A Return to the Land of the Giants

---

Last Minute Japan

On my very last afternoon in Japan I was talking with one of the women that worked at the hostel. It was pleasant, and I said that I was going out with Tohko to Karaoke. She asked rather pointedly, "is she your girlfriend?" I told her that she wasn't, "She's just a friend." At that point she said, "Oh good, then you should come to a party with me tomorrow night." The bittersweet irony took no time to settle in: I traveled the globe for a year, and I received the most obvious sort of invite for an evening with an very attractive woman precisely 2 hours after I was to leave Japan. It's this sort of thing that makes me believe there's a God, and that he has a sick sense of humour. Well played big guy.

Back to California

Arriving in California was an event full of excitement. Before leaving to travel the world, I called this part of the United States home for the last 6 years of my life. It has its set of problems, it's no Canada in so far as looking after its people is concerned, but there's a lot of grand qualities about California that makes me think that its Northern half is perhaps more Canadian at heart than it is quintessentially American at its core. The people are usually friendly, most people shudder at the existence of Bush, many would happily cut the the state from the union if they could hold a saw of that size. Needless to press the point further, there's a great many things I love about California, and a great many more Californians I was, and am, excited to see after a year away from them.

My life here for the past 10 days has not been full of adventure, per se but it's been perfect and glorious. I have seen and spent time with some of my closest friends, and could not be happier than drinking beer, or going to a movie, or having dinner, or going for a walk, or playing games with them if I were to write the plot myself. I was so excited to see them, that after catching up with my family, I went to the school to track some of them down. It was a great success, and a surprise as well.

I couldn't believe just how excited my former students were to see me. I know I'm a pretty good teacher and reasonably well liked, that's a true statement and not a boast; but I was taken aback by the fact that students ran up to hug me, plied me for details about my adventure, and were genuinely upset when I told them that I would not be staying in California to teach next year, even though they wouldn't be in my class anyway. I even received a marriage proposal (I think in jest) if it would help me to stay in California and not leave Woodside High. I had to laugh at that, but of course I'm flattered, I'd have to be a calloused SOB not to be moved by the sentiment.

Speaking of which, I was nearly, and inadvertantly, confused for one. I went to the retirement party of two of the most excellent examples of teachers of merit, the Cowitzes, who after seeing their youngest daughter, Jen graduate this year are setting off to new and exciting adventures. Zorina was kind enough to drive me home, and Jen B. kind enough to drive me there. As Z and I were leaving, I was carrying her baby, Lily out to the car with her, and Jen C., who is one of my favourites, called out: "Maley, if you need a babysitter this summer...." to which Zorina said, "You know we're not married right?" My reaction was more selfish: "What kind of person do you think I am leaving wife and child to gallavant the globe?" I joked with a wink. She was clearly embarrassed and knew I wasn't married, but here overworked brain wasn't in working order in that moment. It was a great moment of hilarity for me. Thanks Jen.

Part of my timing was to arrive here to see my cousin and his companions graduate. I taught him, and a number of his friends for two years during high school, so I've become rather close to them. The graduation was great, and while he went off to a party, the rest of us (the family) went out to dinner at a fancy Spanish restauraunt. This family business tends to be confusing to my actual blood relatives, who are pretty sure I don't have family in the States, so let me clarify:

I met the Tates via an ex-girlfriend, for whom the Tates are blood relatives. We dated for a few years during high school and university, and flew down to San Francisco for a vacation, where I met the Tates. After a couple of other visits we were already becoming close. Well, we had a rather spectacular break-up, which left me in shambles, but I like to joke that out of that mess, she got the cat and I got the Tates. Score! They're really the most genuine and wonderful people one can ever hope to meet, and I've become rather attached to them. When I moved down here to go to Stanford, they took me under their wing. At some point, given that I was hanging around so much, it just became expedient to say I was their nephew/cousin, and soon enough it was a sentiment that we accepted wholly. So there you have it - my family, the Tates.

Are Americans Fat?

Arriving in America after being elsewhere in the world for so long, you start to be permeated by a sense of anti-americanism. It's not the sinister sort that people in America tend to believe (actually to be honest, I should say the type that the current government tries to get Americans to believe), but more of a disdain. Much of the world believes Americans to be fat, arrogant, loud, and ignorant. It's an unfortunate set of stereotypes, one I wanted to observe when I returned. My experience of Americans, at least in this microcosm of the country known as the Bay Area (A tri-city area inclusive of San Francisco, Oakland, and San Jose and their lesser known surrounds) did not stand to support these. Bay Area denizens tend to be quite the opposite in general - well read, polite, kind, active, above the environmentally conscious curve for North Americans, and liberal.

Unfortunately, even in Nor-cal, there is some inkling of truth in every stereotype. I was beginning to think it wasn't so, until I walked into Dairy Queen, and with the exception of myself, and and old fellow who was walking in as I walked out, every one in there was huge. HUGE. It was after this moment, that I began to see these giants come out of the woodwork - it's the same simple principle at work as when a friend points out a car you've never seen in your life, and all of a sudden they're everywhere.

