Consulting is like Inception

 

Today I was having a chat with my sponsor at ThoughtWorks. We were discussing the fine nuances of consulting, in particular how to tiptoe the line between pushing for your opinion to be heard and acknowledging when to concede or just to let the client do what the client wants to do, even if you know it's not the best practice at the end of the day. 

Him: yeah we see the problems
Him: and we know how to solve them
Him: but that's not how the world works
Me: *sigh* sadly not
Him: you gotta play their game just enough to get inside it and change it
Me: like inception

This "consulting is like Inception" concept is definitely not a novel one (I know because I Googled it and wiser consultants than me have ruminated the comparison all over the internetz), but it's an analogy worth restating. A large part of being a consultant is getting situated and comfortable within the client site before you're able to even attempt to enact any influences or changes. This includes everything from building trust from the client to getting used to their cafeteria food, and it is only after such a foundation solidifies that consultants can then effectively well, do their job.

Just like Leonardo DiCaprio and co. worked so hard to plant the tinest nuance of an idea in their target's subconscious, so do consultants dig themselves into the client site and attempt to enact change within its confines and limits. And just like the characters of Inception encountered unexpected obstacles and risks and had to pull out from time to time, so do consultants have to deal with letting go of their own ideas, as right as they may seem, for the greater good of keeping the peace and maintaining trust with the client.

(Gap analysis: their obstacles were cool, like avalanches and cars falling into water, and ours are significantly more banal by comparison. Also I haven't met anybody who looks like Joseph Gordon-Levitt on the job yet, which in my personal opinion is totally unfair.)

Potatoes are tasty

Spicy ramen, eggs, guacamole, and potatoes are the four primary food groups that got me through college. Now that I am eating out pretty 80 or 90% of the time on the job, I am sick of restaurant food and find myself struck by pangs of longing for my staple noms. But cooking for one can be really frustrating on my weekends back in Chicago because that "one" cannot finish her leftovers the next day or hope that somehow her celery will make it through the next two weeks. So in a nutshell, I've missed cooking and it's lovely to be home at my parents' house in a fully-stocked, brand new kitchen.

Breakfast is always my absolute favorite meal, both to make and to consume. Especially when the house is empty and it's 11:00 AM and I have no rush to accomplish anything productive or meaningful for the entire day. My favorite breakfast dish? Potatoes. Lots of 'em. In my mouth.

To begin, I grabbed a medium-sized russet potato. I gave it a good scrub and then cubed it, leaving the skin on (ridding potatoes of their skins is, in my book, a sin against humanity).

 

While I was chopping the taters, I'd dropped two tablespoons of vegetable oil in a skillet over medium heat. I transferred the goods to the pan and tossed it around to coat all the surfaces as evenly as possible.

Next came the fun part - seasoning! I am too lazy and have too short term of a memory to know exactly what I throw in there and in what quantities, but it usually always turns out quite tasty anyway (except for that time I dumped half a spice bottle of rosemary by accident. Eight people had to pretend like they really loved rosemaried potatoes that morning). Today I ransacked my parents' kitchen and found the usual players: salt and black pepper, allspice. But then, lo and behold, out of the corner of my eye I glimpsed an old love of mine:

Words cannot describe how fond I am of Old Bay seasoning. Not only is it a delicious ingredient in it of itself, it also reminds me of one of my favorite things in the world - eating blue crabs with my parents. Such a Maryland, home-y taste to this spice! I also adore it on greasy boardwalk fries, so I figured why not add it to my greasy morning taters?

I usually add all spices about five minutes after putting the potatoes into the oil, just to give them a little bit of time to absorb the moisture. I then let them cook for more five minutes (still on medium) and then cover them for another ten before serving. This morning's tater accomplices: a nice thick chunky line of ketchup, an egg over (very, salmonelly) easy, blueberries and clementines, some nice smoked gouda cheese, and a mug of Mocha Cappuccino Swiss Miss hot chocolate. Needless to brag, it was a delicious breakfast (though I won't lie: it left me feeling rather stuffed and perhaps a little disgusted with my own gluttony afterwards. But it got me through five consecutive episodes of Glee!). Cheers to happy holidays and nomtastic nourriture!

Rihanna is the only girl for me, apparently.

I have an enormous girl crush on Rihanna. She is fierce in every sense of the word and I love everything she wears, sings, and wipes her nose on. As of late my predominately male-vocalized music collection been gathering dust in the unloved corner of my iTunes library because I have only been listening to this goddess (and when I can, watching the gorgeous video) on repeat.

It's getting a little sad and I am starting to worry about myself. I am not sure it is entirely normal to take an hourlong bubble bath and have this song play 15 times in a row in the background (...and then to blow dry my hair to it afterwards). I've definitely become obsessed with catchy pop songs in the past and have always successful exorcised them from my brain by playing them until I vomit. But it's not working with this one - I just enjoy it more each time.

