Blog

Short blog posts, journal entries, and random thoughts. Topics include a mix of personal and the world at large.

How often to wash?

I am thinking of a few weeks back when I was hanging out with a few classmates from improv class. The ice-breaking question (of which there were many) of “How often do you wash your bed sheets?” came to the table. I guess it’s a measure of how disgusting or clean a person is, depending on the answer.

My answer was once a month. That is caveated by the fact I shower before I go to sleep. That’s how I was raised. So much so that I cannot fathom going to bed without first showering before. How do you people do it? Those of you who showers in the morning, go through a whole day of work and grime, then climb into bed at night with only a change to pajamas. I would love to see a Venn diagram of people who shower in the morning, and people who wear shoes indoors.

It is because I always go to bed freshly cleaned that I can delay washing the bed sheets to once a month. If I were the type to not bathe before bed, I probably would switch the sheets out every few days. You know, just like they do in hotels. I always thought it was weird that hotels in America have a habit of changing out the bed sheets daily (Las Vegas sexy time notwithstanding). Then I realize it’s because of American culture of shower in the morning, not at night. Of course you have to change sheets more often if people go to bed all dirty and stuff from the day.

Other answers from my classmates: once a week, once every two weeks, and once every six months?! Granted, the last answer was from a guy who also showers before bed like I do. Still, six months of unchanging bed sheet is kind of… not that sanitary. We’re don’t live in college dorms anymore, you guys.

A side of smokiness

Looks like we (read: San Francisco) are finally getting a whiff of that smoke from the wildfires up in northern California and Oregon. The air quality this afternoon was surprisingly bad. A blanket of smokiness seemingly wafted over us unannounced. It was the hottest day of the week, too. Those of us without air-conditioning at the home have a difficult choice tonight: open the windows to cool down rooms, or keep them close because air quality is not great. Which one would you prefer? A warm room, or a cool one with bad air?

Here’s what I am doing: keep the window open, and let the Coway air purifier do its thing. The machine is definitely more active than usual this evening.

Selfishly, I hope the air quality will improve by the time this Sunday arrives. That is when I will be running a 10K in the annual Giants Race. I can safely speak for all runners that we would prefer to run in good clean air. This reminds me of two years ago when a coworker was training for the Santa Rosa Marathon. It was all going well until wildfires erupted locally, creating challenging air conditions. While the race was not canceled, the coworker decided to skip the event. There’s no glory in it: who knows what sort of harm could materialize in the long term.

Obviously, my situation is not as drastic. Perhaps a bit of smokiness will add to the pleasant ambiance at the Embarcadero on a Sunday morning. I greatly enjoy running down that route and back to Oracle Park to compete the 10K distance. This year, due to enough people signing up for the event, they’ve re-extended the route all the way to Pier 39. Last year they made us loop back at the Ferry Building instead, necessitating two laps (instead of the single one when the turn is at Pier 39). That really threw me off my game last year, so no excuses this time.

Nah, we just hate you

It’s always interesting to hear from new faculty members about “how it was” back at the university they used to work. Of course, this line of comment is typically accompanied with them complaining they’re not getting the same treatment here at San Francisco State University. To which I have to say they need to realize that our university is the second tier of the California public university system. We are not a UC. We’re not even a Polytechnic. Resources and support around here might not be as ample as that private institution they were at previously.

Besides, if their previous institution is so great in comparison, why the French did they leave in the first place? Let’s not forget: they applied for their faculty positions. That means they wanted to come to San Francisco State University. Perhaps some due diligence was missing if the quantity and quality of available resources (IT or otherwise) is proving insufficient. But hey, I get it: they’re probably getting paid more now than their old positions. It’s all about the money.

What really irks me is when certain new faculty get personal with it. As if our inability to fulfill their computing wants is a direct affront to their personhood. Right, because when the California Sate University system mandates certain requirements vis a vis computer security, it’s specifically targeting you. Same with us: we’re declining your request to dual-boot Windows and Linux because we hate you. Just you, not anyone else. (Obviously, my tongue is fully in cheek here.) Asking for my supervisor? Sure, I guess you like to be told the same thing twice by two different people.

As Michael Corleone famously says in The Godfather: “It’s not personal. It’s strictly business.”

My beautiful laundromat

My mother tells me the washing machine have gone kaput at the home. Being a rental place, it’s going to take some time to get the machine replaced with a (hopefully new) workin unit. In the meantime, my parents are hand-washing their clothes. Just like how they did it back in the old country (read: China). I asked why don’t they take the laundry to the local coin-operated laundromat. Being the extreme agoraphobe that she’s always is, my mother says those “public” washing machines are dirty and disgusting.

I guess? Doesn’t the washing machine sort of sell-cleans? Assuming people are actually using proper detergent…

Honestly, I can’t really argue with my mom. I’m lucky to never had the privilege of using an outside-the-house coin-op laundromat. Every place I’ve ever lived featured in-unit washer and dryer. As for way back when in China: well, I was a tiny kid then, so my parents did my laundry for me (manually). I do not know what it’s like to haul a bag of clothes to a public place, doing laundry at the same time with the rest of the neighbors who also don’t have built-in washers.

