home for the holidays

I have been busy, like everyone else on the planet in the throes of holiday celebrations. At the moment, I am up late in my hometown of Rochester NY, having a swell time with my parents' laundry-doing equipment, and getting ready to fly down to Richmond, Virginia to be with my honey.

Christmas with the family was swell. We even got a smattering of snow which we managed to scrape off the green grass and hurl at one anothe rin icy snowballs. Mostly, I packed snowballs and handed them to 5-year-old boys who hurled them at taller relatives. It was good fun. The best part was making snow monsters and throwing ice balls at them. When the snow ran out, we kicked them over. Job complete.

Rochester is like every other medium-sized city. The mall is big, the downtown is dead, the weather is cold in the winter, and the ladies dream of thin arms, a size 6 waistline, and diamonds. I know this because there are special circulars here from major retailers, even Sears, that show gemstones and gold chains in glorious full-color detail, with the prices (always something-.99) in a big red font that seems to leap off the page. I found myself, entirely against my will, looking. At sapphires.

My family is doing great. We've got a new addition, my 3-month-old neice, who is cute as a button, especially when she smiles. Her looks of consternation are also good, as they exactly mimic the expression of consternation on a wise but harrassed old man. Go girl. She's also a champion burper.

I got everything I wanted for Christmas, because, well, I didn't really want much. A friend's father distinguishes himself when he opens his gifts by declaring after each, "I don't want this." My thought is just that the things I wish for don't come in boxes.

Off to further exert my will over my parents' large appliances. Then, to bed. Happy holidays, everyone!

p.s. Zen Center update: I went back to Zen Center a few weeks ago, to turn in my key and pick up my oryoki bowls, which I had left in the room I shared with Hiroko. Several mysteries were solved. First, she informed me that she was suffering from bed bug bites, a minor epidemic that had gained a foothold when I departed ZC. Hapily none of the slow-moving parasites got into my gear, for I am free of them. Second, the room was trashed. I mean, beyond dorm-room, beyond frat house. There were dirty dishes on every surface. There was bedding on my (old) bed, on her bed, and various places in between. There were piles of stuff. It was hard to walk across the room. I got my eating bowls and beat it out of there. Now I know: Hiroko was not apologizing all those days for the mess she was making; she was apologizing for the mess she knew she was capable of making, that would would make imminently, as soon as my disturbingly tidy presence was withdrawn. Poor girl. Don't let the bedbugs bite.

a quiet Thanksgiving

We had a nice turkey day here at the Zen Center -- without the turkey. I helped prepare the afternoon feast of vegetables, casseroles, and pies, then skated off to join friends at McCormick & Kulettos for meatier fare, avec oysters and martinis, and fabulous bay views. Walking through the quiet streets of SF was a real treat. No holiday travelling! Yay!

Let's see. What's new? My roommate is new. Here are a few thoughts about Hiroko.

She walks loudly, taking short, stamping steps that make it real easy to tell when she's coming down the hall. She has a high, breathless voice, which, combined with her spotty enunciation (she is Japanese) and her tendency to be out of breath to begin with (apparently the stamping really takes it out of her), she is often hard to understand. Fortunately, she's usually apologizing, which narrows things down. Then I just have to figure out what for.

A few times it's been easy. Like when she came in at 11:30 at night and hung up her wet socks to dry, which then dripped rhythmically onto the carpet. I might not have noticed had I been asleep, but I woke up when she turned on the overheat light at full blast. She apologized for that. If I wake her up in the afternoon, she apologizes for having been asleep. Mostly, though, she just stares at me bug-eyed, and apologizes for not having cleaned her half of the room. I have no idea why this is a repeat conversation: I have never asked her to clean the room, though she has certainly witnessed me cleaning my side, which I do fairly regularly. Frankly, though, she doesn't actually own much: a couple toiletries, a small statue, a computer, a fold-out twin futon, and a cardboard box. I did learn she keeps dirty dishes in a garbage bag in her closet. So there's that mystery, solved.

Before ZC, Hiroko lived in New York. She left Japan, I'm told, because she felt she had nothing in common with Japanese people. Tough luck! I can't imagine not finding my place within my culture, or trying to carve a niche in someone elses. Happily, there's room for everyone here in SFZC.

I've been reading up a storm, 2-3 books a week. Like:
1. The Curious Incident of the Dog in the Night-Time by Mark Hadden (loved it; can't believe I hadn't heard of him. Where have I been?)
2. Never Let Me Go by Kazuo Ishiguro (loved it. Super haunting and disturbing psychological portrait of human veal cows)
3. The Subtle Knife by Philip Pullman (they're making His Dark Materials into a film trilogy; good for 13-year-olds)
4. Idoru by William Gibson (ok; compelling in a jumbly sci-fi way)
5. Empire Falls by Richard Russo (fab; intimidating. I loved it. I guess the Pulitzer people know what they're doing, after all.)
6. Durable Goods (ok, suitable for the under-18 crowd)

Seifenblasen

It's not that I don't have a lot to say about the last few weeks. It's just that I was waiting for the right title.

My roommate moved out last week, and left me a bottle of German bubbles with a teddy bear on the front that only a German would describe as cuddly. Yes, I have something against Germans. There was a saying when I was traveling: If you meet a nice German person, they're Dutch. For a year, I found this to be, for the most part, true. In New Zealand I traveled with a German guy for safety reasons. He annoyed me for days by instructing me about the right way to do every last thing: hitchhike, pick a campsite, pitch a tent in the rain. Then one morning we had a campfire and I suggested making egg-in-an-orange. Here's what you do: slice an orange in half, scoop out the fruit, leaving the rind intact. Crack an egg into one half, add salt and pepper, seal with eggwhite, and put it (carefully) into the fire. We got through the first step, the German and I. Then he stopped. I explained again how it works, going into some detail about how the eggwhite seals the halves of the orange peel together as it cooks, keeping out the ash. He still just looked at me. "I don't know how," he said. "It's okay," I reassured him, "just crack the egg and I'll show you how to seal it up and place it on the coals." Again, the look. "I don't know how," he said again. To crack an egg.

Turns out he was fresh out of military service, and had lived at home before that and never helped his mom in the kitchen. He'd just never had a chance to learn about egg-cracking. Maybe it's a guy thing. But he was much better company after that.

German-bashing aside, I had a very nice German housemate when I first moved to San Francisco, and my sister was married to a German who had his good points, like punctuality, and who loved to cook. So you really can't make generalities. But that doesn't stop me from doing it anyway.

Life at the ZC is going well. Actually, it sortof feels like 4 lives: work, personal, career development, and Zen-ification. I return to UC Berkeley next week. I got my website up, with help. I started back at the career transition place, and remet some of my fellow Sun ex-coworkers in a class on interviewing. We were videotaped answering typical interview questions -- just the sort of thing I used to do to executives preparing for press and analyst tours. Interesting to be on the other side of the camera, for a change.

A friend came to town; his dad had a stent put into a major artery near his kidney yesterday morning. He's doing fine, but the doctor said he'd had a better shot at longevity if he lost some weight. In this case, 50 pounds.

Now, 6 pounds was disruptive for me. My pants didn't fit. I feared muscle wasting. I hoarded Newman's Os. I gained it back. But 50? I can't imagine it. What you would eat? How would you adapt? I've heard hypnotherapy can be helpful, to get you through the shock of the change. Aye.

In my Zen life, I have study, meditation, comraderie, and a delightful stint doing bag lunch prep on Tuesday nights with a sweet Michiganer named Mary who always wears a hat that covers her ears. It is cold here, and it's been raining. I also have a few people that I'm having difficulty with, mainly because I don't like them and who knew? They picked up on that. To use a Buddhist phrase, it gives me a lot to work with.

In my work life, I wrote an article this week for a new client in NY who's launching a website. I'm also slated to start next week with a super groovy consultancy here in SF that does executive leadership training; I'll ghostwrite the consultants' blogs. I got great feedback in my class yesterday, both about my presentation skills and also the quality of my feedback to the others in the group, so I'm considering restarting that business, and hanging out a shingle as a media trainer. I'll let you know how it goes.

I hope everyone's well, and has something fun planned for Thanksgiving next week. I'll be with good friends, sipping martinis and eating turkey. Don't tell the monks.

a hall of hungry ghosts

There is a mythology in Buddhism of the hungry ghost, a non-living, non-dead being that wanders around, starving because it has either a tiny tiny mouth or a very skinny throat, so anything it tries to eat cannot actually sustain it. It's a pretty scary image, because, as you start to look at yourself, suffering, and the general state of your life, it begins to seem as if you too are one of these creatures, living amidst banquets of emotional fulfillment, but unable to take part.

