How I Rediscovered Facebook

Cryptic Answer: Nightwish – Nemo is playing in the background, I’m doing a Go problem in my head, and I am typing this blog post. My back is sore from running  intervals this morning.

Explanation: I recently had a good conversation with Christian, who was about to graduate from Harvard, about the role of people in life. One of my biggest regrets is that I neglected people a bit in senior year, especially when I worked furiously on my thesis. When I moved up to Stamford, I made it a personal goal to work on my relationships more seriously.

At college, the less socially talented people (like me) have a temptation to take friends for granted. It is easy to bump into everyone around campus – if you meet someone you do not need to make that connection right away; you’ll see them by the ABP, working in Lamont, or at some drunken Quad party. Both your classroom and your dorms create atmospheres where you can naturally meet people your age with similar interests and situations. At work, there are more artificial barriers – seniority status, age differences, professional nature of the workplace, etc. all make creating personal relationships a bit harder (even though coworkers are still the easiest new friends to make, and I have met/re-met some awesome people at Ellington with whom I will keeping in touch, such as G, J, I, or R). The dorm equivalent – the apartment – is hardly a social scene compared to college dorms, except the walls are still so thin for you to hear people having sex, domestic disputes, or both at the most curious hours. Ironic that in this age when saying a simple “hi” to a neighbor in urban areas is considered more “creepy” than friendly, we are much further apart even though the web creates an illusion that we should be further connected.

Last year, when I was surfing Facebook, I suddenly asked myself: “out of the 500 – 600 friends I have on Facebook, how many do I genuinely interact with?” Even though in general I refuse friend requests from people I don’t know, maybe 300 of my contacts were people I met as a result of a school/club/summer thing with no real connection, or some unmemorable party/nightclub experience where the number/contact exchange was just for fun instead of genuine interest. I have probably only 50 actual “good friends,” as in people who would hang out with me in the same town by one of us *naturally* remembering and contacting the other person. But this means in the middle there are probably at least 100-200 people with whom I’ve had a nontrivial connection, and with whom I can carry on a generally interesting face-to-face conversation if he/she were sitting in front of me.

This was a massive inefficiency – all my warning bells in my brain rang, preparing me for the “aha” moment. It suddenly clicked for me on how much I was missing without being actively social with this “middle group” – the people with whom I can very easily find common ground, because they are actually very similar to the “good friend” group except that one of the parties have to *actively* remember and contact the other person, which is something of very little cost, especially with Facebook! I almost kicked myself at how simple this all was, and how easy this must be for my “naturally social” friends (yes, *those* people). I learned an incredible amount from my work last year, but this was one of the most important observations I made all year. Indeed, this is why I started New York Survivor (a game I made for myself where I go to NY on friday nights, and do as much as possible while trying to stay in the city until Sunday). Now I am in grad school, even though I’m not going out as much (the Boston and New York club scenes are just… uncomparable ;P), I am still trying to do the same thing; this was actually made easier since Boston/Cambridge is a much easier place to just chill due to the ample sitting room and the non-croweded streets. Instead of Central Park, the downtown restaurants, or Soho, I’m typically doing the Miracle of Science Bar, Rangzen, or Cafe Luna (they have really sexy food and smoothies).

With V, the daughter of one of my father’s old friends, I discovered a lot of new music and broadened my playlist. With C, the new boyfriend of a not-so-close friend I had in college, I found many common interests and that he was a dan-level Go player who had a lot to teach me about my game. With A, an old classmate from a writing seminar who made herself run the Boston Marathon “just because” even though she was never a runner in college, I reminded myself of my love for writing and I’m even beginning to run again to complement weightlifting. With K and S, two of the most social people I know, I talked about this exact topic and how rewarding it can be to our happiness.

Each event was so precarious – without that one conscious click on that “Send Message” button on Facebook I would not have made a connection that would be so easy to pass away otherwise. The opportunity cost was invisible yet incredible. Instead of taking time to do those things I might have just been watching Youtube videos, taking a nap, or reading FML (yes, realistically I would have tried to use that time to do things with higher value, but the point is that each of these particular meetings were pretty amazing), but otherwise I wouldn’t have discovered the PAL soundtrack, I wouldn’t have realized how much crappier my middle game seemed to have become (probably worse than 10k…), and I probably would not have started this long-overdue blog post. I’m sure many of you are wondering why I got so excited over such a simple concept (that you probably already use very efficiently), but when the blind suddenly sees, he is bound to be excited.

