desudation - dreams

Cheap Groceries in the Mission

2011-04-02T21:07:00.003-04:00

A little while back, I saw a comparison of grocery stores in Jamaica Plain. People there have been bemoaning the opening of a Whole Foods, and someone set out to show the prices at Whole Foods really aren't that bad. At the time, I thought it would be interesting to do something similar for the Mission. Today, I finally had the time.

First the results, and then the explanation....

Summary

Foods Co. is the cheapest I found. Rainbow Grocery is the most expensive.

Item	Casa Guadalupe	Duc Loi	Safeway	Foods Co.	Rainbow Grocery
Vegetable Oil (48 fl. oz.)	4.49	3.99	2.99	3.48	8.76
Plastic Wrap (200 sq. ft.)	2.99	2.99	2.49	1.88	3.38
Corn Starch (per pound)	1.99	n/a	0.99	0.98	0.89
Orange Juice (Half Gallon)	n/a	5.49	3.99	3.88	6.59
Soy Milk (Half Gallon)	5.18	2.79	3.29	2.50	3.59
Tofu (per pound)	n/a	0.99	1.69	1.48	0.99
Rice (per pound)	0.59	0.70	0.95	0.45	1.05
Spaghetti (per pound)	1.50	1.29	1.10	1.06	2.09
Can of Tomatoes (28 fl. oz.)	1.49	1.99	1.99	1.38	2.19

Details

The trick for all of these was to try to find a unit of measurement that was relatively fair. In all cases, I'm going for the cheapest item (without consideration for quality or whether it's organic). I'll describe a bit about what I was looking for in each item. Note that I'm vegan, and so are all these ingredients.

Vegetable Oil. Any vegetable oil at all, as long as it came in 48 fl. oz. container. Rainbow Grocery only had no 48 fl. oz. containers, so I went with 32. I also checked the bulk price. The cheapest bulk oil was 3.05 per pound. Assuming 0.92g/cm^3, this becomes 8.76 for 48 fl. oz. (which is worse than the non-bulk price). This was slightly cheaper than the 6.08 for 32 fl. oz.
Plastic Wrap. Any plastic wrap will do. 200 square foot rolls was available everywhere except Rainbow Grocery. It only sold a 100 square foot roll.
Corn Starch. One pound containers. Safeway had a special sale (not sure what their regular price is). The Rainbow Grocery price is from the bulk section. Couldn't find it at Duc Loi.
Orange Juice. A little luxurious here with only containers of orange juice not from concentrate. Casa Guadalupe only had fruit punch stuff, so I skipped them. Prices vary wildly. (Note: the cheapest Tropicana, if you are a brand name whore, is also at Foods Co. And by a pretty big margin.)
Soy Milk. Some places are getting slammed here for only offering organic soy milk, which may or may not be fair. Casa Guadalupe only sold organic quarts, so it's getting doubly slammed.
Tofu. One pound firm. Couldn't find it at Casa Guadalupe.
Rice. This one is probably not fair at all. I had problems finding a size that all stores would carry. Smaller stores only carried 5 pound bags. Some places did bulk. The bigger stores really only became cost effective at the 15 or 20 pound range. So, Foods Co. wins with a 20 pound bag. But Casa Guadalupe is a close second (in my books) because that's their bulk price.
Spaghetti. Specifically spaghetti. I was aiming for 2 pound bags when I could find them. Duc Loi and Rainbow Grocery only had one pound bags. Rainbow Grocery bulk prices were more expensive than the pre-packaged prices.
Can of Tomatoes. Any type of canned tomato (whole, diced, stewed, whatever). Casa Guadalupe didn't have them in the 28 fl. oz. size.

And the stores:

Casa Guadalupe. I'm not entirely sure this is Casa Guadalupe. This is the grocery at the corner of 22nd & Folsom. If you get a receipt, it shows up as Casa Guadalupe. However, there is no real identifying sign. There are other Casa Guadalupe stores on Mission (maybe a trademark dispute?).
Duc Loi. Mission & 18th. More of an asian grocery.
Safeway. Market & 14th.
Foods Co. Folsom & 14th.
Rainbow Grocery. Folsom & 13th. Lots of organic and specialty foods. You can get a 10% discount here if you're a member of San Francisco Bicycle Coalition. (This discount is not included in the prices above, but it wouldn't have made much difference to the outcomes.)

Conclusions

First of all, I was blown away by the bulk prices at Rainbow Grocery ... and not in a good way. I really went into this thinking that Rainbow Grocery would pick up a few wins with its bulk foods. It did get one (corn starch), but the bulk prices were sometimes expensive than the pre-packaged foods in the same store ... and far behind the prices for pre-packaged foods in other stores. I found this disappointing.

If you're a vegan trying to live on the cheap, I'd recommend buying most of your stuff at Foods Co. If Foods Co. doesn't have what you're looking for, then hop across the street to Rainbow Grocery to pick up the rest.

Bright Angel Trail

2011-03-06T20:24:00.002-05:00

When poking around looking for descriptions of Bright Angel Trail, I noticed that no one really got into the details I find interesting. Namely: how much can we push it without risking our lives? So here they are, for those that want them.

Spoiler alert: if you like figuring stuff out for yourself, you'd best stop reading now.

The Stage
Let me set the stage. Susan and I knew Bright Angel Trail was about 8 to 9 miles of distance and 4500 feet of vertical in each direction. On flat land, that's a three hour walk. But 4500 feet is maybe 400 stories. And one of the directions has to be up. We knew that the National Park Service specifically advised against attempting the return trip in one day. We are also known to be stubborn and competitive when it comes to hikes. Checking against the web at large, it seemed as though the biggest issue was heat and that hiking in winter was supposed to be enjoyable. In winter, temperatures are freezing at the rim and more moderate at the river.

On our part, Susan and I are in great shape. We both get about 10 hours of exercise a week. We'd hiked Half Dome before (which is similar in terms of distance and vertical). It seemed like a one day return was possible.

Weather forecasts a week or two before were showing highs around 40F at the rim, and 60F at the river. Temperatures would drop to 20F over night. Cold, but not that bad. Or so we thought.

The Plan
We extrapolated from Half Dome, and conjectured a 9 hour round trip. With some buffer for chilling out, we were figuring that we should set out an hour before sunrise and get back (in the absolute worst case) at sunset. About 12 hours. With no plan to stay in the canyon, we would pack warm gear and emergency blankets, but neither tents nor sleeping bags.

You can get rough estimates on calories from some web sites. We were packing enough calories. I brought energy bars. Susan brought peanut butter cookies. We figured that -- with refilling available at Indian Garden -- five litres of water would be enough between the two of us. We packed CamelBaks.

Warnings from the National Park Service said the top mile or two were covered in ice and snow, so we packed YakTrax over-shoe traction devices.

We were planning to stay at El Tovar Hotel the night before and the night after. It's pretty deluxe for where it is, and we figured on appreciating a hot bath after the hike. This hotel is pretty kicking; I recommend it.

Last Minute Change of Plans
Shortly before the trip, the weather forecast started showing snow advisories for Grand Canyon and the surrounding areas. Some estimates were predicting as much as 12 inches of snow in 24 hours -- right in the middle of our hike! I was worried.

We knew this wasn't going to be snow at the river, so we had to prepare for both rain and snow. We did the best with the gear we had. I brought a ski jacket and light snowboarding pants. Both are water resistant, and the pants are useful for trail blazing in snow. Susan brought a water proof jacket. I sprayed a fresh coat of water repellent on my boots.

How It Played Out
We left right around sunrise: 07:00. A little later than expected, but snow made the last bit of the drive from Phoenix to the Grand Canyon entertaining. An extra hour of sleep seemed prudent.

It was drizzling on and off during the descent. Nothing too bad. At first, I thought we were in for a dreary day but nothing close to the foot of snow forecast. Boy, was I wrong.

The top of the trail was snow and ice. The YakTrax worked beautifully, but one band broke on Susan's shortly after starting. Irritating, buy still usable. I'd still recommend them; Susan was less impressed. At least on the terrain we were on, it allowed me to treat ice like normal rocky terrain without affecting my gait.

After snow it turned to mud. Slippery, red, get-all-over-everything mud. My boots and bag are still stained red in places. The rain kept coming on and off, but our gear was holding up well.

We reached the river at about 10:00. We felt close for a while, but the winding canyon walls make the actual river a surprise. Unexpected and big. The weather wasn't wonderful. So, after a few minutes of playing around near the river (and the obligatory photo), we turned back to start the ascent back to the rim. What do they say? It's the journey, not the destination.

About an hour back toward Indian Garden, it started to rain. Not "this is refreshing" on and off drizzle. This was rain that was meant to soak the trail and everyone on it. This rain made me question my love for Susan and her desire to hike this trail. But as the signs on the trail continually point out: "Down is Optional. Up is Not."

At about this point, we ran into a ranger. He asked us some pointed questions, and eyed us up and down with a concerned eye:

"Are you heading to the rim today?"
"The wind has really started to pick up near the rim."
"Do you have crampons?"

The end result was that we were both feeling a little more apprehensive with our plan. We started to really move. It was about this time that I also grew sick of eating my energy bars. Susan had snagged a burrito from Taco Bell the night before, and whipped it out for a quick lunch. I felt jealous. Next time I'm packing sandwiches.

Within half an hour, my jacket and pants had let water in. Before we reached snow it had soaked through. Both of us were soaked from the waist down. Then snow. My energy started dropping rapidly, to the point where I was shuffling along the last mile of the trail. We couldn't stop, 'cause the temperature had dropped too far.

This was the moment we shoot for. One of us has to doubt our ability to make it. It was my turn on this hike. Going up was a struggle. Hungry. Cold. I thought we were going to have to reverse back down to Indian Garden and wait out the rain and snow. It seemed to take forever to cover the last mile up to the top.

We reached the trailhead slightly before 14:00. (Yes. Three hours down and only four hours up.) When we got back to the hotel it took me about half an hour to feel warm again. The snow continued into the evening.

What Went Right

We correctly judged our fitness level. In fact, we outperformed, which allowed us to get back during the warmest hours of the day.
We had enough water with us.

What Went Wrong

My gear was not waterproof, and under the steady rain eventually gave out. Staying warm in wet gear is not easy.
Our back up gear got wet. While we didn't actually use it, we would have been better to have stowed it in plastic bags.
Monotonous food. I only had one type of food. This meant toward the end, I wasn't eating enough and allowed my energy level to drop.
This was our first time using CamelBaks, and we overestimated how much water we were drinking. I only drank one litre, and Susan drank even less.

Pupusas

2011-01-03T17:52:00.001-05:00

Susan got "Viva Vegan" for Christmas, a cookbook by the other half of the Post Punk Kitchen. If the first recipe is any indication, we're going to really enjoy this cookbook.

Pupusas stuffed with black beans and plantains, topped with a tomato sauce and served with a slaw and avocado. Yum!

Mauna Loa

2009-10-28T22:52:00.003-04:00

Our third day of insane hiking came a few days after the Kalalau Trail. We hiked to the summit of Mauna Loa. Mauna Loa is a mammoth mountain in terms of proportions. Most of the island of Hawai'i is actually part of that mountain. It is also an active volcano -- most recently erupting in 1984. This trail is something else. There are a few ways to reach the summit, but we opted for the trail that can be done in one day. We didn't really have time to do the more laborious routes that start further down the mountain. Instead, we drove up to just over 11 000 feet, and parked at a weather observatory that is situated there. Then, over the next five long hours, we climbed 2500 feet over 6.5 miles. This was a much more arduous process than Half Dome. The sun was exceptionally intense. It beat down mercilessly. Not only is the peak of Mauna Loa at about 20 degrees of latitude (hot), but it rises above the clouds (no shade), and is composed entirely of rough volcanic rock. One type of volcanic rock, 'a'a, is like sharp pieces of popcorn each about 2-4 inches in diameter. It is an unsteady surface to walk on, and did some serious damage to my hiking shoes.

I was prepared for the possibility that altitude sickness would force us to turn back. Mauna Loa is 13 679 feet at its highest point. While I was prepared to have to abandon the hike, I wasn't prepared for the uncertainty and how miserable that height and heat can make one feel. Less than a mile from the summit, we were seriously contemplating abandoning the hike. We both had the start of a mild headache, and were operating at noticeably less than our normal capacity.

