A Guy's Moleskine Notebook

It's Official...I'm Moving...

2007-01-04T17:00:00.000-08:00

to WordPress. While I'm still working on the finishing touch on the new site, like categorizing all the archived posts, updating the blogroll, transferring all the Flickr pictures, and reorganizing the book reviews, the blog has pretty much moved into the new home at

http://mattviews.wordpress.com

effective immediately. All new posts will be in the new site. Please make sure you change your blogroll or links because I don't want to lose anyone! The brand new site is exciting with wonderful features that are not available in Blogger. The biggest improvement is the categories (Books, Music, Movie, Travel, Gay Life, Friends...) under which individual post is filed. Also you will now find the Moleskine Notebook Book Reviews at the very top of the site under the header.

Hope to see you at my new home! Bear with me the dust and construction. I'll keep on updating and touching up the new site. Let me a comment or two to let me know what you think. Cheers!

Technical Difficulty

2007-01-03T05:45:00.000-08:00

Thanks to Joshua who has pointed out that the new beta Blogger cannot be imported into WordPress. I almost did the switch although Blogger says, one reason or another, my account is not ready for the new version. Anyway, I'm moving to WordPress until I've got the nuts and bolts straight--backing up files, categorizing posts, picking a 3-column template...

I have yet to start posting at the new address. I have registered an account with WordPress (same login id); but, until I have sorted out all the technical details to incorporate my 3-column blog into the WordPress template, I'll still be posting here. Cheers.

Moving to WordPress?

2007-01-01T16:00:00.000-08:00

Some fellow bloggers have moved to WordPress for a refreshing new look, but on top of that, to kiss Blogger glitches goodbye. I'm weighing my options here and consider moving to either WordPress or TypePad, which charges at least $4.95 for a basic membership. Things to consider:

import the entire content of my current blog to the new site
varieties of templates, as you can see, I prefer a 3-column format
comments moderation

WordPress looks appealing since it allows user to categorize posts. I'm keeping my fingers crossed. Also I've got to get on the header for the blog. So much to do and this is only the first day of new year!

The Year in Review: Books

2006-12-31T06:47:00.000-08:00

I'm reading E. M. Forster's Maurice, which most likely will conclude the year of 2006 in reading. Since I started this blog back on Janurary 18 this year, a sense of responsibility, which inevitably takes up more of my time and effort, has imbued in me. The immediate effect is that I have read less. But when I looked back on the readings I have done this year, I realize reading less does not necessarily make me less bookish of a reader, who has evolved to become more serious, and cultivate a more eclectic taste. I still read more non-living than living authors, more Penguin classics than airport novels. Here is the year of 2006 in review:

1. Jan 01-Jan 08 The Civilization of Angkor by Charles Higham (NF)
2. Jan 10-Jan 19 Literary Theory by Terry Eagleton (NF) (not finished)
3. Jan 22-Jan 28 Mr Muo's Travelling Couch by Dai Sijin (F)
4. Jan 30-Feb 07 What The Bible Really Says About Homosexuality by Daniel A. Helminiak (NF)
5. Feb 08-Feb 15 The Atonement by Ian McEwan (F)
6. Feb 17-Feb 24 The Spell by Alan Hollinghurst (F)
7. Feb 25-Mar 05 The Egyptologist by Arthur Philips (F)
8. Mar 07-Mar 09 Giovanni's Room by James Baldwin (F)
9. Mar 14-Mar 22 To Kill A Mockingbird by Harper Lee (F) (re-read)
10. Mar 23-Apr 04 Tell Me How Long The Train's Been Gone by James Baldwin (F)
11. Apr 05-Apr 18 Covering: The Hidden Assault of Cicil Rights by Kenji Yoshino (NF)
12. Apr 19-May 03 The Trouble with Normal: Sex, Politics and Ethics of Queer Life by Michael Warner (NF)
13. May 04-May 16 Virtually Normal: An Argument about Homosexuality by Andrew Sullivan (NF)
14. May 17-May 30 The Wings of the Dove by Henry James (F)
15. Jun 01-Jun 07 The Mysterious Flame of Queen Loana by Umberto Eco (F)
16. Jun 07-Jun 12 The Da Vinci Code by Dan Brown (F)
17. Jun 13-Jun 21 The Pillars of Earth by Ken Follett (F)
18. Jun 30-Jul 25 War and Peace by Leo Tolstoy (F) (re-read)
19. Jul 26-Aug 01 Alec Baldwin Doesn't Love Me by Michael Thomas Ford (NF, Essays)
20. Aug 02-Aug 10 The Fortress of Solitude by Jonathan Lethem (F)
21. Aug 14-Aug 22 The Dante Club by Matthew Pearl (F)
22. Aug 24-Aug 30 White Teeth by Zadie Smith (F)
23. Aug 31-Sep 05 The Double by Jose Saramago (F)
24. Sep 05-Sep 15 In September, The Light Changes by Andrew Holleran (F, SS)
25. Sep 18-Sep 24 Dancer from the Dance by Andrew Holleran (F)
26. Sep 25-Oct 09 Reading Like a Writer by Francine Prose (NF, writing)
27. Oct 10-Nov 03 The Marquise of O- and Other Stories by Heinrich von Kleist (F, SS)
28. Nov 05-Nov 20 Arthur and George by Julian Barnes (F)
29. Nov 24-Nov 29 Runaway (Short Stories) by Alice Munro (F, SS)
30. Nov 30-Dec 05 Little Children by Tom Perrotta (F)
31. Dec 07-Dec 30 Stories by Anton Chekov (F, SS)
32. Dec 13-Dec 18 The Painted Veil by W. Somerset Maugham (F)
33. Dec 19-Dec 25 The Razor's Edge by W. Somerset Maugham (F)
34. Dec 25-Dec 31 Maurice by E. M. Forster (F)

The titles in boldface are my top 10 picks for the year. In-depth reviews of all the above can be found in this blog. Click over to the sidebar on the left should you're interested. Out of 34 books read this year, 6 are nonfiction and 28 fiction. The breakdown:

Non-fiction: 6
Fiction: 28
Re-read: 2
Gay-related titles: 11
Number of journal pages: 147

Happy New Year!

A Few Light Fares to Complement the 50 Things

2006-12-29T17:53:00.000-08:00

I consider myself a little weird and picky...but...

You Are 90% Weird

You're more than quirky, you're downright strange.
But you're also strangely compelling, like a cult leader.

How Weird Are You?

Friends make up part of my life. They have modled and pruned me.

You Are A Good Friend

You're always willing to listen
Or lend a shoulder to cry on
You're there through thick and thin
Many people consider you their "best friend"!

What Kind of Friend Are You?

And this one really hits home...

How You Are In Love

You take a while to fall in love with someone. Trust takes time.

You give completely and unconditionally in relationships.

You tend to get very attached when you're with someone. You want to see your love all the time.

You love your partner unconditionally and don't try to make them change.

You stay in love for a long time, even if you aren't loved back. When you fall, you fall hard.

How Are You In Love?

Happy New Year!

Now To The Round of New Year...

2006-12-27T06:24:00.000-08:00

Another Christmas had come and gone. Now to the round of New Year's festivities that will cut down some of the food indulgence! This time of the year is usually full of merrymaking, giving and receiving, as well as surprises. Santa has really been good to me this year. When I finally got to unwrap all the gifts--the holiday mysteries under pleasant disguises of wrapping papers--late Christmas night, I found:

a black Armani Exchange embroidered/woven shirt
a newspaper boy's cammello hat
a copy of Kafka's Soup: A Complete History of World Literature in 14 Recipes
a couple of Illuminations aromatherapy candles
a pair of AussieBum nylon rower midcut swim trunk (If you doubt yourself, wear something else. So true!!! LOL)
a Gap athletic-cut t-shirt
a Club Monaco V-neck wool striped sweater
an Abercrombie & Fitch gift card
a copy of Gay Life & Culture: A World History
a Hugo Boss mesh (oh my god) close-fit sweater
two pounds of La Colombe coffee, Nizza
a Joseph & Lyman cashmere sweater

I'm so grateful although I have to say thank god no more gifts which I have to return or exchange at the store. Gone are also books that would be disgrace the library collection and that frighten me out of my wits! Just kidding. The best part of the holiday is to be ensconced with family and friends, in thier company, sharing, and conversations.

[62] Little Children - Tom Perrotta

2006-12-26T07:01:00.000-08:00

Light reading fare for Christmas. I saw the movie with Matty a while ago and so this movie tie-in would be somewhat interesting to read. After all, it's not too bad of reading.

Talk about dysfunctional families and their drama. Set in a quiet suburb where nothing ever seems to happen in a way we think well-to-do upper middle class families have any issues, (WRONG!!!) Little Children brings forth inner-workings of what becomes a roaming crisis. Sarah, mother of a three-year-old, is a relapsed feminist, an ex-gender studies graduate student aborting her PhD who studies the behavior (which she concludes monotonous and boring) of suburban women. Their stroller rut at the park, which consists of playing, snacking, and strictly adhering to the offerings' timetable (which they deem conducive to the kids' being admitted to Ivy-League schools)was pleasantly interrupted by the surprised return of Todd, a stay-home dad whose dark feature, cropped blond hair, and jock physique have captured the hearts of the moms.

No sooner have the thirty-something parents met did they hit it off. At least they have one thing in common: Unhappy (unfulfilling?) marriages. Sarah's husband has become more and more involved with his fantasy life on the internet than with his family. His indifference toward her engenders in her a sudden and desperate desire to visit the town pool, where she knows Todd would take his so on a clammy afternoon, as the cloud looms low, promising rain but not delivering. Todd, despite his being married to a fine woman with a svelte body, brooded over his failing to pass the bar exam. His problems are more intrinsic, springing from his troubled ego, salt-and-peppered by wounded vanity. Piqued at his uncertain career, he realizes something must be wrong with his being, as if he had sleepwalked through life to realize he cannot possibly be happy with any of the choices that the world offer him.

Maybe Todd's wife, an aspiring documentary filmmaker, has incurred on him that he must feel to live up to a vision of himself that had never really been his own. But satirically who is this novel is NOT wearing a mask, hiding behind his/her true self? While the residents of the quiet suburban town wrangle out of their wits with these emerging dramas, sexual fling, unhappiness over wrong marriages, a ex-convict of child molestation returns to the community to live with his mother. How ironic and satirical that the one person who has nothing to hide, whom everyone in town shirks and scorns, in somewhat a positive way, helps these lost folks come to their own senses about who they are.

Merry Christmas!

2006-12-25T07:00:00.000-08:00

Wishing all of you and your family, loved ones peace, joy, and happiness during this holiday seasons, and a very prosperous new year. The picture, which has remained one of my favorite of any Christmas trees, was taken at the Festive Walk in Hong Kong a couple years ago. It might be somewhat difficult to see but the trimmings were all crystals.

I had to do some last-minute Christmas shopping but I managed to had a mahjong game, which I know has absolutely nothing to do with Jesus and Christmas (but hey it's a holiday...) with my cousins last night.

Not only that this Christmas is the first one in 6 years that I celebrate in San Francisco, it also marks some very special time for myself and my friends. I'm very thankful for all the people in my life. Despite some of the disheartening episodes, has marked some special brushes in life. On Thursday night, Ken and I had our Christmas dinner at Slow Club. He has enriched my life since he made the entrance back in October, right before I left for Asia. We have slowly got to know each other and I can only look forward to the future.

I'm grateful for Bill D, who is now spending Christmas with his family in Ohio. He has been more than a friend--a mentor, someone who watches over my academic well-being, who listens to my struggle, who mitigates my relationship woes and who always comes into succor with sound advice. We don't get to see each other much but have maintained that inexplicable bond bewteen friends who have stuck out through thick and thin.

My best friend Fernando: I'm so excited that you and Maria have a second baby--Julian. Thank you for always being so supportive to what I do. You surely have pruned me, through your eyes to the world, your own experience, which is completely distant to my own background, and made me a better person.

My college buddy and rommmate Weizhu: Thank you for always letting me to tag along and being the third wheel to you and Patty. I'm so excited you finally tied the knot this year. I'm lookinf forward to spending time with you guys.

My very good friend Estrella: Thank you for always being so thoughtful and kind to me. I appreciate your creativity and your helping to reconstruct some of my clothing. I wish you, Deniis, and your family peace, happiness, and joy in this holiday season. We need to hang out and go eat until the stomach bursts okay? Neecha or Slow Club, you pick!

My partner in crime and good friend Tony L (who doesn't really read my blog no more): We have really come a long way. Thank you for always being there listening to me whine and gibberish.

My good friend Stepehn, who should be on the way somewhere at 35,000 feet to Bangkok: Thank you for all always cooking for me--all the delicious pastas, grilled chicken and salads. You've always been a mentor to me in both my writing and in coping with life.

Thank you all the bloggers who have stuffed my mailbox with holiday greetings. Thank you Robert for being so thoughtful in sending a Christmas CD. It's been a pleasure to have met all of you, especially Greg, Danielle (who inspires a lot of my current reading), Iliana, Jef, Kalvin (one with some of the most thought-provoking posts), Tony (glad I brush shoulder with his brushstrokes), and our very own, local Matty (thanks for your Christmas e-mail), and all the hunks at Gay Men Rule, especially Joshua, you rule!

I know there is no way I can list everybody--but to all of you, wherever you are, be well and be safe. Happy Holidays!

Un-Skipping Christmas

2006-12-21T06:00:00.000-08:00

People who know me for years know I'm never around for Christmas--I'll be vacationing at places where the sun doesn't go down before 5, where I can still saunter around in liner pants or shorts, like Thailand, Cambodia, and Bali. It's also a time to visit friends and family in my hometown--Hong Kong. But not this year. For the first time in six years, I'm staying in San Francisco for Christmas. Although my consistent absence during the holiday season has instilled in people's mind an inevitable deception that I shirk (if not skip) Christmas, this year I have been pleasantly surprised by the fact that Christmas cards have inundated my mailbox. Some of you fellow bloggers have sent me warm wishes for which I'm in utter gratitude. Robert sent me a CD like I've never had ever. Greg from Oregon sent me a card with a picture of Eugene from Skinner Butte.

Honestly when the Christmas shopping season kicked off after Turkey Day, I was somewhat overwhelmed by the whole holiday idea. Not being savvy of the day when Union Square lightened up the Christmas Tree to boil up the holiday spirit, the day that diastrously coincided with the monthly biker critical mass, I was stuck on Stockton Street outside Macy's for almost an hour, stranded in the jostling elbows of shoppers, contrived to shirk and get around the bikers.

But my qualm of the holiday quickly mitigated as I start writing Christmas cards to all my friends and wrapping the gifts. Today I walked past Union Sqaure again and couldn't help lingering around for a few moments to appreciate the tree. I held the tree, which was surrounded by picture-takers and kids, in a reflective gaze of affection, like gathering thoughts from distant memory. A surge of emotion gradually rose in my body as if some medication is coursing through my veins. The sight of a mother straightening up her son's outfit for a picture provoked a sense of nostalgia in me about my mother. It was just that. The feeling was almost as morbid as if you're being possessed. Sometimes a very small thing will have a tremedous effect on you out of all proportion to the event. It depends on the circumstances and your mood at the time.

I slowly picked up my pace started walking away when I returned to my usual element. My mind was beaming at the fact that I'm here for Christmas this year because this year is going to be very special. I realize the meaning of holiday is not just the gifts and parties, it's about giving and sharing love with those who are in need and those who are special. Tonight I'm having dinner with a very special person at Slow Club, one of my favorite joints tucked away in an inconspicuous corner in Potrero Hill. Then I'll be celebrating the holidays with my dear bunch who works at Cafe Flore (a.k.a. my office?) on Christmas Day. The tender thoughts of all my friends like Tony, Estrella, Fernando, Maria, Stephen, Bill, Tore, Weizhu, Patty, Matty, Jan Song, Be, O,so many of them...etc. warms my heart and makes me realize this is really the season to cherish. And gosh, it will be another one for indulgence of eating.

50 Things About Me

2006-12-19T06:15:00.000-08:00

I've been getting e-mails from readers who good-naturedly suggest a post that lists 25 Things or 50 Things about me. Honestly I've had long conceived the idea but never mustered up to do it because I simply don't know where to begin. Vital stats are boring. Hobbies and favorites can be morbidly narcissistic. Tony's post yesterday came to my rescue--I decided to cover his meme of 50 Things. Proceed at your own risk. Enjoy.

1. When you looked at yourself in the mirror today, what was the first thing you thought?
OMG I need a hair-cut.

2. How much cash do you have on you?
You mean in my wallet now? About $500. Gotta have a little extra cash for holiday shopping.

3. What's a word that rhymes with "DOOR"?
Pour? What does this have to do with me?

4. Favorite planet?
How am I supposed to know if I've lived my whole life on Earth? I guess Earth?

5. Who is the 4th person on your missed call list on your cell phone?
...my friend Stephen who will be leaving for Bangkok for vacation this weekend.

6. What is your favorite ring tone on your phone?
It's one of the generic tones called "Notify."

7. What shirt are you wearing?
At the moment just a ringer t-shirt, from Target!

8. Do you "label" yourself?
We live in a country that is morbidly obsessed with labels. Other than the fact that I'm homo sapien (the taxonomical term for human); I don't want to be labeled nor classified in any ways. I rather to be myself and do the things I like to do instead of wasting time to come up with labels that suit other people's interests.

9. Name the brand of shoes you're currently wearing.
Flipflop at home...a pair of Keen sandals, Timberland loafers.

10. Bright or dark room?
I'm an avid reader, so the room must be bright. I prefer dark room for certain activities that I can't elaborate on he...

11. What do you think about the person who took this survey before you?
I've never met Tony, but gathering from the e-mails he sent me and his posts, he is disarmingly down-to-earth, friendly, and thoughtful. Oh...did I say he's cute?

12. What does your watch look like?
I can't afford one! LOL Nah...I usually don't wear one since I've grown used to looking at my cellphone.

13. What were you doing at midnight last night?
That would be Sunday nig...in bed.

14. What did your last ext message you received on your cell say?
One of my best friends whose name happens to be Tony as well sent me a text message saying he can hang out this weekend, on Christmas' Eve.

15. Where is your nearest 7-11?
Dunno. The only one I know that exists for sure is in the Castro, which is at least 2 miles from my house.

16. What's a word that you say a lot?
"So what's going on with you?"

17. Who told you he/she loved you last?
I'll have to ditto Tony's response on th...For my ears only. Haha!

18. Last furry thing you touched?
George the puppy.

19. How many drugs have you done in the last three days?
No drugs unless you count Tylenol.

20. How many rolls of film do you need developed?
Don't we all use digital cameras these days? I just got my second Canon with 10 mega pixel. I haven't bought a roll for years.

21. Favorite age you have been so far?
I guess now (I'm 31) because I'm still in grad school but I make decent money so I can still travel freely all over the world.

22. Your worst enemy?
Myself. I'm a perfectionist and, like Tony has said, I wish to be perfect in everything I do even though I realize sometimes it's not possible.

23. What is your current desktop picture?
The picture of Angkor Wat I took in 2005.

24. What was the last thing you said to someone?
Goodnight. See you Thursday evening. I was on the phone with Ken.

25. If you had to choose between a million bucks or to be able to fly what would it be?
I definitely want a million bucks because I have fear of height.

26. Do you like someone?
I like all kinds of people. But yes, I do like someone now.

27. The last song you listened to.
Horn Concerto #1 by Mozart.

28. What time of the day were you born?
I think my mom told me I was born around 3 in the morning.

29. What's your favorite number?
12. Don't ask me why since I don't know it myself. I've had a sentimental attachment to this number since I developed memory as a child. I collect t-shirts with the number 12 on them.

30. Where did you live in 1987?
Hong Kong, back then it was still a British colony. That same year I moved to San Francisco.

31. Are you jealous of anyone?
Not really.

32. Is anyone jealous of you?
I hope not! I guess not!

33. Where were you when 9/11 happened?
At work, the UCSF chemistry lab. I was watching the TV in utter consternation and disbelief.

34. What do you do when vending machines steal your money?
Pound on the machines like that would really help.

35. Do you consider yourself kind?
I don't bite so I guess I'm kind. I am trying. Haha!

36. If had to get a tattoo. Where would it be?
I have never considered getting one. But if I have to pick one, that would be my upper arm, like around my bicep.

37. If you could be fluent in any other language, what would it be?
Spanish. I've dropped that cotton-picking Spanish class three times in college!!!

38. Would you move for the person you loved?
This one is negotiable. But at the moment I won't move anywhere for anyone for I love San Francisco.

39. Are you touchy feely?
Are you asking me if I wear my heart on my sleeves? I guess I can be but I've had enough drama and woes that taught me it's not necessarily a good idea. Once I get comfortable and trustful with someone I can get very touchy feely. Try me! LOL

40. What's your life motto?
Living life to the full and make the best out of each moment in time.

41. Name three things that you have on you at all times?
A pen, a book, and iPod.

42. What's your favorite town/city?
San Francisco (it's beautiful, lots of friends), New York City (museums), Hong Kong, Vancouver.

43. What was the last thing you paid for with cash?
That would be an iced double say latte at Cafe Flore. $3.50

44. When was the last time you wrote a letter to someone on paper and mailed it?
Last week I scribbled some notes along with Christmas cards which I sent out to friends.

45. Can you change the oil on a car?
Yup! That's one of the few things I can do with a car, besides washing it.

46. Your first love: what is the last thing you heard about him/her?
My first love moved to New York City the last time I spoke to him. I think he's still single and jhopefully not in love with me! LOL

47. How far back do you know about your ancestry?
My great-grandparents. My uncle showed me the village where they had lived in China, it was about 4 hours away by car from Hong Kong.

48. The last time you dressed fancy, what did you wear and why did you dress fancy?
I was part of the wedding party for my friend's wedding last month. I had on a tuxedo, slacks, and dress shoes. I don't dress up too often, I'm more a smart casual type of person at a fancy restaurant.

49. Does anything hurt on your body right now?
Thank goodness no. Touchwood.

50. Have you been burned by love?
Yes and in fact not too long ago back in summer. Maybe he didn't think it was love so he could just walk away and pretended nothing happened.

Okay that's it folks. I'm not tapping anybody. Just step in if you feel like going through this ordeal. Happy Tuesday!

Lowell Contrived To Keep Quiet Antigay Hate Crime

2006-12-15T17:00:00.000-08:00

Has it not been the unswerving aspiration of the Lowell, the school paper, what seemed to be a passing tale of poor behavior might have escaped our attention since the school administration had seemed to go out of its way to cover up a bizarre antigay hate crime that took place at the city's premier high school in September.

SF Guardian, upon the release of the story in the Lowell, dug out the inner workings of what might have caused this ugly incident. An early-bird faculty member routinely unlocked the door of the World Language Department office on the morning of 9/21 and was greeted by the most unusual sight: There was paint all over John Raya's computer. Thick streams of pink paint dripped from the monitor onto the keyboard and were splattered on the wall behind the desk and the chair in front of it.

And that was not the end of it. Slightly drenched on the keyboard was a note that addressed to Raya:

"Big mouth fag!!!!! You start too much trouble in this department!!!! Mind your fucking business and go back to New York!!!!! Or Cuba or wherever the fuck you come from!!!!!"

The principal and administration knew better to contrive keeping the ugly incident under the wraps, because a prank was out of the question. Even though it took place in one of those heavily trafficked rooms, the scene is an office to which only faculty have keys and access. And when the Japanese teacher arrived for work early that morning, the door was locked and showed no sign of forced entry. That's led Raya and the administration at Lowell to a truly disturbing and indisputable conclusion: The hate crime was committed by a disgruntled, angry member of the faculty.

But I'm all the more disturbed by and disappointed at the fact that the school, one that is ranked 26 out of 1200 top public schools in the country, one for which some 3000 elite 8th-graders vie for admission every year, one that is known for its academic rigor and excellence, seeking to safeguard its prestige, would pretend the hat crime didn't happen. To say nothing of it is just as bad as being in complicity because the administration’s shady reaction conveyed tolerance of hate crime.

Now this is scary. I'm talking about not only tolerance of the crime, but the administration's subtle (manipulative) effort to remove freedom of speech not just from gay people, but also their friends and supporters. Students were never formally told what happened. Faculty were discouraged from discussing it. This is like, to me, red China, some kind of a Communist regime that monitors what is said and what should be said. The story, although escaped the throttling hands of the administration, not only raised some deep-seated questions about how the school is managed, but also pinged the alarm about what seemed to be a tolerating attitude was just a deception. Lowell's tolerating attitude lies in a hypocrisy--a combination of private tolerance and public disapproval.

How can you teach the kids to respect social diversity when all you care at the outburst of a hate crime like this is to keep it at bay? Silence is not always golden especially when you're to take a strong stand to safeguard one's civil right. It seems to me the incident had been downplayed from the beginning, for the principal, who insisted on students being involved, asked the faculty not to say anything to the students. The discomfort with which the student paper felt toward this unusual poise bespeaks the flawed handling of the incident. The school has allowed a staff member who has resorted to the sort of racist, homophobic act that's rarely seen in San Francisco workplaces these days at large. It also shows how the principal, who seems to be autocratic in her ways of dealing with the staff, is imbecile in resolving conflicts among the staff.