I never did like my forehead that much anyway...

I've had long, long hair for an even longer time. Heavy, hanging, a curtain to the world - it's always been a part of me. I've nailed down a routine where I get it trimmed once every three months and occasionally curl it when I find the time. But otherwise I leave it as it is: long, lanky, unlayered, and kind of insane.

Lately it's been getting on my nerves. For one, I'm sick of finding long hairs in my food, in my bed, on my clothes, and worse, on other people's belongings. For another, living in Canada for 5/7ths of my life has reduced the ends of my hair to a pathetic and tangled state. So today, as I walked over to my salon for my usual trim appointment, I made the decision to go for more than just a trim.

Long hair - it can drive a girl crazy!

I am usually a giant wimp when it comes to haircuts and change in general. I quietly ask for one inch to be cut off and sit there crying silently when I see my locks fall to the ground. Also I've always sort of hated bangs on people, lol, for no rational reason. But today I quite contentedly plopped down, flipped my hair out from under my jacket, and told my stylist that I wanted four inches off, lots of layers, and oh, a fringe bang, if you will.

I am quite digging my new haircut, especially the fact that I can either leave it hanging as a fringe or push it aside for a more side-swept look. It makes me feel edgier and more put-together and I don't miss the old mop of hair I used to tote around with me everywhere I went. In these pictures I am not wearing makeup but I imagine it'll go well with some black eyeliner and mascara action for a very "city" look.

Fun at Fernie

I spent my second weekend in Canada in a small city called Fernie which can be found in British Columbia, just beyond the bordering reach of Alberta. Fun facts about Fernie: hitchhiking is prevalent and encouraged by the townsfolk. The population is around 4,000. There do not appear to be any Asians in that population.

The lodge/cabin we were told about turned out to be more like a mansion atop a mountain. Amenities included an outdoor jacuzzi, a fully-stocked kitchen, and two pugs to play with, one of which was blind and would walk into walls and chairs, thereby inducing rounds of simultaneous cringes and "awwws".

I've decided that if and when I ever decide to own a home, the kitchen is going to be by far the most important room. Cooking in this place was, in a word, delightful. I was seriously channeling Rachel Ray as I made myself and a colleague omelets for breakfast on Saturday morning.

The players: green pepper, onion, tomato, Gruyere, bacon, S&P. Yummmm.

We passed the time watching movies (the extended Lord of the Rings films were on the screen in the living room the entire weekend. We'd zone in and out and groan when Legolas said obvious things), stuffing our faces, and playing board games. The first two I'd been expecting...the third, not so much. But as it turns out, one of my colleagues is a complete board game fanatic and had brought a subset of his collection of unique board games. We first played Last Night on Earth, which was a fun struggle between zombie and human players. The second game, pictured above, was called Defenders of the Realm and went along perfectly with LotR in the background - both that and Last Night on Earth were strategy games, similar to Risk but with way more intricacies. The third, Chicago Express, was my favorite. It was an investment game that involved a lot of math (go figure) and sneaky plotting.

We also bought and decorated a Christmas tree for the cabin. You know, to be festive and wasteful with our money, just like the holidays are designed to enable us to be!

I had a superb time in Fernie - it made coming back to work Monday morning all the more painful. I can't picture myself ever living full time in such a small town, but for a weekend getaway it sure hit the spot!

Things that I never thought I'd learn on the job but at which I am now relatively skilled to proficient

- Driving in the snow. Actually, just driving in general...and mostly through trial and error. Due to the nature of consulting/traveling, I have engaged in polygamous liasons with many a rental car, some of which are well equipped for slush and snow, others which are more slippery and slide-y than your mother (zing!). I can now get to work and back when there is snow outside without killing myself or anybody else on the road. This for me is veritably, a Great Success.

- Trimming down my morning routine to 15 minutes on a non-shower morning. 5 minutes to trudge over to the sink and brush my teeth/wash my face, 5 minutes for makeup, 5 minutes for ransacking my closet for something that is not a burlap sack to wear to work.

- Writing fast, snappy e-mails. If I were to take my time and write well thought-out responses, I would be trapped in e-mail hell for the rest of my career. Also as long as I insert a :-) or a "Cheers!" somewhere in there I don't come off sounding like a giant bitch no matter the rest of the tone of the e-mail.

- Taking a 30 second breather. I open up my personal e-mail, Facebook, and sometimes a reddit tab or two and quickly glance through for anything interesting before resuming work. This activity, done once every couple of hours, serves as a good reminder that I have a life outside of the office. Or once had one. I dunno anymore.

