May I first preface by indicating that I don’t support resolutions. Coming up with goals is a spontaneous occurrence. Working on these goals should be a long-term process. Yet, each year, millions of people, myself included, force out a set number of wishful resolutions, imposing upon themselves a burden of guilt until each item’s completion.

However, a friend recently told me that after having graduated high school as an individual he was dissatisfied with,  he had scribbled down on a scratch piece of paper a small list of big things he wanted to change about himself. A dog year’s past and that list now sits framed on his shelf as goals that once were. Sure, to blog my list in 3 parts shows a lot more premeditation and is far less organic than the “epiphany-on-a-coaster” approach, but I will commit to these goals with every whole grain fiber of my being. Some of these things I’ve already been working on, others have been tucked away in a shoebox labeled “For later.” Some items are finite with a clear end to be had, others serve more like “string-around-the-finger” mantras that I will consider for the remainder of my life. All, however, are the result of much deliberation in realizing my values and beliefs. For these reasons, I have chosen items that are realistic and hearted but at the same time reflective of my whole. They may or may not be completed before 30, but I must remind myself that there was once a time and place when the average life expectancy meant a “30 before 30″ was a bucket list (Afghanistan in 1950, in case you’re wondering).

My friend Sobrina, who is sharing in this activity with me, decided that coming up with 30 meaningful items was too tall an order for such a short amount of time (we’d need a grande or a venti…). So we’ve broken the 30 into 3 categories: activities, superficial, and meaningful. Here, I’ve come up with my list of things I will do:

Top 10 Activities

1. Fly

Silly me to talk up the depth of my entries only to head the list with…fly. But hear me out. I, like most people, have wonderful dreams of flying. I also have less than wonderful dreams of suicide. What better way to combine the two than to jump out of an airplane?! Plus, what kind of list would this be if I didn’t include sky-diving? The rest go deeper than the heights of a dive, so I figure we’ll start off with this appetizer.

2. Travel by relevance, not by destination.

Let’s just call the kettle black (a saying that I’ve somehow wrongly associated with racism), I’m pretty fortunate to have traveled to more than my fair share of worldly destinations. But when I look back upon the pictures of my excursions, as I “ooh” upon the memories and good times, I realize that my trips have been governed exclusively by two factors: cost and aesthetics. “Cost” because I’m a poor student who couldn’t afford these trip otherwise, and “aesthetics” in that I go to indulge myself in personal pleasures–be they the sights, attractions, cuisine, or culture. Well lately Josh’s been giving me shit ’cause I’m going through my post-adolescent idealistic phase, and I realize that while I can tell you what Kobe beef tastes like and which direction water swirls on the equator, I cannot tell you what the markings on abandoned Katrina homes mean or what the South African flag symbolizes. These places cost a little more to go to, you aren’t guaranteed any breathtaking sights, but I think the importance of the locale represents a crucial part of my travels that I hope to gradually incorporate.

3. Take pictures of what I think and feel, not just of what I see.

I am ardently opposed to being labeled a photographer. In my eyes, the eyes of photographers are those of artists. Not only do they see the world in a way we don’t, they are able to capture more than what it is that we see. I shoot what I see. Sometimes they’ll turn out aesthetically pleasing, but unfortunately that only makes me good at taking pictures. My friend Kayli is a photographer. National Geographic publishes the work of photographers. Richard Avedon is a photographer. I don’t need to be a photographer. I just want to better use pictures as a visual outlet of thought.

4. Drive America

We don’t drive like we used to.  As the movie Cars poignantly reminded us, the same invention that defined Americana culture and opened the gates to America as a playground has since been reproduced and reduced to but a mere human tool. The canals for these landboats, such as Route 66, once the path of dreams, will have no occupancy in the hearts and minds of this new generation of Americans. While I wish to traverse the U.S. the way it was meant to be, mostly all 2,500 miles of the transcontinental Main Street of America was decommissioned and replaced with the Interstate Highway System in 1985. While the vehicle now drives differently and the roads ride to a different pavement, the appeal of this nation’s landscape remains. While gas prices are relatively low, I hope to set out on a cross-country trip visiting all the random parts of this state. I want to see the national parks and eat at all those places on Diners, Drive-ins, and Dives. Problem is, there are parts of this country where it’s not safe for someone of my eye size to roam solo. So any White friends with me?

5. Write, read, and be read.

As I write this, I note that it has taken me over a week to get to this point in the blog. It’s no surprise to those who know me that it is a huge struggle for me to write and an even larger hurdle for me to read anything that’s over 3 MLA paragraphs in length. May I divert (predictably) partly on a tangent to explain why this occurs (fade out)…(fade in) For as long as my memory provides me, I’ve never been able to gaze into people’s eyes. I remember in the 5th grade when my teacher told me that it was okay, that she understands that in some cultures it can be an affront. I knew she had misunderstood since sometimes in my family, my mom and dad will just have staring contests at the dinner table (awkwardness always ensued). But I’m digressing too far. If you ever have an extended conversation with me in a public area, you’ll notice that my eyes shift faster than a horror film protagonist’s when entering a dark room. It is this same inattentiveness that prevents me from accomplishing…well, anything requiring more than fleeting attention. And so, I will work on writing more and more often, even if it’s nonsensical and unpolished. As for reading, I have a horrible habit of never finishing books. I start reading them but then another, younger, hotter book comes along and I’m drawn to bookdultery. It worries me that I cannot even read through a single online news article without changing gears. From here on out, pick a read and commit to it.

