wanderer

It is a great fun to read bio. Sometimes a person's true story is more stunning than drama. It is an inspirational experience. Occasionally it is dissouraging, too, since you would find the hero has overperformed in many ways, achieved so much compared with your own depreciating ego. Overall it is positive to have somebody on the high ground that you can look up. This is the reason I like to have 'Shark's tale' section here to take notes of those fanscinating stories and people (It has been terribly agaisnt prodcutive over there, I figured I needed effort doing search and research to have an accurate profile, but I am too lazy to be serious on that).

Now here comes the new entry, Nathan Myhrvold, the ex Microsoft Chief Technology Officer, acclaimed computer in Renaissance man. He made news this week because of his greed. He formed a company which amasses more than 20 thousand of patents ranging from lasers to computer chips, in the pursuit of license fees from all the tech companies. A few more steps of seraches revealed that Nathan was a prodigy, starting his college at age of 14, has been involved in math, physics and other subjects, published academic paper in  Science, Nature, Palentology, Physicial Review (oh, boy!). After he made his fortune at Microsoft, he started to dabble on things he loves, collecting dianasour bones, digitializing the image of the Easter Island giant stone statures, funding projects to find exteritrial lifes and even food processor.  He set up a huge lab in Bellevue, Washington to explore his wacky ideas. And, he is top-notch photographer!  

I believe Nathan can be a dream figure to many science and engieering guys. It can't be better than that if you are carefree to explore something that engendered from a child's curious mind. You have no worry of job security, don't care about the financial crisis. You can just be a biggest nerd as you want. Nathan is plain looking, his voice is a bit high-pitcced, in another word, not so manly attactive. But he is one of the coolest guys in my pinhole-like perspective. Life is a drag at a certain moment, I need Nathan and the like to spice my spirit.

I was passing the city of Chicago last Friday, crawling on the super jammed highway. My testy movement of flipping the radio station finally stopped at a talk show by National Public Radio, NPR. It's an interview the host had had with a guy, who was an Ethiopia refugee, talking about his childhood and his father. Being from a refugee family with no money and no knowledge of English, he recalled how hard the life was and how ambarassing it was when he went out with his father, since his father would shouted out his name in public through his lungs, for fear of losing sight of him, a 7-year old boy. He tried to dodge this kind of unpleasant event in shopping mall, church, or basketball court until after he became a teenager, went back to Ethiopia and found his father, a doctor, was a huge hero in the village. He had a second angle looking at his gaunt father figure who could only work as a custodian and sometimes hardly keep the job. This trip drew him closer to his father, emotionally. Later his father was killed in a car accident while riding a bike, he lost his chance to strengthen and deepen their attachment.

Honestly, the story per se was not exciting story. What interested me was the feeling that you know someone by his/her voice prior to seeing his/her appearance. Based on the narration, I pictured a sterotype of a black immigrant out of Africa, suffering the childhood hardship and struggling to identify himself in a free world like America. But his voice disclosed otherwise. His accent was totally American, typical tone and phrasing of college kids. And the attitude between the tones was more like a previliged white boy talking about unparallel grow-up pain or joy. It showed an unmistakable loftiness of being an American. It left me wonder how dramatic an educational system can shape a person, or, a raw talent.

That being in mind, I searched the web after I got back home and knew his full name was Mawi Asgedom, 27 years old, a Harvard graduate of numerous awards and gave the graduation speech by then, wrote two books about self-motivation, had been on Oprah Show---an indicator of being famous, and devoted on helping teenagers grow successfully and inspirationally.

In a sense he is sucessful. He's living in an American dream that few of his similar-background peers has ever been close; In another, he is excelllent in taking the advantage of what he could've been pursued by effort, got into education to prevail, blended in, thinking the way his fellow students were thinking, he's got the raw talent in that regard; In another other sense, though, I feel how crucial the external opportunity it would be in order not to let the gem buried in the dirt. There are 1.3 billion people in China, for example. Maybe the chance is slim to find the next Bill Gates or Mark Zuckerberg in remote technologically challenged provinces, but given the fair chance, the possibility of finding new generation of Einstein, or Mozart, or Maradona, is not negligible. To the least, a motivational speaker is not that rare. There is huge contrast between mediocre and excellence, part of the huge difference lies in the lack of opportunity; Mawi is a good example for oppotunist, even I don't call him someone's role model of a sort. 

