sadness on the 101

today while driving down on the 101 i was listening to npr. at first, the california report mentioned the sf bay oil spill, and all the sick birds and destruction. this made me really teary eyed. then, in a separate segment, they spoke with women who had returned from serving in iraq. at one point they talked with a mother and her children, who essentially indicated that the mother had become more detached and distant. she had missed her son change during puberty. this made me even more sad. i got all teary eyed, doubly so.

i don't usually break up so easily. maybe it was the early morning drive. but i was so sad.

now i'm in vegas, contemplating gambling these worries away. but sleep might win out over gambling.

morning bikerides

lately i've been waking up early and riding around the neighborhood. biking casually. upright, decidedly slowing myself down as the wind batters my slim body and my ears cool in the morning dew.

anyway, today i rode around the bernal area just south of caesar chavez, in san francisco. well, i also ended up in soma, but my pics are largely from bernal:



how invigorating, this ride in the morning. i've felt lost lately, and the morning rides make me feel found, somewhat.

janus at the de young

last night we went to the de young for their weekly friday night party. while browsing the collection, we came upon a wonderful depiction of janus, the roman god of beginnings and endings. above you see one face of janus. in this depiction, it's an outward face. now below, i give you the profile, and then the "back"


this work really resonated with me because it got me thinking about how we're all, in a way, two-faced, or perhaps of multiple minds. not necessarily in a bad way. i recall reading about people who would lose control of one of their hands, or say things aloud that they thought they didn't mean. the author of the book (i can't remember which book it was) discussed how certain centers of our brain seem to win out over other centers -- like when you reflexively react to something but then restrain yourself almost immediately upon receiving further information. the two janus faces got me thinking that the thoughts we inhibit subconsciously, and consciously, might be far more complicated than a reflex, but rather an entire train of thought that is suppressed, for some reason. there is a face to that thought. the encasing of the head on one side in this depiction emphasizes this enclosure, and the interior mirror helps us see what is inside there, as it's usually obscured.

making eggs with george and fred

a story about making eggs. clearly i'm on an egg kick, i dunno why! hope you enjoy it:

"Now give me your nose and smell this," George told Fred.

Fred plopped his nose into George's greens-filled hand, inhaled and exclaimed, "Ahh wonderful! That is life!"

"No, that is thyme, an herb," remarked George matter-of-factly and continued, "Thyme brings life to omelets in particular. That horrid thing you made the other day with peppers and onions and ham and tomatoes and God knows what other added abominations -- all you needed was thyme and cheese -- one tenth the cost, one thousand times the taste."

Fred frowned. George was mounting his high horse. How high would he go today?

"And your omelet was all mushed and battered -- like it had been to war and returned, gnarled and featureless. Thyme plus grated cheese plus technique -- that's what you need."

"Tell me more," Fred replied, somewhat mockingly.

"I will!" retorted George. "Fred, give me your hand."

Fred gave George his hand. George proceeded to move it side to side, in gentle contours, with slight flourishes at the end of the curves. "Do you know what your hand is capable of?" George began. "Such subtle motions. Such grace. Now, you use it like a seal's flipper -- arf arf arf arf arf! You are a seal when you take a kitchen item in your hand. Or a masturbator -- all you have is one gross motion. Disgusting. The omelet is dead to me before it enteres my mouth -- how can i enjoy the food created by a seal who masterbates with his kitchen tools?"

"Arf arf arf," replied Fred.

George looked stern. "Ha ha, very funny. Well George, my mission, this very day, is to turn you into a dolphin. This day i will make you smarter than a seal but not give you hands."

"Arf, arf!" mocked Fred.

George ignored him. "Then I will make you into a baboon. Big movements, like beating meat, tenderizing, done right. Then, on the third day, I will make you human. You will flip an omelet with grace and I will scream in joy as the thyme and cheese hit my tongue." George smacked his lips and, with purpose in his eyes, said, "Now let us begin."

