Poppers

Sandra recruited me to play on her soccer team, the "Poppers." Poppers? i think of hyper shirtless boys at the Endup at 3 a.m., or deep fried jalapeno pepper appetizers.

i've not played soccer in a long while, but Sandra insisted that her team needed subs. i figured the eight weeks of boot camp has prepared me for situations like this--the strength training and conditioning for weekend or midweek athletes. Yeah, right.

It was near 8:15, Tuesday night. Cappy and i left the Tubular One resting on the backseat of the car, finishing up her 22 hours of rest for the day. We stumbled to the well lit fields. "What's that over there? Oh snackbar!" So now it's just me standing on the field, looking left and right for my unknown teammates.

A woman came hobbling down the way. Well, not really hobbling, but that's how i remembered it. "What team are you playing for?" "Poppers!" she cheered. Within seconds, i was handed a green and white striped adidas jersey. Seconds later, more Poppers arrived on the scene. A sideline pod of poppers. Suddenly a whistle blew from nowhere and i was tossed out onto the plush cushioned astroturf.

i've played soccer since i was in the 2nd grade. i continued with the sport competitively through high school. In college, i played indoor for fun. In '99 i played indoor once more with the Diablitas. Me and DJ Black were the only non-latinas on the team. We practiced on Sundays at Dolores Park. In one game, i scored 5 goals as the center forward. It was my first goal scoring experience at age 30. The last time i came close was in 4th grade when i was involved in a goal. But not for my team, against my own team.

Back in the day, i was always one of the better players on the team. Not the star, but i always started and usually played for the entire two halves. i've always played in the stopper position, in a 4-4-2 lineup. The stopper is the lucky one in front of the fullbacks and behind the halfbacks. i say lucky because this position is rarely responsible for anything. Leave the playmaking to the center half, and the sprints to stop the opposing team striker for the sweeper. Playing stopper is like having a 2nd center fielder in baseball. Great to have, though not key--someone who can make a good play once in a while.

So there i am in the stopper position-- jogging in circles around my teammates looking for the ball, getting in the way, etc. Into minute 25:00 i'm desperately sending telepathic messages to the sidelines. "Take me out coach!!" Cappy and Leti were cheering from the sidelines. Incredibly, they were able to generate loads of enthusiasm. "Did you hear me cheering for you?" "Uh, oh yeah, thanks sweetie!" If i'm being honest, mostly all i could hear was myself gasping for air and occasional shout outs from the goalie.

We played the "Herricanes." Cute. Fortunately, we didn't get swept away. Now that's cute. The game ended in a 1-1 draw. i thought of a million reasons why i might not continue for the rest of the season. Partly because my mind plays the game much faster than my legs can carry me, and also because i am so intimidated by the tough jockettes on the opposing teams. They've got serious thunder thighs and gritty game face smiles. One woman, their number one forward, apparently just had a baby a few months ago. And she's out there juggling, dribbling, and running like a child gone wild. i have no excuse.

i've somehow signed up for the rest of the short season. The pod of Poppers are incredibly sweet. At the end of the game, they patted me on the back and said over and over, "Good game!" which really means, "Please come back next week, we need more subs!"

Carnet de Voyage

I lived with a woman called Marie-Noelle in Paris years ago. When we were together, she used to show me this wonderful book of illustrations from places she had visited: Iran, Africa, Tunisia, New Zealand, Beijing... i often encouraged her to publish these illustrations either as a children's book or as an illustrated travel diary.

Finally, she published a book of her watercolor paintings and illustrations from Iran. Check out more illustrations from her book here.


I was thinking the other day of a story that she told me of her experience in Chad. Marie-Noelle was there for months working on a project that brought electricity and plumming to small villages. Aside from work, she would often wander off with her sketchbook and camera. One day, as she was walking through a grassy plain, some children ran up to her with an urgency and excitement that seemed a bit scary. Has someone been hurt? Are people in trouble? These questions flashed in her mind as she allowed the kids to tug at her sleeves and lead her back to their village. Apparently they had been following her for about thirty minutes. When they reached her, the kids held her hand, running and pulling her in one direction. All the while, they were talking to each other with a lot of excitement. "What is going on here, maybe they need a doctor?" Marie-Noelle thought to herself. Coming closer to the village however, she heard music. Approaching the village, she saw people feasting on pineapple and dancing as if their lives depended on it. It was then that she found out what the kids wanted--they just wanted to dance with her.

It is easy to forget the simple things in life. It is my wish this week to remember.

