Teetering

One of my projects entails trying to contact people around the world. The problem with this is that it means I've been having ot wake up very, very early to try and catch them on the phone. Whenever I'm doing something, I'm always thinking: What time is it in Vienna, or Australia etc..

It's exhausting trying to worry about/in multiple time zones. I like to think that I only worry about things when I'm in some capacity to effect change. So usually, I only worry about contacting people etc. during business hours. Now, I'm in a constant state of anxiety because it's not business hours here, it is somewhere else.

I need this insanity to end!

Simon Guides: How to Bug Your Sisters like Simon

In composing this post, I realized with some consternation that of all my earthly talents, this is far and away the one in which I can claim the most expertise. My methods are too numeerous to list, and my knowledge of these dark arts so extensive, that if i were to reveal the deepest and most dangerous of my teachings, anarchy would ensue and your sister would shoot you.

While others would have become depressed at the realization that after seven (and counting!) years of post-secondary educationt, their greatest talent is still something picked up at the age of five, I take a more pragmatic view. You have to play the cards that are dealt, and if this is what I'm good at, then so be it.

Regardless, here is one of my favourites techniques. It's called talking to her subconscious mind:


How to Bug Your Sisters like Simon
1. Address your sister's subconscious mind instead of her.
2. Carry on a conversation with her subconscious mind.
3. Ignore anything your sister says.
3. Continue/repeat ad infinitum.

example:
Simon: Hello Sarah's subconscious mind!
Sarah: Go away.
Simon: Sarah's subconscious mind, why is Sarah so stupid?
Sarah: I have homework! Go away!
Simon: Sarah's subconscious mind, would you mind if I ate this snack Sarah so painstakingly prepared?
Sarah: Hands off my food!
Simon: You wouldn't? Why thank you, Sarah's subconscious mind.
Sarah: sob
Simon: hmmmm. Delicious! Please thank Sarah for me, Sarah's subconscious mind!

etc, etc, etc.

Of course I don't do this anymore. I'm too mature for that.

Grandma!

I was on a morning stroll with my grandmother this past weekend. We stopped by the park to look for her friends. I've been hearing accounts of my grandma's ginormous posse of elderly ladies for awhile now, and was somewhat curious to see what large groups of Chinese octogenarians do when they gather in the playgrounds of suburbia.



Unfortunately, the overcast skies proved to be deterrent enough, and we arrived to find the park abondoned. Nonplussed, we continued our walk and soon enough encountered one of my grandma's friends. Together, the three of us stopped by to pick up another of her friends. We walked on for a little while, with three of them engaged in animated conversation and me walking slightly behind them, until the onset of rain drove us to part ways and head home.

I've noticed my Grandmother makes friends wherever she goes. I don't quite know how she does it, especially seeing how most times the people she befriends don't speak her language. She smiles and waves at people, but I think there must be more to it than that. Or maybe not. 'Cause really, how many of us smile and wave at our neighbours?

Census Results!

Remember the infamous Simonscapes Census?

Well, I've finally figured out a way to disseminate the results. I've put it on Google spreadsheets. I can't figure out a way to post it though. It appears that I have to email an invite to you to see it. So for those who are interested, fire me an email!

So far, 20 people have filled out the survey. I think I'll keep the survey open indefinitely, seeing as how I've opened an account with the surveying service for my research anyways.

I will comment on one result. Regarding true love:
4 of you thought it was a myth
10 of you thought it was misunderstood
9 of you thought it was out there for you to find
6 of you thought it was out there looking for you

As it happens, the six people who thought that true love was looking for them all also thought that true love was there for them to find.
That leaves three of you out there who think that you can find love, but it won't find you.

I'm not sure how to interpret that.

On Truth

I believe in truth.

I don't know how I feel about right. I don't know how I feel about wrong. Context appears to hold ultimate sway over both of these.

But I believe in truth. And I believe in reason.

And I know the frustration I feel when people willingly throw reason to the wind, and with it, any hope or prayer for truth.

