December 2003 Archives

Whenever an entry is completed and posted, there is never a feeling that it will remain at the top of the page for very long. A day, usually. A weekend, perhaps. Unlike a book, where one would hope to find all of the words in the same place with each reading, an online journal is expected to have new (and preferably interesting) words with each visit.

Unintentionally, I've been away from the computer for a week. The easiest explanation is life happened: family, holidays and more recovery from more ailments. Besides those reasons, this journal probably needed a rest to allow the well to be filled. At least to me, it seemed to be running dry the last couple of weeks.

The unexpected hiatus fit nicely into two weeks of vacation away from everything and everyone. It feels like a "real" vacation. It doesn't involve rushing off someplace or doing anything except recuperate, reflect and plan.

I hope everybody enjoyed the holidays and just in case I take another unanticipated break, here is to a wonderful new year!

"Come Mr. Frodo!" he cried. "I can't carry it for you, but I can carry you and it as well."

Of the hobbits, Samwise Gamgee has always been my favorite. He grew on me even more as I watched the third part of the trilogy. Eowyn, Faramir and the Rohirrim also impressed me. Their moments in the film came close to what I imagined from reading the book. Minas Tirith was incredible.

Two characters sang in the movie, which was great to see and hear. The songs and poems are one of my favorite elements in Tolkien's tale. They seem to lend credibility to the history and cultures that make up the world of Middle Earth.

I wasn't supposed to see it until Christmas Eve, but the suspense was getting to me, so I sneaked in a show. It's a family tradition to see a big movie the day before Christmas. The Lord of the Rings has filled the bill the last two years. In a couple of days, I'll be watching the lengthy movie again and I really don't have any qualms with that.

Whenever somebody says they don't drink coffee, my immediate reply is usually, "That's just wrong!" I responded to two people that way on Sunday. Then, as any good hypocrite would, I went the next three days without drinking a sip. Fortunately, I made amends by having a cup yesterday. Some might call it falling off the wagon, but I call it climbing back aboard.

I wrote this Saturday morning, while emotions and moments were freshly floating in my brain.

I wasn't supposed to be there, but my prior commitment had been cancelled at the last minute. I grabbed a bite to eat and then sat in the car for a while, debating between going home and going to the club. Anybody who knows me knows that nightclubs aren't my scene (as though I have one). They prey upon all of my anxieties, which is exactly why I ended up going.

By chance, I heard about the event the night before. Less than an hour before it started, I decided to go. In the least likely place I should be found, she found me.

I met her ten years ago, last saw her seven years ago, last spoke with her last year and met someone who reminded me of her two weeks ago. We went to the same college and shared the same major. She was energetic, independent, intelligent and beautiful. She loved to dance and travel. Of her physically, I most vividly remember her eyes, her hair and the freckles on her face.

As the years passed, she became a cluster of memories, a bundle of qualities, a feeling, a regret, an ideal and a muse. She left an impression on me, larger than the one I left on her. Seeing and talking with her last night took me back in time.

Serendipity became one of my favorite words after I saw the movie of the same name (Cusack, Piven and Beckinsale!). It tickles the mind to believe our meeting was more than mere coincidence, but I fear I'm searching for signs that aren't there, trying to find meaning in chance.

I don't think I should let people like her slip out my life, but I'm not sure how to invite them back and even more unsure if it's reasonable to ask.

I got home late Sunday night. It had been a crazy weekend, filled with lots of fun, but not enough sleep. As I crashed, something felt wrong. Monday rolled around and when I awoke, the feeling was confirmed. I had the flu.

Monday and Tuesday consisted of sleeping, drinking hot soup, drinking hot tea, being a television zombie, missing coffee, taking medication and more sleeping. I've slept and ate more in the last forty-eight hours than in the prior week, which is a sad commentary on how well I was taking care of myself. As payback, I'm having to flake out on most of this week's fun.

As I wrote that sentence, I could hear my mom's voice in the back of my head saying, "That'll teach you. What have I always told you? Take better care of yourself. But do you ever listen?" She says other things, but to summarize, they are finely crafted sentences meant to maximize my guilt.

I'm back at work today, operating at 70% capacity. Hopefully, I won't regret that decision. Tonight, I plan to continue with the remedies to fully recover before the weekend.

• Don't scrimp on eating, sleeping or exercising. It's too easy to overlook them on healthy days.
• Pace myself. It does nobody any good if I run myself ragged.
• Listen to my body. When it told me to ease up last week, I should have complied.
• Soap operas are evil. It's very easy to get caught up on or hooked on those programs.
• Keep laughing. Being sick may make me grumpier, but I refuse to let it sap my sense of humor.