Me and U2

I've surprised Cappy with tickets to see U2 in November. This will be the first time for her, and the third time for me. i wasn't initially into getting tickets for this concert since i've barely heard anything since the Joshua Tree. Arena concert? No way. Large crowds? No, thanks. But then on my way home, "Where the Streets Have No Name" played on the radio, and i thought about the amazing associations i have with U2....

U2 memories:

-My black and white Anton Corbijn poster of the band under a castle under electric grey skies. It was similar to the one shown above. It was framed perfectly and i regret letting it go. It saw me through the ups, downs, and sideways curves of university life.

-When i was 14, i was caught up in "new wave." i fell in love with Duran Duran, Depeche Mode, New Order, and U2. I must have played and re-played the Band Aid special "Do They Know it's Christmas" about 50 times on VHS tape. i remember a very shy Bono speaking about music and politics wearing that black Amish hat.

-I first went to Japan in 1985 with my family. My grandfather had just bought me a pink (yes, pink) Sony Walkman in Asakusa, Tokyo. i quickly found "The Unforgettable Fire" cassette in a nearby music shop. For the rest of the trip and in nearly every photo, i'm wearing the pink walkman with a faraway look on my face.

-The 1993 Zooropa tour concert at the Big Egg dome in Tokyo. i swear i had eye contact with Bono as he jogged around the space between the first and second level. It was a night in early December and a few days before a three week holiday in Thailand. It was one of those "i'm gonna live forever" moments.

-August, 1995. Driving to the train station with Ben on my way to Narita airport--and back to the States. He said "i've got a surprise for you..." and popped in a CD and turned the dial...out came "The Unforgettable Fire." If i asked him about this day, i'm sure he would remember.

Favorite U2 songs:

The Unforgettable Fire
New Years Day
A Sort of Homecoming
Elvis Presley and America
Two Hearts Beat as One
A Day Without Me
One Tree Hill


Enough of memory lane...

New York Yoga

Summer is over.

Some co-workers set out for a stroll in the sun near our park-like setting business park, and returned drenched by a sudden downpour. The evening news featured a woman whose house was struck by lightning. Here at pennylane productions, we've finally admitted that summer is indeed over and are contemplating putting our surfboard and wetsuits away until the spring...

i love fall, i really miss it. It has taken nearly five years for me to get used to the fact that fall doesn't happen in the Bay Area until at least late November. So, for a proper autumn experience, Cappy and i will be headed to New York and New Jersey very soon. Hopefully we'll meet up with Erika and her "friend," and Kamomi in Brooklyn. i'm looking forward to a real deli experience, Chinatown, and asking people simple questions like, "Excuse me, do you have the time or should i just go $@$% myself?" (OK, i did weave that joke into my paragraph, but it's a good one, no?)

The last time i was in NY was in the mid-late 90's. i spent a few weeks there--i had just returned from a long year in Paris, and was about to move to Seoul. When i finally stepped out in Manhattan, i remember thinking that it was lit and loud like Tokyo, edgy like Seoul, and grimy and wonderfully diverse like Paris. It was exciting because at that point, i hadn't traveled much in the States at all.

This is hilarious--apparently, my friend Jen (an ex-New Yorker) has created a new style of yoga. She wrote me today: "My friend and I have designed "New York yoga,"which involves slow and conscious offensive body gestures." Brilliant.

i'm visualising regional yoga styles, and an international yoga convention featuring:

Seattle Yoga...involving earthy yet upbeat movements peppered with sporadic caffeine induced lunges.

Hilo Yoga...involving sitting on lava rock slowly moving your arm back and forth as if casting out to sea, then reaching back as if for a beer in the nearby cooler.

Paris Yoga...involving symbiotic erotic entanglements with your partner's best friend and anyone else in the room.

Lastly:

What did the snail on the back of the turtle say?

Wheeeeeeeeeeeeee!

Full Moon

Today:
Vivid dreams until 10 a.m.
Talking story with Sharlita (work/life and the blurry boundless world of pisceans)
Happy jog with the Tubular One
More vivid dreams in the late afternoon (so very feline of me)
Romantic dinner in Sicily with the One with the Pretty Hair
Reviving a beat passion long dormant (i.e. Penny in the studio next week!!!)

Questions:
Who became Beijing's Super Voice Girl?
Is knitting really all that fun?
What is that rattling noise in the dryer?
Why can't we have a proper Fall here?
Why have i lost the left side of two different shoes?
How was Erika's dinner at Dolce?

