Outside Over There

cat food or bust!

On Saturday when we woke up the ants had doubled the reinforcements. What had been a barely discernable trail underneath the couch was now a thick black line winding its way across the carpet from the front door to the cat food bowls in the kitchen. Poor kitties--they were crying! Ants swarming in and out of their food, scattering across the kitchen floor, regrouping on the molding before making the trek back to the front door. The ant baits I had bought on Friday were obviously ineffective, as no ant displayed even a remote curiosity. It was cat food or bust!

They obviously weren't going away.

Armed with three pieces of chewed Trident gum (thanks, Royce), and a vacuum cleaner attachment I'd never used before, we plugged up the entrance (or exit, as the case may be) of the nest and sucked up the legions of sugar ants who were obliviously marching to and fro in the commerce of cat food. It was an unparalleled victory. I felt like MacGyver!

Systematic Overview of my Systems

I've been reading mimi smartypants archives, and she has inspired this truly enlightening post on the state of the union (and by "union" I mean "myself").

Respiratory System: I have been sighing a lot today. This is mostly because I am tired and cranky. I didn't get home from work last night until nearly 10. And goddamnit I forgot to bring my laptop to work today so that I could make a PowerPoint presentation for next week's Freshman Parent Night. This is all very exciting, I know. That's why I've been sighing.

Digestive System: I'm really hungry, and there's supposed to be a barbeque at lunch, but some class is coming in so I don't think I will be able to go. This is sad because I also did not bring a lunch, so I'll be very hungry later. Also I ate a handful of dried nectarines for breakfast, and I am beginning to think that the handful was too large, if you know what I mean. I hope you don't, but you probably do.

Audio-Visual System (Not a Real System): Earlier I was listening to The Clash and feeling like a rock and roll career counselor, but then I realized how utterly lame and pathetic that sounds. One girl came in, took off her earphones, and asked what I was listening to. I told her and she said, "Have you heard of Limp Bizkit?" I said I wasn't a fan, and she said, "Oh, shit, too bad, I was going to let you borrow a good CD." More evidence that I am uncool. Sigh.

Uro-Genital System: Well, um. Doing fine, thanks.

Lymphatic/Glandular System: I think it is my new "normal" to be fat and crazy for like two weeks out of a month. I do not like this new development. Two nights ago I spent a full half-hour crying for no reason. NOT FUNNY, GOD. Or the Devil. Or whoever is torturing me. How are you supposed to know the difference, anyway? Is it God punishing you, or Satan just fucking around? Are you supposed to repent or get all pissed off? This is a Christianity loophole that has puzzled me for years.

Nervous System: Mine is okay. However, Jody left work earlier today because her dad is having a stroke. That is a pretty miserable end to a miserable week.

Real Estate System (Also Not a Real System): I pay way to freaking much rent. I've been looking at real estate classifieds lately in preparation for the Next Big Move, and there are LOTS of places in this area that I could afford these days. Even some with more than one bedroom, woo. That makes me happy and hopeful about a future in a biggish place when Royce and I pool our Rental Power(tm)! We will need it to accomodate our multitudes of feline friends.

Heart (not an Entire System but part of a Real System): My heart wants to move to a cute little house near some family.

A class just came in, so I have to skedaddle and act professional.

"What kind of unhappiness do you prefer?

Do you prefer the kind of unhappiness that makes you scream with rage and break windows, or the kind of unhappiness that makes you wander the moors, bleakly wondering if you are alive or dead? The unhappiness of rage leaves no doubt as to your existence but often brings harm to others. The unhappiness of melancholy, or depression, on the other hand, is a kind of emotional suicide, an abnegation of desire, a turning away.

Choosing your brand of unhappiness is a way of beginning to think about happiness. The happiness that is the opposite of rage is ebullience. The happiness that is the opposite of melancholy is serenity. Which appeals to you?"

