March 2006 Archives

Just write. Just write. Just write.

I won't be blocked if I just write. Of course, is it really writing if I simply write the same two-word phrase over and over again?

This is the last day of March. That means a quarter of the year is history. That means if 2006 hasn't been the year that you've wanted it to be, you still have 275 days to do something about it. 275 days is plenty of time.

Of course, if 2006 has been everything you dreamed it would be, well, there's still 275 days remaining for something horrible to happen and screw it up. Hmm, let's not think about it that way. Let's be optimists and say that the great year you've been having so far has the potential to be even better.

Today is Cesar Chavez Day, a California state holiday that I'm not exactly making the most of as I sit here at home, drink coffee and write a journal entry in my pajamas.

According to the weather report, there should be wind and rain outside, but from what I can see out my front window, there is nothing but sun, white clouds and blue skies. It's extremely tempting to jump in the car, drive to the nearest park and hike around while the bad weather is at bay.

Of course, with my luck, by the time I changed out of my pajamas (which wouldn't happen until I realized I was still in them a mile or two from the house and drove back), the predicted storm would have arrived. Since I won't be made a fool of by the weather, I'll just stay inside and watch it not rain for the next few hours.

In two days, Daylight Saving Time begins. That means we will all lose an hour, which is really a shame because I planned to use that hour to invent a commuter vehicle that runs on used coffee grinds. There wouldn't be any exhaust fumes, only the smell of freshly brewed coffee. Filling up would be easy since there must be just as many Starbucks and coffee shops as there are gas stations. Plus, those that brew their own coffee would have enough grinds to get them to work after they enjoyed their morning cup of joe at home. In-vehicle coffeemakers would come standard, as would spill-proof mugs and adjustable cup holders. Automatic milk and sugar dispensers and stir sticks would be optional features. Unfortunately, none of this will ever exist because we'll be losing an hour in a couple days.

Baseball's Opening Day is just three days away. During what seems to be the longest off-season ever, I somehow managed to beat the baseball blues. I finished the tenth and final disc of Ken Burns' Baseball a little over a week ago. If I had a wish list, that documentary and his Civil War series would be on it.

To hold me over for the next few days, I should be receiving the DVD of Game 6 of the 2004 ALCS between the New York Yankees and the Boston Red Sox. It's the game where Boston tied the best-of-seven series after losing the first three. It's also the game with Schilling's bloody sock and A-Rod's blatant ball-slapping stunt.

The disc is part of The Boston Red Sox 2004 World Series Collector's Edition, a 12-DVD set that I initially derided, but gradually desired thanks to something called uncontrollable curiosity. To avoid appearing obsessed with baseball or the Red Sox, I only put two of the discs in my queue (Games 6 and 7 of the ALCS).

Okay, that's about it for now. The sky is starting to look more overcast. Time to finish the last of the coffee, change into more suitable attire and see what I can do with the day before the rain comes.

For the last few days, there have been numerous immigration-related protests and rallies across the country. Most, like the massive one in Los Angeles, have been peaceful and effective. A few have been less so, like the one in nearby Watsonville, where students from two high schools converged on an overpass and then ran across Highway 1, disrupting traffic, when ordered to disperse.

In San Jose, just outside of the office, students staged demonstrations for three days, waving Mexican flags and signs declaring, "No on HR 4437". (Technically, the signs should have read "Nay on HR 4437", but I digress.)

If the demonstrators were hoping to raise awareness on the issue, they succeeded. It was difficult not to be aware of them with all of the honking and high-pitched cheering. To clarify, the passing cars and eighteen-wheelers were honking, not the students.

Since I couldn't concentrate on my work, I decided to do a little research and found the full text of the legislation on the LIbrary of Congress website. It was so tightly wound in legalese that it was practically impossible to extract any meaning from it. I eventually resorted to reading the summary"> instead.

On Monday, I listened to C-Span's stream of the Senate Judiciary Committee hearing on the bill. Not only did I find it enlightening, but also entertaining as Senators worked through various amendments. I never realized legislation required so much bickering and sarcasm.

