Category: Uncategorized

This past weekend was our 10 year class reunion, and although I did not attend (in large part because flights from SF to GR are so expensive), it seems like a good time to say that I appreciate the time I had with you all.

I tend to look back at things through a rose-colored glass that probably makes what I say sometimes seem a bit “dramatic” or over the top or cheesy, and I don’t have the skill with words to properly convey a feeling. But, if you are the type of person who can watch a movie like The Perks of Being a Wallflower (which I watched last night for the first time – a bit “young” and obvious and hipstery perhaps, but a movie I “feel” and enjoy) and get a sort of warm, melancholy, significant feeling in your head, then know that that is sort of the feeling that I feel when I remember back on my time at Jenison.

I actually spent quite a bit of time typing up paragraphs of my memories that I wanted to point out, one paragraph for each significant memory, but honestly there are too many and I gave up. But, here is a much shorter, condensed version of some of those things that I remember and miss.

• Going over to Mikes house with Tim and playing Starcraft and Half-Life. Swimming in Tim’s pool and playing Battle Tanks. One of the best summers of my life I’d say, things were simple but also so new and exciting.
• Talking to GIRLS for the first time without feeling like a complete idiot (though mainly still an idiot) – VK’s speech class sticks out in my mind
• Seeing everybody in the hall. This is huge for me. Seriously, everybody. I would love so much to be able to walk through the hall again with everybody sort of awkwardly standing around (and if you were me, nervously, not sure what to do)
• Going to Curt’s house (with Kyla and Kendell and Jason) to make grilled cheese at lunch.
• Watching Kendell and his brother’s Kwasi and Kerry play video games in their basement
• A+ Certification aka 6th hour Starcraft with Andros, Andrew, Kendell, Dave, Jason. (I don’t actually remember if they were all in the class, but that’s how I remember it)
• Going to homecoming and prom and being miserably uncomfortable every second of it. To this day I am terrified of dancing. I would spend the entire night trying to look busy going back and forth between the bathroom and the water fountain and the [insert anything that’s far away from the dancing].
• Playing hockey. Driving to practice in Ryan’s car with the headlights turned off at night going much faster then speed limits permitted (this was both stupid and terrifying, but I remember it).
• Backpacking with Dave through Europe (this was actually post HS, but really part of that coming of age experience for me, and probably the last thing I really did before college came and life STARTED to get a bit more complicated)
• Building a tree house with Derek and Kc in the muck field (p.s. Kc thanks for the pop, I always appreciated it) – this actually happened in 5th or 6th grade I think but it was a highlight for me and worth mentioning – it was still our class of 2003
• The simple act of buying lunch, finding a table to eat at, and eating lunch – basically just being the person I was back in high school, around the people you were all in high school
• LAN parties with Andros, Phill, Andrew, etc
• Camping on the grass the day before the last day of school
• Swimming in Lindsay’s pool, with Lindsay and Lindsay and the rest of that group, in particular at her end-of-the-year pool parties
• Football games in the fall (I felt like such a “loner” most of the time, but those feelings of excitement and the unknown and the intensity when you walked by a group of people and made eye contact with somebody)
• Going to RiverTown by myself and walking around, sitting in Barnes and Nobles reading and feeling emo (this perhaps sounds depressing but was always awesome for me)
• Walking home from school with Lindsay through the muck fields (I still see Lindsay quite often as I live with her now)
• and on
• and on
• and on
• and on
• and on

So many people and things I remember, ALL of them fondly and with significance (and please know that this is not even a fraction of the people I think of when I think back).

Unfortunately I don’t really have a point to make. I guess I would just say that I miss you all and those simple (but very complex and exciting and sad and hard but awesome, thanks in no small part to hormones) times, and while I sadly interact with only a small handful of you at this point in time, I still really appreciate the memories I have of you all.

As some of you may know, I come from a family of SCUBA divers (from now on I’ll just say “divers” or “diving”, but I mean the SCUBA variety, not the free/olympic/etc variety… though I am very interested in giving freediving a shot). Still, despite having dove in a number of locations around the world (Michigan, Mexico, Belize, Virgin Islands, Thailand, etc…) I had never been diving in the Pacific.

