Saturday, July 29, 2006

Violated

I walk up the stairs and turn around to fold the drenched umbrella that had been shielding me from a sudden downpour. My peripheral vision sounds an alarm. Something is horribly wrong... My eyes quickly focus on the two black men in doo-rags running up the stairs... My sight zooms into the gun as if I were looking through a telephoto lens: almost toy-like black gun with a thin metallic nozzle protruding from its barrel. I feel sudden urge to test my judgement... but I realize a friend is with me... the cost of being wrong doubled. 'I won't take the chance unless I have to...' As I finish my thought, he points the gun at my face and orders me to turn around. All these... in mere seconds. I quickly grab my money clip and take out the cash. 'Give them what they want and they'll leave,' I thought. As I hand over about 200 dollars in cash... he notices the Tiffany money clip and takes it from my hand. "Give me that too" he says... as he unbuckles the strap that holds the laptop bag close to my body. I keep thinking 'my life is in there...': my PowerBook with 2 years worth of personal thoughts nicely tucked away as encrypted application data... photos... all of it. Gone. My mind becomes numb. Everything seems foreign... as if I were observing a re-enactment of a crime. As they leave, I turn around... and he yells "don't fucking turn around or I'll shoot you in your fucking face" I briefly turn away... They were gone...

I've had it. I can no longer deny that my own country has turned into some monstrous breeding ground for thugs with utter disrespect for others. This wasn't the first time I was robbed at gunpoint. Once was a freak accident... twice, is a pattern. Both of these horrid acts were carried out by black men... and I can't help but form a politically incorrect judgement against them.

What makes them feel like they can violate others and claim ownership over what they have not earned? Such utter disregard for morals... is unforgivable.

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Friday, July 28, 2006

Last Fika at Café Chokladkoppen

This entry was written into my pre-laptop brain dump (notebook) at 15:42 CEST on 2006.07.22.

Chokladkoppen near Svenska Akademien
Gamla Stan, Stockholm, Sweden

waiting for my mochaccino and a white chocolate cheesecake

I've been walking for a little over 3 hours now... and I had to sit. I needed some sugar and caffeine in me. Most of Gamla Stan is pretty much a tourist attraction, but I couldn't help myself. I've seen the not-only-for-tourist modern Stockholm. With advances in travel and media, came the exchange of cultures. The cities of the world these days take on a familiar uniformity and... lose the qualities that make each city so endearing in their own way. I walked around Norrmalm.... but I couldn't help but frown at the unfortunate American cultural invasion: the ever-so-prolific 7-Elevens and McDonalds... one chain/franchise store after another... I couldn't take it. Even the graffiti seemed as if it were a carbon copy of those that plague our cities. I had to walk away and scurry back to wide-eyed foreigner staturated Gamla Stan to get away for the nauseating homogeneity.

graffiti at St. George observatory

Quest for Souvenier

Oh yeah... My quest for something uniquely Swedish, of reasonable quality, with practical use has failed miserably. The souvernier shops carried items that were of no practical value or failed to meet the minimal quality I require in all products. I don't mind paying the tourist markup, but I can't justify paying for something that will fall apart a few months after I return home. It could just be the perfectionist in me rearing its ugly head...

FIKA!

NO WHITE CHOCOLATE CHEESECAKE!... Substituted with chocolate cake

mochaccino and chocolate cake

Wow. That was good. The whipped cream was a perfect touch. Chocolate cake can sometimes be overpowering even for a chocoholic like me, but the light unsweetend whipped cream toned down the intense sweetness and allowed for the aroma of the chocolate come through. I almost want to say it's like "Oreo and milk" partnership... but it's quite more sophisticated than that. Mochaccino was very good; the handle-free archaic looking mug was also a very nice touch. (OK, I admit... the adorable waitress' frequent shy smiles could have affect the whole experience. I'm sure it's got something to do with the unexpected accent, but it doesn't matter.)

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Monday, July 24, 2006

Exhausted after 23 hours...

