H1N1 success ... at last

Burned twice, nothing was going to stop me now. I was a freaked out parent on the prowl, willing to go to any length to get my child that elusive vaccination I had been seeking for weeks now. I'm sure part of it had to do with the paranoia sweeping California regarding the virus, and part of it had to do with me not willing to consider the scenarios where I *could* have done something, but didn't.

So it was off to the Santa Clara fairgrounds again, where yet another free clinic was being held. Except this time I showed up at 6:30am. And this time I was ready. I had my cold weather gear (it was 35 degrees), I had my lawn chair, and I had my New York Times (the Sunday edition takes me hours to read cover to cover). Once the line started to move, I planned to call Saeeda to drive over with Nuha, and then the three of us would hang out until we got the shot.

As it turned out, my showing up that early was a good idea, because there was already a ridiculous line of people waiting before me. And with that line came the associated entrepreneurs, selling everything from churros to eternal salvation (some Church group or other passing out pamphlets). One guy was even dressed up as a Subway sandwich and was handing out coupons.

By 9am, I had called Saeeda, who arrived with an unsuspecting Nuha in tow. It was a good thing they got there when they did, because the line had started to move, and beyond a certain point the police were not letting anyone hold places in line for anyone. There were a lot of distraught parents, one of whom had been holding a spot only to realize that they had gone past the point where they could usher their family in later.

It was around 11am by the time we finally made it INTO the fairground building where the shots were being administered. The scene was surreal, and instantly made me think of a Hollywood disaster flick - queues of confused people in a vast hall being directed by authoritative staff and conflicting signs; nurse stations quickly processing vaccine administrations; doctors and emergency personnel standing by in the wings; relieved patients walking out quickly, just glad that the ordeal was over.

The unsuspecting victim before heading inside:

The line inside:

Uh oh:

All done!:

The Quest for the H1N1 vaccine #2

Wizened by last week's H1N1 experience, Saeeda and I spent the last few days strategizing which clinic to attend to get the vaccine for Nuha. I know that we've moved beyond the rational with our panicky approach, but we're parents. We're not supposed to be rational entities anymore.

Son on Friday, after poring over the clinic information and mapping out distances to each, Saeeda and I settled on a Sunnyvale clinic. At 6:30am on Saturday I was awake and dressed. Armed with a water bottle and some reading material, I was ready to be dropped off to hold a place in line for the vaccine.

Saeeda dropped my off by 7am, but already there was a line wrapping around the clinic building. The staff had resorted to handing out numbers to people so that entire families did not have to wait in the morning drizzle. You took the number and came back with your family at the assigned time. However, it was the line for these numbers itself that wrapped around the clinic.

By around 8am things started moving as the folks at the very front of the line began to receive numbers (the clinic wasn't set to open until 9:30am, but they decided to hand out the numbers earlier). Still, the going was slow because people were being interviewed about the number of high risk individuals in their family that needed the shot. Given that not everyone spoke English fluently, and things started to slow down.

While waiting, I decided to strike up a conversation with the guy in front of me. It turned out, to my surprise, that he was an alum from the University of Chicago. Not only that, but since he had gone on to study law at Northwestern, he knew my cousin (alum of U. of C) and many of my friends who were lawyers in Chicago. Small world.

The line kept moving, the rain kept falling, and I continued texting Saeeda with status updates. But around 9:30am something changed. The line started moving a lot faster, and no one knew what was going on until we rounded the corner and saw that a police officer and clinic staff member were turning people away now. They had run out of vaccine, and were therefore no longer handing out numbers. There was no point in waiting anymore.

I silently cursed fate as I dialed Saeeda to come pick me up. Two weeks now, and I had nothing to show for all the waiting around I had done. Today, the vaccine was gone in 90 minutes. What would this country do if there was a true virus outbreak of pandemic proportions? If California couldn't handle the situation for a limited at-risk population, what would happen if everyone were to need a vaccination because of a lethal virus spreading through the community?

Boggles the mind.

The Quest for the H1N1 Vaccine - Attempt #1

Perspectives change once you become a parent. I detest getting flu shots for the very logical belief that I'm Wolverine and no earthly malady can lay me low for long (I know, I'm asking for it). However, this H1N1 thing has me and Saeeda concerned about the little one. At the end of the day, should something bad happen because Nuha went unvaccinated, I don't know how I'd live with myself. Somehow I don't think saying, "but the odds were against this happening..." would make feel any better.