The Littlest Chan comes to Town

At long last, my youngest sister will be joining her siblings in the GTA. As it happens, I know quite a few people who will be starting medical school with her. I was a counsellor at a summer camp a few years back, and some of the kids who went to the camp will be in my sister's class.

This fills me with the usual sense of "my goodness, where has the time gone" etc, etc...

But more than usual, it also makes me very aware that I'm quite a bit older than I used to be.

Simon Guides: How to eat a buffet like Simon

I've decided to start a new series of posts (tentatively titled the Simon Guides), dedicated to teaching all you aspiring Simon's out there how to be just like me. These articles will be broad in scope, covering everything from the fundamentals of Simonistic behaviour to the finer points of inner Simonism.

A caveat! I cannot guarantee the effectiveness or safety of any of these Simon Guides. Their only objective is to teach you how to walk like a Simon, talk like a Simon and think like a Simon. Your health and sanity are in your own hands.

The first of these Simon Guides covers a topic near and dear to my heart. Without further ado:

How to eat a buffet like Simon
1. Lay a base. A small bowl of soup with a small bread product is best.
2. Take a quick walk around. Find the seafood. Identify other expensive meat products.
3. Eat seafood. Eat expensive meat products. Intersperse with small salads and small cups of soup.
4. Repeat until full.
5. When full, eat mellons.
6. If able, return to main course.
7. Ice cream finale.

The Subtle Arts of Parenting

Now, I could go on forever on this topic. My thoughts have thoughts on this topic. But today, I thought we should discuss: How to give Advice.

I see many parents out there giving all sorts of advice to their children. This is because they are trying to make sure that their kids benefit from their experience. They are trying to make sure that their kids don't make mistakes. They are trying to do what's best for their children.

Balderdash!!!

First of all, realize that as a parent, you give advice to cover your behind. You give advice so that later down the road, your delinquent offspring can't come back and complain that you never warned them, that you never cared, blah blah blah. Besides, the world has changed so very much that any advice you give your children is likely horribly dated and naively rooted in traditions that are no longer respected.

So the issue is: How can you give advice to your children that:
1. Isn't blatantly wrong.
2. Will adequately fulfill your parental duties.

The answer of course, is to use universal truths. What do I mean by this? Luckily for you all, my parents parented the heck out of me, and I will now provide some real life examples of "Universal Truth Parenting" in action:

Simon: I think I will take this risky job, instead of settling for this safe one.
Dad: Well you know what they say, a bird in hand is better than two in the bush!

Look at that parenting technique. Notice first of all, that the parent should always take the opposite side. That way, if things go badly, you can always say you warned them! Observe:

Simon: I think I will take this safe job, instead of trying this risky one.
Dad: Well you know what they say, nothing ventured nothing gained!

Do you see? I'll break it down:

Step one: Identify what your child would like to do.
Step two: Use a universal truth to support the opposite position.

Using this simple method, you can sleep at night knowing you've fulfilled your parental duties, and filled your child's head with as much doubt as possible.

Front row, far left

In undergrad, I took part in a study where they did a group interview of Canadian-born-Chinese students. In a room of twenty, I was the only one whose social circle was not composed mainly of Asian people. As my niece would say, I was the only one without an Asian posse.

The key difference between me and the others? They all grew up in Vancouver or Toronto. When I was growing up, I was always the only Asian person in my class. I didn't have the option of an Asian posse, as some of my more metropolitan classmates did.

This isn't to say that I didn't know any other Chinese children. In fact, while I was growing up, I literally knew every single Chinese kid in the city. This was because I participated in all three of the activities that make up the holy trifecta of Chinese parenting: Chinese School, Piano and Badminton.

Chinese parents love Chinese School because in addition to language and cultural intruction, there are dictations and tests. These are good because the Canadian schooling system is soft, and as a result, kids have too much time on their hands.