Barracuda

2006-12-13T06:17:00.000-08:00

When Bill sent me an invitation to dinner through OpenTable.com, I had no idea what or where Barracuda was. He wrote,

"It's listed as Japanese, but there's a lot of fusion going on."

True. The menu has alludes to a delightful mixture of shushi, sashimi (raw cuts of fish), nigiri )slice of raw fish over rice) and ceviche. The newest addition to the unique dining scene in the Castro, Barracuda (barracuda is a fish, but upon a little research I arrive in the conclusion that this Japanese-sounding word is not Japanese, kind of like hagen diaz) serves Japanese cuisine with Peruvian and Brazilian influence.

With a funky and colorful interior, the upscale quasi bar ambience of Barracuda can be a deception if you take a peek from the outside. Candle-lit tables, creative and modern interior render the restaurant a very sublime ambience.

Bill and I selected the high table with stools by the window, which one of the cute servers deemed as the warmest and most private table for conversation. Since Bill is not a sushi fanatic, he opted for a grilled fillet and being the connoisseur of sushi that I am, I order the Barracuda sushi set with 11 pieces of nigiri including shrimp, yellowtail, white tuna, tuna, salmon, fish eggs, and eel. Our server has suggested a starter of cerviche, which represents their assortment of experimental fushion dishes, but since we came for a Japanese dinner, we politely declined the offer.

About half way through our dinner, over conversation about the past semester and our writing, a skein of their Christmas lights that was taped (a gay boy wouldn't have used Scotch tape?) on the wall above us collapsed to about an inch short of Bill's head. We joked about how that might forsee a possible lawsuit that will entitle us a lifetime of free sushi. Overall it was a pleasant dining experience at a stylish ambience. It's more of a hipster spot with mod decor but I can find better sushi elsewhere, maybe even for less. It's a fun place to be but don't expect serious authentic Japanese food especially if they serve this queer lollipop tempura thing!

Pet Peeves

2006-12-12T05:55:00.000-08:00

I have many people-think-it's-not-a-big deal pet peeves. Like the way you put in a new roll of toilet paper on the holder--I prefer the the end of it to be coming over on top instead of the bottom under. My other pet peeve is the adoption of movie poster to book cover when publisher releases new edition of a novel. When I saw the trailer of The Painted Veil starring Edward Norton and Naomi Watts at the theater watching The Queen, I knew I had to take imminent action to scour the bookstore for a new copy of the pre-movie edition--and I found that copy at the new Borders in Westfield San Francisco Center. I don't hold anything against a film that is made out of a novel but, I do feel there should be a demarcation between the film and the novel. I know I am being a little too crazy on this idea but as a reader, and a bibliophile, I feel infringed when a movie poster supersedes the original book jacket design. I don't know. Myabe I'm like being fault-finding. Anyway, The Painted Veil has remained one of my favorite novels by Maugham. Set in England and Hong Kong in the 1920s (in the film it doesn't look like Hong Kong), it's the story of the love-starved Kitty Fane. When her husband discovers her adulterous affair, he forces her to accompany him to the heart of a cholera epidemic. I'll have to re-read it soon.

The Queen directed by Stephen Frears

2006-12-11T06:10:00.000-08:00

"Tradition prepared her. Change will define her." The poster of The Queen reads. Ken suggested we go see one of the few movies that captures my attention with some of the most marvelous performance. Queen Elizabeth II (Helen Mirren) faces the tough decision on how to arrange for Princess Diana's funeral in the wake of her sudden tragic 1997 death in Paris. While the film honors and acknowledges Princess Diana's work, it inevitably reveals her rocky relationship with not only the Queen but also the royal family. It makes me wonder how the funeral and memorial service would have turned out had the recently elected Prime Minister Tony Blair (Michael Sheen), who favors a public funeral which allows the British people (the populace) to pay their final tribute to their princess, not advised the Queen.

The Queen, subtle, and often funny, explores the inner-workings of a ruler whose power has become purely decorative. The film stoically basks in the doleful pondering of royal manners and meaning. The sensitive mourning of Princess Diana only accentuates the Queen's realizing of her decorative power. We're let into behind the closed doors of Buckingham Palace and the Balmoral Castle to see how the royal family copes with the death--as the raging public rebukes Buckingham Palace for its lack of remorse in Princess Diana's death. No formal statement has been given. The flag on top of the palace is not lowered to half-mast.

To the populace, Diana, as real clips inserted into the film suggest, was "the people's princess," hounded to her death by in-laws, the media, and the public; their self-chastising guilt just whips the flames higher. To the Queen, she was a shameless ex-daughter-in-law who wasn't shy about her celebrity. Of course there should not be a state funeral, Elizabeth maintains, since the divorced Diana was no longer a member of the royal family. The drama of the film--and it's both delicious and potent--lies in how the queen comes to understand this error in judgment and how it rattles her as a human being.

"I've never been hated like that before," she says at one point, and there, very quietly, is the shock of a waxwork startled to realize she's still alive. And the man who helps Her Majesty sail through this tempestuous water of a national disaster that captured the sad ness of the world is Tony Blair.

Cafe Flore III

2006-12-08T05:05:00.000-08:00

Yesterday was not as dreadful as the day before, I could actually sit at Cafe Flore and have an iced soy latte which O made me. It was actually study hall at the cafe, as my friend Rod, who is a PhD candidate in philosophy, was there as well. The guy sitting next to me was working on his paper on Nabakov. As the day shortens and the sky seems to loom downward, demography of Cafe Flore shifts to laptop campers and students cranking for their papers. You see less of the toursy crowd and the fashion-trendy boys whose main hobby is to people-watch.

I decided I needed a 15-minutes break from the work on thesis and took to reading an interesting article from Gaytimes, an UK publication which I brought back from Asia.

Brad Pitt said, "Angie and I will consider tying the knot when everyone else in the country who wants to be married is legally able."

Everyone. Right, so that includes us gays.

While his declaration of solidarity with the gay community may have heartened campaigners for gay marriage rights, I can already see how his speech must have enrage straight women who have been trying to get their men to the altar for years. Straight men, especially the ones who are commitment-phobic, can now quote Brad Pitt to put off the dread nuptials.

What about us gays then? Gay rights activist groups, which have been striving to overcome religious resistance to gay marriage, might beam at this viewpoint with smugness. But consider the way things are here, commitment-phobia will inevitably become a gay phenomenon too in places where marriage or civil union are legally available. In fact, commitment-phobia has already prevailed in the gay community. Those of us romantics who want to plight our troth with our dreamboat should know better. How many of us can really say we are ready to commit?

What Brad said is no more than a welcoming complement to the euphemistic (almost cliche) saying: Until I find that special someone, I'll play along. Not convinced? Go check out bigmuscle.com and see for yourself. To call it a jungle is an understatement, it's a meat market out there!

No sooner had I finished Brad's perspective on wedding bliss for homos than I spot a very hot, familiar looking guy, a celebrity, who saunters into Cafe Flore in an insouciant air. I have to search my memory and to see where I had crossed his path--well; it was more like where I had seen him before. It dawned on me in less than 5 seconds.

This man (a hot daddy!), in snuggly charcoal t-shirt that hugged his athletic-built body, layered with a black hooded sweatshirt that seems a bit short on him but accentuates his body contour, sports a goatee that looks as if it's just been dyed. His hair is cropped short with streaks of gray. He seems somewhat skinnier, but still commands an air of calmness and charisma, than I last saw him on prints and flicks. He is not too tall, no more than 5'9". He is Cliff Parker!

I remember he used to be an exclusive of Titan Men, the local video production company that featured muscled, rugged-looking, and butch type of men. Something about his dreamy eyes, somewhat beetling brows, and the stubble-goatee look mesmerized me. He was part of the reason why I was so absorbed by those magazines I talked about in this post. How my heart beat upon seeing his pictures. At least 10 years must have gone by since I discovered Cliff Parker and from a source which I can no longer recall Cliff had retired from the porn industry. Rumor has it that he is back in school.

It's good to see him, in person. He seems happy.

[61] In September, The Light Changes - Andrew Holleran

2006-12-06T06:05:00.000-08:00

In September, The Light Changes is a collection of 16 short stories that with such literary erudition and keen prose capture the melancholy and meditation on mortality in the context of autumnal reminiscences. The fact that Holleran wrote these stories over 20 years' period renders a taste of gay life over changing times.

The stories might be heartrending to read at times but through his acute social vision and his elegant prose we can all, one way or another, identify ourselves and relate to his unforgettable characters. Who are so true to life in facing medical challenges, in dealing with loss of love, in being so obsessed with pumping the iron, and in scouring the bars. Most, if not all, of the stories take place during the changing fortune from the 70s to 80s, with vivid delineations of bar scenes, ominously shadowed by the looming epidemic.

One story reminds me that despite the recent advance of gay right on the battleground of marriage (civil union), society, bound by the inveterate heterosexual values, still treats the gays with straight standards. (Who cares what straight people think about us? … The only reason what we do interests them is because they're so deeply bored.)

Another story, one that is so close to my heart that I can put myself in the character's shoe, explores what it means to want someone so much that you would do anything not to be banished from his presence, even if the love is unrequisited and your future will be forfeited.

One story meditates on how a man deems sex the most important thing in life—that he would only take temporary job in order to pursue these no-strings-attached flings, encounters, escapades, and whatever-you-wish-to-call sexual relationships. Careers and family responsibility leave no vestige on him. Life to him is not defined by success nor failure. Not until reaching the encroaching middle age did he realize he had lost his lost chance to make a connection with another human being. The dominations of sex in gay life began to distress him.

One of the most heart-breaking stories owes the grief not to parting upon death but to the character's forlorn scope in find love. He is poignantly preoccupied with failed love—that he always assumes he would be dumped. He was in a standby mode to take the blow of relationship failure.

Another story delivers the blunt but sad truth about the ones endowed with GQ looks: They are eye candies, good to look at but be aware not to be too serious with them. Some people are worth loving; some are perfect. These people are rare, of course, and they almost never happen to love you in return (unrequisited, non-reciprocate love is such a bitch), but they do exist. What's even more demoralizing, we have to admit that most of the time people who go out looking for love end up with sex instead.

Another story takes up a slightly critical voice and contrives to steer the gay community back to the right direction of evolution. Instead of finding new ways to relate to one another, or progressing in humanity (in Holleran's words), we regard each other as nothing but fantasies, always fear of commitment, and always fail to integrate sex with the rest of our lives. (We’re just going to keep on going to gyms and dance clubs, taking drugs, dancing, cruising bars, and playing games.)

Finally, in one of the gloomiest piece of writings, Holleran gives us someone whose incurable disease has irretrievably plunged him into depression, along with the chasm of his own personality. His whole life had been condemned by his family in his hometown—part of the reason he chose to live a life of recluse in Amsterdam nearing death's threshold. He is ready to let go of his teetering social life as he thinks everyone who takes pity on him is being condescending.

Pick up a copy of In September, The Light Changes and start reading. You'll see yourself in at least one of the stories. It's a sobering book.

Gay-Blogging Community

2006-12-03T07:05:00.000-08:00

When I received Joshua's e-mail about what I enjoy about being part of a gay-blogging community, I was reflecting on, against my own experiences, a couple of books in which men come to terms with their sexuality and/or sexual fetish. We all know it's ridiculous, at usually futile to be at war with our desires. For so many years, Governor James McGreevey, not that he's been in denial with his own sexuality, has chosen a path that will ensure success in his political career, and being gay, or openly being gay is not part of the equation. He must have agonized over his decision to divulge his true self in national television. The fear, the pain, and the mind-wrestling of coming out must have surpassed the actual declaration--takes a great deal of courage and to accept the reality of one's true self and reality of desires. For some people it might take their entire life to be able to give in and get on with life.

Why am I talking about this? What does this have to do with being part of a gay-blogging community? While many of us share similar coming-out stories, the process that prepares, prunes, and leads us to that point must be altogether different, let alone the walk of life when coming out takes place. A gay collaborative blog like this provides a friendly converging ground for us to share our thoughts. If such a blog existed when I came out more than 10 years ago, it would really boost my morale. Even though my parents embraced the truth with a surprisingly equanimity, I always felt a feeling of revulsion, of unease lurking in my mind. That inexplicable qualm was not so much about what others thought of me being gay, but my own refusal to come to terms with my gay desires.

I remember walking into Merill's drugstore, or Bretano's Books (now Walden and Borders), furtively, and nervously, pretending to look for Scientific American or browse the Newsweek as a disguise for picking the hot, steamy Playgirl and Men Magazine. I would hide at the quiet corner with very thin shopper-traffic, carefully tugged the porn magazine into the Newsweek and suureptitiously flipped through page after page of hunky showcase. I was 16.

I guess at that point I was past the guilt. Even the excitement--the aching indecision and wild anticipation of pictures of nude men--had pretty much run its course. But I also knew that it was beyond my power to stop, now that I had come that far. Experiences had taught me that in the end I've always lost the battle with desires. The trony, of course, was that I had so strenuously resisted my own inclinations to view those magazines. No sooner had I looked at Men than I started craving for more--wouldn't it be even better if these gorgeous men are engaging in some steamy actions? Sure. But my conscience kept whispering to me in a rebuking voice: You can't want this. You're not the kind of creep who wishes to see guys fucking each other.

I got over the inner voice too. In fact, I could never get past the uncomfortable fact that these guys existed for me solely as just images on magazines. I've never heard their voice, their groan, and their moan. Sometimes I'd have to flip through pages of these images before finding one that brought me to the state of arousal that a single picture used to inspire. As the years went by I became regular audience of gay porn--the ones that are starring my "type" of men--the gruffy looking, the ruggedly good-looking, the moustached, the daddies, and the beefy jock without the all-American look. That was my second coming out: to come to terms with the specific type of men to whom I'm attracted. I was 24.

Now that I'm out to everybody around me, at 32, I think I'm lucky to have a very supporting group of friends who accept me the way I am. It's been more than self-discovery and enlightenment--it's a liberation.

I might have digressed so outrageously Joshua's original question. But i truly appreciate a gay-blogging community where we, as gay men, and also others come together and discuss issues, share thoughts and feelings. It should be the starting point where people can embrace difference and diversity.

My New iPod Nano

2006-12-01T13:10:00.000-08:00

The serious consequence of my leaving the iPod Mini at home in Hong Kong is that now I have no music to pamper me to sleep. Don't laugh, I have made it a habit to put on some music, usually classical and easy listening, that will put me to sleep, since nobody is telling me bedtime stories. So for my birthday I treated myself a brand new iPod Nano with 8 GB. Unfortunately it is only available in black and red (odd combination of colors). I opted for the black it for a more slick look at the Apple Store on Stockton Street.

It's one delicate piece of toy that, until the arrival of the iPod case shipment, I have to toss in a roll (maybe not a roll) of saran-wrap to protect the fragile screen and keep the dust out of the control knob. I registered the new iPod on iTunes and set the update mode to manual. I have a pet peeve of not being in control of things: The automatic update mode, although very quick and convenient when you connect the iPod to iTunes, does not categorize the songs into respective playlists. I like certain songs to be grouped together under a playlist by the year of the albums' release, by artists, or whatever. And since most of the entries on my iPod are Cantopop (Chinese pop), for display purpose, I set the language to Chinese. The next acquisition would be the exquisite iPod dock by Bose.

"Showroom"

2006-11-30T17:20:00.000-08:00

Tired of the usual Gap or Banana Republic? Think Abercrombie sucks (so it says on a T-shirt at American Boys on Castro)? Don't want to put up with the outrageous price at Rolo? Try Showroom. Showroom is a fashion studio in the Mission Dolores (hey guys, it's just a short walking distance from the Castro) that features my friend, Estrella's custom-made and vintage reconstruct men's clothing as well as the Rare Thread label by Saffron, and Yugula's dresses.

Estrella's clothes represent a part of my wardrobe with some of the trendiest style that is modest enough to wear to work. For example, for early fall (since we here in SF is blessed with an Indian summer) she cut the pattern for a form-fitting, green plaid, cowboy shirt with snap buttons for me. I was wearing that all over Hong Kong and boy, that shirt looked so sharp that it put me on the spot!

She's working on reconstructing a German (could be French??) army mid-length jacket for me. She barely started the project before I left for Asia so I don't have a clue what she has been doing to the jacket besdies sewing in elbow patches on it. Maybe a boy scout badge on the shoulder? Estrella also does custom tailoring, reconstructs old sportcoats and jackets--bring in your favorite but outdated D&G and Armani--I bet she can revitalize them and give them new look.

So if you ever have time and are in the neighborhood, stop by and take a look at Showroom. The girls there might even treat you to a glass of red.

Showroom
3579 17th Street @Dolores
415.626.2533
415.497.0473

Chillin' Productions Party
Saturday December 2, 2006
8:00pm-2:00am
Mezzanine, 444 Jessie Street
www.mezzaninesf.com

Also next weekend, on Saturday, December 2, Chillin' Productions will host a party at Mezzanine that features 60 fashion designers and 80 photographers including the Showroom. Read the flyer for more info.

Cafe Flore II

2006-11-29T07:10:00.000-08:00

I usually go to Cafe Flore at least three times a week, especially when my friends Be and O are working at the bar. They are perfect examples of what casual acquaintances, slowly simmered over time, turn into friendship. They know what I usually get for drink--a large double nonfat latte to start and maybe a cup of English breakfast afterwards. Anyway, I was up at Cafe Flore for my usual rut after work--bringing with me a stack of papers, my laptop, my iPod and a couple of books to read. I put on the headphones in which the vivacious movements of Haydn Symphony 95 (Haydn, my thinking music) came alive as I scribbled a few thoughts on my Moleskine notebook. A guy in his mid to late-forties, with a slightly buzz cut hair, somewhat muscular, built more like an ex-football player, but not too tall, walked up to my table. (I had to confess he was pretty cute.) At first I was not aware of him but when I looked up, I was a little taken aback then he was going to invite himself to sit down:

"Are you Chris?"

"No."

Upon hearing that his cheeks were sunken.

"Do you know an Asian guy named Chris?"

"No."

Why and *HOW* would he get the idea that I know this guy Chris whom he's obviously meeting here for the first time. Talk about randomness.

About 20 minutes later, I went up to the bar and had Be refill a cup of hot water for my tea. The supposed Chris, who was late, finally walked in and surveyed the entire cafe and looked to meet his new friend. I could see how the ex-coach (my fantasy LOL) had mistaken me for his new boyfriend--we're both of the same height, both sported a moustache, both built a somewhat too hunky for the usual scrawny Asian guys.

I told Be about this interesting encounter. She gave a quick, crisp laugh to signalled her not being surprised. This is Cafe Flore, after all, known for the addictive people-watching, for the furtive glance aplenty. I walked back to my corner table where I was basking in the warm aftternoon sun, took up those headphones again whith Haydn Symphony 22--the Philosopher's Symphony on.

Cafe Flore, what a cruisy place.

[60] The Marquise of O-- & Other Stories - Heinrich von Kleist

2006-11-28T07:10:00.000-08:00

The reading of this collection of short stories spanned my entire getaway, a little short of a month. Not only because I was busy traveling and doing the toursy thing, but also due to the fact that Kleist writing style requires frequent back tracking to assure I understand all that is going on. The world of all the Kleist's stories is an unpredictable one, a world of dislocated casuality on which inexplicable factors include and in which sanity is poised on the brink of destruction. For example, The Marquise of O-- is a detective-type, psychological mystery. An upright widow who has lived in unblemished reputation finds herself pregnant without a clue how and who might have caused her pregnancy. She is clear of her conscience although she finds intolerable the thought that the baby she has conceived in the tymost innocence and purity and whose origin, in addition to being mysterious, also seems to her more divine, is destined to bear a stamina of disgrace in society. But Kleist at first withholds one last fact, which persists to the end and buries in it the key to resolve the situation.

The stories also reflect Kleist's preoccupations with the deceptiveness of human nature. In The Foundling, the story tells how a man, out of his compassion and kindred spirit, adpots an orphaned boy leads to his own destruction. The coming of age young man lusted after the old man's young wife. When he by chance discovers her strange emotions that fixate on a young Genoese nobleman who, 12 years earlier, had saved her from a burning house, and had died of an injury incurred during the rescue, humiliation, lust, and desire for revenge conspire his mind to engender a deed of vileness. The subsequent turn of events in this story depicts the transformation of an once kind man into an obsessed avenger who literally craves for hell.

The Duel bears a premise that is similar to that of The Marquise of O----one in which an apparently chaste woman is suspected of unchastity on the basis of seemingly damning evidence. The case against Lady Littegarde would be weakened of this Count Rotbart were obviously a scoundrel, but he is regarded as an honorable man by many, despite his dissolute life. He is on the trial for his life on a charge of murder that, as an alibi, he seemes justified in making his disclosure that the night on which the murder was committed had been spent by him in Lady Littegarde's bedroom. She can invoke no testimony except that of her irreproachable way of life against all the accusations of her shameful conduct. A chamberlain who vows to prove her innocence urges her to hold fast at all costs to her inner intuitive feeling that she is innocent, notwithstanding all the indications to the contrary.

I have always talked about the beguiling opening sentence of The Earthquake of Chile, which raises the deepest theological and existential questions. It reveals Kleist's epistemological obsession, his preoccupation with the tragic or potentially tragic deceptiveness of appearances in the world and in human nature. In reading Kleist we may realize that our own familiar and dependable moral framework seem to have weakened and shaken loose. You have to read it for yourself.

In The Betrothal in Santo Domingo, the essential theme of the story is not the cruelty of man to man, nor even the unaccountable operations of God (like in The Duel or The Earthquake of Chile) or nature or fate, but that of love being put on trial. The lovers are confronted with an ambiguity of appearances, with ambiguous behavior on the part of the beloved, which leads to a fatal understanding, with tragic results. All the character has (to judge with) is tangible evidence of senses: to grasp something so intangible as the reality of love. Again, this story is built up in series of twists and turns that keeps reversing reader's assumptions and expectations, to an extent in which we don't know who really the characters are.

Reminiscing Tokyo Part 8: Wrapping Up

2006-11-25T05:31:00.000-08:00

That's it folks with Japan. I don't want certain readers of the blog to think I have given up on book reviews and literary content. Book reviews will be up. If you miss any part of my Japan travelogue, go to the right hand side and click on the appropriate links. Hope you all enjoy these pictures from Japan as much as I took them.

Japan Airlines flight 736 anchored at gate 43 at Hong Kong International Airport. The aged Boeing 747-300 with an extended upper deck had defintely seen better days despite it was painted with a new livery. The seat was okay although it was deprived of personal entertainment. After all, the flight was pleasant and service was attentive.
The signage was my very first intro to Japan's web-like railway system. This train will take me straight to Shinjuku from Narita Airport in 90 minutes.
The Tokyo Metro is complicated, but manageable if you follow the map indicator that locates above the train doors. Each station is designated by a alphanumeric code so tourists like me will not get lost.
An European couple were kind enough to take a picture of me when I was walking around Asakusa after visiting the Sensoji Temple.
Many vendors along the street leading to the Sensoji Temple sell charms--all kinds of them, for health, for fortune, for good luck, for a favorable marriage--but you'll have to look around and find the best bargains before zeroing on it.
The Buddha at Sensoji Temple in Asakusa. I've always thought the way different cultures, or different countries portray the Buddha vary. The Japanese Buddha, to me, is somewhat chubbier than that in Cambodia.
Wafting aroma from this pastry stall captured my stomach's attention. I walked over there and bought a couple pieces of lightly fried pastry with red bean paste filling.
These are bead bracelets made of different kinds of wood like mohagany and cherry wood. Unlike those tasseled charms that are usually hung in houses and inside the cars, mead bracelets are more personal. I got several of these bracelets, prayed over them at the temple, and give them to friends as gifts.
Japanese animal crackers?
A sober me after paying respect at the Meiji Jingu Shrine, where you bow twice in front of the shrine, then clap your hands, pray, and bow once more to show respect. Notice a mother behind me is taking her little kimono-donned daughter to pay respect for blessing.
Think I can pass as a train conductor!?! Trains are usually painted in colors that are identical to the respective routes on the map.
A quick, insouciant, spontaneous shot of Shinjuku after dark. This is obviously not a busy intersection with only a few commuters. I like the backdrop--the buildings so neatly lined the street, stippled with neon lights and signs--against which people, most of them glued to their cell phones, walked with such fast pace. They probably had to hurry and finish their conversations as cell phone conversation is NOT allowed in all subway trains.
Most of the noodle shops in Tokyo are staffed with one, at least two servers who usually don't take your orders. You buy a ticket from the vendor machine and hand the tickets to the servers when you walk in the restaurant. No tipping is needed. A bowl of yummy ramen with a side of gyoza is around 800 Yen.
I found these polyester-spandex boxers at a 100Yen (99 cents) store near the noodle shop on the way back to the hotel. They are so comfy that I went back to the store and bought all the remaining ones!
Bronze statue at Sensoji Temple. A group of Indians who were there before me took turn to touch the staute all over and prayed to him.
The shopping alley at Ueno split into two here. Just a quick ride on the subway from Asakusa, Ueno has lots of grocery shops where you can get cheap candies and nori (rice cracker with seaweed). I also found an army thrift store where you can find army apparel from countries all over the world.
Local people were paying respect at Sensoji Temple.
Restaurants usually maintain a beautiful, exquisite display of some of their featured items on the menu. These samples are made of colored wax. Who won't be drooling all over looking at these samples?
The street of Asakusa. I like those hanging cubic lanterns.
Fresh fruit stall at Ueno.
Muji was holding its annual customer reward. This bag is called the Happy Bag--which contains a wool jacket, a plaid shirt, two pairs of boxers, two t-shirts, two pairs of socks, and a leather belt--all in medium sizes, for 3150 Yen (US$27). You have to buy the entire bag and the content of which cannot be substituted.
Fare map showing all stations within the Tokyo metropolitan area. I don't know how the people can do it without even looking at the map.
Offerings made to the Meiji Jingu Shrine are neatly arranged under the same roof with the appropriate name tags and quantities.
Chrysanthemum show at the Meiji Jingu Shrine
People lined up and waited patiently to get in the department store for the sale event.
I guess in all things there is always exception. In a city that is so neat, orderly, and clean as Tokyo, at a subway exit during rush hour, I spotted some abandoned soda cans.
Floral display at a department store.
I did some last-minute souvenir shopping at Shibuya. All these are fragrance bags for women, who traditionally tug these cute little pouches inside the lapels of their kimonos.
Diving once again into the sea of crowd at Shinjuku Station, hurling behind me two big luggage, where is my train? These electric display boards might be helpful especially if you're trying to locate where your train departs at a major station like Shinjuku with more than 20 platforms.
Signage on the platform floor indicates where to board the appropriate car.
Homeward bound. Signage inside the Narita express train indicates the train is bound for the airport. I was in car #4.

