Last Saturday, I spent over an hour wading through garbage in order to keep my new apartment. You see, the day before, I signed for a new apartment with my girlfriend in an upscale, downtown Silicon Valley location. It was quite a coup for us: this particular building is very popular and rarely has openings, and I managed to find a flat becoming available at exactly the right time. All I needed to do to lock down the place was to get my previous two earnings statements (showing my total pay and deductions) and to bring those statements into the leasing office on Saturday. With those steps out of the way, the apartment would officially be mine.
Naturally, that seemingly simple scenario didn't play out as initially expected. In a random fit of paranoia during the previous week, I ripped up my most recent earnings statement and, fearing identity thieves, randomly distributed the pieces in two separate trash bags. Yes, I know that is a ridiculous thing to do. In the grand scheme of 'Ridiculous Things I Do,' though, it's a rather minor offense. It was so minor, in fact, that I had forgotten about it entirely by the time I signed for the apartment.
In a spell of rationality, I thought to myself, "Surely I can bring in the previous 10 earnings statements in order to substantiate my alleged income. After all, the people at the leasing office just want proof that I make as much as I say I do, and 10 statements should do the trick!" Sadly, upon returning to the leasing office with a stack of statements in hand, I learned that unless I could provide my most recent earnings statement before the office closed that day, the folks at the leasing office might give the apartment to another candidate.
At that moment, I realized that rationality had been entirely thrown out the window in favor of adherence to rigid bureaucratic rules, a realization I quickly identified as familiar from every single day at work. Desperation, another common workplace feeling, set in. Knowing there was only one thing I could do, I drove home, fished out trash bags from the dumpster, and began looking for the remnants of my last earnings statement.
After nearly an hour of careful sorting through protein bar wrappers, used tissues, and stale hot dog buns, among other delightful artifacts of Silicon Valley home life that had come to reside in the trash, I managed to locate roughly thirty pieces of ripped-up earnings statement that had become sopping wet from immersion in unmentionably ghastly rubbish liquids. I'm bad with any tasks requiring fine hand-eye coordination, so I managed to cajole my girlfriend into assembling these soaked shards of earnings statement into a coherent whole. In about fifteen minutes, she managed to recreate the entire original earnings statement and tape it together without smudging any of the print. It may not have been a feat worthy of canonization, but it definitely earned her a free Jamba Juice on my dime, which is a satisfying reward in its own right (although I must admit that we probably would have gotten those Jamba Juices regardless of her statement assembly performance).
Anyway, we made it back to the leasing office and, thankfully, the woman helping us there took the reconstructed earnings statement, deemed it acceptable, made a quick photocopy, and sent us on our way. My girlfriend and I overcame serious obstacles to save our new apartment, and it felt good. The eventual Jamba Juice celebration felt even better. If you've ever had the now-defunct-but-still-available-by-request 'Peenya Kowlada' smoothie, you'd understand how glorious a celebratory Jamba Juice can be. Seriously, try it.
I'll leave the story at that for now. Tomorrow, I'm traveling with friends to the Russian River Brewing Company (RRBC), a classic getaway for me and my pals, so my next entry may be an introduction to the world of high-intensity fine beering, with sides of commentary on A&W root beer floats and chicken wings. More to come on those topics next time. For tonight, I'm out.
Blogging you with a sweet tenderness that makes you seriously question your other blogging relationships,
Valley J
Friday, May 30, 2008
Monday, May 19, 2008
My First Bay to Breakers: A Bizarre Journey
On Sunday, I went to my first Bay-to-Breakers in San Francisco with extremely high hopes. For those who are unaware, Bay-to-Breakers is ostensibly a 12K race through San Francisco, but it's primarily known for the massive drunken walking parade that follows the racers through the city. "It's the most fun you'll ever have in San Francisco," one of my friends said. Another told me, "James, it'll be one of the most fun times of your entire life." After living through it, I'm not sure either of those statements are accurate for me, but I will say that I'm better off from going. In fact, even though I didn't have as much fun as previously promised (it wasn't bad overall, but it didn't live up to the hype), I did glean some useful lessons from the day. I call these 'My Five Bay-to-Breakers Lessons':
1) In a departure from conventional wisdom, I learned that it's acceptable (and even laudable) to take candy from strangers in certain circumstances. In the case of Bay-to-Breakers, by 'candy' I mean 'beer,' and by 'strangers,' I mean anybody with a pulse. It was a lesson learned early and applied with hearty vigor throughout the day.
