oakland pixar exhibit

the clusterfuck that is hollywood meets geek

I went to this red carpet event this week in LA... "Geek" Awards, or something. I don't really know how they define geek, but I found the whole Hollywood-meets-Geek trend to be quite amusing and disturbing. Take this "Geekiest Couple" award speech: she loves her Blackberry, iPhone, Twitter, and Facebook. I hoped that she was being sarcastic, but she really isn't. Congratulations - I'm glad that you can type in a text box and read a tiny screen, and I'm glad Facebook can satisfy you in ways that your husband can't. Those black plastic rimmed glasses are probably also fake.

Actresses are always apologizing for tweeting, saying that they are "such a geek" for doing it. Not to rain on anyone's parade, but merely knowing how to Twitter doesn't make you a geek. The challenging part about using Twitter or Facebook is the communications aspect of it: being able to integrate yourself into someone else's stream of social interaction, being able to help your customers, being able to bring yourself into someone's consideration set without seeming like spam, being perceived as genuine and friendly. No one ever says... "sorry, I'm communicating with people. I'm such a geek." 

It's hard to do social media well, a lot of people do it badly, and it's incredibly hard to scale these interactions effectively as your company grows, but I hate hate hate how it's associated with "geekdom" or "geekery." Seriously... who comes up with these terms?

This trendy geek movement needs to die. Like now.

the curious case of urban decadence and decay

Yeah bitches. I just made a really bad pop culture reference in the middle of LA.

So today I’m working, or writing (rather), from Beverly Hills. It’s bright and littered with an amalgamation of tourists, housewives, stylish people, and Chihuahua-in-handbag types. The concentration of sunglasses, expensive handbags, and chunky jewelry is extremely high around this part of town. I was wearing some ordinary sunglasses and felt incredibly out of place because I was also sporting an ever-so-stylish JanSport backpack (with two laptops in it). 

I searched Yelp for wifi, and all I got within a one-mile radius were The Coffee Bean, Peet’s, and Starbucks (you have to pay). Since I refuse to go to these places, I walked around asking random cute coffee shops if they had wifi, but none of them did. The wireless at Coupa Café, the go-to place in Palo Alto for reliable internet and mediocre food, was broken. When I told the waitress that there were no open networks, she was like “no one ever asks me for the wifi network name because it automatically connects. We go through Dish Network.” What is this “automatically connecting” business? Do people not work from coffee shops in this town? It’s so ubiquitous in the Bay Area that I just come to expect wifi everywhere I go. 

I finally ended up at this Italian place called Mr. Kicco Caffe, where a friendly old man gave me recommendations from the menu and the password to his wifi network! He lived upstairs, or something. I’m currently listening in on people's conversations, checking out girls in cute dresses / guys with greased hair, and watching the cars drive by on the pristinely clean streets. A group of girls are talking about how their arms are the "fattest they've ever seen," even though they are perfectly average. The owner of the coffee shop is way too friendly for this stressful, yet lackadaisical town. "We have this beautiful eggplant and portobello raviolli with...," trailing off as the girl interrupts him with "can I just get a simple salad with fat free dressing on the side?" I can see him a rustic, quaint cottage (that's actually a cozy bed and breakfast) with his loving yet slightly overbearing wife in the Italian countryside. Maybe LA will harden him.

A dark haired guy in a suit walks into the coffee shop. We lock eyes. It’s Jones New York, I think to myself, immediately inspecting his clothes; I can tell from the threads and the fit. His pants are also about a centimeter too short. Wait, why am I judging someone for wearing a badly tailored suit from Men’s Warehouse? I’m the one with chlorine-infused hair, a JanSport backpack, two laptops, an iPhone (plus charging cable), and multiple power cords stealing wifi from some guy’s apartment. Pretentiousness is contagious. 

Earlier today we went a little too far on the highway and accidentally ended up in South Central. Newbie mistake. There were abandoned buildings, houses with unkempt lawns, metal bars on everyone’s windows, and graffiti everywhere (and not the artistic kind). People were sitting around on their front porch drinking lemonade, hosting yard sales, and walking around aimlessly. During the day, the area is surprisingly serene with no sense of bustle or energy, restlessly anticipating nightfall. Like the still air before a tumultuous thunderstorm. 

The thing about LA is that places like these can be easily avoided. The locals simply don’t take a wrong turn and “end up” there, so they can pretend like places like these don’t exist and thrive in their bubble of hedonism. Even though I complain about having to walk through parts of the Tenderloin, Civic Center, Western Addition, or the Mission to get to certain parts of San Francisco (Pacific Heights, Nob Hill, Mission Dolores, etc), I feel that it keeps us grounded. It’s a constant reminder that there are still homeless people, broken households, faltering education systems, inadequate healthcare, and drug problems. It's like we're in this together, even though we live in different parts of town, because our paths are constantly crossing.

