Promiscuous Proxy

At work, I'm working on a project jokingly called "promiscuous proxy" so promiscuous girl has been totally stuck in my head for days. At the next meeting, I really want to get up and say, "On start-up each application needs to be able to identify itself to the central service layer. Basically, it needs to say, promiscuous proxy, wherever you are, you've got what I need and I've got what you want."

A long time

Wow, I almost forgot this blog even existed.

The last post was much too long ago, and the past few posts have all been spread too far apart. A lot has changed: I've moved back to New York City and i've changed jobs. My mother remains equally worried about my procreative future, recently running a rant about how plastics used to create bubble tea turns Taiwanese boys into girls, but she'll always be that way.

Maybe now that I'm back in NYC, I will get back into this too...

Paging Dr. Gupta

In recent months, my mother has become enamored with Dr. Sanjay Gupta, the charismatic associate chief of neurosurgery at Grady Memorial Hospital in Atlanta. His accomplishments are numerous and I could not possibly list all of them (you can read about him in detail here!) but I'm quite sure my mother, as well as most of America, knows Dr. Gupta as CNN's chief medical correspondent.

I learned of my mother's growing admiration for Dr. Gupta when one day, out of the blue, she sent me an e-mail with no message, no context, just a single long link:

BPA may reduce sperm count

Allow me to reiterate the fact that this email was just a solitary link. No message explaining her thoughts, no words listing her worries, just a link. I found it very bizarre, but knowing my worry-wart mother it seemed like her usual behavior. I decided to ignore it and move on with my life. Little did I know that Dr. Gupta would soon give my mother something else to worry about. Not too long afterwards, I received another e-mail in my inbox with no message, no context, just another long link.

Men and sex: Survival of the quickest

Now I became alarmed, not because of the content of my mother's links (in fact, the article on premature ejaculation would probably be very reassuring for any gentlemen out there who may have had to deal with the issue) nor because of the frequency of her worries, but rather the recurring theme of her worries. My mother seemed to be very worried about my sex life or more specifically, my penis. This time I was unwilling to let the matter rest.

Me: Why did you send this to me?

Mom: Oh you know, I'm just worried about your health.

Me: ... Worried about a specific aspect of my health for any specific reasons?

Mom: Oh, I just saw these articles and I became worried.

The conversation was hardly enlightening, but I have never once talked to my parents about relationships, dating, or sex and I wasn't about to start now so I decided not to pursue the conversation any further. I thought that mother would be too awkward to approach the topic again, but I thought wrong.

FDA warns consumers to avoid sexual enhancement pills 

Mother, is there something that you're worried about?

Until I am needed again

(In a coarse and obviously forced baritone) Early Monday morning. A blanket of fog rolls onto a dreary city, suffocating the miserable residents in its unforgiving chill. Even in the middle of July, the people of this city have no choice but to surrender all hope of warmth and comfort to this cold ghost, and pray for a break in the shadows and a transient kiss from the sun.

But that kiss never comes, not even a hug or a courteous hand shake. There's not much love in this city, and the people living here certainly reciprocate the same sentiments. Drugs and prostitution have replaced the hugs and hand shakes of civilized society. Rampant muggings and murder are just tacked on to be extra nice. To the people of this city, this is all merely a fact of life now. The fog not only seems to blind the sight of what's in front of you, but the sight of what is right, wrong or sane as well. Tourists seem to stand out like stray beams of light, at least until the fog suffocates them too.

From a distance, I notice something strange, something out of place. In the middle of the road, between the aimlessly ambling homeless, lies a solitary black leather wallet. I pick it up and investigate the contents for evidence. A few credit cards, a library card, forty four dollars, and a Baltimore drivers license. Figures. Tourist, and from a cuddly city like Baltimore.

I dig deeper into its guts and eventually, I make it talk. A key card to the Fairmont hotel. Of all the places in the city, its that enormous asylum perched at the top of the hill. Its a tough hike, but a job needs to get done.

Dripping in cold sweat and calves twitching in fatigue, I slip in undetected. The concierge stands behind a monolithic desk at the back, dressed in a marching band jacket with gold braids sewed into his shoulders to remind himself to look important.

I drop the wallet in front of him. "This was found lying on the street several blocks away," I whisper in my raspy voice.

"I'm sorry, I can't understand what you're saying," the concierge blithely responded.

"There's a key card to this hotel inside. I need to return this to its rightful owner."

"Oh, ok. Well I can just go ahead and scan this for you..."

"Does the resident of the hotel match the ID in the wallet?" I ask as you can never be too cautious.

"Why, yes he does! This is a very nice thing you're doing here. I'm sure he will be very glad to be getting this back. Just a moment, let me get security to return this."

As the concierge handed the wallet off to the security guard, I disappeared out the door, leaving a wind-swept trail behind me. When I was already out the door, I could hear the concierge turn back and say, "Oh by the way sir, I didn't catch your na-" only to be greeted by the specter of my former presence.