2) Beautiful cities are not meant to be used as giant public restrooms. Port-o-potties may have been created by God to save us from the horrors of public urination, but alas, the Lord must have gotten tired of making port-o-potties for San Francisco a bit too early because there were only about 40 available for a crowd of 100,000. I hold the event's organizers responsible for the massive shortfall in bathroom facilities. As punishment, I demand that the organizers stand in the back of a long bathroom line for hours, only to have the toilet clog when it is their turn, sending them to the back of another bathroom line. Such a Sisyphean punishment would surely cause the number of port-o-potties at last year's event to skyrocket.
3) Random naked people are rather unpleasant, despite rumors to the contrary. In the throes of Keystone Light-driven ecstasy, one might think, "Wow, lots of naked people- how liberating and fun!" But it doesn't feel liberating to see many naked people wandering around, as I did on Sunday. It feels uncomfortable, slightly disturbing, and even vaguely nauseating, particularly since the naked people walking around aren't generally built anything like Adonis or Helen of Troy, to say the least. So, word to the wise: keep your clothes on unless somebody has specifically asked you to take them off. I have abided by this maxim successfully for years, and the world is undoubtedly a better place for it.
4) You can run from fatigue with the help of energy drinks, but you can't escape it for long. To get to Bay-to-Breakers from the Valley, I arose from my approximately 3-hour-long slumber around 6:30 AM to catch a train leaving between 7:00 and 7:30 AM. Between waking up and climbing onto the train, I drank a Java Monster energy drink. Roughly half an hour later, my hands were shaking, my heart was beating rapidly, and I felt like I could run the 12K Bay-to-Breakers race with a 5 min/mile pace. It was a euphoric feeling similar to that of getting off a Southwest Airlines flight after landing at Chicago Midway airport without crashing and bursting into flames. An hour later, while walking toward the race, my physical state took a turn for the worse. Without any prior warning, the back of my head started to throb, as if someone had smacked me in the back of the head with a brick a few hours earlier. My eyes became photosensitive, and my eyelids began closing involuntarily. In less than two hours, I went from unconsciousness to minimal consciousness to freakish hyperactivity to minimal consciousness again. Was my fleeting escape from fatigue courtesy of the Java Monster worth it? Given the post-hyperactive crash, I don't think I would have consumed that Java Monster again. If I may digress, though, the Java Monster was delicious, particularly for an energy drink. Get one from your local supermarket if you have a few bucks to spend and the desire to feel like Steve Ballmer at a Microsoft developer's conference for an hour or so (for those who don't get that reference, search for 'Steve Ballmer developers' on YouTube and watch every video returned. It's worth it.)
5) Don't take the Caltrain to any major events in San Francisco if you can help it. Seriously. I love public transportation in general because it's good for the environment and generally pretty affordable. That being said, imagine how jellybeans feel when they are crammed into a jar. Or imagine how those 20-odd clowns feel when they're stuffed into a tiny car in the classic 'clowns in a tiny car' circus trick you may remember from when clowns didn't scare the bejesus out of you. Such arrangements sound delightfully spacious when compared to my trip south from San Francisco on the Caltrain. Due to the extremely cramped arrangement in the car, which involved about 100 bodies fitting into a space made for around 30, I may or may not have been accidentally violated by a rotund 35 year old man, a 19 year old blonde woman who wore a hat that could double for a red frisbee , and a rather pleasant golden retriever named 'Jackie' who seemed blissfully unaware of her owner's frustration at the situation. For the next big San Francisco event, I suggest finding alternative transportation options or taking a ludicrously early or late train, if you have no other choices.
Anyway, I'll leave it at that. Feel free to leave your own Bay-to-Breakers lesson or insight in the comments section, if you have one or more.
Blogging you in a way that makes you say "Oh yeah, that's nice, that's the spot,"
Valley J
1) In a departure from conventional wisdom, I learned that it's acceptable (and even laudable) to take candy from strangers in certain circumstances. In the case of Bay-to-Breakers, by 'candy' I mean 'beer,' and by 'strangers,' I mean anybody with a pulse. It was a lesson learned early and applied with hearty vigor throughout the day.