Lindsay and I decided that it was probably a good time to do something about that. We had all of our dive gear out here (thanks family!) so there wasn’t much stopping us. Well two small problems:

-We didn’t have hoods or gloves
-We didn’t know where to dive

I DO know that the water here in Northern California is cold, and that there are sometimes serious waves, so diving here isn’t as “easy” as it might be somewhere like the Caribbean. Michigan has the same cold (or even colder) water, but is fresh water (requiring less weight) and also the water is generally a bit gentler.

I did some research, and luckily there was a pretty clear path for new Pacific coast divers: Breakwater Cove (or just “Breakwater”). Breakwater is in Monterey, CA which is a convenient(ish) 2-3 hour drive (depending on traffic) from Oakland. The Breakwater is very well protected from the open ocean, so you don’t have to battle breaking waves to get into the water, and the surge is generally pretty gentle.

We decided to leave on Friday evening after work. We camped over night at a great little campground (whose name I’m forgetting) and met some very nice freedivers who were going spearfishing in the morning. They were actually super helpful and walked us through the mental process of what to expect in the morning and gave us some tips about WHERE on Breakwater the diving was best.

Next morning we woke up early and headed to the dive shop. The dive shop seemed pretty nice. We rented weight (27lbs for me, 23lbs for Lindsay), hoods, gloves, and tanks. Sadly, this adds up (8 x 2 + 8 x 2 + 8 x 2 + 10 x 2). It’s a pretty quick walk from the dive shop to the grass where you “suit up” (see video below) so we just carried our equipment.

There is a really nice grassy area to get setup, and there are TONS of divers there getting ready, coming out of the water, etc. It’s pretty great in my opinion because it feels like you’re surrounded by dive culture. Of course many of the divers are part of dive classes, but I’d bet an almost equal part are just regular people like Lindz and I out for a dive.

The dive itself was great. We saw a bunch of starfish, anemones, kelp, an otter, and a bunch of other stuff. If I were to say my favorite thing about the dive, it’s that unlike many other places I’ve been diving, EVERYTHING is covered by living something or other. Even the sand is covered by hermit crabs, sand dollars, and all sorts of things. Also, swimming through the kelp is pretty awesome and a different experience that I’d never had.

Here is a short, not particularly exciting video from the experience:

Ultra quick post, because Lindsay wanted me to post something:

We MAY be leaving tomorrow (Sunday). Actually we MAY have left today, but as we are flying standby we are never sure for sure. Tomorrow morning’s flights are looking better then today’s though, so we’ll see!

We’ve been in Bangkok for about 10 days now, just hanging out. It’s been nice, and I think we’re going to miss Bangkok, as well as the rest of SE Asia of course.

For those who don’t know, my parents had planned on coming over however the international airport was shut down for something like a week+ thanks to a bunch of protesters (it was actually a pretty big deal and was a top story in quite a few international newspapers and things) which meant people were not able to get in or out. Including my parents. I’m still getting over the disappointment, but to be honest I think it was much worse for my Mom/Dad.

Anyway, because they were not able to come, we’ve decided we’re gonna head home. So that’s what we are doing. Originally our plan was to stop over in Tokyo, but funds are getting a bit “tight” and Tokyo would have been expensive, so we’re gonna skip it and just come home. If we are super lucky (and that’s doubtful) we may be home by Sunday evening in good ol’ Jenison. If we are not lucky (more likely) we’ll be home _______ night instead. IE we don’t really know. But eventually we’re gonna get on a plane! If you know anybody getting on the 6:40 AM BKK -> Narita flight tomorrow, tell them they should skip it because so we can get on the plane! ;).

This seems like a totally inadequate way of “signing off” of our trip, but in reality it’s not. Even though it may sound dumb, I think we’ve got at least a few more things we’d like to post/share for our own memories/etc. So this isn’t the end of the blog, but it could be the last post from the other side of the world.

Love you all, and again special thanks to Jan for making this trip 6 months instead of 4.

Also special thanks to StoraEnso/NewPage for letting us work for them and make money, which went a long way in paying for this trip.

And I’d say thanks to other people, but I feel like I’m making a Grammy speech.