Anyway, I bring it up because the ZC is celebrating Halloween with, among other things, huge portraits of hungry ghosts in the Buddha hall and going up this great flight of stairs we have. They're big ink drawings of tall men-like ghouls, spilling soup on themselves and sitting in meditation postures, and their necks are very long and very skinny. No, I don't think I'll dress up.

All would be well here in enlightenment land except I have a cold. I have been sleeping for three days. Besides looking ghoulish myself, it hasn't done me much harm. Issues: there is still a shortage of showers. There is a small kerfuffle over who uses which bathroom (there are two showers on the second floor) and some friction as I make my way through the rules and personalities of the ZC. THere is a saying: the only thing wrong with Zen is Zen students.

On the work front, I'm pleased to say I'm getting nibbles through my network from some pretty interesting clients. This makes me happy. I'm also working on posting a website for myself, with all my professional accomplishments. It's actually kindof fun. Although I haven't published an article under my own name in 4 years, it's impressive (to me anyway) to see all the stuff I have written. I'm noticing I have a tendency to work with open source companies and early-stage startups doing their positioning and helping them with their presentation for press and analyst tours.

a piss and a moan

First, a disclaimer: I am PMSing, and I am sleep-deprived. Ergo, I am crabby.

I am beginning to think it was a mistake to come to the ZC. I'm attending a class on Monday nights to study the Six Paramitas with ZC Co-Abbot Paul Haller -- the paramitas are the theme of the Fall Practice Period, so they're what I'm here to learn. Haller's Saturday morning dharma lectures have been great; he seems an upright, sensistive, tuned-in-to-a-greater-reality kind of guy. The experience of his Monday night class, however, has left me confused, irritated, and thoroughly unenlightened.

Here are my greivances:
- overreliance on sanskrit words I don't know (ex: nirmankaya, viyasa, and a bunch of others I don't remember)
- "homework" that includes self-examination of "what gets in your way of awakening." Last time I checked, I had not made any promises to uphold any code of moral conduct, even nice ones. So indoctrination is in the air. Bleck.
- reading list: turns out the 5 books are optional texts and will not be referred to during lecture. Goodbye, $40!
- readings: these are handed out in class. Not in advance of class, so you have a shot at understanding the sanskrit words (see above) or the Big Concepts. When they do hand them out they don't make enough copies for everyone, so many of us have to go download the docs from the Web site and print them. This wouldn't be difficult if I were at home, with my own printer. But here at ZC, they don't keep the printer stocked with papger. So you need to go get some of that. Oh, and the docs aren't always posted to the Web site in a timely way. So there's that, too. Let's say you succeeded in printing out, only for some reason the paper you're using contains someone's idea of paper art and you lose a page. Well, don't fear. You can read the electronic version, only you'll have to cock your head at a 90-degree angle, because the PDFs are not saved in a landscape format. Why not just buy the book the copies came from? You bought all the other ones. Well, you can't, because it's out of print. Fun!
- class discussion: evidently Paul is really busy because he relies a lot on discussion for the format of the class. There are about 40 people in the class, although I've now heard a count as high as 70 for folks participating in the practice period, so maybe it's that many. It's pretty hard to have a discussion among 40 people, but that doesn't stop some people from trying. There are ample opportunities to share personal experiences, and we've got some big sharers. So I get to learn a lot about the personal lives of people in my class. And their names. I am not told where they live, however, so I really can't do anything to improve the situation.

Here's my takeaway from all this aggravation: It's hard to get off the angry bus. Once pissed off by the lousy class, it was a small step to really getting steamed about the lack of decent shower facilities in the women's third-floor bathroom, which leaves 15 of us battling for shower time at 4:45am. There are two other showers there: one is full of supplies and the other sports a water-saving head that's so aggressive it's like trying to bathe with a plant spray bottle.

So what did I do? I skipped kinhin, the second sitting, soji, and service. I sat with a cup of coffee and tried to calm down. The sunrise was beautiful, the building smelled like waffles. Trouble was, there weren't actually any waffles in the building. So I contemplated the smell, which was wonderful, and the reality, which was millet.

Pema Chodron wrote a book called The Wisdom of No Escape. I've got it upstairs, in my shared room, on my new bookshelf. Help, Pema, help! What do I do now?

Back in the cult

Life in a cult is not so bad. The food's good, the people are reasonably nice--friendly and helpful--and if they'd just let you sleep in instead of waking you up at 5am every day (but Sunday), it would be a lot like a spa.

I like it. I like sweeping out front during morning soji. It's at about 7am. The air is fresh and clean, and morning sky is gray and somehow tender. The idea with soji, or work period, is that it's not so much how much you get done, it's how you do it. You sweep as if you're polishing your grandmother's priceless silver. You concentrate, you feel the broom, and you look at the leaves and seed pods and focus on "just sweeping." It's interesting. People walk by us, a small army of sweepers in black, on their way to work. Some walk their dogs. And then there's us, daubing at the cement with little straw brooms. If you come by 300 page St. at Laguna, you can see us there.

Some of my friends have reservations about my being here. It was okay as a summer thing -- 3 weeks, meditate, find yourself. It's not that unusual. But when I told folks I was coming back, and for 10 weeks, there were noises. I can guess at what worries folks: that I'm losing it, can't cope with the real world, am hiding from my unemployment, will turn into a mush-brained drone that spouts dogma (or, in this case, dharma) and is no fun at all at dinner parties. I don't really have anything to say about all that, except, well, anything is possible.

And I guess that's what appeals to me about Zen Buddhism, loosely translated as "just sitting" -- you start to find the reins of your mind and can develop yourself. In my case, I lack discipline, so I am frustrated in my attempts to write fiction. I've brought a stack of stories, workshop feedback, and my laptop. The deadline to apply to the Iowa Writer's Workshop is early January. I'm not expecting to get accepted, but I would like very much to complete three stories that are the bulk of my application. Bug me about it. I could really use the hassling.

My living situation has changed. Last week I moved into the main building with my old roommate Abi. She's great -- a retired schoolteacher who's just entered a chaplaincy program. Last night she was on night watch, which means she had to camp out in the Buddha Hall, looking, I suppose, for signs of trouble. We are in a relatively shitty neighborhood. The projects are a block away, and the foot traffic downtown is not cosmopolitan. When she finally wakes up, I'll have to ask her if anything untoward went on.

That's it. I was offered a seasonal job at Sur La Table, which I am still debating about accepting. Did you know retail only pays $10 an hour? I was shocked. The discount, however, is 40 percent. That means a springform pan and mandolin for Judy, maybe a nut grinder, and/or a food mill. And all my Christmas presents. Don't want any more cloth napkins? Tough, here they are. Merry Christmas.

I am going to owe this company so much money. Because why should anyone have to live without a Le Creuset stock pan? Or the All Clad 2-quart sauce pan, which is actually the right size for oatmeal, not the 3-quart one, like I thought. And then there's knives. The discount applies to knives. Like a Global boner. (Get your mind out of the gutter.) Because you never know when you're going to learn to bone a duck. And perhaps a little paring knife that you never have to sharpen.

I'm in big trouble.

sleeping in a deathbed

My first week at the SF Zen Center has not gone smoothly. The fall practice period, a 10-week session of meditation, classes, and communal living, is very full -- about 60 people are participating. So housing is at a premium. To accommodate new residents like me, they got "overflow" housing at a building across the street, the Zen Hospice Project. Most of the room are lovely -- and empty. Mine was not. My roommate and I were treated to a large and quite beautiful room in a two-story VIctorian with a number of hospice-related items included: stained carpeting, adjustable hospital beds, and a closet full of vecro restraints, hospital gowns, and adult diapers.

Needless to say, I have not been amused. After washing everying I could detach, and then wiping down everything else, the place is still stained, dusty, and just a tiny bit stinky. Happily, the manager has been able to secure new housing for me and I move into the main building on Friday.

Lesson for the week? There are a lot of personal proclivities that are very helpful to work with, to have bent now and again, tested. Then, there are those that just don't ken to bending. For me, it's germs. And, ok, smells, residues and smudges of bodily fluids, stains that smell, and finding a dead-lady jewelery box in my drawer. I know, it's a lot. Perhaps I'm not cut out for this spiritual enlightenment stuff, after all.