--Cary Tennis, salon.com

This makes so much sense to me. I've struggled over the years with understanding why I have been attracted to certain people, and then repulsed (repulsed is a strong word...I mean "unattracted"). I think this is it: I am initially attracted to ebullience, but I am horrified by its opposite, the rage and destructive unhappiness that emerge as the relationship matures. I'm more of the melancholy kind.

I've also worried about my strong feelings toward Royce. From nearly the beginning of our relationship, I've "known" that he was my forever, and I've wondered if I'm just being stupid and delusional, because maybe it will end just like all the others. After reading this little piece on styles of happiness, though, I think I "know" because I am at peace when I'm with him. Our happiness is light and calm and steady.

"In the immediate aftermath of Sept. 11, a year ago, we had an enormous reservoir of good will and sympathy and shared resolve all over the world. That has been squandered in a year's time and been replaced with great anxiety all around the world, not primarily about what the terrorist network is going to do, but about what we are going to do." -- former Vice President Al Gore, 9/23/2002

I feel weird. I've felt weird since mid-August, around when Royce and I got back from our snazzy roadtrip. It started out as a pregnancy scare: I had a bunch of weird physical symptoms in combination with bouts of bawling. Once I bawled because Royce didn't want butter on his toast. I am not kidding. I felt like I was going crazy, and I keep getting more and more bloated. I figured fat + crazy = pregnant, so I took a couple of pregnancy tests, and used pregnancy as an excuse to procrastinate at work (like I need an excuse), and freaked out a little bit about choosing a primary care physician and where the hell am I going to put a baby because I don't even have space for all my shoes.

Deep breath.

And then I started to think that maybe it wouldn't be so bad to have a child. After all, I have a loving partner and a supportive work environment and great health insurance. I have six weeks of paid maternity leave. I have nine months to figure out the next step. And I would have a beautiful baby at the end of it all, which wouldn't be a bad thing. I started to obsessively read online pregnancy/fertility forums, and read archive after archive of pregnancy blogs and journals. I imagined what it would be like to go through all the stages of pregnancy. Sometimes I would look down at my bloated self and poke me in the gut and say, "Is someone in there?" and I admit I waited for a sign that either something was growing there, or it wasn't. It felt kind of neat to be two people instead of just one. Even Royce was convinced, when my period was almost a week late, that we were going to be parents. We laid in bed one Sunday morning and picked out names, even. And two hours later, you can probably guess:

I'm still just one person.

I couldn't help being a little bit sad to lose that potentiality, to lose that future as a pregnant lady, and the future-future as a mother. But of course it's not a bad thing: financially we are unprepared for children, and it'd be nice to get married before procreating, if only to quiet the rumor mills. Besides, I like to plan things and I want to live near family (mine or Royce's) and I want to be skinny for another year or two and I want to travel and and and and...

And I'm still a little sad. That's okay, though. My symptoms went away, mostly. I'm not bloated and my tears are flowing at a more reasonable rate and my breasts don't feel like they're going to pop. That's good! But I still feel weird. Slightly...different. Like something's not right inside. Food doesn't taste as good and I'm tired all the time, but I can't sleep. My theory is that I'm not eating well or getting enough exercise or something. I don't know. I don't even know why I'm writing this, except that I'm in the mood to bitch.

Royce went back to Sacramento this morning and I miss him already. He's my heart.

I had a dream last night that I was standing on a riverbank with Royce's brother Michael. Linnea and my sister were working at a "Mexican juice bar" and couldn't join us. Michael was testing out one of those inflatable air mattress raft thingies on the river, experimenting with different ways to fold it up and float on it. I got in the water too, and we started to float downstream. I was enjoying it, because he was an expert in floating down rivers on air mattresses, but then the water started to move really fast and I felt out of control. I started to feel guilty because I realized I had left Tal behind and I knew he'd be upset that I wasn't paying attention to him. I looked back and saw that he was behind us, but instead of stopping I kept floating down the river anyway.

