On August 3, I had surgery to remove an osteochondroma, which is a small bone mass that occurs in 3% of the population and usually shows up near joints like knees and elbows. Mine was just below the knee on the proximal tibia and was shaped like a hook, as you can see in this X-ray image.


In 2004 or so, back when I was in middle school, I first noticed one day when I bent my right knee and found that I couldn’t straighten it out, as if there were some sort of tendon holding it locked past some angle. Naturally, my parents and I were freaked out; I remember my dad canceled his business trip the next day out of worry that this was something serious. It turns out that, by the next morning, I had figured out how to unlock my knee by bending it as far as it would go, rotating my whole leg inwards, and then straightening it out in this contorted position, thereby bypassing whatever was locked like a perfectly oiled key. From that point on I went about my days like normal, except my knee locked up dozens of times a day, and dozens of times a day I manually unlocked it with this key-like combination of leg thrusts. As a budding engineer I imagined this to be some kind of mechanical defect in the joint, and in some ways it was even exciting to be discovering how to make a flawed machine work, like knowing the best place to slap the side of the old TV to make the static go away, or the right intensity of air to blow through the N64 cartridge to make it play. A few weeks later I had an MRI, and after reviewing the results, the doctor passed it off as a meniscus tear typical for young athletes and ordered an arthroscopic surgery, three scopes into my right knee. I recall having a pretty bad reaction to the general anesthesia and spending a few miserable days in bed, but upon return to middle school, it was actually pretty fun to be temporarily handicapped, to receive the undeserved concern and attention of your classmates and teachers for just as long as it was graciously offered. In retrospect, that first surgery was completely useless on account of a misdiagnosis, but probably because of inflammation of the entire area, the problem seemed to have been solved. My right knee was no longer locking, and I had enjoyed a few months of indulgent importance.

In 2007 or so, probably somewhere on the football field during marching band practice, my left leg locked for the first time. A few days later, a second doctor noticed something odd on the standard X-ray; on the bottom corner of the image, away from the actual knee region where the previous doctor had focused his inspection, this doctor noticed a strange hook shape right where the tibia narrows from the knee to the long, slender section of the bone (just as I showed above). As he demonstrated, this hook was snatching a specific set of ligaments as they passed over the ridge during bending. Now that I was focused on the right place, I could literally feel it happening under my fingers, like a buckle snapping shut. Suddenly, it became clear that the previous surgery had been pointless, that the source of the locking was still present on both knees, and that the only solution was to actually go in and shave off the hook. I remember feeling nowhere near as curious or fascinated about my predicament; rather I felt the first tinges of a deep melancholy, the kind that I suspect permeates old age, as the unfortunate surprises of our genes all come out into the limelight. It was an early warning sign of the facts we cannot change, the consequences with no one to blame.

My second knee surgery went much more smoothly, given it was less invasive to the knee joint itself, and within a week or so I was hobbling across the football field during early morning marching band practice, shouting comments at my snare line as they trotted across the yard lines, trying to maintain a straight file with a gap where I was supposed to be. About a week later I was back in that gap, surprised by how fast my body recovered from its disability. Having conquered one osteochondroma and lain dormant the other, I was back to being limitless.

Only a year later, I felt a pain in my abdomen and a strange lump in that high school boy’s treasure trove of euphemisms. (The official diagnosis was an inguinal hernia; I called it a third nut.) Whether it was because I was carrying a thirty-pound snare drum for hours a day, or because I was a bit too trigger-happy with my first 24 Hour Fitness gym membership, I was back to despair over this body that was holding me back from my responsibilities as a leader in my drumline, from enjoying my youth without fear of complications. My third surgery was the worst, involving cuts into my abdomen, and left me bedridden for many more existential days.

Almost ten years later, on the eve of my 25th birthday, I was hanging out with friends in Inner Richmond when I felt something shift in my right knee, and a familiar locking sensation. I knew perfectly well how to unlock it, but to my surprise, my remaining osteochondroma was back with a vengeance, locking dozens, maybe hundreds of times a day, basically every time I bent my knee past 90 degrees. I suspect it had something to do with my recent uptick in ski trips this past season. That was about five months ago. I visited a new doctor here in the city, my first time navigating the health care system on my own, and knowing the drill, he and I both went straight to surgery options. We set the date for early August.

The surgery itself felt more nostalgic than anything, that particular luminosity of hospital waiting rooms, the massive exposed sensation of the surgery gown, the speed at which everything seems to move as you enter the operating room and see all the hands move like clockwork to get you into position. As she put a cold fluid through my IV, the anesthesiologist asked me what kind of music I like listening to. I said indie music, folk acoustic. She asked if the Lumineers was fine. I said sure. As “Flowers in Your Hair” started playing, she told me I was about to feel something hot and spicy move through my system. It felt more like a dull, heavy pain begin to seep through my arm. Somebody placed the oxygen mask over my mouth. I don’t remember hearing the end of that short song. About two hours later I woke and, just as I recalled from my past surgeries, could not feel the passage of time, the way you’d feel after sleeping the same amount of time. I had goldfish and animal crackers, just like I remembered. This time, instead of my parents being there, I waited for my friends to come pick me up. I felt good enough to head straight to dinner, and then head over to the East Bay to spend a few days with Boanne and her mom taking care of me. A weekend of Netflix and Wii games, and then I was feeling good enough to return to work at Stanford. I used one crutch on Monday, and none for the rest of the week. A few swabs of rubbing alcohol over the bandaged stitches twice a day, a slight limp wherever I went.