Here's to Friday.

on the move

Getting ready to return to the San Francisco Zen Center for the 9-week Fall Practice period. I am excited. There was an orientation meeting last night, where I got a look at about 30 of the 50 participants. It's a larger group than I did the summer intensive with, so we'll see how the dynamics are. Maybe Aaron will finally start showing up for his shift on dishes....

Deep into my newest venture (quit selling books and CDs on Amazon) which is pimping out my apartment. It looks like I have it sublet nearly the entire 9 weeks. So much for Thanksgiving at home; I'm figuring McCormick and Kuleto's will take care of me and my friends, turkey-wise.

Work? I call it trabajo. It's going fine. There's some pleasure in doing something well, even something Byzantine and not all that significant. On the other hand, how else will all those UC Berkeley Extension students find their classes and continue developing their skills? I have a list of courses I think I might try out, on my quest to determine what I really want to do with my life.
Classes Judy May Take:
- Presentation Skills for Training Professionals (in case I want to start doing media training again. HIRE ME - only $500 a half day.)
- a Certificate in Finance (I've met a lot of those morons -- and they make a lot of money)
- Leadership Management (I don't know what I am thinking here; neither leadership nor management appeal to me, but I wrote it down, so I guess I'll look at it)
- Applied Market Research (finally learn to read and understand a company annual report. Imagine!)
- Brand Management (There may be more to this than the bull-puckey I've seen. I lived through two branding projects at Sun. Results of the first: "talk like Tom Hanks in Apollo 13". Results of the second (and boy was that expensive!): "look at our pretty photos. They are large, colorful, and provacative. Look, Mennonites roller-blading! Monks on a roller-coaster! Don't ask me what this has to do with IS managers, computer servers and storages, or developers that we hope will keep our UNIX platform alive and provide us with a competitive differentiator in a market of dinosaurs." I shared my chagrin at a recent meeting with volunteer group, and the brand guy volunteered that yes indeed Sun is floating RFPs for yet another round of the Who Are We exercise...Good luck, Sun!
- Biocemistry

In addition, I've figured out the following key lifestyle choices:
- Shopping
- Sitting still on a cushion, facing the wall
- Siphoning money out of my possessions

Strangely, and I hate to mention this for fear it will be corrected: Sun paid me again. I have no idea what they're doing, but it's always a pleasant surprise when they've dumped more money into my checking account. I figure, I suffered from the organizational incompetence when I worked there; perhaps I can benefit from it, now that I don't.

OK, off to wash shirts and pack things into a bag that's far too small. Peace out.
JAD

Cafe Gratitude and ritual flensing

Ever wonder what a ton of petroleum jelly would look like if you put it in a big mold, let it harden to a semi-solid state, and then took away the mold, letting it ooze out over the deck of a Japanese whaling ship? Well, now you can. The only hitch is, you have to get to the SFMoma museum before tomorrow, when the Matthew Barney exhibit ends.

Barney's stuff is pretty wild. He's into documenting the process of creating art, so his previous works include videos of him clinging to a wall, drawing, while attached to the floor by a rubber restraint. Hence the title of his latest works, "Drawing Restraint." It takes a good bit of athleticism which, fortunately, he has. Evidently he was inspired by hypertrophy, which my brochure describes as "the process by which muscle tissue grows larger after having been broken down through strenuous exercise." Barney's been at this for awhile, so this is #9 in the Drawing Restraint series. He hangs the resulting pictures in frames of self-lubricating white plastic. They are pretty.

This installation hosts the snowy deck ooze, along with a 25-foot-long baton of shrimp shells, rebar, and petroleum distillates and two recreations of a flensing deck (where sailors hack blubber off a whale with a "flensing" blade -- a curved knife on a 7-foot stick), complete with barnacles. All are props from his feature-length movie in which he and his wife, the singer Bjork, undergo a ritual flensing on their wedding night. This takes place on a giant Japanese tanker (yes, whaling vessel) after a tea ceremony which I swear was in real time (i.e. interminable). After they've hacked each other to bits in a sensuous but detached display of mutual destruction, they swim away as whales. Show over.

Last night I dined at Cafe Gratitude before seeing Berthold Brecht's anti-war play, Mother Courage. The food's pretty good there -- all fresh, vegetarian, organic. But it's the menu that keeps me going back. They name their dishes with self-affirming titles like, "I am loved," "I am dazzling," and "I am kind." It's sortof hard to choose. The kicker comes when your waittress returns with, say, a mixed green salad and pronounces, "You are Fulfilled."

Thank you, very much.

The play was pretty good, too.

You wouldn't believe how much work unemployment is. Today I have to sign up for Cobra, open a Personal 401(k) using the EIN number I got from the IRS on Thursday, and read a 68-page blueprint for my volunteer branding project. That, and I started work at UC Berkeley this week, editing their Spring catalog. It'll take me through the next two months, and then I'm hoping to pick up seasonal work at a retail store where I will basically just hand over my paycheck and take home beautiful things -- at a significant discount, I hope.

My sister had her baby this week, a healthy 8-pound, 8-ounce girl whose name will soon be revealed. Our mother says she's beautiful, but that "maybe that's her grandma talking." I'm sure she's right.

Last tidbit: Been taking lots of tests lately, and assessing my career options using the career transition services Sun pays for. According to the personality tests, I'm a hardcore introvert. Who knew?

Evolving, and standing still

Yesterday I celebrated my improving health by drinking a glass of really nice wine, a Viognier named "Cold Heaven." It was a friend's birthday dinner at Coco500, which was nice but didn't live up to the hype. For the first time, I suspect bias in blog. (gasp.) Who says you can't blog for fun and profit? Well, foodwhore is not getting my repeat visit.

Job update: I start at UC Berkeley in two weeks. That will give me a buffer for the fall, and more time to lollygag and consider all the many possibilities open to me. Adobe is still around, but they've hit "an administrative roadblock." Read: I'm a new manager and I don't really know how to hire someone. Oops! Sun hasn't gotten back to me about either of the jobs I've interviewed for, which is just fine with me. There's a caveat on my severence payout that says, if Sun rehires you, you have to repay the amount left from the hire date to the end of your unused time on your severence payment.

I don't think so.

Heading out of town in a couple days for an extended long weekend in Reno/Tahoe. Planning to meet friends for rafting, biking, and perhaps some casinoing. This morning, a friend taught me how to play craps, and we then proceeded to win $1200 worth of peanuts on the strength of a $200 (peanut) stake and my lucky rolling. (Evidently I have the potential to be a "hot" roller.) The betting still flummoxes me, but, hell, I can roll dice. Perhaps I have found my new calling? My parents would be so proud. I just learned that my father had a reputation for foresight in his school years. Now, if I just inherited the gift...

New thoughts of things to do with my life:
- Attend VCU AdCenter to become branding czaress
- Pick up someone's tutoring clients in Silicon Valley; help overprivileged children score better on SATs
- Reenter Zen monastery, learn about six paramitas (Generosity, Discipline, Patience, Energy, Concentration and Wisdom), all of which could be very useful
- freelance, but for new companies like biotech

I can't believe i only have two more weeks of free time. Oy.

back to the drawing board

Well, it's official. This week, I reentered the land of the unemployed. Technically, I have work. I start in three weeks as a part-time contractor editing the catalog for UC Berkeley Extension. Still, it's sad to watch my paychecks cease (and my leisure time no longer paid for), and my health, dental, and vision benefits come to an end. Oh well!

Here are my options:
1. Write fabulous short shories and land university teaching job
2. Become high-paid TV comic
3. Do freelance marketing writing for technology companies
4. Get another job
5. Marry well-employed man, get pregnant, keep house

My friend Alex has added one other possibility:
6. Become crack whore

OK, back to nursing my respiratory virus and considering my options. Oh, and making naan. What a Wednesday!

getting things done

Today I signed up for the career transition services that Sun pays for as part of my severence package. They're pretty luxurious. For two months I can go into the office downtown, use the computers, print things, make long-distance calls, and filch office supplies. I can also access their databases, like OneSource, for an in-depth job search, take classes, and do all sorts assessments designed to help reveal what I really want to do with my life. It's pretty cool.

Other things I have done with my time:
- Made bread with new mixer (too yeasty; need practice)
- Discovered old mixer is collectible; one went for $80 on eBay
- Cleaned out file cabinets
- Sold old books and CDs on Amazon Marketplace. Made like $17, after costs.
- Got residential parking permit, freeing up garage space for guests or subletters.

A word about my subletters. I am still finding evidence of their residency. The toaster set on dark, so my nuts got burnt. The radio with the presets gone, so I can't get NPR at the click of a button. Urg. I'm not sure my money-making schemes are really that sensible.

