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It is not often that you read familiar names in local news reports. Even less so if the locale itself is one you haven’t lived in for over 6 years.

This is why, when I first came upon a mention, in the SF Chronicle, of a slain college teacher living in Oakland, CA, it did not register much: random acts of violence and the senseless killing of innocent, beloved community members is unfortunately too common an occurrence in Oakland these days, to raise one’s attention…

And then today, while parsing Californian news again, I glanced upon the name of that teacher and realized that, against all odds, I knew him.

Not only did I know Dr. Dennis, but I also personally kept a very fond memory of these two semesters I studied with him. In fact, it was he who gave me a taste for Political Science, to the point of making it my college major the following semester, when I had originally just thought of it as a quick requirement to cross off my list before transferring with a science major.

Out of the very few classes I took at CCSF, “Dr. D” was easily the most striking professor: both as an incredibly smart, witty and engaging teacher and at the same time, obviously dedicated toward helping all students and making sure everybody got their fair chance in the end. I remember his fits of calculated zaniness in the middle of the most serious dissections of US Federal Institution and Constitutional Law. I remember that one time where, upon learning of my odd place of birth, he surprised us all by giving a quick but thorough geo-political recap of that tiny Indian Ocean island most wouldn’t even know where to put on a map, all in impeccable French. More so, I remember how astounded I was, when he concluded by throwing in a couple cheerful comments in perfect Seychellois Creole… I even remember that house of his in Oakland, where he traditionally invited his students for a semester-capping potluck dinner…

I still can’t believe now that his name, of all people, would add itself onto that seemingly unending list of tiresome injustices that is Oakland’s violent crimes reports.

He truly was a good man, in deeds and in inspiration for others. I know he will be missed by a lot.

Good bye Dr. D: may you rest in peace, Oh Zany One…

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My not-so-great hosting company having unilaterally decided to move the cluster my account resides on. This website, and all other websites on my account, as well as email and everything else, will be out of reach for about 8 hours starting at 10pm PST.

This sucks, unfortunately there isn’t much I can do (not like DH bothered offering any temporary hosting elsewhere: just a very helpful “going down tonight, deal with it” announcement).

Back in 24 hours.

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Things I officially cannot — or shouldn’t be able to — do at work without my magic magnetic ID card:

  • Walk past security in the lobby.
  • Get on the elevator to my floor.
  • Go to the bathroom after 7pm.
  • Walk in or out of my office after 9pm
  • Access the building’s gym.
  • Access the lab room and play with my little robot friends.
  • Access the lab room and play Wii Tennis on the lab’s 20 mile-wide plasma screen.

Damn you Big Brother…

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Much drinking and bonding with old Japanese geezers around beer and yakitori in the dark confines of Shinjuku’s seediest Golden Gai and Shouben Yokochou’s 6-seater bars. Learning outrageously offensive Japanese war songs (unfortunately forgetting most of it amidst next day’s hangover).

Going dancing in the middle of Tokyo typhoon #4. In fact a pretty mediocre Dubsteps/Drum’n’Bass party with few dance-friendly melodies and much drug-friendly excruciatingly boring bass lines (god, I hate hardcore Drum’n’Bass). Had fun with friends nonetheless. Woke up to torrential rain, earthquake shakes and some wonders about a possibly upcoming end of the world. BTW, am I the only one to have noticed how often earthquakes seem to occur concurrently with typhoons, no matter how scientifically implausible such a connection sounds? Or am I just high? Or both?

Went and saw a movie at Tokyo’s one and only Lesbian & Gay Film Festival with Eriko. Had pictures taken by the official event photographer of myself mingling at the pre-screening party amidst Eriko and her lesbian friends. Expecting to see them plastered all over next year’s official website, if not before. Not sure how that might help my style with the ladies. Not that I looked gay or anything: I was wearing that very manly embroidered white silken shirt and tight-fitting designer jeans.

House party at Klaus’ with twenty-some attendees, each speaking over 2 or 3 languages, none the same two: nearly sounds like a math problem. Ate Asparagus pizza. Examined the spirit of Japan with drunken Japanese boys. Sorta missed my last train and had to go beg for shelter in the neighbourhood.

Apparently acceptable topics for hairdresser smalltalk in Japan include: how long have you been in Japan, do you like Japanese food, do you like natto. Oh yea, also: what do you think of Japanese girls’ small breasts.

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Because this phase of intense self-absorbed navel-contemplation passing off as thoughtful meditation just isn’t about to end now…

the Good

  • Last week’s blitz-vacations in London were everything I needed (quite possibly a few things I didn’t need too). I unfortunately didn’t have time to travel to the countryside and say hi to the family (hi auntie, sorry I didn’t make it), but I got to catch up with many longtime-not-seen friends, met a few cool new people etc.
  • This week, funding was approved on a research internship I had a applied for, back in February. As a result, I will be spending the Summer in Tokyo, perfecting world domination plans and my army of killer robots at the NII. That is, if I don’t decide to drop out and retreat to a Zen monastery instead. And it is far from excluded at this point.
  • I’m “brilliant”. More to the point: I am no longer the only person in the world to publicly hold that unflinching opinion of myself (see below).

the Bad

  • Being “brilliant”, I am therefore “way too smart to be wasting time on such trivial matters as those affecting my mood and the quality of my work these days”. Sayeth a certain advisor of mine.
  • “Fuck you”, or a somewhat equally disparaging and hardly more articulate variation on the term, may have been my reply to said advisor and coincidentally depositary of a good share of my academic future.
  • Despite today being the first day of final exams week (more like the French equivalent of post-grad quals, actually), I have yet to open a single revision book or prepare for any of it. The cause may lie in aforementioned trivial matters of the heart or, more likely, in the sudden realization that I might be heading the way of that very advisor’s somewhat pathetic, if highly regarded in academic circles, life and career.

the Ugly

  • In fact, for reasons I can’t fully fathom (although there sure are a couple leads to follow), I seem to have caught the academic-self-doubt bug at the most unbecoming time. I honestly don’t think I will act on it, but the fact I can’t bring myself to even find interest, let alone try and revise for those rather important exams, seems a pretty efficient passive-aggressive way to get there nonetheless.
  • Irony of ironies, I think I may have done pretty well today in spite of my utter lack of preparation, which still leaves the question open for the remaining 4 exams I am to take (not to mention, yearly lab project, due next week).

I suppose I still have ten hours (sleep notwithstanding) to acquire a motivation, snort 10g of crushed Red Bull powder and catch up on two weeks worth of revisions.

Will I ? Fuck if I know. Suspense is killing me.