Earth really is a beautiful place. Can you imagine if you saw this rise every evening in the sky instead of the plain-white disc of the moon? I'd be wondering what it was like on that world. Lucky me!
Video: Full Earth Rise from space.com
Wednesday, June 10, 2009
Wednesday, May 27, 2009
Christmas Party 2008 photos are up!
After over five years at Strongbadia (our condo), Will, Lauren, and I decided it was time to really let the place shine, so we threw the biggest holiday party we've ever thrown. Coincidentally, it landed on the evening of my birthday. Thanks to the company of all our friends, it was one of the most special birthdays I've ever had.
Photos are here: http://albertkuo.smugmug.com/gallery/8348527_tTkbH/1/547377128_yA6NB
Photos are here: http://albertkuo.smugmug.com/gallery/8348527_tTkbH/1/547377128_yA6NB
Saturday, March 21, 2009
BSG.. what a beautiful farewell
When my friend lent me her Battlestar Gallactica DVDs, I was skeptical. Are you kidding me? Why would I ever want to watch a show based on a campy 70's sci-fi series with such a goofy name starring some guys and half-naked lady robots. It sounds ridiculous!
The DVDs sat on my coffee table for months collecting dust. Then one day, I got so bored and had so little to do that I had no choice but to see what all the hype was about. The result of that one moment of boredom was completely, unexpectedly wonderful. My friends and I have subsequently been taken for a ride on one of the greatest dramas in history.
One of the most striking things about Battlestar Gallactica was that exactly half of my friends following it were women. The only other science fiction story I know to break through the aversion most women have to science fiction was the book Ender's Game by Orson Scott Card. In both cases, the reason was clear. The stories were not about technology but about people and the human condition.
The most precious part of Battlestar Gallactica to me was that it was a high-saturation portrait of how I see humanity's reality. Nothing was conveniently black and white. The villains were heroic, filled with conscience -- they had souls. The heroes were flawed, selfish, sinful, yet pushed to succeed in spite of themselves. Their world was scientific, yet no one could escape their greater purpose, their destiny.
Last night, my friends and I gathered with drinks in hand and trepidation in our hearts and watched the final episode of the series. If I only had one word to describe it I would say it was beautiful. Every character found the end of their journey. At the destination, some found a new beginning, others found completion. All found peace.
"Angels walk among us," is a quote from the show. It's true. There are those like Ron Moore and the cast and crew of Battlestar Gallactica who can bring us a gift like this work. It is a rare thing for any story to remind me that outside the depths of ugliness within humanity, the universe is a beautiful place and it makes me grateful to be a part of it. I'm sad to see Battlestar Gallactica go, but like they say, "all this has happened before, and all this will happen again." The future does bring great things.
The DVDs sat on my coffee table for months collecting dust. Then one day, I got so bored and had so little to do that I had no choice but to see what all the hype was about. The result of that one moment of boredom was completely, unexpectedly wonderful. My friends and I have subsequently been taken for a ride on one of the greatest dramas in history.
One of the most striking things about Battlestar Gallactica was that exactly half of my friends following it were women. The only other science fiction story I know to break through the aversion most women have to science fiction was the book Ender's Game by Orson Scott Card. In both cases, the reason was clear. The stories were not about technology but about people and the human condition.
The most precious part of Battlestar Gallactica to me was that it was a high-saturation portrait of how I see humanity's reality. Nothing was conveniently black and white. The villains were heroic, filled with conscience -- they had souls. The heroes were flawed, selfish, sinful, yet pushed to succeed in spite of themselves. Their world was scientific, yet no one could escape their greater purpose, their destiny.
Last night, my friends and I gathered with drinks in hand and trepidation in our hearts and watched the final episode of the series. If I only had one word to describe it I would say it was beautiful. Every character found the end of their journey. At the destination, some found a new beginning, others found completion. All found peace.
