Fa,lalalalala...latte

"Non-fat, half-caff, extra hot, extra foamy grande macchiatto... and his order."

Pantagraph reports an incident of holiday spirit-sharing at a local Starbucks in Bloomington-Normal, Illinois. The article reports that as the customers pulled up the drive-thru window, they have been told that whatever their coffee order is, it has been paid for. Between 9am to 12:57pm, 142 people had "paid it forward" and spread kindness over java.

Shame on that scrooge who placed an order at 12:58pm.

Christmas is not lost in retail madness, apparently. Kindness flourished in that part of town even for only a few hours - a few hours more than what we sometimes care to give.

The post received tons of comments... and I particularly liked this one. (Because it sounded like something I could have written)

Cousin Eddie wrote on December 14, 2006 2:28 PM:
"What a nice town we live in! Any chance of that happening at Best Buy if I attempt to buy a 60" plasma flat-panel TV? I'll be there this afternoon if anyone feels like throwing a little Christmas spirit my way."

Image credit: Slate.com

For Chester (1993-2006)

There were more than just two siblings in the Madamba household. About thirteen years ago, there was another one to join the already brewing insanity between those crazy sisters. Not another daughter for the parental units, but a male with distinguishing spots - a bit on the hairy side. We then welcomed bright-eyed, mixed-breed pup (Japanese Spitz and a Philippine native breed) onto our realm and named him Chester.

His fur is predominantly white, as is typical of Spitz breed, save for a brown spot by the right eye (akin to a pirate) and a bigger one by the arch of his back (like a saddle). Grew up to be very energetic and healthy. Truly have been a loyal addition to our family. My only regret is that I didn't get to be as close as I could to him because he primarily stayed outside the house (Yes, we pimped his crib, aka "the guest house") and save for 3 years - I was already living abroad. Some few moments when I wasn't too happy with him: On nights/early mornings as a teenager, creeping back to the house in the hopes of not waking up anyone at 4am. At the slightest creak of the gate, Chester starts to bark. I run towards him and try quiet him down. Goshdarnit, too late. My parent's bedroom light turns on.

He could have very well been our brother - we all regarded him as that other sibling. A side joke between my sister and I: Dad cared for Chester a lot, special treatment, doggie bag treats etc. At the time when had this insatiable urge to learn to drive, only to be met with resistance, we surmised that it won't be to far out of an idea if Chester was given the go-signal for a driver's license before we did.

Age got a hold of him. I saw it the last time I visited home (2004): Poor eyesight, tumors behind his ears, arthritis - it was all still Chester, but considerably calmer. He held on for over two more years after that until mom recently shared the news that he passed away.

Seeing how he was thirteen years ago as a furry ball of fire that never tired, it still feels weird that Chester's life came full-circle within our lifetime. It never is easy to experience something ending , which is the nature of life anyway, even in measurement of dog years.

No fries (donuts, fried chicken, cookies...) for you!

MSNBC reports today that the transfat ban was was passed in the Big Apple.

By July of 2008, McDonalds, TacoBell, Uncle Vinny's Pizzeria, and even Grey Papaya, amongst the long list of food establishments in the city, will be mandated to eliminate the use of frying oils with trans fat content.

I am a non-discriminatory foodie; I can enjoy a tasty Angus filet Au jus, while also finding satisfaction in a post-ballgame sausage/sauerkraut sandwich. However, I have been pegged on some occasions as an exercise nut, which is probably stemming from the guilt of being a foodie. Therefore, I commend New York as it shapes itself on its way to being the healthiest city in the United States (Sperling's Best Places reports San Jose, CA to currently have that distinction. Shame, shame... New York City is at #8 for cities with the lowest health scores). Eat more of that (E-coli safe) spinach! Think twice about munching on those Burger King Fries! Stop friends looking at your breakfast from saying "Man! Would you like some bagel with that cream cheese?"

Health is one great reason (if not the only one) this had been passed as it did. While that truth stands, any city-dweller in love with New York, or even any one who had been fortunate to experience the city in one way or another must be wondering: What is this to do to the culture? Forget the McHuge food chains - how is this dramatically going to impact smaller establishments, or street vendors that have - in more ways than Zagat would admit, toiled to earn their place in the New York gastronomic landscape?

If they can make it there, they'll make it anywhere. Chain reaction is inevitable. Should this go by way of the smoking ban trail, I'm putting money on the educated guess that some cities in California and Massachusetts are already looking into the possibility of joining imitation nation.

Turn, turn, turn...

BusinessWeek reports - more like, asks the question: Is the Philippines finally turning around?

So.... is it?

Assif Shameen outlines the improvements seen from the past years, straddled by the conflicts and challenges to the administration. The deficits are on its way to being eliminated, albeit the homeland is in dire need of moving at pace with our Asian neighbors. Overseas remittances continue to fuel economic growth to the projected tune of $12.3 billion dollars in 2006, but we still have to be mindful of this "brain drain dilemma", where some of our most talented workers seek better opportunities outside our borders - for due reason.

Give me something to believe in. I read this somewhat pleased, but still not quite at ease - left eyebrow raised. Could it really be? Guarded as I am with this twinkle of good news... this brings forth some pride. Some hope. Some motivation for myself to stop overly complaining about how Manila is not what it is without the greed, the corruption, and the wide gap brought forth by our non-existent middle class. I have said before, without much conviction, there is hope for the Philippines yet.

Maybe there is.

Just when I have started to get into the minute of zen - it was but a fleeting moment. In scrolling down to the comments, a certain expat laments:

Nov 27, 2006 3:32 PM GMT
This writer has obviously not spent much time in the Philippines. Nice people, corrupt and inept government. There has been some slight improvement in roads and internet availability but it is a badly managed country where the best opportunity is as an overseas worker. That being said, Arroyo is better than Estrada and Marcos, but Manila is light years behind Thailand, Malaysia, Singapore, China or even India. Don't invest there. There's a joke over there among expats: "Welcome to the Philippines, Slow Down!" Jeff Kassel Makati, Philippines

I had to take a deep breath. Closed my eyes, and repeated the mental mantra several times, "Each one to his/her own opinion... each one to..."

On that note, I just might post under a pseudonym. (Interesante - I can even turn this into a search engine results experiment.) Kassel and ignorami can express their opinions. So can I. I just might conjure up enough strength soon to click Submit Comment on what I have to say:

Even the coldest of skeptics need something to believe in. Like most Filipinos, my concept of home is not complete without seeing the humor in how sad our political system is. Admittedly, I shake my head in disbelief at how the Philippines find herself in the direst of economic and social situations. And yet, featured articles such as this appease me (while still guarded) and lead me to believe that maybe there is hope. Therefore, when I read comments such as the ones posted by Kassel, I struggle to put the infuriation aside and beg to ask, “We welcomed you to our country, dear sir. Despite such opinions, surely there is something keeping you? And when you say ‘…best opportunity is as an overseas worker’ with a questionable tone, do you propose we adopt a model akin to the flawed social welfare system in the US instead?” Miles to go before improvement – yes, but my people are a resourceful and resilient lot. I agree with Carl: Kassel and other critics, move a few miles out of your comfortable upscale addresses and send us a postcard from where you end up in. We don’t care about the weather, but do tell on how you’re liking the drastic change in perspective.

Slow news day?

From Sunday through today, I'd like to believe there were more substantial things to discuss than a wedding of (Hollywood personalities, yes, but still...) mere mortals. Isn't there a war going on? Didn't the Democrats take the power back? Isn't John Kerry seriously considering another shot at the Presidential Democratic nomination and botched a joke in the process? L. Ron Hubbard couldn't be any prouder than this day, as Xenu nods in approval.

