Warm and fuzzy thoughts

Okay, in the time that it just took Blogger to unfreeze and reload, the warmth and fuzziness has already dissipated somewhat. But I'm going to try to recapture it.

My ideal life:

• Home is a cabin somewhere pure and isolated, but only an hour's drive away from a big city
• A job writing and designing greeting and holiday cards
• A nice husband and health for him, me, and all my family and friends
  
• Kids, but also solitude
• A fast Internet connection and a good kitchen
  
• An organic garden with vegetables, herbs, fruits, and flowers
• Nice neighbors who can watch my house when I'm traveling overseas
• An energy-efficient private jet to bring friends over for dinner parties

Okay, that last wish probably won't happen. But everything else might be doable in this lifetime, no?

Rich people annoy me

In New York earlier this week, the things that annoyed me most were the rich people. I was scouting winter fashions, and that meant sometimes going to places like 5th Avenue and downtown, where the women walk around in floor-length mink coats and men charge by in sleek suits and giant shiny shoes. In my puffy jacket and comfortable sneakers, I felt out of place and more than a little annoyed.

Back here in LA, I got that same feeling again this morning watching a corporate executive-type ahead of me in the line at Winchell's. He was accompanied by a little girl, about 7, who from the looks of things was probably not his daughter, (1) because they didn't look like family, and (2) because he was petting her hair and asking her for all kinds of input on the donuts. Oblivious to the fact that it was morning rush hour for donuts, the big man decided to turn the donut-buying into a teaching moment. As in, if we order a dozen donuts, they actually round up and give us 14, so how do we get to 34 donuts? A dozen, another dozen, and a half-dozen. Very good!

The worst part, though, was this exchange between the big man and this young Hispanic guy who took his order:

Big man: "We want 34 donuts."
Order-taker: "You want to choose, or we can assort them?"
Big man: "What?"
Order-taker: "You choose, or we assort them for you?"
Big man (loudly, indignantly): "What? I can't understand what you're saying!" (Read: "Learn to speak properly, you immigrant.")

I was so disgusted that as soon as another store clerk was free and it was my turn (while the big man and the girl were still busy selecting their 27th donut or something), I sprang into action and stole a couple of glazed bars from under his nose. He wanted four, but only got two, the poor bastard.

Cumin chicken bones

In which I attempt to explain a strange-sounding but revelatory dish.

First experience: Yesterday
Location: Shenyang Restaurant in San Gabriel
Cost: $4.98

During one of my family's early visits to this Dongbei* restaurant, we were halfway through our meal when we noticed that one particular dish was on everyone else's table, but not on ours. It looked like a pile of dark brown meat and bones, and the other diners seemed to relish picking through it. We felt left out and resolved to try it the next time.

Yesterday, back at Shenyang, we ordered the dish -- translated as Cumin Chicken Bones -- along with some sesame-and-salt flatbread. It was even better than I could have anticipated. Two chicken "frames," the skinny portions of the chicken left over after the "best" parts -- breasts, wings, legs and thighs -- are removed. The frames are chopped into hunks small enough to be handled with chopsticks, then simmered in a sauce of sugar, soy, and perhaps fermented bean, all flavored with a generous amount of cumin seeds. On the plate, the simmering liquid has become a sticky reduction that clings to tender bits of meat, skin, and cartilage. Had it been served on a more fleshy cut of meat, the sauce would have been pushed to the sidelines. Here, nibbling on the bony pieces, you revel in the sauce itself.

The dish does not look attractive, and neither will you as you are eating it. The only way to eat it is to lift a hunk of bone with your chopsticks and attack with your teeth, tongue and lips. How much of the fragrant meat you get depends somewhat on skill, and somewhat on patience, much like picking through a steamed Maryland blue crab.

One more reason this dish seemed so delicious: It was another example of how Chinese cooking, like other old cuisines around the world, has found ways for people to enjoy every last part of each animal we use for our nourishment.

*Dongbei literally means "East-North" and refers to the three northeasternmost provinces in China, bordered by Russia to the north and Korea to the east.

Full-priced adult furniture, not for me

Rejoice, for I am finally beyond the IKEA furniture phase of my life (except for the occasional, irresistibly fun kitchenware). The two IKEA items that I still own -- a couple of small white-and-beech colored pieces -- I find myself staring at these days with almost-loathing.


My new predilection: Second-hand furniture. Stylistically a step up, but not yet quite arrived. I'm sorry to anyone who thinks I should have been farther along in life by now, but I just can't bring myself to pay $1600 for one sofa from Pottery Barn. Not now, and perhaps not ever.


Below is an antique writing desk and chair I bought yesterday for $100 from a guy in Glendale I found via Craigslist. Before it really feels like it's mine, I'll need to sand down and refinish the top and stretch some new fabric over the chair pad. But how cool is it? If you're curious, scroll past to see what the same amount of money would have gotten me in real stores.

$100 at Pottery Barn would have gotten me... the keyboard tray in this attractive home office setup:

$100 at IKEA would have gotten me this perfectly functional desk. But the cost to my soul: Another $100. Resale value: $10.

Flush with coupons*

I currently have, in my possession -- and a good thing too since I am setting up a new household in Palms and needing things like a new toilet seat, bath rug, under-cabinet light strip, bedskirt, small pieces of furniture and other exciting items -- no less than the following 7 very useful coupons:

Two 20%-off-one-item for Linens-N-Things
One $5-off-$15-purchase for Bed, Bath & Beyond
One 20%-off-one-item for Bed, Bath & Beyond
One 15%-off-purchase for Home Depot
One $25-off-$250-purchase for IKEA
One 25%-off Friends-&-Family pass for Cost Plus/World Market

That last one I just received from Randi via e-mail, and it pushed me over the edge: I had to let the world know about my ridiculously great stash of coupons. (I do this not to brag, but to appease the gods of good fortune, so they know I appreciate what they do for me.)