Reminiscing Tokyo Part 7: Meiji Jingu Shrine & Harajuku (11/2/06)

2006-11-22T08:00:00.000-08:00

Got up early again to the cold and gloomy morning. It was indeed the coldest day since I came to Japan, but I could still manage with SS polo shirt. As usual, I took a walk around Shinjuku on the way to the train station, where I for the first time hopped on the JR Yamanote Line. This line, other than the Metro Ginza Line, is probably the busiest, the most crowded and the most prominent line in the entire Tokyo metro area. Also known as the green circle line, the Yamanote trains circulate around Tokyo area and pass through major business and entertainment areas like Shibuya, Shinagawa, Tokyo City, Uneo, and Asakusa.
A short ride on Shinagawa-bound train dropped me off at Harujuku. A short walk upon the exit on the right side led me to Meiji Jingu Shrine, a site that is, to my surprise, not packed by tourists. The Meiji Jingu Shrine was built in 1920. It honors the life of Emperor Meiji. Prior to the Meiji Era (1868 - 1912) Japan was a closed nation, but as ruler between 1869 and 1912 Emperor Meiji rekindled lost friendships, fostered overseas relations and in so doing, laid the foundations of modern day Japan.
The gate to the shrine, which captured my immediate attention, is made of cypress wood and is one of the largest in the country. Walk under it and up the long gravel path and the city shrinks a mile away--the surrounding woodland covers 175 acres and is said to contain at least one example of every single tree found in Japan. At the end of the serene path I came to the front of the main shrine buildings. The originals were destroyed in the air raids in 1945 so these reproductions date from only 1958.

The stalls selling religious artifacts also sell leaflets which explain, in English, the procedure for paying respects at a shrine. I made note of the worshippers purifying their hands and mouths with water from the stone basin, and the wooden plaques upon which special intentions and wishes are written. Thousands of visitors have left behind thier prayers on racks. During summer, Meiji Jingu also hosts Shinto wedding ceremonies. A Japanese woman told me that the Meiji Shrine, which carries an air of stolidity and prestige, is a popular, but also very expensive venue.

I approached an old Japanese old who was paying worship and asked him about the proper manner with which to pay respects to the shrine. I could barely follow his words which now I summarize:
How to Pay Respects at Shinto Shrines
1.In appropriate dress (mine were only jeans and polo shirt), I am to proceed along the path through the Torii Gate. At Temizusha (the font for ablutions), I rinse my hands and mouth using water from the stone basin. Take care I should not touch the dipper with your lips directly.
2.Then I proceed to the Main Shrine building. He said if I wish, I can throw some coins into the Offering Box.
3.In front of the Main Shrine, I bow twice.
4.Then I clap my hands twice.
5.Finally, I bow once again.

I stumbled upon little boys and girls wearing splendid kimonos around the shrine. Their parents have brought them, along with generous gifts and sacrifices, in order to receive blessing.These kids probably had no clue why they were there, but their parents, often dressed in traditional kimono and fine suits, made sure they abided by the proper etiquette to pay respect to the shrine in order to receive a blessing, which, entails good health and high marks in school. The ceremonies to solicit blessing take place at the age of 3, 5, and 7.

Not too far from the shrine where the Meji Emperor and Empress are deified do I find this condom store Condomania. It stocks all kinds of condoms here from the most generic durex and trojan to things that are out of one's imagination. Small boxes and cartons of condoms--chocolate flavor, fresh fruit flavor, condoms for women, super ultra thin condoms--lined the store that, if you look from a distance, you would mistake it as a cigarette shop. Condoms are exquisitely packaged into decoys of candy bars, moth balls, napkins... The most amazing kind I find is Penis Pasta.

Harajuku first burst onto the scene in 1964 - the Olympic year. With the Olympic gymnasium and village located nearby, the prospect of meeting somebody famous in the street drew people from far and wide. Today, the area includes Takshita Street, Meiji Dori Avenue and Omotesando Dori Avenue.
I found the second-hand store (in Japanese called medieval wear) not necessarily cheaper than the ones selling new apparels. A paperboy's hat at this particular was 2900 Yen, compared to the new one I acquired at Muji for 2000 Yen. So you would have to look around, compare prices, and not to be too rash in buying things.
Takeshita Dori Street is opposite the Takeshita Dori Exit of Harajuku Station. Here, shops sell a most extraordinary blend of goods reflecting the Japanese notions of "cute", "cool and American" and "rebellious and British". In other words a strange mixture of Hello Kitty, hip-hop and the infamous British punk. As for the shoppers? Well, any form of fancy dress goes.
Being the focal point of Harajuku's teenage culture, Takeshita Dori (Takeshita Street) and its side streets, which are lined by many trendy shops, fashion boutiques, used clothes stores, crepe stands and fast food outlets geared towards the fashion and trend conscious teens.

In order to experience the teenage culture at its most extreme, visit Harajuku on a Sunday, when many young people gather around Harajuku Station and engage in cosplay ("costume play"), dressed up in crazy costumes to resemble anime characters, punk musicians, etc.
I didn't have sightings of people wearing strange costumes or anime characters. But I did have a lot of fun shopping. Many shops offered bargain for hood sweater, t-shirts, and accessories. The Japanese sizes are just perfect fit for me, since in the US there is no equivalent to a Japanese Small. In fact, the Japanese (or Hong Kong) Large would be a Medium in the US. Anyway, here most of the sales people don't speak English so I had to find the sizes and the styles myself and ask for help in Japanese.
Design T-Shirts Store granlph is a hidden jewel in Harajuku. Unlike the overpriced Beams T, which is just several doors up, this place sells limited editions of simple-design t-shirts by up-and-coming local artists. All SS t-shirts are marked for 2625 Yen each and 2 for 4200 Yen. Long-sleeves are 2900 Yen each. The store was crammed with so many people that even I managed to elbow my way in, at first I had a hard time navigating through and looking at the stuffs. When I was ready to check out, the salesperson was punctilious enough to noticed i had picked t-shirts of various sizes. He politely asked if they were gifts and I said hai, sore wa puresendo o tomodachi desu. Then he carefully wrapped the t-shirts for me and ribboned them very gorgeously. Bidding goodbye to him, he gave me a few postcards and asked me to come visit whenever I'm back in Tokyo.

It was always dark by the time the Yamanote train took me back to Shinjuku. I decided to have katsu don for dinner so I walked over to the west side of Shinjuku station and looked for a restaurant. I took the elevator up to 5th floor, purchased a ticket for the katsu don, found a seat by the window that overlooked the neoned streets and scribbled on my journal. The waiter arrived with a pitcher of water (yes, a pitcher for each patron), miso soup, and edamame.

Reminiscing Tokyo Part 6: Imperial Palace & Shibuya (11/1/06)

2006-11-17T19:00:00.000-08:00

I woke up extra early in the morning, skipped breakfast at the hotel, and walked to JR Shinjuku Station to purchase Narita Express ticket to Narita Airport on Nov 3. Lonely Planet and other travel resources have advised advance purchase for fear of soldout. One of Japan's hidden jewels that travelers often overlook is the underground aracde--home of many souvenir shops, bookstores, restaurants and bargains. On this particular morning, after I've secured my airport express ticket, I slowed down a bit and spotted a woman donned in kimono and clad in wooden slipper in one of the gift shops. She kindly gave me permission to take a photo of her.

I stopped by a tiny restaurant in the underground aracde beneath the train station for an asagohon (breakfast), which contained steamed rice, miso soup, grilled fish, rolled omelet, pickles, and dry seaweed for 650 Yen (US$5.70). Over asagohon I scribbled a few postcards (a travel ritual of mine) and took them with me to the Main Post Office, which was conveniently located at the proximity of the historic Tokyo Station. As you can see in the picture, I looked a bit lost as I was riffling through the guidebook for a map.

No sooner had I walked into the post office did my heart skip a beat, at 8:30 am a long line was forming at the door. Once I found my bearing inside the office I learned that the long line was for parcel pickup and social security payable--no wonder it was packed with retirees. The clerk at international post was very friendly and efficient--he even stamped the postcards, peeled the stickers that said "air mail" and put them on for me and assured that they would be sent out immediately. For only 490 Yen not only did I receive quick and efficient service, I also experienced a s[ecial courtesy that was deeply rooted in the Japanese culture.
The current Imperial Palace (Kokyo) is located on the former site of Edo Castle, a large park area surrounded by moats and massive stone walls in the center of Tokyo, a short walk from Tokyo station. It is the residence of Japan's Imperial Family. Edo Castle used to be the seat of the Tokugawa shogun who ruled Japan from 1603 until 1867. In 1868, the shogunate was overthrown, and the country's capital and Imperial Residence were moved from Kyoto to Tokyo. In 1888 construction of a new Imperial Palace was completed. The palace was once destroyed during World War Two, and rebuilt in the same style, afterwards.

From Kokyo Gaien, the large plaza in front of the Imperial Palace, visitors can view the Nijubashi, two bridges that form an entrance to the inner palace grounds. The stone bridge in front is called Meganebashi (Eyeglass Bridge) for its looks. The bridge in the back was formerly a wooden bridge with two levels, from which the name Nijubashi (Double Bridge) is derived.
Meganebashi (Eyeglass) Bridge is a popular picture spot thronged with tourists. I beat the tour group by a couple of minutes.
I walked all the way to where Meganebashi Bridge is cordoned off and reached the observatory point. From this perspective you can see the imperial buildings are separated by an inner moat.
The palace buildings and inner gardens are not open to the public. Only on January 2 (New Year's Greeting) and December 23 (Emperor's Birthday), visitors are able to enter the inner palace grounds and see the members of the Imperial Family, who make several public appearances on a balcony.
The Imperial Palace East Gardens are open to the public throughout the year except on Mondays, Fridays and special occasions. Please visit the East Gardens information page for more information.

The East Gardens are the former site of Edo Castle's innermost circles of defense, the honmaru ("main circle") and ninomaru ("secondary circle"). None of the main buildings remain today, but the moats, walls, entrance gates and several guardhouses still exist. Edo Castle was the residence of the Tokugawa shogun who ruled Japan from 1603 to 1867. Emperor Meiji also resided there from 1868 to 1888 before moving to the newly constructed Imperial Palace.
In place of the former buildings in the secondary circle of defense (ninomaru) at the foot of the hill, a nice Japanese style garden has been created.

After the Imperial PalaceI hopped back on the metro to Shibuya, a popular shopping and entertainment area around Shibuya Station. This is probably the most-pictured scene of Tokyo. The opening scene of the movie Lost in Translation was filmed here.

Shibuya is one of Tokyo's most colorful and busy districts and birthplace to many of Japan's fashion and entertainment trends, including my favorite--Beams. Most of the area's large department and fashion stores belong to either Tokyu or Seibu, two competing corporations.

Shibuya has achieved great popularity among young people in the last thirty years. There are several famous fashion department stores in Shibuya. Shibuya 109—called "Ichi-Maru-kyū", which translates as 1-0-9 in Japanese, is actually a pun on the name of the corporation that owns it—Tokyu—which translates as 10-9 in Japanese—is a major shopping center near Shibuya Station, particularly famous as the origin of the kogal subculture. The contemporary fashion scene in Shibuya extends northward from Shibuya Station to Harajuku, where youth culture reigns; Omotesandō, the zelkova tree and fashion brand lined street; and Sendagaya, Tokyo's apparel design district.

A prominent landmark of Shibuya is the large intersection in front of the station (Hachiko Exit), which is heavily decorated by neon advertisements and giant video screens and gets crossed by amazingly large crowds of pedestrians each time the traffic light turns green.

Shibuya has everything from 100 Yen noodles, condoms (lots of them in Condomania!!!), pubs, souvenirs, kimonos, fashion T-shirts (some T-shirts by up-and-coming local designers can cost as much as 17,000 Yen!), hats, to top notch gourmet food. No wonder it has been said that Shibuya has threatened Shinjuku's place as the main entertainment and shopping center.
Center Gai is the narrow street leading away from the station to the left of the giant video screen, it's famous as the birthplace of many of Japan's youth fashion trends. Center Gai is jam-packed with clothing stores, music stores, and video game arcades. I was oblivious to time's passing as I strolled insouciantly and felt the Shibuya vibe.

Reminiscing Tokyo Part 5: Gay Life (10/31-11/1/06)

2006-11-14T17:05:00.000-08:00

Someone came to me today and said all the pictures from Japan I have posted are too modest, too upright--that I'm too flourishing and cheery. Okay, I've been on vacation, how can I be *not* flourishing? Did he say I was "flowery" too? Let just say I have my share of naughty adventures but had opened my eyes to kinky gay scenes in Tokyo, which center around Shinjuku-2-Chome, an easy 10-minute walk from my hotel.

After my shopping binge at the flagship Muji store--which advertises for "no brand, good product," I hopped on the next train back to Shinjuku for a night of clubbing and dancing. But I need to say a few words about Muji. It was developed in the early 1980s as a private brand of the giant Seiyu discount department store, offering an antidote to the rampant brand mania in the Japanese economic "bubble" period. A common sense approach defines the store aesthetics and sets the stage for a lesson in pared down retail design based on things like bulk packaging in plain, uniform containers. Under simple track lights, products are stored in unpainted wicker bins, on plain plywood shelving and unvarnished wood tables. In a tsunami of beige, the Muji message of unadorned simplicity makes itself explicit. I for sure left my mark at Muji and paid my due!

No sooner had I walked out of Shinjuku Station did I spot two Japanese men holding hands making their way into 2-Chome (translates into 2nd lane). I thought they looked so sweet that they were completely oblivious to the worldly eyes of reproach to have publicly claimed their love. In Japan, gay men are so much more suppressed to publicly show affection for one another. Disguised under their suit and tie during the day, you won't run into many gay men even though at least 10% of the population is gay. When flashing blinking neon signs replace the petering sunlight at dusk, activities and hangouts of gay men limit only to a few chome (lanes) in Shinjuku, Ginza, and Shibuya.

However meager or minisculed the gay scene might be, it doesn't necessarily cool down the heat of a gay dancing club. In fact, some of them might have got so kinky that many American guys find them a bit overwhelmed. Recently a superstar in the music industry dressed up in tight leather SM outfit for his round-the-country tour. His image became a new icon for gay men--who dressed up in tight harness and leather vest with boots and hit the dance floor of many clubs in Shinjuku.

On the way to Arty Farty (my favorite bar) after the leather bar I ran into these guys who were campaigning for the gay magazine Badi, a monthly Japanese magazine for gay men. The title comes from the Japanese pronunciation of "buddy." Badi frequently has approximately 500-1000 pages (easily like a white page), including several pages of glossy colour and some black and white photographs and drawings of young, fit men in their teens and early twenties. Despite the pornographic pictures and stories, however, Badi is not a pornographic magazine. Badi appeals to a young market (and to admirers of younger men). It features fashion, health and relationship articles and community news and event listings. The guy on the right asked me if I was interested in a session of candid shots. Oh well...

At Arty Farty, things were still slow because it was early. A few people were sitting at tables against wall engaging in low conversation against the droning of jazz music. The dance floor was empty and the bar-tender, a 20ish cub type with a paperboy hat, was busy wiping martini glasses for the night. I took a seat at the bar and chatted with him with my broken, choppy Japanese which I have long forgotten since I left the classroom in college.
Anyway, Arty Farty is in Ni-Chome (2nd lane), right around the corner from Advocates Cafe, where I posted an entry from my mobile about a little earlier. Advocates closes around midnight on Sunday, so Arty Farty is always a convenient place to retreat to when they shut the doors at Advocate. I prefer Arty Farty over other bars is the all-you-can drink wine thing (like the beer blast at Advocates, except, well, with wine).

This bar for boys and the guys who love them has been the gateway to Tokyo's gay neighbourhood, Ni-chome, for many a man for many a moon. Women are allowed only on weekends, and usually only with gay friends, and yes, apparently, they mean it. As the music picked up and people began to converge at the dance floor, spirits heightened around the bar. I met a few Caucasian men who were living and working in Tokyo. They usually came a couple nights just to chat over glasses of wine and checked out younger Japanese boys. They were somewhat taken aback and surprised when I started speaking to them in English fluently.

I talked with them for hours and was oblivious of time's passing. It was 20 after midnight when I looked at my watch for the first time. I jotted down their contacts and e-mails on a crumpled piece of paper that was earlier a receipt from Muji and bid them goodbye.

On the walk back to the hotel I spotted yet another curious sight--Hotel Nuts! Japan seems to never stop fascinating me! Hotel Nuts right in Shinjuku Ni-Chome along with all the gay bars and clubs. How appropriate eh?!

One Relaxing Day in Hong Kong: Hiking Trip (10/26/06 Hazy, Periods of Sun)

2006-11-13T17:00:00.000-08:00

A few e-mails from readers and friends ask me to post some pictures in Hong Kong. To be honest, I'm somewhat deprived of my hometown's pictures, partly because I have been occupied with many obligations which have rendered me busy, and partly because I have grown sated with taking pictures of the same spots. By popular demand, I'll interrupt the Japan travelogue with several pictures of a hiking trip I took. It was a roughly 2.5 hours hike from Wong Ngai Chung Reservoir to Stanley, a somewhat strenuous hike on a trail that is tugged in the fold of Mt. Violet's valleys of Hong Kong Island. If you look at the topography map of the trail, you will see three successive peaks which one has to negotiate. So the cross section of the trail will look like a camel's humps. The first half of the hike was easy--a 30-minute flat trail that meandered along the cliff that afforded panoramic views of Deep Water Bay, Repulse Bay, the South China Sea and wound back to the hill. The fun began as I was about half way into the foothill of Twin Heads--the trail began to climb steeply that I was soaked in sweat. I had to stop halfway up the first peak and rested for a couple minutes. Shrubs and trees sheltered a portion of the trail before hitting the top, but no sooner had I the chance to look around than it abruptly descended, turning into pebbles and gravel. After reaching the top of the second peak, I was wheezingand again had to undress myself to cool off. The weather could be deceitful as the day started off with no too intensive UV, but the heat was enervating. As the trail became more mangably flat and the slope less steep I knew for sure Stanley Peninsula might be looming on the horizon at any moment.
09:21 I got off the bus thinking I had disembarked one stop too early, for I couldn't locate the trailhead, which was tugged in behind the reservoir. Started a little bit late.

09:32 After walking for about 10 minutes, on the damp trail abound with mosquitos, the view of the sea slowly loomed on the horizon. Ouch, forgot to insect-proof my arm so I got bit. The peninsula on the right is home of the Ocean Park.

09:57 First glimpse of Repulse Bay, the most popular beach in Hong Kong. During summer time it is always packed. I realized the trail didn't offer a view of Deep Water Bay, which was obstructed by the cliff. I was a little bit disappointed.

09:59 This is the best view of Repulse Bay. If you pay closer attention to the little peninsulas jutting out into the ocean on far left above the beach, tugged inside the land protruding into the water are two more beaches. Owing to their secluded locales they are more quiet and thus are popular among the gays!

10:00 Repulse Bay has developed to be an inhabitat of the city's rich and famous--high rises have towered and thus obstructed the beautiful view from the trail.

10:21 This is where the fun begins--bootcamp time! After hitting this sign I began to climb the first of three "humps." By this time I've been soaking wet and bit three times by mosquitos.

10:40 I ran into a fellow hiker--the only human being whom I had encountered during the entire hike. It turned out that she was a local who was taking a mid-morning walk with her little puppy. She took the shortcut from Tai Tam Reservoir so she did not climb any of the peaks which I was about to attempt.

10:53 A glimpse of Tai Tam Reservoir. If I take the left side of the fork I would be there in no time, bypassing all three hills. But that way would be take me to Stanley.

11:10 One of my favorite pictures of the hills. Verdant green bushes and trees embodied me, the lone hiker, under a thin layer of fog. The trace in the midst of the green is the trail that led me to the peak of the first hill.

11:58 Three peaks later the Stanley Peninsula looms on the horizon as the trail has a mitigating turn to gradually descend. Even though it didn't take as much effort to hike down, I could feel the staggering pressure on my knees and my calves. It was at this time of fatigue that I realized my supply of water had exhausted. I was looking forward to meeting civilization again in Stanley and having food!

12:30 What a treat after a workout! McDonald's in Hong Kong also operates McCafe, which serves deli sandwiches, espresso drinks and fresh squeezed juices. I took a seat at a quiet corner and whiled away the afternoon with reading Kleist and writing some postcards.
14:20 After lunch, I sauntered around Stanley, came out from the maze od shopping lanes where every inch of space was used to make money. I came to an open area where you can view the bay. A mom is telling her toddler to appreciate the flower.
14:22 People usually think of Hong Kong as a packed concrete forest with skyscapers towering over a small patch of land, true--but once you escape from the city, you can embrace the beauty of nature as well. This is my favorite pondering spot.
14:23 Stanley Bay
14:30 Stanley Market is the place to find silk garments, sportswear, art, Chinese costume jewellery, other souvenirs and a host of fantastic bargains. Stanley village also offers an appetising range of restaurants and snack bars. Most of them, unfortunately, lost their original touch of a village joints as they are now catered to tourists. I stay away from these places because I'm not a tourist!

14:43 Murray House - a former British army officers' quarters and the oldest example of Western architecture. It was dismantled in 1982 and put back together again - brick by brick.

Reminiscing Tokyo Part 4: Ginza Day & Night (10/31/06)

2006-11-09T17:00:00.000-08:00

I took pictures of Ginza day and night just so you can see the hustle-and-bustle of this main artery of Tokyo. All sides of the intersection, no matter at any time of the day, are packed with pedestrians waiting to cross, running errands, going to meet someone to seal a business deal, heading home, going to work, gluing to the cellphone.
After dark, Ginza turns into a party heaven, with clubs and karaoke galore, you'll see members of the hip generation donning outfits purchased from Harajuku plunging into the night life.

Spared from jetlag, I'm getting back to the swing of routine here. My mind is still daydreaming, though, savoring all the good time I had in Asia, especially in Japan. I'll continue the fun with happenings in Ginza. As you might have realized, I have to separate my travelogue into two sections. On the morning of Halloween (a very peaceful one for me sans party and costumes), I visited Sensoki Temple in Asakusa to ensure making my wish to the goddess with a pure, peaceful and sound of mind. In the afternoon, I hopped on the subway, the Hibiya Line of the Tokyo Metro, to the heart of Tokyo, Ginza.

Everyone who has been to Japan must know Ginza. It was named after the silver-coin mint established there in 1612 during the Edo period. Modern Ginza began in 1872 when, after a devastating fire, the English architect Thomas Waters designed these 2- and 3-story Gregorian brick buildings when rebuilding was in full swing. The heart of Ginza is the intersection of Chuo-dori and Harumi-dori, dominated by the glass cylinder of the San-ai Building. With its huge neon sign, it's been the image of Ginza on postcards and travel books for decades now. The other corners are occupied by Wako and Mitsukoshi, two of the most prestigious department stores (the former being a cut above), and the Nissan Gallery, which shows off new and classic automobiles.

