Holiday Party, 2007

Eileen, Curt, and Wing:
Curt roasts some retirees.

As predicted, this year’s holiday party shrunk to about 60 revelers. We showed off our renovated office to retirees who arrived early, then walked to the Americano Restaurant a couple of blocks away. The Americano, whose outdoor terrace is across the street from the Bay, is another beneficiary of the 1989 earthquake that demolished the concrete Embarcadero freeway. Dressed in our Christmas finery and sipping champagne, we were able to enjoy the views on the cool, breezeless day.

I sat next to a retired Exec VP who is teaching, volunteering, and traveling. He had resumed violin-playing after a decades-long hiatus and inquired whether I had done the same. No, but maybe that’s something I will do in my second act. (In the ‘90’s I borrowed an instrument to scrape away at a couple of holiday parties.) I was surprised that he remembered those moments. As for my remembrances of working with him, let’s just say that he was certainly a lot nicer now.

Melanie, Kathy, and Bartay
Too bad there was no mistletoe.

In fact everyone was a lot nicer. Those of us who are left enjoy working together, and with the turnover and shedding of businesses over the past decade we all were cognizant that our time together is short.

Another retiree flaunted her three-carat diamond ring and talked about the new German car she just bought. Her sleek black dress showed that the regimen of cruises didn’t hurt her figure, and her face was wrinkle-free. Bring on that second act!

© 2007 Stephen Yuen

Not Impartial Enough

Yesterday I came the closest that I've ever been to being selected for a jury. In three previous occasions I'd never made it past the assembly room, in which 50-60 citizens out of one hundred are randomly selected to go up to the courtroom for further winnowing. This jury would be hearing a criminal case involving narcotics, and the judge estimated that the trial could last until Christmas.

The first day (Tuesday) was devoted to listening to my fellow citizens plead "extreme hardship". The excuses that worked were: childcare problems, loss of income if the prospective juror was the sole source in the household, and planned vacations. Marginal cases were let off if the individual's thick accent indicated that he or she would have difficulty following the proceedings.

On the second day the conversations were of a more philosophical bent. Both sets of lawyers inquired about our biases---whether the defendant's proficiency in English would incline us toward a guilty or not-guilty verdict, whether we would give more credence to the testimony of a police officer, whether our personal experience or that of our close friends and relatives with drugs would incline us in either direction. Juror selection seemed to be a combination of an academic discussion and a job interview, so if one had the time I suppose one could be engaged by the process. To those on a schedule it was tedious and too much hair-splitting.

At the end of the day the defense exercised its right of peremptory challenge and excused me. My guess is that it was because I have a close relative in law enforcement. I would not have been impartial enough. © 2007 Stephen Yuen

Secretly Pleased

No one in his classroom wanted to participate in San Mateo High School’s annual Food Drive, but the youngster promised one of the student organizers that he would help. And so it was that on the weekend before last the youngster and his mother stood outside the Foster City Lucky’s to hand out flyers and collect canned food and money for the Second Harvest Food Bank and Samaritan House.

About one in five patrons dropped cans in the basket on the way out. A few kindly souls gave him a shopping bag’s worth.

We packed the donations--about 300 pounds of food--into the van and carried them to the school. His classmates were happy to help unload. We hoped that one or two would be inspired by his example, but even if that turned out not to be, we were secretly pleased that he was doing the right thing.

I handed him a check. Dollars to Samaritan House and Second Harvest will go farther than at some other institutions. © 2007 Stephen Yuen

"Enchanted" - A Review

The passing years have rubbed away the youthful cynicism, and I fear that my true self, a maudlin sentimentalist, is emerging. How else to explain my enjoyment of Enchanted, the latest piece of holiday fluff from Disney?

A half-century or more after the releases of Snow White, Cinderella and Sleeping Beauty, Enchanted first celebrates then gently makes fun of the conventions of the genre when the protagonists of a fairy-tale world are thrust into the urban jungle that is contemporary New York.

The movie opens in animated Andalasia. The song of humble Giselle is overheard by the passing Prince Edward, who immediately proposes marriage. His evil (we know this because she’s dressed in black) stepmother Narissa uses magic to cast Giselle out of Andalasia into live-action Manhattan.