On some days i can clearly feel the passing of time...
Today i glimpsed the flashing of years bustling through my hands,
and felt the weight of a gigantic page turning in the universe.

Homeland

I've recently re-realised that i am entitled to an F-4 visa from South Korea. I say re-realised because of a great article Mijoung forwarded to me from Sunday's Chronicle. Two things stood out in my mind, that i've been thinking about a lot lately.

1) The adoptee F-4 visa

i remember a fellow adoptee friend lobbying for this in Seoul years ago. She was working on it when I was there in '96--it came to be in 1999. Apparently this special visa affords me the rights of a native Korean. I can live there indefinitely, buy land, start a business, and get a scholarship to study Korean. Props from the homeland! Though, will i ever feel that Korea is my homeland? What does that even mean, i ask myself.

It's always funny when Korean adoptees long for the "homeland." When i finally got to Seoul (the second time, with luggage for a year...) all i longed for was peanut butter, fresh air, and my grandma's miso soup and oyako donburi. Yet, when i finally settled into my life in Seoul, i experienced times when i felt more at home there than anywhere else i've been in the world.

2) A new art installation, which will appear in the subways of three big cities--the "Awareness Wall" featuring photos of 3000 Korean adoptees who've left Korea.

The article goes on to say..."A small, passionate contingent is challenging international adoption,which they say strips South Korean adoptees of their cultural identity. They compare it to cultural genocide, akin to taking American Indian or aboriginal children from their communities and placing them with white families to "civilize" them."

In my mind, the overseas adoption experience cannot be compared with either the American Indian, nor the aboriginal experience. But that said, i was lucky to have been placed with an Asian family. i embraced the culture of my adopted Hawai'i Japanese-American parents.

Identity, lost identity, multiple identities. It's time i put this all to film. Ever since i was a lowly PA a few years ago in a film by Joyce Lee, i've had this screenplay being written in my head...

Possible titles:

Homeland Bound
Yo Homeland Rocks!
Finding Homeland
Homeland: A True Underdog Story
Bowling for Homeland
The H Word
The Sound of Homeland

i joke, but about the film, i'm not.

Sounds

The Amtrak station is about two blocks away from our building. Just like people who live near airports, we don't really hear the trains anymore. In fact, when it's too quiet, i tend to miss the sounds of the passing trains. The silence makes me think of my favorite sounds...

-a spoon hitting the bottom of a wooden ice cream bowl

-the Tubular One getting up, fumbling down the stairs to get a drink of water late at night

-the soft keyboard of my old Dell laptop--when in a writing fury, it was like a light tropical
downpour

-inside rickety squeaky taxis

-the first exhalation of a badly needed cigarette (not me though, i've quit...)

-the old ice shave machine at Itsu's in Hawai'i

-playing Galaga on my gameboy...especially the bonus round ditty

-walking on gravel

-someone chewing on crushed ice

-my nephew Ryan's crazy laugh, so hearty and pure. he's four. i hope he always laughs like
that

-the sound of NGN (Nippon Golden Network) TV in the background

-Cappy singing in the shower, making each song her own

-the Paris metro--cellists, rappers, arguments, high heels on concrete, laughter, singing...

-the middle of Lotte World in Seoul, near the ice skating rink

-kids at Onekahakaha beach in Hilo, Hawai'i, where i learned to swim

-Temptation by New Order (re-played a few times on my ipod today...)


That's all for now

Stolen Treasures

To the right is Gedhun Choekyi Nyima, a.k.a, the Panchen Lama. He was abducted by the Chinese in 1995. At that time, was said to be the world's youngest political prisoner. Hopefully, people can learn as much as they can about the Panchen Lama, and speak out about the injustices to our Senators and public representatives. Find out more about Gedhun and support the appeal for his release here.

We went to the Asian Art Museum today in its new permanent place near City Hall. We saw an exhibit that ends tomorrow called "Tibet: Treasures from the Roof of the World" a.k.a. The Art That China Stole. The show ends tomorrow, September 11th. If you go, stop to chat with the Tibetans protesting in front of the museum. Some hold signs that read, "China Stole My Culture."

We stopped to chat with a young man for nearly a half an hour. He was ethnically Chinese, yet impassioned about speaking out against the human rights violations of Tibetans. He encouraged us to see the show, but asked us to note how the descriptions for each artifact leave out the fact that these treasures are ALL the stolen property of the Dalai Lama. Yet, and no suprise--there was not any mention of this fact throughout the exhibit. I thought one of the purposes of museums was to show unbiased history in the form of art?? Then I saw that among the numerous fiscal sponsors, two were Bank of America and Wells Fargo. Go figure.