"Angels walk among us," is a quote from the show. It's true. There are those like Ron Moore and the cast and crew of Battlestar Gallactica who can bring us a gift like this work. It is a rare thing for any story to remind me that outside the depths of ugliness within humanity, the universe is a beautiful place and it makes me grateful to be a part of it. I'm sad to see Battlestar Gallactica go, but like they say, "all this has happened before, and all this will happen again." The future does bring great things.
Monday, January 12, 2009
An Afternoon with Reco
Recently, I've taken to snapping a photo or two every day with my iPhone and sending it to whomever might care how my day is going. I figure it's an interesting glimpse into my daily life. My blog has traditionally been about weightier and more introspective things, but sometimes the best things in life are in the little things that I pass by on a sunny Sunday afternoon. So I figure hey, why not share these photos with the world!
This Sunday was particularly wonderful. It was warm and sunny like it hasn't been in NorCal winter in decades, the hills were green, the sky blue, and the air fresh. Reco and I went on a walk in the back country adjacent to the barn and I snapped a couple photos along the way that I felt embodied the experience. The ride reminded me why I love Reco and this riding thing so much.
After I galloped up the hill, an older gentleman who'd been watching stopped to say, "Now that is a beautiful thing." And beautiful it was -- I felt like the most fortunate person in the world.
Reco and I on Central behind the barn:
Reco and I atop Bryne overlooking Stanford and the bay:
This Sunday was particularly wonderful. It was warm and sunny like it hasn't been in NorCal winter in decades, the hills were green, the sky blue, and the air fresh. Reco and I went on a walk in the back country adjacent to the barn and I snapped a couple photos along the way that I felt embodied the experience. The ride reminded me why I love Reco and this riding thing so much.
After I galloped up the hill, an older gentleman who'd been watching stopped to say, "Now that is a beautiful thing." And beautiful it was -- I felt like the most fortunate person in the world.
Reco and I on Central behind the barn:
Reco and I atop Bryne overlooking Stanford and the bay:
Saturday, November 15, 2008
Moving in the horses
Finally, both Reco and Decision Time are are moved out of their stalls and into the feeding pasture. Both have had to slowly peck (bite, tear, kick) their way up the social hiearchy. Apparently humans aren't the only animals that can be cruel to each other.
The resident alpha horse of the pasture, Snowball: Ender of Worlds (Yes, his name really is Snowball. Guess what color he is?) is finally content to leave Reco and Decision Time alone instead of attempting to fillet them alive. The blood has stopped flowing and all are well fed -- except for the poor worn J.B. who's only crime is being really really old. It seems that Reco, our submissive, unassuming, kind-hearted beta horse has pecked his way up from the bottom of the herd -- by pushing J.B. away from his food. Sigh.
Anyway, it's been a long journey. All the photos below can be found here on my smugmug page. Here's an email I sent to Jen (Reco's owner) after I put him into the feeding pasture after the first few days:
"Reco politely asked the Other Horse for a few bites to eat but was rebuffed. At first, he stood aside mournfully, but then his hunger got the best of him and he slowly crept toward the hay and stole a few nibbles here and there. Then upon realizing that this Other Horse, though ears pinned, was not Snowball: Ender of Worlds, Reco became brave and began to partake fully in the pile of hay. At last the Other Horse grudgingly accepted this new intruder and though they were not friends, there was food aplenty for all."
Here's a couple more photos of Reco and Decision Time:
The resident alpha horse of the pasture, Snowball: Ender of Worlds (Yes, his name really is Snowball. Guess what color he is?) is finally content to leave Reco and Decision Time alone instead of attempting to fillet them alive. The blood has stopped flowing and all are well fed -- except for the poor worn J.B. who's only crime is being really really old. It seems that Reco, our submissive, unassuming, kind-hearted beta horse has pecked his way up from the bottom of the herd -- by pushing J.B. away from his food. Sigh.