When the innocent princess-to-be walks the streets of New York at night, her encounters are unfortunate—but not calamitously so since this is a PG-rated Disney movie. She’s rescued by world-weary divorce lawyer Robert, who gives her a temporary place to sleep. In a non-Disney movie the audience would question Robert’s motives, but that question is immediately put to bed because Robert is a single parent with a six-year-old daughter Morgan, whose presence requires him to be on his best behavior. Morgan also is the only one that sees that Giselle really is a princess and not merely another sad delusional in need of medication.

Meanwhile Prince Edward leaves Andalasia to find Giselle, followed by the stepmother’s henchman Nathaniel, and finally Narissa herself. (For a complete synopsis with spoilers, see Wikipedia’s entry.) While there are several story threads, the main plot line is
obvious: will Giselle choose her fairy-tale Prince Edward or real-world divorce lawyer Robert?

Enchanted can be enjoyed at several levels. It’s a musical with some elaborate song-and-dance numbers, and Amy Adams plays Giselle “big” with extravagant emotions and gestures appropriate for the stage. It’s got special effects, including all too real (and disgusting) depictions of vermin and cockroaches, and a nearly seamless overlay of live action with animation. It’s got humor and a feminist view that’s not hard to spot: Giselle is the strongest character against James Marsden’s buffoonish Edward and Patrick Dempsey’s jaded Robert.

And if you’re looking for deeper themes, they’re present as well. What if we’ve dreamt of being a princess all our lives and suspect at the last minute that the dream is not what’s best for us or what we really want? How easily may we dismiss others’ expectations in the pursuit of our own desires?

But this is still a fairy tale, after all. The plot lines are tied up, and everyone except the evil stepmother lives happily ever after. Just the way I, and millions of others, like it. © 2007 Stephen Yuen

More Than A Fender

The quiet in our neighborhood this morning was shattered by a crash and the incessant blaring of a damaged SUV's horn. Fortunately, no one was hurt.

Mother Knows Best

Divorce creates more households. Because more households generate more greenhouse gases, divorce is bad for the planet. Hey, human existence is bad for the planet. I can get rid of my lawn, which uses water, fertilizer, and pesticides, I can bike to the train station, I can become a vegetarian and reduce the demand for bovine methane factories, but I still have to breathe, don’t I? CO2---the new original sin.

Staying married because you promised God that you would is passé. Do it for Mother Earth.

A Fool and His Money

My investment record is littered with emotional decisions and bad choices. But once in a while, just as in golf, I make a good shot and continue to delude myself into thinking that maybe, just maybe, I’ve got some talent and that the future will be better than the past.

One of my successes has been to invest in overseas mutual funds a few years ago. They’ve been generating spectacular returns (over 20% per year). Not only have foreign company stocks been performing well when viewed against their home currencies, the returns have been turbocharged because those currencies have strengthened dramatically against the dollar.

But I sense the dollar has moved too far down, too fast, especially against the euro. So on November 20th, I shaved my foreign holdings in favor of good old American stocks and bonds.

Last February I wrote:

Stock market bottoms are reached when years of decline, interrupted by dead-cat bounces that raise false hopes, cause even the most optimistic bulls finally to throw in the towel. When everyone wants out, that’s the time to get in. If it were a stock, it would be time to buy Iraq.

That call was a little early, but I’m getting the same vibe about the dollar.

Kicking Off the Pacific Century

There's only one major college football team who remains undefeated. They've never been this close to a national championship bid, much less the Top Ten. As this sportswriter asks, "Why Not Hawaii?"

Worth the Effort

It was the day before Thanksgiving, and the traffic reports from the East Bay were discouraging. Highways 80, 880, 580, and 680 were rife with accidents and stalls, so the road to San Diego this weekend led south to San Jose.

Unless they’re sightseeing along Hwy 101, most LA-bound travelers from the South Bay cut east on Hwy 152, the Pacheco Pass Road south of Gilroy, to the speedier Hwy 5. On Wednesday the single-lane road was partially under construction and packed with big rigs. The journey to the Hwy 5 on-ramp took us four hours when it normally takes two. Not a promising start to the long weekend.

