Hiring committee banter.

This morning, in hiring committee.

Martin: [looking at candidate packet] Whoa, why is this candidate's lunch interviewer so enthusiastic to write this big recommendation?

Me: Yeah, what could he have said over lunch to impress his interviewer so much?

Martin: Perhaps he chose his food extremely wisely. [imitates interviewer writing feedback] "Made nutritious and filling choices."

Me: Or perhaps he took all the food on his plate and mixed it together before eating it, to increase efficiency. [mime using fork to stir everything into a big blob] "Efficient food digestion. O(N) in stomach operation."

Martin: "But not very object-oriented."

Removal Form.

Today Peter asked me to remove some of the posts featuring him. "You compared me to a monster in a movie!"

Later Dan asked that his picture be changed. "My eyes are rolled back so much that you can hardly see my pupils! I look like a monster!"

sigh.

To make future requests easier, please use the following form:

Niniane Blog Removal Request Form

Select the action you are requesting:

Remove post.
URL of post:


Change my pseudonym.
Current pseudonym:
New pseudonym:


Remove this "Blog Removal Request Form".


Reason for Your Request:
It makes me out as a monster.
It has me making out with a monster.

(Criticisms of my HTML form writing abilities are not welcome.)

Food philosophy w/ coworkers.

Joby: Did you hear they're installing a frozen yogurt machine?

Me: We already have Ben & Jerry's ice cream in the kitchens.

Joby: But frozen yogurt is better for you.

Me: Well ... [explain eating philosophy] ... So if you eat what you really want, you'll be satisfied sooner and you'll end up eating less overall.

Joby: No, I would eat the same amount of ice cream or frozen yogurt. So I'd be either eating three thousand grams of fat, or three thousand grams of sugar.

Rebalanced.

My pH has recovered itself since the weekend roller coaster. This was actually 95% thanks to Dan. Here's a random picture of Dan from the ol' internet, which is a very representative pic since he's rolling his eyes:



It wasn't any particular insight from Dan, but rather the simple joy of swapping funny (mostly Google) stories for 4 hours, something that Peter and I had difficulty doing. We gossiped about how Eric, Larry, and Sergey handle disagreements between themselves (gracefully), recent product launches, our friends J & J who just quit their startups.

Dan mentioned his high school girlfriend Jenny, which reminded me of my All-Time Favorite Dan Story. ...

The story goes that Jenny really liked a mom-and-pop donut shop in the mall. One day, she was out of cash but nonetheless went in and asked if she could have a donut, for free.

The answer was of course no.

"It's almost closing time," she said. "What are you going to do with these leftover donuts?"

"Throw them away."

"Well, why not just give them to me instead?"

"We can't do that. Then everyone would ask us for them."

"What if I take them out of the dumpster after you throw them away?"

"Well, we can't control what happens after we throw them in the dumpster."

"So what if I stand in the dumpster and catch the donuts as you throw them in?"

At this point, the cashier rolls his eyes and says, "Well, I guess that would be fine."

An hour later, the cashier goes out back with a plastic bag of donuts and Jenny is indeed standing in the dumpster along with her friends.

"Oh my God!" he says. "Fine, look, you don't have to stand in the dumpster. I'll just give you the donuts in the future, if you meet me here at midnight. Don't tell anyone else."

So she would go every night and get free donuts. After a while, they got used to her, and it got to the point where she could walk into the store at any time of day and get a free donut.

Cost benefit analysis.

At dinner.

Joby: Why is that I eat 2000 calories per day, and I don't exercise, but yet I don't balloon up?

Me: Because just by living, you expend 2000 calories each day.

Joby: Really?

Me: Yeah. See, a pound is 3500 calories. So let's say you do the elliptical machine for 20 minutes each day and burn 100 calories. Then after 35 days, you would lose one pound.

Joby: I am never exercising again.

Convo with Andrew.

At lunch with Andrew.

Me: I told my mom that I may never find the right person to get married. But regardless, I still plan to have kids. When I'm 34, I'll either adopt or get artifically inseminated.

Andrew: You said that to your mom?

Me: Well, not the last part. I actually said, "I'll either adopt ... or I won't." She knew what I meant.

Andrew: What did your mom say?

Me: She stood there in silence for half a minute, then said, "I think you should have your own kid instead of adopting." Which implied she's okay with the out-of-wedlock part.

Andrew: Raising a kid by yourself is hard.

Me: I know. But falling in love is so unlikely! It's like winning the lottery! Come to think of it, childbirth is so difficult that it also seems impossible. If I didn't know that billions of women had already done it, and you described childbirth to me, I would say that it's impossible! It's like pushing a watermelon through a straw!