I say this, of course, as I’m sipping an ice blended coffee with black tea drink, listening to Italian opera, typing on a MacbookPro, wearing some Dolce & Gabbana glasses. 

that's sooo LA

People give LA a lot of flak for being “superficial.” The fake boobs, the fad diets, the Botox, the Gucci shoes, the gas guzzling Hummers, the “oh I totally know Joss Weldon’s cousin’s personal trainer’s sister’s roommate’s boyfriend’s friend!” They like to talk about whose stomach they've snorted lines of coke off of... or about that one time when they told a tabloid that they were wearing a dress from Ross on the red carpet... or about how they loooove Ross but their publicist makes them wear Marchesa. Oh poor thing. It’s all about “perception” and people have no “substance.” 

Do people in San Francisco really have that much more substance than people in LA? Instead of fake boobs and liposuction, you have flannel, beards, skinny jeans, piercings, tattoos, dyed hair, fixies, converted living spaces, fair trade organic coffee, and so forth. They say whatever bullshit about how they’re sooo postmodern, yet they live agonizingly mundane lives, doing things that most of the people around them do by default.

There are also the self-proclaimed hippies. The people who agonize over their yuppiedom and advocate for the masses, happiness, nature, and love, yet still sit around drinking their $5 coffee and run up real estate prices so that the real hippies have to move or become homeless. You know that crazy guy on the side of the street hopped up on some psychedelic drug singing Jimmy Hendrix? Yeah, he looooves you, but are you going to love him back?

No matter how unique and anti-society you think you are, you’re still influenced by culture and trends. You’re still going to strive to be perceived a certain way just to fit into whatever social group you identify with. You should just be aware of what you’re doing and stop hating on people who are trying to do the same thing. They may have a different set of ideals, but who are you to judge which set of ideals is better?

At least they are stimulating the economy; retail and entertainment are huge industries. What are you doing? Buying second hand? That GDP isn’t going to improve itself, and those cushy factory jobs in third world countries aren’t going to create themselves ;). I jest.

Oh but you know what I hate about LA? The prevalence of FLIP FLOPS. Please wear real shoes. Oh but the stilettos +++

honey and tea

So my dear friend, Tingting, is starting a desert catering business with her friend, Hany. They are a super cute and vivacious duo that makes amazing deserts! Some of my favorites are the macaroons, cheesecake pops, crème brûlée, and chocolate mousse with berries. I'm not that into cream or whipped cream, so that probably made me kind of prejudiced against the other deserts. 

They are for hire, so here's some more verbiage and contact info! You won't just get deserts - you'll get joy and heart along with it :)

disillusionment and drugs

As I sit here, my head feels slightly puffy, warm, and dizzy. The sides of my face hurt. Why? Why does it hurt? What’s going on with my face that would make the outsides of my face sore? Oh, it’s because I’m smiling… I need to stop smiling. I can’t stop. How can you curve the corners of you mouth down? I make the boy feel the corners of my mouth and the effects of my straining muscles. “I’m going to tell you something mean to make you not smile, dear.” I immediately frown and look dejected. No smiles. 

The old lady sitting next to us also sighs. “Kids, always so immature.” She was like a human, cat-less version of Grzabella, Memories, being all alone in the moonlight, smiling at the old days. Except bitter and less victimized. She ticks her tongue as she continues to knit her scarf, shaking her head at these youngsters. 

The bus jolts to a halt, and the passengers were taken aback by this sudden movement. They roll their heads back and forth, pausing at one side of the pendulum, swinging back to the other side without turning their heads around. It’s like they are going for a roller coaster ride along the curve of my lips, the swing of the grandfather clock. As their eyes roll to the back of their heads, there is a simultaneous bump to the back of their respective seats. 

“Fuck! You know how much a pain and liability this is?” the bus driver yells as he gets off and inspects the damages. He hit the traffic light pole in attempt to swerve away from an old man crossing street perpendicular to the bus route. A circle of people gathered around the traffic light pole to examine the damages. Some people are chattering on their cell phones. I hope that they are calling the ambulance or something like that, but diffusion of responsibility will probably prevent anyone from actually feeling like they need to make the call. 

The world must go on. Not being acclimated to the fact that the traffic lights were no longer operating correctly, the four sides crashed, clashing like two sets of cymbals being played almost simultaneously. Engines leaking gas, various people yelling at each other. More sirens, more onlookers, more diffusion of responsibility. 

Governmental figures coming to the scene, yet they are also in trouble, their funds cut off due to the irresponsible practices of their predecessors. They are caught in the budgetary process, needing funding yet being pressured not to raise taxes. Allocations are directed towards things that are urgent while long-term investments in our children are being sacrificed. 