USA Today
BRACCIANO, Italy — After pulling off their fairy-tale wedding in a castle outside Rome Saturday, Tom Cruise and Katie Holmes have moved on to their honeymoon destination.

Boston Herald
BRACCIANO, Italy - In the end, Tom Cruise and Katie Holmes’ “wedding of the year” in this lakeside Italian town gave little satisfaction to fans closest to it.

CBS
(AP) In the end, Tom Cruise and Katie Holmes' "wedding of the year" in the lakeside Italian town of Bracciano gave little satisfaction to those closest to it.

The Australian
HOLLYWOOD'S most hyped marriage of the year turned out to be an anti-climax.

The Standard, Hong Kong
Officially, they got married in Los Angeles, but the spectacle of Tom Cruise and Katie Holmes' wedding was in Bracciano, Italy...

But whoa... Now, this is a disappointment. Of all news avenues, my main source of pure Tom Cruise nuttydom has not updated any articles since September 6th! Sacrilege... just plain wrong!
TomCruiseIsNuts.com
(No news on the fairy tale wedding in Bracciano, Italy)



Get to it, team. Every news joint from here to Timbuktu were on it like flies to a - well, you know. Don't worry about covering Kissinger's validation of the failing Iraq war, surely that will get out eventually.

One Hundred Years too long

I finally finished it. After four months, and several books read in between, I was able to put down this Gabriel Garcia Marquez masterpiece, One Hundred Years of Solitude.

What I am to write here would sound like a cross between an amateur and an eighth-grader having a hissy fit about a book report on the novel. (What's the point? It has gotten enough raves and accolades anyway - mine won't matter.) Not going to a lie, it was an interestingly hard read. I struggled through some chapters where names, events and timelines were all in a blur. No conversations - pure narrative straight through. Oh, how could the text have turned around if that part towards the end, the one involving "peach jam" had featured actual exchange of words. Or other non-verbal utterances.

On several occasions I had been tempted to rip off the page of the family tree and just tape it near wherever I'll read. Keeping up with the family members and who-is-named-what is part of the experience. Everyone is either named Arcadio, Aureliano, or Remedios... how about including a Miguel, Carlos, Fidel or Consuelo in there? Would have been easier than trying to figure out if the one coming home to Macondo this time around is Jose Arcadio #2 or number #57. The story of the family and the mythical town is mesmerizing indeed, with a scenario involving the fabled parchments towards the end, putting logic in a constant struggle within the personal stories: The meaning of said parchment and the prophecies outlined came full-circle.

On that note, I am off to start Tolstoy's War and Peace.

Todo Sobre Mi Madre

She tells me that I should call more often... I tell her I have always had an odd way of showing how I miss her. I remind her of how she tormented me with stiff-lipped sermons and pinched arms when I was a stubborn kid; She completely denies having done a ghastly disciplinary deed. I love her - for all that and everything else.

Gotta love birthdays... This day is all about my mother.

Broiling in Bikram

In the background: Image of Yourself, by Adam Ant (Wonderful album)

I never thought I would get to try it. Imagine being in Las Vegas. On a heatwave. Dry air in a room that felt like 120 degrees. You generate sweat at 2 gallons per minute...

Now do an eagle pose.

I have walked by Funky Door Yoga (Pine @ Bush) on numerous occasions, several of which I seriously considered just walking in and signing up. The facility is clean, and the mix of colors on the main areas and bathrooms complement the yoga caricatures on display - giving the location a relaxed vibe. Friendly-folk staffed at that location were kind to newbies. I was warned that it was going to be toasty in that room - they did not lie (It felt like I was drinking lukewarm tea out of my nalgene bottle halfway through). The instructor was engaging, and she had that good balance of not being too ohm-zen(ish) in walking us through the poses, without sounding short of a drill sergeant either. Compared to the classes offered in the gym, the crowd here is more in-tuned with the practice.

In Hatha and Ashtanga Yoga gym classes, I was the one in the back that would go "thump!" while I struggle to do the crow. I will still probably be royally sucking at the poses until I fully get this into my system. Yoga, in general, initially gave me the impression that no "work" was being done with the sessions. It humbled me. Bikram Yoga, on the other hand, is out to get me schooled.

The Embarcadero Route

It can't be. 5.25 miles... really?

I would go for a run after work, every other day - at the most (I used to go everyday by the Charles.... Slacking, I know). Got into a conversation earlier about running routes and upcoming races. I was asked how many miles do I usually run when I do get to go out at night.

"3 miles. I think. 475 Brannan to the end, Embarcadero down near ferry building... detour to Pier 14 (?), back to Embarcadero to Pier 39.. back to Brannan."

I got doubtful looks. Fine. Checked www.mapmyrun.com (Powered by Google. What isn't nowadays?)


If the measurements here are correct, then yes - over 5 miles each time. Some might scoff at this, but boo on them. Awesome - just when I was starting to think my endurance and motivation for a short 3 miler was on the decline.

(Now if I could just go further to Fisherman's Wharf without my knees buckling, that would be great.)

Que?

Adrants reports a grammar correction request to one of Infiniti's (Canada) ads. You say toma-to I say toma-toe, should we call the whole thing off? Eh?:

The subject of your headline is the word "ALL"........not
"WINGS". Therefore the verb "is" must be used to agree with the subject, not the
PLURAL "are" as it now reads....

Please consult someone at your ad agency
who is over the age of 40 and who learned how to speak English back in the day
when teachers cared and/or knew the difference between good and just plain
WRONG.

YouTube, GTube, We all Tube

Are you really only worth $1.65 Billion, YT? Speculations are abound on how this would impact Googles susceptibility of being a copyright-violation magnet. Sure, it might hurt Google with a few extra lawsuits - would that be enough to overcome the potential ad avenue that Sergey Brin views this partnership to be?

Amazing. Next thing you know, Google will review the feasibility of acquiring a famous coffee chain, perhaps even consider that movie deal with Pixar.

Very well, Page/Brin/Schmidt. Now, how about working to get MySpace off Murdoch's already full hands?

The Morning-Person Formula

The morning alarm clock sound is painful to bear, the first step out of the bed, even harder. Postsecret features this postcard, proving the possibility that I too may soon say "Good morning!" one of these days and actually mean it.

From: Postsecret, 10/8/06

I take my coffee black

In the background: California Stars, by Wilco (Mermaid Avenue album)

Whaaat does that headline say?

Story headlines in Adrants are usually clever exercises in puns. They catch your attention enough to widen your eyes for a second before scrolling to the full story. Such is the effect of this one that was posted two days ago.

Rear Entry Advised For Family Plannng
http://www.adrants.com/2006/10/rear-entry-advised-for-family-plannng.php
Classic case of intended meaning vs. misinterpretation.


Should I?

Nike Women's Marathon (Full/Half)
October 22, 2006


Grande Strong Brew, please.

Why not? I have come to the point where 2-shots of espresso wth steamed milk does nothing to my degree of functionality anymore. Therefore, I'm the one who shoots toward the office coffee station in the morning, pours some Superfly Feature Brew on my mug and foregoes the cream and the sugar; that's 3-seconds of my time in the morning I could have used otherwise.

"You take your coffee black?!" Oh, but the jolt you get on that first bitter swig is unmatched - I said to a co-worker this morning with a quick sip of the devil's brew. On one hand drinking the coffee without any additions allows you to taste the essence of how the beans were roasted. It will enable you to distinguish the the Kona brew from the Ethiopian, the Sumatra from Sulawesi, the quality java from the dishwater decaf.

Important thing was was that my cup of joe woke me up this morning - enough to at least drive me to some semblance of productivity.

Until 10:30.

