I rode Uber & Lyft for 1 year in SoCal

I've always blamed my move from New York to SoCal on an ex-boyfriend that cheated on me for money. We broke up two weeks after I accepted a job in Newport Beach to be closer to him while he lived temporarily in LA. Seven months after our break up (over the phone, no less) he had his come to Jesus moment, requesting that we schedule a brief meeting. It was mostly for him to admit that he had gotten back on Tinder and left me for another Chinese lady, a relatively talented writer living in a five-bedroom apartment in LA. She doesn't need to work for money, he said. Her apartment is huge, he said.

Newport Beach is a sparse, flat and beige town composed of imported palm trees, Botox, Italian and German sport cars, stretches of scorching sand, surprisingly delicious food, and one cybersecurity company. I moved thinking I would get a car to solve the transportation problem: How hard could it be to get a US license, much less purchase insurance and a car?

I tried. I really did. The DMV appointments were scheduled months in advance and the traffic rule book was downloaded and perused. I even made a preliminary visit to a Volkswagen dealership and tested a Golf in Huntington Beach. But when it came down to sitting for the writing test, I couldn't bring myself to show up at the DMV. I just couldn’t become a car owner. It's not who I am; it's not who I ever will be. I'm a city dweller. I'm from Singapore, I lived in New York—I don't need a car.

And, really, I didn't. 877 of rides later, I can say I rode Uber and Lyft for one year.

I didn't initially think rideshares were going to be my permanent solution. The health-conscious part of me reasoned I could walk 50 minutes to work several times a week. (That's like, what, 40 Manhattan blocks with traffic lights?) The frugal part of me reasoned I could take a bus in the morning and a rideshare at night. (You'll save $7 each morning, which is $35 a week, or one grocery trip, I thought.) But there's really nothing more depressing than walking 50 minutes along a highway with cacti on one side and speeding cars on the other. Plus, the buses couldn't cut it. They were infrequent and late; I hated monitoring them on my dinky iPhone 5 screen.

At one point I investigated scooters, but discovered that while 12 scooter companies operate in neighboring San Francisco, they are banned in pristine Newport Beach. Could I have bought one? Yes, but the thought of scootering directly next to cars with vanity plates like "VROOOM" and "A55HOLE" was enough to bury this idea. In Seattle, I saw Lime Pods and thought perhaps the city would roll them out, too. Alas.

So I was stuck with Uber and Lyft. I read somewhere that most users of these apps don't own cars. Car owners tend to call a rideshare when they're headed to the airport, somewhere with insufficient parking or dinner, where they plan to drink uninhibited. I, however, rode Uber or Lyft to work, the supermarket, the doctors, yoga, Laguna, airports, and home. I was completely reliant on ridesharing and this required of me the strictest sense of efficiency.

Here’s how a recent day looked: To avoid the cost of a Lyft ride, I started with a 20-minute walk to the nearest USPS in the sweltering sun. I walked steadily to avoid perspiration, but by the end of my jaunt I was shvitzing. Then I took a Lyft to work. During lunch I took FRANC (free rides around Newport Center) to Citibank to withdraw money for my therapist and deposit a check from LOT Airlines, from when they abandoned me in Warsaw, then I FRANC-ed back to work. After work, I FRANC-ed to Wholefoods and bought a week's worth of groceries. From Wholefoods, I took a Lyft back home. I cooked a bunch that evening to avoid extra trips to lunch.

Lyft total: two rides for $14. Really, what was life before FRANC?

Another day: I took a Lyft to my gynecologist and discovered I am still with cyst. It's been three months, and the pain is unyielding. After coming to terms with my womanhood—in other words holding a pity party of one in the OBGYN's waiting area—I took FRANC to work. At lunch, I hitched a ride with a coworker to grab food. I complain about my cyst. After work, I took a Lyft to my neighborhood nail salon to treat myself because, boy, I hate being a woman. After I paid for someone to make me feel prettier, I took a Lyft home for the evening.

Lyft total: three rides for $23.

