Four Letter Words.

About a year ago, I became infatuated with all things Myers-Brigg. Having taken an inventory online, I was presented with a four letter acronym and an explanation of what makes me tick. And as I began to read through that personality profile, I was amazed. Who knew that such an accurate description existed in four simple letters: I, N, F, and P?

The first paragraph was a general description. I had read somewhere that in a focus group where a personality test was administered to a classroom of high school students, the same rose-colored assessment was given to each member of the class. Each student was pleasantly surprised with their results, nodding in agreement, thinking the results had been tailored exclusively to them when really, the same blurb seemed to apply to everyone. Smart in their own way. Potential to do great things. Key themes that could read true for every student in the room. People like to see themselves in the brightest of lights.

But as I read on, so many of the questions I had, things that driven me crazy about myself over the years were instantly illuminated. How was it that I couldn't answer a simple black and white question, but instead see a full spectrum of gray? Could this be reverse autism, where I was unable to take anything literally? And where was this test 10 years ago during my adolescent angst?

More important was the following: could there be others out there?

And that's when I noticed the list. In addition to shedding light on why you are the way you are, Ms. Myers and her mother Briggs had thoughtfully included a list of notable counterparts. Although not many in number, there were others like me, only famous!

As I perused that list, I breathed a breath of fresh air.

With the existence of other fellow INFPs such as Jackie O (I always liked that pillbox hat), young Drew Barrymore's pal E.T., and Mary, mother of Jesus, suddenly, my shades of gray world became technicolor.

A Spoonful of Sugar.

It began with an ambulance, a hospital, and a shot of morphine. Well actually, it began with some Chinese herbal medicine. Talked into taking herbal supplements by my mum over Mother's Day weekend, I ingested my morning dosage of han yak (Chinese herbal medicine) and carried on with my day. I consumed my daily serving of Special K mixed with Smart Start, tossed and turned in my chair, raided my co-worker's box of Mint Cookies & Cream Frangos, sent an email, and then contemplated and caved into another Frango. The usual.

A couple hours later, I feel a wave of nausea and lightheaded-ness. This is not good.

I stop by my meeting, long enough to blurt out "IfeellikethrowingupI'llseeyoulater!" and make a beeline for the onsite doctor. After confirming that I'm not pregnant, the medical aide shows me into a room with a giant beanbag. Sink and trash can? Check and check. I can rest assured. I then fall into a 30 minute nap, waking up just in time to throw up in the sink. Upon realizing what time it is, I clean up the mess and limp over to my creative writing class.

"I'msosorrybutIcan'tstayI'mfeelingreallysickbuthere'stheassignmentcansomeonegetmybag?" Tom, the instructor, looks concerned and asks a fellow student to journey to another building to grab my belongings.

As I'm stumbling over to the building lobby, where my friend Grace is waiting for me, I collapse on the sofa to take a breather. And that's when it begins. The sequence went something like this: receptionist calls over security guard who calls security guards plural who call the emergency response team who notify the Mountain View Fire Dept (onsite doctors are gone for the day) who call the paramedics who strap me into a gurney, roll me across main campus, into an ambulance and cart me off to the hospital.

"Where are you?" Google.
"What time is it?" 5:30ish. My mental capacities are in tact.
"We're going to check your blood sugar level." Do I have diabetes?! I knew I shouldn't have killed off my co-worker's box of Frangos!
"No, just standard procedure, ma'am."

This is the second time I've ridden in an ambulance, and the sirens did not sound.

At the hospital, there is no wait. I'm rolled into the corner bed, change into a dressing gown that ties in the back and am wristbanded. So this is what it feels like. Certified patient now.

Here's what I learned: explaining the concept of han yak to non-Asian medical caregivers is no easy feat.

"Did you eat anything today, miss?" Well... there's this eastern medicine thing that I took this morning..
"What's it for?" Erm.. general good health? It's not exactly like how Tylenol is for headaches.
"What is it, exactly?" I have the bottle here, but there's no label, and no, wait.. don't open it.. it smells really bad.. I warned you..

By now, I'm rather dehydrated. Continually tossing and turning in pain, I ask where Grace is. The waiting room, they tell me. The nurses hook me up to an IV.