6. Climb

My bodyh as very little that I can rave about. My legs lose circulation and go numb when I drive long distances, my back aches for days after I jump off a roof onto a mattress, and my eyesight is impaired in a way that makes it easier to date black people. But if there’s one bodily advantage I am naturally blessed with, it’s my lower body strength (particularly in my legs). So recently I’ve been researching activities that allow me to take advantage of and develop this natural ability, and my friend Adam told me that rock climbing would be the perfect pursuit. From what I’ve gathered, it’s an activity that’s primarily rested on leg strength. That, combined with my strong thumbs, will surely allow me to flourish.

7. Speak another tongue

I’m only 7 items in at this point, and I already feel like I’m giving myself too much to do. If I get the opportunity to live abroad, then this one will be a given. My goal is to learn every East-Asian language by the time I’m dead. If I do one every decade, and I live to be 60, this is achievable.

8. Be More Often

Back as an undergrad, I would jog to this concrete Japanese garden in Costa Mesa every night to meditate. Not only do I look upon the lightness of being during that time with great fondness, but attending to both my physical (jogging) and mental health (meditating) with regularity went on to pace my life beyond those 2 hours each day. From here on out, I will try to reserve a portion of my day out to just “be.” I hesitate to use the word “meditate” because 1) it’s probably not the activity I have in mind, 2) I don’t do it correctly, and 3) it makes me associate myself with White Buddhists, which, power to them, I’d rather not.

9. Live in S.F., Chicago, or NYC

San Francisco because it’s still my favorite city in the U.S. It has its share of lovers and haters, but what makes a city for me is the meaning attached to it. Having grown up in and around this city my whole life, it’s the default city in which I’ve imprinted some of my fondest memories. Chicago ranks high up there because unlike S.F. and NYC, it is the most unassuming metropolitan in the U.S. With the foundations of the city founded by one of architecture’s greatest movements, you would think city oozes pretentiousness, but we’ll leave that to…NYC. New York wouldn’t be my first choice of the three to reside, but I have a love-hate relationship with a love so strong it would be enough for me to live there. The dual sentiments stem from the same root, that the concrete jungle where dreams are made of also weigh heavily on the resident, never allowing them to just be or be away.

10. Build

I had the option to take wood shop as an elective in Jr. High. Instead, I chose to take Spanish. Now I don’t know Spanish nor do I know how to work a power saw. But, oh, do I love power saws. It bothers me that I conceive of all this cool furniture I’ve love to design and construct, yet like a leper without the use of his hands, I don’t know how to work the tools necessary to accomplish these fancies. My past projects have been amateur to say the least, having varnished and mounted my own shelves from scrap wood and created a zen sand garden from a used table, but I want to use wood glue, clamps, electric sanders, and power saws! Oh, how I love the power saw.

P.S. The image above is a lego recreation of a biblical circumcision scene. Do yourself a favor and click on that link.

Check back in a few days for the Top 10 Superficial 30 before 30.

My favorite part:
“Not bad for a formula with three terms, one of which is pulled out of someone’s ass, and the whole thing requiring a magic fudge factor to bring it into line with neolithic technology.”

Basically you can take any two variables, and if you’re allowed to make up shit for one of them (their omega; you can wrap a story around any number, like .0123456789 containing all the base ten values) and fiddle with how you compute another (c), then you can always pick out two other terms to make an equation. For example, here’s the Thai equation:

(t*a)/l = c
where t = the only even prime number
where c = number of students that have left UCSB in the past 2 years
where l = atomic weight of hydrogen
where a = Thai’s age in base 27

and feel free to adjust the a term every year.

Update: I don’t know why I haven’t started doing this sooner. More than a few of my blog entries are listings, yet I never market them as such. If there’s anything I’ve gathered from my obsession with Digg.com and Lifehacker.com, it’s that your common reader loves lists. It could be the exact same entry, but unless you do the counting for people, it won’t ever see the light of a front page feature. Not that I’m going for a Lifehacker quality entry here, but I’m gonna make things easier for you (and cheat a little, as you’ll read later on).

I’m always open to new ways to deal with old afflictions. For me, that old affliction seems to be anxiety. So recently I decided to ask around to see how people deal with anxiety. Hoping for some consensus, like a top ranked response agreed upon by the majority in a poll, my search came up short for there was but not one repeated answer. Like eating pizza, everyone seems to have their own personal way of dealing with anxiety. Some of these are funnier if you know the person who suggested the remedy, but for the sake of privacy, they will go unnamed.

What are some ways I can deal with anxiety?

1. Alcohol

This goes under the category of “funny because of the authority figure who suggested it to me.” She claims that no one cares if you smell like vodka as long as you’re smooth and confident. I would try alcohol except that I don’t want to associate wining with whining. That, and in situations where I would have to perform, despite anxiety, I’d probably get sleepy, slurry, and inappropriately hop a table to save time getting across a room.

2. Ecstasy

The person who dropped this one probably was joking. That or he didn’t know his stimulants from his depressants. Th’zing isn’t a good look in strobe lighting. I can’t imagine that it would work any greater wonders during a job interview.

