Texts you don't expect from your sister every day

"We've discussed over dinner and I think we need to have your sperm frozen and soon perhaps for your bday."

I guess I'm just happy she used an apostrophe.

A Day in the Life

Today was productive in the way that I nowadays feel productive. Like not normal person productive, just me productive. I was up at a decent hour (meaning before three), caught up on my RSS and Tumblr reads and reposts, made a responsible phone call, settled in to play some Starcraft 2, had a great book idea that fizzled away but I have the notes left over to confuse me, cleaned up and bagged all the clothes I'll be giving away, used Shazam quite a few times to determine the contents of a mixtape a friend made for me ten years ago, thought about completing some personal email but decided against it, managed to give some coherent and timely friend advice, ate two normal timed and proportioned meals, listened to a whole slew of podcasts, and finally got started creating content for an Asian American writers' blog I've been talking about since January. It's by far the most productive day I've had in a week.

Who knows what tomorrow brings? Oh wait, I know. Tomorrow I head to the horse track to earn my living. Bet on the outside horse, never fails to show.

The Land of Make Believe

Over the past weekend I went on a holiday retreat to Palm Springs, located about a hundred miles northwest of San Diego. It's a man made oasis in the middle of the California desert. After driving through miles of sandy landscape, we descended into the valley to see acres of golf courses, suburban tract homes with well manicured lawns, and gleaming resorts. I'd never been to Palm Springs before but a friend had a timeshare so even though it was one of the least likely places I'd normally agree to go, I said, "Yes."

A little more history on Palm Springs is in order. I think originally, Palm Springs was a place for celebrities to hang out and have an escape from Hollywood. Bob Hope, Frank Sinatra, Clark Gable, Gene Autry and those good old boys would come out and carouse in the desert sun. Nowadays Palm Springs is probably celebrity free since everyone I know mostly associates the place with old people and golfers. On this last fact, it's jarring to see so much green in the middle of a giant dirt bowl. I immediately wondered where the water was being pumped in from. Turns out it's from the Colorado River and Palm Springs uses more than half of California's share for its farms -- more than Los Angeles and San Diego's usage combined.

Now I don't know how much of this water is necessary for farming but I'd suspect a lot of it goes toward tending those golf gardens. Upon further research I can't even figure out what is being grown in Palm Springs with all this water since the only farms I could find online were references to wind farms. The miles of modern windmills fascinated me by the way. They are awesomely symmetrical looking and I liked spotting the ones that were out of order and not spinning along with its siblings. Well they were awesome until I found out that the electricity generated by the 3000+ windmills is mostly used to keep the Coachella Valley humming. Someone correct me if I'm wrong but it seems like there's a lot of water and infrastructure being used here for only a few hundred thousand people.

To be fair, Palm Springs also serves as a semi-oasis for the gays. "Current estimates are that up to thirty three percent of Palm Springs' residents identify as gay and lesbian. In addition, there are a number of gay resorts, bars, restaurants, and clubs. Wikipedia further illuminates by providing this tidbit: Palm Springs has one of the highest per capita rates of HIV/AIDS in the nation because of their extensive health-support systems.

Forget my hastily researched history of what keeps Palm Springs around, let's focus instead on the people. We stayed at very nice Marriot resort and everything about the place was classy. Our spacious condo overlooking a golf course, a beautiful soaring lobby, gondolas and caged parrots there for entertaining, and a staff attentive to every need. In fact, the place was the very definition of luxury, if by luxury you mean the entitled upper middle class versus dirty sopping rich luxury.

So if you love thirty dollar entrees, retiree shuttle van drivers, fifteen dollar poolside chargers, and an amusing mix of douchebags and their entourages -- in various sizes and ages, although not colors unless you differentiate between levels of tan -- then Palm Springs is the place for you. The very definition of classy yet trashy, Palm Springs was like a Vegas-lite. And you know how much I dislike Vegas. What's even worse about Palm Springs though is its absolute lack of minorities. At least in Vegas there are packs of minorities and mixed groups of people milling around. Lately I've been hyper conscious of spaces that are only filled with white people and Palm Springs was the definition of that. Sure there were a few European tourists, a gaggle of Asians there for a ballroom dancing competition, and the service staff had any number of Latinos and blacks, but the clientele was basically all the same. Semi-young adults transported from the worst areas of downtown San Diego or Pacific Beach, or families from Rancho Bernardo.

I may have to start a Tumblr about spaces with only white people in them. But I fear I'd have to do too much field research. Don't get me wrong, I love my white friend, but there are certain places that are overwhelmingly a particular type of white that makes me all sorts of uncomfortable. It's not the whiteness so much as the attitude. I'll try to explain it better in another post. And it's not whiteness per se, I mean, any spaces with a mono-ethnic crowd makes me weirded out lately.