See Cham Run

I'm joining. Maybe:

Nike Running Club, SF
278 Post St. @Stockton , Union Square
Wednesdays, 6-8pm

5-mile Embarcadero Route

Fine, Nike. I'm just gonna do it. (Will they let me run with my comfortable Asics shoes and clima-lite Adidas gear?)

Hiatus Shmiatus: Reflections on the move

In the background: Inside and Out, by Feist (from Let it Die)

Apparently, I do this every once in a while: I will fall off the face of the earth and then apologize for not having been here nor there. I go MIA, only to emerge with a barrage of excuses.

Well, I moved, alright? I packed/shipped my life across some odd thousands of miles, and now I see more of the Pacific waters than the Atlantic. I see steep residential hills, whereas I used to be lost among a crowd of transient university students and fervent Fenway folk. Leave me be, not like everybody does this kind of thing often....

Okay, so people move quite often - sometimes across further distances and transcending languages. I have been 2+ months into this West coast existence - have I fully settled in? Unpacked yes, the settling in part is pending. I still have a Massachusetts drivers license and a Boston phone area code and that needs to change.

It has to change amongst other things because I like it here. I miss the brisk weather (and overall attitude?) of the east coast dwellers. I miss knowing where to go before I even glance at the directions. I miss the change of colors this time of year and I miss the comfort in knowing where I can get a hearty plate of potato pancakes (Zaftigs, at Coolidge Corner).

I like it here. I see myself being in San Francisco for a long time that before I continue to maintain this online journal with praises on this fabulous city, (like a great view seen over Seacliff, or an amzing restaurant on Sutter and Larkin, etc) why don't I just dispell some myths:

Everyone on the west coast/California is nice and friendly. Not necessarily - most people here are hurriedly trying to get to work like everyone else. (maybe not by the same sense of urgency as others, though). Do not stress about having to smile at every person you meet on the street. I think the ratio of sweethearts and jerks remain pretty consistent across coasts. Save San Diego and the SoCal, perhaps.

San Francisco's warmest month is in September. Maybe for an hour last Sunday, but it was a balmy 56 degreess last night, slightly windy.

If you're going to San Francisco, be sure to wear some flowers in your hair. I scanned the section of my one-way ticket flight. Nobody with flowers, no hippies. Defeated, sat back down until we've taxied fully to the gate. I looked outside the window and saw my new city.... I was too excited that I forgot about the regrets of not having bought a flower hair wreath.

On Goodbyes

May 2000 – June 2006, this marks the end of the Boston chapter. “You’ll come back,” I was told, to which I just raised an eyebrow and smiled. “If you want to, that is,” he added.

Good to know.

I was having a conversation with a good friend about the concept of “home” and what factor determines one as such, more than the mere place. With my one-way ticket booked, and the dwindling last few days in Boston before heading to San Francisco, I recall these lines from a film somewhere:

You know that point in your live when you realize that the house you grew up in isn’t really your home anymore? All of a sudden even though you have some place where you can put your stuff, that idea of home is gone.

You’ll see when you move out, it just sort of happens one day and it’s just gone. And you can never get it back. It’s like you get homesick for a place that doesn’t exist. I mean it’s like this right of passage, you know? You won’t have this feeling again until you create a new idea of home for yourself… it’s like a cycle or something. I miss the idea of it. Maybe that’s all family really is. A group of people who miss the same imaginary place.

Interesting Finds from the Packing Project, #6753

In the background: Another White Dash, by Butterfly Boucher
* As I was in the middle of wrapping, boxing, and packing my stuff several weekends ago, I heard the aforementioned tune which featured a line that made me smile and think, "Man, there sure is."

[There is something exciting about leaving everything behind... Something about having everything you think you'll ever need - sitting in the seat next to you.]

The past few weeks left me in a cloud of dust, boxes, bubblewrap, and organized piles (e.g. clothes to pack, clothes to put in storage, stuff to send home, "eeek-why-did-I-keep that?" trash pile, Salvation Army donations, etc.). I found an article from the Improper Bostonian, Newcomer's edition - October 7, 2003, that I saved. Wondered why for a second... and then realized the reason after reading the article again:

It was funny because it was relevant, or relevant because it was funny....

Jonathan Soroff, of the Improper could not have been more right on with these 10 things. There's more Bostonisms out there to exploit - but in relating to most of these, I realized that yes... there's our nature of complaining about the weather, George Steinbrenner's plot to destroy baseball, and everything else that happens within this place. With these 10 characteristics in mind (along my Boston-tested driving skills) I hope California will take me in anyway.

On Googling and Going the Distance

JP Morgan Corporate Challenge, Boston: June 15, 2006
3.5 miles, My Finish time: (can't remember)

It was a bit of a warm day to have ran this race last Thursday. This event usually pulls in most corporate hounds around Boston/Metro areas to show camaraderie in crossing that finish line, or scoping out other competitor companies in the mix. What's more amazing is that the real draw to this race is the second extension: a race to any of the bars downtown. Venues are packed - even more amazing is that you scan the crowd and find runners in sweaty shirts and shorts and sneakers enjoying the post-run brew (or two). Same people who probably run companies and manage projects during the day in their sharp suits.

Companies opt to have their uniform shirts made, and possibly be entered in the shirt contest for the most creative ones. There were the standard company-motivation styles ("Well-trained, well-managed, well-run...." ) or the ones that need a re-organization in the originality department ("ITC u later!" or "UBC u later!").

Being in the search marketing industry leaves you with a good amount of room for cheekiness. Stories were abound amongst my co-workers about how they got stopped while running by someone who read our shirts, laughed and asked "Where are you guys located? That shirt - too funny." The front has the standard company logo and colors. The back of our shirts? A caption that left Mr. Runner "OTC u at the finish line!" in a cloud of dust:

"Sometimes, when I'm alone.... I Google myself."

The Roam Chronicles: You say ‘St. Maarten’… I say ‘St. Martin’

In the background: Sun is Shining, by Finley Quaye

No, we didn’t call the whole thing off. My sister, after having last minute situation about entry requirements, pulled through. If not for this week, I don’t know when I’ll be able to actually take a vacation next. The weather forecasts said some rain and thunderstorms were expected for the duration of our trip. Great. Just great.

I flew into St. Juliana Airport on the Dutch side and caught a glimpse of the aquamarine waters before we landed. Got my second wind after a night of no-sleep and a layover of interesting proportions at Newark Liberty. The “friendly island,” as St. Maarten is dubbed as – was going through a string of days in heat and humidity. The reported rains held off and the sun left me in a color of burnt coffee by the time I headed back to Boston.

Interesting concept of having 37 square miles of an island divided into two territories: The French Side and the Dutch Side. We stayed in Philippsburg and frequented Simpson Bay and Maho Beach, however I favored the French side spots more. It was interesting how we would drive through St. Maarten, passed a few signs leading us to Baie Oriental and the next thing we knew, we were in St. Martin. While each side had had similarities, the difference – conditional on some areas – can also be noted. The architecture of the villas in St. Martin were more distinctly European. Fine dining and gourmet cuisine was more prevalent in St. Martin, while St. Maarten houses Front Street (for the shopping fiends) and the recommended bars and clubs.

On the drive to Orient Bay one afternoon, I asked my sister, “You heard about this beach, right? It’s naturalist beach and all…?” She shrugged halfheartedly. Not everyone was lacking their tops when we get there, but there is still that slight disorientation especially when you get asked directions by someone who has a smile, a cowboy hat and an evenly tanned twin set. It was a beautiful beach, really – my favorite amongst the ones we tried – because of the sand quality and the water sports.