- The entire Starbucks menu. I have mastered it as well as found my fallback/default order: a grande Americano with nonfat milk and one sugar. And an oatmeal when they have the nut toppings, a spinach wrap when they don't.

Oh, and a bunch of stuff on how to be a competent consultant/business analyst/communicator/team player/interface designer/product modeler/meeting facilitator, but those are all boring, eh? ;)

Tired & Tangled

Just came back from watching the new Disney movie "Tangled" with a couple coworkers. The verdict: entertaining and a fun twist on a classic fairytale story, but nothing out of this world spectacular. In other words: you'll enjoy the movie as long as you don't go in with the expectation of seeing a Wall-E or Finding Nemo-caliber theatrical masterpiece.

I've had a pretty boring week, mostly because I've been getting home late from work and crawling into bed with The Girl with the Dragon Tattoo or a mindless episode of Gossip Girl before clunking out at like 9 PM...yeah, so hip, so fly. I think it's the whole waking-up-before-sunrise and going-home-well-after-sunset effect that's taking a toll on me, both mentally and physically. I am starting to feel and look and probably smell like a zombie. Mmm, decaying flesh - irresistible.

The coming weekend should be a wee bit more exciting though as a handful of ThoughtWorkers, myself included, are heading up to a small town in British Columbia called Fernie for a mountain getaway ski lodge trip bonanza event thingy woo I rock at English. I have never been more excited to do nothing with myself all weekend except get tipsy on red wine and pruny in a steaming jacuzzi. I may or may not have plans to drop a bath bomb in there and scare the living shit out of my colleagues ("SWEET JESUS WHEN DID THE WATER TURN PINK AND GLITTERY")

Oh, also I Google Imaged "Fernie" and found this picture:

This picture succinctly conveys what I look and feel like each day after work: wiped out, immobile, clutching onto someone's ankles. God only knows what kind of shape I'll be in after a day of snowboarding. Will definitely update with pictures galore, Wi-fi willing.

Hi, I'm a Mac.

As of right this very second, I am a proud sort-of owner of a brand new 13-inch Macbook Pro. Sort-of meaning the computer does not belong to me; it belongs to the company from which ThoughtWorks leases our machines. But for all intents and purposes, it is now mine to use, to travel with, and to adoringly cradle and whisper sweet nothings to at night. I may or may not have already affectionately referred to it as "my baby".

The company laptop I was using before was a Dell Latitude E3400. And I swear to God: it was possessed by the devil. Over time, the fiery demon embedded in that machine only grew more ferocious and unwieldy - by the time I lugged the beast over to our IT department yesterday, my computer was afflicted with not one, not two, but THREE symptoms, all of which I am sure are trademarks of the devil:

1. The speakers were completely bust. Turning on any sort of sound would result in agonizing, scratchy thumps that resonated in my soul day in and day out.

2. My screen would physically react to certain web sites - specifically, Flash-based ones with dark-colored backgrounds. White columns would appear and begin to flicker - the more intense the site, the more the columns and the more their flickering would plague me. Not only did this give me a migraine, it seriously confused my colleagues who'd happen to walk by and see me typing away on a epileptic screen.

3. Sometimes, in the middle of typing anything - an e-mail, a blog post, an Excel document - the index would jump about twelve letters previous to where it was supposed to be, essentially splicing my sentences and words at arbitrary times. This was incredibly frustrating, as if I was not careful when typing for long periods of time I could easily miss a "splice" and wind up with words like "derPerhaps" or "whatfromever".

The IT guys made a few attempts at exorcising my Latitude of its inner demon, all to no avail, so when I half-jokingly asked "any Macbook Pros left?" and was promptly handed over this glorious aluminum beauty, it was all I could do to keep from jumping up and down and doing an ill-executed somersault right there on the spot. Well actually I was at ThoughtWorks so I probably could've done it and nobody would have cared.

I will probably spend most of today setting up and tinkering around with my shiny new toy. I love almost everything about my ba - er, new computer, except for the fact that there is no forward delete key. Or maybe I am too dumb to find it. But it's okay - I am too delighted to care.

LUSH LOVE

This is a totally girly post, so to all you Y-chromosomers out there: I will discuss pink fluffy bubbles. You've been warned.

So...I've been working. A lot. The half-hour-to-hour commute twice each day, the ten to eleven-hour workday, and the constant traveling is bad enough; then tack on all the pressure we have to meet our milestones and I become one very stressed girl.

My favorite way to relax? Soak in a long, nice bath.

