the swimmers (july 2010 @ 晴天见)

The swimmers kept coming in past midnight.

They came strung along like packs of laborers making their way home

And with them they brought a smell of the ocean.

Their hair and skin were sticky and their clothes dripping,

Holding moisture from the summer air.

They walked by as if we were a candle on a windowsill,

There simply to light a path.

Late September

When autumn rolls around, there are those few days in Oregon before it rains. Classic fall weather in every sense: crisper air, leaves the color of rainbow trout, and shadows cast by the angle of our sun. I get only glimpses of it during my brief moments when I am not sleeping or enslaved in an office building. Memories of my childhood in the Midwest around this very time of the year hang around like reminders of things I need to do, but know I'll never get done. This year, unlike the last several, I can sense Halloween coming long before its fanfare. All of the costume shops, haunted houses, corn mazes and seasonal retail are on the cusp of blooming. Before that happens, I like to pay a visit to the unexpected alter of the Halloween spirit that was mysteriously erected in the window of the abandoned Hollywood Video on West Burnside. For all the vagrants in this area, I've often wondered if anyone ever managed to get in and make it their temporary home. It's dark and empty, save for a couple large dumpsters filled to the brim with aluminum cans.

The other night I wandered by as a bus pulled up to the curb and released a big, pressurized sigh. Someone hobbled out and looked confused, which is typical of any bus stop in this town. And just then I noticed the window display of tacky, glowing Halloween artifacts. It was the first sign of the season, that the summer had finally run its course. It began to dawn on me that I could accept the change for once, if only the autumn weather would shine for awhile in its characteristic way. If only this period of time in life would slow a bit, so that I may re-live old memories with enough time and energy to generate new ones. Yet I am so passive in both endeavors, time pays no attention.

day dreaming

The days are dripping. My stopping points are the weekend which can be incredibly slow and unproductive or exactly the opposite. This weekend is an example of the slow kind. I just enjoy not working. I have all these plans that are being shelved until the weather gets better (i.e. brief window period of summer). I eagerly look for any period that would be ideal for travel, even if it's just for a few short days.
The foreseeable line-up of course is a short trip to San Francisco in about a month. After that probably the brief stint in Denver for Julian's graduation in May. Otherwise, throughout much of the spring I will have my nose to the grindstone studying for the MCAT.
But for summer I'd like to have a few more mellow times to enjoy... well, the summer. I want to go to Painted Hills in the John Day Fossil Beds over in east-central Oregon. I want to visit Yori in Seattle. I want to go cliff-diving and fly-fishing in The Dalles with my buddy Jake.

Last night and this morning

This morning I couldn't hear much because last night I went to a black metal show with Russ. We went there to support our friend and old housemate Jon who has played in a few different metal bands since I met him back in '07. The crowd was small probably because it was a Wednesday night and Portlanders- even the hardcore metal ones- were anxiously anticipating snow.
Although I am not a fan of metal and its various sub-genres (there is a marked difference between black metal and death metal, according to fans), I enjoyed the show for a couple of reasons. First there is Jon, a shy and soft-spoken guy with long hair and remarkable musical talent. Then there are the others who are just hardcore. It's fun to people watch at these events. I had been to a couple of Jon's shows down in Eugene in the olden days.
At the end of the show, the crowd of perhaps 7 or so was standing there in the front row singing along to the band's final song "Hail Lucifer." Other hits that night were "Eternal Chaos" and "Doomsday Vigilante."
Then I awoke this morning with my ears under water. The first ten minutes of my day passed per usual: I angrily cope with fact that I am awake when I don't want to be. It's a bitter anger I feel when torn from the dream world in which I prefer to stay. But as always, the feeling wears off and I feel okay that I am awake after all. I was perfunctorily dressing when I gazed out the window and to my surprise found a winter wonderland outside. The streets, the trees, the cars were all covered in fluffy snow. Large soft flakes were falling in such a beautiful way. And for the first time in a long time, I was genuinely happy to be awake that early. In my isolated world of muffled sound and the silent peace of snow falling on fir trees, I relished everything.

best henry huang quote ever

in response to me thanking him for taking us on a night out on the town in shanghai:

"I would be proud to tell my son that I have ever been so crazy at that night!"

Food for Thought

For Valentine's Day I cooked up a veritable feast for Shawna.
On my tailored menu I included:

• Apple fennel salad
• Southwest-style quinoa salad
• Home-made french fries sprinkled with paprika
• Pan-seared scallops in blood orange sauce

The timing, the presentation, the outcome: all successful!

And in case you are interested in the scallop dish, I used this recipe (it's very simple):

http://fishcooking.about.com/od/scalloprecipes/r/bloodscallop.htm

Autumn in Another Place

Crisp blue November sky
and brittle plane trees;
the autumn is only subtly different
in this far place.
No matter how lonely it gets,
comfort comes with the familiarity
of only the past few months.
Extending before that
just speculations conjured
from books and fantasies.
The way the gray old buildings
sit like cracked tombstones,
the warming way steam billows
from vats of hand-pulled noodles.
The ugly street you develop a fondness for.
These are the things that remind you why you did it.


This is something I wrote recently when reflecting on a cold afternoon around 汉口西路 in Nanjing, November 2009.