A conversation with my Uncle Kin

I had the fun task of writing about a subject near and dear to my heart for work _ my family and their cooking. Writing about myself for work was weird. Here's what happened...I made Chinese barbecue pork using my family's method _ paper clips _ and I thought it would be funny to tweet the photo to The Associated Press food editor. He got a kick out of it and I wondered if he realized I was an AP employee, not just a follower. So I tweeted to him "if you ever reference this, I want contributing credit!" So I got an email a few days later asking me to call him. There I am in between covering news conferences on a shooting when I decided I had time to call him. He suggested I write a personal essay about this paper-clip technique but through the prism of our family traditions in the kitchen. My Uncle Kin, who is back in the San Francisco Bay Area, is the top cook in the family and the brains behind that method. With this essay coming out, there may be other Chinese families out there who will say they've been doing barbecue pork the same way, but none of them have someone in their family who likes to write so... :p

But beyond asking about his recipe, I had a chance to interview Uncle Kin like I would anyone else.
(Me starting our phone interview: "Let's keep this professional, OK Mr. Woo?"  That didn't last very long). I had the chance to try to see him as not just my uncle. And I learned a lot of cool stuff for the first time just from our hour-long chat.

_New fact #1: I was a terrible 11-year-old kid compared to my uncle.
Uncle Kin told me he started cooking at age 11 because he saw how hard my grandparents were working. They were new immigrants living in San Francisco and putting in long hours. My grandma worked at a garment factory and my grandfather was helping out a relative's business, a gift shop. They both came home pretty late and my uncle thought it would be nice to help out and get dinner started. He would make dinner for the entire family at least a couple nights a week. Let's see...when I was 11, I remember asking my mom when she came home "what's for dinner" and "when are we eating?" I might as well have been pounding a fork and knife on the dinner table.

_New fact #2: My family once co-owned a restaurant.
So, apparently sometime in the 1950s, a deceased relative left my grandfather a restaurant in what is now San Francisco's South of Market neighborhood (SOMA). It had one of those cheesy names you'd expect for a Chinese restaurant _ Golden Harbor _ yet it was American. They served burgers, grilled cheese, etc. It was very popular among retirees--mostly Caucasian. This was ironic given my grandfather, according to Kin, could barely boil water.

_New fact #3: My uncle had 10 times the responsibility I ever had at age 15.
In junior high, Uncle Kin started helping out Golden Harbor. He says that's where he picked up how to cook American fare. By age 15, he was overseeing the entire dinner shift if the head cook was off. Let's see, when I was 15, I was meeting friends at Denny's or Carrows to eat semi-crappy American food or doing homework after school. I don't know if someone had offered to teach me to cook, would I have been interested. Plus, no Jamie Oliver back then to make food prep look cool. My uncle helped run that restaurant for more than seven years until my grandfather passed away.

For my cousins, here are some quotes from my interview with "Mr. Woo":

"The funny thing is after I cook a lot of food, I don’t really feel like eating.When other people invite me for dinner, I usually don’t lift a finger to help them. I just sit back and enjoy. There’s a certain satisfaction in hearing other people praise your food."

On people calling his char sieu "paper clip pork":

"That’s a good name. I should have thought of that. It sounds more interesting than char siu. It doesn’t sound as delicious but it’s a very interesting name."

On being a true foodie in Chinese culture:

"When I was working at a company, we took this Caucasian secretary out for dim sum. She said 'Can you order me some sweet and sour pork?' I said 'absolutely not, I’m Chinese.'"

When I said I find bonding time making "paper clip pork" with my mom:

"A family that bends paper clips together stays together."

_This leads me to fact #4: I come from a family with really corny humor...something I continue to run away from.

All in all, I highly recommend everyone "interview" someone in their family. Try to see them as more than just their family title relative to you i.e. aunt, uncle, mother, father. It's a sure bet you will learn something that will surprise you and you will definitely be richer for it.

Crack (Pie) is not Whack

Earlier this month, I decided to be ambitious and continue making non-cupcake desserts. I know, weird right? I just got a recipe book for Momofuku Milk Bar, which is based in New York City. It's owned by famed chef David Chang but run by Christina Tosi. In March, Christina taught a two-hour lesson at the Biltmore on the making of chocolate chip layer cake. But I opted for my first solo foray to make their signature Crack Pie. Supposedly it's so yummy and addictive that that is the name Milk went with. The recipe calls for something like 8 egg yolks. Fortunately, my co-worker gave me 24 eggs recently from his urban chicken coop. Score! It also calls for this brand of European butter called Plugra because it contains 82 percent butter fat, as opposed to 80 percent in grocery store brand butter. Not to sound "political," but it's all about that 1 percent! I have to confess, I misread the amount of butter and added twice as much. Gulp...guess you could call it the "Paula Deen" technique.

Crack Pie crust is basically an oatmeal cookie recipe _ butter, brown sugar, sugar, oats, baking powder, baking soda, kosher salt, flour. This separate crust is what makes this pie kind of labor intensive. Once your giant cookie is done, you have to crumble it and run it through a food processor. Then you knead melter butter and you have enough to line 2 pie tins.

The filling was pretty easy, thankfully. Egg yolks, sugar, light brown sugar, milk powder, corn powder, kosher salt, butter, heavy cream, vanilla extract. The hardest part was getting the corn powder. I forgot that it's basically getting freeze-dried corn and running it through a processor. I stupidly went to AJ's Fine Foods and asked if they had corn powder and the clerk was like "Never heard of it." Once I went home and re-read the recipe and went "Aaaaah," I went to Sprouts market. The clerk there led me to the freezer section where she said "Nope, don't carry it." I wanted to say "Obviously as 'freeze-dried' doesn't mean keep frozen." Anyway, I found myself driving at 9:30 at night to Whole Foods for the elusive kernels in the name of now a true mission.

After all this work, you divide the filling in between the two pie crusts. The filling is pretty custardy/toffee-like.

Then you bake them for 15 minutes at 350 degrees, then another 5 minutes at 325. It took a lot longer for mine; I'm pretty sure it was from my butter error. After the pies cool, you put them in the freezer for a minimum 3 hours. Luckily, freezing is the must-do step. According to the book, freezing is the "signature technique." When you're ready to serve it, you have to let it sit in the fridge for an hour. Then you can break into what is supposed to be a dense and gooey plate of addictive pie. In some ways, this was quite a bit of work. But with a name like Crack Pie, I couldn't pass it up.

!@#$% non-Asians say to me Episode 2

So, this past Sunday, I had to go to Tucson and spend the night to cover a breaking story on a 6-year-old girl who was possibly abducted. When I was finally allowed to sign off the first day and go look for lodging, I went to the nearest decent hotel, Embassy Suites.
As luck would have it, they have a complimentary breakfast buffet. So Monday morning, I wait outside the dining room for them to open at 6 a.m. (I had a 6:30 a.m. news conference to get to) They open the doors and I'm like the second customer. I of course say hello to the staff.
There was this old man with glasses, a hotel employee. English wasn't his first language. Not sure if he was Eastern European or something else. Anyway, he's standing by the door like a greeter. So of course I say "Good morning" pretty clearly. Then, out of the corner of my eye, I notice some movement. I'm like "What's he doing?" The guy is BOWING to me. I didn't get it at first until he said "O-hi-O." Oh boy....then he says "Aren't you visiting from Japan? Or are you from China?" I almost yell through gritted teeth "PHOENIX!"
Seriously, don't people get that it's a bad idea to assume that kind of stuff? I don't know if my press badge around my neck somehow made me look more "foreign." Must be my 'slanted' eyes.

!@#$% non-Asians say to me

Growing up in the San Francisco Bay Area, I am used to seeing a lot of diversity and being one of a throng of Asians. Not until moving to Phoenix have I encountered so many misfires/faux pas from people when it comes to ethnicity. Some of it is people honestly trying to be nice but just being clods. Some is because people are just ignorant jerks. I've decided from now on, I'm going to document these occurrences and call it the title you see above.

The most recent encounter was earlier this month. I just started covering the Arizona Legislature. So, I had go get a badge to walk around freely in both chambers. I went to the House of Representatives security desk to fill out the paper work. As I was doing this, the white security guard said something to me that mind as well have been gibberish. Think the unseen teacher in Charlie Brown's class. I just looked at him completely puzzled. He said "You don't speak Korean?" WTF. Do these people not realize how rude they sound? I'd tell him to stick to English but he doesn't seem to be doing too well in that department.

