Good music, good friends, good times

What can I say? It was hot. It was crowded. It was dusty. It was hot. But I ate BBQ and Tex-Mex ’til my heart’s content. And I got to see so many of my friends. That’s what was important to me. Sure the band lineup was incredible but it was really just an excuse to make my way back into Austin to have some beer and laughs with the people I miss. I hadn’t realized how much I missed them until the date of my arrival came closer. New York and unemployment have a way of leaving very little time to be nostalgic. These people, my friends, are really why I’m here.

But the music that I did hear was pretty damn good. It was the first time that I was able to see all the biggies that I promised myself I was going to stop at nothing to see: Mates of State, Fiery Furnaces, Bloc Party, Franz Ferdinand, the Arcade Fire and Thievery Corporation. The Fiery Furnaces rocked. It was a testament to their ADD nature that none of the songs I recognized sounded anything like the album counterparts. Eleanor Friedberger is my new favorite rock girl. Sorry I missed Ambulance LTD, Asylum Street Spankers and Zap Mama. Martin Sexton and Rachel Yamagata were pleasant discoveries.

The group that surprised me the most was Thievery Corporation. I didn’t know if it was just going to be two guys standing at DJ tables and totally boring. But I have to say that it was quite possibly the best show in my three years of going to Austin City Limits Festivals. They had a live band, including a sitar player and different singers for EVERY song.

Like I said, good times. But considering how much I went through to get back here and the exhausting heat, this will probably be my last hike into Zilker for ACL.


The crowd.


Wow.


The Fiery Furnaces.


Friends at Dog & Duck


Davy as the angel (devil?) on my shoulder

Travelocity killed the cat

The Austin City Limits Festival has come and gone in a haze of dust and alcohol, and as my time in Austin was drawing near an end, my biggest anxiety of the trip began to loom closer: picking up Gina’s cat, Rex and getting him back to New York. Not only would it be tough to feed a cat a sedative for the plane, and then stuff him into a carrier, but Rex is a flighty animal by nature. Add that to his being used to the freedom of a backyard for a few months and it means an unpleasant experience for me.

It was decided long ago that it would be better for Rex to not come along as we made our week-long exodus to New York. He’d have to endure long car rides, various hotel rooms and however long we’d have to stay at a friend’s place until we found our own. Even then there’d be the unpacking and painting for him to deal with. No, it would be so much better for him to be put through just one day of torture rather than two months of it.

On the fretful day that my host, Chad graciously accompanies me to go pick up Rex from Gina’s mom, I’m well beyond any initial anxiety and moved into suppressed dread. I had already sought the advice of Gina, other pet owners and even the internet for some secret trick that would make feeding the pill to a feline a breeze. Oh, so you just tilt his head back until his mouth practically swings open, toss the pill down his throat, stroke his neck, blow on his nose, nothing to it!

So Chad and I venture into the garage where Rex is holed up. It’s my hope that he remembers me from living together for over a year and the fact that I fed and pet him everyday. Spotting him behind a tool box, I crouch down and start calling him to come over to me. My hopes are raised when he steps out and then my hopes are quickly dashed when he completely ignores me and starts breaking for the door that we just walked through.

The next thing I know, Chad and I are both wrestling the cat into submission. Chad, who I forgot was allergic to cats, was bravely leveraging his weight onto Rex to keep him in position, while I was holding Rex’s head in one hand and using my other hand to pinch a pill in my index and thumb and pry his mouth open with my middle finger. After fifteen minutes of him trashing and growling at me, Chad and I look at each other exasperated. I let out a long breath and hold up the pill to see if Chad wants to give it a shot. He lets out a weary laugh and says "No way!" which is probably a lot more polite than how I would’ve responded if our roles were reversed.

Somehow after more thrashing, more growling and much more cussing, I manage to catch Rex by surprise and he swallows the pill. After that battle, getting him into the carrier was no problem so Chad and I celebrate our triumph with a McDonald’s breakfast.