And then the final concern is cloud cover. The trail up the rock is only marked by small cairns made from the same volcanic rock as the trail. This makes them sometimes hard to spot in clear daylight. In the afternoon, clouds start to ascend the mountain. Most of the time, they will not reach the summit. But it is always a risk that they will. It's not a good idea to be up there when this happens. If the clouds come in, then one will lose sight of the cairns and be forced to camp until the clouds clear. This is not the the idyllic paradise of Kalalau. Camping overnight would be horrendously cold and unpleasant. So we kept looking at the clouds with a little trepidation.

But we prevailed, and were rewarded with spectacular views of the volcanic crater at the summit. The crater is maybe 2 miles across and almost a thousand feet deep. The floor is undulating fields of black volcanic rock. Around it's perimeter are sheer cliff faces overlooking the floor.

And again, no one around. On the day we hiked, there was only one other couple attempting the summit (and they didn't make it) and one older couple who were just hiking part of the way up. It was just us, our feet, and many square miles of barren volcanic wasteland.

While the ascent was 5 hours 7 minutes, the descent was only 2 hours and 38 minutes. Down truly is easier than up.

Kalalau Trail

2009-10-28T22:24:00.003-04:00

Unbeknownst to me, one of the hikes we did in Hawai'i has a reputation as being one of the most dangerous hikes in the United States. The Kalalau Trail is a gorgeous hike through a variety of little micro-ecologies along the north coast of Kaua'i. One moment, you are deep in a tropical rainforest and the air is filled with the sounds of tropical birds like one normally hears on those recordings of tropical rain forests. It's like walking through a rain forest exhibit in a zoo or museum... except it's very real. Guava is growing everywhere. Then in the next moment, you are high on a cliff with a full 180 degree view of the ocean and sky. It was not uncommon to see a rainbow somewhere out over the ocean water.

Luckily, I did not read that article about Kalalau being so dangerous, or else I would have been a little more concerned. We did get lucky, however. The weather was only scattered showers and no heavy rains. It was also only just the start of low season, and so the trail was still in good condition. That's the real problem with Kalalau: the trail is simply not that good in places. At it's most extreme, you will be walking along a trail that is at best the width of two feet side-by-side, with an angling drop away into nothing. The ground won't always be rock either, but will sometimes be loose coarse sand that crumbles and slides away from your feet. You will be carrying a pack, and you will be seriously contemplating your sanity.

The trail has other fun tidbits. There are lots of streams along the way, but the risk of bacterial contamination is very high. A filter is required. (If you do this trip, I can recommend a UV light filter as an excellent light weight option.) The sun is also extremely intense. High humidity and heat in the forest valleys, which comprise the first 6 miles or so. The last 5 miles however are largely exposed to the sun and dry. Head protection is needed!

Then there is the physical stamina required. The trail is 11 miles or so in each direction. The trail is rarely flat. It is almost always climbing or descending steep inclines, with the heavy use of switchbacks. By the end, I was swearing under my breath every time I noticed another switchback starting.

The lucky part: we managed to avoid one of the worst risks. In the event of heavy rain, the trail will become impassable. It is very easy to become stranded in between two ex-streams that are now raging torrents. Some folks have drowned trying to ford the streams when the water is high. While we had light rain on the first day, we only really suffered from wet and muddy shoes.

But the trip is worth it. At the end of 11 miles is Kalalau Beach. This is a secluded strip of sand, with it's own waterfall, a small transient community of hippies and hikers, and small caves. The beach is only accessible on foot or via kayak. There aren't many people there. It's exceptionally peaceful. Waking up early in the morning on the second day, we sat and stared and the most beautiful and bright sea of stars I have ever seen.

One last recommendation to hikers. If you try this trail, I suggest you pack exceptionally light. We managed to do the trip carrying about 10 and 20 pounds, respectively. You will be a lot safer on the cliff-side parts of the trail, and have a lot more energy. We saw some folks carrying huge 50 pound packs and hating every moment of it.

And one last thing. Bragging rights. The return trip from the end of Kalalau Beach to the parking lot at the trailhead took us only 6 hours and 7 minutes. I dare you to try to beat that time, and I imagine you'll enjoy the journey.

A Bet

2009-09-11T23:55:00.003-04:00

Susan and I have embarked on a rather interesting bet. The premise is simple: engage in no form of passive entertainment. The bet: which of us can go longest. Watch a film? No. Surf the internet? Nope. Listen to music? Nuh-uhn. Reading fiction is no good (non-fiction is kosher). Going to restaurants is out, but coffee shops are okay. The idea was hatched on the grass at a park in San Francisco while watching some skateboarders doing awesome tricks. Why can't we do that? I guess we're just spending our time ineffectively.

So here I am, in an airport in Phoenix, Arizona. I haven't gone to any airport restaurants. I haven't listened to music, watched a movie, or a played a video game to pass the time. It's just me, a book by Thich Nhat Hanh, and this blog post.

It is interesting to notice the changes that are taking place. I'm chatting to people a bit more. I'm spontaneously singing a little bit more. I'm calling up old friends on the phone. I'm getting more stuff done at work. And sometimes, I just sit and breath and think. The result is that I find myself a little bit happier. It's hard to say whether this is just the novelty of trying something different, but I guess time will tell.

The bet has also had the unintended side effect of spurring some interesting conversations. Is a thought-provoking fictional novel or film really a passive form of entertainment? Is whole-heartedly paying attention to a piece of music really passive? Maybe you folks will discuss this in comments on this post, but I won't be able to join you. At least, not until one of us loses this bet. :)

Time Has Passed

2009-06-11T23:53:00.004-04:00

Dear Friends,

It has been a long time since I wrote. There is no excuse for such things, except that sometimes it is better to live life than to write about it. "Mais il faut choisir: vivre ou raconter" (Jean-Paul Sartre, La nausée). But tonight just strikes me as one of those nights to write things down. So, when you find a moment, settle down and read what I've been up to.

Let's start around New Year's Eve. It's as good a time as any to start. New beginnings. Expecting little, I was surprised with much more than that. A twist of fate led a woman from Philadelphia, by the name of Susan, to San Francisco over the holidays. In the way of love stories, a chance encounter has begun to spun itself into something intricate and beautiful -- like a spider spinning a web. We're sticky and the sun makes us glitter. Unlike Hollywood, however, the story doesn't unfold in the span of a couple of hours. Instead, it has been taking place over several months.

Before meeting Susan, I knew little about Philadelphia. In fact, I had only a vague notion of where it appeared on a map, and I wasn't at all sure whether it was inland or coastal. For those who have been watching my Facebook status messages, there is no Google office in Philadelphia. These trips have been for something else. I have learned that the Rocky movies were filmed there. I have learned how nice it can be to sleep in a quiet neighbourhood sometimes.

But the distance has been hard. There is no denying that. Though now I know how pricing generally works across the major hubs connecting San Francisco to Philadelphia. I have also learned that it is possible to commute from Philadelphia to San Francisco on a Monday morning -- though it makes for a very long day. It's possible to fly red eye Friday night, and connect back on a commuter flight Monday morning. When this year's mileage is tallied, it seems likely that I'm going to end up with the ability to jump airport lines and such like.

Not that Philadelphia has been my only destination. In May, I found myself in New York City for a fair chunk of time. I had a good opportunity to visit with Jane in Manhattan. I'm glad to have had the opportunity, as flights to Canada are not nearly as inexpensive nor as convenient as those south of the border. I enjoyed hearing about Jane's life on the moors of New Brunswick.

New York City itself was a bit shocking after spending such a long time in San Francisco. I flew a red eye out Thursday night, and found myself at Penn Station during rush hour on a Friday morning. No place to stand. Jostled constantly. Little sleep. I wanted to go home. Manhattan has four times the population density as San Francisco, and it gets even higher right around rush hour. Not that New York is all bad. There are moments to be caught here and there. Dance parades through the city. Musical theatre....

... The Brandy Library. This was quite the experience. For those not in the know, after spending most of my life avoiding alcohol rather completely, Google has driven me to drink. There is a rather large scotch culture at Google, and there is no better place to experience that kind of culture than at The Brandy Library in Manhattan. Imagine stepping into what looks like a slightly large drawing room -- one that you would see in a Hollywood movie when the characters are mixing with old money. Along the walls are book shelves -- floor to ceiling. However, these shelves don't carry books. Instead, the walls are filled with the rarest and most exceptional bottles of fine liquour that you will have the pleasure of seeing. So, if you're hankering for a 1960-something bottle of scotch, this may be the place for you.

At one moment, I almost felt like Manhattan could be a home. It was one night after work. A co-worker had loaned me a bike for the week, and I was heading home -- to a corporate apartment on the upper west side. I followed the bike path up the Hudson River while the sun set over New Jersey. Perfect.

But it was also interesting to notice other differences. The NY demeanour, for example, is much different. Gruff. Cold. Harsh. Abrupt. Tense. Much different from warm SF smiles, and relaxed SF attitudes. I saw nothing like Mission-Dolores Park while hanging out in Manhattan, and it really comes as no surprise to me. I also discovered how comfortable I've become with the perpetually mild climate of San Francisco. NY was hot and humid -- not even as hot as it can get. I found it uncomfortable, and was longing for the 60 degree weather that prevails in San Francisco most of the year.

Work has been good, though this week has been quite long and stressful. A few emergencies on Wednesday made for a 16 hour day. (Maybe it's shallow, but it makes me proud to help keep something like Google running smoothly and getting better every day.) After such an intense day, today I really just hung out, chatted with people and played pool. Fair's fair, after all. My team has grown, and I'm travelling a little bit. Next week, I get to see Pittsburgh. I'm not sure what to expect. Last week I found it on a map. It is inland. :)

All of this travel reminds me a little of my ex-wife, Ania. Old endings. And that's the other big news. My divorce with Ania is now final. Or, at the very least, there is a piece of paper from the British courts granting a divorce. (Ania lives in London now.) It wouldn't surprise me, however, if some government or lawyer somewhere wants us to file another piece of paper, and charge us money for it. But, that somewhat ends an era. There was a party. Tequila was served. Stories were told. I met Ania for the very first time December 1995.

I hope all your lives are full of endings and beginnings, like mine. It's time for me to dig into "The White Tiger" by Aravind Adiga....

Love,

Doug.

P.S. I would recommend "Autumn" by Louderbach (album) or "Skokkian" by Louis Armstrong (song).

Please Help: Name for the New Bike

2009-02-07T15:37:00.009-05:00

I went out today and bought myself a new bike. It's a Specialized Tricross Sport Triple. Basically, the low end of the nicer bikes. Good for getting around, and also has a little bit of extra for playing. The problem now is to choose a name. Take a look at the photos. At first blush, it feels like I'm riding some kind of demon construction. Partly because of all the gear on the front and rear of the bike -- two front brakes, front deflector, front light, front bell, rear rack, rear reflector, rear light, saddle bags. Partly because the thing is black, dark grey and red.

My thoughts so far (in alphabetical order): Firefly, Kali, Lilith, Willow.

Follow the Moment

2009-01-20T11:21:00.003-05:00


Follow the moment
For tomorrow we can sleep
But now is not for petty things
Like days that aren't yet been

Follow the moment with me
And in that breath pull me in
Call it Dream; night slips on forever
Blowing sand to snow

Follow the moment in you
Veil your eyes
Death will take you
In her wings, your thoughts will rest

Follow the moment, my love
And I will follow yours

Beauty of the Moment

2009-01-20T11:16:00.003-05:00

I have been reading "Anathem" by Neal Stephenson. A book about some anti-technology group of monks that spends their time debating the nature of thought and philosophy. Really, just my kind of group. Neal Stephenson isn't really a literary genius, but there was one quote that caught my eye. The phrasing is a little bit awkward, but I like what he's talking about:

Nothing is more important than that you see and love the beauty that is right in front of you, or else you will have no defense against the ugliness that will hem you in and come at you in so many ways.

So, have you been enjoying the moment?

The Journey Home

2008-12-28T23:49:00.001-05:00

My flights back to San Francisco were uneventful, as such mundane things as flights should be. I couldn't help but smile when I stepped outside of airport and into the cool damp San Francisco air. Not cold ... cool. I smiled even more in my neighbourhood itself when I was again the lone white guy on the streets, and the tacquieras provided a faint fragrance to the air. Home.