Listening to C-Span had two unexpected benefits:

1. It thoroughly drowned out the distracting sounds of honking and cheering coming from outside.
2. It increased my work productivity. I never thought I would say this, but hearing the voices of Ted Kennedy and Lindsey Graham in the background was somewhat soothing and actually helped me focus.

Later that night, I watched a segment about immigration reform on The NewsHour with Jim Lehrer. They were interviewing two spokespeople representing the opposite sides of the debate. It was informative, but also hilarious because of how each side referred to the people who unlawfully enter the country. One consistently called them illegal aliens. The other adamantly referred to them as undocumented workers.

If the two of them were to discuss people who robbed banks, it wouldn't surprise me if one called them terrorists and the other called them undocumented customers.

The use of such inflammatory or euphemistic language made it sound as though they were talking about two entirely different populations. I also think it clouded the issue and weakened their arguments.

The immigration reform bill, along with its various amendments, is supposed to go before the full Senate this week, once the senators finish whatever they're doing on lobbying reform. It should be interesting to see if the Senate passes the proposal. It should be even more interesting to see how they and the House of Representatives reconcile their respective plans if it passes. After all is said and done, I wonder if an immigration overhaul will really happen at all.

Song on my mind... "Bad Day" by Daniel Powter (note: song plays automatically)

Well you need a blue-sky holiday
The point is they laugh at what you say
And I don't need no carryin' on

You had a bad day
You're taking one down
You sing a sad song just to turn it around
You say you don't know
You tell me don't lie
You work at a smile and you go for a ride
You had a bad day
The camera don't lie
You're coming back down and you really don't mind
You had a bad day

On Sunday, I was listening to the radio and heard this song for the first time. When it finished, I switched stations and heard it again. It grew on me right away and brought a smile to my face. With today being another gray-sky day, the latest in a gray-sky month, Powter's uplifting melody is the perfect blue-sky holiday.

The hills are so green. They are a sight I could admire for hours, maybe even for days. I often wish they would stay green throughout the year. I imagine it won't be long before they are brown once more.

Okay, I just spent half of my train ride (a.k.a. writing time) staring at the hills, when what I meant to do was recount some of the highlights of this three-day weekend.

This weekend, I

> finished The Historian. Because of this lengthy book, I fell off of my book-a-week pace, but it was worth it. The story involved many train rides across Europe and visits to old monasteries and libraries. It was an enjoyable piece of historical fiction that blended the Dracula of history (Vlad Tepes III or Vlad the Impaler) with the Dracula of myth (Stoker's vampire). I am a sucker for books with maps, so I was hooked once I spied the map of Cold War Europe on the inside cover.

> beheld, but did not hold a twenty-six-hour-old baby. As babies go, she is tiny and extremely cute. Of course, now that she's four times as old as when I first saw her, I wonder how much she's grown. While she appeared alert and observant in between her naps, I doubt she remembers who I am. Such is my life.

> watched the pilot of MacGyver on DVD. When it premiered on television, back in 1985, I thought it was one of the coolest shows on the air. Twenty-one years later, it seems a little more corny than cool, but I got a good laugh from watching it. If one were to watch it with a critical eye, one could point out many flaws, but that would ruin the fun of the show.

Random bit of trivia: The baby and MacGyver were both born on March 23rd.

Another random bit of trivia: Her parents did not name her Angus. How corny cool would that have been if they had?

> ran three miles. This is only significant because I have been extremely bad about running. It had been quite a while since I last run three miles and my legs are feeling it today. All it means is that I need to do it more often and regain some of that lost endurance.

The amount of homework I'm assigned each week is laughable. There is so little to do that if I were so inclined, I could finish it either during class or later the same night. My problem is that I'm not inclined at all. Instead, I first look at the assignment about two hours before class. Then I try to plow through it. It's all rather silly and sad. What's scary is that I'm one of the first to finish. What's scarier is that it's a class about scheduling.

The entry title refers to the unwanted vocabulary word I learned from watching last night's American Idol.

I never knew there was a name for Barry Manilow fans. Actually, I never knew there were Manilow fans. I wish I still didn't know. But since I can't un-know it, my only consolation is knowing that you now know it, too.