It was my hope that Rex would immediately conk out and I wouldn’t have to stress for the rest of the trip. No such luck, he’s still darting his head around and letting out periodic meows. I deduce that A. the kitty valium is taking longer to kick in. B. the kitty valium is weaker than expected. Or C. Rex was being sneaky and kept the pill in his mouth long enough to spit it out when Chad and I weren’t looking. I’m trying to be optimistic that it’s A, worried that it’s B and really hoping that it’s not C. But it can’t be C because we held him for a while, and I stroked his throat and he did the licking his nose thing when I do the blow on his nose thing and the cat has to swallow when I do that. Right?

Well, whatever it is, all I have to do is get him past the security check, past the boarding people and onto the plane and make it through unscathed. All the while, I try to be discrete that I have a live animal in a big bag. I actually get onto the plane but while waiting for the people in front to get their bags in place, a seated woman spots Rex and coos, "Awwww! Whatcha got there?" I chime "A kitty!" in a sickeningly sweet tone to try and get on at least one person’s good side in case Rex starts wailing in flight. The woman lets out another "Awww!" and then her jovial face plummets into a suspicious glare and asks "Is she sedated?"

The plane takes off and lands in Houston without any incident. But the connecting flight to LaGuardia is delayed 90 minutes. Normally I’d just be annoyed, but today I’m more worried about any extra time I’m having to keep the cat locked up in a cramped carrier with sedatives (that he may or may not have ingested) rapidly wearing off. So I sit in the farthest corner so not to draw attention to Rex but also to keep away from the human traffic as much as possible to keep Rex calm. This provides the perfect view to observe a 40 year old man in a suit pick his nose while reading his USA Today. I crinkle my face in response as he gets his index finger past the first knuckle. I glance towards the CNN on TV just in time for him to scan around to see if he’d been caught in the act. Out of the corner of my eye, I can see that he’s satisfied that he’s in the clear and inspects his finger for any boogers. I spend the rest of the delayed time trying to get a view of his boarding pass and praying that he doesn’t wind up next to me.

As we finally board, Rex is definitely more animated. He meows at any jostling so it’s my hope that his calls get drowned out by the aircraft engines. He’s faint, but anyone near me will clearly hear him. I keep my eye on the people sitting around me hoping they pull out iPods or headphones to watch Jennifer Lopez’s hilarious dilemma in "Monster-in-Law".

After two hours, and the start of our descent, Rex has had enough. He starts meowing continuously but we’re close enough to landing that I don’t care to apologize to anyone. I get into the terminal and it’s shocking how loud an airport is when you hear it with new ears. Aside from the jets taking off every few minutes and the dull roar of people in the background, an airport is disturbingly noisy. Luggage wheels rumble on the tile, carts with loose wheels rattle on the asphalt, baggage claim buzzers drone on, and then there’s this one child who finds a way of entertaining himself by throwing a tin can onto the tile to hear the loud clanging as it bounces and rolls around. This is irritating enough to people, but I just wondered how many times Rex recoiled in terror as the kid tossed the can again and again. We’re beyond restraining the child, the parents need to be locked up and beaten.

Now that I’m at LaGuardia, my next task is to get to the apartment in the East Village. My weariness is begging for a cab. But my responsible side is telling me that I just spend over $200 in the last three days and I don’t even have a job. So I trudge over to the shuttle bus waiting area. Twenty minutes pass and no shuttle. Meanwhile, cab after cab goes by, laughing, just laughing at me. A man in a uniform comes out and one of the waiting travelers asks if the shuttle is coming. He gives a not very reassuring "Oh, yeah. It’ll be here in five to ten minutes." I pass the next few minutes by studying to shuttle sign and notice that the shuttle stops running at 8 pm, which is in ten minutes. In my head I start calculating whether or not that means that it’ll make rounds while it’s still in mid-route and what my chances of being in mid-route are. Just then another man in a uniform walks up and asks "You all bought your tickets yet?" Everyone shakes their head. He asks everyone where they’re headed. I say "Grand Central", another asian says "Port Authority" and a guy who looks like Paul Walker from the "Fast and the Furious" says "LaGuardia". When confronted with the fact that he said "LaGuardia" he laughs and says "No wait, I meant Grand Central." The uniformed man tells us to follow him and we all do, thinking that this is another helpful attendant who found a shuttle. Instead, he leads us to an unmarked, large extended-cab van with a black guy in a bandana at the wheel.