3. Herbal Remedies

I’m scared of natural remedies and herbal crap. This very well could be a product of my upbringing, which is memorably marked by very specific medicinal aromas coupled with unpleasant discoveries that someone I loved was sick. The smell of ginseng unfondly reminds me of my dad’s hepatitis. Rotten pineapples may be an unlikely candidate for a cure, but my grandma once learned from a local caller from a Vietnamese radio show that it was an ancient remedy curing diabetes. Because Vietnamese radio is scripture to old people, I came home from school one day to the stench of what I imagine a rotting corpse would smell like if that person died clutching a pineapple in his hands. My grandma had coated a pineapple with a 1-inch thick layer of fresh backyard mud and was 7 hours into the 24 hour baking process to insulin happiness.  Sure, I was concerned. Why not a bittermelon, a carrot, a rhubarb even. At least decompose something with a lower sugar content…

And for some reason I think that because herbal remedies are in their raw, unprocessed forms, they shouldn’t cost that much. Sure, show me a Xanax and I can justify its cost considering the millions of dollars being shuffled around at the pharmaceutical level for research, lobbying, testing, and supporting the Vietnamese female community. But a pile of twigs? A handful of roots? Bark? Can’t you find this stuff on the playground?

4. "Deal with it!"

From the hard-ass to the soft. It’s easier said than done, but for some issues you just gotta “take the chubby” and “suck it up.” Unfortunately this piece of advice is similar to telling someone with cancer to “Get well!” The initial impression of intent is nice, but this is soon followed by a, “No shit, Sherlock. But show me the way!”

5. Weed

I was playing Outburst with a couple friends recently and the topic was “10 Common Words for Marijuana.” Among the obvious “weed,” “joint,” and “blunt,” on the list there were some dated gems. “Doobie” and “Dope” were ones I hadn’t heard since the Clueless and Saved by the Bell days. Self-medicating might be fine if you’re in chronic pain or want to calm down before an event that doesn’t require your brain. It’s really inconvenient that I that most of my anxiety stems from situations that actually require cognitive aptitude…

6. Medications

This past weekend, what was initially a lunch with my friend Alicia turned out to be a stinging reminder of why I don’t take medications. I came over to her house that day to find her fetaled in bed with a broken thermometer sticking out of her mouth. Good sam overcame Good Thai, and I offered to go to Target (any excuse, really) to pick up some aids for flu-like symptoms. Her request was simple: Tylenol + fever reduction + sleep aid. The simple assignment turned complex when, upon reaching the aisle, I discovered that there are as many variations of Tylenol as there are brands of kid’s cereals. PM, PM with fast release, AM/PM, cold & sinus, arthritis, allergy, you name it, there was a combination for it…of course, minus the combination I was sent for. After 15 minutes wearing down the tiles of the aisle and an unsuccessful session with a (Vietnamese) pharmacist, I started to develop a headache of my own. Isn’t there only one active ingredient in any Tylenol? Needless to say, I settled for regular.

There are many reasons why I’m averse to meds. Mostly though, I like to think that each time I suffer through the pain on my own, I’m training my body is to get better at doing what it should already be doing naturally.

7. Practice

If there’s any saying that grates on my innards more than “It is what it is,” it is “Practice makes perfect.” And yet, it’s quite a shame that the phrase has been overused to the point of moot, since these words do hold undeniable truth. In this context though, other than public speaking and performance-related anxiety, I doubt that most anxiety animals can be practiced. “Today your assignment is to practice trusting that your husband isn’t cheating on you, followed by three 10-minute blocks of imagining that daughter will get raped tonight after some bro slips a drug in her drink, and finish this off with a series of exercises on failing out of graduate school.” Maybe I should just practice getting better at getting anxiety…wait, that’s not how it works.

8. Meditation & 9. Yoga

This has probably been my best bet. Not the yoga part given that ever since puberty I’ve become as limber as uncooked spaghetti. From what I hear, yoga works for most people who try it, even if they are doing it incorrectly. However, I do go to meditation quite often as my escape from the burden of being. I firmly believe that sleep has such recuperative powers for people because it’s the closest one can get to temporary death. Meditation, if done correctly, is much the same way, except that you don’t get clinically diagnosed if you have too much of it.

10. God

It’s no secret that I do not subscribe to the common God. It’s not that I reject the notion, I just find myself so consumed by life’s immediate practicalities there’s not much time left to think about it. I can probably count on one…half of a hand the number of times in my life that I have searched for comfort in a higher being. It didn’t help me. Maybe believers can tell me what I’m doing wrong. Maybe my life just doesn’t suck that badly that I’ve had to go there. For that, I should feel blessed.

Ultimately, I think what works best for people is…whatever works best. I know, that’s like answering a question with the question rephrased in statement form, but I honestly believe that no matter what you try, the belief that it works is more powerful than the mechanics of the cure itself. Whether it’s putting your faith in a higher being (even if there isn’t one), spending a morning in mindfulness peace (even if you’re doing it incorrectly), or watching TV with a bag of pork rinds (looking back, this really should have made the list), much of the magic lies in a sense of empowerment that comes with the belief that you’re doing something, anything, to defeat this monster. Before you know it, you’ll start changing the way you approach the situation and progressing with your daily life. Anxiety sucks. But, it is what it is.

The title fibs a bit. I was gone for most of September in Peru, so this will be more of a “Late-August/Late-September” update. Just go with it.

