On Synesthesia

Now, I have heard of this word before - synesthesia.

And I'd heard about how it is the word for when letters have colors. Because letters obviously have colors ...right?

Ok, I ran this experiment freshman year of college where I'd have a bunch of colored pencils (I think they were actually watercolor pencils) and ask my friends to write out the alphabet and numbers 0-9 in whatever color seemed appropriate (because I wanted to see what colors their letters were), but they kept doing it wrong! My one friend just picked all the pretty pencil colors and would write out the entire alphabet with one pencil and then pick another pencil and do the same thing. I tried to explain what I meant, but they weren't having it.

But I ran it on myself too. I'd have done the long experiment on them too only it was obvious from the beginning that it wasn't going to work. But what I did (and what is apparently the standard test for synesthesia, though I didn't know it at the time) is write out my own alphabet in the right colors. And then do it again a couple of months later. And again a couple of months after that. I don't know if I still have those little papers, but they were almost identical every time. Even the letters where it was hard to figure out what pencil was the right color were almost exactly the same.

A is always red, B is always brown, C is a slate blue. D is a nice yellow-orange.

Not only that, but Wikipedia says that there is some overlap if you get enough of these people together - that there are trends for letters. That other people see red A's and white or black O's and yellow S's. That rocked my world this morning.

I also found this picture on Scholarpedia -->

I really like this kid's depiction of the difference between 0 (which is clear for me) and 1 (which is white).

And this other guy seems to have the same thing:

Steven was asking the other day whether it bothers me to see letters written in the wrong color, and I said no, but looking at this guy's alphabet and seeing the actual colors there, I do feel conflicted. There's just a wrongness to it. I don't mind looking at letters or numbers in black or even in colored pen as long as it's just one pen, but this does kind of bother me.

Reading up on Wikipedia, I guess my synesthesia isn't that strong. I don't actually SEE letters in colors. It's just like the color is hinted at. Although, looking at the word 'guess' there, I know that it's black, but it also kind of looks like green pink white yellow yellow. I would never tell you that it is that color, but I can feel the color there.

Can you not?

Iceland + Björk + Sigur Rós

Thank you to the Icelandic Tourist Board for always keeping me so well informed:


The good people at National Geographic are webcasting this Saturday's (June 28) concert with Bjork on their website from 3 p.m. to 8 p.m. ET (begins at 8 p.m. BST/London or 7 p.m. GMT/Reykjavik). Fans can see concert only at: worldmusic.nationalgeographic.com

National Geographic Music, will Webcast the open-air Náttúra concert live from Iceland on Saturday, June 28, 2008. Two of the world's most important and visionary musical entities, Björk and Sigur Rós, will headline the free concert.

To be held in a large park near the center of Reykjavik, all of the performances will be during daylight, with Iceland’s capital city and dramatic rolling scenery providing a perfect backdrop to what is expected to be one of the biggest concerts the country has seen. The Náttúra concert looks to raise awareness of the impact of the growing aluminum smelting activity on Iceland’s natural landscape.

“One of National Geographic Music’s main goals is to offer artists and experts who care about global culture and the environment an outlet to create awareness for important issues. Spotlighting these amazing artists performing live in a spectacular backdrop allows our worldwide audience to enjoy great music and become aware of Iceland’s environmental concerns and join the conversation,” said David Beal, president of National Geographic Entertainment.

Takk fyrir (thank you) National Geographic!


Not sure I'll actually be able to see any of it because of band practice all day Saturday, but still!

For all Icelanders' supposed stoicism, they sure know how to rock a concert. I'm so excited to be seeing Sigur Rós at the Greek Theatre this October. I've said it a million times, but seeing them is a religious experience. It's like being lifted out of your body and becoming music itself for two hours.

Also, Noah seems to be down for showing Heima on his projector one of these days. Really, if you haven't seen it, you should.

How (not) to write fiction

Normally, I don't like poetry, but I heard this on the radio and thought it was funny.

Tension

“Never use the word suddenly just to
create tension.”
—Writing Fiction

Suddenly, you were planting some yellow petunias
outside in the garden,
and suddenly I was in the study
looking up the word oligarchy for the thirty-seventh time.