I sat down and had an aftertoon-tea set (a piece of chocolate mouusse cake and a beverage for 1575 Yen) at the Hills inside Mitsukoshi. The cafe, which locates on the second floor, is a great people-watching spot that affords an unobstructed view of the busiest intersection (might as well be the most expensive strip of land) in Tokyo. Being unaware of time's passing I whiled away the afternoon as the blue sky petered out and became different hues of gray--neon lights dressing up Ginza at dusk.

Reminiscing Tokyo Part 3: More Pictures of Asakusa, Sensoji Temple (10/31/06)

2006-11-07T16:06:00.000-08:00

Click here for Part 1 of my Tokyo travelogue, and here for Part 2 if you have missed them. I'll be continuously updating coverage for of the entire Japan trip.

More pictures of Sensoji Temple in Asakusa.
For 300 Yen you can make a wish and write it on a small wooden card and hang it on one of the racks around the temple.
Local people allow incense waft over them to purify them.
The interior of the Sensoji Temple. A middle-aged Japanese couple were hanging the strip of paper rendered by the fortune stick onto the rack.
Now it's my turning to tie my fortune paper on the rack. I was making a wish...
Many tourists misunderstood the etiquette of purification. You're supposed to make an offering to the temple, whose clerks will in exchange give you an incense. Light up he incense and place it onto the sand bath in the furnce and let the incense waft over the body to achieve purification. I hope the goddess will grant my wish.
A favorite picture of mine. This one offers a complete view of Sensoji Temple and its peripheral monuments--makes a good postcard eh?
After Sensoji Temple, I had a bowl of Hokaido-style noodle soup with gyoza (Japanese potstickers).

Reminiscing Tokyo Part 2: Asakusa (10/31/06)

2006-11-05T02:48:00.000-08:00

Click here for Part 1 of Reminiscing Tokyo.

Got up at the crack of dawn. After a quick bite of breakfast, I arrived at Shinjuku Metro station early in the morning, at around 7, to evade the notorious morning rush hour commute which usually packed all the trains with people like sardines. The ride to Asakusa, the inaugural destination of my Tokyo adventure, required a transfer at Ginza.

Asakusa is the home of Sensoji Temple, one of the most worshipped after and revere in not only Tokyo but also in Japan. Both locals and tourists pay tribute to this temple which can be reached via subway. The splendid Kaminarimon Gate, which is one of the three main entrances of the temple, greeted me shortly after I sauntered off the subway exit. I stood in awe of the red-painted portal from which hung a gigantic lantern with the kanji (Chinese characters) lei moon (door of thunder) printed on it. The original gate was destroyed in the air raids of 1945, so this is a reconstruction built in 1960. On the right of the gate stands God of the Wind and on the left, the God of Thunder. The gate is a prime spot for a kodak moment so I waited patiently until the crowd thinned out a bit.

Once through the gate I was in Nakamise Shopping Arcade. The street is lined with colorful, lively stalls selling traditional knick-knacks, festival foods and rice crackers. Wafting aroma of made-to-order pastries filled the busy roofed promenade. Hanzomon Gate marks the end of the street. Reconstructed in 1964, the treasures of Sensoji are stored inside. Aligned on both sides along the area in front of the Hazomon Gate are giant billboards of white lanterns that record dedications to the temple.

As I walked nearer the temple I noted some large incense burners. Incense is wafted over the body as an act of purification so many guests and worshippers gather around these burners to begin their visit. After conducting the formality, I found what I came for--the large wooden fortune telling stand. To use it, first shuffle the metal cylindrical tin until a wooden stick is sped out of the contain. Then I located a slip of paper from a chest of drawers that deciphered the message of the stick. For those who can't read kanji, give the stick to the temple official who, in return, will issue you with a slip of paper. If the paper says you have bad luck, by then tying it to the branch of a tree or the special rack provided, it will apparently blow away.

I got stick #55, which is a stick of regular fortune. The slip of paper says what I have lost will be found. Sickness might be healed. As for love, I have to be patient as the person whom I am waiting (or looking for) will come late. That's not too bad eh? At least I know he is out there, somewhere, maybe it's not time yet; or maybe he is someone I know with whom I have yet to cultivate a deeper relationship. After Sensoji Temple, I was scouring the stalls for souvenirs and gifts but only to realize that they might be over-priced so I decided to wait.

Although I didn't spend any money at the shopping arcade, I spotted a Japanese woman donning a traditional kimono, whom I tried to follow and of whom I took pictures. Then I lingered in front of the cookie shop and watched raptly at the making of puffs. After saying goodbye to Asakusa, I hopped back into the subway for Ueno for some bargain on rice crackers and fruit.

Reminiscing Tokyo Part 1: Shinjuku (10/30/06)

2006-11-05T01:16:00.000-08:00

I boarded Japan Airlines flight 736 bound for Tokyo Narita Airport from Hong Kong at 11:15 on October 30. Boarding was smooth at the airport and the 4-hour flight was rather uneventful in terms of feelow passengers' noises and soliciting conversations. Over the surprisingly delightful meal which featured a savory katsu kare raizu (curry pork over rice) I busied myself with some last-minute planning and itinerary revision to ensure that I wouldn't waste a minute of my being in Japan.

The somewhat aged Boeing 747-300 (without the wingslets) would have landed ahead of schedule had Narita Airport not been so chaotic with air traffic control. At least the immigration check and baggage claim were so efficient that they had more than compensated the delay. After managing to clear custom, exchange money, and buy train ticket, I still missed the 16:47 Narita Express to Shinjuku, a non-stop train that would take me to the heart of Tokyo in about 90 minutes for 3110 Yen. The 17:17 train dropped me off at Shinjuku shortly before 7 pm and although it was dark the streets of Shinjuku were lightened up by numerous neon signs.

Hurling my luggage through the busy streets abound with off-work commuters, I lost my sense of direction owing to a lack of street signs. I relied on landmarks which the Lonely Planet guide mentions, located them on the map and made sure I was heading the right direction to the hotel. I stopped by a soba ya (noodle house) where I had to purchase a ticket for the noodle from a vendor machine before I took a seat. For 800 Yen I enjoyed a welcoming tenpura soba (shrimp and vegetable tempura over cold noodle) and it was not before long (I was ravenous) when I found a great bargain for nice lycra/polyester boxers for 100 Yen a pair at the 100-Yen store!

Upon checking into my room, which was no bigger than a work cubicle, I dashed out of the hotel once again to be back in the hustle-and-bustle night scenes of Shinjuku, where it only became more lively and convivial as people who got off work were now replaced by trendy-looking bar cruisers and party goers.

Bright neon signs lightened up the sky as if it was deprived of stars. Restaurants, noodle shops, karaoke bars, clubs, and shops lined the streets of Shinjuku and stayed open to the wee hours. Exhausted from a day's worth of travel, I walked back to the hotel and, before I called the night, I studied the subway map scrupulously and familiarized with the route by which I had to take for the next few days--for I was prepared to might have got lost in the labyrinths.

Stay tuned for more travel blog and more pictures. I will also upload *all* the pictures to the picture section.

Last Day in Japan

2006-11-02T03:11:00.000-08:00

I'll miss the hustle and bustle so much--the crowded subway in which I had to elbow in the morning rush hour, the splendid neon-lightened streets, the delicious sushi and the flagship Muji Store in Ginza.

More Random Thoughts on Hong Kong/Arriving Shinjuku, Tokyo

2006-10-29T06:55:00.000-08:00

Thank you all for your e-mail messages and comments. I miss all of you back home--you've been on my mind. I just checked into my hotel room in Shinjuku, one of the busiest neighborhoods in Tokyo, known for delicious soba (cold noodle), sushi and katsu don (deep fried pork chop over rice). Before I dive into sights and thoughts of Japan, I have to rewind and share some random thoughts in Hong Kong.

(1)
My gaydar totally failed in Hong Kong. I was waiting in line for the bus that would take me to the Big Buddha in Po Lin Mnastery and standing behind me were a mixed group of ruggedly-looking, atheltic, bearish (meterosexual?) men who from time to time stole a glance or two at me. One of them, who had a close-fitting Armani Exchange t-shirt on and was clad in the trendy Keen sandals (which I bought myself a pair after seeing him wearing), was probably in his mid 30s, maybe 5'8", was smiling at me in a countenance as if he was going to buy me a drink at the bar. Anyway, we never talked, and I regretted not initiating a conversation. About half way through the bus ride, that group of guys got off and it turned out that they were reporting to their week-long shift at the Correctional Service facilities! Something about their profession and their interaction among themselves told me that none of them, not even the cute one with a rugged look, was gay. Oh well.

(2)
I've been scouring bookstores for the last few days looking for a detailed street map of Tokyo. Hong Kong, in my opinion and impression, is not a readerly city, a fact that can be easily corroborated by the bestseller chart, which is usually dominated by DIY books, weight loss journals, and comics. I mean, the last time a work of fiction that topped the chart, was Da Vinci Code. So go figure. Maybe The Devil Wears Prada will stand a chance. Usually a work of fiction of literature will have its 2 days worth of glory on the chart if it is made into a motion picture. So no sooner you walk into a bookstore in Hong Kong (which is usually not bookish but more like an interior design salon) than you see a section called "Movie Tie-in". Anyway, I want to say there might be hope for the future generation as I have spotted more and more people browsing the literature section. I saw a guy reading Shopaholic--whose effort I compliment, although I would rather have him picked up a copy of Chekov's Short Stories, which exemplify precise, descriptive, and arresting prose. In the meantime, I'm still reading Heinrich von Kleist's The Marquise of O-- and Other Stories--a collection of intriguing works that with the psychological mysteries and covulution keep on reversing what I might have speculated about the outcome of the stories.

(3)
I purchased a new digital camera--I know, you all might be craning your neck and waiting for my pictures--which I will post very soon. The new one is also a Canon, the ixus 900Ti, with 10.1 mega pixel resolution and a 3x optical lens. This one also is endowed with the picture-in-picture function and is upgraded to ISO 3200. I'll be taking lots of shots with the newbie in Japan, and yes, I promise the pictures of me in swimtrunks. LOL

Stay tuned for more. Until next time, be well. By the way, I'm writing this post at the airport internet terminal while waiting for the shuttle bus.

Checking in from Hong Kong

2006-10-25T02:08:00.000-07:00

The city doesn't sleep. No sooner had the white-collared folks and kids gone home from a busy day of work and school than night crawlers wake up to partying and clubbing to the wee hours. Hong Kong is somewhat too fast-paced for that peace-loving, solitude-craving poet in me! I have got tired of elbowing jostling subway, crowded streets and busy restaurants--so I have taken refuge in the hidden countryside--negotiating some difficult terrains of meandering trails that are foreign even to locals. Stay tuned for the pictures, most of which capture beautiful sceneries of beaches and myself.

Today I woke up at the crack of dawn, to the chirping of birds and the tintinnabulating of bicyles delivering fresh poultry, had a quick over-nurturing breakfast(three eggs and milk) and taken up a 10-km hike spanning over three hills (so the cross section of which would be like a camel's humps). The cardio would compensate my recent indulgence on food! The views from the trail was spectacular although the hike was arduous, with steeped elevation change. I encountered only a few morning joggers who probably covered the easier segments of the trail before I was left alone with only wind's company. I made the final descend onto the popular village of Stanley 3 hours later and treated myself a cup of fresh-squeezed orange juice.

I plan to check out an upscale gay bar in town--Rice Bar--a subdued, low-key, jazz bar that is tugged away in the financial district on Jervois Street.

I have not been deprived of reading. The suspenseful prose of Heinrich von Kleist has never failed to intrigue me on the road. I finished The Earthquake in Chile shortly after I arrived in the city and that only made me want more. Not only did the earthquake destroy the just and the outlaw, it also brings out the best of human nature--heroic courage and self-sacrifice, mutual help and compassion, and the worst--the frenzied search for scapegoat and the religious zeal that serves as a pretext for sickening cruelty.

The Marquise of O- reads like a psychological mystery in which the heorine fell into the hands of some ruffian enemy troops who attempted to assualt her. What intrigued me the most is a deluge of prose depicting the upheaval which the troops had caused in the citedel and the scene in which they tried to rape her. Served to mitgate the quick action is one crucial sentence on which the outcome of the story hinges. It also justifies the marquise's courage to call forward the mystrious man who had impregnated her--her bearing a staimina of social disgrace and derision.

So much about reading...I do have acquired a few volumes while scouring the bookshops here in Hong Kong: Labyrinths by Borges and some short story collection by Chekov.

Stay tuned for all the pictures, which for sure will be better than a thousand words. A lot of them would be candid (amlost trivial) shots of daily life--food stalls on the street making egg sandwich, old man pushing a hand-cart full of crumpled-up papers, swimming session (that, could be a little scary, with me in my swim trunks...) and the rush hour crowd dashing on both sides of subway platform.

Looking forward to going to Japan on Oct 30. Until then, hope all is well with everyone. Thanks to Matt and Tony for their messages. Hope you'll enjoy this special report from the Pearl of the Orient. I'll upload the pictures soon.

On The Threshold to Paradise

2006-10-10T07:25:00.000-07:00

I'm due at the airport to drop off the checked bags at 10 pm tonight. Despite the inevitable dread of air travel these days, with tightened security, longer lines, and the dull prospect of a 14+ hours flight, online check-in mitigates some of the hassle. Auto check-in is such a cool idea through which I can even pick my own seat for all the flights in my itinerary. That means no more badgering (and bribing, just kidding) the ground agents for aisle seats. All I need is to punch in my passport number, confirmation code and contact info. This will spare me from the long line that will wrap around the check-in counter at the airport as I can bypass the queue and drop off my bags at the designated counter. What a relief!

I travel very light since I will most likely sleep through half the flight. In my Timbuk2 I've got my iPod, the charger (thanks to Cathay Pacific for built-in electrical plug on the seat), a smaller personal toiletry tote, and a couple books:

The Yellow-Lighted Bookshop by Lewis Buzbee
The Marquise of O and Other Stories by Heinrich von Kleist

and my Moleskine journal and a pen. Throughout the years of traveling I have developed this pet peeve of people who tirelessly and inconsiderately rummaged through their bags stored away in the overhead bin. Why do people fly with so much crap when all they have got is a mere 32 inches of space?

I'm ready. I'll throw in some pictures and anecdotes from time to time whenever I have access. See you all in 5 weeks. Take care.

A Wedding That Feels Like Coming Home

2006-10-08T06:59:00.000-07:00

Yesterday I attended the wedding of two good friends of mine, one of whom is my roommate from college at Berkeley. The ceremony took place outdoor at a golf course that is tugged in the beautiful folds of the Napa Valley, in front of an oak tree. It was, in fact, more than a wedding, but rather a reunion of the college friends. The wedding was gorgeous not only because of the lush, verdant setting and the oboe-cello tunes diffusing through the light breeze, it was one that stroke my heart-chord as I was reminiscing the days when we ate, studied, and spent time together on campus. A good number of us came to celebrate Weizhu and Patty's special day with their kids--strollers neatly parked at the back of the ceremony seating, tupperware full of cheerios and fruit, toddlers crawling on the freshly mowed lawn, babies whining for attention. As I was sitting there and watching groom and the bride proceeding to the altar, lighting the unity candle, conducting a tea ceremony to honor and show respect of their parents, a sudden awareness-- one that is magnified by time's indifference seized me, but not with joy and happiness. Seeing my friends remind me of my being single, but to my gratitude and joy, it is the feeling like coming home to be with a family.

Sandy Lam's Latest MV - Face To Face

2006-10-06T17:00:00.000-07:00

¡@

Yesterday was like the past life
With a looming blurry face and
not capable of telling details--an
Inexplicable feeling

Whether feeling has presaged the happening, or
Happening has exerted the feeling, it's
Like joining the dots,
Bespeaking a broken heart

A moment like lightning sparkles the thunder,
at the split second when eyes are open and
Heart is ashened,
Truth to be revealed

Perhaps it goes too flourishingly
That quickens the fading
Red and sodden eyes can finally
See the hidden truth lurking over horizon

The past lives in the room next door
Phone call that was never answered
Scenes playing insouciantly in my mind, but
Once I let let go and
Open my eyes I finally see the truth

I finally summon the courage to face myself
With a sobriety that is a disguise of cowardness, which
Restores me back to senses
Being together and breaking apart are merely two faces of life, and
I no longer need nobody's hug, but
Find myself in my own cozy room

I finally summon the courage to face myself
With a perfection that is a disguise of blemishes, which
Restores me back to sense
Right and wrong are merely two ways of life, and
I can embrace my shortcomings, but
Find myself in my own cozy room

I finally summon the courage to face myself
With a perfection that is a disguise of blemishes, which
Restores me back to senses
Gain and loss are no more than two sides of a coin, though
It is always flipped to one side, but I find
Blue sky in my room

Old vs. New Books

2006-10-05T06:49:00.000-07:00

I left a comment to Danielle's post on buying old books vs. new books. She talks about how she might scour a used bookstore to browse and perhaps buy a book, but if she wanted something new it just went without saying that she would buy it new and quite often at full price. I would do the same except now almost all the books I read or put on my reading pile are in print--and that means the cost of buying these books new can be staggering. So I rely on the used bookstore, and thank God the city offers some of the best used bookshops with wide selections and book-savvy staff.

I read and re-read works of my favorite authors: Dostoevsky, Tolstoy, Banville, Saramago, Ishiguro, Hollinghurst, Franzen; for pleasure, and also analytically, conscious of the style, the diction, the way these authors employ close third-person narration to describe their characters, who are often given to sober fits and semi-delirium for significant portions of the narrative, etc. So it just goes without thinking I would buy books new, whether they are hardback or paperbacks.

Sometimes I want to experiment (experience) with new authors, authors whose works I have yet to read, or other forms and genres of literature. I encounter inevitably the uncertainty of whether a book is up to my liking (I'm sure every devoted reader and bibliophile can relate)--I usually read the first few pages and try to be conscious of the style, the diction, the tone and the writing. This is how I discovered Heinrich von Kleist as i have mentioned in my blog, and also Desperate Characters by Paula Fox, a thin novel with dazzling prose that slowly unveils the faultlines of a marriage through the incident in which the woman, heedless of her husband's warning, got bit by a stray cat while feeding her.

I have also used Alibris, and Powells Books, both of which are great resources for used and rare books. Recently I was looking for Rebecca West's 1966 novel The Birds Fall Down after coming across a literary tribute to her on the paper. I had no luck anywhere scouring all the local bookstores, not even the used store. It turned out that the novel has been out of print for 20 years! So I looked it up at abebooks.com and ordered a copy from a bookseller in California for more expedite shipping. These sites are treasure boxes for book lovers!

Heinrich von Kleist II

2006-10-04T08:08:00.000-07:00

I cannot help riffling through The Marquise of O and Other Stories before my vacation starts and this title novella, which isn't all that long, has a grabby, switchbacking plot that pulls me right in as soon as I read the first sentence:

In M-, a large town in northern Italy, the widowed Marquise of O-, a lady of unblemished reputation and the mother of several well-bred children, published the following notice in the newspapers: that, without her knowing how, she was in the family way; that she would like the father of the child she was going to bear to report himself; and that her mind was made up, out of consideration for her people, to marry him.

One sentence contains more plot and enough appeal to pull me in. I realize that the Marquise, who has a spotless reputation and is already a mother--to dispel whatever doubts I might have harbored otherwise about what I'll read subsequently, namely, that she is pregnant and has no idea how such a thing might have happened.

This is the power of Kleist, who usually gives very little physical description of his characters, but tells you what sort of people they are. His stories usually proceed in a series of twists and turns that keep reversing each one of our assumptions and expectations. The convulution jars one's sense of who the characters are, of what happened, and of what will happen.

I have to stop or I'll finish the whole story collection before the vacation starts!

Wedding Music Sampler for Frank & Stephanie

2006-10-03T12:00:00.000-07:00

A Little Night Music
Air-Sheep May Safely Graze - Bach
Air from Water Music Suite - Handel
Air On The G String
All in A Garden Green
Allegro from Brandenburg Concerto #4 in G - J.S. Bach
Always - Atlantic Starr
Arioso
Ave Maria
Because You Loved Me - Celine Dion
Brandenburg Concerto No.6 Alegro - Bach
Canon in D (1) - Pachelbels
Canon in D (2) - Pachelbels
Cantata No. 208
Cavalleria Rusticana Intermezzo
Cello Suite
Chorale Prelude, "Wachet Auf"
Con Te Partiro
Ain't Misbehavin'
All The Things You Are
And I Love Her
Andante Rosamunde
April In Paris
Autumn In New York
Autumn Leaves
Be My Love
Blue Bossa
Blue Skies
Bossa Nova
Central Park West
Country Club Rag
Days of Wine & Roses
Drink To Me Only With Thine Eyes
Embraceable You
Everything

Going Away Checklist

2006-09-30T17:30:00.000-07:00

My trip to Asia is lurking over the horizon--exactly 10 days from today. Mitigation of the homeland security alert renders it possible for passengers to bring personal care and hygiene items that are 3 oz or smaller. In addition to clothing and gifts packed away in the checked bags, here is the list of the hand-carry essentials:

Travel Documents
__Passport
__Identification
__Visa for China, Cambodia, Laos
__E-ticket
__Online check-in (available 48 hours prior to departure)

Money

In my Timbuk2
__Laptop
__iPod + charger
__Moleskine notebook
__Reading material (most likely Heinrich von Kleist and Yellow-lighted Bookshop)
__Digital camera + memory cards
__Eye shade + Ear plug (to discourage seatmates from making casual conversation)

Toiletry Tote
__Facial wash
__Toothbrush
__Listerine
__Hand lotion
__Sun block (SPF 30)
__Lip balm
__Small towel

Just In Case
__Snack (we all know how reliable and edible airline food is)
__TUMS (Asia has no TUMS, I learned my lesson)
__Over-the-counter medications
__Mask

Heinrich von Kleist

2006-09-29T06:37:00.000-07:00

Recently, in an article from a literary magazine that quoted some of the most captivating opening sentences for short stories, I came across these shimmering lines that are so full of bravado that they end with a flourish guaranteed to persuade the reader to turn the page:

In Santiago, the capital of the kingdom of Chile, at the very moment of the great earthquake of 1647 in which many thousands of lives were lost, a young Spaniard by the name of Jeronimo Rugera, who had been locked up on a criminal charge, was standing against a prison pillar, about to hang himself.

This one sentence not only establishes an ominous tone and delivers the sense that the novel is set against a crucial historical backdrop, it encapsulates something essential about the remainder of the work. No sooner had I put down the article did I looked up online tro track down a copy of his short stories--in order to satisfy my brimming curiosity sparkled by these questions in my mind:

1. What happened during the earthquake that involved a tremendous loss of lives?
2. What criminal charge has caused the young man to be locked up?
3. Why does the young man consider taking his own life?
4. Most of all, the idea of a suicide taking place at the split second of the disaster is both appealing and hair-splitting.

So I'm taking von Kleist with me to vacation, for sure.

On Muscle Gain

2006-09-28T06:03:00.000-07:00

Weight lifters wanting to increase muscle require more protein-heavy selections before or after a workout. Broiled salmon with white beans is an example of a good choice for an after-exercise meal. In order to bulk up, I follow this two point plan especially when the trip is lurking over the horizon.

Training is the way to increase muscle mass. But in order to train one needs enough energy from the right foods. Instead of tucking away a load of steaks, I usually munch through foods high in starch and carbohydrate. I'll put on an average of two pounds of lean body tissue each month by eating an extra 500 calories of carbohydrate a day.

My current diet plan:
Breakfast
A big bowl of cereal with toast

Mid morning snack
Banana with orange juice

Lunch
Large chicken baguette followed by a Mars bar

Mid afternoon snack
Fruit scone, with a portion of fruit.

Dinner
Big portion of chill or chicken or salmoni with a large portion of rice

I realize some exercises actually thwart putting on muscle. Running, rowing, or using step machines may trigger hormones that hinder weight gain, so keep them to a minimum. I maintain running at most twice a week for cardio. Training buddies at the gym tell me that one of the most effective methods of rapid muscle gain is eccentric training, which involves overloading the muscle while it?s in the lowering stage of the lift. So I count for two seconds on my lift but four as I lower.

I have been doing this for at least four weeks and I have seen significant muscle gain.

Reading About Reading & Writing

2006-09-26T17:45:00.000-07:00

I just started Francine Prose's Reading Like a Writer: A Guide for People Who Love Books and for Those Who Want to Write Them to set the tone for my upcoming vacation. She cautions readers to slow down and pay attention to words, the raw material out of which literature is crafted. I ponder at this thought and realize this is the reason I embrace language--I would read and reread the authors I most live, to read for pleasure but also to read analytically, to be conscious of the style, to be aware of the deceptively minor decision the writer makes in a sentence. After all, we were all close readers at an infantile age when we learned how to read the pictorial story books. Demands of other duties and obligations make us skim and read quickly the classics that deserve time and attention. I enjoy reading--to look for crucial revelations that are in the spaces between words.