Yesterday I went to the doctor one last time for a post-operative check-up, and the doctor saw that everything was healing properly. The only complication I seem to have is a slight numbness in the nerve that he had to move aside during surgery; apparently it can decide to go to sleep for weeks or months before waking up again. It’s a small price to pay for being rid of a lifelong annoyance. Although, ironically, it’s really hard to break free of the habit of unlocking my knee every time I think I have locked my knee, even though it theoretically will never happen again. I suppose I will have phantom osteochondroma for quite some time.

Four surgeries down; many more to come. If I’ve come to belief anything bone-deep, it’s the following. We should never take our able bodies for granted. We should never take the accessibility designs of our built environment for granted and treat those with disabilities with the utmost compassion. And we should be with who we elect to manage our health care, in more ways than one.

Art, Ideas, Life

It’s been about a month since I last wrote. Once again I am in purgatory, also known as the airport, where I arrived at 5am only to find that my United flight to Monterrey was rescheduled to 2:30pm. No serious harm done, as this has afforded me some quality time to work, but it does mean that my SUS team will have a harder time preparing for our meetings tomorrow, in which we’ll present the outcomes of the project course this Spring. Monterrey will be at 100 degrees F this week. Last time I was there, spring break, I was noncommittal vegetarian; this time around, I’m a struggling vegan. We’ll see if I succumb to the temptations of arrachera.

I get back Friday night, and then the next day, I’m off to Tokyo for a week for the Asia Leadership Conference on Sustainable Development and Climate Change. I believe I was invited pretty much because the organizers read this blog post; don’t underestimate the value of maintaining your professional online presence. The organizers were really generous to agree to book my trip with one extra day at the beginning and end, which means I’ll get to pull a couple of all-nighters in Tokyo like a Murakami character and take in a city I went to as a little kid, but haven’t yet truly experienced as a “woke” urbanist, foodie, techie, artist, etc. etc. Any recommendations for places I should visit are greatly appreciated.

Since I’m stuck in SFO for the next 6 hours, I figured I’d do some catch up on life, arts, and culture this past month.

First the Stanford Architectural Design Program hosted two lectures as part of AIA continuing education and for the Senior Show, which are always a great opportunity to listen to some architects speak about their work. Thomas Woltz from Nelson Byrd Woltz Landscape Architects gave a breathtaking lecture, perhaps the best I’ve ever seen in the series, and in particular, helped me understand the unique artistry and power that landscape architects can wield at the top of their craft. I was especially struck by their Memorial Park project in Houston in which trees are not just architectural form but dynamic program, in that they represent a specific number of fallen soldiers and are planned to be felled, in unison, 25 years after planting, to commemorate the equivalent human loss at that average age, and planted and felled again in the same pattern for perpetuity. What a staggering design decision, well above what most buildings can ever claim. On the other hand, Greg Pasquarelli from SHoP Architects perfectly represented, in my view, the worst trends of contemporary architecture in his firm’s body of work. I won’t get into the details (unless I am asked to), but the Barclay’s Center is the kind of architecture that looks great in a napkin sketch, on Rhino, and from about 1,000 feet away, but it hideous up-close because of the fundamental inability of planar metal construction components to represent curved, parametric forms. It’s as fundamental (and comical) of an attempt as Lego architecture, and perhaps should be reserved for the Toys”R”Us aisle, because these parametric prefabrication-and-assembly techniques fundamentally add little performative value to complex buildings besides aesthetics and mild shading. They contribute almost nothing to the most important functions of the architectural envelope: structure, weather protection, and thermal insulation. In other words, the most exciting thing about contemporary architecture is basically fancy skins. And Pasquarelli drove this point fully home when he ended with the most egregious project of all, 111 West 57th Street, which will be the most slender building in the world at 1,438ft, 82 stories, and 316,000 sqft, but will only have 60 tenants. Oh yeah, and a beautiful neo-Gothic gladding on the outsides of two massive concrete shear walls, because the tenants can afford to be a spectacle on the skyline. If this is the direction of the architectural profession, then I’m honestly glad to be transitioning to urban design and planning. The more I understand cities, the more I understand that the most important decisions made about a building are its urban constraints and urban interactions. Maybe, then, architecture really is just the leftover cosmetics.

The first weekend of June, my family came up to SF and I took them to enjoy Squaw Valley at Lake Tahoe. But first, I went to a great Lambchop concert at the Great American Music Hall in SF, which is a quaint little venue with little roundtables instead of standing area. At Squaw, I rocked my Boboskis wearing just a t-shirt and shorts and spent most of two days on Granite Chief pushing my speed on moguls. There was also a fun luge-like section on Shirley Lake Express. We also checked out Sand Harbor and part of the Shirley Creek Trail, which is a truly magical hike.

