what do i drive?

I know nothing about cars.  The only things I know about a car are the color, the make (most of the time I can identify its logo), and whether or not it's pretty (yes, I know that's subjective).  So this time around, I've decided that, since I'm living in a city such as San Francisco where parking spaces are hard to come by when one goes out and where traffic can be seen anywhere and everywhere, I want a car that isn't too big, has good fuel economy, and is reliable.  Immediately I'm thinking Japanese, Japanese, and Japanese.  The Prius comes to mind.  Definitely don't want another Volvo.

After looking at the Prius, Lexus IS 250, and Subaru Legacy last week, I decided that I'm going to streamline the process.  I scheduled appointments at four different dealers to test drive no less than six cars.  Yesterday, after my cello lesson, I embarked on my journey on a beautiful, sunny afternoon.

First up - Volvo.  Yes, you read correctly.  I know, I said I'm not buying another Volvo.  But two nights ago, my friends Papa Joe and Daddy Lo recommended that I at least check out the V50, a station wagon.  What!?  Do I look like a sixty-year-old grandma?  Please don't answer that.  I know I drive like one, but still.  We went on the Volvo website and discovered that they're offering five years of complimentary maintenance and service plus $3,000 off on the S40 and V50.  Since the ways to my heart are money and food, I took the bait.

I first tried out the V50.  Surprisingly nice.  The Barents Blue was excellent, as was the Titanium Grey.  The interior design was also nice - nothing excessive, just the essential elements presented on an upscale, IKEA-like, elegant panel.  Unfortunately, the Nordic wood trim on the panel had looked better online than in person, but the aluminum alternative was sleek.  I could already imagine how that that would get under the sun; it might be like touching aluminum foil on an oven pan.  As for the models, the S40 Sedan has a younger, more interesting design, but the V50 does offere more cargo room.  Those of you who are car enthusiasts are probably asking:  what about the drive?  All I have to say in that department is that it was good - steady, familiar.  Of course, before I left, I made sure that my cello case would fit in both cars - a very important issue as I embark on my cello career and prepare for my nationwide concert engagements.

Next, I walked the long journey onward to Subaru, affectionately known as Subie to those who love it.  It was next door - took me 30 seconds.  Now, you're all asking (I'm asking):  why Subaru?  Because my cousin Elmer (oh, I forgot, he's not really my cousin, just married to one) said that it's a reliable, fun car.  Fun car?  I don't know what that means.  Reliable car?  Now we're talking.  By the way, the name Elmer is an alias, sort of like Anastasia Beaverhausen.

The Legacy sedan I had tried last week was fine.  Nothing special about it, nothing bad either.  But what I remembered most during that trip to Subaru was the color on a Forester SUV - sage green metallic.  My heart skipped a beat when I first saw this color because this was the color of my vehicular dreams.  If I closed my eyes and imagined the color of my dream car which of course is amorphous at this point, it would like exactly like the sage green metallic I saw.  But who buys a car just for the color?  Certainly not me.  There are the chassis and drivetrain to worry about.  I swear I still don't know what these two things are.

Anyway, I sat in the beautiful sage green metallic Forester, which, for some reason unknown to me, has lost a bit of its original appeal.  The first thing I thought when I closed the car door was that everything inside looked cheap.  Did Subaru run out of material to build in the interior?  I drove the car nevertheless but found the engine loud, the ride rough, and the smell smokey.  That last part was due to the salesman who has taken a few too many rides on the Camel in his life.  So good-bye, Forester.  Good-bye Subaru.  Good-bye dreamy sage green metallic.  Good-bye smelly salesman.

Next on the list was Lexus.  It got a bit chilly pulling into the Lexus customer parking lot, so I put on my hoity-toity deflector shield on before stepping out.  I was here for the Rx hybrid and the much-hyped, brand new HS.  The fast-talking, very annoying, stereotype-fitting salesman named JB was busy telling me how wonderful and technologically unique the HS was.  I didn't bother to tell him I don't own an iPhone.  Nor an iPod, for that matter.  He rambled.  I pretended to listen.  Honestly, I wasn't impressed.  The car drove fine, it was interesting inside despite that bulky center console that was like the Playstation of the car.  JB tried to impress me (or dissuade me?) by informing me that there is a three-month waiting list to get an HS, that of the five cars coming in the following week, four have already been reserved.  Sticker price only.  Limited supply due to the economy, you understand, right?  Too many rich people lined up to get the next "in" thing, right?

While there, I saw an Asian family.  The dad looked like the typical business or doctor type - you can't tell with Asians - they all look the same.  But i was certain he played golf or tennis.  Mom was the generic well-dressed kind - meek outside, tyrant at home.  Two sons about high school age, dressed with oversized jackets and shorts like most teenagers nowadays (nowadays - that word really ages me).  They were checking out the HS for the son who was about to go to college.  I have to compete with some acne-faced, tennis-playing 18-year-old whose dad has too much money to throw around?  I don't think so.  But I digress.  Eyes back on the HS.  I would label the HS as a cool looking car that is a technologically advanced toy for rich, young people.  90% of what the car offers I don't need.  As JB played with the mouse to show me on the navigation screen all the nifty things that car could do, I did my best to keep my eyes on the road and not see anything that he was doing.  I did, however, foresee accidents with the HS as people play with the mouse and screen while driving.  Not for me.