The rest of our journey passed without incident, and we averaged about 70 mph on the moderately crowded freeway. North of LA the traffic coming toward us was bumper to bumper and noticeably slower. They work and live in Southern California but don’t recreate there.

We unloaded the car at midnight and greeted our student happily. Thanksgiving should be spent with family. It was worth the effort.

Thanksgiving morning, near the UCSD campus.

Happy Thanksgiving

Philosopher-mathematician Bertrand Russell said that human happiness consisted of four ingredients: health, freedom from material want, warm personal relations, and successful work. On this Thanksgiving Day there is currently no pressing concern in any of these areas, and, in accordance with Lord Russell’s formula, in my daily life I am reasonably happy.

Regarding disappointments, I have only myself to blame. I wish that I exercised more, that I made better investment decisions, that I was a more giving and communicative friend, and that I was better at self-promotion so that my outstanding abilities would be more recognized at work (:>). But there’s still time to correct these mistakes.

On this Thanksgiving Day, I remember those who are gone and am reminded that life itself is the greatest gift. Living near one of the most beautiful cities in the world is just icing on the cake. As you reflect upon your own life, may you be blessed with a similar attitude of gratitude. © 2007 Stephen Yuen

To Honor A Hero

After the game (previous post below) we retired to the San Mateo High quadrangle, where the class of 1957 hosted a barbecue for all comers. But the occasion was much more than a 50th reunion. We were there to witness the presentation of a wrought iron bench to honor '57 graduate Paul Foster.

The high school choir sang an a capella rendition of the Star Spangled Banner as we stood at attention. Poised and harmonious, the choir with their perfect intonation hushed the crowd. As the rains came, speaker after speaker rose to reminisce about Paul Foster. A Marine honor guard stood stoically through the downpour, and none of us dared do less. Paul was a quiet youth who grew up a few miles from San Mateo High. He had a mischievous streak with his friends but was shy around girls. After high school he enlisted in the Marines and went to Vietnam.

[From his citation]
In the early morning hours the 2d Battalion was occupying a defensive position which protected a bridge on the road leading from Con Thien to Cam Lo. Suddenly, the marines' position came under a heavy volume of mortar and artillery fire, followed by an aggressive enemy ground assault. In the ensuing engagement, the hostile force penetrated the perimeter and brought a heavy concentration of small arms, automatic weapons, and rocket fire to bear on the battalion command post. Although his position in the fire support coordination center was dangerously exposed to enemy fire and he was wounded when an enemy hand grenade exploded near his position, Sgt. Foster resolutely continued to direct accurate mortar and artillery fire on the advancing North Vietnamese troops.

As the attack continued, a hand grenade landed in the midst of Sgt. Foster and his 5 companions. Realizing the danger, he shouted a warning, threw his armored vest over the grenade, and unhesitatingly placed his body over the armored vest. When the grenade exploded, Sgt. Foster absorbed the entire blast with his body and was mortally wounded. His heroic actions undoubtedly saved his comrades from further injury or possible death.

Sgt. Foster's courage, extraordinary heroism, and unfaltering devotion to duty reflected great credit upon himself and the Marine Corps and upheld the highest traditions of the U.S. Naval Service. He gallantly gave his life for his country.

Paul Foster was awarded the Congressional Medal of Honor in 1969.

Ted Seweloh and Principal Yvonne Shiu unveil the 1957 class gift.

Little Big Game, 2007

Little Big Game

One drawback of globalization is the paving over of regional distinctions. WalMart demolishes Mom-and-Pop grocery stores, IHOP closes the corner diner, and Borders makes the independent bookseller a fading memory.

A more insidious phenomenon is the derogation of the local hero. In every area of endeavor the best in the world, maybe the best there ever was, is but a mouseclick away. Why should we attend a cello recital when we can tune in to Yo-Yo Ma? Shooting par golf doesn’t mean much when we can watch Tiger regularly belt 300-yard drives.

High school football was “the” weekend event before the NFL blanketed the country with live telecasts. Some high school games in my hometown attracted sellouts of 25,000 at the old stadium. It was also a time when everyone watched only three channels on TV; the old gang has broken up and we’ll never assemble those crowds or that passion again.