For those that I didn't get a chance to see, I'll share a Christmas haiku (that a few have already received):

A Merry Christmas
Smell of pine and smiles; windows
Show sparkling snow fields

Not my best work by far. So, to leave a more palatable taste in your mouth, here is some more Victor Pelevin:

"Sometimes it seems to me that there is a part of the soul which sleeps all the time and only wakes for a few seconds on summer nights, in order to peep out and remember something as it used to be long ago, in a different place -- dark blue skies ... stars ... mystery."

Cold

2008-12-22T22:17:00.004-05:00

I have safely arrived in Ottawa. It is cold here. Very cold. Optimistically, it is now -2F. If you prefer to take into account wind chill, it is is -20F. I show none of my old Canadian pride for minimal clothing. Today was warm sweater, warm ski jacket, hats and gloves. Cold.

On the flight over, I finally got a chance to pick up a book that had been sitting on my bookshelf for a year. There is a long waiting list in my life for books. Some books wait for months for me to finally get around to reading them. Others immediately jump the line. I guess some books are just cooler.

This book ("A Werewolk Problem in Central Russia and Other Stories" by Victor Pelevin) had been sitting on my shelf for quite a while. As I learned on the flight, it was kind of sad to be sitting there for so long. The book is awesome. A collection of short stories written with a bizarre and clever sense of humour. A very Slavic feel to it.

The second story is the one that really caught my attention. A story of an older woman of indeterminate age. A cleaner in a public bathroom. She has an interesting run in with the perils of solipsism. Here's a snippet:

"It all began on that afternoon when Vera thought for the first time, not of the meaning of existence, as she usually did, but of its mystery.... The thought was quite unexpected and unbearable, and most remarkable of all, quite unconnected with anything in her surroundings. It simply manifested itself in a head into which nobody had invited it, leading to the conclusion that the long years of spiritual endeavor spent in the search of meaning had been wasted -- because meaning was itself concealed within mystery. Vera nonetheless somehow managed to calm herself down and go on washing the floor." -- pg.37, "Vera Pavlovna's Ninth Dream"

This evening, I got a chance to share dinner with my nephew, Ryan (pictured). He has a little Fisher Price camera that takes real photos (with a blaringly bright flash). Cute? Oh, yes. For some reason, he likes taking pictures of the ceiling. I claim that it is a study in the boundary between being and nothingness.

Anatomical Inaccuracies

2008-12-07T02:17:00.004-05:00

I was in a Lululemon (Grant location, for SF types) today. Behind the cash register, there was a painting. It was a silhouette of a woman doing a scorpion handstand. This is one of the pinnacles of the circus-freak aspect of yoga: a backbend with feet to head, while supporting one's self using only the hands. All I noticed though was that the painting was inaccurate. The jut of the base of the rib cage was too low on the torso. The woman was anatomically inaccurate in other ways too, but it was the rib cage that really grabbed my attention. I think I'm a yoga geek.

India - The Better Late Than Never Overly Long Narrative Prose Piece

2008-11-18T23:01:00.006-05:00

I realized this past weekend -- while chatting with a friend -- that I was kind of done with India. Not done in the sense of forever. This was the kind of done that comes when every day life has encroached sufficiently on the memory of an event that talking about it becomes a chore.

So here it is. The final telling of that which was. Time to cuddle up with some hot chocolate, turn on your Christmas lights, cuddle under a blanket with your laptop. It's going to be a long one....

**********
New Zealand

On Wednesday, September 3rd, the longest flight of my life departed San Francisco International Airport bound for New Zealand. For those that haven't had the pleasure, long haul flights are actually pretty enjoyable. There's a personal video console with private controls, so you can watch what you want, when you want. There's even video games and miscellaneous other goodies. If you're going to go somewhere, pay that extra money and go far.

One glitch: Air New Zealand had a creative interpretation of the VGML special meal request. This is supposed to be "strict vegetarian" (aka vegan). Unfortunately, Air New Zealand interpreted fish as vegan. I guess it wasn't meat, eggs or dairy ... So, hungry as I normally am and with little other in the way of options, I tried the fish. This is not an experience I will repeat again. I had fish breath for days. My stomach felt funny. It made me wonder how people ever got the idea to eat fish in the first place. Mental note: vegans + fish = bad.

Not that it kept me much from enjoying New Zealand. For those not in the know, New Zealand is AWESOME. Yes, it is indeed just as amazing as we've been led to believe. I swear I was close to leaving the country with the title to some land. That's just how appealling it was.

On the first day (the day where time had no meaning), I got my friend Ram to take me out to the beach for some surfing. This was winter by their standards, but it sure beat Canadian winter. A wet suit was required, but it was a good introduction to surfing. I even caught one wave: shooting forward on the crest of a wave with the sound of roaring water crashing around you. For a first effort, not bad.

The second day, we hiked up a mountain. The mountain was maybe 8000 feet above sea level at its peak, but we didn't go nearly that far. We stopped at the point where there were the first flecks of snow on the ground. (And subsequently got passed by a man who was running up the mountain; New Zealanders are generally in way better shape than you or me.)

Now for the awesome. Both of these places (beaches with excellent surf, 8000 feet worth of mountain) were a short drive away from my friend's house. Plus you can walk into stores and restaurants barefoot. <3

I had a run in with some police. But that's another story.

*****
Malaysia

I was swayed by the cheap fare and the promise of another country to see. That's the trick that Malaysia Airlines employs.

Kuala Lumpur was like any other major city in a lot of ways. Excellent infrastructure, bright lights and lots of people. Lots of commerce. The only striking thing is the strong culturual diversity. Indians, Chinese and Malay (some of Arabic descent) all mingle in what seemed like fairly equal numbers.

My interest lay north of the city. The start of my pilgrimage. The Batu Caves are the home of some Hindu temples, and a fairly popular pilgrimage site. I got my chance to make an offering to Murugan (aka Subramanya) -- son of Siva, lord of war and general symbol of courage. And that's just what I needed: a little courage to carry me through.

*****
India, Beginning

India is a crazy place filled with crazy people doing crazy things. Trying to catch a taxi to the hotel was a fascinating lesson in Indian culture. First of all, lines are meant to pushed through, not waited on. Jam your hand forward and into the space you wish to occupy. When you are within reach of the desk, jam money into the face of the clerk. (Note: when you learn this fact and are 6'2" in a nation of short men, you don't have to fear waiting in lines anymore.)

Second point: the swindle, the scam, the cheat. They surround you on all sides. Your white skin screams target. Hold on to your bag. Hold on to your papers and documents. And for the love of God, hold on to your money. The deal he is offering is an insult. It's a given. It's your choice whether to go for it or not.

As one of my co-workers explained, the philosophy goes something like this: "Look out for yourself; lie, cheat and steal from your friends and family; screw everyone else." This is Delhi. Luckily not a place I was going to stay for long (at least at this point).

In a lot of ways, it reminded me of the time I spent living in Tunis. Or at least, the part of Tunis that I lived in. The smell on the streets of rotting food and garbage that had yet to be collected. The rough and chaotic way in which things were assembled. The crazy drivers. India was just a little bit more: more poor, more crazy and a hell of a lot more crowded.

By morning, I was gone: on a train bound for Haridwar.

*****
India, Haridwar

Haridwar is the closest we could get on the train. It's situated along the banks of the Ganges. A holy city by the reckoning of most, and my first sight of the Ganges. It flowed quick enough to be dangerous, but people would still bath in it -- washing away the sins of a lifetime.

We were clearly out of place in Haridwar. We were two of the only white folk in the entire city. We were also ill-equipped for the sudden heat. The temperature had gone from 15C as high a high in New Zealand, to about 35C and humid in Haridwar. The sun was intense. While wandering around in the afternoon after arriving, we both managed to get some form of sun stroke or heat exhaustion. That evening we simply slept -- too drained to do much else.

On the way out of Haridwar, we stopped at a temple for some more blessings. At the same time, I discovered what was going to be my bane for the first week or so in India. While a 6'2" man has many advantages dealing with lines, his head also happens to be at the same height as ceilings and doorways. This is a warning to any taller nations that wish to invade India: mind your head. I was bleeding from my scalp as we found ourselves some means to move on to our next stop: Netala.

Netala is near Uttarkashi, in the province of Uttarkhand. Elevation: 1000 metres and surrounded by the Himalayas. The road was winding (to say the least), and really only wide enough for one car. The turns were sharp and frequently blind. Custom dictates that one honk a horn while going around a blind corner. Of course, the way echoes work off of mountain walls, the sound of the horns tends to be lost. Well, until you are right on top of each other. You have not lived until you've squealed to a stop in front of tourist bus that is similarly trying to stop before hitting you. Bonus points if you're on the cliff side.

I was also reassured by the marvels of modern Indian engineering. In Uttarkashi, there is a collapsed bridge. Not an old collapsed bridge. In fact, it looks like it was the bridge they were building to replace the old one (which we drove across). A bleak reminder of the transient nature of existence. Plus, it looked kinda pretty.

*****
India, Ashram

So, some of you may be curious about what I was doing on ashram. Well, other than being a hippie. If that doesn't accurately describe you, then let's make this a choose your own adventure: skip to the next section. Otherwise, here is what Sadhana Intensive is like.

Sadhana Intensive was a course designed by Swami Vishnu-Devananda in his later years. An attempt to give yogis a taste of what his intense practice was like. This ashram is a particularly special place for it. This is where Swamiji attained jala samadhi (was committed to the Ganges after his death), and was also quite close to the place where he actually performed his own intense sadhana. The ashram closes its doors to guests while the course is going on -- giving the participants a particularly good opportunity to dive into their own practice.

The course is about hatha yoga: asanas (exercises), pranayama (breathing), bandhas (locks) and mudras (seals). It starts inocuously. The food is kept quite minimal and bland. At the start, there are two practices a day, and they are easier and shorter than practices that I've done on my own. By the end, it was the most intense practice I've ever done.

The last full day of practice, I practiced three times for a total of about nine and a half hours. Of this time, about 2h15m was asanas, and about 6h was pranayama. Yes, six hours of breathing exercises.

"How dull," you must be thinking, "How uncomfortable." (Possibly also: "How crazy.")

And yes, it was uncomfortable and very difficult to sit for such extended periods. But the goal here -- at least from a physiological perspective -- is to learn how to control respiration. Slow the heart down, slow the breath down and thereby control the mind. At my personal best, I was breathing about 80 times an hour. A normal healthy adult is typically breathing 80 times in about 4 to 7 minutes.

So what does it mean to not breath a lot? Well, for me it came in phases. At first, my mind would rebel. It didn't want to be there. It wanted to move. It wanted to stop. Then the mind starts to calm down and distract itself with day-dreaming. Finally, the day-dreaming stops. That's when it gets really interesting. There is nothing but the breath. The mind is tired of fighting and gives up.

There are other peripheral effects to this. Rather than going into all of them, I'll just deal with the most common and obvious. When the body is trained to deal with less oxygen and suddenly gets more oxygen (namely, the practice is over), you suddenly have a lot more energy. Sleep less, get tired less easily and can work harder for longer. This actually worked out for me fairly well, because after the ashram we header further up into the Himalayas.

*****
India, Gangotri

We met this awesome friend during our stay at the ashram by the name of Deep. He was an Indian from the Assam region (home of tea), and was a very friendly guy. Under his prompting, we rode a share jeep up to Gangotri. Mental note to self: share jeeps in a nation of small men is equally not a good idea. While the trip was only about 100km, it took several hours and the jeep was not really big enough to sit up straight. It was also crammed with 14 people. Good times.

Gangotri is an interesting place. In winter (which we were fast approaching by the time we arrived), the town closes down. Only a handful of hardcore swamis and sadhus stay through the winter. In winter, they cut the electricity and water supply. In summer, Gangotri is a place of pilgrimage.

A couple of hundred years ago, an Indian general wandered up to find the source of the Ganges. He discovered that it was a glacier. At that location, he built a temple. The temple is Gangotri. It's considered one of the Char Dham (aka a major pilgrimage route).

But times have changed, and the glacier from which the Ganges flows is receding rapidly. (Unfortunately, the rate of withdrawal is increasing and the entire glacier will probably disappear in our lifetimes.) The glacier is now 19km further back from Gangotri.

