Cyrano de BOTgerac

The intro to aikido class seemed to be going well -- at least for certain values of well. By that I mean that my entire body was no longer sore all the time. I had thought that I was in pretty good shape from all of my running, but aikido had me using a lot of new muscle groups now. On the minus side, I spent half of each class being cheerfully thrown on my ass by my classmates. On the plus side, I spent the other half of each class throwing them on their collective asses.

Aikido has a special name for the art of falling down: ukemi. The goal is to become so good at ukemi that whenever someone knocks you down, you automatically convert the fall into a graceful roll and come bouncing back up on your feet. Perhaps there's a metaphor for life in there somewhere.

There is an old saying that to achieve mastery at something, do it ten thousand times. By the end of my eight-week intro class, I estimated that I had already been thrown to the mat several hundred times. Not ten thousand yet, but it's a start.

After practice, I mentioned the Green Lake contradance to Sally. She was initially a bit leery until I pointed out some of the similarities between contradancing and aikido. She was intrigued by my observation that the 'chain the ladies' figure from contradancing was almost identical to the iriminage throw we used in aikido -- except that you don't slam the lady down to the mat at the end of the dance movement. Sally and her girlfriend came with me to the dance and had a fine time. I was a bit tickled at the next practice when Sally Sensei complained of the sore muscles she had from dancing.

* * *

As I walked home from the dojo, I got a text from Roxanne.

> Where's my pictures?

Crap. I forgot all about that.

> Give me 30 minutes.

I sent her a picture of me dancing with Sally at Green Lake. Sally had also grabbed a few shots of me and another dojo member practicing kokyunage, and throwing each other across the mat. I sent those as well.

> Wow, is that your girlfriend?

> Nope, that's my sensei. Her girlfriend took that shot.

> Sensei? Are you doing judo?

> Aikido.

> Impressive.

> Beginner stuff, but thanks.

* * *

Chapter 4 -- September

As the AIMS meeting loomed, Roxanne and I were texting every day to plan her visit. She and I were presenting talks in the same session on Wednesday, but we otherwise had the rest of the week open to play hooky from the sessions. She texted me on Wednesday before the meeting:

> Booked on last non-stop to Seattle on Friday. Staying at Sheraton.

> Great. Hike on Saturday?

> Where and how far?

> Lake Serene. 8 mile round trip, with 2500 feet elevation gain.

> Need special gear?

> Nope. Just comfy hiking shoes.

> What time on Saturday?

> 7:30 am too early?

> Perfect. CU then.

I was beginning to stress out a bit. Texting is one thing, but carrying on a live conversation with Roxanne was going to be a challenge for me. Once we were on the trail, honest exertion would cut down on the chit chat. However, we would be in the car together for several hours traveling to and from the trailhead. I needed some ideas for filling that conversational void, so I went back to my digital mentor and asked BabbleBOT for '6 tips for being a great conversationalist.'

1. Be a good listener -- Seems like all I ever do is listen. Talking is my problem.

2. Make eye contact -- Nope. Hard to do that while driving through the mountains.

3. Use positive body language, such as nodding -- OK, I could nod.

4. Avoid interrupting -- Ha! No problem. My problem is avoiding long silences.

5. Active feedback, i.e. periodically paraphrasing or summarizing what the other person said. -- Sure, I can try that.

6. Ask open-ended questions -- OK, I can try that too.

* * *

Friday night my phone dinged.

> Just landed at SeaTac!

> Great, welcome to Seattle!

About 90 minutes later, another ding.

> At Sheraton. CU @ 0730.

> CU. Sleep well.

* * *

The next day I pulled into the Sheraton drop-off at 0725 and spotted Roxanne sitting outside looking at her phone.

I got out and walked over to her. "Roxanne. Hi!"

"Oh, hi! Very nice to finally see you in person." She stood up and shook my hand.

"Same here. Have you eaten?"

"Grabbed a muffin and some coffee inside. I'm good."

"Great, let's hit the road."

She got in and buckled up. "How long is the drive?"

"Sixty to ninety minutes to the trailhead, depending on traffic."

A few minutes later we were on I-5 N. I pointed out the Space Needle and Lake Union off to our left as we drove. I decided to try a few open-ended questions and to listen, listen, listen. Asking about her flight, her work week and her AIMS talk got us almost all the way to Everett. I turned off to State Highway 2, heading east to the mountains.