Paper Clip Pork/Char Sieu

Char Sieu or bbq pork is something you can find in just about every Chinatown deli or your big box Chinese supermarket. I am not sure how they cook them. But in my family, just about everyone has been taught to cook the marinated pork in an oven, not an actual barbecue pit or oven. My uncle's method of using paper clips seems to work best. Yes, paper clips. They're not just for paper anymore. ;) To my family, there was nothing weird about that. Anything that is a vehicle to well-cooked food is fine with us. I didn't realize how foreign this sounded until I came to Phoenix and explained it to people. Then I thought, "OK, yeah, that sounds kind of weird." So, here among my Phoenix friends, it's referred to as "paper clip pork." Or in the gossip circle as "clothespin chicken." Talk about lost in translation. Anyway, it's a very easy recipe that I'm more than willing to share.

You will need:
1 jar of hoisin sauce (go to any Chinese market)
1/3 cup of sugar
2 tsps. of curing salt
A little bit of white wine i.e. Chablis
pork shoulder butt roast (somewhere between 3-4 pounds)



What you do:
Rinse off the pork butt roast and let it drain for a bit. Cut into sizeable length-wise slabs, maybe about 1/2-1 inch thick. Depends on what you prefer. Empty the hoisin sauce jar into a large bowl. Pour in the sugar and salt. Pour a little bit of white wine into the bottom of the empty jar and shake the jar around to rinse out the hoisin remnants. Pour that into the bowl. Stir the marinade until it seems like the sugar has been distributed. Put all the pieces of pork in and mix well. Cover the bowl and refrigerate for approximately 48 hours. It doesn't have to be exactly 48 but definitely more than 24.

Fast forward two days later...time for the paper clips. First, make sure one oven rack is at the top-most level. Then preheat the oven to 400 degrees. Take out one clip for each piece and bend both ends so that you get a hook on each end. Once the oven is ready, take some oven mitts and slide both racks out. Put a tray lined with tin foil on the bottom rack. This will help catch the drippings. Pierce one end of a paper clip into a piece of meat. Try to do it in a thick part to ensure the pork won't fall off. Use the other end to hang the meat from the top rack. You may have to bend the clip end to make it more rounded. The paper clips basically are a great way to make sure the meat cooks on all sides in a consistent fashion. The next step is very important. PUSH BOTH OVEN RACKS BACK IN AT THE SAME TIME. Otherwise, you will have a very messy oven flecked with marinade drippings. Cook in the oven for 45 minutes.


Once it's time, they should look nice and red.



If the ends aren't crispy and tinged with black already, you can try setting the oven on broil for 2 minutes. When the char sieu is ready, slide the oven racks out at the same time. Use a pair of tongs to take down the pork slabs. You can cut one open just to make sure it's cooked through. Let them cool down before you take the paper clips out. And then you're done!

This cut of meat is more fattening. So, each piece is not meant to be consumed by one person like a pork chop or steak. Rather, you should cut up on slab into little slices. You can serve slices with rice and vegetables. You can throw them in with a slew of vegetables to make a one-dish meal. You can dice them to add some flavor to a batch of fried rice.

If someone like myself who prefers baking can make this, then there's hope for anyone. Also, I'm happy to show anyone in person how to do it. The only thing I want in return is that you have to teach me something _ a recipe, taking pictures, learning how to tie the Windsor knot, etc Basically, teach me something new. Impart knowledge on me. There's always an appetite for that.

Cookies that are 'cut' out for action (groan I know)

I have Gregory Maguire, the author of "Wicked," to thank for my finding these outrageous cookie cutters. I went to watch him do a reading at Changing Hands Bookstore. The day before, I mentioned my plans to the family living down the street from me. The dad gave me this worn out $20 gift card for the store he had never used. At first, they wouldn't accept it because even the barcode had eroded. But once I convinced them it would be a waste of $20, they gave me a new card. After spending most of the money on something for one of the kids (I couldn't bring myself to spend it all on me), I had a bit extra left. That was when I spotted this set of 3 "Ninjabread Men." I decided it's not offensive in terms of Asian stereotyping because I am Asian. So it goes without saying that coming from me, it can't be seen as racist right?

This whole cookies-racism thing had me overanalyzing for a while. I actually wondered if some people would find it offensive if I used two sprinkles for a ninja's two eyes (the whole Asians have narrow eyes). I decided that might be over-reaching.

Anyway, I found this recipe for chocolate gingerbread men: http://allrecipes.com/Recipe/chocolate-gingerbread-men/detail.aspx

The dough was a little too crumbly once it had been chilled. I had to douse some water on it so I could really roll it out.
I will probably make it one more time before Christmas. I have all this molasses now. And Ninjabread men season comes but once a year.

Goodbye evil Phoenix summer

Dear Phoenix summer,

I won't miss you. I'm beyond thrilled that the weather here in Phoenix has turned a corner! I never thought temperatures like 100 and 99-degrees would make me so gleeful. There was only one good thing you taught me Phoenix summer; my car really can be an oven.


I read on another blog how to do it: http://bakingbites.com/2007/09/car-baked-chocolate-chip-cookies-step-by-step/

If you can wait two hours or so, it truly works. I simply did housework and then went to check on the cookies after an hour to make sure they were actually expanding. What was nice is the cookies didn't caramelize so you got a nice hue. This was the equivalent of what a "rainy day" activity would be in other states. But that's because those states don't have (say it with me) "evil Phoenix summer."

Well, Phoenix summer, please hurry up and pack the rest of your things as you depart and don't return until June 2012. I want to stop hibernating. I want to run. I want to ride my bike. And as much fun as it was baking cookies this way, I'd rather you leave. No hard feelings.

Your hostage for the last four months,
Terry

Nothing like bike-riding to feel the love

Easter this year far surpassed last year. However the bar wasn't raised particularly high. Last year, I spent Easter Sunday working. My assignment: approach people at a Easter service on Phoenix's west side to ask them how they thought the Pope was handling the priest sex abuse scandals. Yeah...a happy Easter that was!

I was invited to spend Easter supper with my friend Tracy and her family. It was a real treat being around a family that really celebrates it. From the grilled lamb to the little chicks on chocolate birds' nests, it was a feast. Stuffed to the brim, I got home around 5 p.m. and decided to ride my bicycle. I had been sedentary long enough. I rode down the street past the home of the Stevensons, a family I've had the privilege to become friends with over the past year (See April 12, 2010 entry). The oldest child, Ella, 9, happened to be outside blowing bubbles. I ended up hanging out with all three kids _ playing freeze tag, blowing bubbles. Then the entire family invited me to join them for a walk around the neighborhood. They are white as can be. So, I probably looked like the Asian nanny. "One of these things doesn't belong here..."

I don't know anyone else who joins other people's families for strolls. That got me thinking how a few weeks ago, I rode around my neighborhood. Every place I stopped at, someone either gave me something or assisted me in some way. Before I even started, my next door neighbor _ who installed my dishwasher for me _ gave me souvenirs from his recent trip to Guatemala. Then I rode to this fishing supply store to say hi to the owner, whose cousin I know. He insisted on giving me a bottle of water. Then I rode by the automotive shop next door to the fire station that once helped me (see Aug. 30, 2008 entry) and said hello to the guy who runs it, Hanz. I approached him months ago in a quest for a man-about-the-street interview and he still remembered me. We made small talk and he offered to check my bike's tire pressure and pumped my tires. I then went to my friend's Japanese take-out restaurant and she gave me sushi for snack because I was clearly starving. I was really surprised at how "Mayberry" and small-town-ish the whole experience was.

I've said it before and I'll say it again. No matter what I may think about Phoenix landscape and weather, there are a lot of kind people out here. But sometimes I wonder if I get away with a lot because of my looks. And I don't mean I think I'm some sort of irresistible creature. HA! I'd be the first one to gag at that notion. What I mean is, let's face it...I don't look like a creepy person. Factor in my petite stature, my Asian looks and you have a not-intimidating person. If I were a guy, people might not be so open to me. No elderly grandma would invite me into her house. No guys might be inclined to take care of me like I was their grand-daughter or kid sister. And is it bad that I sometimes try to trade on that? If I really need someone's help, I'm not above looking the part of damsel in distress. Turns out I am very good at looking weak and vulnerable.