S.F. – August ‘09

The plan that day was to go to the Free Day at the California Academy of Sciences, but that was also everyone else’s plan. I’m not gonna lie, most people in this line were Asians. I’m just saying. The line extended far around the park and out to Stanyan. In our right minds, we decided that we weren’t THAT cheap.
For me, the best days usually begin with botched plans. We exchanged line-waiting for a free view from the deYoung. There was contemplation to see King Tut, but I would never pay that much money to see rags (yea, yea, I know there’s a whole lot more to it).

If you’ve been to the deYoung, you’ve no doubt have seen this Google Earth aerial image of San Franciso. I thought I’d try to take the picture from the same angle as the shadows cast (the sun’s view).

I have a love-hate relationship with S.F.’s Chinatown. On the one hand, I am generally annoyed by the poor tourism that’s promoted here–with crappy souvenir stores and even crappier restaurants, it’s a hot mess of shoddiness. On the other, my family’s been coming here every since I can remember so there’s a lot of local memories have associated with it, particularly in the form of egg noodles with roast duck and wontons. Luckily I was with Cantonese, and he (Brian) found a decent dim sum joint and put his ching-chong to good use (see chicken feet pictured). I’m not going to remember any of the names of these places, but it was probably something Ocean/Dragon/Golden/Imperial/Jade/Palace. We also got a lesson on how to hold two spoons like tongs…just like the professional do! Check it out and practice at home. Then show off to your friends the next time you divide up chow mein at restaurants.

If you ever do find yourself in Chinatown, keep in mind that Stockton St. is FAR more interesting than Grant. The only thing on Grant that I can think to recommend a tourist friend would be the kite store and this one bazaar across the street from it. But, Stockton is a treasure trove of all things good and bad of China with a smelltrack of olfactorial explosions. My siblings and I will often compare smelly things to a “Chinatown alley.” There’s nothing quite like it. Of the many things you gotta do, check out the BBQ shops, the pastry stores (really hit and miss), and this one crap store that’s located on Stockton before you reach Broadway. I can’t remember the exact name, but it’s like a huge warehouse of everything that is “Made in China.” We’re talking about panties, unchecked knives and weapons, bad plastic kitchenware, VHS videos, Christmas decorations…we’re talking everything.

To get back to our car which was parked atop Russian Hill, we decided it’d be a good idea to climb Vallejo (it’s not a good idea). The views were stupendacular, as was this green house my sister Tobias’ed herself in (see “The One Where They Built a House“).

There was also Lombard St turned Candyland, but unless you had the opportunity to “Falcon Heene” over it, you were left disappointed with this unimpressive, poorly-angled street view.

Silicon Valley – August ‘09

The first Silicon Valley phototour was so successful I decided to come back here with Steph and Brain to do a redux. This time we went on a weekend, which allowed for more leisurely eyeing and fewer people distractions. Apparently it’s also illegal to trespass on these campuses, so it was probably a better idea “legal action” wise. First we hit up Yahoo, which had little going for it except for this cubic thing, the colors yellow and purple, its fantasy sports, and a volleyball court. They have other campuses that may have showcased better things we didn’t catch on our tour, but they don’t got no dinosaur…

…like Google! I’ll admit that I do find the undying and blind devotion to Google a little bit “German citizens circa early 1930’s.” They’re pretty bombass, but their masked initiative creeps and concerns me a bit. Those who know me know I have an underdog fanboy love for Yahoo, but I’ll be the first t admit that Google’s properties just kick the llama’s ass. To work at a place that has dinosaur fossils, a community garden, massage chairs, free Odwalla, day-care and laundry service, and a shark’s fin, how could you complain?

Han’s Visit – September ‘09

Enter September, and school begins again. My cousin Han had been talking about visiting Santa Barbara forever. With Han, these things stay what they usually end up being, talk. To my surprise, Han finally followed through after a quitting stint at her old job. Of course, the one weekend she’s available, I had to attend a wedding down in L.A. (see below). We were able to overlap a day in which we hit up 4 wineries in Santa Ynez and had some classic Santa Barbara foods/nightlife fun (yes, that included Wildcats). The top picture was taken at Sarloos and Sons’ tasting room, which paired cupcakes with wines. A novelty really, they did redeem with some decent (if not overpriced) wines. In the top picture, Han looks awfully happy for us having just lost Jason. He had walked off right before this was taken, and I later learned this behavior was typical and not to be reinforced.

Katherine and Michael’s Wedding – September ‘09

Katherine’s was the last of three high-school-friend weddings that I attended this summer. That little girl that was once able to recite the Spanish lyrics to *Nsync’s “This I Promise You” by heart is now all grown up.  In attendance, we had the usual H.S. crowd of M.C., JLee, and company. As with all weddings people attend as single or unmarried folk, there was plenty of griping at the realization that we’re not children anymore. No longer are we listening to “A Puro Dolor” while talking about failed suicide attempts and pregnancy scares. Now we’re talking about success and pregnancy scores.

I love Filipino weddings. Though it’s culturally embedded, the impromptu karaoke never ceases to catch me off guard (at least this time it was pleasant). Along with other traditions, there’s the usual money dance in which the bride takes turns dancing with male attendees who line up in droves for the opportunity to pin cash in return for a moment. It’s interesting how context can determine the appropriateness of an act most would commonly associate to whores (NOT calling Katherine or any other Filipino bride a whore). I was the classy one who pinned a check to her veil for the money dance.

For more, click on the respective links to go to my Flickr.

Full name: Ngô Quý Đôn
Origin: Named after Lê Quý Đôn, an 18th-century Vietnamese philosopher, poet, encyclopedist, and government official.