Now I don’t think I’m being racist by pointing out that he was black, since the uniformed man was black and I didn’t mention that. It’s just that the situation was getting surreal and not a little bit sketchy. Paul Walker nervously asks "This goes to Grand Central?" The uniformed man replies "Yeah, it’s faster than the shuttle." Ding, that’s all we needed. We all climb in. The driver starts the engine and proceeds to pull out five feet and stops. The uniformed man hops out to wrangle up more suckers and we sit in the van which smells like my uncle’s car that he had in the 80’s. That stale dusty smell. The silence and stillness gives me time to look out and ponder this situation. I’m seriously ready to make a break for it by jumping out of the van. Then the actual shuttle picks up the people at the spot we were just standing at and drives off. Paul Walker and I exchange worried glances. The scene with Ving Rhames and Bruce Willis in "Pulp Fiction" all tied up pops into my head. I start hysterically wondering if we all just wandered into something strange and dangerous and hope there’s no gimp involved. I shake my head thinking "Nah, that’s crazy. Not in real life." But then I remember all the News of the Weird stories that I ever read over the years. Crazy shit still happens. I’m sure the farmer who blew off his brother’s nuts was thinking that nothing crazy would ever happen to him.

Another five minutes passes and the uniformed man comes back with another unfortunate soul. We start to move out of the parking area and I can’t decide whether or not to be ecstatic or really worried. We drive in the rain. Since I don’t know my way into Manhattan, I concentrate on timing the trip in order to calculate what cab fare would be for the next time I end up in this situation. Then Paul Walker leans toward the driver and asks "What way are you getting into Manhattan?" Everyone else in the van looks up sharply. The uniformed man is clearly annoyed and retorts "What way do you get into Manhattan? We’re going the fastest way." Rex lets out a faint whimper and I think "I feel you, buddy. I feel you."

We make our way onto the bridge and everyone is visibly relieved. The man in the rear row is on the phone and mentions that we’re about to make it to Grand Central. The asian guy looks around and asks "Grand what? I’m going to Port Authority." The driver replies "Yeah, Port Authority. Same thing." and lets out a sarcastic cackle.

We arrive at our destination and hop out as fast as possible. The asian looks confused, and starts arguing with the uniformed man. I suppose I should’ve helped the guy out. But I wasn’t even sure what train to take from where we were at, and Rex had at that point taken up to meowing again. The trains were out of the question for me and I take the luxury of a cab the rest of the way.

In the end, Rex makes it safely to our apartment and has adjusted much more quickly than we had hoped. It feels good to have him here. It makes the place feel more like home. But I’ll be damned if I ever get on a plane with a pet again.

imPlosion

What with the aftermath of Katrina and various forms of injustice and dilemmas around the world, this might seem petty but I’m pretty upset that my iPod decided to dump its memory and erase all 20 gigs of music I had collected over the years.

One night it was playing merrily along while Gina and I prepared dinner and then the next morning, nothing, notta, bubkis. You’re never aware how much a blank screen can make your stomach drop until it happens to you.

My initial reaction is that this is a pretty clear sign that I should catch up with today’s technology and get the new iPod Nano, which I must admit is damn beautiful. But then that pesky thing called reality peeks in and reminds me that I’m unemployed and I just moved to New York. Grrrr. I don’t know whether to curse my geeky yet expensive obsession or the lack of financial resources in which to sustain that obsession.

Now I must take a deep breathe and try to rebuild my musical mecca. I should take a minute to ponder how to do this smarter than last time which, while thorough, probably wasn’t the most effective way to go about it. Then again, if anyone wants to donate an mp3 here or there I won’t be so quick to turn you away.

Some Linkage Lovin’

To further assimilate myself into New York, there’s a new link on the right for Crackers United. I’ve finally met most of them and they’re not all assholes. :)

Some funny rants, good music offerings and happenings around the town. It makes me feel like I’m slacking on this blog and should go incorporated with some other asians. Asian World Domination Club reinstated!