This may be symptomatic of Dairy Queen though. When I was really little, and my sister even smaller, we went to Dairy Queen. Now my sister, not exactly a paragon of social propriety (good work Cons), noticed over the barrier dividing our booth and another a woman who was, shall we say, sporting a blow hole. Well, she proceeded to very loudly exclaim: much to my parents' horror. As they tried to shush her, she couldn't understand their consternation, and tried to explain, but loudly. When it came time for Dessert, the woman apparently ordered a proportionately sized one, and Cons was all up in arms and amazement again:

Out of the mouths of babes, eh?

It's no surprise to hear that Americans are overweight. There is an obesity epidemic in the U.S. The foods of convenience are far too convenient, and the distances in between places one wants to be make it far too inconvenient to walk, and many Americans (this isn't a lot different for Canadians I'd like to add) have become lazy with the conveniences of the car. It's a simple equation: Calories in - Calories out = Growth or Loss in fat stores. In the 10 days that I've been here I've put on weight. It's a problem here - It's a function of the system that is American society, more than simply the people. Sustainable urban environments that help to facilitate helathy lifestyles are simply few and far between.

Gustavuljia: American Women and their Tall Obsession

This weekend, I've spent a good deal of time with the Gustavuljs, as I call them. Its really the blending of their two last names, but I like it! I took Luke, who was covered in whiteboard marker from school, out to lunch, so that Zorina could have some time to nurse Lily and just have some time with her mom, Marsha. We had a great time. Luke had Quesadilla (the "Ls," by the way, are pronounced like a "y": kay-sa-dee-ya). I had a wet burrito, the best mexican food in existence, which may or may not be a Mexican invention. Basically, you take a burrito, and you smother it with a savory red or green sauce. Yum!

I spent an evening with Dan and Zorina after the kids went to bed. It was wonderful catching up with them, and as full of laughs as ever. At one point we were talking about my mom. Dan was saying that he loved my reference to my mom's cracker story (sorry mom, everyone does know and love that story. It's the stuff of legend). I was saying that she gets frustrated by her shortness. Zorina asked how tall she was, and I told her 5'2 3/4 (159cm), which is a clear indication that one is short. It's when one stops measuring in halves and quarters, that they've moved out of shortown.

Zorina said at that point that she just rounds up. Dan admitted that he did too, which opened a whole can of worms. "You're not six feet tall?" - At that point, Dan started to back peddle, but Zorina needed to know. "We'll get the tape measurer." Dan replied, "We don't even know where it is." "It's in the mailbox," she said as if that were its obvious home. This piqued my curiosity, which sprouted a question that had no good answer.

The day before, I made an observation. I told Zorina that Californian women are obsessed with height; if a man is not 5'10 (178cm) or 6'0 (183cm) tall, they're not considered worthy in the world of online dating (which has become an integral part of the overworked population of Silicon Valley). She balked at my assertion. I said "I'm not saying this out of bitterness" - although it used to bother me a great deal; now I just can't be asked to trouble myself over a woman whose primary criteria is ones proximity to space - "it's just an observation." That said, it would be hypocritical of me not to point out what superficial jerks we all are at times in our lives; we all have those critereon that people who do not meet them will be by. Anyone who says this isn't true of them is either a liar or a saint; I don't fancy myself the former, and I'm certainly not the latter.

When we finally did measure Dan, it turned out he is 5'11 (180cm), which is safely in the considered range. But then Zorina said, "I think now, I think of you as less manly," or something to that effect. At which point I declared: "See, that's the bullshit I'm talking about!" And laughed out loud. It was my finest moment - my point proven. Dan was also frustrated. It seems that 6'0 is the golden mean, because all of his friends who climb above it seem to round down, according to him, which makes his claim to the mean "seem" dubious. Zorina was disappointed "you told me you were 6'0 tall." I am in shoes," he chimed in. I couldn't resist: "She didn't ask you how high you were." Christ, on a 5'0 ladder, I'm over 10 feet tall.

Such is life in this game of I want my mate to be represented by a random measurement of height. After all, I figure, when a woman's 5'3 (160cm) everything that's above a few inches taller must just look like "Tall" so what does it make a difference if it's 6'0. I'm just going to stop being so honest. I'm 171cms in height, as of the great measurement, and so that's close enough to tell people I'm 5'10 ;)

Bulldog Status: Out of Shape Reintroduction

Briefly stated, I went back to join my old hockey buddies for a a few games while I'm here. I am not in as bad a shape as I thought, though their skill level, and those of the rest of the teams surely show what I've missed in the last year. I did manage to score 2 goals, although only one counted, however, owing to the fact that the referee is a doofus - this is a technical term referring to the fact that a) he claimed I did something that never actually happened: kicked my own stick (which I was holding) which in turn directed the puck into the net - there was no kicking only stick, and 2) the puck went off the stick (on his own accounting) which even a 6 year old will tell counts in hockey.