By Thai: Dickzone, Dick (evolved from “Tich”), D-bag (this hasn’t caught on yet, but it’s only a matter of time and usage)
By Kim: Chromedome (I think she heard it on TV one day and it caught)
By everyone: Tich (pronounced thick; he was a bouncy baby, and the Vietnamese aren’t great with onomatopoeias)

Full name: Ngô Thu-Mi Catherine
Origin: My dad has a penchant for naming his children after the children of his siblings (our cousins). Thu-mi was named after our cousin in Vietnam, Tu-mi. Way to keep it original, Dad. Catherine is not her legally born name. When she was born, our White neighbor had a problem with my mom not acculturating us and giving us all Vietnamese names. This crazy cat lady started calling my sister “Catherine” one day, probably a name she had for one of her stuffed animals that she would talk to on a daily basis, and it caught. It has since become her legal and Catholic name.

By Thai: Cutngrine (pronounced Cut & Grind; she signed up for some contest, and because of her messy handwriting, we still get mailing labels to this name today)
By Thai & Donny: Ginyu, Gin, Cap’m Ginyu (after the Dragonball character, leader of the Ginyu Force, who has a unique technique that allows him to switch bodies with his opponents)
By the siblings: Muck, Muckzone, Mudge (Her Vietnamese name “Thu-mi” evolved to “Tuma” to “Tombstone” to “Tumuck” to just “Muck”)
By Mom: Mi (shorted from “Thu-mi”)

Full name: Chu Quang Thái
Origin: Again, named after one of my cousins…of the exact same name. This explains the uniqueness complex.

By Catherine: Anh-Thai (pronounced eng-TIE; Vietnamese for “Older brother Thai” with an English accent)
By Donny: Lao Tzu (because he thought it was the Vietnamese word for “professor.” It’s not.)
By Mom: Thang Khon (I think it means “bastard” in Vietnamese; who knows why…), Chu (Mr.)

Full name: Chu Kim Chi
Origin: Korean pickled side dish. No, it’s actually Vietnamese for Diamond.

By Donny & Catherine: Not family (my brother etched this on to her bedroom door years ago. If you ever visit, you can still see it there today.)
By siblings: Kimbo Bimbo (because it rhymes and for no other reason)
By everyone: Chinh (not sure why, but I’ll call my mom to find out tonight)

Siblings (interchangeable): Guff, McGuff, Guffinks, Guffin’, Guffman, Ug (short for ugly)

Full name: Chu Thị Ngọc Dịêp

By siblings: Mang (“Urban” for “Mom), Mezzers (a play on the Vietnamese word for “Mom”), Mamon (pronounced Ma-MONE; taken from the French film “Love Me if You Dare”), Men (a play on the Vietnamese word for “Mom” and also for her strength), The Man (see previous), Momsicle (as opposed to Popsicle), Moms (gangster name), Momster (a play on “monster”, Me oi! (how babies call their mother in Vietnamese)

Full name: Ngô Quang Nghi

By siblings: Daddio, Pops, Popolops, Pop ‘n Locks (a play on “Pop & Lock”, Boba Fett (a play on the Vietnamese word for “Dad”), Father (paying tribute to his undying devotion to God)

Full name: Tị Phùng Ty:

By Donny: n00ba, n00b (WoW talk; saying this is usually accompanied by a smack on grandma’s arm)
By Catherine: Grums
By Thai: Grumpelstiltskin (a play on Rumpelstiltskin)
By siblings: Grams, Golden Grams (after the cereal), Babylonia (a play on the Vietnamese word for “Grandma”), Babs

Full name: Jimothy “Jimmy” Chu
Origin: My mom wanted Jimmy because it reminded her of our old dog, Brownie, who she used to call Mickey… We all found it a little boring so we decided Jimmy can be his short name for his given name of “Jimothy.” This was later repeated on the U.S. version of The Office when Michael wonders if Jim is short for Jimothy. We should have patented this name!

By Donny: Zim, Invader Zim, Zimmerman (after the Nick cartoon)
By Catherine: Bimmy (a cross between “Boomer” and “Jimmy”, Bim, Bimothy, Em (Vietnamese for little brother), Emerson (after Ralph Waldo)
By Thai: Ji’Mie (after the cross-dressing teenager on Summer Heights High), Jim Beam, Jim Boom
By Dad: Boomer, Boommy, Boomer Buster (I’m pretty sure I came up with Boomer, but I’m not sure where it came from)
By Grandma: Zimmy (a mispronunciation of “Jimmy” because the Vietnamese language lacks a “J”)

Grad Div Stock Photos.
These are to go on newsletters and publications from UCSB’s Grad Div. It seemed like a fun idea when first suggested, but the thought of our faces representing Grad Div for…indefinite…ever is a little creepy. The girls took it very seriously, as you can tell I did not. They even brought multiple outfits to make it seem like different days. Thanks Joel for taking most of these.

Can they make it more obvious that we support diversity? Between us, we got all the world’s races covered (Brianna counts for most of them). Keep in mind that we recognize we’re not representative of real graduate students. For one, the population is like 90% White. They also don’t dress up like this everyday. Some likely never dress up at all…

This is what I look like when I talk on the phone with graduate students who call in…except they don’t call my cell, and I’m usually in an office with bad lighting.

But this is what I actually feel like most of the time. Grad school makes people do these looks. My mom and grandma do not like it when I make this face, which is why I do it often.