[59] Dancer From The Dance - Andrew Holleran

2006-09-25T06:00:00.000-07:00

In a voice that is as close to laughter as to tears, but retaining the sobriety and equanimity, an omnipresent narrator tells the story of Malone, a handsome young man who searches wholeheartedly for the love of his life. Interwoven with the prose are vivid visions of society in the 1970s, of the emerging gay New York, and historical landmarks. Despite his not knowing Malone personally, the narrator paints a picture that does justice of Malone and his sentimentality. They were hardly friends, the presence of whom maybe no more than an exchange of nod at the bar and in Fire Island--something that did not even qualify as an acquaintance. But the narrative poignantly captures Malone's innocent heart, his turning sentimental over a lasting relationship, and his inexhaustible desire to be liked. His elegance and gentility--the courtesy with which he navigated the bar crowd of an oblivious brusqueness appeals to the narrator, making an impression so deep that to the observer he was the center of the scene, the ultimate symbol of gay life. Overwhelmed by a loneliness that haunts him, Malone is ashamed of being alone and is resolved to not live alone forever, or without love.

What hits me the most (and that is the one thing that tugs so snuggly in my heart) is that Malone is very melodramatic, sentimental, and clinging on to temperament. He surely lives (and suffers) for love more than others. Whether he finds the love of his life or not, his determination renders his living life to the full. The novel, after all, can be viewed as a bittersweet journey to self-enlightenment: He struggled to come out of the closet. He quit a career in law to pursue with passion the one thing that had eluded him utterly--love. He never gave up on finding the true love that would connect to the depth of his soul. The whole allure of this love of his should be isolated from the mob, that is, love banished from the public and spared from any social opinions and norms. Then it dawned on him that what he had been going after was no more than chasing after the wind. He becomes tired of going to bed with people and being just the same afterward as he was before. He started to doubted about love as if love was just a myth, a deception. He could no longer deal with people in that way, the way that used to thrill him (the beauty of the body, the lust, the communication of lips and flesh), and which now, as he was growing older, repelled him starkly and failed to mitigate that depression. How could all these men live with such insincerity and meaningless sex?

Dancer From The Dance is one of the most important works of gay literature because it embraces, one way or another, every gay man's walk to self-discovery. Hilarious, witty, and heartbreaking, it accommodates all the fear, the doubt, the frustration, the anxiety, and the qualm of finding true love in a cruel sea of humanity. The novel exudes an air of melancholy that speaks the truth of the minds of many of us: Are we going to find that special someone? It also replenishes hope that we should be approaching relationship with an open mind and open heart--to look for someone who is in accord with our values.

Love In The Air?

2006-09-24T06:40:00.000-07:00

Love Parade on Market Street paralyzed the traffic so badly. San Francisco is having way too many parades and events that send millions of people on the street and thwart traffic. I mean, is there really love? Everyday should be a love parade for those who are truly in love--you don't have to dress up in tawdy costumes and wear a wig to declare love. Love is stigmatized--it becomes synonymous to one night stand, sex without affection. If I'm in love, my heart will be so heavy, my throat thick, with the thought of that special someone. I would play over and over again in my mind what we have said to one another, how he has looked, the moment at which he walked into the cafe where we met, his parting words... I might sound cynical but there is nothing wrong having expectations. Nothing is better than meeting the person who can share the fantasies deep within me, the secret wishes of the heart. I suppose what we all want is to not be lonely--what I really want is someone to love.

Travel Diversion

2006-09-21T06:52:00.000-07:00

The Department of State issues traveling warning to Thailand after its recent coup. The new ruling military junta announced Thursday that four top members of ousted Prime Minister Thaksin Shinawatra's administration had been detained. Shinawatra himself is believed to have fled to England, where he reunited with his wife and family. The move came as the military banned meetings of political parties and barred the establishment of new parties. Also, coup leaders said they were assuming the duties and powers of parliament, which had been dissolved. Although many Thais favor the peaceful (but very quick and tense) military takeover and Bangkok has returned to normal state, I don't think I want to travel in the midst of heightened alert, not to mention that the military has cordoned off the Thai-Burmese and Thai-Laoian borders. So I have no point of going if I'll be greeted by road blocks. The trains are running ontime and coup has been largely unnoticed by travelers. But my planning to take a bus from Chiang Mai to the northernmost province of Chiang Rai and the subsequent trip to cross the border might present a problem. So I called the airline to cancel Bangkok and book an E-ticket to Kuala Lumpur instead, where I'll connect another flight to the tropical island of Langkawi. The return trip will be made via Singapore where I'll stay with a friend of mine before heading back to Hong Kong.

I See Something Beautiful...

2006-09-20T06:39:00.000-07:00

lurking on the horizon like the skeins of orange and purple that paint the sky before dawn. On Sunday I planted the seed, fertilized the soil and watered--everything seemed to have fit in place--the climate cooperates, with sunshine galore. I hope with careful and slow pruning this time will lead to a harvest.

Tonight I'm going to the book club at The Center for lively and informative discussion of Andrew Holleran's In September, The Light Changes. My friend has told me about this group, which foxuses on lgbt-themed novels and works of non-fiction in a warm and comfortable setting. Past selections have run from mainstream reads to offbeat prose; newest of the new releases to tried and true classics.

Andrew Holleran's first novel, Dancer from the Dance, which I currently read, is recognized as a classic portrait of gay life in New York in the 1970s. It is deemed one of the most important works of gay literature in its temperamental description of one man's search for true love among the brusque crowd of zombies in bars. His subsequent works, from Nights in Aruba and The Beauty of Men (my vacation pick this year) to the essays in Ground Zero, established Holleran as the preeminent voice in the contemporary gay literary canon. His fiction has earned comparisons to that of Guy de Maupassant, Somerset Maugham, and E Scott Fitzgerald, and now Holleran returns with a collection of sixteen powerful short stories. Exploring the lives and times of those who have lived past the exuberance of youth, these tales make for a moving journey across landscapes of regret and loss, shame and pride, loneliness and love.

[58] The Double - Jose Saramago

2006-09-19T06:40:00.000-07:00

The Double tells the tale of a man whose nature inclines him more to melancholy, to a dreamy consciousness, to reverie, and to an exaggerated awareness of the transience of life, as he finds himself caught in the labyrinth of human relationships. Tertuliano Maximo Afonso is a secondary school teacher who feels called upon to teach the most serious subject--history. He might be burnt out from teaching, from the way it was taught in a perfunctory manner that it was not appreciated. The 39 years old has reasons to be depressed: after his unusually peaceful divorce he lives alone, in a penumbra of nostalgic temperament. A colleague suggests a comedy video that might detract him from the ennui--Maximo Afonso instead watches in utter astonishment an actor in the movie who looks exactly like him. Even though he is under no obligation to go look for the person who is a copy of him (or of whom he is a copy), and they won't be savvy of each other's existence, let alone crossing each other's path, he decides to pursue the name (and more) out of sheer curiosity.

It is not until Maximo Afonso is hip deep in his search do I realize how deftly Jose Saramago uses idea of a double to bring to the nub of matter. Afonso is more than in depression: he has no clue of what might have caused him to plunge into depression. Sadly, he is an emotional drifter. Not only is he incorrigibly out of touch with his emotions and feelings, which is undeniable from his unusual equanimity toward his divorce, sans the usual finger-pointing and melodramas, he is also at a loss with words and with language. Despite his being overwhelmed by the existence of a double, who dismisses the resemblance as a banal coincidence, Maximo Afonso occupies himself in strenuous effort of thoughts, in circuitous hypotheses and in the numerous possible outcomes of confronting the double. His apathy toward his girlfriend, whom he makes an accomplice in actions of which origins and causes she knows nothing, constitutes a human flaw--one of moral cowardice that renders him silent and indifferent to people around him. He is slowly given away to a long process of continuous decadence that has afflicted his own loving feelings and replenished his heart with only distraction and indifference. The interlocution between Maximo Afonso and his Common Sense demonstrates his reluctance to be indiscreet about the investigation and his inability to nail his thoughts and feelings in words. However he struggles, he always finds himself outside the feelings he so ingenuously hopes to describe. The Double offers a glimpse of the impacting consequence of a moral weakness--out of fear and cowardice truth is thwarted to be revealed.

Wisdom Teeth

2006-09-16T06:08:00.000-07:00

On Thursday I had two wisdom teeth pulled out. The left side of my cheek is swollen that I look like I'm square-jawed! So the left side of the cheek is maybe half a size bigger than my right side--and I don't want to be seen. I have to call off my date! At least it's not as traumatic as I have perceived: bleeding stopped shortly after the procedure and the blood dappled only three small pieces of gauge pads. There is lingering searing pain but as long as I don't feed on solid food I shall be fine. In the mean time I'm living on books, magazine, porridge, and Sandy!

New Perspective on Cruising

2006-09-13T06:37:00.000-07:00

Neither do I cruise at bar nor go clubbing. Not only am I claustrophobic in crowd but I am also overwhelmed being around sweaty able men bodies! Loud music frays my nerve. But I've always wondered what exactly people are looking for cruising at bars. A story from Andrew Holleran's In September, the Light Changes, which I'm reading for the book club, reveals psychological light into the mind of some (but not all) cruisers. It says people are not looking for a "nice guy" when they go out, but someone a little complicated, a little dangerous, a little depressed, even nasty--someone who is neurotic! It sounds demoralizing but that is how the game is played. Relationship and dating seem to be the same way: You should never sit around waiting for someone to call, never pursue a person--if he wants you, he will let you know. Never assume that beauty has any relation to character traits (I've learned the hard way). What this has taught me is not to take rejection too seriously, and always be prepared to expect that blow.

The reason some of my friends and most people go to the bar is so that they can find someone and never have to go to the bar again. The only problem (and that is a big one)is why they can't find the person. The reasonable way to approach this is to want only whoever finds you appealing. If we were attracted only to people who find us attractive, then everything would make sense. The trouble is, most of the time A wants B, B desires C, C has a crush on D, and so on. We have to admit this is a tough business. I realize the way to go is to meet people in a setting that is most comnfortable to me--where I can meet people who share common interests, and be friends, and see what will develop. At least it will save money buying alcohol right?

Moleskine Notebook Post #200: Gay Men Rule

2006-09-12T09:59:00.001-07:00

Today I publish in Gay Men Rule, a collaborative, multi-authored blog ruled by gay men regardless of gender, age, background, politics, ethnicity, spirituality, or orientation, about my weekend at Lake Tahoe. Check it out. By the way, this is my post #200!

A clip from the concert when Sandy, after much drumming, thudding, and thumping on the part of the band and audience, came out for encore. The song is called Scar.

Sandy Lam @ Lake Tahoe 9/9/06 17:20

2006-09-11T06:47:00.000-07:00

My cousin and I were on the road for almost three and a half hours on Saturday morning, heading up to South Lake Tahoe at Stateline, NV. The stereo was blaring exclusively Sandy Lam--live recording of her 2005 concert in Hong Kong. Much of our exchange focused on the the concert run-down list: What would Sandy be singing out of from her repoertory of some 500 songs? Previously she toured Beijing, Shanghai and Taipei, cities in which the majority of population speaks Mandarin. Just as the US is a melting pot, so was his concert audience, some white guys were all over the place taking pictures of her and cheering at her. The run down of the show consists of Mandarin and Cantonese tracks and she greeted the audience in Mandarin, Cantonese and English.

At 2:02 pm, roughly three hours before the show started, the blaring speakers and bound sounds drew our attention to the outdoor amphitheater at Harvey's--Sandy was having her final rehearsal! We peeked through the barb-wired gate and took photos of it. Then we sauntered off to the main street of S. Lake Tahoe, had a quick bite to eat and got ready for the show. I had to head back to the car and changed to the outfit for the big night--a black woven embroidered shirt and a blazer! The show did not begin until 5:20 pm. She performed for about 2 hours and the audience was brimming with applause, camera clicking and cheering.

Rundown:
Part 1--17:20 She appeared at the top of the stage in black vest.
1.傾斜 [Slanted]
2.燒 [Burn Burn Burn]
3.我坐在這里 [I'm Sitting Here]
4.鏗鏘玫瑰 [The Clanking Rose] A favorite track of mine
5.夜太黑 [The Night Is Too Dark] Sexy and jazzy touch

Part 2--17:49 She changed to a casual tube top.
6.存在 [Exist]
7.Better Man
8.愛上一個不回家的人 [Fall In Love With Someone Who Got Away] Wow! Rock version with new arrangement
9.面對面 [Face to Face] First public performance of the new cut

Anthony鋼琴伴奏，當愛已成往事 [The music director performed a piano solo]
Part 3--18:12 She reappeared on stage in a black evening gown that clung on one shoulder.
10.至少還有你 [At Least I Have You] I almost cried during this song--will dedicate this to my special someone
11.為你我受冷風吹 [Suffer For you] Another ballad that strikes my heart chord
12.沒結果 [I Want You Back] Demonstration of her perfect pitch and vocal
13.玫瑰香(美聲版) [Rosy Fragrance]

倫永亮：我說過要你快樂 [Music direction performed a solo]
Part 4--18:33 Disco Dance Medley
14.Diva
15.不還你 [You Cannot Have It Back]
16.天大地大 [Rocking Sky]
17.一分鐘都市一分鐘戀愛 [City Rhythm]
18.灰色 [Grey - Heartache]

Encore--18:52
After much thumping, thudding, drumming, and egging, Sandy came out one more time for encore.
19.傷痕 [Scar] The first cut of an album that sold over 2 million copies in Asia
20.早晨 [Morning...] She asked if we remember this song
21.無憾 [No Regret] OMG! What a surprise! The track was never recorded in any of her solo albums
22.赤裸的祕密 [Naked Secret] Another of my favorite ballads
23.紙飛機 [Paper Plane] A folklore dedicated to childhood

Closing credits and acknowledgement. We walked to the hotel lobby. We ran into Sandy, her crew, and entourage and I was at a loss of words! We said "Hi Sandy!" and she said hello and smiled at us. I really should have busted out my camera and the CD and asked for a picture with her. Oh well...I was delirious and dizzy...I'll see her live in Singapore in November. I cannot wait.

Less Than 36 Hours Before...

2006-09-08T06:53:00.000-07:00

Sandy Lam Concert at Lake Tahoe. I'm getting all hyped up now trying to figure out what I'll be wearing for this once-of-the-lifetime occasion. I'll be seeing her live also in Singapore next month. Her music touches my heart chord and speaks my mind. Her voice exudes a stirring of melancholy that is not hopeless. I have made it a habit to put on her CD that becomes my lullaby. This particular clip, from 2000, which is definitely one of my top 10, reminds me when I go to bed alone, thinking there is something wrong (with my love life, or rather, the lack of my love life and with myself). That little moment, as Andrew Holleran says, of turning the light off, before going to sleep, always seems to be an admission of failure. Then there is Sandy Lam and this song:

I often console myself with the idea that sometimes in life one could enjoy the men he dates without possessing them. But what happens to the true romance? Even after all the relationship woes, the fall outs, the unspoken goodbyes, the broken phone cords, I am still a firm believer of romance and true love. At least I've got someone for me out there I have yet to find.

By popular demand of my fan club LOL I include a recent picture of me (not that I'm a narcissist...) It was taken last week.

Reading Chair

2006-09-07T06:24:00.000-07:00

From the story The Man Who Got Away in In September, the Light Changes, I read:

"One day he closed The Brothers Karamazov and realized the moment the book slipped from his hands that he could not remember a single thing he had just read that afternoon; so he began searching for the perfect chair in which to read, on different floors of the library, in different nooks of the student union, even the local laundromat, as if, with the right chair, the right level of noise, the right light, the words his eyes were scanning on the page would pass into his brain and actually make an impression."

I've been searching for my reading chair, but not in the library or the laundromat (in fact I hate even lingering around the laundromat). The ideal chair would be a leather seat with armrest and a high back. My elbows should be resting on the armrest when I'm holding my book so the chair should not be too width. I found one at Crate and Barrel but the clerk told me the only one in stock was the one on display.

Getting Ready for Book Club

2006-09-06T06:45:00.000-07:00

I can never be parted with books. During my little vacation here I bring with me Andrew Holleran's collection of stories In September the Light Changes, the book club selection for this month. I picked it up at Book Inc. at 16th and Noe the other day while I was browsing for the vacation pile. Holleran is a highly acclaimed novelist whose best-selling Dancer from the Dance (I've got to re-read that one too) was a landmark in gay literature. Succeeding novels Nights in Aruba and The Beauty of Men and essays in Ground Zero established him firmly in the gay literary canon. Here, Holleran pulls together 16 beautifully crafted short stories written over a 20-year period, each of which deals with perceptions of gay people, gay events, and gay places through the often ironic haze of half-remembered, garbled time. I started it yesterday and hopefully will finish in time to contribute to the discussion on September 20 at the Gay and Lesbian Community Center.

The book reminds me of the song Try To Remember:

Try to remember the kind of september
When life was slow and oh so mellow
Try to remember the kind of september
When grass was green and grain so yellow
Try to remember the kind of september
When you were a young and a callow fellow
Try to remember and if you remember
Then follow--follow, oh-oh

Try to remember when life was so tender
That no one wept except the willow
Try to remember when life was so tender
That dreams were kept beside your pillow
Try to remember when life was so tender
That love was an ember about to billow
Try to remember and if you remember
Then follow--follow, oh-oh

Deep in december its nice to remember
Although you know the snow will follow
Deep in december its nice to remember
Without a hurt, the heart is hollow
Deep in december its nice to remember
The fire of september that made you mellow
Deep in december our hearts should remember
Then follow--follow, oh-oh

[57] Dostoevsky vs. Saramago

2006-09-05T06:32:00.000-07:00

Each of my two favorite authors wrote a novel with the same title--The Double. I reviewed Dostoevsky's back in 2000 and recently re-read the novel:

Golyadkin is a government clerk who, decreed by fate, encounters a man who not only resembles him exactly but is also his namesake. Golyadkin's own musings and foreshadowing along with his curious actions all afford hints and glimpses of a psychological realism that persists throughout the novel. On a stormy night in which Golyadkin tried to regain his composure after the hails of slights had descended him at a private party of the high society, he met his double. The double (who was subsequently being referred as the Golyadkin junior and the adversary), with bold effrontery, went out his own way to show Golyadkin impudence, insulted Golyadkin, and purloined Golyadkin's papers in order to win approbation of the double's superiors at work.

Like Notes From Underground, The Double is a close examination of human consciousness, through an unreliable narrator. I repeatedly raise the question whether this imposture really happens? Does the Golyadkin junior (the double) really exist in cold fact? What really happens at the end? Perhaps the real horror of Golyadkin senior (whom Dostoyevsky eventually refers him as our hero) is that he unconsciously knows his double simply being the side of his own nature that he disapproves, despises and fears? Regardless of the existence of the double, the imposter has simply trampled Golyadkin in the mire, perfidiously intruded him, and showed clearly that the senior and also the genuine Golyadkin is not genuine at all but a counterfeit, and that Golyadkin junior himself is the real one. The book is a portrait of the darker side of despicable personality that magnifies to the full actuality.

Saramago's is more realistic. Tertuliano Máximo Afonso is a history teacher: Middle-aged, divorced and in a relationship with a woman, he is bored with life. On the suggestion of a colleague, one night Máximo watches a video that changes everything. The video itself is a forgettable comedy, but the actor who plays the minor role of hotel clerk, is Afonso's physical double. So he is fervishly renting videos and finding out about his double.

I have yet to finish the book--but like Saramago's other works, The Double is a semi-allegory that breathes philosophical insights about our existence. Review coming soon.

Counting Down to Sandy Lam Concert

2006-09-03T19:30:00.000-07:00

...on September 9. The Cantopop diva has released more than 40 albums since her debut in 1985. The latest album Breathe Me was out on 8/25--I've been playing that nonstop on my iPod everyday. My cousin Fiona and I will leave San Francisco this Saturday morning and drive about three and a half hours to Tahoe for lunch before the concert that is scheduled at 5 pm. We will be seated at row 13. I'm so excited and I cannot wait--the last time I saw her live was 1996, in Hong Kong.

The second cut in the latest album is Believe. It talks about how you should always believe in love and move on to find the true love that is meant for you, despite all the hurt and agony in relationship woes (is it talking about me?) Maybe. But the album definitely comes in time to tender my wound.

My concert checklist:
Moleskine notebook--to jot down the rundown and make note of her costumes
Digital camera--to capture her gracious movements
The latest CD--in case I run into her for autograph
iPod and battery charger--music on the road

[56] White Teeth - Zadie Smith

2006-08-31T07:02:00.000-07:00

Painstakingly funny and stippled with serious, provocative, and biting prose, White Teeth ponders at a quasi midlife crisis that roots in the conflict between preserving one's cultural legacy and conforming to the mainstream society. The narrative begins in the 1970s England and oscillates in both chronological directions. 47-years-old Archibald Jones contemplates suicide after his marriage of 30 years collapsed. After the futile effort to take his life he quickly marries a 19-years-old Jehovah Witness-reared Jamaican girl Clara. From this odd, loveless inter-racial second marriage spin a tapestry of domestic farce, dyfunctional family drama, and an unswerving determination to fight against conforming to the "English" (aka white) society that ubiquitously divests their cultural roots.

Jones' best friend Samad Iqbal, whom he befriended during World War II in a tank, strives to convince his wife Alsana that sending one of their twins back to the native Bengal is conducive to preserving the tradition and root which are the untainted principles. The fact that his favorite twin Magid wants to be called Mark Smith when he is around the white boys in the neighborhood unnerves him. He thinks his son (and so his family) is on the brink of being white-washed and driven away from Allah, who has premeditated life and fate. To Samad, who is a hyprocrite himself having an affair with his son's music teacher, assimilation is no more than plain downright corruption, which has contaminated his other twin Millat.

The domestic tension aroused in White Teeth can be traced back to an innocent origin of a parent's concern: What kind of world (environment) do you want your children to grow up in? Samad's concern transcends safety--he paves the path, makes future decisions, and strives at all expense to thwart the pervasion of Englishness. While immigrants want to fit in and not to be treated as foreigners or some second-class citizens, Samad's generation--one that is split by geography and language--inevitably find their children growing up to be complete strangers who are oblivious to the traditional customs. This subtle conflict manifests in almost every line of the dialogues and penetrates conversation at the dinner table.

Despite all the mixing up, despite the fact that we have finally slipped into each others' lives, despite the fact that the GAP includes black and Asian models in the commercials, with reasonable comfort, it is still difficult to resist the urge to conform and to assimilate. White Teeth audaciously captures this urgent desire to right the society, and at the same time delivers a sense of qualm of the Second Coming, cloning, recombinant DNA technology, genetic engineering. Afterall White Teeth is a magnifying glass of the clash between traditional values and new ideas.

Biting Prose

2006-08-30T06:36:00.000-07:00

It is not until I've read half way through the book do I get into White Teeth. I have about 45 pages to go and this would conclude my summer reading challenge--one book every week between June 1 and August 31 with a goal of 12. This would be my 13th. Yay. From White Teeth, p.381:

"Deluded. Regressive. We are so convinced of the goodness of ourselves, and the goodness of our love, we cannot bear to believe that there might be something more worthy of love than us, more worthy of worship. Greetings cards routinely tell us everybody deserves love. No. Everybody deserves clean water. Not everybody deserves love all the time."

Isn't the prose biting and arresting? Full review coming soon.

The Master and Margarita, Revisited

2006-08-29T06:33:00.000-07:00

Previously I reviewed this novel. As I taught this book again this summer, discussion with students breathed some new thoughts to the meaning.

The novel itself is nearly impossible to describe. It consists of three separate plots. On the surface is the visit to Moscow, of the Devil in the guise of a professor named Woland, and his henchmen, two grotesque disfigured men, a naked woman and a cat who plays chess among other things. The group proceeds to essentially terrorize the city's intellectual community, mostly by exposing each character's inner hypocracy. The satire of communist society in this section is quite biting, and uproariously funny. Embedded in this story is a "novel within a novel" ...the story of Pontius Pilate and his encounter with the itinerant spiritual man, Yeshua. Finally, there is the story of the separated lovers, the Master and Margarita, who interweave between the other two stories. They live in the present day Moscow, but the Master ostensibly wrote the manuscript which told the story of Pontius Pilate.

This rich and complicated stew of a book works on so many different levels. At it's most obvious, it is a scathing attack on communism and the cultural elite's complicity with the evils of the system. It is also rather pitiless in it's exposure of the greed, corruption and mendacity of human nature. But Bulgakov is not a conventional moralist. The Devil as Woland is an evil figure--sometimes a terrifying figure, and yet he ends up as the instrument of the redemption of both the Master and Margarita. There is a deep spiritual viewpoint at work here. Early in the novel, Yeshua tells Pilate that, "all men are good", to Pilate's incredulity. In the context of the novel, Yeshua seems hopelessly naive, but by the end of the novel, you wonder if this may actually not be the author's central point. Even the devil is capable of some good here.

