Comedy with an Edge

I am finally feeling San Franciscan, now that I have gotten the chance to see a live show at Cobb's Comedy Club. Ryan, Tiff and I got tickets last minute to see Wyatt Cenac, a.k.a. Correspondent to the Daily Show.

It's only recently that I've taken a sincere interest in stand-up comedy, although I've always been a huge fan of Eddie Izzard, Mitch Hedberg and Mike Birbiglia. I'd heard of Wyatt Cenac, but knew as much about him as I did the other two performers. Cenac walked onstage in military green and a smart little cap. I've heard him referred to on the Daily Show as its "Senior Black Correspondent," and his ironic coverages of the Obama campaign interspersed over the past several months have spiced up the show. On Friday, my favorite bit was his brief take on gay marriage:

"When I was growing up, my uncle told me that there was nobody more powerful than a white man. So, wouldn't TWO white men be simply unstoppable?"

He did have one bit on dating a Jewish girl that left a weird taste in my mouth:



I should mention that this followed up a particularly funny bit about how sad it is that all the words that begin with the letter N can never lay claim as "the N-word," save the racial slur. I should also mention that the reason I felt weird about the Jewish-American-Princess bit is that it (at times) rings true. I am proud to say that I have never been that girl, nor was the term "JAP" ever part of my vocabulary. However, I have heard the term being used more than once, with a hint of pride, and it made me a bit sick to my stomach.

The summer I turned 16, I had the unbelievable opportunity to spend 6 weeks in Israel. I had just completed a Confirmation class through the local synagogue, and qualified for a modest scholarship to travel with a Jewish youth organization for the summer. It was, without comparison, the best summer I've ever had, partially because it triggered a series of personal epiphanies. One of these was the discovery of the word "Jap," and an intense disgust for the subculture that it brews. The first time I heard it, I was one of about five hundred teenagers backpacking through the Negev Desert. We met a few Israelis, and one or two Arab farmers, but for the most part, the land was pristine, lush in an almost Biblical way. And somehow I felt myself separating more and more from the group of girls with whom I was assigned to travel--the ones who complained about dust and applied makeup over mountain streams.

"Oh, I'm such a Jap!" I remember one of them giggling.
"What is that supposed to mean?" I asked her.
"Oh, you know what a Jap is, you silly," said her friend.
"I know what I think it is, and it's not a good thing," I said.
They both sighed. "Jewish American Princess! Hello!" And then they laughed, kept walking.

Fast forward almost ten years, and I felt a slight chill during Cenac's performance. He's right about many things, and that's why it's important to hear it as comedy. For some reason, hearing the same bit by a white comedian would feel anti-Semitic somehow, but knowing that he himself finds himself representing a minority, whether or not he likes it, makes it better somehow. More real, more meaty, and funnier all around.

One thing's for sure, though: I'm nobody's princess, thank you very much.

The Joys of Science

This is an underwater perspective of the California Academy of Sciences, perhaps the greatest interactive science museum on Earth. Or, at the very least, in San Francisco. My friend Tiff and I made our first visit to the recently renovated center in Golden Gate Park today, and spent the better part of the day there.

First stop was the Rainforests of the World exhibit, a four-story glass globe that has visitors wandering through the layers of a tropical climate. There were butterflies everywhere, and by butterflies, I mean crazy flits of orange, blue and green that would land on your nose if you weren't careful. There were little yellow birds and tiny tree frogs hidden along the way like Easter eggs. For a few short hours I remembered the rush of enthusiasm that I used to feel for the Sacramento Zoo or the Monterrey Bay Aquarium. Science was cool, and you could touch it.

It was a surprisingly sunny afternoon, so our jaunt to the Living Roof was especially nice. I felt a like a Hobbit, or maybe Laura Ingalls Wilder when she describes the house at Plum Creek. From our vantage point we could see the de Young museum, the Japanese Tea Garden and the Shakespeare Garden. We were surrounded in a sea of little purple flowers and circular windows popping out of domes.

As cool as the California Academy of Sciences was, the best part of our day in the park was actually witnessing the California Outdoor Rollerskating Association's tribute to Michael Jackson. There is literally nothing cooler than seeing people in glittery hot pants do the zombie dance on skates.

How to Coach Soccer Without Being Good at It

This is my soccer team. Or rather, this was my soccer team. Friday was my last big soccer game with the international students at Kaplan Aspect, the English language school where I've been working the past two years. In this photo, we represent the following countries: Russia, Spain, Germany, Turkey, Saudi Arabia, Peru, Korea, Brazil, Kazakhstan, France, Switzerland, South Africa, and the U.S. It was a beautiful day at Golden Gate Park, and for once we had the whole field to ourselves.