Today, I applied for unemployment. One of my fellow unemployeds recommended filing before your termination date, so benefits start immediately. Amazing the things people pass on. Handy, too.

Still no word from Adobe, in spite of a phone call. I am planning to accept the UC Berkeley catalog editing job. Not exciting, but it's money, it won't commit me to anything long-term, and I'll get to keep my severence package and EPP. Hopefully, it'll also put me in a 1099 tax status, so there are deductions to be had.

All in all, not bad for a Tuesday.

shopaholic

Don't ask me how this happened. I spent 3 weeks considering non-attachment to things, people, feelings, myself. Then, I get out, and have been shopping like a maniac ever since. Clearly I am a product of my culture.

Here are a few of the things that I have purchased in the last (ahem) three days.

- Hamilton Beech mixer (with dough hook attachment)
- New brochade curtain for back of front door
- at least 50 pounds of bulk food, like brown rice, popcorn, polenta, sunflower seeds, poppy seeds, dates, prunes, apricots, currants, raisins, baking yeast, animal crackers, chocolate chips
- stain remover sticks
- magnifying makeup mirror
- magnetic hooks to hang (new) stovetop heat diffuser and splatter screen
- dry measuring cups and steel cookie sheet
- pyrex and plastic tupperware
- magnetic strip for kitchen knives

Now, I just need to start cooking. Because eventually, I can save a lot of money by eating at home instead of going out. Except, frankly, I've been going out every night. Last night, Hamano suchi. Tonight, Colibri. Tomorrow I'll eat at home. Maybe I can give that new lemon pepper a try on a salmon filet. I also plan to use my dough hook to make naan, and bake it on my new steel cookie sheet. Unemployment is great. I feel twinges sometimes, like I should be looking for work or at least worrying about it. Perhaps I am in denial. It's sweet. (May it never end.) This weekend I want to test-drive a Toyota Prius. And maybe a BMW Mini. nd a 300 series, just in case.

accomplishment #1

This morning I got up at 5:30am and went to the Master's Swim class at the JCC. It only took 2-3 years to get there. It was more yardage than I could do -- 3200 m -- but the speed was quite doable. I quit after an hour of a fairly slow pace. Even the guys weren't moving that fast, so I've got high hopes that, once I get my body in shape, I'll be able to do the workouts with no problem. Maybe even get some pointers on my stroke!

Now, what to do with the rest of the day. It seems there are a million small things to get done. I'm looking forward to a clear desk. ;-) Then, perhaps headway can be made on the rest of my life. Phone interview today at noon with Sun. Hmmm.

Home again, getting older

It is my second day home. And it is my 37th birthday. So far, I'm enjoying myself.

Yesterday I went grocery shopping, bought all sorts of fresh fruit and veggies, and then went home and consumed them at intervals throughout an afternoon of delicious loafing. I also watched Estela Bravo's documentary on Fidel Castro, and unpacked.

In general I'm enjoying a schedule-less existence. But I do have a nagging feeling that my regular life is stalled. That for all the plans I make, library books I return, and things I consider acquiring to make my life run just a bit more smoothly, that I'm not on track to get anything done in the larger sense. I'm guessing I've had this feeling for some time, hence the Zen Buddhism practice, but it's stronger now, even unavoidable.

Had an interesting reflection on my birthday. I've never been a fan of my birthday, and this year I was quite moved by the grace and generosity of my good friends. I woke up this morning and looked at the cards, gifts, and flowers that people have given me, and I thought, those are nice, but they are not my birthday. My birthday is what I choose to do with it. And for the life of me, I'm not sure what to do. So my birthday will matter. So this day will count. So today will be an exercise in uncertainty. Not knowing what comes next, or what this year will hold. Not knowing when my life, as I have sometimes glimpsed it, will really begin.

Buddha eats first

First, a compilation of the songs that have been running through my head, which is ideally supposed to be empty of all thoughts. We're practicing non-attachment to thoughts or ideas. And technically, we're not supposed to be writing, reading, or speaking, so I want you all to know that I'm retarding my enlightenment by sharing these important thoughts with you, my readers.

The first week, I was listening to a lot of Talking Heads on the mindPod, early stuff like Heaven, which my brother Dan wants played at his funeral. Now it's a weird mix of Billy Idol (White Wedding), David Bowie, Madonna, and random songs like The Muffin Man, and Puttin' on the Ritz. Technically, I'm aging, having moved from the late 70s to the mid-late 80s. I'm also running some Moby, which makes me almost contemporary.

My work prospects are taking awhile to hatch. UC Berkeley did not offer me the position I interviewed for, but they did offer me another one which is actually a better fit for me -- fewer hours. Adobe is dragging their heels. The "formal interview process" is evidently something of an inquisition, and takes awhile to set up. I'm also considering applying to the Iowa Writer's Workshop this winter. There, I said it. Now, I suppose I'll have to finish some stories or something.

Now, about the Buddha. Every morning and noon we eat oryoki in the Zendo, which is quite a production. You're not supposed to look around the Zendo while all the preparations are being made, so only now that I'm a lunch server am I learning all the steps.

First, the meal boards get wiped with a cloth. Then, there is a chant, and the eaters set out their bowls. Then, you put your hands in gassho, which Christians will know as the prayer position, and sit there. Until now, it's been a total mystery what's going on, because you're not supposed to raise your eyes. Here's what happens.

1. Someone (like me) puts out a special mat
2. Someone from the kitchen comes down and does three (I think) full bows, or prostrations, ot the altar. As if to say, "here's the food, we cooked it, we hope you like it okay."
3. A little tray is brought in and presented to the altar. It has little bowls with the actual food we're eating on it, and a little cone of incense. It's for Buddha. Sortof like Barbie bowls, or how a kid pretends to drink tea with her stuffed raccoon. Only a lot of grown-ups chanting and bowing, which makes it rather quaint and eerie at the same time. I mean, he's not actually eating, is he?
4. The mortals can be served, after one more chant.

Oryoki is really rather nice, although if you're hungry it can seem interminable. I like it. You sure can't forget what you're eating. And when you're done they bring you hot water, which you use to wash out your bowls, scraping them with a setsu, which is sortof like a cross between a tongue depressor and an oversized Q-tip. In my case, it's a small spatula, which is handy but can be a bit like a lacrosse stick when it comes to lifting water out over the edge of the bowl onto the clothes. Lots of oops-es there.

Big news on the colon front: I and several others mentioned our GI distress and the work leaders causally said, We need stewed prunes. Yesterday, we got them. And boy did they do the trick. Whoopee!

prunes and coffee

I can't believe another week has gone by. It's free day today (Sunday). Tonight we begin sesshin, or "session", which is 5 days of uninterrupted sitting. It's about 4 more periods each day than we have been doing, and I'm hopeful my body will hold up.

Speaking of bodily functions, a few words on the food. Overall, it's excellent. We do eat gruel alot, and I've heard that sesshin is daily gruel -- a mixture of soft rice and leftover vegetables. We've got a run on beets at the moment, so much of the time gruel has a reddish pink hue.

I'm finding the whole grain diet -- porridge in the morning, rice at lunch and dinner -- is a bit tough on the system. Hence, I rely on the twin virtues of prunes and coffee to keep things moving. They are not quite enough. Perhaps sitting still stymies the natural colon flow and peristalisis. Regardless, I've discovered one of the challenges of maintaining the monastic schedule.

Last week I took quite a bit of time off from the program to prepare for and go to job interviews. I met with some very nice folks at Adobe Systems and at UC Berkeley. I would be thrilled to get an offer from either place. One concern, though: I'm not sure I'm ready to be anyone's employee again, so may ask Adobe to investigate contract work. The UCB gig is short term contract, although a longer commute, to downtown Berkeley. Working for a non-profit has a great deal of appeal, and the poeple seem very mellow. I'm realizing how wrong my last job was for me, with the reliance on firedrills, the lack of process, and the general lack of support for my function at any level of management. Thank you, Sun, for laying me off. I sure do appreciate it.

Time for laundry. Then I'm off to the pool, to stretch my muscles and take stock of my weight loss, which is a lovely 4-5 pounds. (Thank you, gruel!) One note: saw a very good Buddhist movie last week: The Fisherman and His Wife, by Dorris Dorrie. Her most well-known movie, Enlightenment Guaranteed, is also supposed to be excellent. Can't say much for last night's selection: Zen Noir. It was funny for about ten minutes. So I stayed fifteen minutes too long.

