Talking with myself

Do you ever imagine hypothetical conversations? I have a longtime habit of doing so, and I think the frequency has intensified now that I have more time to let my mind wander (less homework, more commuting time). Tonight I played out a fairly extensive conversation in my head, filling out the setting, body language, conversational constructs I'd use, the other person's responses and tone, etc.

Of course, the exercise gets more interesting if environmental factors align and the conversation could actually take place. But when that moment arrives, it never happens the way you've envisioned it. After all, as much as I try, I am not the sole author of the script.

Maybe that's why it's so satisfying to create neatly packaged dialogues.

Gotham City, beta version

Tonight at 8ish, I was on my way back to the Fed to pick up my bike, and was wandering down Adams when a guy on the sidewalk suddenly started waving at me. He looked a little well-dressed to be begging for money, but I instinctively veered away anyway. Then he told me the street was closed. He had a florescent yellow vest wrapped around his waist, so I decided to heed his advice. Continuing down Jackson, I ran into more yellow tape and was soon accosted by another woman. After explaining that my bike was only 25 yards away, she let me cross into the top-secret security zone.

Just to confirm my hunch, I asked a nearby cop what the furor was all about. Indeed, they are filming the next Batman film tonight outside of my workplace. You can see the filming listed on the Chicago Film Office site. It's posted under the "code name" Rory's First Kiss.

Sunday Afternoon on the Island of La Grande Jatte

After spending all of yesterday huddled with a book, I ventured out to the Lakefront park for a run. I was handily armed with a map (from my sugar daddy Merlin), and decided my goal was to reach Shedd Aquarium before turning around. I did make it there, but it was kind of painful. It's been a while since I bothered running. On the plus side, it doesn't take much to see noticeable improvements, so in another month..

I noticed a dirt mound labeled "Sledding Slope" and laughed. Oh Libe Slope, how I miss your 46% grade on the way to class every morning.

On the drive back, NPR mentioned a Sing-Along concert in Millenium Park that afternoon. I figured I'd been meaning to get a letterbox down there, plus I'm always game for singing in public, so I biked downtown to hang out with a bunch of parents and their kids. Some of the material was interesting (folk songs, Beatles, mariachi band), and we even worked on our vowels a bit (to get rid of those ugly American diphthongs)! I am giving serious thought to joining a choral group (U of C chorale?) in the fall because I miss performing in a large ensemble. Hah, that's right, I can be that sketchy townie hanging around campus, only it's not my campus.

According to the series program, there's quite a few more (free) performances throughout the rest of the summer. Beethoven 6, anyone?

Drat, the jazz festival Herbie Hancock student tickets are sold out. Nooo!

Harry Potter 7 - Finis coronat opus?

The seventh and final installment of the Harry Potter bildungsroman has been unfurled. All in all, I spent around 9-10 hours reading today. I might have a permanent crick in my neck, but that's all right, I've read through the end without being confronted by spoilers. Apparently some guy was handing out copies of the last chapter yesterday morning downtown. I don't understand why you'd put time and effort into something like that. Is the perverse satisfaction worth copying and standing on a street corner for hours? Admittedly, I thought this video from the HP6 release was pretty funny.

Jen put together an arrangement of the Harry Potter theme and played it from the clocktower at midnight. When I took a break from reading this afternoon, I was really thrilled to check my email and hear this. We'll never know for sure, but I'd bet that someone out there was passing by and was tickled by the bells emanating from the tower.

My two cents: some sections in the middle dragged or were otherwise awkward, but this is perhaps a factor of the characters themselves being unsure of their direction. Also, the epilogue was terrible, embarrassingly cheesy and trite. The book does explore some facets that I had never given much thought, like Dumbledore's character and Snape's history. Perhaps predictably, characters are never fully saintly or malicious, but merely human. And naturally, they seek and find some measure of redemption, which makes them all the more endearing. Except for Voldemort, of course. Actually, if Voldemort had shown twinges of remorse, that would have made the book more interesting by far. I never quite understood how he evolved into a power-hungry satanic figure, other than natural disposition and his so-called inability to love.

At any rate, I am newly inspired to incorporate more frequent everyday usage of terms such as "git," "wonky," "ruddy," and "queue."

Idk my bff Jill?