Chinese parents love Piano because in addition to adding culture and music to one's life, it requires hours of practice and stressful recitals. These are good because the Canadian schooling system is soft, and as a result, kids have too much time on their hands.

Chinese parents love Badminton, because unlike hockey (and other rough sports that would allow their children to actually fit in with the Canadians) it is a delicate activity that ensures that hands will remain uninjured, so that there are no interruptions to the dictations and piano practices. (Which is actually not an entirely unfounded fear... seeing as how Greg broke my finger when we were playing road hockey, and in so doing, nearly derailed my high school piano aspirations. A story for another day.)

In later years Kumon was added to the list of Chinese parent approved activities, but this was thankfully after my time. (Kumon, for those of you lucky enough not to know, is an afternoon math program. Chinese parents believe that if you can do math, you can do ANYTHING. I wish I was joking.)

Anyways, the real point of this long winded post is that almost all the Chinese kids in the city were forced/coerced into participating in one or more (and usually all three) of these activities. This made for a very small and tight-knit social network. If you are Chinese, and grew up where I did, around the same time I did, then chances are I either went to Chinese school with you, or met you at a piano festival or badminton tournament.

In fact, I still have a reflex (although it's attenuating as I spend more and more time in culturally diverse climes) to try and catch a glimpse of the face of anyone with black hair. This habit made sense when I used to know all the black-haired people there were to know. Looking back, I think it gave my childhood a smalltown kind of feel!

Consultant of Cool

I'm going to start offering my services as a cool consultant. This is not to say that I'm necessarily cooler than you. It's just saying that:

1. I'm reasonably observant.
2. I'm reasonably creative.
3. I'm honest but tactful.
4. I know what cool is... at least to the extent that I feel comfortable offering advice on how to raise the coolness of at least one aspect of your life, regardless of how cool or uncool your baseline is.

Let's take my Dad for example. Now I don't want to be the one to say whether or not my Dad is cool or not. That's not my role as a cool consultant. But say my Dad were to come to me and say:

"Son, I fear that I am not hip enough. The young echocardiographers make fun of me and my idiosyncratic ways."

Now, a lesser cool consultant would maybe try changing my Dad's clothes, or hair, or car.

I poopoo such idiocies! Know what I'd do? My Dad's name starts with a K. Instead of using his old school name, I'd tell him to start going by his intials: KC.

This would change everything. KC is the type of guy who beats the house at craps, who throws the touchdown pass, who buys his kids expensive toys. Kabam! Instant cool.

In fact, if you're on a first name basis with my Dad, I'd encourage you to do him a favour and start calling him KC.

Thank you very much.

Chinese school crunch

picture
Originally uploaded by chan_siu_man.

I used to hate Saturdays. Up until grade six, I spent every Saturday morning at Chinese school. I really didn't like Chinese school. A large part of this may have been due to the fact that all the quality cartoons were on Saturday morning, and I felt particularly bereaved to have to spend my mornings doing Chinese dictations, knowing that the talk at school on Monday would be about the wonderful happenings on the boob tube two days earlier.

I really don't know how much Chinese I actually learned from all those years of Saturday morning classes. I think the difficulty is that written Cantonese is nothing like spoken Cantonese. We were being taught to speak one language and write another. Is it any wonder that one day a week wasn't sufficient? Not that Chinese school didn't teach me any useful skills. I learned to cram at a very early age. Memorizing Chinese characters is no easy task. They're complicated little things. By the time I had to cram for exams in public school, I was a seasoned cramming veteran.

For your own good

A prevalent sentiment among the parenting crowd is the overarching desire to see their younglings "fulfill their potential".

It is de rigeur to disregard actual accomplishment and focus instead on effort, on perspiration.

The clear benefit to this is that no child shall go punished for falling short, as long as they gave 110% in the process of doing so.

The belief must be that the road to self-actualization and contentment is derived from reaching and exceeding one's potential.

It does seem that living any life would be miserable if one always felt that one were capable of more.