On weekdays, I might ride an Uber or Lyft anywhere from one to three times a day. On weekends, that goes up to anywhere from two to five times a day, depending on how reckless I'm feeling. (Should I go for brunch, 20-mins out in Laguna?) So what does all this riding look like when converted to numbers?

The cost of taking Uber and Lyft for one year in SoCal, stacked up against car ownership and public transportation:

Uber/Lyft: 7200 USD/yr

New Toyota Prius: 7028 USD/yr

Used Toyota Prius: 5880 USD/yr

Chargeable Tesla Model 3, rear-wheel drive: 7158 USD/yr

Monthly MTA card and 120 Lyft rides: 3072 USD/yr (me in New York, 2018)

This is my contribution to one basic argument for public transport. But, forgetting financial considerations for one second, how do the other pros and cons of taking rideshares stack up?

Pros:

• No parking, gas, insurance, or maintenance costs
• No worries about selling my car when I move
• I can drink however much I want when I go out
• I save all the time needed to refuel or bring the car for maintenance
• There is no mental energy required to drive a car; I can multitask in the backseat
• I can ignore the need to be aware of rules like tolls, Fastrak, etc.

(A friend pointed out these are incidentally the same pros for taking public transport. Thanks, Claire.)
 
Cons:

• I have to call a car everyday;
• and be mindful of my phone's battery so that I can call a car everyday
• I must talk to my driver, if he/she is the chatty sort
• Sometimes the car smells
• Sometimes the driver is dangerous
• I'm not able to do road trips without a rental car
• I've pretty much given up spontaneity to keep my rideshare costs down
• I only think in linear terms—is my daily route as streamlined as it could be?
• I have consistent headaches from sitting in the backseat of cars
• I'm basically bleeding money

This year, I've made 877 trips with Uber and Lyft. They range from six-minute rides to the grocery store, so that I can satisfy a chips craving, to one-and-a-half-hour rides to LAX. Long-haul rides do not bode well for anyone. Such trips start out well: The driver spots me holding a luggage bag and gets out of the car to help. The app promises I'll be at LAX in 50 minutes. The driver and I have been swapping CO2 for the last hour. The app now says 15 more minutes, but that was 23 minutes ago. The driver and I resent each other. Finally, after audibly sighing for what feels like forever, I am curbside and the driver snarls at me while I drag my luggage out of his trunk. I can't blame his attitude. I mark our perseverance with a 20% tip.

The worst part of Lyft's app, by the way, is that the final destination inexplicably remains hidden from the driver. (I can't remember if this is the case for Uber, as I ride Uber less than Lyft.) I'd wager most people prefer Uber and Lyft to taxis because they negate the need for providing directions. The app knows where you're going. But, the driver doesn't. And so, you tell him exactly. He clicks his tongue. This is a ride he wouldn't have accepted if the destination was disclosed earlier. I'm irritated because I'm unwanted, and I'm repeating myself despite going out of the way to avoid conversation at all costs. I know it's not the driver's fault, but it's irksome.

I've met many people in my time being chauffeured from A to B. More often than not, my driver holds two jobs. He or she is anywhere from 18 to 75 years old. I've met students working to make an extra buck, white-collar professionals trying to write off taxes on their new Tesla, retirees looking for conversation, yoga teachers, dog walkers, car dealers, nurses, jail wardens, and creepy neighbors that now know my unit number. Some drivers are exceedingly nice, offering mints, water and the option to change the music or temperature. Some are business-minded, spending our short time together selling me on additional services like phone reparation or yoga classes. Some are informative, offering explanations of SoCal phenomena like "momsicles," "June gloom," or "marine layer." And, of course, some are just downright rude, imposing their political beliefs on me before my first cup of coffee.

In this sense, traveling in cars has helped me understand the world. Yes, putting aside my bewildering attachment to my expired identity as urbanite, they basically make my being in SoCal possible. But, I don't need a car. I'm a city kid! I'd rather be waiting for the 6 train at Union Square at 8:30 a.m. on a Tuesday. In August.