Encroachment

One more piece is in place: we have an apartment in New York. Sure it was previously inhabited by heroin addicts (according to our colorful, verbose super, Eddie) and it’s pretty much infested with roaches, but it’s a place to call home.

Did I mention there were roaches? Okay, this is New York. Roaches are a fact of life. Still, why is this not a big deal to anyone else? People keep trying to get me to accept it. Similar to my move to Lubbock, when people kept telling me "Yes, it smells like cow shit, but you’ll get used to it." My response was why in the world would I want to get used to the smell of feces? If my sensory input is so kaput that I can’t discern the vile odors of manure then I’ve got bigger problems than Bessie down the road.

Alright, I grew up in suburbia. Roaches were around but they weren’t out of control in my house. So why do I have this inherent horror whenever I see one? I remember in seventh grade when I was watching TV late one night. I see a roach crawling under the TV stand. I don’t freak, but I am disturbed enough to grab a kleenex, kill it and flush it down the toilet. Turn off the TV, go to bed, forget it ever happened.

Next sighting, weeks later, another late night. I walk into the kitchen, flick the light on and there it is. A huge cockroach on the counter. It’s antennas wheeling around. I grab a sandal and inch close. Then the thing launches across the counter to the edge and dive bombs into the open trash container. That’s when I lose my shit. They look so vile, move so fast, and that scuttling sound when they move. Ugh, I’m squirming right now.

But what can you do in the city? Set a few roach traps, fog the shit out the place and pray those ultra-sound generators actually work.

The apartment has come leaps and bounds from my first impression. We painted the walls some pretty decent colors. Nevermind that we almost killed ourselves by standing on a janky stool. Our stuff is out of storage. (So long U-haul, and screw you!) We had Christian and paid some awesome Asian guys to help us move our boxes up the narrow, windy stairs. Think of doing squats on a stairmaster for three hours straight. The neighborhood is awesome. East Village is ripe for exploration.

Anyone know a good place for Dim Sum?

Feet don't fail me now

In-soles. When in New York, you are going to need some damn good in-soles. I can't believe the amount of walking I've done in this city. It's only seven miles, right? And I haven't even been anywhere near the north or south tips. But I think I've discovered my New York stride. I'm already brushing past tourists with a scowl on my face. Everyone knows that the bane of Wal-mart and grocery stores is the stragglers who take up the entire aisle. The thing is that's everywhere in New York. There's always someone in your way, whether it's a slow walker or a group who just has to walk side by side and block everyone's way. Seriously, I nearly pushed an 8 year old into the street because he was in my way.

Not that I'm jaded already or anything. I still love the streets and the subway. Not having a car or paying gas is great. I lost my 30-day MetroCard after only 7 days and called and got the rest reimbursed. Beat that Exxon! Why would you choose to sit in traffic over the trains? Okay, so the part where the weathered guy with B.O. pressed up against you isn't so fun, but nothing's perfect, right?

I can see why there's such intense love and pride for this city. But that's the thing, this place is made up of extremes. Walking the streets or traveling the subway, you can't help but notice the polarity in everything. For someone who strives for balance, it'll be interesting to see how well I get along with this place.

New Yokel (part II)

The exodus from Austin is over. I’m in New York. I learned that U-Haul is the devil and that every employee is disgruntled and incompetent. I also learned that New York is so overpopulated that its inhabitants decided to make it as hard as possible to get in. (See the Holland Tunnel. See also the Lincoln Tunnel.) I will say that I owned that U-Haul truck. All of a sudden, SUVs aren’t so menacing anymore. "What? You want to inch into my lane? Do I look afraid to scratch this U-Haul P.O.S.? Yeah that’s what I thought."

Even with a weekend of adjustment, it still feels like a vacation. I’m still gawking at the tall buildings and grinning at the characters on the street. Lest anyone think I’m a total tourist, I should note that I have yet to bust out any of my multiple cameras AND I was asked TWICE on the trains for directions. My reaction was a blank stare and a shrug, but that still counts.

The food so far has been awesome. Thanks to Lauren for being my guide and my gracious host. I’m sure this debt will be called in someday when she decides to move. And thanks to my buddy Chad for helping me get out of Austin. Ah friends, not just for drinking with!

