sad letter

From Dan Savage's article this week. This letter is so sad:

I grew up in a small town, in a devout Catholic home, and I had no clue there was more than one kind of sexuality. I had thoughts and feelings I didn't know what to do with, but I don't think I'd ever heard the word "gay," much less knew what it meant.

I'd had sex with girls, but I didn't have my first experience with another guy until I was 18. I was at an ex-girlfriend's party, and it wasn't pretty; everyone was bombed or high. Except for this older guy: late-20s, maybe 30, somebody's brother. I knew he was looking at me in a way that men weren't supposed to look at other men. We got talking, realized we both hated the party, and agreed to go for a walk in what by then had to be the wee hours. We were in a big deserted park, grass, bushes, streetlights, when he turned to me and I thought, "He's going to kiss me and I'm going to throw up." He did; I didn't.

I was so awkward. I had no idea how to do the things my feelings were prompting me to do. I knew I wanted to top him, but didn't know that word or how exactly to get there. He was so patient and gentle and understanding. This is not a story of a teenage kid being preyed on. I took the lead; he guided. He never pushed anything. He helped introduce me to myself.

He lived halfway down the East Coast, but he kept in regular touch with calls and long affectionate letters, checking in on me, listening to me, reassuring me that whatever I felt was okay.

Not everyone felt that way. This was almost 40 years ago. When I got comfortable enough to tell my parents I thought I was gay, they had me committed to a mental hospital. That's another story, and not a very nice one. I was there till I was 21 and could legally insist on being released. Shock treatments, megadoses of Thorazine. I don't know why I didn't go truly nuts. I think a big part of it was the memory of that kindness and that closeness, and the rightness of it, for me. I lost a lot during those years locked up. I lost track of that wonderful guy who'd been just what I needed when nobody else understood.

I never had a chance to thank him, so I'd like to do that now, and maybe imagine he's reading this and remembering too.

Anonymous

shall I make a logical informed decision... or just go with pasta

I'm thinking of buying the Rosetta Stone level 1 software for Italian.


Alipé showed me the version for Mandarin, and it looks fun. One task asked him to match a photo to the sentence "This flower is big." Choice A was a tiny clover under a magnifying glass. Choice B was a little girl holding the stem of a two-foot-tall super-daisy. The girl was cute. The flower was cute. Good job, Rosetta Stone.

Anyhow, my reason for learning Italian is to visit Venice for a couple weeks this winter. That desire arose after I, along with every other woman in the United States, read the book Eat, Pray, Love. The "Eat" portion takes place in Italy. It was frivolous reading about the author spending her days eating pasta. Yet now I'm consumed with a desire to learn Italian. Good job, book.

However, I think this is a poor reason for choosing a new language to learn. It would be wiser to use factors like influence in world affairs and socio-literary culture, in which case Italian is not in the top ten.

Or I can learn from Richard Feynman's error, and base my decision on ridiculous reasons:

And since I didn't know yet where I was going to end up in South America, I decided to take Spanish, because the great majority of the countries there speak Spanish.

So when it was time to register for the class, we were standing outside, ready to go into the classroom, when this pneumatic blonde came along. You know how once in a while you get this feeling, WOW? She looked terrific. I said to myself, "Maybe she's going to be in the Spanish class - that'll be great!" But no, she walked into the Portuguese class. So I figured, What the hell - I might as well learn Portuguese.

I started walking right after her when this Anglo -Saxon attitude that I have said, "No, that's not a good reason to decide which language to speak." So I went back and signed up for the Spanish class, to my utter regret.

Some time later I was at a Physics Society meeting in New York, and I found myself sitting next to Jaime Tiomno, from Brazil, and he asked, "What are you going to do next summer?"

"I'm thinking of visiting South America."

"Oh! Why don't you come to Brazil? I'll get a position for you at the Center for Physical Research."

So now I had to convert all that Spanish into Portuguese!

statements that didn't work

Tonight at dinner, Dan dissected the Myers-Brigg scale, in particular the introvert vs. extrovert label. He gave the classic definition of how introverts recharge their batteries through time alone, a concept he strongly identifies with.

Me: I'm starting to feel like our conversations are just combinations of the same topics, repeated.