Here's my recipe for relaxation:

1.) Allot time. This is usually the most difficult part for me (hey, you try turning down drinks with your colleagues and saying "umm, I want to take a bath" when they ask why you're leaving). But it's imperative not to feel rushed! I always try to set apart one bath night a week. Usually 1-1.5 hours will suffice. Primetime is right before bedtime.
2.) Pick an album you adore to play in the background. Today's was Fleet Foxes for me.
3.) Find a combination of bath products that you love. Try mixing up bars, bubbles, soaps, oils, candles...whatever it takes! Today I used 1/4th of The Comforter bubble bar and a Keep It Fluffy (the purple one) bath bomb, both LUSH products.
4.) GO CRAZY!

 

I crumbled the bubble bar, a longtime love of mine, first under the hot running water. It filled my tub with glorious fluffy bubbles and turned the water a lovely baby pink color and laced my bathroom with a sweet cotton candy scent, yummmm. When I was done running the water, I dropped in the bath bomb, which fizzed into a lavender smell and turned the bath water purple - so fun!

I definitely love experimenting with different smells. In fact, I ramble on and on about "omg I had the best bath ever last night" so much to my colleagues that I've since persuaded a couple of them to try it for themselves - I've even piqued a couple of male colleagues' interests. But in all honesty, despite everyone's snickering, I firmly vouch that bubble baths are probably the most underrated things ever for adults. For just a few bucks and an hour or so of your time, it will do miraculous things to your body, mind, and state of being. And it leaves you feeling clean and girly and smelling like lavender. Seriously, what more could you want in life?

Journey to the South

Last weekend I went to Arkansas to attend an office hour appointment with my favorite teacher in the whole wide world, Ms. Kaitlyn Wark.


My itinerary was simple -


Friday: Calgary --> Dallas. Wait an hour. Dallas --> Memphis.


then,


Sunday: Memphis --> Chicago. Wait an hour and a half. Chicago --> Calgary.


SOUNDS EASY, RIGHT?


It took an hour and a half to de-ice the Calgary aircraft (it was minus 15 F outside). They sprayed the entire plane down with fluorescent green goo. Why they didn't bother to do this before we boarded still remains a mystery to me.

I missed my connecting flight to Memphis but got put in a suite at the Grand Hyatt, which was on the whole, a splendid event. I slept for 12 hours and pranced around in a terry cloth bathrobe like a boss. Next morning's flight from Dallas to Memphis was the only successful leg of the trip. I talked to the cute guy sitting next to me (mmm Southern drawl yes please!), sipped apple juice, and actually arrived in Memphis ahead of schedule.

 

Memphis International Airport is not a very happenin' place.

I spent the next 23 hours frolicking about Memphis, Tennessee and Helena, Arkansas with Kaitlyn. We shopped like old times, ate like old times, and did our makeup while blasting Taylor Swift like old, old, gloriously old times. I had not seen her in half a year but it felt like nothing had changed since our Chicagoan days.

At night, we headed over to Beale Street, the Memphis equivalent of Bourbon Street, to go bar-hopping. We were having a good time until we encountered something really fucked up at Club 152: our elevator stopped at the second floor and we saw that it was blocked off by chairs and guarded by a large bouncer. He took one look at us and told us that we should keep going up to the third floor. Kaitlyn asked him what the chairs were for. And I quote, verbatim:

"To keep the blacks from crowding the elevator and going up."

We were stunned. Kaitlyn asked him to repeat what he said, and he did.

"So this is a segregated bar, then."

"No, it's just an invitation-only area on the third floor, where you should be."

What invitations?!#@#!@#$!

Both Kaitlyn and I were flabbergasted and repulsed by what we'd seen, so we called it a night and drove back to Helena to catch some shut-eye. The next morning we had pancakes at her friends' place. I was only there for an hour but there was something so therapeutic about sitting in a warm house in the middle of nowhere and being surrounded by kind, gracious people. There was a huge window where we ate and the view was framed by a stream of drifting orange leaves...it was all so surreal. I so felt like Reese Witherspoon in Sweet Home Alabama, except with a hangover.

It was all downhill after I was dropped off at the airport. I walked to ticketing to check in and informed the United representative that I was going to O'Hare International Airport.

"O'Hare? Your plane is already here! RUN FORREST RUN!!!!!!"

She didn't say that last part, but it was all I was thinking as I rocketed through security, shoving innocent and bewildered peasants left and right. I rounded the corner to my gate and to my relief, stepped into a line of passengers still waiting to board. When I got to the front, the ticket collector looked at me and raised an eyebrow.

"You're going to O'Hare, miss. This flight is boarding for Denver."

Apparently United lady number one thought O'Hare was in Denver.

I popped a squat and waited for about 45 minutes for the real aircraft to O'Hare to arrive. Then, the intercom told me that the flight would be delayed by exactly one hour.

One hour isn't so bad. I still have a thirty minute window, I thought as I started a new game of chess against the computer. 