Michael and I got out of the river onto a mossy embankment and started on a hike up an amazing hill covered with huge old growth trees that had these mossy, twisty roots. We walked a couple of miles before my guilt overwhelmed me, and I told him that I had to go back so that Tal wouldn't be even more angry at me. We went back to the Mexican juice bar, and sure enough, Tal was waiting for me with his arms crossed, totally furious. He yelled at me, and so I left and went over to talk to my sister. I saw that she was letting this woman use her own fruit in the Mexican juicers, instead of the fruit she was supposed to be selling, and I was really disturbed by that because I was afraid that germs from the woman's fruit would contaminate the juice machines. She told me that Linnea and Michael were inside the lodge. I was suddenly aware of the lodge over to my right, so I went inside. I said to Linnea, "Why do I always end up with the jerky guys? Why can't I ever find a nice guy?" and she looked at me sympathetically. And then Littlekitty meowed at me and I woke up.

I think at that point my brain was going to have Linnea introduce me to Royce, but I cannot be sure.

It's an interesting dream to me, though. For one, because my subconscious still chooses Tal as its mode of oppression. Royce is in most of my dreams these days, but every once in a while I'm still with Tal and it's generally unpleasant. This is doubly strange because most of the time I was with Tal, it was pleasant. He was good to me overall, but my dream-mind is fixated on the few times that he lost his temper. It must have impacted me more than I realized! Another reason that it's interesting is that Michael was a main character. I like Michael, but we've never spent time hanging out or anything. So does my subconscious want to spend more time with him? Or is it because he is a neutral figure in my mind (not an enemy, but not exactly an ally either)? Or is it because I want his approval in real life, so I spent time with him rather than waiting for Tal to catch up? Is it because I knew of him (online) before I met Royce (in person)? I have no idea. It's puzzling that he was in the dream but Royce wasn't. Maybe he was there to imply Royce because my subconscious couldn't bear to leave him out? I hope so.

Typical.

Last Saturday we were supposed to go bowling with Alex and Melanie again, which I completely forgot about. The last time we went with them, I spent about 45 minutes exclaiming about what an awful bowler I am, and the-highest-I've-ever-scored-is-98-and-that-was-with-bumpers, and please-don't-laugh-at-me-I-suck. Of course I then proceeded to kick some freaky bowling ass during the first game, at which point they decided I was part of a secret super bowling league and wasn't telling. So I proceeded to completely suck for the next two games so that they wouldn't get any ideas, see? It was a lot of fun even though losing made me cry, and I really wanted to go with them again. But I forgot. Typical.

Anyway, instead we went to see One Hour Photo at the only theater in San Jose showing the damn thing. I was disappointed in it, though not overly, as I wasn't expecting much. To quote a review of the movie, "The film wants to be slow, creepy, uneasy and artistic. It certainly succeeds in being slow. It does a decent job at uneasy. You could make a case for slightly creepy at times. However, it isn't so much artistic as sloppy." That sums up my (apparently unoriginal) opinion rather well.

Sometime Saturday afternoon, in the midst of bowling-forgetting and movie-watching, I got really irritable and snappish. I think this was in part due to Royce's response to a poem I found that I didn't remember writing. It was obviously written during a period of misguided infatuation with Carl Sandburg, just as this one was written while I was reading a lot of Walt Whitman. Anyway, finding the damn thing made me cry. For those too lazy to read it, it's about what "home" is, whether it's a place or a feeling, a memory, or a dream, or whatever. I have felt largely placeless since leaving my parents' home, and so the idea is of "home" is interesting to me. I'm not sure I've found it, yet, and that is why the poem made me bawl. What did Royce say about it? He said, "It's cute." I guess I expected either empathy or criticism, not an offhand comment like that, and it sent me into a tizzy. Had he never felt placeless? Did he think it had any poetic value? Had he ever read Sandburg? And these questions led me to question whether or not we had anything in common and whether or not we could ever have a literary conversation and whether or not we could ever be together long-term and a bunch of other garbage. I got very cranky and stayed cranky until Sunday.