I am collecting these kinds of coupons like a hungry squirrel storing up nuts for the winter. I have looked through my neighbors' discarded junk mail. Don't pity me; these things are as good as cash! I pity you if you are one of those chumps who wanders into Bed, Bath & Beyond without a big blue 20%-off coupon in your hot little hands.

*On a side note, I considered the alternate title "Awash in coupons" for this blog entry. I ended up liking the sound of "flush with" better than "awash in," plus it's less pretentious-sounding. But I confess I had to google the phrase to make sure I had it right, and that it wasn't actually "flush in" or something. Google, thank you for helping me keep my idioms straight.

Musings, Turning 29

40 minutes till I can spring myself from work... though I wish Jenny from Forever 21 would get in touch with me before that; I'd stay here an extra half hour for a call or e-mail back.... looking forward to the rooftop view at the Standard, and the handful of friends who will make the trek downtown for drinks on a Tuesday night and on such short notice...there was a yummy fruit tart that mom brought to work to share with the staff... this is quite the lazy blog entry, but I'm entitled because it's my birthday and I don't want to work hard! ... blogging is also easier when I am not on a Chinese-enabled computer like I was the last time I blogged; I had to guess what button said "publish post" and what button said "save," my Chinese not being so good... not everyone remembered my bday this year which was kind of sad... but not the reason I burst into tears yesterday... yesterday was a tiring day... I always remember childhood friends' bdays, even when I don't talk to them regularly anymore, but I guess not everyone is like that... still I am impressed whenever someone does remember... there are only a couple of people outside the family who I expect never to forget...and so far they have never not remembered.... gotta call grandma soon and thank her for the scarf she sent.... how odd that I received a scarf, I who am drowning in scarves I am trying to sell at work.

I am a very bad person

and mean and rather vulgar.

About once every few months, I'll be in just the right kind of mood for road rage. Sometimes I initiate it, but mostly it's the other driver. This morning, the other driver was a middle-aged, slightly overweight man at the wheel of a faded blue Previa. Warning: If you think that I am nice + sweet, or you think a girl should always act like a lady, please stop here and don't read on.

I was on Olympic Boulevard in West LA on my way to pick up my friend Randi for breakfast when I changed lanes in front of this Previa to make a left turn at an upcoming intersection. Without really looking in my rear view, I felt that the said Previa swerved impatiently out from behind me, zoomed past on my right, then skidded to a halt at a red light. The Previa was one car ahead of me, one lane over, and the driver looked at me in his side mirror and shook his head. From behind my sunglasses, I shook my head back.

He mouthed, "Fuck you."

I shook my head again, then pointed at the side of my head to indicate what I thought of his state of mind.

He flipped me off.

I flipped him off back, but more hardcore. (I was schooled in the right way to do it back in the 7th grade. You not only extend the middle finger, but also cock the index and ring finger at almost right angles on either side. It looks like you really mean it. The Previa driver had flipped me off the weenie way, holding all his fingers down except his middle one. Anyway.)

He looked at me in disbelief, clearly unhappy at the way our "conversation" was going. He made a gesture like he was jerking off, in the air.

I gave him a big thumbs-up.

He then made some kind of motion with his curved index finger. Was he saying, come here let's fight? Or now-that-I've-jerked-off-I'm-going-to-pretend-to-finger-you? I couldn't tell.

Whatever it was, I laughed in his face. He was almost beside himself at this point, but had apparently run out of ideas. The light turned green.

I resisted the urge to blow him a kiss goodbye, because I thought he was already about to have a coronary. And I had misbehaved enough for one day.

Moment of Zen and other freeway observations

Now that I have settled into my robust 40-minute daily commute, I am finding the time to smell the roses, so to speak, and appreciate what our car-culture here in L.A. has to offer.

1. Moments of Zen: See above, Buddha patiently sitting in traffic
2. Conversations with strangers: A cool afternoon and traffic going about 15 mph, so my windows are rolled down for a change. Out-of-town driver in next car: "Excuse me! Is the 405 freeway that way?" Me: "Um, yeah. About 15 or 20 more miles." Out-of-town driver: "Oh, good. I didn't want to miss it." Me: "Don't worry, you have a long way to go."
3. People-watching: A teenage girl in a passenger seat screaming with laughter, holding an Icee. A barefoot man slowly exiting the freeway on a downtown off-ramp.

Drowning at work + Guilty Pleasure

I shouldn't be blogging right now, since there are a lot of important things on my plate. But I need to vent so here goes. I'm drowning! Fielding calls from customers who want to return stuff ("The felt on this hat has some tiny spots on it. We can't sell it."); customers who want to change their orders ("We just opened a new store. Can I double my order?"; an avalanche of calls and e-mails from about a dozen Web design firms because I made the mistake of going online to request bids for a new website; asking one of our warehouse guys to PLEASE not stand on top of the stacks and break his neck; trying to fill out mounds of bureaucratic paperwork from a catalog house that wants to become a client but won't tell me how much of anything they'll buy; staring at piles of to-do-lists and other crap all over my desk (I've moved over to my dad's spot in his absence, and his desk is starting to look like mine. Sorry, Papa, I will clear it up before you return); trying to think of ways to increase sales because we have lots of great stuff for the winter but that doesn't matter if no one KNOWS about it.