On the flip side, I hate to say it, but I'm wary as well of certain people when I'm out riding my bike. I don't really ring my bell and cheerfully wave as much as before. I look straight ahead if I'm about to pass a guy who looks a little scruffy or dodgy _ in my perception. Maybe that's not fair. But anyone who has read my last entry knows I seem to come across the strangest people. In fact, the other day, I saw a guy walking ahead of me. Black, young and walking around with no shirt on. Nothing but a cap, athletic knee-length shorts, sneakers and headphones. In this case, I did get ready to ring my bell so as not to startle him. As I approached, the guy suddenly stopped right there in the middle of the sidewalk. Before I knew it, he was breaking out into a whole choreographed routine _ all with his back still to me. Judging by his arm and hand movements, he thought it was "Hammer time." I frenetically rang my bell before I cycled into him. He finally turned around when I was literally a few inches behind him. Actually it was pretty funny and no pants were shed.

In the world we live in, we can't help but take shortcuts. When we look at people, we have to make snap judgments sometimes. Should I say hi to that person? Should I invite him to the party too? Should I stop and help him/her even though I'm by myself? Wish I didn't have to have my guard up at times. But hopefully, when I do let my guard down _ nine times out of 10 it will pay off.

The good, the bad and the creepy of bike-riding Phoenix

I have not written anything in more than a month because from my perspective, nothing interesting has happened to me. But other people tell me that's not true. I don't know if this topic will be interesting but here goes.

In October, I bought a bicycle. I think of it as one of my best companions now. Only in the last couple of months, I've really taken advantage of it and it's allowed me to see the city of Phoenix from a different perspective. Phoenix, unfortunately, is not the most bike-friendly place. In my middle-class neighborhood, only a few streets have actual bike lanes. There's a sense of relief when you come across one. At the same time, best not to get too attached. It could disappear at any moment! Aside from running simple errands i.e. dropping the mail, stopping at the bank, I sometimes like heading toward the nearby canal. It's one place I usually don't have to worry about cars.

I've been quite surprised by what riding on a bicycle can lead to. First the creepy:
Last month, I rode around the residential streets on a Sunday afternoon. I rounded a corner and came to a quiet intersection. Diagonally across the street from me, I saw a Caucasian man, probably in his mid to late thirties, with his pants down around his ankles. Thankfully, he had some sort of shorts or boxers on! But he was talking to a driver behind the wheel of a pickup truck that was stopped at a red light. Now, even if this guy, who looked like he could've been a vagrant, knew the driver, the falling of the pants doesn't make sense. The truck driver then sped off and the guy pulled his pants back up and rebuckled. He then started yelling at me. I couldn't make out what he was saying. But as I rode past, I could read his lips. He was yelling quite effusively, "I'm sorry! I'm sorry!" I pedaled as fast as I could, asking why God or the Universe didn't give humans erase buttons for the mind.

Almost exactly three weeks later, I was riding my bike on the President's Day holiday. It was about 10:30 a.m. I passed several people on the sidewalk. And like Opie in Mayberry, I politely rang my bell and nodded or smiled at people. After stopping at the running store, I continued northward and saw a man I had passed earlier on the street. He was Caucasian, white-haired, did not look homeless. He was also talking to someone parked in a truck. I rode further and when I was stopped at an intersection -- whoosh!--the same man was suddenly to my right. Despite having an iPod going, I could still hear him.
"Would you like to be my friend??"
"Excuse me?"
"I saw you riding by on your bike earlier. You were so quick! Would you like to get a cup of coffee with me?"
I resisted the urge to say something like "Listen Gramps, I'm clearly decades younger than you. Stay in your league." Instead I politely declined.
And I sped off muttering about how I can't seem to go anywhere without being disturbed by a creepy guy. I'm now considering just being rude all the time.

Now for some of the good:
The first person I talked to after being hit on by Gramps was a guy who works at an automotive shop near my place. I had tried to interview Hans once while on my inaugural bike ride because I had to find people who collected Social Security. When I happened upon him after the Gramps incident, Hans amazingly still remembered my name. After we said hi, I said "my bike rides keep getting interrupted by creepy old men."
Hans: "THANKS A LOT!"
"No, not you!"

Yesterday, my friend Bacon (it's just a nickname) and I bicycled like an old couple (he has two bells as opposed to my one) down the official Sonoran Bicycle Route toward downtown. It was perfect sunny but not hot weather for riding. We had brunch at Local Breeze, a place known for a brunch menu and giving 10 percent discounts for riders (yay!). After our meal, Bacon showed me some of his favorite buildings in downtown. One of them is called the Charles Pugh house.



It was built in the 1890s. Pugh was the editor and proprietor of the Southwestern Stockman. In recent years, it was a Mediterranean restaurant. Bacon and I rode by as a man was cleaning up the landscape. He was telling us all this interesting background/dirt. The owner and her sister had had a falling out which led to the closing of the building. And for whatever reasons, she is hanging onto the building despite letting it sit there boarded up and various homeless people breaking in -- including one who was behind the house while we were there. The owner has had offers including one for $1.4 million but wanted to wait for something better. Good luck waiting! She doesn't want to sell to the city which I'm kind of glad she's not. They might tear it down as is the way for many defunct buildings in Phoenix. The owner already owns hundreds of acres of land in other parts of Arizona. According to the guy we spoke with (who has a day job and just comes by once a month for $100), despite being quite well-off, she is not one to show it. She still drives a pick-up truck. And she is 5'2" and a force to be reckoned with. Anyway, I just love talking to people because you never know what cool nuggets of information they may yield. A bicycle is definitely allowing me to do more of that.

'The Finder' starring me

On my first day reporting from Tucson after the shooting, I found a digital recorder on a bench outside University Medical Center. It looked pretty expensive. So, I walked around from reporter to reporter, asking people "is this yours?" Nobody claimed it. And there was only so long I was going to do that. I ended up using it a few times while I was in Tucson when I was in a jam and really wanted to make sure I quoted someone accurately i.e. the Giffords intern who helped her when she first got shot.

The following week, I showed it back in the office to a fellow editorial assistant, Michelle. She was very intrigued and asked if she could play it sometime to try and figure out who it belonged to. Feeling guilty that I hadn't gotten around to it myself and knowing I'd have bad karma if I kept it, I said "sure." A couple days later, Michelle even brought a USB cord to hook up the recorder to the computer to listen during her evening shift. The next morning when I checked my work e-mail and there was a message from her. She had done some amazing investigative work. After hearing a British voice on the recorder conducting interviews from two completely opposite locations--Afghanistan and Tucson--she started researching international-caliber news organizations online. She deduced that the recorder had to belong to this guy:
http://blogs.reuters.com/tim-gaynor/

For some reason, Reuters lists NO phone numbers on its news site. So, I wrote an e-mail guessing what his work e-mail address would be. And I got a reply back with his contact information in the e-mail signature. So I quickly called him and explained how I found his recorder. I apologized profusely for not trying earlier to see if I could figure out who the owner was. Fortunately, he was perfectly nice and appreciative, not miffed at all. Anyway, we ended up meeting for coffee last week.
Is that considered getting together with the enemy? Kidding. If anything, I'm giving my company a good name. A company where people are competitive but also have integrity.

Tim and I chatted for about an hour at Giant Coffee, a new hipster coffee place. It was great as it turns out we both have an affinity for a lot of the same places. He has a studio apartment in Phoenix but is mainly based out of Bisbee, which is way down in southern Arizona. He rented a house in Bisbee for three years from another reporter who by coincidence was the one to show me around my first time visiting there. I asked him where in England was he from and he said he grew up in the town of Bath. I was like "WHAT?!" The Jane Austen nut in me came out. I think he was surprised that I've actually been to Bath. I went on about how beautiful the town was and how I had tea at the Pump Room. He said he went to school in an old Georgian building where an old man would come every day to feed coal to the stove that kept the room warm. Talk about Dickensian. Then Tim really had me when he said he owns an apartment in Madrid. If there's one thing people should know about me, it's that I have a special place in my heart for Spain. I spent more than a month there taking a Spanish course for fun and I've been wanting to get back there since. Although Tim said to tell him if I'm ever in Bisbee, I said I'm more likely to tell him if I'm ever in Madrid. We had a great chat and he said I could e-mail him any time about all things journalism or even Jane Austen, hehe.

The people I have told about this all say the same thing: "You have got to stop picking up things that aren't yours." LOL. Actually one friend said I should have my own reality show, "The Finder." Between this and helping the family down the street return a lost camera, I'm feeling like I should look into being a private investigator. One of the reasons I do like being a reporter is that it feeds the part of me that likes hunting things down. Now when am I going to accidentally find someone's chest of money...preferably in unmarked bills.