A year ago, I participated in the Mayfly Project, where people used twenty words to describe their year. The site seems to have disappeared, but in its spirit, here is 2003, a year of verbs...

More laughing, trying, running, hoping,
experiencing, sighing, connecting, playing, searching,
hiking, discovering, hurting, learning, recovering,
wanting, dreaming. Scratched the surface.

Update: With help from Amanda and Rich, here is the Mayfly Project 2003.

When we were little kids, my sister and I would make tons of snowflakes and tape them to the front room window. Once, to be clever, I made two look alike. Nobody was amused. Go ahead and make your own unique snowflake.

"Nature is full of genius, full of the divinity; so that not a snowflake escapes its fashioning hand." - Henry David Thoreau

Many moons ago, I wrote about my backyard. At the time, I had the silly notion of doing all of the landscaping myself. If I was actually home during the daylight hours, this might have been possible. I needed help, so I saved up and hired a landscaper to install the pavers for the patio and barbecue area. When the weather improves, I'll tackle the rest.

Over time, the original vision changed. I now imagine a bench built into a raised island planter that slopes down to a rock garden with stepping stones leading from the patio. A fountain may come later and piping was installed for the possibility. I'm also leaning towards a dry creek bed of river rocks along the perimeter.

If you compare the photos, you'll see a number of homes have been built since January. How quickly the open field disappeared. Also, notice the one lighter fence panel? The construction crew accidentally ran a piece of equipment into it about two months ago. Some folks were displeased with the replacement panel, but I think it adds character to the fence.

He is the most caustic creature you will ever meet. He is vile, repulsive, condescending and full of negativity. He swears a lot and throws tantrums. It seems his only desire is crush my confidence entirely.

In my mind's eye he physically resembles Gollum. Happiness is a rope around his neck and all he can do is scream, "It burns! It burns us!" He is extremely displeased that I'm writing about him right now and promises to be a good Smeagol if I stop, which means I should keep going.

His memory is selective. He only remembers my rejections and humiliations, chronologically. He constantly reminds me of my regrets and missed opportunities. When he is bored, he recites my anxieties like a David Letterman Top Ten List.

His vision is impaired. He only sees my weaknesses and only notices when I stumble. In others, he only sees strengths and successes, but never their faults. With skewed sight, he loves to make comparisons.

He hisses snide editorial remarks when I talk or write to people. When I'm in public, he is like Statler and Waldorf, but without the balcony seating. His favorite people are the ones who are quick to judge, insult or use me. They prove him right.

His discovery was only recent. He had been with me so long, he seemed to be part of the natural landscape. But now that he has been spotted, it's up to me to learn how to deal with him.

On Sunday, I saw Vienna Teng and Emily Lord perform at the Little Fox Theatre in Redwood City. It is a wonderful and intimate music venue.

This was the third time I saw Vienna perform live and she is consistently amazing. She had about four songs planned and then took requests for the rest of her set. She played a couple of songs from her next album, which comes out in February. "Shasta", a new song to me, was one of my favorites. She also covered "Cannonball" by Damien Rice.

For the past week, I've been listening to John Denver's The Rocky Mountain Collection a lot, particularly "Annie's Song". It's been on my mind lately. Vienna sang that very song for her encore. It was unexpected and a little freaky and beautiful. I wonder if it's a sign.

I'm glad I stuck around to hear Emily perform. She had some great songs. "I Bet She" and "Indian Dancing" were a couple of memorable ones. To end the fantastic night, she and Vienna sang another Denver classic, "Leaving On A Jet Plane".

just want to be living as I'm dying
just like everybody here
just want to know my little flicker of time is worthwhile

- from "Homecoming"

"If only the finest birds in the forest dared sing, how quiet the forest would be."

Becoming discouraged is easy in the light of other people's greatness. Whatever you do seems to pale by comparison, which only succeeds in feeding your Inner Critic who wants to silence you entirely. The fact that others are better than you should not stop you from trying. This is true when it comes to creativity and life in general. They should inspire you. It is easy to say, "I'll never be all that", "I'll never be as eloquent as her" or "I'll never be as confident as him." But who knows? Maybe you will, if you do not give up.

I just needed to remind myself. You already knew this, but apparently I didn't, which perhaps makes it the "unknown known" that never crossed Rumsfeld's mind when he extensively covered the topic of knowledge earlier in the year.

I love foggy mornings. It gives the park across the street this eerie feeling. Huge fields of fog are only a block or two away. It doesn't take much imagination to believe it came straight out of Tim Burton's Sleepy Hollow.

I finally took the time to pull out the Christmas decorations sitting on the holiday shelf in the closet. I put up the tree and checked the lights before getting sidetracked by the Ironman Triathlon on television.