I'm guessing Royce got pretty sick and tired of my crankiness but he handled it very well. He went grocery shopping so that I'd have ingredients for lunch, and then when I refused to make lunch he went and got some lunch for himself. Then he went and played chess with Alex for a few hours, just enough time for me to come to my senses. Coming to my senses involved eating a big brunch and raising my blood sugar to "sane" level. Then I was like WHAT was I thinking? Here I am with an adorable guy who basically does no wrong and whom I want to be with for the rest of my life, and I am worried that we are incompatible because he hasn't read a Carl Sandburg poem on which I based my crappy poem that I wrote four years ago and then forgot I wrote? Um, hello Captain Insane-O Girl.

So as therapy, punishment, and a form of apology, I started in on making a big faux-Southern dinner, which involved parmesan-garlic baked chicken, biscuits, mashed potatoes, corn, and white gravy. High fat = high love. Royce knocked on the door while I was up to my elbows in raw chicken breasts, and I wanted to hug him silly, salmonella-be-damned, because he brought me flowers and tangerine candies and potato chips. Sigh. How did I get this lucky? It's certainly not because I deserve it.

Sentimental things.

When Tal and I were first dating, we'd often tell each other bedtime stories. One of the stories he liked to hear was the story (told in the children's book Many Moons) of a princess who was ill, and nobody could find a cure. When they finally asked the princess why she was ill, she claimed it is because she desired the moon on a chain around her neck. The king's advisors said it was impossible, that it was zillions of miles away and made of green cheese, or bronze, or stone. But the jester asked the princess, and the princess said it was made of gold and as big as her thumbnail, so he had it made for her and she got well again. There is more to the story, but that is the general idea.

Anyway, for my birthday that year Tal went to a jeweler and had made a moon for me to wear on a chain around my neck. It's actually a very thin circle of gold, with a silver crescent moon inside, just skimming the edges. In my mind I have a non-word for it, that roughly translates into "sunmoon." I loved it very much when he gave it to me, and I wore it constantly. People would always ask me about it, and I had a beautiful story to tell about someone who loved me enough to have this thing made, the only one like it in the world. I thought about how I would tell my children about it, and maybe my grandchildren, and how they would treasure the story as much as I did. But of course we broke up. And I haven't worn it since then. Until yesterday.

While I was getting dressed, I kept thinking that I'd like to wear jewelry, and it struck me that that particular necklace would look nice with my clothes. And so I wore it. Nobody said a word. It's funny, because when I wore it out of love I got comments all the time, but maybe that was because I always touched it, rubbed it between my fingers as a comforting habit, called notice to it. Now, though, it's just another piece of jewelry. In many ways I'm glad that I can wear it now and remember why I loved it so much, but not have it tied to the person who gave it to me. But it also makes me sad to have a necklace instead of a treasure.

Let's sing a little song about all that's wrong

The World beat Russia, 52:48.

Proof that the Cold War is really over.

I don't even really know what to say today. I want to say something profound, of course, but there's nothing to say.

I guess I didn't realize how fearful I was that something terrible would happen today. As I drove to work and listened to names being read, names, names, names, all I could think was "Thank goodness they are reading names. That means nothing has happened." I was sickened by all of it, by the operatic versions of patriotic songs by the Marine Corps band, by the empty speeches (Gen. Myers saying that he was at the "Pentagan" and that the people who died would be "immertalized"), by the seemingly endless list of the dead. I, like most Americans, want some ownership of the event, but I have none. I don't know anyone who died last year on this day. I am thousands of miles from New York or Washington or Pennsylvania. My grief is empty, and because it is empty I have a tremendous amount of placeless guilt.

On the NPR show All Things Considered, they've been doing a Sonic Memorial for September 11. Last night they were playing answering machine messages that people left as part of the Lost & Found Sound Project, and I was very moved. You can hear all of them here. There's something about the intimacy of listening to someone else's messages that brings my feelings into focus.