Whew.

Guilty pleasure of the day (that I'll admit to): Looking at my blog page stats and seeing how many hits I've gotten. Plus, looking at where those hits are coming from. Today's Google searches that landed people on my page: "chez panisse, "stop bananas from getting overripe," "eating salt and running," and "feline leg injury." I love people.

Observations from a Quebecois supermarket

1. There are numerous butter choices in the butter section, most in generous (ie. huge) foil-wrapped portions. This speaks well of local culinary tastes.
2. Cans of gravy are displayed next to bags of frozen French fries. These are two of the three ingredients needed to make the comfort dish of poutine, which I still am not sure how to pronounce. Last night, I said pou-teen, and I think the server girl said back to me pou-tin. There are no cheese curds - the third ingredient - anywhere in the supermarket though, and I know because I looked hi and lo and even considered accosting an innocent shopper to find out. Turns out it's because cheese curds are very perishable, and need to be eaten within a day of being made. And so this squeaky, mild-tasting delicacy is not only hard to find in such a place as a supermarket, but it is also apparently only to be had in cheese-making towns.
3. Another Quebecois delicacy: cretons. This has been variously translated as potted pork; a breakfast spread made of pork; a food similar to the French rillettes; and the very helpful "cretons."
4. Paté of all kinds is very cheap here. Like $1.50 for a nice-sized chunk. This also speaks well of the Quebecois table.

Traipsing around New England

Day 1. Sundown earlier today in Essex, Mass. Near a very good seafood joint called Woodman's. Tomorrow we set off from the White mountains of New Hampshire, near the Vermont border, and head to Quebec.

In a great mood

I return from a weekend in the Bay Area today to find my quiet residential street closed to traffic and transformed into a giant Labor Day barbecue and block party.

My landlady, Diane, is overseeing one of several grills sizzling with meat, and there are tables set out with salads and fruit under canopies. Small children are jumping in moonbounces and sliding down a big inflatable water slide. Long-haired teen-agers are doing tricks on their skateboards and falling down. A small band is playing. I am greeted warmly and offered food and drink.

Every weary traveler should be welcomed home like this.

Life as a Vegas showgirl

• Double booth at the ASD/AMD Variety Merchandise Show = $5,000
• 8 oz. of Kobe beef = $250
• 30-minute wireless Internet tryout = $0
• Discovering vintage Vegas = priceless
  
  
  

Aging and not liking it

Things that occurred this week that made me realize I am getting older:

1. I lied about my age. To a telemarketer who was flirting over the phone. He was 19.
2. I did not get carded at Ralphs while buying Vermouth and dirty martini mix. (Maybe it was the choice of alcohol that gave me away.)
3. I did not get carded at Albertson's while buying a six-pack of Dos Equis. (No mollifying explanation here.)
4. My friend Cheryl, who is a doctor, was giving me a bit of therapy yesterday on my pulled IT band and pointed out a crinkly sound in my kneecaps that she said is a symptom of arthritis and probably caused by my running. If there's anything that could have made me feel older this week, arthritis would be it.

Nice argument, Mr. Genius

NPR had a report today on illegal dogfighting rings in the U.S. and efforts to curb them. Check out the very logical argument by one pro-life congressman about why he decided to help defeat a bill against dogfighting:

Most of the bill's opponents say they aren't fans of dogfighting but are conservative, pro-life Republicans. Iowa Rep. Steve King says it's wrong for the federal government to criminalize pit bull trafficking while allowing legal abortion.
"My vote says that human life needs to be elevated and stay above animal life. And I think it devalues all human life, when you set the life of an animal up above that of a human," King says.

All right, lemme see if I follow the logic: Until abortion is prohibited, people out of principle should be free to maim, kill, and otherwise be cruel to animals. In that case, is there any better way to celebrate the sanctity of human life than the routine harming and punishing of animals? Heck, until the evildoers among us stop this abortion nonsense, the little critters are just gonna have to pay.

The burden of rotting fruit

In my fridge right now, getting overripe, are:

2 pounds large globe grapes
3 peaches
1 striped melon
1 big artichoke
1/2 avocado
1/2 tomato

I brought one of the peaches to work today, and it was mealy. The other day, I had two bananas that were getting abominably brown so I peeled them and put them in the freezer.

I am always attracted to nice-looking fruit in the market and end up buying a lot of it. But it's like this weight on my shoulders to have fruit in the house that's not getting eaten. A person can only eat so much of it.

Which brings me to another thought. One of my big rants is about how a lot of low-income people tend to stock up on food that is very processed and unhealthy, just because it's cheaper and lasts longer. Hot dogs vs. fresh meat. Frito chips vs. corn on the cob. A frozen pizza vs. bread/cheese/tomatoes. Which can lead to fat or frail kids, higher medical bills, and a tradition of junk-food eating (or at least, not-really-fresh cooking) that gets passed down from generation to generation.

How very fortunate I am to be able to buy and cook and eat, and even waste, perishable foods.

Downtown digs

I'm quite a fan of my new workplace. It's in this industrial part of downtown LA, home to companies dealing in produce, pallets or scrap materials, or that manufacture or import different goods. Driving around this jumble of streets takes some vigilance because trucks come flying down the road. If I don't get into an accident (knock on wood), I should become a pretty badass driver in short order.

