people generally won’t cop to being racist regardless of what they say or do, and many will provide evidence to the contrary when they feel threatened on that issue. This is in part because over the past several decades, more visible work has been done to make racism “bad” than to inspire acceptance. The measure of that work’s success is that people don’t ever want to be associated with racism because it paints them in a bad light, but the issue of true equality goes all but unaddressed. I think that’s why progress often seems so painfully slow.

But let’s make it clear that progress is what we want, not all the bad feelings surrounding being wronged. So I’ll ask the questions that might signify progress:

How do we get the Daily Corinthian to voluntarily acknowledge the president-elect as major news in a way that doesn’t embarrass the editor for not having done it sooner?

How do we get Mississippi schools to post pictures of the first family in their classrooms as an educational tool?

Japan 2008 Photos/Videos Live

2008-10-24T07:48:00.000-07:00

A very small selection of the small selection of pictures I took in Japan is now available online here:

http://gallery.me.com/thwalker#100008

Enjoy.

Back from Tokyo

2008-10-23T20:40:00.001-07:00

Though I have the temporary luxury of focusing on my writing full time, I’m spending more time writing about videogames for 1UP.com than anything else. It’s never that I have a shortage of life developments about which to write. It’s just that if my blog goes stale that I am probably either playing videogames or writing about them. And yes, the games I play now are almost exclusively for work-related coverage given the holiday-facing deluge of new titles.

Yes, I said full-time. I am a videogame journalist. I figure if I had to leave Apple just to see what it was like to try this startup, it’s also okay to write full-time just to see what that’s like, engineering degree be damned.

On October 13, I returned from an eight-day trip to Tokyo to provide coverage for Tokyo Game Show. I’ve taken at least one trip to Japan per year since 1999, but this one this is the first trip I’d strictly classify as a business trip. I’m not complaining; I went there with the intent of making enough extra income to cover property taxes this year. I guess I was just expecting at least a few activities that made it seem (even falsely) like a vacation. Instead, I spent hour after hour in my plush hotel room churning out articles about forthcoming videogames. “This is quality journalism,” I’d tell my roommate. I never quite figured out of I was joking.

Anyway, things in Japan were pretty much how I remembered them to be, but I managed to grab a few cool pictures and videos. I’m working on assembling a choice set of memories as a second post.

Writing about videogames will probably pay well until about December, at which time (if I haven’t already), I’ll be obliged to find a more steady source of income befitting my technical background. But for now, I’m content to not just go where the wind blows me. I’d rather stand for a bit and enjoy the breeze.

Letter

2008-09-29T17:25:00.000-07:00

Dear Zeus,

I've resisted writing this letter because you were put to sleep about 15 years ago to ease your suffering over complications related to dilated cardiomyopathy, but there are some things I want to say to you.

Back when you were living, I don't think I ever put your needs before my own until your last days. Back when Randy and I were alternating on food and water duties, sometimes I would forget it was my turn to take care of you. Mom would step in and take care of you when she knew it hadn't been done, but I'm certain that you must have gone at least a few days without food. In retrospect, I know we overfed you as it was, but it still is embarrassing to me that you did miss meals on my watch. I'm sorry for that.

I also didn't walk you as much as I should have walked you. I thought that since we had a large backyard that I would see you trot around in the mornings that you didn't need extra walks. I also remember that time I took you for a walk and carelessly stood between you and a pole you were marking. I was way less enthusiastic about walking you after being micturated upon. But I never took the time to learn how and why dogs behave like that, and moreover I just wasn't paying attention. Even though you weighed well over 100 pounds and still are the largest doberman pinscher I've ever seen, you were a gentle giant and very easy to walk. And I think you would have appreciated the extra exercise.

I have another dog now, a Pembroke Welsh Corgi named Mamezoh that I bought with my ex-wife and kept after our divorce. He's healthy, full of energy, and very smart. He's fed properly, and he gets plenty of affection. However, he has an incredibly high energy level, and he needs to be walked very frequently. I scarcely walk him at all these days. Even though he's so smart, I've stopped training him as well. He jumps on everyone but Shirley and me and goes insane when I use the vacuum cleaner and sometimes when he meets other dogs. But he's a good dog otherwise.

I have it in my mind somehow that I am a bad dog owner because of how things went with you. But how I cared for you is how I cared for you. You were never abused or undernourished. And we enjoyed the time together that we had. I was a bit irresponsible, but I give up that I am a bad dog owner.

I am committed to providing for all of Mamezoh's needs, not just the ones that are convenient. I promise that:

1) He will be fed daily.
2) He will be walked daily.
3) He will be de-shed weekly.
4) He will have his nails checked weekly and if necessary trimmed.
5) He will regularly be fed snacks to promote tooth and gum health.
6) He will be bathed monthly.
7) He will receive heart worm, flea, and tick preventatives every month.
8) He will have all regularly scheduled veterinarian visits.
9) He will receive 15 minutes of training at least three times a week.
10) He will be socialized with other dogs at least twice a month.

With this level of care, I believe that Mame will lead a healthy and happy life. My commitment to being responsible for Mame is an expression of gratitude for the many years of happiness you gave our household so long ago. Before we had you, I never realized how rewarding it could be to adopt a pet as a family member.

I miss you.

Love,

Torrey

Like it's Hot

2008-09-24T11:44:00.000-07:00

Long time no see. Lots of new things going on, but this one sent me straight to the blogging chair.

I’ve gone through a lot with my bike for the last month or so. Taking it on the highway for the first time, an expensive-to-fix fuel starvation issue, and new gear. Any one of those could have merited its own entry. But what made me write is one of the things that Adam told me before shopping for some shiny new bike after finishing the motorcycle safety course:

“Don’t spend more than $1000 on your first bike. You’re going to drop it.”

Who me? Surely you must be joking.

Today I dropped my bike. I had just gotten home, and I parked the bike in the shade because I wanted to see how hard it would be to remove my aftermarket turn signals and replace them with the stock ones that I recently got. Comically enough, the guy who put the new ones on had said, “These stick out way less and won’t break if you drop the bike.”

I was putting the center stand down and bracing the bike when I realized I couldn’t get it onto the stand. I looked back and saw that the rear wheel was touching the curb, and right around then the bike started to tip to the right as I stood on the left side. This has happened before (the tipping), so I braced my muscles and pulled. This time, however, my pull didn’t work. It just slowed the bike down. I thought, “Oh shit, don’t drop it.” I fought and braced and fought until the bike finally kissed the ground, ever so gently. I quickly walked to the other side and lifted it before mounting from the wrong way and putting down the side stand.

All told, I managed to bend my brake handle ever so slightly. Due to the very mild touch, there were no other new scratches or dents.

Now that I’ve gotten my first drop out of the way, I hope I don’t have another.

Fallout

2008-08-30T18:13:00.000-07:00

I usually don’t talk about videogames here (which is silly given how much I talk about video games in general), but I think the single most exciting game to come forth this holiday season will be Fallout 3. I have fond memories of Jeremy playing Fallout 2 while we lived in Japan on a PC he cobbled together from frequent trips to Nagoya.

A few videos from the game can be found here. Stunning, really.

Two Wheels

2008-08-26T07:37:00.000-07:00

It hasn’t gone unremarked that over a week in London passed without a single blog entry to that effect. The explanation is that these entires are in progress and that the plan is to unleash them all with some big bang in the upcoming weeks. In my imagination, the whole of these entries is the length of a novella and is action-packed with amusing anecdotes and screen-scrolling goodness. The reality, however, is that the memories grow foggier with each passing day. I fear that what I write may end up being just a few pages of really boring text that isn’t worth reading.

Well, I hear that courage is when you acknowledge that you are afraid of something but you do it anyway. What a perfect segue.

Last Monday, I awakened early and drove to the DMV to take my M1 (motorcycle) endorsement exam. Having successfully completed the beginner’s motorcycle safety course, all I needed to do was take the written M1 exam and half of the class C (standard car) exam. I only prepared for the former, having previously scored perfectly on the class C exam in 2004. But perhaps I should have prepared for that, too.

Smoking with a child under the age of 18 in the car is:
a) permitted if it is your own child.
b) illegal in all situations.
c) not regulated by law.

I don’t smoke, but I would have been pretty pissed if I had missed one more question than passing -- and if that was it. And no, I still don’t know the answer (or whether I missed it).

I thoroughly read the California motorcycle handbook, but there were a number of tricky questions on the exam. I know I didn’t get a perfect score on it, but I certainly scored highly enough to pass and was issued my interim M1 & C license while waitiing for the card in the mail.

License in hand, the next thing to do was to buy a motorcycle. I don’t have any close friends with motorcycles, nor do I relish the idea of asking people with motorcycles to let me practice on theirs. Initially my head swarmed with grandiose ideas of celebrating my riding skills with a shiny, new motorcycle, but my friend Adam -- an experienced rider -- stated plainly that I *WILL* drop my first bike. He recommended instead buying a motorcycle for around $1000. Based on craigslist posts in this area, that would be a pretty shitty bike. I decided to look in the $2000 range instead, and to cement my decision, I went to the bank to withdraw $2000 in cash.

I should pause here to state that this is a huge change for me. I’ve never related to myself as a resolute person -- someone who commits to the outcome first and then gets it done -- until recently. But this is just one of the many ways my life has shown up differently in the wake of doing Landmark Education’s curriculum for living. It may sound all cheesy and fluffy in the brochures, but damn if the company doesn’t deliver on what it promises. Even (or perhaps especially) for cynical know-it-alls like me.

So anyhow, I’ve got an envelope full of cash and I’m scrolling through the ads on craigslist when I see one with no picture, hardly any description, and out of my price range to boot. 1996 Suzuki GS500E, 84xx miles, runs good. And a cell phone number. I googled the bike and damn if it wasn’t the exact style I was looking for. According to many recommendations and reviews, this bike could very well be the perfect starter bike. I remember thinking, “I hope it’s red.” Red wasn’t my top choice, but for 1996, it was definitely the nicest stock color. I sent an inquiring email about the condition of the bike and asking for pictures, and the seller responded promptly.

I’ll skip ahead here and say that I ended up at his place about a 25-minute drive from my condo the next morning at 7:45 AM. He refreshlingly told me everything that was wrong with the bike before telling me all the work that had been done on it recently to make it truly road-worthy. As customary, I showed him my license and let him hold the money while I took it on a test ride.

It rode like a dream. This is the bike.

The next thing was to work out the sale. He was asking for quite a bit over blue book value, but I later found that the GS500 is pretty popular in this area and that his price wasn’t entirely unreasonable. Still, I took a page from Shirley, queen of “never pay full price,” and negotiated the price down $250 with a repaired (not bent) brake handle, a fixed rear turn indicator, and delivery to my doorstep. I’m particularly proud of the delivery because the last thing I wanted to do was get on my new bike and ride it for 25 minutes back to my condo. It would have easily been my longest ride ever and first on the highway. Total cost, $1850.

This is the bike:

As you can see, it's red.

The only things wrong with the bike are that the speedometer and tachometer lights are out (I knew this at the time of purchase), and I’m researching how to replace those bulbs to make it safer to ride at night. Other than that, the bike has been great.

I, on the other hand, am I total newb, and my initial experiences with the bike have been like a comedy of errors. More details are forthcoming.

Range 2

2008-07-29T16:57:00.000-07:00

“No matter how bad or how good you’ve done up to this point, it doesn’t matter. Now we’re going to have a test, which we like to call a ‘celebration’ of the riding skills you’ve been acquiring over the past couple of days. Nothing else counts but the test. If you’ve been doing poorly but do well on the test, you pass. If you’ve been doing great but have problems on the test, you’ll be invited to come back and celebrate again with us on a later date.”

In the motorcycle safety course, a perfect score on the final exam is a zero. A failing score is -21. My score was -20. That’s a pass. Here is more score breakdown.

U-Turns (AKA “the Box”): I have never successfully done the box. I have serious trouble maneuvering at low speeds, and during the test it was no different. -5 points for putting a foot down twice.

Swerve (obstacle avoidance): Flawless.

Quick Stop: In order to successfully complete this exercise, you have to downshift to first from second before you come to a complete stop. I somehow managed to only give the shifter a half-press, which landed me in neutral instead. -5 points for not getting into first by stop.

Proper Cornering (the curve): I did this perfectly except for fear of getting points docked for looking at the ground, I managed to do an even sharper curve than necessary right inside the proper path. -10 points for exiting the proper path.

That’s a -20, a pass.

I’ll be getting a form in the mail that, coupled with a written exam will result in a M1 motorcycle endorsement. After that, I’ll be looking for a starter bike, preferably something under $4000 in the 500 cc range.

Range 1

2008-07-26T18:19:00.000-07:00

Today was my first range day for the motorcycle safety course. That means it was my first time ever riding a motorcycle. Class started at 7:00 AM sharp, which was just about what time me breakfast coffee decided it wanted to complete its circuit. I was denied a bathroom break, so my first day on a motorcycle began in questionable status.

After a gear check, we made our way toward our twelve Suzuki GZ 250 cruisers. We familiarized ourselves with the proper mounting and dismounting procedures as well as the controls before we started the bikes for the first time. After a bit of rocking back and forth using the clutch’s friction zone, we were turned loose to “power walk” the bike to the other end of the coned-off parking lot. Then after a few power walks, we actually rode from one end to the other.

The first thing I’ll say about motorcycles is that they are pretty complex to control. More so than my manual transmission Mazda3, you really have to coordinate all of your limbs to ride one of these things. Right hand - throttle, brake, steer; left hand - clutch, steer, right foot - brake, left foot - shift gears. Even when you’re not doing something with a limb it’s clear where it should be. Though I never heard it explicitly mentioned, I thought it was a huge benefit to already know how to drive a manual transmission vehicle. I never stalled, but stalling was actually not my worry.

Controlling a motorcycle is not even similar to anything I’ve done before. That isn’t to say it’s overly complex; it was less hard than I feared but at the same time not as easy as I’d hoped. Some of the low speed weaving exercises helped me master my ability of hitting cones, and the fast braking exercise finally hammered home one of the biggest problems I had all day: my wrist is too high on the throttle. The problem with this is that when I reach for the brake, I often accidentally roll on the throttle at the same time, which revs up the motorcycle and scares the shit out of you and everyone else. And by you, I mean me. Still, there’s no way to compare how much better I was at the end of day one than when I was at the beginning with zero riding experience.

And yes, the thrill of accelerating through a turn gripped me and made me want to be a biker.

The biggest surprise about the motorcycle safety course, however, was how totally drained I was afterwards. Five hours on and around a bike is no joke, especially when you spend some of it kicking the bike around with the clutch disengaged. My hips and knees ache like crazy, and I felt like I hadn’t eaten or drunk anything in several days despite drinking water at every break. Even after lunch I had to shut down for a two-hour nap.

Tomorrow is range day two, the end of which is for keeps. We will be individually evaluated on our riding skills to see whether or not we pass the course. If I do, there’s just the written test for the DMV before I can start riding unsupervised. And I’m guessing that’s very much like getting licensed to drive a car -- that’s when you really learn.

Paid in Full

2008-07-21T08:54:00.000-07:00

Last week I sold off a chunk of Apple stock and paid off my car. I had very little cash available in 2004 when I bought it, so it wasn’t scheduled to be paid off for another two years. Now that I am ahead of schedule, I am, of course, looking forward to my next financed vehicle.

Or not.

When I first signed up for the motorcycle safety course, the idea of treating myself to a shiny new bike with zero road experience seemed more like a good idea. My friend Adam stated quite plainly, however, that I will drop my first bike (and hopefully won’t hurt myself in the process). The idea of dropping my brand new yellow “whatever” motorcycle and having a scratched up side to show for it is no fun at all. I mean, of course I’d like a nice bike. But even my first car was a 1976 antique BMW 2002; I didn’t touch a new car until I had over four years of road experience. By that time I could be reasonably sure that I was going to care for it properly, driving and otherwise.

Now, with a motorcycle I don’t necessarily plan to have one for four years before I buy myself a shiny new cruiser, sport bike, or standard. I would, however, like to be sure that I have some idea how to control the thing before I go adding another monthly payment to my budget.

In fact, while Shirley is out of the country, I drive her Corolla roughly once a week to make sure that everything stays in good working order while she’s away. It’s a good car -- plenty of space, great gas mileage, and very reliable. I think she bought it used and paid in full on purchase. On the other hand, my car was new, shiny and full of character when I bought it. It looks nicer, handles better, and gets similar gas mileage. But since 2004 I’ve had a car payment to make on it. It makes me wonder what my life would have been like with a different car for the past few years. I could have survived easily with Shirley’s car if I swapped out the sound system.

My recently hired financial advisor made the very simple argument of never buying a vehicle you weren’t prepared to pay off pretty much immediately. He graphed the typical car value vs. time overlayed with the cost of ownership vs. time, after which he said, “Sell stock and pay off your car now.” When I told him that with near certainty I’d be buying a motorcycle after I finished my motorcycle safety course, he added, “Okay, make sure there is no pre-payment penalty on your loan because in January you’re selling stock and paying it off.” Damn but was he serious.