Turns out, airplanes follow a very rigid takeoff schedule, and there exists only about a 10 or 15 minute window for each plane to leave the runway. Our flight missed its window and another one was unavailable for 30 more minutes. And thus my last ounce of hope was squeezed out of me, similar to the way that last toothbrushful of toothpaste is pried out, used, and spat out. My flight touched down exactly four minutes after my connection had taken off.

I needed to be in Calgary the next morning for an important meeting. I absolutely, positively, unequivocally had to be there. My only option was to take a 8:25 PM flight to Edmonton, which is about an hour north of Calgary, stay the night, and take the 5:40 AM flight from Edmonton to Calgary the next morning. 

The Edmonton flight was delayed by an hour. At this point I had, in all probability, gone insane. I wandered around O'Hare with a giant thing of McDonald's fries, walking around listlessly and with no purpose in life anymore. I was in airport purgatory. During the four hours I spend there waiting, I managed to: 1.) buy a pair of Ray-Bans, completely on impuse, 2.) eat an extra large McDonald's meal, and 3.) bond with strangers from Australia, who invited me to play poker with them.

9:25 finally rolled around and I was finally on an aircraft. I sat next to a legal assistant named Wlad, who when asked what there was to do in Edmonton for fun, had to think for about five minutes before offering a couple of responses. I arrived in Edmonton at 1:00 AM, got to my hotel at 1:30, took a shower, crawled into bed (practically weeping) at 2:00, and woke up two hours later to catch the 4:30 shuttle to the airport. So essentially, I paid a hundred bucks for a quick shower and nap. 

The Edmonton --> Calgary flight was only delayed by 30 minutes (you know your life is sad when a 30-minute delay is now prefaced with "only") so I got to Calgary around 7:20, hailed a taxi, and drove straight to the office - disheveled, luggage in tow, but present and ready and willing, huzzah!

TSA

Lately, there has been a lot of hullabaloo about the TSA's screening procedures. Many people, myself included, feel that the "choice" between being stepping into a backscatter scanning machine (which renders high-resolution images of people's naked bodies) or being subject to a full body pat-down (self explanatory) is like picking between an electronic or manual invasion of privacy - whenever an officer presents my options, all I hear is "how would you like us to glean inappropriate knowledge of your body today, miss?".

In particular, one man's "If you touch my junk, I'll have you arrested" experience (link hurr) and recorded conversation with TSA officers has blown up all over YouTube and was even featured on the front page of CNN yesterday. It's an interesting story to read/view if you have a few minutes and I'm glad it's gaining national interest because for people like me who fly a ginormous amount, stickin' it to the man Rosa Parks style is not really a viable option if I want to keep my job.

I did have one pretty hairy encounter with the TSA a few months back. I'd arrived at the airport at 5:30 AM for my 7:15 flight to O'Hare, like I do every week, and had spent a grueling hour waiting at the customs line. I got to security and kid you not, stood in a non-moving line for 30 minutes as I watched a half-dozen TSA officers try to pat down a toddler who was throwing a fit and refusing to stop screaming. By the time boarding for my flight had almost ended, I'd finished with my pat-down and was going to make a break for my terminal when an officer approached me and asked to see my boarding documents. I asked her what was going on.

"I'm afraid your luggage has revealed a potentially dangerous level of toxic material."

I looked at my suitcase. It's bright and yellow and plaid and completely silly. It's contents? A pair of boots, some leggings, and some socks.

"What...toxic material?"

"I can't say for security purposes. But we'll need to rescan your things and you'll need to undergo another pat-down."

At this point I literally had five minutes before boarding closed. I was irritated and hungover, and while I'm not proud of what I said next, I still think that logically it made a lot of sense:

"Look. I've been standing here in front of at least 10 security officers while I got my first pat-down. Do you really think I grew a gun on a third arm in these past 30 seconds?"

Silence, as bewildered heads turned.

The TSA officer took a deep breath. "Ma'am, if you say that word again I will have to call the police."

"What word, GUN?"

Because a real terrorist would really fucking be yelling GUNGUNGUNGUN!!!!!! to a TSA officer at airport security!

She didn't call the police on me. (According to Steven Levitt, Asian females are the least likely demographic group to commit crimes, ha!) She made me turn around and gave me the quickest pat-down I'd ever received, then I grabbed my stuff and bolted for my flight. I wound up sitting next to some important executive from the American Bar Association to whom I relayed my story. We spent the majority of that plane ride discussing the legality of the TSA's security procedures. We agreed that I'd been pretty rude and that lady was just doing her job, but that on the whole, the TSA's efforts were unsustainable and bound to eventually stir up some sort of national outcry.

Well, it seems to be happening now, and I'm glad for it. Hopefully we'll see some improvements soon.

BAMFS at Banff

Took advantage of the Canadian holiday yesterday (Remembrance Day) to go see me some mountains!