I have a doctor friend who has done hundreds of breast cancer surgery. He stays active in breast cancer research. But he is a heavy smoker, which disgusts his son and wife. He should be a hard liquor aficionado, too, since he tells me some stories about the memorable drinking binge parties. I ask him why he is maintaining these sin pleasures for health-conscious professionals like doctors, he smiles and calmly lays out his theory, 'I think God has arranged everyone's fate and destination. If God decides that I would have lung cancer, I would have, no matter I smoke or not. And you are doomed even a single one cancerous cell is found in your body. So I just enjoy what I can have.'

I don't know what to label his attitude toward life, self-indulgent, pessimistic, optimistic or cop-out. But I learned from one incident that he shouldn't be a role model to me. That was after a party two months ago. I had too many shots of tequila and rum and vodka. After I back to work, somehow I felt there's a swelling feeling on the upper right part of my abdomen, press it, there's a pain. Hmm, that's new. Let me hang on for a while to see if it is there. It was a few days later. Okay, I think there's something alien inside my body which I haven't expelled, let me try my most defensive weapons. So I quit the occasional beer, I ran more rigorously than before, it felt good after I sweated like falling into water. 'I'm a strong man, I'm fit and healthy.' I said to myself.

But the odd feeling stayed and seemed to spread into lower right part. I had this murky notion in mind that this alien thing might be something malicious, something not within my self defense. Why do I feel the tinge in my arms, is it normal? What else is unusual? Hmm, I ate a little more---that shouldn't be a problem; I feel like slacking in the afternoon---wait, that's not about physical but mental. Seeing a doctor is a rare experience to me but I think I have to do it now. It turns out American medicare system has a tough test on my low level of patience. As a new patient I have to wait for a month to see the doctor after I sign with him, which I just did. I was suggested to go to ER by the secretary. This is bull, I know. As long as you are not dying in a few minutes, ER will keep you waiting for hours before a simple check or operation, that's my experience on a finger joint dislocation. Later I contacted my insurance company, a registered nurse on the phone carefully investigated my symptoms, adviced me to 'quit coffee and spicy food for a few days, if nothing changes, go to ER...' ('I hate ER.') 'Okay, there's urgent care, you can go there', and needed to pay this this amount of money.

This self-saving trick didn't work, either. So I walked in a urgent care clinic. Finally I can talk to a doctor in person now, I thought. First the reciptionist at the counter asked me 300 questions with a caring voice, in the end demanded a credit card for the payment. Then I was led to a place, 10 minutes later, Todd, a registered nurse with his name sewed on his coat, stepped in and started to ask me questions. Before I finished my no. 32 answers, Todd interrupted me, 'I believe you have apendicitis.' 'Really? how sure are you? we haven't done any test yet." 'Well, by my experience I think it is. I suggest you to go to ER for the surgery.' 'Can I at least do some test to make sure it is appendicitis? like a blood test, or sonogram?' 'We can't do either of them. You have to go to ER to do that.' Todd fell exactly into my biased sterotype of those crappy parameds, plus he has a red neck. I insisted to see a doctor when he was about to close my case. With a little grumble he led me to a room with a door, I waited for another 10 min., then came Dr. Bahtajikasutpangoa. After routine Q/As, he pressed his fingers on my suspected spots and questioned me, 'You have gall bladder problem, my friend.' the doctor declared, 'I'm going to give you prescriptions and you take it as instructed. but in case you have back pain, go to ER immediately. Ask them to have sonogram check first.'

But I lost quite some dose of faith in the urgent care, didn't expect too much the real doctor appointment, which is now two weeks forward. I skipped the prescriptions. Placebo doesn't work if you don't bother to believe it. I just hoped this darn thing would be gone unnoticed as the way it came. I quit coffee, tea and beer completely, I worked out regularly and monitorred any abnormal sign. Nothing beyond the abdomen quirk, I figured I might have trouble in stomach, or gall blader, or appendicitis, or liver or pancrea. 'Your body is a wonderland...', John Mayor sings to a girl, I sang it to myself.