How getting police records was almost a comedy of errors

Today was one of those pile-all-the-doo-doo-on-you days. At work, I sat through 2-1/2 hours of training for a new interoffice computer program. That session made me fall very behind on all my daily duties. As I struggled to keep from having to stay overtime, I was asked at 4:35 p.m. to go pick up a 235-page police report at Tempe Police Station. Now, for you non-Arizona people, you need to usually take the freeway to get to downtown Tempe from downtown Phoenix. It usually takes about 15 minutes but at 4:35, there's no telling how monstrous traffic can be. And of course, the public records office closes at 5 p.m. And in my building, you have to take the elevator down, walk across the lobby to the garage, etc. Basically, losing minutes right there. It never ceases to amaze me at how these requests come at the worse time. But I had to give it a try.

So, I speed down there as fast as I can without getting a ticket. On the way there, my cell rings and it's my friend Leah. She wanted to know if I was free after work. I explained through some griping what I was up to and how there was no way I was going to get there before 5. She happened to be in Tempe too. As I got closer, I grew more anxious. I had never been to the police station in Tempe. When I got to a major cross street, Mill Avenue, I didn't know which way to turn. Here's a rough paraphrase of our conversation as Leah was still on the phone with me:

Leah: "I'm at that intersection too. I'll turn south, you turn the other way. If I see the police station, I'll let you know to turn around."

Next best arrangement to having a GPS. Sure enough, she saw the station first. So, I U-turned stat and pulled up in front of the police station. I bounded out of the car leaving the hazard lights going. I looked at my watch. 5:05. !@#*$

I went into the lobby and there was nobody there to check me in. A plain-clothes police officer opened the second door between the lobby and records desk.
"Can I help you?"
"I missed the picking up the public records by five minutes. Is there any way I can still pick up? I'm with the media."
"Public records? Nobody's here right now. Nobody will help you. Sorry." Am disappointed at how he's kind of curmudgeonly and straight-laced.

He went back inside. I wanted to kick something. I did not want to have to drive back here tomorrow right when they opened. Meanwhile Leah had texted me: "Watching your car so it doesn't get towed." Not willing to give up yet, I decided my best bet was to try and look my most vulnerable without turning on the waterworks. So, despite wearing a short skirt and heels, I dropped to my knees there in the lobby. I put the printout of our public records request on the floor. I pretended to stare in deep thought at it and at my cell and did my best to look utterly distraught. I mean I was distraught, just not "utterly." After a few minutes of staring at the ground, I got up, dusted off my knees and was ready to throw in the towel. I called the office and told a colleague to tell the news editor I wasn't able to get the records in time. As I hung up, I noticed the same police officer was waving vigorously. When I was sure it was me he was waving at, I walked back through the second set of glass doors.

Officer: "I don't normally work at this desk. But I guess if all the other media already picked this up, it must be pretty important. You better have it too."

I couldn't believe it...My pity party-of-one actually worked? He took my press credential and started gathering the 200-some pages. He said since it was after 5, he didn't have any change or credit card machine to use. I would have to pay cash. The total was $57.50. Despite having gone to the ATM yesterday and having $13 in ones in my wallet, I was still shy of exact change. I rang up Leah.

"Leah, do you happen to have any cash?"
"Yeah, I have some. I have some twenties."
"Do you have anything smaller? I need $4!"
"I have some ones. I'll bring it out to you. But I don't want to try to open the doors since it's after 5."

Two minutes later, I turn and I see Leah for the first time since we spoke on the phone. She's standing there sliding singles in a crevice in between the glass doors. Chuckling, I run over and grasp them all. I run back to the window and start shoving $17 in ones under the window to the officer.
"Um...guess I won't be going to the clubs tonight."
He actually smiled and I decide he's not so curmudgeonly after all. I tell him I want his name so I can send him a thank-you card or perhaps baked goods.

After all this, I get my reports. Since he couldn't print me a receipt, he wrote a very detailed post-it. I'll still have to go back for a receipt but at least I can go when it's convenient. He tells me all he wants in return is for me to send an e-mail to his boss (whose address he's written down) and tell him how he helped me. Still surprised at what I transpired, I shake his hand and run back out to Leah to thank her. We decide to meet up for dinner tonight because we can't stop chuckling about the whole thing.

I don't think Leah ever played a role in any of my work-related tasks. So, that was new for me. Now, I don't know if it was "wrong" for me to get so...um...theatrical. I've never tried to use feminine wiles to get what I wanted. However, I am not above a little emoting or looking vulnerable. I'm so happy that as one editor put it, "for the second time in two weeks, the news gods smiled on me."

Time to reflect

One of my New Year's resolutions was to get back into the blogging thing. I had planned last week to write about what I hoped 2011 would bring. I had spent New Year's and a few days after in Los Angeles. I had a wonderful time simply catching up with old college friends, going back to cool L.A. neighborhoods and eating vegan donuts at BabyCakes NYC in downtown. Boy, that all was a little over a week ago. Now it feels like another lifetime.

I returned to work on Wednesday, Jan. 5. It would be my first week working on a Saturday schedule. Everybody kept telling me Saturdays would be suuuuper sloooow and I would have a chance to play catch-up. And it was slow. Then around lunchtime, our office started getting a couple phone calls about some kind of shooting in Tucson. Well, by luck of my being the only reporter-type around, I was suddenly dispatched to drive down to Tucson. I have NEVER been the one who got sent to a breaking news story outside of Phoenix. I felt anything but prepared, journalism-wise and travel-wise. But I left...speeding eastward on the 10 as fast as I could without a speeding ticket. No toiletries. No change of clothes. No food. No clue where to go first. Just myself, my wallet, and an office laptop that I still wasn't sure would work.

Anyone reading this knows about the terrible shooting that happened Saturday, Jan. 8. Even standing in the parking lot the next day in front of the Safeway where the gunman opened fire, I couldn't quite believe it had really happened. On Saturday, I mostly spent the day and night stationed in front of University Medical Center, in case anything changed with Congresswoman Gabby Giffords' condition. I had to park myself on a hard cement ground until 2 a.m. with literally only a short-sleeve shirt, jeans and a new polyester-wool coat (which I'm now thinking about retiring) _ the same clothes I wore until Tuesday afternoon.

I've never covered anything like a mass shooting, and certainly not one that has been the top headline for so many days. It's been sad to chat with people in Tucson who have, understandably, taken this incident so hard. But it's also been humble and uplifting to meet people like Daniel Hernandez, the intern who helped Giffords in those first crucial moments after she was shot. He is just as poised and articulate in person as he is on TV. He definitely has the makings of a charismatic politician/public servant. His phone is probably ringing off the hook now. When I was done interviewing him, I couldn't help but gush and tell him that I thought he was an amazing young man.

A reporter in our Denver bureau mentioned to me today that she covered Columbine on the day it happened and for a few days after that. She said you really do need time to stop and reflect in your own way. The three-and-a-half days of Tucson were like living in some kind of weird vacuum. Running on little sleep, each day stretched into feeling like two at times. If I wasn't driving from the shooting scene to the gunman's home and back to the hospital, I was trying to get people to interview on the phone or in person. I have to say, I just don't know if there's a way to ever get better at approaching people who have barely had time to grieve the loss of a loved one. And you feel like a major asshole no matter what.

Being in "reporter mode," I didn't have a chance to read any stories or see any photos related to the shooting until Sunday morning in my hotel room. That is when it really hit me the lives that were lost and the families affected. I started to tear up at times. Especially at the loss of the 9-year-old girl. She was the same age as the daughter of a family down the street I've become quite close to. For a moment, I wish I could have teleported my 9-year-old so I could give her a hug.

Times like this, you wish you could give something, do something to bring these people their loved ones back. Unfortunately, no punishment, no amount of debate is going to do that.

I'm writing about this because I don't want to sound like a reporter. I want to sound like someone who tries to balance being a reporter with being someone who has respect and compassion. If someone wants to lump me in with the "lamestream media," I can't stop them. But I know that I'm someone who aspires to be a reporter who is always trying to empathize with the people she encounters. And I carry that empathy with me at all times. Everywhere.

Now I have new friends

Before reading this entry, you should read the one below it to get the full context. If you already have, then carry on...