Then again, my back hurts like hell.

Ow,

-Yan

Yan (Maybe) Can Cook

The eggplant sacrificed more than any of its comrades. Some slices seemed to have escaped cooking entirely, with minimal damage, while others were zombified. The chicken was alright, just overcooked. At least the sauce was even. In Yan’s kitchen, anything is possible!

While I’m not getting into the Zagat anytime soon, I will learn to salt the eggplant next time and put in the chicken a bit later. And maybe get a real wok.

Like studying for a test, I’ve put off learning to cook for a very long time. Maybe it is because I know I’ll never make it taste, smell, or even look like my mother’s dishes; maybe it is because eating out gives some measure of peace that I am able to, through some process, make a fragrant, hearty serving of Thai crispy chicken goodness appear in front of my plate. I knew the first real dish I cook would be a disaster, so to stall the pain to the ego I had all sorts of excuses to push it back.

The way these things usually go, everyone in the universe conspires against me to make the fated day happen. It was probably the tenth time my roommate J. casually left his chicken stew simmer on the stove, so flavorful that I got hungry while opening the room door, while my conscience kindly poked the back of my brain (with a chef’s knife?) that the last thing I cooked for myself, like the 500 times before it, was either cereal, microwavable oatmeal, or fried eggs when I decide to get fancy. Of course at school, G. suggested in her energetic European way that I simply *must* go watch Ratatouille because it was “so good that it makes you hungry,” only the day before L. wanted to watch a happy film. Ratatouille it was.

The universe conspiring to make me learn to cook.

I tried to go to sleep that night after the film, but my stomach kept me awake, lecturing me in that language that only we both know, a kind of Morse code with rumbles, that I needed to cook. The next day I was somehow in front of the board, chopping onions, defrosting the chicken, and having one of those “huh what am I doing here” moments where I didn’t quite believe I was actually there cooking.

The garlic was somewhat burnt, the onions not so much, combining into barbeque smell with a hint of backyard charcoal. The chicken was overcooked just a little bit thanks to salmonella paranoia and I used too much soy sauce, but it was edible. I recycled the sauce from the pan in the first dish to make a quick omelet, a spark of the upper bound of my cooking genius. A microwaved bag of vegetables completed dinner, and L. approved.

It wasn’t bad. No painstaking work of breathtaking genius (TM), but it wasn’t bad.

Five days later Bittman’s How to Cook Everything arrived in the mail. Now my pantry has a little more than salt, pepper, and canned soup. I have tomatoes in the fridge and chicken in the freezer (in little ziploc bags after learning the hard way not to just put the whole piece in there at once). More than just cooking technique though, Bittman crystallized in one digestible packet the love of cooking I found in Emil (the rat chef from Ratatouille): “cooking is one of the few simple, routine joys of daily life.”

By spending much of my time avoiding learning how to cook and to rationalize it by the time I am saving, I lost time spent in earnest enjoyment in the moment as I smell the tomatoes, chop the onions, wipe my brow and salivate in anticipation at the satisfaction of one of God’s five basic sensations that can be born at my hands. It was jazz for my taste buds.

-YZ

Teaching

I’ve always enjoyed teaching – I taught 4 out of my 6 semesters in college out of my kind heart (the pay was negligible, but enough to pay for textbooks and a couple of meals at the cafe). Grading was a pain in the ass and most people don’t come to sections (except during exam reviews the room magically fills up), but even the zen experience of showing up to teach the weekly section for 3 or 4 heads cleansed my soul. Occasionally, I form a really nice connection with a couple of students – and I see the click of knowledge. Knowledge is one of the few precious resources we have that does not follow a conservation law, so I wanted to exploit this as much as possible. I would trade grading 5 problem sets for each spark of insight I see someone gain, since I knew how clear the whole world looked when I would have one of those sparks.

Recently though, I’ve found an unlikely student in an unlikely situation.

One of my friends from high school, J, decided to take off time after graduation to float his own boat. J. is an ambitious banana with more ideas than he can carry and an allergy to cubicles, so this was no surprise. After drifting for a few months, J decided he had learned enough from his experiences and wanted to try new things. However, instead of directly applying for jobs (and he did get a few sweet offers), he decided that he had a new love for studying – and taking tests. Soon he finished studying for the GMATs and the CFA, and he came upon a new goal – to take the GRE Math.