Andrew: [shocked laughter] ... But you want to do it, huh? You want the watermelon?

Me: I want the watermelon.

Sad.

At lunch with Rolandall (Randall + Yolanda = Rolandall).

Me: Falling in love is so rare! I don't know how all these other people do it. ... So I've accepted the fact that I may never get married.

Randall: In 20 years, we can introduce our kids to you as our weird spinster friend.

Me: That's right. I'll get 19 cats. As you're leaving, I'll throw a cat or two at you.

Randall: When I was a kid, there was an old neighbor down the street. She was 70 when I knew her, but had been a widow since her 20s when her husband was killed in war. All she would do is watch Wheel of Fortune and chain smoke. After she died, I had to go help clean out her house, and scrape nicotine off the walls.

Me: Don't worry, I'll pre-pay professional nicotine scrapers as part of my will.

BBQ, Beijing style (from March 26)

This is what happens when your parents hold a barbeque for 45 guests, and your family comes from Beijing where the worst nightmare is running out of food while hosting a party:

Three tables of food, two days of preparation,





and a week's worth of leftovers:

awe-inspiring left and right brain merging

Yesterday I went to the Seattle Asian Art Museum with my coworker Reza. We saw this thousand-armed statue (that fan-shaped object attached to his back is a mass of arms):



I adored the color of this vase (it does lose a little in translation into a photograph):



Then I drove over to Min's house, which may as well have been another museum.

I walked in and immediately dropped all my bags in order to kneel in worship before this painting-in-progress:



HOW? How can one person be that good at computer science AND that good at painting?? It boggles my mind. The pathways between her left and right brains must be busier than the 101 in rush hour.

I forced her to pose with this one of her paintings:



She wouldn't sell me this one for $160 (another buyer had reputedly offered $150):



Oh, she also cooked me amazing stewed meat, couscous, and peach tea.



...

Can a more talented person exist?

The answer is no.

maybe he was just baiting me

Tuesday night I attended a 10-course dinner with chinese reporters who flew in from Beijing on Google's dime to interview the company. There were around 15 reporters, and 7 Googlers accompanying them for dinner.

Over a meal of lobster, peking duck, and jellyfish, the reporter to my left turns to me. He looks a little like this Hong Kong action film star.



"So you've been an engineer for so many years?" he asks. "Do you think you'll keep at it forever?"

I pause. One day I'd like to found my own startup, and if takes off, my main focus would no longer be writing code. "Maybe not," I say.

"Okay, because women aren't very suitable for engineering."

I sigh inwardly. "You should read my Google China blog article on this topic."

"Women are .. not logical enough. If they're debugging code with a lot of bugs, they'll get frustrated, whereas a man will be more calm."

I resist the urge to say, "Is that because it was the man who created the bugs in the first place???"

Instead I say sweetly, "I haven't found that to be the case."

"Let me tell you, I used to work as an engineer," he declares in a this-will-explain-it voice. "We had a few female engineers come into the company, and they quickly found a bunch of men to do all of their programming for them. Then they would get married to one of the best programmers, and quit their job to stay home as a housewife."

I double-sigh inwardly. "That may have been your experience, but if you worked at Google, I think the reality would change your mind."

That having failed, he tries a new tactic. "I'm sure you must do presentations for execs. And they're usually men. If they do something overstepping professional boundaries, then the women will get uncomfortable."

"Uh... That's illegal in the US," I answer.

"It is?" He seems disconcerted. "Well, women just aren't analytical enough to be engineers."

In the ensuing silence floats an unspoken "QED."

Kai-fu said to me last October that the first step to combating discrimination is making it socially unacceptable to voice it openly. People will still think it, but they will no longer be comfortable saying it. After enough time passes in this manner, the discrimination will be eliminated gradually from the minds as well.

China has a lot further to go on this first step than the US.

...

Or he could've just been baiting me, hoping to write an article headlined "GOOGLER EXPLODES WITH RAGE, HITS REPORTER IN FACE WITH CURRIED JELLYFISH."

you know you're considered an ancient relic when ...

Today I receive an email from Tom, my darling brother (pictured below in a state of embarrassment over being in Starbucks with his camera-toting sister):



He asks if I'd like to receive this T-shirt for my birthday:



"Of course not," I say. "Why would I wear such a mean shirt?"

His reply:

The inside joke is that the founder of myspace.com (a blog site),
automatically forces everyone who uses myspace to be his friend.
Thus, people were angry, and wore shirts such as: "Tom is NOT my
friend."