Dan: Yeah, we need to determine the eigenvectors of our conversation. Then we can never talk again. I can recharge my battery forever!

Me: That's not good, Dan. Batteries that are fully charged for too long will lose their capacity.

Dan: [look of contempt]

---

At lunch with Dan some time ago, at Google Cafe 150.

Me: Speaking of Asian fetishes, here comes Ozzir.

Ozzir: [walking over to our table] Hey.

Me: Dan, this is my friend Ozzir from YouTube. Ozzir, Dan.

Dan: [to Ozzir] So you're being used as an example of a white guy with an Asian fetish.

Ozzir: 'Fetish' sounds so strong. I like to call it an Asian 'preference'.

Dan: But you can't be that bad. I mean, you may have an Asian fetish, but at least you didn't move to China.

Ozzir: I moved to Japan. I'm just visiting for this week.

Tom's 21st

Tom turned 21 last Wednesday. It was also the day that my relative was discharged from the hospital, so we had a double-celebration at home.


Chinese takeout at my house, and beer.


Chocolate marble cake.

---

On Sunday, I took Tom to afternoon tea as another birthday celebration. You might think that I forced this upon him (akin to if he took me to a Counterstrike competition for my birthday), but he actually enjoyed it.



In fact, Tom picked the teahouse. He chose this one in Fremont, because they carry tea hats which the patrons can wear:





I daresay we matched the hats to our outfits reasonably well.

vera-ly it is

While running errands with Tom, I bought a bottle of aloe vera for Tristan's sunburned ankles. Later the three of us ate dinner at Amarin. Midway through, I remembered that I left the aloe in my car.

Me: "I need to give the aloe vera to Tristan after dinner. Everyone remember this. Associate it with getting up from our chairs, please. As we rise to leave, remember the aloe. Remember the aloe."

Tom: "Is that like, 'Remember the Alamo'?"

rice rockets

My brother bought a car yesterday, from a good friend of mine.



It's a 9-year-old Honda Accord, which is by definition a better car than mine. Since I have a 9-year-old Honda Civic. A pic of my car, from when I was robbed a few years ago:



Perhaps we will get our cars serviced together this weekend.

Tom: "I'm going to put a big ol' racing stripe along the side!"

then she made me do thirty push-ups

Talking to Megan (my personal trainer) during my training session today.

Me: [while doing bicep raises] "I got invited to a black-and-white event."

Megan: "Oooh! What are you going to wear?"

Me: "There's a simple black dress I've had for a while."

Megan: [waving hand dismissively] "Hey, let's go shopping at Christian Dior!"

Me: "I don't know..."

Megan: "The butterfly cut is hot right now. Don't you want a dress that's in vogue?"

Me: "No."

Megan: "Why not?"

Me: "Anyway, I'm sure my date won't care what dress I wear."

Megan: "So what? You'll appreciate it, right? Look, I've gone on dates just to wear certain dresses. I was like, 'I'm dating my dress right now, and I love him!""

Me: "Your dress is a him? Shouldn't it be female?"

Megan: "When it's on top of me, it's a guy."

Me: "Fair enough."

Megan: [demonstrating a push-up followed by a jump] "Do ten of these."

Me: [starting push-up] "Anyway, you've seen my fashion sense. We've gone out, and I was dressed fine."

Megan: [observing my push-up] "Fine for a regular -- Niniane! Why are you wearing two differently colored socks?"

Me: "Okay, sometimes you gotta work with what you have. In the gym bag."

Megan: "You're wearing one piggy sock and one black sock, and you say your fashion sense is fine?"

Me: "My fashion sense knew that mismatched socks are wrong! I just didn't have a choice!"

Megan: "I am definitely taking you shopping. You need me in your life."

Me: "I'm not sure about this."

Megan: "Relax, we'll get something classic, and elegant. I'm not going to make you wear a freakin' banana on your head."

Me: "Good, because a banana is neither black nor white."

Megan: [clenching arms] "I'm really trying not to smack you right now."

Me: "Unless it's Banana Republic."

ha ha h -- wait a minute, you're insulting me too

niniane: it's coming up close on your last day...
Domino: yeah
Domino: if I were to stay, I might join the XXX team.
Domino: their manager is good
niniane: so i hear
Domino: and trustworthy
niniane: yeah, that's important in a manager. And not always easy to find
Domino: why would good and trustworthy people become managers?

it was good

So, I'm a shell of the human being I was before. There is a lot to do, for work and for my family.

