Friends - This will be my last note on this version of the site. Please visit jimmyjia.blogspot.com for the continued update on An Infinite Number of Monkeys!
Jimmy
Thursday, February 28, 2013
Sand, I Ego
Jimmy Carter is a lot shorter than he looks on television. That was one of the more unexpected conclusions while visiting friends in San Diego. I am embarrassed to admit that this was my (mostly) first time to the city even though I grew up in California. The “mostly” comes from the fact that in high school, I was participated in a college tour of UCSD, but we were literally bussed in and out of the university with no time to see the rest of the city. This time, however, outside of a few hours in a biomedical laboratory, which looks like every other biomedical laboratory in the world, I had a chance to really get to know the place.
I left Seattle early in the morning, after a short drive to the airport in the cold rain on Interstate 5. I was welcomed by a warm sun in San Diego before being whisked away on The 5. The similarities between the cities were striking. Both cities have strong aerospace traditions with Boeing in one and Lindbergh the other. Both have a vibrant downtown and personality driven neighborhoods. Both enjoys microbrews and both serve really good ice cream, but only one has a climate suitable for eating it in winter. Both also have strong maritime traditions with large naval bases for air craft carriers. We toured the Maritime Museum with submarines and tall ships amongst the collection. My favorite part of the museum was touring the boiler room of the steam ship Berkeley. The three-hour whale watching tour also had many sights that we would not normally see in Seattle, namely fighter jets take off and landings, helicopters flying in formation and tall ships sailing in and out of harbor.
The highlight of the trip was meeting Samson and Delilah, the Saint-Saëns version. Delilah had a nice voice but the tenor, we all agreed afterwards, didn’t start truly singing till the 3rd act when he was forced to push a giant mill stone as punishment by the Philistine. As Samson belted his remorse at his own failures, he begs God for one last chance to redeem himself and save his people. He gets his wish. During the last scene, he is chained to two large pillars near the altar of the Philistine temple when God returns his enormous strength. With his new-found strength, he destroys the pillars, bringing the roof down onto the worshipers, thus killing the oppressors and freeing his people. As we left the opera, the humor of life did not escape us. We had parked under the Church of Scientology, a building that is held up by pillars to enable street-level parking underneath.
Running into Jimmy Carter was perhaps the most unplanned part of the trip. We were walking down a sidewalk on our way to the Hotel del Coronado, a well-known seaside resort, when we passed a contingent of men dressed in black suits and wearing ear buds. Typically, when one passes a contingent of men in black with ear buds, it means that they are escorting someone of importance. A quick glance at the person walking in the middle proved that theory correct, with the former President holding hands with his wife.
Indeed, our the trip was full of the sights and sounds of San Diego interspersed with speakeasies, Mary’s chicken, gelato, aircraft carriers and Jimmy Carter. Perhaps the only thing we did not get to see was whales. Sadly, I was also denied the request to tour the engine room on our vessel – and was told that no one had ever requested to tour it before. Those experiences will need to be rectified on future visits!
I left Seattle early in the morning, after a short drive to the airport in the cold rain on Interstate 5. I was welcomed by a warm sun in San Diego before being whisked away on The 5. The similarities between the cities were striking. Both cities have strong aerospace traditions with Boeing in one and Lindbergh the other. Both have a vibrant downtown and personality driven neighborhoods. Both enjoys microbrews and both serve really good ice cream, but only one has a climate suitable for eating it in winter. Both also have strong maritime traditions with large naval bases for air craft carriers. We toured the Maritime Museum with submarines and tall ships amongst the collection. My favorite part of the museum was touring the boiler room of the steam ship Berkeley. The three-hour whale watching tour also had many sights that we would not normally see in Seattle, namely fighter jets take off and landings, helicopters flying in formation and tall ships sailing in and out of harbor.