With all these factors under consideration, I’ve been asking myself how much I’m wiling to spend on a starter bike. I’ve been thinking of something between $1000 and $2000 with low mileage that’s not quite old enough to be an antique. I know that bikes like this exist because there are people who were like me that are finally moving up to a new bike. Maybe something like this will work.

Anyway, the more I think about having a motorcycle without having another payment, the better an idea it sounds. It also seems like a great opportunity to do some bargain hunting, and Shirley should be all over that. She never pays full price. And moreover, I’m sure my father would be proud to learn that I am steering clear of more financing. Honestly, my condo is enough to worry about.

Reckoning

2008-07-19T17:59:00.000-07:00

It’s funny; blogging is like a job you don’t get paid for. All the friends and relatives and strangers the world over want you to keep it up, and somewhere deep inside you feel like you’ll actually go back and read the stuff you’ve written (whether or not that’s actually true), and come to some profound conclusion about your life -- probably that you spent too much time blogging.

Anyhow, I’m going through a phase where there is no shortage of things to blog about, but for a list of excuses I’m far too lazy to type now that I actually am blogging, it hasn’t gotten done until now. I intend for this entry to settle all accounts -- poorly -- so that I can get back to the business of living in the present.

First, for my birthday Shirley treated me to a couples mud bath, mineral water jacuzzi, and private massage spa treatment at a hotel in Calistoga. It was my first mud bath and my first professional massage.

All I can really say about the mud bath was that it was hot. Really hot. Ever run the bath water so hot that you had to creep into the tub very slowly and were afraid to move for the first several minutes? Well, imagine that with mud instead of water. The spa intendant says that the heat is deliberate; you’re supposed to sweat out your impurities. Well, I sweated out some something, and I could feel my heart thudding in my ears. I remember thinking, “I hope the attendant comes back soon and tells us to get out because I feel like I’m about to die in here.” After we had showered off the mud, we hopped into the jacuzzi, which was also too hot. Okay, I’m going out on a limb here to say it was too hot, but that shit was hot. If you had asked me whether or not I was enjoying it, I couldn’t even have told you. I was again relieved when the spa attendant told us our time was up. After that was a blanket wrap (which is literally just being wrapped in a blanket in bed). I continued to sweat, and by this time I was feeling rather good. Good in the way that you feel when you finally get off the treadmill and stop panting.

Next was the massage. The main reason I have never had a massage is because I’m really uncomfortable with strangers touching my naked body. Shirley, however, gets massages on a regular basis. She loves her massages. So I decided to give it a shot. There were two things that concerned me, though: 1) our massages were in different rooms, and 2) I had a masseuse instead of a masseur. All I could think was, “I hope I get a big, ugly woman with man hands.” Of course I got a short hispanic girl about my age. But thankfully my body didn’t react in any embarrassing ways, and there was no uncomfortable mention of happy endings or anything like that. All the same, I think next time I’d like to have a masseur before I decide if I’m going to sexually discriminate.

After the spa treatment, we went to our hotel room, where Shirley surprised me with an in-room jacuzzi that we could run at sub-infernal temperatures. We relaxed in the warm jets while watching the edited-for-TV version of Harry Potter and the Sorcerer’s Stone.

The second bullet point in this entry is my job. I don’t talk about it any more than I talked about Apple, but let’s just say that I’m very, very happy with what I am doing and with what my company is doing. What I am doing now is really satisfying. I actually bumped into one of the first hiring managers who interviewed me at Apple a few minutes ago, and he asked, “How’s the new job going?”

“Really great!” I responded.

“Darn!” I guess Apple would like to have me back. Good to know.

The last thing I should mention is the whole motorcycle thing. I’ve been toying with the idea of getting a motorcycle for some time now, but I began my motorcycle safety course last night. The first day is just a classroom where there is a bunch of manual reading and video watching. At the end of it all, there is a 50-question multiple choice test that you must score an 80% or above on to pass. It was dead easy since I have some freakish short-term memory gift that allows me to recall newly-learned esoterica or trivia for roughly 24-hours. I didn’t even stick around to see my score.

Now, when I first decided to talk the motorcycle safety course, I romanticized the idea of treating myself to a new bike when I got my motorcycle license. I have no idea what type of bike I would end up getting; the only thing they all seem to have in common is that they are all yellow. Take for example this, this, and this. Given that I have 0 miles of road experience, buying a shiny new bike to commemorate my license might not exactly be the best idea. I guess it will depend on how I feel after I do the driving range and test drive a few bikes. I’m now considering just whatever looks like the most fun cheap bike on craigslist is when I’m ready to buy.

What I got out of the first day of the motorcycle safety course is that motorcycles are extremely complex vehicles with very little margin for error in operation. To think about all the things I can competently do while driving such as eat, talk on the phone, operate a GPS, select music, etc. ... I’ll be kissing all of that goodbye on a bike. There will be nothing but riding. In fact, today I was wondering how many miles of road experience I should have before inviting Shirley out as my inaugural passenger. For some reason the number 500 keeps jumping out, which (given 22 mile commute to work) will probably happen within two weeks of owning the bike, and that’s just if I use it every day to commute and then to go to Shirley’s place in Fremont once a week. Two weeks also sounds like a good number.

I know everyone wants me to be safe and responsible. I will be.

Finally, with Shirley gone for the summer, my place is so quiet. Even with dog barking and blasting my music, there’s a gaping hole in my life with her gone. It makes it hard to concentrate on and commit to things, even fun things. I just want her back.

Account settled.

Marriage

2008-07-10T18:05:00.000-07:00

“Married life is so different.”

“I know, man. It’s a transformation in and of itself,” I replied.

“When you got married, were there any signs you ignored that might have pointed to your divorce?”

“Well, our particular situation was new for me but not for her. I mean, you can look at someone’s past all you want and raise red flags, but there’s nothing that a person has ever done or is doing now that will tell you what will happen in the future.”

“Yeah, I guess I never thought of it that way.”

“Right,” I continued, “The way I figure it, if you get married, you love that person and want that relationship to work. If at some spot along the line that changes, it’s generally because something happened that made you rethink it. It’s a change in circumstances.”

“Yeah.”

“Everyone has and always will have circumstances. The circumstances don’t really matter, though. What matters is who you are in the face of your circumstances.”

“So if, say, I don’t think I’m getting enough sex any more ...”

“It’s a circumstance. I mean, who you are and what you do is given by the commitments into which you live. You took vows, right?”

“Yeah.”

“Have and hold, sickness and health till death do you part?”

“Pretty much.”

“Good times and bad.”

He laughed. “Yeah.”

“Did you promise to stay married until you thought you weren’t getting enough sex?”

“No,” he responded, still laughing.

“Did you promise to stay married until she pisses you off daily?”

“No.” The laughter stopped.

“Did you promise to stay married until some cute blonde comes flirting with you?”

“...”

“Do you love your wife and want your marriage to work?”

“Yes, I do.”

“Then say it.”

“I love my wife and I want my marriage to work.”

“When other people hear you say it, things change. You know, if you think to yourself I’m going to clean the house today and don’t, it’s tempting to just be like, ‘Oh, I’ll do it tomorrow.’ If you tell your wife you’re going to clean the house today, something’s different, right?”

“Damn right. Now I have to do it!”

“Now what if you told one hundred people you were going to clean your house today?”

“Okay, I see what you’re getting at, but that’s what a wedding is for, right?”

“Oh, sure. But you know how long what you say lasts?”

“Until I say otherwise?”

“No. Until other people don’t hear it any more. Basically the moment it leaves the forefront of their attention, it’s already gone. It’s just a memory.”

“Then what?”

“Then you say it again. You keep it alive. Remind yourself and everyone else of where you stand.”

“I love my wife and I want my relationship to work.”

“You never want that shit to be private. And don’t stop saying it. There is no ‘but.’ Your ‘but’ is just a circumstance. If there is never a ‘but’ -- just a commitment -- your circumstances will never threaten your marriage.”

“That sounds good. But what if she doesn’t feel that way?”

“Did you promise to stay married until she had different feelings?”

“Dude!” He laughed again.

“You love your wife?”

“Man, I can’t even tell you how much I love her.”

“You want your marriage to work?”

“I’m committed to my wife and my marriage.”

“Then no ‘buts.’” I raised my glass.

“No ‘buts.’” *clink*

The Gift of Receiving (Revisited)

2008-07-08T07:22:00.000-07:00

I gave Shirley and her friends a ride to the airport in Shirley’s car yesterday. After hugging her friends goodbye, one gave me $20 to say thanks. I joked that it was the cheapest hotel ever and thanked him while pocketing the money. Then I went to say goodbye to Shirley as her friends entered the terminal.

When hugging Shirley goodbye for the next five weeks, she insisted that we return the money. I gave it back.

I heard a tale once of one woman pulling a check out of her purse to pay for something for a friend. “Oh, no, I could never accept that! Just put it back in your purse; I can’t take it.”

The friend replied with tears in her eyes, “Can’t I for once give to you the way I choose to give to you?” After a moment, the woman accepted the check and thanked her friend. It was the first time that woman had let anyone give anything to her since she was a child that she could remember.

I then think to all the times I wanted to give to others when they wouldn’t accept it. A meal here, a gift there ... it was actually quite frustrating. When my gratitude went unacknowledged, I was left feeling empty and disappointed. Unfulfilled and unexpressed. Ungenerous. Blocked out.

Until I heard the aforementioned woman’s story, I never thought about how my not being able to receive might feel to other people. Sometimes people actually do appreciate me and what I do. Acknowledging appreciation doesn’t have to be about pride. It can also come from a place of humility.

Not that this has much to do with the $20. When it was placed in my hand, I didn’t want it either. Then I remembered this story and accepted it. I wanted Shirley’s friend to feel like the account was settled in a way that made him comfortable.

Of course I have no idea whether my gesture had desired effect. I only wish that I hadn’t spent my last few moments with Shirley thinking about a $20 bill.

Mastery

2008-07-08T06:59:00.000-07:00

It appears that I have mastered saying “I’m right and you’re wrong” without saying it explicitly. While "The Gift of Receiving" was intended to show an alternative view on receiving things, what it instead showed was that I was right and Shirley was wrong. I don’t need to be right about what happened, and furthermore it is disrespectful of Shirley’s feelings.

I've rewritten the entry.

31

2008-07-03T17:31:00.000-07:00

Turned 31 today. It’s funny how people come out of the woodwork to call, email, text, and post on your Facebook wall on your birthday. Some people I hadn’t heard from in nearly a year, if not exactly. The attention honestly used to annoy me, but now it’s just good that so many people think enough to send their wishes.

Anyhow, no party this year. Just going to have some Ethiopian food and chill at home before heading to Calistoga with Shirley. We’ll do the mud bath, jacuzzi, and massage treatment before doing wine country and visiting my father’s first cousin. After (or hopefully before), Shirley will finish packing for her six-week trip to Europe. I can’t say that I’m fond of her leaving me every summer for over a month, but she’s a kindergarten teacher. This is the only time she seems to be able to comfortably take an extended trip.

How about birthday gifts? Aside from the getaway with Shirley, the only thing I’d really like from anyone this year is forgiveness. It isn’t a question of whether I’ve ever wronged you but rather how often and whether or not I’ve acknowledged it. I know I can be a dick. So to everyone holding anything against me, if you could give it up for just this one day -- even without telling me -- I’d appreciate it. You can go back to holding it against me tomorrow if you really want.

For today just be easy and remember that I love you. That’s all I want.

Camping

2008-06-16T10:03:00.000-07:00

I’m not exactly sure why one of my former coworkers decided to buy a recreational vehicle, but one camping trip near Livermore has transformed me into an enthusiast. Even at eight miles per gallon.

Shirley, me, my friend and his wife hit the road at around 6 PM on Friday evening loaded with clothes, blankets, a refrigerator full of food, and Mame (and his food/crate/etc.). Shirley and I sat at the table near the front with the window open hugging and cheesing as we gazed out at the highway traffic. 90’s hip hop and trip hop filled the cabin with an energy that only a 20-year-old stock radio system can provide. “We’re kicking it old school! These are some of my wife’s old tapes!”

“You mean actual cassettes?” I asked incredulously.

“Wow, cassettes!” Shirley said. “This is just like my car!” Even though her car does have a tape deck, I couldn’t tell if she was joking.

This was our first time in an RV, so we may have been a little more impressed than we should have been with what was inside the vehicle. There was a kitchen sink, gas stove, oven, microwave, bathroom (with toilet, shower, and sink), a full size bed in the back, and cabinets damn near everywhere. A loft-like palette also folded out above the driver’s and passenger’s seats. Our hosts ceded the “master bedroom” to us. I walked back and forth many times just saying “wow” as I looked at light switches, outlets, and appliances. “You could really live in one of these things if you could afford the gas!”

I guess that’s kind of the point.

After arriving at the campsite, the first things to do were to attach the fresh water hose and to empty the “black water.” That’s code for sewage. My friend asked if I wanted to help empty it, and all I could think was, “It’s not mine!” Still, I watched with fascination as he pulled a giant hose from the metal bumper of the RV and connected it from a plastic valve on the driver’s side to the disposal tank in the ground. After checking the secureness of the connection several times, he pulled the valve switch. The tube immediately sagged with the weight of discharged sewage. For some reason I couldn’t get the image of the tube bursting free and showering my friend and I in shit, but thankfully that didn’t happen. When it was clear that nothing else was flowing, the “gray water” valve was pulled. This is basically the collected water from the sinks from washing dishes, your hands, or taking showers. That second flush is sorely needed since not everything empties the tube just because the valve is open. I remember thinking that I should have been disgusted by what was going on, but I honestly was fascinated.

With the stabilizing jacks down, we began to prepare for dinner. I spread a plastic American flag tablecloth over the picnic table and lit a couple of candles that I stood up in their own melted wax to provide atmosphere. The ladies went to work in the kitchen as the guys set the table and prepared the drinks. We were dining and drinking cocktails and wine only moments before sunset, and it seemed like we were asleep for the night only moments after that.

The next morning after breakfast, we hiked over to the lake and looked for a private section of beach where our friends could take a swim. The spot where a lifeguard was on duty was the busiest, and the shallow waters were roped off to discourage people from swimming too far out into the lake. We continued to hike up and down hills and then finally down a small path along the bank that ended abruptly in a steep slope and a drop of about four feet right next to the bank. I had misgivings as to whether we could actually get down there and up safely, but Shirley had scrambled down to the bank before I could come up with a good reason not to try. Mame would *NOT* follow us, so Shirley headed back up the slope to fetch him.

Our friends unrolled a towel and blanket on the beach (which Mame promptly soiled by wading into the lake, walking through the dirt, and then across the towel) before stripping down to their swimsuits and diving in. Shirley and I applied sunblock on each other and began to sun on the beach, occasionally wading out into the lake. Shirley had a good excuse for not swimming -- she wasn’t going to get lake water in her refurbished eyes (read: LASIK) until they were fully healed. As for me, I’m just not comfortable shirtless yet. I’m going to work on that.

After a while on the tiny beach and lake, we struggled our way back up the hillside and hiked back to camp. Using the blender, fresh and frozen watermelon slices, and a little orange juice, Shirley conjured up some refreshing watermelon smoothies. Then we chilled out on lawn chairs around the RV for a while before firing up the grill for dinner. I began reading Apathy and Other Small Victories, which as of Sunday is the first book I’ve finished reading since the last Harry Potter book.

When we’d finished dinner several hours later, we walked to the amphitheater to see whatever camp program we had seen advertised there earlier that day. It was a campfire gathering for children, but our crew (like the parents) got into singing songs along with the children. Shirley even volunteered (under my mild coercion) to help with a song, earning our crew a coveted yellow frisbee that we later proved that we could neither throw or catch ... especially in the twilight. Then it was back to the RV for board games before turning in.

On Sunday we had another great breakfast before preparing to leave the campsite. We flushed the tanks, collapsed the awning, filed the fresh water tank, packed up the lawn chairs, raised the stabilizing jacks, and drove back to the lake. Since our friends wanted to get in one final swim, we parked a short walk from a dock where they rented paddle boats. I *LOVE* paddle boats. And at $20 for two hours with four people and a dog, it was really a steal. We paddled around the edge of the lake as our friends took turns diving off the boat and swimming out into open water. Mame just looked happy to be there. Eventually we went ashore at a random bank and enjoyed some plum wine before heading back to the docks, where we were almost hit by a negligent motorboat driver.

Back on dry land, we marched back to the RV tired, hungry, and thirsty. Shirley whipped up more watermelon smoothies, but this time they made me a little queasy because my body wanted real food. We snacked on what we could on the way home, but we decided to celebrate the end of the trip by showering and heading out to our favorite local Ethiopian restaurant. Having mostly skipped lunch, we were starving. I’m sure there wasn’t a one of us who didn’t overeat.

Looking back, I’m really glad that Shirley once said, “You have an RV? We should go camping!” and then followed through with making sure that it got planned. It was the best pure vacation I’ve had that I can remember. (By pure I mean that I did absolutely no work -- my phone didn’t even work, and I didn’t bring my computer.) And probably the best thing about the trip is this: it is entirely repeatable, and we’re going to do it again.