Anyway, one nice thing from last week was dinner at Wenarto's house. Wenarto cooked us capon:

A capon is a cockerel (a male chicken) whose reproductive organs were removed at a young age. Typically, the castration is performed when the chicken is between 6 and 20 weeks old.

Supposedly the castration makes the chicken fatter. And happier, if memory serves me correctly. Because it doesn't have to stress over chasing the hens around?

basic instructions, the comic strip

Is everyone else already aware of the comic strip "Basic Instructions"? I might be lagging behind the crowd again, like with Dinosaur Comics and xkcd.

Anyway, I discovered it recently, and I'm now a huge fan.

of sour grapes and godiva chocolates

Much appreciation to all the people who left supportive comments about my family situation. I am especially grateful to Nina, who wrote:

People who maintain a reservoir of Zen calm while a relative is in the ICU probably have something wrong with them anyway.

This sour-grapes mentality is precisely what I needed. Thank you Nina!

Lately I keep remembering an incident from a few years ago. It was a small act of kindness, but I've been thinking of it almost daily.

The incident also involved a relative in a hospital. The illness and person in question were different, but there were similar harrowing qualities of waiting in a hospital room.

After an exhausting 24 hours in the ER, my dad and I stopped at a shopping mall on the way home. I went to a Godiva chocolate store to buy a gift basket for the hospital workers.

The saleswoman came over, as I stood before a shelf with small and large baskets. She asked if she could help, and what kind of basket I was looking for.

"I want one with variety," I said. "It's for doctors and nurses in an ER. Something they can grab quickly as they're walking by."

She paused, then walked to a different shelf behind the register. "You probably want one with both solids and cremes..."

We discussed whether to get one giant box or two medium-sized boxes. I decided on two, for variety. I paid. She wrapped up the basket in plastic with a bow, whle she watched me write the card. My dad stood off to the side, stepping in only once with tips for the card.

We finished the transaction. As I turned to go, the saleswoman reached into the display case and pulled out a chocolate truffle, then another. "For you and your dad," she said, "on the house."

It really stayed with me, this touch of kindness in an otherwise purely professional transaction. The saleswoman probably forgot about it years ago, but I doubt I ever will.

I hope that I showed enough appreciation at the time, to encourage her to do it again for others in the future.

i know how i want to be, but i can't seem to do it

I'm having a difficult time.

A relative is in the hospital, and my mother is staying with me indefinitely while she takes care of him. For a little while, we went together to the hospital. Now she takes the caltrain every morning to the hospital (and back to my townhouse in the evening), while I go to work.

Seeing my relative in the hospital is painful, but this post is not about that.

I keep losing my patience with my mother, over silly things. She turns off her cell phone for hours at a time, and I worry when I can't reach her. When I ask her for the condition of our relative, she tells me a ten-minute chronological tale of the day ("I got up at 7am, cooked some congee, and walked to the caltrain station..."). I have to listen to the entire story to distill it to a single sentence of how my relative is faring. My mother bemoans her lack of time, but refuses to accept any of my offers (such as renting her a car, or giving her cab money).

We're going through a cycle where I speak impatiently to her, and then I feel guilty. I try to call her to make amends, and her phone is off for five hours, and we return to the start of the cycle.

Our whole family is under a lot of stress, so the minor tiffs are not too surprising. But, ideally I would have a reservoir of Zen calm.

Maybe I will try to take more deep breaths, and meditate in the morning and evening.

I know this post is crappily written, without any beginning or ending, nor interesting dialogue or detail. Consider it a window into the past, of how every post on my blog was three years ago.

my favorite April Fool's joke

People have been sending out April Fool's emails all day. But nothing can measure up to my all-time favorite, from Peter Norvig in 2004:

In related news, Google today announced the soft launch of a new chain of restaurants called TG-TF-IDF. (We wanted to use the catchier "Thank God its Term Frequency - Inverse Document Frequency", but that domain was taken by a cybersquatter.)