My answer to him:

I KNOW WHAT MYSPACE IS, TOM. You don't need to define it. I am not that out of touch with today's youth. I don't yet look like this:

Ballmer joke

It isn't every day that a slashdot comment actually makes me burst out laughing. The post said:

"In a recent Fortune interview with Steve Ballmer, the newer kinder Microsoft CEO is not only ready to take on the videogaming, search, music download and mobile markets - but he's also laying down the law in his own house. Steve says that his kids are not allowed to use Google or have an iPod."

The first comment said:

I'd take the other approach - if they choose rival manufacturers then study first hand why they do so.

I can hardly quote the follow-up comment, as my hands are shaking with laughter.

Whoa, study? It's Steve Ballmer we're talking about, if he as much as SEEs his kids anywhere near iPods or within 20m of a computer displaying a Google page it'll be Chair Throwing time, he'll Fucking Bury(TM) them. He's done it before and he'll do it again. He's going to Fucking Kill(TM) his children.

another Google China blog mention

Kai-fu mentioned me in his latest entry on the Google China blog. It's an
article about chinese engineers at Google.

This is so hot.

I LOVE the Windows Disk Defragmenter. I sit there and watch it for minutes at a time, as it increases the performance of my machine.



But today I learned of something even more magnificent: Mac OS X on-the-fly defragmentation.

That's so hot.

Nannies and gigolos.

[driving to the city to have dinner with my coworkers]

Me: "Why do you suppose my coworker Sandra puts up with so much crap in her relationship?"

Stella: "Because she's getting older. As you get older, it becomes harder to find a decent guy."

Me: "Even if that's true, it's no reason to stay in an unhappy relationship."

Stella: "How old are you?"

Me: "26."

Stella: "Okay, what are you going to do if you get to your 30s and you're not married?"

Me: "Not get married."

Stella: "What about kids?"

Me: "I'll still have them. At 34, if I'm not married, I'm going to get artificially inseminated. Meanwhile I'll focus all my time on making money, and then I'll use the money to hire nannies and gigolos."

Breaking my stereotype.

I was picking up takeout from Queen House last week, my favorite local chinese restaurant. Since I got there just before closing, I overheard the tall angular-featured male cashier talking to the lanky squinty-eyed waitress.

"... don't think I'm going to go with you," he said. "There's nothing there good to look at except the show itself."

I immediately cast him as the stereotypical Asian guy who is critical of every physical flaw in women.

"Oh, and of course you," he added as an afterthought to this waitress who could not be described as beautiful.

My heart was warmed.

Xbox party (edited)

This week is GDC (Game Developers Conference), and much of the party grapevine centered around getting tickets for the Thursday night Xbox party. Tickets were so difficult to score that one bitter conference attendee printed out orange fliers for his "Official 'F*** the Microsoft Party' Party".

Even engineers from Microsoft Games had difficulty getting tickets, since games and Xbox are separate divisions within Microsoft.

Last night, I and a few Google ex-games-industry coworkers were standing around the Sony party, when we recognized a few Xbox engineers that we had worked with. As we chatted with them, the Xbox guys told me, "You should come by our booth tomorrow, and we'll give you a party ticket."

"Aren't these tickets more valuable than gold?" I replied, suspicious why Microsoft would be more eager to give a ticket to a Google employee over one of their own.

What they said next gave me serious doubts about their party: "It'll be great to have a woman there, especially one who actually has a reason to be there and is a former GDC speaker, instead of a hired dancer or model for the event."

Tonight I originally planned to go home and skip the party, but my 7pm meeting at the hotel next door ran long. I found myself 2 blocks from the party 15 minutes prior to its start.

"I'll just go and check it out," I thought.

Since I got there early, I was at the head of the line, which quickly wrapped all the way around the block. At 9pm, a string of women in tight black dresses walked by, followed by dancers in pink bikinis with white sashes hanging off their thigh-high boots.

I got inside, and it felt ... sexist. Unwelcoming. Monitors displayed Microsoft's Xbox games, where big breasts bounced around, rendered in 3-d detail. The dancers in pink bikinis strutted their stuff on podiums, and male conference attendees watched silently in clumps of two or three, sipping beers. The dancers had disappointingly protruding abs and mountainous thighs. What does it say when the Google employees I see everyday around campus are hotter than the hired dancers at a Microsoft party?

As foretold, I was the only woman not hired to be there. This produced a subtle sapping of my spirit, as I was bombarded with the sight of all other women at the party serving the male attendees food, giving them little gizmos, being paid to flirt with them, to dance for them, to smile. The men had judging, patronizing expressions, which didn't change when their gaze flickered from the dancers briefly onto me as I moved about the party. Rarely have I encountered so many instances of men openly looking me up and down.