As far as the swine flu - for some reason California trails the rest of the developed world and is rationing out its H1N1 vaccines. Supply is outstripping demand and those pediatrician offices lucky enough to receive a stash are only handing it out to pregnant women or mothers of little ones under 6 months old. The rest of us have to resort to a scouring of the internet to locate free weekly clinics where the shots are available to the remaining high-risk population - kids between 6 months and 24 years of age. Which begs the question - why the hell are 24 year olds considered high risk - doesn't the fact that they've survived college grant them immunity from all known toxins?

Saeeda found a listing for a clinic that was being offered at the Santa Clara Fairgrounds, so this morning we decided to check things out, hoping to get Nuha vaccinated and then to move on to other errands we had for the day. Oh, how naive we were.

Admittedly, we rolled up to the Fairground at 11am, which we thought was relatively early. But already the line of people stretched outside and wrapped for at least a half-mile outside the parking lot. Families were camped out with lawn chairs, blankets, toys, food - had I not known, I would have guessed it to be a national holiday of some sort, with the families waiting for the parade to start.

I rolled down my car window and asked a departing family how long it had taken them before they received their shot.

"4 hours. We've been here since 7am."

?!

I looked at Saeeda - getting in line now was futile. The wait would be even longer. Maybe not wanting to wait in line would make me a horrible father. But another, more reasonable part of me just said to wait until next week, when we'd be able to properly plan for a clinic and actually show up earlier. With that, I turned the car around to head home.

The Quest to get the H1N1 Vaccine was on.

Feeling young again

Does U2 put on a show or what? Saeeda and I had never been to a concert together, so a while back I had bought tickets for the Irish band's stop in the Rose Bowl in Pasadena, CA. Getting to the concert brought with it some trepidation - I was simply worried about being too old to even be at such an event. After all, aren't people of my demographic supposed to gently ease into listening of NPR and to start attending classical music performances?

But I was pleasantly surprised to see that most people were like us - middle-aged and having grown up with the music we were about to hear. The venue was amazing, the stage was cool, and the opening act - Black Eyed Peas - pumped up the crowd with energy. I didn't know half their songs, but that didn't matter. People around us muffled my mutilations of the lyrics.

Then Slash from Guns 'N Roses took the stage and kicked off that classic guitar riff from Sweet Child. Pure sweetness, even for someone like me who knows so little about rock. And then there was U2, a band that justifiably occupies a spot in history as one of the iconic musical acts of all time. 24 songs, ranging across both decades and albums, almost all of which we spent listening to while on our feet.

The funny thing is that Saeeda and I left the concert energized, almost as if a few years had fallen off our shoulders. This music thing was cool, and going to concerts didn't have to be a struggle against a tide of humanity. To some degree, the experience has caused a mini-transformation, and we're now on the prowl for other great musical events to attend. Ones where being middle-aged will be irrelevant. Ideas?

The Blackberry finally claims me as a victim

I’ve done my fair share of travel, most of which came while I hopped from city to city as a management consultant. It was really exciting at first, with the wonder of new places, different time zones, and new friends always promising to make each trip unique. But eventually the flight delays, cramped seats, and horrible airport food became annoyances that I could no longer ignore. Out of all these nuisances, perhaps nothing galled me more than the loud executive on his cell phone.

Keep in mind that this was still back in the day (i.e., late 1990’s) as far as mobile phones were concerned. They were still these ugly, hulking beasts, that weighed 5 pounds, ran on satellite systems, and were owned by a only a few self-important people. And I hated watching these “important” individuals pace around the terminal, obviously showing off the fact that they had a cell phone, and yelling things like, “YEAH HONEY … CAN YOU HEAR ME? YES, I’M CALLING YOU FROM THE AIRPORT ON MY CELL PHONE. YES, MY CELL PHONE. NO, I’M NOT IN THE OFFICE. NO, I’M AT THE AIRPORT. I CAN MAKE CALLS FROM ANYWHERE WITH MY CELL PHONE, AND I’M DOING SO FROM THE AIRPORT. NO HONEY IT’S NOT MAGIC. LISTEN, DO YOU WANT ME TO PICK UP ANY MILK ON MY WAY HOME?”

So I promised myself that I would never be like these idiots, and that I didn’t even need a cell phone. Well, that didn’t get me far, because before I knew it cell phones were everywhere, and my friends were making it a sport to mock me as a luddite. I never understood why a home and work number were not enough – why did I have to be reachable while I was grocery shopping, or at the gym? Still, I eventually caved and bought a clunker of a cell phone. You know, the one that resembled a brick, and which could definitely not be carried in your trouser pocket, unless you wanted to send the wrong message. I held on to my first cell phone for so long that Sprint sales reps would marvel at it whenever I would take it in for servicing at a store. They'd have to dig around for an old timer who remembered how these clunkers worked.