Gassho!

Day 9

Can't sleep. Today I let a man stick a needle into my forehead. And I paid him.

The program's going well. We're all warming up to each other. Even the guy who ran into me in the zendo, and the loud girl from my home town -- she's the loveliest of all. Everybody's pretty nifty right now. We're all studying the Diamond Sutra together. The original Conze translations were returned without the culprit being unveiled. Someone decided they'd rather chant Thich Nhat Hahn's translation, so they copied his version and hid the Conze copies. A first in SFZC pedagogy.

We got a lot of time off over the weekend, and I took advantage of it to get a massage and acupuncture. It helped my aching muscles and my energy. Still, I'm very nervous about the coming week, and being able to keep up with the sitting and deal with the pain and restlessness. Still, I'm seeing what I'm getting out of it and it's pretty substantial.

So here I go! Tired, hungry, and distracted by my "outside" life. And now, thanks to anxiety, even more sleep deprived. You'd be surprised how many people are up at night, wandering the halls. This enlightenment stuff is not for the faint of heart.

how it all started

First, for those who don't know, I've been coming to SFZC for about 7 years, doing their Saturday monring public program, which is a 40-minute meditation and a dharma lecture, given by a senior monk. About 2 and a half months ago, I signed up for a class here called Establishing the Path of Practice. It is a one-year class designed to help you establish a Zen meditation practice at home, and also to increase your mindfulness and awareness of yourself and the world around you.

The assignments were simple but very difficult: sit zazen 30 minutes a day, stretch 30 minutes a day, and do a mindfulness exercise. Week 1-2, it was to eat a meal without any distractions: no talking, reading the paper, listening to NPR, or even planning the day. That was just about impossible. Week 3-4 was to tune in when driving, walking, or any other form of commuting. So twice a day, for 30-50 minutes, I had to just be aware of my body while piloting my Honda Civic, or be open to the sights, smells, and sounds of riding the bus. If walking, the assignment was to feel how your feet feel when they come into contact with the ground, see how your body felt moving through space. This could be quite pleasant. Or not, in the case of taking the bus.

Week 5-6 was to take a moment at every transition to check in with yourself: see how you're feeling, what your body's telling you. A transition was any change in location or activity. There were about a million transitions a day. The last assignment was to dress mindfully. First, pay attention to how you put on your clothes. Next, change it up. Put your other leg in the pants first. Or something, I didnt' quite get this one.

The upshot of all this sitting and mindfulness was that I got in touch with all kinds of things, not all of them welcome. There's a delightful senseof calmness that comes fromteh meditation, but there's also an awareness of just how much you're ignoring on a day to day basis. In short, I tapped into that great human condition, suffering.

Now what? I'm not sure. It's sortof like getting served a great big plate of turkey dinner and not really being hungry. On the other hand, I don't really want to waste it. OK, maybe that's not a good analogy. But this EPP class, and my being laid off from Sun Microsystems, set the stage for my deciding to come live at the Zen Center.

Here's how it's going:

Day 4
I went a little batshit with restlessness. It's encouraged to stay in the building during the program; I went twice to the cafe across the street to buy cookie. Basically, I wanted to go home.

I also had two minor run-ins with people here. It's dawned on me that it's not all about me and my meditation experiences; it's about everyone else who's here, too. A friend clued me in: with these things, it's not teh sitting that's so hard; it's getting along with everyone. There are some interesting characters here, and that's putting it lightly. However, I can choose who to engage with, and what to let go by. Although that woman putting a broom in my face really pissed me off. Bitch.

Notables: Had a great yoga class and loosened up these stiff and tight shoulders. Yay!

Day 5
Today was the first day it was hard to get out of bed. The good news is, I'm back in my happy place. The sitting is getting easier, and I'm less afraid of the pain in my knees, that it will be come unbearable ro cause me permanent joint damage. More later!

Life at the Zen Center

I've survived! It's Day 3 at the San Francisco Zen Center and I've adjusted to life "inside" fairly easily. Here are the high points.

Day 0 - Friday
Moved in, met my roommate Abi at dinner. She's a retired schoolteacher and we get along just fine. I have a roommate. It's like summer camp.

Day 1 - Saturday
Killer day. Sat 8 periods of zazen (sitting meditation) of 40 minutes each. First and second periods are fine. Third period, your knees start to hurt from sitting cross-legged (half lotus, technically). And, you're not supposed to get up. Or move. Or do anything except get down with the pain. Unfortunately the pain in your knees can make you tense up, and then your back starts to hurt. Then starts the sort of knee-shoulder/neck/back tango where you shift to relieve one until the other becomes excruciating. Oh, and your legs go to sleep. But you can breathe all you want. It's encouraged.

There is this funny thing that happens to me. My leg is asleep, which makes that knee hurt more. So I lean away from the leg, ostensibly to open up the artery that goes down it, but then I get this idea that maybe I can actually get away from my leg altogether -- detach it and lay it on the cushion and pick it up on my way out of the zendo. It's an appealing idea -- no leg, no pain. Quite rational. This idea remains moderately amusing for about 30 seconds. Only 2330 more seconds to go...


Day 2 - Sunday
The regular monastic schedule is mellower than the one-day sitting we did Saturday. They still wake you at 5am, but instead of all zazen all day, you get yoga and a two-hour work period, so you're not sitting all day. Also, lunch is in the dining room, instead of oryoki, which is the ritualistic form of eating in the temple. It takes about 35 minutes to unwrap the bowls, chant, bow, serve, cleanup, and rewrap the bowls. That leaves about 5 minutes to eat. I am a slow eater. I am expecting to lose weight.

A funny thing happened to time today. First off, it was like a year and a half between breakfast and lunch. After lunch, I got disoriented. I couldn't remember whether I'd just finished lunch or dinner. It took me a few mintues to sort out, or a few seconds. Who knows. The nice thing is, it doesn't really matter how confused you get, because there's a schedule and bells and a han, which is a big wooden block that someone hits with a mallet to signal that it's time to return to the zendo for more sitting. And you're not encouraged to leave the building, so even if you get stuck in a corner somewhere, someone's bound to find you and shepherd you along.

Also noticed that my thinking is changing a bit. Thoughts are getting flatter and clearer somehow -- they come into my mind like airy little wafers instead of Big Macs. Everything optional and a bit inconsequential. I like it.

Notable occurences: A glass light globe fell outside our room door, so I spent some time sucking up glass shards with a vaccuum nozzle. Oh, and the translations of the Diamond Sutra went missing, which is what we're supposed to be studying for the next 3 weeks. So there is intrigue and consternation here SFZC.

Day 3
Free day! Got to the gym, had a nice swim and a jaccuzzi, and enjoyed doing all sorts of things my body knows how to do: walking, carrying a purse, and driving a car. Also enjoyed having a shower with full water pressure. I shaved! Other things accomplished: vaccummed room, did laundry, got a cute haircut, bought a large bottle of ibuprofen, and had a bubble tea with Roger. My birthday dinner is shaping up into a nice bunch of folks. Not sure what my plans are for my actual birthday, which is coming right up on Sunday Aug. 6, so shop early and often for your favorite 37-year-old. I need, um, a new Swiss army knife. Agents of the Dept of Homeland Security confiscated mine in the Dulles Airport.

I'm definitely dopey. Forgot my earplugs at the pool today (this has never happened). Also got a bit distracted while swimming at one point and forgot to breath. This situation corrected itself fairly naturally. Still, there are side effects to spending a lot of one on one time with your own brain. Still, it's quite a mood lift. I am remarkably jolly.

The food has been excellent until now -- fresh, organic vegetarian fare. Tonight a bit of a shift, to gruel. And cabbage. And "pudding". Hopefully the situation will return to its earlier high points.

Notables: got to my car this morning to find it covered in ash. It's a bit of a transitional neighborhood here at 300 Page St. Someone burnt a mattress in the night, just 2 feet from my car. It's a wonder it didn't blow up. Oh well! Add "got a carwash" to my list of accomplishments. Got some fun news from the outside world: my friend Keith took two silver medals in the Gay Games in Chicago on Sunday for diving. Go Keith! Can't wait to hear how today's 3 meter competition went -- could there be a gold in Kiki's future? Stay tuned!

muggy Virginia

First off, the state of Virginia is for lovers. Or so they say. It is also very pretty: lush and green, with horse pastures and historic monuments and miles and miles of Blue Ridge parkway to drive. We've been having a nice time, my friend and I, hiking the Appalachian Trail, spotting a bear at the roadside, and camping in the Shenandoah Valley.