The highlight of the trip was meeting Samson and Delilah, the Saint-Saëns version. Delilah had a nice voice but the tenor, we all agreed afterwards, didn’t start truly singing till the 3rd act when he was forced to push a giant mill stone as punishment by the Philistine. As Samson belted his remorse at his own failures, he begs God for one last chance to redeem himself and save his people. He gets his wish. During the last scene, he is chained to two large pillars near the altar of the Philistine temple when God returns his enormous strength. With his new-found strength, he destroys the pillars, bringing the roof down onto the worshipers, thus killing the oppressors and freeing his people. As we left the opera, the humor of life did not escape us. We had parked under the Church of Scientology, a building that is held up by pillars to enable street-level parking underneath.
Running into Jimmy Carter was perhaps the most unplanned part of the trip. We were walking down a sidewalk on our way to the Hotel del Coronado, a well-known seaside resort, when we passed a contingent of men dressed in black suits and wearing ear buds. Typically, when one passes a contingent of men in black with ear buds, it means that they are escorting someone of importance. A quick glance at the person walking in the middle proved that theory correct, with the former President holding hands with his wife.
Indeed, our the trip was full of the sights and sounds of San Diego interspersed with speakeasies, Mary’s chicken, gelato, aircraft carriers and Jimmy Carter. Perhaps the only thing we did not get to see was whales. Sadly, I was also denied the request to tour the engine room on our vessel – and was told that no one had ever requested to tour it before. Those experiences will need to be rectified on future visits!
Sunday, December 23, 2012
Mixed
T’was a dark and stormy night, and all through the train,
Not a sound could be heard, just the pitter-patter rain.
All luggage was stowed, no one feared the pickpocket,
Since our attendant was the man from Nantucket.
The Parlor Car was filled and passengers well fed,
While thoughts of green eggs and ham, danced in their heads,
And I in my coach seat, my computer on my lap,
Grading some term papers, before taking a nap.
When out in the distance, there arose such a shout,
Like in Mudville – where Mighty Casey had struck out.
I jumped from my seat and others listened to hear,
Half expecting a message from Mister Revere.
The streetlights from above cast down an orange glow,
Like a fire in the Yukon, dancing in the snow.
When, what to my wondering eyes should appear,
But the Walrus and the Carpenter, eight oysters and beer.
“The time has come” The walrus said, “to talk of many things".
“Of fox in socks — and Goldilocks — of mice and men — and kings".
“Old men in boats, out deep at sea, and eggs that sit on walls",
“Of pigs and wolves and jabberwocks, of holly decked in halls".
They spoke no more, their lunch was set, drank wine and broke the bread.
And did not stop their massive feast till both of them were fed.
Poor mollusks, sad oysters, unlucky pearls of the sea.
They liked you here, they liked you there, they liked you with their tea.
There is a place where the sidewalk ends, where the raths do outgrabe,
Where the caged bird sings and spiders swings on a web spun for their Babe.
But on this train droned on a dirge, a melancholy burden bore,
For a blackbird stood, above the door, quothed the raven “Nevermore”.
Not a sound could be heard, just the pitter-patter rain.
All luggage was stowed, no one feared the pickpocket,
Since our attendant was the man from Nantucket.
The Parlor Car was filled and passengers well fed,
While thoughts of green eggs and ham, danced in their heads,
And I in my coach seat, my computer on my lap,
Grading some term papers, before taking a nap.
When out in the distance, there arose such a shout,
Like in Mudville – where Mighty Casey had struck out.
I jumped from my seat and others listened to hear,
Half expecting a message from Mister Revere.
The streetlights from above cast down an orange glow,
Like a fire in the Yukon, dancing in the snow.
When, what to my wondering eyes should appear,
But the Walrus and the Carpenter, eight oysters and beer.
“The time has come” The walrus said, “to talk of many things".
“Of fox in socks — and Goldilocks — of mice and men — and kings".
“Old men in boats, out deep at sea, and eggs that sit on walls",
“Of pigs and wolves and jabberwocks, of holly decked in halls".
They spoke no more, their lunch was set, drank wine and broke the bread.
And did not stop their massive feast till both of them were fed.
Poor mollusks, sad oysters, unlucky pearls of the sea.
They liked you here, they liked you there, they liked you with their tea.