See you all soon (hopefully!!)

a few days ago, while paroosing the second-hand book shop, i happened across a compilation of short stories by Paul Auster. well, not actually, “by” paul auster (which is too bad, because i love that man) but rather by 183 americans who decided to write NPR with a small anecdote about their lives to be read on NPR’s This American Life (which just so happens to be my very favorite of all NPR programs). naturally, without any hesitation, i bought it.

needless to say, the last few days i have been savoring the random tid bits my fellow countrymen and women have chosen to share with the rest of us. at the end of every story is the author’s name and where they live. i have been dreaming up crazy stories about what they might be like after reading just a tiny fragment of their life. i feel oddly connected to these people whom i have never, and most likely, will never meet. but, i suppose that’s what the book is all about. i have read stories about love, war, dreams, and even about a chicken who knew how to let himself in a screen door by himself. while they’re not all poetic masterpieces, they are especially poignant and in my opinion, time very well spent reading.

so, i have been carrying this book everywhere. on the bus, on the skytrain, everywhere. yesterday kevin decided that a trip to Pantip Plaza (a 3 story building solely devoted to selling electronic goods of every kind) was in order. not surprisingly, i declined and let him do his nerdy gadget shopping independent of his naggy “kevin, are you ready yet?!” girlfriend. instead, i thought a trip to Lumpini Park (one of our favorite hangouts) sounded nothing short of perfect. i could people-watch, read by the water, and just lay around under the shade of one of it’s many trees. so, we went our separate ways, and i headed down to the park. i cannot begin to tell you how amazing my afternoon was. lounging under this giant tree, water rushing by, people jogging, temperature at a balmy 70ish degrees…and my book…it was perfect. i was laughing, crying, and overall just totally immersed in the richness of these stories.

a few stories in, i started to read about a girl who’s day was going totally, and completely wrong. she was trying to make it across country for a funeral, during which she got on the wrong expressway to the airport 3 times, left her credit card at the gas station, realized she had brought the wrong check book, used her last few cents to buy a lottery ticket (on accident) instead of to make a phone call (i dont totally understand how this happened, but it seems like both the lottery ticket machine and pay phone were right next to each other? strange.) and the list goes on. i must admit, that i was enjoying her misfortune, and was chuckling to myself throughout the entire story. it was quite well written. so, after recanting the entire story about her god-forsaken day, she writes, “it’s annoying when life seems to shit on you when you least expect it.”

end of story. i smile.

just then, with this ridiculous grin plastered on my face, a pigeon shit all over me. and i do mean ALL over. all over my thighs, calves, feet and my hand. it is everywhere. so, here i am, covered in shit, book in left hand, shit on right, laughing out loud at how ridiculous this situation is. then, out of no where, this tiny 5’1 asian girl comes up laughing too, and hands me a kleenex. “i’ve been living here 15 years,” she said, “and you never can plan for when you’ll get shit on…and not just by the birds…”

and this, is how i met vi.

ask yourself this question: what would you do if everything you heard…every radio, loud speaker, cell phone ring, supposed-to-be-entertainment-on-long-bus-rides “music videos,” EVERYTHING, besides the noise of incessant honking or rain patter, sounded like the beginning to “hopelessly devoted to you” on the Grease soundtrack?

(need a quick reminder? here you go: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=DJpyG3PXoKw)

you’d kill yourself, right? well, let me assure you, i’m just about to my breaking point.

now, don’t get me wrong. i love grease. i love olivia newton john and idolized her snazzy black (p)leather getup. i know all the moves to “grease lightening” and have belted out “look at me, i’m sandra dee” (complete with motions) too many times to count.

“I don’t drink! (no)
Or swear! (no)
I don’t rat my hair! (eew)
I get ill from one cigarette! (cough, cough, cough)
Keep your filthy paws, off my silky draws! Would you pull that crap with Annette?”

love it.

i played that soundtrack front to back, back to front, over and over and over again. ask my parents. i was 10. i loved it. best christmas gift ever.

that said, there was one song too lame to ever listen to. this was clear to me at 10 years old, and the same holds true today. number 3 on the cd (fine, i just looked that up). skipped every time. i didnt want to hear about how painstakingly awful olivia’s breakup was, or how she could only ignore her heart for so long, and frankly, i don’t want to hear it now. please. let’s be honest. john travolta isn’t even all that cute. get over it. let’s get on to the more exciting things! lets rock out to the hand jive and forget all this sappy stuff, right?!