This started as a joke, probably from my end. But who would guess that someone with barely any math experience would take this test, usually something only someone interested in a math Ph D. would take? The frat boy was serious though, and I took him up on it.

I was reminded of my own curiosity as a 12-year old – I looked at big pictures. I was excited about big theorems and connections between mathematics. I loved jumping at all problems and tried to solve them (including Fermat’s Last Theorem, the Four Color Theorem, and everything else) without any care of how difficult they were. I did not know the technical ugliness that would await me. Everything was new, unlike now, the cynical part of the relationship – which is why I’m taking a break from math in the first place. I am happy when J asks the dumb questions – because now I’m forced to think about them and answer and not just assume I knew all the little details. I am happy when he asks the big questions – then I get to make big abstract speeches about how pretty of math is, which is funny since right now I don’t have any love for it, much like talking fondly of an ex to a third party only remembering everything I liked about her. I am happy when he stumbles, not only because it is amusing and a reminder of my own troubles when I learn, but also because it shows that he is trying. Finally, I am happy when he triumphs, even in the smallest of proofs or the smallest first precise use of a new term, because it means something worked between us.

Besides my own soul searching, I have learned many life lessons. Usually, when I taught, it was a teacher-student situation. This was a mixture between a teacher-student situation and a friend-friend situation. Furthermore, in a one-on-one situation I felt like I had to do more. I was more possessive, I pushed more, I thought I knew the best thing to do for him at every step. I was annoyed since he seemed to have wanted to learn analysis, topology, algebra, and geometry all at the same time, through several books. Looking back, I might be wrong – that’s certainly how I approached math when I was younger and nobody stopped me. While it was not the most efficient, it was the most fun, and you can’t learn if you don’t have fun. It is funny how I started reminding myself of my pushy parents through all of this, even though I was dealing with someone a year older than I was. Upon realizing the eternal horror of realizing that “you are becoming your parents,” I can raise two immediate lessons – One, I should step back and think more about my teaching strategy – instead of thinking what is best for him, I should think what is the best way for me to get him to understand what he wants to learn. Two, instead of looking at my parents’ pushes with annoyance, I should look back and understand what they wanted a bit more – they just wanted to build someone in the direction they wanted, thinking they knew what was best.

There are still a few months to go. I’ve learned a lot already, and I hope he has been learning at least as much =) to be honest, he is the one doing most of the work. Maybe the teacher-student relationship isn’t so asymmetrical after all.

-Y

P.S. Thanks to LW for the artistic genius.

Happy New Year

No content here, just a quick update:

1) I’ve started to contribute to a secret blog, so some of my time has gone there. It may go public at some point or it may not.

2) I’ve removed the blogroll and added a “Link” page instead.

I’ve been a little busy. But I’ll write more soon.

-YZ

Turkey Day Reminesces – Friends

A turkey is not necessarily just a bird, like in the above beautiful drawing. It can be an annoying person, an ineffectual investment, or a failed event. My Turkey Day was then actually a turkey, since I failed to sync my plans and transportation effectively this year and ended up staying home. If all plans worked out correctly, I would have happily gone back, invited myself (and everyone else, haha) to J’s, and have yet another 5-hour-session of vegging with the crew from high school. As an adult now, sometimes these outings are still all I wish to do on a weekend.

The Boston weekend half a month ago was the best example, when Team DARKNESSSSSSS (7 S’s), a way-too-ironic attempt to parody an immature bunch of middle school males on Halo 3, was spontaneously born. MZ, DARKNESSSSSSS, took the role probably too literally when he started to solicit girls over the voice communicator, but it was, of course, all role-playing (I think). I am even somewhat thankful that Halo 3 did not allow multiple user names on the same account, which stuck me with DARKNESSSSSSS(3) as my name.

It wasn’t about the game, really. I like games, but I never play Halo, so my achievements amount to being a human scarecrow for the team (and my one incredible melee that dispatched a motorcycle rider cleanly out of his seat). It was still all right though, because it was for Team DARKNESSSSSSS. No deathmatches – we were one organism, a team that hasn’t been together in real life for a while: J was actually there instead of being with his female entourage; P, on his poor med student salary and intense med student schedule, was able to make it; against all odds, H showed up, gracing us with his presence from a busy life of weightlifting, botany, or whatever weird thing he is into now.