Roxanne asked, "Have you been to Lake Serene before?"

"No, but the Washington Trails website said it was a great hike."

The open-ended question gambit had worked well, so I asked a few more. Roxanne told me about growing up in Iowa and about her first few months in Boston. I listened, nodded a lot, and occasionally gave some active feedback. Hmm... so far this conversation algorithm seemed to be working pretty well.

We got to the town of Index, and parked at the Lake Serene trailhead. I donned my daypack and offered a fanny pack with a water bottle to Roxanne. We each grabbed a set of hiking poles out of my trunk, and off we went.

As we headed up the slope, Roxanne sniffed the air and said, "Oh my god, the air here smells so good!"

"Better than Boston?"

"Better than any city."

The trail was well-maintained, and slowly led us up the hill. The elevation gain was challenging enough to us that we didn't talk much on the way up. We paused along the way to take pictures of several waterfalls, and to peer into an old, abandoned mine. There wasn't much else to see until we got near the top of the trail, where the view opened up to the north, with a nice view up the valley of the North Fork of the Skykomish River. We passed one last noisy waterfall, and then the trail led down a short way to the shore of Lake Serene.

At the shore, Roxanne looked up and said, "Oh. My. God!" She looked just like I felt -- absolutely gobsmacked by the view of Mt. Index towering above us. The website pictures showed a small lake with a mountain on the other side. They did not prepare me for the reality. The sheer north face of Mt. Index goes straight up for about 3000 feet. Although it was on the other side of the lake, it seemed to be looming directly over our heads, like a giant that could reach down and swat us away at any moment.

She turned to me and shook her head slowly. "I just don't have words for this. I was prepared for scenic, but not for spectacular. This is breathtaking."

We gaped at the view a bit more, and then did our best to take some pictures that did it justice. We hiked over to the western end of the lake, where a gigantic granite rock sloped slowly down into the lake. I dropped my pack and took out my phone again. The mountains and trees along the eastern shore of the lake were reflected perfectly by the still waters of Lake Serene, and we spent a few minutes framing several shots of this mirrored panorama, as well as a few selfies.

I pointed to my pack. "Hungry?"

"Ravenous. What did you bring?"

I pulled out two bento boxes and gave one to her. "Salmon, rice and salad. I also have two sushi rolls with grilled, garlic salmon. For dessert we have some local chocolate and apples. We can save the trail mix for the hike back down to the car."

Other than small, involuntary moans of pleasure, we ate in a companionable silence. We then lay back, using our packs as pillows and gazed up at Mt. Index above us. Finally, Roxanne turned to me. "Wow, I don't know what you have planned for the rest of the week, but today is going to be a pretty hard act to follow."

I grinned, "Brace yourself then for a week of anticlimax after disappointing anticlimax."

She giggled. "Bring it!"

* * *

After lunch we headed back down the hill. We took our time going down, and got back to the car about 4 pm. We were both a bit whipped from the hike, and Roxanne drowsed off for much of our drive back to town. She woke up as we hit the Seattle city limits. She stretched and yawned. "Where are we?"

"North end of Seattle. Have a good rest?"

"Oh, man. I'm still wasted from my trip out."

"Hungry again?"

"Yes I am. What do you have in mind?"

"There's a great dumpling place over by Northgate."

"I adore dumplings."

We shared a few orders of dumplings, along with some sweet and sour soup. As I drove her back to the Sheraton, she asked, "What's on for tomorrow?"

"Toulouse-Lautrec and tide-pooling."

She smiled. "Those are words one doesn't usually hear strung together."

"The Seattle Asian Art Museum has an exhibition contrasting 19th century Parisian art with the 18th -19th century Edo art of Japan. After that, we can hit the Olympic Sculpture Park. If we time it right, we can walk right from there down onto the tidal flats by Myrtle Edwards Park and look for sea critters."

When I dropped her at the Sheraton, she gave me a hug, and said, "What a wonderful day. Would you call this a date?"

"What if it was?"

"Then it would be in the running for Best First Date Ever."

"What if it wasn't?"

"Then it's a contender for Best Something Else Ever."