Because he loves Idol and has a big heart, Barry came on the show to help the remaining eleven contestants with their song arrangements and vocals. With him there, one would think the hopefuls would sing songs every Fanilow loves, but that wasn't the case (which made me sad because I hadn't heard "Mandy" in such a long time).

Instead, they sang songs from the 50s. Luckily, Manilow's latest album just happens to feature him singing standards from that very decade. Talk about serendipity.

Based on how I liked their performances, I've divided the contestants into three groups:

The Top Four: (my choices for the Final Four)
Chris Daughtry, Mandisa, Katharine McPhee, Elliott Yamin

(A quick aside: Daughtry covered Johnny Cash's "I Walk The Line". He again received praise from the judges for "making it his own". According to M, "his own" sounds eerily similar to Live's cover of the Cash classic when they made it their own.)

The Middle Four:
Paris Bennett, Taylor "Silver Fox" Hicks, Kellie Pickler, Ace Young

The Bottom Three:
Kevin "Chicken Little" Covais, Bucky Covington, Lisa Tucker

My guess is that Lisa will go home tonight, which means one more week of The Chicken Little, Silver Fox and Bucky Show.

I missed the final game of the World Baseball Classic last night, but I didn't fret because I knew I could listen to the archived webcast of the game while I worked today (multitasking is a wonderful thing). The trick was to avoid hearing the results before hearing the game, which was surprisingly easy to do because sportscasters were more interested in reporting on Paul Tagliabue (his new title is Former NFL Commissioner), Terrell Owens (he's a Dallas problem now) and March Madness (an annual event involving brackets, betting and something called basketball).

You should probably avert your eyes now, if you:

• plan to listen to all four hours of the game on your own and don't want to read the results;
• don't want to read about baseball;
• need practice averting your eyes.

If you're still reading this, then I assume you are:

• curious to know the results;
• interested in reading about baseball;
• really, really bored;
• incapable of averting your eyes.

Where was I? Oh, yes. I'm elated that Japan won. I had an inkling they would, especially after Cuba made two pitching changes and Japan scored four runs in the top of the first inning. Cuba's starter threw 24 pitches, recorded one out and loaded the bases before the manager pulled him. Before the game ended, eight pitchers had taken the mound for Team Cuba.

Japan won by playing "small ball", a term I loathe for a style of baseball I love. "Small ball" refers to the offense overwhelming the opposition with a string of walks, bunts, singles, stolen bases, double steals, hit-and-runs, run-and-hits and squeeze plays to score runs.

While the small ball requires contributions from many players to succeed, the two that stand out most in my mind are Ichiro Suzuki and Nobuhiko Matsunaka. The two of them accounted for five of Japan's ten hits and six of the team's ten runs.

Just so I have it written somewhere, the final score was Japan 10, Cuba 6.

The next WBC (if there is a next one) will be in 2009. I hope more nations will participate. I also hope the organizers will improve the tournament and develop, amongst other things, a better round robin system that won't rely on complicated (and convoluted) rules to settle ties.

The regular season begins in less than twelve days. I'm looking forward to it.

Japan and Cuba will be squaring off in the World Baseball Classic final tonight. I won't be able to watch it, but I'm hoping to listen to part of the game (if not all of it) on the radio or the web when I get home.

I was actually able to see the second semifinal match between Japan and Korea on Saturday. Coming into it, Korea had beaten Japan in both of their previous encounters. In fact, Korea was undefeated in the Classic entering the game. Those two bits of information gave me hope that Japan would win.

There are times in baseball when the odds of something happening are so low that the chances of it actually happening grow.

That's why it didn't come as too much of a surprise that Japan ended up beating Korea by a score of 6-0, which brightened my weekend because the Dominican Republic, the other team I predicted would be in the finals, lost to Cuba earlier in the day.

I'm rooting for Japan to take the title. I admire their style of play. I like their undisguised determination to put the ball in play every time they come to the plate and the hustle they display on the base paths. It's such a change from the more complacent playing style some of our big league stars show.

Tonight, we'll see it's enough to help Japan defeat Cuba.

"One of these days, Barry Bonds will look in the mirror and see what the rest of us see. Nothing. None of this matters anymore. He can't undo the lies, the injections, the arrogance, everything that follows him today and tomorrow and beyond. The home runs he hits will be ignored, the records he sets empty. To the baseball world, Bonds is dead. And, much like Bruce Willis' character in The Sixth Sense, he's the only one who doesn't realize it."