Today, we opened for business in the new warehouse and office. This is the view from my desk (left). The inventory in the yard belongs to Arnold, a 59-year-old Mexican guy who buys and sells pallets. I quite like having this view; there is always something interesting to look at. If you have ever seen a forklift in action, I think you would agree that forklifts and pallets are the product of a genius mind.

This is not the type of work environment that most MBAs end up in, I'll grant. We have no cubicles or morning meetings here, and you do have to get your hands dirty some of the time. But I like it, because it's real and tangible. It makes me feel alive.

Besides Arnold the pallet man, the cast of characters in our building consists of:

• Simon, our landlord. A 40ish Hong Kong guy who runs a toy import business that he is phasing out. A bit of a control freak, and sometimes talks too much. After seeing me all of three times, he commented that he thought I was "soft" and needed to toughen up. We'll see about that.
  
• Aroldo, 22-year-old Guatemalan who manages Simon's warehouse. Nice kid, pretty sharp, works hard, keeps a lot of fruit in his fridge.
  
• Three HK ladies in Simon's office, which looks like a bank because it used to be a bank. I probably won't see them much, except when I go in there to get our mail and stash my lunch in the fridge.
• A very large, tan Chinese woman who apparently used to do martial arts competitively. She runs a wholesale operations for some kinda trinkets. Glass figurines? Her warehouse guys are pretty tough-looking pair, with lots of tattoos and such.
  
• An Indian guy, also a wholesaler of some kind.

At first, I was not looking forward to sharing a building with other tenants. But I think it'll turn out to be muy divertido.

Counting blessings... and hats

I'm lucky to have a family business to step into. It's not glamorous, but it's a good, productive business. We import hats and handbags from China, most of them made out of straw, and sell to wholesalers and retailers around the US and also some in Canada and South America. My dad's been at it for more than 15 years now, and now it's my turn.

That said, it was tough starting work even before I officially graduated from b-school. Three days before graduation, to be exact. People said I should have negotiated time off with the boss, or at least a bonus for starting work so early. To them I say, um, it's my DAD.

In about a week, I learned the ins and outs of our sales and accounting system. I've made mistakes, of course, but my dad has caught them all. I swear I won't make the same mistake twice. Besides staying on top of customer orders, I am helping with our big move. Our new location is all of 5 minutes away in downtown LA, but there are a ton of people to notify and loose ends to tie up so that we can operate without interruption. Looking forward to being done with the move, because I want to start working on some ideas I have.

Highlights of the past 2 weeks:

• Had the new office painted blue. Arctic Paradise blue.
• Lost 4 pounds - this is not a sedentary job. Plus the bento boxes from Mom make for very well-balanced lunches.
• Picked out some purses for myself - hey, hafta get familiar with the product
• Cute Fedex guy
• Makin' money again - yeehaw

Next stage

Yesterday was our graduation, or the commencement of our careers as MBAs. For most of us, it was also the last time we would ever be students again -- for real this time. So even though it was the celebration of an achievement, to me it marked the unfortunate passing of a happy era.

Life has always been divided into small, neat chunks, including the last 2 here in business school. From birth, 2 years in the US, 1 year in Taiwan, 4 years in France, 2 years in Monterey Park, 2 years in New Jersey, 2 years at Orange Grove MS in Hacienda Heights, 4 years at Los Altos High, 4 years at UCLA, 2 years as a reporter in LA, 3 years in Baltimore, 2 years at Anderson.

Every time I've moved on, I have always regretted leaving behind the people I got used to seeing every day. And then gradually, precise memories become a blur, and then I struggle even to recall names. But the faces and the impressions always remain, woven into this great tapestry of a life I have been lucky to live.

Too much sadness

A classmate of mine, Peter Odebjer, died yesterday in a motorcycle accident. He was 32 and from Sweden, a guy who was literally always on the go. Did things like fly airplanes, run marathons, drink like a fish, work with Doctors Without Borders in Darfur, and make other people feel good about themselves. I was fortunate to get to know him better in the past year, especially during a spring break trip to Japan. I had been very much looking forward to continuing the friendship.

Obituary

Xiao Hei, a 150-pound Neopolitan mastiff who loved to eat noodles and roll in the grass after a bath, died yesterday of natural causes. He was 10 years old.

Adopted by the Loh family as a puppy, Xiao Hei spent his early years going to work every morning at Mr. Loh's warehouse in downtown Los Angeles, where he honed his skills as a ferocious-sounding guard dog. On weekends, Xiao Hei accompanied the family on outdoor excursions. He enjoyed running away from ocean waves, plodding around shallow riverbeds, and eating snow during winter trips to the mountains.

Family members described Xiao Hei as a gentle giant who, despite his intimidating appearance, was always careful not to hurt any person, even by accident. In fact, the most effective way of getting Xiao Hei to release something in his jaws was always to jam one's hand into his mouth, which caused him to immediately let go.

The only creature on whom Xiao Hei ever took out his wrath was Cheeto, a fuzzy orange cat who was his tormentor until the day the dog struck back with a paw under a fence that clipped Cheeto's leg, sending the feline to the hospital.

Because of his heavy build, Xiao Hei understood he could never be a lap dog. When he wanted to feel close to one of his family members, he would content himself with plopping his bottom down on one of their feet. He had tender feelings, and was known, after a scolding, to hang his head or occasionally take himself to a far corner of the backyard to brood.

In later years, Xiao Hei was bothered by a hind leg injury that caused him to limp. But there were still good days, when he would charge around the backyard for no apparent reason, or roll around in the grass under a hot afternoon sun, snorting and growling to himself. One of Xiao Hei's favorite treats in his old age was the bowl of noodles or rice in warm broth that he would be fed every evening after the family's dinner.