I feel like my body is floating up higher, seeing more things. Multiple crashes, multiple burglaries, multiple crime scenes. Why can we only visually identify the unfortunate things in the world? When someone does something good, it’s not displayed the way bad things are. How do you see when someone finds the cure for cancer, if someone has an encouraging discussion with someone who has been abused by her husband, or if someone feeds a child? The surface of the earth is covered by the scars and remnants of strife, crime, and heartache. 

Of course you can see beautiful things on the earth too: what nature built, the art and architecture humans have created, the still waters., and the energy of civilization. It’s like a life within a life within a life. A human within a couple within some surrounding observers, within a bus full of people within a street corner within the other people on the road, within the state of California, within a nation, within connected countries, within civilization. Coming together, washing over each other, bouncing off each other, heading in different directions but feeling the vibrations of neighboring life forms reverberating into their respective paths.  

A system of life within life, trauma within circles of trauma, stressful energy within stressful energy. This is all amplifying, filling up the earth, making it explode with all those pent up dark clouds. The pressure points are originating from those points where traumatic events were born. Even a small collision with a traffic light can have a huge impact on many people. 

The boy and I are just a speck of nothing. I guess this is why people take drugs - to feel lighter, warmer, and puffier. It’s like you’re transcending Earth to go into some other layer of atmospheric pressure level, looking at the world as if you were big and IT were the spec. Not you. Higher, higher, goodbye forever. 

Disclaimer: This piece was written during my first time smoking and is unedited. Random parts of it were influenced by music the boy was playing.

talking about weird sexual kinks on the commute

A loose transcription (I forgot how this came up):

me: You know, necrophilia is not that bad. It's not like the worst sexual deviation.... 

C: What?

me: Well, it's not like child molestation or rape. It's not like you're actually hurting anyone.

C: Um the dead person's family? 

me: I guess, but the dead person doesn't actually know what's going on.

C: It's not sanitary, and you could get diseases. 

me: Yeah, but if you used a fresh corpse, it wouldn't be that bad. Anyway, I'm sure you can preserve it and sanitize it in a lab or something... like with Saran wrap, and of course you'd use a condom. 

C: .... 

me: Have you ever gotten your face pooped on? That's more unsanitary.

C: Yeah, that is.

me: Would you try it? *puppy dog eyes*

C: Maybe once, then not after that. 

This is how it all starts. First you plant the seed for coprophilia, saying how it's gross and that you wouldn't do it, but there are worse things you can do. Next time you bring it up, you can say that it's not wrong because it's not actually hurting anyone, and there are steps you can take to make it more sanitary. Saran wrap over the face, for the win!

Actually, that's probably a very bad idea for the same reason why your mother told you not to put plastic shopping bags over your head as a child. As a child, I had a penchant for putting plastic bags over my head to see what it felt like to be a cafeteria lady... and to have flouncy, airy "hair." I think there was also a label warning against suffocation, but I had enough faith in their manufacturing ineptitude to conclude that there was probably a hole in there somewhere. After all, parents are always complaining about holes in plastic shopping bags when using them as trash bags. Where's six sigma when you need it?

Then there's the... "hmmm maybe we should try it because we like to do things that aren't vanilla." In this case, think of a soft serve dispenser with chocolate flavored froyo. "What? Are you afraid? Why aren't you game to try new things?" Then you can always resort to: "I thought you liked me unconditionally." The keys to convincing people to do things: comparing them to things that are worse, using wildly ridiculous imagery, appealing to their sense of open-mindedness, and scoffing at their lack of manliness. 

Next thing you know, you're lying in bed with a defective plastic shopping bag on your face, getting shat on. Consent is a beautiful thing.

Um disclaimer: The biggest issue I have against necrophilia is the issue of consent. Of course you should respect people's wishes for how they want to be treated, even after they're dead. Also, I'm not a necrophiliac... nor am I a coprophiliac. I wonder what the demand is for freshly sanitized corpses, though... and defective plastic bags.

everyone is beautiful and adorable

As I walked down Mission Street today, where there are a number of presumably shady characters, I smiled and made eye contact with pretty much everyone. This could sound potentially creepy, but I like staring into people’s eyes… wondering where they came from, what they want most, and what their lives are like. After getting several uncomfortable nods, averted gazes, polite smiles, and lingering stares, I have come to the conclusion that everyone must be adorable and wonderful in some way.

Looking around this minimalist, bright coffee shop in the middle of the chaotic city, there is…

A balding guy with a full beard and mustache wearing a gray shirt, blue jeans, and red suede shoes. It’s like he’s trying to hold onto his last semblance of hair by growing out an unruly beard. He’s typing away at his Dell computer, the same one I got before I went to college, with such fervent concentration. He’s typing loudly, with purpose and twitching his mouth quite dramatically in an attempt to ponder about… something. Cute.