* * *

I drove home thinking that this had been one of the best days of my life. BabbleBOT's conversation tips had worked pretty well for me. I had been able to keep her talking most of the time, so I didn't have to say much. Tomorrow would be a lot trickier. Best case, she would ask me to talk about myself. At least I know stuff about myself, even if I can't put it into coherent sentences. Worst case, she would ask me questions about art and I would have nothing. Crap.

Before bedtime, I turned to BabbleBOT Sensei once more, and asked it to preload my brain with a few incisive comments about Toulouse-Lautrec and the Edo period. It did have a lot of interesting things to say. I tried to memorize a few of those things, but it was all gone by the time I woke up the next morning. Oh, well.

* * *

By the time I picked up Roxanne at the Sheraton the next morning, my brain had bootstrapped itself into a pretty convincing case of impostor syndrome. As we drove over to Volunteer Park, I decided to come clean. "I know nothing about art. The only thing I know about this exhibition is two sentences I read on their website yesterday."

"I appreciate your honesty -- it's refreshing, actually. You have no idea how many times I've had something mansplained to me by some guy talking out of his ass while trying to impress me. Anyhow, I'm in the same boat as you. I've seen a few of Toulouse-Lautrec's posters, but know nothing about Japanese art."

I felt a lot better hearing that. In that spirit we walked into SAAM, and were swept away by the exhibition. The wonderful paintings and prints resonated with me more powerfully than the words I had read about them. It occurred to me that most of what I thought of as art was paintings of kings and queens and generals and gods -- in other words, important people. In contrast, a lot of the French and Japanese figures captured in this exhibition were snapshots of commoners from their everyday lives. We saw picture after picture of farmers and fishermen, kabuki actors and cabaret singers, geishas and prostitutes going about their days.

We were both surprised at how many sensual and frankly erotic pictures were in the exhibition. Horniness definitely does not stop at national borders. I was glad that I had shelled out the extra bucks for a program -- it sure came in handy for masking the brief boner I sprouted in that part of the exhibition. Possibly Roxanne was also a bit aroused by this artwork. At one point I saw a touch of blush on her face that matched the one I felt on mine.

As we ambled out of the museum, I asked, "If this were a date, would this count as showing you my etchings?"

This got a belly laugh from Roxanne, which I quickly shared with her. "I think it's time to stop beating around the bush. This is definitely a date. And yes, your etchings are awesome."

"If you thought those were impressive, wait till you see the whale makers at Ivar's."

She stared at me. "I know all of those words, but have no idea what that sentence means."

"I'm taking you to lunch at Ivar's Salmon House down on Lake Union. The rest of those words will make sense when we get there."

* * *

Seattle has a lot of great seafood restaurants, but my favorite is still Ivar's, located under the I-5 bridge on the north shore of Lake Union. The restaurant is built in the style of a Native American longhouse, and is filled with an impressive collection of Northwest Native American art. The air is filled with the aroma of salmon roasting over alder logs. We grabbed orders of smoked salmon and wild rice at the outdoor Fish Bar there. It was a beautiful day, so we ate alfresco out on the floating dock behind the restaurant. It was a great day for watching boats, people and seaplanes out on the lake, with the Space Needle in the background.

As we finished our food, Roxanne said, "OK, that was delicious. However, I still don't know what a whale maker is."

"Follow me." I led her into the bar at the end of the restaurant and gestured toward the wall behind the bar. "Voilà!"

She looked for a few moments and turned back and shrugged. I pointed out a meter-long, dark, conical object on the wall.

She shrugged again, and asked, "What's that?"

"Whale maker."

"Umm..."

"Orca penis."

She turned back with wide eyes. "No way."

"Way. That's why this bar is called the Whale Maker Lounge."

She stared at the whale makers for awhile, and then turned to me with an impish grin. "Wow. You know, not many guys are secure enough in their own manhood to bring a date here and show her that."

"Urk..."

"Teasing! I'm teasing!"

* * *

My tide table app predicted that the lowest Seattle tide for the day would happen about 1:30 pm. We drove across town and parked near the outdoor sculpture garden. There were several pieces that we enjoyed there, but the real star attraction was the view of the Olympic Peninsula across Puget Sound. We strolled over the pedestrian walkway across the railroad tracks to Myrtle Edwards Park, and then headed north for a few blocks to Pocket Beach. There were a few other beachcombers there ahead of us. We spent a happy hour admiring anemones, starfish, barnacles and tiny crabs. When the tide started coming back in, we left the beach and walked down Alaskan Way until we got to the Seattle Aquarium. We spent a few hours there and then headed back to my car.