Back at Maho Beach for our last night – we had dinner at Bliss, a beautiful restaurant-bar by the airport and the beach. As one enters past the gates, there is a pool with lounge areas that has access to the beach. Further into the dining room, there is a larger patio featuring booths with canopies and spectacular views of the ocean. Whenever a plane flies it, it looks almost as if they’re going to ram right into the place. As if the menu wasn’t exciting enough.

It was a relaxing trip, but the heat became too constricting halfway through the week. Could it be an indication of my city-dwelling nature that I do not see myself being on an island for over a string of 1-2 weeks before going stir-crazy? When asked whether or not I will go back… that’s a solid ‘Maybe.’ No compelling reason to, other than to try the famed Guavaberry Liquor (which because of pure procrastination was not able to do so before flying out.) and enjoy having a routine of devouring sweet crepes in the middle of the day.

My(ad)Space: Billboards Ridiculi?

In the background: Paperback Bible (Ocean of Confusion album), by Screaming Trees




Adrants reports on this huge Adidas advertising board over a bridge construction site enroute to the Munich airport (More pictures. details, etc. here). Amazing: That which is dubbed European culture is not so without football. Creative way of covering what would have been another structural eyesore until it is completed and functional (bridge construction in-progress)

And I thought the Boston Red Sox fans monopolize the top spot for sport team worship.


Billboard Attention Deficit Disorder (BADD)

Condition is said to be stemming from bad traffic conditions, congested highways, and the pursuit of more cost-efficient resources for promotion. Reportedly most widespread in Manila, where, 1) Long commute times equal to a much needed source of entertainment, and 2) Product placement in local movies have not quite taken off. Yet.

Manila Billboards: Which face would launch a thousand ships this time around (or cause a huge chain reaction accident)? Aside from being a driving hazard, they surely feed into the stereotypes, ridiculous standards, and insecurities in the society ("My damn brown skin - how do I lighten up to be like that mestiza who seems happy wearing a Petit Monde shirt?")

Bane or Benefit? The issue of billboards have been featured and debated on time and again. Carlos Celdran pointed out scenarios that can only happen in the Philippines. (See October 26, 2006 Post)

Interesting-things-found-from-the-packing-project, #1: Before taking down my corkboard, I thought I'd take a picture of the organized mess that it was. I came across this postcard on one of my files; it was from an artist who had her work exibited in Bolyston, early last year. Shunsuke Mizumoto, www.portfolios.com/shunsukemizumoto - I remember admiring her work that day, before the morning coffee even got a chance to take into effect.

iForgot

In the background: Say What You Want (some soundtrack), by Texas

Most of this Memorial Day weekend is spent on packing/re-organizing/discarding stuff that I have accumulated since the last move.

Here's a personal challenge: Trying to do as much as I can, hitting on items I wanted to accomplish per day - without looking at my San Francisco moving checklist. After a while, I do revisit said list, "Okay... uhhm, did that.... yup.... (gosh darn) it, forgot that one!"

May left me in a bit of a high after securing a lease in San Francisco a couple of weeks back. I found the rental market to be a bit different out west than here in Boston: Inventory for 2 months out - July - was hard to come by. It was a task trying to present my case to the property managers who want to rent spaces here-and-now... They'll have inventory in July - but apparently can't hold it for me in the 1.5 month timeframe.

Struck luck: Was able to find a place in Lower Pacific Heights, near key areas in the city apart from nice neighborhoods (Japantown, where the street signs have Kanji translations). I start renting middle of June... even though I don't get there until the end of that month. Unfortunately in this situation, I am at the mercy of the landlords and therefore not in whining- control (when it comes to renting, are we ever?).

Wikipedia reports Larry Page and Sergey Brin could possibly be up the street.

I was reminded of how much harder it was to try and determine which items would be put in the boxes, which are the ones that need to be left behind for Salvation Army, and what's to be thrown out completely (rest assured, no acid wash jeans will be transported across coasts). Paperwork Organization Dilemma: While I have tried many times before to have one key place to locate important documents, I was always wary about writing passcodes and log-in information to various online accounts I do not use often. Consequently, I would rack my brain for what obscure password I might have used for one area, only to finish 3 attempts with a "hmmph!" and a clicked Forgot your password? text link. Thanks to iTunes, some mileage programs, etc... I still was able to access the sites (with 6 emails from their trusty log-in assistance departments). Although I think my "What's your favorite song as a child?" p-word clue would need to be revised.

On that note, might be good to hold on to that clipboard of items that I need to check off... as I complete them. Just a thought.

Burmese Idol

In the background: Trouble Sleeping (Let There Be Morning album), by The Perishers

Chin-lone: Traditional sport of Myanmar (Burma). Chinlone is a combination of sport and dance... a team sport with no opposting team... the focus is not on who wins, but on how beautifully the moves are executed.

This show of talent gets my vote.

Out of the [Pandora] Box

In the background: Dream Machine, Downtempo Mix (Hotel Costes 8), by Mark Farina & Sean Hayes

I have been a fan of Pandora since it was introduced to me by a friend, to whom I ranted on about a particular online station that put in a Gametap ad every other song. Since my initial Pandora experience, I had told at least 15 people about it; I have posted on their blog and gave my kudos to the site's creators; I have also purchased albums/tunes initially heard from this medium that have made it to my everyday sountrack.

The Music Genome Project is quite an endeavor. A group of music enthusiasts and analysts, etc. came together in 2000 to gather, listen, and analyze albums, artists, and songs. This growing collection has been then tagged "genes" or musical attributes (e.g. melody, harmony, instrumentation, etc.) that Tim Westergren and company identified - therefore, providing the ability to map which music can be connected to songs and artists based on shared quality and aforementioned attributes.

Enter the birth of Pandora.

One morning, I was enjoying the selection coming through my Morcheeba Station - with songs coming in from Morcheeba, Thievery Corporation, Portishead, Groove Armada, etc. Good sounds to keep me sane enough, and not too intrusive - as I trudge through the dictates of the daily grind.

As I heard the initial riff of the next song, I stopped - questioning what I was hearing. Frantic keyboard typing stopped.... I clicked on the Pandora tab and I sure wasn't imagining it: They're playing "Can't Fight This Feeling," by REO Speedwagon.

Before I go to the Guide Us (Oh, I will...) section and quickly choose the Thumbs Down option, I opted for the Why is this song playing? option to get answers. I was told that, "based on what you've told us so far... this track features the subtle use of harmony, instrumentation, etc."

And this is one reason why the word needs to get around and all those who acknowledge music to be a huge part of their existence need to take part. To finish my REO Suckswagon story, I eventually clicked on the Thumbs Down and got a confirmation apology: "Sorry about that. We'll try something else and will not play that song again on this station."

Yes, I will still listen to Pandora and yes - I still think the Music Genome Project is one of those great ideas that I wish I came up with. There are still improvements to be made, and therefore the creators need our input. (See May 02, 2006 Post: Welcome to the Music Genome Project on this blog for Tom's explanation) That is unless you're okay with having Whitney Houston's "It's Not Right But It's Okay" be in your Massive Attack station (good heavens - or in any station for that matter).

525,600 Minutes

... How do you measure, measure a year? In daylights, in sunsets, in cups of coffee... in inches, in miles, in laughter, in strife.


[Insert age here] years... and counting. All through 2005, unto this day - I can very well say it had been a good year, in spite of some trivial things I might have ranted about. Trivial, I say now while looking at everything in perspective - because feel I have been blessed with changes and opportunities that were never readily availble to me in the past 4-5 years or so. The concept of turning another year older has lost its luster and, apart from some who find it to be an opportunity to imbibe strong cocktails and be incoherent without the shame, has even grown to be feared in some circles. I say, fear nothing... bring on my birthday, world - but hold off on the wrinkles.