But I wonder whether enough consideration is being given to the cost and burden of trying to "reach your potential". It necessitates hard work and long hours. It's often not "fun". It's about sacrifice. It's about delayed gratification. And life being what it is, the rewards are never certain, and when reached, often fall short of expectations.

Can you be truly happy without fulfilling your potential?
Cause that'd be some stellar relaxed living.

Indulgence

I like blogs. I like the fact that many of my friends keep blogs, and that I can keep up-to-date with their lives with a mere click of the mouse.

I like blogs of people I have met but may not know very well. I like trying to fit what I know about them with what they present to the online universe. I like to see how their thinking fits within the context of their lives.

I also like blogs of people I've never met. I like the glimpses into another life. I like reading about uncommon reactions to common experiences. I like reading about common reactions to uncommon experiences. I like the thread of humanity that links all bloggers, that allows us to read, imagine and empathize with a writer half a world and infinite head spaces away.

It is difficult to find worthwhile blogs. Here are three of the best posts I've read. I've never met any of these bloggers, and I should warn those who are easily offended that these bloggers pull few punches.

1. Written words never make me laugh out loud. ThePeach is the exception.

2. I'm not prone to worrying, but what Ari wrote makes me think.

3. I would have liked to link something from the third blog, but I was told to keep things on the downlow. Secrets are the spice of life!

Hand-me-downs

I started buying clothes later in life than most people.

This is because I have a variety of older cousins and uncles who all happened to come in different shapes and sizes. As I outgrew one relative's hand-me-downs, I grew into the hand-me-downs of another.

Clothes that I outgrew were then handed down to my sisters or younger cousins, and my mother would rummage around downstairs among the bags and bags of hand-me-down clothes to restock my closet.

I never knew what I'd find in my closet as I was growing up. It was a bit like a treasure hunt that way. This may not have been a good thing, since my treasure/trash meter was (is?) oddly calibrated in my youthful days, as my high school friends who were witness to my tight green pants and red velours shirts can readily attest.

There were quirks in the system that I learned to look out for:

1. Uncle Alex has grade A hand-me-downs. It almost makes me sorry that I'm now taller than him. Even today, I am still the lucky recipient of some his rasher purchases which he later deems to be too large or not stylish enough.

2. Shirts and sweaters with the Playboy logo were generally assumed to come from Uncle Max. Who even knew that Playboy made clothes?

3. My Dad insists on dress shirts that are short in the sleeves. He says this is so they don't get in the way. It is also waaay uncool looking. I now buy my own shirts.

4. My cousins Gordon and Jason had great hand-me-downs. The only catch was that their names were always written in permanent marker on the inside collar. My crueler friends in high school use to poke fun at this.

In any case, the benefits of the hand-me-down system entirely outweighted any sort of fashion disasters along the way. Aside from a closet full of suprises, there is the joy of frugality, and also the sheer environmentalness of it all.

I think the hand-me-down culture has suffered in our consumer/disposer era. No one really repairs things anymore. We just throw out and buy anew. I think that's a real shame.

Nothing like Hot Pot when it's Hot

I've been back in Hamilton for around a week now. The heat has made me miss New Brunswick. You know it's hot when even the operating rooms are hot. I hope it cools down.

On a happier note, I spent last weekend in Toronto, where, fortuitously enough, my Uncle Ming's family was visiting from Indiana.

It was lovely seeing them again. His boys sing Beetles songs in the car to entertain themselves on long car rides. This reminds me of the all the hours my sisters and I spent singing Ace of Base when my family took a drive into the maritimes. Clearly, my cousins tastes' are more refined.

The highlight of the weekend was the discovery of a hot pot place that was:
a) well air-conditioned
b) selling 3 dollar lobsters

I don't think ANYTHING falls as sweetly on my ears as three dollar lobsters. It was an epic hot pot experience. The only person who may have been happier than me was my Auntie Susan. I've noticed that platefuls of seafood have that effect on Chinese people.