Anyway, it's been a long journey. All the photos below can be found here on my smugmug page. Here's an email I sent to Jen (Reco's owner) after I put him into the feeding pasture after the first few days:
"Reco politely asked the Other Horse for a few bites to eat but was rebuffed. At first, he stood aside mournfully, but then his hunger got the best of him and he slowly crept toward the hay and stole a few nibbles here and there. Then upon realizing that this Other Horse, though ears pinned, was not Snowball: Ender of Worlds, Reco became brave and began to partake fully in the pile of hay. At last the Other Horse grudgingly accepted this new intruder and though they were not friends, there was food aplenty for all."
Here's a couple more photos of Reco and Decision Time:
Wednesday, November 12, 2008
Halloween Horse Show 2008
I discovered casual schooling shows were fun earlier this year so I decided to enter in the only other schooling show at Westwind Barn, the annual Halloween Horse Show. You may have seen pictures I took from a previous one in my gallery. It's really fun with jumps decorated with corn stalks and pumpkins and a special costume class where you dress yourself and your horse up.
This time I had Reco all to myself so I entered into the Low Hunters and Low Jumpers classes (2'3"). I haven't been riding all summer so I figured this would be plenty to challenge rusty ol' me.
In Hunters, I knocked down a pole and figured that it wasn't a big deal. That's what Jumpers is for: a second chance! During the Jumpers round, I clobbered the second fence and was very disappointed that I'd blown both of my chances. However, as I came around the bend I was amazed to find the fence still up! I continued happily around the course cleanly and went immediately into the jump-off course (they only timed the jump-off course). I was originally going to go "Albert speed" they call it (terrifyingly fast), but I asked my instructor if there was such thing as "too fast." She said, no, but there was such thing as "crashing and burning." So we kept it at a very sane pace and ran a clean round.
I ended up placing 6th (to which everyone always asks if there were more than 6 people in the class -- yes there were about a dozen) and taking home my first "Horsie Ribbon" I call it. Very exciting. The ribbon's technically for Reco, but whatever, I appreciated it more so I took it home and hung it on the mantle.
Here's the fantastic video Lauren shot complete with excellent commentary (my favorite). Enjoy!
This time I had Reco all to myself so I entered into the Low Hunters and Low Jumpers classes (2'3"). I haven't been riding all summer so I figured this would be plenty to challenge rusty ol' me.
In Hunters, I knocked down a pole and figured that it wasn't a big deal. That's what Jumpers is for: a second chance! During the Jumpers round, I clobbered the second fence and was very disappointed that I'd blown both of my chances. However, as I came around the bend I was amazed to find the fence still up! I continued happily around the course cleanly and went immediately into the jump-off course (they only timed the jump-off course). I was originally going to go "Albert speed" they call it (terrifyingly fast), but I asked my instructor if there was such thing as "too fast." She said, no, but there was such thing as "crashing and burning." So we kept it at a very sane pace and ran a clean round.
I ended up placing 6th (to which everyone always asks if there were more than 6 people in the class -- yes there were about a dozen) and taking home my first "Horsie Ribbon" I call it. Very exciting. The ribbon's technically for Reco, but whatever, I appreciated it more so I took it home and hung it on the mantle.
Here's the fantastic video Lauren shot complete with excellent commentary (my favorite). Enjoy!
Sunday, August 31, 2008
Emma
Emma, our beloved dog and what we considered to be the fifth member of our tightly-knit family finally came to the end of her life's road today after a decade of gracing us with her presence. She's been gone but some hours and she's already very sorely missed.
I got a phone call from my father a couple days ago that Emma had been having health problems the last couple weeks and that they just found out it was cancer. They did an ultrasound and found masses on many of her major organs and that the prognosis was very grim. To make matters worse, fluid was filling up inside and making it difficult for her to breath. She was vomiting all the time and couldn't keep any food or water down. I immediately booked a flight home so that I could say one last goodbye to her.
I arrived today to find her panting and barely able to move; her condition had worsening at an alarming rate. Then I learned that my parents had decided that today would be the day we would put her down. I wasn't prepared -- it was so soon.
We all spent time this afternoon with her, showing her in our own ways how much we loved her. I spent the time sitting with her, scratching her behind the ears where she loved it most, and keeping her company while reading a good book, our favorite pastime together.
And then it was time.