Jeff Passan's column, "The Ghost of Barry Bonds", caught my eye today. It perfectly captured my feelings about Bonds. Anything the man accomplishes now seems pointless. If the accusations are true and I don't see how they can't be, then everything since 1999 has been a lie.

I'm angry at myself for never taking the allegations about Bonds seriously. I glossed over them and dismissed them as accusations by people who were jealous or unhappy with his unfriendly attitude. I had a bad case of denial.

My anger stems from a feeling of betrayal. I feel betrayed as a fan of Bonds, as a fan of the Giants and as a fan of baseball.

There have been many players who have admitted to using steroids and while I felt betrayed then, it doesn't compare to how I feel now. Perhaps if Bonds had been a nobody before he took steroids, I wouldn't feel so strongly. Maybe if he was on another team, I wouldn't feel as bad. But he was already a hero, and a hometown hero at that.

What seems to make it worse is that before he took any steroids, many "experts" and fans already considered him one of the best players in the history of the game. He could hit for average and power. He had speed on the bases and in the field.

Yet everything he has accomplished with his considerable talents seems to matter very little now. To be melodramatic, everything that should have been a source of pride is now a source of shame.

On top of that, what he has done can't be undone. It's impossible to untangle his statistics from those of others to correct or erase them. The only solution left is damage control, which means either firing Bonds or forcing him to retire.

Of course, the Giants don't intend to take either action. Instead, they announced that they will throw a celebration when Bonds hits home run number 715. Passan likens it to "Enron throwing a birthday bash for Ken Lay". I agree. It seems that the front office has a worse case of denial than I did.

I believe the sooner the Giants and Bonds split, the better it will be for the fans, the team and the game.

I had seen the sign on Saturday advertising it, but had casually forgotten about it. Then a coworker mentioned in passing this morning and it was all I could think about. It, by the way, was the Starbucks Coffee Break.

I don't know if every Starbucks store is participating, but the one in downtown San Jose, across from Camera 12, was offering complimentary tall coffee between ten and noon this morning as part of its Coffee Break.

A few minutes before noon, I ducked out and walked briskly over to the store. I had promised myself I would be brave and only ask for the free cup of coffee and nothing else. Whenever places have promotions like this, I have a tendency to feel guilty and end up buying something to assuage my guilt.

I told myself repeatedly, "Ask only for the coffee. Only the coffee." But by the time I reached the counter, I was starting to lose my resolve.

"May I have a complimentary cup of coffee and..." (Going)

"And..." (Going)

"A maple oat nut scone, please?" (Gone)

Fortunately, my feeling of guilt only cost me $1.85, which isn't all that bad considering how many other items were available that also weren't free. To its credit, the maple oat nut scone went very well with the coffee.

Cinequest finished on Sunday. For devoted movie enthusiasts, the film festival was a twelve-day cinematic excursion. For me, it was the traveling equivalent of two weekend getaways bridged by a long stay in Workland.

I don't know how some of the more avid film fanatics were able to do it. Most of their waking hours were spent sitting in theaters, watching movie after movie, immersing themselves in film. I like movies well enough, but I don't think I would have the stamina. A day of movies? Perhaps. Twelve days of movies? I'm thinking overdose.

As a movie experience, this year's festival was so-so. That probably had more to do with the movies I chose to see than with the movies actually offered. If I were to rank the four I saw from most to least favorite, this is how the list would look:

• An Enemy of the People
• Clear Cut
• Loop
• Frozen Land

An Enemy of the People was an adaptation of an Ibsen play of the same name. Loyalty was one of the film's major themes - loyalty to self, loyalty to family and loyalty to community. In the story, the main character tries to stay true to all three, but events within and beyond his control ultimately force him to choose one above the rest. It was a well-paced, well-acted film. It was also my finale for this year's Cinequest, which was good because it would have sucked to end on a movie I disliked.