Several family members were present in the backyard yesterday afternoon when Xiao Hei laid himself down one final time, on a pile of freshly-cut peach tree trimmings. He will be missed.

Naming is such sweet sorrow

mr. fob lives on. Not in name, but in spirit. This is the ethnic food exploration business that some business school friends and I started last year. We run tours at mom-and-pop restaurants that serve great authentic food from different countries.

The name mr. fob was a riff on FOB, which means fresh-off-the-boat, for the uninitiated. It's used to describe recent immigrants in the Asian community. In turn, the fobs call people like me ABCs (American-born Chinese). mr. fob was a character we created, a kindly middle-aged fob who knew all the great restaurants to go to, and not just Asian ones but miraculously also Oaxacan, Indian, Moroccan, and even Ethiopian restaurants.

Sadly, a few weeks ago our name got around to some people who found it offensive. So they wrote us a bunch of nasty emails and insisted we change it. After much internal debate, we agreed it was our best option.

We are reborn as Tastination. Taste + Destination.

It was quite a grueling brainstorming and selection process, and everyone defended their favorites (usually the ones they came up with) passionately. We could only consider names for which the URL was still available. (Found out there are lots of meanies out there who park URLs and don't use them, then try to charge you loads of money. Like this guy in La Habra who tried to get $10,000 from me for "Hungry Ninja.") In the end, we polled a couple of hundred of our friends and got about 75 responses with the overwhelming favorite being Tastination. We hope you like it.

Here were just some of the names we went through. We might have been a bit delirious when we thought of some of them. Don't ask.

aefla (authentic ethnic food lovers association)
begopa
bepoga
bouffedom
chewtrain
chezsauj

cuisinecompass
cuisineat
eatavenue

eatdownhome
eaticy
eatizen
eatore

eatwithfatty
ethnicfoodie
fattystable
fiestasauce
fiestysauce
fiestytofu
foobuff
fooddummy

foodluva

fooducate
foodventurous

foopert (or with PH)
foopin
foorney
fooyin
foozine

foreignfoodie
gogrubbin
goodwithchopsticks
howyoueat
mahndu
mrJuanTon
mrmandu
mrphoodie
myphood
outdiner
pantanie
pholla
phoodfinder
phoodfinds
phoodles
phoodtown
phorksticks
platefull
reefoo
udany
wantonton
wantony
wewillwokyou
wontanie
wontonie

Chez Panisse

I'm in the middle of writing up a hellish real estate investment case (case study, for non-MBAs), but just wanted to post the menu I had with some friends at Chez Panisse on Friday. Liz and I drove up from LA straight to Berkeley, where Alice Waters' famous restaurant is located.

Friday, April 27 David's favorites

An apéritif (This was fruity, light and chilled... or am I confusing it with the dessert wine that the nice staff treated us to after the meal?)

King salmon paillard with fava beans and herb salsa (I thought a paillard was a flattened piece of meat that is then fried - chicken paillard, non? This was actually a most delicious salmon carpaccio. Fresh fava beans = awesome)

Handcut pasta with green garlic and morel mushrooms (This turned out to be a risotto. Very delicate. Some of my friends found it bland. Fresh English peas dotted the dish. I wish I'd kept the printed menu! Now it occurs to me there were lots of substitutions.)

Warm Paine Fram squab salad with Banyuls vinegar sauce, squab liver toast, roasted celery root, carrots, and artichokes (I was wild about this one. Though I could have had the squab a bit more well-done. Basically it was an entire squab, in lovely deboned slices; each of our plates came with 2 squab hearts, for some reason)

Rhubarb-strawberry coupe with ginger parfait (A nice ending: Sweet rhubarb paired with lovely local strawberries, including one tiny one with a stem left on. But even nicer was the aforementioned dessert wine on the house and the tour of the kitchen and chatting with one of the assistant chefs who was extremely wired, and maybe even on speed.)

Expensive lessons

I have been getting the shaft lately in terms of government taxes, fines, and penalties. Not that this should surprise anyone, considering my history, but here are 3 recent things that I learned the hard way:

1. When given the choice to be an employee or contractor, be an employee.

I made only $13,000 last year, but somehow I owe $1,500 in taxes. This is because when my summer employer asked whether I wanted to added to the payroll or be paid as an independent contractor for my 10-week internship, I said, "I'll be a contractor." I knew there were tax implications, but I thought it was just a matter of timing. (ie. pay taxes now or pay them later, and it sounded good at the time to pay them later).

Sadly, I found out last week that I am now paying more in taxes because of my decision to not be on the payroll. If I had chosen to be an employee, I would have paid income tax over the summer but would have gotten a nice little refund from education credits at tax time. Instead, I am now on the hook for my own SS and Medicare taxes, which my employer would have normally paid as part of the costs of having an employee.* Plus, about $50 in fines for not paying the taxes at the time that I earned the income. And no, education credits do not count toward SS, Medicare, or late fines.

2. If you forget to hang up your residential parking permit on my street - a wide open street with plenty of parking on both the east and west sides pretty much at all times of day and night, mind you - you will get a ticket. For $47. And it might just blow away in the wind, and you might not even find out you got a ticket until you receive a late notice in the mail, say after returning from a nice trip to Japan.

3. If you park at a broken meter in Santa Monica on a Saturday morning, even if you try to put coins into the meter, and said meter fails to register your money, and you are fuming because you don't have enough change left to go to another meter and so you decide to just take a chance - you will get a ticket. Within a half hour. For $35.