Roxanne said, "This weekend was a great way to start my first visit to Seattle." She sighed. "I suppose we do have to go to a few days of the AIMS meeting. Have you finished putting your presentation together for Wednesday?"

I grimaced. "Yeah, but it's going to suck."

"Why do you say that?"

"I saw your presentation in Chicago. You were awesome. Mine is going to look like crap by comparison."

"We'll see about that. I may have a few tips that could help you."

"Hmm..."

* * *

I met Roxanne at the Sheraton on Monday for breakfast. We then walked over to the Seattle Convention Center and picked up our badges for the AIMS meeting. Some of the AI talks were fascinating, but I won't bore you with any of the technical details. By early afternoon, our brains were full, and we took the light rail down to the International District, which is packed with a zillion excellent Asian restaurants.

After several rounds of dim sum therapy, Roxanne said, "Let's go back to my hotel. I want to hear your presentation."

I tried to beg off, but she would have none of it. "Look, I'm going to hear your talk on Wednesday anyway. Give me a preview."

I mumbled something under my breath.

"What was that?"

"I don't want to disappoint you."

She stopped walking and turned to face me. She put her hands on my shoulders and said, "You will never disappoint me, Chris. Anyway, I've already read your abstract. You've got some great stuff there." I continued to look skeptical. "Do you trust me?"

I nodded.

"Do you think that I would do anything to hurt you or humiliate you?"

I shook my head.

"OK then. There is no downside to my hearing your talk now. Come on." She hooked her elbow through mine, and led me into the Sheraton. The lobby and hotel bar were full of AI nerds, so she pulled me over to the elevators. "We're going up to my room where we can get some privacy."

She handed me an HDMI cable and plugged the other end into the TV screen in her room. I plugged the cable into my Mac and brought up my presentation. I took a deep breath, and started reading my slides to her. She listened to the whole presentation without interrupting me, and then said, "Great stuff, Chris. That talk is already better than 90% of the talks we heard today."

When she saw my dubious expression, she said, "No, really. Your content is great. Your project is innovative, and the logic of your slides carries us inexorably to your final conclusions. That's so much better than most of the crap we heard today."

"That's nice of you to say, but I freaking hate public speaking. Heck, I hate private speaking. I hardly know what to say to you when we're together."

"Well, you've done a pretty darned good job of it so far this week. Now, back to public speaking. Did you like my presentation in Chicago?"

I nodded.

"Do you think my presentations were always like that?"

I nodded again.

"Wrong. My first presentation at a national meeting was 3 years ago, and it totally sucked. But, one of my mentors gave me some great feedback, and I slowly got better and better. Public speaking is not a gift from the gods -- it's a learned skill. If I can do it, so can you."

"Come on, there's no way I can learn to do it as well as you in just two days."

"True, but with a few tweaks and a little practice, your talk will be better than 98% of the other bozos at AIMS this week."

"No way."

"As a wise person said to me yesterday, way! I'm willing to put my money where my mouth is. Do you like steak?"

"Sure."

"What's the most expensive steakhouse in Seattle?"

"Um, probably the Metropolitan Grill."

"OK, if your talk actually sucks, I'll buy you the most expensive cut they have there Wednesday night." She paused for a beat. "But, if your talk kicks butt, dinner's on you, and I'm ordering wagyu!"

I sighed. "OK, you've got a bet." I called the Metropolitan Grill and booked a table for two for Wednesday.

Roxanne and I spent several hours tweaking my talk that evening. I won't bore you with the presentation fu that she shared with me, but my slide deck was a LOT better by the time I drove home.

* * *

After breakfast the next day, we went to some of the AI sessions. After listening to several more sessions of AI nerds reading their slides in a monotonic drone, I admitted to Roxanne that she was right. Even I could see how much better my slide deck was than the ones we saw today. We went back to her room, and I practiced my presentation several more times. Each time through, my talk became a bit more polished, and I became a bit less anxious. She also prepared me for the Q and A part of our session, by bombarding me with a ton of likely questions about my talk.