Or this…

This is us “candidly” having fun at work. It was very staged. This, to me, is the most “stock”y of the photos. I can see it as one of the available ones on Microsoft Word.

This is our “Welcome to Graduate Division” picture. I already know that they’re making hundreds of copies of our faces…and I’m not sure how I feel about that. This was after April has peeled off most of the flyers on that door, which she never replaced.

This is us leaning into the sun because April needed more lighting for her face (I’m not racist, this was a real issue). She ended up closing her eyes and ruining the picture regardless.

This is them going for the obligatory “sexy pose” during every photoshoot. It didn’t work out.

This is us in a tree. Brianna was too short and denimed to climb the tree. Her eyes are open, though. We checked closely.

Bow Tie.

Staged, and before I thought to iron out the bow tie.

There’s something about the combination of a bow tie and wood (don’t think that way) that’s very classic.

Bless a good camera & lens. The table is actually nasty, dull, formica, old piece of shit, but the aperture blur produced this cool unexpected reflection. I’ll actually credit it to my good taste in bow ties.

The modern “Dorm Warn.”

Silicon Valley.
Despite being a local, I’ve never actually done a tour of the big tech giants in Silicon Valley. Unless you’re a tech geek, though, there’s surprisingly little to look at. You can’t go on most of their campuses without a contact (we snuck in), and few have anything other than ugly pale people and cubicles to look at.

Ebay’s campus. There were no gavels in sight.

Brings back the days of Oregon Trail.

A cell phone in the early 90’s a la Zack Morris at the Intel Museum.

There’s no meaning to this shot, I just thought it was cool.

It don’t get more Silicon Valley than this.

At the Intel Museum in Santa Clara. Who knew this thing was right behind Great America this whole time? Not terribly exciting, but great for geeks of hardware and computer history.

The backwards “e” and “t” of “Intel.”

This is one of the only shots I have of Yahoo. The main campus is cool looking enough, but there’s not much to look at, and we weren’t supposed to be on their premises. Unlike Google, they actually had a gift store open to the public, though.

Yahoo’s main campus cafeteria. We could have snuck in, but dining with a bunch of hungry geeks somehow didn’t seem like a good experience (I’m not hating, I was just worried it would be awkward)

Google Map’s streetview caught in the wild! Actually, it was in their parking lot and they have a whole row of them. I kept thinking what a boring job it must be to drive that thing around. “Your job today is to drive down every street in San Jose. There may be traffic, there may be people chasing you, there may be people hiding from you, but you must continue. Keep in mind that fire trucks and ambulances will mess us your shot, so don’t move for them.”

The obligatory Google Brent shot. Though Google is pretty awesome and treats their employees well, their campus is far from an amusement park or tourist destination. I guess without access I couldn’t really see much to enjoy other than for the T-rex fossil.

L.A.
I toured downtown L.A. for the first time ever, really (besides for Chinatown & Japantown). They actually have some nice finds, if you avoid the sketch area.

I believe this is the outside of their opera house. I enjoyed the shows and reflections.

I’m actually quite a big fan of Gehry, but all his buildings end up looking the same.

There are few things more iconic to me than the Santa Monica Pier Ferris Wheel. Don’t get me wrong, I would never be caught dead actually going on it, but it’s nostalgic to look at. The London Eye has got nothing on this, and this one probably cost 1/10 of the price to ride.

Circus.

I’m only going to post one picture of the circus because there’s a lot I find unsettling about the circus concept in general. I’d never been to a circus before and so I was actually looking forward to seeing lion, tigers, elephants, acrobatics, etc. We often forget that circuses started off as side-shows displaying freaks and oddities. Though better masked now, modern day circuses are much of the same. While the people involved are by no means freakish or deviant, they are still in many ways misfits. Lower-class workers, immigrants, the uneducated, despite their talents they are still outcasts. I have mixed feelings though, because I did for a second think how cool it would be to be friends with a clown or circus performer. Also, something about whole tone presentation of the event rang desperate and hokey. The attendants are also a little sad to look at. They reminded me of the people who frequent state fairs. I’m a snob, I know.

That’s all I have the energy to post for now.

City of Los Angeles,

I parked my car 5 inches in a red zone. I am diagnosed with medium deuteranopia, or red-green colorblindness (medical record available). I can see red pigments in broad daylight, however at nighttime and dusk (time  of citation), red is indistinguishable from grey/brown on a curb. With traffic lights, I look at the contrast/placement of the lights, however with curbs I rely on a 2nd  visually-unimpaired person, a digital camera with flash, or writing on the curb or signs. I was in a non-local area without these aids and near no fire hydrant. I ask for a one-time pardon.

___________________________________________

To see life through my eyes. Click on “M-cone reduced” under “Red-Green deficient.” I cannot tell the two images apart. This is my life.

Update: It went past initial review, and it looks promising that I am going to be dismissed!

Today, I was just okay.

I woke up later than anticipated this morning, but that was not before waking up earlier than anticipated. Now that I’m on my “soft summer break,” my waking hour wavers without the rigidity of a routine ring. I go to sleep pretty consistently around 1am, but the time at which I wake up never stays the same. On some, 8am just won’t let me get by. On others, 10am ignores me altogether. Today, I got up at 7:30am. After deciding that was too early and knowing that I’d be tired for the rest of the day, I forced myself back to sleep only to re-get up later at 10:30am—far too late for my liking.