Okay, the apocalypse is officially nigh.

Kasparov, as of this morning, has lost not once, but three times! This is absurd. Obviously he is being paid off or has a hangover or is infected with West Nile virus or something. This last time he lost to Akopian, who, I'm informed, is ranked "only" 16th in the world. The second time he lost to Judit Polgar, a girl! She's very good, but he's never lost to a girl before. The first time was Ivanchuk, who is a more respectable winner against Kasparov. But still. Three times, and the tournament isn't even over. He's only managed to win against Shirov; his other games have been draws. Imagine if Adams or Topalov (#s 4 and 5 in the world) had actually played this tournament! I wonder if this is the beginning of the end for the great Russian chess players.

Not likely. But an American girl can dream, can't she?

Tonight we went over to Charles and Kelly's for dinner. We dragged along cider and cheesecake and they made pizza and caesar salad. It was nice, a sweet finish to a lazy sunny Sunday. I got a little tipsy and then imprudently had a shot of some kickass tequila that has rendered me incapable of falling asleep. That's why I'm awake at midnight on a school night. I'm going to be sorry tomorrow, but right now I feel content. Earl is sleeping on the chair beside me. Right after I gave up on sleeping, I heard him retching...ran with newspapers, but not fast enough, and he puked all over the beautiful brocade bag that I got in Chinatown this summer. Not just the outside, either, the inside too. Goddamnit. And then while I was trying to clean that up, he puked on the couch.

Earl is still acting bizarrely. Scared of his own shadow, resentful of me, pissed at Stella. The only person he seems to like now is Royce. He climbed up on Royce's back tonight while we were reading in bed and cried. "Cry-cry," I said to him. "My cry-baby kitten." But he just turned his back on me and kneaded Royce into biscuits. I think he is angry at me for getting a new kitty and then leaving him for weeks and weeks. He's angry at me for dragging in new furniture that smells funny, maybe even like other animals. He's angry at me because I only give him canned food when I feel like it instead of every day like he deserves. He's angry because the fan makes a noise sort of like the vacuum, which he hates. He's angry because sometimes I go away for the weekend and come back smelling like Patrick and Mr. Underfoot. I feel so guilty about all of it. I want to go back in time and not adopt Stella. I originally got her because he seemed lonely and I thought he'd like a friend. What can I do now? I want him to be happy, but I also love Stella and can't think of giving her back to a shelter. I can only hope that he'll get used to it, that in a year or more he'll realize she isn't so bad, that the fan won't eat him, that I love him even if I smell like other cats. But in a year Royce and I will be living together, and there will be even more new cats to share space and people with. As much as I look forward to living with my love, I don't know if Earl will be able to cope with the change.

His personality has already changed so much. He used to be my dog in kitty clothes, who would run when I called him and purr and chirp when I came home. Now he is distrustful of me and sleeps uneasily. Occasionally it all builds up and my old Earl will show his face, mrrrowing and snuzzling me, but only for a moment and then he is back to stalking and swatting at Stella. It makes me cry if I think about it too hard. It makes me feel lonely and like I have failed him somehow. Stella is a small comfort when she sleeps under the covers with me at night and gives me cold kisses, but she has an empty head and little loyalty. I wonder how much of a disservice I am doing Earl, mi gato original, or if he is just cranky and will come around. I love him so.