At the little big game last Saturday between the Burlingame Panthers and the San Mateo Bearcats a noisy gathering of about 2,000 students, alumni, and parents cheered the combatants. Burlingame High won easily, 42-10, on San Mateo’s home field, but neither team was going to the playoffs and it was difficult for an uninterested parent to be invested in the outcome.

Halftime at the Little Big Game

I asked the youngster how he felt about the game, given the Bearcats’ shellacking and jeers from the Panthers’ rooting section. He was hoarse from cheering and smiled. He had enjoyed the camaraderie and knew that a high school football game wasn’t a matter of life and death. Youthful passion can be wonderful, but perspective is better. Maybe he’s grown up a bit since the last time. © 2007 Stephen Yuen

The Year of the Pig

The lobster tail is featured on weekends.

Buffet restaurants appeal to my worst instincts. When gluttony wars against self-control, self-control is the loser, and I’ve learned not to go near all-you-can-eat joints. But the laws of the universe are suspended on one’s birthday, so after a four-year hiatus I revisited Todai in Daly City. (The clincher to the decision was Todai’s offer of a free meal--photo ID required—on one’s birthday. Gluttony and greed--two deadly sins to which I still easily succumb.)

On the first plate I heaped piles of sushi and sashimi, while on the second I grabbed a generous helping of steak and crab. My digestive system was strained to the breaking point, but the pastry bar sang its siren song. Assorted cakes and chocolates pushed the body mass needle into the red zone. It was only early November, but I was fortified for the winter. © 2007 Stephen Yuen

Time to Join the Party

The under-30’s are all logged in to social networking sites, so it was time for me to join the party. It took but a minute to register with Facebook and summarize my life on the equivalent of a 3x5 postcard. Rejecting a more flattering photograph from 20 years ago, I decided to upload a recent snapshot. I’m not looking for a lot of new “friends” or trolling for dates. Yes, Gramps, that’ll keep the kids away.

After setting up the page, I was immediately filled with remorse (not buyer’s remorse because registration is free). I have enough trouble maintaining human contact with the flesh-and-blood friends whom I do have and certainly don’t have time to “poke” new ones (no, I don’t know what that means in Facebook-ese, and it’s another sign of civilization’s decline if teens are using that term indiscriminately.)

So I’ve kept a very low profile and not sent invitations for strangers to be my friend, and so far no one wants to be mine (sniff). But that’s okay, as I tell my kids, it’s their loss.

Here are links to a couple of older generation Facebook newbies who describe their experiences. They actually find Facebook to be useful and like it. © 2007 Stephen Yuen

The Right Way

Last week started by confronting long-running thorny tasks that resisted completion---crafting a presentation on a structured investment vehicle and evaluating several speculative equipment purchases that will span a number of years. Adding to the obstacles was the fact that we’ve had some turnover in our senior management, and not all the new players are familiar with how we arrived at our current analytical approaches. Many issues raised in recent management meetings had already been deliberated and decided in the past, but there’s a new generation to educate and we’ve had to retrace our steps over old ground.

Sometimes there’s no alternative but to “go into the tank”, as one of my college friends used to say, and power through projects. There were some hiccups mid-week over some esoteric problems that were likely never to surface, and it was enormously tempting to let them slide. But noontime walks in the San Francisco sun stiffened the resolve, so I spent a few more hours finishing the projects the right way.

On Friday the group heaved a collective sigh and celebrated the (successful) completion of a trying week with margaritas at Chevy’s. It was also my birthday, and I was happy to lift a glass to another spin around the sun. The passage of time is no longer a source of dread; I’m another year closer to getting back from Social Security what I’ve been putting in for decades and I’ve earned another year’s credits in my employer’s retirement and benefits plan.

Chevy's pupu plates are $3 each during happy hour.

The evening Cal Train was uncrowded and quiet, ideal for decompressing, and the margaritas provided a pleasing afterglow. I’ve been working all my life toward the golden years, but maybe, just maybe, they’ve already arrived and I just haven’t noticed. © 2007 Stephen Yuen