I then tried the Rxh.  Of course, there were none on the lot because they're so popular.  So I tried a 2006 used one.  Once i got in, the whole thing felt so big that it overwhelmed me.  I felt really heavy, like I just ate a whole bucket of KFC chicken (and I'm not talking about the grilled ones).  Not a good feeling.  Drivewise, it was fine.  But I hated the interior look of the Rxh.  The buttons were nice, nothing looked cheap like in a Subaru, but it was flat.  Literally and figuratively.  As I think back to the IS, I remember that was pretty much how it looked as well.  So the Lexus is pretty much like a hot, young supermodel - beautiful on the outisde, ugly and soulless on the inside.  I pass.

From there I moved on to Toyota. I was amazed by two things there - that my cello case fit in the back seat of a Prius, and that there is a horizontal bar running across the middle of the rearview mirror.  The bar is the metal divider of the hatchback window.  Who the heck designed that!?  But the Prius does have one (and only one) thing going for it - the 50 mpg.  Nothing beats it.  So I thought I would at least check out another Toyota Hybrid - the Camry.  Bad idea.  It was déjà vu.  The moment I sat in it, the cheapness of the Subaru returned all over again.  I got out of the car even before I drove it.

So that was the end of my day of cars.  I still don't know what I'll get, but, to my amazement, Volvo is a strong possibility.  Prius is up there too.  Will keep you posted.

my true colors

It's a typical summer afternoon in South San Francisco - foggy, cold, dreary.

I'm sitting here at work during my break, and random thoughts led to a search for a very fond memory from my stay in Paris in 2006.

One of the many special moments from that trip came from (surprise!) a television program - La Nouvelle Star. It's basically the French version of American Idol.

The star of the show that year was a young homme by the name of Christophe Willem. He was plain looking, wore geeky glasses, and didn't dress particularly fashionably. But he sang with his heart and soul, and he was beautiful. I remember very well a song he performed - True Colors.

So during my break, I searched for his performance online.

Then I relived three magical minutes from Paris.

Often I have (we all have) wanted to be more this or less that and have criticized people around me for being too this or acting too that - most of which don't actually matter very much if I think about it. Feeling Christophe perform makes all of life's little wants and desires insignificant. It reminds me to just be myself, to live, to express my soul in any and every which way I can and to see people for their true colors.

Every now and then, I'm starting to see a glimpse of my true colors shining through.

And that makes me happy.

of roses and akira

Sometimes I just can't get certain movie images out of my head.  

Not that I want to.

Yesterday I saw the great master Akira Kurosawa's Rhapsody in August, which depicts an old woman's life as result of the atomic bomb during WWII.  I don't like wars.  I don't care for movies about wars.  The image that has enraptured me is the image of the woman carrying an umbrella in the midst of a strong storm.

As she holds the umbrella above her, the wind blows so hard that it flips the umbrella inside out.  At that moment, the umbrella resembles the petals of the rose seen earlier in the movie, and the woman its stem.  Throughout the movie, the woman's grandchildren sing repeatedly Franz Schubert's The Rose among the Heather, a song based on Goethe's Heidenröslein.  The lyrics, which I can't remember fully, were about a boy seeing a rose and, delighted by its beauty, approaches to take a closer look.

In the movie, Kurosawa includes an image of a trail of ants crawling toward and all over this rose.  At the end, the grandchildren run after their grandmother like the ants toward the rose.  Like the poem, they are all pursuing something beautiful.  And by taking a closer look at their grandmother, the children find something valuable.

I couldn't help but think that I too am like the children.  Perhaps all people are.  We all search for something; some of us know what it is, others never find out.  

I recall the one other image that has resurfaced countless times in my mind.  It also comes from a Kurosawa movie - Ikiru.

This image is a middle-aged man, dying of cancer, sitting alone on a swing in the park he built with his life savings.  As snow falls, he sings Gondola no Uta (The Gondola Song), one verse of which goes something like this:

Life is brief

fall in love, maidens

before the boat drifts away

on the waves

before the hand resting on your shoulder

becomes frail

for those who will never

be seen here again

I remember not being able to stop crying for minutes as I watches these last moments of the film.  I believe the rose that I seek is to create images like these to move people, to move myself, to remind all what is true.

I have this secret plan (not so secret now) to recreate the image of the man on a swing in a movie that I will make.

Maybe I cried because I don't want to be that man.

how she said it

Elizabeth Taylor, a legend in the world of acting.  

I saw Cleopatra this week, and that was the first time I had ever seen her work.  What I noticed immediately was the different style of acting compared to the films today.  Of course there was the obvious lack of extreme close-ups and special effects, which are too often overused nowadays.  But the most significant difference is the diction.  