Tomorrow starts a new chapter. I have a feeling that reality will set in. I have very little money and I need to find a job. Come on New York, gimme some of that lovin’.

U-Holla

Here I am blogging from Texarkana! The last goodbyes to coworkers, friends and family have been done. The frantic loading up of the U-Haul is completed (Many thanks Chad!). My biggest fears of having too much stuff to put into it were laid to rest (but just barely). And we’re one fourth of the way there.

A lot of pressure and stress has been lifted after the weekend but New York is still so far away that it still seems surreal to think that by the end of the week, I’ll be walking around in the city.

Everyone knows that U-Haul is the oldest and crappiest, but come on, not even a tape deck in the dash?? I was banking on being able to pop in a tape converter for my iPod to drown out the creaks and squeaks of the truck, but no luck.

Oh, and for anyone of you out on the road: If I’m in a 10ft U-Haul loaded to the brim with boxes and I can still pass your ass, you need to have your license revoked.

Miracle on Ice

After 301 days of no NHL hockey, the players association and the owners have finally settled their dispute over who gets to make more money.

Although the league is worried over whether or not it can win back the fans, and even though the season won’t start up again until October, I just have to say "Thank you, Jesus!"

I’m not a sports fanatic, but I like watching Sportscenter in bars, keeping up with Big 12 football, and watching hockey. Needless to say, this current drought has gone on long enough. It was enough to almost make me watch baseball... almost.

Good thing I had my football fix in the form of a 6 hour NCAA Xbox stint last night.

A Festivus for the Rest of Us

The schedule for this year’s Austin City Limits is finally online, so now I can have a whole two months to plan accordingly. At first glance, there appears to be no dire dilemmas suchs as the Gomez/Franz Ferdinand of yesteryear. The only one I see so far is Fiery Furnaces/Walkmen but that’s an easy choice for me. Blueberry Boats!

Although all of this seems pretty infinitesimal in relation to the attack in London yesterday. As with 9-11, it makes me wonder if, as a society and as an individual, what I devote my life and career to is really making the world a better place. Working for a non-profit education association may not be as creatively or intellectually stimulating as I’d aspire for, but it helps salve the soul somewhat. Fighting for education, or just making teachers feel better, is a just cause that makes me feel as if I’m doing something for the world.

I was always struck by a passage in Chuck Palahniuk’s Choke: "Someday I’d like to live a life based on doing good stuff instead of just not doing bad stuff." Okay, so that was amidst deplorable sexual acts and heinous scamming, but that just makes it more beautiful in contrast, right?

After wondering about how we can all still devote ourselves to celebrity magazines, video games and every other self-indulgent product out there, I realized that in some cheezy way, living our lives is a sort of resistance to the attacks of terrorism.

People obsessing over the latest performance on American Idol may not be the most virtuous form of fighting back, I’ll admit that. But yesterday’s London Underground bombing hasn’t deterred me from still planning to ditch my car and hop on a subway in New York. I think that counts for something. (Or maybe I’m just suicidally dense.)

I’m not sure how this War on Terror will play out, but while we still have the luxury of attending music festivals, planning obscenely elaborate weddings, or whatever we want to do, we just might pull through this.

...

I have no idea how this post dissolved into such a rant. Another case for my crippling, non-linear mental issues which were already touched upon in an earlier post.

Back on subject, although my wallet will be painfully light as it is, I hope the Fiery Furnaces find the time to play a full evening show at a venue around town. One hour shows are nice when bundled with a buffet of others, but I need something of a three-course meal here.

Austism

The countdown to New York is well underway so now the question is what to do with the time that remains in good ole’ Austin? Holiday on a boat on the lake with some beer? Check. Lazy afternoon on a tube on the Comal with some beer? Check. Uh... now what?

Showdown and Spiderhouse are definitely on the list of things that I will need to have one last go-around to. But other than that I can’t think of any pressing thing I need to do or visit before I’m gone. I’ve seen the Capital, been to 6th and 4th Street, seen the bats at dusk. Plus the lack of urgency to fill up on culture is negated by the fact that I’m going to freaking New York. Sure I’ll miss Din Ho, but I’ll have all of Chinatown. Shopping on South Congress? Uh... Soho, anyone? Once I find my Spiderhouse replacement, I’ll be good.