With(out) Teeth

2008-06-03T10:35:00.000-07:00

I’ll admit that there is little binding to my New Year’s resolutions other than the fact that I wanted to have some because Shirley did. If I’m really serious about them, I should recommit. However, I did manage to meet one yesterday: I had my wisdom teeth extracted.

My dentist/surgeon was Dr. Wayne Ichikawa, located in walking distance of my home. Because I only had upper wisdom teeth, they grew out and down with no teeth to counterbalance them. That made them super-easy to extract.

There isn’t really much to report about what happened. The most pain I experienced was a tiny bit of pain from the first couple of numbing shots. After that, the teeth came out with zero pain and way easier than any teeth I can remember from back when I was preparing for braces in junior high school. Late last night, my mouth was sore as if I had done a lot of chewing, and I took my prescribed pain medication to lessen the annoyance.

Aside from coughing up some stuff I don’t want to talk about this morning, things are going fine.

My Excuses

2008-05-29T12:40:00.000-07:00

I don't have enough time.
If that were important to me, I'd already be on it.
I'm doing too many things already, and I want to focus on those.
I already know how this is going to go.
I'll never remember that.
I'll do it someday.
This was your idea, not mine.
It can't be that simple.
I didn't think it was that important.
That's impossible.

The Blame Game

2008-05-27T21:10:00.000-07:00

So, it seems I’ve been playing a game. I call it the blame game. It’s that game where I blame someone or something for my life not being exactly what I want it to be in that instant -- including myself in very rare instances -- and in so doing generally absolve myself of any responsibility in the matter. The result is that I’m left feeling resigned about not having what I want, and moreover I feel powerless in the wake of resignation. It takes a particular form for me: It’s not fair. Whenever things aren’t going exactly as they should be, it’s not fair. You know, I don’t deserve this. Really.

“It’s not fair” brings my life to a screeching halt. It justifies my not having what I want. Case in point: at age 30 I wanted to be married, own a home, have a dog, and be thinking about that first kid. All of that was progressing to plan until my divorce. And at that moment it wasn’t fair. I didn’t deserve to suffer a divorce, to have a black mark on my marital record. I carried that around on my back and told myself that I’d never give myself fully to another person again. Because when you do that, they just don’t appreciate it and divorce becomes the only option.

I’m alone and can’t count on anyone but myself. Everyone will leave if you give them time.

It’s really convenient how that all works out. I completely absolve myself of all responsibility for what happened in my life.

When I wrote “The Problem,” I honestly thought that it was a problem that Shirley’s parents don’t accept me because I’m black. I thought that actually had some bearing on my relationship or the level of commitment I had to her. I was committed to fixing that problem with her parents, and in trying to fix it, I opened myself up to a world of suffering. I did not, however, open myself up to Shirley. So when I think to what commenter gtg said about “wrong” and how it should hurt, I realized that it isn’t so much about “should” but about “does.”

Mark Twain saw this a long time ago when he wrote “The Damned Human Race,” but humans have the capacity to do something that no other animal has the capability of doing -- something that according to Twain puts them at the bottom stage of development as animals. Human beings, in having complex speech, can declare something to be wrong.

As for me, I had declared that Shirley’s parents were wrong. They were wrong about me. They were wrong to think that way about anyone. They were wrong to force their views on Shirley. It left me feeling quite powerless. It also put me in the natural position that arises from making someone wrong -- self-righteousness.

Being self-righteous and blaming Shirley’s parents for the stress in our relationship left me absolutely powerless. I had zero responsibility in my relationship because I blamed its condition on her parents and how Shirley dealt with it. And when things turned out how they did, it wasn’t fair.

Now, I’ve heard this quote many times: “With great power comes great responsibility.” That’s an ass-backwards quote if I ever heard one.

With great responsibility comes great power.

When I took responsibility for the state of my relationship instead of blaming the circumstances around it, I saw the possibility of being accepting of other people. The possibility of being fully loving and committed in a relationship. The possibility of full self-expression. And the way I created that was simply to use the power of my speech to say the one thing that actually made a difference in my life.

“There is nothing wrong here.”

With nothing wrong, there is nothing to fix and no one to blame. I can now choose how I want this to go.

There is nothing to fix and no one to blame. I can now choose how I want this to go.

Immunotherapy

2008-05-21T17:37:00.000-07:00

When I finished high school, I had no allergies. Four years later, I had the worst grass and tree pollen allergies in Japan. Now in California, I suffer almost daily -- especially during pollen season.

One day when I was particularly miserable, I finally got around to classifying my allergies as insufferable. It was at this point that I decided to see an allergist, but technicalities with my insurance at the new job served as my excuse for not having thoroughly investigated the matter. Recently I was able to distinguish that excuse as just that -- an excuse -- and I finally searched my provider network for a doctor or business that seemed like it might know what it was doing.

I came up with these guys.

Interspersed with some bedside manner questions, the conversation with the doctor went something like this.

“So, how long have you had allergies?”

“Since I was about 21 and living in Japan. I found out that I had severe grass and tree pollen allergies, and a doctor that I saw there gave me a shot and some pills that really worked for me.”

“He gave you steroid shots. That’s what he gave you. Have you ever tried Benadryl? Claritin? Allegra?”

“I’ve tried everything you can get over the counter. It all works for shit.”

“We might have to put you on allergy shots, then. I can’t run a full test today because your insurance limits how many I can do in a day, but we’re going to do the first half of your testing today. You’ll schedule another day as soon as possible to get the rest of it done.”

I thought it was a bit odd that the doctor didn’t tell me exactly what the test involved, but I assumed it would be a “scratch test.” That’s where they draw a grid on your back and stick you with a bunch of proteins from plants and animals that are known to be allergens. Fifteen minutes later they look at your back to see where you bumped up.

My back itched like a motherfucker while they were reading it. That’s because, as it turns out, I’m allergic to damn near everything. Including dogs, apparently.

“You poor guy!” my doctor said, eyeing my results. “You’re allergic to everything! I thought we might just have to treat you for the season, but you’re going to have allergies year-round. Do you think you’ll be in this area for a while?”

“As far as I know, yeah,” I said. “I don’t have any plans to move.”

“I’m putting you on immunotherapy. Here’s some information on how it works,” he added, handing me a flyer and brochure. “My immediate recommendations to you since you’re allergic to dust mites is to buy hypo-allergenic bed covering, wash your bedding in hot water, and to put hardwood floors in the master bedroom.”

“If it were an option, would you recommend hardwood floors throughout my house?” I asked.

“Yes, I would.” Okay, now I finally have an excuse to get those floors I’ve been wanting since I moved in. I can’t believe I needed an excuse.

Immunotherapy is the process by which a patient is, over time, injected with stronger and stronger doses of allergens in order to slowly desensitize the allergic reaction to those allergens. It usually takes at least half a year before any improvement is seen, and full treatment can take four or five years. I hope there isn’t a copay for every weekly shot.

In the meantime, I was prescribed eye drops and nasal spray for my allergies. I haven’t been able to pick up the prescriptions yet but I’m looking forward to seeing just how helpful they are when nothing else seemed to work.

Here’s to relief.

Times Change

2008-05-16T10:52:00.000-07:00

To: Kenzo
CC: Jellybean, Holla @ a Laptop
RE: times change

http://www.chron.com/disp/story.mpl/headline/nation/5771531.html

Seems like a perfectly good white boy to me.

I think back to Steve Schukei (SP?) and all that, who was always a standout character. For no reason other than my asking him, he helped me to survive an Akpan programming class long enough to change my major. He was always cool. Not cool for a white boy, but just cool.

Recently I've had what many people may term a revelation. I don't know if everyone on the CC: list reads my blog, but the gravity of being racist (and I'm talking about myself here) finally came home for me when I started doing Landmark Education ... as well as a lot of other things. All this time I've been blaming people for not accepting me when in reality the problem was that I don't accept them.

That's right; I wouldn't accept racists or anyone I thought was racist. My prejudice toward ethnic groups that historically have conflict with blacks was extreme, and I lived under an umbrella of blaming racists in authority positions for my life not being what I wanted it to be.

I'm just glad I finally realized how fast it was getting me nowhere.

I've recently become a fan of thinking along the lines of "understanding gets you nowhere." My favorite example is about losing weight -- the secret is diet and exercise. I understand that, yet here I stand ... fat! In order for understanding to be relevant, there seems to be a need for significance. So, thinking to another famous alumnus, I now finally have achieved some significance regarding that for which King stood. Racial equality is not a hackneyed concept.

Now, my issue here hasn't been with white people. White Californians are a bit different from white southerners. My issue, rather, has been with Asians. There are a lot of Asians here, and thanks to my window into the Asian mindset through Shirley, I am beginning to realize to what degree many Asians are socialized into rejecting blacks. It's the easiest thing in the world to get mad and blame them for being racist, but you probably wouldn't catch King doing that. I've done that, and I took it out on Shirley. It embarrasses me.

Please stand witness for my giving it up now. I am so done with my "inability to accept people" controlling my life. I give it up.

To me people are no longer their opinions or their feelings or even their reasoning. If you cut them open, you wouldn't find any of that in there. To me, people are nothing but potential. But life is such that people lose that view of themselves as children, and many of them never get it back. They instead bury themselves under layers of what they can't do. I can't have the job I want. I can't make as much money as I want. I can't accept those people. I can't. I can't. I can't. No wonder we can't see our potential.

When I was young, I was told that I could do anything I want to do and be whoever I want to be. However, only now does that have any significance for me. Very well -- I want to be accepting and inspire acceptance in other people.

Finally, congratulations to our Morehouse brother who graduated valedictorian. I expect great things. /thw

Me & My Commute.

2008-04-15T17:16:00.000-07:00

Me.

My commute.

A Solution

2008-04-10T07:50:00.000-07:00

To: THW
From: Julie

I was thinking about your post while playing Rock Band... My sister went through a similar situation because she dated a black guy in college and my dad is what I would call "moderately racist" on that front. So she was kind of afraid to tell my dad, but they broke up before it was really an issue.

I guess my thoughts are this:

Most Asian parents I know have this culturally inherited prejudice against Black people, but (with the Chinese parents anyways) it turns out they also have a culturally inherited prejudice against Koreans (for being poor), Filipinos (for being poor), the Japanese (for invading their country and killing people), Hispanics (I think, poverty again here) and probably White people too, but I hear that less because most of the Asians I talk to live in America (instead, I hear objections to American culture). In general, Chinese people pretty much feel on a blanket level that everyone else in the world is inferior.

In reality, however, I find that most Asian parents are what you might call "theoretical" racists more than "actual" racists, which is to say that more often than not the crux of their objection actually runs along socio-economic class lines rather than racial lines. It's more that, like most of the world, they confound socio-economic circumstance with race (which is not to say that socio-economic elitism is really a better thing), but when faced with a living, breathing in-the-flesh Black person that turns out to be intelligent, well-educated and financially secure, I guess you start thinking about how your kid could have done worse.

That said, from your description, your gf's family sounds pretty jerky, particularly with the "you know we can't accept him" line (which even my father at his worst would never say to me). So, the non-accepting parents thing is something that you guys both just have to make peace with in terms of figuring out how much you want her to stand up for you on that front and how much you want to try and preserve her and your relationship with her parents (not that I think either of you should lie, I think most people I know in these situations who don't come out and confront their parents end up in these slightly awkward nobody-will-mention-the-big-pink-elephant-in-the-room sort of resolutions).

I think one thing that may help is just going ahead and meeting her extended family. I don't know how much she believes the "if the rest of the family knows, the grandparents will die of shock and it'll be your fault" thing, but even if she doesn't really believe it, just the pretense and the expectation of keeping up that pretense is probably a huge source of pressure for her. My mom did kind of a similar thing with my husband (before we were married, she thinks the world of him now), where she had these stupid objections to him and she really didn't want me to tell the rest of the family that he existed until we were married (which, I guess she was maybe hoping wouldn't happen). I got similar "don't bring him to this because then your aunt will know and then she'll tell your other aunt" lines of logic from her on family events (although grandparent death was never involved). Oddly, I found that even though I knew her position was completely absurd, I still felt a surprisingly strong sense of guilt knowing that I was blatantly disregarding her wishes in introducing him to the rest of the family.

In the end, two things happened: 1. I took him to family events anyways and once word did get out, the whole, "oh no, what if the entire family finds out" objection became very hard for her to sustain and 2. my extended family knew my mother's position, so I got a lot of private expressions of support from them when they did find out about him. It might not convert her parents, but it might ease things on the two of you.

The Problem

2008-03-12T11:41:00.000-07:00

This is Shirley.

Beat that drum, baby.

Shirley and I celebrated our one year anniversary yesterday. We dined at Gochi’s Fusion Tapas before enjoying dessert at home, and then we watched Once, the film whose piece “Falling Slowly” won the 2007 Academy Award for best song.

If I have any plan for my relationships now and in the future, it is to make them into what my marriage was not -- pressure-free. I could write tomes about all the pressure Koko and I put on each other during our two awkward years of marriage, and the eventual demise of that interaction is about as simple as the demise of nearly all relationships: the pressure outweighed the commitment. Herein lies the beauty of my new approach to relationships: if the pressure is fairly non-existent, any level of commitment leads to a worthwhile interaction. And the key to remaining low-pressure is to let people do what they want instead requiring them to do what you want (there are some obvious exceptions to this such as when someone wants to be told what to do, but hopefully you get the idea).

Sources of pressure are not always internal, however. Even from our early dating days Shirley expressed concerns about how her parents would react to me should we become “serious.” Though she was born in Taiwan, Shirley’s family moved to the states when she was six. She was raised here by people who thought like I am lead to believe many do over there. That is to say (and I admit that this is hearsay since I haven’t met them) that they prioritized academics over social conditioning and that they subscribe to common social stereotypes for their culture.

I don’t mean to speak obtusely, though. The point is that they absolutely do not approve of their daughter dating me because I am black.

First, the specifics. They know and have known for a while. They have not met me. They change the subject when Shirley brings me up or talk about how much she is hurting them because “you know we can’t accept him.” And most recently she was forbidden to have lunch with a cousin of hers because she would bring me. Then the cousin would know. Then all the family back in Taiwan would know. And her grandparents would be so angry that it might kill them in their old age. And that would be Shirley’s fault for dating me. At least to some extent (and maybe fully), Shirley believes that.

I’ve tried to help Shirley with this situation by recommending level-headedly what I would do if faced with the same circumstances. But the reality is that I will never be faced with those circumstances. My parents are great. I don’t know what to do in a situation like this. I don’t have the answer.

That’s why I wrote this. Consider it a public appeal for support, ideas, and techniques. The most common advice I’ve gotten to date suggests that Shirley should lie or tell her parents to fuck off. I have serious problems with the first suggestion.

I do however summarily reject any “solution” that involves convincing or coercing her parents. That’s pressure. That’s their technique. That’s what they do. We’re smarter than that.

We’re smarter than that, and we want it more.

No Time Like Maritime

2008-03-07T15:13:00.000-08:00

To: [redacted]
Subject: There's No Time Like Maritime

The time has come for me to raise anchor and sail back out to sea. My last day at Apple will be Thursday, March 13.

These last 3.75 years with Apple have been some of the most challenging and enjoyable in my life, and I am immeasurably grateful to everyone who played a formative role in my development as an audio design engineer. Even though I'm away, my heart will remain with the vision of the company and the many cool people like you that make the stuff that Apple puts out rock so *HARD*.

For those wishing to stay in touch, I'll still be in the area.

[email redacted]
 [cell phone # redacted]

I'm also on LinkedIn, Facebook, and probably some other stuff.

Keep shining! /thw

Permission Granted

2008-03-06T14:07:00.000-08:00

To: Shirley
Subject: The First.

Hey,

I'm tired of not being able to do anything about the situation with your family. Our lives are too intermingled for this to not be "dealt with." With this particular problem I feel greatly overmatched, and no matter how many proposed solutions I generate, you always tell me that "I can't do that." Well, there's a saying: "Whether you think you can or you think you can't, you're right."

When I look at the challenges I've overcome recently, I tend to have a process for creating an environment to my satisfaction. First, I think very hard on the subject and try to do that which I think is best. If I am unsatisfied with the results, I enlist the help of a professional -- someone who has either accomplished what I want to do or someone who is trained to get results for my situation. This has worked wonders for me.

I've spent the last thirty minutes typing in every combination of words that I think describes the pressure with your family, immediate and extended. I haven't found any solutions yet, but I have found *TONS* of similar complaints. This gives me hope because it tells me two things: 1) Your problem is far from unique, and 2) there are legions of people around the world who can sympathize and support you in the matter. The more prevalent a problem is, the more people are likely to be looking for a solution. I would be surprised if in the bay area there weren't tons of support groups or counseling services that deal with overprotective parent issues.