The entire time I couldn't really convince myself fully that this was the right thing to do. Should I be more sure of the data? If Emma were a person, would I be more careful, try harder, not give up? Then I looked look at her gasping for breath, clearly thirsty yet throwing up any water she drank. If she was walking yesterday and like this today, I could only imagine how terrible tomorrow would be for her and how little hope it would hold. We were out of time.
If there's one thing in life I truly learned today, it's that when it comes to morality there is no black and white, right or wrong, and therefore, no correct answer no matter how badly I want there to be. It's something I've understood academically but only now do I understand the full crushing weight of this truth. There's nothing like ending a life you care dearly about for what you believe is their own good to paint the world in suffocating gray.
My father and I placed Emma on her favorite rug and lifted her into the car. We took her to the vet while my mother and sister stayed behind. The entire time Emma was weak yet alert. I could see in her eyes that she was her good old self: intelligent and alert, yet I knew she was trapped in a failing body. That's what made it the hardest for me. I couldn't believe there was anything wrong with her. Why did we have to do this thing?
After some paper work we had some time alone in the room with Emma. My father said his long goodbyes to Emma and left the room. The vet gave me the option of staying with her when they would do it or to leave. It didn't take a heartbeat for me to opt to stay. If I was to impose on her this fate, this ultimate betrayal, I couldn't hide from her behind a door. However, shame and responsibility were only a part of it. What was most important was that I wanted to be there for her so that she had a familiar face, a familiar smell, and a loving warm touch to be with her until the very end.
Emma lay on the table, sniffing and looking around, looking at me... the vet asked if he could do it then and I gave the word, "Yes." Her head lowered, her eyes closed, and then she was gone.
-----
The first time I met Emma, she was a bratty little Samoyed puppy accompanied by her much more well-mannered sister. I remember the woman selling the puppies had come to my mother's school to show the dogs and have us pick one. While Emma's sister lay calmly under an office chair, Emma was sticking her nose everywhere and squeezing under and around every piece of furniture in the office.
We remembered that the dog book recommended picking an active puppy, so my mother and I chose Emma though I had my misgivings at the time. I didn't think she would turn out to be like our previous sweet and regal dog, April, and that we were in for an exciting time.
It turns out I was right. My mother wanted to name her Daisy, but after a week of observing her mischief and participating in vigorous wrestling matches with her, I didn't think that name suited this little lady. She reminded me of none other than Jane Austen's Emma: intelligent, strong-willed, mischievous, slightly manipulative, yet greatly loving and endearing, and she stayed true to her namesake until the end.
Unlike our previous dog April, we let Emma in the house daily when we were home and in this way we grew even closer in communication and understanding of each other. She quickly became a member of the family in our hearts and minds and it was almost as if she were another human in the house with her own quirks, likes, and dislikes.
The language barrier between man and dog is usually bridged in only one direction: man teaches the dog his language. Emma, however, had too many opinions to let us have all the say in the house. One of her strongest opinions was that she should be taken for walks daily. At first when my mother would ignore her for too many days in a row, Emma reacted like most dogs and overturned plants, dug up the trash cans, and caused a general mess.
Over time, Emma's communication developed a nuance that we found intriguing and rather endearing. If my mom started skipping walks, she was sure to find one single piece of trash dead center on Emma's rug in the morning. It was always exactly one piece and always exactly in the middle of the rug, like a minimalist art work. This was the first warning shot. If ignored some more, she would place another piece of garbage on her rug after the first was cleared. After a couple warning shots, Emma would escalate and knock one plant over and repeat until she got her walk. It got to the point where once, I saw Emma's message, pretended I didn't notice it by leaving it there to buy myself more time, and then walked her as soon as I could, fearing loss of flora within the house.
Of my fondest memories of her are her greetings every time I flew home for a visit. I was away most of her adult life visiting no more than once every couple months, but that in no way dimmed her joy at seeing me return. I'd show up at the front door, turn the key, and step inside. Emma would jog quickly to see who it was, see that it was me, and I would instantly have a large white ball of fluff careening across the slippery tile floor towards me, tail wagging with huge smile and uncontainable excitement. In the early days, I'd even have to ignore her for the first couple of minutes because if I bent down to return her greeting, she'd wet herself in excitement.