Hey, if I had nostalgia for Lubbock, I’m pretty sure I will miss my Austin days. But for now, I’m all about looking ahead to what lays in store for me in the City. And that’s a good thing.

Plus, I’ll be back for Austin City Limits festival. But for now, here’s my tentative Get Austin Outta My System list (and no comment on the frequency of beer-related ones):
1. Spiderhouse
2. Showdown
3. Alamo Drafthouse
4. Dog and Duck
5. Gingerman
6. Draught House
7. Uncommon Objects
8. Din Ho
9. Brown Bar
10. Tubing the Comal (once more couldn’t hurt)
11. Run Town Lake
12. Walk through Hyde Park
13. Dolce Vita
14. Crown and Anchor
15. Steak at Eddie V’s
16. Waterloo Records
17. Book People
18. Barton Springs
19. Hula Hut
20. Salt Lick
21. Chuy’s
22. El Chile
23. Drinks at Hotel San Jose

New Yokel

Four more weeks and I’ll be in the Big City. There’s much to fret over until then, but there’s also a lot to be excited about. I’ve been wanting to run off from my family’s safe bubble in Dallas ever since I graduated from high school. Lubbock, while a great experience, was not exactly the cosmopolitan mecca I was looking for. And Austin is a cool place but it seems a little too familiar. It was nice since I had friends, the atmosphere was laid-back and I had a decent job but it was too easy to get complacent and comfortable.

As I head off into this new adventure, I can’t help but wonder how I’ll adjust to New York. It’ll be a shift from the relaxed Austin atmosphere, and definitely a pendulum swing from the remote Lubbock. I know the first few weeks will be an amazing immersion into a new setting bursting with culture. Let’s just hope I’ll be kind of cool about it. Will I catch myself gawking at tall buildings? Will I have to pull out my subway map and subject myself to the annoyed stares of the passing crowds?

How will New Yorkers react to a Chinese Texan? If my cousins in California are any indication, there will be much explaining of how I never had a horse and I don’t wear a cowboy hat. And if anyone tries to imagine my life like the Jackie Chan "Shang-high Noon" movie, I may have to kill someone. But I’ll have faith that the citizens of New York are too highly cultured for those gross stereotypes. Besides, I survived the quizzical looks of everyone in Lubbock, I can survive this.

So four more weeks. No job, no place to live, no money. No worries, right?

iPudge

It’s finally happened. My once capacious 20 gB iPod has been reduced to a measly 36 mB. "20 gigabytes. How would I ever find a way to use up this much space?" I once wondered. I then set out on the task of transferring my entire CD catalog onto my new sonic vault. It faithfully absorbed everything I threw at it. My mangled mess of live Radiohead recordings, the Tricky album I listened to once, the entire Beatles collection- Anthologies and all. Gone were the days of my car passanger seat littered full of CDs. Now I have a small, svelte iPod to accompany me on road trips.

Why would anyone need 3700 songs (or 10.3 days) of music at his fingertips at any given time? Who knows what life or death situation might come up wherein I’ll need to produce my copy of Matthew Sweet’s Scooby-Doo cover? Maybe someday P.Diddy will call me up asking me to supply some kick-ass party music.

I think it’s more of a novelty thing. No one needs that amount of excess, but everyone is guilty of wanting it in some form. Some guys want every bit of horsepower they can stuff into their car, others horde tools they’ll never need. I have 20 gigs of music in my pocket. Not the most masculine form of indulgence, but hey, it takes up the least amount of space.

But a dilemma has come forth. How do I find more room in my bulging iPod? My pack-rat mentality is surfacing. I find myself having trouble letting go of songs I’ve listened to once. I need serious help. My poor little iPod. My once gaunt little guy is now obese because I can’t let go. Even now I’m trying to figure out how to stuff some new mp3s into it’s virtual beer-belly.

Apples to Oranges

The unthinkable has occured. Steve Jobs has announced that Apple will begin using Intel chips in its computers.