It was 9:15pm, and I made for the door. When I got outside, I saw Jon, my first manager from Microsoft, now a product unit manager on Xbox tools, standing on his tiptoes peering in, trying to get a ticket.

I walked down the street and ran into the Xbox engineer who had invited me. "What? You're leaving? It's just getting started!" he exclaimed.

"Yeah, it's not my thing," I said.

"You're not much of a party person, huh?"

"I am, but --" I saw his look bordering on bruised ego, and changed my tune. "That's right, I'm super lame like that." I finished.

As I walked to my car and then drove away, I felt my heart lightening. It is like the time when Bob (name changed) went to interview with Microsoft.

"The closer I got to the Redmond campus, the worse I felt," Bob said. "I actually felt physically ill!"

"Just like Mordor!" replied my brother when he heard the story.

"add salt now!"

My mother called me urgently yesterday.

Mom: "Did you meet with your accountant yet?"

Me: "Yes, I gave him all the paperwork."

Mom: "Did you tell him that he can deduct the 27-year depreciation of your rental property against the rental income?"

Me: "I mentioned it, but I'm sure he knows about it."

Mom: "Maybe he's just a Silicon Valley accountant who knows about stock options, but not about rental properties."

Me: "He asked for my mortgage closing statement and knew he could deduct the points, and he talked about 27-year depreciation. He's been a tax accountant for over 20 years, so I think he knows what he's doing."

Mom: "But you should still go and show him the 1040 form where on line 17 --"

Me: "Okay, what you're suggesting now is equivalent to going to a 4-star restaurant and then insisting on going back to the kitchen. Then we stand behind the chef and give him orders, 'Put in a little more oil.' 'Add salt now!'"

She laughed heartily and to my pleasant astonishment, dropped the issue.

Over-optimization.

In December of 2004, my brother figured out the source of most of my parents' arguments.

We were at the Wuxi train sation during our southern China tour, and my mother bought a packet of tofu curd marinated in chili oil. It cost 2 RMB, the equivalent of 25 US cents.

She ate half of the tofu curd, and offered the rest to my dad, my brother, and me. We passed on the pungent snack, preferring the sweet red bean rolls and lotus buns sold at a cart vendor in the train station.

It was time to board the train, and my mother carefully folded over the top of the 8-inch plastic bag containing the remaining tofu curd.

"Throw that thing away!" my dad urged impatiently. "We're not going to carry it with us on the train."

"No, it's mine, and I'm going to eat the rest later."

I could see the anger rush into my dad's face. "After the train, we're going to have to walk with all of our luggage to the tourist van. Then they're taking us to the hotel, and there's not even going to be a fridge. That bag is going to stink up the whole room. Throw it away!"

"I'm not going to waste food."

This went on for 5 minutes, after which my mom got up, with the bag in her hand, and boarded the train. My dad followed, fuming. The marinated tofu stank up their hotel room for the next 2 days.

I inherited a frustrating mix of optimization. Recently I bought a computer desk from Bombay Company -- elegant tapered legs, wide table surface with dark wood.



After I put it together, I realized that the computer is in full view, with all of its cables dangling behind the mahogany Victorian tabletop. I then thought that perhaps I should sell it and buy this desk instead:



Bombay has a $75 flat fee for all deliveries -- whether you have one item delivered or ten, it's the same fee. This is incentive for consolidating purchases.

Furthermore, this weekend is a 2-day-only sale of 10% off their items. So I am self-inflicting pressure to decide on a new desk, chairs, wall clocks, and dining table, and do it all today!

Stress.

Plant war.

Yesterday, I noticed a houseplant on Alipé's desk, with long green leaves surrounding a pretty red core. I inteded to compliment him on it, but it slipped my mind.

Around noon, he and I got into a debate over a particular detail in C++ style. A couple of hours later, he told me, "I emailed the C style mailing list."

"Good Lord!" I said, "How did that go?" The C style mailing list has its share of style enthusiastics who will happily spend hours debating indentation and naming.

Alipé revealed that he garnered staunch support but eventually the decision stalemated.

Me: [unsurprised] I see. [pause] ... By the way, I like your plant.

Alipé: Oh, do you? I got it from Safeway last night. ... [muttering] Perhaps I can talk to it about C style.

Me: You can say to it, 'If you agree with me, DO NOTHING.'

Alipé: [chuckling]

Alipé: ... Or 'If you disagree with me, prepare to face imminent death."

Me: That's what you should have said to the C style mailing list.

...

Later I told the story about Alipé's plant to Peter.

Me: Then I told him that he can say to the plant, 'If you agree with me, DO NOTHING.'

Peter: Imagine if just at that moment, a single leaf falls silently off the plant.