* So that's why they said in business school that payroll costs are a big burden on employers. The lesson has finally penetrated my thick skull.

Virtual stir-frying

Stir-frying is the lazy man's cooking method of choice. It's easy to do (chop chop, stir stir, fry fry), and a hot meal is on the table in just a few minutes. For those of us who are even lazier at times, here is the lazy man's momma's cooking technique:

Virtual stir-frying *

1. Take a vegetable that you would normally stir-fry (Zucchini, bell peppers, Asian greens)


2. Chop it up into small pieces that would cook in a wok in just a couple of minutes. (No wok needed, don't worry)


3. Put veggies in a microwaveable container that comes with a lid


4. Drizzle in a small amount of cooking oil (or olive or flavored, if you want to be fancy)


5. Sprinkle a bit of salt


6. Put the lid on, and shake it all around


7. Pop it into the microwave and cook on high for a couple of minutes


8. Take the container out, give the veggies another shake, and cook again for a few minutes. (The amount of cooking time depends on type of veggie and size of chopped pieces).

I did this for the zucchini in my homemade bento dinner tonight. Okay, it was just food on top of rice in a bowl so it wasn't really a bento. But there you go.




* Virtual stir-frying works well with vegetables. Try other types of food at your own risk. Don't neglect the oil. You'll get a sopping mess of half-steamed veggies if you don't coat everything with a thin layer of oil. And nobody likes that.

Two things I brought home from Japan

Instead of a recap of the whole trip which would be interesting only to me (in a nutshell, it was a mixture of cultural travel and spring break shenanigans), here is an offering of my two favorite experiences in Japan:

Tsukiji fish market in Tokyo: I gorged on uni, which I have praised in a previous post. It's basically my favorite food in the world at the moment. The uni I had at 7 am one morning after visiting the famous wholesale fish market was an unusual breakfast, I grant. But oh my gosh, was it soft, fresh and delicious. I wish I had pictures of my chirashi bowl, which also contained slices of tuna and salmon roe, but the establishment didn't allow photos. All I have is these of the little restaurant district that adjoins the market. The meal I chose is pictured on the second row from the bottom. See the gorgeous yellow color of the uni peeking out? My companion was a first-year student, Vishal, who was on a pilgrimage in search of baby octopus. We sat together and ate in quiet reverence, pausing only to praise or share a morsel.

The Japanese people: I'm not going to say I'm a big expert now or that I met every last one of them, but the ones I did encounter did help to enlighten me about Japanese culture and customs. I used to think the culture rather stiff and artificially formal, with lots of hidden societal problems and tastes that lean toward the small and cute rather than the large and grand. Then of course there is that nasty business of past Japanese imperialism in China and Korea. But the visit helped me gain a more multi-dimensional perspective - which is the most valuable thing a person can gain from traveling abroad - and better appreciate Japanese culture (not excusing the imperialism).

I was struck by how comfortable and safe I felt at all times, unlike when I'm traveling in other foreign places. Never did I have to worry about a harsh word or a rude tone. My wallet, which I left behind in a stadium in Osaka after a Sumo tournament, was tagged and filed away by the staff before I even got back to the place where I had lost it. People bent over backwards to help me and my friends, and they did it all with a spring in their step and a pleasant manner. (Picture this: Our first day in Japan, we stand helpless in front of a bank of subway ticket machines in Kyoto trying to figure out how to purchase our fares, when a section of the wall in front of us actually opens and a man pops out his head to assist us).

Suffice it to say, I'm now a big fan of the Japanese notion of separating public behavior and private feeling. I see the value of behaving one way in public, regardless of how you feel inside, and helping to maintain an extreme kind of social order. The calmness may be superficial, but it sure does remind you that your fellow man is someone to be respected, not constantly struggled against. (Don't ask me to reconcile this with a horror story I heard from Tony, my very emo Taiwanese friend who lives in Tokyo. He was jailed for 2 weeks, after he aroused policemen's suspicions by being dressed in all-black and having a pocket knife in his backpack. He was eventually released with no charge.)

Things I like and don't get enough of

(This is not a reproach, just a fact I'm lamenting)

• Fried yucca
• Friends who burn CDs for me (Listening to Lily Allen right now - Nice! glad to be introduced to her)
• Days when I feel good, like today (The last time was in November)
• Movie adaptations of books I love (Just saw Masterpiece Theatre's new version of Jane Eyre - the second half of it in bits and pieces on youtube, but still muy excellente. A shoutout to MileyxJake4Ever, whoever you are. You have a lot of time on your hands, and I thank thee.)
• Time to be idle

A general malaise

Complaints:
1) My head hurts, but not enough to take a Tylenol.
2) I've been tired for days. I've tried sleeping, but it only helps a little bit.
3) I worry about the future.
4) I have no one who I can just call up and make go see a movie with me.
5) I ate a fattening breakfast this morning, and now I regret it.
6) My new haircut is not cooperating.
7) I haven't done my taxes yet.

On the bright side:
1) I'm going to Japan on Thursday for a school spring break trip.
2) I plan to eat a lot of good food, and soak away my troubles in a hot spring.
3) It's sunny out.
4) I have some friends who care about me.
5) I know what I'm doing after graduation.
6) I finished classes/exams early and so I have 2 weeks off instead of just one.
7) I'm really stretching here. Hence, the general malaise.