Many will wonder what this means. What’s the big deal? Well, first of all, the new hardware will be completely different in structure from all current Macs. That means all new software will have to be written for the new Intel-based Macs which means that the new software won’t run on any Mac that’s been put out so far. This leads to the conclusion that all current Macs will be obsolete by 2007. And since I bought a G4 powerbook only a year ago, I’m less than happy.

This migration should ultimately be good for Apple, but it sure screws consumers for the near future. IBM, Apple’s current chip provider, has been unable to come up with a chip cool enough to run in a laptop and has yet to break the 3 gHz mark (which was promised about 2 years ago). This has caused Apple to lag behind the competition, waiting for IBM to solve its issues. If not for the iPod, Apple probably wouldn’t be sitting too pretty right now. Good thing I didn’t wait around too long for a G5 powerbook to show up. But I’m wondering what people in the market for a new Mac soon, like Gina, are going to do until late 2006. What’s the incentive to buy a Mac that won’t even be able to run Apple software in a year or two?

Apple has just pushed everyone through a tough transition to a completely new OS and the final outcome has been great, but I’m not looking forward to another period like that any time soon. I was hoping to hold on to my computer for at least 5 years. It could be worse, my Mac could be a Dell... oh wait, it just might be in a few years.

Nuclear skies

NPR kicks off a series of examinations on nuclear proliferation with a story about the current status of the U.S. and what do to about its arsenal. The notion was brought up that there hasn’t been a lot of progress since the end of the Cold War. The U.S. still holds a sizeable stockpile that carries a lot of weight when dealing with other nations. As in poker, sometimes the size of your stack counts more than what cards you’re holding. (Sorry just watched Rounders the other night.)

The story casts some interesting perspectives on how and if the U.S. should disarm completely. The fact that the U.S. keeps a cache of nuclear weapons paradoxically keeps other countries from having to develop nuclear capabilities. Allies such as Japan have not needed to resort to investing in their own nuclear weapons because it relies on the protection of a nuclear United States. So what happens if we disarm as what most people think is best? Is it going to help with the gradual deduction of warheads in the world or just open the door for other countries to establish their own nuclear programs?

The U.S. is in a tough spot. It makes me wonder how effective our politicians and their diplomacy really are. Are we just viewed as bullies who others listen to just because they don’t want to get beat up? I’ve always felt that you get more by gaining people’s respect, not their fear. It’s seems that the U.S. keeps sliding out of the respect side and resorting to the fear side. So how do we reverse that trend?

Gomezmerized, part 2

There’s no hiding that I think Gomez are a great live band. As much as I love "Here Comes the Breeze" and "Revolutionary Kind" on their albums, the live versions are ten times better. I’ve been lucky enough to find several collections of live concerts and have built up a Phishead-like collection. So when Gomez were finally able to release an offical live album that would only be sold at their concerts I was glad the rest of society would be able to hear evidence of their awesomeness. Since I had a pretty robust collection that included the concert recorded for their official release, I was not spilling over with excitement. Of course I still bought it. You know, supporting the band, having the official album art, all that.

It’s funny, in this age of p2p, iTunes, mp3, whatnot, I buy CDs as much or more than I ever did.

I listened to the live album; it was good, not great, I’ve heard better. I was disappointed to discover that half of the disc skipped and it wasn’t my player. I ripped the songs onto mp3 and had no trouble with the digital versions. "Oh well, that sucks but I can live with it."

Then I discovered that this was a problem that several other people were experiencing. Someone on a Gomez message board offered to try and trade in the defective discs when she goes to the next concert. I thought I’d give it a shot, contacted the person and mailed it to her.

Two weeks later, I receive a large, flat package at work. I open it and out falls a new copy of the live CD, a note saying that the band hopes this one works okay, and vinyl version of their latest studio album signed by each member of the band!

I was floored by this act of random generosity! It helped ease the blow of finding out that my car needed another $200 in repairs. That nightmare continues. But it was a surreal experience in karma. Everything works out.

I could only convey my gratitude with an email of repetitive thank yous and an offer to donate my liver should she need one. But she brushed it off as no big deal.