Good thing too because I changed, brushed my teeth, and barely got out the door in time for Maricris to pick me up at 11am to go to San Francisco. We were going to Stern Grove to see a free performance by the San Francisco Ballet. Despite some claims, I know absolutely nothing about ballet and don’t have any greater interest in it than any other Joe. Having a handful of dancer friends, I figure the least I could do is attend a free performance by a leading company to generally support their art. We found a wedged but well-placed spot to the right of the outdoor amphitheatre, splayed our blanket, and munch-waited for the next two hours before they took the stage.

The performance was okay. I appreciate it as much as any dilettante could, but I will admit that I dozed off once during one of the slower portions of Swan Lake. I’ll put ballet under the same category as impressionism and 2001: A Space Odyssey as things I fully appreciate for what they are, but do not enjoy. The ballet ended, we left, and headed toward the city center to meet my cousin, Han, for dinner.

It took us over an hour to reach North Beach from Stern Grove, not including the time it took for parking. After we found a parking spot worth waiting for, we walked to my favorite fudge shop, Z Ciocollato, where I bought myself some to-die-for fudge, but not before tasting a few of their new flavors (pumpkin cheesecake, noted). The funny thing is when the clerk behind the counter handed me my sample, she asked me how my day was going.
“It’s just okay.” I told her. She paused with her hand still behind the counter, as if to withhold the fudge sample from me until she got a more satisfying answer.
“Just okay?” she confirmed.
“Yea, today is normal.” I responded.
“Well, let’s see if a little fudge can make it better!” as she finally handed me my tasting of Mayan dark chocolate.
“It’s fine.” I said. “Normal is good.” And with the trigger word, “good,” she finally cracked a smile.

And this is where my point begins. So what if I woke up twice this morning instead of once, like usual. It didn’t make my day begin off more fascinating or eventful. If anything, sleep, while heavenly, is by nature the most boring thing ever. So what if I went to the ballet with a friend. I enjoyed the company and got to see my first real ballet performance, but did it make me jump out of my seat? No. And it didn’t need to. The fudge I bought was really good, but I don’t think I would go as far as to say I’d be giving it the highlight of my month…which is okay. You see, normal is normal. The majority of my days are, by mathematical law, average. I don’t feel the need to be walking around elated or respond to strangers with joy to appease their sales clerk needs. Even as I write this, I don’t think this is a special entry in any way. I probably will go through and reread it once for grammatical errors, but I’m not going to make it into any literary masterpiece. I don’t really want to right now. And that’s okay.

Somewhere in the history of American culture, the word “okay” as a self-description became antonymous with the word “good.” Last I checked, “okay” signified satisfaction or agreement, a desire for no more, no less. “Will you go with me to the ballet?” “Okay.” And it happened. “Would you like to try a sample?” “Okay.” And it happened. “How is your day going?” “Okay.” And it fell apart.

With that, I guess the rough routine of this day characterizes most of my days this past week. I’ve definitely had better days, and Lord knows there have been many far, far worse. But the majority of my days are like this one. I am not happy; I am not sad. I wouldn’t even think of myself as anywhere in between. I just proceeded my day with events and un-events, and it ended. So you’re thinking with all the indifference, why go on living at all? I’ll admit that I’ve wondered that question myself many a times in an existential, non-suicidal way, but that doesn’t mean I would have thrown this day away. I just don’t feel the need to make everyday my wow. And that’s okay.

I realize I haven’t blogged here in many moons. Mostly because I am validly busy these days. Partly because Twitter has destroyed my need for lengthy forms of self-expression. Also because I just haven’t had much to say. I figure a quickie photologue won’t hurt.
This past weekend I drove down to San Diego to spend a few qualities moments with the Grams, who after living with my mom and our family her entire life recently made the unreasonable decision to move to where it’s warmer and lonelier. Here are some photo highlights of my short 1 day visit:

The morning of the day of our big outing, she woke up at the crack of dawn to shower and put curls in her hair. She knew there were going to be pictures involved, so the 'did had to be perfect. I'll admit, her hair's still got it.

Like the best of days begin, things didn't exactly start off as planned. The problem wasn't just that she had used too much Aquanet in her hair that it clumped, but that she somehow still has a can of Aquanet laying around to be using in the first place. Feeling frustrated and rushed, she began tearing strands out in the process of undoing the curls.

I'm not sure what these are called in English, but translated literally, they're "Liver Melons." They're wonderfully delicious when ripe, which is what my grandma was trying to do here. She had accidentally cut into it before it was ready and then decided that it need some more sunshine.

The second I walked into the door, my grandma led me to this plastic mess. She was all excited when she pushed the button and the mechanical piece of trash started chirping. Matter of fact, it continued to do so for about 30 seconds, and then everytime after that I made a noise or accidentally touched it. She said she liked it a lot, especially when she has it next to this plant she has. When asked of what I thought, I told her it was "que," which I guess is the Vietnamese equivalent of calling something "country." I asked her where she got it, to which she responded, "Why should I tell you, you just called them 'que'."

The first of many. Very many.

She really wanted a portrait of both of us, so I spent 10 minutes positioning the camera and stacking VHS upon cassettes to get it to the right height. I realize I look like an exuberant 12-year old, but she doesn't like it when I make faces in pictures with her. Something about bad spirits.

Our first stop of the day was at this random beach. I really couldn't tell you where. We had planned on going to the Cabrillo National Monument, but it was a rip-off. She wanted to pee behind the stairs, so I quickly got her to the bathroom.