At Midnight Madness, I saw Monty Python and the Holy Grail for the first time. It was hilarious! All of the quotes and references I've heard over the years suddenly made so much more sense. Well, most of them did.

While doing a little more gift shopping, I came across Snoopy's Guide to the Writing Life. It looked like a neat little book, so it's going on my list to Santa.

It didn't rain during this year's Christmas In The Park tree lighting, which was made the long ceremony more bearable. San Jose, at events like these, feels like a small town. Local dignitaries speak and school choirs perform, but it is nothing as polished as truly big cities, like San Francisco or New York City.

This year the city installed snow machines on lampposts throughout downtown. I'm not sure what they use to simulate it, but it's not very convincing. The machines spread holiday cheer every four or five minutes since the real thing doesn't seem to want to visit us on its own. It's like the Bay Area invited snow over, but snow said it would rather hang out in New England for Christmas.

While waiting, I ordered a twenty-four-ounce cup of mocha java, gourmet coffee freshly ground and brewed right before my eyes. It cost five dollars and came without a lid. If I had known it would be so expensive, I would have gone to Starbucks for a bargain. It didn't taste like five-dollar coffee.

I wandered through the crowd, looking at exhibits and trees, pausing every now and then to see if they were close to lighting anything. At one point, I inadvertently stood beneath a snow machine, which awoke suddenly and showered my lidless drink with faux snow. I looked at my cup in horror, considered watering a tree, but finally decided I wasn't going to waste my money. It still didn't taste like five-dollar coffee.

Thursday ended with the Sounds of Hawai'i at the Flint Center in Cupertino. It was a blend of Hawaiian and Christmas music. Brook Lee hosted and a local hula studio, Na Wai Ola, danced.

The opening act was Makana, a young and amazing slack key guitarist. It was incredible to hear so much music coming from one instrument. I recognized "The Poi Song", but I loved the third song he performed. It had intricate finger work and he sang the two vocal passages with a hint of vibrato, his head tilted slightly upwards and his eyes closed. Something about it felt so spiritual.

Na Leo were the headliners. Their harmonies and voices were beautiful, especially Lehua Heine's. My favorite songs were "Ave Maria", "North Shore Serenade" and their finale, "I Miss You, My Hawai'i". For an encore, they sang "O Holy Night". I had been hoping to hear it the entire evening.

Photo Friday: Structure.

Taken on a sunny San Francisco morning.

"C'mon, man, lighten up! Okay fine, stay dark. Dark works too."

And so they have been running rampant, those things I let loose from the box. And when I say things, I mean issues, just in case anybody thought I was talking about libraries.

Whenever I have a day of true happiness, one where I reach a genuine high, I'm not satisfied to let it be, as though it's wrong for it to exist too long. So I have the urge to mute it, because I know the low is coming, like after a caffeine high, the completely wired and jittery kind. It is as though happiness in my life (above and beyond general contentment) is too good to be true, you know?

By the way, I'm trying out a more conversational, less formal writing style today. I don't think it's working and reading this over once (okay twice, maybe three times), it doesn't sound any different. I might throw in a typo or two later, just to irk myself. Or maybe not. Anyway.

I exit the library as two teenagers, possibly college freshmen, are about to enter it. One is on his cell phone and as he looks up at the building, he says to the person on the other end, "Hey dude, I have to go, we're going to go into the thing."

"It is a truth universally acknowledged that a single man in possession of a good fortune must be in want of a wife."

She had me at the first line and I fell in love with Jane Austen's Pride and Prejudice. This book was required reading my senior year in high school. I remember not being able to put it down. I would read it during every class and even during my free sixth period, when I hung out in photography for laughs (that is another story entirely).

Up to that book, I had never come across a character like Mr. Darcy, someone I immediately identified with and thought I understood. I was so much like him, in personality, not appearance. Stiff, unsociable, proud, but at the same time and less noticeably, possessing some good traits as well. He was a character everybody else in class immediately disliked. In so many ways, I'm still like him and not entirely happy about it.

"I certainly have not the talent which some people possess," said Darcy, "of conversing easily with those I have never seen before. I cannot catch their tone of conversation, or appear interested in their concerns, as I often see done."

"My fingers," said Elizabeth, "do not move over this instrument in the masterly manner which I see so many women's do. They have not the same force or rapidity, and do not produce the same expression. But then I have always supposed it to be my own fault -- because I would not take the trouble of practising."

They will sound strange, the reasons why I was sitting in that plaza, but I want to write them down, before they slip my mind, as many things have done lately.

I was there to Christmas shop, a sport I dread and play poorly. I succeeded in buying one or two gifts before succumbing to the The Return of the King soundtrack. The trilogy's conclusion is still two weeks away, but I'm hoping the music will hold me over. The album includes a song co-written and performed by Annie Lennox.