Scenes from the LA Marathon

People huddle for warmth near the starting line... lines at the portable toilets are 20 deep a half-hour before the starting time... a tree's branches become decorated with discarded clothing as runners file by... the stars on the Hollywood Walk of Fame streak by in a blur... a barefoot runner with black soles... a man walking under a bridge holds up a sign to runners that says, "Have you found Jesus yet?" ... one man yells to another, who is wearing a T-shirt honoring a comrade killed in Iraq, "Lt. so-and-so, Hooyah!" ... two burly biker types perched on a flatbed truck blast Guns N' Roses from giant speakers ... people sit in folding chairs on their front lawns... the sun beats down on the runners... people line the streets holding signs with their friends' or relatives' names... handsome police officers guard an intersection... a Korean kid raps atop one of the entertainment stages... a runner is stricken with a leg cramp and others try to help, one of them lightly kicking the bottom of his heel... the ground is strewn with flattened cups and banana peels... the welcome cold spray of someone's front-yard hose... little kids hold out cups of water or their hands for high-fives... bystanders read your bib and cheer you on by name... another mile marker passes overhead... someone consoles a teenager who has stopped running and is crying... the crowd has thinned out... some runners stop to stretch their legs on the side of the road... the welcome faces of friends, looking so fresh and encouraging, not at all how you feel... a cheering station volunteer forces a packet of Gu into your hand, and it turns out you really did need it... some cloud cover provides relief from the heat... a perfect view of downtown stretches out ahead... the crowds begin to thicken in the final miles of the race...a news photographer kneels on a street corner, waiting for a good shot... a homeless man yells encouraging words... "You're almost there!" someone else shouts... the Mile 26 banner is straight ahead... the finish is a yellow blurry line too far off in the distance... runners try to smile as they force their legs across the 26.2 mark... volunteers yelling "Congratulations" practically tackle runners to remove computer chips from sneakers... medals are draped around people's necks and plastic blankets are handed out... runners grab at the hundreds of bottles of water set up on tables... paramedics cart away a wiry, ashen-faced runner... people spread blankets out and fall to the ground... some scarf down fruit, bagels, nuts... others make their way on wobbly legs to reunite with their families

5:00:43

The best part of today, in addition to finishing the marathon, was the wonderful support I received from friends who came to watch the race and sent e-mails and text messages. I didn't know it would matter so much, but it did. Also a special thanks to Sonia, my triathlete friend who stopped by to run miles 19-22 with me and kept me going through that tough stretch, when I was very tempted to give in to the urge to walk.

I want to say more, but right now I'm not good for much but sleeping. My bed beckons.

Hurray for runners!

Clichés, and Eating salt before the marathon

Words are like fashion or music. If you hear or see something too often, it becomes passé or very "last year," like pointy shoes or a Gwen Stefani song after a few weeks on the radio. (On a side note, I'm not making fun of people with pointy shoes. I have a pair, acquired too late, and I've only been able to wear them once and I'm quite sad.)

But back to words. Phrases that are so overused that they become shells of their former selves. When someone uses a cliché, you know what he or she means to say, but you don't give it much weight because the words knock against your ear without really getting inside, to make an impact.

That said, I think clichés still have their value. When a phrase becomes commonly used, it's a good form of communication because people instantly know what you are talking about. There's no ambiguity. Like when my running group met last weekend to go over our game plan (another cliché!) for Sunday's marathon, we decided that although we'd been training as a team, on the day of the marathon it would be "every man for himself." That's a big-time cliché, but it's also an efficient way of conveying the idea.

And sometimes, clichés just say it better than anything else. Like this morning, I was thinking about whether I'm more or less marketable because I don't have any great skill, like finance. I went back and forth and then, to cheer myself up, I thought: "The world is my oyster." Now, I know that phrase is pretty worn. But I liked it anyway and it made me feel better.

On another note, there are 3 days left until the marathon. We've been advised get enough sleep and increase our salt intake. I love both salt and sleep, so ... Aye aye, captain! I'm on it. You don't have to tell me twice.*

*These are all clichés. I don't really talk like that.

Yes, I realize that my Ford is not a Mercedes

Last night, a couple of friends and I went for drinks on the Sunset Strip. As we were getting into my car to leave - a 5-year-old Ford ZX2 with 78,000 miles and a healthy number of dings and paint chips - someone called out to me, "Nice car." I looked up to see a group of young guys grinning out of the open windows of a white Mercedes. I gave the guy in the passenger seat a smile and got into my car, unable to think of a good retort.* Also, I had to digest what had just happened: The only-in-status-obsessed-Los-Angeles equivalent of an egging.

This incident brings to mind the last time someone told me "Nice car" in reference to my little ZX2. It was about 2 years ago, in Baltimore. I had driven to a creek to catch crabs on a summer day, and a boy about 12 years old who was out there fishing or something saw the car and said, "Is that your car? Nice car." And he had meant it.

*I later thought of many things I could have said. One of them was, "Like it? I'll let you sit in it if you promise to shut up and just look pretty." But I think I was better off smiling and letting the insult fall flat. It's like when you tell a joke and no one laughs.

Back on track

Ran 13 miles today after a five-week hiatus from training with my running group. During the run and for hours afterward, I had a sense of exhilaration that I haven't felt since I quit running to rest my knee injury. I've been accused of being "depressy" recently. Now I realize that my mood was probably dragged down by a lack of physical activity. How strange to think that all of my complaints and frustrations - which seemed to me very real at the time - were just the product of a brain hungry for serotonin!

After this morning's long run, Erin and I celebrated with a shopping spree at the running store. I got a lightweight hat to wear during the marathon, a knee support band, and a watch that keeps track of intervals -- all of which purchases made me inordinately happy. Runner's high, I heart you.

