April 2003 Archives

18 beautiful seasons.

I'm a Kings fan, and it was moving to watch 17,000 Kings fans give a standing ovation for two of the greatest players in NBA history—on the other team. You could see John Stockton trying not to cry.

So it's my 21^st birthday this Friday, and I'm still not sure how I'm going to celebrate. Here are some of my ideas...

1. Go barhopping! Definitely not.
2. Watch X-Men 2 on opening night.
3. Watch The Lizzie Mcguire Movie on opening day. Definitely not.
4. Take advantage of Jusco Sushi Buffet's "Free Lunch on your Birthday!" Deal, and dig up 3 other people to go with me so that we can get the discount.
5. Work like crazy until midnight on my ECS 154A homework, wishing I hadn't slacked off earlier in the week.

Other suggestions appreciated. Post in the comments.

Because you all know you really want to know what I'm thinking, here's an actual excerpt of my thought process as I walked into the Silo yesterday before my Computer Architecture class...

"Coffee. Need coffee. Mmmmm. Espresso. Tall? Grande? Huh? Ah...one shot or two. One shot, $1.40. Not enough. Double shot, $1.70. Triple shot....no. Not an emergency. Ok. Double shot it is."

"Hmmm. Need bathroom. Now. Ok, through double doors. Good. Ah, there it is. Wha...? Whose bright idea was it to make the men's room pink and purple, you'd figure they only do that in the...ladies' room. Oh no. I'm in the ladies' room. Bad very bad. Must leave now. Good. Did anyone see? No. Good. Man, I really need that coffee."

In today's world of "liberated" feminism, especially in Davis' "liberaler-than-thou" atmosphere, some of the smallest actions suddenly become intricate exercises in sociopolitical tiptoeing. I'm speaking, of course, about guys giving up their seats for girls on the bus.

Now, me being a social doofus, this isn't something I've always done. Fortunately, early on in my freshman year of college, I overheard a girl saying how she always appreciated and always accepted such shows of gallantry. I quickly learned my lesson and from the next available opportunity, started asking the question of any girl who happened to be standing next to me while I was sitting: "Would you like my seat?"

Oh boy.

I generally receive variations of five answers:

1. The rare and coveted "Yes." Grateful smiles and looks of surprise are an optional but appreciated bonus.
2. The more common "No, but thanks." Again, grateful smiles and looks of surprise are an optional but appreciated bonus.
3. The curt "No" with the "I'm-a-liberated-woman-and-don't-need-your-male-chauvinism" glare or tone of voice.
4. The curt "No" with the "Don't-hit-on-me-I-have-Mace-and-know-how-to-use-it" glare or tone of voice.
5. The vast majority: a cautious "No" with the "I-don't-know-your-intentions" tone of voice.

I guess I'd like to address the last group, since there isn't really much I can do about the first four.

When I ask, it's not out of a sense of gallantry. It just seems like the right (and nice) thing to do, and doing it with any ulterior motives seems and feels slimey. Some girls say no out of a sense of politeness, but please: I wouldn't be asking if I needed to sit down. Well, actually, I probably would, but I'd still be more than willing to stand.

I know many young women (the older ones tend to accept) probably feel uncomfortable when I ask because of the Victorian overtones: they think I'm putting them up on a pedastal, holding them to an unrealistic standard, assuming a certain feminine fragility, asserting excessive male superiority. The truth is, I'm just doing what (now) comes automatically to me. It's not like I think that sturdy softball player is going to collapse in a swoon because she can't stand for ten minutes.

"Ah," some may argue, "if that's so, why don't you ask guys?" Well, anyone who asks is probably not a guy and does not understand the intricacies of guy-guy interactions. When another guy whose a complete stranger does something nice for another guy, one of two thoughts, if not both, immediately pop up: "He's gay" and "He's trying to get money from me." Guys are rarely grateful; on the other hand, they're always paranoid.

It's tough enough overcoming the social awkwardness of talking to a complete stranger. After a while, the constant rejections become downright disheartening. Sometimes, I intentionally wait to be the last person on the bus, in the hope that I won't have to give up my seat, or (even better) will be forced to stand. Other times, after a first no, I won't ask again, even if there's another girl standing nearby—a habit I picked up after receiving three or four "no's" in a row. Even worse, occasionally I just pretend that I don't know any better and try (without succeeding) to retreat into an ignorant shell.

Sometimes a situation causes me to step out anyways: the other day, a girl got on the bus with a full backpack while balancing a stack of a half-dozen books and a binder in her arms. I asked, she still said no. What's up with that? Another time, I asked and quickly added that I was getting off at the next stop so it wasn't a big deal to me anyways before she could say no. It felt odd rationalizing something that comes naturally, but for once the girl said yes.

And then, there are the tough decisions: should I ask if the nearest standing girl is several rows down and whom I can't signal without raising my voice significantly? More seriously, what about the girl with the pink "Respect Me" and NOW pins on her backpack? Should I not ask her because she's (probably) a vocal and dedicated feminist, and would likely say "no" anyways, perhaps even taking offense at my asking? I don't know. Maybe the one I don't ask is the one who will say "yes" (man, that can be taken on SO many levels).

Maybe I should rephrase the question: "Would you like my seat, which I offer without intending to put you in an uncomfortable position or offend your sociopolitical beliefs?" Or maybe simply "Would you like this seat?"

It seems odd to me that some people should attach tremendous social and political significance to such a small act. I'm not questioning your stability. I'm not judging your worth. I'm not challenging your independence. I'm not asserting my perceived dominance in an oppressively patriarchal society.

I'm just offering my seat.

Wow. Based on my last entry, I think it's safe to postulate that my readership is either very intelligent or spending too much time in the Matrix. Or both.

Since everyone (namely, um, no one) seems to want more pictures of me and my exciting life, here's some from my Finals week sushi buffet outing.

Nathan giving me a "Can I eat my sushi now?" look.

Nathan: passionate sushi eater.

Brave sushi newbie Laura also giving me a "Can I eat my sushi now?" look.

Me eating raw salmon. Tastes pretty good, actually.

Nifty sushi boats and lots of oranges.

Sushi close-up. The nice thing about going to a sushi buffet more than once is knowing what's good. For those who fear raw fish, note the tasty BBQ chicken in the middle.

Another sushi close-up. Big one up front is my favorite: a spider roll. No, no spiders, just a deep fried shrimp, rice, avocado, tasty sauce, and some other fish I can't identify.

The final tally. Going to a sushi buffet with at least one other guy isn't a meal: it's a test of one's manhood. The small but respectable stack of seven plates in front is Laura's. Nathan and I are responsible for the two towers in the back: we tied at thirteen, and chose to mutually end the conflict.

Bragging rights to first person who can translate this entry. Post answers in the comments.

Edit: Clarification. Binary to ASCII.

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I'm a Star Wars fan.

A disproportionate number of male Star Wars fans have beards and ponytails.

Never. Never in a million years. (Original.)