There is a place where the sidewalk ends, where the raths do outgrabe,
Where the caged bird sings and spiders swings on a web spun for their Babe.
But on this train droned on a dirge, a melancholy burden bore,
For a blackbird stood, above the door, quothed the raven “Nevermore”.
Sunday, April 22, 2012
A Leitmotif
Virtually everyone I know will say they like music. It is certainly true for me as well. However, what most people mean when they say that they like music is that they enjoy listening to music. As a violinist, I can add another layer of complexity and say that I also enjoy creating music. Indeed, listening to music only uses one of the senses - sound. Creating music requires not just the ears but also eyes to follow the notes, touch for tactile feedback, muscles to execute techniques, the mind to weave the narrative and the soul to instill emotions. It is enjoyable be in an audience listening to a Mahler symphony. It is gratifying to sit in the middle of a full orchestra playing the same piece.
As an entrepreneur, my days are usually full of tasks and deliverables and the stress levels of work can be very high. No doubt, listening to music is a stress reliever. It has a calming, soothing sensation that helps recharge some energy to keep going. But there is a limit on how effective it can be. After all, it is tempting to continue working and one easily finds oneself writing reports or responding to emails while listening to music. In fact, music sometimes diverts attention away from the important task at hand, thus negating the benefits of it being a stress reliever.
Playing music, however, is the exact opposite. It is hardly possible to do anything else while creating music. It gives one a temporary reprieve from the busyness of life. One’s mind is too busy trying to figure out how to vibrate the fourth finger on the G string that one cannot think about accounting discrepancies, legal reconciliations, or personnel problems. One’s ears listens to luscious melodies, drowning out the monotonous hum of a computer. It also helps put one’s problems into perspectives - it occurred to me once while playing that Mozart probably had bad days too, but it didn’t stop him from composing beautiful music.
Music plays different roles in my life depending on what I need. Like most people, if I had a hard day, I’ll listen to the radio or a playlist. However, if I had a stressful day, I’ll pull out my violin and play Mendelssohn, Bruch or Vitali. Whereas other people will go to a gym to take their anger out on a punching bag, if I feel the need to be loud and violent, I’ll play the 3-octave A major scale, building from 2 notes to a bow to a frenzied 24 notes to a bow. If my fingers are cramped from typing at the keyboard all day, I’ll play one-string arpeggios or double stops thirds. If I’ve been working on rote paperwork, I’ll improvise some klezmer. If I’m super stressed, I’ll do all of the above.
This relationship with music evolved over time as it found a niche in my life. In college, I noticed that my academically worst terms were always the terms where I did not participate in a performance group. That made me realize that music was not just an interest or a hobby. It was a necessity to keep at my best. That has stayed true as I continued into graduate school and my professional life. Today, whether it is sight reading chamber music with a group of friends or playing scales in the office, a little bit of music makes a lot of life.
As an entrepreneur, my days are usually full of tasks and deliverables and the stress levels of work can be very high. No doubt, listening to music is a stress reliever. It has a calming, soothing sensation that helps recharge some energy to keep going. But there is a limit on how effective it can be. After all, it is tempting to continue working and one easily finds oneself writing reports or responding to emails while listening to music. In fact, music sometimes diverts attention away from the important task at hand, thus negating the benefits of it being a stress reliever.
Playing music, however, is the exact opposite. It is hardly possible to do anything else while creating music. It gives one a temporary reprieve from the busyness of life. One’s mind is too busy trying to figure out how to vibrate the fourth finger on the G string that one cannot think about accounting discrepancies, legal reconciliations, or personnel problems. One’s ears listens to luscious melodies, drowning out the monotonous hum of a computer. It also helps put one’s problems into perspectives - it occurred to me once while playing that Mozart probably had bad days too, but it didn’t stop him from composing beautiful music.