So, this past weekend I went home for my friend's bachelorette festivities in the city. But it would seem like returning the camera and the memory card to its owners was the big occasion. Even my mother said to me a couple of days before I flew out of Phoenix, "DON'T FORGET THE CAMERA!" There's no way I would have forgotten. 1) I was looking forward so much to returning it. 2) I would have needed to be talked down from a ledge if I had left it behind.

So on Saturday, I met the couple who own the camera at a Starbucks in Daly City. They were worried it was out of the way but it totally wasn't. I had to take the nearby freeway to get to San Francisco anyway. Of course, we recognized each other right away. We sat down with our drinks and talked for 10 minutes before I presented them with the camera. We made small talk at first--them asking me how long I was in town, how long I've lived in Phoenix, etc. At one point I said, "Does this feel like we're on a first date?"

We then swapped stories. I told them how Ella retrieved the camera and how I came into the picture (no pun intended). They told me how they accidentally lost the camera when they bumped into each other. At first the loss put a damper on their trip but they eventually were able to focus on still having a good time.

We actually ended up talking for two hours. I found out that the female half of the couple, she and I share similar interests. They are both foodies and love to travel. But she is like me and is open to hosteling it. She has a friend in Scottsdale/Tempe area that she wants to visit early next year. So, if they do that, they will definitely let me know so we can get together. And I can get them together with Ella and family! That would be surreal.

Fortunately, half of the pictures on the memory card had already been uploaded. But there were still lots of photos from Yosemite and elsewhere that would have been lost. Though it's great they have those back, I think they were drawn to meet me because they were so astounded people would go out of their way to track down the owners of a camera that looked absolutely totaled. I'm still marveling myself about how all this transpired. It took my being in Phoenix to meet these two really nice people from the Bay Area. So, let's just say, there was a lot of mutual marveling going on.

A friend said to me yesterday, "Terry, you always meet people in the most interesting ways." I guess that's true from time to time. This whole thing has reminded me the Universe, Fate, etc. is a very funny thing.

A Thousand Words? Puhlease, pictures are priceless.

Last Saturday evening, I decided to go for a walk because my food consumption that day had consisted of a piece of toast, two carne asada tacos with a little serving of beans and rice, lots of chips with four different kinds of salsa (at La Condesa in case you're a foodie and are wondering) and a cupcake and a glass of ice tea.

I ended up walking by my friend Jo Ann's house (some of you know her as that elderly lady who once gave me a can of olives). Her son Brian came outside and spotted me. I was graciously invited into the backyard to say hi to the three kids. This was the first time I had seen the entire family since they went on a road trip to Disneyland and Yosemite. The oldest child, 8-year-old Ella, proceeded to tell me a story of how when they were swimming in a waterfall, they spotted a camera under water stuck in some rock. Extremely curious, the family held onto Ella while she used her toes to try and grab the camera. Her toes did their little dance and somehow got the camera out.

They let the camera and the memory card dry out for several days. The camera was still totally un-useable but the memory card could be a different story. Since they had a laptop for the kids to watch DVDs, they popped in the memory card to see what was on there. Fortunately with the kids watching, nothing salacious or weird. From the looks of it, the camera belonged to a 20-something couple, Filipino American who had used the camera for two vacations--in New York and Yosemite. Dozens of photos. They looked like people I would get along with. I mean people who take pictures of food have to be pretty cool.

It was at this point that Ella said "You like to take pictures of cupcakes." Surprised, I said "Oh, you remember?"
Ella: "I know YOUR style."
LOL.

Brian said they looked through the photos for some identifying information and what do you know...the couple had actually taken pictures of their boarding passes! Insisting he didn't know anything about social media or how to track people down via the Internet, he asked if I would be interested in taking part in the pursuit of our couple. The reporter in me could not pass that up; my Spidey-sense was already tingling. So when I left their house that night, I not only left with my iPod and keys, but a photo of these boarding passes.

The next day I started running both their names through search engines, White Pages, Facebook, etc. It was difficult because the passes mashed their first and middle names together. The guy had a very uncommon first name and it was hard to tell where the first name ended and the middle one began. And the girl easily could go by a couple of different nicknames or shortened versions of her name. Finally, I typed the guy's first name down correctly and got a hit on possible name in Facebook. Their boarding passes showed they had departed from San Francisco and this FB profile belonged to someone from the City. I sent a friend request which was granted a couple hours later. But I still couldn't see his profile and gain access to send a message. Afraid of looking psychotic but determined to contact him, I sent the request a second time. A few hours later, confirmed. This time I could see his profile.

So very late Sunday night, I clicked on "send so-and-so a message" wrote a lengthy note explaining how in a nutshell, I live in Phoenix, I know this family who found your camera, we can mail it to you, yada yada yada.

Monday morning, I checked my e-mail. There was a reply from him! Mr. Lost Photos was completely stunned that A) Someone retrieved his camera and B) Someone else went to the trouble of trying to find him. He said when they lost the camera in the river in Yosemite, they pretty much considered it and their photos lost forever. He went on to say that it was great to know there are good people in the world and that we really made his day.

This had me in really great spirits all day--which is rare for a Monday! Part of the reason I was so diligent about finding them was because as a journalist, I love trying to track people down. It's like a scavenger hunt. But of course, more than that, how often do you get to deliver really uplifting news to someone? If someone could get something of mine back to me just by making a small effort, I would hope he/she would do it.

As Fate would have it, I am going to be in my old stomping grounds of San Francisco in mid-September for a bachelorette party. So...the couple and I have tentatively made plans to meet that weekend and I will personally deliver their memory card and camera back to them. Mr. Lost Photos said they would prefer that over postal deliver so they can personally thank me (aaawwww). I'm thinking of also bringing them a picture of Ella's toes as a keepsake.

Wouldn't it be funny if we became friends for a very long time to come? We'd have a great "how we met" story. I think we all know what the lesson is here. Sometimes it truly is better to give than receive. And when it comes to taking vacation pics, snap a photo of your boarding pass!

What I've been up to

Dear Bay Area friends and family,

Facebook is handy but there is only so much one can write on one's "wall." And I like writing long passages sometimes. Plus, when I write a blog post, I feel like Doogie Howser at the end of every episode. I can hear that synthesizer music in my head right now, LOL.

I miss all of you and think about you and the Bay Area often. For the most part, I feel comfortable in Phoenix but every so often, there will be days where I still feel like I'm in a prison and need to bust out.

Work is OK. I'm going through a spell right now where I'm not writing very much. It sucks but I suppose it's either that or have no job. I'm hoping to eventually work earlier hours but right now they need me to stay later because I'm the only editorial assistant for the whole AP West Regional Desk right now. The person who was hired as a second assistant has been on medical leave right now, unfortunately. And his health, of course, is first and foremost the priority. I continue to send positive thoughts his way and hope he returns to work. It also hurts to see other people working on stories or get sent on out-of-town training. But I keep telling myself that there has to be a reason for all this. My hard work and patience will eventually come back to me ten-fold.

I hurt my ankle in December. It's still a booger. I can't run very much, which, if you know me, is like Superman now trying to live without powers. It really sucks not being able to even consider entering any kind of race right now. I'm too paranoid about injuring my ankle again. I will probably have to see the podiatrist again, argh. I've had mostly weird, not-so-good experiences with doctors in Phoenix. Hopefully this won't turn out like that where something else was wrong originally. Because in February, it seemed like my ankle was on its way to healing itself. We shall see.

April 7, as I mentioned on my FB page, marked four years(!) for my living in Phoenix. I've been reflecting on the whole experience so far. Despite all the misery and my "down with Phoenix" rants my first year living here, I wouldn't go back and change anything. Living out here has actually reshaped me as a person in some ways. You know, sometimes I shake my head in amusement when I recall how painfully shy I was as a kid. Mom will be the first to recount how I would never look anyone directly in the face. I can't figure out why my first instinct as a toddler was to be in protective mode around anyone who wasn't one of my parents. Not sure how I developed into someone who wanted to be a journalist, which requires interviewing people and asking sometimes probing questions. A journalist is someone who should be able to socialize with just about anyone, look past what you see and try to see someone for who they really are--even if you only have a short time with them.