Coming back from Tahoe, I then spent the week with a visiting group from Sichuan University (which I had visited earlier in May). I invite all readers to take a look at some documentation of the SUS Symposium I organized on June 8. On Friday I took the group on a curated tour of San Francisco, which included the Ferry Building, Powell-Hyde Cable Car, Lombard Street, Pier 39, ferry to Sausalito, the Bay Model Visitor Center, floating homes, a walk across the Golden Gate Bridge, Palace of Fine Arts, and PPQ Dungeness Crab Restaurant.

This past week I started transitioning to the summer quarter, when I’ll be working with some students on special projects and preparing curriculum for next year. I went with Abi to see Rostam at the Independent, which was awesome because he played songs from Discovery and Vampire Weekend in addition to some upcoming music that almost sounds like it could be in a Kanye album. In terms of albums I’ve been listening to, it’s been early releases from The War on Drugs’ A Deeper Understanding, Sufjan and friends’ Planetarium, Big Thief’s Capacity, and Fleet Foxes’ Crack-Up. TWOD is really promising so far; “Thinking of a Place” has totally grown on me to match some of the best of Lost in a Dream over its 11 minutes, and “Holding On” is a full-on Bruce Springsteen joyride.

Planetarium turned out to be much more like “Saturn” than “Mercury”, in terms of styles the two initial singles teased. There are some really ambient orchestral sections that, while beautifully produced, aren’t quite interesting enough for me to listen to regularly, and there are some more jagged and space-rock moments in “Jupiter” and “Mars” that wade a bit too far into Age of Adz waters for me. “Neptune” and “Venus” are lush and engrossing tracks, in addition to the beautiful “Mercury”, and “Earth” is a whopping 15 minutes which almost feels like the entire album captured in one track, going from ambient to electronic and back and packing some quintessentially Sufjan-emo contemplations. Overall this is an interesting musical experience, but I preferred Sufjan’s last side project, Sisyphus. My rating: 3/5

Capacity has been an absolute stunner for me, proving that I really need to start trusting NPR Music just as much as a trust Pitchfork (which also rated it highly). The best thing I can say about Big Thief, besides Adrianne Lenker’s deeply personal songwriting, is that at their best, they evoke the sound of The Weepies. The best examples of this in the album are “Haley” and “Black Diamonds”. “Haley” in particular is going to be on my top 10 songs of the year list. It has a simple but extended climbing melody that is imbued with a lush string orchestration, spot-on drum fills, and perfectly moving time signature and key changes. Other good songs include “Mythological Beauty”, “Objects”, and “Mary”. My rating: 4.5/5

Finally, Crack-Up finally came out and on the whole is an engrossing listen and, as usual, doesn’t quite reward a playlist with easy singles, but there are some gems which make this comparable to, if not quite at the level of, Helplessness Blues. The earlier singles, “Third of May / Odaigahara”, “Fool’s Errand”, and “If You Need To, Keep Time on Me” turn out to be the main ones. But I also really enjoy the pair “Cassius, -” and “- Naiads, Cassadies”. Take a listen, and in the latter song, reflect on the beautiful lyrics below. My rating: 4/5

Who stole the life from you?
Who turned you so against you?
Who was the thief who shaved your teeth
Accepting just virtue

And did he act alone?
Were any more complicit?
When he would sing and offer the ring
What older voice said, “kiss it”?

Fire can’t doubt its heat
Water can’t doubt its power
You’re not adrift, you’re not a gift
You know you’re not a flower

Movies: This month I watched Their Finest, The Lovers, Wonder Woman, Beatriz at Dinner, and It Comes at Night. I’d recommend all of them, especially Their Finest which is a nice preparation for the upcoming Dunkirk and Beatriz which is as literal of an illustration of our sociopolitical divide as can be found on screen this year.

Podcasts: I highly recommend “The Gondolier” on Radiolab, the new season of Invisibilia, and the entire third season of 2 Dope Queens.

Books: Against Empathy by Paul Bloom was not a particularly impactful read, but mostly because I’ve already mulled over its ideas for a long time. If we ever talk about the difference between empathy and compassion, I’ll be referencing this book. Hillbilly Elegy by J.D. Vance certainly met my expectations as an honest portrait of Appalachian and Rust Belt America with this damning conclusion:

I believe we hillbillies are the toughest goddamned people on this earth. We take an electric saw to the hide of those who insult our mother. We make young men consume cotton undergarments to protect a sister’s honor. But are we tough enough to do what needs to be done to help a kid like Brian? Are we tough enough to build a church that forces kids like me to engage with the world rather than withdraw from it? Are we tough enough to look ourselves in the mirror and admit that our conduct harms our children?

Public policy can help, but there is no government that can fix these problems for us.

But Hillbilly paled in comparison to Matthew Desmond’s Evicted, which absolutely exceeded my expectations and definitely deserves the Pulitzer. All I can say is that for an author to pull off telling a harrowing and tragic documentation of families suffering through eviction in Milwaukee that reads like fiction, and to have done it accurately and honestly and ethically, is the kind of feat that, if I had experienced it earlier in my life, might have pushed me towards sociological research. Go read it as soon as you can.