Whereas traditional restaurants feature hard-to-use menu systems, the TG-TF-IDF restaurants will allocate a gigacalorie of food to each diner. Diners then enter keyword ingredients and are instantly presented with a list of meals. "If a user has a problem with food, so do we," said Sergey Brin, Google co-founder and president of technology, in a statement. The service will be free, but will feature targeted ads printed on the right hand side of the food.

"And while developing TG-TF-IDF was a bit more complicated than we anticipated, we're pleased to be able to offer it to the diner who asked for it."

Google's system was designed by one of its engineers as a "20 percent" project - the scheme which gives Google employees one day a week in which to work on projects that interest them, the company said.

In contrast to the 1Gcal of free food offered by TG-TF-IDF, McDonalds offers a maximum meal size of 1190 cal for $4.99.

multi-way replication is surely as trustworthy as God

Yesterday, Tom and I were talking about advanced medical directives. In my living trust, Tom holds power of attorney in case I cannot make my own medical decisions.

Me: "Do you still have the email I sent you?" (When I set up the living trust, the lawyer explained that Tom would likely experience guilt if the situation transpired. He said it would ease my brother's burden if I explicitly state my wishes beforehand, which I did so in email.)

Tom: "Oh, I've definitely kept that email."

Me: [nodding]

Tom: "Do you also have it printed out and stored somewhere?"

Me: "No. It only exists in email."

Tom: "That's the only copy?"

Me: "Yes. In Gmail I trust."

i realize the system is flawed if dinner involves eating pig knuckles

I woke up this morning at 7:45am and couldn't sleep, so I'm going to write about a predicament.

Chinese culture has various protocols. For example, let's say you're eating dinner at a restaurant with others.

Host: "Try this duck. It's great!"

One typical response is to demur out of courtesy.

You: "That's all right, you go ahead."

The problem is that people will say this even when they actually secretly want to eat the duck. Therefore, the expected response is for the host to redouble his efforts.

Host: "Really, taste the duck! [picking up a piece of duck, and leaning over to place it into your bowl]

You: [covering bowl with one hand] "Don't worry about me! You just take care of yourself. I'll be fine."

Host: "I insist!" [forcibly wedging duck past your hand into your bowl]

Now, the problem here is that even if you legitimately don't want the duck, there is no way to communicate this. Any refusal will be taken as courtesy.

You: "Oh my fucking God, please stop shoving this piece of duck into my bowl! Can you respect my free will!"

Host: "Why are you being so polite?" (Unfortunately this is not sarcastic.)

You could come up with an excuse, e.g. "I'm allergic to duck", "I just ate duck for lunch", "I'm vegetarian". But this wastes time, and would also be dishonest. Clearly the script needs to be amended.

What we need is a safe word. Something like "pig knuckles". Then you can distinguish situations where you genuinely want to say no.

You: "Can we put my backpack in your car trunk?"

Host: "Sure! [opens trunk which is packed full, starts rearranging items]"

You: "I didn't realize you had so much stuff in there. I'll just hold it on my lap."

Host: "No, that would be uncomfortable for you! Let me make this more compact. [folding clothes, collapsing boxes]"

You: "I changed my mind! I just want to go, okay?"

Host: "It'll only be another couple -- "

You: "Pig knuckles."

Host: [closes trunk, gets into driver's seat, starts engine]

...

Ah, that would be magical.

nostalgic Romulan story from growing up

My parents are in town. Last night we had dinner with my brother and some of my friends.

Tom told a story. When he was three and I was ten, we put on little plays for ourselves. Because there were only two of us, we each acted multiple roles. Tom was very cute as a toddler as tall as my knee.

One day, the theme was Star Trek. On the make-belief bridge of our starship:

Me: "Lieutenant."

Tom: [saluting]

Me: "We have a Romulan spy onboard. Go and scan decks 1 through 10 for the intruder."

Tom: [mimes shooting me with a phaser]

Me: "Did you just shoot me?"

Tom: [giggling] "Yeah."

Me: "No, the game is -- Why did you do that?"

Tom: [collapsing on the couch in giggles] "I'm the Romulan spy."

After I recovered from shock, I did a suitable death scene.

WTF Palo Alto

Don't I hear about how Palo Alto is the center of Silicon Valley? The hub of high-tech innovation? The leading edge of technology? The frontier of the information superhighway?