Will this make me throw up again? "No, this will go straight to your veins."

I feel something surge through me, and I'm hurting like I've never hurt before. I saw an episode of Grey's Anatomy where Karev miscalculates the amount of fluids to give and the patient dies. This is what's running through my head as I'm writhing in pain.

Why are you torturing me, nurse? We've only just met.
A shot of morphine later.. I love you, nurse.

Grace is finally brought in. She's studying for tomorrow's exam, while I'm catching up on half a day's work email on my phone. Such a wonderful friend. :)

A drunk patient from two beds over wanders by and mouths something that I'm squinting to make out. "I'll pray for you," he says, convinced I'm terminal. Grace and I giggle, while the drunk guy wanders back to his area.

I'm discharged later that night, once my blood tests check out, and my roommates pick me up. I unfold a hastily scribbled prescription, which simply reads: STOP TAKING CHINESE MEDICINE!

And so begins my birthday week.

The Happiest Place on Earth.

With the Superbowl now over, what was I going to do next? Go to Disneyland, naturally.

Last week, I got to traipse around the happiest place on earth with the happiest company on earth, as part of our annual company trip. Google flew its west coast employees down to sunny LA, put us up in Anaheim and Disneyland hotels, and granted us free passes to both Disneyland and California Adventures for the day. At night, they reserved the entire park for us, set up bars, DJs, and dance floors, not to mention the most awesome fireworks display I've ever seen.

Scenes from Disneyland:

Outside California Adventures. I love this photo for its washed out, 70's family vacation quality.

Entering Main Street. The colors and vibrancy make it a perfect subject for Lomos. The developed photos actually came out like this, with the black borders. I cropped out the borders on the other pictures, but thought this one looked cool. I don't think I loaded the film properly, but it's a cool effect.

Mickey & Tink! The first thing you see when you enter the Disneyland turnstiles.

You can see Matterhorn peeking out from off in the distance.

The enchanted castle. Not sure why this turned out so washed out.. a bit more than I would have liked. Anyone know how to avoid the glare? Perhaps the shutter was held down too long.

Tommorrowland. I got to ride Space Mountain with the lights on at 1 in the morning!

Teacups. I never get sick of this ride. I get giddy everytime I spin the wheel.

During the trip, I ran into two girls from my high school. It really is a small world after all..

In front of the Haunted Mansion. There was this glare that ruined a bunch of shots on this roll, but it works for this one. Maybe it's an apparition. :)

A barbershop quartet at a store on Main Street. Still trying to figure out the best camera settings for indoor and evening shots, but I like how the stripes came out.

I'm naturally terrible about taking photos, but now that I have my new Diana+ made by those folks over at Lomography, photography is fun again.

Writer's Block.

Inspire me.

Sketchcrawling in Europe.

I'm terrible about taking pictures, so here are some sketches instead:

**Disclaimer: It looks like the colors aren't really showing up. I once inadvertently dabbed Clinique Moisture Surge Extra on the paintbrush, and the colors haven't been the same ever since. I guess thirsty skin relief isn't much for watercolors.


This lamp post is from a traffic circle in Berlin that I chanced upon after leaving an antique market en route to the Bauhaus Museum. There's a big statue there, famously captured in the Wim Wenders film Wings of Desire, but what captivated me were the lamp posts encircling the monument. I have this obsession with lamposts and gaslights. I noticed them in everywhere I traveled, and my intention was to sketch one in each city had I the time and the patience. Unfortunately, I lacked both.


The view of old town Prague from the Charles Bridge. After going on a walking tour, I wandered across the Charles Bridge and decided to sit out and sketch while the sun was still out. The castle and cathedral are in the distance.


This is the chandelier from the opera house in Prague. I got to see Verdi's Rigoletto at the decadent Prague Opera House. The story of a fool (court jester) seeking fatherly vengeance based on a story by Mr. Les Miserables himself. Crime and punishment themes - classic Victor Hugo. I always imagined operas to be stuffy and boring affairs, but I absolutely loved it. We showed up in jeans and sneakers for lack of decent attire, and it was funny how apparent the distinction between native and tourist was. I quickly scribbled this during intermission.