What current actors accomplish with facial expressions and hand gestures Ms. Taylor did with variances in the tone and weight of her speech.  One word that recurred as I watched the film was that she was convincing.  Through her diction, I felt her joy and her pain, her anger and her pride.

Her portrayal of Cleopatra made me want to learn more about this legendary historical figure, and isn't that what films are all about?  To demand our attention, to pique our curiosity.

on the wings of music

It has been nine months since I began cello lesson with Irina.  

Everything started with a flyer in Paris in May, 2008.

Yesterday I had a moment.

For the past nine months, we have been working on getting rid of bad habits and developing new ones - that has been the most difficult thing.  I have had to change the source of energy for my bowing arm from my fingers to my shoulders.  I remember once in a lesson when I remarked to Irina that her arm was like a butterfly wing flapping so freely and effortlessly, whereas my arm was like... well, nevermind what mine looked like.  Then it happened yesterday.

I willed all the energy into my shoulder and allowed my wrist to be like jello, merely an extension of the upper arm, and all of a sudden, I felt my shoulder become free, almost flying like that of Irina.  I was so happy I screamed.  

Once I finish writing this post, I will return to the cello again for the first time since that moment, and I will teach my arm and shoulder to take flight again.

But all of this reminds me of a comment someone made to me a few weeks ago when we were discussing how busy each of us was.  When I related to her that I had a full schedule of activities planned for the summer, she was quick to remind me of the fact the things that kept me busy, such as tennis, cello, and script writing, were insignificant compared to what kept her busy - her children and family.  

I didn't quite know how to respond initially, so I let it go, even though I knew there was something terribly wrong with her argument.  After I hung up the phone, the response came quietly to me.  While it is true that my activities are personal to only me and that they don't involve such grandiose efforts like taking care of children, they are still things important to me.  They are more than hobbies or pastimes; I've learned perseverance, acceptance, forgiveness through them.  They may not be as difficult, but they are important because I do them.

So while I don't need to make sure my cello or tennis balls are properly fed and bathed each day, nor do I dream about their applying to Harvard or Stanford one day, they are part of the many things that make up my life, and that gives them all the significance.

It's great to reflect on life to convince others.

Even more so to convince myself.

untitled opus I

About yesterday...

Perhaps not every opportunity needs to be seized.  Not every opportunity is an opportunity.  This one simply wasn't enough for me to give up things for.  Learn from the experience.  Move on.

About tomorrow...

just sort of do it?

It all started with an invitation to an internship at a new friend's film production company here in San Francisco.

Everything was going to be great - I would watch and observe the editor and director at work, learn a lot of new things, and perhaps help with film projects.

Now, one week later, the internship has begun and ended prematurely; and my overthinking mind is left to analyze it to death.

First of all, it wasn't exactly an internship.  It was going to be like a semi-internship as I could only devote a couple of visits to the office each week.  During the first and final week, I was there three times, for a total of eight hours.  It didn't take long for me to feel that any time spent at the semi-internship meant time taken away from cello practice, tennis games, and, of course, script writing.  Besides, I was helping the company with research on business expansion and wasn't quite getting the hands-on experience I had hoped for.

At least that's what I told myself.

So, after one week, I told my boss Carl that the timing wasn't right, and I was overly ambitious to think that I could devote enough time to his company.  He took it very well, saying that when I am ready to commit to filmmaking, I would be able to give up the other things in my life and devote myself to it completely.

I had doubts.  Just like Meryl Streep at the end of the film "Doubt."

That's when I called my cousin Debbie, who is a singer/composer in Taiwan.  She had been through a tough period of searching for her place in the music world, so I knew she would be able to understand my situation.  Plus she always gives it to me straight.  No sugar-coating anything.  Sort of like a more pleasant, prettier, female version of me.

Minutes into our conversation, she was already pointing all the things I had feared were true but didn't want to confront.  Here were the questions she raised:

What makes me think I could gauge what the company is like after eight hours working with them?  Why should anyone hire an intern who could only devote eight hours a week?  Why should I expect to be handed projects that were to my liking?  What could I possibly expect to accomplish by working eight hours a week?  Why should I expect to be taught anything?  Obviously, this isn't medical school.

But the most important question was this:  if I am seriously passionate about film, why can't I give up everything else to do it, to breathe it, to live it?

I have lots of answers to each and every question, none of them really good.

As a side note, this brought up a brief conversation about the concept that each of us already knows the answer to the important questions in life, but 99.9999% of us have our minds clouded by greed, pride, and whatever other sins and desires you can think of.  But I digress.

I don't want to believe that my personality will lead me to everywhere and consequently nowhere (that's what my father tells me and hence advises me to stick with medicine).  But I do believe it is time to seriously reevaluate my priorities and what I really want to accomplish.

It would be nice to have answers handed to me.  But I know it won't happen that way.  The path toward my goals is likely 10 times more difficult that I was preparing for, and I am standing at every intersection, ready to provide all sorts of obstacle.  

The next time an opportunity presents itself, will I "just do it" or will I "just sort of do it"?

I have an answer:  I need to get rid of "me."