...that I somehow missed while I was in San Diego.
http://www.sandiegozoo.org/news/panda_news.html
How I missed this, I'll never know. I guess I really am that self-absorbed. Yikes.
Monday, November 26, 2007
Saturday, August 25, 2007
Finale
Yes yes, I knew I said I would close this once I got to Boston, but I thought I should add an ending to the "Well, did she or didn't she get an offer?" mystery.
She did. Giddy-up.
She did. Giddy-up.
Monday, August 13, 2007
Adios
And here it is, my last night in San Diego.
It's uncommonly hot and I'm sticky from packing all day, but still I'm tearing at having to go. It's been a long, eventful summer, and I thank you for sharing it with me. The blog will be closed after my return to Boston, so I'll take the opportunity now to mention a few good people who have helped me along:
In no particular order,
The Captain, who despite talking with me almost everyday, still read the blog.
Jenski, who wins The Most Active Reader award.
Elite Racer and the Abstract Concept, who checked in with me every so often to make sure I didn't spend all my spare time blogging.
The Bride, who loves dessert just as much as I love dessert.
Tiggsy, who made my blog a part of her morning routine.
Humble 'bee, who read every entry but didn't let on until the very end.
Good Neighbor, without whom I might have gone a little crazy at work. I will miss his wicked sense of humor, his wife's tremendous tenderness, and their sons' unreasonable cuteness.
Ms. J, with whom I will get together at Cabot's where I will tell her everything that didn't make the blog.
Boababa, who taught me to tango.
LRev, who warned me against not being cool enough.
Munch, who said my writing made her laugh.
Big Mo, who made me laugh.
Red Beard, because he, as I have said before, is the last great hope of the Republic.
Samir Santiago, who put me in touch with the managing partner's daughter.
First and Second Roomies, who got me back in touch with my Asian side.
Coolpeople, who have their own companion blog and who have supplied me with plenty of summer photos.
Wicked Cool New Bostonian, who swapped places with me and has kept me up to date on his new adventures in Beantown.
Yalie, whom I never have mentioned before but who talked me through many a confusing situation at work.
Ms. Mentor, whom I also never have mentioned before but who called me every week to see how I was doing.
Little Sis, who blogged before me and who will blog after me.
Thanks for holding my hand. I'll be in touch.
It's uncommonly hot and I'm sticky from packing all day, but still I'm tearing at having to go. It's been a long, eventful summer, and I thank you for sharing it with me. The blog will be closed after my return to Boston, so I'll take the opportunity now to mention a few good people who have helped me along:
In no particular order,
The Captain, who despite talking with me almost everyday, still read the blog.
Jenski, who wins The Most Active Reader award.
Elite Racer and the Abstract Concept, who checked in with me every so often to make sure I didn't spend all my spare time blogging.
The Bride, who loves dessert just as much as I love dessert.
Tiggsy, who made my blog a part of her morning routine.
Humble 'bee, who read every entry but didn't let on until the very end.
Good Neighbor, without whom I might have gone a little crazy at work. I will miss his wicked sense of humor, his wife's tremendous tenderness, and their sons' unreasonable cuteness.
Ms. J, with whom I will get together at Cabot's where I will tell her everything that didn't make the blog.
Boababa, who taught me to tango.
LRev, who warned me against not being cool enough.
Munch, who said my writing made her laugh.
Big Mo, who made me laugh.
Red Beard, because he, as I have said before, is the last great hope of the Republic.
Samir Santiago, who put me in touch with the managing partner's daughter.
First and Second Roomies, who got me back in touch with my Asian side.
Coolpeople, who have their own companion blog and who have supplied me with plenty of summer photos.
Wicked Cool New Bostonian, who swapped places with me and has kept me up to date on his new adventures in Beantown.
Yalie, whom I never have mentioned before but who talked me through many a confusing situation at work.
Ms. Mentor, whom I also never have mentioned before but who called me every week to see how I was doing.
Little Sis, who blogged before me and who will blog after me.
Thanks for holding my hand. I'll be in touch.
Sunday, August 12, 2007
Road rage
Usually, I do a good job of keeping my temper.
But not when I get behind the wheel. Today, the Chargers are at home against the Seahawks in a preseason (i.e., meaningless) game. I live near Qualcomm stadium, and given that I never have had to deal with Chargers traffic, I made a wrong turn into the stadium parking lot. The Chargers were pretty nice about it, actually. Even though they made me pay twenty bucks to get into the parking lot, they promised to give me my money back when I left. They even had a special "Made a wrong turn into the parking lot" ticket to give me so I could show I should get my money back.
Making it to the exit, however, was more involved and difficult than it should have been. They made me go to a special exit, and I had the most difficult time getting there. Ropes, cones, and highway medians blocked every way I wanted to go. Twenty minutes of driving around and around were enough to make a screaming banshee out of me. Eff this and eff that. When I finally found the appropriate exit, I literally burned rubber to get the eff out of there.
Driving is a big case of the yucks.
But not when I get behind the wheel. Today, the Chargers are at home against the Seahawks in a preseason (i.e., meaningless) game. I live near Qualcomm stadium, and given that I never have had to deal with Chargers traffic, I made a wrong turn into the stadium parking lot. The Chargers were pretty nice about it, actually. Even though they made me pay twenty bucks to get into the parking lot, they promised to give me my money back when I left. They even had a special "Made a wrong turn into the parking lot" ticket to give me so I could show I should get my money back.
Making it to the exit, however, was more involved and difficult than it should have been. They made me go to a special exit, and I had the most difficult time getting there. Ropes, cones, and highway medians blocked every way I wanted to go. Twenty minutes of driving around and around were enough to make a screaming banshee out of me. Eff this and eff that. When I finally found the appropriate exit, I literally burned rubber to get the eff out of there.
Driving is a big case of the yucks.
Friday, August 10, 2007
Cry, cry, cry
I parked my car in the driveway and then I cried. For a good five minutes. Had I not been worried about the neighbors seeing I could have stayed for a good while more.
It reminded me of my first day on my own in San Diego, actually. After I dropped off the Captain at the airport that day, I sat in my apartment and I cried. For an hour. After that hour I mopped myself up and shook off my fear. I was ready for my summer on my own, I told myself, and it was time to get moving.
And a whole lot of moving there was. I simply cannot believe it is all over; there was so much life crammed into these twelve brief weeks. I made friends with people from all walks of life, I became enamored with a whole new area of law, I learned to surf. I began considering the partner track as a viable career option, and I fell in love with a part of the country of which I had been extremely skeptical. Put simply, I grew.
Growing is hard. So that's why I cried.
It reminded me of my first day on my own in San Diego, actually. After I dropped off the Captain at the airport that day, I sat in my apartment and I cried. For an hour. After that hour I mopped myself up and shook off my fear. I was ready for my summer on my own, I told myself, and it was time to get moving.
And a whole lot of moving there was. I simply cannot believe it is all over; there was so much life crammed into these twelve brief weeks. I made friends with people from all walks of life, I became enamored with a whole new area of law, I learned to surf. I began considering the partner track as a viable career option, and I fell in love with a part of the country of which I had been extremely skeptical. Put simply, I grew.
Growing is hard. So that's why I cried.
Thursday, August 9, 2007
Right back where I started from
After tomorrow, my adventure as a pretend attorney will be over; Summer Associate Summer Camp has come to a close. Just like any camper, I was homesick at the start, but now I am dreading my departure and trying not to cry.
And failing.
And failing.
Monday, August 6, 2007
Winding down
I'm on to my last week, and I'm trying to avoid the idea of leaving. All summer I have been diligent about crossing off the days on my calendar, but lately I have been loathe to do it. All summer I have regularly updated this blog as a way of marking the time, but lately I have had less to say. By documenting my days, I acknowledge that they are complete, and that the summer soon will be over. I miss my friends and my family terribly, but also I have grown to care about my work and my people here.
I suppose it's true that we never know what we have until it's gone.
Or maybe this is merely another example of my reveling in sadness. That's what the Abstract Concept would say, anyway.
I suppose it's true that we never know what we have until it's gone.
Or maybe this is merely another example of my reveling in sadness. That's what the Abstract Concept would say, anyway.
Rocky Mountain High
Weekends rock.
I have returned from a weekend away, and already I want another one. This weekend the Captain and I met up in
Saturday we drove on up to Fairplay, which the savvier among you might recall was formerly known as
Later on we went on a hike. As we tried to pay the nominal fee for admission to the park, the park ranger informed us that our rental car already had an annual pass to all Colorado state parks. This puzzled us. It was a rental car, and its license plates were from Texas. But we went along for the ride, and took in some breathtaking vistas. [FN1]
The mysterious park pass was only one of several fortuitous turns which led the Captain to call us Team Success. Our flights arrived right on time, we got to the concert right before Lucinda Williams, and we were able to meet up with the Captain's freshman year roommate.