So this was the plan. Even though I had nothing more than light hiking shoes, a T-shirt, a thin short-sleeve thermal, and a thin summer hoodie ... we were going to make the hike to the glacier. Not the brightest plan I've ever hatched, but those that know me really well know that I prefer adventure over premeditation.

(Or, to quote Buffy: "Don't you ever get tired of fights you know you're going to win?" Which leads peripherally into an interesting talk on TED.)

We set forth the following day for the glacier -- leaving around noon. The plan was to walk 14km the first day to a government outpost (Bhojbasa) that had tents for hire, and then to hike the remaining 24km (out to the glacier and all the way back to Gangotri) the next day. The environment was very harsh. During the day, we were sweating and had to take off our shirts to cover our heads from the sun. When the sun crested behind the mountain tops, the temperature dropped rapidly down toward freezing. I gained a new appreciation for those crazy fuckers that try to climb Mount Everest. Namely, they are totally bonkers.

The views were spectacular. We stood at 10 000 to 11 000 feet. Mountains rose up on either side of us -- snow-capped, majestic and huge. Blue mountain goats crossed our path. Small streams trickled down the mountain sides. And in the valley, a very thin and cold Ganges flowed.

We arrived in Bhojbasa after the sun had disappeared behind the mountains and just about at sunset. It was dark. It was cold. We were hungry. And for those that are curious, Bhojbasa is a dive. After a rather unsatisfying meal, we turned in.

Unfortunately, the evening did not go entirely well. Even though I was in bed for 10 hours, I only slept maybe 4. In the middle of the night, Deep fell to the influence of rapid elevation change, harsh hiking conditions and bad food. He was sick. I don't think I've ever heard someone sick with such ... vigour. I kind of wish I'd gotten out of bed when I heard him get up, just so I could have witnessed the distance he managed to get with his projectile vomiting.

By morning, we were all tired and a bit cold. Deep was too ill to carry on, and spent an hour or two at the camp before starting a slow walk back to Gangotri. Ram and I pushed on to the glacier, with hopes that we would catch up to Deep on the way back.

We hiked. We hiked fast, and we hiked hard. This was largely to stay warm, but it had its benefits. We were the first people to arrive at the mouth of the glacier that morning. We walked right up to the mouth. We took water from the source. I grabbed a few stones. And we turned to head back just as the sun was coming up over the mountain tops. It was another bright and hot day ahead of us.

We did catch up with Deep. He was much better after having a little time to take it easy. We got back to Gangotri, and slept very, very soundly.

*****
India, Rishikesh

The trip out of the Himalayas was hair-raising at times. For part of the journey, we had a suicidal driver who was enjoying the fact that the roads were mostly downhill. There was a moment -- not long into the trip -- when the thought occurred to me: "I am going to die today, and that's okay." Needless to say my acceptance of fate was not tested that day, but it definitely ranks up there as one of my more exciting car rides.

Rishikesh is ... well ... awesome. Not in the grand majesty kind of way. Not in the deep divine inspiration kind of way. Rishikesh is a place one could relax and write a novel ... or two. Here I'm talking about the spiritual part stretching between two "pedestrian" bridges.

The spiritual part doubles as the tourist part. Maybe this is a good time to explain that tourism in India is spirituality, and vice versa. They are one and the same. So, all these spots I went were pilgrimage sites. But they are also tourist traps. Except the souvenirs are malas and idols. So when I say the spiritual part of Rishikesh, I really do mean the tourist part. A big mix of white folk (foreigners) and natives on pilgrimage.

It seemed to me as though some foreigners had set themselves up to spend the rest of their lives there in Rishikesh. I had that thought too. I even did the pricing. The hotel I stayed in was essentially a one bedroom apartment -- kitchen, living room, balcony, bedroom, bathroom, and a small dressing area. It was within a five minute walk of a beach along the Ganges. It was a short walk from two major ashrams. For one whole year, it would have cost me a little more than USD3000. Making a hotel in Rishikesh about one-sixth the price of a smaller and less luxurious apartment in San Francisco. This has been filed away in my brain as "good to know". I'm hoping this file will be opened again in the future....

One of these two major ashrams is the Divine Life Society. The home -- the baby -- of Swami Sivananda. The guy who taught the guy who taught the people who taught me. It's old and it's huge. It's interesting to wander around a place overrun with swamis. In the west, ashrams tend to only have one or two swamis at any given time (except for special events). During satsang, there was a sea of orange filling the front rows. Driving drums and bells and harmonium and singing and clapping and a hundred or two of my closest aspirants partying it up -- yoga style.

(By the way, "pedestrian" bridge in Hindi means "bridge on which pedestrians may try to pass, while being assosted by beggars and nearly run down by bicycles and motorcycles".)

*****
India, Delhi

Delhi is a shit hole. There are no two ways about it. Don't go there. Spend as little time there as possible. Everyone is out to rip you off. Things are expensive. The vegetarianism of Uttarkashi is largely abandoned. It's the fusion of the worst of western culture and the worst of Indian culture. I ate at Pizza Hut and Baskin Robbins. Let us not speak of this place again.

The one upside was the hotel we stayed at gave us the choice of a room with a circular bed ... or a room with a heart-shaped bed. (Awesome!) We went for the circular bed because it had a bathtub in it. Well, so we thought. A bathtub with no stopper for the drain. Not to be deterred, we invented many fascinating mechanisms for stoppering the tub (heel works best, but requires concentration) only to discover that the tub leaks.

And there it is folks. The worst of two cultures. Delhi tries to make things with the western veneer of consumerist luxury, but does so with substandard goods. We had a bag of chips, for whatever reason. Inside alongside the chips was a strand of human hair. A sterile bag with hair inside. We laughed so hard that it felt like we would never stop.

*****
The Journey Home

Well, the trip home become my new longest single trip in the air. From Delhi, I flew all the way to Newark in one jaunt. 14h20m in the air.

Immigration was interesting. I was really nervous about my visa. It was my first time processing a TN extension, and I was worried because I had left most of the extraneous supporting documentation in San Francisco. If the immigration official wanted to see all the paperwork, I was out of luck. So when I got to the front of the line, and he asked me a question I didn't quite make out, I was immediately nervous.

"What?" I asked.

"Google's stock tanked," he said with a smirk.

"Huhn. I'm sure it will come back up," I replied trying to smile and be friendly.

You see, during this trip I had not checked the news once. Total radio silence. Complete seclusion from my normal worldly affairs. On returning to my apartment, I found out that all my investments had tanked. That the whole stock market had tanked. Later that afternoon, a friend told me my bank didn't exist anymore.

And you know what the best part was? I didn't care. And that's what a vacation is for....

The Not India Post

2008-11-02T18:56:00.002-05:00

I should write about India, and tell you all how wonderful it was. But I'm still too lazy to do so. So a short post about non-Indian things to tide people over.

Something I've been wanting to get into for a while has finally come about. I find myself as the new tech lead for a small team of four people at Google. I'm still discovering what this means, but my initial conclusion: not much. Well at least half an hour more of meetings a week. Oh, and I'm more liable in sexual harassment cases. Oh, and Google (the legal entity) is considered to know a piece of information when I know it. How's that for weird?

Slow change is fine by me. Gradual change is much better than rapid change. But it's nice to be moving in this direction. I've wanted to do something more people-based, and a little less just hacking code.

So there you go. Maybe I'll post a bit about India a bit later....

Foreigner in a Foreign Land

2008-07-26T12:19:00.002-04:00

So, I have moved to a new apartment and a new neighbourhood. There are a few reasons for this move. First of all, I want to save a little money on rent, so I've moved to a smaller place. Second, the weather is nicer. And finally, the shuttles are more plentiful (11/day instead of 3/day) and faster (35m to 65m, instead of 45m to 80m).

One of the incidental differences is that I've moved into a predominantly hispanic neighbourhood. Shortly after moving here, I wandered into one of the Mexican dessert shops that litter 24th Street. They serve these dense and sugary pastries. Not only did I not know what or how to order (you're supposed to grab a tray and a pair of tongs and grab the stuff yourself), but the cashier didn't speak English. In fact, she regarded me with a mixture of a sweet motherly attitude (teaching me words for the desserts I was buying), and complete incredulity that I had walked into her store without being able to speak Spanish. Silly white boy. I am the minority: I look different and I don't speak the language. This is awesome.

I also witnessed in the span of 24 hours what I would describe as defining experiences for how I perceive the neighbourhood. First, wandering home late at night, I walked past a large group of young adults painting the side of a store with one of the bright and colourful murals that cover the Mission. The mural was beautiful and they were working together as one unit. The sight was quite impressive. The next day, the Google shuttle returning from Mountain View was caught up in traffic ... bicycle traffic. A few hundred cyclists had stopped all traffic at Mission & 24th for Critical Mass. Some cyclists passing by recognized the ostensibly unmarked Google shuttles, and tapped the side and yelled things like: "How's Mountain View?" and "Google!". It was awesome. Then finally as the Critical Mass moved on toward Dolores Park, some guy with a big pole smashed in some windows on Mission Street. These events I think describe -- to some degree -- what it is like to live here.

Though as with all such things, it's hard to say if this neighbourhood will stay like this for much longer. People like me show up, and drive up rent. Someone has described this process to me as follows. First there are artists. They make a neighbourhood cool. Then artists attract hipsters -- those who want to be cool by association. Rent climbs a little bit. Then the yuppies follow the hipsters, and rent climbs a little bit higher. The artists can't afford to live in a neighbourhood anymore and leave. Next thing you know, every appartment has granite counter tops and stainless steel appliances. The neighbourhood has been gentrified. So while I enjoy this new neighbourhood, I also realize that I am a kind of death knell for all that makes it interesting. Sad, isn't it?

What Does Love Mean?

2008-07-06T22:03:00.003-04:00

I've been feeling really mopey for the past day or so -- hiding inside and indulging in all the comforts that I can afford myself. It's good to do this sometimes. If you've been missing a good mope, take a moment to seek one out now. Of course, no mope is complete (for me) without an episode or two of Buffy. There are three things in this world that give me comfort in the face of all bad things: Buffy, pizza and this old blue-black couch.

I wasn't even really paying attention to the Buffy until this one song came on: "Goodbye to You" by Michelle Branch (Season 6, Episode 8, "Tabula Rasa"). It is nothing but a pop song but it cuts through to me ... especially in the context of the montage in the episode. I went out and found the YouTube video, and on it I found the best comment about a song a song writer could ever hope for:

I had a girl who ended up lying about loving me...I loved her so much. the song helped alot

So what does love mean to people? The best definition I've ever gotten so far is "a bond that causes emotional scarring when severed", but that was a long time ago. I find it interesting that searching for [love] on Google reveals wikipedia, a love calculator and Cirque de Soleil as the top hits. Is there anyone out there in love? What does it mean to you?

Pandava Nirjala Ekadasi

2008-06-15T04:01:00.004-04:00

So I've found inspiration again to become strong in my asana practice, after a rather long hiatus. Not that I had stopped doing asanas, I just hadn't been doing them enough to make progress. But this has changed. Every day now for a little over two weeks. So, as a sort of reward, I decided to give myself a day of rest.

I'd heard a long time ago that Pattabhi Jois' ashtanga vinayas yoga recommends abstaining from practice twice per lunar cycle. These two days are the new moon and the full moon.

This is not unsurprising, as the Hindu religion is tied to the lunar calendar. Each lunar cycle is divided into a dark and a bright fortnight -- starting on the new moon and full moon respectively. This lunar calendar dictates when certain festivities or observances should fall. (As a side note, I find it interesting that the average city dweller has no idea where the moon is in its cycle anymore.)

One of these observances is ekadasi. Ekadasi means literally "eleven". It should be the eleventh day after the start of a fortnight. An ekadasi day is supposed to be a day of fasting. Each ekadasi day in a year has a name, and a story associated with it. Something that makes the day a little bit unique.

(Note that a fortnight starts when the moon goes full or new, which is at specific time of day. Depending on what time of day this happens, the ekadasi day will either by 10 or 11 days from the calendar day. This is one of the differences between a lunar and solar view of time.)

So, I've decided to take the ekadasi day as a day of rest. Maybe one day, I will build up to fasting. But I've tried it before, and it did not sit well with me. Which is kind of funny. My Sanskrit name, Bhima, is the name of one of the Pandava brothers. A man who was renowned for his rather insatiable appetite.