George hurried away, with Fred arfing behind him.

watch my feet

sasha frere-jones, the pop music critic for the new yorker, showed this amazing video at his talk. it's a style of fast footwork that has come out of the chicago area. watch their feet!



click to see what frere-jones writes about dude 'n nem, the duo behind the video.

bring back the classics

today we saw alex ross, the new yorker music critic, give a talk titled "the rest is noise." it's about 20th century classical music, it's progression, the history of the 20th century seen from that purview. anyway, a boring talk, he is not a compelling speaker, but he chooses good music. anyway, they gave us a copy of his book (by the same title get it at amazon today!) and i started reading and got thinking...

so, sure, classical music isn't widely cherished today. but i also think it has a publicity problem. i can go and find out when and where daft punk is playing quite easily -- myspace! so my first thought was: why doesn't bach have a myspace page? well, it turns out he does! but it's not what i'd do with it. consider this profile quote:

I was born in Eisenach, Germany on March 21, 1685. I had a tough life. By the age of 10 i was an orphan and had to move in with my brother, who was an organist. From there i was exposed to the music scene. At 14 i was given a scholarship to a choral school and my career in music had begun. From there i worked for duke William Ernst, but after almost ten years decided to move on. Ya know, i was married, had a family, i needed more money to support them.

oh bach i know! life is hard!

then i started browsing around for other popular, dead composers. i found two interesting profiles for mozart:
- wolfy as an over the top character
- "little known" people who perform mozart

neither is what i want! i want to be able to go to one page, and see all the mozart performances coming up. sure, that might be a daunting thing to sift through. ok, make it filterable.

more interesting, myspace is predicated around privileging the performer, not the composer. the songwriter barely gets a mention if it's not the performer. but, when we think classical music, we immediately think the composer, not the performers. the general audience is happy to substitute the san francisco symphony for the new york philharmonic. now, i'm not good enough to be shocked at the magnitude of such a switch -- anyone who's anyone in classical music likely understands the subtleties that arise depending on who's performing. but on a mozart myspace page, i expect to have access to recordings by all the major symphonies as well as my high school band! wouldn't it be great if you could listen to a world class band play mozart and then hear a small band's recent rendition of a classic like eine kleine nacht musik

this has got me wondering how labels manage bands that have died. do they just not have updated myspace pages? or do they live on?

anyway for anyone who wants to waste time, true myspace pages for the classical composers -- that's what i'm looking for :)

girl talk

neha introduced me to girl talk, a dj who cuts up all kinds of well known songs and puts them together in a brilliant way. wikipedia says:

He specializes in sample-based remixes where he uses at least a dozen elements from different songs to create a "new" song.

he's in sf this weekend (sold out) but also in berkeley on monday doing a free show. and if you can't make the events, at least check out the music:

i'll never forget

last week at my writing class one of our prompts was to use the sentence "i'll never forget" or the sentence "i'll remember" whenever we wanted or we got stuck. it produced a lot of dark pieces. here's mine:

i'll never forget her distance eyes after the third glass, always after the third glass. in happier times the green in her irises would tint a bit gray, she'd smile and look at nothing in particular. it was only later that i learned the distance eyes prefaced the breakdown.

i'll never forget that first time she hit me. a beast came back from her distant eyes and her nails ripped out some of my arm, a scar there now. i love her, still, though she's gone.

i'll never forget how it ended. did i give up, or did she? i always rationalized her drinking and violence as addiction, impulse. she would tell me about her lack of self-control, how she couldn't help herself.

did i become cynical? her hand reaching for a glass -- is that impulse? pouring the too full drink, bringing it to her mouth, repeating not once, not twice but three too full glasses -- is that impulse? that would all take minutes, not seconds -- seconds are impulses, minutes are conscious decisions.

i'll never forget when i told her that she was weak and uncaring -- not sick and in need of help. she had just hit me. was my outburst an impulse? i remember saying sorry, saying i had lost control -- how disgusted i was with myself. i wasn't sorry, it was conscious.

and now i sit here disgusted with that memory -- that i would not stand up for myself, nor care for her or believe that she needed it.

i'll never forget her distant eyes after the third glass. i'm so broken -- i love her and love myself and these will never fit.