Beacon Street, Boston, Massachusetts
75 ° F. Too tired to look outside...

I'm exhausted... After about 23 hours of travel, I am back in Boston.

I have much to share... but, for now, I need comfort food and more sleep.

Bridge to Gamla Stan Konditori. Finally! Narrow Alley of Gamla Stan Cheese filled sausage and potato salad Chicago O'Hare International

Saturday, July 22, 2006

Goodbye, Stockholm.

Lugnets Allé 48E, Stockholm, Sweden
20° C (68° F) and perfect as usual.

Cobbleston Streets of Gamla Stan, Stockholm, Sweden
An Old Church in Gamla Stan, Stockholm, Sweden

I can't believe my time in Stockholm is already up. I need to pack and leave the apartment by 07:10 CEST if I am to make it to my flight back home.

I am definitely going to miss Hammarby Sjöstad... it's a beautiful neighborhood I could actually see myself living in.

The Swedes I have had the pleasure of encountering were all friendly.

I spent the whole day aimlessly wandering the streets, trying to soak up as much Stockholm as possible...

The last place I've grown so attached in such a short time was Boston... Good bye, Stockholm...

I really need to pack...

Friday, July 21, 2006

Blogging Life...

Lugnets Allé 48E, Stockholm, Sweden
18.8° C (66° F). I can't believe it's actually dark outside.

I look over my shoulder to make sure no one is looking at my screen. I feel a bit of rush. I cautiously open my TextEdit to pour out the thoughts that's been bouncing around in my head... the thoughts that take focus away from the task at hand. All of my senses are at a heightened level. Any inkling of anyone approaching, my fingers automatically hit Cmd-Q and Enter.

I am neither revealing company secrets nor slandering my coworkers. But, I feel like a junky taking a hit in the middle of work day (not that I know what that feels like). It's not in my nature to do anything that resembles treachery... and blogging to purge the hindering thoughts seems justified. But, why does it feel so wrong?

I was reading one of my favorite blogs, petite anglaise, when I learned... that she was fired for blogging. She had been careful not to reveal anyone and never seemed slenderous. Lighthearted humor, perhaps, but never slender. But she was treated as if she's done something horrible...

Rather than to read the news or bid on a little gnome for our garden, we, blogger with jobs, choose to eat our lunch at our desks and purge our minds of frivolous thoughts so that we may focus on our task at hand. Is that so bad?

Resources

Wednesday, July 19, 2006

Nordic Air...

Lugnets Allé 48E, Stockholm, Sweden
10.6° C (51° F) with cold... crisp air.

Grueling Commute to the Office
Hammarby Sjöstad

There's something about the Nordic air... Perhaps it doesn't have enough pollutants to reflect the intense sun or perhaps it's the lack of humidity in this cold crisp air. Everything seems more clear; all colors are intensified to blinding absoluteness. The intense sun even gave my ever-so-black hair a shade of brown, and the dark crimson red highlights a bright red glow. Maybe it's this saturation of gray-less colors that gives my time in Stockholm a surreal quality... I feel as if I am experiencing an extended technicolor dream. I keep reaching for the camera in my pocket trying to capture the fleeting moments...

Skeppsholmen? The 'Old Town' An old building near Kunsträdgården I think they're dropping way too low... View from the Apartment

Tuesday, July 18, 2006

I could live here.

Lugnets Allé 48E, Stockholm, Sweden
17.2° C (63° F). Clear and crisp air...

Suspended Foot Bridge over Sickla Kanal
Building Just Off of Ferry Dock in Hammarby

I was walking toward the ferry crossing alongside Sickla Kanal when it hit me... 'I could live here.' Specifically, I can see myself living in this particular neighborhood where the whole town seemed newly designed and built. The suspension foot bridge, the beautiful walk alongside the canal, and the crisp air had touched a part of me that sought refuge from the hectic city life... The people are hospitable, weather is absolutely gorgeous, and it is the definition tranquility.

I know the winters can get fierce and months in darkness can be tough to handle... but how bad could it be?