We also narrowly escaped thunderstorm after thunderstorm. Everytime we wanted to do something outside, it was sunny and gorgeous. When it did rain, however, the spectacle of rain and thunderclouds rolling across the plains was amazing. It slaked my thirst for moisture, and perhaps more importantly, for variety. I love America.
----
FN1. See photos at http://picasaweb.google.com/khc2008/DenverDelight
Thursday, August 2, 2007
Day before Denver
Today was the longest. day. ever.
I'm headed tomorrow to Denver to see the Captain and I absolutely cannot wait.
See you back here next week.
I'm headed tomorrow to Denver to see the Captain and I absolutely cannot wait.
See you back here next week.
Saturday, July 28, 2007
Ocean
They lay it on thick here in southern California.
On Tuesday the Summers went kayaking at La Jolla Cove, where the water was so warm and so blue I could have melted into it. An intrepid Partner and his wife took us kayaking at sunset, when the sunlight leapt across the ocean. We paddled up to a pod of sea lions and witnessed other wildlife from afar. The water was still enough for rank beginners such as I not to feel afraid but to feel like we were experts. We paddled about the cove for about an hour and half, and when it was time to head back in, my partner and I rode a wave right back to shore. Rockin'.
Afterwards, we settled into a local restaurant where we racked up enough points on the Partner's credit card to fund his next round-trip flight home to the midwest. Better than the food, though, was the fellowship. We're nine weeks into our summer program, and we've grown together. We talked, we laughed, and we felt completely comfortable. Of course, Offers always are at the back of our minds, but each of us has come to know an exceptional group of people, and for that I am especially grateful. I expected to be friendly with my co-workers, but I never expected to be their friend.
On Tuesday the Summers went kayaking at La Jolla Cove, where the water was so warm and so blue I could have melted into it. An intrepid Partner and his wife took us kayaking at sunset, when the sunlight leapt across the ocean. We paddled up to a pod of sea lions and witnessed other wildlife from afar. The water was still enough for rank beginners such as I not to feel afraid but to feel like we were experts. We paddled about the cove for about an hour and half, and when it was time to head back in, my partner and I rode a wave right back to shore. Rockin'.
Afterwards, we settled into a local restaurant where we racked up enough points on the Partner's credit card to fund his next round-trip flight home to the midwest. Better than the food, though, was the fellowship. We're nine weeks into our summer program, and we've grown together. We talked, we laughed, and we felt completely comfortable. Of course, Offers always are at the back of our minds, but each of us has come to know an exceptional group of people, and for that I am especially grateful. I expected to be friendly with my co-workers, but I never expected to be their friend.
Wednesday, July 25, 2007
Celebrities
My sister is pals with one of Capitol Hill's fifty most beautiful people. I once ran into the guy at Kramerbooks in DuPont, and he recognized me, so that makes me pals with him, too.
I love famous people.
http://thehill.com/cover-stories/the-50-most-beautiful-
people-on-capitol-hill---
40-more-contd-2007-07-25.html
I love famous people.
http://thehill.com/cover-stories/the-50-most-beautiful-
people-on-capitol-hill---
40-more-contd-2007-07-25.html
Sunday, July 22, 2007
Shout, shout, get it all out....
...these are readers I can't do without, come on! [FN1]
Ms. Jenski, who is in the lead for the Most Posted Comments Award.
Ms. J, whom I believe to be an alumna of a certain institution between the foothills and the bay.
Mr. Jersey, aka LRev, who introduced the Captain to me as "The Guy Who Used to Scare Me." Best of luck on the Bar, LRev. We don't call you LRev for nothing!
--------------
FN1. Regular readers will recognize this as another reference to the Tears for Fears concert I am about to attend. I'm thinking about dressing up in period costume. Suggestions?
Ms. Jenski, who is in the lead for the Most Posted Comments Award.
Ms. J, whom I believe to be an alumna of a certain institution between the foothills and the bay.
Mr. Jersey, aka LRev, who introduced the Captain to me as "The Guy Who Used to Scare Me." Best of luck on the Bar, LRev. We don't call you LRev for nothing!
--------------
FN1. Regular readers will recognize this as another reference to the Tears for Fears concert I am about to attend. I'm thinking about dressing up in period costume. Suggestions?
Saturday, July 21, 2007
Harry Harry Harry
The New York Times has some nerve. Photos of children dressed up as wizards. Articles about books sales. PLOT SPOILERS. It's impossible to find out what's going on in the world without running into Harry.
But I don't want to run into Harry, at least not yet. My plucky little book is making its way all the way from England, and I want to treasure it when it gets here. San Diego is a far away place.
Doesn't The Times know that?
But I don't want to run into Harry, at least not yet. My plucky little book is making its way all the way from England, and I want to treasure it when it gets here. San Diego is a far away place.
Doesn't The Times know that?
Run for Dessert
My horse came in last.
But he was my horse, that was clear. With a name like "Run for Dessert," even Summer Associates who've known me only a matter of weeks knew that that was colt for me.
Which makes me wonder, have I embraced too tightly my reputation as a homing beacon for dessert? No one wants to be The One Who Always Knows Where the Food Is. Thing is, I do always know where the food is.
My talent can be uncanny. When my family vacationed in Prague, a city in which I never had set foot, I directed my parents and sister, sans guidebook or recommendation, to a place that served the most delectable cakes and strudels. Granted, every tourist place in Prague serves cakes and strudels, but this place stood out. The coffee was especially good, and the ambience particularly charming. Even the bathroom was nice - the only 'A' bathroom we found, and we had used quite a few. Until Prague, I had thought my memory for dessert was limited only to cities in which I had lived. Wrong.
Of course, loving dessert has its upsides. The Captain got a second date even before we went on our first date because he told me our first date included ice cream-stuffed cupcakes. And see how well that's turned out.
But he was my horse, that was clear. With a name like "Run for Dessert," even Summer Associates who've known me only a matter of weeks knew that that was colt for me.
Which makes me wonder, have I embraced too tightly my reputation as a homing beacon for dessert? No one wants to be The One Who Always Knows Where the Food Is. Thing is, I do always know where the food is.
My talent can be uncanny. When my family vacationed in Prague, a city in which I never had set foot, I directed my parents and sister, sans guidebook or recommendation, to a place that served the most delectable cakes and strudels. Granted, every tourist place in Prague serves cakes and strudels, but this place stood out. The coffee was especially good, and the ambience particularly charming. Even the bathroom was nice - the only 'A' bathroom we found, and we had used quite a few. Until Prague, I had thought my memory for dessert was limited only to cities in which I had lived. Wrong.
Of course, loving dessert has its upsides. The Captain got a second date even before we went on our first date because he told me our first date included ice cream-stuffed cupcakes. And see how well that's turned out.
Thursday, July 19, 2007
Ridiculousness
I have three weeks left of work, and it's starting to feel like it.
One of the other summer associates, Good Neighbor (so named because he sits next to me), had this to say about the next several weeks:
[T]here are going to be breakfast treats on this floor on three out of the next six work days. I suspect we might also have birthday cake on one of those days. During the next eleven calendar days we have horse races, kayaking, two softball games, a beach party and "Shout, shout, let it all out, these are the things I can do without, come on, I'm talking to you, come on!" [FN1]
And by the close of business, we added "Dinner at a beachfront condo."
It's good to be a Summer Associate.
-------------
FN1. The lyric refers to the Tears for Fears concert the Summers are attending in two weeks.
One of the other summer associates, Good Neighbor (so named because he sits next to me), had this to say about the next several weeks:
[T]here are going to be breakfast treats on this floor on three out of the next six work days. I suspect we might also have birthday cake on one of those days. During the next eleven calendar days we have horse races, kayaking, two softball games, a beach party and "Shout, shout, let it all out, these are the things I can do without, come on, I'm talking to you, come on!" [FN1]
And by the close of business, we added "Dinner at a beachfront condo."
It's good to be a Summer Associate.
-------------
FN1. The lyric refers to the Tears for Fears concert the Summers are attending in two weeks.
More Pilates
Today I went to another Pilates class, but I'm still upright and ambulatory.
Frankly, I feel cheated.
Frankly, I feel cheated.
Monday, July 16, 2007
Barely Political
It's the Great Debate for 2008: http://www.barelypolitical.com/.
There are so many reasons not to like this video, chief among them the objectification of women and the reduction of the presidential election to nothing but a beauty contest.
But, good grief, it's clever.
There are so many reasons not to like this video, chief among them the objectification of women and the reduction of the presidential election to nothing but a beauty contest.
But, good grief, it's clever.
Saturday, July 14, 2007
Surfer chick
This morning I went surfing. And it was fantastic.
