Another one of my theories: We live in a sleep-deprived society that’s slowly killing us.
In the current U.S. business world, the 40-hour working day is a myth. Many really put in the 60–80 hour working days.
These are the kind of people whom executives want—those whom willingly trade in their personal time for their careers. Those that clock out exactly at 5:00 PM are subjected to dirty stares and “What? You’re leaving already?!” comments from their coworkers.
We’re all persuaded by these invisible pressures to work work work. Sleep becomes a distant need, nay, luxury.
Even college students have it this bad. The average college student sleeps only 4-6 hours a night. At least I know I did. Whether the excuse is a heavy study load or party load, the result is the same:
Sleep deprivation
The less sleep we get, the more groggy, anxious, and irritable we get.
When was the last time you had only two hours of sleep and still managed a sweet disposition in the morning?
And if you did, then whoa… I salute you. You freak.
I’m not a morning person in any sense of the word. I need a full night’s rest. If I stay awake too long, I begin to get weird. Sort of like being intoxicated—my inhibitions drop like my eye lids and I start to babble and drone on and on and on and on…
There’s a solution though. Power naps, baby, power naps.
A power nap is a quick nap during the afternoon to recharge your mental batteries. Studies show that power naps can be very effective. And many companies are taking heed of this research and allowing their employees to have midday siestas like other cultures do.
It’s a wonderful thing. I used to do it all the time in college. A nap in my 11:00 PM class here, a nap in my 3:00 PM class there.
Ummm, well, maybe it wasn’t so much the need for a power nap as it was the excitement level of the lectures that induced these impromptu siestas. But hey, they felt good just the same.
And I was so much less groggy, anxious, and irritable back then.
. . .
Are you sleep-deprived too?
I gently touched her neck. My other hand brushed the back of her hair and cradled her head. As I placed my lips over hers, I delicately tilted her head upwards.
I blew into her mouth. Twice. My eyes concentrated on her chest. I watched carefully as her chest rose.
Then I drew back and looked up.
“Good work, Michael.”
I stood up and returned to my seat.
“Only next time, remember to hold her nose when you blow into her mouth.”
“Oh yea, I forgot about that. Okay.”
The instructor nodded and motioned to the guy sitting to my right.
“Okay, Jeff, your turn,” he said as he wiped the dummy’s mouth with an alcohol cleansing pad.
I took a CPR certification class during my junior year of college. They gave me a card to carry around when I finished the class. I was so proud. I walked around for weeks, hoping morbidly that someone would start choking in front of me.
My certification has long since expired—it goes out in one year. And with good reason. I’ve forgotten the proper steps to take during CPR.
I remember a few key points though. I remember that before commencing CPR, first try to assess their condition. Then point to a specific person in the crowd (assuming there’s a crowd around you) and tell him/her to call 911.
For more serious injuries, point to another person and tell him/her to call the fire department. The more different medical services you can contact, the higher the chance that someone will arrive in time.
Pointing to a specific person also ensures that action will be done. If you just yell “Somebody call 911!” there’s a strong possibility that everyone will just stand there, waiting for someone else to do the job.
So I’m sitting here now, going through my old American Red Cross Community First Aid & Safety manual. I’m giving myself a quick refresher course.
After making sure that someone is calling for help, check if the person is conscious or not. If not, check to see if he/she has a pulse. Then check for breathing.
If the person is not breathing nor has a pulse, that’s when you give CPR. If the person does have a pulse, you do a whole other set of procedures.
CPR basically means getting the heart going again.
Here’s a quick crash course in CPR. Please note that I am no longer certified (maybe certifiable, but not certified). This info is strictly for a basic understanding of CPR—if you’d like to know more about this, please check out the links below.
- Find the person’s breastbone. Feel for the notch where the lower ribs meet the breastbone.
- Place two fingers on the edge of the breastbone.
- Place the heel of your palm above these two fingers. This should be within the breastbone area.
- Place both of your hands on this area. Position your shoulders over your hands and kneel next to the person. This position allows you to make the most effective thrusts with your body weight to your advantage.
- Press down and compress the chest about 15 times, one right after another.