My knee remains a bit stiff, but I believe the injury is going to be manageable from here on out.

Days left till marathon = 21

My parents, the animal lovers

My parents have an old friend, Jojo, who is a dog person. He breeds dogs as a hobby and everyone know him to be a dog person, so when someone has a dog they need to get off their hands, they come to him. That's how we got Xiao Hei, our 150-pound Neopolitan mastiff, 10 years ago when he was just a pup.

Last week, Jojo brought my parents a 1 1/2-year-old dog named Nalua to check out. She's a breed that is indigenous to Taiwan. "Formosan dog" is a possible English translation.

Nalua is 30 pounds of lean, wiry muscle. She behaves like a skittish cat, prancing away when you try to touch her. She's extremely aware of everything going on around her, and savvy enough not to try to compete with Xiao Hei for the humans' attention. She's also a bit of a coquette, and can be persuaded to pose for photos:

A bit of background about the parents: My dad is a dog fanatic, and has for years been hoping to get Xiao Hei a playmate. But my mom generally is known to view animals as little poop machines that she has to pick up after. Imagine my dad's surprise when Mom went out and bought a new dog house the very day after Nalua's arrival. Not only that, but she also has nicknamed the dog Lulu.

Running in the swimming pool really sucks

Following my 23-mile run three weeks ago, my left knee gave out.

For days, I dutifully iced and elevated it and ingested lots of ibuprofen. I even went to the clinic on campus, where I was told by a very old, slow-moving physician that I had injured my iliotibial band, which runs down the outside of the leg. I had to have him spell it for me. Days later I realized he meant my IT band, which runners commonly injure. His lack of expertise with runners notwithstanding, I was very relieved when he told me to just rest and get back to running once I felt up to it.

However, when I tried that - about 2 weeks after the injury - I had to stop after running about one block. The knee became swollen again the next day, sending me into a slight panic. To try to remedy things, I have taken two drastic steps to try to salvage my marathon training (Days left till marathon =37):

1. I made a pact with God (I'm not even religious) that I would give up smoking (I only smoke a cigarette like every few days - don't freak out), if he would allow me to recover in time for the marathon. I thought I began to feel some slight improvement after that.
2. I swallowed my pride and went to the gym this morning to run in the swimming pool, which I heard is a good, low-impact way to keep your muscles in some kind of shape while you're recovering from a knee injury. As if I didn't feel foolish enough, during my little therapy session a group of doughy, middle-aged women descended on the pool for a water aerobics class. I think THEY looked at ME with a mixture of pity and amusement.

"the arts"

It irks me when people talk about "the arts." As in: "I wish I had more time for the arts in my life." Or: "I am a big supporter of the arts."

Unless you are a big-time philanthropist and are actually in a position to affect the art world in a major way - like by donating a million bucks to a museum and having them name a wing after you - then you really have no business calling it "the arts." It just sounds pompous and dumb.

Better, though still not good: "I wish I had more time to appreciate art" or "I love art" or "Art is a big part of my life."

Best: Don't refer to art like it's some kind of hobby or activity. If you have really been touched by art, it's not something you need to say. You're too busy whiling away an evening with a good book or movie, losing yourself in music, or finding beauty in the daily life around you to even talk about it.

Thank you, my left knee

And a little shout out to my right knee, for taking up the slack while my left one did its best not to hobble me.

Distance covered: 23 miles

Length: 4 hours 35 minutes (including about 10 minutes worth of water/bathroom breaks)

Route: Santa Monica to UCLA and back, with lots of loops to make the extra distance

Starting time: 5:30 am, in pre-dawn darkness except for a big, bright moon

Challenges: I almost lost it even before the running began for two reasons: (1) I tried to turn on my new iPod shuffle, and panicked when nothing happened. (Turned out the "on" and the "off" positions are kinda hard to tell apart, in the dark.)

(2) I stupidly pulled a muscle on the outside of my left knee while doing a quick stretch. Almost cried thinking I couldn't do the run, then decided to run on the knee, gingerly. I was running pretty darn funny for a while, with my right knee doing more than its share. Eventually the pulled muscle warmed up, and the pain went away. It was still stiff at times, and I took very cautious strides during the entire run.

Personal triumph: For the last 2 miles, three other runners and I ran ahead and ended up finishing a couple of minutes before the rest of the group. It felt good to take advantage of that last wind I got, and as we neared the end point, I thought our little senior center at Ocean Ave. and Broadway the most beautiful building in the world.

Blogging angst

I have a confession to make. Sometimes I get busy and forget that I even have a blog, and that is one reason I go for long stretches without any new entries. But other times, I would like very much to blog but can't because I can't think of anything appropriate. It's hard out there for a blogger, especially if he/she is trying to strike a balance between writing something that's personally satisfying (like a good diary entry), yet still suitable for public consumption. With that in mind, here are my own personal rules for blogging.

What a blog entry should be, if possible:

• Personal
• Clever
• Written with readers in mind (i.e. Interesting, hopefully, to someone besides myself)
• Purposeful (Such as being a funny story; an update for anyone who cares about events in my life; or thought-provoking.)

What a blog entry should avoid being:

• Overly revealing
• Too clever
• Excessively self-absorbed (Though this may not be possible, given the nature of personal blogs.)

The end.*

*I'm not the first one to steal this neat way of concluding things, popularized by Sauj. It's nice and short and suits my bad habit of ending things in a hurry when I get tired of writing, like my newspaper articles back in the day.