To tie this all together, the first ekadasi day I took as rest was Pandava Nirjala Ekadasi. The coincidence here is that the story of this day is all about Bhima. Basically, Bhima says he's too hungry to fast, and can't go a whole day without food ... let alone once every two weeks. So he asks for a reprieve. Pandava Nirjala Ekadasi is what he is given. If that one day in the whole year he can fast, then it will be as if he had fasted on every other ekadasi day as well.

So who knows ... maybe next year I'll actually give the fasting thing a try.

Iron Man

2008-06-15T03:42:00.004-04:00

I went to see "Iron Man" tonight. This is a fact of which I'm somewhat embarrassed. It was not my choice for film (I wanted to go see "The Fall"), but I did end up having a good time. Not because the film was any good. I enjoyed it only because it was so predictable, and ridiculous. Examples (skip these if you don't want spoilers):

Opening shot. Camera. Humvee behind camera framed in centre of shot. What is to happen? Oh, right. Boom.

"Tony Stark was able to build this in a cave! With a box of scraps!" I can only hope this line was written during the writer's strike by a 12 year old, and delivered by Jeff Bridges while drunk.

Toward the end of the film, I was feeling like something was missing ... then the combatants smashed their way out of a building and into traffic. Lots of smashed up cars. Ah. That's what I was missing.

Build a reactor. Then place a big red button on it that will cause it to explode. Oversight or planning ahead?

Anyway, I had a good time because the film was so bad that I could laugh. I'm a bit worried though. Because I think the fact that the film was laughable eluded some people. Namely, IMDb (8.2 out 10, #163 best movie of all time) and Rotten Tomatoes (93%). Plus countless other people saying it was an amazing film. What's gone wrong here?

So I'm undoubtedly being a bit pretentious. I admit I have been making a habit of renting art house and foreign films for a while now (most recently "La belle et la bête" by Jean Cocteau). So maybe "Iron Man" was just a bit too much of a shock for me. But really ... "Iron Man" was better than "Bleu"? You have to be kidding me....

We Met Again

2008-05-31T12:07:00.004-04:00

We met again some place marshy and wet, with long, wide slicks of rivers snaking through bright green wilderness. We were to meet on the dock one day, but I'd forgotten. I was there on time, but she was late. Silently and secretly, she slipped up beside me -- crying, but only on the inside. I could tell. I asked her what was wrong. She said she didn't want to talk about it. Then she did. A story came of a man whose name I'd never heard and a kiss. She wondered aloud whether she had made the same mistake of taking his name in vain. I felt invindicated.

rainbows

2008-05-13T01:04:00.003-04:00


    sometimes when i wake
    i feel hungry eat roses
    and then poop rainbows

A Moment of Your Time

2008-04-23T13:06:00.004-04:00

As I sit here -- listening (on repeat) to an acoustic version of "Grace is Gone" by Dave Matthews Band -- I feel compelled to write a short piece of rhetoric.

Last night, I watched a film: "Stalker" by Andrei Tarkovsky. For those not in the know, this is a 2h43m masterpiece of a film. Visually stunning and tense, but that's not the point. The thing that gets me writing is the story. It's a tale of three men -- the stalker, the writer, and the professor -- as they try to figure out what faith means. Well, it's ostensibly to find a room that grants our innermost desires, but this is a thinly veiled metaphor for faith. Each of the three responds differently to the prospect of faith. The film is well worth watching.

This got me thinking a little bit more, and hence this post. I want to proselytize, so forgive me a few moments of your time. The topic is art. As I see it, any film can tell a story. Truly great films reveal something about ourselves that we have never considered. This understanding does not come for free, but costs us the effort of introspection and reflection. I would argue that this is true of most things in this world: the best things are those we work to obtain. A film that requires no effort to consume, does not help us to grow.

Not that we should always be growing -- every moment of our lives. But I would argue that we should be conscious of the distinction between moments of relaxation and moments of growth. By being mindful of the distinction, we can avoid stagnation.

So, pick up the pieces of your mind. Read a novel written by a Nobel Prize winning author. Watch a film that influenced directors for decades afterward. Examine that piece of art you don't immediately understand, and see if understanding dawns. Don't be scared to reach out to art, and you may find that you discover something about yourself in the process.

And I can recommend just the film to get started with....

Tahoe

2008-01-22T12:27:00.000-05:00

My weekend was awesome.

One of my friends, Jonas, has rented a cabin up in Truckee for the season. So, as friends occasionally do, he invited me along. Little did I know that Jonas is an adrenaline junkie.

For those not in the know, Truckee is in Tahoe, a region of Olympic fame. While San Francisco sits almost at sea level, the area around Lake Tahoe ranges from about 6000 feet above sea level, to over 8000 feet. On the drive in, my ears popped a lot.

The goal of the weekend was to ski. It had been over ten years since I skied regularly, and maybe five years or more since I skied at all. Julie -- a girl who came along with us -- is similarly a little timid. So, Jonas eases us into skiing with a day at Northstar. From my perspective as an Ottawa boy, this is nothing spectacular. It is like skiing in the Laurentian mountains, but on a larger scale. Huge terrain parks with boxes to grind and forty or fifty foot jumps. Long trails. Lots and lots of people. But nothing really special.

But on Monday, Jonas decides to crank things up a bit. It's been snowing, and is going to continue to snow all day. So, he takes us to Sugar Bowl. Sugar Bowl, if I understand correctly, is where the locals go. There are only a few gentle runs, and lots of challenging runs.

This is where my experience in the Laurentian mountains starts to give out. Maybe it was just that I didn't ever go looking for it, but I never skied anything like this around Ottawa. When they say double diamond, they mean double diamond. Really. You will at least once fear for your life. I can't even imagine what a triple diamond would mean to these people.

Jonas and I are shooting down one of these double diamond runs. Powder thick enough that you can have snow up over your boots (snow pants required). If you don't lean back far enough, the tips will plant (which I did once or twice). You have to actually jump to make some turns. So, we're shooting down this run, and get lured into this sweet bowl (like a natural half pipe). I come around this corner following Jonas, hitting all my turns perfectly: knees absorbing the shock of each landing, leaning well back so that my hand can could reach out and touch the slope above me, and that little bit of air on every turn. Then I see Jonas sitting in the snow, waving his hands and yelling, "Stop!".

A lone sign proclams: "Cliff Area". A vertical drop sheer enough that snow won't stick to the rock, leaving the face exposed. These signs are dotted around the area, especially as we have moved into a region called the Palisades. So we trundle over to a slightly less steep section and carry on down. Dodging around rock outcroppings, and then shooting through trees. But somehow, this has propelled the day's skiing well beyond my normal range of experience.

You see the joy of skiing in weather like this is that it is hard(er) to get hurt. Tumbling in a foot of powder really doesn't hurt. It's actually quite fun. I think I fell more in that one day that I had in my last five years of regular skiing.

At the end of it all, I didn't want to leave. I had to leave, but I didn't want to. There remained one last challenge: to get home. No one tends to have snow tires, so there is something called "chain control". Chain control means that cars must be wearing snow chains to be on the road. When we drove back last night, there was chain control. Traffic slows down to about 30 or 35 miles per hour. And a section of road that should take an hour to drive, takes about two hours. Then the road becomes wet instead of icy. The chains come off. The snow becomes a light cover, and then disappears entirely. Then it begins to rain. When I arrive home last night, I was only slightly chilly with a t-shirt and a hoodie.

I think I like California.

A Little Bath Music

2008-01-04T12:43:00.001-05:00

I put together a mix CD for the exchange this year entitled "A Little Bath Music". The whole things is laden with meaning, as I tend to love to do. However, it had no track listing. For those that are curious, here is is:

"Foundations" by Kate Nash
"Let Go" by Frou Frou
"Mr. Decay" by Gui Boratto
"hlemmur 1" by sigur rós
Random snippet from Teddybears
"Punkrocker" by Teddybears
"Roll On" by Dntel featuring Jenny Lewis
"Social Network for Two" by Ze Frank
"Single" by Everything But the Girl
"Built-In Microphone" by Solvent
"Homesick" by The Kings of Convenience
"Heart" by Stars
"Cantus in Memory of Benjamin Britten" by Arvo Pärt
"Empty Cans" by The Streets
"hoppípolla" by sigur rós

14 Days of Christmas, an SMS Montage

2008-01-03T21:27:00.000-05:00

melo·dra·ma Pronunciation: \ˈme-lə-ˌdrä-mə, -ˌdra-\

1a: a work (as a movie or play) characterized by extravagant theatricality and by the predominance of plot and physical action over characterization
1b: the genre of dramatic literature constituted by such works

2: something resembling a melodrama especially in having a sensational or theatrical quality

The idea came to me to capture my Christmas holidays as a collection of SMS text messages. Compressing my two week holiday into fourteen 160 (or less) character pieces of poetry. Each one is rendered the way it appears on my phone. Some are truly atrocious, and the rest are merely mediocre. It has been pointed out that I tend to enjoy melodrama. The medium seems to lend itself to a variant of a limerick or to a haiku.

I like 1, 6, 9 and 12.


1: rain like tickles on back        2: love scrawled on
of head/ bag in hand, sky           paper/ rolled and tucked
ahead/ inbetween home,              in sack/ head bent down
words left unsaid/ hand 2           in hearts/ memories of
close, case is plead/               cards with none/ filled
which will city these feet          with goodbyes unmeant
2 tread


3: snow on streets/                 4: warm kitchen glow/
the quiet wife/                     departed faces/ she
huddled in/ for sounds              wasn't there/ but i
of life/ trying hard/ to            was
see the light/ by
casting things/ in
shades of night

5: the little thought               6: angels in the snow/
trap/ of cotton made                with bright fresh
scrap/ buried in                    plastic in hand/
ground/ brimmed up                  giggling at the sky
with sound/ but never
quite lost on the map

7: past ten the doors               8: conversations by
will close/ leaving a               the couch side/ old
warm smiling nose/                  love scars for display
late tonight i'll sin/              with pride/ finding two
others do it to win/                ways onward to
but i'll just do it for             move/ with nothing
him                                 more said than what's
                                    now

9: bustling city                    10: a lazy day inside/
streets/ busy people                with family by my
on drifting snow/ with              side/ the hours shift/
flakes in their eyes                the moods lift/ for
                                    everything untried

11: these things block'd            12: i asked if you
inside/ my stuck                    remembered/ the 
throat itches                       mongolian bison/ you
scratches/ with                     said you didn't/ wild
letters on their edge               tibetan ass

13: tossed ashes in                 14: i'm home
snow/ sleeping all day              wondering/ where are
without dreams/ fears               you today?
held back from me

Letters to a Young Writer

2007-12-25T23:13:00.000-05:00

I've been reading a short book that attempts to impart techniques for writing and for living life. I'm only about halfway through, but I've come across a few good quotable lines. Never one to flinch from pilfering the works of others, he's my favourite so far:

... to see people as they really are ... you have to know who you are in the most compassionate possible sense.

(Lamott, Anne. Bird by Bird. pg. 97-98)

Into the Sands

2007-12-21T03:40:00.000-05:00

Stepping back in time a bit, I read the book "Middlesex" recently. It won a Pulitzer prize, though I'm still a bit confused as to why. In it, a film is mentioned, "Into the Sands". After some poking around on the Internet, it seems like maybe the film doesn't exist. Either that or it is forgotten in today's information age. The book attributes the following quote to the movie:

I went into the desert to forget about you. But the sand was the colour of your hair. The desert sky was the colour of your eyes. There was nowhere I could go that wouldn't be you.

The Alchemist

2007-12-21T03:31:00.000-05:00

On my trip back to Ottawa, I started (and finished) "The Alchemist" by Paulo Coelho. The book is a present from a good friend back in San Francisco. It reminds me somewhat of "The Celestine Prophecy". It has this similar self-help book cum novel feel to it. I have a feeling that it is one of those books that has a message for everyone. I found the following messages. You should give it a read and find your own messages. It's worth your time.

He swept the floor with his jacket and lay down, using the book he had just finished reading as a pillow. He told himself that he would have to start reading thicker books: they lasted longer and made more comfortable pillows.

"I'm going away," he said. "And I want you to know that I'm coming back. I love you because..."
"Don't say anything," Fatima interrupted. "One is loved because one is loved. No reason is needed for loving."