omelets and feet

niniane and i made breakfast today. i wanted to get good at making omelets, so i followed a video i found online (videos for cooking techniques are so great!). here's the video, it's short, and the guy in it is kinda funny looking (why is he wearing his shirt that open? and that apron!) but he does a great job explaining the key steps in the omelet production process:



the one thing i couldn't get was the flip. like with riding a bike, it's hard to explain, even in a video -- some things you just gotta do. twice i half flipped my omelet, wrecking its beauty at the very end. but i love the flipping motion and later tried to put raja in a big box with a handle so i could flip him. he was not happy. anyway, niniane said my thyme and cheddar omelet was great, and i concur -- certainly the best omelet i have ever made.

as with all meandering niniane-omar conversations, we somehow arrived at my distaste for food near feet. i've discussed feet on this blog before, and now would like to say how crazy i get when i see feet near food. there's just something so incongruous with this alignment. for me, it's like nails on a chalkboard. i want to rescue the food, but at the same time toss it, because if it's been that close to feet, something just ain't right.

so in response

niniane tells me about dan savage's discussion a few years ago concerning bonzai restaurant in seattle, where you could eat sushi off naked women. the protests around the objectification of women only lead more people to frequent the restaurant. savage, who thinks protesting the restaurant was ridiculous (i agree), writes this at the end of the article:

If Bonzai did anything wrong, FFFT, it was not using boys as plates at the same time it was using girls as plates. That's why The Stranger will be hosting Naked Doughnuts, a special happy-hour event at Bonzai this Friday night at 6:00 p.m. Two good-looking guys will be laid out on the bar and covered with Top Pot doughnuts. Bonzai Asian Pub & Bistro is at 704 First Avenue. Ogle the boys, eat the donuts, fuck the clenchbutts.

this discussion lead to a point of clarification. it's not that i'm against bodies caressing food, it's just feet and food! i think it'd be fascinating to take some rice and put it on a naked body that's clean but starting to sweat, just to taste the salty flavor imbued in the rice (now that you think i'm gross/nuts pontificate for a moment on all the wonderfully crazy things you think are interesting.. one.. two.. three.. ok let's resume). but keep that rice away from the feet, no matter how clean!

about last night

this is from my writing class. the prompt was "about last night." i read this aloud, but it's so much easier to understand with italics representing one individual.

[beep vibrate. cell phone is answered]

so.. about last night.
uh, yeah?
well, i was sorta, you know... it wasn't anything.
oh, er, yeah me too. i didn't think.. uh..
yeah, thinking, god! where did that go?
seriously, if my brain is ice, i was melted.
er.. yeah melted. i see that, like slush and dirt. woh, dirty!
yeah and no shovel, er.. yeah
so.. um. about last night.
uh, yeah?
well, ok, maybe i meant some of it.
really? well.. um..
yeah so i was more ice, less slush
oh
yeah
well ... ok...
so do you want to...
oh wait i have another call.

[click]

my indian shirts

what will i do next? if the midge mating rituals weren't enough for you, then welcome to the 'omar wears bad indian shirts' show. in india, i kind of got carried away with the clothing prices, and the styles, and bought far too many custom tailored shirts. they fit.. well, like they should if i were in india.

below are three shirts that, in retrospect, as i cleansed the closet, will never see the light of day on me. only the light of this blog. goodwilling, they'll find a home.

you can see the dumbfounded look on my face above. and this was perhaps the least horrible shirt.

looking at this pink shirt picture now, i see hints of my father. it scares me.

and this is by far the ... well, you be the judge.

The Magnificient Midge

"Both male and female Chironomidae [nonbiting midges] have mouths but will never use them, for the adults live only to breed. They have stored enough food in their bodies from their larval days to fuel the furious beating of their wings."

The male midge's "rapid [wing] motion raises their body temperature and may make them more potent. Females, lurking nearby in the grass or bushes, dart into the swarm once the males have become irresistible to them."



"Marissa, I'm not going to be able to resist much longer -- look at Walter's wings!"