I started a soccer club at Kaplan about a year ago, when our Activities and Student Services Manager asked me if I could help her out by leading weekly and monthly activities. The group has alternately shrunk and expanded as each subsequent group of students has come and gone; first I had a wave of serious players who wanted to help me rent out Balboa Park, then there were the chill Japanese guys with the fanciest footwork I'd ever seen, and even, when I was the lucky, the occasional girl. For months all we had was a single soccer ball, and then when my friend Itaru left for Japan, he gave me another one. Eventually I bought a pump, and my colleague surprised me for Christmas with a set of bright orange cones.

We've wandered around different parts of the Park--usually Hippie Hill, near Haight St., or behind the baseball field at 7th and Lincoln. Sometimes I could convince them to ride the 5 bus out to Marx Meadows, which added ten minutes to our public transit journey, but afforded us longer, sunnier fields. Once we got kicked off the Polo fields, and once we had to settle for a small patch of land between bramble bushes.

The most amazing thing about soccer is that no matter who came, and how they identified with the sport, once we started the game, everyone relaxed. Those who claimed to be "too good" for our squirrel-studded fields and chastised me for playing without shin guards eventually forgot their complaints and focused on the game. Those who had never played before, and insisted that they had only come to take photos, eventually found themselves gravitating from the sidelines to the field. This last game I felt especially proud because I had finally gotten a Korean girl to play, and she was fantastic.

There are few things more universal than sports, and, at the risk of sounding cheesy, there are few things more gratifying than knowing you've somehow managed to bring an entire community of English-language-learners together. Huzzah.

Falling In --

Every now and then I have one of those absolutely perfect weekends. You know the kind: when you can stay up as late as you feel, and wake up whenever the light hits you right. When you are active and feel all the cells buzzing around inside you with the same electricity as that summer pulse that fills the air. When the moon is just nearly full, and you are just nearly infatuated with it all, or at the very least, the person laying next to you on the lawn. That was the kind of weekend I had.

It helped that it was the Fourth of July, and that Friday was a day off work, and that the Sacramento River was clean and clear just past noon. There are little clusters of swallow nests that bead the underside of the Knights Landing bridge, and they were all absent, empty. Instead, the birds filled the air, swooping in even arcs above us as we passed the fishermen with their lines cutting the water fresh.

It was hot, but not hazy, and the air hummed with cicadas and grasshoppers. Waterskiing is an exercise in defeating gravity. My favorite feeling is when the water is glassy smooth, and while speeding above the water, you can lean over and dip your fingers down into the spray. On days like Friday, clear water makes for a perfect mirror image.

Saturday was just as nice, between the bustling farmer's market and the bicycle races circling downtown Davis. It reminded me of the Triplets of Belleville, watching all these muscled men and women stream by in dizzying pelatons. Ryan and I drove back to San Francisco in time for the fireworks show down by Pier 39. We took the J Church MUNI downtown -- my favorite train, the one that reminds me of Mr. Roger's Neighborhood in the way it snakes over and through Dolores Park.

The Wharf was filled with tourists, vendors selling flashing wands and teenagers barely hiding their bags of alcohol. We wandered out onto the edge of the dock, the smell of churros and bacon-wrapped hot dogs overpowering the wafts of gunpowder. It was, by all means, an extraordinary evening. There were actually two dueling sets of fireworks: one above Pier 39, near the water, and one on the other side of Coit Tower, which we could barely make out on the other side of Telegraph Hill. For every bright explosion, we saw its cousin mirrored in the sky just beyond the hill.

The spirit of the Fourth was no less strong today. I woke up to the sound of firecrackers down the street. We biked down to see the San Francisco Mime Troupe perform "Too Big to Fail" at Dolores Park. The actors and musicians had set up a wooden stage adjacent to the tennis courts, and the sunlight did indeed finally peek through the mid-afternoon fog. The entire play seemed like the unlikely love child of NPR's "Wait, Wait Don't Tell Me!" news quiz and any kid-friendly PBS show. Basically, the writers pared down the 2008 economic meltdown to a greedy frenzy for credit, which was the best explanation of our current market that I've heard. That, and it involved musical numbers and a woman dressed as a huge shark.

And now, somehow, it's Sunday evening, and the spell of summer is beginning to lift. Work again tomorrow. Ryan is back home. The fog has rolled in. Rent due. Grocery shopping. Vacuuming the room, sweeping up remnants of the past few weeks--ticket stubs, photos, programs, postcards from Chile, Greece. I am reminded again of why I must always return to the keyboard: to remember it all, because none of it lasts long.

