February 2004 Archives

It's the right answer to be supportive and tell her to do what makes her happy, leave this place and go where she'll feel fulfilled. It's telling her to search for something better, before she burns out or becomes jaded.

It’s the right answer, but it means she could soon be gone. It could mean one less person to brighten the day, one less partner in crime and one less reason to stay here yourself. For if she left, she would be leaving your life, because you haven't learned how to hold on to those who are far away.

It's the right answer. You know it, but your selfishness wants her to stay. It wants to tell her to wait for things to get better, though they may never get better. And you feel guilty for even allowing these thoughts to cross your mind, when it's only her interests you should be considering.

It's the right answer and the one you gave. Afterwards, a sense of gloom overcame you. You tried to wash it away with a grande peppermint latte and then tried to rationalize it in writing. Have you convinced yourself yet? Do you feel better now?

He was killed by a cellular phone explosion
They scattered his ashes across the ocean
The water was used to make baby lotion
The wheels of promotion were set into motion

And so begins one of my new favorite albums by Fountains of Wayne. It came out last June, but I only recently purchased a copy. During the Grammy Awards, I was rooting for them or Evanescence to grab Best New Artist, because we all know the importance of that distinction.

And the bourbon sits inside me
Right now I'm a puppet in its sway
And it may be the whiskey talking
But the whiskey says I miss you every day

I love their storytelling, the geographical references and Chris Collingwood's voice. The album is an eclectic assortment of humorous, somber and pointedly critical songs. My favorites include "Bright Future in Sales", "Hey Julie" and "Hackensack". A couple of the more unique topics include a waitress who takes too long to serve coffee (which is just wrong) and a football quarterback making a single pass.

He looks to the left
He looks to the right
And there in a golden ray of light
Is his open man
Just like he planned
The whole world is his tonight

I can listen to this great little record for hours. Now I want to hear some of their earlier work.

On Sunday, we went on a short seven mile hike in Monte Bello Open Preserve. My legs ached a little from the previous day, but walking relieved the soreness. We were spared from the possible rain and only had to contend with the mud and wind.

We made it to the peak of Black Mountain around one o'clock and stopped for lunch. From our vantage point, we could see San Francisco, San Jose and the billowing black smoke of the devastating Buchser Middle School fire in Santa Clara.

The next morning, there was a news report about two rescued hikers in local Alum Rock Park. Let's just say they aren't the sharpest tools in the shed.

I was buried in a pile of work when the phone suddenly rang. I was so out of it focused, the sound made me jump. My phone has one volume. Way too loud. I let the second ring echo through the office before picking up the receiver and holding it an inch away from my ear.

Me: Hello?
Mysterious female voice: Would you like some eye?
Me: What?
She: A slice of eye.
Me: Uhh...
She: It's very good.
Me: Really?
She: It'll fill you up.
Me: I see...
She: Just bring a dollar and try some pie.
Me: Oh, pie. Thanks. Maybe later.

With a sense of relief, I hung up the phone, no longer faced with the prospect of having to awkwardly turn down a tasty piece of eye. I just finished the slice of mixed berry pie and it was much better than what I had envisioned.

I moved to this little town nearly two years ago. Right next door is Henry Coe State Park. Two weeks ago, I finally hiked in it. To make up for lost time, I made a return trip on Saturday.

The first hike was supposed to be a six-mile loop, but turned out to be eight miles long. A mathematical mistake accounted for the two missing miles. We took the loop in a counterclockwise direction to finish the steepest section first, going downhill. We completed the inevitable climb through a series of switchbacks near the end.

The second hike was advertised as ten miles long, but became twelve after we got lost went exploring. We traveled in a clockwise loop, so the steep climb came last. It felt like we regained all 1,800 feet of elevation in the last mile or so. My legs weren't happy, but secretly, I didn't mind a good challenge.

On both hikes, we had to cross the Coyote Creek. The water level was low enough to balance atop slippery stones the first time. However, on Saturday, the creek had risen due to recent rains and had submerged the stones. Instead of turning back, we rolled up our pant legs, removed our footwear and waded through calf-deep water.

The good news is the freezing water quickly numbed my bare feet. The bad news is that as I stepped out of the water, a severe stinging sensation replaced the numbness. The good news is my socks never felt so warm once I put them back on.

When the sky is gray with gloom, the wind is blowing wildly through the valley and the rain is coming down so hard I can barely make out the red glow of brake lights on 101, it's the perfect time to listen to surf music by the Beach Boys. I love the contrast.

