Month: June 2017

I showed up seven days early to an event for the San Francisco Design Week. I didn’t realize it until I was at the front door. Come by next week! they said. We’ll have beer! Six designers — all beautiful and beautifully dressed — escorted me down the elevator. One had a skateboard.

Driving to San Francisco from San José is a trek of its own, and I figured I’d make the most out of the occasion. (That’s the polite way of saying I sat in traffic for two hours to get here so I damn well better enjoy myself).

I bought a hot dog from a hot dog booth (Polish sausage with sauerkraut, five bucks) and wandered around like I usually do in an unfamiliar city.

Somewhere along 24th Street in San Francisco’s Mission District:

I had a coffee meeting in fifteen minutes and figured that squirming from holding my bladder in wouldn’t be a professional look. So off I went on a hunt for a bathroom in the city. I ducked into a McDonalds, the first one I found that didn’t have a keycode or padlock.

I open the bathroom door and the first person I see is a man eating a chicken burger. No extra fuss or pomp, just a dude enjoying a meal while in line for the urinal. Out of all the places in the city, why would he choose to eat there? The line is short, the tables outside are empty, and there is no public shame in eating a chicken burger. (Peter Singer may say something differently about the morality of eating meat in general, but that’s another issue.)

I could rack my head for potential stories and plot twists, but sometimes the simplest explanation is the truth — the guy was just hungry.

I’m a part-time busboy in a dumpling house and these are the dumpling house rules. Luckily I don’t mind cheesing it up. Sometimes I feel like Wallace from Wallace and Gromit, where my mouth becomes bigger than my whole face — it’s a goofy feeling. (“You gotta smile with your eyes, too!” the manager says). Surely you’ve felt the same way at least once: smiling not necessarily because you are thinking or feeling hooray! but because you’ve been caught in an absurd situation where you can’t help but laugh at it all.

I’m trying to imagine the same restaurant policy in the Netherlands. Outside of the fanciest restaurants, would this policy even pass there? Even the cheeriest Dutchies I know would roll their eyes and laugh it off. What Americans perceive as good customer service (i.e. big smile, hey how you doin’?), the Dutch often perceive as fake and disingenuous. Showing a detached demeanor in a restaurant service role is a way of living up to egalitarian values. Showing an eagerness to please no matter what (i.e. “the customer is always right”) is not.

A memory from Utrecht: the owners of the Douwe Egberts coffeeshop at Janskerkhof had a lot to say about the waiters at Denny’s (the 24-hour American diner chain) when they visited the United States. Too “friendly”! (You could almost hear the quotation marks). Too fake! I know they want tips! The owners would say “how are you” in a nasal American accent and raise the pitch of their voice. Nothing could be done to ease their eternal suspicion of those waiters. I thought it was hilarious.

As for me: I’m a sucker for everyday theatrics, and it doesn’t bother me to suspend disbelief for a moment. Isn’t that how magic shows and fantasy books work?

On another note: Peter Sallis, the voice actor for Wallace in "Wallace & Gromit" passed away earlier this week. The New York Times wrote a touching tribute.

Two memories:

1. Freshman year, on a dorm camping trip near the Cuyamaca Mountains. My roommate Ryan Petroff and I sneak off in the moonlight to lollygag around the forest. He grew up in the mountains in Alabama, so I just followed him around and trusted his intuition. “Listen,” he said. We stood near a pond and eavesdropped on the frogs’ conversation, before returning to whatever it is that 18-year-old lads worry about. Perhaps the young frogs were discussing the same things.

~

2. My last year in San Diego, near Glider Port where the cliffs are giant, the sunset views are spectacular (and the parking is free). Sometimes Colleen would give me a ride there after work. If there was rain the day before, she’d make it a point to stop the car and roll down the windows. “Listen,” she said.

~

Anyways, now I make it a point to listen to the frogs wherever I go.

I went to the book festival in Berkeley today. Independent booksellers, writers, poets, artists, publishers — anything and anybody remotely related to paper and print was there. Someone dedicated an entire book and booth to her adventures in eating ice cream around the world. (I asked her why and she said it’s a better way of tasting local ingredients). There was even a tea station with flavors like War and Peach and Oliver Lemon Twist. 

I came for the books but I got happily distracted by the stationery, too. Risa the letterpress printer (Papa Llama) makes a variety of fun greeting cards for “smart-asses, sassy-pants, goof-balls, and introverts” with the help of her 3000+ lb. letterpress machine Barbara.

I don’t know why I enjoy cards like “WOW YOU’RE OLD” and “CONGRATULATIONS ON YOUR 2ND MARRIAGE!” so much, but I do. I’ll save them for a rainy day.

~

Books I brought home:

• Kafka on the Shore by Haruki Murakami
• On the Move by Oliver Sacks
• At the Existentialist Café: Freedom, Being, and Apricot Cocktails by Sarah Bakewell

 

Some of my earliest memories are in the Berryessa Public Library. I’d go there with the family as a wee child and then alone as a teenager and adult. It wasn’t until adulthood that I would start sneaking in Slurpees into the library from the neighboring 7-Eleven. Usually something blue. I’d poke around the bookshelves and study desks as if nothing happened.

Open drinks feel taboo in libraries, but I’d rationalize it by telling myself that I’d be extra quiet with the slurping noises when I’m drinking out of a straw. It’s a library after all.

But those days are over:

I wonder what made the librarians snap. I’m surprised it took this long. Sticky drinks don’t mix too well with paperback books and plastic keyboards, and it’s not like Slurpees and bubble teas are a recent invention.

~

Mom and Colleen (and her mom) say I shouldn’t be drinking so much high fructose corn syrup anyway. Ho-hum.

I was buzzing around Facebook feeling sorry for myself when a photo of a dear friend popped up. There she is with a big smile, along with her fellow swing dancers. Looking good! (And lovely dress!) I can’t comment on whatever’s going on inside each person’s head, but I think it’s fair to imagine they are enjoying themselves and each other. Hard to ask for more when you’re talking about a night of swing dancing.

That was enough to shake me out of my morning funk and go for a run around the park. Seeing friends enjoying the life they’ve built makes me want to double my effort in shaping the kind of life I want for myself.

Placing one foot in front of the other on its own may not answer the question: “how do I want to live?”, but it’s a start. At least I’ll be healthier and have firmer cheeks.

And perhaps I can try swing dancing another time.