I should clarify that by "surfing," I mean, "I walked out to the break, hopped on the board, and had my instructor push me back to shore."
But the feeling I got after managing to stay upright a few times in a row? Far out.
I should clarify that by "surfing," I mean, "I walked out to the break, hopped on the board, and had my instructor push me back to shore."
But the feeling I got after managing to stay upright a few times in a row? Far out.
Friday, July 13, 2007
It's a small world after all
Today I started thinking that perhaps the world is too small.
Part of the appeal in coming to a place where I have no connections is simply that: I have no connections. But in the last week, I have discovered not one, but two, impossible connections that got me thinking that maybe even San Diego isn't far enough away.
The managing partner's daughter
My managing partner's daughter is a reporter at an online newspaper. The daughter's manager is a friend of mine from high school. This is spooky enough, given that the daughter grew up in San Diego and I grew up in the Junction. Spookier still, however, is that this online newspaper is based in New Delhi.
Buyer's counsel
My firm is seller's counsel in a somewhat complicated securities/real estate transaction. Today I discovered that buyer's counsel is my next-door neighbor from my first-year dorm. This is remarkable considering that I attended college in Rhode Island, and I now, might I remind you, LIVE IN SAN DIEGO. I consciously have tried something drastically new, but I keep on getting pulled right back.
So it makes we wonder if my world really is too small. Not in terms of geography, but in terms of networks. My parents gave me the best education they could afford, and I've worked hard to take advantage of those opportunities. But is running into, and dealing with, the same people over and over again really what education is all about? I thought I was supposed to be broadening my horizons.
Edited to add:
For a celebrity's opinion on roughly the same matters, see this thoughtful piece on social networks in this week's SundayBusiness. Apparently, Ben Stein and I are on the same wavelength. How about that.
http://www.nytimes.com/2007/07/15/business/yourmoney/
15every.html?ex=1342152000&en=aa8016d0980e2982&
ei=5124&partner=permalink&exprod=permalink
Part of the appeal in coming to a place where I have no connections is simply that: I have no connections. But in the last week, I have discovered not one, but two, impossible connections that got me thinking that maybe even San Diego isn't far enough away.
The managing partner's daughter
My managing partner's daughter is a reporter at an online newspaper. The daughter's manager is a friend of mine from high school. This is spooky enough, given that the daughter grew up in San Diego and I grew up in the Junction. Spookier still, however, is that this online newspaper is based in New Delhi.
Buyer's counsel
My firm is seller's counsel in a somewhat complicated securities/real estate transaction. Today I discovered that buyer's counsel is my next-door neighbor from my first-year dorm. This is remarkable considering that I attended college in Rhode Island, and I now, might I remind you, LIVE IN SAN DIEGO. I consciously have tried something drastically new, but I keep on getting pulled right back.
So it makes we wonder if my world really is too small. Not in terms of geography, but in terms of networks. My parents gave me the best education they could afford, and I've worked hard to take advantage of those opportunities. But is running into, and dealing with, the same people over and over again really what education is all about? I thought I was supposed to be broadening my horizons.
Edited to add:
For a celebrity's opinion on roughly the same matters, see this thoughtful piece on social networks in this week's SundayBusiness. Apparently, Ben Stein and I are on the same wavelength. How about that.
http://www.nytimes.com/2007/07/15/business/yourmoney/
15every.html?ex=1342152000&en=aa8016d0980e2982&
ei=5124&partner=permalink&exprod=permalink
Wednesday, July 11, 2007
Animals
It was a sad, sad day...
http://www.washingtonpost.com/wp-dyn/content/article/2007/07/06/AR2007070600679.html
...until Sis forwarded this along. (Hi, Sis. Thanks!)
http://dogsagainstromney.blogspot.com/
God bless the Internet.
(And I passed my mid-summer review. Yay!)
http://www.washingtonpost.com/wp-dyn/content/article/2007/07/06/AR2007070600679.html
...until Sis forwarded this along. (Hi, Sis. Thanks!)
http://dogsagainstromney.blogspot.com/
God bless the Internet.
(And I passed my mid-summer review. Yay!)
Monday, July 9, 2007
Relativity
I consider myself to be in pretty good shape. I work out seven days a week, and I run, swim, and lift. Yesterday I mixed it up a little bit by running some trails near my house. The trails were fairly easy, so I was especially pleased with myself.
But then I went to Pilates. [FN1] And now I know: I'm not in good shape. I'm especially inept when it comes to on-my-side exercises. The teacher had to hold me up for that portion of the class. She thought I just didn't understand her directions. Wrong. I WAS PHYSICALLY INCAPABLE OF FOLLOWING HER DIRECTIONS. The pain was excruciating. It was so much more difficult than the classes I've taken before. Apparently, they're soft in Manhattan.
Ow, ow, ow.
----
FN1. This is for the Abstract Concept. He is a strong supporter of my Pilates.
And while I'm at it, I should note that Mr. Jersey called. Just to chat. It was so amazing. (Hi, Mr. Jersey! Yes, I do footnote my blog posts.)
But then I went to Pilates. [FN1] And now I know: I'm not in good shape. I'm especially inept when it comes to on-my-side exercises. The teacher had to hold me up for that portion of the class. She thought I just didn't understand her directions. Wrong. I WAS PHYSICALLY INCAPABLE OF FOLLOWING HER DIRECTIONS. The pain was excruciating. It was so much more difficult than the classes I've taken before. Apparently, they're soft in Manhattan.
Ow, ow, ow.
----
FN1. This is for the Abstract Concept. He is a strong supporter of my Pilates.
And while I'm at it, I should note that Mr. Jersey called. Just to chat. It was so amazing. (Hi, Mr. Jersey! Yes, I do footnote my blog posts.)
Thursday, July 5, 2007
Asian
This summer, I've gotten back in touch with my Asian side. My two roommates are Asian, and so, predictably, are many of their friends. Why "predictably," you say? Well, do you have eyes?
Neither my sister nor I ever has run with the Asian crowd. There was a while back in high school when I thought I ran with them, but boy did they let me know I was mistaken. So ever since then, I've been happy with my friends of many races, not content to confine myself to a mono-ethnicity clique. Sometimes I question myself, and wonder if I've done myself a disservice by not having more Asian friends.
So that's why this summer I've been happy to get acquainted with APALSA-San Diego. They are a fun-loving bunch, inviting me whenever they go out, and trying to coax stodgy old me into going with them to parties in Hollywood. (Bless their hearts.)
But best of all, they cook. Friends, APALSA can cook. I was treated to a tropical feast on Independence Day, a veritable smorgasbord of Guamanian, Filipino, and other Polynesian food. I ate, and ate, and then I ate some more, and the best part - I didn't even feel guilty about it. APALSA must be magic.
At one point in the evening, though, I did notice something awry. My roommate's half-Mexican, half-white boyfriend was there, the only non-Asian. I felt awkward for him, wondering if he felt awkward, too. My old habits came flooding back, "Oh why can't the Asians be friends with other races?" I thought. But then I had another thought - I am often the only Asian in the room, and only rarely do I feel awkward about it. Not because I'm incredibly self-confident or self-aware, but because I've learned to deal. I've toughed it out. And maybe I shouldn't be the only person to have to do so.
Neither my sister nor I ever has run with the Asian crowd. There was a while back in high school when I thought I ran with them, but boy did they let me know I was mistaken. So ever since then, I've been happy with my friends of many races, not content to confine myself to a mono-ethnicity clique. Sometimes I question myself, and wonder if I've done myself a disservice by not having more Asian friends.
So that's why this summer I've been happy to get acquainted with APALSA-San Diego. They are a fun-loving bunch, inviting me whenever they go out, and trying to coax stodgy old me into going with them to parties in Hollywood. (Bless their hearts.)
But best of all, they cook. Friends, APALSA can cook. I was treated to a tropical feast on Independence Day, a veritable smorgasbord of Guamanian, Filipino, and other Polynesian food. I ate, and ate, and then I ate some more, and the best part - I didn't even feel guilty about it. APALSA must be magic.
At one point in the evening, though, I did notice something awry. My roommate's half-Mexican, half-white boyfriend was there, the only non-Asian. I felt awkward for him, wondering if he felt awkward, too. My old habits came flooding back, "Oh why can't the Asians be friends with other races?" I thought. But then I had another thought - I am often the only Asian in the room, and only rarely do I feel awkward about it. Not because I'm incredibly self-confident or self-aware, but because I've learned to deal. I've toughed it out. And maybe I shouldn't be the only person to have to do so.