If the opportunity ever presents itself, I'd like to describe something as being "as sticky as a damp Post-it Note".

This photo was my second choice for the orange theme. Every year, my mom gives me Tigger or Goofy ornaments for the Christmas tree. I don't know how many I have, but it's slowly becoming the tree that Disney trimmed.

For those seeking motivation to write, let Calvin and Hobbes help...

Calvin: I used to hate writing assignments, but now I enjoy them. I realized that the purpose of writing is to inflate weak ideas, obscure poor reasoning and inhibit clarity. With a little practice, writing can be an intimidating and impenetrable fog! Want to see my book report?
Hobbes: "The Dynamics of Interbeing and Monological Imperatives in Dick and Jane: A Study in Psychic Transrelational Gender Modes."
Calvin: Academia, here I come!

The weekend is almost here. It's time to go outside and play.

Songs about shaking things have been around a long time. Elvis had "Shake a Hand" and Pam Tillis sang "Shake the Sugar Tree". The Beatles, U2 and others have sung about it, but shaking things that shouldn't be shaken seems to be a recent phenomenon.

A couple of people have mentioned that Polaroids need no shaking, contrary to what the catchy (and now overplayed) Outkast song recommends.

On Tuesday's episode of The Ellen DeGeneres Show, William Hung sang "Shake Your Bon Bon". It might have been better if his bon bon had remained unshaken.

Then, on yesterday's installment of Ellen, J.C. Chasez, of *NSYNC, sang about shaking soda. It won't take long for Coke and Pepsi to issue statements reminding people not to do that to their carbonated drinks.

While it's exciting to sing about things everybody knows they shouldn't shake (like their fists, my nerves, rattlesnakes...), dumb people will be tempted to try it and hurt themselves as a result. To prevent injury and potential lawsuits, here is a handy list of safe, shakable items songwriters can use in their music:

1. snow globes
2. spray cans
3. a stick
4. tambourines
5. a salt shaker (it's even in the name)
6. Gatorade (product placement is key in today's songs)
7. an Etch-a-Sketch (retro products are even better)
8. Shakira's hips
9. a leg (unless it isn't yours)
10. a present (unless it contains a rattlesnake)

This week's Theme Thursday challenge is Orange. A few weeks ago, I needed to clear my head, so I took a fifteen-minute walk around a nearby neighborhood and came across this house. The orange and blue shades are much more vibrant in person. Bland white, cream and tan houses dominated the rest of block. Thank goodness for individuality.

Song on my mind... "Everybody's Fool" by Evanescence

look here she comes now
bow down and stare in wonder
oh how we love you
no flaws when you're pretending
but now i know she

never was and never will be
you don't know how you've betrayed me
and somehow you've got everybody fooled

without the mask where will you hide
can't find yourself lost in your lie

i know the truth now
i know who you are
and i don't love you anymore

For your own amusement, imagine Barry White reading the title of this entry aloud.

The long weekend brought together two closely related days: Valentine's Day and President's Day. I hope that if you didn't have a sweetheart to shower with cards, roses or fragrant fruitcakes, you at least showed your favorite president some love. Calvin Coolidge, the 30th president, was the object of my affection this year.

The previous paragraph sounded much better in my head, where it should've stayed. Anyway, it has been a while since the last baker's dozen (one photo and twelve bullet items summarizing the weekend), so here it goes...

1. Hung out at the Bamboo Lounge on Friday.
2. Had breakfast, slept in and then had second breakfast on Saturday.
3. Fiddled with the journal's banner and colors. Brown is the new blue.
4. Watched Waiting For Guffman. "This Bulging River", a song included as a deleted scene, was hilarious.
5. Was mildly entertained by Johnny English.
6. Was surprised the Yankees acquired A-Rod.
7. Joined the family to celebrate my dad's birthday.
8. Learned how to play 501 on his new magnetic dartboard.
9. Treated him to dinner at Hukilau.
10. From our table, we caught a glimpse of a Day of Remembrance candlelight procession through San Jose's Japantown.
11. Had hot taro milk tea at Verde Tea & Espresso Bar. They had a S.H.E. karaoke DVD playing on repeat.
12. Monday's bowling scores: 133, 148, 156.

It's a well-known fact that most people look their age. Certain accepted characteristics typically indicate the amount of time one has spent on this planet. It doesn't require much effort to look one's age. It usually happens naturally.