It's been three weeks since I was laid off from my high-paying but not-very-much-fun corporate writing gig. And now I've got that enviable combination of money and time and a single question to ponder: What do I *really* want to do with my life? So far, Virginia has not provided any shining examples of creative endeavors successfully undertaken. And, for all its historically significant sites and scenic beauty, Virginia is hot. And humid. Sometimes there are thundershowers, msotly unexpected.

We've seen Monticello, which means little mountain in Italian. We've had several occasions to see women in bonnets and men in curly-edged hats. Traditional fare has been consumed. We have spyed Natural Bridge, a very large rock bridge formed awhile ago by a lot of water flowing in one particular place. Now, we're thinking of going to the mall, mainly because it's air-conditioned.

Tomorrow: home again, to a three-week Zen Buddhist practice period. Meditation should provide ample opportunity for poindering the question of my life's work.

numb

Call me crazy. Or masochistic. But at 7am yesterday morning, I went swimming in the San Francisco bay.

The water was warm -- for the bay. It does not feel it. 56 degrees has a way of making itself felt on warm flesh. Here's more about that.

The beginning is pleasant enough. You stand on the beach of the Dolphin Club with the sun on your legs, chatting with friends who are regulars. People launch in clusters, with one group on the beach at a time. You don your cap (I wore two) or squid lid, if you have one of the orange thermal bonnets. Goggles go on, earplugs in. There is an imperative to entering the water: Do it quickly. If you dally, as I did, it gives the feet a chance to fully broadcast their message ("cold; wet; real cold; real wet") to the brain. It's so shocking at first, it's difficult to discern whether it's the "cold" or the "wet" that's causing the problem. This creates an odd possibility that this water is just more wet than other water.

Diving is best. That way your head, torso, arms, back, buttocks, and legs go into sensory overload all at the same time. The first thought that makes it through my head, besides how green the water looks at an ebb tide, is that I could turn around right now and make it back to the beach in seconds. I ignore the idea, heading out into the bay, where even more water awaits. It feels sandpapery, viscous against the skin. To swim in it is to windmill the arms as if they were lead weights slung on spastic rubber bands. You flounder.

3 minutes in, your skin feels like it's burning. For a few strokes you instinctively try to keep your face out of the water. This accomplishes nothing. Next your chest muscles tighten, making it hard to breathe. This lasts for a few long minutes, during which it's easy to get panicky. It helps to remind yourself that there's no problem raising your head and getting air; you just aren't getting very much air. You breath more often, you gasp.

Keep moving, and the alarm bells gradually stop ringing. You -- dare I say it? -- warm up a bit. The air is clear, the sky is blue, and the view of the Golden Gate is fantastic. The waves lap languidly in the protected cove of Aquatic Park, where people walk their dogs and push strollers and generally have a nice San Francisco morning. Giant ships, moored to the equally giant piers, look like buildings from the water's surface. The cold invades the crevices of your body: the folds behind your knees, your armpits, the curls of your ears. Your body acclimates. There is nothing left to offend.

We made it to the last flag, just short of the quarter-mile buoy. I turned around when the soles of my feet went numb. I figured my circulatory system had had enough fun for one day. The real trouble starts when your core temperature drops, and a pleasant warmth floods your body. This is your body's way of telling you you are toast, so why not pretend and make the best of it. The numb feet were enough of a hint for me.

The Dolphin offers warm showers and saunas, and it's open three days a week to the public. Although, my friend Paul points out, the door is always locked and the members are a bit hard of hearing, when it comes to the bell. Why kind of people subject themselves to a daily dunk in ice-cold seawater? A sign in the boathouse offers a clue: 'Every day is a chance to renew yourself fully. Take advantage of it.'

Is that bird bothering you?

Reading through a transcript of a customer interview video, shot in Marin a few weeks ago. At one point the interviewer asks: is that bird bothering you? I'm curious what he was planning to do about it. Whatever happened next, it wasn't in the transcript.

My work situation is coming to a head. It's all skulls and daggers around here. I received an e-mail just now letting me know that my manager is going to call me today to set up an in-person meeting on Thursday to "discuss an important business update." I can only imaginge that she, or I, am being laid off. (sigh.) Me? I was online this morning researching the San Juan islands. I was thinking it might be nice to spend a few weeks in August cycling around and taking ferries and camping. I could sublet my apartment, save some money. We'll see.

Is it human nature to try to prepare for possibly bad news by trying to make the bad news seem like something you really want to happen? Sure, go ahead, lay me off. Then I can go on a bike trip. Or back to school. So I can get on to what I'm *really* supposed to be doing with my life.

I guess my realization at this point is that I'm not at all confident that I'll hang onto my job, not because of my skills, but because of my personality. Working for a large corporation is isolating, and more chaotic than I can deal with. My relationship with my manager pretty much sucks, and the function that I provide has no visibility or value to the group that I'm assigned to. So it's pretty much the worst possible situation, except that it pays me reasonably well and is stable. Unless, of course, I am laid off.

Then there's this, the personality thing. What it boils down to is that I think other people's ideas are stupid, deficient. Unfortuantely people can tell that I think this. So there's a little problem that could accurately be described as "rubbing people the wrong way." Compounding this abrasion problem is that fact that it doesn't concern me very much, virtually guaranteeing that it will continue, possibly even escalate. That too does not concern me. Although it probably should. It's pretty hard to get by on brute talent. Unless you're an artist or independently wealthy. Or you want to live with your parents the rest of your life.

What a pickle. I suppose these thoughts are garden-variety anxieties that precede a layoff. I'll feel better on Friday, after I've received the Important Business Update. I hope.

red letter day

Today was a day of momentous occassion, the fruition of countless hopes and dreams, the cessation of unending frustrations. Today ended the torment I have borne these 7 years silently and with only the occassional witness. Today is the day I called the plumber.

Bold, you say? Perhaps not. But my landlady has insisted her handyman is up for the job. Not that I have anything against Paul, who is by anyone's standards absolutely adorable. Alas, he is no plumber. Neither was his predecessor, Ike, who took several shots at my toilet and failed to tame it. I required the services of a professional. And with just a few well-placed calls and a stubborn resolve to pay the tab, no matter what the cost, I engaged Frank, who told me all about the mess that was my shitter.

Toilets are rather tricky beasts, especially if they date from the Pleistocene era. In 15 years of plumbing, Frank had never seen a toilet like mine. He could not rebuild it; the washer cannot be replaced and the flush valve is, well, odd. Frank put in a new angle stop, so when the leaking begins again I can at least stop the flow of water from driving me quietly insane. He gave me a new ball cock and a new stopper and ground out my threads (or something) so for the time being, my small apartment is quiet, free of the sound of running water, which for the past month I have tried to imagine was a friendly Zen fountain, happily dribbling calming negative ions into my living space. It almost worked. Then, I had guests. And my toilet's dysfunction made itself felt on others. It had to stop.

They say the best part of climbing a mountain is getting to the top, because you can finally stop climbing and enjoy the view. I feel the same way about faulty plumbing. Finally, after years of torment and neglect, my toilet is obedient, quiet, and sound. All hail to Frank, and plumbers everywhere who get down on their knees and fix our stickiest problems, bringing solace and relief where trepidation and humiliation once reigned.

Now, I'm going to crack open a beer and enjoy the silence. And another World Cup game.

pegged

There I was, minding my own business, and taking care of my physical health with a nice jog in the park. When I was whacked in the arm by a golf ball.

For those of you who have only been whackers but never whackees of golf balls, know this: it hurts. And it makes a really loud thwacking noise when, after flying several hundred yards through the air, it hits bare skin. In fact, the noise so startled me that at first I didn't realize I'd been hit -- I though something had dropped out of the trees above me, narrowly missing my head. Which in a way is what happened. The rubber-band-powered missle hit the back of my right arm, raising a healthy sting and transferring alarming amounts of kinetic energy to the fascia beneath the skin: muscle, tendon, sinew, and bone. Poor arm.

"Ow!" I exclaimed, turning to confront a woman whose Siberian husky I had just run past. I imagined I'd been pegged with one of those dog ball hurlers you see people carrying around who, like me, can't throw for shit. She in turn, looked behind her, where we both spied the dastardly little white ball bouncing happily into the brush. My eyes narrowed. Golfers.

