steam

As the water comes to a boil, I place the platter of prepared fish,

a clean, descaled fish sits in an arrangement of scallions, ginger, pickled turnip and sliced jujubes

Soon, this will become a meat dish to the stir fry, the white rice, and the mustard greens just picked from the garden and quickly blanched.

This force that propelled industrialization, the growth of the railroad and the cost of many lives (primarily Chinese and Irish workers) from east to west. The concept of heating water and coals and engines created the basis of the locomotive engine.

A loud outburst that has no rational purpose.

'It just came out that way. I was upset.'

Or 'just let her be. She just blowing off some steam.'

I hear the steam cooker whistling away as it maximizes hrs of cooking into one hour.

It's fast, saves energy but is it the same?

I hate it when I forget to let the leftovers from dinner cool and the steam condenses on the saran wrap. The droplets of water are very unappealing....

cookies

baking cookies is messy but they all pack such flavor and sustenance.

perhaps in a short while, I will complement these sweet morsels with a cup of hot decaf tea.

I know, i know. its just that lately caffeine has become a habit. And when I try to wean off it, it gets tough.

Maybe I'll switch to decaf. I like the flavor but don't need all the caffeine.

I'm listening to interesting music right now. really mellow and farscaping.

I am so eager to just sit and mull over the dull moments of life.

But such time is wasteful and when the cookie's eaten, the moment's gone. Time to get back to work. Get that 2:30 feeling outta my mind so I can focus.

Corn: Neither Salt nor Sweet

Seems like each time I nibble and chomp on a cob stuff gets stuck between my teeth.

ok disclaimer, sorry if this grosses people out.

You know I hear there are different schools of eating corn kernels off the cob. Some slice em off, some pick em up, other use the lower mandible and nibble off rows while others just 'taz' (like Taz from the WB) through 'em but just munching off what they can and what's left is the fuzzy stuff.

You know eating corn with butter or drizzled on a Cajun sauce after a round of crawdads, I like how fresh corn is so versatile. My mom used to make this superb egg drop soup using salted egg whites, Knorr chicken boullion and Green Giant canned sweet corn.

Never fancied creamed corn though.

Remembering Michael Jackson

I was moved last weekend when I saw two quarter aged Chinese American adults jamming to Michael Jackson's music strictly using their two acoustic guitars and personal voices. It seemed like they were in this vibe, just belting out numbers from the times when MJ was in Jackson 5 like "Ben" to his more popular solo numbers like "Smooth Criminal," "Human Nature," "Rock With You," and my requested number "Don't Stop Till You Get Enough." I still laugh cuz it reminds me of that scene where Chris Tucker steals the scene at the karaoke club. Well, digression aside, here's the down low of how I was introduced to MJ's music.

It's the early nineties. I'm a first grader at my quaint suburban elementary school. There was this White kid name Mike who loved to sing PopEye the Sailor Man and had an older sister in an upper grade. He showed me this book about "Thriller" and he'd talk about that music video where MJ, wearing his signature red jumpsuit, had these eyes that turned like opaque. I was like wha?

Then one time when I was in sixth grade, there was this fifth grader who was dressed up in this black and silver marionette uniform. People thought she was MJ but she'd be pissed, stating "I'm JANET Jackson, MJ's sister! Gosh!."

Moving forward, it's sophomore year in high school. It's the class competition and every class from frosh to senior has to do this dance number. We shuffle into the large auditorium back when the bleachers were wooden and varnished. Now they're plastic and safer. I suppose there were tiny cracks where people's stuff could slip through or people could fall down. Anyways...

The lights dim, and the voices start to 'simmah down,' as Conan O Brien used to say when he had his show, and then the snare starts the vibe and the electronic organ throbs like a heartbeat. The tempo sets the scene and some strings come outta nowhere, indicating some mystery and pretense. Then MJ's voice starts to tell his story about this girl, "Billy Jean" .

Then the vibe changes into a cautionary tale, and the sophomores, my class, start to synchronize, twirling their plastic bowlers and meeting each step with the tempo in the background as MJ keeps telling it as it is, this tale of broken hearts, undetermined patrimony and denial. The song lyric that draws my attention is when MJ's say "remember to always think twice." Then his own voice revertebrates and says otherwise "DON'T think twice." Then there's the cool guitar instrumental that's all bass. Not as cool as "Beat It," but still swell, pretty swell and cool.

So rewind, its fourth year in high school. I'm a senior now and those I Love the 80s episodes on vH1 are pretty popular. I start to think I was alive during the Eighties but I wasn't. I watch 80s flicks starring the Brat Pack, wanting to Feris Bueler and trying to tell the Principal that I think he 'stole his wardrobe from Barry Manilow." So I'm watching all the Michael Jackson music videos, and I must say my favorite by far is "Beat It." That Van Halen guitar solo. Hands down awesome.