Some key highlights of the previous year - most of which were not mentioned in previous blog posts:

• The power of green - received permanent residence status. That card may be anything but green, but nothing could crush me the day that the postmaster dropped this wonderful news in a letter.

• Hinahanap- hanap kita, Manila - For the first time in 5 years, February 2005 marked my first trip in a long while (5 years) back to the homeland. The unbearable traffic and equally intolerable humidity was received with open arms - I didn't mind, knowing I'll be seeing sunsets like this.

• Transition nation - The hotel industry gig was good while it lasted. Now that I have a thicker hide after having weathered severe personalities and equally daunting event planning scenarios, it is great to be in search marketing - avenue dubbed as one steadily shaking up what was the comfortable realm of traditional advertising.

• "How to say... humble genius?" - Haruki Murakami reads at MIT. I have been asked why I didn't get to blog about this, since I was planning for a month prior to the actual event and this was one of the biggest events thus far with regards to my literary preoccupations. Emily informed me of this over the phone - I was at work, so had to stiffle a scream. In his works that I have read - I have nothing but admiration for a man whose thought process I'd like to analyze for a psychology thesis. No one else has the ability to incorporate a Sheep Man, and the iterations of contemporary jazz tunes and get away with it. For someone whose work is widely read and popularly translated, it adds to his good qualities the lack of arrogance and (somewhat self-deprecating) humor.

• A plan, seven years in the making - Beantown is a great city: I'll never cheer for any other sports hometeams, and I will most likely never cuss in traffic in other places than I do here. I miss it already before I even fill the first packaging box. In 2005 - I was given that opportunity (one that I had to carefully deliberate on - nevertheless, signed up for) to head to San Francisco for July 2006 (2 months and counting)... I told my family over the West side that "I will be heading there soon" - seven years back.
  

• Concertography (in connection to this past post) - Jazz Fest last year just set me off through a series of live shows - my lifeblood still, actually - as there is nothing comparable to being a part of such a setting where one is more connected to the music heard from the stage - instead of the speakerbox. Ticketstubs from '05 - early '06: U2, Dave Matthews Band (July and December), Our Lady Peace, Garbage, Pixies, Tori Amos.... several smaller outdoor/cafe venues, etc. (Raseeka, did I miss anything?)

• Climb Every (indoor rock climbing) Mountain: When Lena intoduced me to this new gig, I got into it and became even more enthused to get better - this motivation having stemmed after my recovery on that initial climb that resulted to me being one sore pulp. At least it will get me through until the waves are to be tackled again, or when it's not too cold to be outside running (I heart running but I hate treadmills). And I quote my friend from rowing, "What obscure sport will you tackle next? Curling?" How about another point to ponder, from my mom: "Why do you have be involved in such masculine sport activities?" Sure, ma - because I'd look really good in a tutu.
  

My friends are doing great with their careers and relationships (2 weddings). My family and relatives back home are all well in spite of the usual stress inducing factors. I learned new things and been humbled by the ones I have yet to be completely familiar with. I had to carry on with the usual decisions day-to-day while in a constant mindset towards that goal of eliminating chaos - only to realize I can welcome it every once in a while.

So, yes - what a year it has been indeed.

Going... Going... Saigon

"So, this is the part when you admit that you're scared and you're second-guessing yourself for having decided on doing this."

My friend, Marc is scheduled to fly to Asia tomorrow morning. He will be in Hong Kong for a couple of weeks (brat) before heading to Vietnam (Hanoi - I just borrowed the Saigon title from his party evite) to start a new life after giving up a rather comfortable one here. 'Twas the night before his flight when we were talking and revisiting his reasons for moving, worst case scenarios, people to be missed, and the past 2+ years of us hanging out, venting, annoying each other - all the things that played into our odd dynamic.

"Of course I am scared," he admits. Hearing this gave me a sigh of relief - even with what you have achieved for yourself and the amazing connections you have made in the numerous countries and places you have trekked, Marc - good to know you're still human.

This is what he had always wanted and planned for - and the motivation outweighs that slight moment of uncertainty. It will not be the same: Big shoes to fill on those wise-ass comments you throw out every so often that makes us cower and mutter to ourselves: "Oh, no he didn't..."

Not that we have to remind you, Marc, but you will be missed. Don't be gone pho long.

Photo credits: www.richard-seaman/Travel/Vietnam
Title Credits: Evite for the going-away party, by Eric G.

The Daily Gripe

Smushbush Toy and the Easy Button

News last week featured reports of President George Bush's approval rating at an all time low. With a collapsed deal with Dubai Ports World and the 3-year (going on 4) anniversary of the Iraq war, this may hold true:

The Staples Easy Button: Perhaps not just for the common-folk.

* * *

Help a Sistah Out

I have been on hold for over 5 minutes. "We value your business. Please continue to hold." Well, I had no choice but to do as the calm woman's voice told me to. This was the 2nd time I was trying to get an update from [financial institution] on some ordered gift cards several months ago that were not received.

And then a human's voice! "Thank you for calling [financial institution], may I have your ***** and your ***** for verification purposes please?"

I obeyed. I once again narrated my situation - that I am not to purchase anything, I just want to know the status of those cards, who dropped the ball, was my tracking number bogus, etc. Without having to narrate the entire story details here, the voice on the other line kept on apologizing and saying that "I understand your situation, unfortunately..." Sure, you understand my situation - you just can't help me. I bet there's some sort of index card cheat sheet on your cube guiding you on how to deal with callers at the cusp of agony and anger....

Hmm.

I let him talk some more - and was throwing some harmless questions just to hear him speak. There was a hint of an accent there that I thought: Could it be...? I cut him off mid-sentence.

"Pinoy ka ba?"

He stopped. Silence. Obviously startled but managed a, "Uh, yes ma'am." I just asked him if he was Filipino to which he confirmed what I thought (while shouldn't be a surprise): I got diverted to a call center in Manila, Philippines.

"Pakiusap lang...." I talked to him in Taglish and pleaded my case. With all the kind juices left of me, I asked that he help me out. He was still a bit shaken up that I threw the language-nationality card at him. I was put on hold again twice, on both occasions he said he escalated it to the manager, but to no avail. Third time I got the hold music, I put the phone down (or slammed it, details are vague now).

The spirit of brotherhood - at least in this instance, did not get me too far.

* * *

Language Confusionism

I was asked once: "When you're in thought, do you think in English, or Filipino?"

At that point, I just stopped and was letting the question sink in. When - in the course of over nine years in the US, did I think predominantly in English? I grew up in the Philippines - but learning on Sesame Street (not dubbed over with any other language as they have done in several countries), so I doubt this recent realization is a betrayal. Either way, for a beautiful place coined as the Pearl of the Orient Seas, this language conundrum leaves us in need of some polishing.

The Half-Marathon and the Neverending Mile

In the background: Gone for Good (Chutes too Narrow album), by The Shins

With nothing but hopes, dreams and a dash of reluctance to get by - I did run and finish it.


Boston's Run to Remember
Sunday, March 12, 2006, 8:15am

Race #: 2226
Net Time: 2:09:03
Pace: 9:51

I almost decided not to do this: No formal long-distance training- the most that I did for one run session is 7 miles.... Problematic knees.... Need to finish leftover work from the entire week prior spent on the left coast. There were numerous excuses to list, but I gained a second wind of determination by Saturday afternoon. Coerced a friend to join me for a pre-race carb overload of pasta and ended my Saturday night early.