Friday, July 14, 2006

ABSOLUT ICEBAR... and then... where am I?

Lugnets Allé 48E, Stockholm, Sweden
17.7° C (64° F). Already a bit brisk due to dry air.

At the ICEBAR with coworkers in Swedish ponchos
ABSOLUT ICEBAR STOCKHOLM

It started innocently enough at the very touristy ABSOLUT ICEBAR STOCKHOLM at Nordic Sea Hotel near Centralstationen... then to Tapas restaurant where bottles of wine were consumed... and ended up in some bar in Skanstull drinking strong Swedish beer and one-too-many shots of something that reminded me of cough syrup. I never thought I would drink to that point ever again since I left college, but I was wrong. I've now, once again, sworn off beer forever... That is, at least, until I forget how horrible I feel after drinking too much beer. I give it another 10 years.

Update: Coincidentally, I came across the the bar where I had my last drink that night. It was Brother Tuck. The only reason I remember is because I took a picture of the wall decoration (don't ask me why, because I don't remember). I'm surprised I actually remembered that it was near Skanstull subway station.

Wednesday, July 12, 2006

Yummm... Rudolph...

Lugnets Allé 48E, Stockholm, Sweden
17.8° C (64° F). Cool, dry, and breezy. Just the way I like it.

Last night, just after dropping off my over the shoulder strap-on (Laptop bag. What were you thinking?), I finally had Swedish (FOOD) in Stockholm's "Old Town." The cobble stone streets with narrow passages surrounded by old buildings... is the part of Stockholm I had hoped to see. Matt and I were joining couple of other coworkers from Boston office and from our parent company to wine and dine -- well deservedly so -- on company's dime (well more like thousands of dimes).

Oddly enough, we ended up in a Scottish bar, in Stockholm, drinking Australian wine and American beer while listening to British bar music. I was a bit disappointed. I had my heart set on trying out uniquely Swedish cuisine aside from köttbullar (Swedish meatballs). Until that night, I've had 3 Lebanese meals, 1 Italian, 1 burger, and schnitzel (which, of course, isn't uniquely Swedish). Anyhow, I was a bit bummed until they brought out the meny. It was full of dishes I haven't tried before. As I was going down the meny, my eyes just seemed to gravitate toward the word "reindeer." That's not something you see everyday on a menu in the States. I could just imagine myself, every Christmas, saying "yummm... Rudolph." That was it. THAT was the selling point for me. I wanted to say "yummm... Rudolph" every Christmas. Someone at the table mentioning that it is supposedly quite good was inconsequential. I must say, if I didn't know it was reindeer meat, I would have thought it was a really good piece of filet mignon -- pre-sliced for better presentation. It was ever so slightly gamier than a steak, but it was rather good. But then again, what do I know about food.

Anyhow, added bonus to the whole experience was the eye candy... What can I say... I am drawn to adorable women... more so when I'm intoxicated... Is it so wrong for a man to be attracted to adorable women. It's not like I was groping her or giving her creepy stares. I really didn't do anything except occasionally catch a glimpse when she walked by... Is that so bad?

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Tuesday, July 11, 2006

Me. The Oddball.

Lumaparksvägen, Stockholm, Sweden
23.9° C (75° F). Bright, clear, and dry day. This would be heaven if I were outside instead of looking out into the beautiful body of waters that surround the office.

More often than not, the Swedes I had the pleasure of encountering have slight smirks on their faces. I figured the Swedes were quite content with their lives, especially during the summer days of 20-hour-daylight. But when I read the Lonely Planet's guide to Stockholm, I was puzzled to learn that Swedes are sometimes mistaken as rude or cold for their reserved nature. For some reason, the whole situation vaguely reminded me of an English woman who couldn't stop smiling at me.