Disoriented
Having a four day week is nice, but having the middle day off is disorienting. Tomorrow is Friday, which is usually my favorite day of the work week, and not because it's the weekend. No, Friday is my favorite day because it's Breakfast Club Friday on the 24th floor, where my office just happens to be. Every Friday morning, someone from the 24th floor brings in breakfast for the entire floor, and boy, do they get competitive. People have brought in their own toasters just so the rest of us can enjoy the maximum flavor of breakfast. This is the kind of competition even a Communist could love.
Thing is, half the reason why Breakfast Club Friday is so great is because by the time we've hit Friday, we've earned it. We break bread together but we also break pressure. We hold at bay the demands of work as we gather for a little bit and share a kind of communion. We chat. We enjoy ourselves. When breakfast comes only the second day after a holiday, though, the meal loses a little bit of its luster. There's something to be said for deserving what you get.
No? Some of you are shaking your heads.
Thing is, half the reason why Breakfast Club Friday is so great is because by the time we've hit Friday, we've earned it. We break bread together but we also break pressure. We hold at bay the demands of work as we gather for a little bit and share a kind of communion. We chat. We enjoy ourselves. When breakfast comes only the second day after a holiday, though, the meal loses a little bit of its luster. There's something to be said for deserving what you get.
No? Some of you are shaking your heads.
Wednesday, July 4, 2007
Midsummer Day's Dream
Happy Independence Day.
Today not only marks the day, 231 years ago, that a bunch of renegades took government into their own hands, but it also marks the mid-point of my adventure as a pretend attorney. It ought to be all downhill from here.
I have a hunch it's not, though.
Mid-summer review's next week and I can see it now: "Everyone really likes your work, KHC, but you can be a little slow with the memos and, for the love of God, remember to attach your attachments!"
It's also to time to start thinking seriously about whether San Diego is the place for me. And I'm just as surprised as you are. Had you told me six months ago I would be seriously considering a move to San Diego, I would have changed the subject. "East Coast" is written all over me. I subscribe to The New York Times. I carry an L.L. Bean tote bag. I wear pearl studs on my days off. I am a snob. None of these traits is particularly Southern California, and yet I'm enjoying it here. It has its downsides (no fall or winter wardrobe!), but it has so many upsides. Beautiful produce. Delicious fish. Pandas.
Of course, I could be getting ahead of myself. I need to get an offer before I can think about moving, and after Attachment-Gate, who knows about that. In which case, it's time to go look at the resume.
Today not only marks the day, 231 years ago, that a bunch of renegades took government into their own hands, but it also marks the mid-point of my adventure as a pretend attorney. It ought to be all downhill from here.
I have a hunch it's not, though.
Mid-summer review's next week and I can see it now: "Everyone really likes your work, KHC, but you can be a little slow with the memos and, for the love of God, remember to attach your attachments!"
It's also to time to start thinking seriously about whether San Diego is the place for me. And I'm just as surprised as you are. Had you told me six months ago I would be seriously considering a move to San Diego, I would have changed the subject. "East Coast" is written all over me. I subscribe to The New York Times. I carry an L.L. Bean tote bag. I wear pearl studs on my days off. I am a snob. None of these traits is particularly Southern California, and yet I'm enjoying it here. It has its downsides (no fall or winter wardrobe!), but it has so many upsides. Beautiful produce. Delicious fish. Pandas.
Of course, I could be getting ahead of myself. I need to get an offer before I can think about moving, and after Attachment-Gate, who knows about that. In which case, it's time to go look at the resume.
Tuesday, July 3, 2007
Pooky gets a pass
Californians like their dogs.
Yesterday I read a case in which two homeowners got to keep their dog, Pooky, in spite of the by-laws of their homeowners' association. The homeowners, who suffered from depression, said that Pooky helped with their symptoms, and therefore should be admitted as a medical service animal. The association didn't buy it, saying that Pooky was just a dog and wasn't trained as a service animal, and so he should go.
The court said, "Bah! Who needs training? The dog makes the people happy, let it in!"
Okay, so the court didn't say those words exactly, but it did say this, "[I]t was the innate qualities of a dog, in particular a dog's friendliness and ability to interact with humans, that made it therapeutic here." (citation omitted)
Your tax dollars hard at work, folks.
Yesterday I read a case in which two homeowners got to keep their dog, Pooky, in spite of the by-laws of their homeowners' association. The homeowners, who suffered from depression, said that Pooky helped with their symptoms, and therefore should be admitted as a medical service animal. The association didn't buy it, saying that Pooky was just a dog and wasn't trained as a service animal, and so he should go.
The court said, "Bah! Who needs training? The dog makes the people happy, let it in!"
Okay, so the court didn't say those words exactly, but it did say this, "[I]t was the innate qualities of a dog, in particular a dog's friendliness and ability to interact with humans, that made it therapeutic here." (citation omitted)
Your tax dollars hard at work, folks.
Sunday, July 1, 2007
Bring it on
Whatever the work week brings, I am rested and I am ready. I am ready to work and to bill. I am ready to Contribute Something Interesting to the Discussion for the three-billionth time this summer. Yahoo.
I can't say enough about getting a good night's sleep, several nights in a row. It's better than ice cream. I should do it more often.
It all began Friday night, when San Diego Gas & Electric turned off my power. Even though I knew it was coming, there was something very final about "lights out" at 10pm. There was nothing to do but go to bed. It rocked. San Diego Gas & Electric should shut off my lights at 10pm every night. But only my lights, because I wouldn't want the food in the fridge to go bad.
Then on Saturday, I declined a social invitation. To an event I actually would have enjoyed. Whenever have I done that before? And this morning, I went back to crazy leftist South Park for breakfast at the Big Kitchen. God bless crazy leftists. They feed my soul.
I think my serenity was catching. On Saturday, I had lunch at a French bistro where the owner gave me an enormous oatmeal chocolate cookie for free. Later on, I stopped by See's Candies [FN1] where they gave me not one, but two, free samples.
Calories don't count when they're gifted to you.
-----
FN1. For the uninitiated, See's Candies is one of the most delicious reasons to live in California. Ask the Captain, he knows.
I can't say enough about getting a good night's sleep, several nights in a row. It's better than ice cream. I should do it more often.
It all began Friday night, when San Diego Gas & Electric turned off my power. Even though I knew it was coming, there was something very final about "lights out" at 10pm. There was nothing to do but go to bed. It rocked. San Diego Gas & Electric should shut off my lights at 10pm every night. But only my lights, because I wouldn't want the food in the fridge to go bad.
Then on Saturday, I declined a social invitation. To an event I actually would have enjoyed. Whenever have I done that before? And this morning, I went back to crazy leftist South Park for breakfast at the Big Kitchen. God bless crazy leftists. They feed my soul.
I think my serenity was catching. On Saturday, I had lunch at a French bistro where the owner gave me an enormous oatmeal chocolate cookie for free. Later on, I stopped by See's Candies [FN1] where they gave me not one, but two, free samples.
Calories don't count when they're gifted to you.
-----
FN1. For the uninitiated, See's Candies is one of the most delicious reasons to live in California. Ask the Captain, he knows.
Friday, June 29, 2007
Monday, June 25, 2007
Fans
One more post about the Red Sox and then I'll be quiet about them. For a little bit, at least.
Petco Park was packed with Red Sox fans all weekend. Everywhere you looked, the Fenway Faithful were in full force. When they started chanting "Let's go Red Sox!", I almost believed I was back in Boston.
On Sunday, I was seated a few rows behind a man with the Boston 'B' tattooed on his arm. The couple behind me was horrified. "Get a life, man," they said.
And that's when I knew I wasn't in Boston. Apparently, Padres fans - even the season ticket holders - have interests aside from baseball.
How about that.
Petco Park was packed with Red Sox fans all weekend. Everywhere you looked, the Fenway Faithful were in full force. When they started chanting "Let's go Red Sox!", I almost believed I was back in Boston.
On Sunday, I was seated a few rows behind a man with the Boston 'B' tattooed on his arm. The couple behind me was horrified. "Get a life, man," they said.
And that's when I knew I wasn't in Boston. Apparently, Padres fans - even the season ticket holders - have interests aside from baseball.
How about that.
Saturday, June 23, 2007
Food
I heard somewhere that when it comes to food, humans are wired to eat whatever they see.
Or maybe that was just my own brain telling me to eat that slice of cheesecake that was laid out so conveniently at the Sox game tonight.
As many of you know, being a Summer Associate involves a good amount of eating. If someone were to ask me to describe my summer experience, I'd start by describing lunch. Then I'd talk about the firm's various social events, where food and drink are in great supply. And then, if I still had time, I might talk a little about the work that I do. (And, I do, in fact, work. I promise.) But eating is the dominant activity, and despite my better efforts, I have yielded to temptation more often than I'd like. Which is always. I don't order dessert at lunch, but when it's laid out for me, on a plate, with a fork next to it...game over.