Headed for the Seaport area at 7am. I was heading to the World Trade Center to check the exhibit halls when I ran into Dave. Pleasant surprise - I guess it's not just me amongst my crazy lot of friends who opted to forgo the normal routine of sleeping in on a Sunday morning. Meant to meet up with another friend racing that day, but got sidetracked and just made it in time to position myself at my designated pace section.

Got my running tunes lined up... started the race. Boston and the entire course was a great location choice - heading into the downtown route, the financial district skyline loomed above. If I didn't worry to much, I could have enjoyed that sight even more. The course weaved through historic portions of Boston and Cambridge, and apart from a few hills (placed at very crucial points) - it was relatively flat.

By Mile 5, my right knee started hurting and paid it no mind.
Mile 7: Sharp pains whenever I bended.
Mile 9: Still painful, now numb - with some sort of muscle strain on the upper right thigh. At this point, I had to slow down... even walk for a couple of minutes. It will be too scarring for my pride if I don't finish this. Went to the sidewalk and stretched for a little bit - but determined to cross that line.
Mile 11: Not sure what mindset I was on - despite the pain... I was able to plug through. Few more miles, I thought. But why does it seem like it's taking forever to get to Mile 12?
Mile 13(?): Hits from the iPod... this song came on -
This could be the very minute, I know where I'm alive. All these places feel like home.

My friend, Kathleen, who also ran that day - had a good point: "Who's bright idea was it to put that hill on that last mile to the finish line?" I was thinking of that same thing as I remember seeing the blue Finish Line marker in the horizon. This bridge connecting downtown Boston to the Seaport area could have been a nice, flat quarter of a mile - but no. Some bright set of engineers they commissioned for the job, really. So close, yet so far: this was a longest mile of all them. My feet picked up speed and everything else was white noise for a brief moment.

Then I crossed over. Stopped, and realized I could not feel my legs. I relaxed for a few... just to get re-oriented before heading to the event hall at the World Trade Center. As soon as I got over that - I was brave enough to think: I just really ran 13.1 miles. A seasoned marathon runner might read this and have a chuckle, but when the sense of pride came in, I thought: Bring it on - give me that other half to run!

My knee is still screaming bloody murder, but I wish to believe it's all worth it. I've said it once before: No better way to roam Boston and say goodbye to what had become for me, not quite home - but somewhere relatively close.

Speaking of craziness and inflicting pain on oneself, anybody interested in signing up for this race with me next year?

Photo credits: www.bostonsruntoremember.org

The Roam Chronicles: Mojitos en Miami

In the background: Radiation Vibe (No Word from Tom album), by Hem

Miami Beach, Florida. February 3-6, 2006

"We're going! I need to be somewhere sunny right now!" Em whined to me as we endured mid-January winter blues.
"Sure, why not? San Diego may have some good deals... Puerto Rico even? My schedule might free up after towards the end of the month (it's amazing how I try to convince myself of such thoughts)." It was an interested, yet half-hearted response that came from me at that time.
No less than 2 days later - she spams and phone-tags me with flight and package options. Wow- she really wants to be anywhere but here. I told her that as long as it's not over a certain amount, that's fine

January, 17th I get an email:
"Charmaine, we're going to fabulous Miami Beach!"

We are?

We did. Last time I was there, I didn't think it was anything special. Sure; sun, sand, Spanish-speaking beautiful people, but not compelling enough for me to pack up and go for another weekender before. As we got nearer the date and the weather got colder - I was getting more convinced that the Miami trip will be a good thing for much needed catching up with Emily.

Gotta love JetBlue... but not on the date of our flight. Storms in Tampa hindered us from flying out on time - not because Miami was also being hit, but because the plane we were going to use was delayed from flying out of Florida. We were stuck in the airport for 7 hours. In Boston. Near my address - 15 minutes - from Cambridge. I looked around and thought that it was actually a good thing to have experienced this. Always have seen/heard stories before where people were stranded and have sought sleeping comfort on these god-awful airport chairs.

3am - Got on the plane for probably the most turbulent 3-hour ride I have ever experienced. Was too tired to be scared.... Viva Fort Lauderdale! Took a cab to The Palms Hotel and psyched ourselves for some sun.

Not.

Torrential downpours. After a quick nap - had a long lunch with Em, chatting away as the rain pelted on the tarp covering the veranda. I truly did enjoy it- We saw the outline of the palm trees and the ocean ahead, landscaped gardens and all - blurred by the rain. No better time than then, or so it seemed, to have a (er..3. Each.) Mojito. Dinner later that day at Ola was one of the best ever - and unfortunately the price was reflective of that as well. Had full intentions of hitting some bars after, but when we got back to the hotel to re-group before doing so, we ended up passing out and calling it a night - by 11:00pm.

Finally some sunshine next day. Sunday was spent on the beach, taking time to just relax. I smothered on the the sunblock while Em decided to brave the rays and not put any. It, uh - caught up with her later that day, though. (but I bet the beet red color faded into a nice, toasty bronze...) Superbowl night on Ocean Drive was interesting - despite the uneventful game. Met a couple of people who seemed good for conversation and a few rounds of brew - until some, (uh...) obsessive tendencies came though.

Great time - eventhough I still think Em sabotaged my laptop so that I will not be able to work. All turned out well - and future yearly trips to sunny destinations will be set in stone. Either way, thanks to Em and the short weekender that was... I have also a newfound respect for Cadbury's Fruit and Nut Chocolate bars.*


* Referencing an excerpt from The Secret History of the Pink Carnation, by Lauren Willig. This was Em's selected reading material for the trip.

I Never

In the background: In the Morning, by The Coral

Run DMC - Did (I) Mean (to) Commit?

With knee problems in the past few months not quite 100% well, and the lack of time to go on a serious training routine. I never... fully understood why I thought I could sign up for a half-marathon and be prepared for it.

March 12, 2006. When I hit the Submit button a few months back on the website for this race, I was determined to make this the race to top the little ones that I ever signed up for in Boston. I was (er...) inspired especially when I played the video of the running route: It was a little over a 13-mile loop covering downtown and Cambridge. Not quite confident to run the Boston Marathon (yet? ever?), so I thought this would do. What other way to say goodbye to the city I've roamed in for - perhaps the most psychologically-formative set of years I've had thus far?
Because a mere despidida shindig with friends would be too easy. March is coming at speed of now, and it had been too cold to run outside, not to mention I will be out of town for a full week prior to the race.

I reckon that I could possibly finish well with no more than muscle soreness and an added layer of pride. However there is also that lingering possibility that I'll be hailing a cab halfway through the course.

What a lovely way to burn.

Top 5 iTunes Running Beats Playlist Mile-Pushers:
1. Fall Behind Me - The Donnas
2. Going the Distance - Cake
3. Cold Hard B**** - Jet
4. Beautiful Ones - Suede
5. Praise You - Fat Boy Slim , or Float On - Modest Mouse (Both usulally timed towards the near end of a run.)

People are Strange: A Study in the Rude

I never... realized that such people existed. Well, alright - I used to be in the hotel industry and yes, it was rewarding to meet a variety of people and personalities. There were the notable ones who were delightful to work with - and there were ones who were... not (darn Euphemism Rolodex badlly needs to be updated).

Thursday night: My friend and I decided to catch up over some drinks, etc. at supposedly one of the most (?) revered (translate: expensive, semi-stuffy) establishments in the area. Headed for the bar, populated with several after-work sanity hounds, and seemingly regular Boston folk. Typical to have one seat in between parties: We nicely requested a party of two women if they may kindly move one seat, in order for us to be situated. One lady was willing to do so but her friend, Ms. Aquanet Gone-Wrong, whose cheap purse and lint-lined coat was taking the real estate Kam I requested for, was not but moved anyway in defeat.