Cars are necessary to maintain a certain quality of life in SoCal. The region simply isn't built for the alternative. The grey area that Uber and Lyft is filling serves a very small set of people—like NY transplants who move westward and begin to miss the MTA. What SoCal needs is infrastructural change. Call me crazy, but all hail the Hyperloop. Trains are the way of the future. It's beyond comprehension that SoCal can't get its shit together and build a reliable train network. It works for cities like New York, Chicago, and DC. It works for entire countries, like Singapore, France and Japan. It works internationally, like the Eurail within the European Union.

The argument that ride-sharing will take cars off the road is untrue. Unless it is an increasingly dense area with reasonable public transportation, there will always be car owners. This was never a convincing argument, despite what Uber and Lyft say to their investors, regulators or maybe someday, Greta Thunberg.

I read recently that Elon Musk wants to put 1 million robo-taxis on the roads in 2020, offering Tesla owners the opportunity of making more than $30,000 a year by sharing their cars while they’re busy at work. Whether or not this is a reality for 2020 is a delicious Twitter thread for another day. But I doubt Musk’s desire to make Tesla an appreciating asset is to curb traffic. If anything, I imagine robo-taxis will only add thousands of wandering cars to the roads everyday. How this would impact congestion, energy consumption and, importantly, passenger and pedestrian safety is worthy of significant study.

I am aware that the California High Speed Rail (CSHR) is in progress, though by the time it is complete, I will have moved to another city. Completion of the CHSR will be a monumental help to long distance travelers, but it doesn't solve the issue of public transportation in inter-city and beach town areas. I want to believe it boils down to individual mindsets. If citizens of Newport Beach and other sprawling cities or beach towns became hospitable to other modes of transport, a slew of obvious benefits would follow. To name a few: alleviation of the environmental impact of cars, a rise in the volume and creativity of public spaces and buildings, increased chance interactions that lead to tolerance and understanding of others and, possibly, deeper social and political involvement from feeling a part of the broader community.

I’m not sure how much longer I will be in this beach town I’ve come to know. Until my fated departure, I sign off from my beige apartment surrounded by gated communities with private harbors, cookie-cutter strip malls and nine-lane highways.

P.S.: Some extra thoughts on Tesla Network: Musk's robo-taxi might work better if it operated as if on a bus route. Or, if the app had some way of calculating the time and power required to return to its owner when needed. Putting aside several ways a Tesla may be hijacked, one concern is that if the robo-taxi accepts any trip on its app, it may end up miles away from its owners without resources to return. If a robo-taxi could deposit itself at a charging station, then Musk will need to employ workers at said station to assist with charging.

In fact, why even bother with the Tesla Network? Why not government funding and your taxes be spent on realizing the potential of our bus fleet and network?

P.P.S.: If you're wondering about my love life, I am lucky to have met a wonderful man in San Francisco while on a work trip. I'm hoping to move so I can be with him. Happily, he lives in a city with reasonable bus service and, well, he already owns a car.

Paranoia in Newport Beach, CA

I became paranoid about my surroundings after moving to Newport Beach, CA. The paranoia grew slowly, and I think it began with my introduction to a neighbor living on the floor above me.

I met my neighbor one evening when I was headed out for a run. He gave me a creepy smirk and waved at me from the passenger seat of a car belonging to someone he seemed to have only just met. When I returned home, he was loitering near an open garage directly below my apartment. There, he fiddled with his skateboard, and walked back and forth between the garage and a white pick up truck. I noticed an open suitcase splayed on the ground of the garage.

I wasn't distressed by this incident until I remembered the cops visiting this garage last December. When I had walked by then, I saw the cops circling a man sitting groggy-eyed on an old couch. He looked like a squatter interrupted from his nap. I put one and two together to conclude that the man I mistook for a squatter was actually this very neighbor.

The week after the waving incident, I observed my neighbor entering and leaving the garage repeatedly at odd hours before disappearing from our property completely. Presumably he left, or our waking hours fell out of sync.