Marg the midge, perched atop a blade of grass, admired the rhythmic dance of the male midges in the adjacent field. Her friend, Marissa the midge, hovered lower, unconvinced by the dance.

"Every night you fixate on Walter. How many flaws must I point out? Look at his metathorax -- I tell you he still eats, even to this day! No midge is that fat!"

But Marg could not stop swooning. "Think about our kids. His powerful wings, my lithe hind legs, they'd be the most attractive larvae."

Marissa hovered, unconvinced. She spun and looked up. "Wait Marg, wait. Check out Andre."

Andre flew into view above them. His wingers weren't as fast as Walter's; nor his metathorax as large. But Marg could not deny that he was something special. Andre was not rotating horizontally on the fourth wing beat like every other midge -- instead, he rotated vertically, showing off his glistening spiracles. When Andre's head faced Marg and Marissa he winked and caressed his mesothorax with his forelegs. Marg wondered what Andre's forelegs would feel like on her mesothorax.

should this be secret?

there's a joy to discovering something about someone, long after you've known them. another fold, a direction you didn't expect but appreciate. i remember reading in some old fart magazine an oldie complaining that the embrace of the online world had diminished this wonderful process -- now you can just read someone's blog, google them. as usual, the oldie is wrong. there's always something more than in the posting, the search results.

multiple people have been aghast that i've been revealing this yet-to-be-blog-revealed (but shortly) new fascination i have. they've said things like "i'm not sure i'd share that with anyone i know" or "don't you think people might think about you differently?" well, of course they will! that's what information can do.

so now.

you want to know.

well, first i think it would help if you watched the following video:



i am a huge fan of high school musical. sure, ostensibly it's for teens, but i think i know why i like it. i've always sort of liked indian movies -- i grew up with them playing around me from time to time, and even though i couldn't really connect with the culture evinced by those glittering bollywood gods, the tunes were catchy. they still are:



high school musical is like an indian movie for western kids. and adults who always wanted a better connection between indian movies and their lives. and why am i sharing? i think high school musical is a wonderful, just-plain-fun movie. with catchy tunes. the story isn't groundbreaking, the songs aren't either. but when those kids burst into song, and the scripted tension builds, yes, i'm a sucker. give it a chance, you will be too. high school musical 2: i will see you soon.

feelin fake in sf?

neha has told me that sf feels so fake. i'm not sure what this means, and i don't think she knows either. but i do know that we were at a startup party last night, and man a lot of those people are drinking the funny punch. as one more sober individual put it: "we don't talk about the failures here." and yet so many fail!

amazingly, you can be a serial failure in startup land and still get funding, over and over. that's great because incubating the right ideas and executing effectively takes people with brains, experience, luck of course.. failure can be good. but then this got me feeling so disappointed about the art scene and its funding. artists, in a way, are entrepreneurs who just don't have access to the funding that tech startup people do. it's so sad! because virtually no one appreciates a failed startup but every piece of art, i think, has an audience. yes, every piece! you know where i'm going here so i'll stop now and go fund an artist.

oh ho ho it's magic

i love this song

ou est la bibliotheque?

ah flight of the conchords. what a ridiculous tv show. two friends move to nyc from new zealand, looking to find success for their quirky comedy band. the show follows their hopeless exploits with women and the band.

every show has two musical sets (at least). in the most recent episode there's a song done mostly in french -- it's great because it's literally grade 3 or grade 4 french, so anyone with a smidge of french can appreciate it. and even if you don't speak french, it's still pretty funny!

parlez-vous le francais?

another something written

one of the prompts last week was a page of onomatopoeia words (words like clang, hiss, boom, ...)

here's what i wrote. i'm working on the granny character:

there is a loud clang against the fence. everyone looks up from their activity: the women stop gossiping; the men lift mouths from their scotch; the kids cease rolling around in the grass; even the whole chicken roasting on the spit seems to do a double take and perk up towards the noise.

on the other side of the fence stands a formidable granny. in her right hand, a large shovel, rusted end -- almost red, as if she's used it to bludgeon, one too many times. in her left hand, a readers digest, large-print. she has everyone's attention. clang! clang! clang! she runs the shovel along the fence for good measure.