I found the mountains!

We rode in a gondola. It was only mildly terrifying and I am only relatively scarred for life and afraid of heights after that experience...no biggie.

Do not be fooled by our happy expressions. We were both actually peeing in fear.

I think the view was worth it, though - don't you? Never mind that it was -10 degrees Celsius (about 14 degrees Fahrenheit) - you don't see something like this every day! (Also my shitty Pre camera does these mountains no justice whatsoever...but I cannot find my camera at the time, so this'll have to do.)

I've been a little unmotivated to post here, but will hopefully have some weekend adventures to share soon.

A little bit of spontaneity (damn, that's hard to spell)

My buddy Becca went all out with a cartilage piercing and a second set of lobe piercings!

Today, I went downtown with two girlfraaands and we had ourselves a shopping spree :) We'd just left with our goodies from LUSH (where we met the craziest saleslady ever. She literally squealed every time we purchased one of her "favoritest" products) and were walking down State Street when we neared Claire's. This prompted a discussion about how we've all always wanted second lobe and/or cartilage piercings. We then paused for a second, looked at each other, shrugged "why the hell not?" and then went in to get our ears done! We even held each other's hands during the procedures, it was that great.

I now have new little 3mm studs in my earlobes, about a centimeter away from my original piercings. Turning them feels a funny and satisfying at the same time. I haven't done anything girly and fun so this was a little sparkle of excitement (did I really just type "sparkle of excitement?" Jeez) in my week. And it's not even the piercing or the stud itself that I am the most fond of, it's the memory of a day well spent with people I care about that really makes me happy.

The only problem is that nobody will probably ever see my new piercing because my hair always inevitably covers my ears, even when I put it up. In fact, in college there was a running joke among my friends that I either a.) had horribly deformed ears or b.) did not have ears at all. The truth is, I do have ears and they are pretty normal-looking. But nobody believes me.

Daisy Dukes, Bikinis on Top

11/7/10 - Edited with pictures!

I made my first ever visit to California this weekend - specifically in the lovely city of San Francisco. I've visited a decently-sized handful of major US cities before and have always remained steadfast in my belief that Chicago is the best and only city for me. But now I'm not so sure. Compared to Calgary, San Francisco felt like a slice of heaven - breezy, gorgeous heaven. Here are some highlights of my weekend:

* Staying at the gorgeous Sir Francis Drake hotel, located right downtown at Union Square, a hop and a skip from all the stores ever

* ...and so as a result, shopping shopping shopping! There is something about being in a new city that completely changes my take on spending money. If I'm in Chicago, say at the Macy's downtown I might see something and be like "meh". In SF that became "OHMYGOD I WILL DIE IF I DO NOT OWN THAT".
* In N Out. Oh god oh god oh god so good

Animal Style! Fuck yeah.

* Walking to said hamburger heaven and on the way, being scared out of our wits by a man dressed as some sort of creepy monster who burst out of a trash can as we walked by, to the amusement of many a spectating tourist
* Coming close to rolling down so many hills
* Meeting/talking to Bret Taylor, CTO of Facebook
* Going to AsiaSF, a fine-dining experience that involves you being served by beautiful, well-endowed, scantily-costumed Asian women. Think Victoria's Secret + Hooters - everyone's dream come true, right? Yeah, except for the part where you find out these girls are not women, but rather, men (mostly post-ops) who look damn fine in corsets. Dancing on tables, birthday shots off various unmentionable body parts, what's not to love!

Not a girl, not yet a woman

* Seeing touristy things, like Alcatraz, the Golden Gate Bridge, and Cliffhouse was not at all annoying/painful. The balmy 75 degree weather didn't hurt, either ;)

* Standing on a crowded bus at 3 in the morning, listening to the teen next to me asking everyone for a "surface". His friend, who was in a garbage can costume, surrendered his lid. Before I knew it, the kid was rolling a blunt and smoking right on the bus. Nobody complained - they all just opened the windows nonchalantly like they'd seen this a million times before
* Seeing friends, old and new, and making a bunch of new ones.

San Francisco, you have charmed me with your exquisite weather and beautiful people and impressive display of organic produce. In the words made famous by the governor of your lands, I'll be back.

Will update with photos soon. Gotta catch some shut-eye if I want to wake up tomorrow and hit the gym!

Reddit rules my world

A few months ago I'd blogged about the travesty known as Digg 4.0 and how I was considering making the switch over to its "rival", Reddit. Well, long story short, I did, and I am glad for it. Reddit is kind of like the quiet, smart, kinda weird lookin' kid in the back who usually goes by unnoticed until you get to know him. Then your world changes and your mind is blown and you wonder what you were doing with your life before meeting this person. Reddit can be a lot like Digg in that it generates and popularizes funny, unique, or inspiring stories - it just has a reputation for being way more elitist. But I've found that under the layers of pretense is a vibrant and soft-hearted core. Redditors have banded together and done some truly amazing, amazing things for causes they support - things I honestly never thought were possible.