Then cue to the near present, I hear about the sad news, the sudden and tragic death of MJ and the world is in mourning both far and wide. Ultimately, it reminds me of how MJ still survives in my memory, as an entertainer, an artist, and most of all as a musician able to manipulate sound and translate it through his dance. A pop star that shines despite the dark emptiness of space.

One time I walked through a busy intersection donning my slim black fedora and this gentleman muttered " Like that hat, you look like MJ." I suppose there are copy cats, wanna bes and imitations of MJ like those generic marital arts films that proliferated after the master Bruce Lee

As I sit here and listen to this computer interpret the grooves on a compact disk using a laser beam, it all starts to collide, these moments listening and processing MJ's legacy, his music and how he made an impact on American and world pop music across the seven seas. Everyone know's MJ's songs. In fact, I still remember hearing "We Are the World' playing all across the school on them horrible 70sish loudspeakers with that crackle and static.

When the essemble starts to fade out, MJ's siren-like voice chimes in 'we are the world, we are children, we are the ones to make a brighter day, so let's start giving...it's true we make a brighter day just you and me....' What a powerful message for world unity.

You know, I remember that time when Leslie Chung left our world and my Cantonese teacher C.M. played one of his songs to memorialize him. A bunch of ABCs like myself probably didn't know what he was saying but I just remember the whole class being entranced by that voice.

I suppose the next time I hear some off key person trying to cover an MJ song on karaoke, or a group of people are doing the electric slide to 'Beat It' it's like MJ the man may be gone, but his music remains in our hearts, in our voices and our thoughts as we ponder and interpret his music. Which reminds me of writing and how it records our experiences and thoughts but it can only be seen and read. Whereas music can be sung, it can be recorded and it can be performed. Brings it all to whole another level.

So I guess I'll listen to some more of MJ's music spanning his musical career from the Jackson 5 to his solo artist days of Thriller.

There's a quote from a Japanese film I saw way back where a musician mutters something along the line of how artists can write their own endings. Pretty subversive and yet interesting in a critical perspective.

Just thought I'd blog about MJ since I'm listening to his music. That's all for now.

Podcast, NPR and Blogging.

Dear Audience,

I've been doing my time unemployed, cramming for the RICA, the Reading Instructional Competency Instruction Assessment, test, and all the while trying to stay current.

Listening to NPR has made me think about contemporary issues and podcasts are great cuz you get to choose things you want to listen to and download em. The thing I don't like is when the stuff eats up memory space.

Blogging has kept me busy typing up my life and trying to see examples of good writing and expression. Some say that writing takes away from a memory or experience. But, i feel that for myself, I tend to forget things like what to get for groceries, what I was supposed to do today and who I am supposed to meet. I gotta write it down. Writing helps me think and process my emotions and experiences. I suppose being forgetful and absent-minded, I writing stuff down.

Ok, I guess I'm all blogged out. Tune in when inspiration and randomness hits me.

Not Going to watch Movies. til 8/8/10

From henceforth, I have declared a moratorium on myself on watching dvds from the library, my chief unproductive distraction among looking stuff up on wikipedia and organizing my iTunes playlist.

Today was a long hot summer day. As i readied myself for my biking adventure (when I bike, I always consider it a journey, plus workout and saving the environment from not burning fossil fuels yay!) I realized that things did not go according to plan. But as Frost said I did take the road not taken, 'and it has made all the difference.'

I consumed a bowl of bowl noodles that my mom bought at Costco for cheap and even slurped the MSG enriched soup. Sometimes I think chicken flavor noodles tend to taste a bit like chicken curry. Must be the turmeric or paprika they put in the soup mix. The noodles were a bit soggy and well cooked. I like my noodles al dente if you know what i mean.

I straddled my bike and with a lunge I'm flying off the cul-de-sac and the wind is plowing right through me. Kenny Loggin's "Danger Zone" is playing within my head as I pass the guy taking a siesta who sells mangos, pineapples, strawberries and oranges on the corner of the two main avenues that converge. I make a right on the adjoining street, staying in my bike lane and avoiding traffic on my left. I'm inches away from automobiles, one quick lurch can send me flying off my seat and onto the asphalt to make human pizza.

I make a right and end up at the district office where I navigate to human resources to drop off my application. The office is an old building yet within is a whitewashed modern building that is akin to the labyrinth.

I kick off the bike rest bar and pedal my way back onto my street. As I head down the street a couple blocks before the next street, a loud conversation between squabbling adults can be heard loudly from the minivan's down window. i hear the Vietnamese guy trying to start up his car. He pops the hood and scratches his head, trying to figure out why the car's not working.