- Tilt the head back so the mouth opens up. Make sure the tongue falls to the bottom of the throat.
- Don’t worry, nobody can swallow their own tongue; that’s just a fairy tale invented by horror stories. The tongue has to fall to the bottom of the throat so it covers the entrance to the stomach and allows air into the lungs. If air goes into the stomach, you can induce vomit.
- Pinch the nose shut. Place your mouth over the person’s mouth and blow gently. Make 2 slow breaths.
- Watch the chest to make sure it rises as it accepts your breaths.
- Do this process 4 times. Then recheck the pulse. If there is none, repeat the process 4 more times before rechecking for a pulse.
- Continue doing this until another trained person can take over, the EMS personnel arrive to care for the person, you are too exhausted to continue, or the scene becomes unsafe.
. . .
Do you know CPR?
It was believed that computers would give people more free time by making mundane tasks more efficient. We would all be lounging around, sipping our martinis, while computers made our lives easier.
That hasn’t exactly happened, has it? Instead, we’ve become slaves to the clock.
Computers have allowed secretaries the ability to write memos faster, so we expect secretaries to be able to write twice the number of memos now.
Computers have allowed engineers the ability to process complex calculations faster, so we expect engineers to develop twice the number of applications now.
Computers have allowed designers the ability to render images faster, so we expect designers to create twice the number of illustrations now.
This has crept into all other aspects of life too. Faxes make us expect letters sooner. Where it used to take a week for a letter to get to a person can now take seconds. So instead of changing our lives to enjoy that new time that we’ve earned, it’s changed our lives to expect everything delivered in a millisecond.
The web is a perfect example. People used to sit and patiently wait for a book to arrive in the mail, then to sit and patiently read the book and enjoy each and every page. Now people are rushing through each web page impatiently, bypassing everything that does not come to their screen under a second.
Have computers really given us more free time? Or have they made us a more rushed society?
And what’s taking my microwave so damn long? I’ve been waiting for that pizza for a whole minute now!
. . .
Do you have a lot of free time?
One of the saddest tragedies of our time could have been prevented.
I’m talking about the shooting at Columbine High School in the town of Littleton, Colorado. Two students, armed with guns and bombs, walked into their school and opened fire on their classmates and teachers. Twelve students and one teacher were killed. Then they killed themselves.
Why did this happen? Psychologists have been sparring for an answer, throwing theory after theory at each other. They’ve attacked violence on television, violence in computer games, and even the availability of guns.
I think they’re missing the true target.
In my opinion, the problem has a much deeper root in our schooling systems.
The traditional public school in America is a competition-based system. It divides students into grade and academic levels. Students are taught to be competitive.
This harbors jealousy, jealousy begets hatred (and hatred begets the Dark Side, Luke, the Dark Side)—those with lower grades hate those with higher grades, and vice versa.
Why do we have this kind of system? This process was invented to prepare us for a capitalistic society; capitalism requires competition.
So what’s the solution? Change the fundamental principles on which our schools are based. Go with a cooperation-based schooling system.
There have already been a few experimental schools built upon cooperative learning. Students are not classified in grade or academic levels. They are encouraged to work together to do their homework and study for tests. A strong sense of companionship is fostered and crosses all levels and boundaries, including racial.
Unfortunately, this kind of schooling requires a lot of funding. Teachers must be vigorously trained. And there currently aren’t any universities that teach this kind of process.
In many low-income districts, moving to such a system seems unreasonable given the financial issues they face. In many high-income districts, households simply don’t want to pay the extra taxes.
Furthermore, being an educator in America is not a prestigious title. Sadly, the roles that a society needs most are the roles that provide the least monetary compensation, thereby repelling many intelligent and potentially wonderful faculty.
A fundamental change is desperately needed in our schooling systems. Attacking the problem at the surface—reducing violence on television and computer games or banning guns, is only applying a coat of paint on a decrepit house. What we need is to rebuild the house from the ground up.
. . .
How do you think we could have prevented the Littleton Massacre?
“Oh my God I almost died today!”
Temi bounced around like a giddy school girl. Only half an hour ago she was clinging to her chair, digging her nails into its frame, and chanting: “I’m going to die! I’m going to die! I’m going to die!”