More than a decade ago, I was traveling through East Africa when I encountered an English woman who stared at me with an uncommon fascination. It wasn't a I-think-you're-hot fluttered stare; it was much closer to oh-that-dog-is-so-funny-looking-that-it's-adorable kind of a look. After a short exchange of pleasantries, she blurted out "you talk like a surfer!" as if she couldn't hold it back any longer. It's true that I was raised in California and spent a good amount of time on the beach, but I never did surf nor tried to speak the surfer tongue. But I understood what she meant; it would be like seeing a person of Caucasian descent speaking fluent Korean with a strong southwestern Korean twang.

That was it. I have seen only one woman of Asian descent during the last 3 days in Stockholm; I just didn't realize I stood out just because I was quite used to being surrounded by other ethnicities. On top of being the only Asian guy I've seen so far, I am sure I have the American accent down pat. I don't think the Swedes were quite ready for that. I'm sure they have seen many Asians via mass media and/or through their travels, but I guess I must catch them off guard... I seem to elicit unintentional smirks whenever I open my mouth.

Sunday, July 09, 2006

Land of IKEA

Lugnets Allé 48E, Stockholm, Sweden
21.1° C (70° F) and sunny.

Wow... I was joking when I first referred to Sweden as the land of IKEA, but when I walked into the corporate apartment in Stockholm, my jaw just dropped. I was inside an IKEA catalogue. With vivid images of my first visit to the IKEA store in Stoughton during the 4th of July weekend, I immediately recognized most of the items in the apartment.

Swedish Fish

Oh, yeah... Someone also told me there was no such thing as Swedish Fish in Sweden. I almost bought a bag full of Swedish Fish as a gag gift for the people at the Stockholm office, but I'm glad I didn't. Long and behold, there they were, in plain sight, inside a local convenient store. I'm sure the Swedes would give me puzzled stares if I referred to these delicious gummy goodness as Swedish Fish, but they exist. I took a picture... which resulted in a very uncomfortable stare from the store clerk.

Saturday, July 08, 2006

Odd Reaction to Hearing Conversations in German

Gate A32, Frankfurt Flughafen, Deutschland
I really don't care what the weather is outside...

Perhaps I've been playing Call of Duty a bit too much... Adamantly choosing to play on the side of the Allied Forces, I must have associated German with imminent threat. I keep expecting to hear "granate" (in German pronunciation) so I can run and duck for cover only to spring on unsuspecting Axis soldiers with my B.A.R. and mow them down...

Note: Just in case anyone is crazy enough to think I would really do such a thing, I'm not that crazy. I think...

Friday, July 07, 2006

T-Mobile in Frankfurt Flughafen

Near gate A28, Frankfurt Flughafen, Deutschland
17.78° C (64° F) and seems a bit hazy/humid outside.

I can't believe it. T-Mobile HotSpot in Frankfurt Airport (yes, in Germany). I'm thinking this is well worth the 19 dollars (USD) I shell out each month. This will definitely help me spend the next 3 and half hours before boarding the connecting flight to Stockholm Arlanda Airport at 10:10 CEST... It's 20 past midnight in Boston... and I'm tired.

Lufthansa 423

Inflight WiFi: FlyNet

Wireless network finally reached the inside the passenger flights... but it seems it's still out of reach for "coach" flyers. At close to $10 per hour or $30 per flight, I opted to forego my usual facet for information for several more hours. The FlyNet does have a free portal where you can access Lufthansa content and news... but judging from the speed in which these pages load in my browser, it seems I have made the right choice in not paying for a potentially quite frustrating experience.

Distinct and Sharp Odor

Oh, yeah... Something never fails to go wrong in my life spent in "coach" cabins. I couldn't figure who it was, but there was someone that managed to consistently produce distinct and sharp body odor; it's the type of odor that shoots straight into your brain and leaves an unpleasant tangy taste in your mouth... It reminded me of the Judo sparring partner I had always tried to avoid; every time I sparred with him, I had to wash my Judo uniform at least twice to get rid of the odor. Needless to say, the sharp cheddar-ness of the odor forced me to take minimal shallow breaths... just enough to keep myself alive. It got me thinking... Do I have an unbearable body odor that I don't know about? Of all the sense, olfaction is the first to adapt... I could have been Pepé Le Pew all my life and would have never even realized it... Oh well... there's nothing I could about it now. I guess, at least, those who smell like me won't smell a thing...