The whole weekend was surreal. We even watched Dead or Alive together and had a hoot, even though it was probably the worst movie I have seen in the past few years (though P swears that Lucky You trumps it). Even the 5-hour rides up and down with P weren’t too bad as a trade for time spent with friends.

Of course, back to reality – my plans got jinxed and I would not be able to do any of these things this weekend. I was stuck in Stamford – might as well make the best of it. For starters – I haven’t cooked for myself much since the company subsidizes so much food, so it was a good time to practice. I am also in middle of a couple of books that I never read, so I can kill them off too.

Waking up Thanksgiving morning, I realized just how tired I was. Going to New York every weekend is fun, but it is a huge energy sink. Given the circumstances, I decided to stay put in quiet, pleasant Stamford and explore my own thoughts. Staying home, I finally have time for myself, not just my friends. I have work to do; I have to go shopping; I have to run errands; I have to walk outside on a beautiful sunny day with music in my ears, watching passersby along Bedford St; I found a TV show that I have been waiting to watch for years; I improved my lifts; I installed my new laptop, monitor, and reorganized my music library. . .

What about them? They are probably together now, eating good food, bowling, basketball, more Halo, plasma TV watching sports. . . they might even be practicing popping without me (they better not). I even remember last Thanksgiving fondly, though that was when J and I waited outside Circuit City for forever while the guys “accidentally” forgot to come (they were “sidetracked” since they were offered lots of good food at J’s place, so they had to eat – and maybe watch a little TV – but eventually brought us warm food to pay for our troubles). I wonder how long this will all last? It eventually has to stop, right?

All I know is that by taking this weekend off and not being with them, I will enjoy the next one more. Christmas plans will be made well in advance. This is what Thanksgiving is about – knowing what to be thankful for. I am actually thankful that I did not go back for Thanksgiving, because it gave me time to think about all of this while wrapping up some unfinished things in my own life. In another one of these cute turns and twists that make life life, I think I just came out of another win-win situation.

- DARKNESSSSSSS(3), signing out.

Stamford, CT – The Piano

Downtown Stamford is an indecisive place, flipflopping between a suburb and a city, populated by a mix of people who I feel don’t belong to the same area. Something like Harvard Square, really.

The mall here is gigantic, and one place that struck me the most was a coliseum-esque “theater” with a piano resting on the bottom. People sit on the seats and watch others stride to and fro, and people above watch the watchers in turn from the 5th and 7th floors. I have never yet seen anyone walk down to play the piano, but the picture itself is hauntingly melodic – I can hear the notes even though nobody is playing. The scene itself is a respite amidst a busy display of conspicuous consumption, the flow of which is slowed as one shopping bag after another pass by the piano.

San Antonio

A fiercely Southern state, San Antonio creates an isosceles triangle of unmistakable Texan-ness with its neighbors Houston and Austin. Two years ago I came here to Trinity University as a student doing research, now I return as an alum giving a talk. I chose to stay past my presentation to mingle with the students, which was a great choice.

1) The students are vibrant with character. J.J. has great taste in the visual media, including The Westing Game, Imogen Heap, and The Golden Compass; T. is the all-around cool guy you wish to show off to your friends since he is good at everything; C. is a Linux-toting hacker girl who isn’t afraid to mix it up with the guys in poker. Of course, there are also the assistants: Enrique, one of my poker mentors with a great appreciation for people and life, and Nathan, who sprinkles sparkles of humor in every event and lightens up every gloomy day (great, given the curious fact that it rained basically every day here).

2) El Milagrito (“the Miracle”) is still the Mexican restaurant of choice for 6AM, with $5 breakfasts that feed you for a whole day. Their portions are generous with no remorse for your stomach storage space, and their quality holds nothing back. The new founds for me are the barbacoa and the migas plates, both dishes to consider learning for future cravings.

3) The Tower of the Americas:

(source: Wikipedia) is one of the attractions which slipped by me two summers ago. To conquer my fear of heights, I went on this trip with many of the students and took in a beautiful visage of the city, a mosaic of lights and sounds at night.