Burning Man

2006-08-28T06:32:00.000-07:00

This guy Mark came into my friend Estrella's studio at Saffron Rare Threads to custom-make a reversible velvet-nylon cape for Burning Man week. I have heard people mentioning the term in passing on numerous occasions but not until Mark spends $300 on a cape for this event do I get on my mutter to find out what the hell Burning Man is all about.

So according to the official website, Burning Man is "an annual experiment in temporary community dedicated to radical self-expression and radical self-reliance." Participants at Burning Man must bring all necessities to the desert: food, shelter, water, fuel, and basic first aid supplies. And ha! This is a no dog event so don't expect you will be admitted at the gate with your puppy. This is the funniest part: the potty. As the event takes place in the middle of nowhere, portable potties are provided. These facilities are only for their intended purpose - not for dumping garbage or personal potty bags. Participants should only put human waste and one-ply toilet paper (they say 2-ply is a big no-no lol) into the portable toilets makes pumping nearly impossible and threatens the survival of the Burning Man event. This includes tampons, trash, and handy wipes. That also means no tampons, trash or handy wipes in the portable toilets. Okay everybody, put the lid down when you're done, it helps keep odors under control.

Burning Man is much more than just a temporary community. It's a city in the desert, dedicated to radical self reliance, radical self-expression and art. Innovative sculpture, installations, performance, theme camps, art cars and costumes all flower from the playa and spread to our communities during the event. Sounds like fun eh? But I would choose to express myself in a different way, at least not in a desert with only portable pottie! If you're interested, gates are open now until 11 am on August 31. It locates in Black Rock City, 120 miles north of Reno, NV.

Pack Away

2006-08-25T09:34:00.000-07:00

In a relationship or friendship that will hopefully will steer to the direction of a relationship, I need reassurance. Recently I have been feeling I'm in a slump of this knowing-each-other-and-see-if-things-work-out business. I tend to give a lot and pour out my heart too easily, to wear my heart on the sleeves and always get hurt. I need a sense of hope or if it won't work out, I need to know. So this sparkle with "him" is like another firework show--you have yet to appreciate the flourishing and the sparkling before it disappears. Maybe I should pack away my emotions and feelings before I get hurt again. Rearguarding.

[55] The Dante Club - Matthew Pearl

2006-08-24T06:22:00.000-07:00

In 1865, the poets James Russell Lowell and Dr. Oliver Wendell Holmes, the historian George Washington Greene, and the publisher James T. Fields collaborated Henry Wadsworth Longfellow to complete the country's first full-length translation of Dante's Divine Comedy. Although prior to this translation club American intellectuals showed familiarity with Dante, the general public had remained more or less unexposed to his poetry. This novel is written against such historical backdrop. In its portrayed interpretations of Dante, the novel attempts to remain historically faithful to its featured figures and their contemporaries rather than to our own accustomed readings.

A series of murders, the victims of which were society's most respected and elite, jolted the Bostonian public and rendered the city into a panic mode. Only the expertise group of American scholars, who contrive to deduce from Dante's cantos, can solve the mystery, because the murders had been inspired by Dante's Inferno. Gruesome killings have punctiliously emulated entrails of Dante's punishment and the scholars were awestruck at how each crime happened directly before their club translated the canto on which the murder had been based.

These scholars found themselves in a dilemma as to solve the mystery of the crimes at the expense of forfeiting Dante's reputation, especially when the prospect of Dante was already at stake as in general works of classics had long been pummeled of meaning. Inferno did not necessarily help the decline, and in fact for worse, the Dante-derived violence tainted the poet with blood and apropos justified the notoriety that his work being hatred against the human race, exultation and merriment at eternal and immitigatable sufferings. The killer at large had captured the gist of the cruelty of punishment: perfection came with a contrapasso in which punishments would match the sin of every man. The killer also ensured that his victims would experience a length of suffering and an imprisonment of sensation before death.

It is upon this distinct sense that somehow the Dante Club had been responsible for decimating ideas of punishment into the air of Boston that the novel lays its groundwork. The scholars' genius and unswerving faith to Dante's poetry has lent a hand to murder. Not only does the novel do justice of Dante's inspiration of his vision of Hell and his search for redemption, it also affords a glimpse to the new home in the future that Dante spoke in 1302 (date of his exile). When he spoke of the other places h was seeking, he spoke not of his life but of his second life--his life as he would live on through the poem for hundreds of years. At the time of his frantic quest, he fell victim to a faction between the parties of his sullied city (Florence) and had been commanded to journey through the afterlife so that he might put all mankind right. Therefore, from the very first line of the poem,

Nel mezzo del cammin di nostra vita
(midway through the journey of our life)

we the readers are involved in this journey--we are embarking on the pilgrimage as much as Dante is, and we must face our Hell as squarely as the poet faces his. The novel revitalizes the poem's significance: its great and lasting value as an autobiography of a human soul.

Unplugged

2006-08-20T06:58:00.000-07:00

Tugged in the valley that commands the view of the lagoon, I'm unwinding here with only a couple of books and the ongoing thesis which I'm working on right now on my laptop. I left the charger at home so my cell phone is dead, maybe uninterrupted Walden Pond-like solitude is meant to be. I'm unplugged and disconnected from the world, technically speaking--just the murmuring of sea and wind jostling through the trees. Here are some pictures you might be interested in looking at. I almost finish The Dante Club, the ending of which I save for breakfast tomorrow morning. The Inferno is somewhat grim (and out of place) for this beautiful, serene setting that affords not even the tiniest vestige of suffering. Also the thought of being uncertain whether J likes me or not bites my mind. He's been very busy at work and I haven't had a chance to see him for a couple weeks. *sigh* Okay, I'll just relax and enjoy the quietude here. Maybe because my iPod is playing this sober tune:

On a Dante Binge

2006-08-16T06:15:00.000-07:00

Taking up another recommendation from Bookpuddle, I'm reading The Dante Club, a novel about a mysterious murderer has turned entrails of Dante's punishment in The Inferno (which I'm also reading)into model of murders. The scholars of a Bostonian Dante Club thrive to remain silent and protect literary existence of the Italian poet. Off to vacation until next week.

[54] The Fortress of Solitude - Jonathan Lethem

2006-08-14T06:49:00.000-07:00

The Fortress of Solitude follows the adolescence years of Dylan Ebdus, a white kid who grows up motherless in downtown Brooklyn, which renders him a minority, in the 1970s. The novel owes its beguiling power in delineating social and private realities not only to the vivid painting of Brooklyn life, which is richly infused with street rhythms, rhymes, sland, and pop lyrics, but also to a close description of a fledging inter-racial friendship that must find a way to negotiate the racial divide. Between his friendship with Mingus Rude, the son of a singer, and his own ethnicity Dylan finds himself striving to cultivate this imaginary "middle space" in which he can preserve his true identity. Surviving the streets to him means more than just conforming to the jargon and the careful slurring of certain words. Rooted somewhere deep heart in the heart is something more than a polyrhythm of fear and panic: a burning desire to be invisible, to be lost in the flow of anonymous faces after school as he leaves the building, hoping to be carried a distance down the street disguised in a clot of bodies before exposing himself as the solitary white boy.

Imagine living a life that is not your own anymore because of the standards to which you are constantly demanded to conform, for the sake of safety and survival. In a racial disaster area where one can read the stress in the postures of teachers, cops, security guards, store keepers standing akimbo at the troubled kids, how can a solitary white boy not to cover? How can he not hide under his skin and pine for invisibility? Whereas the man in The Invisible Man laments his under-appreciated and unreognized presence, Dylan longs for that invisibility.

In the checkered lives of the street characters Jonathan Lethem daubs picture of Brooklyn life with the utmost verissimilitude. Tugged in the language of the arresting prose are vestiges of racial politics and class struggle, so inevitably and indomitably that they impervade lives like words carved on stones. No less impressive is the verbal proliferation of the graffiti and tags which compete for ubiquity. The irresistible urge for the lonely art, in the form of the doodling tags, could impart such courage in the kids to purloin industrial ink. Behind the tags are numerous stories nobody would have known and paid attention to--maybe that is why the tags read like secret codes of one's untold history. The incomprehensible and meager progress in school, the desultory air, the learning disability, and lack of discipline are sadly conducive to a cage for growing--a rehersal for prison. The most poignant message from The Fortress of Solitude is confusion of right and wrong. In negotiating between right and wrong, or teetering on the line between what is allowed and forbidden, one realizes a greater and more urgent need to surivive.

I Feel Ditched

2006-08-12T06:35:00.000-07:00

Hoping to catch up with friends as the class comes to an end, I called at least 10 people yesterday and not a single one of them returned my call. So I feel ditched and under-appreciated. How long does it take to spare a minute and return the call? I'm not going to talk more on this subject. Forget you all. lol. I'm trying to get a last-minute deal to get away, preferably a non-European destination. Osaka might be nice for a week, it's only 9 hours away...

The conclusion of summer session breathes fresh air in my tight schedule and takes a huge load off my shoulder. All that is left is to grade the stash of papers and bubble in the grades. In lieu of an in-class final exam, I make my students turn in a portfolio that consists three pieces of thoroughly revised, polished writing in consideration for the course grade. One of the three must be the paper on The Brothers Karamazov or War and Peace. So I spent the afternoon reading papers at The Sweet Inspiration, a quieter and less cruisy joint in the Castro on Market near Noe, although I had to be abstained from their delicious chocolate moussee cake.

My iPod has been acting funny recently, not that it presages any serious technical failure. The shuffle function does not seem to shuffle up the songs in an even and random manner. Yesterday's shuffled playlist (at least the first 57 out of 814 tracks I've got on the iPod) repeated at least half of Thursday's shuffled playlist. Isn't that weird or what? It also has a tendency to favor certain artists and tracks from particular albums so that no matter how I reset the shuffle mode the same tracks always play first. Maybe Apple should look into that and improve the function in time for the future generations of iPods. Speaking of iPods, the recent terrorist attack foil in London not only renews the fear and panic among air travelers and government bureaus, it also robs passengers of their basic necessities for comfort en route. iPods and books are forbidden and have to be stored in the checked bags. iPods are said to be capable of detonating liquid bombs but what is wrong with books? I can already imagine the dreadful 14 hour flight to Hong Kong sans reading and sans iPods. *sigh*

For the very least I've got Sandy Lam's latest single: All By Myself. I can't wait until the release of the CD on 8/25.

Rambling On

2006-08-10T06:41:00.000-07:00

I was over at Technorati, a site that keeps track of who is saying what in millions of blogs and shows you how many blogs have links to your own. It's kind of fun and can be seriously addictive. With technorati you can tag individual post to make it more accessible. I have yet to tag my posts because it can be quite time consuming like a full-time job. Browsing through some of the so-called "top blog posts" I am somewhat taken aback: people are yet to be sated with entertainment scoops and Hollywood gossips from inundating sources like ET and tabloids that are literally up your face. And here in the blogsphere you find people tirelessly babbling about the same goddam thing! Look at covers of In Touch Weekly with a unswerving loyalty to cover the latest of Nick and Jessica's drama, Tom Cruise's baby; sometimes I think those vanilla nonfat latte-drinking (right, how can vanilla be nonfat anyway?) chicks would swear not to miss a single issue of the tabloid at the expense of calling mom at home. We are in a society where chasing the stars become more than a post-dinner passing comment. Here are the top posts according to Technorati, at the current hour:

Clay Aiken Faces Lawsuit
When Best Friends Go Mad: Bruce Willis Sues
Travis and Shanna: The Divorced Barkers

Nobody seems to care, or even being savvy, of the news that we have alarmingly elevated to a red terrorist alert this morning. Then I shifted over to Blogroll, a site that helps keep track of my favorite blogs/links with a one-click setting. For a paid premium membership, you can even categorize your blogrolls. Mine is one mixed bag of gay (life), literary tidbits, books, and social reflections. My friend Matty from Matt's Bit of Space mentioned how his boyfriend B never left any comments on his blog. That is not uncommon among people who might have been reading, checking, or lurking anonymously my blog. Neither of most of my friends blog nor do they post any comments. They are like few of my students who always sit at the back of the room and make themselves invisible during class discussion. Sometimes I look at their searching faces--they are struggling with the surge to raise their hands and make known their sound thoughts but at the same time they are too conscious of what others might have thought. Something to consider when I assign the course grade, like in borderline B+/A- case.

John Baker just published my responses to his book-related meme. You can read my entry here. Nothing new if you've been following my blog. I did make a comment about why I pursue literature: Literature/fiction has the power to afford such chronological and culture diversity so remote from my own experience that makes it very appealing to me. It's like arm-chair travel but the novels dig deeper than the physical landscape to the hidden, sometimes forbidden terrains of culture, secrets, sexuality, humanity and history.

[53] How To Be Alone - Jonathan Franzen

2006-08-09T06:43:00.000-07:00

Jonathan Franzen's essay collection - How To Be Alone - validates my pet peeve about how serious works of fiction (usually classics and literary fiction) should be shelved separately from the audience-friendly fluffs at the bookstore. Provocatively funny and insightful, the book cuts to the truth about how fiction can only retain its cultural vitality so long as it can bring readers meaningful message about what it means to live in the world of the present. It exposes the unfortunate compromise of literary depth that only substantive works of fiction can bring about with such superficiality that has deprived one of imagination.

The essay collection reaffirms Franzen's prerogative to engage in social criticism, however intensely he strives to free himself of the social responsibility as a novelist and writes fiction that fun to write and unnecessarily audience-friendly. Franzen may have ranged in subject matter from sex-advice industry, to the undead letters that rose up in every corner of Chicago, to cigarette's invasion of nasal privacy. The local particulars of each of these essays matter Franzen less than the underlying theme that he audaciously gives voice to a silent majority of sufferers in the erosion of civil life and private dignity.

Franzen advocates a more subtle level of privacy: a mental privacy attainable only from the self-immersion in substantive works of fiction. He pinpoints that reading teaches one to be alone and the rapt absorption in a novel best assimilates a state of meditation in which one reflects on the meanings of things. Owing to the unpredictable nature of substantive works of fiction that one can perceive different insights with each reading. Italo Calvino articulates a similar perspective in If on A Winter's Night a Traveler/Uses of Literature: reading serious literature at different stage of life stimulates thinking and impinges on the embedded circumstances and a memory in people's lives in such a way that they have to deal with them. Such unpredictability separates substantive works of fiction from best-selling chart fluffs, distinguishes the Penguin Classics from feel-good chick lit, expels the babel of televised book clubs from the pantheon of literary connoisseurship.

Franzen raises the alarm that for every reader who dies today, a viewer is born - the final tipping of the balance that first started in the last decade. The ubiquitous access to media technology compounds the estrangement from spoken and written language. On average people spend more time surfing the internet and watching television than reading a work of fiction. He mourns the eclipse of cultural authority that literature once possessed; and he rues the onset of an age so anxious that the pleasure of a text becomes difficult to sustain.

Franzen subscribes to two wildly different models of how fiction relates to its audience: status and contract. A "status" novel exists independent of whether people are able to enjoy it and the author of which disdains cheap compromise and stays true to an artistic, arthistorical vision. Such a novel resists casual reading and merits sustained study. A "contract" novel represents a compact between writer and reader and provides a discourse of pleasure and connection.

Exactly how much less serious fiction/literature matters to the mass culture than it did when books like Crime and Punishment, One Hundred Years of Solitude, The Master and Margarita, Ulysses (the list goes on and on) were published is difficult to judge. But the level of appreciation and the state of meditation derived from these classics have no doubt diminished. The most salient evidence is the type of mindless and dreadful feedback televised book club members submitted about their not getting through even half of Anna Karenina.

How to Be Alone demonstrates a nuanced mind at work in a paradoxical realm: Franzen's persistence to preserve privacy in a crowd, to steer clear of the noise of mass culture, while maintaining the channel that allows him to imbue news to the mass culture. To be alone, afterall, is to be able to defend and sanctify serious literature.

A Most Desultory Post

2006-08-07T10:34:00.000-07:00

Overcast Monday morning. Overcast me. This post will be no more than just a bullet agenda.

1. The steamy cup of coffee has cooled down and I am not sure if I'll get a refill. Should I wait or just do away with it for good?

2. The last week of summer class will witness the glory, the literary erudition of the mighty The Master and Margarita.

3. Bookpuddle's reading of On Beauty spurs me on to get Zadie Smith's debut White Teeth.

4. Dylan and Mingus from The Fortress of Solitude take into scrawling their graffiti tags on the streets of Brooklyn. The vivid yet oppressive setting of the novel twitches my nerve as if something ominous will always hover over the lives of these kids. Good read.

5. Last, but not the least, I updated My Pictures section on the right-hand side-bar with photos from Thailand, China, Cambodia and Indonesia. Pictures from Taiwan and Malaysia are coming soon. Take a peek.

And I miss J.

Saturday Night Live

2006-08-06T06:49:00.000-07:00

I'm not a night person. Usually lights out before 10. Last night I had a compelling reason to stay out late--my friends called and asked if I wanted to karaoke--a very healthy alternative to bars and clubs, which had been permanently removed from my equation of fun. Something about karaoke (other than its addictiveness) brings out the other side of me, the secret premise of a convivial existence which is otherwise suppressed, when I sing my heart out. I've always thought songs and their lyrics have such powrful associative power that stirke the heart chord as if they are sent from somewhere just to find you, to pick the scab of your whole experience. Anyway, Matty and Greg have always asked me to post what my iPod is playing--mostly Cantopop (Cantonese pop) and classical music--I will share a few slow-jam tunes that I sang along under the disco ball last night.

#1 on my iTunes in terms of the number of time it is played (504), all-time fave diva Sandy Lam

First entered on iPod on April 25, now #1 song on my iPod this week, overall ranked at #13

The only song on my top 25 that is not Cantopop, ranked at #25

Another new hit on my iPod this week, name of the song is Second Ranked Angel, is it talking about me?

Overall #10 on my iTunes is a song I listen to almost everyday

Sleeves

2006-08-05T06:38:00.000-07:00

I met my friend Jerry for dinner last night at my #2 Vietnamnese restaurant in the city Pagolac (Larkin/Ellis) for some DIY barbeque beef on sizzling grill, a citrusy-spicy tomato soup, and imperial rolls. Jerry, as usual, was concerned about my love life and so I briefed him with the latest scoop. Sternly but amicably, he told me not to be sold out in light of my past two relationships, which left me beaten and downtrodden. I said at this juncture of my life (after numerous relationship woes, bruises and wounds), at 31, I have quite found my ideal (if he really exists) that defines what I am searching for in an intimate friend/partner. A soul mate who fits in like the pieces of a puzzle--walking the beach hand in hand, conversing in a quiet corner, or saying nothing at all, just knowing. He would appreciate and feel comfortable spending time alone (personal boundary is important to me) and being together. He would be someone who has intelligence, wit, a great smile, a glint of mischief in his eyes, takes time to listen and communicates, takes care of himself, willing to take a risks, and together there is a comfort level. Guess that is chemistry. I see comfort and intimacy being like a pair of old worn jeans, something relaxed and can hang loose in, or two old worn shirts that are tugged in together. Of course there should be differences, where to individuals bring their uniqueness together and blend. I told Jerry that I am a guy who wears his heart out on his sleeve (almost too easily and trustingly that I am the one who gets hurt); once the person captures my attention he will for sure have my loyalty and will give it my all to someone I believe in. But, I can let go (a lesson that hasn't come easy), if given reason. I also feel tired of being always the one who initiates to do anything. I've given too much in my life.

10 Questions on Books

2006-08-04T06:54:00.000-07:00

Cipriano tagged me on this book meme. Here are my responses:

1. One book that changed your life:
What The Bible Really Says About Homosexuality by Daniel A. Helminiak. It absolves me from the guilt and fear that used to afflict me being a gay man.

2. One book that you have read more than once:
Ha! Need I say more. The Master and Margarita by Mikhail Bulkagov. I made numerous references to my all-time fave novel throughout this blog! Read it!

3. One book you would want on a desert island:
The Complete Works of Shakespeare

4. One book that made you laugh:
First one off my head is the one for which I just posted the review: Alec Baldwin Doesn't Love Me and Other Trials from My Queer Life by Michael Thomas Ford. Even the title cracks me up.

5. One book that made you cry:
Brokeback Mountain by Annie Proulx.

6. One book that you wish had been written:
A Guide to Writing Elegant Prose & Literary Erudition without Boring Your Reader

7. One book that you wish had never been written:
The Egyptologist by Arthur Phillips. It still embitters me that I paid money for this.

8. One book you are currently reading:
The Fortress of Solitude by Jonathan Lethem.

9. One book you have been meaning to read:
Gosh, Ulysses by James Joyce.

10. One person you will tag:
Greg @ A Life in the Day.

Happy Friday! Happy reading!

[52] Alec Baldwin Doesn't Love Me and Other Trials from My Queer Life - Michael Thomas Ford

2006-08-03T06:17:00.000-07:00

Alec Baldwin Doesn't Love Me is a collection of autobiographical essays that are not only grippingly hilarious and funny but also thought-provoking. Although some of MTF's experiences are truly one of a kind--like packing for Jesus' second coming (he was only 7) and mistaking cake-eating ladies from his mother's garden club as the lurching demons reching over to drag him into hell--and most of us can only laugh at it as if we are treated to a spectacle of farce, he also touches on day-to-day trials which we can surely identify. The book intrigues me with one surprise after another. The snowballing credit card debts thanks to the thrill of upgrading to a gold card account which bespeaks privilege and status should be something not too unfamiliar to many of us. Come on, most of us have yet to get caught up with some outstanding balances right? What about his reckless discrediting of The Sound of Music? It's quite odd that he would go so far as to insult the woman (whom he actually met) whose life had inspired the musical endeared by so many gay men! While he sometimes succumbs to impulse buy, MTF impresses me with his fascinating anti-shopping theory. He hates shopping because "being in the proximity of so many things to buy make him hyperventilate"--all the labor, time, and effort that are put into manufacturing, plus all the marketing, tauting, selling--are total waste of time. I am just as amazed at him for having made it through three decades without being photographed more than necessary, on the note that parents are fond of keeping progress of a child's growth with Kodak moments. Again he has a deep conviction on why he doesn't like his picture taken--one that is very valid and probably speaks the mind of many who don't know how to phrase--he has issues with being locked in a frame and stared at by people he only marginally likes. Marginally. Like I have shared previously in this post the ineptness in dating renders him completely clueless when someone has an interest in him. While I think nobody could be that oblivious to wooing, especially if you're gay man, and if you're treated an outrageous show of public affection, I can understand the level of comfort and ease with which I want to pace a relationship.

Aside from the humorous writings that afford a sneak how his pet-peeves pave a strange life, MTF hits on a subject that has been on my heart, lik a hang nail, and that is the reverse stereotype and the borderline hostile reception of a female walking around the castro with a male. My friend Estrella and I were walking up 18th to grab some dinner and a guy who hissed at her squeezed between us and walked right by, a protesting gesture to "break" us apart. I'd decided that if the gay community is made up of hateful queens like the guy who freely hurls insult at my friend, then the Castro will indeed be a sorry place to be. Whatever his issue might be, at that moment many thoughts swim in my head and I quickly put together some hypotheses:

1. He thinks we are straight couple and we have no business in the Castro
2. He thinks Estrella is a dyke
3. He thinks I'm gay and I am so lame to be hanging out with a straight girl at the Castro
4. He is just one fucking maschoist and woman-hater

Maybe all of the above. Maybe he ws already drunk from Bedlands. His ribald behavior and rude remarks made my friend feel like an intruder. The next time when our tete-a-tete rolled around, albeit her studio is right around Castro's backyard in the Dolores, I'm not too enthusiastic about taking her to dinner at the Castro. It's sad indeed. It seems to me that the only pride taking place is in flaunting the results of hours spent in the gym, in drinking and clubbing, and in having one-night stands, and in hurling insults at people who are not only straight but also who don't belong to their numbers. It's a shame that some people in the gay community have wrecked what the movement has spent so much time fighting for: the ability and the right to be queer without having to conform to other people's standards. I hate to say (but it is the outright truth) that thinking in terms of gay and straight, or man and woman, is one huge blow on the advance of the gay community.