I ramble on... especially when I'm exhausted... I need some good food and long peaceful slumber...

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Tuesday, July 04, 2006

July 4th Right Outside My Window


76° F and, again, muggy

Great... One day I decide to hit the sack early, it sounds like World War III right outside my window. 'Oh, yeah... July 4th...' I've been so occupied with preparing for the trip that I had forgotten today was a holiday.

July 4th Right Outside My Window...

Anyhow... I live so close to the Charles River that each explosion sends a wave of shock throughout my room. I'm half-convinced that my window will shatter any minute now. Cars with anti-theft alarms are screaming in agony... and it's almost impossible sleep.

Happy birthday, Uncle SAm.

Sunday, July 02, 2006

Review: Freddy of Zen Hair

Starbucks, 350 Newbury Street, Boston, Massachusetts
84° F and, yet again, MUGGY!

After being trimmed, chopped, wrapped in foil, cooked for 15 minutes in dry heat, washed, and dry heated again, I am content with my newly styled black hair with subtle crimson red streaks. I believe I have found my stylist.

10:30 AM, Saturday morning

I walked hurriedly on Commonwealth toward Kenmore Square. My left wrist rose instinctively every few minutes to provide me with updates on time and my mind constantly calculated rate of travel and the probability of being on time for the 11:00 AM appointment. I guess I'm a bit freakish when it comes to time... Transitive reasoning dictates, an appointment is a form of a promise with an element of time, and since, according to my father, an honorable man must keep ALL promises, an honorable man must be punctual at all times... As I passed under the bridge that joins Boylston street and Storrow Drive, I shifted my focus away from the thoughts on time and began scanning the area for Zen Hair. There it was... with the exterior as frightening as the picture I had found on the net. I hesitated for a moment with the door handle in my hand... 'Promise is a promise' I reminded myself. I shut my fear off and put my body into auto-pilot.

As I walked in, there were two other women waiting for Freddy aside from the one he's working on; once again, my wrist reminded me that I was 10 minutes early as always. I carefully observed the completed work and I felt a bit at ease. The first woman walked out of the salon with a complete satisfaction on her face. But when Freddy proceeded with another customer with a simple "we're running a little late," the auto-pilot switched off and the thoughts began wrestling with time, honor, exterior, fear, and I shifted uneasily in my seat. As I sit patiently with an issue of Newsweek in my hand, thinking the Coach bag is much too small to fit my usual reading material, I noticed the girl waiting next to me. She was giving me the fluttered I think-you-are-hot look. I never used to recognize these looks before, but since I have become quite comfortable in my own skin, I have accepted the possibility that some sane individuals actually do find me physically appealing. She offered to forfeit her turn for me, but I politely declined.

Almost an hour past my appointment, I was still sitting in the waiting area with my half-way-to-Fabio hair... When it was finally my time, 70 minutes had passed since the promised 11:00 AM. I looked over my shoulder awaiting Freddy's return only notice the girl giving me a final fluttered look before leaving the salon. As I described the after look, I was impressed with Freddy's ability in deciphering what I had failed to describe and verbalizing it for me. I immediately felt a wave of relief... the memories of agonizing months spent recovering from many bad haircuts subsided. As he began to cut my hair, I noticed that he chose not to use thinning scissors or razor blade. According to my observation, thinning scissors seem to result in plain/boring uniformity, and razor blade, in frizzy/unrefined look. As he trimmed away with scissors at acute angles, he constantly allowed the hair to fall naturally. As the sounds of scissors artfully carving away continued, Freddy apologized once again for the wait; the first appointment arrived 45 minutes late, but he couldn't turn her away because she drove all the way from New York for the appointment.

Rating: 9 (out of 10)

Using a scale of 1 to 10 where 1 being "horrid" and 10 being "orgasmic", here's my very subjective opinion on Freddy Luk of Zen Hair.