We learned later that the Asian Art Museum, in response to the Tibetan protests agreed to have a small Tibetan film festival. It would include (or has included) uncensored films that show the Tibetan side of the story.

We walked through the show with fascination and sadness. It made me think of the flippancy expressed by some of my Chinese friends in Beijing when i questioned them about their neighbors. On Korea-- after i expressed a love for Korean style chajang myun--"Oh you know that's OUR original dish...but we like their air conditioners, you know, they are not our enemies--we invaded them..." On Taiwan--"Yeah, they seem to be doing OK on their own."

With the upcoming Olympics in 2008, let's hope that the issues of human rights violations will not be swept away with the fast disappearing hutongs.

Shiokara

In my family, the enjoyment of food is paramount to clever conversation. People are often judged not by their capacity for witty banter, but their ability to enjoy and appreciate really great food. And i'm not talking fine foods, like truffles or foie gras. i'm talking about soul food, my comfort food--Japanese food (not sushi and tempura) but rather Hawaiian Japanese Chinese Korean Filipino Portuguese cuisine a.k.a. "local grinds."

Food is everything in my family. At times, it was a source of pain and embarrassment when i was young. Growing up, i had many non-Asian friends. Having them over for dinner was as at times as stressful as the day of school pictures. i wished i could die and melt under the table when my dad would bust out the shiokara (a fermented fish product made from squid or fish guts) at the near end of the meal. He'd scoop up a bit of the salty dark viscous paste and dab a bit of it on his rice--to the absolute horror of my young Caucasian friends. "What's THAT? OOOH yuck, disgusting!!" they'd shriek in horror. At other times, we were the shocked ones. My brother's non-Asian friend Tim asked for butter and cinammon for his freshly steamed bowl of Japanese rice. A silent red light flashed above his seat at the dinner table. i can still remember the look on my mom's face--one of shock and slight amusement.

School lunch brings back a bad memory. One day, my mom packed me leftover Japanese okazu, tsukemono and wooden chopsticks. While other kids were unwrapping their peanut butter and jelly sandwiches, i was cracking open my squeaky metal Holly Hobby lunchbox. Not knowing any better, kids teased me saying "She's eating Chinese food!" or "What's that smell?" "Eeew, what's that? Gross!" Not knowing any better, i was completely ashamed and vowed to only bring sandwiches from then on. And i did. i should note here that i'm referring to the early 70's --before sushi was trendy and commonplace and before the whole multicultural boom.

Back to the "not always about the food" bit.... We had dinner tonight with an eclectic group of friends (non-Asian) at a Mediterranean restaurant. Some dishes were laughable, and completely wrong, but it didn't matter. The company was warm, friendly, and at times hilarious and heartwarming. On this occasion and many others, i reminded myself that sometimes, food is not everything.

Taste of Sole

Unfortunately, this is not surprising....

White House: Mrs. Bush Comment 'Personal'
The Associated PressWednesday, September 7, 2005; 4:07 PM

WASHINGTON -- Barbara Bush was making "a personal observation" when she said poor people at a relocation center in Houston were faring better than before Hurricane Katrina struck, President Bush's spokesman said Wednesday.

Mrs. Bush, after touring the Astrodome complex in Houston on Monday, said: "What I'm hearing, which is sort of scary, is they all want to stay in Texas. Everyone is so overwhelmed by the hospitality. And so many of the people in the arena here, you know, were underprivileged anyway, so this is working very well for them."

My first thought was that her mic was accidently on and that she'd quickly apologise with shame and embarrassment. Not that it would have made the comment less horrific.

Not a chance.

"McClellan, at the White House briefing, said: "I think she was making a personal observation on some of the comments that people were making that she was running into. ... But what we're focused on is helping these people who are in need."

Not sure what is worse. Her comment or Scott McClellan's attempt to back pedal here.

Two places we're donating:

Southern Relief Fund
c/o Mississippi Workers' Center for Human Rights
PO Box 1223
Greenville, MS 38702-1223

Animal Welfare Disaster

Hip Hou Hai

Hou Hai lake is the hippest bar/restaurant area of Beijing. This ultra modern area is north of Tiananmen Square and features an amazing blend of old and new. Above is a photo from a bar around Hou Hai lake. If this were a better picture you'd be able to see more of the elaborate decor which seems to be a mix between an Alice in Wonderland fantasy world and Yuan dynasty furnishings.