Yesterday Royce and I went to see The Good Girl with Jennifer Aniston. I really wasn't expecting much, despite good reviews on NPR, etc., as I have a certain amount of disdain for sitcoms and all things related (such as sitcom-actors). However, I was pleasantly surprised. The woman was truly immersed in the character of Justine, in her failings as well as her strengths, if she had any. She was strong and wrong. I'm sure part of it was good writing, but I haven't seen this kind of acting from a woman in Hollywood for a while. It seems like the good roles for women are the kind that Julia Roberts always snags, which involve terribly attractive women who manage overcome hardship and their relationships to triumph for the benefit of their offspring. Or some variation on that theme. Sometimes they triumph and get married. Aniston wasn't even beautiful. She was sort of pretty in an ordinary way, but with stringy hair and baggy clothes and stonewashed jeans. I mean, you could tell that the woman Justine was sometimes trying to look good, but for the most part she could be anyone. She wasn't that perky rich girl on TV, anyway. She made shitty human choices but ended up doing the right thing, even if it was wrong. I really liked it. The supporting cast was great, too, especially John C. Reilly, who played Justine's husband Phil. Salon.com says the movie is flawed and confused, but I think it just struggles with its own sense of idealism, much like its characters.

After the movie we went to Mei Long with Charles and Kelly, whom we hadn't seen since before the road trip. They both looked really great, Kelly all blonde and tan, presumably from a summer well-spent. I talked Royce into getting the tangerine beef, because it sounded good, but it mostly sucked. As punishment, my vinegar & garlic chicken wasn't very good either. However, the company was great. At Shooters, quite possibly the world's most respectable dive bar, I had my first drink since April (that was margaritas with my grandma, FYI)! Gin & tonic with a suspicious-looking lime, which I fished out immediately and left to molder on a cocktail napkin. Music varied from Kid Rock to James Brown to Otis Redding to an unidentifiable metal band. When they finally played Jimi Hendrix's Star Spangled Banner and people started clapping, we decided that was our cue to leave. I only had one drink, that's the kind of party animal I am. I'm glad I succumbed to moderation, though, as I woke up without regrets or headaches this morning, in time to hear reports from Royce that Kasparov lost a game in the current big-name tourney, Russia vs. the World. My whole world is shaken. The World is probably shaken, too, as they were not favored to win and they are up by two points today.

Every Thursday night when I walk out to the parking lot, there's a big band orchestra practicing in the music room, and it feels like the soundtrack to a movie. It's hard not to feel like the protagonist, or at least the love interest. Last week I noticed that it wasn't a student orchestra, as I'd always assumed, but a bunch of old people tooting away at music that was popular when they were teenagers. So last night as I passed the room, doing my leading lady walk, I looked inside, and there was Lee sitting in the corner.

Lee is the custodian who cleans my room every night. He crabs at kids for leaving their Snickers wrappers around, and always grouses about how it's Monday, or how it's almost Friday, or how he'll try to have a good night, but he cares more about his job and about the school than anyone else I know. He is 63 and he has nine kids. I don't know if he has a wife anymore. He cleans fourteen classrooms on top of all the extra stuff he has to do like setting up 500 folding chairs in the gym for a presentation and then taking them down again. I worry about him, that the job is hard on him, that he's going to retire and they won't be able to find someone who is as hard-working and caring to replace him. I worry that he doesn't feel appreciated, that I don't thank him enough. So it was really nice, last night, to see him not working, to see him leaning back in a chair and listening to music with a blissed out expression, the leading man. I was just a walk-on.

The South Bay gets a lot of crap. We're like San Fransisco's retarded brother. "Aww," people say if you tell them you live in the South Bay, "How is it working for you?" What they mean is: "We have it so much better." It's true that even though the population of San Jose and surrounding cities is twice that of San Francisco, we're still an endless suburb of the real city. It's true that our homeless people are not as interesting. It's true that the hipper-than-thou do not congregate in downtown Cupertino. It's true that there isn't much reason to live here unless you work here. Well, I work here and I live here and I confess: there are worse places on earth than the South Bay. Here are fifty reasons that I love where I live.

1. We have perfect weather. I'm telling you, there is no better place when it comes to weather. We are the most temperate of temperate. Go 50 miles in any direction and all bets are off.

2. Nobody speaks English. Or rather, everybody speaks English and another language. If it weren't for the rampant capitalism that homogenizes even the most diverse of peoples, sometimes I'd think I was in another country. Several at once, even.