One of the more recent acts of giving that may or may not have made me choke up ("why is there rain on my face!!") surrounds a 7-year old girl with Huntington's Disease who had already lost her mother to HD. Her neighbors - adults, mind you - posted pictures on Facebook of Kathleen and her dead mother with the grim reaper and with a skull and crossbones to get back at her family for not inviting them to share a moonbounce at a party soon enough. Key words: soon enough. It wasn't that the invitation didn't come, just that the text arrived late. This tiny little miscommunication led a grown couple to publicly mock and harass a dying 7-year old. They even hitched a coffin in front of Kathleen's house. A coffin, for crying out loud! I think this is one of those situations that can only be summed up by, "what the fuck is wrong with those people?"

But then, it branches out! Into choose your own adventure!

"What the fuck is wrong with those people? LET'S DESTROY THEM."

or

"What the fuck is wrong with those people? LET'S GIVE KATHLEEN THE BEST DAY OF HER LIFE."

Reddit went with the second option. They raised $17,000 in donations to create a perfect day for the little girl. Kathleen rolled up in front of a Redditor-owned toy store in a limousine that read "Team Kathleen", was greeted by a cheering crowd of volunteers, and got to pick out whatever she wanted in the store. The money went onwards to either Huntington's Disease research or to toys for sick children at the local hospital. As for her awful neighbors? Well, they've apologized. But nobody really cares about them  - the focus of the story really shifted from their heinous actions to a greater, anonymous effort to show Kathleen and the rest of the world that good, caring people do exist in this world. Reddit really took the high road here.

Someone is starting to cut onions again, damnit. But in all honesty, if you haven't already checked out Reddit, you really ought to consider it - cause dreams really do come true there! *cheesy exit music*

Cat, Clouds, Canada

I went home home for the first time in half a year. Nothing has changed much within the Fan Clan, except for my cat Mochi, who I am pretty sure doubled in size since the last time I'd seen him.

"Who's a big kitty! You're a big kitty!! Who wants a belly rub! Coo-chi-coo-chi-coo aw!!!!!!!!!!!"
- what I sound like when I am near him. Relevant XKCD.

He has the rather ridiculous habit of lying on his back at whichever spot is precisely most inconvenient for others to walk around. Belly up, paws splayed, always ready to party.

Mochi is actually Chuck Bass.

Moving on, and yes I know this is nerdy, but I have been pleasantly surprised by the epic cloud formations that drape across the Alberta skies. I have been told that even when the temperature creeps into the sub-zeros (Fahrenheit, mind you!), skies stay radiantly blue and clouds hang low and wide across the expanse of the city, huzzah!

And to end this post, here are a few pictures taken over the course of various flights:

Chicago, above and at ground level

Another Adventure Spawned from my Incompetencies

These events are not nice when they happen in real life. In fact, they are terrifying.  But they sure make for good blog material!

Here's what happened:

After work yesterday, I went straight to dinner with a couple of my colleagues. We went to Kensington, enjoyed a scrumptious sushi dinner, and washed it down with a bottle of sake. (I had three two-ounce glasses of it, so maybe the equivalent of a generous glass of wine). Afterward, we played pool for about an hour before meeting up with another ThoughtWorker and heading to a bar to see some bands play in its basement. We arrived just in time to catch the opening act, which I can really only describe as an old white dude, probably in his late 50s, acting like he'd swallowed a bottle of crazy pills that morning. His set was surrounded by candles. There was a purple paper-mache monster head emerging from a sheet of fabric behind him. He was wearing a shirt with a giant question mark on it. He was yarbling into the microphone, slapping his guitar and occasionally making a well-aimed kick to a bunch of chimes nearby, which clanged like the sound of bottles being smashed. I had to ask myself several times throughout his performance, "Is this real life?"

Anyway, that is not important. What is important is the fact that I offered to buy the next round of drinks, because that was when I made The Realization that my wallet was missing.

I immediately froze and thought I was actually going to have a panic attack - not of the usual Asian-ohmygodIgotaB-arm-flapping-and-high-pitched-squealing variety, but a full blown, legitimate, collapse-to-the-ground-clutching-for-air, P!A!N!I!C! A!T! T!H!E! D!I!S!C!O! A!T!T!A!C!K! I had a flight out early the next day to come home to Maryland and I kept going over the phone conversation in my head where I'd have to explain to parents and best friend that I would not be able to make it back after all. And be stuck in Calgary for the weekend with no money. And I'd die of boredom or starvation - I wasn't sure which would come first. Those three or four minutes of brooding were a real period in my life.