...but not before letting her spend a couple minutes watching the surfers. She enjoys it, mostly because it violates her understanding of humans, water, and physics. I'm not sure there is a Vietnamese word for "surfing," but she calls it "water skating." Makes sense.

I know. We're cute.

I hate bringing research into my life, mostly because there are great reasons for me to avoid it, but my grandma gave me a Masuda et al. 2008 schooling after I took this picture for her. She wanted to capture the nice sunflowers, but I wanted to get her face. She told me that I should step back and try to get the entire plant into the frame. Her words, "You have to consider the scenery." Classic holism.

In the process of not knowing where I was going, I somehow ended up at this cross on top of a huge hill. If you've been to SD, no doubt you've seen this. I tried getting my grandma to take a picture with it but something about Buddhism and her being tired prevented that from happening.

She saw a bunny and wanted to take a picture with it. The first one we took was too far away for her liking, so after taking a couple laps around, she decided to came back for a closer attempt. Here we have her sneaking up on the bunny. She actually got pretty close, but when she turned around for the snapshot, the bunny had scurried away. We never got that picture, which is why the photologue ends here.

We ended the day by having a nice down and dirty Vietnamese dinner. She finally got to pee, I finally got to have Vietnamese food. I could tell she was really content and thankful that I drove down to visit, but really I probably had a better day than she did. The gratitude is all mine to owe.

More pictures here: http://www.flickr.com/photos/thaimychu/sets/72157621322359880/

CrunchBase Profile

In my book, this is one of the Top 5 Scams People Love (along with the hot dog 10-pack/bun 8-pack fiasco).

Airline frequent flyer programs intentionally complicate their miles systems as part of their evil marketing scheme, and most of us don’t care. Eager and frequent travelers like me join these various programs and base blood and devotion to these companies at the promise of free flights. We don’t consider that these miles take forever to accumulate–free is free, and travel is gold.

However, the system is, in short, short. And, here’s why:

1. Complex Usernames: Do you ever wonder why your frequent flyer account username is always a combination of letters and numbers reminiscent of a “VERY SECURE!” password? Except this should be a name you know well enough to type it in every time you buy a ticket, receive FF credit, or check your miles. Convenient that most airlines don’t let you change them either…as in you cannot make your username a simple “johnsmith”! Log in with your email address? Can’t do that either! So, 4VTR380C it is…
2. Inanely Illogical Mileage: The mileage system doesn’t make sense. I understand that your miles get calculated by the distance that you fly, but then the redemption awards are all over the place. They also differ from airline to airline. And…did you know that they go up over time?! That’s right. It used to be 25,000 miles to go to Hawaii, now it’s like 35,000!
3. Elite Statuses: I didn’t realize this until I was waiting at an airport in Korea and wanted to go into the lounge. After walking up the winding stairway to the 2nd floor I was ungreeted by a “bouncer” who notified me that I am not of SkyPass elite status. I’ve tried connecting to the wireless at certain airports before and you also have to be elite! Shouldn’t a member be a member? Why do we have to bring the caste system all up in this?
4. Redeeming Miles: As far as I can tell, to receive credit you either have to 1) input your ff# when you purchase your ticket, 2) notify the attendant before your flight at the airport, or 3) redeem retroactive credit. The problem with option 1 is that, as previously mentioned, the ff# is impossible to remember. It’s somewhere in your email, but where… It’s on your ff card, but who carries that thing around? If you fly via an airline partner, the partner website often doesn’t have an option to enter alternate ff# besides their own. The same issues arise according to option 2. I never know what my ff# when I’m at the gate. They ususally can’t fish it out from your name either! Option 3 gets to me the most. If you forgot to indicate your ff# for a past flight, you have to go the airlines website and manually enter in ALL your flight information! Flight number, arrival, destination, date, ticket number (the hardest one to find if you’ve thrown your ticket away), you want to rip your hair out afterwards. On top of this, you cannot redeem your miles until 15 days after your last travel date, and if they cannot locate your records you have to snail mail your ticket stubs in.
5. Expiration Dates: Some airlines keep your inactive miles for 12 months, some 18, others unknown. Convenient that they never warn you when these expiration dates will happen. An email alert or a message when I log in would be nice. Some, like American Airlines, offer the option to renew once expired, but that costs at least $50. The best way is to purchase additional miles, which renews your activity, but the lowest amount is usually $25 for an additional 1,000.  A trick I’ve learned, though, is that you can get miles for all sorts of purchases online and at restaurants. So I just go dine at a participating location and bam! Renewed.

Along comes acruw.com. From CrunchBase:

acruw is a free service that allows its users to track and mange all of their rewards program balances (frequent flyer miles, hotel points, credit card points, etc.) in one location.

In addition to the ability to view all of your balances in one place, acruw also offers a variety of tools to make earning and using rewards easier. Specifically, you can view all possible conversions between your programs (and know if they’re a good deal), view your progress towards elite status renewal, be warned if your points are close to expiration and get help on “cash or points” decisions.

acruw is able to help with these redemption decisions by assigning a dollar value is assigned to each one of your points and miles. This also allows users to compare programs and to get a sense of what their spending potential for their next vacation.

It doesn’t solve the problem. In the end evil still wins. But as a user of this service, I can say that it’s made flying a little bit easier, which in the world of Frequent Flyer Programs, is flying high.