3. Great Indian food. Seriously, I haven't had a plate of bad Indian food since moving here almost two years ago, and I have eaten a lot of Indian food. I am especially addicted to aloo ghobi. I order it almost everywhere I go, and it's different every time.

4. The neighborhood icecream guy. I'm not talking about the one in the truck, I'm talking about the one who pushes the handcart around the park, and waits by the basketball courts to tempt the sweaty players with his red-white-and-blue rocket pops and little tubs of guava icecream and lemon sorbet. He will cross the street and ring his bell at you if he sees you walking on a hot afternoon.

5. Riceboys. You too can have a Honda Civic that looks really fast. Some people call them "custom imports." I call them SHINY.

6. Free Parking. Everywhere. Big expansive parking lots. Free parking on the streets. Cars cars everywhere and not a meter in sight. Ahh. I think I will take up two spaces with my fancy SUV.

7. The strip mall down the street. You can get food there: Mexican, Japanese, Chinese, Thai, French, Pizza, Armenian. You can buy live animals from the Asian seafood market and then kill them and eat them. And you can play pinball! In a league! I am not kidding!

8. Nobody cares what you wear. People aren't on the cutting edge of fashion. People wear flip-flops in nice restaurants. It's relaxing.

9. Great public schools. Mostly. At least in my district. Our crazy, understaffed, 2200-student school has better academics than any local private schools. People move here from other countries just to send their students to our school.

10. God-given right to a swimming pool. Even shitty apartment complexes have them. Nobody swims in them; they just exist.

11. Exodus of the dot-commers. Yay! Now there is good service in restaurants. Even Safeway has its employees badgered into greeting you. Last night the butcher smiled at me while I poked the chicken breasts (okay, that was kinda creepy). Also there is no wait to be seated in restaurants. There are more sales at the grocery store. There are actually apartments available.

12. Decreasing property values (see #11). And some of those apartments are affordable. Relatively.

13. 40 minutes from everywhere important. From the beach, from San Francisco, from Monterey Bay area, from hiking/biking/climbing/camping. WE ARE THE CENTER OF THE UNIVERSE.

14. FALAFEL DRIVE-IN. If you've been there, you understand. If you haven't, I pity you. We are talking 50's drive-in, complete with blinking-arrow sign and protected outdoor seating, that has been converted into a falafel stand. The best falafel you have ever eaten. And fresh banana shakes!

15. Little parks sprinkled in every neighborhood. The one near my house is the best. It's full of families. There are basketball courts, baseball diamonds, swings, slides, a huge picnic area, and miles of grass. There's even a little building that's almost all windows where people have wedding receptions sometimes.

16. Prolifery of educational programs. There are great community colleges and universities, and also lots of community ed classes. You're 87 and you wanna take belly dancing? Hell, it's free.

17. Cherry Blossom Festival. They have these other places, I know, but in Cupertino it's right when all the baby ducks are born.

18. Flea markets. I guess when you live in the suburbs it makes you want to hunt and gather. Hence there are huge, permanent flea markets in San Jose where you can pick and poke among the antique furniture, homegrown vegetables, and acres of white tube socks that are for sale.

19. Station KSBW. When my mom was little, this was one of the few radio stations in the area. K-Salad Bowl of the World. I'm not joking. WE ARE THE SALAD BOWL OF THE WORLD.

20. El Camino Real. The King's Road. The first road in California. The longest road. In nearly every California town you've ever heard of, there's an El Camino Real. It connected the missions, and we have two important ones: Santa Clara and San Jose.

21. Cars last forever. This is because it doesn't rain much, or fog much, and they don't salt the roads. So people can drive their El Caminos on El Camino for all eternity.

22. People carrying umbrellas in the sunshine. It's so they don't get tan. But it's cute.

23. Crazy Korean karaoke. You can rent these little rooms and pack your friends in and they'll bring you drinks and you can sing karaoke aaaaallll niiiiiiight loooong.