Living out here has really pushed me to reach out to people and I'm glad for that. In the last two years, I've made friends with families, Hispanic people, gay people and very hetero people (read: firefighters). None of this certainly would have happened if I hadn't felt free to go up to people. And even if we don't seem to have anything in common, I can somehow relate to them. For example:

I met this Mexican American artist two months ago who does a lot of paintings and murals. He has introduced me to the fun of Lucha Libre (Mexican wrestling). It's done kind of underground and it is bloody violent. I'm not trying to sound British. There literally is a lot of blood. If anyone ever comes to visit, you can bet I'm taking you there. It is off the beaten path. No pun intended. Anyway, I asked him to sit down with me for coffee so I could learn more about it and we talked for three hours. (He's married in case any of your minds' are going there). Now, I'm hoping to pitch a story on it.

A few days after New Year's, I went for a walk and I saw down a side street, someone had this very large metal sculpture of an Earth on their lawn. So, I made a turn to go get a closer look. And this old woman was sitting on the driveway of the house. (I know this is starting to sound like a folk tale). No she did not ask me about Sir Gawain or offer me magic beans. I asked her about the sculpture and turns out it belonged to her son, who does work with metals when he's not at his day job. Well, Jo Ann then invited me into her home (she lives in the pool house behind the main house) to look at stuff her son made. We ended up talking for two hours. And she stuffed a can of olives in my pocket before I left (all I did was ask here where she bought that brand).

Well, I've visited Jo Ann twice since then. The last time was actually the day before Easter. She's been so nice to me, that I wanted to do something nice for her. And of course, all I could think of was cupcakes.


So I brought over a dozen--too many for her, her son and his wife and their three children. So, Ella, 8 years old and the oldest of the three, and I walked over to the fire station to see if we could pawn off some. I'd forgotten how much fun it is to spend time with a kid that age. She is a cute girl with cute 8-year-old observations. Well, we knocked on the door of the station and nobody was home. We were about to turn around and go home when the firetruck arrived just back from a call.

Man, next time I go to a fire station, I should borrow someone's kid. They bent over backwards to entertain Ella. I had no idea the Phoenix Fire Department had all this stuff--crayons, coloring booklets, bracelets(?). Is it wrong that I wanted the fire-hydrant-shaped eraser? I told her "In life, when someone offers you free stuff, take it!" Then one of them offered to let Ella ride around the block in the firetruck. Of course, I went with her. I don't know what that says that riding in a truck now feels like old hat to me, hehe. I wasn't sure if she was having a good time but when we almost got back to her house, her father was on his way out to pick up dinner. She ran up to him, saying "I got to ride in a firetruck and I have evidence!" So adorable.

The family invited me to stay for dinner and they are all really nice people. Being a single gal has its ups, but sometimes nothing beats hanging out with a whole family. After dinner, Ella wanted to show me pictures from their past vacations to Disneyland, hehe. My favorite part was when her little 5-year-old brother, Cobie, climbed onto my lap and said "When I grow up, I'm going to live in Disneyland and anybody can come visit me." When I left, their dad said I was welcome over any time and Jo Ann said I don't have to feel alone. Aaawww.

The day after Easter, I made more cupcakes because I didn't want to throw out perfectly good extra frosting. So, I brought cupcakes to this other family I know, a Chinese family that runs a Japanese restaurant (long back story), Blue Fin Sushi, down the street from my office. They are descended from the Ongs of Phoenix, which is an offshoot of the Phoenix Tangs. Different name but same character, which is also the Chinese character for my name. Every few months someone asks me if I'm related to the Tangs, who used to have lots of businesses in Phoenix and go back three generations here in Phoenix. They all came from the Guang Dong province and Hoyping, which is where my Mom's family is from. But not my Dad's, so I don't think I'm directly related. I learned about the Hoyping connection when last month, Betsy (the matriarch of the family) invited me to go to the Ong Family Association Spring Banquet. For my non-Chinese buds, large Chinese families often have associations and spring meetings in a banquet setting. So for one night, I got to go to a Chinese banquet without having to be related. Though I've never been to a Chinese banquet where the raffle prizes were things like a digital scale, a hand-truck and a fire extinguisher (WTF?).

I digress. So the day after Easter, I brought cupcakes to them and wouldn't ya know, about a minute after I get there, six firefighters walk in to grab lunch. So, like a bad reflex, I offered them some.


Only one guy took one. As for the rest...wusses.

Where was I going with this post?? Oh yes, friends. My wonderful friend Daniel always makes me ask the question "What did I do to deserve..." Over the weekend he gave me a very cool just-because-gift. If you scroll down and look at the photo of my dark purple (well, eggplant mousse) accent wall, you'll see a "before" shot of nothing on the sloping wall next to the steps. Now look below and you'll see: He gave me my own railing!



Daniel and I met through his fiancee (yay Leah!) who I met through Craigslist. Another example of what happens when you reach out.

So guys, I think I've caught you all up on a lot of things. I miss you all and hope to visit in May. My heart of course belongs to the Bay Area. I could see myself living there some day in the next few years perhpas. And when I do, I won't just be falling back into a familiar cocoon. I'll be reaching out to people just the same like I do here. I get reminded all the time here...EVERYBODY has a story.

With love,
Terry

A mural transformation

So, after a few months of back and forth coordinating, my lovely friend Angela, who lives in Tucson, was able to nail down a weekend to come and paint a mural in my new home. For the first time since the New Year, I feel like 2010 isn't such a bad year--maybe even pretty good. She, her husband, and 3-year-old son made the two-hour drive from Tucson to Phoenix on Friday evening. Alas, they had to get back Saturday night. So, basically Angela traveled four hours round trip and painted a huge mural all in 24 hours!

Angela and I met because as a photo/graphics assistant at the Arizona Daily Star in Tucson, a subscriber to AP's content, she often took calls from me asking for stuff from the Star. Then we figured that IM was easier to correspond. Then we started IMing about non-work stuff like shopping, running and girly matters. I've often wished that we lived closer to each other; we've only spent time together a total of three times but I feel like it should be more. This project came out of my remarking over instant-messenger that I always thought it would be cool to have a mural in my home. And she offered. All I'd had to do was pay for the art supplies. I was like "DEAL!" I have to say, this mural is one of the nicest things anyone's ever done for me. Friday night, she used a projector I borrowed to outline a larger version of her illustration. Then on Saturday, she was sequestered from like 11 a.m.-5:30 p.m.. It was like having my own reality show, "Project Mural," hehe. And she was loads more fun to watch than Bob Ross (afro guy who's always painting rural landscapes from start to finish on public TV). While she was painting, she would occasionally stop and asked for my input; so, I could change my mind about the color of the saucer or an article of clothing. It was also cool to see her go back and revise things, like turn the corners up a little of a mouth to alter a facial expression.

Since the mural is on a wall behind the dining table, I knew I wanted some kind of food scene. So, I decided two modern-day looking gals enjoying food and conversation at an outdoor cafe. Angela, ever so thoughtful, actually asked me for a picture of a cupcake I've made so she could incorporate it into the mural. As you'll see, I think she did a great job depicting the cupcake. It sort of pops in the picture and she even used a little of the raspberry mousse shade I used for my living room wall.

This morning, I found myself actually wanting to sit down at the table to eat breakfast instead of standing in the kitchen like I usually do. I really feel like short of having the sun in my living room, this mural really brightens up the kitchen/dining area/living room. And in case you're wondering, the girls in the mural are not supposed to be Angela and me. They are "Everywomen," who judging by the picture, aren't afraid to enjoy some good ol' fashioned carbs, hehe. I really feel like my stamp is on my home now. If I ever sell, can someone lend me money to take the whole wall with me??




With the dining table put back...

Extreme Home Makeover -- or just extreme

So, I'm now almost firmly resettled in what will be my home for the conceivable future in Arizona. Or if I ever move, it will still be tethered to me. These past few days have been really crazy and amazing. I feel like I've been on a wild ride since I closed on this condo-townhouse on July 31. But this past Friday-Sunday, thanks to some awesome friends (a luxury I never thought I'd find in Arizona), I not only moved in just about all my stuff including furniture--bed, desk, futon--but we painted the entire living room--the hardest room to complete! I use "we" loosely. It seems like everyone but me did some heavy-lifting.

So, here's the living room all barren and you can see part of the step ladder. Everything was white, of course.



Here's my lovely friend Meghanne applying misty violet paint around that same living room.



One of the few times I did the painting, it was for my "accent wall" (I love saying that). The color is raspberry mousse but it looks more like eggplant.



My friends Alyson and Kathleen (Meghanne's mom) try their best to clear the potential booby traps by organizing my kitchen ware.