However, some people spend a significant amount of time, money and energy trying to look anything but their age. Age cover-ups are so widespread, they've caused an entire industry to prosper. One wonders what would happen if people suddenly lost interest in cosmetics. Would thousands of lab animals find themselves abandoned and left to search for a new purpose in life?

Of course, some people look younger than they really are. They usually ascribe this to being blessed with good genes, which isn't the case at all. Their genes aren't good. They're simply lazy. Instead of going through the mundane routine of aging daily, their genes procrastinate until the process can't be put off any longer. One day they look like they're defying time and the next day the poor souls look like they've been hit by a truck hauling a ton of bricks (or a ton of hay). It's age evasion on a genetic level.

Unlike the genes of the abnormally youthful looking crowd, mine aren't slackers. To the contrary, they're overachievers who want to get as much aging done as quickly as possible. So far, they've succeeded in making me look at least ten years older than I actually am. Do I wish my genes were more indolent? Sure. I once suggested they take weekends and every other Monday off, but they refused on the grounds of some obscure union bylaw.

When people incorrectly guess my age, I don't get offended. I have no illusions about how old I look, but the experience is still uncomfortable. I would prefer it if people didn't look at me so closely. No good has ever come from doing so. For example, take last night...

Due to impatience and difficulties, I resorted to the back-up plan for posting my skydiving photos. Plan B entailed taking digitals of the real prints. I apologize for their poor quality. They actually came out better than I thought they would.

The photographer took all twenty-four shots during the free-fall, which lasted about sixty seconds or so. In the fourth picture, that goofy grin was plastered on my face the whole way down.

For the video, there were songs for the preparation and free-fall portions of the jump. I chose Eminem's "Lose Yourself" for the prep and P.O.D.'s "Alive" for the fall.

Everyday is a new day
I'm thankful for every breath I take
I won't take it for granted
So I learn from my mistakes

Sunshine upon my face
A new song for me to sing
Tell the world how I feel inside
Even though it might cost me everything

I feel so alive for the very first time
And I think I can fly

As I sat in traffic on Highway 87, I saw...

a burgundy electric scooter, which sat in
a black trailer that was hitched to
a speeding burgundy Camaro, which was driven by
an elderly woman with curly, gray hair and sleek, black sunglasses.

If only I had a camera with me. On the radio, Channel 104.9's morning DJ, Ayo, was saying, "Here's something from Three Days Grace. It's a Valentine's song."

Only when I stop to think about you, I know
Only when you stop to think about me, do you know

I hate everything about you
Why do I love you?
You hate everything about me
Why do you love me?

The song has been on high rotation for some time now, but it still manages to crack me up. It's great to sing along with while sitting in traffic. By the time it was finished, I was near my off-ramp and fully energized to take on the day.

I watched the finale of Ed, which ended with Ed and Carol's wedding in the bowling alley. From the way the story wrapped up, it felt like the end of the series, but others said it was only a season finale. To be honest, I was starting to lose interest in the show, but felt I owed it to myself to finish what I started watching four years ago.

Last episodes, especially series finales, are usually the big payoff for regular viewers, the reward for remaining loyal and sticking with a show through thick and thin. I always expect there to be sappy moments that allow us to say our good-byes to the characters we've grown to know and love, assured they will live happily ever after, at least until the ill-conceived reunion show airs. I also expect the writers to somehow transcend themselves and give the characters poignant and memorable lines.

The closest line I could find came when Ed, speaking at the reception, tried to put the wedding in perspective. I'm paraphrasing...

"Life is divided into two parts: what is and what should be. With a lot of effort, hard work and a little luck, there are times when the two parts touch... This is one of those times."

This is a bowling shoe. More specifically, it's my bowling shoe. When I was younger, I swore I would never own one. Now I own two. I also swore I would never own a minivan, so I'm a little scared.

I finally bought a pair because of a few reasons:

1. The cost of renting shoes adds up after a while.
2. People got my inner Monk paranoid about foot germs.
3. I like shoes I can actually untie.
4. Fluorescent green laces clash with my glasses.

On a whim, I went bowling last night, the second night in a row, but with a different crowd. I wanted more practice and needed some stress relief. We went to the Saratoga Lanes in San Jose. In the second game, I put down three consecutive strikes for my first turkey ever. I was so stoked, I forgot how to bowl after that. The evening's scores: 146, 142.

