This Time, Years Ago

This time, one year ago, I was biking through Golden Gate Park at 2am, when everything is still. I'm riding home from Karyn's place. My heart aches a little, and I'm smiling on the inside. The lighting from the street lamps makes everything look flat, almost black and white. The air is cool and I feel prickly as I start to sweat. I stand on my cranks and pedal hard to get a running start at the last bit of hill. I have to wake up at 7am for work tomorrow.

This time, two years ago, I was eating a pile of breaded, deep-fried something with a scoop of mac salad on the side. The diversity of Honolulu makes me feel at ease. I like that people wear Hawaiian shirts without any irony. After having malasadas for breakfast, I feel a bit disgusted with myself.

This time, three years ago, I was having tea. The teahouse is tucked into the mountains above Lake Louise in the Canadian Rockies. Everybody's a tourist and the squirrels sneak off with bits of scone when no one is looking.

This time, four years ago, I was looking at the stars. I'm shivering in the cold at 12,000 feet, but that doesn't matter because I can see the Milky Way. Everywhere it is dark except for the light of distant stars. Laying down on my bed of granite, I feel like I am made of stone. My legs are stiff from hiking, and I'm too excited/uncomfortable to fall asleep. I will wake up at dawn tomorrow and hike to the top of Mount Whitney.

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.

Spring Break Photodump

Finally got around to uploading my pictures from spring break, which was a couple weeks ago.


Sweet no-name designer tie I got from the Goodwill in the Fillmore in SF. I like the abstract floral pattern and the color scheme.


Had to play dress up. I imagine myself as a crazy businessman. I don't think I'd excel in the world of commerce.


You want a raise?!


Coconut autopsy part one, in which Karyn demonstrates her tool-wielding abilities.


Extraction of the essential juices.


Revelry in victory.


The soft, fleshy interior.


A tasty morsel.


Team bike. I got to go bike camping for work! We took a kids' group called the Junior Rangers. Authority figure-to-children ratio = 1:9. I felt pretty stoked about my tactical walkie talkie holster.


Falling down or flying away? One of the Junior Rangers (pictured) taught me how to fold origami cubes. We used aluminum foil and tried to pop corn in them. Tried to.


Toasty. I was the guardian of the flame.

Day 86

I think I managed to squeeze in at least two REM cycles last night, despite having slept less than two hours. Awesome! I was finishing my application to study in French Polynesia next fall. And now for some end of spring break bike camping. Time to rock 'n roll!

Day 38

He wasn't sure if it was a good idea, but he was curious to know if it could work. No, he knew it would work; he had seen others do it before without a hitch. And they always made it look so fun. Besides, he is much lighter than myself he thought. Combined we are not even 400 pounds. He stood on the sidewalk under the piss-yellow light of the streetlamps, and he knelt to roll up his right pant leg before swinging it over the frame of his mountain bike.

"Okay, get on," he said, and he felt the weight of his friend straddling his bicycle's rack. He gave a push on the pedal and the bike started off with a wobble, which gradually dissipated as they picked up speed. He was wearing the only helmet.

"Hold me by the waist," he said. "I need my shoulders to steer." He felt his friend let go of his shoulders and pinch his jacket by the pockets. They coasted down a gently inclined one-way street. From the light of the passing streetlamps, he could see his passenger's legs swaying as they went over bumps.

"My crotch hurts," his friend said, straddling the metal plate of the bicycle rack. A signal turned yellow up ahead and he gingerly squeezed his mushy breaks. They went over some more bumps. He felt bad for his friend. They rolled through the intersection, passing a car on its right, just as the light turned to green again and he started cranking a little bit to build up some speed.

They started wobbling and he got nervous. He could feel it in the handle bars, the almost imperceptible flits of the handlebar each time they hit a crack in the pavement and shifted the weight of his load that was gripping him by his jacket and swaying with each bump. He thought there was a car behind them, waiting for them to take a large bump and wipe out, so that it could run them over into a mangled pile of aluminum and dumb college kid. A car passed them on their left and his unease grew. He didn't want to look over his shoulder to see if there was another one waiting to pass. He didn't want to accidentally shift his shoulders and drift around in his lane. He focused straight ahead and they followed a straight line.

They rolled up to the apartment and he pulled onto the sidewalk. He was alive.

"Well, that was fun," his friend said. They had made it there in record time.

Day 30

• It's not dumpster diving if it's your own trash, food items included.
• It's not breaking the speed limit (or any other traffic law) if you're riding a bicycle.
• Of my eight co-workers, I'd say two qualify as stranded-on-a-desert-island material, on the basis of survival and conversational skills.
• I'm not Filipino, though it might be fun to pretend to be.
• The self-aware haunted house is kitsch performance art in its highest form.
• Never try to capture a heathen's likeness inside the confines of your devil box; no good can come of any such thing.
• The 50% Off shelf at Safeway is a friend to be trusted.

Bicycles

I like bicycles. I like the feeling of going somewhere, the purposeful sense of forward motion towards a definite destination. I like the feeling of alertness, the amount of attention I pour into riding the streets, the level of complete absorption of navigating city streets. I like the feeling of my feet against the pedals against the cranks against the bike frame against the tires against the pavement. Especially on a smooth street. I can almost feel the traction of the street against the soles of my feet. I like ducking low on the big hill near my house, my profile as tiny as possible against the wind tearing through my ears. I like standing on my pedals to sprint up block-long hills and coast down the other side as a reward. I like to sit up straight and take my hands off the handlebars on big empty streets. Sometimes I also pump my arms and pretend that I'm running, far faster than I could ever run. I like passing cars stuck in traffic. I like banked turns. I like getting into my toeclips on the first try. I like going into the hardest gear at the start of a flat, and feel the resistance increase on the pedals. I like bicycles.

Pretentious Blog Photography

Behold the power of a $150 camera.