The above pictures are all from Saturday. By Sunday afternoon we had accomplished this in the living room (you may not be able to see the misty violet in this lighting):
this:

Accent wall (yah!):




I think it looks much better with black framed furniture. It's still barren because I haven't been able to shop, put out other furniture, etc. I plan to get an accent rug and some floor pillows. I want an area ready for entertaining, chatting and I don't want the TV to anchor the room. Anyway, now, it's onto the master bedroom, bathrooms and finding a new dining table set. Also I'm super excited that I have left a wall downstairs blank for a friend of mine in Tucson (thanks chica!) who has offered to paint me my own mural behind where the dining table would go. Not sure what it will be but the theme will be around something I love--eating and how good food tastes better with good friends and family.

I get moved every time I think about what my friends here have done for me--the time and energy they spent. My California friends and family should be reassured that I'm not as alone/lonely as I used to feel when I first moved out here. Anyway, I will be studying back issues of Real Simple, DIY (Do It Yourself) magazine and Nate Berkus' last book as I continue on my home decor journey. Finally, I think I've reached the "getting excited" part that homeowners keep talking about.

Vacation Diaries

Arrived back in Phoenix last night. Am now trying to recap my nine lovely days away from the heat before all the little details slip away like sand in my fingers. I'll try not to go on too long but there really were some highlights. Warning--there are some of an explicit nature, LOL.

So, I arrived in Toronto on a Friday night. Spent two hours in all at the airport, first trying to find my mom and Aunt Linda, then waiting for their luggage. It's lovely to travel with older relatives, HA. You get to see the adults interact as siblings more with the occasional eye-roll or cajoling.

Anywho, I got to reconnect with our distant relatives at my cousin Marcelo's wedding (our relationship is something like my grandma's dad and his grandpa's dad were brothers). My mom and I bonded with them when we vacationed in Sao Paulo, where they live, in 2007. Then Marcelo moved to Toronto shortly after and met his now-wife Iris, who is really cool. Some fun parts of my Toronto leg:

_ None of Marcelo's relatives came for his wedding because they either lived in Brazil or China. Marcelo's dad was soooo happy that the three of us came; he called us his honored guests (aw). At the night time wedding banquet, we were actually seated at the bride and groom's table (!) and introduced to the entire room. BTW, most efficient and intimate Chinese wedding banquet I've ever been to. They scaled it down to 50 guests spread over six tables. We started eating only half an hour late which is really good for one of these banquets!

_Their wedding cake:


_Hearing a bunch of Chinese Canadians say "aboot" instead of "about" and "eh?"
_Eating really good Chinese food almost daily including congee (rice porridge) with fried dough (mmm...). In Phoenix, I can count the decent Chinese restaurants on one hand. Toronto has a sizeable Chinatown as well as lots of Chinese restaurants in the surrounding suburbs, which is where we stayed. Having choice was really nice.
_Going to dim sum with Aunt Linda's in-laws. I met my Uncle (by marriage) Godfrey's relatives. It was cute to see Godfrey's brother Felix has the exact same laugh, LOL. Near the end of the meal, I saw some guy with glasses come over with a foam takeout container. I asked my mom "Why is Uncle Felix letting random people take our food?" "That's his son, Frances!!" Oops...we laughed about that for a while. I didn't realize the table next to us was all his kids and their significant others. I made my way over and introduced myself. It was kind of strange...I was basically meeting all of my cousin Alvin's cousins on his dad's side and he wasn't there. On the other hand...he wasn't there to stop me from talking about him, harhar. Kidding, I just told them the story about how Alvin and Jen met through me and started hanging out. And I heard numerous choruses from relatives who had met Jen how much they liked her and the two seemed like the perfect couple .
_Niagara on the Lake. If you go to Niagara Falls, set aside more time to go 20km away to Niagara on the Lake. Heavenly landscape on Earth. I seriously want to go back some day.
_Taking the ferry from downtown Toronto to Centre Island. There was seven of us _ me, Marcelo, Iris, Marcelo's sister Alexandra, mom, and Marcelo's parents. We split up into two quadraped bicycles. I got to steer. Apparently the Asian driver stereotype can be true for bikes too. I lost control and all Mom heard was "Ouch!Ouch!Ouch!OUCH!" before I crashed our bike into a bush. Sigh...

So, I was pretty sad when I had to say goodbye to everyone after spending so much time with them. Luckily, it's really hard to dwell on stuff when you are in NYC. Once upon a time, I lived there and this was the first time I'd been there since 2002. I wish I had known someone like my friend Bao then. He was an awesome host. He made me take his bed in his tiny Manhattan studio in the Village and he slept on the floor. A culinary school grad as of two months ago, he knew all the best places to eat. We sometimes hit three different restaurants in one evening. I've never eaten like that.

Out of my five days in New York, these are some of the memories that will stick out:

_Accidentally stumbling upon Baked by Melissa. Melissa is this woman who sells mini cupcakes out of a window on a street in Soho. They are all elaborate flavors like S'mores, PB & Jelly, Reeses and Chocolate Chip Cookie Dough. It's like the universe knew what I'd like, LOL.

_Eating on average a cupcake a day.
_Getting a hug from the owner of BabyCakes NYC, a bakery that sells gluten free cupcakes. I had interviewed her for my frosting shots story last year.
_Eating steamed pork buns, soft boiled egg, mussels and Foccacia bread made with diced pieces of lop churn (Chinese sausage) at Momofuku Ssam Bar. Following this meal with dessert at Chikalicious which included an amuse (dessert starter) of orange sorbet with caramel gelee, then corn ice cream in cherry soup with corn meal pound cake and petit fours. Then following that--keep in mind this is still the same night--with splitting lamb short ribs, Beaujolais sausage on lentils and Yankee burger at DBGB.
_Seeing Drew Barrymore and Justin Long all cozy in a secluded booth at DBGB.
_Going to dinner with Bao and three of his friends. Here's a key difference hanging out with gay guys v. straight guys. I brought a slice of banana cake with hazelnuts and gianduja fudge for dessert to share. The piece was halfway gone and I said "Who's going to help me finish it?" Nobody raised one fork.
"Oh sure, leave it to the straight girl!"
So, Bao let out a big sigh and picked up his fork and took a little bite and that was it. His friend started laughing really hard, "What was that? Like the gay charity bite?"
_After post-dinner drinks at a sake and Boba place, we split up and Bao and I went to meet one of his other friends, a producer at NBC Nightly News and two of his NBC colleagues at a gay bar called, ironically, The Phoenix. After 25 minutes, Bao's friend decided it was time to move on to another gay bar. As a straight woman, I decided to go with the flow and look at it as an exchange student observing another culture. We go to this gay bar called The Hose . Bao, BTW, was nice enough to pay my cover charge. He thought it was unfair I was getting dragged into a gay bar. We walk in and the first things I see are a guy wearing only a G-string with his butt cheeks hanging out dancing around a pole and he's got plenty of bills stuffed in already and a hardcore gay porn movie being projected on the wall behind him. I turned to Bao and said "OK, officially my gayest night. Ever."
One of the NBC guys, a producer for "Dateline," was all worried about me being exposed to this. I guess I still look like some little innocent girl, LOL. He offered me his bar stool so that my back would be to all of that stuff. I just said "Warn me if something flops out behind me." It gets better...some guy in nothing but very tight briefs who is supposedly an actor in the movie being screened is helping to hand out promotional DVDs complete with a complimentary key chain that contains a very long tape measure. This guy was weird. He was being touchy-feely with a lot of people--including me. He acted like I was the weird one when I tried to swat him away from getting thisclose to me. I'm like "Dude, I'm not even your type, LOL." Anyway, he finally left me alone. Weirdo.
Before we left, Bao's friend pleaded with me to take the DVD home to give to his pal who is a reporter at The Arizona Republic. For a split second, I considered it as a gag gift for a gay couple I know in Phoenix. But then I immediately excised the idea. I could just picture my baggage getting picked for a random check at the airport. And how fricking mortifying would it be for a TSA screener to find "Straight, Hot and Broke: Vol. 1" in my luggage?
_Walking with Bao to his salon appointment. When we get there, I look around the street..."Is that a fire station across the street?"
"Oh, I guess it is."
"I'll be going for a walk while you get your hair cut."
It was an impressive firehouse--four stories at least. Nobody was there. So, I walked around the West Village. Then when I came back to meet Bao, I saw a fire captain and a couple of guys standing outside talking. I couldn't not try to say hi...