"My heart is afraid that it will have to suffer," the boy told the alchemist one night as they looked up at the moonless sky.
"Tell your heart that the fear of suffering is worse than suffering itself. And that no heart has ever suffered when it goes in search of its dreams, because every second of the search is a second's encounter with God and with eternity."

Amma

2007-11-23T13:15:00.000-05:00

Where, exactly, is near?

This is what my shampoo bottle tells me today. I get a kick out of it because I see some connection to the concept of emptiness espoused by Nagarjuna. I like the idea, and it forms a significant piece of the framework with which I view the world. I like Nagarjuna's idea enough that I was using it as my nick on Xbox Live for a while -- while playing Halo 2. The juxtaposition of a great Buddhist philosopher and 12 year old kids yelling "you're gay!" and shooting imaginary weapons at each other is just too good an opportunity to pass up. Interestingly, it was frequently mistaken for a play on "marijuana".

So where is near? What is inside and what is outside? What is you and what is someone else? Do you really act independently of the things around you? Does your environment act independently of you?

But enough of that. Let's talk about more interesting things. Like Hindu saints. Some of you may know that I have a passing interest in yoga. No really. I do. Yoga is traditionally viewed as a Hindu pastime, though some people are making a real run at making it a bit more secular. And as with all good religions, you have saints. People that in some way are a little bit more holy or a little bit closer to the divine in some way. People disagree on the mechanics of how this happens (incarnation, devotion, etc.), but the effect is the same. Saints tend to have a disproportionate effect on their environment compared to others.

So this Thanksgiving, Amma is in San Ramon. According to western media sound bites, she is the "hugging saint". More formally, she is believed to be an incarnation of the divine mother. She has created a worldwide organization that works to alleviate poverty and suffering. And she does indeed give people hugs.

In Hindu tradition, there is the concept of darshan. This is when a devotee goes to see a glimpse of a saint. There are many reasons for doing this. The most common is probably just because everyone else is doing it. But the simplest theological one is that a saint is like a karma black hole. Karma goes in, but doesn't come back out. So if you spend time in the presence of a saint, you are burning up your own karma -- coming closer to God and realization of the truth of existence. In the case of Amma, there's a bonus: you get a hug.

So, Tom and Amber and I set out fairly early in the morning to see Amma. It's the first day of darshan, the first darshan of the day, it's early and it's Thanksgiving day. The crowds are light, which is miraculous. A lot of people have stories to tell of 10+ hour adventures to try to see Amma. We get through, and Tom and I are in the first 20 or 30 people to receive darshan.

Her devotees are well-versed in crowd-handling. The approach to Amma is well choreographed, all with the goal of minimizing the time between hugs. There are two lines on approach: one to Amma's left and one to her right. You can get a hug as an individual or as a couple or family. As an incarnation of the divine mother, she must be a good blessing for marriage and family. As one approaches, a devotee wipes your forehead. I can only assume to make sure that thousands of hugs don't leave her sari stained by the end of the day. Then the inevitable hug. Devotee hand on elbow, voice in ear, "Right hand on seat, left hand on left arm of chair, bow your head", Amma reaches up and pulls you in tight. No short hug for you. Long. Strong. Her mouth next to your ear repeating mantras. Her smell all around you. Then hand on elbow, pulling you away, rose and chocolate in hand, a kiss on the forehead, and then pulled upright and led out of the way of the next person in line. Many are crying. Some with wavering lips. Some with smiles. Some just very happy with no tears.

Then sitting outside in her ashram in the grass playing a mouth harp Tom gave me recently. The three of us: mouth harps together playing into the hills.

"Chanting your mantra will, like armour, protect you from all dangers.."
-- Amma

I hope this Thanksgiving finds you well.

The Written Word

2007-10-19T00:13:00.000-04:00

I wonder what this means in the context of the information age....

Thamus, however, replied: "O most expert Theuth, one man can give birth to the elements of an art, but only another can judge how they can benefit or harm those who will use them. And now, since you are the father of writing, your affection for it has made you describe the effects as the opposite of what they really are. In fact, it will introduce forgetfulness into the soul of those who learn it: they will not practice using their memory because they will put their trust in writing, which is external and depends on signs that belong to others, instead of trying to remember from the inside, completely on their own. You have not discovered a potion for remembering, but for reminding; you provide your students with the appearance of wisdom, not with its reality. Your invention will enable them to hear many things without being properly taught, and they will imagine that they have come to know much while for the most part they will know nothing. And they will be difficult to get along with, since they will merely appear to be wise instead of really being so.

(Plato. Phaedrus. 274e)

Life as an Ex-Pat

2007-10-15T21:52:00.000-04:00

This past week brought a lot of Canadiana into my otherwise American life. A week ago was Canadian Thanksgiving. This is a day which passes without much note here in American. I know it is hard to believe. While Canadians are enjoying a day off and are flooding produce aisles for pumpkin products, these American folks just go on as if it is not a special day at all.

As part of my role as an ambassador of our cultural heritage, I felt obligated to host a Canadian Thanksgiving dinner. Not without some trepidation, however, as this was to be my first dinner party since arriving in the States. In the morning, I discovered a pleasant side effect of living in a foreign country: the grocery stores were relatively empty when I went shopping. No contention for potatoes and no proud pumpkin displays. It also meant that I spent a few hours hopping between grocery stores looking for chestnuts. I wonder what it's like to spend Ramadan here in America?

Of course, the main piece of cultural heritage to display is the beer. I went out and bought a bunch of Fin du Monde, Maudite and Trois Pistoles. I didn't have the heart to tell them that back home no one I know drinks those beers. Everyone drinks Guiness or Stella or Corona. Foreign beers. Maybe some Labatt 50, I guess. But I also find it interesting that when I think of Canadian food and drink culture, I think of Quebec: poutine, tortiere, and any beer from Unibroue. So with one breath, we complain about Quebec's appeals for sovereignty and culturual protections, and with the next we hold them up as an example of Canadian heritage. Them and the maritimers.

It strikes me sometimes that Ontario doesn't really have a culture. Well, at least it did. Until a couple of days after the Thanksgiving dinner. It was dinner at Google and a few of us went out to sit: the three Canadians on the team and three others. The Canadians sat together, and the conversation became animated pretty quickly. The Americans got bored and got up and left, while the Canadians stayed and kept talking. What is it that Canadians talk about that Americans don't find interesting? What makes three strangers bond immediately over the mere fact of shared Canadian heritage? It has me puzzled.

Well, it had me puzzled until the next night. The Tragically Hip arrived in San Francisco with Joel Plaskett. Two big name Canadian acts, who are capable of selling out large venues back home. They played a venue the size of Barrymore's in San Francisco. For Joel Plaskett, I was a few rows back, and for the Tragically Hip I was maybe 15 rows back. It was lovely to hear some songs from the Motherland. I found myself with a new appreciation for Canadian content regulations.

The place was busy ... with Canadians. They wore Canadian clothes (not just hockey jerseys, though those were quite predominant too) and acted a little bit more Canadian. Sorry, excuse me, and quietly trying to stay out of each other's way and be polite about it. At one point, the American bouncer was yelling at people to clear a path. Canadians were looking down and quietly getting out of the way. Embarrassed by his lack of social grace, and quietly gossiping about him when he was gone.

At some point during the evening, a fellow Canadian brought out the statistic that one hundred thousand Canadians live in Silicon Valley. That is the population of Nepean, or about 1 out of every 350 Canadians. A little bit less than one out of every Facebook friend flock. A fair chunk. I'm left wondering what will happen to that population if the American dollar continues to erode. Will next year's election boost the American dollar? This was just one of the questions that Canadians love to talk about, but Americans don't.

Last night, when shopping at my local store, chestnuts were finally on display. I guess even the Americans have to fess up to autumn now. There's an "All About the Mamas" benefit concert soon featuring Snoop Dogg.

NP: A mix I'm putting together....

San Francisco, California

2007-09-09T21:00:00.000-04:00

I've been here for a couple of months now, and I've learned a thing or two about this thing they called "The States" or "Sunny California". First of all, "sunny" is a bit of a lie. Well, that's not true. It is sunny, just San Francisco is the exception that proves the rule. And really it is sunny in San Francisco too ... you just need to go a few hundred feet up to get above the fog. The difference is remarkable. On the ride into work (a 35 mile commute), the temperature will climb 5 to 10 degrees, and change from foggy to sunny. It's my daily weekday routine: wake up in fog, ride into work, spend a day in sunny Mountain View, eat dinner, catch the shuttle back and step back out into fog. Repeat.

As for California itself, it's similar to Canada in some superficial ways. If you were to treat every state as a different country, California would rank as the 7th largest GDP in the world, and Canada would be 8th. They have similar populations. Now, of course, Canada is about 25 times as big as California. So, California is a wee bit more crowded. You haven't quite lived until you've driven through 30 miles of bumper-to-bumper traffic. Also, California is a bit more loud, while Canada is a bit more reserved.

There are hippies here too. Real hippies. The kind you see in movies. Yesterday, I went to the Power to the Peaceful festival. Michael Franti and the Indigo Girls played. I got to hear "Closer to Fine" live, which is quite the experience. The place was overrun with hippies. There are so many hippies that they have subgroups. There are the yuppie hippies, who buy hippie clothing but live in nice apartments with nice jobs. There are the burner hippies, who wear goggles, industrial clothing and costumes, and go to Burning Man every year. There are crusty hippies, who looks like yuppies but with dirt on. The crusties also tend to have some kind of instrument in hand: drum, guitar or didgeridoo. Then you have the family hippies. On the outside, they are just a regular family: parents and children and SUV strollers. But you'll see them at hippie festivals, and they tend to have some trapping of a hippie life once lived: a piercing, a tattoo, or some more colourful clothing.

Last week was the Summer of Love 40th Anniversary festival. It's been a good couple of weeks for hippies.

My work at Google is starting to pick up. I've now made two visible changes to the Google web site. Of course, very very minor changes -- one change was to move a result a pixel or two up -- but it's satisfying to understand the code base enough to be able to make some changes.

I'm teaching yoga now twice a week -- once at the Sivananda Centre in San Francisco, and once at Google in Mountain View. I'm toying with the idea of adding a third class on Sunday afternoons, but that seems a bit ambitious. I'm planning on going up to the ashram in Grass Valley with one of the guys from work. It will be nice to get out of the city for a bit.

Speaking of travels, my ticket is booked for Christmas. I'll be back in Ottawa late Thursday, December 20th and I'll leave again early Wednesday, January 2nd. I'll see all you Ottawa folk sooner than you'd imagine.

teachers

2007-08-25T21:08:00.000-04:00

The teacher with many students is the teacher who practices his own art well.
The teacher with students who practice their own art well is the teacher who teaches well.

free

2007-08-25T21:04:00.000-04:00

    These pages                 of which I am so scared
    Hold no fear                when you talk to me
    Your voice                  rustling branches on the path
    With you                    embers spark and catch
    I am no longer afraid

    "Come with us,"             they say
    As they race                across open fields
    Igniting grass and trees    lighting up the sky
    You let me run              in all ways at once
    So tired was I              of walking the same way
    Head down

would you

2007-08-25T20:59:00.001-04:00

    would you spend the time you could
    pushed up close to the one you love
    knowing you will never touch her
    would you burn yourself brighter
    to be something you'll never
    i would
    i know
    i do
        every day
    for her
    one day, when my flame's gone out
    maybe i'll finally feel her touch:
        her breath
             as she blows me away....

Tiësto

2007-07-29T05:46:00.000-04:00

Well, I've finally done it. Years of going to all-night dance parties and raves and music festivals, but it took moving to San Francisco before I finally saw DJ Tiësto. Though really it's more likely the job at Google: Tiësto comes with a rather hefty price tag nowadays. To see him play cost me about $70. While not necessarily that bad compared to big name rock stars, it chafes a bit when you consider that he is mixing other people's music.

Though he does play a lot of his own stuff. Looking back, he's been in the electronic music scene for 10-15 years now, and has a lot of material to pull from. Billy detected one track that traces back to 1998. Classic.