On the top level of the tower, I approached and chatted with a group of four cute girls getting ready for a bachlorette party, because L. and I observed and made comments about one of them’s scarf. Later realizing that she was the lucky girl, I wished her good luck instead.

4) At the annual party at Dr. C’s house, I was treated again to a sumptuous meal presented by the happy couple, and took great advantage of my 21-year-old-ness by helping myself to five glasses of wine, three red and two white. Then I used the alcohol as fuel to play a few games of Horse with D., L., R., and Nathan.

The highlight of the party was playing Guitar Hero for the first time, against a 6-year-old Jonathan even. What clean and perfect design. ; (Source: Wikipedia).

Lessons? Thoughts?

a) People are really the ultimate drug in this world. My high from this trip will continue for at least a couple of more weeks.

b) Need to learn more ping-pong. Can’t wait until Balls of Fury comes out, though Ping Pong, which I saw recently, was definitely worth it.

c) Re-invest in Ubuntu.

-Yan

Atlantic City

21 is the magical age where we get to sin legally. My 18th birthday called for buying of cigarettes, porn, and a lottery ticket, even though I didn’t smoke or watch the porn or play the lottery ticket, just because I had the power. My 21st, of course, was for gambling.

MZ drove me and J, blasting loud badass Asian music, up the toll road to the city of Monopoly streets. The first quest was, of course, not getting to the casino, but finding those legendary White Castle sliders that stick to the roof of your mouth and melt, exuding succulent sweetness. Like in the movie, this was the most difficult part of the trip, as the dudes we met kept telling us that a local White Castle had shut down and we had to go out of the way each time we asked for a White Castle. 3 hours of search failed, so we gave up and just headed for AC. This will be a mission we set for another day – hopefully including the hot farmer’s wife part and not including the battleshit.

In AC I kept looking for Baltic and Meditteranean, my favorite cute little purple properties/streets, but all I saw was Ventnor. We didn’t even go to the Boardwalk. We booked a $170 hotel and headed straight for the Taj, where Andrew + co. were.

What followed are many sessions of 1/2 live play through 3 days. I remember about 6 good hands, but I’ll just save my favorite one and dedicate most of the report to atmosphere and feel.

First session: P and his two Penn friends (Sam and some dude I didn’t know) were coming a bit later, and Andrew + co. were playing a tournament, so it was just the three of us for now. The first session was learning everything the hard way. I like to point at the pot when I count the size of the pot – but it was interpreted as a check. Twice. After only showing down AQo to win a decent pot with top pair good kicker and winning the other two uncontested, I triple barreled into a paired board representing trips, and got a call (after 3 minutes of thinking) from this tight dude with 2nd boat, who thought for sure I had top boat and was totally shocked to see me with ace high and gave me some lessons on playing. Oops. Down $260.

Intermission: MZ, J, Y, and I went to the place with Kobe burgers on the other floor and talked about hands. MZ,Y, and I shared a large pepperoni, but J refused to share the pizza with us and partake in the camaraderie, citing stomach problems. This mistake will bite him in the ass later.

Session 2: This time I’m at the same table as J. We both set up tight-aggressive games, and I go crazy whenever a decent number of people fold pf. I try to make convo with people but they seem to be less fun. I gradually build my stack, and valuebet stacks for a turned mid trips into this tight guy who berates me after the hand for betting flop with mid pair even after I have shown aggression pf. I also get 3 bets out of the same dude with top pair, better kicker. At the end he starts to complain to the table because I raised pre with 8Ts even though I was button and only a couple of late guys limped. Thanks. I flopped a straight and stacked someone there. I also ran mad hot. +870.

Intermission: this session, MZ was up 300, Y was up 200, and J was down 300. This was because J did not eat the Pizza of Victory. So let that be a lesson to you all.

Session 3: Next day (after stuffing 5 cheap people into a 2-bed hotel room) was Borgata. The dealers were better, waitresses were hotter, and I think the players were a bit better as well. People were still pretty much weak tight, with a couple of rocks. My table remained full, and I floated around 300. Near the middle of the session, I called an 80 bet into a 100 pot since the guy had a really weird betting pattern and I had only seen him valuebet with less. Since the board was uber-drawy and I had the missed ace high flush draw, I hero-call, ignoring phantom Paul’s lectures in my head, and took it down. That was unfortunately the best pot of the day. I think I stacked off twice with top pair against small stacks. Then some sketchy guy gave us info of a strip joint with chauffeur service. Down $500.