Ubiquitous Books

2006-08-02T06:36:00.000-07:00

Danielle posted about a couple of books that seem to be ubiquitous--you've heard people talking about them, you've seen people reading them, and the books keep waving at you on the table at the bookstore. I've had a similar encounter recently. I have been going through the 100 best holiday reads by The Time (London)and the very top of the list is Suite Francaise, which John (an English teacher whom I met at Cafe Flore), is currently reading. Second-world-war France gets the War and Peace (how appropriate and what a coincidence!) treatment in two superb, newly discovered novellas, written by a woman who died in Auschwitz. I'm definitely looking into this one. Cipriano is reading On Beauty by Zadie Smith, which is the second title on the list. I've seen this book at the bookstore at various occasions and it seems to have my name written on it,althoughh I have even yet to read her debut, White Teeth, her debut which ambitiously takes on race, sex, class, history, and the minefield of gender politics. It looks like I've got half of my fall reading list in place now. I scoured Borders yesterday on the way home and picked up The Fortress of Solitude by Jonathan Lethem, another ubiquitous novel that had spattered much attention.

[51] War and Peace - Leo Tolstoy

2006-08-01T07:15:00.000-07:00

War and Peace is a grand undertaking of humanity that is both epic and intimate. The novel mostly revolves around two families--the Rostovs and the Bolkonskys and an eclectic Pierre Bezuhov. Napoleon's invasion of Russia forms the backdrop of the novel. These characters, who are left at the mercy of their fate and the capricious climate of war, ineluctably move in the strange delirium of war and its chaos, which constitutes a foil for their personal drama. An inscrutable fear takes hold of everyone indiscriminately: it is not so much a fear for the life as people can await their fate calmly and cope with it with solemnity and circumspection when the time comes. It's the fear of not being able to summon the courage to withstand spectacle of war's unfortunate circumstances. But there are exceptions. At the center of war are two men who with an unremitting passion strive to make inquiry to the depth of humanity.

The cynical Andrei Bolkonsky thrives to find meaning of life and happiness at the expense of suffering in war. What intrigues him is the moment of glory that transcends one's lifetime. The ennobling of his soul preponderates everything in life that death, wound, and even the loss of family do not hold any terrors for him. But after he tastes the thrill of fighting in a battle, he does not attain his long-coveted happiness which he thinks his marriage has divested. Honor and glory in the end almost spoil his whole life. After the death of his wife to whom he has eschewed duty as a husband, he laments over human dignity, peace of mind, and most painfully, his ingratitude. He is always occupied with the single thought of atoning for his wrong. It is not until the incessant mourning and the deprivation of love does it dawn on him that he is capable of emotion and love. The ultimate verdict, is his realization that one must believe in the possibility of happiness in order to be happy.

Pierre Bezuhov is also searching for the meaning of life. Despite the huge fortune he has inherited, he is not satisfied one bit with his life and in fact he hates it. He listens to the conversations at high society parties of which his wife is the hostess with perplexity, alarm, and disgust. He scorns at the commonplace and superficial things being said and even more the people who would go into ruptures over the fluffs and conceive some profound meaning to them. Bezuhov unconsciously keeps a distance from the social circle--despite the fact that he is learned and cultured, his acquaintances often receive him not only cordially but also with a shade of deference and awe that is a tribute to his eccentricity. The search of life's meaning takes him to the midst of battlefield. Completely oblivious to the flying canon balls and arrows, he is absorbed in the contemplation of the fire that blazes more fiercely with every moment. It's during the time of his being taken captive that he attains to the peace and content for which before he has striven in vain. It's through the witnessing the horrible spectacle of war and death that he gains the tranquility. He realizes that a superfluity of life's comforts destroys all joy in gratifying one's needs. Satisfaction of one's needs at times of severe deprivation constitutes perfect happiness.

Andrei and Pierre are few people in the novel who are given to deliberating on their actions and who find themselves in a serious frame of mind until it comes to embarking on a journey or altering the mode of their life. Much of the prose reveals their mind and thoughts. Others, especially the women, are left to the mercy of their milieu, who inevitably find themselves conforming to the fate which deprive them of all power of thought and free will. Sonya can live only in the thought of her loved one, who is away at military service and later falls in love with someone capable of turning the fortune of his family around. Maria Bolkonsky exhausts the best years of her life bearing family's burden. The thought of being happy in the happiness of others provides the solace to her. Natasha, whose impulsiveness leads her to utter disgrace and threatens to destroy all her happiness, forever lives in the daunting qualm of her wrongdoing.

Tolstoy, so much being a moralist as he is, does not really judge his characters' acts. He merely acknowledges to the fact that men always did and always will err, and in nothing more than in what they regard as right or wrong. They simply act in accordance with their natural dispositions, habits, circumstances, values, and aims; moved by fear and vanity, and supposed that they know what they are doing and do it of their own free will. This constitutes an individual existence that plays a significant role in warfare if one thinks of this individuality as a unit in human swarm. A man lives consciously for himself, especially in the battlefield since the issue at stake is his own life, but unconsciously he serves as an instrument for the accomplishment of historical and social ends (in a sense, in involuntary tool of history). So warfare, when broken down into its infinitesimal elements, depends on the combined volitionof all who participate in the event. In a sense, however an individual wishes to live his life out of free will, the free will can only be exercised under the constraint of the social milieu. Free will conforms to the demand of social actions.

In an adverse milieu that is concomitant to war, like when the French have taken over Moscow and stampeded on its wealth and seized the capital, man's free will is to ensue the safety and flee--free will becomes a basic instinct for survival. On the verge of fleeing Moscow themselves, the entire Rostov household set to work with eager haste to pack their belongings and load them on carts, lends a hand with getting the wounded soldiers on their wagons, which they have given up. I am sure it was out of free will that the Rostovs give up the wagons cheerfully, but that does not mean they left behind half the possessions without regret.

Tolstoy salts and peppers judgment on war through descriptions of casualties and poverty. He thinks war is not a polite recreation but the vilest thing in life, because the aim and the end of it is murder. It encourages treachery, ruins the country, and robs of its inhabitants for the maintenance of the army. But as excruciating experiences of the characters have shown, it's through experiencing of extreme limits of privation a man can endure do one attain that tranquility of mind, the inner peace, and sense of gratitude that men have so assiduously striven.

Perils of Dating

2006-07-29T06:30:00.000-07:00

I'm feeling lazy today so this won't be too much of a post. After finishing a couple books required of my students for class, I can also take a break from Penguin Classics-type of books and take up a couple of light reads. I am reading Alec Baldwin Doesn't Love Me by Michael Thomas Ford, a collection of essays drawn from queer life. His addiction to home-making Martha Stewart-way and his frenzied pursuit of Alec Baldwin's furry chest crrr-a-c-k-s me up. (Confession: Alec Baldwin and furry chest were what caught my attention of the book at first!) Then one particular essay titled the Perils of Dating hits me. Here is an excerpt:

Nor does it help that I'm completely oblivious when someone is interested. I do not know when I am being cruised. I think men who smile at me knowingly are looking at something amusing behind me. I once had a man I was intensely fascinated with kiss me for a full three minutes on a crowded New York street in front of a whole phalanx of firefighters battling a restaurant grease-fire inferno. Afterward, I politely said good night, went home alone, and wondered for days if he liked me. It never occurred to me that sticking his tongue down my throat before an audience of toasting diners might be a clue. I thought he was just being nice. By the time I figured it out, months later, he'd moved on to someone [else]. p.79

It hits me not because it touches on the recent wound from my past relationship. In fact I don't even think about myself in this situation. The writing makes me feel for the people who are afraid to give their heart, afraid to be vulnerable with his feelings, and afraid to commit in a relationship. I can put this guy whom I had seen on and off for 10 months last year (yes, old drama) in MTF's shoe. I find it very interesting (sad and heart-breaking, if I've read this article three months ago when I still thought he was the only gay male human being on the face of this earth) that the guy shares striking similarities with the dater in the excerpt--he is always cordial and polite, he is disarmingly down-to-earth, he always says good night to me, and he thanks me for giving him a kiss!

For whatever the reason he cannot reciprocate the love to me I no longer care--over it. I'm happy that I can break away from this relationship woe, which has lingered for months to an extent so pathetic that I would rivet at my cellphone and hope that he would at least call to say hello. If he didn't get a tincture of an idea that I was very interested in him, maybe that was not meant to be--blame it on the wrong timing. I just hated it that no sooner I had got over him than he called me, imploringly.

But I never returned the call.

July 30 Update: Sunday Sing-a-long

Ideal Marriage Ceremony?

2006-07-27T06:35:00.000-07:00

Reading this post at Fluent In Fag cracks me up about how I used to be frenzied about my own marriage ceremony. But deep down in my heart and in my mind I know there won't be a bride at my wedding. Anyway, quoting Fluent In Fag:

"I also wanted the whole white-dress and tuxedo Western church wedding - somewhat odd in retrospect, because in addition to being a flaming queenlet, I was also a raging atheist - with the hushed awe as I walked down the aisle (I wanted to be in the dress), the solemnity and explicitness of the vows, and the awesome drama queen moment where the priest asks if anyone has any reasons that these two should not be wed, and everybody looks down while priest and couple glare accusingly at the crowd. It all sent shivers down my spine. I wanted a honeymoon too."

Okay. I used to dream about a tiny chapel, ribboned pews, pealing bells, the plush red carpet, the hushed awe as my bride demurely proceeding down the aisle, the beautiful unraveling of Pachelbel's Canon, the solemnity of the vows, and finally the first kiss. I have been to wedding like this, and in fact a few times already, as the best man! I enjoy being the right hand man to the groom because everyone--friends, family, and guests, treats the best man cordially and with a shade of deference and appreciation that is a tribute to his friendship with the groom.

I appreciate the personal aspect of marriage, which is a vow between two people who love each other unconditionally. For better or worse, till death do they part. Two people, unite into one, negotiate through their difference in life experiences, their selfishness, treat each other with kindness and consideration. Of course there will be argument but being honest and vulnerable with feelings shall overcome any barrier in relationship.

If I am having a marriage ceremony, it will be very simple. I'll take up the vow at the beach, feet waddling in the glittering water, on an tropical island, maybe like Langkawi, late in the afternoon awaiting sunset. There won't be tuxedo or cummerband just Irish white linen shirt and white capri (I know that's so gay) pants and sandals, maybe a straw hat to block the sun. Nor would there be catering, or live music. All our friends will come witness the exchange of vow and celebrate with us like a beach party. Honeymoon would be to take up residence in the shacks built on water.

Meanwhile my iPod is playing:

Buddhist Thoughts in Russian Lit?

2006-07-26T07:01:00.000-07:00

I'm not sure if finishing War and Peace is a big load off my chest, but it's certainly a big load off my Timbuk2 bag! The 1443-page epic novel has been tugged into the bag for three weeks and puts an extra few pounds to it. While Tolstoy, who is more a moralist than a mystic, makes frequent allusion to Christianity, I find the novel stippled with Buddhist thoughts and ideas:

"While imprisoned in the shed Pierre had learned, not through his intellect but through his whole being, through life itself, that man is created for happiness, that happiness lies in himself, in the satisfaction of simple human needs; and that all unhappiness is due, not to privation but to superfluity. But now, during these last three weeks of the march, he had learned still another new and confronting truth--that there is nothing in the world to be dreaded." [4.3.12]

"The absence of suffering, the satisfaction of elementary needs and consequent freedom in the choice of one's occupation--that is, of one's mode of living--now seemed to Pierre the sure height of human happiness. Here and now for the first time in his life Pierre fully appreciated the enjoyment of eating because he was hungry, of drinking because he was thirsty, of sleep because he was sleepy, of warmth because he was cold, of talking to a fellow creature because he felt like talking and wanted to hear a human voice. The satisfaction of one's needs--good food, cleanliness, freedom--now that he was deprived of these seemed to Pierre to constitute perfect happiness; and the choice of occupation, that is, of his manner in life, now that choice was so restricted, seemed to him such an easy matter that he forgot that a superfluity of the comforts of life destroys all joy in gratifying one's needs,..." [4.3.12]

If love is among human needs, then recently I have for a very long time tasted love and basked in the happiness of love. The suffering from the past relationship--the chilly reception, the days when I looked at my phone raptly to see if he (the ex) had called {I know that was pathetic), the deprivation of intimacy--all constitute my happiness now.

Reading Update
What I am reading for my classes: The Brothers Karamazov, Fyodor Dostoevsky and The Trouble with Normal: Sex, Politics, and Ethics of Queer, Michael Warner Life
What I am reading for summer: Four Tragedies, William Shakespeare
What I am reading for fun: Alec Baldwin Doesn't Love Me, Michael Thomas Ford
The last book I purchased: The Master and Margarita by Mikhail Bulgakov for John.

Dim Sum Ritual & A Surprised Treat

2006-07-24T10:45:00.000-07:00

John and I had dim sum (Chinese small plates and tea) yesterday at Mayflower on Geary at 27th. We weren't sure if we would be able to grab a table since it was around 1 p.m., as Chinese families pack almost every dim sum place during the lunch rush. Traditionally dim sum is a morning ritual that brings together people from around villages--housewives catch up with the latest gossips, older men flaunt their birds. Now the Chinese families, who have yet completely ridden of their gregarious nature, would usually gather around the round table on Sunday for a feast of chicken feet, beef tripe, and pigs blood.

John and I didn't have any of the innards thank God, nor did we have any gossip to catch up with. No sooner had we sat down did the ladies who were carrying tray full of deep fried squids, deep fried shrimp puffs, and a variety of sweet-stuffs flocked to our table, but John passed all those plates that were usually catered to a gweilo (Chinese slang that refers to a foreigner). The servers at Mayflower were somewhat taken aback at John's reckless rebuttal to all the hot-sell plates made for the Americans. Anyway we opted for plates that were not only the staples of dim sum but were also reminiscent of my childhood: cha siu bao (pork bun), har gow (steamed shrimp dumpling), har cheong (steamed thick rice noodle with shrimp), steamed tunip cake, siu loong bao (Shanghai dumpling), and the disappointing wu gok (crispy taro puff). I am very impressed with John's adroit chopsticks skills!

For tea the expert in John called for gook bow, a mix of chrysanthemum and the Chinese black tea pu er, and the strength of which lasted through the meal. Hidden in his plastic bag were secretive dessert treats he would save for the last. So we hopped back into the car and headed for the water but instantly regretted it because there were absolutely no parking at Ocean Beach nor its vicinity. So we went up to Twin Peak instead, sat on the heated stoned rail and had these cream puffs from Beard Pa Pa, a Japanese phenomenon that had swept all over Asia more than 5 years ago. Enjoying the panoramic view of the city, we munched away those cream puffs in no time as the tourists who scuttled about striking their best posts for pictures watched us with envious eyes.

My Type of Guy

2006-07-22T09:29:00.000-07:00

I was sitting quietly at the coffee shop working on the handout for The Brothers Karamazov, which the class will dive in this coming week (my 2nd all-time favorite fiction) next to The Master and Margarita until this guy walked in and everything out of the world seemed to disappear. It's not like I'll go strike a pass at him or anything--he's more like an eye candy. A white male in his late 30s (maybe early 40s), not too tall, around 5'8", buzz cut, goatee (facial hair gets to the very front of the line), thick calves (legs are the usually the first physical attributes I look at in a guy). This guy has an athletic-fit baseball T-shirt on, which accentuates his gym physique and the knee-length shirts do his muscular legs justice. Anyway I hope that will answer many of your questions regarding the type of guy that usually gets my attention. I also find a little belly sexy in a man so the 6 pack ab does not really matter to me. When I walk around the Castro and see guys who are endowed with this musculine, ruggedly, and gruffy appearance, I often find them being attracted to guys who look just like themselves. So I haven't had any luck finding a guy like that and, no sooner had I stopped looking (contriving to even think about looking) did I meet someone who not only has all the physical attributes but a sense of humor and a brain! He makes my heart throb with joy.

Wrapping up War and Peace

2006-07-21T06:36:00.000-07:00

I'm wrapping up War and Peace in class today with a few closing comments. It's difficult to discuss in minute details a novel that affords innumerable nuances of relationships, philosophy of the mind and chronology of war. But I do wish to make a remark about some new meaning and thought that radiated out of this reading. The French gained a victory near Moscow, took over the city, burned it and trampled under their feet the abundant provisions, munitions and wealth, and made no further engagement before their fatal retreat. Peace in this sense might seem a collective element--peace from war, delivery of the country. But I find it very paradoxical that it was during the daunting time of his being taken a prisoner that Pierre finally attained to the peace and content with himself for which before he had always striven in vain. He had spent long years in search for the tranquility of mind and the inner harmony. How ironic that it is through the extreme limits of privation a man can endure that one attains this tranquility of mind. The satisfaction of one's needs roots--now that Pierre was deprived of what appeared to him to constitute the perfect happiness. It seems to him an easy matter that he forgot a superfluity of the comforts of life destroys all joy in gratifying one's needs. I ponder at how the same idea can tag into relationship. It's usually when people lose the love and bliss do they finally realize how much they have taken love for granted.

Update on Thailand Trip

2006-07-20T06:32:00.000-07:00

I talked about my upcoming trip to Chiang Mai in this post a while ago. After gathering more info and reading tidbits from fellow travelers and National Geographic, I have come up with a list of must-do for this trip:

Thai cooking class -- a full day course that specializes in Northern Thai cuisine and curry and includes a trip to the grocery market

Thai Language class -- two-week intensive program on conversational Thai

Laos -- cross the border to the Laosian capital Vientiane, where one can find fields of rice and vegetables, agriculture hidden behind tree lined avenues. French Colonial architecture sits next to gilded temples.

Hill tribe and trekking

Golden Triangle -- where the borders of Thailand, Burma and Laos meet, visit the town of Mai Sai, where I can even cross into Burma for some shopping; the small village of Sop Ruak, where the Ruak and Mekhong rivers meet, forming the borders of three countries; and finally the ancient city of Chiang Saen

Sukhothai -- the first truly independent Thai Kingdom, which enjoyed a golden age under King Ramkhamhaeng, credited with creating the Thai alphabet. The superb temples and monuments of this great city have been lovingly restored in this UNESCO World Heritage Site

Then a train ride down to Bangkok where I'll probably stay for a few days paying tribute to the Wat Phra Kaew (Emerald Buddha), Grand Palace and the weekend Chatuchak Market. Last time I only have a couple hours scouring for souvenirs and I only had seen the tip of in iceberg - over 13,000 stalls there. From Bangkok I'll catch a train to Singapore and visit a friend there. Anyone wants to come along?

[The Way You Look At Me]

2006-07-18T07:16:00.000-07:00

I don't think I can keep on talking about War and Peace without making you all fall asleep. So I'll save all my harangue for my class. I wake up this morning with snuggling thoughts of J. The image of him instantly lifts me into another world, a serene realm of bliss and love which it is worth living for. A song for J:

No one ever saw me like you do
All the things that I could add up to
I never knew just what a smile was worth
But your eyes say everything without a single word

Coz there's something in the way you look at me
It's as if my heart knows you're the missing piece
You make me believe that there's notheing in this world I can't be
I'd never know what you see
But there's something in the way you look at me

If I could freeze the moment in my mind
Be the second that you touch your lips to mine
I'd like to stop the clock make time stand still
Coz baby this is just the way I always wanna feel

Coz there's something in the way you look at me
It's as if my heart knows you're the missing piece
You make me believe that there's notheing in this world I can't be
I'd never know what you see
But there's something in the way you look at me

I don't know how or why
I feel different in your eyes
All I know is that it happens everytime

Coz there's something in the way you look at me
It's as if my heart knows you're the missing piece
You make me believe that there's nothing in this world I can't be
I'd never know what you see
But there's something in the way you look at me

The way you look at me

Reading, Reading...On War

2006-07-17T09:56:00.000-07:00

The weekend had been madness. I was changing the game plan for one of the classes I teach this summer due to the lack of stock of a book on the reading list. So I have to move things around on the syllabus, re-write some handouts, and leaf through some 300 pages of reading of another book which we will be discussing this week. All that took me a day. So the gay studies class will read Michael Warner instead of this. The highlight of the weekend would be the 12-minute conversation on the cellphone with J, who had been running errands and hanging out with friends, while I was trying to make things smooth for the classes. So Russian lit seminar, we're still plowing through War and Peace. I managed to get past Book 2 and am on Book 3, p.950, over that big sumptuous piece of brownie at SI.

For an epic novel whose story line builds upon the war, I find War and Peace rarely breathes about moral conscience on bloodshed. It seem to delve quite a bit on man's free will and destiny. After going through almost 1000 pages of it, I get the idea that war can be a fortuitous event. It's almost like slow chess game. Myriads of causes (and motives) might have coincided to bring about what happened in war. Men who fought the war were no more than pawns on the chessboard (battlefield)--every man lives for himself, using his freedom and his whole being that he can at any moment perform or not perform an action, but so soon as he has done it, the action accomplished at a certain moment in time becomes irrevocable, which belongs to history. Can we still say the action has a free significance or is it predestined?

[At Least I Have You]

2006-07-15T11:15:00.000-07:00

"J" made dinner for us last night--some baked ham and mixed greens salad. We chowed down our quick meal under the invading fog that could be seen scuttling above the moon window. Then we cuddled up to watch Lost In Translation. In Tokyo, a burned-out American movie star named Bob Harris (Bill Murray) shows up to appear in a whiskey ad. Stranded in a sleekly pompous modern hotel, he can't connect with anything or even sleep, but he does encounter (chastely) with a very young woman, Charlotte (Scarlett Johansson), whose fashion-photographer husband (Giovanni Ribisi) is rapidly slipping away from her. Both Bob and Charlotte are in emotional limbo, and they become an odd, inappropriate couple. We retired for the night after the movie and I woke up with gritty eyes, with this tune playing in my head.

I'm afraid the time is out that
I have to hold you tight and
Feel the vestige of time's indifference
In your wrinkles
Until I lose my strength to
Know that you're real
For you
I'm always willing
Even if my vision loses focus and
I gasp for breath

Even if I can longer move
I still have to look at you with
My riveting eyes
Until I can lather the traces of your
Snowy white hair and
My vision fades and the breadth gets short
Never do us part

I'll give up the whole world for you
Whom I cherish
And not regret because
You're the miracle life in my life
Maybe I can forget all that is in the world
But I will never wish to
Lose touch with you

First Date With "J": What A Bliss

2006-07-13T09:22:00.000-07:00

I had a date last night for the first time since my relationship debacle back in March. Not that I have deliberately evaded dating, I have given myself some time to adjust, and to reflect what might have gone amiss in that relationship. Honestly I haven't been looking--zero effort--holding on to the somewhat consoling belief that everything has it's time and I'm in no position to force it. In a recent post I shared about how I have been approaching relationship too seriously, focusing only on finding Mr. Right, and thus depriving myself of all the fun and joy friendship might have bestowed. Well...my friend Matty had nailed it--as soon as I stop searching and thinking so hard on it is when I seem to meet someone.

So I've been e-mailing "J" back and forth over the past few days and we decided to meet for dinner on a Wednesday (I don't usually go out during the week) night. He told me how he usually has qualm about having dinner on a first date for fear of meeting a total slop with no table manner. lol It's a bit scary to ponder at how much "J" and I have in common: the same academic background, the low-key, laid-back lifestyle, reading interest, places we have traveled, enjoying a quiet evening and things I can't blog about on here. lol His physical attributes--the facial hair and the slightly stocky build--afford this air of masculinity that I've come to appreciate in a man. Plus he has a brain and maturity.

We strolled around the Castro and peeked into various restaurants. We decided to go for Thai (I know, I'd never be sated with Thai food) at Thai Chef on 18th next to Badlands. We started off with Larb Gai (chicken salad), then Green Curry with Chicken--that was very tasty and creamy, and a so-so Fried Calamari with Tamarind Sauce. With riveting eyes I looked at him, we talked about our life and travel. I was so enraptured by him--the way he carried himself, the gentile manner, the tincture of humor--I realized that between he and I there was not that barrier of decorum I had always been conscious of between myself and other men, especially not on the first date.

After dinner we held hands and walked up to Cafe Flore and chatted a bit more over coffee. For a weeknight, the grand central station was mellow--sans DJ, sans loud music, sans flamy boys. We couldn't help sidling closer to each other and on the way back to the car, he bear-hugged me. I hope I can break the post-first date curse this time with "J"--can't wait to see him again.

A Finale For Cody's Books

2006-07-12T06:36:00.000-07:00

Like a comment that was made by a blogger in the previous post, the closing of the famed bookstore on Berkeley's Telegraph Avenue is the end of an era. The original Cody's Books opened at 11 a.m. and closed for the very last time at 8 p.m. on Monday night. I headed out there just to pay final tribute to the amazing bookstore that has spurred my reading interest and nourished my mind since my undergraduate days at Berkeley. Upon walking in the store, business was as usual--savvy staff was solicitously assisting customers, regular customers were browsing through the classic wooden shelves. On Sunday hundreds of writers and longtime customers crowded the store for its 50th anniversary celebration. But the festive decorations, balloons, confetti and champagne could not mask that the event was not only a celebration but also a grand finale for the store.