News stroke. The courageous Carnegie Mellon professor Randy Pausch died from pancreatic cancer.  It not only damped my mood, but also added my angst and suspicion. Rumor has it that Apple's top guy Steve Jobs were severely ill, or simply dying. Mr. Jobs is such a rare case of pancrea cancer survivor back a few years ago. More tangible story around me also spread, a colleague of my friend, a reticent Russian old man, diagnosed pancreatic cancer on June 12, after only about fourty days, he is gone. This news almost sent me into panic. Where is pancrea exactly at? left belly or right? what is it for? I looked up  the web for the basic knowledge and search for the symptoms for this horrendous human nemesis. Nausea or vomit: No; anorexia and weight loss: absolutely no; brownish and floating stool: No;  yellowish skin: man, I'm Asian, I always look like that; back pain: oh, no wonder they always asked that question. No, I don't have. So on and on, It seems hardly I matched any of those. So I'm livable? Two days ago, I was thinking of the cancellation of the doctor appointment, now I couldn't be more anxious to look forward to it. 

Finally the time to see my primary doctor came. I must be walking his office with a pair glum eyes, because Dr. Fu looked at and talked to me like a dad. He was super amiable, he made jokes here and there, in the end I couldn't help but laughing out. I knew he did that on purpose. The prior chill, sick odor and cranky doctor's office was brougt back some humane touch and breath by Dr. Fu. I appreciated his insight to a patient's worry at the first time meeting. Once again, he asked some odd and unncessary questions: where were you before you came to this city? who are you siblings?---Does that have anything to do with my abdomen pain? I know you medical practitioners are all gossip seekers in a term. No doubt it was a much more pleasant chat, Dr. Fu assured me by and large I was okay, I had excessive gastric acid secretion that subsequently affected the functionality of liver and gall bladder. He would give me a medicine for one month to cure the cause. To make sure his judge is sound, he prescribed me to do blood test and sonogram and chest X-ray. Never before had I seen so many humans in scrub to my own benefit. The reports were mailed to me a few days later. I got to know I was fine as is.  It never feels so good that you know you are a healthy man.

I don' t know how God arranges my life, but I do know I don't want to live a life with worries of the most fundamental thing. My body is a wonderland to me, I shouldn't be abusing it.

Sarah Palin, John McCain's running mate pick, has been on spotlight since her name surfaced a week ago. After her speech at Republic National Convention wednesday night, she was the media darling and potentially became a decisive factor that determines the final result in Nov. nytimes.com posted excerpts of her speech before she actually started. One thing amazing is the en masse herding effect for general people, everyone is praising her, growing the fond of her. But the truth is the speech was written by Matthew Scully, Bush's long time speech writer. Palin has been doing rehearsal for the speech over several days, It is simply akin to a show you are acting in front of your own clan, the Republic delegates. Okay, the teleprompter malfunctioned in the middle of the speech, she did deliver some ad lib jest, but one speech is hardly impressive enough to substantiate the credentials to assist to run a big country like the US for Mrs. Palin, the govenor of state of Alaska, whose total popluation is less than the city of San Jose. It'll be interesting to see how Mrs. Palin performs when she was in the VP debate with Joe Biden.

Politics is a game with the most massive followers in the US. And it has consequence.
the hightlight of the game is the subject giving the speech,  the player who has the most appealing talk, who shows the most accoutable prior history wins. So the game is like selling a product, the candidate has to find the best way to attract the most possible customer and adjust the strategy according to the market vairation. Politics is also a show, the media serve as the critics. The players have to cooperate with all sorts of journalism but not get trapped by their influence or get caught (like Eliot Spitzer).  Sometimes the show is wonderful. By comparison, politics in China is a game as well, but a highly insular one. The player rarely gives public speech, that is why CCP officials all talk in an exceedingly annoying, slow-paced, patronizing, hokey way, because they are trying the hardest to separate themselves from general public. Since the game is not open, all the game plan, strategy and power tug of war ended in ancedotes memoir or unofficial history after the events have long been dust down.

Politics is not a show in China.