I Love Islands

Last night, my boyfriend took me out to dinner in San Francisco. We go out to dinner often, but what made this particular night unique was the restaurant. He refused to tell me what the name of the restaurant was, but when we arrived at the pier, I assumed we were going to the Hard Rock Cafe. When we walked right past it and down toward the water, I was confused. My boyfriend was headed for a small gray telephone located at the end of a long dock, right at the water’s edge. He used the phone to summon a shuttle boat. I had no idea what was going on, and at this point I imagined we were going to have dinner in the middle of San Francisco Bay. Surprisingly, my assumption turned out to be correct. The boat took us to a small island, and as the wind blew, the palm trees weren’t the only things moving; the entire piece of land was moving. I found out later that this was because Forbes Island is a man-made, floating island.

We dined next to a huge fireplace in an underwater dining room with small portholes all around, which offered incredible views of the bay, all beneath the water’s surface. The menus were quite brief and exclusive, lacking many options. Nevertheless, the food was incredible. After dinner, we walked up an antique, spiral staircase to the top of the lighthouse. From there, we could see the entire bay, the Golden Gate Bridge, Alcatraz, even the huge skyscrapers located in Downtown San Francisco.

I was shocked that I had gone to the pier so many times and never noticed this floating island restaurant. This might be due to the fact that it was originally built in Sausalito, by a millionaire houseboat designer to be his own, private floating home. The island was moved later to its recent location at the pier in San Francisco. The experience was utterly amazing and I can’t wait to go back, perhaps for Christmas, when lights will shine all over the city. Although somewhat pricy, it's my duty to recommend this place to anyone looking for something entirely new to try.

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Different Cultures, Different Views

The reason I am submitting my blog so late is because our house guests just left. My uncle arrived from Germany two nights ago, and my mom threw a dinner party for him tonight. Having him here made me realize that cultural differences can cause significant problems. Apparently, Germans don't like a lot of noise. They enjoy relaxed, slow-paced environments. Unfortunately, my family is loud and my mom enjoys having guests over.

My uncle came to our house under the impression that he would be having dinner with my family and my grandparents. My mom, however, had her own agenda. She had invited fifteen of our closest cousins. I caught my uncle literally plugging his ears maybe ten times during dinner. One of my cousins thought he was rude because when she asked him a question he answered with "yah" instead of "yes". I explained to her that his answer was not a reflection of his personality, but could be attributed instead to a difference in dialect.

After all of the guests finally left, my uncle told me that Americans are strange because they favor those who agree with them, while Germans feel that someone who disagrees with them is displaying signs of respect and interest. He maintained that Germans enjoy engaging in conversations where the parties don’t necessarily agree, while Americans enjoy chatting mutually about a subject. Thus, he viewed the American as nice, but boring, and my cousin, who was born in America, viewed him as rude.

I believe that in order to have transnational acceptance, the domestic individual should assume that cultural differences exist rather than placing the blame on the foreigner's personality, or lack of. At the same time, I believe that the foreigner should make a greater effort to adapt to the new environment, and assimilate into that environment's culture. At this point, it's my duty to stop typing because I am exhausted and I have to get some sleep.

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One Very Long Night

Initially, I had planned to submit my blog entry last night, after I arrived home from a Pi Sigma Alpha meeting. However, I ended up spending most of the evening in the hospital emergency room. Thankfully, I wasn’t experiencing a fatal or even very serious problem. In fact, the pain I had could be characterized as minor, but it was late, and the hospital was the only place I could turn to for any kind of medical attention. When the meeting ended, I felt fine; I was even rushing on to get to my car because I wanted to stop by the mall for a pair of shoes before it closed. I had undergone a difficult week and, as crazy as this may sound, spending a ridiculous amount of money on a pair of designer stilettos is my form of therapy. As soon as I pulled onto the freeway to go to the mall, I felt a sharp pain running up and down my entire right arm. I immediately held the steering wheel with my left hand and drove home.