2) Beautiful cities are not meant to be used as giant public restrooms. Port-o-potties may have been created by God to save us from the horrors of public urination, but alas, the Lord must have gotten tired of making port-o-potties for San Francisco a bit too early because there were only about 40 available for a crowd of 100,000. I hold the event's organizers responsible for the massive shortfall in bathroom facilities. As punishment, I demand that the organizers stand in the back of a long bathroom line for hours, only to have the toilet clog when it is their turn, sending them to the back of another bathroom line. Such a Sisyphean punishment would surely cause the number of port-o-potties at last year's event to skyrocket.
3) Random naked people are rather unpleasant, despite rumors to the contrary. In the throes of Keystone Light-driven ecstasy, one might think, "Wow, lots of naked people- how liberating and fun!" But it doesn't feel liberating to see many naked people wandering around, as I did on Sunday. It feels uncomfortable, slightly disturbing, and even vaguely nauseating, particularly since the naked people walking around aren't generally built anything like Adonis or Helen of Troy, to say the least. So, word to the wise: keep your clothes on unless somebody has specifically asked you to take them off. I have abided by this maxim successfully for years, and the world is undoubtedly a better place for it.
4) You can run from fatigue with the help of energy drinks, but you can't escape it for long. To get to Bay-to-Breakers from the Valley, I arose from my approximately 3-hour-long slumber around 6:30 AM to catch a train leaving between 7:00 and 7:30 AM. Between waking up and climbing onto the train, I drank a Java Monster energy drink. Roughly half an hour later, my hands were shaking, my heart was beating rapidly, and I felt like I could run the 12K Bay-to-Breakers race with a 5 min/mile pace. It was a euphoric feeling similar to that of getting off a Southwest Airlines flight after landing at Chicago Midway airport without crashing and bursting into flames. An hour later, while walking toward the race, my physical state took a turn for the worse. Without any prior warning, the back of my head started to throb, as if someone had smacked me in the back of the head with a brick a few hours earlier. My eyes became photosensitive, and my eyelids began closing involuntarily. In less than two hours, I went from unconsciousness to minimal consciousness to freakish hyperactivity to minimal consciousness again. Was my fleeting escape from fatigue courtesy of the Java Monster worth it? Given the post-hyperactive crash, I don't think I would have consumed that Java Monster again. If I may digress, though, the Java Monster was delicious, particularly for an energy drink. Get one from your local supermarket if you have a few bucks to spend and the desire to feel like Steve Ballmer at a Microsoft developer's conference for an hour or so (for those who don't get that reference, search for 'Steve Ballmer developers' on YouTube and watch every video returned. It's worth it.)
5) Don't take the Caltrain to any major events in San Francisco if you can help it. Seriously. I love public transportation in general because it's good for the environment and generally pretty affordable. That being said, imagine how jellybeans feel when they are crammed into a jar. Or imagine how those 20-odd clowns feel when they're stuffed into a tiny car in the classic 'clowns in a tiny car' circus trick you may remember from when clowns didn't scare the bejesus out of you. Such arrangements sound delightfully spacious when compared to my trip south from San Francisco on the Caltrain. Due to the extremely cramped arrangement in the car, which involved about 100 bodies fitting into a space made for around 30, I may or may not have been accidentally violated by a rotund 35 year old man, a 19 year old blonde woman who wore a hat that could double for a red frisbee , and a rather pleasant golden retriever named 'Jackie' who seemed blissfully unaware of her owner's frustration at the situation. For the next big San Francisco event, I suggest finding alternative transportation options or taking a ludicrously early or late train, if you have no other choices.
Anyway, I'll leave it at that. Feel free to leave your own Bay-to-Breakers lesson or insight in the comments section, if you have one or more.
Blogging you in a way that makes you say "Oh yeah, that's nice, that's the spot,"
Valley J
Friday, May 16, 2008
An Ode to Dim Sum
Is it sad to love a dumpling more than most other worldly possessions? If it is, then I'm utterly depressing, because I'm a hopeless fanatic for dim sum. God help me.
You may not know about dim sum if you're not from China, the West Coast, if you don't dine out much, or if you have been living in a cave since childhood (and by 'cave' I mean 'the Deep South.' Just kidding. Kind of.) If you don't know about it, never fear: your life is about to be enriched by a blog post from an overweight white twentysomething salesperson. Congratulations. Dim sum may be the greatest thing to ever happen to you. Or maybe the greatest thing to ever happen to you will be meeting and marrying your spouse. Only time will tell.