There is a complication with this, however. It is nearly impossible to find resources like this if you aren't willing to publicly admit that you are suffering from this problem and that you want support and solutions. If you make a public appeal, I think it will be much easier to get to the base of the challenge. Honestly, I would be surprised if there weren't more people in five square miles of you with this or a similar problem than there are people in your extended family.

I want two things from you. First, I want your express permission to make our situation public to anyone I feel might have some useful advice, suggestions, or resources that will lead us closer to a solution. This means online (craigslist, blog, and forums), offline, close friends, and complete strangers. Second, I want you to make it a priority of yours to find help from someone who is qualified to address the situation. For example, what if you invested at least twice as much time finding a solution as you do talking on the phone with your parents? What if you made an honest appeal at girls' night asking if they knew anyone with a situation like yours that was able to conquer it?

I am not ashamed of you, me, or our situation. I hope you feel the same way. This has arisen through no fault of ours, and maybe we can rub our three master's degrees together to get a spark of an idea about how we can make this better. I somehow doubt that we will be the first couple to surmount this problem.

But if we are, I'm okay with that. /thw

How I Got Right With the Credit Gods

2008-03-01T12:06:00.000-08:00

In December, I wrote an entry called “Canceling Christmas” about the inception of my identity theft crisis. As of yesterday, I think I’ve gotten to the bottom of it.

Roughly a month ago, the hardcopy of my Equifax credit report requested under the Fair Credit Reporting Act arrived in the mail. As if cementing the gravity of the situation, it wasn’t even addressed to me -- it was addressed to “Kendra T. Walker” (the reason for this pseudonym will become clear later, so just bear with me). Though I was supposed to be doing something else that night, it was understandably hard for me to concentrate with a sealed document in arm’s reach detailing the utter disarray of my credit file. After calling Shirley to get the permission I couldn’t give myself to stop working on one of my New Year’s resolutions, I tore open the envelope to see just how extensive the damage was.

All told, my credit report had around $20,000 worth of debt that was not mine. Much of it was from department store credit cards that had been opened and maxed out with never a payment made. There was, however, a car loan on the report that was current as well as a garden variety credit card. I couldn’t think of why an identity thief would keep fraudulent debt current. Anyway, my actual name was listed as a former name on the report, and there was also a previous address in Mississippi that I didn’t recognize. According to Google maps, that address didn’t exist.

“My credit is fucked,” I thought. Even so, my mind was completely at ease; with a copy of my credit report in hand, I finally felt as if I had the power to restore my credit to its former glory. Armed with the ten-digit confirmation code that would finally allow me to file as official dispute, I navigated to the Equifax website to begin the process of repairing my credit record. I entered the confirmation code, my last name, the numerical portion of my street address, and the last four digits of my social security number.

“We’re sorry, the information that you entered does not match or records.” What? The information mailed to me won’t even allow me to log in? I had had similar problems when I was first trying to view a copy of my credit report online in December, but I assumed those problems would vanish after going through the snail-mail process of correcting their contact information.

After a moment’s more frustration, I decided to enter the information again. I triple-checked the confirmation code. Last name? Walker, according to the report. Good. Numerical portion of the street address? Entered. Last four digits of the social ... I almost entered them without looking, but I didn’t. I looked anyway. That’s when I noticed something peculiar: the social security number on my report was not my own. The second to last and third from last numbers were transposed.

Kendra T. Walker didn’t steal my social security number. Equifax had just mistakenly fused our credit histories. With the same surname and such similar social security numbers, it’s easy to see how someone could make that mistake.

After entering the last four digits of Kendra’s social security number, I was able to start a dispute online. However, the main two things to change -- the name and the social security number -- were in fixed fields. I was going to have to call during business hours to see how to properly file a dispute.

The next day I called Equifax shortly after arriving at work. Once you are issued a confirmation number (and not before), you are also given the magic telephone number that allows you to speak to a human being instead of their totally automated system. Thankfully, the representative immediately noticed the credit record discrepancy. She asked me to file a dispute via US Mail with a list of all credit accounts that were not mine, and work be damned, I began immediately. There were so many that I had to photocopy the original sheet, splice the line entries together to make extra space, and photocopy that twice so that I would have room for all the bogus accounts. It took about thirty minutes to complete the paperwork.

Toward the end of this process I noticed what appeared to be student loans. “This girl is a student?” I thought. “A student in Mississippi ... I bet she’s on MySpace.” On a whim, I navigated to MySpace and initiated a search on her name within five miles of the zip code listed in the former addresses area of the credit report. It pulled up exactly one result.

Kendra Walker, XX-year old mother of two, unmarried but seeing someone. Has been through trials and tribulations. Is 39% easy according to QuizUniverse.com. Likes R&B, hip hop, gospel, and some country. Favorite color is purple. Thanks Jesus for waking her up every morning. Has absolutely no idea how to lay out a visually appealing MySpace page. And has ridiculously bad credit.

I know, I know. I was compelled to read every word on the gaudy-ass web page. I couldn’t help it. It was like a window into another world.

-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=- * -=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-

Yesterday I received an email from Equifax. “Dear Kendra,” it began. Shit. In any case, the results of my investigation were posted online. I logged in with the same wrong information from before, but the page was blank in both Safari and FireFox because of an unknown missing plugin. I had to call again.

The denouement is not nearly as exciting as the rest of the story. The customer service representative had me verify a lot of information to prove who I was, and then she asked me a string of very basic questions including my full name, full social security number, and mailing address. She made it no secret that she was actually typing that information into the computer as I said it, in effect recreating my correct credit record. It was eerie. She then verified that each of the fraudulent accounts had been removed from my credit report by listing them individually and said that she’d send out a printed report since I couldn’t view the information online.

However, the story doesn’t end there. Due to the new, lowered credit limit for my main credit card in the wake of this credit issue (and the associated high APR), I decided to start using my backup credit card as my new primary. When I received the bill for the old card this month, though, it seemed to to high for minimal use. A quick check online revealed multiple $200+ purchases on Internet web sites that I did not make. I called the card issuer. They immediately canceled the card and sent an affidavit and dispute form. The replacement card arrived yesterday.

I remember that phone call clearly. “You might want to notify the credit reporting companies about this just in case someone is trying to use your name or social security number to create new accounts. We also offer a credit monitoring service ...” I interrupted her mid-sentence and gave her a very abbreviated version of this entire situation. “How does all that happen at once?” she said.

“Clearly I didn’t make my sacrifice to the credit gods, and they are angry with me.” She chuckled.

Bad luck floats around and has to land on somebody, but goddamn.

Published

2008-03-01T09:28:00.000-08:00

My brother Randy and I have always been about as different as two brothers can be -- or stereotypically as different as you would expect, depending on your school of thought. I recall that as children any time one of us seemed to have a strong interest in one thing, it was nearly a sure thing that the other reviled it. Our shared interests were few, and we argued a lot. We were night and day, and due to the perceived hedonistic and scintillating qualities of the latter, I have to concede that he was night.

In our old age (and by old I mean “middle” -- wait, “young”), however, our interest spheres have begun to coalesce. In fact, one shared interest has likely brought no end of prideful amusement to our parents; we are both published writers.

My inaugural appearance in Electronic Gaming Monthly is in the March 2008 issue, “Revenge of the PS3,” on page 44. I penned a preview on Final Fantasy VII: Crisis Core for the PlayStation Portable on a ridiculously short deadline and a paucity of sleep. Though when finished I felt that it clearly wasn’t my best work, I was heartily assured that it was great and that bacon was saved. Even looking at the article in print, I get this strange feeling that it isn’t mine ... that “Torrey Walker” is just one of those guys who writes for EGM andhowdidhegetthatjobanyway. What I can say is that it makes me immeasurably proud and humble to write for a publication that I eagerly awaited every month as an adolescent. It’s still a damn fine magazine, and debuting with a full page article is a hell of a way make an entrance.

In other more significant news, my brother has now been published in his second anthology -- Succulent: Chocolate Flava II. Unlike the previous horror anthology, Whispers in the Night: Dark Dreams III, Randy decided to put a very different accomplishment under his belt -- erotic literature. Either I won’t or can’t do fiction, so I always get a kick out of reading Randy’s short stories (and novels) before they begin their journeys to the public eye, especially when they are as racy as his latest. Hell, Randy even blushed at his own story after reading it in print. How cool is it to say that I have a brother with a story published in an erotica anthology? Undoubtedly cooler than it sounds to say that you have a brother that writes for Electronic Gaming Monthly.

I may live on the other side of the country now, but at least his writing and mine are just a few aisles away for the next month.

The Scam

2008-02-28T11:06:00.000-08:00

Shirley and I were taking Mame for one of his biweekly walks when I had the bright idea of walking him to a local electronics store for his exercise. I had managed to find a deal at that store on fifty blank DVD-Rs for only $9.50 a week earlier, and I remembered that Shirley wanted a few packs of her own.

When we reached the store, there was a cute black child about five years old wearing a karate gi. “Would you like to buy a candy bar?” he asked. I didn’t have my wallet on me, but Shirley did. I looked to her.

“No, thank you,” she said. There were a lot of questions that sprung up in my mind about why Shirley -- who is Taiwanese-born -- wouldn’t want to help a little black boy selling candy, but I decided that I could always raise the topic later if it really concerned me. Shortly afterwards, Shirley gave me some cash to buy the DVDs.

About ten minutes later, I emerged from the store with her DVDs, and I had set aside a large quantity of padded envelopes next to the checkout line so that she could purchase that on her credit card for me. After telling her where to find the envelopes, I said to her, “I have your change. I think I’m going to give this kid a donation ...”

“Really?” Shirley said, looking a little worried. “I’ve been watching him and the fat kid beside him, and the fat kid has been laughing as they take money from people. Half the people don’t even take the candy, and every time they run out of candy, they refill from that guy over there in the truck.” She pointed with her eyes over her left shoulder at a vehicle where middle-aged black man (who it dawned on me would probably qualify as stylish in a low-income community -- bluetooth earpiece and all) was shuffling things between the trunk and the back seat of his vehicle.

“You didn’t let me finish,” I added. “I was going to say that I’d give the kid a donation if I could figure out where the money was going. So you think it’s a scam?”

“Yeah, I think it’s a scam. That fat kid isn’t even slick. He’s laughing at people the instant they turn away, and they just keep taking the money back to the guy in the truck.” I looked at the kids, and sure enough, that fat kid was grinning. But it wasn’t a happy grin. It was that type of grin that says, “Suckers!”

“Okay, I’ll stay out here with Mame.”

The kid in the karate outfit almost immediately came toward me. “Would you like to buy a candy bar?”

“For what?” I asked.

“Uh ... would you like to buy a candy bar?”

“What is it for?”

“Karate!”

“What kind of karate?”

“Uh ... kung fu karate!”

“There is no such thing as kung fu karate. They are two completely different styles of martial arts. Who is your sensei? Where is your dojo?”

The kid, probably not understanding much of what I was saying, walked away. Less than 30 seconds later he walked back toward me and flashed a smile. “Would you like to by a candy bar?”

“Dude! You just asked me that!”

“Oh!” He scampered away. The fat kid gave me a look. That’s all I can call it.

Shirley came back a few minutes later with the envelopes. “Did you see it? Did you see what I mean?”

“Yeah, I saw it.” I told her about our brief exchange. “I was like dude, at least remember who you’ve asked before.”

“That little kid probably doesn’t even know what he’s doing. The fat kid does, though.”

“Yeah, he probably wore a gi when he was that age. Do you want to do something about it?”

“What do you mean?” Shirley asked.

“Do you want to go inside and tell the manager that a scam is being run right on their doorstep?”

She thought about it for a while. “No ... no,” she finally said.

“You think it’s like a food chain thing, don’t you? That scammers have a place in the food chain too ... that this is their way of making money and that it’s people’s own fault for not asking any questions before handing over their money?” We began to walk back out to the main road, at precisely which time we passed the man who appeared to be running the scam from his vehicle.

“And there’s the lion,” Shirley said.

As we walked home, I thought of every time I had been approached at the local gas station by black children with candy bars. They were not in karate suits and may have been raising money for legitimate establishments. But until recently I rarely carried enough cash to donate. It made me wonder how many times I came close to being scammed.

On a related note, I recall an incident where Kenzo and I stopped at a gas station in undergrad. A black child approached us and said in an inarticulate but well-rehearsed manner, “Excyuu me sir, but would you like to buy a candy bar for three dollas?”

“Goddamn!” Kenzo said. “Three dollars for a candy bar?!?”

“Yes sir,” he continued. “Three dollas is all it takes to keep me away from drugs, guns, and violence.” After a brief pause, Kenzo and I hurriedly reached for our wallets.

I hope that kid is at least staying out of trouble.

My Coffee

2008-02-18T16:24:00.000-08:00

San Jose Ocana
Cup of Excellence
#2 Coffee!
Spun honey, melons, cream
Sweet and heavy luxury
Roses, hibiscus, citrus flowers
apricots, cherimoya, papaya
Crystal clean and bright
Lemony sexy goodness loves you

Purchased @ Barefoot Coffee Roasters.

Riding On Air

2008-01-28T13:22:00.000-08:00

If you don’t live under a rock, you know about the MacBook Air. As attractive as that system seems to me, I can’t have it. It’s not just because I bought a MacBook at the end of last year; I could sell that in a pinch since I don’t fear taking a small loss. No, the reason I can’t own a MacBook Air is because it isn’t enough for me. That is, however, through not fault of the MacBook Air. It is my own fault for having excess.

That makes me think of a girl I dated in undegrad who was fond of telling me with a smile, “You are too much.”

I would respond, “I come from a long line of excess.” No matter how many times I said it, she would still laugh.

Barring any genetic proclivities for excess, I suffer from a common pack rat mentality. The common sort, not the extreme sort. I will for no particularly good reason come across something I haven’t seen for ages and have the good sense to put it where it belongs. Only, it doesn’t really belong anywhere, and I can’t really say when I’m going to use it again. So back it goes to be rediscovered at a later date in a cycle repeats ad infinitum. As a result, I have way more things than I’ll ever be able to sort out or use.

The good thing surrounding this condition is a recent discovery: while hoarding feels good on some subconscious emotional level, purging feels much better. My friend Tobin (half of the raucously funny independent videogaming podcast NoobToob) first clued me into the ultra-low-effort eBay penny-posting of retired videogames, and just last week I started adding in other items as well. It’s amazing what things lurk in my closet waiting to be sold: a DV camcorder, MacBook / MacBook Pro memory, a Garmin GPS ... hell, I might even start selling stuff that I intended to keep just to see what it will fetch on eBay. The worst that will happen is that I’ll need to buy something new, and I don’t see any reason why I wouldn’t buy something better than what I sold. The best that will happen, however, is that I will learn to live without.

I’m probably far too connected a person to ever dial down my most important possessions to what I could carry around on my back, but that doesn’t mean that I can’t shave a considerable amount of excess. For me, I will look at something these days and say, “Do I need this?” If the answer is yes, then I add, “Really?” It’s that second question that helps me to trim enormous amounts of hoarded artifacts.

I have too many games. Too many DVDs. Too many books. Too many pairs of headphones. Too many backpacks. Too many external hard drives. Too many coffee mugs. Too many clothes that don’t fit any more (and hopefully never will again). Too many hair care products. Too many dog harnesses that don’t work. Too many MP3s I don’t even like. Too much body fat. I could continue.

It would be great if I had so few things that I could easily pack within two weeks and move at the drop of a hat. It would be great if I weighed in closer to my ideal weight so I could buy all those cool clothes I see on Haight St. in San Francisco. It would be great if all my documents, music, and photos could actually fit on a MacBook Air so that it became a usable machine.

I need to be shed of a shedload of shed.

Parts

2008-01-15T12:05:00.000-08:00

The essence of what Shirley said to me the other day is this:

After spending an entire weekend dealing with other people’s emotional and relationship problems, it makes me really thankful of what I have with you.

Just doing my part.

Out with the Old

2008-01-07T12:43:00.000-08:00

Last night I finished my last bit of work for 1UP.com that was accepted in 2007. Why would I accept jobs around the holidays when I should ostensibly be taking a rest from work? The simple answer is that it isn’t that easy; since attending Tokyo Game Show last year, I’ve been treated very much like a real videogame journalist -- one who actually has some idea of what he’s doing rather than some hackjob who’s just nuts about video games. And if what my friend and mentor James Mielke says is to be believed, it is precisely the fact that I have strong passions outside of video gaming that empowers me to be world-class figure in the worldwide gaming stage. Seriously, how many singularly-empassioned people do you know?

This fits in nicely with my current set of life goals:

4. To become a valuable contributor in the videogaming industry.

I say this to my friends often, but if you’re ever confused about what to do you with your life, take a good long look at your passions. If you aren’t pursuing your passions, how are you living? And if you have no passions, are you truly alive?

With the completion of my last outstanding job for 1UP, I officially feel as if I’ve left 2007 behind me. It is now time to plan what I’m going to be doing in 2008. It’s going to be damned hard to top 2007’s successes -- the unfettered mind truly knows no limits -- but as I am fond of parroting this line from Capcom’s game Okami, I’ll do it once again:

“Life is about resolve. Outcome is secondary. It is resolve that determines the value of your life.” - Prophet Ushiwaka

It doesn’t matter so much what I accomplish as what I set out to do. Though I don’t usually codify and track my progress officially, I’m going to make an exception and publish a list of New Year’s resolutions this year. They are as follows.