There's a policy in Beijing where motorists must pay for the medical bills of any pedestrian they hit, regardless if it was their fault or not. In fact, if you hit someone and they are unable to work, you must pay their work salary for the rest of their lives. i wondered what would happen if a motorist hit someone who was in between jobs, or just retired...

On our way back from the Great Wall at Simatai, we followed a truck that had tons of bees buzzing around either side of it. My first thought was that it was a flower truck, and the bees were along for the ride. Our tour guide let us know that it was a bee transport truck. An hour later we stopped at a highway toll plaza. The aforementioned bee truck was nowhere to be seen. i noticed there was a tiny swarm of bees buzzing around the toll booth. We laughed at the thought of these little creatures upset at being abandoned, the need for instituting a "no bees left behind" rule, and the prospects of bee activism. OK, i guess you had to be there.

This concludes the Beijing portion of my blog. i could write 20 more entries about this fascinating city and the things i've observed. My new and clearer understanding of the vast differences between the cultures of China, Japan, and Korea. More food photos. More observations of all things small and seemingly insignificant.

So anyway, pennylane productions has resumed production stateside. The "No Jet Lag" pills worked wonders on the trip over, but i might as well have been taking sugar pills on the way back. It's 6.30 or so p.m. here but i'm feeling like it's brunch time as it's around 10 a.m. in Beijing. The Tubular One is whining and giving me her best "i've got cabin fever look" with the accompanying guilt vibes.

But seriously, you'll hear a lot more about the Hou Hai Lake district, if you've not already. Experience it soon before it becomes way overrun with tons of drunk expats and more American chains other than Starbucks.

Simatai

We scaled the section of the Great Wall at Simatai a few days ago. This part of the wall is mostly undeveloped, in stark contrast to the overly touristy Badaling Great Wall.

Not sure if you can see it, but there's a brick at the left side of this picture with an engraving. It reflects the time period, emperor, and the brick making company for quality control purposes. The brick in this picture is engraved with a date that falls a bit before the Ch'ing Dynasty (1644-1912)

There is a story of a woman who lost her husband who died while working on the wall. She returned to the wall to find him, and could not locate him. She was told he might have been buried within the wall. She spent the next few years pulling apart bricks from the wall with her bare hands. Perhaps i've got the story wrong in a few places. In any case, Simatai is located about 2 hours south of Mongolia. As i write this, construction workers are hard at work building a tourist shopping arcade (certainly with a KFC and Starbucks) at the base of this wall entry point. Mark my words, in less than 2 years, Simatai will be as touristy as Badaling.

It was the first day since the beginning of the trip that we could see blue skies. The air felt breezy and tropical. i had a hard time looking down, my knees were in a constant state of jello shakiness. The views were spectacular, just as it said in Lonely Planet's Beijing. Standing at the top tower, i thought of humanity's capacity to accomplish immense tasks. My thoughts turned to the devastation in New Orleans and the immense task of restoration and repair.

So I've left Beijing, the city of giddiness and hope. We descended into dark clouds at SFO yesterday morning. First thing out of the airport an onto North 101, we saw a man driving a convertible black Ford in the shape of a Corvette, license plate "AKA VENM," mullet streaming behind, cutting us off and slamming on his accelerator. Eeeewwwww. Welcome back to the United States.

While I was gone Katrina slammed New Orleans. The last time I left the states to go to Paris--the tsunami hit Thailand. After our days of touring the city, we would spend a few hours resting in our hotel room watching the tsunami coverage on the local news. We would then step out onto the streets of Montmartre every night around 9 p.m. (setting out on our daily dinner adventures....) wiping tears away from seeing the devastation and hearing testimony from people who were seeking their friends and relatives.

This time, when Katrina hit, I was sitting alone in my hotel room in horror and fear at the news of the impending storm and the potential damage it would cause. i woke up to heartbreaking photos on the front page of the China Daily each morning. i have not seen much media coverage on this just yet. i was able to catch only one English speaking news station.

Reading about the U.S. government's slow reaction and ten people dying a day (or more) from lack of basic nourishment and care is beyond appalling. i would like to read more about this situation. Here's an account from the Astrodome thanks to escapevelocity, via lunamania.

http://www.escapevelocity.org/

It's always odd to hear news when you're out of the country. I remember being in Japan when I heard about the death of Kurt Cobain and River Phoenix. It seemed unreal. There's a buffer of being faraway. Everything seems like a dream, including my own reality.