Some time after my neighbor left my immediate memory, I spotted the cops congregating at his garage again, but my neighbor was no where in sight. I bit the bullet and asked if they were here to address a straggler. No, the garage dweller was my neighbor, but there was a domestic situation I wasn't to be privy to. This somewhat quelled my interest in the matter; at the very least, I could feel safe.

About a month ago, however, I heard a man screaming "help me!" followed by the noise of a slamming door. I was alone at the time and raced onto Next Door, hoping I would learn more about if the commotion came from my mystery neighbor. Someone had called the cops, but I didn't get closure.

The trouble surrounding my upstairs neighbor catalyzed a morbid fascination with the scaries of Newport Beach.

A scary facet about Newport Beach, for example, is how insulated neighbors are from one another. When I moved into my apartment complex, I quickly came to the analogy of our apartments as human enclosures. All of my neighbors keep their shades closed at all times. It's impossible to tell who I live next to without intercepting mail (I don't do this), following police logs, or participating in the many forums of Next Door. I thought perhaps this was an isolated condition of my apartment complex, but I was dismayed to discover this attitude plagues many residential neighborhoods, too.

This is vastly different from my experience in New York. No matter where I lived, I always knew my neighbors. Intimately. In the FiDi, I did laundry for my roommate's dealer. In SoHo, I bought groceries for my elderly neighbor who was unfortunately attached to an oxygen tank. In Williamsburg, I watched horror films with the pharmacist and his Alaskan Malamute next door. In Bushwick, I partied at our local dive bar with the three RISD grads at the opposite end of our hallway. (One a fuck boy, two a sad boy, three a standup Dominican man in a surprisingly committed relationship) On the Upper West Side, I used the roof deck of one Columbia professor who lived adjacent to me.

Without asking, I knew the time my neighbors woke up, how they made their coffee, what they had for dinner, if they ate alone, when they showered or had sex, and when they got new plants. Knowing so much about my neighbors made me feel bonded to them and safe. Our walls were never thicker than a strip of paint, but at least we were all in this plastered shit hole together?

One recent day, I made the mistake of checking the crime rate in Newport Beach. You might be equally horrified to learn that the property theft rate in Newport Beach is higher than that of New York City.

Just a thought, but would the crime rate in Newport Beach decrease if a thief knew beforehand what was available for the taking? If he could see a house's interior from the outside, he might determine there is nothing worth stealing and forego the effort. Or, more realistically, a thief may notice a security alarm and decide against breaking in.

Lately at night, I think about all the ways I would escape if someone broke into my apartment. Would I be brave enough to defend myself against my attacker? Should I reconsider my habits and start sleeping with clothes on? Could I negotiate my way out of the intrusion? Would I remember the police is 911, or will I trip up and dial 999? (This is the number for the police in Singapore)

Another story I frighten myself with is a hypothetical show down on the field opposite my apartment complex. If someone were spraying bullets indiscriminately, could the bullets penetrate the thin clapboard of my flat? Would I be safer in the closet or the bathroom?

Because I take Uber and Lyft so regularly, I sometimes have nightmares about a malicious driver. This driver might kidnap me because he's racist, or turn a weapon on me for slamming the door too forcefully. I read recently that if you are stuffed into the trunk of a car, you should kick the taillights loose, stick your arm through, and wave it frantically so the next driver can see you, assuming another driver is present at the time. I think this could be useful advice, but I'm not sure if cars are designed to be this shoddy.

Sometimes I also think about an unassuming gunman that becomes triggered while shopping at Whole Foods. The last cabbage bunch is taken yet again!!!

The shades, in a silly way, give Newport Beach the ambiance of a ghost town. It contributes to a sense of isolation, fear, and paranoia I've felt since moving here. I haven't once had Californian sunshine or breeze ventilate my apartment, for that would require opening my windows and shades. I'd much rather be boxed in like everyone else, hoping to come off as less conspicuous than the next door over.