Why then did I have to go to three cafes along University Ave to find wireless internet?

Especially misleading was the fact that the first two cafes were filled with people on laptops. Apparently they were tweaking spreadsheets and writing papers offline.

Stock photos of the offending cafes:





Finally I went to a trusty standby (stock photo below). See if you can guess which cafe this is.

let there be light, and towels

In the latest wave of domesticity, I gave up my San Francisco crash pad.

Instead I'm buying new linens and towels for my Mountain View townhouse. It's bringing me incredible joy. I think I shall write a poem called "Ode to Two Thyme-Colored Towels".


The only thing stopping me is the knowledge that it can't measure up to my previous poem.

Tonight I found this beautiful light fixture for my master-bedroom ceiling:


It comes with this disclaimer.

Attention California residents: This product contains lead, a chemical known to the state of California to cause cancer and birth defects or other reproductive harm.

Why are the cancerous effects of lead only known to the state of California? Does our state government exercise more caution about our health? Or are residents of California are more likely to lick the light fixture, ingesting the lead chemicals?

Comments from other buyers say the stained glass dampens the light, dimming the room. That could be depressing. Perhaps I will use higher-wattage bulbs than the recommendation.

Maybe that is the type of state-of-California thinking that leads to electrical fires and lead poisoning.

you gotta have your standards ... mine's H.264

Dan: "Yeah, wait until you're standing at a press conference next to your philandering man, with a tear in your eye."

Me: "I will NOT be standing next to him with a tear in my eye. I will wear sunglasses."

Dan: "Oh?"

Me: "No, actually I would be making a youtube video of me destroying all of his belongings."

Dan: [chuckling]

Me: "Now in higher definition."

Chinese parents need to stop forcing their kids to play the piano/violin

A few years ago, the news reported a spate of Chinese children cutting off their own pinky finger, so that their parents would stop forcing them to play the piano. These kids detested the piano, but their parents wouldn't listen, so they mutilated themselves as a desperate measure.

Today I will write about why it's bad to force your kids to play the piano over their continuous objections.

(This also applies to the violin or trombone or any musical instrument.)

I am not talking about the case where little Jimmy likes the piano and occasionally gets stuck, and his dad delivers a pep talk that gets Jimmy over the hump and back to happy-land. I'm also not talking about the case where the kid vacillates between liking and disliking the piano, and his mom encourages him to stick with it long enough to give it a fair chance.

I'm talking about the situation where a kid has played the piano long enough to know whether he likes it (let's say a year), and then consistently states his dislike of it, over the course of many months. In that case, the parent should let him quit. Alas, many do not. Many parents, especially Chinese ones, resort to years of threats, cajoling, bribery, shouting to force their child to continue.

This harms the child much more than the benefit he gets from playing the piano.

The merits of learning a musical instrument are oft repeated by the well-intentioned parent:
- learning discipline
- enjoyment later in life
- Mozart makes you smarter

Rarely have I heard anyone discuss the damage done by forcing the kid. I can state it in one sentence:


By thwarting the child's natural inclinations, day in and day out, you teach him to stifle his intuition.


There is a popular book Now, Discover Your Strengths, which is lauded amongst many Fortune 500 companies. Its premise is that people achieve maximum success (and enjoyment) by channeling their time into activities that they enjoy and excel at, and minimize time spent on tasks they dislike or struggle with.



As an example, let's say an executive loves coming up with new product strategy, and hates public speaking. Instead of getting a speaking coach to do hours of remedial training, the executive would focus his time on strategy and hire a representative to give talks on his behalf.

Of the people I've met over the years, the most successful ones followed this philosophy.

Another thing they do is follow their intuition. They trust their gut, and then learn from the outcome, which hones those instincts. Over a lifetime, their intuition becomes attuned to coming up with the next innovative idea, or the smartest strategy.

This is the very thing that takes a blow when the parent insists that the child ignore his passionate biases. It may be good for raising a drone -- a slightly smarter than average drone if we believe the Mozart effect. But if you want to foster creativity and that precious spark of innovation? Trust your kid to know their own mind.


When I was 13:

Me: "I want to quit the piano."

My mom: "No."

[many variations on this]

My mom: "When you grow up and become an adult, you'll thank me."

Me: "I will not."

...

I was right.