These greetings were always immediately followed by a raucous chase and long wrestling match in the carpeted living room. The Emma-Albert homecoming wrestling match became a recurring spectacle for my family and any visitors fortunate enough to be present. It was something I eagerly looked forward to every time I flew home. What was especially endearing for me was that my mother said I was the only person Emma played that with. She apparently never forgot those fun wrestling matches we had when she was a small puppy.
There was one particular homecoming that I will remember forever. I'd just flown home, gotten out of the car, opened the door and stepped inside as usual only to find that there was no careening white fur ball. Where was Emma? Ten seconds later, I saw her trotting around the corner a ways down to investigate the noise at the door. Apparently, I'd shown up just at Emma's dinner time because she had a large block of dog food in her mouth that she was moving to her eating place before I interrupted. Emma looked up and caught sight of me, stopped, and stared at me with her hazel eyes for a full second. Then I saw a look of recognition spread across her face. Her jaw literally dropped and the once-treasured chunk of dog food fell forgotten to the floor with a dull thump. Her face lit up with joy and she came bounding up to me tail swinging wildly while trying to lick me silly with her pink tongue.
Our goodbyes were much less eventful, but sweet nonetheless. At first my departures went unnoticed, but eventually she figured it out and when I brought all my bags downstairs, she would hang around anxiously until I left for the airport. I considered this to be my sendoff, her love for me.
Today it was my turn to return the favor.
I got a phone call from my father a couple days ago that Emma had been having health problems the last couple weeks and that they just found out it was cancer. They did an ultrasound and found masses on many of her major organs and that the prognosis was very grim. To make matters worse, fluid was filling up inside and making it difficult for her to breath. She was vomiting all the time and couldn't keep any food or water down. I immediately booked a flight home so that I could say one last goodbye to her.
I arrived today to find her panting and barely able to move; her condition had worsening at an alarming rate. Then I learned that my parents had decided that today would be the day we would put her down. I wasn't prepared -- it was so soon.
We all spent time this afternoon with her, showing her in our own ways how much we loved her. I spent the time sitting with her, scratching her behind the ears where she loved it most, and keeping her company while reading a good book, our favorite pastime together.
And then it was time.
The entire time I couldn't really convince myself fully that this was the right thing to do. Should I be more sure of the data? If Emma were a person, would I be more careful, try harder, not give up? Then I looked look at her gasping for breath, clearly thirsty yet throwing up any water she drank. If she was walking yesterday and like this today, I could only imagine how terrible tomorrow would be for her and how little hope it would hold. We were out of time.
If there's one thing in life I truly learned today, it's that when it comes to morality there is no black and white, right or wrong, and therefore, no correct answer no matter how badly I want there to be. It's something I've understood academically but only now do I understand the full crushing weight of this truth. There's nothing like ending a life you care dearly about for what you believe is their own good to paint the world in suffocating gray.
My father and I placed Emma on her favorite rug and lifted her into the car. We took her to the vet while my mother and sister stayed behind. The entire time Emma was weak yet alert. I could see in her eyes that she was her good old self: intelligent and alert, yet I knew she was trapped in a failing body. That's what made it the hardest for me. I couldn't believe there was anything wrong with her. Why did we have to do this thing?
After some paper work we had some time alone in the room with Emma. My father said his long goodbyes to Emma and left the room. The vet gave me the option of staying with her when they would do it or to leave. It didn't take a heartbeat for me to opt to stay. If I was to impose on her this fate, this ultimate betrayal, I couldn't hide from her behind a door. However, shame and responsibility were only a part of it. What was most important was that I wanted to be there for her so that she had a familiar face, a familiar smell, and a loving warm touch to be with her until the very end.
Emma lay on the table, sniffing and looking around, looking at me... the vet asked if he could do it then and I gave the word, "Yes." Her head lowered, her eyes closed, and then she was gone.