The biggest problem I had with Palm Springs was how comfortable I felt. Intellectually I detested it for the utter lack of diversity, the overriding sense of economic entitlement, and a "these are people here to serve me so they better do it well" attitude, but this was the sort of place I grew up visiting. The accomodations, the marble floors, the delusions of grandeur settings, all of these were vastly familiar to me. I can easily imagine myself saying, "Hey, a gondola! Cool!" And that's the problem with Palm Springs. I went for research and found exactly what I expected, which just supported and heightened my hypocrisy.

Planet of Regret

Speaking to a friend the other day, we were trying to figure out the difference between a galaxy versus an universe. I believed it worked like this: The universe is the big umbrella under which galaxies and other things fit. The proper definition of a universe is actually: "All matter and energy, including the earth, the galaxies, and the contents of intergalactic space, regarded as a whole." I guess I was mostly right.

There's a big sky up there and if you want to read some of the most beautiful and accessible words about the universe, "Cosmos" by Carl Sagan is the book. I consumed it during a few days zipping back and forth on the New York subway years ago. At the time, I remember being swept away by the descriptions and understanding why the Bible warned us thusly:

"And when you look up to the sky and see the sun, the moon and the stars -- all the heavenly array -- do not be enticed into bowing down to them and worshiping things the Lord your God has apportioned to all the nations under heaven." (Deuteronomy 4:19)

Alas, today I could recount no facts for you, or provide any brief overview of chapters, or differentiate between a red, white, or blue dwarf. Where once I felt moved, now I just plain forgot.

The topic came up because I telling my friend that if I were being truly honest with myself, I would grudgingly admit that my friend constellations have almost entirely changed recently. This may not seem like much, but I've always taken some measure of pride in declaring "these are the people closest to me and they haven't changed in x years." And it's not just the people closest to me that have changed, but everything up to and including. The people I talk to, the people I interact with, the people I depend on, are all unrecognizable from just two years ago. Many of them weren't even there twenty four months ago; they are newly formed stars fireballing brilliantly.

And it's not because the other bright lights have changed or winked out necessarily, they've just faded into the background. Lately I've been in talks with another friend about how hard it can be to "turn over" your social circle. It seems like I've somehow done it, without much provocation or even intent. The question is: Now what?

"He's liked, but he's not well liked."

Tomorrow I leave San Francisco. If I have my way, it's for good. Actually if I had my way I'd spend three months each in San Diego, San Francisco, New York, and some rotating international city. A friend suggested that she was worried for me because I was becoming too attached to not being attached. Prompted by something undefinable and probably small, I flee at the slightest bored/boxed in feeling. Another friend asked when I would stop running. "Running from what?" I said. "You tell me," she replied.

I don't have anything to run away from. I don't have anything to run toward either. I'm just over the Bay. The much touted food is hit and miss, the hum of creative culture is here but it's both too big and too small, and the rhythm of what I'm willing to do has gotten too stagnant. The only thing that has kept me around has been my friends. The old ones who I knew before, if only nominally in some cases. And the new ones I had hoped to meet. While I haven't met too many people up here, there's definitely been a handful whom I've met and built relationships with. Those friendships will carry on but it's taken a good year and a half to befriend maybe five people? I could stick around and do it all again but the wheels are spinning and I want to get off this particular ride before the next cycle starts.

When I moved here last spring ("For awhile," I declared), it only ended up being for three months. Right on cue I scurried home mid-summer in order to soak in sun and surf, but then found myself back up here for another two months. Come October I was drawn back south again, after all my SF book and organization obligations were over.

During the past two years I've split almost equal time between the two cities, never fully committing to either. Through the graciousness of my mom and my sister, I've been rent free -- except for a brief stint in the Mission. I've generally been able to do what I want, when I want, and say "yes" or "no" on a whim. It's been a cushy lifestyle and it's still rolling albeit with yet another psuedo end in sight.

Another friend suggested that I get the best by constantly zipping into and out of places. He was initially referring to a mutual friend, who always receives "he's back!" priority and excitement upon his infrequent returns to San Diego. This leads, over time, to an expectation that when he comes home, everyone drops everything to hang out with him. I thought about it a moment and agreed. That's when my friend said, "You probably do that too."

I disagreed.

Taking the example of a certain globetrotting friend (who actually globe trots versus coastal trots), it often feels like she's everywhere at once even though she's never actually where you think she is. You know the locations she's most likely to be but never exactly when. The feeling generated is one of being slightly available even if perpetually out of reach. With an unpredictable frequency and the appropriate length of stay, I too hope to achieve this on a life level.

There'd be no time to get sick of me if I keep flying around right? I'd be like a friend salesman, travelling around, gathering rapid reward points, bringing good tidings and occasional holiday cheer. Too bad the Internet is so prevalent now otherwise I'd also be quite valuable as a gossip courier.