So it should come as no surprise that I swore I would never get a “smartphone”. I would never become slave to a Blackberry, jumping at every ring/ding/vibration to check who just texted me, or what email I just received. I promised that I would reject any offer from my employer to foist one of these devices on me, because I would inevitably just be tying myself down to work. But alas I failed in my quest to keep this promise as well. With this new position in San Fran comes the mandatory requirement to carry around a Blackberry, and I find myself slowly being seduced by this device. But I don’t want to! I don’t want to repeatedly look for a blinking light to see if I have a message, I don’t want to scroll through easily-accessed web pages, and I don’t want to tap out messages on the surprisingly comfortable keypad. Argh, corporate America, why must you turn me into a drone!

The Bay Area - home of the Desi

Ah yes - the adventure continues, but the location changes (as per the title of this blog).

We've been in the Bay Area for a few days now, and already there are a few things that are going to take some time to adjust to. Specifically, this place is teeming with desis. We and our Asian brethren rule Silicon Valley.

One example that made this fact hit home - our rental car. The moment Saeeda got in, she remarked at how it smelled "desi." Now I'll admit, there are times when South Asians eschew the use of deodorant, and instead engage in some sort of macabre contest to see how quickly their body odor can burn through a bystander's olfactory nerves and cause their eyes to tear up. But still, it was unfair of Saeeda to blame the slight whiff of BO to a desi - it really could have been anyone who had used the car previously.

But she was proven right, because the moment I turned on the radio I heard a really old Bollywood movie song come blaring out of the car's tinny speakers. On the AM band no less. Only a desi would preset a rental car's radio station to an AM channel playing ethnic music.

It also turned out that the channel was promoting some sort of "Friendship Day", when friends the world over were supposed to profess their love for each other by calling in with "friendship stories". And desis from across the Bay Area were obliging. One caller wanted to send a shoutout to his friend who was always playing pranks on him, like shoving him out of a whitewater raft while navigating a Class 5 rapid. Ha ha, how funny. This caller loved his friend very much and wanted to dedicate, randomly, a song from a 1950s movie called "Laila Majnoo" (the desi equivalent of Romeo and Juliet).

I'm going to like living here. I'm a FOB (Fresh Off the Boat) at heart, and Saeeda has worked hard over the years to eliminate all traces of my fobbiness. But I see my brothers everywhere - in malls, on the roads, in every office. It's only a matter of time before I start wearing sandals and skinny jeans (they're fashionable again) and eating some good, spicy, ethnic food on a daily basis. Oh, and dancing to Bollywood songs in my car.

Yes, I'm going to like living here very much.

Thank you for the memories Chicago

I'm sitting in my living room, with movers milling around, boxing up our belongings. I'm amazed at how much stuff we've managed to accumulate over our four years here, especially since we live in a two bedroom apartment where space has always been at a premium. I'm also surprised at how sad I am as I see my apartment get emptier by the minute. Perhaps it's the depressing white of the walls as they slowly reveal themselves, or perhaps it's the echo of my voice as it bounces around empty rooms.

A few weeks ago I was having a conversation with my friend Savyon, in which I was expressing frustration at having to start all over again in a new place. Savyon, who is not from the US, remarked at how this nomadic existence was such a quintessentially American experience. In this country individuals are solitary beings with loose ties to community and family, always in search of their fortune. By its very nature, this search constantly takes these residents to new geographies.

On the other hand, in places like the Middle East and Asia (home for me and Savyon), centuries old culture places different demands on an individual, who is never solitary but instead a part of a much larger social whole. Here, familial and cultural ties inhibit movement, and cause entire generations to live out their lives in spacial stasis.

I do not know which is better. Personally, I've lived a nomadic existence, never having spent more than seven years in any one place. But despite the emotional wrenching that occurs with every move, I know that I've found personal enrichment with each new home. And trust me, leaving Chicago has come with its own emotional costs.

After all, this is where my wife and I fell in love with an unparalleled lakefront lapping at the feet of stunning skyscrapers. This is where the midwestern winter made a man out of me. This is where my daughter first opened her eyes. This is also where I was taken kicking and screaming through a master's education at the University of Chicago, to emerge on the other side someone more appreciative of the workings of the world. This is where I watched my nephews born and grow up. This is where I watched Obama stand a field away from me, breaking historic barriers with his accomplishments. This is where I shook Blagoevich's hand, and have since wondered what the hell I was thinking. This is where I entered the world of healthcare, and met mentors against whom I will measure all future business leaders I work for. But probably most importantly, this is where I have met individuals whose kindness and support I will never forget, and whose friendships I will treasure for a lifetime.

If being a nomad is what I have to be ... well then, so be it. Life is only a set of memories, and I leave Chicago knowing that I have amassed some of my most precious memories in this city.

For that, thank you Chicago.