Session 4: We go back to the Taj since Borgata left a sour taste in our mouths (everyone was down). WTF Paul this is all your fault. I build a stack and then semibluff a reraised pot all in into a player with a combo draw. This is probably the most marginal hand I’ve played on the trip, as the guy shows a flush (6Ts… ) and takes my 400 stack. I then lose 200 or so due to what I think was normal play. MZ was at my table and didn’t change his stack much. J at the next table reads his straight flush as a small flush and folds to a huge river AI bet (it was the nut flush). Down $600. =(

Intermission: P and his friends go home. MZ, J, George (who just got in with us) and I are sorta bummed. We try to have some fun in the town, but it got late and sketchy, so we decide to sleep and call it quits tomorrow. This was the end and we should cut our losses right there.

Session 5: when I woke up, I realize a few things I already knew:

1) I don’t think I was playing badly. As a whole, I don’t think we were playing badly.

2) I didn’t tilt, and I was not going to tilt.

3) Cash poker is one long game. Why should I be scared and quit now?

This was my birthday weekend, my time to be wiser, my time to make the correct decisions. I fucking call a pep rally and saying we cannot end on the note that was last night. I hear badass Gladiator music in my head and bring the troops to the Taj for one last battle. At the cashier, we shout our battlecry in unison: “THIS IS TAAAAAAAJ!” and MUTHAFUCKING CASH IN THREE STACKS OF LOW SOCIETY.

Okay we don’t really shout, but you get the point. A few hands in, this happens:

I’m pretty aggressive here, been taking down uncontested pots. I have ATs in the cutoff, so I raise 2 limpers to 10 and get 1 caller from a huge stack. Flop comes AcJTc rainbow. Jackpot. he checks, I bet 15, he calls. Pot now 50.
Turn comes a 7 or whatever. He checks, I bet 40, he calls. Pot now 130.
River comes a Kc. He shoves for about 200.

I don’t think this is necessarily an instafold, so I think about it and fold. I try to keep up some solid play, and later I call a huge bet from the same guy on the river with top pair no kicker (again, weird betting pattern) and get revenge. Phantom Paul is rolling in his grave seeing me make another hero call, but at least I got lucky and was 2 for 2. +$450.

So in total, I was (not counting rake) -260 + 870 – 500 – 600 + 450 ~ -40. There was also hotel and food and that kinda cost so it was a -value trip.

But money was not the important part, the experience was. Game-wise, I learned to adjust to live casino FR play (I’m used to 6max) . Friend-wise, my boys were awesome and we had a lot of fun, especially since we don’t see each other at all during the year. We all learned a bit about poker and about life – you totally meet all kinds of people at the casino.

There was the nice lady at J’s right on the final table who basically told him to make correct plays against her, like telling him to fold and then showing her hand honestly. There was the silent old man to my left who called down everything, sighed when he loses or gets outdrawn, and just kept reloading for 100 or 200 more until we took all of his money. There was the table coach (at several of my tables) who eventually saw his money given to the other players through his “more correct” play. Poker is just a microcosm of social aggression and defense.

But this is not just poker, this is also the casino. When I walk outside for fresh air and see the brooding town with its run-down buildings and unhappy people (maybe because of the casinos?) and go back into the casinos filled with sparkling light, beauty, and wholesomeness, I get a bit wiser – enough to make me 21, I suppose.

-Yan

P.S.: biggest casino FR adjustments:

1) people really respect bets/raises, and people don’t pay attention. This can actually be exploited by betting less on bluffs, something that online players catch on, if not immediately then over the long run with PT and such.

2) People as a whole had no concept of position, stack sizes, etc. People will donk a ton and minraise a ton. Minraises are usually a sign of polarized hand strength, and almost never a TP type of hand.

3) I’d say about 50% of players are weak-tight, 40% of players are weak-loose, 10% of players are tight-semi-aggressive (in that I think they don’t think beyond a flop cbet or a river bluff against extreme weakness, and they bet small. But they win this game). I saw only one other player who went anything close to LAG, and one nut peddler who have only shown down flopped sets or boats for a really long session (and doing things like folding AJo in LP with a couple of limpers, which I think is really too much on the tight side for a passive table).