I was there to observe, attempting to see, hear and experience everything around me without being seen or affecting any of it. Pure observation is like trying to walk on a sandy beach without leaving footprints. It is impossible, as the photographer story exemplified.

I've been here for about fifteen minutes. A photographer, his tripod and camera in hand, has been circling the plaza for a little while now. The night is cool and this is a great spot to sit, enjoy a cup of jasmine tea and write with pen and paper.

A woman and her young daughter come over and sit at one of the other three tables. She sips her coffee and takes a small bite from her chocolate-chip cookie. The child sits in her lap, head against her chest, eyeing and reaching for the cookie with both hands. She tells the child, "No dear, no cookie." She has a British accent.

As I sit here and write of other things, I notice the photographer setting his tripod up in the center of the plaza, facing the tables. He politely asks the woman, "Ma'am, may I take your picture? I've been waiting for someone photogenic to sit down so I could get a shot of the plaza and decorations."

I know I shouldn't look up. I should pretend to be concentrating deeply, oblivious to everything. But curiosity causes a glance and before I can cover it, the photographer notices me and says quickly, "Oh! Not that you aren't photogenic, sir. No offense." He chuckles and smiles at me. I hear the woman laugh quietly.

I know how I look and how I am dressed. I honestly have no desire to be photographed tonight. So I try to downplay it and disappear. I give him a lopsided smile, a small shake of the head and a dismissive wave. "Oh no! None taken. No worries. Sorry." I don't know why I apologize.

The photographer nods appreciatively and goes about taking his shots. The woman continues to drink her coffee and finally gives her daughter the cookie. I go back to my writing and become invisible once more.

My legs had been growing jealous of all the exercise my fingers had been getting in November. To make up for the perceived inequity, I promised to take them running. So on Sunday, I ran in the Run to the Far Side, an annual event hosted by and benefiting the California Academy of Sciences.

The five-kilometer loop started in Golden Gate Park, exited on Oak Street, made a left at Broderick and returned to the park on Fell Street. The most evil courses begin with a gradual downhill, lulling everyone into a false sense of quickness, only to get ugly and uphill on the way back.

The rain behaved (or was apathetic) during the run, providing only a misting effect. But its patience soon ran out and it began to fall in earnest as I stood in line for a free cup of coffee. When informed they were temporarily out, I settled for a tiny cup of peppermint hot chocolate.

That was when I met up with a couple of cool people. I blindly trusted and went along with them when they said there was a Starbucks at the other end of a somewhat secluded path. We made it to the one on Irving Street. Hot venti mochas taste much better on a rainy day.

We then took a literal walk around the block and ended up at Howard's Cafe for breakfast. I simply got soaked on the journey back to the car. Thank goodness for the warm, dry clothes waiting in the backseat.

I liked the way Sunday morning turned out. Good run, good food and good company. I was happy and so were my legs.

Remember how my sister was also participating? Here is my account of what transpired since, for the most part...

Saturday afternoon:

Me: So, how many words do you have left?
Sis: (not looking up from her typing) 30,000.
Me: You've been slacking.
Sis: It's called work and a thesis.
Me: Excuses! I only have 900 left.
Sis: (gives me a scathing look) Still?
Me: (uncomfortable pause) I'll just go away now.

Sunday afternoon:

Me: So, how many words-?
Sis: 17,000. Hey! I have time to walk Fluffy and give him a bath.

Sunday, 10:00 PM:

Me: So, how-?
Sis: 5,000. Wasn't Arrested Development hilarious? Ooh, Lyon's Den is on!

She would finish an hour and fifteen minutes later. She is just scary good.

First off, congratulations to everyone who finished, be it with plenty of time to spare or only a few scant minutes remaining. You all are amazing.

The novel quietly crossed the 50,000-word threshold Saturday evening with little fanfare, only a smile and a sigh. I was determined to get it done a day early so that Sunday could be relaxing and free from writing.

The book's title was changed from "Huh?" to "Huh?!" for the sake of originality (who knew two others would choose the same name?) and to give it a sense of excitement. It is also very representative of the confusion most people would experience if they were to ever read my writing.

Through this month-long experience I was moody and reclusive and drank way too much coffee. Some of you are probably thinking, "And that is different... how?"

Finally, since I love statistics, here are some fun NaNoWriMo facts and figures:

Words written: 50,140
Highest one-day count: 8,683
Lowest one-day count: 588
Percent of novel written on my PDA: 92
Least productive day of the week: Sunday
Fingers still functioning (barely): 10
Number of writing days: 18
Number of zero-word days: 12
Cups of coffee consumed (above "normal"): 18
Pounds of Skittles eaten: 2