Tomorrow is yet another Spare the Air day. This time around, I want to ride the ferry. Somewhere. My parents are on my back because I am not usually home for dinner, but hey this is what I want to do.

Besides, I am getting my tax dollars back by riding the bus, subway, and ferries. And get to actually know the Bay Area, right?

The difference between driving in San Francisco and Pittsburgh?

In Pittsburgh, one street could turn into two, three or four different streets without warning. And yet somehow no matter what you do, you\’ll find a belt. The blue belt. The orange belt. The yellow belt. And besides you get a chance to see how different neighborhoods decorate their houses with yellow and black.

In San Francisco, sometimes you can\’t make left turns. Sometimes you are caught on an one-way street without the ability to turn left or right. You think, I\’ll get the next one, but that one turns out to be an one-way street going the opposite direction. You can never take shortcuts through neighborhoods. Always stick to the main streets.

Out of a sudden excitement for geekdom in the Bay Area, I signed up for barcamp. Yes, it\’s a camp. And a \”bar\”. But technically it\’s a fusion of Web 2.0 minds during a weekend where people will sleep in sleeping bags in the SF Microsoft office and have intense conversations about technology, ideas, and the future. There will be wireless Internet. A conference really for hipsters. Photos on flickr and blogging encouraged.

But then I realized, is this something I really want to be part of? Earlier, I had been enamored by talk of Lunch 2.0 and Sloshcon. Valleywag was fascinating. But should I let myself fall into a world of startups with tellytubby speak names?

Yes. I do. Although this weekend there\’s the rubber ducky derby and the SF Pride Parade I want to attend.

Today and tomorrow are Spare the Air days. So free BART. Free Caltrain and others.

To my horror (ok, I mean incredibly pleasant surprise – many thank yous to the NASA team and Safeway for knowing how I like spelling my nickname), my friends got me Cocktails by Jenn – four bottles of premixed cosmos and four pink straws packaged up in a pink tinted plastic carrying tote.

I have to love my friends for the fact that they immediately thought of me when they saw the name Jenn with two n\’s. And how they thought the creator\’s signature was just like mine. (Almost.) Impossibly thoughtful.

It must have been the oddest gift for me ever because they know I wouldn\’t drink. Hmm…then again, I need to find some friends to share this great gift with. It does have 17% alcohol by volume…

Remember that broken right hand I had earlier this year? The complaints that the world isn\’t made for one-handed people? And how I always had to ask for help opening bottles? It\’s more than 4 months later and this morning I found myself in a MRI machine due my mom\’s overzealous colleague who had ordered the scan. For one hour.

I laid there face-down, feeling sick from being still (\”DO NOT MOVE!\” the technician repeated over and over — ok, maybe he had a gentler tone). The tech had earlier asked me what music I wanted to listen to and going off my recent nostalgia streak, \”80s?\”

So this long summer morning, I pretended to be a log, resting in a forest. To no avail really. I felt a sneeze coming on, but knew it would be bad to sneeze knowing full well I would have to do the entire scan again. So instead, I kept it in, breathing into the hospital-like pillow, wishing I could be anywhere else besides that lighted tunnel.

The Art of Recruiting from Guy Kawasaki\’s blog

8. Sell all the decision makers. A candidate seldom makes a decision all by herself. There can be several other people contributing to the decision…with Asian Americans, it can even be parents because Asian Americans are perpetually trying to make their parents happy. In the interviews, simply ask, “Who is helping you make this decision?” And then see if you can make them happy too.

What caught my eye was how he addressed Asian Americans–the things recruiters should do to get Asian American candidates sold onto job opportunities. Now I don\’t like tauting that label around. When asked, I would awkwardly pause and say, \”I am American.\” Not that I am rejecting my Asian heritage. It\’s that I never think about it.

Yet it\’s true. In some way, I am trying to make my parents happy. Sure I decided to do a masters degree rather than the law degree or a medical degree. I did a professional masters rather than an academic one. And I chose the science that was not as grounded in reality.

So there\’s a part of me that wants to completely reject this entire set path of life and go off to be a penniless writer. But that\’s really not that asian…

A three dollar cupcake with strawberry buttercream top. In Claremont, almost a montage of downtown Walnut Creek. With two bites.

I went with my dad to see condos that were for sale. $300,000 for a modest one-bedroom condo right near Walnut Creek downtown. Yes, we were there for the BBQ (partially — I mean where else did I acquire my free food sniffing habits), but really my dad was considering downsizing from the house.

But the choice of living in a house vs. an apartment inside a community. Is it worth it? Is it desirable?

Commuting from the east bay to the south bay. No thanks.

Yesterday, I had an early morning appointment with surgeon who looked at my right hand. A doctor who had worked with my mom (a nurse) at the hospital ever since the beginning of his residency more than 15 years ago.

It was rather strange to see my mom in her second home. I had always considered to be very Chinese–a dragon lady type where she wasn\’t afraid to stand up for herself even in the face of adversity. Sometimes to me, it was a little much–when I was younger, I was embarrassed in times when we were at a store and my mom started arguing with the cashier over a difference of a dollar in her heavily accented English.

Her fellow co-workers, other nurses, greeted her warmly. One enveloped her in a hug as we were being led to an examination room. \”Oof, I can\’t breathe,\” she said to him in her usual frank way.

I laughed and scooted around her co-worker. We sat in the examination room while my mom commented on how long it was taking. The appointment was at 7:45 am and it was already 8:30 am. Finally, the doctor arrived and immediately gave my mom a warm hug. He extended his hand and I shook it. \”Do you know how long your mom and I have worked together?\” he asked me.

I simply nodded and smiled. It was odd how the rapport my mom had at the hospital–the gentle joking common with close bonds–something absent in our family where it\’s all practicality and order. While we were looking at my x-rays, my mom asked about the recovery period for the surgery. The doctor simply ignored her question and turned around, \”You didn\’t get me anything for my birthday!\”

My mom laughed. He turned toward me, \”I am giving your mom a hard time.\”

The doctor put an ASAP request on a MRI requisition even though it wasn\’t urgent. \”Just so that you don\’t have to wait,\” he said giving me a pat on the shoulder.