Un ejercicio de idioma

De vez en cuando, me siento la necesidad de practicar espanol. Hace mucho tiempo que he usado el espanol duante mi vida cotidiana. Oigo el castellano en mi oficina, especialmente durante el verano, cuando tenemos muchos estudiantes hispanohablantes aqui para aprender ingles. Mi capacidad para escuchar no ha cambiado mucho durante los dos anos desde que sali de Espana, porque durante el dia estoy rodeada de espanol. Pero la urgencia de expresar, la habilidad de explicar conceptos, y la gramatica fundamantal--estas cosas me han empeorado (sabes lo que te digo?!) un monton.

Hay dias cuando entran un grupo de espanoles hablando muy rapido en espanol, y siempre asumen que no les entiendo. Ya no he decidido si me satisfecho mas si les respondo directamente en espanol, para que no me digan cosas privadas, o si es mejor esperar unos dias para que intenten hablar conmigo en ingles primero. Ayer, dos mujeres hispanohablantes(parecian espanoles, aunque pueden ser latinoamericanas) pasaron por la escuela para preguntar cosas sobre los programas, y me vieron mirandolas.

"Jo, ves que nos esta viendo?" la primera dijo a la segunda.
"Da igual, porque no nos entiende," la segunda respondio.

Estuve sonriendo cuando me vieron, y casi dije algo en espanol, pero decidi que era mas importante esperar. Recorde la escuela donde trabaje en La Cala de Mijas, en el sur de Espana, y los padres britanicos que siempre asumian que nadie les entendian cuando hablaban en ingles. A veces decian cosas terribles a los camareros, los baristas o los camioneros, y cada vez me sentia una verguenza universal. La cortesia debe ser algo universal, internacional, sin frontera, si quieres. Pero la realidad es que todo el mundo hace el mismo error: todo el mundo vive en su propio mundo pequeno, donde las unicas fronteras son los que construye si misma para protegerse de la ignorancia de otros. Ironico, no, como queremos evitar la ignorancia, pero es casi imposible ver la ignorancia en que ya vivimos?

Bueno, al final, no dije nada, pero he creado una nueva manera de responder a los estudiantes que me hablan en espanol. Cuando les veo hablando en la escuela, y cuando ya lo se que realmente hablan y entienden el ingles, les digo: "Por favor!" y sigo trabajando. Lo hice ayer con un grupito de espanolas, y empezaron a reir, deciendo, "Pero hablas espanol, no?" Sonrie, y segui trabajando.

Stochasticity, or: RadioLab is the pretty much the best thing since sliced bread

Five Days Later

Eloquence.



I heard an interview with Regina Spektor on Kurt Anderson's PRI show, Studio 360, and found myself humming on the bus this morning. Not only can she sing and play the piano, but she's one of those quietly articulate people who says really intelligent things when provoked.

I want to be one of those people. You know, those eloquent people, who share their strongest opinions in the most convincing and respectful ways. Instead my thoughts often mirror the language pattern of the international students with whom I work: I start the week as a native English speaker, a competent and clear individual, and by Friday I find myself forgetting key verbs or qualifiers.

Today, while waiting for the elevator, my boss asked me about my upcoming trip to Chile.

"When are you going?" she wanted to know.
"Five days later," I said, my voice halting in that oh-so-familiar imitation of an English speaker who is slowly gaining confidence.
"Five days after?" she said.
"Yes." I thought a moment. "I leave for Chile five days after my last day at work."
We both laughed, but I found myself momentarily worried. I claim to be such a good communicator, and yet--I blamed it on the sunny day outside, and the post-lunch blood sugar rise and fall.

Michelle Obama is eloquent. She was in San Francisco recently, at a conference for nonprofits. It is so refreshing to see a strong, intelligent woman role model in the news. A strong, intelligent woman of color in the news. A strong, intelligent, educated woman of color who's going to help change a few things in this confused, multicultural and bizarre land of "plenty." I saw the work she's done with the White House garden and am so thrilled to have a strong, intelligent, educated green woman feeding our country.

Maybe eloquence isn't just about the way you speak or the things you do. Maybe it's about the lifestyle you adopt, the decisions you make, the reasons why you vote. I actually believe that eloquence is the act of remembering to stop before you do anything. And I don't mean stop-and-smell-the-roses; I mean stop, period. Do one thing at a time, and do it entirely. Own who you are, and be proud of it. Ask questions. And then, when you've stopped long enough to accomplish what you're doing, start again.

So, while I might be going to Chile five days later, while I might erupt into low-blood-sugar giggles at inopportune times, while I might not be going to Yale or earning a sizable salary, I am finally learning to stop, breathe, do what I'm doing, and then move on.