Casa Zimbabwe

I just moved into my room for the summer at Casa Zimbabwe, the first co-ed co-op in the United States. I've been pretty disappointed to find out that I won't have time to go abroad during college, but lately I've been feeling that the experience of living here won't be that different from being in a foreign country.

Casa Zimbabwe, also known as Krackistan, has a population of roughly 130, with partying as its number one export. Homegrown weed was former number one export before the rooftop growing operation got shut down.

Here's my place as of my move-in day:

Seems like the guy before me left in something of a hurry. There was definitely a neat little pile of nail clippings in the keyboard tray of the desk that was waiting for me. The desk had a sprinkling of weed bits and dust, and the drawers variously had condoms and loose change scattered about them.

Well, at least I have my own room! Let my reign over the Kingdom of David begin!

Crispbread

There's almost nothing I enjoy more than a good crispbread.

There are a multitude of factors that contribute to the ideal crispbread experience:
1) Brand -- I've tried only a handful of brands, but I must say that I'm a loyal consumer of Wasa Light Rye. If the mood strikes me, Ak Mak will do as well.
2) Topping -- Arguably more important than the crispbread itself is what goes on top. One of the wonderful things about crispbreads is that the delicious serving suggestion picture on the box is often very much obtainable in reality. Reach for the stars! Buy smoked salmon and alfalfa sprouts and hothouse tomatoes and avacados! Stack them on your crispbread with wild abandon! Feel like you're a rich person who's socializing with other rich people by eating rich-people foods at a rich-people social event. Or, if the mood strikes you, a can of sardines will do just fine.
3) Ambience -- Arguably more important than both the crispbread and its toppings is where you are. Because let's be honest here, you know that crispbread tastes like cardboard and that you can only afford a can of bottomshelf sardines for a dollar. What's much more important than any of those things is the environment you're in and the company you're with. A golden, summer day at the beach or crisp, mountaintop air in the Sierras are probably going to be the greatest factors contributing to your overall enjoyment of a crispbread. And always remember to share the joy! Bring a bestfriend, or two, or three!

I think I can vaguely recollect a time when eating tasteless, fiber-rich crispbreads was a chore, something like eating pipe cleaners and foam packaging peanuts rolled into a single package. My friend Gus introduced them to me on a backpacking trip. I was unimpressed. Since then, I've come to associate the eating of crispbreads with some of my fondest outdoor/travel memories. It's a beautiful thing when something that seems bland and unappealing to so many people can bring me instantaneous joy.

Wedding Photo

Flipping through my parents' wedding pictures, my eyes were awash in bellbottoms and double-exposures. Then I came across this:

It's my dad and my grandpa sharing a moment of congratulations. For some reason, it didn't register in my mind as belonging to the rest of the corny, posed photos in the album. Maybe it had to do with the general vibe I got from the other photos that had my grandpa in them. I just felt like I could tell that he was grinning on the inside. For the short time that I knew him, I never saw my grandpa smile or laugh. I guess the general impression I got was that this was a man who smiled only when he really meant it.

I suppose that one of the big things that drew me into this picture was the total father-son moment that it captured. Just going by the facial expressions, they could have read (from left to right) as "did you see me make the winning touchdown?" and "good catch." But instead, they're wearing tuxedos (velvet has no place in a bowtie).

Maybe it was just mindblowing for me to think that my dad might once have basked in the approval of his dad, that he too felt the warm glow of paternal love.

Maybe it was how stark the contrast was between these two generations of men, whiskey in one hand, champagne (that would remain untouched) in the other.

Or maybe it was just the ruffles.

Irwin Blood Center

Today I donated blood and some other blood-related stuff. Afterward, at the snack bar, I ate an old-fashioned chocolate donut.

Above: Red cells, plasma, and platelets that were formerly inside my body.

I think the first time I donated blood, it was because all the cool kids were doing it. A blood-mobile was visiting my high school, and all my hip, altruistic friends eagerly lined up to get stuck in the arm, so that they could anonymously share the gift of life with total strangers, not expecting anything in return. Well I thought that that was pretty cool, so I faked my mom's signature on the consent form and headed over to the blood-mobile during my lunch.

My phlebotomist was a middle-aged Russian woman. She seated me on a couch and started to prepare my right arm. "Excuse me, but I need that arm," I said. "I have classes later today and I need to take notes."

"Ha!" she said. "Always are students making excuses!" She continued to swab the inside of my elbow with an alcohol wipe. When it came time to insert the needle, I couldn't help but scream a little bit on the inside. As a child, my mom had to hold me down while my pediatrician gave me a chickenpox vaccination. One pint of blood and a cup of cranberry juice later, my limp arm and I sat through Mr. Shimmon's afternoon Psychology lecture.