When I reached my house, I told my sister what happened. My sister is currently studying to be a registered nurse so she is somewhat familiar with how the human body works. She suggested that I go to the hospital so they could give me an injection, referred to by the medical community as a “relaxant”. She believed that the muscles in the upper portion of my right arm had become too tense, so I needed a relaxant to loosen them up. I believed that she didn’t know what she was talking about, but the pain had become unbearable, so I took her advice, and she took me to Good Samaritan Hospital. As we waited in the emergency room, I was grateful that it was my right arm, and not my left that was in pain. I am left handed, and I would have been unable to fill out the massive packets of forms the medical assistant at the front desk had handed me.

Filling out all of the necessary paperwork led me to contemplate how much this whole thing was going to cost me. I recalled my cousin who was recently brought to the hospital after a mixture of prescription pills resulted in a negative reaction to her nervous system. She had fainted at work and someone called an ambulance to take her to the hospital. A couple of weeks later, she received a bill for $3,000.00 just for the seven minute ambulance ride. She didn’t understand why she had to pay for the ambulance, because she argued that she wasn’t the one who called for it. The medical assistant assured me that my insurance company would take care of most of the charges. After I received my injection, which the doctor administered directly to the area where I was experiencing the most pain, I left the hospital. During the drive home, my arm felt completely numb. The feeling even lasted until a couple of hours ago. Currently, the numbness has been replaced by an awkward, tingly feeling. Although I had hoped to go into more detail about my vast fear of shots and about how scary it was to actually have a needle stuck inside my arm, it’s my duty to end this blog entry, because throughout this blog session, it has become increasingly difficult to type with one hand. Perhaps I’ll further discuss my fear next week.

photo credit: http://www.statehousereport.com/images/cartoons/06.0824cartoon_large.jpg

It's My Duty To Learn A New Language

I have been so busy this past week that I have not been able to spend any time with my family, even though I live at home with them. This morning, when I woke up, my sister suggested that we go get our nails done together. I told her that it was a great idea and I would meet her at the nail salon across the street from our house, but she had her own agenda. My sister works for Washington Mutual and her branch recently ran a contest that divided the employees into teams on the basis of gender. If the female employees reached a certain goal set by the management, with regards to how many checking accounts and credit cards they opened up, the male manager would pay for them to get pedicures. If the male employees reached that goal, they were awarded a set number of hours at a driving range at the expense of the female assistant manager. The ladies won, and they all went to a nail salon after work one day. My sister liked the salon so much that she wanted to go back there, and since I didn’t know how to get there, she asked me to meet her at home so she could take me (I have no sense of direction).

So we finally arrived at Lovely Nail in downtown Saratoga. When I saw the sign, I was somewhat confused. What did they mean by Lovely Nail? Do they only make one of your nails lovely? I quickly forgot about the sign though as soon as we walked in because the salon was beautiful, and the ladies were all very nice. I was immediately aware that they valued customer service because they ran up and asked, “What you like today? Whatever you like we do for you!” We requested two manicures and politely declined their offer for the “manicure & pedicure combo”. I must admit, however, that their persistence made it difficult.

As Annie was filing my nails she attempted to begin a casual conversation with me by asking “You have boyfriend?” to which I replied, “Not yet”. Then she posed her follow-up question “Why you no have boyfriend?” to which I couldn’t come up with an answer without getting too personal. Ironically, when she was done with my nails, all of them looked great except for one. I told her that she needed to file it down more because it looked crooked, but she attributed that crookedness to the shape of my finger. At this point, I decided I would have to be pushy and I asked her again to fix it. As she was fixing my nail, she began speaking in Vietnamese with the other employees. This made me quite uncomfortable because I inevitably assumed that they were talking about me. When she saw the expression on my face she turned to me and said “She say your hair so pretty.” Yeah, right.

Every time I get my nails done and the ladies start speaking Vietnamese, I get the feeling their talking about their customers. Once again, I wished I had taken Vietnamese for my foreign language classes in high school instead of Spanish. Most people know that Spanish is useful these days, but every girl who gets her nails done is conscious of the need to understand Vietnamese. It's my duty to learn that language and then go get my nails done. This task has definitely been placed on my list of things to do before I die.

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