The Széchenyi Chain Bridge on the Danube River that links Buda (old town) and Pest (new town). This is probably the most beautiful bridge I saw during my travels. I walked over this at night and sketched the lit bridge from the other side, in front of the Four Seasons.


The port in Barcelona. People have been asking me which place was my favorite, and I'm at a loss for how to respond. I loved them all. But as if you were to ask me which country, I'd say Spain in a heartbeat. The culture, the ability to communicate (thanks to high school Spanish).. But I think weather had a lot to do with it. They say that Barcelona is like the California of Europe, so after backpacking through the freezing Eastern parts of Europe, I was thrilled to be able to wear t-shirts and Havaianas again. I spent a day wandering the streets of Barcelona, and lounged by the beach. The port was reminiscent of Marina del Rey or Newport - hoooooome.


The flower mart in Nice. Nice is nice. Har har har. So lame, I know, but I just had to say that. The entire French Riviera, actually, is breathtaking. What struck me first were the colors - a vivid palette of the brightest paints. And this outdoor flower market in Vieux Nice captured my fancy. If I lived there, I think I would buy freshly cut flowers every day.

And so ends my sketchcrawling. I tried to draw something in each city, but by the time I reached Paris, I was freezing and simply couldn't bear to sit outdoors in the thirty or forty degree weather. Now back to reality. Au revoir Europa!

Objet d'Art.

I've been noticing that the more modern art museums I go to, I'm seeing an increasing amount of chairs. Not chairs for weary travelers to rest upon, but chairs as art installations. This thought strikes me as I'm wandering through the Centre Pompidou's Musee National d' Art Moderne. Truth be told, I don't know that a chair belongs in a museum. As if the well of obscure paintings is running dry, they're now turning to the chair as objet d'art.

In fact, they much resemble the ones in my home, but perhaps that's the point. Chair at home is a replica of revolutionary design that has been mass produced and knocked off to no end, so as to seamlessly become something so commonplace that one does not give it another thought.

I suppose I can understand this sudden insurgence of household items from a design standpoint. From a purely design perspective, there was once a problem (fatigue) that needed solving, and this led to the development of the chair. But that is problem singular. Just how many other problems could there be, other than perhaps ones addressing posture?

As I pass a gnome stool designed by Phillippe Starck, I have to wonder, what correlation could a mythical garden dweller have with exhaustion or respite?

The thing is, I've grown rather fond of these chairs. The fanciful designs, the graceful curvatures. Had I the resources, I certainly wouldn't protest a work by Eames. As I migrate from room to room, contemplating the selection of furniture, all I want to do is sit down in one of them. But I suppose that's the problem with the chair as art. You can't use them in the capacity they were intended for.

Tout Sweet.

I now realize why I've come to Europe. (You know, aside from that soul searching bit.) I've come to eat and wander - to walk around and observe, constructing narratives in my head. There's nothing really, aside from these two things, that I care to do.. except maybe the occasional store or two.

More and more, I recognize that my travel style is simply to walk down streets. Sometimes with a map, sometimes without. Main streets are fun, but back or side streets are even better. Going in and out of boutiques, easily distracted, and sampling the goods at the occasional bakery or street vendor. The less money spent, the better. I don't even need to go into the museums. I'm in it for the local culture.

I'm simulateously infatuated with and sick of shopping. However, I think if I could only shop at the following two stores for the rest of my life: A.P.C. and Comptoir des Cotonniers, I could be happy. Wishful thinking. Oh, and Topshop's fun too.

The food here is amazing. And by food, what I really mean is dessert. Not a day goes by when I do not consume some form of chocolate. Milka, Kinder, Lindt, Cadbury - this is all readily available in all parts of Europe.

And then there are the bakeries.

The local patisseries featuring the most decadent of sweets and confections. From the tortes of Vienna to the postres (notably, the Creme Catalans of Barcelona), I am in a gourmand's paradise. I have indulged in the original Sachertorte at Cafe Sacher in Austria, licked happily at my several cones of panna cotta e fragola gelato in Milan, and sampled Movenpick ice cream on the French Riviera. And there is no stopping this consumption.

Hawaii and its beaches and (gulp) bikinis are less than a month away, but this is too good to resist. Perhaps a one piece is in order.