The other day, I was sitting at my computer discreetly iming Jen (LM) from Google Talk while ostensibly doing work. Aside from a couple emails, I haven't talked to her since the GCNA trip last month. So, it was nice to catch up on her (lack of) progress on sabbatical work, and I filled her in on life in the "real" world. The irony is that she had been making fun of my aim obsession when we were together in TN, but now she's gradually seeing the light as well.

IM is a very handy form of communication in many ways: it's casual and instantaneous, you can simultaneously send other types of information (links, files), and in some cases, it eliminates some of the awkwardness of a face-to-face conversation. (Of course, there are people for which conversations are painful over aim, or over any medium...but that's beside the point.) The key selling point, in my opinion, is the ubiquity and availability of the im. I wouldn't call people specifically to whine about the car alarm that woke me up at 6 am, but I could readily rant about this to half a dozen people over aim. In other words, it's much easier to keep in touch with people via aim without a lot of effort.

This got me thinking about how to define "keeping in touch" and ways to measure "closeness" in relationships. There aren't too many people I keep daily tabs on, but when I do, it's primarily through im. I'm not asserting that we will be better friends because I know what you ate for dinner or what you bought at IKEA today. Rather, if I'm in touch with mundane, everyday events in your life, you're more likely to fill me in on bigger issues as well. If I were having a mid-mid-life crisis, I would talk to someone I speak with regularly before calling someone I haven't spoken to for 6 months.

Panicked thought #1: maybe the primary thing I have in common with my best friends is that we are all equally obsessed with aim. Panicked thought #2: what if no one else I meet for the rest of my life uses aim/has grown out of it? Am I doomed to a series of superficial relationships? Before you laugh and point me to something called the "phone," I want to say phone calls are great, but if I used them with the immediacy that I use im, I'd have a helluva cell bill. Well, what did people do before computers? I'm not sure how they lived with themselves, but I'd guess that people simply communicated less often. So it's no good comparing contemporary times to the 19th century; our communication structure and behavior have changed so radically that it's irrelevant. A letter that spent 3 months traversing the Atlantic might have sufficed for keeping up ties at one point, but it wouldn't work for me.

Perhaps I'll go gripe about this on my away message now.

In the loop in the Loop

It's been one week since I started work, and my worst fears (e.g. being asked arcane econometrics questions point-blank) did not materialize. The senior economists in my group have been quite helpful, and the other AEs my age have turned out to be pretty cool kids. (There weren't pre-formed cliques! No one made fun of the color of my Trapper-Keeper!) And after a week on the job, I have abandoned all pretense of wearing "business casual" to work and gone back to my usual khakis instead. My aunt will be so disappointed.

Friday night, I was hanging out with some Fed kids at a happy hour of sorts, and heard that someone was throwing a (studio apt) house party later that evening. My initial reaction was: 1) I don't know if I'm in the mood for a party, 2) er, was my last house party dilj's Chinese New Year party? In February? 3) damn, I sucked at being college, 4) never mind, I need to bike home in traffic so forget drinking.

I spent the bulk of the next day apartment hunting with Katherine, who is currently squatting at some friend of the family's house. After seeing closet-size "bedrooms" and being told that the nearest "grocery store" was a CVS, we decided to give David's house a shot. Whistles*, the place had a beautiful open kitchen (let's be serious, it's the most important room in the house) and a roof-top patio. Afterwards, we grabbed tacos at a tacqueria joint around the corner and set off on a walking tour of Ukrainian Village led by David. This was probably the most informative thing I've done in Chicago, a great insider look at a neighborhood. I'm probably a little jealous that I can't move into this house.


Final thought: regardless of what the locals say, the Manhattan street numbering system is better than that of any other city I've seen. Yes, Chicago has a grid system, is a planned city, etc. but the way the addresses are constructed, you only know one coordinate (x or y) at a time. Washington's street system has too many spokes and similar-sounding street names (the alphabet?), while Boston doesn't have any system to speak of. I like the idea of actual street names, which are used here for most streets, but there's something to be said for the simplicity and immediate comprehensibility of numbered streets.