24. Thai Pepper. Recent discovery. Best Thai Food Ever. No contest.

26. Ethnic groceries. You want an obscure spice, an unidentifiable canned vegetable, or sari silk? They got it, for a reasonable price. You can't read the signs, but you can read the prices!

27. In-n-Out Burger. I know, they have these other places, but they're better here. They pay $9.25/hr to the counter girl, so she is very very very very nice.

28. Never underestimate a strip mall (see #7). Behind the crappiest storefront, under the cheesiest neon sign, is a tiny restaurant. You'd never look twice at it, but inside it's like a Buddhist temple. With reasonable prices and excellent selection!

29. You can order just about anything online and have it delivered. Pizza. Sushi. Toilet paper. Videos. Groceries. Books. New cars. Kimchee. We are wired!

30. The 55 bus. It stops at my house. If I go one way, it takes me to Murphy Street, the CalTrain Station, and my job. The other way takes me to Great America and the movie theatre. It is the best bus ever.

31. Bollywood theaters. This is my consolation prize for leaving behind all the independent film theaters in New York.

32. Pearl Milk Tea. Everywhere. Even at gas stations.

33. Pho. Everywhere.

34. Taquerias. We don't have delis, we have the best, family-owned taquerias outside of Mexico.

35. Avocados. "California style" means "with avocado piled on it." I am a California-style kind of girl.

36. You can make a statement. In New York or San Francisco or LA or Seattle, if you dye your hair purple, people say things like, "Hey, my mom has her hair that color too!" or "Oh, I did that color last year." Here, they notice. They speculate on your lack of parenting and your degree of moral decay. It's great.

37. People are impressed if you're not in tech. Because they are. And now they're unemployed.

38. People are impressed if you've been continuously employed for the last two years (see #37).

39. Battle of the Bands. Okay, so the class I advise put this thing on. But it was REALLY GOOD.

40. Winter clothing is irrelevant. Okay, you might need a sweater. But forget boots/mittens/scarves/overcoats. Unless you want them, in which case see #8.

41. Drivers will let you merge if you use your turn signal. Crazy driving, yes. Bad traffic, uh huh. But if you need to take an exit and you go blinky-blinky, someone will let you through. It is the commute karma.

42. People will pick you up on the side of the road. When my car broke down on 280S, it took 30 seconds for someone to stop and offer me a ride. THAT'S good citizenship, to pull over where everyone's going 75 mph, just to help someone out.

43. Old people. I love old people, and we have all varieties. We have the ones who did LSD and now grow medical marijuana, the ones who came on a plane when their son got the software programming job, the ones whose parents came on a boat to work the mines or build railroads, the ones who ride bicycles everywhere, the ones who bellydance, the ones who carry umbrellas.

44. The Sharks. It's a HOCKEY team in a place that NEVER FREEZES named after a SEA CREATURE even though we're LANDLOCKED. It's a cool name though! Especially if you think about what a shark would look like frozen in ice, with just its little finny-winny sticking out. Marvelous.

45. Acupuncture. Everybody gets it. It's like totally normal to get poked with needles. Insurance covers it. People take their babies to get it!

46. Cute sports/luxury cars abound. These are left-over from the dot-commers. I guess they paid them off before they lost their jobs.

47. The orchards. There used to be more of these. Now they are tucked away, or down the road a bit, but still awesome and gorgeous.

48. The hills. On a clear day you can see them. Sometimes they have snow on them in the winter that you can point at and then go outside your office to stare.

49. Koi ponds. They're around, sort of randomly. My friend Jody's house had a huge bi-level (dry) koi pond that was covered by a deck when she bought the house. They didn't find it until several years later. They are not koi pond kind of people, and they filled it in, but it's still kind of cool.

50. Chavez Market. This is the little market by my house. They sell everything the regular grocery store does, plus they have agave soda and cotija cheese and fresh tortillas and instead of a deli making crappy sandwiches they have a taqueria! It's brilliant. I love the South Bay.

This is my new space, where I feel free to write without self-censorship.