I have struggled with body image my entire life. In fourth grade, I wished I were as thin as Lauren, the thinnest girl in my class. You'll note that I don't write that I've struggled with my weight, but my body image. That means that even when I was skinny, as I have been for most of my life, I didn't know it.
Then came college and bad food. I put on a lot of weight, but thanks to my Rah-rah-WOMEN!! experience at Brown, I tried to ignore it. Enlightened women, especially Brown women, were not supposed to be vulnerable to such silly pressures as the pressure to be thin. We were supposed to win everyone over with our intellect. Problem was, I didn't understand that the dining room was also a place to show off my smarts, because eating that third piece of cake is actually very dumb.
Now that I'm in the land of Fat, Sugar, and Other Carbs, I sometimes dread my social events because I know so much food will be on hand and I'll want to eat it. The last several times I have fallen prey to food-lust, [FN1] I've gone to the gym the next day and worked out especially hard. That's no good, either, because my joints and my tendons can't handle all my guilt.
And so I'm back to fourth grade, and wishing I were like Lauren.
-------
FN1. It's not hunger. I'm talking about when my stomach is full but still I want more.
Or maybe that was just my own brain telling me to eat that slice of cheesecake that was laid out so conveniently at the Sox game tonight.
As many of you know, being a Summer Associate involves a good amount of eating. If someone were to ask me to describe my summer experience, I'd start by describing lunch. Then I'd talk about the firm's various social events, where food and drink are in great supply. And then, if I still had time, I might talk a little about the work that I do. (And, I do, in fact, work. I promise.) But eating is the dominant activity, and despite my better efforts, I have yielded to temptation more often than I'd like. Which is always. I don't order dessert at lunch, but when it's laid out for me, on a plate, with a fork next to it...game over.
I have struggled with body image my entire life. In fourth grade, I wished I were as thin as Lauren, the thinnest girl in my class. You'll note that I don't write that I've struggled with my weight, but my body image. That means that even when I was skinny, as I have been for most of my life, I didn't know it.
Then came college and bad food. I put on a lot of weight, but thanks to my Rah-rah-WOMEN!! experience at Brown, I tried to ignore it. Enlightened women, especially Brown women, were not supposed to be vulnerable to such silly pressures as the pressure to be thin. We were supposed to win everyone over with our intellect. Problem was, I didn't understand that the dining room was also a place to show off my smarts, because eating that third piece of cake is actually very dumb.
Now that I'm in the land of Fat, Sugar, and Other Carbs, I sometimes dread my social events because I know so much food will be on hand and I'll want to eat it. The last several times I have fallen prey to food-lust, [FN1] I've gone to the gym the next day and worked out especially hard. That's no good, either, because my joints and my tendons can't handle all my guilt.
And so I'm back to fourth grade, and wishing I were like Lauren.
-------
FN1. It's not hunger. I'm talking about when my stomach is full but still I want more.
Thursday, June 21, 2007
Shout-outs
...to Boababa because despite being Such a Mess, he's an exceptionally good sport.
...to MapGrrrl because I had lots of fun during her visit.
...to Sis because she sent me an article today about how I'm smarter than she is.
...to the Abstract Concept because he just got an AMAZING upgrade to his sound system. (Ask him, he'll tell you it's AMAZING.)
...and to Red Beard, because he's the last great hope of the Republic.
...to MapGrrrl because I had lots of fun during her visit.
...to Sis because she sent me an article today about how I'm smarter than she is.
...to the Abstract Concept because he just got an AMAZING upgrade to his sound system. (Ask him, he'll tell you it's AMAZING.)
...and to Red Beard, because he's the last great hope of the Republic.
The Red Sox are coming! The Red Sox are coming!
And I couldn't be more excited.
I'm sure my fellow summer associates will be thrilled when it is over so I can stop talking about it.
Unless it is FANTASTIC and I don't shut up about it for the rest of the summer. Now that's a sure way to an offer: annoying everyone.
I'm sure my fellow summer associates will be thrilled when it is over so I can stop talking about it.
Unless it is FANTASTIC and I don't shut up about it for the rest of the summer. Now that's a sure way to an offer: annoying everyone.
Monday, June 18, 2007
Smelly Abstract Concept
I think the Abstract Concept had a lot to do with my learning not to expect good manners from people. Like when he makes fun of me on my blog.
(Hello, Abstract Concept. I love you more!)
(Hello, Abstract Concept. I love you more!)
Sunday, June 17, 2007
Three to tango
MapGrrrl and Boababa came to visit! MG and Boababa are friends from college, and I hadn't seen either of them in a couple years. MG was my partner in residential-counseling crime, and Boababa helped me swindle unsuspecting undergrads into volunteering for Habitat. MG was in town for a conference, and Boababa drove down from LA. We did the regular, catchy-up things like talk, eat, and drink, but then we danced.
MG and Boababa are both avid dancers. MG's gotten into swing dancing with her fiance, and Boababa's gotten into tango because...he wants a fiancee? Anyway, they found a studio where the lessons were free, so the three of us went to tango.
The class was taught by an elderly Asian couple, small in stature but large in personality. The other students in the class were two young couples and a woman by herself. The couples amused me because they obviously weren't there on account of the boyfriends. The boyfriends were very good sports, and they tried valiantly to learn the steps, but I couldn't stop thinking to myself, "Huh. I'd never make the Captain take tango lessons with me." [FN1]
After the class ended, we went to the studio's weekly tango party, where we showed off the three steps we just had been taught. It was tons of fun. Boababa might have crowded my feet here and there, and my shoes might just have been a tad inappropriate (open-toed sandals). But there's something just so enjoyable about dressing up for a party and making a total fool of yourself.
[FN1] He's just too tall. We'd look ridiculous trying to tango. Picture it. See? You're laughing.
MG and Boababa are both avid dancers. MG's gotten into swing dancing with her fiance, and Boababa's gotten into tango because...he wants a fiancee? Anyway, they found a studio where the lessons were free, so the three of us went to tango.
The class was taught by an elderly Asian couple, small in stature but large in personality. The other students in the class were two young couples and a woman by herself. The couples amused me because they obviously weren't there on account of the boyfriends. The boyfriends were very good sports, and they tried valiantly to learn the steps, but I couldn't stop thinking to myself, "Huh. I'd never make the Captain take tango lessons with me." [FN1]
After the class ended, we went to the studio's weekly tango party, where we showed off the three steps we just had been taught. It was tons of fun. Boababa might have crowded my feet here and there, and my shoes might just have been a tad inappropriate (open-toed sandals). But there's something just so enjoyable about dressing up for a party and making a total fool of yourself.
[FN1] He's just too tall. We'd look ridiculous trying to tango. Picture it. See? You're laughing.
Thursday, June 14, 2007
Conflicted
Apparently, Tiggsy has gotten a little cheeky after her shout-out. I was momentarily conflicted about mentioning her again per the "Comment and you get a mention" rule, but then I remembered that friends are more important than baseball.
So here's your second shout-out. Mwah.
And in unrelated news, I think I will change Scushman's alias to Elite Racer. Because that sounds so much cooler. (Hello, Elite Racer!)
So here's your second shout-out. Mwah.
And in unrelated news, I think I will change Scushman's alias to Elite Racer. Because that sounds so much cooler. (Hello, Elite Racer!)
Wednesday, June 13, 2007
Monday, June 11, 2007
Shout-outs
... to Tiggs, who reads my blog every morning after she checks her Gmail. Thanks, Tiggs!
... to Scushman, because she subscribed to my blog. Wow.
... to Weaver, because his best man toast was one of the best I ever have heard. Really.
... and to Samir, because he made his way back from the boonies just so he could hang with me in Washington.
... to Scushman, because she subscribed to my blog. Wow.
... to Weaver, because his best man toast was one of the best I ever have heard. Really.
... and to Samir, because he made his way back from the boonies just so he could hang with me in Washington.
Weekend wrap-up
The ribbon children sobbed and the minister flubbed the names, but the Bride bounced up the chancel nonetheless. This would not be a wedding of studied perfection. It would be a wedding of unbridled joy.
And what a joyous occasion it was. The afternoon was oppressively hot, but a brief rainstorm passed politely through, staying just long enough to cool down the evening and provide us the most stunning Virginian sunset. The barbecue man fired up his grill and fed us the most delicious, tender, and juicy pulled pork sandwiches and barbecue chicken. The live bluegrass band kept things lively and everyone had a good time. I would do it again. Just not right away. (See below.)
And the rest of the weekend in Washington was even better. The Captain and I drove back up to Georgetown, where we met his enormous little brother the Rookie. The Rookie was in rare form, but he probably doesn't want me to share the details. (Hi, Rookie.) So the Captain and I took a walk, where I was reacquainted with Georgetown and the lush environment (read: oppressive humidity) of the Eastern Seaboard. We covered a lot of ground and ran across some interesting people, namely a homeless man who yelled at me for "[wanting] to be white." I had felt bad for him until he made it personal.