We thanked them profusely. Looked the kind lady in the eye and she smiled back... but Ms. Holy Badhair-day sighed heavily and did not even look at me, even as I was staring longer than necessary as I aimed for eye-contact. None. Later on, we noticed they ordered dinner. Evil thought: "We should have asked them to move just before she took a hungry stab at her order."

Sunday Bloody Sunday: Not sure why - I have steered clear of malls for quite some time now, and when I do go, it's for one particular item, 20 minutes... out of the garage. No clear aversion or anything, just no compelling reason to go lately. And yet I found myself 35 minutes out of the city over at the South Shore Plaza - I had to bring a package to a family friend who lived near that area. Charmaine, the Courier walked through the Filene's entrance. A huge liquidation sale was apparently going on. Great - I was in the market for a new suitcase anyway. After a brief meeting with my auntie - I paid for my selection: 50% off what would have been a $(whaat, I can't afford that!) to $(ok, that's do-able.).

I thought I'd go around for a little bit, and see what Visa might want me to bring home. I walked into Express and looked over some of their new line of outfits. Lukewarm interest. As I was walking towards the exit, new luggage in tow, a group of 3 women were meeting me head on. Not single file, mind you. So I semi-audibly said an excuse me - which apparently was not heard because Ms. She Thinks Shealldat said a loud "Excuse You!" as I walked past. Shrugged it off.

Walked in another store.... made a purchase on this one and headed out the door again. Deja freakin vu: there they are again. Only this time:

Ms. Thang: Ugh! It's her and her f* luggage.
Me: (I started to see red.... Turned around to her and) I'm sorry (I wasn't). Did you say something? About anything you had a problem with? (Two steps forward)
Ms. Thang: What? I said it's you and your luggage! Whatcha you gonna do 'bout it? (No lie, this was how she said it. Can you picture her neck moving. No finger snapping, though. Otherwise I would have....)
Me: (Breathe. Mama told me there'll be days like this.) Can't even tell it to my face. What am I going to do? Nothing. (me walking away) Have a nice life. (or something to that effect.)
Ms. Thang: I will!
Me: (Dismissively) Not with that attitude, you won't.

Are we there yet?

I never... thought I would stop complaining about this. These past two days were dubbed as New England's coldest weather days for 2006, so far. My toes are frozen as I finish this blog post.

California, here I come.

The Roam Chronicles: San Francisco Diaries, Version 1.06

In the Background: Feelin' Good (Six Feet Under Original TV Soundtrack), by Nina Simone

January 20th - 24th, 2006

*For this trip and for the upcoming move, I gave in and purchased this Bay Area guide for newbies.



After being ragged on for my industrial-sized Samsonite hard case, my friends/co-workers wished me well for this trip, which was meant to be a mix of work and play/roam. Was heading to San Francisco on the Friday afternoon of January 2oth, when the last minute preparations left me a bit hectic. Calmness followed soon thereafter - after, that is, the mere 3o-minute window in line for security check pre-boarding.

I got into the city around 7pm, having mentally planned out my weekend agenda in my head through the shuttle ride. Finally arrived at the hotel, situated conveniently on Geary Street, by Union Square- everything I needed was within a 5 block (or so) radius.



Always have loved this city: It always feels familiar and new at the same time, most everytime I visit. I walked up and down the streets/hills and silently mused at how defined my calves will be if I get into this routine when I move here. Talk of weather overrated?: It was 65 degrees, on average and I was warm in my light overcoat. In January. I'm still from Boston, so I refuse to hear from anybody the sheer triviality of why I was beaming about this.

A Tale of Two Cities

Boston and San Francisco, from what I have heard once (and actually once again on this trip), are supposedly "sister cities," due to familar culture, general economy and social structures. (Not to mention that they are consistently in the top 10 lists of sorts: Most Expensive, Riskiest Housing Markets, etc.) Therefore, this billboard promoting travel between coasts should not be all too surprising, right?

Roam

I attempted to mix in some play time with the work weekend. Saturday afternoon, after hopping from one coffee shop to another in the pursuit of a wi-fi connection, I welcomed several servings of strong non-Starbucks brews and good conversation (something that I find to come easily among most Bay Area folk.). I was not able to go to as many prospective residential areas as I aimed for, but did get a better idea of what some areas have to offer over others.

1. Pacific Heights / Marnina / Cow Hollow
[Craigslist's Current Average Rent for a 1BDR or Studio: $1850)]
From most of the people whom I have asked, in terms of the best area to live within the SF City radius is Pac Heights.... and I could see why. Beautiful houses, pockets of nice shops, easy access to the city, fun bars. Cousins treated me to drinks/dinner at Ace Wasabi's Rock and Roll Sushi. One bite of that macadamia crusted kamikaze roll (?)... (Argh. Jen, what was the name of that sushi?!) and you're hooked (or hit with menu amnesia). Right next to our table was actually another transplant from Boston. He apparently moved to San Fran after having had enough of the east coast... but was just visiting California and currently residing in Sidney. Funny how Massholes (his words, not mine) gravitate towards each other.

Art-deco high rises, houses with hidden gardens and stylish interior, relatively high-end range of neighbors, and your quintessential corner pattiserie. What's holding me back, aside from the anticipated sticker shock? While it is considered to be one of the most beautiful, lively areas to live in, as reflective of average rent - doesn't negate the fact that it used to be a landfill, primarily from the debris caused by earthquake and fire. Homes were renovated in the 1920's, only to have a similar fate hit the town on 1989.

The Handbook says: "Following the disaster, many of the old-timers high-tailed it away from the landfill and young people, perhaps less cognizant of their own mortality, moved in, creating a vibrant area along Chesnut Street...."

2. Sunset District
A comfortable city near the UCSF campus, a short drive to Ocean Beach, wonderful views... next door to Golden Gate Park where I found myself possibly running around as I do by Charles River.... beautiful, relatively kinder-priced neighborhood and wonderful cafes - I thought I found the place to be.

That until I was told of the following reasons:
* While it is still within the realm of San Francisco cities, it is quite far to where I need to be for work (Downtown, SOMA area).
* Suburb-like quiet area (even with the University around?)
* Dubbed to be the foggiest area, colder than most by the bay. The views are stunning as soon as the fog lifts, supposedly - but living here means that I cannot quite give my thick wool sweaters to Salvation Army just yet.

Walked around Golden Gate Park on Sunday afternoon and asked a kind lady for directions where to best take picures of the bridge. Pat Preble was in the middle of taking photos of trees and light, when I interrupted. We walked towards where good scenic areas might be and talked about art, her Open Studio online, an eye for camera angles and Boston/San Francisco being sister cities. Mentioned how talkative New York transplants are in the area and northerners seem to be more aloof. Some are friendly, I said... "A very select few."



3. North Beach
My own tradition: Get a book from the City Lights Bookstore every time I vist. This time around, I picked up another one by Milan Kundera.

Not a bad thought to wake up to the aroma of foccacia bread baking in the morning. Newspaper in hand, stroll down a local coffee shop that serves fresh brew without the all-too-familiar green and brown cup and sleeve. Not feeling the usual eggs-bacon-toast kind of breakfast? Walk 2 blocks to Montgomery and catch dimsum in Chinatown. I don't think I'll be needing a car here - everything I need seems to be within 2 (olive oil and garlic scented) blocks. The culture that was at North Beach still remained to this day, some percentage of it that is... for while the general feel of the area spells of the beat generation that once populated it - I did not find a lot of beret-and-birkenstock wearing townfolk screaming "Down with mainstream ideology!"

* Eh... Used Whaat?

So why not North Beach? I need that balance of quiet and activity. Jazz bars, restuarants, Chinese New Year's Day (week long!) Parades - sounds appealing... not on days when I feel like winding down. Of course, there's also the $$$ reason and the cah pahking issue.