To resolve my ongoing identity theft issue and repair my credit by the end of February.
To have my wisdom teeth extracted.
To compose at least one original piece of music per month.
To read in its entirety How to Win Friends and Influence People.
To gross at least $[withheld] in yearly income excluding the sale of stock.
To hire and at least monthly employ the services of a household cleaning service.
To ensure that Mamezoh is walked at least twice weekly (45 minutes) for at least 48 weeks out of the year.
To implement a new system of purchasing and playing video games described here.
To have a size 36 waist and wear a size L to XL in shirts by July 3.
To finish Getting Things Done in its entirety and implement an organization system, making use of it at least weekly for 44 weeks of the year.

There were about five more resolutions that didn’t make my list, but keeping track of even ten resolutions seems a bit ridiculous to me.

What have you resolved to do?

Home

2008-01-03T09:38:00.000-08:00

Happy New Year, everyone.

As a reminder, the following page is my homepage that links to just about every blog or web page that I maintain:

http://web.mac.com/thwalker

If you can’t be bothered with that, my other major blog (mostly related to videogames) is on my page here:

http://nplastic.1up.com

Canceling Christmas

2007-12-22T12:17:00.000-08:00

I tried to return my Rock Band drums last night because I’m pretty sure that the green and red pads aren’t adequately responsive. However, I couldn’t complete the automated return process (which places a $150 hold on a credit card) because my card was declined. Perhaps the website was having problems.

I called Electronic Arts and had them create a return ticket for me, but the same problem happened. My credit card was declined. The guy was really polite and suggested that I contact the credit card company. He told me the information would stay in the system until I called back.

I called my credit card company and asked why my card was being declined for a charge of $150. “We show that credit card as maxed out,” the woman replied.

“Maxed out? That’s impossible. I have over [insert large amount of money here] in credit on the card and I’m hardly using any of it.”

“We show your credit limit as [very small amount], sir.”

“What? That’s ridiculous. I’m online right now, and it shows my credit limit as [big money]. It has been that way for a while.”

“Could you hold a moment please, sir?”

“Sure.” I waited, double-checking the website to be sure I wasn’t crazy. According to the website at least, I wasn’t. The agent came back on the line.

“Sir, we show that your credit limit was recently reduced on December 19. You probably haven’t had a chance to receive the letter yet informing you of the change.”

“What? Why?”

“The credit limit was reduced due to a reduction in your credit rating with Equifax. You can contact them at ... .”

I was utterly confused. I haven’t missed any payments for anything in years. “Okay, I’ll call them up.”

I’m going to shorten what happened here because the details are protracted and tedious, but let’s suffice to say that Equifax doesn’t allow you to talk to actual people, and the online and phone system did not work for retrieving my free credit report. I eventually decided to pay for a tri-bureau report from a third-party, at which time I saw an inconceivably low score from Equifax (compared to the high scores from Experian and Trans Union). I kept scrolling to the report until I saw a “previous name” that I didn’t recognize: Kayla T Walker.

Then I looked at the past-due accounts. I have eleven cards opened in my name this year -- mostly department store credit cards with lax credit requirements -- all of which are maxed out with never a payment made. They’ve got me confused with someone else, I thought.

I started explaining this to my mother over chat, but the realization of what had happened slowly spread over me while I explained the details of the situation.

I am the victim of identity theft.

Nothing like this has ever happened to me before. I have always been very careful with credit card and social security information. Other than the sudden decrease in my credit limit, there have been no other warning signs that new credit accounts had been opened in my name. Equifax and Equifax only reports these new accounts.

I imagine that with time this can all be straightened out, but the immediate result is that I have no credit available to me until this situation is resolved. Moreover I must resolve it through U.S. Mail since Equifax does not allow you to speak to actual people (at least initially) and because my account information does not match theirs. Any Christmas gifts that have not been purchased already will not be purchased, and I am liquid until everything is fixed.

I should have known this year was going far too well to be believed.

Bedding

2007-12-06T10:54:00.000-08:00

When Shirley went to India, I inherited her bed. She didn’t quite have enough room for it in storage, and between her bed and my futon, hers appeared to be more comfortable. After she returned and moved to Fremont, she took my futon and left me with her bed. That’s around when my back problems developed.

Looking back, two years in Japan saw me sleeping on futons on the floor, and I slept on an enormous tatami bed with a futon cover for my first few years in California. After selling it, I slept on a Japanese futon on the carpet for many months until dating necessitated moving to an actual “bed” again, which in this case was another futon.

Anyhow, Shirley’s bed is the first actual bed in my condo since I bought it, and I don’t like it. It’s way too soft, and when I lie on it, my body sinks into the mattress like a hammock. I even started seeing a chiropractor for a period of several weeks prior to leaving for my vacation in Japan because of back and shoulder problems.

Recently Shirley has started to complain that her bed is much more comfortable than my futon (and by comfortable, I’m assuming she means “unbearably soft”). I’m more than happy to return it to her, but that would put her on my futon more rather than less given how often she stays over. The only real solution was to do what I’ve been avoiding for so long: buy a bed.

I’ve never bought a bed. I’ve always either inherited them or purchased futons instead. So when I decided to go mattress shopping, I pretty much decided to defer to Shirley in all matters outside of comfort. She knew that I needed a firmer bed, but every other aspect was debatable.

“Mattresses tend to be overpriced on the showroom floor, and you can generally talk them down to about 60% of the retail price,” she began. Shirley doesn’t pay full price for anything. “First let’s see what type of comfort you’re looking for, and then we’ll see if we can find something comparable for less.

“And then once we have it narrowed down, we haggle,” she finished.

We went to the first place and lay down on a number of beds before I realized that the comfort level I wanted was best provided by the Serta Perfect Sleeper Cobblestone, which was in the range of $2000 retail. That meant in the end I expected to be paying about $1200 for the bed, box spring, and metal frame. It was a bit more than I wanted to spend, but I’d definitely try to scrape it together given my back problems. The salesman at the first store seemed like a car salesman, though. He used a lot of the same selling points and fallacious arguments that they many do at auto dealerships, and though we never actually talked price, I still left the place feeling icky like I had been cheated.

The second place was quite a bit different. The store was smaller, and we were the only ones there at the time. The salesperson was straightforward and helped us identify a mattress that felt almost as good as the one at the other store -- the Serta Perfect Sleeper Evergreen -- and then he immediately brought the price down to something well-within my budget. My only reservations were that I didn’t need the mattress that instant and that I still liked the other mattress a bit better.

A few days later when the salesman from the first store was back, Shirley and I had decided that we would only go with the mattress from the first store if we could talk him down to within $100 of of the price at the second store. Since that would put the Cobblestone at about 46% of the MSRP, we had very little room for error in our negotiations. “We’ll try the Evergreen before going in just so our impressions are fresh,” I began. “Then we’ll try the Cobblestone to confirm that we still like it better. If you like the more expensive one better, tell me that you like them both the same. If you like them about the same, tell me that you like the other one better.”

“That’s exactly what I was going to say,” Shirley said with a smile. I took it as a compliment since she’s the real negotiator.

So after checking in at the second shop, we made our way into the first shop to lie on the mattress that was the former favorite. As is often the case (so I hear), it no longer was. It was too firm. We left the shop without bothering to haggle at all. Returning to the first store, we had to wait quite a while to be helped by the single salesperson there. We had the time to spare, and it was possibly in our best interests to do our haggling without others around. That way no one had to know how good a deal we got.

Using Shirley for a key moment of support only, I urged the salesman to make the choice to shop there an easy one. “You guys have been straightforward in your dealings with us, and we appreciate that. But we still have some reservations. Make it easy for us to shop here. How can we give you our business?”

The salesman paused for a moment and said, “Well what exactly are you looking for? We quoted you a price last time, right?”

“Are you authorized to deal? Or should I wait until the store manager is back in?”

“No, I can deal,” he said. And deal he did. A few minutes later we had secured a firm lower price, a mattress cover, and a Serta-brand stuffed sheep. We betrayed not one note of excitement until we got to the car.

“How was that? Did I do well?” I asked.

“That was perfect, baby. The way you said it ... and the pause for dramatic effect ... and then when you looked back to me for confirmation ... so hot.” Well, I learn from the best. I didn’t think the deal was going to be that sweet, but I’m glad we asked.

My new bed arrives on Friday.

Mantastic

2007-11-15T08:01:00.000-08:00

The term "mantastic" is a contraction formed from "man" and "fantastic." It describes the feeling of being simultaneously exhilarated and manly. And for me, manly means "confidently defining one's own sense of authority."

Lately I've been striving to feel mantastic at least once a day, and I primarily do this by stepping outside of my comfort zone. It may involve telling someone to do something in an authoritative tone. It may involve quickly imparting order to a chaotic social situation. It may involve striking up a conversation with a random hot woman with the intent of making her smile or laugh. The common theme is that it must initially seem uncomfortable enough to question whether I should do it, and then I must attempt to do it confidently regardless of the outcome. Sometimes it's a bitch for someone who has been as socially awkward as I have. That's all the more reason to do it. Daily.

Today I took a coffee break and decided that I wasn't going to drink coffee. The coffee at my workplace is terrible, and I've decided that coffee should fall under the same dietary rules as the rest of my food: if I'm not excited about it, I don't drink it. Because I wasn't drinking coffee, I decided to fill my 32 ounce water bottle and make a trip the company store.

I had noticed some very odd looking vehicles circling campus earlier that day, but I had forgotten about them until I stepped out the front door of our main building. There were three of them parked in a row, and I had to walk by them just to get to the corporate store. During my very brief visit there, I kept wondering what those cars were and why they were there. I even noticed California Highway Patrol cars parked outside, so I'm guessing the cars aren't quite street legal yet. I knew they weren't there for me, though.

I was afraid to ask about them.

I walked out of the corporate store and approached one of the people standing around. "Excuse me, do you know what's going on here?"

"No, I was just wondering that," he replied. Then I saw several men wearing guest badges. I asked the same thing.

"Yes," the man said. "We're showing off the newest electric vehicle."

"What's it called?"

"The T-Rex." I think I could have come up with a better name, but okay.

"Why is it here?"

"We are hoping to show it to your CEO, but he's tied up in meetings."

"I see. Well, the T-Rex has three wheels, so that means it's technically classified as a motorcycle, right?" I only know this because I had been planning to buy a VentureOne when they go on sale next year, which is another three-wheel electric vehicle / hybrid.

"Yes, that's right."

"So I can drive it in the HOV lanes, then. I had been planning to buy something like that. Have you heard of the VentureOne?"

"No, what's that?"

"Have you heard of the Carver?"

"Yes."

"It's basically the American version of that. They're supposed to be coming to market next year."

"Ah. Well the performance of the Carver is nothing compared to this. You should let Paul take you for a ride."

Twist my arm, why don't you?

Paul showed me how to get in, and I did. A few moments later, we were tearing around the road circling main campus. "This model is all electric, and it comes in manual transmission only. Since it's electric, it can't stall." We rapidly approached a speed bump, and the T-Rex quickly but smoothly slowed to a sane speed before tearing off again.

"Christ, how fast does this thing get to 60?"

"About 3.3 seconds. But that will probably have to be tuned down for the consumer model. I have an STi at home, but I like this better." The acceleration was certainly no joke; I stayed plastered to my seat despite not having worn a seatbelt.

The road around campus is not that long, and given how fast we were going, it didn't take long to get back to the starting point. I thanked him for the ride and grabbed a business card. Then I went straight to my friend Steph's cubicle since she is a self-professed amaxophiliac (for those of you about to break out the dictionary, it's easier to look up amaxophobia, the opposite).

I'm just glad I didn't get coffee today.

Wardrobe Adjustment

2007-11-15T07:58:00.000-08:00

My friend JMY is probably the first person to clue me into the fact that trying to look nice does wonders for your self-confidence level. Aside from the need to own nice clothes, the difference in time between preparing normally for the day and looking hot is only about forty-five minutes. Given that people generally treat you differently all day long based on whether or not you do this, those extra forty-five minutes can pay for themselves rather quickly. Before 2006 ended, I had already begun experimenting with dressing nicely on Friday, and since it was such a change from the type of stuff that I normally wore to work, co-workers often commented.

"Do you have an interview today or something?"

"What's the occasion?"

"Hot date tonight?"

My official style for work has almost always been jeans and a t-shirt. To wear something even remotely nice was a break for me, but as I stated before, it led to more attention and different treatment. I even noticed lots of "looks" on Fridays and even a handful of "pauses." It felt good to do this even one day a week.

After my holiday shopping session with Randy, I had half a closet full of smooth clothes. Since I wasn't going out every weekend at the time, I could afford to dress nicely more than once a week. So I did.

To really understand extent of my attitude change, you'd have to have known me from way back. I've always been uncomfortable with attention, thinking that people would look at me because I looked or felt awkward. Because of this, I would rarely meet the eyes of strangers, and I was very much not a self-starter in social settings (which surprises most people because I've always been very relaxed and easygoing around my friends). But when I started dressing more often than not, I started to get this idea in my head — that people were looking at me because they were attracted to me. After all, I am dressed nicely, have a well-kept afro (or cornrows, depending on the day), and I have some fly facial piercings. Hell, I might be the funkiest person most people see all day in these parts.

I've since stopped wearing what I call my "club shirts" to work on a regular basis, falling into the regular rhythm of a track jacket and jeans, perhaps with my hightop Chuck T's. I don't expect to turn heads this way, but I certainly walk a little more upright and carry the same type of attitude that says that I think I am attractive and fun. Those lucky bastards who met me for the first time this year (*cough* SHIRLEY *cough*) probably think I was always this way. Lucky them.

Yesterday morning, however, I was fully dressed wearing a "club shirt," jeans with a funky design and studs on the back pockets, and a new pair of dope shoes that eclipses every other pair in my collection. I stared at myself in the mirror in amazement for a few minutes before I retired that outfit for a day when I need it. I decided that I'm not allowed to wear that outfit to work on Wednesday unless all my stuff looks like that.

I guess that gives me something else to work toward. As if I needed another project.

Colder

2007-11-07T08:01:00.000-08:00

I’ve been home sick for the past two days with a cold. It isn’t severe, and I think I am capable of working through it. However, my management chain is very specific about not coming into work when sick since colds tend to spread rapidly through our group. I think the current slogan is, “Wash your fucking hands!”

Some may think that I would just use all the extra time at home to play video games. Oddly, that isn’t the case. I’ve actually spent a lot of time wishing I were at work doing this or that. It isn’t because I’m behind on anything, but there are certain tasks I’d like to accomplish before Thanksgiving break. Lately I thrive off my sense of accomplishment both at home and at work, and I often think about the issues I could be resolving at the office since my home is a wreck. Why not just clean it? Because I’m looking for a house cleaner! If I clean now, (s)he won’t have anything to do!

As is my custom when I find myself with an unexpected amount of free time, I’m spending a great deal of it ruminating. A few of my friends’ blogs lead me to believe that they are finally chasing the things that they really want out of life instead of doing what everyone else wants them to do. Good for them. I like to think that I’m getting closer to that myself, but the more I work out my master plan (for the next six months *cough*), the scarier it seems. Is it really possible that I’ve been doing so many things wrong, that my daily routines put me farther from what I really want to do?

Things are so different for me this year that it’s difficult adjusting to so much freedom. Freeing oneself from the desire to meet the expectations of others is a necessary part of reaching self-fulfillment, but once accomplished, the corollary is that you depend more on yourself for direction than ever before. This may seem odd at first glance, but people are often happier when others tell them what to do since they don’t have to figure it out for themselves (particularly if the one issuing orders seems to know what they are doing). With rare exceptions, my character is such that I can comfortably choose the direction for myself and others. I’ve seen this apply to dating where I expect to lead but have a partner whose advice can be trusted. I’ve seen this apply to work where my boss rarely tells me what to do any more; I often make the joke that I report to and respond to direction from myself and that that guy reports to my manager. That’s just my personality type.

As it grows colder, such thoughts consume me. It may be that I’m preparing to enter an incubative state near the end of the year so that I may emerge a new person in the spring. But I’ve got lots of work to do, so that would suit me just fine.

Food

2007-10-28T18:39:00.000-07:00

I didn’t have a bad meal while I was in Atlanta. In fact, though this wasn’t technically a vacation, I ate great food with a consistency higher than any vacation I’ve taken. And this is all from following Anthony’s advice.

“Man, you’ve lost weight again! What’s your secret?” I asked him prior to our vacation in Japan.

“I don’t eat anything I’m not excited about. If I can’t get excited about it, I don’t eat. Even if it means skipping meals. Of course, after you’ve been doing this a while, you get a lot better at choosing food that makes you excited.” I didn’t understand how that could make you lose weight, but since I’ve adopted this curious dietary strategy, I haven’t gained a pound.

My first morning in Atlanta, Kenzo recommended that I have breakfast at Thumbs Up Cafe. “They have the best pancakes in town,” he added. I like pancakes as much as the next guy, but usually after eating halfway into a stack of pancakes I’m sick of them. Kenzo is a bit of an epicure (and barring that, most certainly a hedonist), so I decided to take him at his word and order the pancakes along with a side of scrambled eggs and two country sausage patties. The plate came with an individually-sized bottle of maple syrup.

I spread whipped butter on both of the pancakes and then cut a small piece away from the edge. Inclining the bottle slightly, I poured a small dollop of syrup atop the cut and then brought it to my mouth.

Until that day, I thought there was an upper bound on how good pancakes could be. That may be true, but the ceiling is far higher than I imagined. The pancakes melted in my mouth with much the same consistency of a moist slice of cake, and the crispy edges rounded out the texture in a most impressive fashion. These may be the best pancakes in town, but they were the best pancakes I had ever had. I went back to the cafe twice more before leaving town.

For dinner that same night, I went to a restaurant Two Urban Licks. According to one of my coworkers, this is Oprah’s favorite place to eat when she’s in town. I tried the shrimp tacos, the tuna tartare, the lamb lollipops, several of a drink called the citrus kiss (which turned out to be a thinly disguised vodka gimlet), and seared tuna for the entree. All of it was very tasty, but I am a bit bummed that I didn’t try the calamari. Kenzo told me after the fact that it’s the best calamari he’s ever had. I guess it’s something to try next time.

The next night I ate at The Sweet Lowdown, a restaurant near Peachtree and 10th that specializes in southern-themed modern cuisine. I had the southern caprese (made with fried green tomatoes), the smoked chicken and collard green egg rolls, and grilled halibut with crab and grits souffle as the entree. The halibut was pretty good, but the rest was fantastic. And though it had nothing to do with the food, the evening was further sweetened by a chance meeting with an old friend and then being handed a V.I.P. card good for 15% off the bill on every visit on the way out. I’ve entrusted it to Kenzo’s wife Janelle for safekeeping.

Saturday evening we were supposed to head to Chattanooga, Tennessee, to eat at Kenzo’s favorite restaurant in the United States, but since our visit to the Atlanta Aquarium went a bit long, he managed to talk himself out of the four hours on the road that would be needed for the round-trip. Instead we ate at South City Kitchen, a place both Kenzo and Janelle claimed had the best fried chicken they had ever eaten.

“How good is it?”

“It’s slap yo mamma good.”

“Then I think I know what I’m ordering.” Only the cards weren’t exactly stacked in our favor that night; the chicken they had was the brunch version covered with sawmill gravy while the dinner version was topped with bourbon gravy. The gravy change coupled with the fact that the chicken was breast meat — I detest white meat – prompted me to change my order to fried catfish at the last minute. We also split grilled chicken gizzards, pulled pork shoulder, and she-crab soup. This meal ended up being the least exciting of all fare in Atlanta. I suppose I might have enjoyed it more with a higher grease tolerance, but I actually feared that I wouldn’t be able to eat my fried entree at all (from nausea) after working through the appetizers. Kenzo and Janelle split the fried chicken, and both apologized to me for the difference in quality of food between brunch and dinner. Well, you can’t win ‘em all.

Finally, we had brunch at J. Christopher’s Sunday morning. As far as I was concerned, the main attraction on the morning menu was the blueberry crunchcakes (pancakes cooked with blueberries and granola). They were good, but I was surprised to find that Kenzo’s maple toast was better. The sausage was great, though.

I guess now my challenge is to see how I can continue this streak of good eats after returning to the south bay area.

Back in Atlanta

2007-10-24T08:22:00.000-07:00

For a number of complex reasons and a handful of simple ones, I’ve become somewhat of a darling for minority college recruiting at my company. This week’s recruiting trip is to my alma mater, Morehouse College, so it doubly made sense for me to go. And that was before I found out that the position for which I would be recruiting is for someone in my audio group. Let’s just say that I know I’m in the right place right now.

My flight into Atlanta was pretty uneventful. There was no major turbulence, and I didn’t make any new friends on the flight. I considered the fact that Woz was riding first class on my flight to be a good omen, and as a good luck charm, he didn’t disappoint. Though Evan Almighty was the in-flight entertainment, I preferred to spend most of my time reading The 4-Hour Work Week and playing The Legend of Zelda: Phantom Hourglass on the DS.

Though I also came to Atlanta last spring for recruiting, I was still surprised by the number of black people everywhere once I entered the airport. Having lived in California since summer of 2004, I’m used to Asians being everywhere. I don’t wake up every morning, look in the mirror and think, “Yep, still black!” But it’s a bit more in your face in the south, even in a city as metropolitan as Atlanta. I’m comfortable with that though; that’s just another set of clothes for me to wear. I thought comically while looking around, “I can certainly be black if necessary.”

My first task was picking up my rental car, at which time the very kind counter lady said, “I like your shirt. It’s better than couch potato!” I get this comment frequently about the t-shirt I have that reads, “I AM SOFA KING.” This is simply a line from the oft-written “read this out loud” joke:

I AM SOFA KING WE TODD DID

Bearing in mind that this is phonetic, if you don’t get it, read it aloud to to a friend or coworker (not your boss). They will get it, and hopefully they will explain it to you.

My hotel is located in midtown, so after checking in, I promptly headed to Atlantic Station to find some dinner. Kenzo recommended Rosa Mexicano, specifically the guacamole and the carne asada (neither of which I actually had). I ended up enjoying a pomegranate margarita along with the chamorro, a crispy pork shank. The pork shank was good – after all, it was good – but the pomegranate margarita is among the most delicious cocktails I’ve ever had. Given that I was a third of the way in when my food arrived (and that I was drinking on an empty stomach), it would not surprise me if my opinion on the chamorro was thusly affected.

I slept well.

Stupid Scenario: The Stop Light

2007-10-09T14:22:00.001-07:00

I see dumb people. They don't even know that they're dumb.

The Setup: You pull up to a red light in the far right lane with the clear intention of making a right turn. There is at least one car to your left waiting to continue straight or turn left. You ease forward so that you can get a clearer view of approaching traffic before making your legal right turn on red.

The Stupid: The car to your left creeps forward, once again obscuring your field of view. Sometimes this is repeated multiple times until you must essentially enter the intersection to see oncoming traffic.

The Variant: For any reason whatsoever after coming to a complete stop at a red light, continuing to ease forward. This usually makes the cars behind ease forward to close the space, an effect that cascades until it reaches someone in a manual transmission vehicle that must waste gas to not look like (s)he stopped far shy of the car in front.

The Solution: Don't ease. It buys you nothing, and it annoys other drivers. If you catch some easing, ask them to refrain.

Stupid Scenario: The Stairs

2007-10-09T14:22:00.000-07:00

Never attribute to malice that which can be adequately explained by stupidity.

The Setup: You are ascending or descending the stairs. A group of two or more people approaches from the opposite direction.

The Stupid: The group, in the attempt to hold a group conversation, expands to fill the width of the stairwell. You are forced to stop and wait to be acknowledged before enough space is made for you to pass, often causing stairwell traffic to slow to a crawl while people shift their positions. I've heard this condition referred to as a "California traffic jam."

The Variant: A group expands to fill any passageway with two-way traffic or faster moving traffic in the same direction.

The Solution: Always be cognizant of oncoming and trailing traffic, whether it be in stairwells, grocery store aisles, or hallways. While it is okay to expand to fill the passageway when there is no one else around, you should always assume that an approaching person may appear or that someone behind may want to move more quickly than you. Never expand to fill a passageway when there are fast-moving travelers behind you, and show courtesy by immediately filing in when oncoming traffic appears.

Rattle

2007-10-07T13:41:00.000-07:00

Shirley, who has a remarkable aptitude for coming up good ideas on a regular basis, had another one yesterday.

After frustration with repeatedly buying batteries for a training collar that I put on Mame when he either misbehaves or will likely misbehave (i.e., when company visits or when I’m about to run the vacuum cleaner), Shirley suggested that I empty one of the scores of Coke cans I have in my kitchen closet. I’ve had these since my housewarming in late 2005, but since neither I nor anyone that frequents my house drinks Coke, they have gone unconsumed. I probably should have given them away on craigslist by now.

I knew immediately what she was thinking when she made this suggestion, so after washing out the can, I placed six pennies inside. After Shirley devised a clever way to mostly reseal the can opening, I placed the coin-filled can nearby. Mame didn’t go into a barking fit that night (and I didn’t want to just gauge Mame’s reaction to it), so it never had to be shaken yesterday.

Today, however, a car parked in front of my condo while playing music. Mame began the low growl that so frequently precedes his barking episodes. I reached to the right, grabbed the can and shook it three times. I’ve rarely seen Mame look so shocked; it was even louder and more grating than I had anticipated. Mame turned toward me in surprise and gave me the “WTFuh was that?!?!” look. I cast one of my standard patented reproachful glances, and Mame lay down on the floor where he stood. He realized that he had done something wrong, if not exactly what.

This approach requires no batteries and almost no effort. I’m hoping it serves as a deterrent to Mame’s unwanted behavior, particularly nuisance barking and jumping on strangers/guests.

Service

2007-10-07T11:40:00.000-07:00

In a general sense, stores don’t tend to vary in price so much that I would prefer to shop in store A with lower prices than store B. One notable exception is Wal*Mart, whose benefit of low prices is completely counteracted by the constant degree of crowdedness from which the store suffers. But when it comes to Safeway versus Albertsons or Long’s Drugs versus Walgreens, I really just don’t care.

One thing that I don’t forget, however, is the quality of service I receive when I go to these stores. If the service is memorably bad, I will not return. On the other hand if the service is good, I will inconvenience myself if necessary to shop at that store rather than its competitors. In fact, this is how Anthony and I became friends initially; the service he offered me at Game Crazy was so much better than what I got at GameStop / EB Games that I did nearly all of my shopping at that store.

Two places lately have earned my patronage. If you’re in the area, you may want to check them out.

GameStop #4926, 5205 Prospect Rd, San Jose, CA. Why do I like this place? Though I suppose most retail outlets could potentially be stocked with employees just looking for a job, it seems as if the type of people who would work at selling video games all day long would actually be excited about video games. This is unfortunately not the case as my experience with the Game Crazy in Saratoga Plaza has taught me. I mean, those dudes seemed like they were waiting to die or something, and now (ironically) they actually are in a sense because the store is closing soon. The aforementioned GameStop, however -- not to be confused with the GameStop just across the street by Westgate Mall -- is filled with people who talk excitedly about games and actually play their own in-store demos. In particular there is this guy with red hair that frequently helps me whose demeanor I find particularly amusing. It makes me think, This guy likes games, and he has the right job for now. And it’s a lot easier to deal with people when they seem to understand your passion.

Petco, 500 El Paseo De Saratoga, San Jose, CA. This place is catercorner from the above GameStop. Last night I went to Petco for the sole purpose of getting a new ID tag for Mamezoh (that I only recently noticed still bears Koko’s phone number). I would have gotten the tag from the PetSmart within walking distance, but I didn’t like the shape/color of the tags sold there. Anyhow, I grabbed a bag of dog food as well since I was low, and I was impressed that the cashier apologized for not getting to me sooner since I was carrying a forty-pound bag underarm. After looking up my Petco membership by phone number, he said to my surprise, “Torrey? I’m Angus. Welcome back to Petco!” I’d be remiss if I didn’t mention that I am going to bastadize this story; everything out of Angus’s mouth was animated and hilarious. I just can’t remember all of what he said while I checked out. At the end he said when handing me the receipt, “And this little piece of paper will serve as a memento of our time together. Thanks for shopping at Petco, and please enjoy your dog tag engraving experience!” Just after that, he offered to store the bag of dog food while I got the new tag.

One reason I’m blogging this is to help these local stores get the patronage they deserve. The second is to remind me to write the managers of these stores to let them know how a little bit of service can go a long way.

The Knock

2007-10-04T06:41:00.001-07:00

Last week at work I was the only one in the bathroom when there was a loud knock at the door. No man would knock before entering the men's public restroom, so I knew at once it must be the cleaning lady. Still, what was I to do? With my pants around my ankles yell out, "Hey, I'll be done in a minute! Just need to wipe!" Eventually the door opened, and I heard the rustling of a garbage bag. Several seconds later I heard the door close, meaning she had left. Had the bathroom actually been empty, she would have blocked the door with her large rolling garbage can so that it didn't close.

This has happened to me several times since I've been working here . Sometimes it happens when other people are in the bathroom, and those dudes don't say anything either. The cleaning lady just comes in and leaves immediately. This so isn't a problem in Japan.

Japanese cleaning women don't knock; they are permitted to enter their place of work without announcement. They move quietly and are usually clothed in a subdued green that, regardless of the actual color of the restroom, seems to make them fade from view like ninjas. Sometimes I genuinely do not notice their presence ... my mild paruresis doesn't even kick in at a urinal if they are cleaning behind me. They are *THAT* ninja.

I think it would be a lot easier for the cleaning lady if she could just do her job. Knocking is polite, but then she should just come in and start working. Of course I say that knowing that it won't actually happen; in reality, there's probably something I don't understand about the Japanese cleaning ladies that make them very different from the ones in this country. If our cleaning lady did come in and start working, my pubococcygeus muscle would probably seize up like a vice grip.

Instructed

2007-10-04T06:39:00.000-07:00

Shortly after returning from Japan, I sent Shirley a list of my to-do's for the day. At the suggestion of my friend AJ, I now choose three "must-do" goals per day and accomplish those before I allow myself the luxury of spending time how I want to spend it. Shirley asked if I could add one more thing to my list: to hang the mirror I had bought at IKEA before leaving for Japan. Honestly, I had forgotten about that mirror. I never think about it unless I'm looking at it, and for some reason I hadn't added it to my list of to do's on my iPhone. So much for Getting Things Done.

Naturally I agreed to add the mirror to my list of things to do. When I got around to opening the package, though, I found that unlike every other item I've ever purchased from IKEA that this one didn't include everything I needed to install the item. It was missing two major items: screws and a spirit level. They could have included these; it would have been nice to have a tiny bubble level for quick hang jobs. I drove to Home Depot around the corner to get the requisite materials and then began to pore over the wordless IKEA instructions.

I excel at following directions, and after making marks in pencil and attaching the clips to the wall, I hung the mirror as diagrammed. Well, it was on the wall and centered, but I thought the clamps up top were a little high. The mirror would be more secure if they were about half an inch lower, I thought. After looking at it for another couple of minutes, I removed the mirror and decided to drop the top clamps each half an inch. It was not until that very instant that I realized the top clips were spring-loaded. If accidentally placed too low, they accommodate about a full inch of play by expanding.

Now, it could be argued that IKEA's instructions could have used some more pictures there to show that those top clamps are spring-loaded. If I had known that, I would have been more conservative with my vertical measurement and erred on the side of not separating the top and bottom clamps with quite enough space. But as good as I am at following assembly instructions, I often find that the instructions are a little wrong or I am. Certain idiosyncrasies of assembly just don't translate well to diagrams and have to be experienced manually. They (or I in some cases) are (am) never so far off that I can't figure out what exactly needs to be done, and given a second chance, I could do it perfectly. The problem is that I seldom buy two of anything.

Anyway, in the case of the mirror, my slight error was correctable. The mirror looks great; it almost looks like the person who hung it knew what they were doing the first time.

Sike your mind, make your booty shine.

Day 3. Actually, No.

2007-10-02T20:30:00.000-07:00

Some people may be expecting a day-by-day account of everything that went on during my Japanese vacation like last year. One reason I was able to blog about everything last year in explicit detail is because my life as a whole at that point was pretty damn boring; just about any mundane activity in which I engaged in Japan seemed blog-worthy. Moreover, I had enough free time to blog those things in a timely manner.

This year I’m holding a decidedly different hand. My everyday life is filled with a higher level of excitement than before, and as such, something has to be dead special to appear on the blog. Either that I have to be bored. And how often does that happen with Miss Shirley and a steady stream of good video games through the holiday season?

It doesn’t. It feels weird to say that, but it’s true. For perhaps the first time in my adult life, I can’t recall the last time I was bored.

That being said, I don’t want my blog to be an event blog. I don’t want something major in my life like a vacation to dictate the frequency of my blogging. Though there are a lot things I could say about my latest trip to Japan, I’d rather relate those as stories at my leisure than do a blow-by-blow of the entire trip. If you don’t like that, you can blame the guy who opened my eyes: Josh Lewis.

So if you really want to know what I did on day three of my vacation, I got up at 5:30 PM, had dinner at a random restaurant with Anthony, and then went to the top of Mori Tower in Roppongi. We had a great time! :-)

Don’t worry; I’m sure there are more stories from Japan forthcoming. With a vacation so packed with activities, however, there wasn’t much time to write about it there. Now that I’m back in the states, I’m faced with a conundrum: do I blog the present or do I stir up old shit?