"good!" she shrieks, "now you're well interrupted, like you interrupted me!"

the women shuffle. some of the men mutter -- but immediately hush with one stare from the granny, who points the death shovel at them. the children are quiet. somehow, the fire has gone out under the chicken.

"mr and mrs neighbor, a word please."

the hosts of the bbq shuffle to the fence, their friends looking on as if a death sentence is about to be handed down. judge granny presides, and in her court all are guilty.

"why, mr and mrs neighbor, on sunday, god's day, do i hear a gaggle of geese in my yard?"

"uh, geese.. hmm?" mr neighbor replies.

"you buffoon you are the goose, this is your gaggle. do you know, mr neighbor, that i have killed geese with this very shovel?"

a yelp emanates from the children. "mommy, i'm scared. i peed my pants."

"deal with that child, mrs neighbor," granny spits.

mrs neighbor hustles to the child. granny turns, twirling the heavy shovel in one hand. clang! she bangs it against the fence. everyone jumps.

"mr neighbor, i will resume my reading now. if i hear your gaggle again, it will be you with a mess in your pants, be assured."

spider cat

neha gave me a spider plant and i just brought it at home and, unlike my other spider plant, i put it at cat-reachable level. raja has already taken quite a few bites and so i wonder, why on earth? i know they aren't toxic for cats.. then i read this:

Q: Some people told me that cats like spider plants because it affects them like LSD. Did you find that to be true? I don’t have a cat, but I have a hamster that will do anything to get near my spider plants. If you could give me some insight into spider plants and cats, it would be very helpful! (e-mail reference)

A: Being a cat owner myself (or is it the other way around?), I noted the attraction between my furry friends and this particular species of plant. I checked into spider plant toxicity and found that it is listed as nontoxic. Apparently, cats are attracted to spider plants because, like catnip, spider plants are mildly hallucinogenic to cats. The same thing may be true of hamsters. While harmless, the cats need to be disciplined or they will trash the plant. When we bring ours indoors for the winter, we have to make sure the spiderettes do not hang low enough for the cats to reach!

in other words, the plant is the one in danger -- raja is on the prowl and slightly drugged up!

creative writing.. how creative

i'm taking a creative writing class at the writing salon in sf. the class is called "Exploring Your Writer's Voice". so far i've had two classes and i'm really enjoying it. the group leader (our fearless leader) chris provides us with prompts, we write whatever we want (following the prompt where it might take us, or not), and then we share our writing with the group, who offers positive feedback on the writing, focusing on the writing, not the writer. for me, this is about fiction, and so i try to step out -- lie, have fun, create.

this has really helped me reinvigorate my writing bug. here's the last prompt chris provided tonight, along with my response.

prompt: there is still joy.

what omar wrote:

"look another vineyard -- drink!" and so they drink up -- not i, they, drink up -- everyone but me. designated driver to napa and sonoma. why did i pull the short straw?

we're driving on the silverado trail. oh look another pothole -- i gun the car at it -- the drinkers can take that!

ah napa. some of the best wine in the world -- wine I, the humble driver, could appreciate. and what do my friends ask me to do? drive them around the back roads, and whenever they see a vineyard they drink. when the bottle runs dry i take them to the nearest winery, they run inside, bellow "bring me your cheapest wine!" and run back to the car. spot. drink. stop. repeat.

i get a whiff of their latest chard -- oaky, is that almond.. wait, bring it back. oh, another vineyard. they drink. they laugh. i cry. but i laugh too. this is so ridiculous. gunning for a pothole, i relish the little bumpy joys in life.

some music

on neha's blog i saw a last.fm widget showing some of her favorite music and i wanted the same. so i pulled out some music that i thought might sort of fit together, and somewhat reflected what i'm listening to these days. i realize i'm very poppy lately. anyway, check this out. i'll also have this widget on the side of my blog so you can see changes as the days go by.