What is it like to put in a load of clothes and having to baby-sit it the entire way? I guess the advent of smartphones sort of killed that type of boredom. You can catch entire episodes of shows while the load is doing its spinning thing. Granted, surely those plastic chairs in a laundromat is not nearly as cushy and comfortable as your living room couch. Besides, you sort of have to pay some attention, no? This is America after all: someone can come steal your clothes - or your wallet - at any time. Got to be on alert constantly!

All that is to say: you sort of take the luxuries and conveniences of life for granted, until they get unceremoniously taken away from you, however momentarily. Practice gratitude for the things you already have, my friends.

I feel you, bro

Last time I was back at my parents’ place, my mother told me someone stole all four wheels off the neighbor’s brand new car. She woke up one morning, peaked across the street, and there it was: a Honda Accord tiled on cinderblocks. Why would someone steal wheels off a plain Honda Accord? Because the Honda sedan is ubiquitous. There’s so many of them on the road that the demand for spare parts (law of large numbers vis a vis collision accidents) must be equally sizable. That means a fresh set of (stolen) wheels (plus nearly new tires) should easily fetch many hundreds of dollars.

I do feel bad for the neighbor. According to mom, it’s some young adult who moved into the downstairs in-law unit across the street. The Honda Accord was the first new car he’s ever bought with his own money. Pretty exciting, right? I can remember that joy when I drove my Subaru WRX STI home from the dealership. So much joyful emotion that I nearly had an anxiety attack. Anyways, it has to suck greatly to see something so new and cherished (and expensive) being messed with by amoral thugs. That undercarriage is forever marred by being jacked up on cinderblocks.

I can empathize with that neighbor, too. It seems that particular block of Visitacion Valley is cursed for new cars. Back when my parents bought a brand new Toyota Corolla for me to begin college (many thanks), another set of thugs threw a cinderblock at the driver-side A pillar, while it too was parked on the street. It was a complete violation of the most precious object me (at the time, anyways). While the damage was fixed promptly, the car never felt the same to me since that incident. Sentimental value vanished alongside the purity of an unmolested new car.

Hopefully that neighbor doesn’t love cars as much as I do. If that Honda Accord is just an appliance to him, he’s going to get over the incident rather quickly.

Who's driving the car?

Lake Merced is where I do my weekly running. It is also where I first learned how to drive. Indeed, that concrete parking lot have played host to many a young driver’s first time behind the wheel of a car. It always warms my heart to see one of them out there learning how to drive, all the while I am prepared for my run. Because that was exactly me, exactly two decades ago.

I’ve been driving for twenty years? Jesus Christ that is amazing and sobering at the same time.

I wonder if the kids of the future will even learn how to drive, especially those living in big cities. UBER and LYFT remains ever convenient, plus the looming prospects of self-driving cars. Honestly, who wants to drive when they could be driven? I certainly would rather get chauffeured around. Drivers these days are freaking crazy. I’ve said it before: if I didn’t love cars, I probably wouldn’t own any right now.

California recently allowed “robotaxis” to operate in San Francisco unrestricted, 24/7. Meanwhile I am still waiting to get off the waitlist at both Cruise and Waymo, the two highest profile robotaxi companies. I am actually quite excited to try riding in a true driverless car. Though not nearly as excited as the person who had sex in the backseat of one recently. I want to ride in one just for fun; if I need to get somewhere promptly, I will still call an actual human driving car.

Because you can’t count on a robotaxi to be quick. Its first order of responsibility seems to be safety. I witnessed a Cruise taxi waiting behind a double-parked ambulance for way longer than a human car would have waited. The Cruise vehicle was stationary for such a long time than those of us watching wondered if it were going to move at all (it did, eventually). If that were me in the car, I probably would have gotten out and called an UBER.

One time at a bar

It’s been over a decade since I’ve been at a bar on a weekend evening. It’s really not my scene, you know? First of all, I don’t drink, so the raison d'être for going to a bar is completely lost on me. Since I’m not drinking, it’s got to be for the conversation with friends, right? Well, if you’ve ever been to a bar on a busy night, it’s bloody difficult to talk to one another. It’s so loud that you can’t even hear the jukebox music properly.

And that is why I - and my friends - don’t go to bars.

But there I was this past Saturday evening, sat at a bar in the Marina district. I was there because the classmates from the improv class I’ve been taking decided to go. Nothing like peer pressure, isn’t it? We took in a professional improv show earlier in the evening, and apparently the night was still young enough for some alcoholic refreshments. Thank goodness for non-alcoholic beer: I can partake in the shitty taste, without the alcoholic downsides.

Upon entering I was immediately reminded why I stopped partaking in such festivities. The amount of humanity at that bar was amazing. All there for the privilege of overpaying for drinks and having to yell at each other just to have a conversation. Though if you’re with a significant someone, a bar offers the perfect excuse to get close and whisper sweet nothings into each other’s ears. It’s definitely a younger (than us) crowd, too: a whole lot of twenty somethings not wanting to stay home on a weekend night.

Us older responsible adults called it quits way before the clock struck midnight. Sleep is important! So is limiting the amount of alcohol. We were all one and done, except for one guy who had three beers. He seems like the type of dude who can handle his drinks, though. Nevertheless: no need for a Sunday recovery day!