It's so clear and sunny today, which is a shame. This is the kind of weather best saved for the weekend and not wasted on a day when most of us are stuck in an office. The five-day forecast calls for rain this Friday, which got me thinking about my Top 5 favorite rain songs...

• "Words Like Rain" by Maya Marin
• "Only Happy When It Rains" by Garbage
• "Here Comes the Rain" by The Mavericks
• "Rain" by Dana Glover
• "Day Without Rain" by Enya

It was Friday and I was getting off work while there was light left in the sky. I had become so accustomed to leaving the office after sundown, the unusual sight made me pause on the balcony and stare at the colors that escaped the cover of dark clouds.

I thought about quoting Train's "When I Look To The Sky", but then I remembered a group I like better and a song that more closely suits my mood...

I can't stand to fly
I'm not that naive
I'm just out to find
The better part of me

I'm more than a bird, I'm more than a plane
More than some pretty face beside a train
It's not easy to be me

It was just after two in the morning. It would've been Sunday, except it was so early Sunday was still sleeping. But that's not important. What's important is that I was playing the PlayStation 2 for the first time in my life.

The unit seemed innocent enough initially, but it soon became a major challenge to turn on. When nothing happened at first, I bravely looked behind the entertainment system and strained to see through the cobweb of cables. Unable to make sense of the tangled mess, I declared everything plugged in and ready to go.

To play my old Nintendo (the only game machine I ever owned), I would simply turn the TV's power knob on, turn the channel knob to 3 and press the power button. We would be playing Tetris 2 within a matter of seconds. For the PS2, the process involved three remotes, fiddling with a VCR, adjusting an A/V receiver, perhaps taking a shot of tequila and almost forgetting to change the TV to channel 3.

If the main unit looked deceptively innocent, the controller looked outright evil. Unlike the primitive Nintendo controller, this one had more than a handful of buttons. It was as if the buttons had conquered a palm-sized piece of plastic and had settled every square inch of its surface. A finger couldn't move without pressing something.

Soul Calibur II was my introduction to the PlayStation universe. I had played the arcade versions of Street Fighter II and Mortal Kombat II (saw the movie, too) a lifetime ago, but they were nothing like this game. Not only could you choose which hot character you wanted, but you could also select what he or she wore. Being inexperienced, I expected my finely fashioned fighter to be quickly dispatched, but by using my panic-induced secret strategy of pressing every button simultaneously, she rocked. Powerful combinations are beautiful to watch, unless they're happening to you.

At some point, as I sank further into the couch and my fingers went numb, I briefly entertained the idea of buying a PS2. Goodness knows how much time I would spend on it, which is why I don't have one. It's hard enough finding time to fit in my Sims and SimCity 4 fix.

This year, I want to try as many different restaurants as possible, within reason and budget, of course. Growing up, my dining experience was rather limited. While my parents took the family out to dinner every Saturday, it was always to the same Chinese restaurant. They've been going there for eighteen years and usually order the same dishes. Every now and then, I suggest a random plate to mix things up, but my suggestions are regularly met with suspicious looks, the type people give when they think somebody is attempting to poison them.

So far, I've had a chance to try a couple of new restaurants. Last Thursday, we had dinner at Bombay Palace, an Indian restaurant in San Carlos. We shared orders of chicken, seafood and lamb curry. My contribution was palak paneer, a tasty spinach and cheese dish. We also had Taj Mahal lager beer, which went well with the spicy meal.

In Palo Alto, we went to the Mango Cafe, a little Caribbean restaurant, where I had the chicken pelau and tried a bit of goat, which tastes like beef. We also dined at the good, but rather expensive, Straits Cafe in Palo Alto. I don't remember what I ate there.

For lunch, we've been to Cafe Pomegranate twice. It’s a small restaurant across from San Jose State. They serve beef, chicken and vegetable kebabs and make wonderful pumpkin soup. The university's art department provides the cafe with rotating displays. The current one includes student interpretations of Da Vinci's Mona Lisa.

There are still many places I've yet to try in the S.F. Bay Area, but I'll get to them in due time. It would be nice to be an expert on local dining someday, so if someone asked me, "Where is a good place to eat around here." I could say something other than, "Well, I know of this really good Chinese restaurant."