Top 10 reasons why working at the Chicago Fed rocks:

So, today was my first day on the job:

• The cafeteria has bright pretty colors, cheap yummy food, and Appel-style conveyor belt tray returns.
• There is a gym upstairs. And a masseuse comes by once a week.
• There is a candy & snacks shop. You could charge stuff with your ID card. This could get dangerous.
  
• The building is open 24/7, so I could potentially work 9p-5a.
• “Business casual” attire means I saw at least one guy wearing jeans and one girl wearing a tank top today.
• I love my wireless keyboard and mouse.
  
• People nap in the lounge. Although you could watch the plasma TV instead.
• Federal holidays: who doesn't want to observe President's Day?
• My supervisors all have PhDs, and are accordingly adroit.
• My coworkers discuss NPR and spamming techniques at lunch.
• I'm within walking distance to tons of restaurants, bars, theaters and concerts after work.
  

Southern Cookin'

This morning, I was thumbing through the Yellow Pages and started reading menus for fun. The first one that caught my eye was from a barbeque restaurant, the Ole Hickory Pit. They included an old-timey description of how the restaurant was founded on the principles of traditional Western KY pit barbeque. Of course, the restaurant itself included an authentic hickory barbeque pit. As the ad succinctly put it:

And yes this oven pits where hand built by Murvin.

I couldn’t quite tell if this sentence was a train wreck of grammatical errors, or if the wording was intentional.

The next menu that stood out was from the Oakroom, at the Seelbach hotel. This is the eminent Louisville institution also mentioned in The Great Gatsby. I’ve never been inside the restaurant or the hotel, but eyed the tasting menu carefully, figuring this would be a good purview of contemporary Southern cooking. The more interesting items included:

Line Caught Salmon: Salsafy Purée, Zucchini, Lemon, Grilled Calamari

What on earth is “salsafy” purée? Is it purée that’s been salsa-fied? Isn’t salsa already a purée anyway?

Lobster: Olive, Chick Pea, Corn, Marshmallow

Now, marshmallow is a prominent addition to foods like sweet potatoes and hot chocolate, but I’ve never pictured it alongside lobster. I’d be interested in seeing how this dish is presented; all the complementary foods are of the small kernel/piece variety.

I also saw a couple listings for burgoo, which I've never eaten but have a passing familiarity from reading all the Little House on the Prairie books. Actually, I haven't seen the word since I finished the books. From what I recall, it's a type of stew that sometimes includes squirrel...maybe I should have looked into this more while at Cornell?

(Unwanted) Birthday Presents

My aunties Julia and Nancy have forgotten the exact date of my birthday (they thought it was today), but no matter, they’ve graciously given me a rediculous TV for the new apartment. My jaw hit the floor when I saw it: 32” HD widescreen TV/DVD combo, and they included a wall mount with it. And here I was sifting through Craig’s list for cheap/free 20” TVs.

Why do I say “unwanted” then? Because I know they’re not doing so well these days, and they can’t afford it. I shudder every time my birthday/Christmas rolls around and I get packages from them, because it invariably means a pricey gift that is well-intentioned, but is something that they can’t and shouldn’t pay for it. When people give me gifts, generally I say something along the lines of “Oh thank you, but you really shouldn’t have.” Well, in this case, I mean it.

It worries me that they feel the need to give expensive gifts, even though their own finances aren’t in great shape. Part of it is pride and the need to keep up appearances, and part is just bad judgment. I reiterate this every year, but I wish I could convey for once and for all, that a simple card or phone call would express their love just as well.

They included the gift receipts. I’m crossing my fingers that if I return the TV, the money can be placed back on the credit card, since they undoubtedly put it on one.

Debutante Ball, of sorts

It is my firm belief that every true Southern belle needs her own debutante ball. Basically, this is a combination coming-of-age and presentation to society gala. Obviously, they don’t happen in New England, nor would I have wanted one, but some of my classmates from high school did carry out the tradition.

My grandma and I headed over to July 4^th feastivities and bbq hosted by Great Auntie Mei. She’s one of those elder statesman figures in the Louisville Chinese-Viet Community; I’m actually not sure what her name is because everyone refers to her as the Great Auntie. Yesterday, she invited us over, particularly so that she (and a lot of others) could see me. When I arrived, the driveway jammed full with cars and small children. I pulled in with trepidation.