Now, keep in mind that I myself tried to learn to swing a club a few weeks ago. I still have a twisted back to prove it. Golfing is not easy. However, if you can hit a golf ball 200 yards from the first tee of the Presidio Golf Course, then you should darn well learn to hit it straight. After my run I dropped into the club house to alert the management there to my newly found victim status. They were only mildly impressed, in spite of my red mark and my I'm-willing-to-be-reasonable demeanor. They took down my name on a General Liability form, which apparently can be cashed in for a doctor's visit. I suggested a free dinner voucher (they have what I've heard is a quite decent restaurant.) but the nice man said only the whacker of the ball could recompense me for my pain and suffering. Nuts.

So I've decided to recompense myself. With fresh squeezed orange juice, a long hot bath, and ice packets pressed to the afflicted area. There's something about my new-found victimhood that's quite invigorating. For instance, instead of slavishly cooking dinner last night, I treated myself to a nice Rainbow Salad at Burma Superstar, and a pot of mint tea at the Blue Danube where I read Joan Didion sucessfully for the first time. Slouching towards Bethlehem. Here is someone else who suffers without redemption; I've decided she's my hero. Suffering and all.

For Al...

Italo Calvino sheds a little light on the question I posed and answered so poorly at our last lunch: what to leave in and what to leave out, how to tell the difference, and why it matters. Thanks Italo!

"Both in art and in literature, the function of the frame is fundamental. It is the frame that marks the boundary between the picture and what is outside. It allows the picture to exist, isolating it from the rest; but at the same time, it recalls--and somehow stands for--everything that remains out of the picture. I might venture a definition: we consider powetic a production in which each individual experience acquires prominience through its detachment from the general continuum, while it retains a kind of glint of that unlimited vastness."

other things I could do with my life

My company is facing layoffs in the next ,month or so. I am preparing for the worst; my job is only a marginal function to my managers, so I am a logical choice for being "made redundant", as the Brits would say.

Here's the plan, so far.

Go to Austria. I've been watching the HBO series on WWII, Band of Brothers, and it showed the gorgeous lake-y vistas of the Austrian alps. So there's that.

Go to India and Pakistan and teach English to children. Nikolas Kristof wrote a NY Times column yesterday about the merits of travel for our young people, and I am long overdue. He offered two leads of teaching English abroad: New Light in Calcutta and a Pakistani anti-rape activist, Muktar Mai, who starts schools.

So that's the worst case scenario. Best case is I keep my job, continue plowing money into savings, and keep on with the nice life I have here in SF. Dinners out, ballgames, and good times with friends, preferably outdoors. More on the fate of Judy's job when I know more.

Also a note: my mother and Barbaro both had their ankles fused within a week of one another. I have every confidence, though, that my mother will recover, puruple cast and all.

real people want to weld

That's the only explanation for the tremendous swell of interest around the TechShop Project. And it hasn't even opened yet. Buzz, buzz. Every girl needs a plasma cutter. Especially me.


From the email I got today...

PEOPLE WANT AND NEED TECHSHOP!
Since our announcement of the TechShop project at the Make Magazine Makers Faire, and from our live presentations at the Homebrew Robotics Club, South Bay Metalworkers Club, and the Inventors Alliance meeting, and the article about TechShop that appeared in the San Francisco Examiner, we have had nearly 500 people contact us wanting to becoming members and take classes! We are absolutely blown away from the response, especially since our business plan calls for only 280 members! We have definitely struck a nerve with the TechShop concept. People have even stated that they are planning to relocate near TechShop from other areas of California and even from out of state!

MORE AND MORE CLASSES ARE BEING ADDED!
We are busy recruiting expert instructors from the field, and also busy developing 'Building Block' and 'PathWay' courses in many subjects that will blow your socks off. Subjects from machining to electronics to robotics to materials and so much more will be available to you.

THERE'S SOME VERY COOL EQUIPMENT COMING!
In addition to the full-sized milling machines, lathes, MIG, TIG, arc and gas welders, plasma cutters, sheet metal equipment, plastics equipment including a vacuum forming set up, and electronics design and fabrication equipment, we are finalizing arrangements for the Epilog 24" laser cutter and engraver for your unlimited use, as well as a Dimensions 3D printer and a stereo lithography system. This is all in addition to the thousands of tools and support equipment that we will have for you. We are working hard to be sure that TechShop will be a maker's dream come true!

DO YOU HAVE QUESTIONS OR CONCERNS?
If you have any questions at all, or you would like to help the TechShop project in any way, we want to hear from you! Please call us at 1-(800)-640-1975 or contact us by email at info@techshop.ws. You are also encouraged to participate in the TechShop Advisory Board forums if you are not already doing so...please go to http://forums.techshop.ws/ to participate in the forums.

Thank you, Judy...we look forward to having you be a part of the TechShop open-access public workshop project!

Mother's Day

Cooked brunch today for two mothers, so I figure I've done my bit. Nice to see friends and be charmed by their children and have the menfolk clean up afterwards. Then I get to go spend my day however I like. Hitting the yarn sale at ImagiKnit. Napping. Baking bread. And no one asking me questions, like how do you spell where? Singlehood has its benefits.

It was record-warm in San Francisco today. Easily 80 degrees in a town that rarely sees 70. I took a book and a parasol to the park and proceeded to crisp bits of my pale exterior. Then rode my bike through the Presidio and down past Baker beach, with its wafting smells of BBQ and hazy view of the Marin headlands, where the oceanliners pass on their way out to sea. Nice day all around.

Eat at E&O

I had the excellent fortune if being invited to dinner this week at E&O Trading Company with a friend who works in the food business. So the entire meal -- cocktails, appetizers, dinner, wine, frenette, dessert, dessert wines, and anything else you cared to ask the nice folks to bring you -- was free of charge. It was amazing. Our hostess kept us in check -- we actually ate every morsel on every plate. And we didn't even go home stinking drunk, in spite of free access to highly drinkable fruity drinks. Just pleasantly, deliriously buzzed and full of excellent food.

I'd say E&O is as good as Betelnut without the wait or the attitude. It's bigger, quieter, and has mellow no-drama service. Plus, it's right next to the 1st floor entrance to the Sutter/Stockton garage, making it relaly easy to bum a ride home with your friends.

If you go there (314 Sutter St.) you must get:
- Indonesian corn fritters
- duck Imperial rolls
- Green papaya-ginger salad
- mango-glazed Thai spare ribs
- spicy sweet potato naan

Also good were the portobello mushroom satay, Ahi tartar, and soba noodle salad. Oo, and the salmon satay with pineapple soy was also excellent. ANd the flight od 3 dessert wines were truly wonderful -- an orange muscat, and the other two delightful reds. Dang, not a bad deal to be queen for a day.

A Day at the Maker's Faire

The San Francisco Bay Area delights me anew all the time. The Maker's Faire this weekend was no exception.

The Faire was the first of its kind, a gathering of folks from O'Reilly's Make magazine (stay tuned; they're launching Craft this fall. Look out Martha Stewart...) to actually get together and show off their goods -- and their brainpower. The Crucible folks were there with welding torches and a giant flamethrower. The Power Tool Drag Race folks were there -- although their fastest machine (88mph) was just a rocket on wheels, powered by compressed nitrogen and involving no power tool whatsoever. My favorite was the belt sander with wings (wings purely ornamental).

There were four halls of exhibits. We missed the sewing tent, where you can bring in old clothes and leave with anything you can make in two days. And I didn't get a chance to test-drive the 3-wheeled electric zipcars.

OK, here are highlights.
- a mechanical abacus that caluclates the curve of a sine wave. The inventor sketched out the plans for it and a printing device in 1848, but never built them. "They both work perfectly as designed" the nice bearded man showing off the device, which was utterly hypnotic, told me.
- 3-D printing. Last I heard, they were doing it with potato starch and expensive printers. Turns out, the serious folks send their work out to be "printed" at higher temperatures in steel and other metal powders. Glass, the artist Bathsheba Grossman says, can't be far behind.
- OK, this wasn't an exhibit. But this woman had a cool t-shirt with a cartoon heart on it. Check out all the organs atI Heart Guts. Gotta get me one of these.
- Metal. Chunks of it, any size. Metal Supermarkets, the convenience store of the Metal Industry. If I won the lottery, I'd buy steel. And a lot of tools. And a garage. With a house attached, for the furniture to go in.
- Better than NetFlix: rent videos that show you how to do absolutely anything, for $10 a pop. TechnicalVideoRental.com. Sample titles: Wine for the Confused. Focus on Flamework: Using Northstar Frit and Powders. Intro to Robotics with the Parallax Boe-Bot. (lots of Parallax robots on hand as well.)
- Cool lamps and other funky objects from Jonathan Foote, made from found objects like used hard drives and old street lamps.
- Coffee table made from half a sheet of plywood, from Andy Bot. Easier than going to Ikea. And getting out again.
- No idea what these guys did. But it was cool. Making jewelry from old fuses, I think. The mystery will be revealed when their site launches.
- Cool crafty shit everyone should own at the Bizarre Bazaar, from arty wallets, iPod cases (I bought one) and goofy animal patches (I bought two) and about 5 zillion more things I saw but was too dazed to investigate.