The answer is that I write whatever I want. No one is here just because they want to know what I did in Japan. Anyone who reads me regularly thinks that *I* am the event, not the travels I take or the life-altering incidents. I remember when I discovered that one of the keys to dating successfully was to not to behave differently than I normally do -- to simply believe that I am the prize regardless of what anyone thinks. I want to take a queue from how productive that attitude was for me in dating and apply it to my blog.

I don’t think you’ll mind.

Day 2: Electronics, Festival and Party Time

2007-09-16T20:30:00.000-07:00

I awoke at 6 AM and headed downstairs to use the wireless Internet access in the lobby. Breakfast wouldn’t be served until 7 AM, so I had a little time to try to catch up on email and planning. Though most messages were short ones from Shirley, I received a few from test engineers I had met last night. A schedule of events for Tokyo Game Show also arrived, and I realized that I overestimated how much time I was going to be able to spend in the Nagoya area. Rather than leaving Friday morning for Tokyo, I’d need to leave on Wednesday to make a pre-TGS Sony party that evening and some other press events on Thursday.

It’s not like there is that much to do in Nagoya. I used to live about 20 km away in nearby Ichinomiya, so I know the area quite well. It is also where Koko’s junior college friends and sister live, and though I don’t have much to do with Koko any more now that the divorce is behind us, her friends/family and I still get along nicely. At any rate, I had plans to have dinner with her friends Tom and Mayumi on Thursday, so I don’t know what will happen with that.

Our first goal for today was to make our way to Akihabara, AKA “nerd central,” for some electronics and video game shopping. Aside from having large streets lined with arcades, electronics stores, and anime and manga shops (particularly of the adult variety), there is also at least one very large adult novelty store. It was unfortunate that neither of us found anything that we really wanted to buy and cart back to the United States in any of the stores, and I felt that the image of Akihabara had changed quite a bit from last year. It didn’t feel as exciting or vibrant, but it definitely seemed like something that needed to be crossed off the list.

As I type this, I remembered the other thing I was looking for but didn’t buy (a Rez accesory). Now I think I might have to go back.

When we had had our fill of Akihabara, we called Izumi again. She met us at Akihabara Station and recommended that we take the train to nearby Nezu for a festival. After arriving and walking about ten minutes in the wrong direction, we found the festival grounds near Nezu Shrine.

It was a small festival. Booths lined the walkway to the temple with fish-catching and cork gun firing games for the children and foods like fried noodles (yakisoba) and pork, egg and cabbage pancakes (okonomiyaki). A group of young people also put on a taiko performance outside the temple which, while not being terribly impressive, served as a nice way to pass the time for a few moments in the shade. After seeing the shrine close up and the adjoining walkway, we got some food and beer from the festival vendors. Anthony ordered a huge shellfish for 1000 yen (117 yen = 1 USD) that took damn near forever to cook, but I think he was prepared to eat it raw if that’s how it was served. Izumi then lead us back to Shinjuku Station where we killed time walking around department stores until we parted company.

It was Saturday, and now we were faced with a tough decision. After walking around for all day in the hot and humid Japanese weather, did we dare to strike out again at night to go clubbing in Roppongi? I posed the question to Anthony before showering, washing my hair, oiling my scalp, and pulling out my best shirt and jean combo. Anthony in turn readied himself in a similar fashion. “I guess we’re going out then?” I asked.

“We’d better be!”

Roppongi is widely known as the party area of Tokyo and is host to the largest concentration of clubs in the city. On Saturday night, it also happens to be the place with the highest foreigner concentration in the city. As such, Anthony and I were far from unique, but we didn’t intend for that to stop us from having a good time. Arriving at the station (and ranging for a while in the absolute wrong direction before finding where we were supposed to be), we followed the wave of people toward what we assumed were the myriad clubs.

Immediately and repeatedly Anthony was accosted by African men yelling, “Titty bar! Japanese girls!” Some people said “gentlemen’s club,” but they weren’t as prevalent. After graciously rebuffing the first six or seven attempts, Anthony became more and more creative as the night (and our alcoholic intake) increased. At one point I remember him responding loudly with, “That’s the best deal I’ve heard all night!”

This was in response to, “Titty bar!”

I, on the other hand, seemed to be the target of repeated massage propositions. I went from, “No thank you,” to, “Oooh, that sounds great,” to, “Sure, I’ll give you a massage for 5000 yen. My hands are strong!”

With a little help from some of the street pimps that realized they wouldn’t be selling us anything, we chose two clubs at which to pay a cover charge. The first was Feria, a relatively classy joint with a hefty 3500 yen entrance fee (with two drink tickets). It had multiple floors and pretty decent music, and it had a good mix of people if foreigner-heavy for my tastes. The second place was Ibex, a reggae and hip hop joint on the fourth floor of a building best known for its Gas Panic bar out front. The entrance fee was 1000 yen with one drink, and we could hear from the hallway (with the door closed) that the music was good. We spent the remainder of the night and early morning between these two establishments.

Let’s start with Feria. Anthony is single, so we were determined to hook him up with at least one Japanese girl. “I need some help with that,” he told me earlier. “I’m good with meeting girls and making them my friends and stuff, but getting to that next step is always really hard.”

“That’s pretty common,” I replied. “You just need to be cocky and funny. Women typically don’t respond sexually to guys that are really nice to them. I’m not saying be mean, but make something else your top priority. And if you start out with how pretty they are, you sound like 90% of the guys that approach them every time they go out. You need to exude confidence rather than desperation.”

In Feria, I urged Anthony to pick out any girl he liked and just start talking to her in English. Unlike other parts of the country, girls in Tokyo clubs tend to speak English pretty well. I said that I would do my wingman duties by picking up the friend(s) while he worked his magic. So aided by the liquid courage of what turned out to be an accidental quadruple (or so) shot of Canadian Club whisky, Anthony started talking with the hottest unoccupied Japanese girl in the club. After verifying that he wasn’t immediately rebuffed, I swooped in beside her friend and started speaking Japanese. Her friend was really cute and friendly too (though she clearly wasn’t the party girl of the pair), and it’s always nice when you don’t have to distract an eyesore or a bee-yotch.

Anyway, the friend’s name was Jun, and she was a 22-year-old law student about to graduate. She has been to Feria about three times before and likes the mix of people and the music. And that’s about as far as I got before she was pulled away to the bathroom by her friend.

“Um, what just happened?”

“I don’t know,” said Anthony. “She said she was going to the bathroom.”

“What was the last thing you said to her?”

“I don’t remember.”

“Tell me at least you remember her name.”

There was a pause. “I’m really bad with names.” He suggested we babysit their drinks so they didn’t get tossed, but I knew that was wasted time. By the time they came back, they simply grabbed their drinks and returned to the center of the club. It was around this time we decided to check out the second floor where there was supposed to be a proper dance floor. It turned out to be just as crowded as the bar level, but the concentration of dancing people was much higher. Like the first floor, there were a bit too many foreigners for my liking. That isn’t to say that any place with a lot of foreigners is bad. It’s just that the more of us there are, the less special we seem. After milling around for a short while, we went to Ibex.

Ibex may have be billed as a hip hop and reggae club, but as far as I’m concerned, those are just code words for black music. The entire time we were there -- which amounted to several hours by the time we were catching the first trains back -- the club played crunk. It was a bit on the slow side sometimes, but generally it was good to dance to. The drinks were better than Feria’s, and the signature shot called the “Ibex Fuck” set us on fire. Literally. It was a shot composed of several alcohols including 151 that is served on fire. In order to drink it, you have to insert a plastic straw and suck it out before the straw melts. If your straw melts, you’re probably fucked. Hence the name, I guess.

With better music, Ibex should have been the better place of the two to dance. The problem was that the only three girls who were really dancing are those Japanese hip hop girls who practice in front of large buildings and train stations late at night. They are really, really good at what they do, but they never dance with anyone they don’t know (which usually doesn’t include any guys, though one of them appeared to be dating a brother). I kept trying to peel her friend off, but she scooted away every time I scooted close. So it goes. I spent most of my time in Ibex just drinking and jamming or dancing by myself, but I did manage to work myself into a line dance once.

After some time at Ibex, we went back to Feria rebuffing the street pimps and massage girls on the way. Anthony was almost embarrassingly drunk now, which made his protestations that much funnier. At one point he grabbed a guy’s arm while urgently saying, “Listen, listen, listen!” After a pause, he continued, “NO!” That dude was not happy.

On the first floor of Feria, Anthony grabbed the hand of a Japanese girl and led her out to the floor to dance. I tried to do the same but was shut down politely. I remember thinking, “She must not know who I’m is.” So I danced in the vicinity of Anthony and company until I saw them sit down. When a friend of the girl’s sat down, I invited her out the floor to dance to give Anthony more time.

The next thing I knew, Anthony was asking me to put his email in her cell phone and to save hers. Sensing an imminent score, I urged him to kiss her. I would never recommend this in most places, but Japanese girls who like foreigners do absolutely kiss guys in clubs on the dance floor or wherever in front of anyone. I think she protested some, but even a peck can be memorable. To wrap up, we left immediately to return to Ibex. This is a point that a lot of guys don’t understand about meeting women. After you’ve exchanged contact information, you should leave unless you make immediately plans to spend more time together. Why? Because the chances of your fucking it up after that are disproportionately high.

Ibex was the same as it always was when we went back. There were more people on the dance floor, but the atmosphere was unchanged. We stayed until a little after 5:00 AM, after which we were surprised to see that the sun had arisen outside. After confirming with the guy who had invited us to Ibex in the first place that the trains started running at 5:00 AM, Anthony and I went underground to catch the train home.

It must have been at least an hour since Anthony’s last drink, but he passed out moments after sitting down on the train. There was a little space between us, and a young Japanese guy sat down between us. We took turns looking at Anthony with bemused expressions until we reached our transfer, at which time I politely asked the Japanese guy next to me if he could wake Anthony up. Anthony showed no signs of life other than breathing when the Japanese guy tapped him on the shoulder and said, “Sumimasen.”

The train was nearing a halt, so I reached over and slapped Anthony’s leg pretty hard. Anthony’s eyes shot open. “This is our stop,” I said. He immediately lay back down. *SLAP!* “C’mon, we gotta get off!” He lay back down. The train came to a stop. I grabbed his wrist and walked toward the door with Anthony stumbling after me in tow.

When we finally got back to the hotel, I elected to stay awake until the hotel breakfast buffet began. Anthony instead chose to go to sleep. His may have been the wiser choice given that I didn’t wake up until 5:30 PM the next morning.

Day 1: Rainichi

2007-09-15T14:41:00.000-07:00

Though I’ve written this in several journal entries that ultimately went unpublished, the site of my vacation this year is Japan. In fact, my friend Anthony and I have already arrived and begun adventuring in Tokyo.

Japanese is an interesting language. I love that they have a verb that means coming to Japan: rainichi suru. So that’s what Anthony and I have done, and we’ve begun the first leg of our voyage in Tokyo. Though I’ve been to Japan more times than I care to count, the fact that this is Anthony’s first visit has us both giddy like schoolchildren.

Arriving at Narita airport, I didn’t see any 1UP people this year (people with long memories will recall that last year I bumped into James Mielke, with whom I’ve since become friends). However, the IGN crew did roll in just after me, and I managed to shake hands with Jessica Chobot before leaving the airport. I wanted to meet the rest of the crew (I freelance, and meeting IGN folk could lead to more writing opportunities), but I didn’t want to seem creepy hanging around trying to introduce myself to everyone. At the very least they should be at the Sony party next Wednesday, at which time I shouldn’t have trouble meeting anyone I want.

After receiving my rental phone and having a quick coffee at Starbucks to combat jet lag, Anthony and I made for Shinjuku Station by train. About an hour later we were walking through the underground passageways to the next station over, one of whose exits emerges within a few minutes’ walk of our hotel. So we checked in, showered, and made our first phone call.

By more luck than anything else, I managed to meet someone who works at a Japanese branch of my company a few weeks before leaving for Japan. Shortly before departing America, Izumi told me that she would be free on Friday evening and Saturday during the day. Anthony at least is not a fan of overplanning our trip, so I gave her a call to see what adventures would arise as a result. My Japanese returned to me much faster than I had anticipated, and I had little trouble finding my way to the station where we were to meet.

Though distinctly Japanese, the software test engineering team in Tokyo has a lot of the same character and flavor as headquarters back in California. All of the engineers were really kind and outgoing, and I recognized a number of their names from bug reports I had handled over the last year. Though it was late on a Friday night, everyone was still hard at work. They gladly closed up shop for the night shortly after we arrived, though, and we went downstairs to an English pub (or at the very least a Japanese take on the aforementioned) for drinks and dinner. Everyone there spoke English, which made it doubly comfortable for Anthony. We passed the time drinking, laughing, joking, and eating. I got invited to star in one engineer’s short film, but as the schedule conflicts with Tokyo Game Show, it’s not going to happen. He said he wrote the part for a black actor and that I was a perfect character match ... damn these freelance journalism commitments!

After a few hours in the pub, I announced that I wanted to take Anthony to the red light district so that he could be propositioned by African pimps for hostess bars, but on the way to the station jet lag kicked in with a vengeance. We abandoned the idea shortly before boarding the train, and after exiting Izumi walked us back in the direction of our hotel through a famous nearby gay district. I totally managed to miss it last year while staying in the same hotel. Gay districts tend to be progressive and have really good food in the U.S., so I made a mental note to return later when searching for dinner.

Arriving back at the hotel, it would almost be fair to say that I fell asleep somewhere between standing and falling in bed.

Constraint

2007-09-02T12:15:00.000-07:00

Time is too constrained to watch bad TV shows. I’m considering Lost and Heroes to catch up with Shirley.

Time is too constrained to play bad video games. I’m playing BioShock and Metroid Prime 3: Corruption.

Time is too constrained to watch bad movies. I’m watching Letters from Iwo Jima tonight.

The Rebate Scam

2007-08-16T09:18:00.000-07:00

The past few times I’ve bought a cell phone with a rebate, I’ve been given an ATM rebate card instead of a check. This may seem like a good idea on the surface (after all, who wants to be bothered with a check?), the difficulty associated with using the money on that card is likely a major reason why they are issued in the first place.

First, though the rebate card is technically an ATM card, you aren’t provided with the PIN number to make withdrawals. This number may indeed exist (in fact, if you call the number on the card at the right time, you may be able to coax the number out of your customer service representative), but it’s made hard to get for a reason. if you could get your cash so easily, you *WOULD*.

Second, paying with multiple cards is a hassle. Rather than making a bunch of little purchases that add as closely as possible to the rebate amount, I venture that most would prefer to use the rebate to cut a chunk out of a larger expense. The only problem is that not all business will allow you to do this (or do this easily), so you have to explain to them that you need X put on this card and the remainder on this other one. And God forbid you actually return the item and have to have the money credited back to the debit card.

Third, many businesses (like Amazon and Apple) will put a one-dollar hold on a credit card just to see if it’s valid. I had a rebate card this time last year that I attempted to use to buy a gift certificate from Amazon. Since the card was for X dollars, I tried to buy a gift card for X dollars, only to have it rejected. After repeated attempts, I found that Amazon.com put a $1 hold on the card each time I tried to charge it, meaning my available balance, X minus $1, was insufficient to purchase the gift certificate. In the end, I purchased a gift certificate for X minus $3, and I never managed to spend the remaining $3 before the card expired. Though it seems like a small amount of money to me, imagine how much of a savings that adds up to be for the card issuer when hundreds of people have similar experiences.

I wasn’t sure whether to say this first or last, but this card expires on December 31, 2007. If I haven’t succeeded in spending the entire rebate by then, tough.

To get the most out of your rebate card, here are a few tips:

1. Find a brick-and-mortar merchant that accepts purchases from multiple credit cards and buy something in excess of the rebate value that you had already planned to buy.

2. Go for a gift certificate. Immediately purchase one or more gift certificates with the debit card. If possible, buy a gift certificate that allows itself to be exchanged for cash from the store. It’s an extra step, but it’s worth it.

3. If using a vendor like Amazon.com in order to purchase a gift certificate, subtract a dollar from the final gift certificate amount before purchasing. Then cut the card up; you’re not getting that dollar back. If you want to know if the vendor puts a $1 hold on your card, try buying a gift certificate of the minimum value on another credit card and then calling to verify account activity.

With a little planning, you’ll be able to meet your rebate value or at least come so close that it makes very little difference. The scam perpetrator may get away with a dollar or two but hopefully no more than that.

Vacation

2007-08-07T14:51:00.000-07:00

Looking back at my weekly status report at work from last week, it’s pretty clear to me that I need a vacation. My report was nearly the length of a short story, and I even neglected to mention a few things. I realize now that my job will clearly eat me alive if I allow it to do so.

I haven’t had a vacation since September of last year right after splitting up with my ex-wife. The decision to go to Japan didn’t have anything to do with that, but assuaging the concerns of “her people” about our divorce ended up being a large part of my vacation. This was largely a good thing; I was in a great mood the entire time I was there, and it was easily the best vacation I’ve had in years. Plus I was very well taken care of by soon-to-be-ex family and friends.