I had to hurry back into the blinding mist of the choking city (and I was late to work). This city that needed me. This city that needed me to return more lost wallets.

Addendum: San Francisco is not nearly as dark and gritty as I make it sound here (in fact, I doubt any city, even Baltimore, feels this grim) and the weather and people are also quite pleasant, but, as you know, I had to stay in character.

Making New Friends

Attractive girl at the bar: Hey you.

Me: (Turns around looking left and right)

Girl: No, you!

Me: (Points at himself) Me?

Girl: (Nods)

Me: Oh no you must be mistaken.

Girl: Haha, you're funny...

(About two hours and many drinks later)

Girl: You know you're kinda cute. I kinda want to sleep with you.

Me: (Chokes on drink)

Girl: But you're definitely not the foolish kind of guy to just sleep with a girl you just met.

Me: No, I assure you, I'm very foolish.

Girl: Nah, you're more of a friend. Oh what to do...

Me: ... Are you thinking what I'm thinking?

Girl: Yeah, let's not have sex.

Me: That is not what I was thinking.

So I've been out here in San Francisco for about a month now and I've been making some new friends. I guess things are going well.

Going West

Last year, the company I work for purchased another company that is based in San Francisco. A few months ago, we began the merger process and some of my colleagues began making trips out to SF to facilitate the process. Some of my coworkers were even temporarily or permanently moved for the merger. Seeing an opportunity, I decided to follow in the footsteps of my ancestors and seek riches at old gold mountain (旧金山) as a (ruby on) rail worker* so I requested to be moved out there myself. Before I could even grasp how much of my life was changing, I was approved for the move. A few days ago, I booked my one-way ticket to San Francisco. I'll be leaving New York City on February 14th.

I always wanted to move around a lot and go on zany adventures across the globe, but turbulent shifts in location can come at the price of developing a strong career. There are plenty of other obstacles to mobility including work, significant others, kids, mortgages, etc. Being merely twenty-three, single (nobody likes you when you're twenty-three), essentially free of attachments, and with the same job ready for me in San Francisco, I figured why not. There's only going to be so many opportunities in my life where I can just pick up and move so why not now.

Of course, moving does not come without any fears or risks. Just about everyone I know is in NYC including the vast majority of my close friends. One of my close friends who has been living in SF is even moving out, though staying in the Bay Area. I basically don't know anybody in SF, which is a little scary, but then what's life without a little risk?

Now don't get me wrong, I love New York. I always have and I probably always will. I've lived here for over a half a decade now and I definitely consider myself a local. Although I grew up in a (boring) suburb outside of (fucking cold) Boston, I know New York like the back of my hand, better than I ever knew Boston or even my home town (growing up, my parents didn't let me out much...). However, despite all the love, sometimes change is good.

Wish me luck! :D

* This is just a pun since I'm a programmer. I actually probably won't be working in Ruby, but rather C++/C#/Java/Perl, which is unfortunate. :(

when you get the money, you get the power

Last night, despite the heavy rains drowning the city, I made the hike into the village to celebrate a friend's birthday. It was a joyous evening of much celebration where many imbibed upon the sweet nectar of Trappist monks, or as I like to call it... monk-juice. Even as the evening wore down and we prepared to depart home, I remained engulfed in the rapture of the evening. Feeling excessively optimistic of my credit limit, I offered to pay the entire bill on my credit card while collecting individual compensations in cash.

Well over a dozen party-goers were present so the bill accumulated to quite a princely sum. Regardless, as long as I received cash in return it was hardly a problem for me. Unfortunately, I also completely forgot that I did this, and thus the problem.

The next morning, confused as to how I got home and severely hung over, I opened my drawers to get dressed. As I opened my sock drawer, which happens to be the same drawer where I keep my wallet, I was shocked to find cash. Lots of cash. Hundreds of dollars in cash. My drawer was so filled with cash it looked like it came from a scene in Scarface.

After a brief moment of elation, my spirits suddenly sank. The joy of discovering a stockpile of cash was abruptly replaced by a bead of dread that dribbled down my spine. Here in front of me were hundreds of dollars in cash that I could not remember receiving and that I could not explain. What did I do to get this much cash?

Did I rob something or somebody? Did I make a hit? Did I buy and sell drugs? Did I sell myself? Quickly, I frantically searched through my clothing from last night, looking for blood stains and white powder. Nothing.

I began to call up my friends to figure out what may have happened. Paying the check with a credit card is not the most memorable part of an evening so I did not get many answers when I opened with the broad question, "what happened last night?" At least my friends were able to confirm that during the period we were together, I did not rob, steal, deal, or pimp myself. Phew, I suppose...

Eventually, it just came to me that maybe I just paid the bill in credit and collected (a shitload of) cash. This is something I tend to do to take advantage of my credit card points and I tend not to save receipts so I began to inquire about how the bill was paid. My friends answered immediately and my fears were quickly settled, but it certainly made for a very exciting morning.