Immediately, I was waylayed by a few people who recognized me, and although I had no idea who they were, I nodded and smiled with recognition. My god, the last time I saw you, you were this tall! (*waves at the ground) I was introduced to several new children and husbands, but unlike years past, was spared being poked, prodded or pinched.

At this “family” reunion of sorts, people can roughly be divided into categories by age. Let’s see:

• 60+: This includes those venerable elder figures who brought their families to Louisville when it was impossible to buy bean sprouts and locals couldn’t tell the difference between Taiwan and Thailand. Children have mostly intermarried those from other families and taken over family businesses. Have acquired all sorts of nicknames due to being a different relationship (Great Aunt, Grandma, Mother in Law, etc) to everyone in town. English skills are just sufficient to pass the U.S. citizenship test, and all is promptly forgotten afterwards.
• 40s & 50s: Kids are mostly in high school and college, and they are free to spend weekends playing mahjong or cards for hours on end. English is proficient enough to establish careers and businesses. Speaking voices tend to be loud to the point of yelling, gossip circulates faster than a newly released Potter book.
• 30s: Young moms (and dads) who try to maintain a hipper look and trendy dress. May have blonde-ish highlights in layered hair. Have a decent command of English and tend to speak to kids in English if they don’t respond to Chinese.
• 20s: um, that’d be me. Most of the other people I can think of in this range are currently not in this state. Including myself by the end of the week.
• Teeny boppers: sufficiently assimilated into American culture, often to the detriment of language skills, which is inversely proportional to fashion sense. Sparring cliques are heard to remark: “Sophia and all her friends, they’re so snooty.”
• Younguns: still in diapers, but smart enough to strategically scream when ice pops are being passed out. Beware being excessively fat or skinny; you will be summarily examined and your parents’ negligence discussed over the mahjong table. Actually, this last rule applies to anyone in the previous categories too.

Needless to say, I felt a little out of place, but ended up hanging out with the old people and playing foosball with the kids.

I was struck by the number of people who spoke to me in English at first, then switched to Cantonese once they realized I was sufficiently fluent. Moreover, I garnered some praise for graduating and landing a good job, but was roundly commended for the language fluency. It’s a little discouraging to see that so many kids in my generation have aural but not oral proficiency in Chinese. Not only these kids, but most of my cousins have limited Chinese skills as well, which is a shame. Even my brother’s Chinese is not exactly fluid.

It’s a shame that the language isn’t being passed down, not only for the practical value of knowing another language, but for the rich oral tradition that gets lost. My Chinese isn’t perfect, but I can easily join into conversations, understand jokes, hold my own and generally chew the fat with any takers. Without this background, how would you ever develop any meaningful relationships with the older generation?

I came away with $100 tucked into a red envelope from Great Auntie Mei.

Shopping like it's my Job

Aside from talking, there is nothing my Aunt Binh likes better than shopping and finding great deals. Naturally, when I mentioned my new job, she immediately scented a shopping extravaganza opportunity and announced that she was taking me shopping for that business casual wardrobe. I protested weakly that I already went shopping and had a few pairs of slacks and appropriately professional attire in my closet. Also, I’m working at the Fed, not an i-banking firm or something involving sales. Nonsense, she said, we’ll set you up properly! Even brides aren’t getting this great a makeover! You will not get passed over for promotions because of any sort of attire slip-up! It's rather a shame (or a blessing, depending on how you want to look at it) that my aunt never had daughters.

So, the next day, my aunt (along with one of her sisters and my grandma) plopped me down at the nearest mall and went to town. I have to hand it to her, she has some kind of radar for clearance sales, and we picked up pants, blouses and jackets for absurdly low prices. Nice pants for $4.97? As she pointed out, even if you were a seamstress, the fabric itself is worth more than that. I hope some poor sweatshop worker is getting paid overseas.

At the end of the day, she eyed my (unprofessionally large, colorful, eye-catching, cartoon-playing) watch and hinted that I needed a nice silver one. I waffled and said I had one at home.

I now have lots of garment bags full of clothing of the type I haven’t worn since my hotelie days. My aunt has lots of bragging rights to stories which demonstrate her shopping savvy. “Your Auntie Lin was practically drooling over the phone when I told her last night!”