But then someone handed me a rum and coke and I downed it. As the warmth of the liquor rushed into my system I was able to relax a little and consider my options. There were only two places where my wallet could reasonably be: one, at my coworkers' suite where I'd dropped off my laptop, or two, back at the office. If it had been stolen at some point during the night, running off and looking for it now as opposed to later would not make much of a difference. We decided to stick around to see the show and then go look for my wallet afterward.

Fast forward to two hours later: it's one in the morning, the show has ended, and my co-workers are drunk as skunks. My own agitation has sobered me up and after we leave the bar I find myself clutching the steering wheel of a totally unfamiliar vehicle in a totally unfamiliar city in a totally unfamiliar COUNTRY with two gleeful, intoxicated men in the car with me. Oh, and have I mentioned that I am probably the harbinger of the stereotype, "terrible Asian female driver?"

A few precious snippets of conversation that came up as we drove towards the office:

"Rose, why are you so nervous? You need to calm down. Do you need a massage?"
"No."
"Why not? 
(I feel fingers on my shoulders, I hit the brakes and shriek)
"BECAUSE I HATE IT WHEN PEOPLE TOUCH ME!"

"Are you okay driving on the highway?"
"I"ve never driven on a highway before."
"You're kidding, right?"
(Pause) "Um. No."

"Do you have anything valuable in your wallet?"
"A couple hundred bucks."
"Anything else?"
"Two credit cards."
"Is that it?"
"No, I have all my week's receipts to expense."
"You can get those from your credit card statement. So you should be mine."
(30 seconds later)
"I uh, also have my social security card in there."
"A copy, right?'
"No, like the real card."
"Oh God."

We pulled up to the office at around 1:30 in the morning, retraced my steps, stole some other teams' candy, and found my wallet on the seat of my desk chair. Believe you me, I had never been happier to see that turquoise rectangle o leather. Nothing had been taken or tampered with, thank GOD. I drove home, ecstatic to have once again narrowly avoided disaster.

(The funny thing is, I drove considerably worse on the way back than when I was nervously heading to the office. I made big, deliberate happy swerves and swoops here and there that sent my drunk co-workers yelling in terror. We got back around 2 AM, took naps, and saw each other at the airport at 5 AM, looking like zombies.)

Now I'm back home the comforts of my real home, having spent a lovely evening playing guitar with my sister and eating delicious homecooked Chinese food. Weird to think that all this would not have been possible without last night's insane antics, eh?

Chess Night

Tonight we had chess night at the Calgary ThoughtWorks office. And by chess night I mean me sitting around with some pizza, some beer, and three nerdy boys - two on either side of me, the last lounging on the other end of the board looking smug as the three of us - Team World - struggled and bickered and muttered amongst ourselves in our combined effort to defeat the terrible tyrannical Team Isa.

I know I am not very good at chess, but the way these guys played made me feel downright lousy at it. I made some good points at times but too often my suggestions were too clumsy, too rushed. But no matter - playing chess with some of my fellow ThoughtWorkers was a remarkably fun way to spend an evening. I feel so much better about myself now than I would had I wasted that time watching Gossip Girl or clicking aimlessly around Facebook all night.

I'm looking forward to next Monday's game already and to my own improvement. Maybe one day I will get good enough to take on Team Isa by myself.

For now though, the score is:

World 1, Isa 0.

I'm secretly misogynistic?

Whenever I think about all my favorite writers and vocalists and comedians and actors and politicians and philosophers - basically, anybody whose work I admire from afar - I realize that they are all men.

Perhaps it's because the sample I am working with here is skewed to begin with - after all, and the male-to-female ratio in almost all those areas puts the fairer sex at a disadvantage. But still, it is uncanny how quickly I find myself being put off by anything from Karen O's shriek to Hilary Clinton's hairstyle. I think the underlying explanation for this is that women tend to be jealous, judgmental, and skeptical of women whom they see as above or more powerful than them, whereas men recognize, accept, and look up to their "alpha" peers much more easily. I am not a psychologist and I have no proof for that claim (in fact, as I'm typing this I can think about a billion counterexamples. But on the whole I still think it holds true.)

I have swell relationships with females all the time in my personal life. I always have and will love the strong women in my family, my girlfriends, and even my stupid cat,  Bellatrix. But put some distance between me and an object of my affection, and its creator most likely possesses a Y chromosome. (Jamie Lee Curtis does not count.)

A few exceptions of females whose work I truly enjoy:

J.K. Rowling (...who went by a gender-neutral pen name in order to sell more books in the beginning of her career)

Tina Fey (...who usually opts to play the "frumpy and kind of manly funny woman" role) 

Justin Bieber (...who is a strong, independent woman! You go girl!)