This year it was my intent to return to Japan. I’ve got so many stamps in my passport from Japan that it’s almost embarrassing. Aside from the U.S., it’s the country whose language and customs I know best. Also, next month is the Tokyo Game Show. If I return to Japan this year, I could probably land 5 to 15 preview stories and write off the entire trip as a business expense. Yeah, I know it’s my vacation, but for me, a vacation is a period of time where all the stresses are self-imposed. I would *WANT* to do this — potentially to further my journalism career — and as such, it is acceptable for a vacation. Another bonus is that my good friend Anthony would be coming with me. It would be his first time in Japan, and I’m just the person to show him around.

So just when I was finding out that tickets to Japan will be in the low $600’s, Anthony dropped another option on me that has temporarily turned my world upside down: Costa Rica. On paper, the two vacations couldn’t be any more different.

In Japan, I’d be surrounding myself with familiarity. I’d be indulging in electronics, video games, and music. I’d have an opportunity to meet some of my favorite game designers and musicians. I’d have an opportunity to do more writing about games that I care about than I have in my life. I’d get to eat all those foods I love but haven’t been able to get for a year. I’d be on the go all the time.

In Costa Rica, I’d be in a country new to me. I’d have time in the cities, at the beach and in the rain forests. I’d be experiencing a culture wholly unfamiliar to me complete with exotic foods, drinks, and people. I’d be able to snorkel, which I’ve been dying to try. I might save money compared to the Japan trip, but I wouldn’t be able to write off a thing. I’d have so many opportunities to relax that I’m afraid I’ll get bored.

Today the person who is organizing the trip (for herself and Anthony and me if we want to go) held a conference call with her friend that lives in a remote area of Costa Rica. We were informed that where she stays is fairly remote and that if we decided we wanted to go anywhere other than her town, it could take as many as four hours. We were also told about that most of the activities I had wanted to try in Costa Rica had very “American” prices. I had originally thought that I would save a load of money in Costa Rica, but now it appears that is not the case.

The biggest surprise, however, was learning that Costa Rica is in its rainy season. I was informed that I can expect rain daily from the early evening until morning and perhaps 24/7 rain. On a good day, I can expect as many as eight or nine hours of sun, but then it starts raining cats and dogs at nearly the temperature of piss. You can still swim and surf in weather like that, but don’t expect to look cute unless you look cute wet.

I do not think I look cute wet. Maybe when I’m in perfect shape and have a shaved head again. But not now.

Anthony and I touched bases after the conference call, and I think there was no argument that if we had to choose a place this very second it would be Japan. However, as there is no pressure to choose a place this very second, we’re going to continue our independent research until Sunday evening when the fateful decision will be made. Anthony will call me from Sweden, and we’ll go down the pros and cons list for each, eventually choosing the more logical of the two.

Either way it goes, I plan to make it the most fun I’ve had in my adult life.

iPhone

2007-08-03T10:48:00.000-07:00

iPhone may be old news to everyone else, but it’s new news to me. Though I had originally planned to purchase one, I lucked up and received one as a gift instead. My activation was pretty painless, but after activation, I hardly played around with it at all. After all, it is a phone, and I don’t use my phone all that much.

To be honest, I had started writing a pretty long entry about the iPhone and what I liked and don’t like. In the end, I found it to be well-thought-out, accurate, and terribly boring. So I’ll just say this: I have one and I like it. I would have paid full price for it. It hasn’t changed the way I live my life, but it has made a lot of things I did routinely much easier while giving me a few new options when I’m on the go. As a phone, a portable Internet device, and an iPod, it’s better than anything I’ve ever experienced.

People often ask me, “How are you enjoying your iPhone?” It always sounds like a weird question to me; it’s as if they think I acquired it for purely recreational purposes.

“It’s the best cell phone I’ve ever used by far,” I say. “Everything else is just a nice bonus.”

Pothole

2007-07-30T09:28:00.000-07:00

Shirley comes back from India on Friday. I am filled with excitement about squeezing her until her back cracks (her request!) and dread at the amount of cleaning I’ll need to do before her jet arrives.

It’s not like it’s a surprise that she is coming home this week; I’ve known since she left. However, I’ve had a few distractions these past few weeks that have kept me from doing the requisite cleaning. The first was Benkei’s final recital party, for which I had to prepare some music to do a live performance. That went exceptionally well, and I’ll provide a link to the song I performed once I have enough time to apply mastering effects to the track. The other distraction was, of course, Harry Potter.

THERE ARE NO SPOILERS HERE.

This Christmas, Ginny gets what she wants.

Harry Potter and the Deathly Hallows was released on the day of Benkei’s iParty event, and though I picked it up that day, I wouldn’t dream of trying to read it before finishing my music preparation. The following day, however, I considered myself free to clean. I instead plopped myself down in the recliner and began reading the book.

It’s not as if the final Harry Potter book is so captivating that I had to read it from start to finish in one sitting. On the contrary, when parts of the story dragged on, I fell asleep in the recliner for hours at a time. At times, I suspected that I had done more sleeping while trying to read the final book than actual reading. I don’t say this to say that the book is boring, but it is coincidental that I began to tackle the plodding midsection of the book while more tired than normal.

For the following week, I dutifully read a few chapters a night after working out, and if I still had energy, I would do a little light cleaning around the house. Sometimes I would play a bit of Paper Mario on the Wii’s virtual console or Phoenix Wright: Justice for All on the Nintendo DS. I always found something to distract myself from heavy-duty cleaning.

My Sunday was — as most of my Sundays are — completely free from social plans, so in theory I could do a ton of cleaning during daylight hours. What did I do? I sat down and started reading the last Potter book again. A few chapters into that reading session I looked at my wall clock and thought, I can probably finish this today if I read it straight through. Then the distraction will be gone, and I don’t have to spend Shirley’s first few days back trying to finish a book. So I read and read and read, finally putting the book down for good at 10:30 PM.

I did *NOT* start cleaning at 10:30 PM.

I have Monday, Tuesday, Wednesday, and Thursday to get my place in order. The living room is already cleaned and vacuumed; I really only have to do the kitchen (which is mostly clean), bathroom (which isn’t shameful), bedroom (a total wreck), and all of the closets in the house. I also want to apply a few finishing touches to the condo, but I won’t discuss them here. I’d say that I have plenty of time to clean if I weren’t working out every evening, but I think I’d rather not finish cleaning than skip a workout at this point. I’m dangerously close to establishing a habit here.

If I can say any two things, I would say this: 1) Potter won’t be interfering with our reunion, and 2) regardless of whether each surface in my condo is shiny and polished, my body is more muscular than anyone has seen since I finished grad school. Flexing may just get me out of trouble.

JR

2007-07-20T12:49:00.000-07:00

My most recent haircut experience was more positive than my last one was negative. I’m glad Shirley talked sense to me when I considered shaving my head after the debacle that was my last haircut.

Yesterday I believed my hair to finally be long enough to be evened up from the fro whacking my head received just prior to my family reunion. I didn’t bother returning to the last barber shop; even after getting different barber, it was still too long of a drive for me to risk during my lunch break. It would also mean that I’d be eating fried catfish and grits for lunch, and that definitely isn’t on the diet. Instead I went to the black barbershop closest to where I live. I could actually walk there from my condo.

“If you worked for Google, you wouldn’t have to leave work to get your hair cut,” Luke volunteered. Luke is not black.

“Um, yes I would. Don’t tell me that Google has someone there who knows how to take care of an afro. I can’t just walk into a Supercuts and take a seat.”

I walked into the barbershop and headed for JR’s chair. Tim usually takes care of me (actually, Tim has never given me a bad cut but sometimes I have to wait for nearly 2 hours to get in his chair without an appointment). I had seen JR in the shop before; he is the oldest guy working there. In fact, sometimes I’ve been waiting for Tim’s chair while JR didn’t have anyone’s head to work on.

After seating myself, I launched into my normal list of fears and desires. “I’m afraid of clippers. Every time someone takes clippers to my fro, it turns out badly. It’s always uneven as hell right after I wash it. Are you good with scissors?”

“Oh yeah,” he said confidently. “You don’t like clippers? Well, we won’t put any near your fro. How does that sound?”

“That sounds great. The last guy I told that to started cutting with scissors and almost halfway in said, ‘If you want me to do my job, man, you’re going to have to let me use these clippers.’ He had already started cutting, so what could I do?”

“Oh, he couldn’t use scissors? One of those young fellas?”

“Yeah, pretty young. And he stayed on the phone the entire time he cut my hair. Not even with a Bluetooth headset. He had one hand on his cell phone the entire time he messed up my fro.”

“Well, we’re gonna see if we can do you better this time. How much do you want off?”

“I don’t want any off. It’s too short as it is. I just want it evened up. You know, to undo some of the damage the last dude did.”

“I gotcha.” He started at the front — where my hair is thinnest — and started clipping. Hair fell onto my face. I don’t want to look.

As the clipping went on, I started chatting with JR. “Tim usually cuts my hair, but I have to wait too long to get in his seat.”

Tim, who was playing Fight Night Round 3 on PSP looked up and smiled. “I had you waiting for fifteen minutes at the most.”

“Fifteen minutes? Man, I’ve waited for your chair for two hours before!”

“That was like one time.”

“No, man, that was like three times. One time I was sitting over there in the corner and I read Stephen King’s The Stand from cover to cover while waiting to get in your seat. And it was the unabridged version.”

“Oh, so now you got jokes.”

“Man, I played through Final Fantasy on the PSP from beginning to end while waiting on that chair. And I even did the extra dungeons.” Tim started to snicker.

“Is that right?” JR said, clipping away.

“That’s a fact,” I said. It’s not a lie you don’t expect anyone to believe it.

After cutting around my head for about fifteen minutes, JR did something that made me very comfortable. He used a handled metal afro comb to pick my afro back out, and he started clipping again. A lot of people will cut your hair until it looks perfect and then don’t want to touch it because then it will be uneven again. Well guess what? I style my hair every morning. JR did that three times before he put the scissors down.

“You want me to do anything with your beard?” he asked. I hadn’t actually considered that, but hey, why not?

“Can you edge me up?”

“I sure can.” And he picked up the edging clippers and a comb. He began to comb and edge my sideburns and jawline. While working, JR accidentally hit my eyebrow barbell with the comb. It didn’t snag (glad I ditched the ring in favor of a barbell), but it did scare the shit out of me.

“Sorry about that, brother.”

“No problem. It just startled me.” I didn’t bother telling him about that time I was picking my hair just after waking up and snagged the hoop with my pick, sending the captive bead in my hoop flying. If it weren’t for that bead, I probably would have ripped the ring right out of my face.

“You get any play with all that?” the barber said, gesturing to my eyebrow and lip piercings.

“Pssssh. Hell yeah.”

“Girls who like piercings and tattoos and stuff like that? Don’t talk for a minute.” He began edging my shadow of a mustache. It tickled like hellfire.

“No, you’d be surprised,” I said when he was done. “I don’t think I’m extreme enough for those types. I tend to attract really classy women since I got my piercings, ones that are pretty adventurous and like the bad boy look.”

“Is that right?” JR asked with a laugh.

“That’s a fact.” I wasn’t joking this time. I thought about Shirley who after noticing my earrings during a video chat said that it was too much jewelry. I bet she changes her tune when she gets back, though.

You can't make that face if you don't like it.

JR spun me around to face the mirror as he continued to shape my beard. Damn I looked good! I guess I should have expected as much. After all, JR grew up in a time where afro care was ubiquitous among blacks. I was just startled at how much better I looked when he was done with me.

“What do you want me to do with the goatee?” he asked.

“Honestly? I trust your judgment.” He took the clippers to it. I looked better.

All told, JR spent about forty-five minutes cutting my hair and beard. He used a foil shaver on my neck, rubbed an anti-bump solution along my hairline, vacuumed my shoulders and the inside of my shirt, and carefully sprayed on oil sheen before taking a few final clips with the scissors. I looked so good. Somehow I doubted that the people at work would notice I got a haircut during lunch, but I looked totally different to myself. I’m back, I thought.

Yes, yes, yes.

The damage was $18, and I tipped him five. Before I left, he confirmed that he remembered my name. “I’ll remember that,” he added.

Shirley, thank you for encouraging me to not do anything hasty after my last haircut. I can deal with treatment like this. I can deal with this for a while.

The Bell

2007-07-19T16:25:00.000-07:00

I’ve been toying with the idea of abandoning low-carb dieting because of the lack of results. I’ve controlled my carbs twice before, and the first brought me down from 254 to a decent 218 pounds while the second brought me from 240 down to a svelte 204. I am 6’1“.

This time I’ve gone from 228 to 221, and my weight often fluctuates within that range. Though I’m down from 265 last summer, I wasn’t strictly adhering to a low-carb diet for the most part. No, that was mostly from cutting out Chinese food while exercising and eating only until satisfied. I found it remarkable that my body didn’t want to be fat (or at least not that fat, as it seems to be quite comfortable with how fat I am now).

I have been adhering to a strict carb-restricted diet for about two months now, and I can’t seem to get below 220 to save my life. I even gave up caffeine and alcohol, but that didn’t change a thing.

Now, to abandon low-carb dieting for me doesn’t mean to go out to have a couple of donuts. It just means that I won’t so strictly avoid buns on my hamburgers, and I might even have a bowl of rice or a couple of slices of pizza every now and then. If I were to start gaining weight immediately, I’d get right back on the wagon, but I’m reasonably confident that my weight would remain stable with my current exercise regimen.

A couple of day ago, I could feel myself planning to have a sandwich for lunch the following day. But that was also a workout day for me, and for some reason I got the inclination to forego Dance Dance Revolution in favor of using Shirley’s treadmill for cardio. I didn’t think I was going to be able to run the whole 30 minutes, but I did. My shirt was soaked, so I changed it before weightlifting. This time I lifted weights until my arms were shot, not just until I did all the exercises I had planned. Afterwards, I showered, changed, and went to Safeway to pick up a rotisserie chicken. I ate all the dark meat and then worked on a mixdown of some music I hope to get on the 1UP Show before going to sleep.

The next morning I weighed myself. 221. Down from 224 in one night (my weight had shot up to 225 from 220 after two weightlifting sessions a week ago). Some might say it’s impossible to lose that much weight that fast or that it was just water weight. Whatever. My Health-o-Meter scale wasn’t cheap, and I’m just reading the needle.

If I could lose just three pounds a week, I’d be at my first goal of 205 in a little over a month. But with meteoric progress like this, I could potentially be there in three weeks. On the other hand, I can’t count on that; this could be a fluke.

Regardless of the reason, low-carb dieting has been saved by the bell. In thinking of the other times where I lost a lot of weight — particularly towards the end of grad school where I actually got in shape — there was only one difference between what I have been doing recently and what I was doing then. My workouts in grad school were hardcore. I never left the gym until I felt I couldn’t run another quarter of a mile or lift another weight. Lately I have just been doing some regular exercise. I break a sweat, I shower, and I call it a day.

It’s so hard to work out without motivation. I don’t have a workout partner. Shirley hasn’t promised me anything special when I can fit in some 34” waist jeans. I haven’t promised myself anything special when I hit 205. All I really wanted to see, even briefly, was some goddamn results. And two months later, here they are.

For breakfast this morning I had an egg scramble with mushrooms, green peppers, tomatoes, bacon, sausage, and cheese. For lunch, I had carved ham and steamed vegetables. For dinner, I’m going to have unbreaded chicken wings and celery.

I can’t wait to get on the treadmill.

(Less Than) 50 Things Men Wish You Knew

2007-07-18T14:07:00.000-07:00

This is borrowed from an article on the Men’s Health website. I’m guessing not too many women read it, so I’ll distill the list to the things that I found to be especially true:

1. Express yourself. It makes us proud, even if someone thinks you're wrong.

2. You look hot in running shoes and shorts. And that top thingy with the stripes.

5. If you're truly interested in us, don't play hard to get.

6. Shopping is a chore, not an activity. 
7. When I screw up, go ahead and tell me--once.

12. Leave the eyebrows alone. Plucked ain't pretty.

13. You can have sex with us any time you want. Seriously.

16. Masturbation is merely practice for the big game. Encourage it.

17. We crave hugs and hand-holding too. And no, it doesn't always have to lead to sex.

18. But you can have sex with us any time you want. Did we mention that?

19. There's no better sound in the world than you, having an orgasm.

22. When you get angry over some stupid little pointless thing, I question your intelligence.

27. Err on the side of hot; I love to show you off.

33. We love ponytails.

34. Being good in bed means a) enthusiasm; b) a sense of humor; and sometimes c) patience.

35. The first time? We're as nervous as you are.

36. A random unexpected grope is always welcome, even in public. Especially in public.
 37. Make us laugh and we'll want to hang around.

39. Sure, men stereotypically like to solve a woman's problems. But a woman who solves her own while we watch? Instant erection.

42. Sometimes we wonder why any woman would want to be with us, much less someone as amazing as you. So, thanks.

43. Anytime you cook for us, we're happy.

46. We love you even more because you know we need to go out with the guys once in a while.

50. Never say, "I know you better than you know yourself." Nobody does.