i know i’m sounding awfully cynical here. a real “debbie downer” on the breakup front. i know it’s unfair. hell, i’ve had my fair share of breakups (right kev? :))! i know what it feels like to be in misery over a man! (ha!) to be fair, as i’m sure many of you are familiar with, when you break up with someone you love you feel like the world’s gonna end. no. you WANT the world to end. all you want to do is sit, cry, and wallow in self-pity (alright, fine, maybe that’s just me:)). i don’t want anyone to tell me that it’s going to be alright. i don’t want to get up and go do something. i want to sit. cry. and wallow. oh, and listen to horribly sappy, horribly depressing music. like natalie merchant, or bonnie raitt’s “i cant make you love me.”

oh yeah. that’s a killer.
(and if it’s raining, thunder-storming, or just plain grey outside +10 pts).

we’ve all got our songs. phill collins (take a look at me now). the beatles (eleanor rigby). styx (babe). R.E.M. (everybody hurts). bob dylan’s (positively 4th Street). damien rice (every single song he has ever written). or my personal favorite, the postal service (nothing better).

(it seems that the rockers of the world really have this down pat.)

in the past, listening to ungodly depressing music puts the mess of jumbled feelings that i couldn’t (or didn’t want to) sort out to some sort of order. it made me feel better that someone, someone far more poetic or articulate than i will ever be, could pin-point my sorrow and could put words to it. someone understands. someone understands, and feels no shame in wallowing. you can indulge in your patheticness. yes, lindsay. you can. it’s alright. no need to feel guilty. it feels good. wallow baby, wallow.

friends of breakup-ees know that there really is nothing they can do for their friend in this state. the breakupee has extraordinary powers, complete with the ability to suck their friend (mother, father, brother, dog) into an enormous pit of all-encompassing quick-sand depression. all thebreakupee wants to do is be sad, and they have no qualms about taking hostages (as many as that may be) in their quest to immerse themselves in cheerlessness. everyone knows at this point, it’s better to just let the wallowing run it’s course and check in every now and again to make sure they’re not dead.

fine. i understand. i really do. it’s therapeutic. but PLEASE just answer me this. how does an ENTIRE COUNTRY of people all need to wallow ALL AT THE SAME TIME (ALL THE TIME)!?? that’s all i want to know.

it’s been raining here for the last 36+ hours straight. nay, not raining (sound familiar :)), POURING. raining like i have never seen. apparently there have already been 20 deaths in hanoi (where we’re currently staying). i’m sure that is not helping my cause any. yesterday morning, i ventured outside around 2 pm, my hunger giving me strength, to find some bread for a breakfast/lunch/snack, only to find the water in the streets up to my thigh. it’s grey. it’s raining. it’s depressing. and the only sound to be heard short of the rain and honking, is that of “hopelessly devoted to you.”

i don’t know what it is about the viets. every single (i swear to god) music video kev and i have watched on tv (and the last few days, that has been A LOT) has followed this plot line.
boy likes girl.
girl likes boy.
boy and girl are happy.
another boy comes in the picture.
boy #1 gets dumped.
constantly sees girl with new boy.
boy very depressed.
lots of sad singing, distraught facial expressions and tears.
girl somehow dies…car accident (hit and run, runs into the car, in a car and is t-boned), terminal disease, suicide.
boy #1 is hopelessly depressed forever.

it seems people here like to wallow. which is fine, but i’m sick of going down with them.

where’s some bohemian rhapsody when you need it? somehow, that song talks about someone’s mom killing someone, and then killing herself, and STILL manages to be upbeat and dance-friendly!!!

in other, still noise-related news, i need to make quick mention to the loud speakers.

while the my list of faults seems to not only be endless, but also seems to be on display on our blog every other day, i must let you in on another. when i’m tired or hungry, i get VERY grumpy. if i remember correctly, i think kev has made mention to fearing for his life because i was overly hungry, and might beat him in an earlier post. this is not far from the truth, as many of you who know me can attest. i’m a terrible person. i cant help myself. that said. back to the loud speakers.