I grab my memo from my pack as I'm driving and zip back the pouch of my messenger bag all the while keeping my vision center to avoid a traffic collision. Once again, I am not fond of human pizza. Chicago style pizza from a place in Oakland called Zachary's yes! my body thrown to the four winds on a congested San Jose street. No thanks... Onto my story.

So I cruise on by and realize I've come into a dead end. The street is a cul-de-ac with a children's park with a rainbow motif. I head on forward and end up on a bridge over 680 S. The chain link guards are raised up high and curves, like a ballet dancer in fifth position. I weave past two steel columns that act as speed barriers.

I make a left and I'm on my way. A gut feeling tells me to make a right and continue on my route but my excited nature leads me off course. I ask a youth with some iPod earphones stuck to his ears where the street i was supposed to turn on was. He doesn't know.... I go the long way and end up lost. I find my way back onto story and figure it's a long way till I reach SJSU.

As I'm on the intersection of Story and McLaughlin, after passing by a recycling center, an African American male comments on how significant it is to have a helmet for safety reasons. We chat cordially about the dense traffic congestion in east/south San Jose, in this area of Seven Trees and the feeling is mutual. Both, two dudes, waiting for the walk signal so we can go our own ways. How personal is a conversation between a one on one in person encounter. When I'm talking on my cell and a voice is talking, I feel that I'm listening to their voice and not really having a conversation with someone. I dunno, I just feel so disconnected gabbing on Skype or texting on my cell. The communcation is limited, the conversation is half its real worth.

he zips away, probably off to work and I ponder on how hospitable people you just happen to meet are on the road, especially strangers you would never meet if you stayed home watching tv. I like the adventure, the spontaneity of seeing new faces and exchanging conversations on insights you never knew you would have.

I done paying the balance of my student fee increase, and I stare at the walk signal. I slap my thighs as if that will get its attention. Then i realize there's a button. i slap the button, it pops back out with a pop sound. I make it to the cafe. it's right across the city hall.

I order up a bag of coffee beans and immediately the barista and I carry on a conversation about coffee culture ruminating about how coffee is brewed, the flavors of the beans (the bag of beans has this nutty smell to them, as he described, like Nutter Butters.) and then he offered me a cup of decaf. He steamed the milk and prepared the espresso machine. After a good tight compression of the fine espresso grind, he frothed up the whole milk and poured it into a ceramic cup with a saucer. The foam barely poured out of the cup, held to the edge by gravity. There was a leaf pattern swirl of the mix between coffee and steamed milk. I admired it's beauty and proceeded to, in my photographic way, to take a cell phone picture of it. I sipped it down, occassionally munching on a sky flake crackers

I think about it for a minute and decide not to work on my work applications in the library. I take the bus home and for some reason have trouble getting the bike on the rack in front of the bus. It takes me a couple tries until the bus driver, motions me to pull the hook over the front wheel and presto! The problem is solved.

I rest in my bus seat until the bus arrives at my stop. Bike back and just crash at home. I'm tired and it had been a long day.

Not going to watch movies! RICA pass or bust!

chestnut trees

Today is another summery day. After a long day of job hunting, formating my resumes and proofreading, I cannot seem to find a way to keep the time from flying. These nice summer days are fleeting yet my room is still a mess. Student's artwork from a year of teaching stay the same only I've changed. Old papers that smack of academic jargonese and awkward phrases. Dust flies freely in this dungeon of crap. Crap that i've accumulated over the years.

Life seems to be pretty mellow right now. No sleepless night prepping for lesson plans, no all night classes. I've survived. I give the phone call a thought. Here's a part time job working as an aide waiting for me in August, yet I stubbornly yearn for a teaching job, one with my own classroom or teaching non native English speakers English.

American chestnut trees are affected by an unusual blight, a disease that kills it in its premature stage. Exceptional for its wood in furniture and other usages, it also had tasty nuts. Hence. 'chestnuts roasting on an open fire.' It's hard to think about how it'll ever return to its pre-blight status. Scientists are still working on cross polinating and making the American chestnut more resistant to the blight by cross breeding it with the Asian chestnut tree.

I wonder where life went when I was living it. All i have are the memories and the moments that seem to last but are gone. I'm lost in my own world of paper, dust and pieces of life all scattered within this tiny space. The dust is revealed as the sunrays envelop me room. I open up the window, draw up the blinds, and let the breeze carry out the staleness of my room.

Night falls and alas, I have only touched the surface. Until tomorrow, another day of routines and procedures. Gotta run some errands, cut the lawn and study for the constitution test.

yuck.