There are good people in the world. And chances are, they’re also Gomez fans.

Picture time

Here are some photos off of my Holga camera from my birthday (the day that won’t ever quit apparently):


James and Courtney


Ingrid, Davy, Beth and Brian


Hero shot

I didn’t take these, but here are a few from Design Ranch:


The Dining Lodge


Wow


Screen printing with Decoder Ring


Uh... yeah

It’s official

I bought my ticket to an opening day showing of the last Star Wars movie, Revenge of the Sith, which felt akin to renewing my Certificate of Geekiness. What’s worse is that I’ve seen every one of the movies on opening day (if you count the re-release of the original trilogy). A few friends and I even skipped high school to go see the re-release of the Empire Strikes Back, so I guess that makes us some kind of thug-nerd hybrid.

What is it about these movies that makes all guys like them? I’ve never met a guy who didn’t enjoy Star Wars on some level. Of course there are varying degrees of fanaticism. Okay so my girlfriend found out that I downloaded the Clone Wars cartoons to get more back story which leads up to the last movie. Much ridiculing ensued.

But like anything in life, whenever you think you’ve taken something to the ultimate level, you can always find some other soul who one-ups you. Take for example, opening night of the re-release of the first Star Wars movie. People were dressed up as characters (from Luke to very obscure characters) and acting out parts of the movie while the audience sat and waited with toy lightsabers in hand. But the most frightening sight was that someone had actually come as the Death Star. Yeah, not a character in the movie but the big planet. This guy wore a black body suit with a giant grey sphere enveloping his head. He had also glued hundreds of little x-wings and tie fighters on his person, all flying towards his globular headpiece. My friends and I, instantly dropping down on the scale of nerdiness, could only react with a slack-jawed stare. I could insert about fifty Star Wars nerd stereotype jokes here but I think that this says it all.

It’s a humbling experience, which keeps it all in perspective for me whenever I think I’ve gone too far with my obsessions, be it Gomez, Apple Computers or whatever else. I can always feel better about myself by picture the Death Star guy.

And no, I am not dressing up for the premiere next Thursday.

I said God Damn!

Austin City Limits Festival 2005

Coldplay
Oasis
Allman Brothers
Wilco
Robert Randolph
Thievery Corporation
The Arcade Fire
Franz Ferdinand
The Walkmen
The Fiery Furnaces
Mates of freakin’ State

Even if you’re not a fan of the mainstream bands, that’s a pretty impressive lineup. I’m most excited about the last two. Although I think we’re getting spoiled in Austin. Last night:
Gina: You know what would make it perfect? If Beck were playing.
Steven: What? No Gomez?

Favorite band name on the list: The Massacoustics

丢失在转换

Being Chinese doesn’t wiegh too heavily on my mind most days. But the wide-eyed stares from people whenever I say something to my parents always manages to bring me back down to reality. I guess I can understand the spectacle of hearing someone you know reveal his ability to speak virtual gibberish to your ears with a few random hints dropped along the way such as "car insurance" or "tax refund".

This is when you discover how paranoid people really are. "Were you talking about me? You were weren’t you? You were telling your parents what an ass you think I am right?"

Another thing that reminds me of my Asianicity is whenever I spend extended amounts of time with my family, my inner monologue reverts from English back to Chinese. It’s a weird phenomenon that puzzles even me. Granted, I don’t have the most refined thought process. It’s never a clear-cut train of thought such as "Hey pick up that Coke on the table and drink it." Actually, I wonder sometimes if I have ADD. If anyone else out there hears a jumble of voices that speak in sentence fragments then let me know and we can compare notes. On good days I’ll think that it’s a sign of genius. On bad days I’ll think it’s a sign of mental illness. Does the inconsistent language usage support one theory or the other?

Part of me is ecstatic when I catch myself thinking in Chinese, as if it’s validation that I’m truly Chinese. It was somewhat encouraging to hear my dad admit that he’s started to dream in English. Of course it could also mean that mental illness is genetic.

I thought of an alternate title for those with no Simplified Chinese vieweing capabilities: Do Asians dream of Chinese sheep?