we are in the capitol of vietnam. a city where war propaganda posters still dominate every street corner. a city where many people wear military helmets accompanying their daily attire. although this is turning in to a somewhat “debbie downer” post itself (although i really do feel perfectly happy, albeit slightly agitated), i must say strictly for the chance to dictate thoughts, feelings etc per kev’s request, that the people here are rude. we’ve heard for however many miles now, that the further north we go, the less friendly people get. not wanting to get sucked into that mentality (we seriously have loved vietnam!!!), i didn’t think much of it. but as it turns out, it’s true. really, it makes sense. these really were the people we were fighting us in the vietnam war. seeing a white face, i’m sure can only bring about feelings of anger, frustration, and annoyance. sure. i understand. but i must say, i am tired of the unfriendly, unhelpful. unsmiley faces. okay. i digress. back to the loud speakers.

every morning, at approximately 6:05am-7:45am, the city’s loudspeaker BELTS out propaganda (and local news) about all kinds of things: war, birth control, abortions, civil disobediances, etc. now, i understand that this might be the most efficient way to communicate with members of their community. without access to many tv’s, the loud speakers can do the job tv commericals can, and at a fraction of the cost. but at 6AM?! REALLY?! i swear to god, if i were vietnamese, i would do everything in my power to avoid listening to the government’s “news,” no matter what the cost. ear phones, ear plugs, ambient noise, a LOUD BEEPING ALARM CLOCK, ANYTHING would be better, than being woken up out of a wonderful, relaxing sleep to listen to the damn loudspeaker at 6am every morning. 6am is to early to do anything besides sleep. seriously people. and, as you might expect, not only did the loudspeaker happen to be parked right infront of my bedroom window, but at the beginning and the end of the “news” broadcast is the music. the hopelessly devoted music. what a way to start your morning.

finally. on far happier, and (i think) funnier note, 2 more tiny, itsy, bitsy stories, as this post is getting longer than is worth reading.

story number 1: the market.

two days ago, kev and i went on a mission to find dried squid to bring home as presents for all of you (suprise!). it, as i have mentioned, was raining cats and dogs, and i had neglected to bring my poncho. even still, i had managed to get to the market relatively dry, and was feeling quite proud of myself for doing so. (i was sliding around corners, crouching in small areas, dodging mopeds, really, quite ninja-like in my quest to stay dry). this market is a HUGE, strictly vietnamese market. i am not sure i saw one white person there the entire time. perfectly fine by me. disheartened about the fact that we could not find a place to have our favorite snack packaged to be brought home (sorry, i didn’t want to be smelling like a fish for the rest of our trip :)) i decided we should check one more place before heading home. since it’s pouring outside, kev suggests that we wait a second to see if it lets up a little. me, inpatient as always, say, “oh come on! we’ve made it all this way without getting that wet! i have mastered the art of tarp-running, and i know i can make it to that next one without getting very wet.” alright. so we’re off. i’m running, dodging things, and make it, no problem, to the tarp. i turn and smile victoriously at kev and am just about to say, “SEE?!” when i hear a loud RIiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiippppppppppPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPP! i look up, just in time for the tarp above me to break. down pours the mornings rain (and other disgusting things i’d rather not mention) all over my head. kev was spared and as you can imagine, found all of this quite funny. the butt of yet another “the world is against lindsay” joke. the smileless hanoian people all seem to lose their frowns and are all laughing, staring and pointing at me, now soaking head to toe. i look down. shit. note to self: rainy days are not good days to wear a white t-shirt.

you go white girl.
story number 2: halloween.

this story is just pathetic. this is a story about nothing (GO SEINFIELD!) wearing nothing orange, black or costumesque. eating no candy, sweet snacks or carmel apples. carving no pumpkins. not even drinking a beer. just sitting in hanoi. rained in. watching THE SIMPSON’S HALLOWEEN MARATHON for like 3 hours straight before falling asleep by 9pm. we’re quite the cool cats. but couldn’t even manage to be the black kind.

story number 3: the most beautiful girl in the world.

the other day, i met a group of vietnamese teenagers while waiting for kev to get out of the internet cafe (surprise, surprise). we were chatting it up, and having a nice little conversation about how old they were, what their names were, where they were from, what they did in their city, etc, when one of the girls looks at me and says, “you know, you could be the most beautiful girl i have ever seen……if you didn’t have these….”

and points to a freckle.

classic. too bad freckles are now covering 2/3rds of my body.
there goes my aspiration of attempting for miss universe.

love and miss you all.
keep the noise down, please,
xxx
lgt