Haircut: 9.5

I would have given him 10, but I feel that the haircut I received feels a bit too refined. I would have loved a touch of perfectly imperfect edge -- a sort of 'it looks almost perfect even without trying' kind of look -- in the final result. But if you are into refined look, he is the perfect stylist for the job. Of the three women who walked out of the salon before me, all three of them were ecstatic with what Freddy had done for them.

Color/Highlight: 9

I must admit I shouldn't even be rating this category since I have no previous experience with color or highlights. But, judging from what I had described what I wanted and what I got, I must say it's very much on the money; I wanted subtle hints/streaks of crimson red in my hair without looking too contrived and that's exactly what I got. I had to take that 1 point from a perfect 10 just because I'm not happy with my own choice.

Styling: 10

I don't usually care too much about how the stylist styles my hair because that only lasts for few hours or at most a day. I judge haircuts only after I had washed and styled my own hair. Having said this, I must say he really does great work. I think one of the three women I observed actually came in just for wash and style. As I said number of times, they all left with big I-look-fabulous smile on their faces.

Scheduling: 7

It's 7 just because I waited 70 minutes. He did call the day before to confirm the appointment and did everything that was expected. However, he could have managed my expectations a little better by explaining at the time of my appointment by explaining what had happened and the approximate timeframe on when I can expect my haircut. I could have taken care of couple of chores instead of sitting inside reading Newsweek.

Service: 8

Freddy made everyone feel quite comfortable; there was no conceit or contempt while providing a Newbury Street level work. However, I think he can use an assistant to take calls, handle scheduling, and wash hairs. The whole time I was waiting, I kept thinking "where's my mocha?" Then I had to remind myself, that this wasn't a Newbury Street salon.

Location: 8

476 Commonwealth Avenue
Boston, MA 0221

I give it high marks for Zen Hair being near a T stop, but the location doesn't exactly scream "trendy." With boarded up dive below and graffiti sparsely spewed about, the location isn't entirely inviting. As I said, I had to fight my urges to walk away in order to find out the exterior isn't always a good indicator for level of quality produced inside.

Price: 10

Haircut: $27 (men), $40 (women)
Highlights: $62

For the quality of work Freddy produces, the price is quite down to earth. I should know. I've travelled up and down the trendy Newbury Street in search of the perfect stylist and I personally believe Freddy's work is actually better than most of Newbury Street stylists. With the price this low, I can't believe I got an appointment in a week. I don't know about anyone else, but I'm going to take advantage of it while I can.

Calculation

  • Haircut: 9.5 x 3 = 28.5
  • Color/Highlights: 9 x 2 = 18
  • Styling: 10 x 2 = 20
  • Scheduling: 7 x 1 = 7
  • Service: 8 x 2 = 16
  • Location: 8 x 1 = 8
  • Price: 10 x 2 = 20

Total = 117.5
Overall Rating: 117.5 / 13 = 9

Information:

Stylist : Freddy Luk
Salon : Zen Hair
Address : 476 Commonwealth Ave
Boston, MA 02215
Phone : 617.247.3389

Photo: I'm posting this picture just because someone (Emily) wanted a picture of my new hairdo. Observe the exhasted blank stare. This is what happens after being awake 24 hours (of which approximately 16 hours were spent traveling). The crimson red highlights seem almost brown, but they show their true colors under bright daylight.

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Saturday, July 01, 2006

Movie: The Devil Wears Prada

Starbucks, 755 Boylston Street, Boston, Massachusetts
84° F and NOT muggy for a change.

Ann Hathaway

Just in case you were thinking it's much too metrosexual for a guy to go watch a movie that lives and breaths fashion alone, you're probably right. But I didn't see it for the fashion. I saw it because Ann Hathaway was in it; she exudes adorable innocence that I find hard to resist. Meryl Streep was her brilliant self and with Anne Hathaway as the wide-eyed 2nd assistant worked perfectly to create a surprisingly entertaining movie. I have to say it's a "must see again" of a movie.