And now she’s chanting: “Let’s do that again! Let’s do that again! Let’s do that again!”
We did it. We survived. And gosh darn it, we’d do it again.
Thursday, May 13th. I’ll never forget that day. Kind of an ominous number, but that didn’t bother us.
On that day, nine of us jumped out of an airplane 14,000 feet in the air and plunged straight towards the Earth at 120 mph.
And HOLY SHEEET what a rush!
The fear didn’t hit me until I boarded the plane. As I signed the release forms (what a horribly ironic name—a release form that releases your life from their carelessness, should they be careless) and sat through the instructional video, I was numb to the risk I was about to take.
One of the first lines from the video was: “Tandem is an experimental form and you can die from this.”
Golly. I had no idea jumping from a plane could kill me. Glad you clarified that.
Before I go on, here’s a brief intro on sky diving. There are three methods in which you can go with:
- Tandem
- An experienced instructor is strapped to your back. He/she handles everything: the parachute, the landing, the jumping out of the plane. You’re just there to enjoy the ride. There’s about 35–45 seconds of free fall before the parachute is deployed, depending upon how high you jump.
- Static Line
- You jump alone. Your parachute is automatically and instantaneously deployed, so you experience no free fall. A long training course is required for this so you can learn what to do in the event of a mishap.
- Accelerated Free Fall
- You jump with two instructors at your sides. They watch you and monitor your progress. If anything goes wrong, they can intervene quickly. A long training course is required for this one also, since there is a lot to learn.
All nine of us went tandem. Two had gone static line before and a third guy had been on his way to get a sky diving certification. The rest of us were newbies.
We went up in groups of three. The plane carried a total of seven jumpers: three tandem, three tandem instructors, and one jumper holding a camera.
There were no seats. We sat on the floor. The door was clear plastic, so we could see the ground outside. Watching it get further and further away was utterly terrifying.
Higher and higher we climbed. When we finally hit 14,000 feet, they opened the door. Wind rushed in. I looked out the door and gasped. There was nothing separating me from the ground, except a whole lotta air.
The two other jump pairs leapt before me. Then came my turn. I dragged myself to the threshold. My instructor was strapped securely behind me. He told me to stick my knees out of the plane.
Do you have any idea how hard it is to willingly stick your body out of an airplane? I looked down and saw the tiny landmarks. The two dots of my friends grew smaller and smaller.
Then we jumped.
The air roared around me. I could hardly breathe. My ears popped.
Then I steadied my equilibrium and screamed. The adrenaline was now firmly locked in my system.
Daaaaamn this was a great feeling! HOLY SHEEET what a fucking rush!
Then I looked up at the camera jumper. And my goggles blew off my head. My glasses dangled. The rush of the wind tore at my face.
How my glasses stuck to my head while my goggles blew off is beyond me. I must have a guardian angel or something. The only thing that held my glasses to my face was a prayer.
I quickly reached up and grabbed my glasses. And I held them all the way down to the ground.
My video caught it all.
When the chute opened, the thigh straps dug into my pelvic area. That was not cool. I was singing soprano at 3,000 feet. But at least I still had my glasses.
I tried to remember all of the procedures. Our instructors didn’t give us very thorough lessons. And falling at terminal velocity to your death has a way of making you forget things.
I didn’t have a perfect landing. My instructor didn’t remind me to run as my feet hit the ground and my mind was too flooded with adrenalin to remember.
So I crashed. But despite that, it was still a soft landing.
Then I did a victory dance. Shook my booty and threw my hands in the air like I just jumped out of an airplane. I made it! I jumped out of an airplane and survived! HOLY SHEEET what a rush!
. . .
Have you ever sky dived?
With true friends, there are no “Goodbyes,” only “See you laters.”
So I say to you all, “I’ll see you all later!”
Why do I say that? Just as a precautionary measure. I’m going to fulfill a life-long dream of mine this Thursday, May 13th—I’m going to sky dive!
Yup! I’m gonna jump out of an airplane tomorrow and plunge to the Earth at 120 mph from 10,000 feet in the air. Yes! I’m so psyched!