When suddenly, without warning,
you planted the last petunia in the flat,
and I suddenly closed the dictionary
now that I was reminded of that vile form of governance.

A moment later, we found ourselves
standing suddenly in the kitchen
where you suddenly opened a can of cat food
and I just as suddenly watched you doing that.

I observed a window of leafy activity
and, beyond that, a bird perched on the edge
of the stone birdbath
when suddenly you announced you were leaving

to pick up a few things at the market
and I stunned you by impulsively
pointing out that we were getting low on butter
and another case of wine would not be a bad idea.

Who could tell what the next moment would hold?
Another drip from the faucet?
Another little spasm of the second hand?
Would the painting of a bowl of pears continue

to hang on the wall from that nail?
Would the heavy anthologies remain on their shelves?
Would the stove hold its position?
Suddenly, it was anyone’s guess.

The sun rose ever higher.
The state capitals remained motionless on the wall map
when suddenly I found myself lying on a couch
where I closed my eyes and without any warning

began to picture the Andes, of all places,
and a path that led over the mountain to another country
with strange customs and eye-catching hats
suddenly fringed with little colorful, dangling balls.

--Billy Collins

**Courtesy of the Paris Review

I wonder if longer form fiction really is too heavy handed to pull something like this off. Or maybe it's just that poetry can get away with cheap jokes? Still, I like what he's doing here. The same way I like it when you can bend the rules to your advantage. When it's so easy to fail at that and sound trite. It reminds me of how I love language and makes me want to play with it, but I don't think you have to stick to poetry for that.

In any case, he seems like a decent guy, this Billy Collins. So maybe poets aren't all bad.

Postcards from abroad, episode 4: Adventures in Tienanmen Square

Looking at this enormous tribute to Chairman Mao, you'd have your back to Tiananmen Square. It doesn't look like much from here, but cross the street, and you'd see that it's ten - maybe fifteen? twenty? - feet tall. Just beyond those gates is the Forbidden City, but let's turn around.

Whatever amount of space there was in the Forbidden City is nothing compared to this. No wonder there were demonstrations here. I mean, here as opposed to somewhere else. The square is so big it's almost not even a square.

So, let's wander a bit.

I'm the kind of person who is the opposite of a claustrophobic. Wide hallways and desks that open into aisles feel always just a little too open. As if emptiness will suck you out or knock you over. Or, just not hold you up. And maybe that's why I was attracted to whatever monuments, planters and curbs the square had to offer. Which, as you can see below, are not many.

Still, we found our way to a bit of curb around some plants near the far end of the square. Vijay had his ukulele with him, so we sat for a bit. The ukulele came out, I started to sing. You could have looked down for two seconds to read the next line of lyrics. Then, look up and there are maybe thirty people huddled around staring happily at the spectacle of us. When we finished the one song we knew, they looked at us smiling expectantly. One couple sat down beside me to have their photo taken with us. Another first of what would be many.

With that, the crowd dissolved and we headed home.

God only knows

[Listening to Pet Sounds on a loop today]

I've prob talked your ear off about how this year has been crazy. The weird thing was that I had a feeling back in January that this would be one of those years.

Lately, most of the madness has been happy-madness. I'm excited about the prospect of Kevin and Julia getting married next summer. If anyone needed a bit of good news finally, it was them. Seems like there's a lot of marriage going on these days. Although, the closest I get myself is conversations about how I'll probably die an old maid (insert smirk here).

But, seriously. First of all. I thought I was totally off the hook after my grandfather died. That was three, and I thought you were off the hook after three. Three is the magic number, right? But, I think it was the week after the funeral that my uncle got around to mentioning that he had like stage four cancer of the throat. And he had his surgery a few weeks ago and seems to be ok so far. (though god only knows how he's paying for it...). Then there was Seymour, my cat. And that call on Memorial Day. And Seymour seems to be recovering too.

But then Friday night, my sister IM'ed me about this year's latest kidney failure. Apparently my 17 year old (or so) cousin got reallly sick after working out one day and is in the hospital. He said his chest hurt or something and they thought it was a heart attack - which is INsane for a kid that young - but now I guess it looks more like something diabetes-related coupled with kidney failure. The last email I saw about it said they had to induce coma to put in a tube for dialysis. Serious stuff.

So, I should be concerned. right? I should be worried. I should be giving this more thought. But I haven't even really gotten around to mentioning it to anyone. Somehow kidney failure doesn't slip into conversation that easily. Go figure.

Instead, I've been playing banjo in the park and having a beer at Jupiter with Justin. And I'm mostly just jazzed about band stuff. Can't tell if that just means I'm particularly self-absorbed. But it also seems like there's good stuff just under the surface. Waiting to happen. And I'm looking forward to it.

hot hot heat

I am on a blog posting rampage. You don't even know.

Right now I'm feeling the first breath of cool air coming through my window in days, but somehow I haven't even felt the need to get the fan out of the closet yet. Craziness. Normally I loathe this kind of weather, but here I am in my little red dress, having discovered this morning that I can wear it without pants underneath. Amazing.

I am supposed to be working on finishing up this quilt for Maggie's baby, but after biking around on errands, I couldn't resist dragging the banjo over to Mosswood park to practice. Hopefully this can become a regular thing, playing banjo in the park. As I was about to start packing things up today, I noticed that a young guy had come over to listen. He didn't say anything. And I didn't say anything, but it seemed like it'd be rude to just leave as soon as he got there, so I kept playing.

I played through Fireball Mail maybe ten times and worked on bits of Cripple Creek and he was still there, so I tried to think of other things to play. I tried to remember Yodel and Idea and the part of O Leaonzinho I like. And then I started just making things up. And he kept listening as if I were a real musician who can actually play the banjo. I was both flattered and deathly afraid of making eye contact. And, in the end, really impressed with myself.

[That up there is me post banjo excursion.]

Postcards from abroad, episode 3: The Forbidden City - not forbidden anymore

It generally takes a trick of Photoshop to turn Beijing skies blue, but maybe there was a hint of color the day we went to the Forbidden City. I did try to read up on China before making the trek over, but how much can you learn about a country of over one billion with a history that goes back to what may as well be the beginning of time?

---

Outside the gates we met Laura, a student of American literature at Beijing University (favorite author: Henry James). For 100元 and the price of admission, we brought her in for the grand tour. At home you'd be wary of freelance tour guides, but this is China.



What I first noticed - and what you don't really see in these photos - is the wide open spaces. Enormous paved courtyards. Enough space for large gatherings. Large, large gatherings. So much space that even empty they remind you of how many Chinese people there are, ready to fill them.

---

And the stones. The courtyards, unlike most other things in China, are paved with stone, rather than concrete. I heard once that a Chinese friend of my father's was quite impressed when he heard as a boy about all the stone castles lying about in Europe. Enough to trip on. How industrious must those Europeans be to mine that much stone... At least, he was impressed until, upon visiting Europe, he discovered that large stones are even easier to find than castles. In any case, the large dragons carved into stairways in China are that much more, well, impressive when you think about how far someone had to carry them. Supposedly the biggest one in the Forbidden City was so heavy they waited till winter, then iced the road and skated it to Beijing.



Laura told us about the importance of 9s and the bad luck of 4s. And about red, yellow and green. Red for happiness, yellow for something else, and green for something else again. Needless to say, the Forbidden City, being the emperor's palace and place of business, is full of red and 9s. She pointed out the emperor's bedroom and the head wife's bedroom, and their special doors, and other chambers intended for this and that.

---

What was more interesting though was just hearing her talk about China. Does she like the new Prime Minister? Of course, he's much better than the last one, has done good thing for farmers like her parents. Does she like being a tour guide? No! It's not actually legal to be a freelance tour guide. You have to watch for the guards. They'll kick you out. But even without all of that, it's no way to get a husband. Being outside all day like this, your skin will turn a dark brown. No, no no. This isn't a good job, but it does help with rent.

I don't remember what else we asked her. Whenever we tried to draw her out, we got almost predictable responses. As if she'd gotten a preprinted flyer with all the answers. She was nice, though, and took us to a spot with free tea where we could rest our feet for a bit.



This was the beginning, our first day in China.

manual labor <3

This is French Broom. It looks pretty now, but according to park rangers all along the west coast, it is a weed, an infestation, a problem. So I spent a big chunk of yesterday yanking these beasts from the dry Redwood Park soil up at the top of this ridge with a busload of Google engineers.

Let me tell you, it was HOT out yesterday in full sun doing manual labor at noon. The sun was setting fire to the soles of my green Converse. I was the only girl volunteer, which I didn't really notice till the girl from Hands on Bay Area pointed it out, but the boys were nice. Offering to get me water and stuff.

All in all I had a fabulous time. I love a good day in the dirt. According to the ranger, they get volunteers to pull these babies out on the first Saturday and second Sunday (I think?) of each month. I would totally be down to do it again if I can convince someone with a car that we want to go together.

I looked like this:

Only my weed wrench was smaller ...and the plants I was pulling were smaller - but not that much smaller!

The internet music bandwagon

My sister has forwarded me links to Last.fm many many times before, but I have only just recently truly become aware of it.

I am having the discovery that I was meant to have (and that everyone else seems to have had) to Pandora. Only I was never really into Pandora. I kept hitting my max number of skips per hour per station. And not only that, but all the songs I liked on my Pandora stations were artists I already knew about. And maybe that's also true about Last.fm - I just started a Beirut station and it's playing me Panda Bear. But, the crucial difference here is that I love Panda Bear. And they are suggesting a few bands I'm not familiar with.

I think maybe where Pandora tried to be too clever pulling out similarities between songs I did and didn't like, Last.fm succeeds by sticking to quality. Not all of these songs sound much like Beirut to me, but they do sound like songs a Beirut lover might love. It's as if there is some kind of god-editor putting some love into the songs it magically decides to play me. And in exchange, I'm loving it back.

At the end of the day, I'm still loyal to KEXP, otherwise known as the only music radio station I am willing to listen to, because they really take it a step further. True they have a bit of DJ chatter, membership drives, and some theme shows I'm not super into, but I love the community they've created and the pure humanity of it all. And you can even stream them online through iTunes.

But, if you're looking for some good no nonsense internet radio, check out Last.fm.

home sweet home

Sometimes working from home is painful, but today it is glorious. And starting work at seven am means I'll be done soon! I did miss my sixty minutes over and back of reading about water politics, but I can do that later. I could even sit outside in a park! The luxury of it all!

And tonight Frida Kahlo at the SFMOMA with Ciana. I haven't seen much of her stuff, but I am convinced that I will love it. Esp. since I'm way into the ethnic thing these days. And realness in general.

Realness, for real. And just like being aware of things. Knowing what's in the food I eat, knowing on some fuzzy level about how to make sounds come out of my otherwise silent banjo-shaped beast. And now, knowing where the water in my faucets comes from and how it got there and what it means for the future.

Really not having fun at work these days. I called home for encouragement and was presented with three options:

1. keep the current job
2. prostitute yourself to a rich man "if you're compatible"
and a grudging 3. teach at a catholic high school

oh and 4. move, as a 26 year old, into an old folks home to take care of your grandmother

Boo. No fun. This kind of conversation reminds me that my mother and I do have our differences of opinion in these matters. Maybe I won't be a carbon copy of her in 30 years after all.

I would have told me whoa whoa whoa, I know we're having a bad day, but we just financed a cat surgery, my friend. Let's take a step back here. Let's remember our plan. Let us not quit our job in haste. We are having a bad work day, yes. Agreed. No argument there. But let's wait till the dust settles on all this reshuffling before we do anything rash. At the very least till any vacation debt won't be deducted from our final paycheck. If trying to help merchants with hard questions makes your numbers look bad, so be it. If it means you won't get promoted, so be it. Let's keep our eyes on the prize here. And the prize, frankly, doesn't have anything to do with work. If work is making you frustrated, put in your 8 hours and leave work at work. Take your paycheck and save your energy for something you actually care about.

Same conclusion really, but it's all about the execution.

I need to start writing more posts from home when I'm in my happy moods...

Postcards from abroad, episode 2: from a hutong in Beijing

When you first land in Beijing, the new terminals of the airport are stunning. At the right time of day, the high curved ceilings make you feel like you're in a golden bamboo forest. For such a huge place, the airport felt empty and quiet.

Having stayed awake most of the twelve hour flight over, it was a struggle to keep my eyes open for the taxi ride into town. All I remember of that first trip down the airport expressway is the lights of a city at night. I remember that particular shade of orange with the slightest hint of foreignness. Which seemed odd, considering how far I'd come.

But when we were deposited at the start of a dirt road next to a sign that claimed our hostel was to be found somewhere within the sandy maze, it was real. The first couple of steps through the dark narrow streets felt like I'd walked through a time warp. There were bright lights strung up for the construction that would go on from about 6 or 7 am until 10 at night every day we were in Beijing. I couldn't imagine that those particular pipes which were being installed so urgently were for the Olympics, but then again, everything is for the Olympics. Near the construction site there was a fruit stall set up, a fruit stall that only appeared at night. I'd read about the way crowds form in China, and the six or seven people standing around the hole in the ground, watching, were the first of many crowds I'd watch materialize.

The first couple of days, we'd head out of the hutong to see the Sights. And we ate at Kylie's restaurant because it boasted the ability to serve us in English. Even in something as familiar as a big city, that particular sign was surprisingly inviting.

But towards the end of our stay, I thought we should try walking up our street the other direction. The way that doesn't lead straight out to the main road. And that day was when it felt like I discovered China. Not because the houses are small and packed in close. Or because it can be hard to walk a bike through these back streets with all the construction and enormous piles of soft sand which will be used to mix cement by hand. But there is a life in the hutong that is either hidden or just too diluted on the main roads. You can find the same attention grabbing shouts and tugs on your arm in Silk Street, but there is something more honest and intimate in the hutong. This is where China lives. Judging by the walls being thrown up to hide the view, it's not the face China means to show, but I thought it was beautiful.

Do you know what is sometimes the greatest thing ever? Photobooth. Real photobooths are great too, but look, look..



Ahahaha
Sometimes it's nice to know I can be this easily amused.

Today is one of those terrible terrible days that just won't end. Case in point: it's only 11:42 am.

The word shit-storm comes to mind when thinking about how things are going lately.

I'm either getting sick or really, really out of shape. Biking to/from work (and conferencing with India at night) has me all tuckered out by 7pm. Not to mention that my ride home on Tuesday set the record for the highest number of people trying to kill me in a twenty minute window.

I did manage to pick up my batch of Holga and xprocess 35mm China/Mongolia develop+scans the other day though and I am pleased with them. Not sure I'll do much more cross processing for a while, but I'm really into the pics I got out of the Holga. I want to do a little sprucing in Photoshop and then I'll start posting more postcard stories. Look forward to that.

Supposedly the dark room opened back up for summer this week, so I should have a productive if lonely weekend ahead of me. A weekend with no band practice is a sad prospect indeed, but with lots of darkroom-ing and a valiant attempt to make great strides on this baby quilt, I should be able to power through it.

Trying not to think about what I'll do once all my friends move away in the next couple of months.

I'm thinking of maybe trying to go camping for the birthday this year. Still thinking positive thoughts about that.

And of course about Iceland, greenery, and the environment. At least there's that.

Were you aware of it? vol. 6: The gold in goldfish

During the Tang Dynasty, it was popular to dam carp in ponds. As the result of a dominant genetic mutation, some of these carp displayed gold (actually yellowish orange) rather than silver coloration. People began to breed the gold variety instead of the silver variety, and began to display them in small containers. The fish were not kept in the containers permanently, but would be kept in a larger body of water, such as a pond, and only for special occasions at which guests were expected would they be moved to the much smaller container.

In 1162, the Empress of the Song Dynasty ordered the construction of a pond to collect the red and gold variety of those carp. By this time, people outside the imperial family were forbidden to keep goldfish of the gold (yellow) variety, yellow being the imperial color. This is probably the reason why there are more orange goldfish than yellow goldfish, even though the latter are genetically easier to breed.

Selective breeding over centuries has produced several color variations, some of them far removed from the "golden" color of the originally domesticated fish. Goldfish may also lose their "golden" color, or rather any goldfish color, by being kept in a dark room, which causes the scales to turn white.

**Courtesy of Wikipedia