If there's anything this year has taught me, it's that I don't want to live alone anymore. Not without an upgraded alarm system, bullet proof window panes, and a 160 pound boyfriend to protect me if someone were to get past my hypothetical iron clad door.

I'm really hoping I sleep well tonight. 

Searching for my purpose, everyday

In the last 365 days, I have:

1. Moved to Newport Beach, CA
2. Met someone very special
3. Begun working in cybersecurity
4. Traveled plenty domestically
5. Traveled plenty internationally
6. Made new friends
7. Read more books than I have in awhile
8. Watched more TV shows than I have in awhile
9. Remembered how much I love music
10. Wrote for leisure
11. Drew for leisure
12. Drew for someone's wedding card
13. Became an aunt
14. Gained a step mum
15. Started intermittent therapy
16. Fallen in love with NY over and over again
17. Reflected on my family
18. Considered culinary school
19. Searched for my purpose, everyday

I still don't know what I want to do with my life. Any clue how to jump start this process?

Black tea

Some brands I love.

Yorkshire Gold

Anastasia, Kusmi Tea

Prince Vladimir, Kusmi Tea

Queen Anne, Fortnum & Mason

PG Tips

Four days in New York

I'm beginning a series of travel itineraries, which are basically itineraries I've created for myself and therefore work for someone also interested in art, architecture, culture and food.

To begin, this is the itinerary for a recent 4-day trip I made to New York in the fall.

Day 1
Arrive at JFK; Stay at TWA Hotel. Originally designed by Eero Saarinen, the TWA Hotel is a nod to its hey day in the 1960s when it was visited by the likes of JFK, Gregory Peck, Lassie the dog, Marilyn Monroe and The Beatles.

Visit the heated pool, library, bar, and small collection of TWA uniforms from years past.

Skip Nougatine at the Trump tower and visit the TWA's Paris Café by Jean Georges.

Day 2
Ride into the city and check into your hotel.

Pay a visit to the Judd Foundation, but remember to book your visit at least a month in advance.

Walk from Soho to Greenwich Village and stop for a hot toddy at the Marlton Hotel's cocktail bar.

Have an indulgent dinner at King Street.

Shoot up the West Side Highway to Bemelman's Bar to cap your night.

Day 3
Wake with a coffee and croissant at Supermoon Bakehouse.

Dimsum brunch at Hutong. Or, for less upscale dimsum, try The Bao.

Visit the new MoMA if you dare. For a less crowded alternative, try the Morgan Library.

Take a break at Felix Roasting Co. Get the deconstructed espresso tonic.

Zip over to the new PACE Gallery in Chelsea.

Wine and dine at El Quinto Pino with friends.

Order a punch bowl at Bar Belly in the LES.

Drop your drunk friend home and turn in for the night.

Day 4
Coffee and olive oil bread at Abraco. Cash only, gulp.

Soak up your hang over with udon at Raku.

See what's happening at the Guggenheim or the Met.

Take a break at Floating Mountain Tea House, Té Company, or Society Cafe.

Dinner at Wallsé.

Close out the evening with a walk through Riverside Park.

Day 5
Grab a coffee at Irving Farm, Daily Provisions or Joe and walk to the south end of Central Park.

Get your pasta fix at Eataly in the Flat Iron.

Return to JFK a tad earlier to get a coffee at the TWA.

Time to fly.

~
There were a few items I didn't get to this trip: 9/11 Memorial, the Vessel and the Oculus. I also made two trips to New York in the Spring, and those itineraries looked very different. I'll write them up at some point.

I'm going through a back log of trips I made this year. Make an urgent request if you want recommendations for Spring or Winter New York, Chicago, LA, San Francisco, Napa, Seattle, Portland, Vienna, Florence, Berlin, Munich, Mallorca, Ibiza, Las Vegas, and Singapore. 

The best banana bread recipe

From Bon Appetit. Simple and effective.

I appreciate they tested this recipe several times. 