As a side note, when I first went through the festival guide, I hadn't set out to watch movies from one particular country over another, but as it turned out, two of the four films I saw were from Norway (Enemy and Loop). What's scary is that it should have been three, but I accidentally switched the plots in my head between Frozen Land and a film called Kissed by Winter. Frozen Land, by the way, is from Finland, so I apparently had an unconscious craving for Scandinavian flicks this year.

As a volunteer experience, this year's festival was great. I took shifts both weekends, working as a greeter, an usher and a ticket agent. Of the three, selling tickets in the box office was the most fun.

The box office felt like the hub of activity. From there, I could gain a sense of the festival as a whole, which was important to me. The best times corresponded with the busiest (and most stressful) times, when movies were showing on all screens and lines of moviegoers materialized out of nowhere. If I volunteer next year (and I definitely hope to), the box office will be my first choice.

Whenever we attend a symphony concert in San Francisco, we usually arrive in the city around thirty minutes before the show. It allows us just enough time to park the car, walk to the music hall and find our seats. It also tends to stress me out since I end up feeling rushed. It's a silly thing to stress about, but it's true. Anyway, I promised myself the next time we went to the symphony that we would do something different. We would arrive early.

The next time turned out to be last Friday. To ensure we had plenty of time to spare before the 6:30 concert, we arrived in the city nearly two hours beforehand. I was so proud of myself that I would have been content to stand in front of Davies Symphony Hall for an hour or so, marveling at how early we were, but M thought we might make better use of our time finding somewhere to eat.

Fortunately, I had already scouted out a dining possibility on the web, so we didn't have to wander aimlessly for food. Instead, we ventured two blocks west of Davies to a little Italian restaurant called Caffe Delle Stelle.

When we reached it, there was already a line of five or six patrons waiting for the doors to open. Promptly at 5:00, they did. Although we didn't have reservations, we were seated, something I'm most thankful for since Plan B involved searching for a Burger King on Market Street. "It's still early enough in the evening," the host said before she showed us to our table.

The food and service at Caffe Delle Stelle were excellent. The staff was quick, but courteous, and obviously accustomed to the symphony-dining crowd. We were in and out of there within an hour without ever feeling hurried. Afterwards, we strolled over to the music hall.

The evening's program was part of San Francisco Symphony's Friday 6.5 Series. It featured Haydn's The Storm, his Symphony No. 96 (Miracle) and Mozart's Coronation Mass. They are two of my favorite composers, so their pairing was perfect.

What made the performance even better was that Martin Haselböck, the conductor, gave a short introduction before each piece, offering insights about the music and the composers. At one point, he joked that in Mozart's day, people loved music so much that they didn't attend services for the sermon, but for the music the composer wrote for the services.

He also mentioned Vienna a number of times, which made me long to visit it (and Salzburg) again. He said the city had 52 orchestras and that one could attend a concert every night of the week if he or she wanted. My biggest regret was never attending a symphony performance while we were in Austria. I hope to return to correct that one day, hopefully with an evening of Haydn and Mozart.

For the last six weeks, I've been taking two night classes as part of a professional development program. One is about blueprint reading and cost estimating. The other one delves into construction scheduling. Both classes cover areas that I already know, but both are required to earn a certificate in construction management, which was my original plan.

After six weeks, I can tell you that the program isn't what I thought it would be and that has thrown a monkey wrench in the plan. The program was promoted as being geared towards engineers and other design professionals, complete with continuing education units. In truth, the program is really geared towards everyday people looking to change careers. In other words, it's perfect for folks seeking something different than a dot com existence, but not suited for folks like me.

I entered the program because the company recently encouraged its employees to craft and pursue professional development plans. The certificate program was to be a compromise between a graduate program and a couch potato program. I understand now that it was a way for me to say I was doing something without having to truly make a commitment or exert myself.

But enduring six weeks of this compromise has made me realize that I don't want to compromise. If I'm going to do something, I want do something that is difficult and challenging, that will require hard work and potential agony, so that I'll learn and benefit from the experience.

The certificate program won't do that. Sure, it will refresh my memory and possibly teach me a thing or two, but I want more than that. So, now what? What's the new plan? Here's what I propose:

• I will finish the current classes. It means six or seven more weeks of suffering, but I've already paid for it and there's no chance of a refund.
• This month, I will explore my options with regards to different graduate engineering degrees. I will also remember to order copies of my transcripts.
• Before the end of April, I will submit my application to university for a graduate program.