This week has been crazy and I'm behind on many fronts, but before I completely forget, I wanted to note some highlights from this year's Super Bowl held in Houston. The New England Patriots surprised me by beating the Carolina Panthers. I was sure my prediction would jinx them. The world usually works that way. Thanks to my selective memory, I will remember the game fondly. Erased from my mind are any traces of erectile dysfunction commercials and halftime show stunts. I will recall:

• Josh Groban singing "You Raise Me Up" in tribute to the crew of the Columbia. The crew of the next space shuttle mission were present on the field.
• Beyonce's rousing rendition of the national anthem. She was lip-synching, but so was the orchestra.
• Both teams' stalwart defense through the first twenty-seven minutes of the game.
• New England's Troy Brown taking a heavy knee to the nose on an early punt return.
• Brady to Branch, Brady to Givvens and Delhomme to Smith. It makes sense to me today, but probably won't tomorrow.
• Adam Vinatieri missing the field goal on the first New England drive, but nailing the crucial one in the fourth quarter with nine seconds left to play.
• The priceless Simpsons Mastercard commercial and the trailers for Hidalgo, Van Helsing and Troy (Bloom alert).
• Tom Brady, the Patriots' quarterback and San Mateo native, winning his second Super Bowl ring and receiving his second MVP award. He's only twenty-six years old.

Ever since Whose Line Is It Anyway?, I've been a huge Wayne Brady fan. With the help of Laura Hall on piano, he could improvise a catchy and clever song based on audience suggestions. He excelled at musical games, like "Song Styles" and "Greatest Hits". He was so good, Colin Mochrie and Ryan Stiles would try to stump him with unusual song titles. One of my favorites was a country tune from Songs of the Bus Driver. It was simply called "Pfffft".

Last night's American Idol was reminiscent of Whose Line? As part of the audition process, the contestants were given six song titles to choose from and required to compose and perform an original song based on their selection. While I'm sure there were many good performances, the episode primarily highlighted the poor ones. It made me appreciate Brady's talent even more.

As a side note, if you watched last night, you probably saw Alan Ritchson claim he was fated to be the next idol because his name was in the show's title. Using his alphabetical acrobatics, I had a similar revelation. Follow closely. This gets tricky. If you remove mer, can, I and ol from American Idol, add a D and insert a v, the title also spells my name. I know. It blew me away, too. Obviously, I'm destined to be the next Clay Aiken. I mean, Ruben Studdard.

Song on my mind... "One Thing" by Finger Eleven

If I traded it all
If I gave it all away for one thing
Just for one thing
If I sorted it out
If I knew all about this one thing
Wouldn't that be something

I looked out at the clear, blue sky and smiled. Pressing my forehead against the window, I could see acres upon acres of farmland below, large fields of brown and yellow divided by a square grid of roads. The sight of Monterey Bay greeted me when I peered out the other side of the plane. I tried to identify the towns along the coast and peninsula, attempting to match tiny dots on the map with the clusters of little buildings. Seaside, Monterey, Pacific Grove? I leaned against the wall separating the main cabin from the cockpit and wondered why I wasn't feeling anxious. That couldn't be a good sign.

The next couple of minutes were a blur. I remember tightening my gloves, laughing at Jack's joke about seeing pink elephants and giving Laura's video camera two thumbs up. Then Jack and I, clipped together by sturdy metal hooks, walked in hunched unison towards Laura and the open hatch near the back of the plane.

Common sense told me to sit down, but determination and pride pushed me to the hatch and right out of the plane. My brain tried to assess the situation. I was 15,000 feet up in the air, free-falling at 120 mph with somebody attached to my back and somebody else filming it all.

Air and thoughts rushed through my head at an uncomfortable and exhilarating speed. Images of the Greatest American Hero (remember William Katt?) and Rocketeer flashed across my mind. After about a minute and without warning, I heard the parachute open and felt the yank of the harness as our rate of descent decreased.

The view was so incredible, I nearly forgot to breathe. It felt like I was sitting on the wing of a plane or swinging from a cloud. Jack said something to the effect of, "You'll never look at the sky or flying the same way again." He then instructed me to put a hand in each steering line. Pulling down with my right hand sent us into a downward clockwise spiral. He let me make myself dizzy for a while and then retook control to guide us to a gentle landing. I thanked him for safely returning me to the ground and thanked Laura for capturing every awkward move and embarrassing comment I made on tape.

It was only a tandem skydive, but I still can't believe I did it. So far, only the people I jumped with and the three of you who read this journal know about Saturday's adventure. I'm not ready or eager to relate the details to anyone else. Maybe later, but not right now.

(Note: I'll post a couple of pictures as soon as I develop the film on CD.)