the long winding road to utility

i believe i may finally have found my glorious opportunity to prove myself valuable, to separate myself from the hordes of expendables. i was recently squired as a valiant protectorate of the geospatial grail. for my main weapon, i was handed the standard issue yellow laptop case, and in my off-hand i brandish my trimble GPS device. may those who stand haughtily in the way of the Geospatial Alliance gaze upon our data-collecting Earth-orbiting satellites and trimble in fear!

as usual, no real pay. as usual, not full-time. as usual, small operation.

but uncharacteristically, trust has been placed in my hands.

now all i need to do is remember all my GIS.

confronting the hiatus

in confronting the hiatus, i brandish the shining sword of inspiration and clutch the shield of motivation, the sword i thrust far above my head and countless rays of light explode from its center, the shield gleams gold, and i leap towards my enemy with blade outstretched. the moment my feet leave the ground time slows, and i dexterously reposition my sword downward for a killing blow, noticing the perfect arc i am following through the air, mindful of the increasing space between my boot soles and the ground. my target is lashing its jowls in suspending time: the lips above his shining fangs betray long beads of spittle gathered in the jaws that hang down and whip to and fro as slimy pendulums. my sword meets its mark, the scaly neck, the shrill sound of steel against bone, the quick twist of the hilt and the fatal snap, and: the blog is written.

so-called winter

much too mild to be awarded that name. the days are muggy and bright, the sunlight pouring down as if to say, "may you never forget summertime!" oh, i remember what summertime feels like, but when the seasons change i'd like some more fitting meteorological phenomena. must the precipitation always be so liquid? the sunlight so warm? and, though more biological, must there always be some noxious flower in bloom, pumping its fragrances into the air, concocting some relentless sensory overload when all i wanted was the crisp clean winter air, free from green for a few months and reddening the insides of my nostrils, a fresh and biting sensation? those pierce tinglings that remind us of the frailties of our bodies, that the cold can penetrate our skin and vanquish our human haughtiness for just this fraction of the year?

and what does berkeley offer as a counter to our hubris of seasonal invulnerability? absolutely nothing. its nights are chilly, as some kind of weak vestigial idiosyncrasy derived from someplace that takes this season seriously. but come afternoon, the sun is out in full force, bathing the ground with bright baking rays that burn the iris and irritate the snow-lover. a downright poor substitute.

inspiration: slippery as a fish

sitting around at home, it is a trial to arrive at inspiration. there is something about a place called "home" that effectively neutralizes all creativity from the atmosphere, as a lit flame leaches oxygen from the air. try as i might, whatever perfect image i have cultivated in my mind, the means is untraceable as long as i sit at my desk. this is why i venture outside often, for the frustration that pervades my home-induced tranquility propels me away from this inspiration vacuum within in hopes that a stimulus can be found without.

and when on a search for a stimulus, my personality often changes. i become more like a curious animal flitting my eyes from human to human, comfortable with being perplexed at their behavior -- even enjoying this sense of welcomed confusion, as it strikes a strong discord with the previous pervading inertia of my room. i usually wear my headphones and mouth along to the music, pushing myself into a private world. in this world, i am as a small fish wriggling through a towering mountain of coral, each crevice bubbling with the whispers of some hidden creature, beaming with color and too occupied with the dance of life to notice me. and the end effect, once i finally am forced to encounter someone and address them, is of unspeakable bashfulness and a nearly magnetic repulsion of eye contact.

now from the 2nd floor of 2223

this closes a month in berkeley. we moved upstairs tonight because a second floor apartment became available. chuchki is prowling around the new apartment, mentally cataloging all the unfamiliar corners and leaping up on windowsills to absorb the new views. this space is like a bizarro version of our old apartment; the only differences are subtle increases in space in unexpected places. the view has significantly improved, and i switched rooms to benefit from the window overlooking the park across the way. we are also thankfully separated from a direct line with the parking lot and its cacophonous visitors.

the weather is becoming more chilly, but i know that this is the extent of berkeley's winter cold. the cacti and palms shall go into dormancy, waiting patiently for the warm rays of the first spring sun as they do every year.

...and amidst a flurry of firefox tabs...