Music plays different roles in my life depending on what I need. Like most people, if I had a hard day, I’ll listen to the radio or a playlist. However, if I had a stressful day, I’ll pull out my violin and play Mendelssohn, Bruch or Vitali. Whereas other people will go to a gym to take their anger out on a punching bag, if I feel the need to be loud and violent, I’ll play the 3-octave A major scale, building from 2 notes to a bow to a frenzied 24 notes to a bow. If my fingers are cramped from typing at the keyboard all day, I’ll play one-string arpeggios or double stops thirds. If I’ve been working on rote paperwork, I’ll improvise some klezmer. If I’m super stressed, I’ll do all of the above.
This relationship with music evolved over time as it found a niche in my life. In college, I noticed that my academically worst terms were always the terms where I did not participate in a performance group. That made me realize that music was not just an interest or a hobby. It was a necessity to keep at my best. That has stayed true as I continued into graduate school and my professional life. Today, whether it is sight reading chamber music with a group of friends or playing scales in the office, a little bit of music makes a lot of life.
Tuesday, March 06, 2012
The Magic of Big Sur
In no particular order...
Stormyness
Vastness
Sheerness
Ruggedness
Stormyness
Colorfulness
Sea Urchin nests
Monday, May 23, 2011
Street Fare
I think most people have a love-hate relationship with street festivals. They are fun, enjoyable and are a welcomed break from the repetition of life. However, they are also expensive, crowded, and cause traffic jams in normally sane parts of town. I tend to avoid street festivals because the activation energy to overcome the latter tends to outweigh the benefits of the former. It’s not to say that I don’t enjoy them – if I run across one by happenstance, I will generally spend some quality time at it and take pleasure in their surprises. So when I ran into three street festivals in three different cities in the same weekend, I knew that it would be hopeless to resist the urge to buy a deep-fried Twinkie.
The weekend started inauspiciously. I needed to go to work on a Saturday and I found that the road to the office was blocked off. The Armed Services Day parade wound through downtown and a large swath was transformed into a pedestrian-only haven. By the time I found parking, I had to walk over a mile to the office in the rain. And uphill. Both ways. (Which was technically true! The office is near the top of one hill and I parked on top of a different one.) When I got to the office, I realized that not only did I have a bird’s eye view overlooking the parade, but I also had undampened acoustics from the nearly twenty creatively off-key high school marching bands below. Drowning out the cacophony with Tristan und Isolda was largely unsuccessful, but John Cage would have been proud of the attempt.
Festivals, in general, are full of amusing juxtapositions. The St. Giles fair in Oxford was by far on one extreme, with a Ferris Wheel next to 16th century architecture, cotton candy sold next to a martyr’s monument and a ring toss next to a medieval graveyard. Sweden takes full advantage of a short summer season by cramming many festivals into their long summer days. Their Restaurant Festival featured the top cuisines from Sweden, Russia, China and the Middle East. The International Festival was catered by Russian, Chinese, Middle Eastern and Swedish restaurants. The Midsummer’s Party had booths from China, the Middle East, Sweden, and Russia while the American Festival had…well, you get the idea. Vikingfest in Poulsbo had a Lukefisk eating contest. What’s Vikingfest, where’s Poulsbo and what is Lukefisk, you may ask? All I will say is, “You’re not missing much.”
But I digress. The deep-fried Twinkie was quite good. It was of a limited-vintage strawberry-crème filling variety that has seasonal availability. It was gently battered and expertly fried, such that there was a crispy outside that complemented the moist cake and crème on the inside. A dusting of powdered sugar, a generous dollop of whipped cream and a drizzle of caramel enhanced the natural flavor of the Twinkie without over powering it. But as good as the deep-fried Twinkie was, it was completely left in the dust by the gooey goodness of the deep-fried peanut butter and jelly sandwich. That was simply heavenly.
Monday, September 21, 2009
A Moment in the Woods
Oh, if life were only moments,
Even now and then a bad one.
But if life were only moments,
How’d you ever know you had one?
-The baker’s wife, from Into the Woods by Stephen Sondheim
A year at Oxford has been a moment in the woods. It has been a year in a temporary bubble, away from people, places, and the pressures of life. To say Oxford is a fairytale is not far from the truth. JK Rowling did not invent Hogwarts. She described a year of a student at Christ Church College. Tolkien did not imagine Middle Earth. He wrote about the shires of the surrounding countryside. Lewis Caroll did not dream up Alice’s adventures in Wonderland. He embellished what he saw.