-----
The first time I met Emma, she was a bratty little Samoyed puppy accompanied by her much more well-mannered sister. I remember the woman selling the puppies had come to my mother's school to show the dogs and have us pick one. While Emma's sister lay calmly under an office chair, Emma was sticking her nose everywhere and squeezing under and around every piece of furniture in the office.
We remembered that the dog book recommended picking an active puppy, so my mother and I chose Emma though I had my misgivings at the time. I didn't think she would turn out to be like our previous sweet and regal dog, April, and that we were in for an exciting time.
It turns out I was right. My mother wanted to name her Daisy, but after a week of observing her mischief and participating in vigorous wrestling matches with her, I didn't think that name suited this little lady. She reminded me of none other than Jane Austen's Emma: intelligent, strong-willed, mischievous, slightly manipulative, yet greatly loving and endearing, and she stayed true to her namesake until the end.
Unlike our previous dog April, we let Emma in the house daily when we were home and in this way we grew even closer in communication and understanding of each other. She quickly became a member of the family in our hearts and minds and it was almost as if she were another human in the house with her own quirks, likes, and dislikes.
The language barrier between man and dog is usually bridged in only one direction: man teaches the dog his language. Emma, however, had too many opinions to let us have all the say in the house. One of her strongest opinions was that she should be taken for walks daily. At first when my mother would ignore her for too many days in a row, Emma reacted like most dogs and overturned plants, dug up the trash cans, and caused a general mess.
Over time, Emma's communication developed a nuance that we found intriguing and rather endearing. If my mom started skipping walks, she was sure to find one single piece of trash dead center on Emma's rug in the morning. It was always exactly one piece and always exactly in the middle of the rug, like a minimalist art work. This was the first warning shot. If ignored some more, she would place another piece of garbage on her rug after the first was cleared. After a couple warning shots, Emma would escalate and knock one plant over and repeat until she got her walk. It got to the point where once, I saw Emma's message, pretended I didn't notice it by leaving it there to buy myself more time, and then walked her as soon as I could, fearing loss of flora within the house.
Of my fondest memories of her are her greetings every time I flew home for a visit. I was away most of her adult life visiting no more than once every couple months, but that in no way dimmed her joy at seeing me return. I'd show up at the front door, turn the key, and step inside. Emma would jog quickly to see who it was, see that it was me, and I would instantly have a large white ball of fluff careening across the slippery tile floor towards me, tail wagging with huge smile and uncontainable excitement. In the early days, I'd even have to ignore her for the first couple of minutes because if I bent down to return her greeting, she'd wet herself in excitement.
These greetings were always immediately followed by a raucous chase and long wrestling match in the carpeted living room. The Emma-Albert homecoming wrestling match became a recurring spectacle for my family and any visitors fortunate enough to be present. It was something I eagerly looked forward to every time I flew home. What was especially endearing for me was that my mother said I was the only person Emma played that with. She apparently never forgot those fun wrestling matches we had when she was a small puppy.
There was one particular homecoming that I will remember forever. I'd just flown home, gotten out of the car, opened the door and stepped inside as usual only to find that there was no careening white fur ball. Where was Emma? Ten seconds later, I saw her trotting around the corner a ways down to investigate the noise at the door. Apparently, I'd shown up just at Emma's dinner time because she had a large block of dog food in her mouth that she was moving to her eating place before I interrupted. Emma looked up and caught sight of me, stopped, and stared at me with her hazel eyes for a full second. Then I saw a look of recognition spread across her face. Her jaw literally dropped and the once-treasured chunk of dog food fell forgotten to the floor with a dull thump. Her face lit up with joy and she came bounding up to me tail swinging wildly while trying to lick me silly with her pink tongue.
Our goodbyes were much less eventful, but sweet nonetheless. At first my departures went unnoticed, but eventually she figured it out and when I brought all my bags downstairs, she would hang around anxiously until I left for the airport. I considered this to be my sendoff, her love for me.
Today it was my turn to return the favor.
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