A woman drinking a cappuccino, reading something on her laptop, wearing horrible brown loafers paired with black sweats. Yes, a black hoodie, socks, and sweatpants… with brown leather shoes. Though she is dressed somewhat atrociously, she kind of looks like a ninja and is pointing her toes up and down (in the ballet sense) in sync with the bluegrass music playing in the background. Maybe she’s a dancer. 

A gentleman in his forties wearing a golden suit jacket, a taupe vest, a gray undershirt, blue jeans, and black shoes. His hair is curly / unruly and he’s wearing a set of shades on the top of his head. Since he’s too tall for the table, he slants his legs to the right and slouches uncomfortably. He’s reading a book called Electrons and checking his iPhone sporadically. Nodding his head along with the music and occasionally staring off into the distance, his sense of leisure and carelessness is almost infective. Delightful. 

A hippie dude with sweet, long dreads tied in a pony tail. He's carrying a messenger bag and a red cooler with some mysterious substance in it. He's wearing converse shoes and a red striped dress shirt. Like everyone else, he's bending his knees as he orders his coffee to the beat of the bluegrass music that links all these people together. He swings his hair as he walks and wears his shades indoors, which is kind of a fashion faux paus, but he pulls it off. With swagger. 

A French family of tourists that is wearing matching clothes. Gosh, I hope they did this inadvertently. The husband and wife are both wearing red-orange shirts and khaki pants. Their hair is also similarly disorderly - his is like that of a mad scientist, hers is like Carrie Bradshaw's hair, and their son's is like a somewhat more masculine version of his mother's hair. It seems that they are doing obligatory postcard writing duties to people from back in France. It's like they live in a land with no iPhones and where stamps are actually readily available... I've forgotten. The father is dictating as the son writes. Don't they have voice to text for these purposes? Adorable.

A German with his meticulously prepared ergonomic laptop set-up. Since his lady friend wants to look something up, he teaches her how to use the special mouse and divided keyboard as he sits back to read the Economist even though he has work to do. How chivalrous.

This place is filling up, and I really need to write about something else, stop staring at people, and be productive… so peace out. Happy sunny weekend from the Mission! 

 

justice has cold fingers

I have come to the conclusion that our justice system is a cold one. A series of blocked phone calls, numbers that you can’t call back, scrutiny over every word you say, deconstruction of multiple meanings behind colloquial phrases, confirmation on what you said to other people before, questions asked multiple times in different forms, classic pressure techniques. They ask you again and again to delineate suppressed memories, tell tales that you’ve long forgotten, and relive horrible situations.

You are expected to face the antagonist, the person who haunts your nightmares and whose face you see reflected in the broken glass of abandoned buildings as you’re walking home at night, without any assurance or comforting eye contact. A faceless knight is supposed to fight for your honor and last strands of dignity. All you get are detached, oddly stilted voicemails from blocked numbers or messages from secretaries. Everything is so formal, so distant.

They don’t make anything easy for you. You end up with delinquent bills because they take so long to process their paperwork and sequestered belongings that take forever to get back, yet they expect you to adhere to their whims at their beck and call. It’s like people are pulling on you from multiple fronts, your body wrought into a hapless thin line. No room for ill-fated plans like blitzkrieg. They hold all the strings - immobilizing you, making all decisions for you, leaving you helpless and afraid to say anything that might be controversial.

I wish the system were less mechanical and more human, but I realize that people who work for the system must distance themselves somehow. It's sad when you're used to tragedy... when it becomes part of your daily grind. The world is lonely enough.

Fuck, I’ve been listening to too much Phillip Glass.

 

my shout out to flipboard

Not just because I know some people who work there... but because I tested it, kept it hush hush for so long, and think it's oh so pretty. We even brought them Blue Bottle and Tartine as fuel for their challenging launch!

On why it's innovating and game-changing (via Quora)

Currently, most social media content is presented in a stream: Twitter, Tumblr Dashboard, FriendFeed, Facebook News Feed, RSS, Quora, and so forth. Many of the innovations have been incremental and involve concepts like aggregation, real-time, filtering, endless scroll, and so forth. 

Flipboard provides an entirely new experience. It feels like a completely different genre of product. Instead of scrolling down, you read it like a magazine. Instead of seeing some random bit.ly link, you can see a snippet of the content and decide whether or not to engage with it. Instead of linking to Safari or another web browser (where the formatting might not be optimal for a mobile browser or where there might be ugly ads), everything is re-formatted and contained within one slick, continuous experience. 
  
I feel like the majority of the social media iPhone and iPad apps are kind of extensions of websites and don’t fully take advantage of what you can do with a multi-touch interface. Flipboard is much more interactive. It’s a bridge between social media content and the traditional media experience. People who are used to flipping through magazines but aren't necessarily web savvy will find it familiar, palatable, intuitive, and pleasurable to use. 

Flipboard embodies how the iPad was meant to be used.