'Greatest thing ever' debates aside, you're in for a great treat with dim sum. Dim sum generally involves haggard Chinese restaurant employees pushing around carts stacked with bamboo dumpling steamers and random tiny plates of Cantonese Chinese food. Diners flag down these carts and demand, in English or Chinese, to have food placed on their tables. The most experienced diners often combine hand signals and a barked order delivery style, much like a stock broker on the floor of an exchange trying to negotiate a trade with another broker across the trading floor. Then, upon delivery of food to diners' tables, the servers place stamps on the tables' order cards in order to record the food that the diners have ordered. English-speaking customers have no idea if they have been properly charged because the order cards and stamps are typically in Chinese, but that's part of the fun.
So, let's recap: disgruntled employees push food carts, you yell at them and make hand signals frantically to acquire food from them, and they charge you seemingly random amounts of money for their goods. That may not sound like fun, but trust me, it is. The decor and food acquisition process are fun in their own ways, but it's the tasty food that makes dim sum so excellent. Shrimp-filled steamed dumplings, called 'ha gau,' 'har gau,' 'har gow,' or whatever we English speakers want to call them (mangling a beautiful language that's thousands of years old in the process), are simply magnificent. Sui mai (don't even get me started on the multiple spellings), which are pork, shrimp, and mushroom-filled dumplings, tantalize from their bamboo steamer dwellings. Snoop Dogg might refer to these dishes and their dim sum brethren as 'The Chronic. ' A certain James Gumpper might refer to them as 'sweet units.' I need a term for them, so I'll go with 'ballerific.' The food's that good.
So, what's the moral of the story? Get yourself some dim sum, preferably within the next 24 hours. If you're in the Valley, check out Joy Luck Place in Cupertino. The lines are long, but it's worth the wait. Mayflower, a restaurant in Milpitas, is also a great spot. If you're in the city, there are tons of great options in Chinatown, but for more upscale dim sum fare (at premium prices), try Yank Sing. There are two locations (one on Stevenson, near the corner with New Montgomery, and another in the Rincon Center by the Embarcadero), and they're both excellent. I could go on and on with other great places in the Valley and in San Francisco (ABC, Pan Tao, etc), but the ones listed here are good to start for any beginners.
I'm sure I'll write more about dim sum in the future, but I think this introduction to dim sum's boundless glory should suffice for now. Until next time, keep it real. Oh yeah, and to Jenny Blake: thanks for the inspiration, and let's get ready for our 'Faces of Executives Cupcakes & Cookies'' bake sale.
Blogging you so hard you're sore the next day,
Valley J
You may not know about dim sum if you're not from China, the West Coast, if you don't dine out much, or if you have been living in a cave since childhood (and by 'cave' I mean 'the Deep South.' Just kidding. Kind of.) If you don't know about it, never fear: your life is about to be enriched by a blog post from an overweight white twentysomething salesperson. Congratulations. Dim sum may be the greatest thing to ever happen to you. Or maybe the greatest thing to ever happen to you will be meeting and marrying your spouse. Only time will tell.
'Greatest thing ever' debates aside, you're in for a great treat with dim sum. Dim sum generally involves haggard Chinese restaurant employees pushing around carts stacked with bamboo dumpling steamers and random tiny plates of Cantonese Chinese food. Diners flag down these carts and demand, in English or Chinese, to have food placed on their tables. The most experienced diners often combine hand signals and a barked order delivery style, much like a stock broker on the floor of an exchange trying to negotiate a trade with another broker across the trading floor. Then, upon delivery of food to diners' tables, the servers place stamps on the tables' order cards in order to record the food that the diners have ordered. English-speaking customers have no idea if they have been properly charged because the order cards and stamps are typically in Chinese, but that's part of the fun.