I wish I could pat myself on the back for creating this new plan, but all I can do is keep kicking myself for dreaming up the old plan in the first place.

"Before you love your team, you love your country."

That is one of the taglines Major League Baseball is using to promote its inaugural World Baseball Classic (WBC). Something about it rubs me the wrong way. I don't think falls in line with the published purpose of the WBC...

"The World Baseball Classic was created to provide a platform that will increase worldwide exposure of the game of baseball and further promote grassroots development in traditional and non-traditional baseball nations. The tournament's primary objectives are to increase global interest and introduce new fans and players to the game. The World Baseball Classic acknowledges and pays tribute to the tremendous growth and internationalization of the game."

The WBC should be a celebration of baseball, not a celebration of national pride. There has already been too much of that this year. The world recently had two weeks of flag waving thanks to the Olympics and many weeks of flag burning thanks to protests over cartoons. The organizers should ditch the tagline and come up with something better.

While I haven't been following the WBC closely, I know that Japan and Korea advanced to Round 2 from Group A. There are four groups, each consisting four teams. The other three groups - creatively named B, C and D - began play yesterday.

I know I'm a few days behind, but here are my predictions of how the Classic will play out. Those advancing to the next round will be:

• Group A: Japan and Korea (It already happened, but I would have predicted it. Really!)
• Group B: United States and Canada
• Group C: Puerto Rico and Cuba
• Group D: Dominican Republic and Venezuela

I expect Japan, United States, Cuba and Dominican Republic to reach the semi-finals. Japan will then top the USA and the Dominican Republic will clobber Cuba to reach the last round. In the end, Japan will claim the first WBC title.

If I had my way, it would be Canada and the Netherlands vying for the championship. Why? Because I think baseball needs a boost north of the border. When the Expos left Montreal, the sport suffered a setback in Canada. As for the Netherlands, well, I'd like to see them in the finals because they are major underdogs in a group dominated by a trio of South American countries.

Of course, it would be humorous if Game of Shadows, the new book about Bonds and steroids, ends up overshadowing everything, from the WBC to Spring Training.

"Tickets, please. Please have your tickets ready," says the conductor as he enters the car.

A frenzy of rustling and unzipping ensues as passengers move to comply. I stop whatever I'm doing, reach into the pouch of my backpack and pull out my ticket.

As the conductor inches down the aisle, he checks each and every passenger, making sure the time stamp is correct, making sure the zones are correct, making sure people aren't hiding under seats to avoid his thorough inspection.

As he nears, I hold up my ticket proudly and wait for validation, taking care that my fingers aren't hiding any pertinent information. But when he reaches my seat, he doesn't validate my ticket. He doesn't even see me. His gaze simply moves from the row before me to the row after me. I'm left sitting there looking dumbfounded, still holding up my ticket and wondering what just happened.

I consider speaking up to ask him to check my ticket, but hold back out of fear of seeming needy. Worse, though, I hold back out of fear that I'll be ignored, which will only confirm my invisibility.

Instead, I slip the ticket into my backpack, close the entry I'm writing and write the one you just read.

Song on my mind... "The New Year" by Death Cab for Cutie

I wish the world was flat like the old days
And I could travel just by folding a map
No more airplanes or speed trains or freeway
There'd be no distance that could hold us back

Okay, I know it's March, but in my defense, this song has been playing in my head (not continuously) since the start of the new year when I first listened to it.

Write what you know. It's the one piece of advice every aspiring writer learns. That means if you're Raechel Ray, you write about cooking. If you're Bode Miller, you write about winning Olympic medals partying. And if you're me, you write about missing the train, which, by the way, is way cooler than cooking or partying.

If I ever write a series of novels, every adventure will begin with the main character missing some form of public transportation. Of course, this statement is based on the bold assumption that I'll write X number of novels where X is an integer greater than zero.

As I've learned from missing many trains and buses, strange things happen during those unexpected fifteen minutes of free time before the next train or bus arrives. To support this statement, I offer the following, rather lengthy episode as evidence...