An old roommate told me once that we should put the toilet seat cover down because she read that when a toilet is flushed, bacteria shoots up nearly 9 feet and goes back down exposing the entire bathroom to those dirty dirty organisms.

I believed her and we kept the cover down. But then I was told that by keeping the cover down, germs can incubate due to lack of air circulation.

And I thought I read somewhere that the toilet water was cleaner than other water.

I often come across articles where I learn that I should not put my lemon in restaurants into water. Or that I should never open the bathroom with my hands because the majority of people don’t wash their hands.

Nowadays, whenever we walk into a store, I come across a canister of antibacterial wipes or liquid-free wash.

Are we becoming a nation that is fearful of germs? Why are we so obsessed with being clean? Are we becoming irrational?

Sometimes, I am reluctant to open doors, kicking it open with my feet.

How about the ATM machine? What if someone dirty touched it with fingers?

And public transit? There are so many people I know who don’t board public transit because they think it’s smelly and dirty…and who knows what else.

Or my obsession of never letting any of my public clothes touch my bed unless they have been through the wash. Someone asked me why I was reluctant to sit on my bed and I responded that I sat wearing the same jeans while riding the BART…and who knows what I picked up?!

Even worse, I feel awkward sitting in a seat that still has warmth in it. Perhaps it’s that I want to feel that the seat is cold to the touch…and thus clean. That the previous person left germs behind.

But what does the rest of the world do? Do they really clean themselves that much?

So a recent article said:
The worst place to set fruit before washing it: the kitchen sink
Of all the household germ depots, the kitchen sink sees the most bacterial traffic — even more than the toilet, says Kelly Reynolds, PhD, a professor and environmental microbiologist at the University of Arizona. If the perfect berry drops while you’re washing it, pop it in the trash — not your mouth.

Chris responded in his merry way:
See, I picture it this way. Organisms can only travel so fast. If I
drop my berry in the sink, the germs have to realize the goodness that
has arrived, and change their course of direction to get on its berry
goodness. If I am quick enough, I can just pull the berry away before
any germs can realize it’s even there. Then I eat berry and
go yay!

What’s the point of taking pictures of a self-travel if it’s going to be the same for everyone.

few people knew who Toad was, but most people, “I love your little mushroom”. Including the toothless man on the bus. Including the people (most likely a band) with tons of tattoos who gave me a genuine smile as I ate my french toast alone on that bright morning down South Congress Avenue.

Toad liked his bowl of fruit.

In my more awkward days, I went to social events and whipped out a copy of Dale Carnegie’s How to Make Friends and Influence People right in the middle of a prime social opportunity. To see what Dale Carnegie would do in his old-fashioned days.

“Why are you doing that when you could be socializing?” a friend criticized once and I never whipped it out again.

After starting to use twitter (a micro-blogging site that allows people to write small messages via phone, web and a number of applications), I am suddenly in the same situation where I am missing a prime social opportunity. Now that I am less awkward, more worldly (almost), it struck me how antisocial this all was.

Recently, I started following a friend that twittered constantly. It was interesting at first. But a twitter that unnerved me was when she basically asked, Why do I have so many people following me, but only a few respond?

In the end, I un-followed her. I just couldn’t do lock myself in a facade of shameless self-promotion. What’s more how could I…when sometimes I preferred that face-to-face interaction. What happened to those personal phone calls? Personal emails? Personal ims? What happened to I want to visit you. Not just everyone near you, but you.

But here is twitter. Something one might do right at an event. I saw people at SXSW twittering even as they stood in front of me. Or they would twitter with someone across the room. Although SXSW is one of the few conferences that encourages the use of a phone during a talk, it drove me crazy that this whole…social medium…an asynchronous communication medium…takes places in a situation with possible synchronous communication. It’s one thing to im someone across the room, but it’s another to twitter with someone across the room.

Social media sites are at their core…antisocial. Like reading, it’s an activity that we participate on our own. Our computer or the phone. We each type our individual message, check the message inbox, update our profile. We look at photos that pertain to us, tagged with our name. It’s all shared, but is it? We update things and then we wait for a response. When we get a response, we write back…and wait again. We laugh at people’s messages on walls…but then that’s it. We are almost broadcasting to an empty room, hoping someone…someone was hidden in the shadows to respond.

When I designed an UI for televisions, we often ran into the challenge of designing an account for families. A TV is inherently a social activity. And the question was how to design for multiple people using the television. How do you recommend? How do you know? What if we wanted a combined interest for a couple? And in the end, it was just easier to assume an individual was using the TV.

I say…stop twittering the person across the room and talk to me.

Because I now leave my dog-eared copy of How to Make Friends and Influence Copy in my bookshelf.

We were watching the freeway chase as Chris explained how it was constructed in Alameda and filmed in certain parts of Oakland. A girl wandered in, asking us who were the bad and good guys. We patiently described how the people with the sunglasses were the good guys. Not the ones dressed in the suits. Not the twins. And we carefully explained that people cannot tumble in slow motion like in the movie.

I was slightly startled when a friend of ours asked the 10 year old girl whether she could be watching the Matrix. Whether the parents approved. Suddenly, I felt like I was caught red-handed for not being aware.

Would I really censor anything from my kids? My own parents never quite learned the concept of censorship. My dad loved movies…and my sister and I often were invited up to watch…all kinds of movies.

In all these things that require parental consent, it’s almost if we are keeping kids uninformed, uneducated. I almost want to say to the kids, this is a story. A fantasy. Fictional. Purely for entertainment. Art. We don’t make life imitate art. Wouldn’t that be enough? Why do we need to protect them? Why keep them ignorant?