Since then, I've become a regular blood donor. I kept coming back, partly to confront the terror of the needle and partly to help people in need. People need blood like neighbors need sugar, infrequently. Besides, do you really need all that sugar for yourself? It'd just be plain greedy to hoard all of that sweet goodness for yourself, now wouldn't it?

Richmond Field Station

Today I got to go out into the field and play Restoration Ecologist. Tromping through fields of invasive grasses, with steno notepad and camera in hand, I had a great time learning to identify native and invasive plant species.

I can't believe how much I miss working outside; I'd forgotten the power of hands-on learning. This is going to be a fun summer.

Juncus phaeocephalus in bloom.

Blue-eyed grass

Killdeer egg.

The City.

Davis, CA

I spent the last two nights in Davis at Ramon's place. It was a nice way to end the year. I rode the train up, and the pacing of train travel helped calm me down after what has been a somewhat hectic academic year, a year that left me practically carving tally marks into my bedroom wall (instead, I wrote blog posts).

Anyway, it just so happened that I showed up in Davis the same day as the Tour of California. Pictured above is Lance Armstrong (!).

After the start of the Davis stage of the tour, Ramon and I ate at Fuji's, an all-you-can-eat sushi boat restaurant. The lunch special cost twelve bucks each and the Asian inside of me made it a personal vendetta to get my money's worth, even at the price of physical discomfort (because what feels better than a good deal?). Pictured above are our stacks of dishes. Mine is the one on the right (!). Ramon is thinly suppressing a look of utter pain. We were getting looks from the other patrons sitting at the counter every time I tried to entice Ramon into eating "just one more" plate of sushi.

(The sushi boat rounds the corner. The tail of a tempura shrimp sticks out from the end of a small roll of sushi, topped with roe and what appears to be coleslaw.)
Both: Oh my God...
Me: Do you believe in love at first sight? Because I do. (Grabs the plate from the sushi boat.)
Ramon: I don't know, you can have this one...
Me: No man, we saw it at the same time.
Ramon: [Sigh.] (Picks up a piece with his chopsticks and barely fits it into his mouth.)
Me: Yeah? Is it good?
(Ramon looks queasy.)
Me: Keep chewing, hang in there. You're more than halfway; you only need to eat six more plates.
Ramon: (With a mouthful of food.) No!
Me: Dude, it'll be easy. Watch this. (Shoves the endpiece into his mouth. The tail of the tempura shrimp barely makes it in.)
Me: (With a mouthful of food.) Holy crap this is decadent. This is why the terrorists hate us.
Ramon: I can't do this.
Me: That's defeatist bullshit, man. (Gesturing with chopsticks.) Now get in there and eat some sushi.

All told, we made pretty good account of ourselves. Between the two of us, we ate twenty plates of sushi, two dishes of fried red bean balls, two dishes of cake, and a dish of oranges.

The bike ride back to Ramon's house was not a pleasant one.

Day 123

By all accounts, today was a good day. I think I'm beginning to integrate with some sort of loose-knit community of alternative lifestyle types. Today has two case-studies to illustrate this point.

1. I went running at the track during my lunch break and met another eccentric: The Philosopher. We were both running without shirts or shoes. We both had shaved heads. He had a tattoo of an enso on his stomach, offset to the side.

"It's the only way to go, huh?" he said, noticing our mutual lack of shoes.

We ran a few laps together and talked about different Buddhist practices, about how he made the mistake of majoring in Philosophy as an undergrad, about the beauty of the Marin Headlands. After a while, he broke off, giving me a pat on the shoulder. The whole exchange just felt really genuine. I couldn't help but smile for a while after that.

2. There's something of a colony of people who walk slack lines by the Campanile, the bell tower on campus. At the base, there's a little grove of trees planted in rows that make them ideal for setting up the lines. During one of my breaks, I stopped by because I knew a couple of people there. I came with a bag a trail mix. I left with some new friends.

Another heart-healthy meal.

Day 122

So I just used some toothpaste and flour to patch the holes in the plaster walls of my apartment. Man I hope I get all of my security deposit back.

Day 121

Here's the dichotomy between my roommate and myself expressed in its most naked form: he eats slightly green bananas with creamy peanut butter, I eat freckled bananas with chunky peanut butter.

April 2010 in Food
Groceries: $288.76
Restaurants: $20.59
Pounds of split peas: 2
Eggplants: 3
Pounds of bread: 6
Burritos: 1
Kiwi: 7
Boxes of cereal: 4
Tofu steaks: 4
Chocolate chip cookies: 20
Free meals: 3
Quarts of yogurt: 4
Half gallons of soymilk: 5
Portabellas: 3
Avocados: 10
Pounds of dried fruit: 5
Cabbages: 3