It was a good day. Princess is pleased.

Princess - Day 1

Princess Judy is a pistol. Here's what I'm finding out so far...
1. PJ likes to cook. With a nice glass of wine in one hand.
2. PJ doesn't mind a bit when things go her way.
3. PJ has no trouble asking men out on dates
4. PJ sings Christmas carols while riding her bike on a sunny day
5. PJ likes to throw away things that are old, tired, dirty, or just taking up too much space
6. PJ doesn't give a shit about coupons or sales
7. PJ knows how to moisturize

Go Princess Judy!

I started a Zen Buddhism course today: Establishing the Path of Practice. There were more than 50 people who signed up. At $220 a pop, it was no wonder the abbot and 4 crack monks showed up to run it. It was cool. We did stretching, guided meditation, then zazen (sitting meditation) and formed weekly peer groups. We've committed to practicing an hour a day (yow). There's 30 min of zazen at home and a daily mindfulness exercise. This week, it's to eat one meal a day mindfully, with no distractions. I tried it with dinner, which was a most excellent, tasty, and nutritious seafood pasta with brocholini and red pepper dish of my own invention. It was hard. I mean, there's the newspaper, mail, journals, and yarn to futz with. One guy in our group just looked dismayed. He has like 5 children. He's like, when do I ever get to eat a meal alone, quietly, with no distractions? Oh well. Not my problem.

PJ made a cover for her hot water bottle out of an old sweater, and threw away the leftover yarn.

how to be a princess

I have a friend who is a princess. She's got excellent self-worth, and things just seem to go her way. So I've decided to emulate her. I, myself, am going to become a princess.

Here's how it's going so far. Yesterday I took a long lunch break (princess eats slowly) and went to a Pilates class. After my daily toils were over, I gave myself a pedicure. Then I took extra special care with my hair, which pretty much got it all out of my face, and went out with friends. I wore jeans and sneakers and a $12 sweater. I'll have to do something about that.

Here are her highnesses priorities. Let the scribes take note.
1. lose 5 pounds. then lose 5 more.
2. take steps for haircare management. like get a haircut.
3. new frocks. a whole bunch of them. OK, maybe a new sweater.
4. indulge regularly in hot new combo: steam room + moisturizing facial mask
5. get larger palace.
6. pay someone else to do my laundry.
7. meet princes
8. Refine royal mind

I'm sure there will be more to add to this as her royal highness fulfills each of her explicit wishes. It would help if I had servants. Or at least a couple loyal subjext with some spare time to dedicate to my well-being. Have to work on that...

Princess wants more chocolate tapioca pudding.

Happy Losar

It's the first day of the Tibetan New Year, and frankly, it hasn't come a moment too soon. The last two weeks have have pretty much sucked. Work. Life. Weather. You name it. Apparently the last days of the lunar year are a time for processing negative chi. Boy, was there a lot of it.

Two upsides. I have stumbled upon a fast meal that's excruciatingly tasty: the filet mignon quesedilla. Start by sauteeing green onions, add shitake mushrooms, spray on olive oil. Add red peper, salt, pepper. Plop on small hunk of really expensive beef. Dribble on balsamic. Brown, slice, salt. Grrrrr.

I am knitting a sweater. It's my first. No laughing. It turns out that sleeves, for all their humble ubiquity, are full of mystery. What's big enough? Too big? Lose your grip and you've got leg warmers on your arms -- or a smock. Tricky stuff. Unbeknownst to me, this is exactly what one is supposed to do in the days leading up to Losar -- get or make new clothes. Clean. Make dough balls. Purify yourself.

So now that that part is over, happy male fire dog year to ya. In 2007, I'm going to do more to ward off evil spirits. Might make February go a little more smoothly.

experiments in frying

It's 2pm on Sunday afternoon and I'm still in my pajamas. But I'm having so much fun.

Finished a book today: The Kite Runner. It was an amazing read and wholly absorbing. Picked it up yesterday and couldn't put it down, not even at Davies Hall waiting for Powwasqatsi to start to a live orchestra conducted by Philip Glass, or later at Frites sitting under my umbrella on the back patio like Mary Poppins in the rain, waiting for friends to bring a Grand Marnier crepe and pots of mint tea. I'm so lucky to have friends.

And I'm learning about potatoes. Boiling potatoes, high in moisture and low in starch, are not ideal for frying. But I tried it anyway. The cookbook was right. The best fryers are baking potatoes -- low in moisture and high in starch, which absorbs the oil. The sweet potato worked well. The trick: fry twice. Once for 3-5 minutes, cool for 5 minutes, then again until brown.

OK, off to the pool to work off some of these frites. Too bad they don't store well...

Here is my hound

Call it jealousy but there are these women who stray into my neighborhood who really bug the cr*p out of me. They arrive to shop at Citykids with their thousand-dollar strollers and their lily-white babies and trim waistlines accentuated with hipster studded belts. There was this one yesterday striking a pose on the corner -- okay, maybe she was lost or trying to recall where she parked the Lexus SUV -- with her Russian wolfhound trailling lazily behind. Off his leash, I might add.

So I go back to my third-story walkup rented studio apartment and think about all the things that are mine. Yes, that's my chair with the gimpy leg. Toilet grime? All mine. That mess of papers on the kitchen table, in preparation for tax time? All me. Don't even think about putting your martini on my 1099s.

I had a dream last night that I got a sweet house little house with a big kitchen, separate living room, bedroom(s!), yard, and the best part -- a mud room with hookups for laundry machines. All for $1700 a month. Heaven. I tried not to think about where I must be living. Fremont, perhaps?

It's the weekend and it's looking awfully good. The sun is out, my day is starting early, and I'm taking care of all those things that have been sitting during this crazy disheveled week. Call me if you want to come by for a martini.

being bad

Every new year, I do something bad. I buy a pack of cigarettes. And then I smoke them.

I like to think it's a harmless brush with addiction. An enactment of poor self esteem. An anti-resolution. So when others are giving up on getting shape, eating better, and otherwise mending their ways, I'm "kicking the habit" and settling back into a safe pattern of decent self-care: working out, eating kale, and doing my dishes promptly.

This year, however, I've done something a little different. I've bought a second pack. So I can stand at my kitchen window at night, feeling the cool night air high in my nose, with a thin barrier to my brain. The stars faint in the sky as I pull down the glowing end of a cigarette into my lungs, pink and unsuspecting. Poor lungs.

A friend's ex-husband could exhale smoke on command. He must've had a pocket in his lungs that retained smoke. I have to admit, I'm a bit jealous.

I tried being good. I helped my 85-year-old neighbor buy a bra. This was no mean feat. I apologized to 4 different friends for infractions large and small. OK, mostly small. I offered support to my ex-boyfriend. I completed a Development Plan for my job, mostly following the rules. But frankly, it hasn't been very much fun.

Maybe there's a third pack in my future.

hello, 2006

I have to say, it's been a trying day of travel. However, 2006 appears to be my year of unflappable calm. I guess everyone's entitled to one.

It's so good to be home. Lots of little snags, but 11 hours later, here I am. Woke at 4am in Rochester NY. Both my parents took me to the airport. They're truly wonderful that way.

Where to begin? Had a quiet New Year's with my parents. Saw King Kong and went home for a midnight snack of popcorn and turkey sandwiches. It was nice. I have a stack of resolutions, but if I figure I don't write them down, then I'm not completely obligated. Besides, I've kindof boiled it down to a general rule of thumb: respect myself. That about covers the eating better, working out regularly, reading that stack of books by the door, and possibly prepare for a run at grad school. Oh phooey. I wrote it down.

New York has a couple good yarn stores. Came home with a bit of loot that I can spin up into a little giftie fun. Christmas ain't over yet!

Unpacking the gifts that folks gave me and feeling very appreciative. How nice that people go through the time and trouble to choose things I like. New pans. Martini glasses. A 5GB pocket drive, a knitting calendar. "I'm knitalicous!"

Try spelling that without looking.

Happy New Year to everyone!