Later, I had a little too much fun at dinner. I can tell you about that in person. But it was great to see Samir and Laskin, and it was even better to witness Laskin's acquisition of digits. Even if she was a crazy.
And the Captain humored me, again, in my insistence to see the panda. (Kaz, that would be the actual panda.) The Rookie wasn't as excited about (read: he was horrified by) the idea of going to the zoo. Which is too bad because he totally missed out.
And what a joyous occasion it was. The afternoon was oppressively hot, but a brief rainstorm passed politely through, staying just long enough to cool down the evening and provide us the most stunning Virginian sunset. The barbecue man fired up his grill and fed us the most delicious, tender, and juicy pulled pork sandwiches and barbecue chicken. The live bluegrass band kept things lively and everyone had a good time. I would do it again. Just not right away. (See below.)
And the rest of the weekend in Washington was even better. The Captain and I drove back up to Georgetown, where we met his enormous little brother the Rookie. The Rookie was in rare form, but he probably doesn't want me to share the details. (Hi, Rookie.) So the Captain and I took a walk, where I was reacquainted with Georgetown and the lush environment (read: oppressive humidity) of the Eastern Seaboard. We covered a lot of ground and ran across some interesting people, namely a homeless man who yelled at me for "[wanting] to be white." I had felt bad for him until he made it personal.
Later, I had a little too much fun at dinner. I can tell you about that in person. But it was great to see Samir and Laskin, and it was even better to witness Laskin's acquisition of digits. Even if she was a crazy.
And the Captain humored me, again, in my insistence to see the panda. (Kaz, that would be the actual panda.) The Rookie wasn't as excited about (read: he was horrified by) the idea of going to the zoo. Which is too bad because he totally missed out.
Friday, June 8, 2007
Travailler
No, I didn't cave and bring my laptop to Virginia after all.
Instead, I'm blogging to you from my lovely host's computer. She is the Bride's next door neighbor, and she is most thoughtful and obliging. Her house is well-appointed and immaculate. She let me use her computer (duh) and help myself to breakfast after she and her husband left for work. She printed out directions to the train station so I can go pick up the Captain. She let me know what time she'd be back from work so all four of us (her, her husband, the Captain, and me) could go over to the wedding together. She laid out about a million towels for me to use.
There is just not enough to be said for good manners and good taste. Chapeau.
So, here I am in Crozet, VA, and what a trip it was to get here. Overnight flight from Cali to Dulles (four hours) , rush hour drive from Dulles to Georgetown (two hours), nap in Georgetown (two hours), cold shower in Georgetown (one nanosecond - the hot water just wasn't running), drive from Georgetown to Crozet (three hours). Then a rehearsal and a rehearsal dinner that I'm not really sure actually happened because I was functioning at 70% capacity. But I do remember the food being fantastic.
[Here's a fun and appropriate tidbit: the root for "travel" is the same as that for travailler, the French word for "to work." How about that.]
Today, I'm hanging out before I go pick up the Captain (I CANNOT WAIT) and head on over to the wedding. If the ceremony is any bit as loving and warm as the mere rehearsal and dinner last night, then I am in for some major good feelings. And crying.
Instead, I'm blogging to you from my lovely host's computer. She is the Bride's next door neighbor, and she is most thoughtful and obliging. Her house is well-appointed and immaculate. She let me use her computer (duh) and help myself to breakfast after she and her husband left for work. She printed out directions to the train station so I can go pick up the Captain. She let me know what time she'd be back from work so all four of us (her, her husband, the Captain, and me) could go over to the wedding together. She laid out about a million towels for me to use.
There is just not enough to be said for good manners and good taste. Chapeau.
So, here I am in Crozet, VA, and what a trip it was to get here. Overnight flight from Cali to Dulles (four hours) , rush hour drive from Dulles to Georgetown (two hours), nap in Georgetown (two hours), cold shower in Georgetown (one nanosecond - the hot water just wasn't running), drive from Georgetown to Crozet (three hours). Then a rehearsal and a rehearsal dinner that I'm not really sure actually happened because I was functioning at 70% capacity. But I do remember the food being fantastic.
[Here's a fun and appropriate tidbit: the root for "travel" is the same as that for travailler, the French word for "to work." How about that.]
Today, I'm hanging out before I go pick up the Captain (I CANNOT WAIT) and head on over to the wedding. If the ceremony is any bit as loving and warm as the mere rehearsal and dinner last night, then I am in for some major good feelings. And crying.
Notes from the Road
A running list of tidbits from my cross-country trip (think of it as a blog in a blog):
1. Next to the baggage claim at Dulles International Airport, an insurance company has advertised, "What's lost can now be found." Clever. But disturbing, because who wants to think her luggage is lost?
2. On the drive to Charlottesville, I passed a restaurant which advertised, "We have crabs."
3. Things move slowly in the south. In San Diego, I'm usually getting out of others' way. But on my drive from Washington to Charlottesville, people were getting out of my way. Who knew that 75mph is speeding?
4. At the rehearsal dinner last night, Kaz asked me who "the panda" was. Well, duh.
5. After making this trip, I now know what love is. Love is taking the red-eye across the country, braving two hours' worth of morning rush hour in D.C., wending my way through rural roads to get to the church, staying coherent during the rehearsal in which I played a very small part, and talking at the rehearsal dinner with the ex-boyfriend who broke my heart. That is what love is. Needless to say, I love both the Bride and the Groom very much.
But I'm totally getting back at them.
1. Next to the baggage claim at Dulles International Airport, an insurance company has advertised, "What's lost can now be found." Clever. But disturbing, because who wants to think her luggage is lost?
2. On the drive to Charlottesville, I passed a restaurant which advertised, "We have crabs."
3. Things move slowly in the south. In San Diego, I'm usually getting out of others' way. But on my drive from Washington to Charlottesville, people were getting out of my way. Who knew that 75mph is speeding?
4. At the rehearsal dinner last night, Kaz asked me who "the panda" was. Well, duh.
5. After making this trip, I now know what love is. Love is taking the red-eye across the country, braving two hours' worth of morning rush hour in D.C., wending my way through rural roads to get to the church, staying coherent during the rehearsal in which I played a very small part, and talking at the rehearsal dinner with the ex-boyfriend who broke my heart. That is what love is. Needless to say, I love both the Bride and the Groom very much.
But I'm totally getting back at them.
Medium news
Mei Xiang looks pregnant. This is "medium" news as opposed to "big" news, because, as the The Washington Post reports, she might not be pregnant. Just because looks like she's pregnant, acts like she's pregnant, and smells like she's pregnant, she might not actually be pregnant. But if she is pregnant, then I fully expect Munch to work her thoroughly geeky connections at the National Zoo to get me in. (Hi, Munch!)
Thanks to Samir Santiago for sending this in. (Hi, Samir!)
http://www.washingtonpost.com/wp-dyn/content/article/2007/06/07/AR2007060700479.html
Thanks to Samir Santiago for sending this in. (Hi, Samir!)
http://www.washingtonpost.com/wp-dyn/content/article/2007/06/07/AR2007060700479.html
Wednesday, June 6, 2007
On my way to Virginia
I'm going to a wedding! And I'm not bringing my laptop.
Until I get back, think about this: the San Diego Transit Police (i.e., the people who check whether I have a valid ticket on the trolley) carry guns.
Is that really necessary?
Until I get back, think about this: the San Diego Transit Police (i.e., the people who check whether I have a valid ticket on the trolley) carry guns.
Is that really necessary?
Monday, June 4, 2007
Thinking
San Diego is a border town. It's not right on the border, but considering that the trolley I take to work is the same trolley that goes to Tijuana, San Diego is close enough.
Living in this border town, I see a few things I don't usually see in Boston. For one, the men who line up outside the Home Depot every morning are actual people, as opposed to the pictures I usually see in The New York Times. The line makes me sad. The Captain pointed out that the line isn't all bad, because people who need work are getting it and people who need work done are accomplishing it. What makes me sad, though, is when the well runs dry. When do the workers stop waiting? How long do they wait? How often do they wait for nothing? What are they thinking about?
On my way back from the trolley station tonight, a man in his car stopped to ask me about the trolley schedule. He wanted to know if his passenger, a Mexican worker, would be able to ride the trolley back to Tijuana. I told the driver how often the trolley ran in the morning, and where the worker would have to change trains in order to get back to Mexico. It struck me as odd; if the man were willing to drive the worker to the train station, then why not just drive him to the border? It's not that far.
The worker sat silently in the car, watching us privileged Americans discuss how best to deliver him back, away from here.