Non self-healing books for a year of self-healing

I read these books in 2019. They are all humorous and insightful. With the exception of two books*, they are written by women.

Emotional Agility, Susan David

Normal People, Sally Rooney

Conversations with Friends, Sally Rooney

The Odd Woman & the City: A Memoir, Vivian Gornick

Principles of Uncertainty, Maira Kalman

Becoming, Michelle Obama

The Vagina Bible, Jennifer Gunter

Exotic Stories for Punjabi Widows, Balli Kaur Jaswal

Dear Girls, Ali Wong

Little Fires Everywhere, Celeste Ng

Ponti, Sharlene Teo

I Feel Bad About My Neck & Other Stories, Nora Ephron

Anthony Bourdain: The Last Interview and Other Conversations*

Lilian Boxfish Takes A Walk, Kathleen Rooney

Like Water for Chocolate, Laura Esquivel

Wherever You Go, There You Are, Jon Kabat-Zinn*

Frankenstein, Mary Shelley

Eleanor Oliphant is Completely Fine, Gail Honeyman

The best fruit cake recipe

When I am in need of comfort, I watch Nigella Lawson bake this cake on YouTube.

The chocolate is a genius and unexpected addition. Last year, I made a whipped cream with orange zest and rum as an accompaniment.

The best butter

Bordier Butter. Tangy, sweet, soft, spreadable, gorgeous.

I used to eat slabs of their chili butter on baguette before school, when I lived in Paris, 2011. When visiting Singapore, my mum would make me buy 9 to 10 blocks of butter and smuggle them home. She would freeze them for months, or gift them to her closest friends.

Because it's unpasteurized, you can't get them in the majority of US states. However, you can get them in Washington. I found them in a nondescript bakery in Bellevue. Shant tell you where, unless you ask.

Best art experiences I've had in 2019

Judd Foundation, New York
A fantastic cast-iron building in SoHo. The sound of tourists drown out from his four-storey home.

Hollyhock House, Los Angeles
Renders most speechless. Impressive door, and surprisingly hip Instagram account.

The Intan, Singapore
A private Peranakan collection, also home to bus-ad man Alvin Yapp.

John Soane Museum, London
Beautiful even on a dreary, English day. Ask the front desk about joining a private tour of the top-most floor.

Joan Miro Foundation, Mallorca
Probably one of the few artists that turned blue-chip status in his life time. Stunning property with ocean views.

Favorite British department stores

Liberty London
Makes me aspire towards having the money to afford a personal tailor.

Fortnum & Mason
Biscuits, tea, hampers, tea towels. I'm ready to retire and do my grocery shopping here everyday.

Harrods Food Hall
Would buy pies here all the time.

Where to eat around Newport Beach

I currently live here. It's pretty mild in all regards, but there are a few spots worth mentioning.

Broadway, Laguna Beach
Panna cotta was beautifully done. Needs some help re: acoustics but food makes up for it, plenty.

Zinc Cafe, Laguna Beach
Fancy avocado toast, green juice, your quintessential Laguna Beach experience. Brunch stops at 4pm, which is reasonable.

Bamboo Bistro, Corona del Mar
Legit pho, and a decent selection of wine by the glass.

Taco Maria, Costa Mesa
Delicious, cleaned up tacos. Heavy on the butter, which is just how I like it.

Saigon Shack, Newport Beach 
Surprising find near Balboa pier. Lovely elderly lady takes your order, feels like the mum you never had.

Men's brands for women

J Press
Those shaggy dog sweaters are the cutest. 

Drake's
It's like you attended Oxford but didn't. 

Turnbull and Asser
Their socks! It's unfair that women can't enjoy their shop on Jermyn St. I will be ordering a custom-made PJ set, one day.

Dreaming of maternity leave

Do you ever wish you could pretend you are pregnant and require maternity leave? Today I joke with B about wearing one of those faux baby bumps for 6-9 months and then taking off for maternity leave. But instead of taking care of a child, we travel the world on my 1/2 to full salary.