When I arrived in Berkeley as a freshman, I immediately discovered the intellectual haven in Cody's. The store used to stay open late, until 11 p.m., packed with bookworms and students in the aisles of shelves that were infused with variety. My friends and I always made a quick stop at Cody's whether we were on the way to grab a bite on Telegraph or walking back to the apartment from campus. Cody's was part of the equation of campus life--how poignant and shocking that it will become history. Sometimes I wonder why Cody's should never set up an online store to boost sales since big-chain like Borders, Barnes & Noble, and Amazon.com have seen business boom over the past decade. But even as online sales of books became a major revenue source for bookstores, Cody's, which holds obdurately to the philosophy that books are meant to be browsed in person, relinquished the idea.

I'm sad to say the society doesn't read as much as it used to--the world, bombarded with new technology, the internet, fast media--does not embrace the same values and reading culture that the wide-ranging intellect in the 70s and 80s sustained. I look at my students--they are reading Penguin Classics only because the books were required of them for the course. They use internet (I use internet, everyone uses internet), they rivet at their gigantic organic chemistry textbook and art history pictorial. But I still believe that reading nourishes the mind, expands our horizon, and exposes us to culture, ideas, and chronological distances that are so remote to us and our experience.

My bow to Cody's.

Muscle Talk

2006-07-10T06:34:00.000-07:00

The weekend was laid back but it was not without the demand of life's obligation. I spent almost all day Saturday preparing this week's lesson, which will plunge into the meat of War and Peace, as the climate of politics tautens and the fortunes of key characters change. Then I spent some time with my friend Stephen with whom I hadn't had a chance to catch up after he came back from a trip to the big apple. We took a stroll up to the Castro from his apartment in lower Hayes Valley under the glittering sun and decided to have noodle at Thai Noodle Express at Castro and 19th. We arrived just minutes before the neighborhood's blend of yuppie-meets-grunge people poured in. The waitress seated us at the window which commands a view of the street. A couple of tank-topped macho daddies walked down the street holding hands, followed by a young lanky guy with the build of a gymnast. Then a flamy Asian queen donning a hunter green contour-fit T shirt and a striped tie busied himself kissing his partner while crossing Castro. Stephen and I were amused by the street sights and we almost voiced out the concurrent opinion about big muscle being a gay icon.

The aspiration to be big, macho and muscular sweeps through the gay community. Not that I'm into the porns but look at all the big posters and advertisement: they all have the appeal of big muscular men. Those thick pecs and bulging biceps that are barely confined under the tight fabrics of the skimpy muscle shirt give away a man's sexual orientation. And even with a tinge of vanity does a man like to flaunt the fruit of his long hours of hard labor at the gym. I can relate to that. I remember when I first noticed my chest showing under my athletic ringer T shirt--I was so excited that I would want to show it despite the Mark Twain's saying the coldest winter he ever had was San Francisco's summer. I've never known the thrill and intrigue of flexing that muscle on my arm known as the bicep until I have my own! This is all vanity in the working. I first worked out for health reason, wanting to lose weight and get fit, but I'm sure if it was not for the purpose of looking good and attracting attention from other men, I wouldn't have been able to accomplished this much--losing 50 pounds and then gaining the muscle that I could only have dreamed of having. I know many gay men don't even sweat about the 6 pack but at the same time an invisible pressure--the pressure to look good and the pressure to conform--hangs over their head. Meanwhile I'm happy with my 41". *g*

Anyway, enough of my babbling for the day.

Tonight I'm going to witness the postscript of Berkeley's landmark Cody's Books, which will close the door for good after being in business for 50 years. That would be something for me to blog about tomorrow. Until next time everyone.

What Am I Living For?

2006-07-08T06:31:00.000-07:00

I was so busy yesterday dealing with mechanics of the seminar I teach this summer. The class is full with 25 undergraduates and a waiting list with equal amount of students. In addition to all that, there were students shopping for class and hoping to add it. The bad news for everyone who is not on the official class list is that they can only get in unless someone on the roster doesn't up. Anyway, juggling between the class and all the errands, I've managed to read only 22 pages of War and Peace. Reading assignment for my students covers the first two parts of Book 1, which amounts 230 pages due on Monday for discussion. (Should I surprise them with a reading quiz?). I'm a little bit ahead on Book 2 Part 4. However meager in the number of pages I read yesterday, it is quality reading that gives insights to meanings of life and delves with peace of mind and human conscience.

I will not reveal the circumstances that lead to the scene in question to avoid spoiler. Two men, whose lives and fortunes have changed dramatically during the fetters of war, chance to reunion and find themselves at loggerhead in their view of life's meaning. One has sworn off any army service after living a life for honor and glory--the desire to do something for others and the desire for recognition and praises--and not almost but quite spoils his life. He laments over someone whom he has irretrievably wronged and never has the chance to put right, all because of his chasing after honor and glory. The other man is the exact opposite. He has lived for himself until he realizes all the happiness in life only comes about from serving others and denying himself.

I put down the book and lapsed into a pondering silence. What am I living for? I have spent almost my entire life living for others--not necessarily serving them and meeting their needs but rather doing things that please people. I can be such a people-pleaser in order to avoid conflict and confrontation. I am always the "nice guy" who is morose, who is sitting at the corner in class, who smiles but never talks much, who is always the first to volunteer, who never complains about anything and who doesn't know how to say "no" to people. My mother's terminal illness dawned on me--I have to break apart from that fake, unrealistic, conforming public image I have meticulously nourished for years.

Opening up about my sexual orientation is for sure the giant leap toward self-transformation. I realize that if there is ever one thing in life that will render me to be true to myself, that will be the fact of my being gay. It's the inarguable truth written on stone. The revelation of who I am not only removes that burden off my back--but also affords a refreshing perspective of life. I will no longer live for others in the sense of conforming to their standards in order to please and to win approval. I know I have been stupidly obdurate in relationship--how I thrive to change for someone, to conform to his desire, and in the end only to hurt myself so badly. Being true to oneself, after all, is knowing when to let go and move on. Being true to oneself is to preserve that human dignity and peace of mind.

I Was Outed Over Thai Food!

2006-07-07T06:29:00.000-07:00

I hung out with my friend Tony and my cousin Fiona on Sunday. We were planning on Indonesian food in downtown but after circling around the block several times we couldn't get a parking space. For Plan B we were off to Valencia for Thai food at Osha. Squeezed into a gritty Mission block, the small dining room is a stylish, peaceful respite from the outside, with jungle-foliage wallpaper and fluorescent lights softened by a gauzy mesh curtains. Blond-wood tables, Jetson-like plastic chairs and black-clad waitstaff complete the mod-squad feel, though the patrons are the neighborhood's standard blend of yuppie-meets-grunge. I opted for my usual noodle plate--Pad Khee Mao--fried thick rice noodles with tofu, garlic, tomatoes, mushrooms, onions, basil, bamboo shoots, chili, Chinese broccoli. The street food stalls in Bangkok make this noodle plate very savory and spicy, but it was somewhat bland at Osha. The fried rice plate Fiona ordered tasted better, and so did the rice paper spring rolls and the papaya salad.

Tony mentioned something about the night market in Hong Kong and the conversation nudged to the street prostitutes donning tube tops and carrying fake LV bags awaiting patrons. Anyway, I made a comment about how I'm not interested in women and Tony seized the opportunity to out me over Thai food! While I'm out to all my friends and co-workers, coming out to family is a difficult terrain I have to negotiate. The funny thing is, Fiona has always known from my innuendos and the ways I carry myself, and she's been waiting for me to tell her in person. I've been holding back from telling her because I don't know how she would have taken the truth. I wish to thank my friend Tony for releasing some of the worries and burden off me, and am grateful for Fiona who doesn't think less of me now as she did before. Thanks cousin.

The next and the ultimate stride will be talking with my father, who might have suspected or even known about me but decides to be hush about it. I came out to my mother when she was battling against cancer 8 years ago--but there is a mysterious, tacit understanding that exists between mother and her children. After all, I shared her pulse and heart beat inside her womb before she brought me to this world, right?

Picture 1: Fiona 9 months, and me 4 in Hong Kong.
Picture 2: Fiona, Yanny, Jeremy, and me.

Reading War and Peace

2006-07-06T06:35:00.000-07:00

My third time reading Tolstoy's epic moves quite swiftly--the story itself may not be the most captivating, like The Master and Margarita (my all-time favorite piece of literature), but it affords a tapestry of the society and its throbbing life. By the end of Part 2 in Book 1, we see extensive scenes of domestic life, familial dealings, and seditious plot of seizing a count's fortune. All these are juxtaposed with scenes of the war. It might be a presentiment of the imminent changing fortunes of all the characters.

The bloggers at Reading...War and Peace raise a very broad but significant question: What is the novel about? Tolstoy gives us a diverse picture of characters who come to grasp their fate and destiny--whether it was out of free will or not. For some conforming to fate will deprive them of all power of thought and make them incapable of anything but habitual compliance. Tolstoy might have exposed readers the military schemes, familial gatherings, and domestic life, he doesn't show us the characters' fate and their decision--decision that leads to happiness and filfillment of life. We are, therefore, in the same shoes with the characters to gingerly, with fear and trembling, to see what's in store for them.

[Kong] A Music Video That Hits Home

2006-07-04T07:35:00.000-07:00

I'm flattered and floored by the 1081 hits to my blogger profile and the 22 sites that have links to A Guy's Moleskine Notebook in less than 6 months after I launched the blog on Jan 18. I bow to you all for the support and feedback. It's 4th of July and I'm just kicking it at home and reading War and Peace along with these bloggers. Never into any of the celebrations or cookout. Too many people anywhere, everywhere.

The music video features a very special song that really hits home to me. Kong refers to King Kong falling in love with a beauty and the amazing love affair becomes a legend. I'm no King Kong nor am I interested in girls but I am a very loyal person in relationship, even if the relationship might not have worked out. Sensitive and emotional vulnerable, I wear my heart on my sleeves. If I fall for someone, I pour out my heart and swear loyalty--like that in the song--lay down my life and protect him at the expense of my safety. After a recent debacle in a relationship, I have had doubt if my being loyal is a mistake--am I being so stupid and stubborn to have sold out myself?

No. I realize I have been approaching relationship too seriously and narrowing my perspective to only looking for Mr. Right. I have deprived myself of the pleasure and fun of socializing with other men and getting to know them. Sometimes guys smile at me but I pretend I don't pay attention. I know it's lame. I find myself faring much better and more comfortably in a small group than a large crowd. I'm often at a loss for words when I see someone I like. That has to change. After years of chasing after Mr. Right and dating people off my checklist, it's time to chill, just have fun, socialize, make friends and see where life takes me.

Happy 4th everyone!

Sleepless Night

2006-07-01T07:39:00.000-07:00

I got up early after an almost sleepless night. The bitches upstairs came home at 2 in the morning (to be exact, 2:02), f**king walked around the carpetless apartment with high heels and cranked up the music. Since they moved in back in early March, I had to live with the harassment of their galloping around in high heels. Literally it sounds like the rumbling of a peal of thunder that persists for at least an hour. Last night I had my final straw of patience with them, I got up and called the police. The SFPD has set up this report line for non-violent issues. No sooner had the officers showed up and given a warning did they turn off the music. A small group of buzzed people stumbled down the stairs and left shortly after. Today I'll have a word with the landlord about them. These bitches are the most obnoxious, annoying, and rudest neighbors I've ever had in my whole life.

2:02 AM Bitches got home with a party of six, screaming, yelling, high-heels rumbling
2:11 AM Laughing and screaming from kitchen upstairs
2:27 AM First call to SFPD complaining about noise
2:37 AM The party got high, turned up the volume of stereo and the bitches started dancing on hardwood floor
2:38 AM Second call to SFPD complaining about noise and wild party
2:46 AM Officers showed up and raided the apartment
2:50 AM Party dispersed; saw a few people leaving the building

I don't think the long weekend justifies rowdy, noisy behavior at 2 AM in the morning especially when you co-habit with neighbors from 5 other units. It's just plain rude.

**No apology***

I'm off to the gym to vent out my anger and frustration now. Then I'll spend the day reading War and Peace.

Enjoy the weekend everyone.

[50] The Pillars of Earth - Ken Follett

2006-06-30T06:35:00.000-07:00

If life is really meant to be and fate is ineluctable, then the cathedral of Kingsbridge has amazingly brought together people whose lives would have never crossed paths. A starving family wandered around the countryside looking for work and food. A master builder whose wife died from exhaustion and excess blood loss after giving birth to a baby met a young prior who was aspired to straighten discipline at his monastery and eventually to build a new cathedral. A doomed heiress of earldom imposed upon the hospitality of the prior's monastery after the man with whom she broke the engagement raided the castle and killed her father. The prior's brother found an abandoned baby on his way to the town and decided to raise him for God.

The Pillars of Earth is an epic covering over four decades' time that tells the story of a priest who despite all the difficulty, challenge, and vile monarchs was aspired to build a new cathedral at Kingsbridge. An orphan raised by the monks, Philip had spent his entire life in monastery. It's clear that after his being the cellarer at a young age and then the prior of a small remote monastery for years, the hand of God was on him. The dilapidated look of Kingsbridge struck him--the broken stones of a collapsed tower lay where they had fallen--and more importantly, he was indignant for years at the disgraceful ways the priory was run, how it was allowed to surrender to slackness and ungodliness.

The building of a new cathedral proceeded sluggishly under the thriving power struggle between kings, earls, knights, barons, and bishops. The modest, peace-loving prior found himself inevitably involved in the dangerous meddling of royal politics. On top of a blaze that incurred further damage to the half-collapsed church, in a war that raged over the three decades, the vile bishop had done everything he could to destroy Philip and the priory. Colluding with William Hamleigh who was seethed with greed and lust, he contrived to humiliate Philip--to build a new church at his Shiring in lieu of the one in Kingsbridge, and to move the diocese in Shiring. In an evil attempt to rid of the town and its people altogether, Hamleigh attacked and burned down the marketplace. However troubled, heart-broken and demoralizing it might be to Philip, he managed to rebuild, to remain meek, to outmaneuver, and to triumph over without weapon and free of violence.

As the years went by Tom Builder had cultivated a relationship with Philip that had rooted in trust and respect--he had become the master builder of the cathedral at the height of his skills. He reflected how the prior with his faith and unflinching conviction had kept Kingsbridge together: he ruled the village, administered justice, settled quarrels, and decided where houses should be built, employed most of village residents, managed the priory, negotiated with monarchs, and fought predatory bureaus. He apropos demonstrated how weakness and scruples had defeated strengths and ruthlessness.

The doomed heiress, Aliena, had proven to be one of the most noblest and admirable characters in literature. Living the life of an incessant revenge’s victim, she stood her ground but not without qualms. William whom she rejected to marry, had ruined her father, raped her, taken her castle, burned her wool trade and exiled her brother, but every time the villain thought he had crushed her she came back again, rising from defeat to new heights of power, wealth, and strength. Her obstinacy of not succumbing to adversity intrigued everyone, although she still lived in the shame of her past.

The Pillars of Earth is a very poignant and despondent read at times but the nuanced historical details and etched characterization, and the impetus to do justice of all the heinous, ruthless, and insidious deeds to which Kingsbridge had been subjected over decades make it an incredible page turner. If there is ever a novel that proclaims hope and perseverance, that will be The Pillars of Earth. There is always a gleam of hope at any inferno situation--no matter how people were shaken to the core or how poor the morale was. The passion sparked the motivation and determination to build the most spellbound Gothic cathedral and all it took was one man's faith that was like mustard seed.

Something Fun From Hong Kong Street

2006-06-29T19:18:00.000-07:00

I've been covering the SF Pride week and totally forgot about this very funny, candid video capturing two women fighting over common street ground. They both own little food stalls that flank a narrow hilly side street in Hong Kong. I happened to walk by and noise of the brawl flooded my iPod music. It's funny to me how the bypassers were completely oblivious to the drama as if it is very common.

[49] Never Let Me Go - Kazuo Ishiguro

2006-06-28T06:34:00.000-07:00

I just finished the novel yesterday but a whirl of thoughts well up in my mind. The rich, multiple layers (figurative meanings) of the book left me thinking about the characters and plot for a while. Past experiences of Ishiguro's works at one point draws me an idea that he might have used an unreliable narrator again but quickly it becomes obvious that is not the case. The novel depicts a dystopian society in 1990s England that breeds human clones to become organ donors for "the normals." So Ishiguro goes Huxley? Not quite.

The characters in Never Let Me Go are never brought at direct conflict with their oppressor, like in Brave New World or even in 1984. As children, these donors are educated and disciplined in school until they are ready for the donations. Their internal organs are systematically plucked out at the recovery centers.

The narrative affords a magnified view of humanity of the characters. From the very beginning, their fate are ineluctable and they seem to accept their destiny meekly. The narrator, Kathy, is oversensitive and obsessive with others' motivations, gesture, remarks, and emotions. And the result is a narration, filled with rich nuances and niches, as if utterance and movement each person makes is deliberate, premeditated and loaded with significance. The air of secrecy and suspense pervades the story. Everything between the three friends--Kathy, Ruth, and Tommy--seems really delicate and tense.

The novel revolves around this obscure theme of human soul. The normals, who try to clone, view the students as sub-human. The conflict that I see is that in order to breed these clones for a specific function, the normals would have to breed emotion out of these clones in order to fulfill the end purpose. The students are consistently reminded of proper behavior that a good conscience allows.

Ishiguro reveals to his readers that the students' adult "guardians" believe they are human beings with souls, and the "guardians" spend a great deal of time and effort trying to prove this to the other "normals." A sense of supremacy exists in the guardians and even in this woman, Madame, who makes frequent trips to the school to collect students' arts. The students always think that Madame doesn't like them and shun them as if they are some insects (spider). This takes us to yet another, deeper question posed by the novel: Can members of a privledged class save those who are less so, or must the oppressed save themelves?

Why can't these students just flee and assimilate into normal life?

Update on Summer Reading Challenge
My Challenge: 1 book a week and only from my stacks.
Books read so far: 4
Date: June 1 through August 31

SF Pride Wrap Up

2006-06-27T06:17:00.000-07:00

I'm still recovering from the weekend--not so such from hungover since I don't drink much these days. I had a couple of cocktails at Harvey's with friends and that was it for the drinking part. Sunday was gorgeous and mild. I was standing on Market Street riveting at some of the pretty men at the parade, trying to look for the float to which my AJ belonged. I took some pictures of the "balloon people", mayor Gavin Newsom, the hot dancing cowboys in sleeveless red plaid shirts, the giant rainbow flag, and the gay officers wlking around the aisle with their lovers (that really touched me.

I was meandering through the big crowd under the tincture of BBQ grills at the celebration in Civic Center. Several of my friends had arrived earlier but I had lost them. Cellphone was really no use as I could only hear every other five words my friend was saying, any tattempt of conversation was flooded by the music from the entertainment stages and people's cheering. I managed to get through the leather alley and the Asian American section where friends and volunteers of GAPA all took off their shirts and cuddled each other! I have to say I'm too keen on Asian boys, especially the scrawny and queeny ones! I walked up Market Street to the Castro as MUNI metro was clogged with thousands of people waiting on the platform. I took a peek into Sweet Inspirations and O...M....G.... Matty from Matt's Bit of Space was hanging out with his boyfriend B. I went inside and said hello, gave Matty a big hug--it's awesome to finally meet him. Matty you look so cute and neat in person, and B is gorgeous. Then I settled down at Cafe Flore, where Bee gave me a slice of the delicious chocolate mouusee cake while I was waiting for my pals to show up. That was one awesome weekend. Now my friend Brent is on the road to Portland and Seattle. If you happen to read this, have fun on your trip okay?

SF Pride Week (Take 4 - This is it!)

2006-06-25T06:34:00.000-07:00

I had a late start yesterday and didn't head out to the Castro until late afternoon. My friends and I were having some drinks and snacks at Harvey's and hanged out there for a few hours. Situated at the southwestern corner of 18th and Castro, it is a cozy place for brunch and dinner. It's a great place for people watching as the big windows afford unobstructed view of the hustle and bustle of Castro's busiest intersection. But the place is not as cruisy as other bars like Moby Dick and the Midnight Sun, owing to the fact that Harvey's is more like a restaurant and not a club. My friend Brent called from Cafe Flore (he said that is my restaurant!) where he and his friends were enjoying a late lunch in the patio. I could barely hear him, maybe only grasping every three other words he was saying. I could imagine the scene over there: macho men in tank tops basking in the sun, mix of locals with friends coming in town chatting over lunch, straight couples and tourists sitting in awe of their being the minority there. Thousands of people would be at the celebration quarter at Civic Center where the main entertainment stages and booths are, then pour into the neighborhood and party into the wee hours. For me partying and drinking have be out of my equation. I adopt a more mellow and sober way of celebrating the pride, mostly hanging out with friends and sitting somewhere that perches over so I can see the happenings. I enjoy a small group as I can be claustrophobic in a crowd. A nice spot for that would be Metro City Bar and Tapeo across the street from Cafe Flore at 16th. So...I'm ready for the parade, donning my rainbow lei, looking for my friend AJ who will be a pink bunny and Dan -Turning 40 will be marching with mayor Gavin Newsom.

Gay Pride Must Read
Since this is a semi litblog, I will leave you my top 10 books for the occasion of gay pride weekend. I tend to be somewhat biased toward literary fiction and social commentary. I was talking to a friend about how Alan Hollinghurst has made it into the literature section at the bookstore while Michael Thomas Ford will be found in the shelves of gay and lesbian studies. Anyway, here is the list, as of Gay Pride 2006:

Giovanni's Room - James Baldwin
The Swimming Pool Library - Alan Hollinghurst
The Trouble With Normal: Sex, Politics, and Ethics of Queer Life - Michael Warner
The Commitment - Dan Savage
Freedom in this Village - E. Lynn Harris
What the Bible Really Says About Homosexuality - Daniel A. Helminiak
Covering: Hidden Assault of Civil Rights - Kenji Yoshino
The Stroy of the Night - Colm Toibin
Tales of the City - Armisted Maupin
Breakfast With Tiffany - Edwin John Wintle

Happy pride!

SF Pride Week (Take 3 - Casual Castro Walk)

2006-06-23T06:34:00.000-07:00

The temperature reached about 90 degrees yesterday in San Francisco. Scorching. Cool breeze that picked up in the afternoon made the heat less unbearable. I was grateful for the sunshine and warm weather. I was sitting in the shade outside Cafe Flore after work, sipping a lemonade Jessie (it's Jessie and Dirk today, Bee must be off showing her mother, who is visiting from Thailand, around the city) poured me, and scribbling some thoughts in my Moleskine notebook on The Pillars on Earth, a story of a devout monk who was driven with formidable determination to build the greatest Gothic cathedral the world has known in the 12th century.

Fellow blogger cipriano has pointed this 973-page historical novel to my direction and it has proven to be a spellbinding and gripping read: an epic tale of ambition, action, revenge, suspense, tension, greed, violence, dedication, passion, devotion, bravery. I got lost in my thought of the riveting story and memorable characterization when my friend Brent called from Sit and Spin (laundry-cafe on 18th St near Moby Dick). He is staying in SF for the pride week en route to Portland and Seattle, then Oklahoma, Arkansas and fly over the pond to Amsterdam and London. What a lifestyle! I met him at Cafe Flore (where else right? hehe...) one morning over coffee when he timidly broke the ice with a casual comment on the piece of classical music being too dark and spooky! Then I went on babbling about reading and writing along to Telemann's flute and oboe concertos. Ha!

Brent and I have been cruising around the city in a Bay-Area-Backroad style and shot some of the most spontaneous pictures. He spotted this phone pole on the sidewalk outside Twin Peaks Bar. The pole is infested with staples with which past flyers had attached. He was fascinated by the chronological distances and histories of events that the lonely pole has born and witnessed over the year in the Castro. Countless flyers for rallies, bar happy hours, bath houses, epidemic news, support groups, movie festivals, street fairs must have left their mark at one point or another on this pole. So we tried to find an angle to take a picture that best accentuates the old, rusty staples galore on the weathered pole. Stepping across the street to the MUNI underground entrance, Brent contrived to replicate a picture of the rainbow flag against the blue sky. He also captured the quiet vista and Guy's flower stand on Noe Street west of Market toward Duboce Park.

So on the way to meet Brent, who was doing laundry at Sit and Spin, which on the store front is a cafe with free wi-fi, I had to negotiate through a crowd of viewers waiting to be admitted into the Castro Theater. I stopped by the hardware store down the street and looked for a lei that is made of glossy colored beads for the weekend--to my surprise, two days before the pride celebration; the leis are yet in stock! I have to go back and check with them maybe tomorrow or the latest Saturday morning. Two doors down at A Different Light Bookstore the frontal display of a copy of Aiden Shaw's biography has driven a drooling threesome who riveted at his bare chest.

The short stroll down Castro lifted my spirit, probably owing also to the Pride Weekend that is right around the corner. Brent made a comment about how all the men I see on the strip of Castro, whether they are jock, muscle cowboy, drag queen, the guy next door, or the gruffy leather dude, form a brotherhood to which I belong. As we celebrate another gay pride, we have to remind ourselves that we are not fighting among ourselves but a society that offers the ticket to equality on the stake of conformity.