But really, going to see Tiësto is a chance to compare eastern Canada with the western United States. My first conclusion: we are taller. Well, I am, at least. Much taller. I'm not sure where all these really tiny people came from. Well, I do. This is what happens when you live in truly multi-cultural city. Hispanic and Asian raver kids just aren't as tall as Caucasian raver kids.

The west coast seems louder though. Or maybe that's the American influence. Not vocally louder, though that is also the case. Louder in the way they act. Louder in the way they dress. Guys pumping their hands in the air making gang signs and trying to look like they're cool. T-shirts that are somehow meant to proclaim how cool they are.

It also struck me that people were wearing fashions that are maybe 5 years old or more in terms of rave fashion. Though really, when do bikinis and furry boots ever go out of fashion? About the time that people realize that fashions designed for underweight people do not necessarily flatter the overweight form. This is a subtle distinction that is maybe lost on west coast Americans.

I was given the option to buy marijuana not once, but twice! Drugs are surely a common trapping of raves. It is not peculiar to be offered any number of chemicals to alter one's mental state. But this was interesting for two reasons. First of all, twice in about three hours is a pretty good rate for someone who was just quietly dancing and minding his own business. Second of all, why marijuana? This speaks to another difference between Canada and the States. Marijuana at raves in Canada is shared more frequently than sold, at least from what I've seen. In Canada, our capitalist tendencies are reserved for harder drugs. Though it's hard to say if the offer for pot is just some preliminary comment meant to draw out further inquiries. So where's the free love that San Francisco of yesteryear promised?

Moving to the Haight

2007-07-21T20:43:00.000-04:00

After much fretting and wondering where my stuff might be, the answer has finally come back: Ottawa. Yes, it's been three weeks since movers showed up at my apartment in Ottawa, and they are just now loading my stuff on a truck headed for the border.

So, what's a boy to do...? Pack up his things and move into his apartment and the Haight anyway. Friday after work, I drove to the nearest Ikea and bought the following things: the cheapest futon I could find, a towel, a shower curtain, dishes, glasses and cutlery (designed by Dawn Wintour). I also splurged on a light for some reason I don't understand. (Thank you and your gift card, Kim!)

Things took longer than I suspected, so I didn't actually move until Saturday. (Mental note: picking up a package from the UPS customer service centre on Friday night is a colossally bad idea. On the order of going shopping on Boxing Day.) And really, I won't be completely moved until Sunday. (Mental note: check the fridge before abandoning an apartment.)

So here I am in the Haight. Well, Rockin Java specifically. Admiring the art and eating an organic garden burger. I've had a chance to wander around a bit and try to familiarize myself with the neighbourhood. I'm not entirely sure what it means, but familiarizing myself really consisted of me checking out the shops, bars, cafes and theatres along Haight Street. Why are neighbourhoods largely defined by their commercial presence? Or is the commercial presence a reflection of the neighbourhood?

As I was walking around and poking my head into a variety of shops, your names and faces were floating through my head. Oh, he'd love this store! Oh, I should get her that. I can wait until I can tell him all about it. But you weren't here with me, and in that moment I realized that I'm very far away from the people I love. So really, you should all come and visit: I have a lovely futon to share.

On Friday, it was also my initiation into the cult of Google. Every Friday, a new batch of nooglers are welcomed to Google. Due to some delays, a big batch of us were welcomed all at once this past Friday. It's part of a Friday tradition where the founders -- Sergey and Larry -- make announcements and answer questions. The announcements are predictably corporate. The questions were not. The questions were sometimes about corporate matters, but frequently drifted into politics: presidential candidates that should be brought to campus to speak, environmental policies of Google, and even the nature of advertising. I was impressed with both the breadth and depth of knowledge that the founders had about these issues, and their sincere interest in being as "good" as a corporation can be. Google is a seat of strong environmental and social policies that are far more progressive than anything I've seen in a corporate environment (and in some cases, anywhere). It was after that question period that I came to understand a phrase from a news piece I'd seen about Google. To paraphrase: "After working at Google, there is nowhere else someone can work but their own start-up".

So you should all come and visit me soon. No excuses. No delays. The west coast beckons, if only you stop to listen.

Now Playing: "Line of Nine" by SCSI-9 and "Soft Machine" by The Teddybears

It's a Googley Life

2007-07-11T23:13:00.000-04:00

Well, my first day at Google has come and past. Some of you may be wondering what Google is like. I can't really say properly. As it is right now, my head is still swimming with an overwhelming blast of information. To munge a phrase that they use at Google, "I have both hands firmly affixed to the fire hose of ..." ... well, knowledge in my case. This kind of makes me realize why people get paid a fair amount of money for jobs like this. Software engineers are paid to be able to make decisions in the presence of constant information overload.

On the surface, this is just like working on the Eclipse project at IBM Canada. There is a corporate indoctrination day. There is corporate training. There is a security badge, and scary words about intellectual property. There are benefits to sign up for, and dumb buzz words to describe newbies (it's "noogler", if you're curious). But Google is ... more. More money, mainly. But there is also more information to process, more openness, and more smart people. More really smart people. I've been given enough hardware to make most computer nerds faint, and I've been given access to more hardware than anyone can really conceive of. This is Google.

I know what team I'm working on. I know what my first project is going to be. And I know that I should never really talk about it any of it ever again. So that's all I have to say about Google.

In other news, my possessions seems to have been left behind in Ottawa. Through some kind of miscommunication along the pipeline of people helping me, all my worldly possessions were left in Ottawa. Hopefully this will be resolved soon, and they will be put in transit. But for now, I'm living in corporate housing, and eating the gourmet food on campus.

The Adventure Begins

2007-07-06T15:09:00.000-04:00

It's hard to imagine that only 5 days have passed since I left Ottawa. So much has happened. My head is spinning. My vata is probably spinning wildly all over the place, which is also probably why my throat has been feeling sore these past few days.

I've been staying with my old friend from junior high school, Arthur Law. We have kept in touch over the years, but the distance between us has caused us to drift apart a bit. This week has been great if only to rebond with an old friend. And nothing creates bonds like playing Bomberman until late at night on a Wii.

When not playing Wii, I've been hunting the great white apartment. The worst of the big apartment adventure seems to be finally over, but not without a little bit of excitement. On Tuesday, I saw an apartment on Haight Street. The apartment was gorgeous: 4 rooms, a kitchen and a bathroom; a back courtyard; high ceilings; nice kitchen; and settled in the quieter part of the Haight, right next to a big park on a hill. While the landlord seemed to like me quite a bit, he was joking that the other applicant was a surgeon and made some obscene amount of money. (For those that don't know, the San Francisco rental market is amazingly competitive to rent a place.) I figured that I had a chance, but not a good one. The landlord said he'd call back the same day or the next.

He didn't call back Tuesday. He didn't call back Wednesday, and I started making more appointments. On Thursday, I see another apartment in the same neighborhood. The apartment is alright, but not amazing. Lots of tiny details seem to make it a less desirable option, except perhaps a superior meditation room. Without much to do, I apply and the landlord wants to sign a lease on the spot. I hesitate and feel like it's not a great idea, but can I really wait anymore? I call the first apartment, but no answer. I sign the lease and pay the landlord.

Around dinner time Thursday, the first apartment calls and says they want to offer me the apartment. Oh, dear. Not good. Give me time. I'll figure something out. So I call the second apartment and beg and please and grovel. Please please please let me out the lease. The second landlord is amazing, and allows me out of the lease with only a (relatively) small fee for time wasted.

So today, I signed a lease for the Haight Street apartment. I take possession on Friday, July 13th (hopefully not a bad omen). Now a bunch of phone calls to arrange for the movers to come, hook up gas and electricity, and re-route all my mail to Haight Street.

Last night, I went to the Sivananda Yoga Vedanta Center here in San Francisco. It was a great feeling of coming home: very familiar and peaceful. There was also some proof that when it rains it pours. I got to talking to the receptionist, Hanuman, and I mentioned that I'd just moved to the city and that I was looking to help out at the center. He asked if I was a teacher, and then immediately turned around and offered a room in the center. It's a great feeling to be part of a community that is so open and giving. Who knows? Maybe a year from now I'll move into the center and fulfill my fantasy of becoming a cybermonk: working at Google during the weekdays, and living in the monastic tradition on mornings, evenings and weekends.

Scavenger Hunt

2007-07-05T16:02:00.000-04:00

Google searches for things, and now you do too....

Rules

1. Be at least a little nice to other teams.
2. No dangerous car play.
3. PHOTO means a photo taken today on your team's digital camera.
4. SYDK means "someone you don't know": a person that no one on your team knows at all ... at least before the competition began. If you get SYDK, then you get +20 points.
5. BEST means a creative effort that we collectively vote on after the hunt is done. The team with the best gets double the points.
6. Be creative.
7. Have fun.

List

1. One of Buffy's friends ... in street form. (PHOTO) [5 points]
2. Doug's phone number in San Francisco. [1 point]
3. A bicycle. [5 points + SYDK]
4. A signed confession of undying love from an employee of Venus Envy. [15 points + BEST]
5. The sexy undergarments of an employee of Venus Envy. [25 points]
6. Someone who has been to San Francisco. [3 points + SYDK]
7. All the luck one could ever need. [5 points + BEST]
8. A naked person in public. (PHOTO) [15 points + SYDK]
9. Proof that you can hold your own in a fight. [5 points]
10. An album by the Grateful Dead. [5 points]
11. Someone who has participated in a chocolate syrup wrestling event. [15 points + SYDK]
12. Hippies are everywhere -- selling you a flower wreath for your hair. [10 points]
13. Show your support for Gay America. A rainbow flag. [5 points]
14. Sometimes we get lost. Help Google from getting lost with a map. [5 points + BEST]
15. A Care Bear that has been overcome with lycanthropy. [10 points + BEST]
16. The world's biggest water balloon. [5 points + BEST]
17. The best escape plan from an earthquake in San Francisco. [5 points + BEST]
18. A model of the Golden Gate bridge. [10 points + BEST]
19. OkCupid is a dating site. Get a hot message from someone living in San Francisco. [15 points + BEST]
20. A video. A video of your team. A video of your team on youtube. [25 points]
21. Money that is older than Doug is. [5 points + 10 points for Doug's birth year]
22. The name of a vegan restaurant in San Francisco. [3 points]
23. Doug's true love. [15 points + BEST]
24. A U.S. license plate. (PHOTO) [10 points + 10 points for California]
25. A dodecahedron. [5 points]
26. Invader Zim protects his property at all costs. Crime in San Francisco is higher than Ottawa, so I'll need protection too. Protect me! [10 points + BEST]
27. Doug ... in street form. (PHOTO) [10 points]
28. The teachings of Sri Chimnoy have spread around the world. Something from one of his many restaurants. [5 points]
29. CPI performs tonight! Get your photo taken with this rising star! (PHOTO) [5 points]
30. A parliamentary cat. (PHOTO) [10 points + BEST]
31. All of the ingredients for making plutonium. [15 points + BEST]
32. Vegan dessert. [10 points + BEST]
33. Hiccups. [15 points]
34. With our growing climate crisis, it's best to be conscious of the effect of our actions. The first fast food walk-thru. (PHOTO) [10 points]
35. Paul Dewar. [35 points]
36. A goodbye letter from the guy who knows me at Paesano's. [15 points]
37. The guy who knows me at Paesano's. [25 points]
38. Sort out these neighbourhoods in San Francisco: [10 points]
1. HTGIEHTAH
2. ASMO
3. IEASPIICFHCHGT
4. NOMSSII
39. An RCMP officer giving the thumbs up. (PHOTO) [10 points]
40. It's soon to be Canada Day. A foreign national painted up in red and white. (PHOTO) [15 points]

safe arrivals

2007-07-02T00:23:00.000-04:00

It was a mad and crazy last few days in Ottawa. My apologies to those people I either didn't get to talk to, or didn't get to talk to enough. That's what phones are for, I guess. :) (Today was my first day of free long distance to Jane! Yay!)

I kept telling myself that it would be my first lonely night in San Francisco when things would start to set in. I was wrong. As my energy faded and one-by-one my friends packed up and went home, it started to feel like doors closing. The bartender for my life in Ottawa was wiping down the bar and turning off the lights. I managed 2 hours of sleep and then headed out to the airport. The last goodbye on Dawn's porch -- grumpy from lack of sleep, and feeling very sad.