_Eating at Doughnut Plant. Yes, the theme here is eating or rather...Terry needs to go back to normal eating. But I don't know of any doughnut place where you can get creme brulee, tres leches or lavender doughnuts. Mmm...Homer Simpson would be in heaven.
_Falling back in love with New York--except for the cost of living, LOL. Actually am glad to be back in Phoenix. Vacationing is awesome but it's not a realistic lifestyle for most of us. Just a break from what is real.

Terry: firefighters; honey:flies

I don't think it's an exaggeration to say the above SAT analogy has sure felt true these past few days. The Hostess-like cupcake above is a sample of some cupcakes I brought to my favorite firefighting crew on Sunday. I felt like it had been a while since I baked anything and I have all these farm fresh eggs my co-worker gave me. Mind as well use them for something good. So I just showed up at the fire station around 5:45 p.m. with just the intention of dropping them off after like a five-minute chat. There were only two guys when I came by. And one of them, James, actually invited me to stay for dinner. A hard invitation to turn down. I kept asking "Are you sure?" And then like 25 minutes later, I heard the fire engine pull in with the rest of the crew who had been out on a call. I asked James "Are you sure the guys aren't going to come in and be like 'you again?'" And he said quite sincerely, "Not at all!" And sure enough, when they all came in they were like "Hey Terry, what's up? Are you gonna stay for dinner?" So, it was a fun evening. It was a pretty healthy meal they had--spaghetti squash, chicken cooked in a marsala wine sauce, broccoli and garlic bread. They even put the TV on mute during an episode of "Entourage" because I was there. Though they didn't have to do it. One of the guys said something about cooking being "women's work" and I was like "What?!" The guys chuckled and were like "uh-oh" and a couple of them were like "Sorry Terry, We have to apologize for him." Then after dinner, James was nice enough to sit with me for a while. Before anyone thinks anything, he is very married. In fact, he started asking me about my social life out of concern when I complained about the dating scene. Never thought I'd get dating advice from a firefighter, LOL. Anyway, they had to have a group meeting so it was time for me to make myself scarce. But I was very pleasantly surprised when James hugged me goodbye. It's cool that they really think of me as a friend.

Now as though Sunday dinner wasn't already out of the ordinary...on Tuesday morning, an hour into my work day, I overhear the managing editor of the West Regional Desk say something like "so, I'm thinking Terry can go out and interview some firefighters" to my supervisor. I'm surprised my ears weren't beeping like an alarm had sounded. I went over to my supervisor and was like "What's this I hear?" He said AP's Atlanta bureau wanted to do a national story on firefighters' thoughts on Sonia Sotomayor because of that case in New Haven, Conn. Personally, I couldn't imagine firefighters following the confirmation hearings closely. But still, I was told to "go out and find some firefighters," so a girl's gotta do what a girl's gotta do.

In case you're wondering, I did not go to my local firehouse. Even if I wanted to, I couldn't interview the crew I know. Conflict of interest. Besides, I had to go to a predominantly Hispanic neighborhood. So, I printed out a list from the fire dept. Web site of addresses for every fire station in Phoenix proper (gosh, I felt like a stalker for some reason). This one was less than a 10-min drive from work in a kind of sketchy part of downtown. Even though one of the garage doors was open, I strutted up to the front door and knocked. The door opened and the entire crew was there. I introduced myself as a reporter and why I needed to find firefighters to interview. The captain goes "Well, we're about to leave on a call. Do you want to come?" I thought he was joking. But as they invited me inside, I could see he wasn't. He said it would be a short call dealing with a sick kid. So without batting an eyelash, I asked "You said it would be a short call, right?" (I had to be somewhere in an hour). So, without questioning, I climbed into the back of the firetruck and off we all went--no sirens though. So, I'm sitting in the back of a fire engine discussing Supreme Court confirmation hearings and the brouhaha around Sotomayor. I also told them this was not my first time riding a firetruck, LOL. Talk about surreal.

We arrived at this cluster of homes that was more or less a trailer park. Hispanic/Latino girl, 12-years-old, sick with a fever. I got to practice my espanol a little as I explained to the family I was a reporter with the "bomberos" (firefighters). They basically checked her out and told the family they should take her to the hospital. Still not sure why they called 911 over this. We went back to the firehouse and they jokingly asked if I wanted to work out and do squats with them. I declined. Then they asked me if I wanted to slide down the pole. And I was like "Not in this outfit" (I was wearing sandals and a skirt for goodness sake. Think of the chafing). Then one of them tried to convince me that the theme from the old "Batman" TV show plays when you slide down it. I challenged him to prove it. But then by the way the captain was laughing, I knew for sure he was kidding. Anyway, I left after chatting with them a few more minutes. They all couldn't have been nicer to me.

By the afternoon, there was a story out of AP Atlanta on the wire and the last six paragraphs were all my contribution which was pretty cool. Now, if you Google my name and "Phoenix firefighters," you really will find an article, not a restraining order.

BTW, I sort of had a Phoenix Fire Dept. interaction today. I interviewed the Phoenix Fire Department Chief over the phone. I felt bad as he was actually on vacation but he said he didn't mind at all. We went off subject and I told him about my impromptu ride the day before. I also told him "off the record" that Fire Station 17 (that's the one by my home) was my favorite and how they helped me last year. He was pretty cool about it. He asked if through it all, everyone was nice to me. I said of course and I have yet to meet a rude firefighter. He was happy. The chief said besides answering calls, it's important that firefighters interact well in the community in the day-to-day of it all.

I've been asked several times "What is it with you and firefighters?!" I don't know. I never really thought about them much. I'm not one of those girls that fantasizes about them, LOL. I don't know if the universe is laughing at me or sending me a message. Or it's just all some cosmic coincidence. Geez, I know people who know me already think of me when they see cupcakes. I think it's starting to be like that with firefighters. Don't know if that's good or bad. Well, we'll see if any more "coincidences" occur.

The venomous chip on my shoulder is shrinking...

The above picture of a Pavlova I made has nothing to do with this entry. It's just...don't pictures of food make everything better? I made this dessert at my friends' place in L.A. while having dinner there.

On my flight back to Phoenix from Los Angeles, I was looking out the window of the airplane when right as we were airborne, I heard this loud outcry. The woman next to me, who looked like Margot Kidder, was letting out a sob like every 30 seconds. I thought she just got some bad news or was on her way back from a funeral. Of course, I couldn't just sit there and stay silent. Other people might keep to themselves, but that's not me. I asked her if she was okay and she said something like "I've lived in L.A. for over 30 years. I don't want to go back to Phoenix!!"

Barbara, 59 years old (sounded like she had been smoking for 40 of them), had to move in with her brother in December in Phoenix. She had been unemployed since 2007--she worked as a corporate travel planner for various companies including CBS and American Airlines. She said she ran through her entire 401(K) too (yikes!). She started a new job three weeks ago. Said she tries to come back and visit L.A. when she can. Every time she heads back to Phoenix, she gets into a crying fit. Last time when she drove, she said she cried the entire ride back. She actually grew up in Phoenix but has now grown to dislike it. Actually loathe might be a better word. She went on about how the weather is terrible, there's no culture, everyone is a Republican, etc. She had this laundry list and then it hit me...Barbara sounded like me-especially the me of 2006.

Listening to her rant, I realized, 'Wow, I had a LOT of venom for Phoenix.' I suppose it's not entirely Phoenix's fault. One could argue that it really is a city still trying to find its identity as a hip, urban center. And it's hard and perhaps unfair to compare it to San Fran or Los Angeles--both places I grew up on. I just found it so incredibly difficult to meet people and I, of course, made the city a scapegoat. Barbara made me see that somehow I changed in the past year. Maybe it's just meeting more people or trying more new things. Don't get me wrong, California will always be tops to me. And it's not that I love Phoenix now but a lot of the resentment is gone. I don't feel quite as depressed every time I face the end of a trip and must head back to the desert. Three years ago, when I first moved out here, I could have totally been Barbara. Wouldn't have taken much to make me cry. Yes, I still have days where lonesomeness creeps in and I wish my friends who have known me since middle school or college were around to hang out. And I still like to poke fun at Phoenix and Arizona, but it's not with any malice or fang-bearing, LOL.

Anyway, I empathized with Barbara and listened to her talk. Man, I felt like a therapist. She was fine in a little while. I think talking things out distracted her from crying. Or it could have been the cranberry juice and vodka drink she ordered. I'd like to think I played a small part in helping her.