It was originally scheduled for Friday. But because of potential nasty weather (thunderstorms; gosh, imagine jumping out of an airplane and seeing a lightning bolt blaze by your butt?), I moved it to tomorrow.
I was just thinking… If I were to make a Bugs Bunny-like crater in the ground, who would update my web sites? I have to take care of rambles, WebBabble (RIP), foretold (RIP), and the LINE (RIP).
I’ve given myself quite a bit of work, eh? So, silly fool that I am, I’m worried about my sites falling into disrepair if I fall into disrepair too (no pun intended).
So if I miss this Sunday’s ramble… uh… then… uh… At least I went in a blaze of glory!
. . .
Have you ever sky dived?
With true friends, there are no “Goodbyes,” only “See you laters.”
Standing in a tight stairway at a friend’s house during our farewell party, I said those lines as tears brimmed and sobs choked the air.
It was the end of our senior college year. One buddy was returning to Hong Kong. Three were off to Medical school. One to Law school. Another to the business world. And I was jumping into the web design field.
Some let go their damns of grief. It was a passionate and fervent moment. They cried in each other’s arms. In warm embrace, we all wept and lamented the closing of a chapter of our lives.
I didn’t cry though. Though I knew this was a farewell party, I knew it wasn’t a true farewell. Deep in my heart, I knew I would see them again. For better or for worse. We would all meet up again someday.
Because with true friends, there are no “Goodbyes,” only “See you laters.”
. . .
Ever have to say goodbye to good friends?
I wonder what my life would be like if I was more of an asshole.
While having a few drinks with some friends, I became embroiled in a steady and intensive conversation with my friend Jen. She slurred and mumbled her words; I listened and offered opinions.
Throughout the discussion, I felt someone nudging me from behind. With a few curt peeks, I saw in my peripheral a guy with his back to me.
I dismissed the nudge. The bar was bustling with newcomers; bodies were packed like beer in cases. Surely he wasn’t bumping butts with me on purpose. (Well, this IS New York City, so you never know.)
Jen took a seat at the bar while I stood by, still locked in dialogue. I was still being shoved from behind; this was beginning to perturb me.
As my friend spoke on, I quickly spun around to give the guy my “What the fuck?” stare.
I came face to face with a startling young lady staring back at me. It wasn’t the guy after all. The crowd had been pushing this beautiful girl towards me.
Our eyes touched. It felt like hours and seconds all at once. She was beautiful. Her eyes were infinite and absorbing. Her charming smile invited me to say “Hi.”
From behind, I heard Jen still talking. I blinked.
Smiling at the young lady, I turned around and returned to our conversation. We continued as if I never moved my head.
As we debated, Mark brushed behind me (offering a brisk “Excuse me”) and said something to another girl at the bar. He yelled in her ear and, because of my proximity, into my ear as well. I couldn’t help but overhear “Hey, my friend would like to meet you.”
As my discussion with Jen continued, I saw Mark direct this other girl towards Steve. My peripheral caught Steve strike up a smile from the girl.
Jen and I traversed through our exchange for hours. I stole a few peeps behind me, and each time, caught the lovely sight of the beautiful young lady still standing there, despite all the hoopla with my friends.
To the other side of me was Steve merrily talking to the girl he had just picked up from the bar (with Mark’s help, of course).
I wondered what it would be like to just pick up a stunning young lady like that. I had never done anything like that before. More importantly, I was involved in a deep discourse with a friend and didn’t want to end that.
Maybe it was the alcohol, but I departed character and wondered… If I was an asshole, and abandoned Jen to start a conversation with the beautiful young lady behind me, what would happen? Where would the night have lead? A night of debauchery? Several months of romance? Years of intimacy? A lifetime in marriage?
Of course, a better question would have been: Would I even know the right words to say to a beautiful girl like that? With my luck and lack of Strangers-In-Bars Savvy, I would have garbled my words and babbled like a rabid rabbit.
Even more so, I know that I would never abandon a friend like that. Maybe I’m just not cut out to be an asshole.
. . .
Are you an asshole?