Photo credit: L. M. Otero/Associated Press
Living in this border town, I see a few things I don't usually see in Boston. For one, the men who line up outside the Home Depot every morning are actual people, as opposed to the pictures I usually see in The New York Times. The line makes me sad. The Captain pointed out that the line isn't all bad, because people who need work are getting it and people who need work done are accomplishing it. What makes me sad, though, is when the well runs dry. When do the workers stop waiting? How long do they wait? How often do they wait for nothing? What are they thinking about?
On my way back from the trolley station tonight, a man in his car stopped to ask me about the trolley schedule. He wanted to know if his passenger, a Mexican worker, would be able to ride the trolley back to Tijuana. I told the driver how often the trolley ran in the morning, and where the worker would have to change trains in order to get back to Mexico. It struck me as odd; if the man were willing to drive the worker to the train station, then why not just drive him to the border? It's not that far.
The worker sat silently in the car, watching us privileged Americans discuss how best to deliver him back, away from here.
Photo credit: L. M. Otero/Associated Press
Various
Hello, Jenski. Hello, Abstract Concept. And hello, Munch, who didn't comment but who did send me a nice email.
Some little things today:
1. On Saturday, two of the summers had us over their apartment, and it was very good times. Have you ever had barbecued chicken that isn't dry? As in, juicy? I thought it impossible, but my fellow summers are culinary magicians. This could be good.
2. At lunch today, I forgot to order my salad dressing on the side. Big mistake. I don't even know if I had any vegetables - my salad was so very Thousand Island.
3. My best friend from high school is getting married in four days. That means, in four days, not only will I get to see him and the Bride embark on a fantastic journey together, but I will get to see both the Captain and the panda. All in the same weekend. I just might explode from the excitement.
Some little things today:
1. On Saturday, two of the summers had us over their apartment, and it was very good times. Have you ever had barbecued chicken that isn't dry? As in, juicy? I thought it impossible, but my fellow summers are culinary magicians. This could be good.
2. At lunch today, I forgot to order my salad dressing on the side. Big mistake. I don't even know if I had any vegetables - my salad was so very Thousand Island.
3. My best friend from high school is getting married in four days. That means, in four days, not only will I get to see him and the Bride embark on a fantastic journey together, but I will get to see both the Captain and the panda. All in the same weekend. I just might explode from the excitement.
Saturday, June 2, 2007
Goopy
Today I got a massage. It was...okay. I went to the guy's house, which probably wasn't the smartest thing, given that I am a single woman in a new city. But it turned out fine, except for the two Chinese Cresteds that kept jumping up and down and onto the table - even while I was on it. I was too polite to ask the guy to put the dogs in another room, but I probably won't be going back to him. (Second Roomie, the one who's into jiu jitsu, found him through her gym.) During the massage, the guy slathered on so much lotion that when everything was said and done, I was goopy. It is now on the insides of my clothes. Yuck.
Later on, I went to get a mani/pedi, because hey, the Bride and Groom are getting married next week. The manicurist also slathered on gobs of lotion. She put so much on one arm I thought she was going to move half to the other arm. Nope. All that goop was just for one arm. When she went to the second arm, I cut her off after an initial squirt, but even then, that was goopy.
Are San Diegans just a goopy people?
Later on, I went to get a mani/pedi, because hey, the Bride and Groom are getting married next week. The manicurist also slathered on gobs of lotion. She put so much on one arm I thought she was going to move half to the other arm. Nope. All that goop was just for one arm. When she went to the second arm, I cut her off after an initial squirt, but even then, that was goopy.
Are San Diegans just a goopy people?
Thursday, May 31, 2007
My legal advisors
...Sis and 'Cuse, LLP, have warned me about blogging too much about work.
So I'll just say this: I'm going to have a hard time going back to cooking for myself and keeping to a food budget. Lunch is good. It's everything Anonymous Lawyer said and more.
So I'll just say this: I'm going to have a hard time going back to cooking for myself and keeping to a food budget. Lunch is good. It's everything Anonymous Lawyer said and more.
Wednesday, May 30, 2007
And...
A shout-out to the Bride, who also had not one but two comments.
And to Big Mo, who made me laugh with her example of Chewbacca.
And to Jenski, who is now commenting because she figures she'll get a mention. (It's not a bad system.)
And to Big Mo, who made me laugh with her example of Chewbacca.
And to Jenski, who is now commenting because she figures she'll get a mention. (It's not a bad system.)
Monday, May 28, 2007
Yoga in L.A.
...lived up to almost every L.A. stereotype I have. The teacher's name was Govindas, but he was white. He had dreads, he wore linen, and his wife was a total babe. But I'll get to the wife later. Let me back up.
Memorial Day weekend, and I thought it would be grand to brave SoCal traffic to visit Dr. J in L.A. Dr. J and I have known each other since high school, technically, but we've known each other best since our senior year of college, when we shared an apartment with three other women and one man. (If you add that up, that's five women and one man. Somehow, the man survived.) That living arrangement remains to this day my favorite living arrangement, and I've been lucky to have several rockin' roommates.
But I digress. Dr. J is graduating from med school on Friday and I wanted to hang with her before she heads back east to start her residency. Because I am obsessed with health (read: my figure), I readily accepted her invitation to do some yoga. She took me to a studio in Santa Monica where anyone can attend because classes are pay-as-you-go. Even better, payments are only suggested donations, so cash-strapped students like us can practice without having to go hungry.
When we walked in, I was hit by the smell of incense and the sound of live music. The teacher and his wife were sitting up front, playing instruments that I have seen played only by Hare Krishnas. I thought to myself, ah, L.A.
We started with some chants. Like, Om. We weren't supposed to keep pitch, but I noticed that most people did. I deliberately chanted out of key. It reminded me of choir rehearsals when SEP would tell us all to pick a pitch and then to listen to each other to create harmony. (I put that part in for my Sis and the Groom.) Dr. J did not chant. She was too focused on one of the other students in the class, Rudy, because she is in love with him and his rippling muscles.
Myself, when I wasn't trying to bend my body in unnatural ways, I was too focused on Mrs. Govindas, the teacher's wife. She was extraordinarily good - twisting and turning and balancing like it was the easiest thing ever. I also noticed she was a total babe - fantastic body, good hair. I thought it odd that even a supposedly "enlightened" yogi as herself still would have to demonstrate that she was better than everybody else in the room. Really, her poses were unnecessary. At the end of class, she made sure to kiss the Mr. in front of everybody. (Dr. J didn't notice - still staring at Rudy.) I just wiped the sweat from my face and got ready to leave. It puzzled me, why this woman took this relatively easy class when it was obviously beneath her. Was she trying to define her turf, or did she just really love yoga? Or am I just paranoid? (Likely.)
Dr. J and I talked about it briefly over brunch, not because she had paid any attention to this but because we were cut off by not one but two parties in line for a table. She said she wouldn't miss Angelenos' self-superiority, and I brought up Mrs. Govindas. She just shrugged. I guess there wasn't much else we could do.
After brunch, we sat in a park to read. Next to us, a father played catch with his son, except the son wasn't so great on the catch. The ball hit me in the arm, and the son said flatly to his father, "You have to go get it." The embarrassed dad apologized, retrieved the ball, and then led his son to their car so they escape any further potential torts claims. Ah, L.A.
---
P.S. Dr. J's cat, Rudo, below. Notice that "Rudo" is suspiciously close to "Rudy." Hm.
Memorial Day weekend, and I thought it would be grand to brave SoCal traffic to visit Dr. J in L.A. Dr. J and I have known each other since high school, technically, but we've known each other best since our senior year of college, when we shared an apartment with three other women and one man. (If you add that up, that's five women and one man. Somehow, the man survived.) That living arrangement remains to this day my favorite living arrangement, and I've been lucky to have several rockin' roommates.
But I digress. Dr. J is graduating from med school on Friday and I wanted to hang with her before she heads back east to start her residency. Because I am obsessed with health (read: my figure), I readily accepted her invitation to do some yoga. She took me to a studio in Santa Monica where anyone can attend because classes are pay-as-you-go. Even better, payments are only suggested donations, so cash-strapped students like us can practice without having to go hungry.
When we walked in, I was hit by the smell of incense and the sound of live music. The teacher and his wife were sitting up front, playing instruments that I have seen played only by Hare Krishnas. I thought to myself, ah, L.A.
We started with some chants. Like, Om. We weren't supposed to keep pitch, but I noticed that most people did. I deliberately chanted out of key. It reminded me of choir rehearsals when SEP would tell us all to pick a pitch and then to listen to each other to create harmony. (I put that part in for my Sis and the Groom.) Dr. J did not chant. She was too focused on one of the other students in the class, Rudy, because she is in love with him and his rippling muscles.