From there, life went fairly well. No issues on flights. Arthur picked me up at the airport. I have some fresh groceries in the kitchen, and a home-cooked meal in my belly. I've changed the timezone on my laptop, and I realize that this is now home, for better or for worse.

The Great Apartment Hunt

2007-06-17T21:43:00.000-04:00

Well, I just got back from my trip to San Francisco, and I return from my hunting trip empty handed. Let me tell you that the rental market in San Francisco is nothing like the rental market in Ottawa. For starters, it's twice as expensive as Ottawa. Space is a bit of a premium in San Francisco. Those that know my fondness for large semi-private porches will understand my disappointment in discovering that that kind of thing is pretty much impossible in San Francisco. The most one can hope for is a view. There are some spectacular ones. Sweeping vistas of homes and parks down one side of a hill and up another. While Ottawa is no prairie, it lacks some of the drama of San Francisco: standing at the bottom of the hill, and realizing that this walk is going to be a lot longer than it seemed on a map. It leaves me craving a topographical map. I'm looking forward to the cycling adventure that is San Francisco.

San Francisco is also a diverse city. Neighbourhoods can be radically different than adjacent neighbourhoods, and the transition can literally happen over the distance of one block. As one rental agent was explaining: 6th street is a crack neighbourhood, 5th street is a bit better and 4th street is conference centres and yuppie hang outs. The term they use is "gentrification". It's a polite way of saying buying out a region and replacing all of its housing with something twice as expensive. So, the miracle of 6th street is that it used to be a crack neighbourhood too. Now it's loft apartments and a Wholefoods.

I'm not sure whether gentrification is the root cause or not, but there are a lot of homeless people on the streets of San Francisco. Crazy people. Drunk people. Cracked out people. I'm sure it helps that the temperature never freezes in San Francisco; there is no snow, no ice (no hockey). The sheer concentration is a bit overwhelming. The demographic is a bit different too. While I notice a lot of native people on the streets in Ottawa, the downtrodden race in San Francisco seems to be African Americans.

But let's talk about happier things. There is a Sri Chimnoy restaurant that serves delicious breakfast. Pretty much every restaurant serves vegetarian and vegan food that is clearly labelled. Veggie patties abound. Cyclists are everywhere. People are everywhere all the time. "Avenue Q" is coming to San Francisco. There are Buffy sing-a-longs. There was a big hippie yoga festival this past weekend. It just seems like a lot more things are happening, and that a lot of those things fall in line with my politics and interests. Living in San Francisco seems easier. In Ottawa, environmental issues and animal rights are somewhat ignored, while in San Francisco, it just seems like everyone is paying attention. Of course, this is just my candy-coated view from a few days. :)

So, I'm returning to San Francisco on July 1st ... this time for good. A one-way ticket. My apartment will be packed and loaded on June 29th. I don't know where I'll sleep for the last two nights, but I'll figure it out. I find myself dragging my heels on tying up the last few loose ends in Ottawa. Nothing has sunk in yet, and I'm still drifting through this change. My theory is that it will sink in when I close the door on my apartment at the end of one working day where I have nothing left to do. When there's nothing to do, then all the changes will start to sink in and become more real.

Post-Script: Getting a TN visa was easy. I had my papers. They took me aside. The guy looked at my two letters from Google, took both copies and asked me too questions. "You're going to work for Google, eh?" "Yes" "Is this your first job?" "No" They took 50 dollars, and now I'm the proud owner of a multiple entry I-94, with TN status until June 2008. He was really nice, and answered some questions for me. Customer service gets a thumbs up.

Post-Post-Script: For those viewing this through Facebook, this is an imported note from my blog.

God

2007-02-25T09:33:00.000-05:00

It seems like all I want to post these days is tiny little poems. An army of tiny little poems to pacify the masses....

I found God last night
Nestled in your fingers
As you lay sleeping in my dreams

things to say when you move on

2007-01-25T16:21:00.000-05:00

your lips remembered
but like snow on evergreens
new lips fall on mine

Searching

2006-11-01T15:44:00.000-05:00

While chatting on-line with a friend, this random tidbit just came out of me. I thought it bore copying down. And, on further inspection, it actually works out to be a haiku (admittedly, missing the nature reference).

Learning how to search
After spending a lifetime
Waiting to be found

Bhima

2006-10-27T16:00:00.000-04:00

When one takes a course through the Sivananda Yoga Vedanta Centres, one is given a chance to be initiated into a mantra and to take a spiritual name. I did this when I completed my teacher training course, and the name has puzzled me since. I asked Swami Swaroopananda what a spiritual name is intended to signify and he replied, "... the spiritual name indicates the essence of the path that the initiated follows."

I found a book when I was in Fort Lauderdale that explained the significance of most Sanskrit names. Here is the definition for mine:

The fear-inspiring. It is written in the Upanishads, "All this projected universe moves on account of the Supreme Being that is a great terror like an uplifted thunderbolt ... From fear of Him fire burns, out of fear the sun shines, out of fear Indra, Vayu and Yama run ... He who creates the slightest difference in the Absolute is smitten with fear. That very Absolute is a terror to the so-called learned man who lacks the unitive outlook."

The 357th and 948th names of Lord Vishnu listed in the Vishnu Sahasranama.

A name of Lord Siva.

The name of one of the five Pandavas brothers, who is also called "Bhimasena" (i.e., "having a fearful army" and is a partial incarnation of Vayu, the Wind-God). See the Bhagavad Gita XI: 20-25.

The Upanishad mentioned is the Taittiriya Upanishad.

Further Thoughts on Karma

2006-10-25T10:40:00.000-04:00

Swami Sivananda has some further thoughts to the idea of karma as a colouring of the mind. In this case he's talking about how what you learn is a product of your mind. The same information can be put in front of two different people and it will yield different lessons.

You give milk to the snake, you have poison. You prepare food out of grain and give it to man; it turns into faecal matter.

(Sivananda, Swami. Sadhana: A Text-Book of the Psychology and Practice of the Techniques to Spiritual Perfection. Divine Life Society, India, 7th Edition, 1997. pg. 543)

Pearls Extracted from Sci-Fi Cheese

2006-10-25T10:14:00.000-04:00

One of my friends lent me a cheesy science fiction novel, called The Iron Dragon's Daughter by Michael Swanwick. The writing is atrocious, the plot is meandering, and the main character (a young woman) seems to be living out the author's private sexual fantasies. The author also seems to have a rather angry and aggressive way of viewing the world. In the midst of all this, I did find one interesting little quote. The cynical tutor (the pale man) for our young heroine (Jane) is explaining how the world works.

THE PALE MAN: Let me put it this way: There is a logic to the shapes of lives and relationships, and that logic is embedded in the stuff of existence. The lover does not awake one morning convinced he would rather be an engineer. The musician does not abandon her keyboard without regrets. The CEO does not surrender wealth. Or if he does, he will it easier to give up everything, find a cave in the mountains and become a philosopher than to simply downscale his life-style. You see? We are all of us living stories that on some deep level give us satisfaction. If we are unhappy with out stories, that is not enough to free us from them. We must find other stories that flow naturally from those we have been living.

JANE: So you're saying ... that I'm living a story in which I don't get financial aid? Is that it?

THE PALE MAN: It's not you. The secretary is living a story in which she doesn't give you financial aid. It's a subtle distinction, but a crucial one. It gives you an out.

JANE: What do I have to do?

THE PALE MAN: You have to look at yourself through her eyes. She sees a troublemaker, a dilatory student, someone with 'potential' -- whatever that might be -- who is lazy, who will never apply herself, who neglects her studies, and on whom a scholarship would be wasted.

JANE: But I'm not like that!

THE PALE MAN: What does that matter? In her story that's who you are, and in her story your sort rarely changes. Occasionally, though, it happens.

(Swanwick, Michael. The Iron Dragon's Daughter. Avon Books, New York, 1994. pg. 131-132.)

In this (relatively) small section, the Michael Swanwick manages to inadvertently walk through one of the explanations of karma. The idea is simple. The world that we perceive is coloured by our minds. Everything that happens to us is received through this tint of the mind. This is the "story" we've created for ourselves. Karma is just the colouring of our own mind that happens with our own actions. The more negative stuff we do, the more we expect the world to be negative. This expectation actually makes the world negative.

He also points out that this can be used to better understand how other people act. If you understand the story they are trying to tell, then you can better appreciate their actions and how to fit into their story.

Swami Srinivasananda is Evil

2006-10-18T08:42:00.000-04:00

Swami Srinivasananda was evil. It took a long time for me to figure out exactly why, but I eventually found out. Then I ran. I was scared for my life. Each of the yoga acharya's from the Sivananda Yoga Vedanta Centres had their own realms in which they had power. If I could just run far enough, Swami Srinivasananda would not be able to bring all his powers to bear in hurting me. I had to let someone else know what was going on. I had to get to another acharya's realm. At the end of the dream, I made it into another realm (the backyard of the house I grew up in), but didn't know what to do at that point. Who to tell? What would they say?

Pornography with True

2006-10-18T08:33:00.000-04:00

True and I were lying on the floor in a comfy living space. Some of my yoga friends were discussing something serious in an adjoining conference room. It seemed like their conversation was very business-like and fluorescent. Meanwhile, True and I were watching television and stopped flipping channels at some pornographic film. We were listening to the television on headphones, but for some reason only the video was on headphones and not the audio. We took the headphones off, and realized that a large portion of the film was still audible. We were just trying to put in another set of headphones for the audio when my yoga friends walked out. We then awkwardly flipped through channels with lots of cartoons hoping that my friends would go away. They didn't.

Renunciation

2006-10-17T22:03:00.000-04:00

I've been debating how one decides when it is the right moment to renounce everything to become a monk: to devote one's life to spirituality. While reading Sadhana (7th edition, pg. 508), I found the following answer from Swami Sivananda:

Q. When should I renounce the world?

A. Renounce the world on that very day when you get perfect Vairagya. This is the emphatic declaration of the Srutis (Jabala Upanishad). That Vairagya must be the outcome of pure Viveka. Otherwise you cannot stand. You cannot stick to the path of renunciation.

Vairagya is dispassion; it means a lack of interest in worldly things. The Srutis are the core Hindu scriptures, of which the Jabala Upanishad is a small part. Viveka is discrimination; it means the ability to tell the real from the unreal, the important from the unimportant.

Art Gallery

2005-12-12T08:35:00.000-05:00

A- and I are going to the art gallery, but the art gallery is more elaborate than I remember. There's a sweeping pathway leading up to it, with a gorgeous garden and lights. It's night time and every one is dressed up. When we get in, I start worrying about Christmas presents. We stop at a shop part way through the gallery, but everything is really expensive. One piece for sale is the gorgeous painting rendered as a large tile you would put on the floor; it costs $14 000 dollars. The artist's signature is strangely prominent -- almost centered -- and the name of the piece is in the centre written on a cheap sticker that is slightly worn down.

Cottage Games

2005-12-11T09:30:00.000-05:00

There's a bunch of us at the old cottage -- hanging out and having fun. Through the cottage, someone has hidden these small black balls. The goal is to find them all. Some of them are hidden up high, in the rafters. I have some amazing monkey skills -- climbing around and hunting them all down. Once we find them all, the roof starts to leak and a new batch of balls is hidden without our knowing.

Searching For Love

2005-12-11T09:26:00.000-05:00

She's a stripper, and she doesn't love me. But, for whatever reason, I want to be with her. I want her to love me. This leads to odd hilarity as I try everything to break through her defences and reach the real her. I also end up buying the strip club she works for. Very Hollywood. Unlike Hollywood, I end up in the somewhat real situation of uncertainty and unhappiness.

Death in the Family

2005-12-10T08:55:00.000-05:00

A phone call arrives for me. It sounds distant, and the voice is something I should recognize but don't.

"Ch- is dead," it says and leaves me cold and empty.

It has been far too long since we'd talked. Was he even my friend anymore? But I cried. I cried for a long time, from somewhere deep inside. It's odd how these things can reach in through the distance and touch something inside.

I invite Co- over, to talk. I want to tell him, but find myself choked up in tears. In between the ragged breaths, I manage to find the words, "Ch- is dead". The message passes from my lips, across the distance, and nestles into Co-.

"Of all the people," he mutters angrily, and turns from me. He thinks we should do something. Something permanent to remember Ch- by. The half-formed idea echoes untaken in the room.