So, let's recap: disgruntled employees push food carts, you yell at them and make hand signals frantically to acquire food from them, and they charge you seemingly random amounts of money for their goods. That may not sound like fun, but trust me, it is. The decor and food acquisition process are fun in their own ways, but it's the tasty food that makes dim sum so excellent. Shrimp-filled steamed dumplings, called 'ha gau,' 'har gau,' 'har gow,' or whatever we English speakers want to call them (mangling a beautiful language that's thousands of years old in the process), are simply magnificent. Sui mai (don't even get me started on the multiple spellings), which are pork, shrimp, and mushroom-filled dumplings, tantalize from their bamboo steamer dwellings. Snoop Dogg might refer to these dishes and their dim sum brethren as 'The Chronic. ' A certain James Gumpper might refer to them as 'sweet units.' I need a term for them, so I'll go with 'ballerific.' The food's that good.
So, what's the moral of the story? Get yourself some dim sum, preferably within the next 24 hours. If you're in the Valley, check out Joy Luck Place in Cupertino. The lines are long, but it's worth the wait. Mayflower, a restaurant in Milpitas, is also a great spot. If you're in the city, there are tons of great options in Chinatown, but for more upscale dim sum fare (at premium prices), try Yank Sing. There are two locations (one on Stevenson, near the corner with New Montgomery, and another in the Rincon Center by the Embarcadero), and they're both excellent. I could go on and on with other great places in the Valley and in San Francisco (ABC, Pan Tao, etc), but the ones listed here are good to start for any beginners.
I'm sure I'll write more about dim sum in the future, but I think this introduction to dim sum's boundless glory should suffice for now. Until next time, keep it real. Oh yeah, and to Jenny Blake: thanks for the inspiration, and let's get ready for our 'Faces of Executives Cupcakes & Cookies'' bake sale.
Blogging you so hard you're sore the next day,
Valley J
Thursday, May 15, 2008
First Post: Very Sweet
I've been called a 'crazy nutbag' on a few occasions. I have a distinct feeling that after writing this blog for a while, I might get called that even more.
To be fair, I'm not a 'crazy nutbag' in any really negative sense. Unless you consider being a bad ventriloquist at work using a yellow stress-relief squeeze ball I've named 'Dr. Yellowhead' as my puppet or boldly proclaiming 'Who shotcha?' after a good call with a client to be negatives, I think I get called a 'crazy nutbag' in a mostly positive way. I'm an optimist, if you couldn't tell.
Anyway, I gave blogging a try once before, and I was absolutely terrible (honesty is the best policy...or whatever). I wrote political entries that were fascinating to me, but they bored the crap out of everybody else. I admit that I have a weakness for complex political analysis, but my inner Nietzschean will to power has conquered that weakness and nobly enabled my lesser instincts and traits to express themselves in public. That's a nice way of saying that I'm prepared to be a willful idiot on the Internet. Not that I'm going to be one all the time, but it's going to happen. Just wait, and you'll see.
But now, it's time to revel in my initial meaningless self-expression and new opening of myself to merciless criticism from complete strangers, if anybody decides to read this blog. Given my life in Silicon Valley, though, meaningless self-expression and merciless criticism don't seem that scary. Entry #2 is coming soon, so for the one person who knows this blog exists, keep your eyes out. Until then, this crazy nutbag is signing off.
Blogging you so hard you can't even take it,
Valley J
To be fair, I'm not a 'crazy nutbag' in any really negative sense. Unless you consider being a bad ventriloquist at work using a yellow stress-relief squeeze ball I've named 'Dr. Yellowhead' as my puppet or boldly proclaiming 'Who shotcha?' after a good call with a client to be negatives, I think I get called a 'crazy nutbag' in a mostly positive way. I'm an optimist, if you couldn't tell.
Anyway, I gave blogging a try once before, and I was absolutely terrible (honesty is the best policy...or whatever). I wrote political entries that were fascinating to me, but they bored the crap out of everybody else. I admit that I have a weakness for complex political analysis, but my inner Nietzschean will to power has conquered that weakness and nobly enabled my lesser instincts and traits to express themselves in public. That's a nice way of saying that I'm prepared to be a willful idiot on the Internet. Not that I'm going to be one all the time, but it's going to happen. Just wait, and you'll see.
But now, it's time to revel in my initial meaningless self-expression and new opening of myself to merciless criticism from complete strangers, if anybody decides to read this blog. Given my life in Silicon Valley, though, meaningless self-expression and merciless criticism don't seem that scary. Entry #2 is coming soon, so for the one person who knows this blog exists, keep your eyes out. Until then, this crazy nutbag is signing off.
Blogging you so hard you can't even take it,
Valley J
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