I see life as a series of paths before me. Like branches of a tree they stretch out in random directions, each with it’s own branch children and grandchildren.
The path I take becomes my life, my collection of experiences. Each path leads me to a difference set of branches, from which comes another set of random branches.
These branches are the choices in my life. Just as I am faced with hundreds of choices each day, I am standing on a path with hundreds of branches.
During a conversation on fate and destiny, a friend expressed the viewpoint that fate is the string of branches that have been predetermined for any given person—a Yellow Brick Road, so to speak. Destiny would then be the final destination at the very end of the Yellow Brick Road.
With that definition, I’d say I don’t believe in fate and destiny. I don’t believe that there is a predetermined set of paths that one takes.
In my opinion, each person makes his own road. As the person comes across each branch, that person alone decides which branch to take. Everyone controls his own fate and destiny.
I see this Yellow Brick Road theory as a romantic but limiting one. To believe that I have been preordained to do whatever I am doing at this very moment (to believe that you were fated to be reading this) is, in my opinion, a leap of faith for reasons of fear and want of reassurance.
To know that what a person’s actions have already been determined provides a sense of validation to his everyday actions. If he controlled his own fate, then he would be directly responsible for each and every one of his actions.
So I can see why it’s comforting to believe in the Yellow Brick Road theory. That person can make a grand mistake, and he is not directly responsible for it.
If that person is content with what he’s currently doing, then he’s less apt to change it—he’ll believe that that is what he’s been fated to do. There’s no true incentive to go the extra level and make himself even more content.
If one does not believe in fate, however, then he may take that extra risk with the realization that he’s the master of his own fate and destiny. The only way to truly be happy and successful would be to make himself happy and successful, not to sit back and wait until fate brings him there.
For me, it comes down to: If I was standing on a path with hundred branches, I’d rather see a field of paths ahead of me than one Yellow Brick Road that I have to take without question or choice.
. . .
Do you believe in fate?
I love New York City.
Where else can you get toxic hot dogs at ever corner? Where else can you see bisexual transvestites in platform shoes walk along side executives in suits and ties? Where else can you get punched in the face just for bumping into somebody?
Here are some NYC stories that show just how crazy this great city of ours can be. It would take me a novel to write about all the wonderful and unique experiences I’ve had in this city.
The Mugging
A friend of mine was mugged one block away from a dorm. The thief had brandished a knife and asked for his shoes. My friend said no so the thief asked for his wallet instead. Being a college student, he didn’t have much money. So he gave up his wallet without a fight.
This was on a crowded street. In the daytime. With college students and residents walking all around, though there was a lull in the crowd at that moment. The thief ran off with $2.00 and an old wallet.
Feed Me
Walking through midtown one night, I passed by a homeless man soliciting donations. “Spare some change?” he said. “Spare some change for the whales? Feed the whales? Feed the dolphins?” He paused. “Feed me?”
It was all in his delivery. I laughed. I was impressed. And I gave him some money.
Never Alone
One despondent night I stepped out of my apartment and into the streets. Crowds were everywhere. Lights brimmed from the sidelines. Neon blinked in my peripheral. Noise and life chattered all around me. I heard arguments, sobs, and pleas.
And I later returned to my apartment, renewed and filled with the notion that I was not alone. I was not alone in my misery.
Crazy Cabbies
I was in a rush. Work kept me late in the office, and my friends were waiting for me. I hailed a cab and gave him my destination.
And, bless him and his crazy driving skills, he got me there just in the nick of time. And without a scratch to boot. The way he dodged cars and pedestrians alike, the way he maneuvered through tight corners, and the way he sped through yellow lights just filled me with admiration.
Admiration that with these risky driving habits, he was still alive and able to support a family of five. I praised him for his skill and tipped him generously.
Practice Safe Sex
A beautiful young lady walked up to me and handed me a condom. I looked into her eyes and was in Heaven.
Then she smiled and said, “Practice safe sex!”
I nodded, dumbfounded. Then we walked over to another guy, gave him the same angelic smile (as he gazed into her eyes) and pronounced, “Practice safe sex!”
What a great sales method.
. . .
Do you have any NYC stories?