To this day though, the only thing I have ever re-enacted in real life was Groundhog Day and Alanis Morisette’s music video Ironic.

While in Austin, Toad and I had some good fun. Awwww..Toad, you’re so cute!

Please say HI to your daughter for me. She’s such a great help and I’m still using her instruction for printing labels from my list up to the date. Thank you for raising such a good child.
– Written in Comic Sans by my parents’ life insurance agent

Several years ago when I was in debt and relying on the parents for income, I agreed to help their life insurance agent with computer work. Well ok, I didn’t happily agree. I was lazing about that year not quite sure what I would be doing after college—work or grad school. I went with my mom to an appointment she had with the life insurance agent—a giddy Asian woman with charismatic personality named Lisa.

After some tedious meeting, my mom said aloud, “My daughter is looking for a job!”

I wanted to hide, but I found myself offering my IT services. For the next few years, I would come into her office and help her with complex tasks on the computer. Most of the time, it was taking her master list of contacts and making mailing labels—she didn’t know how to import the contacts list to the mailing labels application. She believed in sending christmas cards to every client and I often myself putting labels on each envelope, gluing stamps and sealing. Then sometimes it would be me filing her work.

I really hated it, but it passed the time. For whatever reason, I never really taught her how to do it and came back a few more times. Until I couldn’t stand it anymore and made a document for making mailing labels with screenshots and explicit instructions.

My dad had dropped that letter in a bag he gave me. When I first saw it, I was happy that she was still chugging along. Hopefully I’ll never have to return to do mundane office work.

Back then, she often said that I was faster than any temp worker she hired. Why is that? Because I know my alphabet when I file?

Two weeks ago, I completed a mission. To meet in person all my online friends. I don’t think there’s anybody left on my list to meet!

Ten years ago, it was widely unaccepted to meet someone you met online. How can you be friends with someone you never met? would be the most common question. Nowadays, well…of course you can. Though the web two point oh world, we exchange more on the Internet with people regardless of their proximity.

Viv and I have known each other for more than 10 years. It started out on a yahoo club (now known as yahoo groups), then icq, then email, then blogs, then facebook and various social networking sites.

To this day, we still don’t call each other by our real names. To her, I am Tink. To me, she is luckyduckluk. Those awesome Canadians!

As I came out of the 24th/Mission BART station, the noise of whipping air grew louder and loud. *thwap thwap*

Everyone around me looked up toward the sky at 6:30 pm where there was still light. Two helicopters above us flew steady unmoving, pointed in the direction of something.

As I walked toward Valencia, people kept looking upward. A curious glance of what was going on. When I got to Valencia, I saw that the street was blocked off with flares. A stern, yet bored policeman stood in the middle making sure no cars went by. There was a lot of traffic. A NBC11 van was parked. Empty. A saw the Spanish channel van coming by.

Then I looked to my left and saw cranes. Many people stopped and talked to each other. “What’s going on?” someone would ask. And only whispers.

I resisted the urge to follow everyone that wandered toward the large cranes and flashing lights. Because after all, if it was a monster, I don’t want to be suddenly caught in its jaws as in Cloverfield. I walked toward my place, only a few blocks as streams of rubberneckers wandered past me. And then above, I saw the helicopters turn away from the steady dance of the hour. It was done, whatever it was.

Inside my apartment, the sound of the helicopters was still loud. But just 10 minutes later, I could barely hear them as I only heard the taps of my keys finding out that it was only a disaster that happened two blocks from my apartment.

I reminded myself that I would backup data. And wondered aimlessly if my neighbors would be irresponsible.

When I moved to San Francisco, I thought I should upgrade to a fullsize. You know, just so that I could be adult.

I diligently researched possible retailers. Then determined my budget.

And I thought I was so brillant when I came upon Dirt Cheap Mattress. I spent only $500 on a so-called luxurious bed set. I was so happy to find the ultra plush Simmons with a pillow top. I spent the following weeks researching the best sheet sets and other things.

My roommate didn’t agree with me and went to buy his bed at Ikea.

Now about 1.5 years later, I wish I went the standard normal route. The bed sags in the middle. Unlike my younger self, I don’t jump on the bed. It doesn’t hurt my back yet, but people who have come over…complained. I am happy sinking into the mush.

And so today, I reluctantly went to try buying real beds at real retailers. It was confusing. The same mattresses with different labels at different retailers. How could I justify spending so much money when I may leave the Bay Area? What if I suddenly decide to upgrade to a queen? And what if?

And the funny thing is, I am much more willing to spend more money on a computer than a bed. Chris did point out that I spend most of my day on the computer than on the bed.

He said that he had a daughter. One day he heard there was a shooting close to the San Francisco streets she played in daily. “So we moved,” he said. “To Dolores Park.”

“Oh, but why stay in San Francisco?” I asked. Because I wouldn’t raise my kids in San Francisco. For the lack of quality of education. For the lack of the playground I used to take for granted. For the lack of safety.

He looked at me, “I have a partner. I am gay. It’s just easier to stay in San Francisco.”

Almost at once, I felt embarrassed that I asked. But then it occurred to me that it was sad how we often had to stay in zones of comfort. For an easy life. That it’s easier not to be a minority.

While in Texas, I was sitting on the bus going out shopping. A man with a toothless grin mentioned how he liked something I was holding. I nodded and smiled, still somewhat lost in my thoughts.

“Do you speak English?” he asked.

I was slightly startled. If I was not Asian, would he asked the same question? Instead, I said in my Californian accent, “Yes, I speak English.”