Homecoming

Louisville has grown and matured in the last seven years, and I suppose I have as well. The skyline is dotted with new skyscrapers that weren’t there when I left, there’s a new baseball stadium downtown, empty fields have been converted into shopping plazas and restaurants, while less successful storefronts have been replaced. Simultaneously, people have moved up and onward. Skinny schoolkids are now hulking teens, and the toddlers are so numerous I can’t keep track of their names (surprise). Many of the people I knew here moved out of state for college and haven’t come back. And a few people’s parents and grandparents have moved up and beyond, and are never coming back.

I went to see Caroline today, who is an old family friend, to reminisce about old news and gossip about new news. Her first comment was, “Well, you are lookin’ good, girl!” and her second comment was, “You look the same!” Apparently she has a new man, and hasn’t told Bill (the old man) about this, but simply has dinner with him once a week and lets him assume that she wants more time to herself. “After going with someone for 20 years, sometimes things just get old, you know? And I don’t want to hurt Bill’s feelings, so I still see him once a week. Sonny understands there’s nothing between us, and that I’d like to keep up the friendship, so it’s been working out fine!”

I hope I’m that feisty when I’m old.

For kicks and giggles, I then decided to drive by my old house and my old old house. The latter had been painted white with maroon trim (it used to be yellow), and the former had a funky African statue in the front. Also, the trees were too big, or, bigger than I remembered them. In either case, it looked like the houses were well-maintained, so I won’t begrudge the owners some styling modifications.

On impulse, I drove by my old daycare and stopped in. Spying an elderly teacher in the hall, I accosted her and said, “When I was this little girl’s age (*waves), I used to go to this preschool.” I told her my name and she said, “Why, yes, yes! And you had a brother, his name was…” “Chester,” I prompted. “His name was Chester, and he’s turning 16 this month.” “Oh my word, well I’m so glad you stopped by!” I asked if she was Miss Goldie (the only teacher I remember), and she was indeed! I mentioned that my brother and I still remembered her, and Miss Goldie laughed and said, “Well, I sure hope they were good memories!” To be precise, my strongest memory happened immediately after the release of Lion King, with my brother exclaiming, “Aunt Donna is Simba! Miss Goldie is Scar!” However, I thought it better to refrain from mentioning this.

The Joy Luck Club

At my grandma’s house, I was greeted with far too much food (“It’s only leftovers”) and cheers of “Happy Birthday.” The kitchen was crowded with women gambling at cards. Note: these aren’t the usual cards, but the thin kind without numbers, skinnier than a finger and decorated with symbols I can’t comprehend. I’m not even going to pretend to understand the game itself.

It is beyond me how they manage to track the progress of play, bluff and gossip all at once. Upon our entrance, my dad and I were inspected and pumped for information. How’s your mom? Has she gotten any fatter? No? That’s too bad. How about your brother, how tall is he? How are his grades? I heard he went to China last summer, how’s his Chinese? Oh, he didn’t really learn anything? Well, you’re the smart one in the family anyway. That’s not true, both of them are smart. Is he working? Oh, that’s good; my son is such a lazy bum. What’s your new job? The Federal what? Wait, what’s that again? Oh great, so you can give us stock tips, right? Is that your new car in the driveway? How much did you pay? Let’s see your hands. Wow, you will be rich in the future! So, do you have a boyfriend? That’s okay, you’re still young! Just be sure to bring home someone Chinese, haha. Just kidding, the only thing that matters is that they are a good person!

As I spoke, comments, judgments and compliments were volleyed across the table at near-yelling volume. And you thought I was loud? I’m telling you, it’s a survival mechanism.

Davy on the Radio

Independence Day “weekend,” and I’m heading down with my dad to visit the old folks at home in Louisville.

This morning, as I slid into my new car (Mazda 626, for the curious) to drive it for the first time, the radio started playing “Give My Regards to Broadway.” As in, the song for which Cornell’s fight song “Give My Regards to Davy” is modeled. I’d never heard the original before, and couldn’t help feeling that this version was some sort of Weird Al imposter, desecrating the sanctity of Davy. It was a jarring mix of old and new. By the end though, I had a newfound appreciation for George M. Cohan’s original composition and lyrics.

I hope I never have to hear the alma mater of another university which uses our melody.