...i emerge unscathed and ready to apply my laser-like concentration to yet another blog entry! please make sure you are in a seated position, as this is sure to be a wild ride!

berkeley. town of bicycles, raggedy beggars, vegetarian cuisine, gardens thriving with succulents, and a nearly textbook example of gentrification. i live on the unfortunately named "bonar" street, which trails off from university avenue, the road that leads to berkeley university, a magic garden with little bridges over bubbling streams and big concrete structures of learning nestled within the thick canopy cover of massive trees. aparna works there on her philosophiae doctor, and so does becca, although in different buildings.

bonar street is a humble stretch of pavement that miraculously enough betrays nothing phallic. the people who live along bonar street are of many different backgrounds. there are hispanics, indians, asians, blacks, whites. in particular, our building is of the black/white/hispanic persuasion -- an appropriate mix of the most populous demographics in our nation. oh, and my roommate "man" is chinese.

recently, some of the black people in our neighborhood are often noisy, blasting music from their cars, hanging out in our parking lot smoking weed and yelling. but i think our landlord, a middle-aged apprehensive white man, talked to them, and that may have something to do with the peace and quiet we at apartment C have been blessed with the past few days. i really hate singling out a particular race before i blame people, but it is true. i give everyone the benefit of the doubt, regardless of how much melanin their skin holds. and further, this is not a "cultural difference", because whatever culture people come from, disrupting the peace is not acceptable. i only write this defense because i must assume the reader is a scrutinizing judge of my character.

i bought a road-bike from a pothead shaggy-haired dude who i found on craigslist. the frame is yellow-green, the wheels thin, the handlebars jutting out like the horns of a water buffalo, the seat an original brooks. the ultimate hipster bike. refitted with a kryptonite lock and a sleek cat's eye LED light. i rode it to work this morning and experienced firsthand the bumpy adventure of riding a road-bike on a cracked street. it's like riding a mountain-bike over the craters of the moon.

i am a seasonal cashier at elephant pharmacy on shattuck street in berkeley. elephant pharmacy is a hip natural pharmacy that sells both over-the-counter medications and preventative herbal remedies. everyone there is pretty much happy, a lot like everywhere in northern california. i mean, how can you not smile when your commute passes colorfully painted houses with huge cacti and flowering trees bursting out from their yards?

i plan to do many things. among them:
-finally create that creative work of art i've been dreaming about
-read lots of books that will make me more well-read
-improve my japanese by working through my textbook from my school in hokkaido
-get real good at cooking japanese food
-make some friends outside of the duke group, however much i love them
-make a name for myself as an off-kilter eccentric writer who posts his stuff for free around town and reads strange poetry at open-mics

the last has been my dream for the past six or so years. everyone needs to dream. it's healthy for the soul.
-

berkeley

i was worried about chuchki. she was understandably terrified on the plane, keeping up a steady yowl while staring into my eyes through the black mesh of the cat carrier, the darkness below the seat inducing eye-shine that looked all too similar to tears of betrayal. on the flight from the delta hub in atlanta to san francisco, i would occasionally squeeze a hand through a small opening in the zipped door and stroke her head to reassure her, and this would always put her to peace for the time being. but on the whole, the affair was quite stressful and, i was worrying, perhaps traumatic. but my fear was abated each time she leaned into my strokes and closed her eyes: a definite sign of unchanging affection and lasting trust.

when we first arrived into the new apartment, chuchki began wildly searching all the rooms, but i made an effort to restrict her to mine, as my roommates had been painting and paint chips were scattered here and there across the carpet of the living room. this room was an odd shape and was afflicted that night, and the following morning, by a group of black men having boisterous conversations right outside my window in the parking lot. throughout the day chuchki remained camped in the corner of the open closet, unsleeping. even when i finally fed her and made her a new litterbox out of a cardboard box and some plastic wrap, she did not budge. i eventually moved to a different room, one with a larger window and a more uniform square shape. this room did not overlook the parking lot, so i was not at the complete mercy of the parking lot revelers. chuchki immediately took to the corner of the room behind my big luggage bag and stared out at me. i figured she was simply uneasy with the new surroundings and left her be, sometimes going over and petting her, which she responded to warmly.

i then had the idea of creating for her a hiding place, somewhere dark and warm in case she felt the need to be hidden and safe. i cut a small hole out from another cardboard box, just big enough for her to enter, and laid out her orange air france blanket inside. chuchki had officially acquired this blanket after she had coated its surface with another of her fur. i had always laid it beside my computer in grandma's house, and she would often sprawl out upon it and fall asleep as i clacked away on the keyboard. this i brought with me because it had her fur and smell upon it; i also brought an owl finger puppet named fukurou-chan that was her favorite toy. i kept fukurou-chan in her carrier for the duration of the trip - this most certainly added to her cute factor, and i had to politely deflect more than one advance by a middle-aged woman whose aim it was to demonstrate their love for my "kitty".

chuchki took to her little house almost immediately, and slept in there the remainder of the day, often waking up and gazing out lazily at me, who sat upon a mattress on the floor facing my laptop. this morning i opened the blinds for her and she is now perched upon the windowsill, viewing the side of another apartment building and the distant street with its subtropical trees and unfamiliar avian life, its large reddish squirrels and passing students on bikes. i cannot wait until the living room is clear so i can give chuchki free reign of the apartment while i am gone, but for now she will be locked in my room to prevent any ingestion of poisons. i am lenient while in the apartment with her, to let her get a feel for the place.

today i shall drop off some resumes at cafes and send off more to other local businesses. i really need some income. and furniture.