Sylvesters, a black-tie celebration in June, was the beginning of a long goodbye. It was here, during the class superlatives awards, where one realizes that nine months is all it takes to be able to share a communal laugh. That nine months is all it takes for one to induct new members into their inner circle of friends. And that nine months is not nearly enough time to hear 239 stories of how one arrived at Oxford.
Like Alice and Harry soon discovered, being in wonderland has its perils. Alice nearly got her head chopped off and Harry’s life was always in danger. We too had our trials and tribulations, our frustrations and criticisms, and our doubts and worries. But the biggest challenge of wonderland is leaving it behind. On the outside, life is not spent running after the Mad-Hatter and eating imaginary cakes, but it is a place where one has to face issues - jobs, obligations, familial and societal responsibilities. The lessons learned in the safety of wonderland are to be applied to the problems that are prevalent in our wider communities.
The goodbyes at the graduation ceremony in September, like at any graduation, were difficult. All throughout the day, people said goodbye with a sense of finality – as if our time together was ending. But is that really true? Yes, our time has ended as classmates, but our time has just begun as peers. True, as we spread across the globe, some of us will never cross paths again; but we are all separated by a single phone call. As I flew over the Atlantic, all I could think of was “what a small pond!”
I was amused at how similar the first few days were with the last few days. The prevailing question at the beginning, “what did you do?” was asked so many times that the answer became trite. Likewise, the question at the end, “what are you going to do?” achieved the same level of annoyance. As we move forward, we will ask each other with great curiosity and genuine interest, “What have you been doing?” Given the different paths we are taking, I am sure the answer will never be the same and it will always be fascinating.
Be seeing you…
Even now and then a bad one.
But if life were only moments,
How’d you ever know you had one?
-The baker’s wife, from Into the Woods by Stephen Sondheim
A year at Oxford has been a moment in the woods. It has been a year in a temporary bubble, away from people, places, and the pressures of life. To say Oxford is a fairytale is not far from the truth. JK Rowling did not invent Hogwarts. She described a year of a student at Christ Church College. Tolkien did not imagine Middle Earth. He wrote about the shires of the surrounding countryside. Lewis Caroll did not dream up Alice’s adventures in Wonderland. He embellished what he saw.
Sylvesters, a black-tie celebration in June, was the beginning of a long goodbye. It was here, during the class superlatives awards, where one realizes that nine months is all it takes to be able to share a communal laugh. That nine months is all it takes for one to induct new members into their inner circle of friends. And that nine months is not nearly enough time to hear 239 stories of how one arrived at Oxford.
Like Alice and Harry soon discovered, being in wonderland has its perils. Alice nearly got her head chopped off and Harry’s life was always in danger. We too had our trials and tribulations, our frustrations and criticisms, and our doubts and worries. But the biggest challenge of wonderland is leaving it behind. On the outside, life is not spent running after the Mad-Hatter and eating imaginary cakes, but it is a place where one has to face issues - jobs, obligations, familial and societal responsibilities. The lessons learned in the safety of wonderland are to be applied to the problems that are prevalent in our wider communities.
The goodbyes at the graduation ceremony in September, like at any graduation, were difficult. All throughout the day, people said goodbye with a sense of finality – as if our time together was ending. But is that really true? Yes, our time has ended as classmates, but our time has just begun as peers. True, as we spread across the globe, some of us will never cross paths again; but we are all separated by a single phone call. As I flew over the Atlantic, all I could think of was “what a small pond!”
I was amused at how similar the first few days were with the last few days. The prevailing question at the beginning, “what did you do?” was asked so many times that the answer became trite. Likewise, the question at the end, “what are you going to do?” achieved the same level of annoyance. As we move forward, we will ask each other with great curiosity and genuine interest, “What have you been doing?” Given the different paths we are taking, I am sure the answer will never be the same and it will always be fascinating.
Be seeing you…
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