I still have a few areas that I need to look into: Lower Nob Hill, South of Market, Russian Hill (Holy high hills on this area! Imagine.... I'll roll back to the bottom on my way back home from a quick trip to the convenience store. ) It is all starting to feel real - that a change is to happen soon. Excited, but still somewhat in denial to start a countdown. Knowing me, June 2006 will roll around before I know it and I'll still be asking someone to pass the Rice-a-Roni.

In Puris Naturalibus... Veritas

In the background: Little District (Sublime Acoustic: Bradley Nowell & Friends album), by Sublime

It was a pleasantly (uncharacteristically) warm January night in Cambridge last Friday. After resorting ourselves to sore muscle arms from rock climbing, we attacked some good pizza, etc. at Cambridge 1.
No, that was not quite enough: Emily and I were on a mission for ice cream. Toscanini's was already closed for the night, but we didn't fret. Plan B dessert places were abound over there, so we headed towards Finale.

We walked past several of the Harvard gates, heard screams and loud cheers. Initally brushed it off as typical college craziness on a Friday night (But Harvard students-future world leaders?! Can it possibly be?). The shouts grew louder to the point we were not able to ignore them. "Let's check out what's going on," Dave suggested as he started to turn that direction. I was impartial and thereby followed, Em remained hesitant.

People just casually milling around Harvard Square had the same idea, and were walking inside the campus in droves. We got closer and placed guesses on what was going on: Dancing? Drinking? Dorm Pranks?...

Streaking?

I got close enough to see signs by some of the streakers, one of which was "I am Naked." Splendid observation, boy. On the topic of observation: You seemed delighted at the crowd of your fully-clothed brethren. Your mental state at that given time, and perhaps back from when this action was decided upon is of utmost interest. Thoughts?

They scheduled a perfect night for it. Not all too cold so as to (er...) alter physical shapes and attributes. However, because it was indeed a warm night, spectators lingered longer and the crowd dispersed later that usual. Typical of university culture, to be doing things such as this and tag it as tradition. I have witnessed streaking back in my old schoolyard, but I recall it was a cold night in March (?)... cold enough that a group of girls had no problem keeping the whipped cream outfits intact. The novelty of the sight was proportional to the current temperature, so I walked away after a few minutes of laughter and slight adulation for those brazen enough for this task.

At some point, it might be a good to research on sociology/psychology studies on the act of streaking and how it plays within a university setting (or outside of that circle), the cognitive process, inner dilemma, along with the possible after-effects [At a bar: "Seth, yes-hi... nice to meet you. You do look awfully familiar.... Oh, the Northeast quad 2 weeks ago (memory hits home)... Right, well look at the time!... Gotta get going, I have this... thing."].

In any case, seeing that made made for an interesting night in Cambridge. At some point in between the books, exams and the papers, a sanity break in whatever form of activity will be well-received by the students. One wonders if John Harvard approves, as his pensive state did not even seem to have stirred.


* Images credits:
www.upfrontezine.com
www.danielchesterfrench.org

Final set

In the background: Catch My Disease (Awake is the New Sleep), by Ben Lee

... of random musings for 2005. While this will be dated 2006 by the time I get my thoughts (dis)organized, I thought - why not. That year-end review is taking longer than I would have wanted to - and even though I thought I dropped procrastination like a bad habit some time ago (ha!), it is quite a project assessing the previous year.

* * *

New Year's Eve shindig was a mixed bag of the good, the bad and the interesting.

Good: First time in a few years that there was an actual plan to be somewhere, instead of hopping from one place to another and having the bouncer not budge on comping a $20 cover (or was it $5 last year?) even if it's 20 minutes until closing. Also Good: Because I amazingly got over my bah humbug attitude (comment care-of Marc) halfway through the night and partied with 3-inch heels without screaming bloody high shoes at the end. Overall Good: Because it was spent with great friends.

Bad: The champagne was sub-par ($50 clams for tickets and the champagne was not at all "bubbly"), my tonic water lined my throat a lot more that that did. Also bad: An obnoxious friend-of-a-friend who was a bonafide buzz killer. You gotta have one of those on a given night, right? The "bad" clincher: They had to put a restraining order on me when I was insistent on bringing my car - I budged and we all put our fate in the hands of ever-present cab drivers. Ever present, that is - until you really need them. (El)Tony was the brave one to search for a cab as all others huddled in one corner for heat and some sort of cover from the snow. It was a battlefield out there, and I have not had a chance to ask him how many people did he have to maim.

Interesting: Who would steal a wallet on such an occasion? Obviously someone sober enough to be aware, and sick enough to do such a thing. Also interesting: Because I (errhmm...) I mean - we... made new friends.

Here's a snapshot of this said shindig... any idea what's going on here? Neither do I.

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What better way to start the New Year than to make a stupid mistake?

I locked myself out of the apartment.

I was heading out to meet some people for a few drinks that afternoon of January 1st (yes, because apparently the night before was not enough). The door to our apartment requires either a tricky key-turning trick to lock it, or at least three loud door slams. Slammed it once, moment of clarity made me realize my car keys are still inside. Tried to open the door...

The blasted thing locked the first round.

Went downstairs and after some hesitation, rang the doorbell to my first floor neighbors. Allison answered the door and gave her my quick story, eye contact maintained but almost head down in shame. "... so, I'm hoping I kept my back door open earlier and was wondering if I could get through."

What would have been me "just passing through" turned out to be over an hour of talking about a range of things: from other peculiar co-Poplar residents, our building's oddities, Boston University vs. other institutions... and the beauty of cultural differences along with how the ignorance of others makes it even more so.

Allison and Christina were the newest tenants in our 3-family house building. Smart, funny, insightful women... who, like most people these days, have schedules that require more than the 24-hour day cycle. That Sunday afternoon spent chatting turned out to be a great time - not only getting to know them, but learning from their experiences and how it relates to mine. One of the things that we have talked about were misconceptions, as brought about by surface appearances. Stories were traded, comments were made, opinions were shared. Reminded me of this situation that my sister had experienced with her roommates in her first semester in NYU. (transcript extracted from her blog.)

Episode One: I had only 2 hours of sleep the previous night, so obviously I was extremely sleepy that day. I had to read a book of Plato's, but around 10pm, I gave up and just slept. I decided to just wake up around 3am and start studying then. The book, I left beside my pillow.

Around 12:30am, I somehow woke up. I heard them talk.

Roomie 1: (goes to bed, looks at the book) What the hell does she know, reading Plato? (Um, yes, dear roommate. I'm reading it for fun, not for class. Duh!)

Roomie 2: She doesn't f******* know anything. She's from the Philippines.

Roomies: HA, HA, HA, HA. (Yes, roomies we don't hear about books or Plato in the savage mountains of the Phillipines.)

Bottomline: Yes, I somehow got into the apartment through the back door, several sore knuckles- from-knocking after. More so, while there were times that I find it humorous how some mock or misconstrue those outside of their comfortable circles (albeit sometimes not intentionally, which is more unfortunate for such individuals.), it is a constant battle that, on some circumstances, is not all too funny: How do you convince someone (without wanting to drop an anvil on their head first) that not all Filipinos are nannies, etc. and we actually have some pride to show for?

[Side note - Allison initially thought, from the first time we saw each other at the laundry room, that I was from California. Odd. Not that it was any indication of anything.... I didn't tell them of the San Francisco move that afternoon, though. Maybe on another Sunday, when I go to visit them... hopefully not because I got locked out again that time around.]

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New Year's Eve/Day 2006, 3am.... while waiting for a cab by State Street: