The Western Orient

A common frustration I hear from Americans visiting Japan is that "everything is so Western!" Their fantasy of an exotic Asia where women still run around in traditional clothes, like the little girl here in a kimono, and streets are lined with rickety, charming storefronts is utterly destroyed by the throngs of men in business suits pouring in and out of modern highrises.

Recently over Christmas dinner the topic came up in relation to China. My parents, who visited China a few years ago, lamented that the old neighborhoods in Shanghai were being torn down to make way for modern offices. Such a shame they are not keeping their past...or is it?

First of all consider that a a lot of those "traditional" neighborhoods were probably cleansed of any real historical content under the many decades of Communist rule anyway. So how can we say whether these old buildings are "authentic," and how do we know if the Shangaiese really care about them, even if we do because they make for good photo backdrops?

It is unfair of us to encourage economic and political development in the non-Western world and not accept the fact that modernization entails discarding old ways. Just look at our own country! Sure we like to collect antiques and preserve our historic parts of our cities, but I venture this has less to do with a desire to preserve the past for its own sake than a reaction to the mass consumer culture that has homogenized virtually every aspect of our lives. I can think of three new shopping malls in my city (one is the picture above, Bridgeport Village) boasting of chie-chie boutiques whose design resembles a theme-park fantasy of the past.

If this is our way of bringing tradition into the future, how can we criticize the Chinese? But hey, hats off to Disney, for sugar-coating the cultural execrement known as the strip mall that stands in place of mom-and-pop shops or the Walmarts that cover once-treasured pastureland.

A hot new spot in Shanghai, I read, is a provocative East-meets-modern development called Xintiandi (here's some good pictures). The buildings are based on traditional Shanghai brick town houses that contain international boutiques, stylish cafes, and trendy bars. A writer in The New Yorker (12/26/05 & 1/2/06) writes, that Xintiandi "is a stage set of an idyllic past, created so that people in China can experience the same finely wrought balance of theme park and shopping mall that increasingly passes for upscale urban life in the US." For people in China, yes, but half of the visitors are foreigners.

Part of me enjoys these themescapes for they are better than the alternative - a non-distinct modernism eviscerated of any local, historical relevance. However, I am uncomfortable that Asian developers and designers are looking to the West for inspiration on recovering and commercializing their own past (Xintiandi's architect also designed Boston's Quincy Market).

Having lived in Japan for some time I can say for sure that things like a geisha's kimono, a forlorn shakuhachi or a Shinto shrine are beautiful and dreamy. But they have become superficial, reified museum pieces of the past. The real legacy of premodern Japan is will not be found in these quaint cultural objects, but in the very subtle ways in which the Japanese make modern life their own. I am sure that in modern Shanghai too there is a whole lot of old China, but, contrary to the illusion, it is unlikely to be very apparent to the tourist visiting places like Xintiandi.

Here I am in Nasu prefecture, Japan this summer. See, Japan is not just a big paved-over island!

Divinity and the necessity of suffering

The doctor I shadow once a week asked me to read the Book of Job to gain insight into why God created suffering.

I understand there are two standard Christian explanations of evil and suffering - in short, (1) it is a moral challenge for mankind and (2) it is a necessary consequence of freedom. Basically, without bad things, God would have designed a world that would have remained stuck in Eden. Growth, knowledge, enlightment, compassion, even love - everything that defines our humanity - only come with working through the ethical problems that are consequence of our freedom.

And what about suffering that affects only women or only people of color? How can genocide or sexual oppression be compatible with a universe created by a Christian god? Perhaps God is testing us as a species, and so mass suffering of individuals because of how they were born - with 2 X chromosomes or with brown skin, God's own desire - is just part of the price we as a species must pay. History pretty clearly bears out a striking contradiction to how we understand Providence to work on earth: more often than not the tyranical and greedy come out on top. These are the ones who get the power, the property and the sex. And so how are the faithful or the ones regardless of faith who act a model citizens to the best of their flawed, human nature, rewarded?

Is high tech medicine worth the cost?

Here's a 3D reconstruction of a patient's descending aorta, celiac trunk and kidneys. On the hospital computers you can rotate this image around in space to view all its aspects, just like cars on the Toyota website. Awesome, honestly.

There are lots of ideas about why our health care is so costly, but I wager here's one that is not generally considered. American doctors and patients are infatuated with the latest and greatest in medical technology. We pride ourselves on being the world's leader in medical innovation. We readily choose treatments that are more aggressive and high risk because they may have a slightly better statistical outcome than a plain old boring traditional ones. The latest technology is always more expensive than opting for the tried and true. And most of the time it is better too.

But is it always worth it? Why pay for an expensive CT scan to diagnose appendicitis when a good physical exam and simple X-ray is just as good? Economically it makes no sense, but I guess the fancy, hi-res CT scan makes us - patients and doctors - all feel better about getting and giving the "best" service. Indeed, we pride ourselves on our technological leadership, but it comes at a steep price.

Teenager dies from peanuts

A teenager in Quebec died from allergic shock to peanuts. http://www.msnbc.msn.com/id/10243950/

Experts I know (a microbiology professor and instructor at my medical school) tell me that the recent increase in peanut allergies among kids is a result of a over hygeinated society. We live too clean these days, if you can imagine that, and it is actually making us sicker by making us more vulnerable to disease and allergies.

The reason why is simple. Most of our immunity is acquired after we are born. Everytime we touch something, eat something, get a scrape, take a breath, etc. we expose our immune system to foreign particles - viruses, bacteria, yeasts, tiny parasites, environmental toxins. In turn our bodies create a sort of database of these things so that when they are exposed the second time around they can mount a swift attack to dispose of the intruder. We also have natural immunity against some stuff that we are born with, but it is very weak and nearly useless against most of the stuff that makes us sick these days.

You can see how our immune system is not unlike an army. For it be effective it must not only be ready and trained at all times, it needs immediate access to good intelligence about the enemy. For our bodies, this intelligence is gained from exposure, so when we purposely seal ourselves and children off from "the germs" with the intention of staying healthy, we are probably actually doing more harm than good.

Of course we need to be protective of babies, whose immune system is weak, and we should not be running out to eat just anything off the ground. There's a lot that can make us seriously sick, but peanuts and common viruses shouldn't.

In the NY Times on a Sunday in November there was a story about people in NY preferring to pave over their lawns. One advocate commented, "lawns have ticks and disease and worms and stuff. They way (paving), it's safe and sterile. It's a cleaner area for the children to play. I love nature and I love grass, but I don't want my family exposed to disease."

Kids have been playing on lawns for decades. I did too, and we all turned out just fine.

Reasons why the market fails us

Here's an on going list of examples when the free market fails morally, economically, and logically.

1. Children are probably the most important resources we have, and few would dispute that. Taking good care of children makes both economic and moral sense. Yet children in this country consistently receive sub-standard medical care because it is expensive, market-driven, and poorly funded by the government (pediatricians are also one of the lowest paid specialties in medicine). Children provide very little income to hospitals and insurance companies compared to adults, and expecially to our wealthly aging baby boomers. In a free market those who pay get the best treatment.

2. Competition in the free market should provide consumers with the best product at the best price. But not in health care, which gives us an extremely expensive product that is excellent, but probably not worth the money. Compared to countries in Europe, Canada and Japan, which have some form of universal health care, we spend more of our GNP and get lower scores on just about every health index.

3. The best and brightest in medicine should be going into fields that show the most promise in advancing public health. They should be tackling the most difficult and most important medical problems. Many do, but many instead choose a so-called "life style" specialty like dermatology or opthamology (both have relatively low work loads and high salaries). It is just wrong that dermatology is more competitive than say neurosurgery, infectious diseases, or oncology. Talent follows money, not ethical duty or service to humanity. That's the free market for you.

Resistance to natural anti-biotics

Plants and animals naturally produce all kinds of broad-spectrum substances that kill bacteria. This is one reason a seed does not rot in the ground or why we rarely get bacterial infections on our cornea.

Studying these natural anti-biotics is attractive for pharma as bacteria today are acquiring more and more resistance to our man-made anti-biotics. Yet, is this a good idea? A recent experient has shown that given enough time and the right conditions bacteria can develop resistance to these natural bacterial poisons as well. Developing a new anti-biotic based on one that is naturally found in our mouths, for instance, may seem appealing, but what happens when resistance finally appears? We would expect these bacteria to also be resistant to our bodies' native defense as well, which could become a public health disaster. Sounds like another good reason for some regulatory supervision.

Keeping intelligent design out of medicine

A follow up to my posting a few days ago about the stem cell debate: in the October 6th issue of the New England Journal of Medicine, an editor writes

What would it mean to take intelligent design seriously at the medical school level? Its proponents tell us that gaps in our knowledge of how living organisms evolved vitiate the theory of evolution. Might we conclude, then, that the cancer cell and its evolution are so complex that a creative designer must be the cause of cancer? But if the designer created cancer, is it against the hidden hand's will to find a cure for cancer? Is it in accord with the plan of the intelligent design to receive a treatment for cancer?

Perhaps this is relying a bit too much on a slippery slope since most proponents of creationism would not and do not refuse life-saving medical interventions (the Jehovah's Witnesses, who refuse blood transfusions, are a popular example of those who do indeed take their theological views into the hospital). However, the deeper implication is one that touches on stem cell therapy and and the increasingly blurred boundary between therapy and enhancement. God gave Barry Bonds a fabulous talent, but did he intend for him to boost that talent with steroids?

The brain, removed

I never thought I would hold a human brain in my very own hands. Last week I removed my cadaver's in gross anatomy (I am a first year medical student) and stood at my dissection table in quiet awe. It is heavy and big, compared to other organs in our bodies, and has a density and texture that reminded me of rich, moist clay you might use for pottery. (The neurosurgeon helping us with the dissection said the living brain was rather a different beast - more supple and delicate.) Holding the most incredible thing we know in the universe in the palm of your hand is an akward, uncanny honor; in the end, and devoid of life, it is just a lump of meat.

Getting around the stem cell debate

Our scientists are trying damn hard to pursue embryonic stem cell research without offending the bible thumpers. To date there are two ways of making ES cells without destroying the embryo - here's the latest - but both seem so insanely contrived that it is any wonder religious opponents find them acceptable.

At the end of the day, if you are good Catholic why would you support any kind of molecular tinkering with the human body? Certianly God created us with imperfections, a Christian will point out, but these are only moral and spiritual. Physically, we are perfect, the image of God. So then, when does "improving" the human condition through medical genetics become morally offensive by mucking around with God's beautiful and intelligent design?

FEMA, schools, and American Entitlement

In the aftermath of the floods, a New Orleans newspaper published an open letter to Bush vitriolically lambasting FEMA and the administration. It even demanded that every FEMA employee be fired. "No expense should have been spared," the editors stated.

An ER doctor with whom I worked once commented that as much as he supported socialized medicine in theory, in practice it would never work in the US because Americans had a culturally ingrained sense of "entitlement" regarding public services. In other words, nobody would accept having to wait three weeks for a procedure (which is apparently characteristic of socialized medical systems) if they knew their tax dollars were paying for it.

The tone of the paper's open letter strikes me as similiar. Of course the government has the responsibility to protect its citizens and restore order, and the government is doing that as we speak. But is the city entitled to every single resource the government has at its disposal? Does the government has a constitutional obligation to do everything in its power? Or is this just a moral one? The editors sound as if they they think the city's citizens constitutional right to being rescued has somehow been breached.

It is puzzling why we rarely see angry demonstrations of this magnitude regarding other public services such as education and health care that have considerably more economic and social importance than a localized one-time rescue. Where's the sense of entitlement when it comes to the future and health of our citizens on a daily basis?

Can a good Libertarian hate to shop?

The idea of a free market providing democratic, consumer-driven solutions to problems our society faces sounds rosy in principle, but the view rests on at least one major, very contentious assumption, which is that consumers are rational agents that can be expected to act in their best interests. And that they won't get tired of shopping. No, really.

But even if a majority of us act a majority of the time rationally, I would think a minimal requirement for libertarianism, there is evidence that a plethora of choices - a remarkable attribute of a free market indeed - does not necessarily translate into the best choice chosen. President *'s plan to inject some of this free market choice into retirement pensions assumes, of course, that we all have the time and interest to devote to managing stocks. Of course, we would let a pro handle the details, but nevertheless a private pension still requires a degree of involvement far beyond the current system, which is pretty much nothing.

Personally I like the fact under the current system that I don't have to worry about were my money is, whether it is growing, or by how much, or whether I am "on target" to retire with my nest egg as planned. But that's just me. Personal finance is important to me, but it is not up there with other things, like making sure my wife is happy, or keeping fit, or staying educated.

The idea that people will take responsibility for their future and community if they are presented with choices in a free market makes sense, but only if we have ample time (and interest, or simply wherewithall) to study each choice so that we can make our so-called rational decision. The fact is, we - or I - rarely do that.

For my wedding my wife and I visited all of two catering companies. The reason we did not consult with more is that doing so would have been painfully tedious. Would we have found an even better caterer? Perhaps, but do I care? Not really. So how "rational" I am being here? Where libertarians are wrong is that they don't acknowledge that people more often than not make decisions that are "just good enough" rather than "the very best" for them at that time, and "just good enough," by definition is relative. In some cases it might actually be pretty bad, but how would I know without having explored every other possibility ad infinitum?

I for one have grown weary of the choices I am confronted by these days. Even buying a cup of coffee, at one time a banal activity, has become a major process involving a barrage of questions and options. The complexity of contemporary life is quite directly the result of having so many choices. With more choices you always have the possibility of having something better than you have, or than your neighbor has. With more choices comes the stress of never quite knowing if you made the right decision. With more choices, our lives become more and more consumed by a lifestyle of shopping.

Assertion and personal relations

Suppose we think, as some philosophers do, that assertion implies a commitment to the defensibility of the proposition asserted. If I assert that it is raining, then I am committed, upon challenge, to the defensibility of my claim. I become responsible for what I assert, and others can hold me to it.

Conflating asserting and saying gives rise to a very prevalent problem. My interest is its manifestation in personal relationships. Sometimes when we say or utter something, we don’t mean to be (or don’t want to be) asserting it. (Everything we assert, we say; however, not everything we say is an assertion.) In such cases, the commitment to defensibility is not in effect. Suppose I say, “N is a horrible person.” Some people (e.g., N’s friends) will demand an explanation, a defense; they will hold me responsible for what I say. I seem to be committed to offering a defense and engaging their incredulity. Suppose however that when I uttered ‘N is a horrible person’ I wasn’t asserting my belief about his vicious character, but rather just expressing my frustration at something he had done earlier in the day. ‘N is a horrible person’ functions, in that context, only to signal and emphasize the degree of my frustration. The aim of my utterance, then, is not really to talk about N’s character, but rather to engage someone in a discussion about my terrible day, part of which has to do with N.

The problem arises because my utterance is believed to be an assertion. I am wrongly held to a norm I don’t accept (as applying to this case). The tension can escalate if I try to explain myself. The friends can accuse me of being imprecise and illogical: “N is a terrible person,” they might say, does not mean “I’m having a terrible day; N is connected to it.” But what could be more pedantic and unhelpful than to accuse the extremely frustrated with being imprecise? And what could more easily lead to friction than to taunt an already agitated person? When the aim is to vent frustration or express one’s emotions or work through one’s thoughts out loud or to bullshit (to borrow from Harry Frankfurt), precision is neither an aim nor a priority nor, perhaps, even possible. Suppose the friends further accuse me of being irrational and of not being able to adequately express myself. I take personal affront to that. The tension escalates. And so on.

The root of the problem can manifest in almost all conversation, since we often do more (or less) with language than to transmit beliefs, i.e., make assertions. Some believe this is a gendered issue pertaining to the ‘linguistic relationship’ men and women have with one another. Men accuse women of not saying what they mean, and women accuse men of not being sensitive to the nuances of what they say. If there is a normative distinction between saying and asserting, then both can be correct. If the demand to defend what one says applies only to assertions, then one can say something, mean it (in some sense), yet not feel it necessary to defend. In those cases, any demand is out of place and inappropriate. On the other hand, one can confuse a legitimate demand for clarity with an attack on one’s person. Interpreting the demand as a retributive sentiment obfuscates one’s responsibilities, and some would say is an attempt to avoid them.

In any specific situation, it is a matter for subtle judgment to decide whether someone is asserting a claim or not. The upshot, then, is that dialogue shouldn’t be always construed as a battle over the truth of something said. Not all conversation is debate. When it’s unclear whether a person is prepared to defend something she says, the interlocutor should keep his mouth shut until the conversational intent is made sufficiently clear. Doing so would help abate friction and hurt feelings.

Contempt or engagement?

If I refuse, for moral reasons, to engage with someone, I can be thought to contemn him. The contempt is grounded in a reason, namely, that I don’t want to honor or lend my credibility or my authority by associating with him. And contempt can also be self-protective: I don’t want to become tainted by what I judge to be that person’s moral stench.

The practice of lending one’s credibility through association is obscure, yet nevertheless common. We take time out (of our busy schedules) to meet with someone, and that is often taken to be a form of respect. Photo opportunities are opportunities to bolster one’s credibility by piggy-backing on another’s authority. Importantly, to engage with an argument is, under normal circumstances, to implicitly assert the worthiness of the argument being engaged.

In the past few years, a certain controversy has arisen over a professor’s refusal to debate, in public or otherwise, a historian whom she, and many others, considers a holocaust denier. This takes us right into the distinction just drawn between contempt and engagement, and highlights the political dimension of that distinction.

The historian holds no academic position, holds no doctorate degree, and yet has written scores of texts on serious historical subjects, some of which have been recognized by academicians. In particular, he boasts something of a reputation as a historian steeped in extensive historical knowledge grounded in thorough archival research. Recently (but perhaps going further back), he seems to be defending a holocaust denier’s position, and he claims to have done the archival research which proves that Hitler could not have masterminded anything like what we commonly consider the Holocaust. This position is his stand, the thesis on which he stakes his reputation. He is eager to defend his position against the legion who disagree with him.

On the other hand, we have a professor who specializes in Holocaust denial in America. In particular, she is a specialist on the rhetoric and political impact of Holocaust denial in America. She refuses, on principle she claims, to debate with her opponent because she thinks to engage with him would be to give a forum for his incredible views. So, she refuses to grant interviews to news shows who are eager to hear her and her opponent battle it out. She seems to be asserting that a historical thesis which denies the Holocaust is a thesis not worthy of consideration. She is unwilling to lend credibility to such a thesis by seriously engaging with it. She finds the thesis, to use our terms, contemptible.

An interesting conflict arises. A basic tenet of a liberal society is the value of the discussion of ideas and engagement of conflicting views. J.S. Mill even thought that an open society should endorse and encourage the consideration of views believed to be false. For such consideration could somehow lead to the discovery of an important truth. Even if we are skeptical about the scope of this claim, it does appear to be true of the society of academics. It could almost be considered a part of an academic’s job description to engage with views she believes to be false (i.e., those which conflict with her own). On the face of it then, there is no place for contempt in academia: a thesis thought false must be engaged with and shown to be false; while dismissive treatment does occur, it is not something that is accepted as a practice. On the other hand, aren’t there views so absurd and patently unsustainable that merely to ponder them is to feel soiled? How does one, say, ask a mother to ponder the value of murdering her only son? She won’t do it, perhaps cannot do it—and this would seem to be a good making feature of her character. This seems especially pertinent if the advancement of the putatively absurd views is motivated, not by the search for truth, but by ideological considerations. If so, then something like a moral consideration obstructs dialogue and engagement.

How do we handle this conflict? Shall we accept that certain viewpoints are taboo and do not warrant serious discussion? That is a dangerous position to take; and if it should become politicized, a seemingly disastrous one. On the other hand, how are we supposed to engage if our own moral principles demand otherwise? Perhaps this is what Nietzsche pondered when he envisioned a future populated by the ‘daredevils of the spirit’, that is, those who would dare to engage with the morally ‘impossible’. Even if there should be such a specimen of human being, should we find them admirable?

Tipping Conventions

Tipping conventions

In the United States, the following takes place millions of times a day: a customer enters a restaurant, orders his meal from the waitstaff, the order is taken, the food and other food related requirements are presented to the customer, and the customer pays out what is called a gratuity for the services he specifically provided. In this brief social exchange, there seems to exist a host of conventions which govern how the exchange should take place. The most controversial part of the exchange is the consideration of how much should be given as the gratuity. The basic question concerns whether there are specific norms which govern this behavior and, if so, what is their nature.

Consider the following, rather common, scenario. A group of 6 friends enjoy a meal at a rather upscale place. Over the course of 3 hours, they order several bottles of wine, appetizers, entrees, dessert and coffee. The wait staff is competent, unobtrusive, and friendly. At the end of the meal, the check is split among them, and tension arises over how much should be left for the wait staff. Some consider the 15% adequate, others note the stellar service and want the gratuity to be at least 20%, still others note that the gratuity should not include the price of the wine, and finally there is one who as a matter of principle does not want to leave a gratuity at all. The 15-percenters cite 15% as the norm; it is, they assert, what most people give, and this determines how much should be given. The 20-percenters cite the good service, and insist that 15% is the minimum gratuity; and so, if the service is beyond the ordinary, the tip should exceed the minimum. The solitary holdout claims that a gratuity is just that--a gratuity--meaning that no one must give it if she does not want to—and he doesn’t want to. Moreover, he argues, it is ridiculous to tip at all on the wine, not to mention 20% because, he asks, How hard can it be to open a bottle of wine? The 15-percenters charge the 20-percenters with being spendthrifts; the 20-percenters counter with the charge that the 15-percenters are insensitive to hard work. And, almost everyone believes the holdout is an ass. Can any facet of this dispute be settled?

Even a superficial glance at the very concept of a gratuity poses immediate problems. Gratuity has several seemingly incompatible meanings. On the one hand, a gratuity can depend only upon the customer’s inclinations, perhaps informed by some evaluation, but ultimately grounded in nothing more than a personal decision. On the other, gratuity means reciprocity, and hence the level of the gratuity is fixed by something extending beyond personal choice—choice is informed and determined by the nature of the reciprocal relationship.

Even if the basis of a gratuity is solely grounded on the inclinations or desires of the diner, there would still be multiple options. If we think of such inclinations as whimsical or unprincipled as in “I just felt like leaving a $10 tip”, then there could be no general formula to fix the amount of the gratuity. The 15% that we Americans are accustomed to giving would be ungrounded, on this picture, in any norm. We give 15% because we feel like it; sometimes we give less, sometimes more. If there is no norm, then there can be no objective evaluation of whether someone tipped poorly or appropriately. And hence no grounds for dispute. Essentially, the holdout from the above story would be correct. Alternatively, if we think of the desire as expressing some sort of evaluation of, typically, the quality of the service provided, then there might exist a formula to fix the amount of a gratuity: the better the service the greater the inclination to give a higher gratuity; the worse, the lower. Gratuities, on this view, can run the gamut, from none to over 100%. The key is subjective assessment of the quality of service.

Distinguish the first conception, on either reading, with the idea that gratuities can be demanded irrespective of anyone’s personal inclinations. If the principle of reciprocity is at work, one would surmise that with a waiter’s increasing attention, devotion and care, the gratuity would appropriately increase. Even if true, however, there appears to be limits beyond which most diners are unwilling to venture—and this applies at both ends. Irrespective of how high the quality of service, few would ponder the possibility of leaving a 50% gratuity; and, similarly, no matter how negligent, few would ponder denying some gratuity altogether. So, the principle of reciprocity, even if in effect, seems to be supplemented by an upper and lower limit.

So, there are considerations which favor the conclusion that nothing could rightfully compel a customer to tip other than her own personal evaluation; and, there are considerations favoring the thought that a norm of reciprocity, suitably qualified, determines how much customers should tip. This ambiguity in the concept of gratuity, I suspect, grounds the frequent disagreement, sometimes very heated, over our tipping conventions.

God decideth death

I despise zealous conservative Christians, those loathsome rats, arrogant in morals and ignorant of spirituality. As a lot, they are a crystalline picture of evil. But let me think like a good Christian for a second - one who is conscientious.

It is God, not humans, who decides life and death. So what business do we have in intervening in this divine plan? Terri Shiavo's heart attack - fatal if not for the heroic and timely measures of her doctors - was a sure sign from the Almighty that her time on Earth had come. God intended Terri to die fifteen years ago, and we, in an amazing act of hubris, refused. Letting her die was not murder, no, it was an act of respect for God.

So when do Christians have a moral responsibility to protect the life of the meek, and when does doing so contradict divine fate? We have a moral obligation to protect the meek because God has a purpose for every human life. Yet technology, and especially medical technology, is rapidly increasing our ability to shape fate to our own liking, which may not be to His.

Why Zhang Yimou's Kung-fu Films Suck

I watched 'Hero' the other night on DVD, a week after watching the same directors newest martial arts film, 'House of Flying Daggers.' To be honest neither held great appeal for me, but contrary to many adoring fans' opionions, I would say I prefer the slightly more whimsical and romantic 'Flying Daggers.'

The problem with both of these films, and especially with 'Hero,' Yimou's first foray into the genre, is that they simply require too much suspension of belief. Old skool kung-fu movies, though guilty of their own outlandishness, were at least composed of characters and sequences that were plausible, and it was that plausiblity that made them, quite frankly, marvelous. Yimou, on the other hand, intices us to follow him into the land of biblical miracle working when in comes to ancient combat: people who not only jump kick great distances, but actually run on the tops of trees and spar on the surface of water. As a kung-fu spoof I would think this kind of gimmickry was a riot, but Yimou's films are dead serious.

So for those of you who say, "it just a MOVIE, its a fantasy!" -

Although I may be in a diminishing minority, I still expect artistry when I sit down to watch a film. Who wouldn't be geniunely affronted to see dancers leaping through the air with wires at the ballet? (yes, I know it has been done to achieve certain dramatic affects) With 'Hero,' instead of seeing Jet Li demonstrate his amazing talent, he is reduced, quite literally, to a kung-fu puppet. Anyone can do martial arts with a little choreography, wires, and special effects. Considering that neither Maggie Cheung nor the gorgeous Zhang Ziyi are trained in the martial arts, they come off as convincing masters. Creating illusions is fine. That's what film does so well, but when it is egregious and for no clear artistic reason, it is it simply cheap pomp to tease the eyes while delivering nothing to the soul.

Yimou is a brilliant director, watch any of his earlier films such as 'Red Sorghum' or 'Raise the Red Lantern.' His new martial arts films, however, are sadly lacking in any of the substance that, for lack of a better phrase, I would call a window into the human condition. It seems he has sold out, to the the market, to Hollywood, I don't know. But 'Hero' and 'Daggers' both seem to be nothing more than over-manipulated over-the-top action films with a thin visual veneer slightly reminiscent of Yimou's other movies.

What really bothers me about all this business is that although "modern filmmaking" (CG, special fx, fast editing, big scores, wires) can certainly add artistic merit and dramatic relevance to a film, more often than not they are gimmicks and crutches to cover up a film's basic inadequacies. Why for instance has Hollywood film music become so emotionally overbearing? A good director and cast should be able to express tone and mood to us without a massive post-Wagnerian symphony slapping us in the face with "okay, now feel sad, now feel scared, etc."

One of my greatest current pleasures as a movie goer is seeing how small budget, foreign, and underground films deal with key dramatic moments, such as a death. More often than not such a scene will be shown in vivid detail in the Hollywood style. But is it necessary? Not at all. I love how independent films, and good films in general, use subtlety to their advantage. A recent example is the Italian film 'A Son's Room,' about a family that struggles with the loss of a son who dies in a diving accident. A diving accident? You can just see Hollywood executives rubbing their hands about how exciting and graphic they could make a scuba death scene. But the Italian film only shows the boy riding off to sea in a Zodiac with his scuba gear. We get the picture, without the picture, and it is more powerful that way too, not to mention more human, because that is how the parents will experience the death as well. As a Hollywood audience we are treated a little like Greek deities who roam the world instanteously and slip in and out, willy-nilly, of the lives of mortals.

But without this god's eye view, the director and cast really need to pull through and push their talent to the edge to make the film work. Subtlety depends not on what you don't show, but on how well you show the small bits you do.

Do the rats race in Japan?

I lived in Tokyo for three and a half years as a Monbusho research student and then as an employee of a Japanese software company. This was a wonderful, memorable time for me, although it was also punctuated by the frustration and aggravation of being an American in Japan. My wife, who is Japanese, reminds me that during the months just before I returned to the US I complained at length about living there. Just about all my discontent arose from an evaporating patience with the Japanese adverse to risk and challenge. This is a deep cultural trait, that has both long historical roots and widespread contemporary manifestations.

Conversely, Americans love challenge and embrace risk, and consequently we foster from a young age the personal independence and ambition that drives us to them. I have been home two years and already I find myself being swept up in "the rat race," although I can hardly even tell what rat race I am in. In the US we value an individual not necessarily on his or her character, but on his or her achievements. We are not in love with good Americans so much as we are with successful ones. Gates and Trump are admired and beloved icons of American capitalism not for what they stand for morally, spiritually, or intellectually (although to be fair Gates, unlike Trump, has made considerable charitable contributions) but for their self-made power and money.

In Japan success is much more a matter of professional or personal alliances and seniority than personal ambition. If I am not an especially successful person in Japan that's okay, because everyone knows that in large part my success, like their own, is beyond my control. To be sure, this certainly takes away the pressure to achieve we place on ourselves in the US. The Japanese work themselves hard, but more so out of a sense of commitment to the company than to one's future social progress. By contrast in the US, most of us work hard for the promotion. Here, personal interest supersedes everything. Although I very much enjoy living in a country where ambition is encouraged and rewarded, I find it disheartening that achievement, regardless of the means or ends, has become a virtue in its own right.

Are culinary judgments objective?

All animals eat, but only humans, as far as we know, make judgments on whether the food they eat is good. Dogs, monkeys and cats may have eating preferences but, as far as we know, they do not evaluate what they eat. Call this kind of evaluation culinary evaluation or, to be easier on the ears, culinary judgment. The sort of culinary judgment I have in mind is not grounded on the goodness of food for humans beings, that is, the nutritional value of food for humans beings. Nutrition may be connected to the sort of culinary goodness I am interested in, but it is not necessarily and may be perversely inversely related: the more nutritional the food, the worse the food. If culinary judgments were grounded solely on nutrition, then the culinary arts would be subsumed by the medical sciences. Since we frequently make culinary judgments quite independently of any knowledge or even belief regarding its nutritional value, there is a least a prima facie case for distinguishing the two.

A culinary judgment is a very complex judgment. We make one when, after taking a bite of sautéed foie gras, we deem it excellent or yummy. We make one when, after nibbling on some walnuts and mandarin orange with the foie gras, we say that that is a great pairing or that they go well together. We call a chef excellent or brilliant; oenophiles make judgments about when a wine is ready to drink or when it is too young; we sometimes make wide ranging judgments on the quality of an entire cuisine as compared to another type of cuisine, e.g. French vs. Italian. The question then is whether these types of judgments are objective? Can such judgments be true? Can someone be correct when making such judgments? If so, in what sense? To what extent does culture, upbringing, physiological make-up, education, or class influence or determine such judgments?

There is a great tension in our beliefs regarding this question. On the one hand, many have a great reluctance to tell others that they are wrong when they deem such and such food good (or bad). This would suggest the belief that culinary judgments are subjectively grounded, say, on someone’s subjective preferences. To say that caviar is good (or bad) is just to say that someone prefers it (or not). ‘To each according to his own tastes’ is often used to succinctly express this view. On the other hand, many consider food preparation an art, a craft. This would suggest, on the analogy with other crafts, that there is such a thing as excellence and fault with respect to how the craft is practiced. If a tailor cuts fabric in a certain way, the resulting suit can be judged excellent or shoddy. The judgment is grounded on standards of excellent tailoring. Mutatis mutandis excellent architecture, music and literary composition, carpentry, etc. If so, then to make a judgment contrary to the standards of culinary excellence is to make an incorrect judgment. On this view, someone who considers, for example, Sichuan cuisine bad can be simply incorrect.

There are many questions to be explored before we can make even a preliminary assessment of the relevant terrain. How deep is the dependency of culinary judgments on the senses? Is it possible to judge a dish good even though one despises its taste, smell and sight? What kind of objectivity is in question? Isn’t it absurd to claim that culinary judgments are objective in the same way scientific judgments are? Can convention and the history of a specific cuisine objectively ground judgments made about it in the way, one could argue, legal judgments are grounded in history and convention? How far can the craft analogy be taken? Is being a gourmand like being a tailor or an architect? Can the conflict of culinary judgments be adjudicated? Lastly: Who cares? Does the objectivity (or not) of culinary judgments matter?

Why are crimes getting more perverse?

Today a nut case ran into the Oregon Senate chamber with a big knife and threatened to kill himself. Now, as after every "incident" these days, everyone's talking about what new security measures will be necessary for the capitol building. Up to this point there were none, apparently. At some point in the future we will live and breathe security. Surveillance will permeate our lives as much as the water we drink.

So why are crimes and vandalism getting more violent and ugly? Are people just more desperate and angry? Nah. Is our society producing more psychologically unstable individuals? Nah. Although we live in a society that can be sterile, unjust, polluted, artificial, and cruel, the real reason why crimes are more heinous now than ever is because acts of violence and law breaking are in a dialectic with law enforcement. Aggressive law enforcement and stricter laws beget more imaginative and desperate crimes, which beget more severe punishments and more prohibitions, and so on. Even if we do have fewer crimes now than before, they are unquestionably more extreme and bizarre. Hey, it's the war on terror in miniature!

Why didn't some nut storm the Senate chamber 25 years ago when every one was high and pissed off at the "establishment, man"? There have always been crazy, dangerous people, but could it have been that there were closer community bonds that kept antisocial behavior in check, that was more local and personal than any modern law enforcement system? Even if I may have a tendency to be serial rapist, chances are I am less likely to act on such dark impulses if I, or my family, knows everyone in the neighborhood. The act would be too personal and close to home.

These days, however, few of us really ever get to know our neighbors. And more often than not, we see people whom we don't know by default as obstacles, competitors to our personal happiness. What we consider to be our community is a geographically diffuse network of different social groups: the people I know from work, the dive shop, my friends I see movies with, the guys in my bands, my family members that live all over the place.

Price gouging at the vet

Yesterday I took my dog to the vet, a chain-run operation called Banfield that is associated with PetSmart. My dog has a mild eye infection - lots of green eye buggers that started in the right eye and spread to the left. Pretty typical problem, so I expected a quick and cheap remedy. But no.

The vet examined my dog and gave me some spiel about how they should run a fancy test to verify she didn't have an abrasion or ulcer on her cornea. I knew that was bogus, but how could I argue with a professional?

I reiterated that the problem spread from one eye to the other, hoping that would narrow the diagnosis clearly down to an infection (scratches don't spread), and also told him that my dog had not been scratching her face in any way, excluding the possibility that she had scratched her eye inadvertently. The vet stood up and said let he would draw up a treatment plan.

A "treatment plan" ?! That sounded a little too severe for what is really a simple, common doggie issue. I mean we're not talking about cancer here.

So the treatment plan included the fancy eye test. Oh, and since the test involves placing this fluorescent substance in the eye that causes discomfort, anesthesia is also recommended. Together it was going to run me about $50. Of course I was free to do what I wished, he said, but the test was a standard recommendation for a situation like this. And if I didn't want to do the test? Talk about a guilt trip, jeeze.

I decided to go with just an antibiotic eye ointment sans eye test. If no improvement after 2 days, I figured, no harm done, I will just go back to have the test done.

I left pissed. Not because the vet was stupid or inconsiderate - he wasn't - but because I expected him to use his experience and intuition to suggest the most common sense remedy. He must have known there was 95% chance it was a simple bacterial infection, so why didn't he just say so? And why all the scare tactics like saying "treatment plan" instead of "medicine" and recommending unnecessary tests?

Health care (for people and their dogs) has become uncomfortably intertwined with business. When price gouging becomes transparent customers will get upset and weary. An upset patient will just seek another service, but a weary one? Now that is troubling, for a weary patient tired of expensive visits may not consider going to see the doctor next time for simple, routine problem, even when they should.

Bush's hard sell

Bush used the word freedom or liberty more than 40 times in his 30-minute inaugural address yesterday. Smell like a hard sell? It reminds me of the recent spate of "superdrug" commercials directed straight at consumers (rather than just doctors). If Vioxx is so great, then why the need to spend so much money advertising it? Likewise, an incumbent's character and track record should be sufficient in gaining understanding, if not support, for his ideas. Sadly, many people will see the overuse of these words as a sign of strength and commitment, rather than as an indicator of failing policies.

weight-loss surgery

A local surgeon specializing in a type of weight-loss surgery is lobbying to get insurers to pay for the $25K operation. And why not? Isn't this a clear-cut case of medicine being employed for honorable means? The surgeon says,

People literally thank you for giving them their lives back, and you can see how their lives are changed

These kind of surgeries are controversial in the medical community and they are extreme. They involve surgically removing most of the stomach or bypassing the stomach so that the patient feels full after eating a mere fraction of what they normally eat. In fact, they will feel full after eating a mere fraction of a normal diet as well. It is a form of self-starvation. Perhaps such extreme health problems elicit extreme measures.

There should be some concern, however, that weight-loss surgeries may be causing additional problems while fixing others. Self-starvation, even with nutritional supplements, must certainly carry its own risks, which are likely to be long-term and show up possibly years after the operation. We may not know what those are now, especially since these kinds of procedures are relatively new.

I want to think that this is outweighed by the benefits gained from losing weight, which we know to be the source or many other systemic health problems such as hypertension and diabetes. Yet it is a reminder that even therapeutic biotechnology can be ethically problematic.

I'm a "flexitarian"!

And good to know I have a name for my dietary identity, although for I still prefer my own "lapsing vegetarian" - more of a description than a label.

A so-called flexitarian (who thinks of these things, and why?) is a vegetarian who occasionally eats fish or chicken (but not beef or pork - I'm baffled why there has always been a hierarchy of dietarily correct animal proteins). Here's a good story that describes the popularization of vegetarianism and rise of "flexitarianism," and suggests that diet, like everything in American culture vacillates between extremes (low-temp vegan vs. Atkins), eventually settling on a sound middle. And that looks a whole lot like what the FDA and our doctors have been telling us for years.

Souls are accidental (but gorgeous all the same)

Sometime in my formative years I gave up on the idea that some part of us, soul, or consciousness, exists after death. My reasons for doing so had nothing to do with my religious skeptism; they had to do with the desire to believe that the universe was really as large, complex, and indifferent to us as modern science tell us it is. I just found this wonderfully pithy expression of the idea by Ian McEwan:

However, [the idea of life after death] divides the world crucially, and much damage has been done to thought as well as to persons, by those who are certain that there is a life, a better, more important life, elsewhere. That this span is brief, that consciousness is an accidental gift of blind processes, makes our existence all the more precious and our responsibilities for it all the more profound.

And at some point when I am smarter I will explain not only why this is true, but why it is important to believe so.

Tsunami - now and then

I read about a woman in Sri Lanka who was attempting to get some pension benefits from the government on behalf of her deceased husband. The official told her to wait and go home. And then she laughed, "but I have no home!"

Indeed these satellite pictures (especially the first pair) not only depict graphically what this woman said, but tell us that for many people this is not simply a matter of rebuilding the house. In many cases the land itself has disappeared, and with it possibly those people's livelihood.

Reflections on 2004 & Happy New Year

On the whole this was a good year, buoyed by the optimism of going to medical school next year. It was a year in which I had a razor-sharp focus in my life like I have never had. There was not a day when I did not think about my future and how I would get there. But it was also full of hours of thankless work in the restaurants, the stress of the MCAT which I took in August, and endless hours of basic science preparation.

I started the academic year (actually in 2003) at PSU brimming with excitement and confidence. I couldn't think of anything better at the time than to study physics, chemistry and biology, and I recall many times coming home late at night from work that I was really blessed to be able to have the opportunity to pursue such a dream at my point in life (34!), especially when untold numbers of people, young and old, around the world have neither the social nor economic possibility of even taking a university course. I did rather well in all my classes, primarily out of diligence and enthusiasm I like to think, than out of any special aptitude. I made friendships with my physics and organic chemistry instructors, and connected with each of them in non academic ways, diving and music. On the second week of class I visited my organic chemistry professor and introduced myself. In my typical self-effacing manner, I explained that I used to be on track to teach music but now things had changed. I wanted to be a doctor, and so on, and how weird and random was that!? He pretended to be affronted (he wasn't really) by the suggestion that science and music have nothing in common and then produced a copy of an article he had written about a chemist turned composer. The arts are spectacular, and scientists know that too. Who would ever think?

Until June Naomi and I lived in school housing. I insisted it was an apartment, although it felt by virtue of the cinder block walls and short-nap utility carpeting like a dormitory. It was humiliating to be living next to 19 year-old nitwits, and enduring their stupid antics and disrespect was painful. But moving in was cheap and easy without a recent rental history, and besides we had no time to entertain the guests we didn't know yet anyway.

In the fall and winter Naomi had a couple of break downs that ended in tears of self-loathing. She was taking classes at PCC that required writing essays, but she had never learned how to do this in the Japanese school system, at least not in the way that is expected of an educated westerner. Eventually she learned the difference between a thesis and an opinion, and how to write a supporting paragraph. Learning this is hard and frustrating, especially in another language because there is never a "right" way of expression. There are always better sentences, better words. I corrected her drafts and returned them littered with marks in red ink. Although she never though it could, her writing has really improved over the year to the point where this fall she got an A in a women studies class without me ever reading a single draft!

Aside from academics we led pretty dull lives. Weekends punctuated our humdrum study lives with elaborate home-cooked dinners, shopping sprees to Costco, trips to the cinema, or an occasional visit to my mom in Eugene. We did no local diving the entire year since Naomi does not have the money to buy a better dry suit, and we did not have a car either large or reliable enough to haul us and our gear to Hood Canal. And frankly, I don't really like the cold water either. I completed all my paperwork (essays, maps, tests) in January for my divemaster, but my instructor, Dave, was unbelievably negligent in processing anything. It is still a work in progress.

In March my grandmother passed away. We flew to Orange County for the weekend for the funeral and burial in Westminster. Naomi met Jim, Carol, and Emily, and we both met my aunt June and Paul from Pennsylvania, plus a host of other very distant older relatives. I showed Naomi UCLA, Santa Monica beach, and we cruised around OC in Carol's new Lexus sports car. My grandmother and my mom are now resting in peace, although in different ways. Grandma's last years were demented but thankfully not painful. If anyone suffered, it was mom who had grown so accustomed to caring for her each day that when Alice had gone my mom didn't quite know what to do with her new freedom. Mom had become so dependent on grandma's mental illness that she had even lost a sense of what "sick" really meant. In the end a social worker examined grandma at mom's request and concluded that she was way past the point where she should be living outside a managed care facility. Pita, grandma's dog, is now living with mom, and is a heart-warming reminder of grandma's spirit and the will to live (the dog is so old and decrepit, but keeps going).

Also in March was a small wedding of Tomo and Masami, friends of mine from Tokyo. They had a service at an enchanting glass chapel in Palos Verdes attended by the two of us, Masami's sister, and a handful of Tomo's old Japanese ex-pat buddies that still live in LA. We gave them a gorgeous Pendleton Wool blanket, red and black, with a prominent NW Indian icon (Naomi gave me the same for Christmas since I was so enamored with it). We stayed with some friends of mine, Jonathan and Stacy, who I had not seen since I left Japan. It was great to catch up with them since their wedding and talk about their baby, Dylan who was born in July. Jonathan and I were in the same program at UCLA. He, however, stuck with ethnomusicology, and now has a coveted position at UC, Riverside.

In June I flew to NY to visit with Minh and Kelly. The weather was intolerable, but the food was delightful. Minh is a gourmand with a lot of time to read about the busy dining scene in NY. But the highlight was a rib-eye he prepared with which we enjoyed a bottle of Leonetti merlot, 1992 I think. The best moments were just being with the two of them. There is something to say about personal experience, the world's best pizza at Coney Island, the gravity of ground zero, the colorful Cuban food in Soho, unbeatable dumplings in Chinatown, the cool, soothing breeze of the ocean by Wall Street, the classy French chocolatier near the Rockefeller center, the searing hot Thai food in Queens, etc., but the thing (and not just food!) itself always seems to pale in comparison to the way other people experience it. Talking about food with people who love it is just as good as eating it. What do I mean? The House of Sand and Fog, which we watched on DVD after the rib eye, is a mediocre and tedious film but it was made more than tolerable by Minh and Kellys' amusing peanut gallery commentary.

From NY I went to Ty and Amys' wedding in Marshfield, Massachusetts. Mom, and grandpa also came, as well as all the Lemerande sons, and aunt June and uncle Paul. Amy's family, the McLaughlins are immeasurably generous and funny, and they are dyed in the wool New England Catholic Democrats. The whole family sings a marvelous set of entertainers and tried to get the rest of us to sing Irish folk songs as well. They entertained us for several days at their home that is perched just above a small river feeding into an estuary. The weather and scenery were dreamy and the McLaughlin's large front yard with family and neighbors of all ages milling about with beer and bbq, playing wiffleball, drying off after a swim, or riding the oak tree swing were out of an imaginary Norman Rockwell painting called "An American Summer."

The Lemerande family and I made trips to Martha's Vineyard and Portsmouth. Toby and I talked about physics, politics, and Japan, Saskia and I talked about how funny Toby and Alan were when they were arguing about God and about how funny the Japanese were in general, and I talked with Alan about medicine. Although a man of Christ, he found my berating of organized religious amusing and provocative. Although this was the first time I had met Al and Ty, the family bonds quickly brought us together. Ty is a very easy-going, personable guy with whom anyone could talk. Al, however, is a complex, independent thinker who is not shy about expressing his views. One side of him is gentle and graceful, but the other could start some nutty cult. The views he holds are sometimes unusual, even offensive, and being a man of conviction and faith he holds them incorrigibly. Toby is keen and curious like his brother Al, but he is a religious skeptic and has chosen (for the time being) to place his faith not in God but science, exclusively. Their dad was not there, but ironically he occupied perhaps most of the conversation time among the Lemerandes. Not having met Alan Sr. I had nothing to say or think, but I could not resist noticing the impact, good and bad, he had on the rest of the family. I returned from Massachusetts in an unusually positive mood. Rarely are vacations and family gatherings so exciting and fulfilling.

With the summer came a small change in the pace of our daily routine. I signed up for an MCAT prep course that occupied me most of the week until the exam day. Naomi took an accelerated calculus course that she hated, but passed with a B. The later half of the summer she had off, which was good since we acquired a family member, Sango, from the Bonnie Hayes Animal Shelter. Although Sango is black and has the marking of a Rottweiler or Doberman of half the size, the word means coral is Japanese. She came to us as a meek, unconfident, and very sick puppy of probably 6 months. We have no history for her, so we decided to call her adoption date, July 15, her first birthday. We nursed her back to health and she quickly took to her new name and home. Even now she is still puppy-like in her energy and play style, but is growing into an athletic, nicely muscled and wonderfully tempered adult.

The MCAT was at once fearsome and exciting. I felt great on exam day, thanks to lots of sleep, brain food, and at least a modicum of confidence from the prep class. The real challenge of the exam is to think critically for a long period of time under pressure in a quick, efficient manner. As it turned out I received a good score, but so far this has not translated into any interviews. The med school application process took the large part of the end of the summer into October. The essays are far and away the most difficult aspect of the application for me. The schools expect essays that are original, moving, and personal. I have, however, a hard time writing in that style, although I am very good at the more prosaic and dry academic form more suitable for getting grants.

At the end of September I left my job. Naomi's mother came to visit for a short week. Naomi's mother is an independent, active, and strong-willed woman, certainly untypical for a Japanese housewife her age. Every summer she travels outside Japan with a group of women friends, last year it was Spain. This was the first time she had been to the US, and a whirl-wind tour of Oregon it was. The first night off the plane we spent at Lost Lake beneath Mt. Hood. It was there, under the stars by campfire that I proposed to Naomi. Her mom was overjoyed but insisted that we each write a letter to dad explaining our desire to marry. I refused to give Naomi a diamond ring, partly because I didn't want to spend the money I didn't have and mostly because she would not have wanted to wear one. And I was right; the ring I gave her from an Indian atelier in New Mexico, with embedded opal, turquoise and some other uncommon purple stone whose name I can't recall, was the perfect expression of our artistic tastes and unorthodox marriage. The next evening we spent in Portland, ate an early lunch with dad, Marsha and Sandy, then went to a classical Indian dance performance at the Schnitzer. The following day we toured the coast where we saw a herd of Roosevelt Elk, a large pod of grey whales, sea lions, and lunched on some local clam chowder on the beach. Boy that was an exciting day, for sure. Before returning we stayed a few nights in Eugene with mom. Some of her friends came over for lots of fun and Coors Light. All the girls got silly and made Naomi wear a goofy veil.

After Naomi's mom left we took a diving vacation to Roatan which was way too short. All told, I think we did nearly 20 dives in a week. The weather was okay, the ocean was calm, but the visibility left much to be desired, perhaps due to the four hurricanes that had swept through the Caribbean. We stayed at Fantasy Island Resort, which provided pretty good food (some was rather delicious) and decent, but not impressive, dive service despite the fact that the dive center is home to the island's hyperbaric chamber. The best part of the trip was meeting new friends, such as the charming Colin and Penny, retired Brits that run a charter in the British Virgin Islands, or the clever and sardonic Carlos, an oil engineer and amateur underwater filmmaker.

We visited San Jose for another family reunion in October in celebration of Ty and Amys' wedding. Carol and Em came up, mom and grandpa flew down from Eugene, and Amy's parents flew from Boston, despite being the middle of the World Series. Maggie impressed us with the choir she sings in and Ty and Amy performed a bit of from their two-person Romeo and Juliet. It was a short trip, but the hugs and chats were nice, and Naomi and I picked out two beautiful dresses to choose from for our wedding the following Monday.

Judge Marcus married us on October 25th at the Multnomah County Courthouse in downtown Portland. For me this was not supposed to be a big deal, simply a formality. Originally I had not intended to invite my mom, but as it turned out she really wanted to come up for the short service after all (I mean, duh) and didn't mind at all seeing my dad, Marsha and Sandy. In fact, everybody was so relaxed that mom decided to join us for lunch afterwards too. We ate family style Chinese food in the Pearl and mom had a great time talking to Marsha. In retrospect it was good that they meet now than at the wedding ceremony anyway.

The night before Thanksgiving Naomi and Kaoru, our housemate, surprised me by buying a small turkey. I made my first Thanksgiving dinner this year, which turned out rather well except for the stuffing always the challenging part. We spent it the three of us since all my family was out of the state. Ironic, I thought, since for so many years I had missed Thanksgiving because I was not living in Oregon. That weekend I went to Canon Beach to visit with the Lorishes. Andrew was back from the Art Institute of Chicago where he is privileged to go, but in all reality too good for. Sadly, he probably knows this and may return home. Within an hour of arriving Kathryn, Andrew and I were playing a bit from the jazz and fiddle books. Elizabeth was happy to have her family around, but she is still struggling with her health. We had a lengthy and not very clarifying discussion about my mom and various crenellations of our family history. We played cards, drank scotch, listened to David Sardaris on iPod, and laughed and laughed. Jody and Odin, cousins of Andrew and Kathryn were there who just moved to Portland.

I continue to volunteer at the OHSU emergency room. I sit in the fishbowl and screen in patients that qualify for one of a number of clinical studies. If they qualify, I consent them for the study, do and interview and collect some data from their medical record. This has been a very fun and stimulating experience since I get to see how the ER really works first hand. I have seen a lot of interesting procedures and patients and have had the priveledge to talk with doctors about patients. The best part is interviewing patients, although this can be frustrating and difficult depending on their disposition. Most patients don't know, or care to know, the difference between us and the rest of the ER staff so they are usually very open about themselves during the interviews. The second best part is observing how doctors think and work out medical problems. And the third best part is watching how the staff handles dying people in the trauma bays. The fourth best part is attending the weekly conferences where the doctors and residents discuss the previous week's interesting cases and the mistakes they made.
Christmas and New Years were mellow, but super fun and intimate. Both were spent in Eugene with mom and both involved prime rib (roast, bbq, respectfully) and red wine. Naomi is especially fond of my mom because more than other people she has met in the US my mom talks to her like a normal adult rather than as a foreigner. On New Year's Naomi and I drove to Eugene to surprise mom, and thankfully she didn't have any plans. We played scrabble, watched a good movie and drank champagne. In Japan New Year's Eve is not the big party like it is here, but is more like our Thanksgiving or Christmas; quiet with the family, and I prefer it that way to be honest.

Naomi has been a loving, supportive, and generous partner, although it is frustrating for her economically and socially to be here; she misses her friends, family and disposable income back in Japan. Nevertheless, she is incredibly dedicated to finishing her degree in biology and making a career in the US. As for me, it is great privilege that she can pursue her dream here. Making a happy, prosperous life in the US is a big challenge. I think that with perseverance and passion she can do just about anything she wants to here, but she struggles with a lack of self-esteem and confidence that besets many Japanese women.

We are in the process of applying for a green card, which will give her more or less the same employment rights as a US citizen. She is working at the PCC library, which in addition to her calculus, physics and chemistry, makes for a pretty busy schedule. She will complete her second year at PCC this year and will be able to transfer into OSU or PSU if we remain in Oregon.

So, the wedding will be on June 25 in Eugene. It will be fun and casual. Details to come, and shortly we hope.

I am not sure if New Year's resolutions have any meaning or if they should be shared, but for the sake of closing this letter I will assume yes.

Naomi's resolution is to improve her conversation skills so that she can keep up with and participate in a conversation between Americans, including all those references to pop culture, politics, people, history, and subtle twists of humor. Her other resolution is to get involved as a volunteer somewhere, such as with MerciCorps.

My resolution is to read more. Reading is to the mind what exercise is to the body. I don't do enough. Do any of us? My other resolution is to prioritize all those small, quotidian tasks better. I have a tendency to let things stack up and get out of control, to the point where I don't get half as much finished as I should. And then I'm stressed and upset.

Cheers, and best of health in the New Year.

nanishiro

In case you are wondering what the name of the blog means, nanishiro is used in Japanese to emotively express something that may be hard to believe, as in "as a matter fact..." or "believe it or not..."