Myself, when I wasn't trying to bend my body in unnatural ways, I was too focused on Mrs. Govindas, the teacher's wife. She was extraordinarily good - twisting and turning and balancing like it was the easiest thing ever. I also noticed she was a total babe - fantastic body, good hair. I thought it odd that even a supposedly "enlightened" yogi as herself still would have to demonstrate that she was better than everybody else in the room. Really, her poses were unnecessary. At the end of class, she made sure to kiss the Mr. in front of everybody. (Dr. J didn't notice - still staring at Rudy.) I just wiped the sweat from my face and got ready to leave. It puzzled me, why this woman took this relatively easy class when it was obviously beneath her. Was she trying to define her turf, or did she just really love yoga? Or am I just paranoid? (Likely.)
Dr. J and I talked about it briefly over brunch, not because she had paid any attention to this but because we were cut off by not one but two parties in line for a table. She said she wouldn't miss Angelenos' self-superiority, and I brought up Mrs. Govindas. She just shrugged. I guess there wasn't much else we could do.
After brunch, we sat in a park to read. Next to us, a father played catch with his son, except the son wasn't so great on the catch. The ball hit me in the arm, and the son said flatly to his father, "You have to go get it." The embarrassed dad apologized, retrieved the ball, and then led his son to their car so they escape any further potential torts claims. Ah, L.A.
---
P.S. Dr. J's cat, Rudo, below. Notice that "Rudo" is suspiciously close to "Rudy." Hm.
Saturday, May 26, 2007
Haircut
Thursday, May 24, 2007
Apple pie
Today, I was determined to have a better day than I had yesterday.
I came up clutch.
Since it's best to go with what you know, I breakfasted in South Park, a funky neighborhood full of crazy leftists. I stopped in at the Big Kitchen, a place owned by a crazy leftist and yet featured on Rachael Ray's "$40 a Day." (I love America.) The Captain and I ate there twice during his short visit, so my breakfast yesterday made it three times I've gone in the week I've been in San Diego. It's a good place. It's the type of place where regulars abound, and if you don't happen to have enough cash on you, no biggie. The owner, Judy Foreman, has been in business more than twenty years, so she seems to know what she's doing. I get the sense she's a sort of patron saint for the neighborhood, someone who makes a ton of money on her business and then puts it all back into the community.
The servers as the Big Kitchen pointed me to a fun coffee shop where I could sit and read for a bit. The place was perfect: large and airy, full of comfy chairs and atmosphere. While sipping my coffee I perused a city guide which told me about Julian, a country town about an hour's drive northeast of San Diego. Originally a gold rush town, Julian's big business today is apples. With nothing to lose, I went to see Southern California's answer to New England.
The drive was beautiful. The weather was beautiful. The mountains were beautiful. I wished I had a convertible.
But as I approached Julian, I saw vestiges of the wildfires which destroyed 750,000 acres of land in 2003. Mile after mile of blackened trees; it was hard to imagine a fire that could burn so much. My guidebook said that many in Julian had lost their homes to the fires, so I kept that in mind when I got there.
Which basically means I spent a lot of money during my visit. The main drag is only about four blocks long, but I managed to 1) eat lunch at the town's nicest restaurant, 2) buy a book I didn't need at the used bookstore, 3) purchase apple butter and other preserves for friends, 4) eat an enormous slice of apple-berry pie, 5) buy an apple cookbook for the Captain, and 6) bring home zucchini bread for my roommate. And I was there only two hours. Imagine what would have happened had I stayed longer. In fact there was more to see, but at that point my wallet, in addition to my heart, was bleeding, so I had to go.
But it was a good day.
I came up clutch.
Since it's best to go with what you know, I breakfasted in South Park, a funky neighborhood full of crazy leftists. I stopped in at the Big Kitchen, a place owned by a crazy leftist and yet featured on Rachael Ray's "$40 a Day." (I love America.) The Captain and I ate there twice during his short visit, so my breakfast yesterday made it three times I've gone in the week I've been in San Diego. It's a good place. It's the type of place where regulars abound, and if you don't happen to have enough cash on you, no biggie. The owner, Judy Foreman, has been in business more than twenty years, so she seems to know what she's doing. I get the sense she's a sort of patron saint for the neighborhood, someone who makes a ton of money on her business and then puts it all back into the community.
The servers as the Big Kitchen pointed me to a fun coffee shop where I could sit and read for a bit. The place was perfect: large and airy, full of comfy chairs and atmosphere. While sipping my coffee I perused a city guide which told me about Julian, a country town about an hour's drive northeast of San Diego. Originally a gold rush town, Julian's big business today is apples. With nothing to lose, I went to see Southern California's answer to New England.
The drive was beautiful. The weather was beautiful. The mountains were beautiful. I wished I had a convertible.
But as I approached Julian, I saw vestiges of the wildfires which destroyed 750,000 acres of land in 2003. Mile after mile of blackened trees; it was hard to imagine a fire that could burn so much. My guidebook said that many in Julian had lost their homes to the fires, so I kept that in mind when I got there.
Which basically means I spent a lot of money during my visit. The main drag is only about four blocks long, but I managed to 1) eat lunch at the town's nicest restaurant, 2) buy a book I didn't need at the used bookstore, 3) purchase apple butter and other preserves for friends, 4) eat an enormous slice of apple-berry pie, 5) buy an apple cookbook for the Captain, and 6) bring home zucchini bread for my roommate. And I was there only two hours. Imagine what would have happened had I stayed longer. In fact there was more to see, but at that point my wallet, in addition to my heart, was bleeding, so I had to go.
But it was a good day.
Wednesday, May 23, 2007
The fog has lifted
First, a shout-out to Jenski, who has left not one, but two scintillating comments. Thank you!
And yes, the fog, the interminable fog that has hovered over San Diego since my arrival last week, finally has lifted. What a difference.
But before I get too rosy, I should start at the not-so-chipper beginning. This morning I went downtown to explore. My first stop was the San Diego Chinese History Museum, a small but plucky little museum in the historic Gaslamp Quarter. The museum itself was great: lots of antiquities and well-written captions alongside them. What followed, however, was not great.
My travel book said that a nearby coffeeshop would be good for lunch. It was not. Flies everywhere. A sticky tabletop. Loud electronica. Un-fresh food. I don't know why I didn't just leave. But I already had ordered and paid so I thought I should follow through. It seemed honorable at the time, but perhaps commitment to stranger-waitresses is qualitatively different from commitment to, say, your spouse. I certainly think there's a difference, now that I've wasted a perfectly good meal.
At any rate, I was so cranky after lunch I thought my day was ruined. But I hung in there, mostly because I didn't have many other options. By this point, the fog had lifted and the sun shone through. I walked to the harbor, where there was a boardwalk, fun little shops, and more Navy memorials than I ever have seen in one place at one time. One of those memorials was a three-story sculpture of Alfred Eisenstadt's famous photo in Times Square. Because the sculpture is so tall, you can actually look up the nurse's skirt. I don't know if that's the message we want to be sending our young people.
But like the fog, my mood was lifting. The weather was gorgeous, and I was walking off my wasted lunch. I spotted a seal swimming up close to the pier, and little kids with their families were having the run of the place. Lovely.
And yes, the fog, the interminable fog that has hovered over San Diego since my arrival last week, finally has lifted. What a difference.
But before I get too rosy, I should start at the not-so-chipper beginning. This morning I went downtown to explore. My first stop was the San Diego Chinese History Museum, a small but plucky little museum in the historic Gaslamp Quarter. The museum itself was great: lots of antiquities and well-written captions alongside them. What followed, however, was not great.
My travel book said that a nearby coffeeshop would be good for lunch. It was not. Flies everywhere. A sticky tabletop. Loud electronica. Un-fresh food. I don't know why I didn't just leave. But I already had ordered and paid so I thought I should follow through. It seemed honorable at the time, but perhaps commitment to stranger-waitresses is qualitatively different from commitment to, say, your spouse. I certainly think there's a difference, now that I've wasted a perfectly good meal.
At any rate, I was so cranky after lunch I thought my day was ruined. But I hung in there, mostly because I didn't have many other options. By this point, the fog had lifted and the sun shone through. I walked to the harbor, where there was a boardwalk, fun little shops, and more Navy memorials than I ever have seen in one place at one time. One of those memorials was a three-story sculpture of Alfred Eisenstadt's famous photo in Times Square. Because the sculpture is so tall, you can actually look up the nurse's skirt. I don't know if that's the message we want to be sending our young people.
But like the fog, my mood was lifting. The weather was gorgeous, and I was walking off my wasted lunch. I spotted a seal swimming up close to the pier, and little kids with their families were having the run of the place. Lovely.
Tuesday, May 22, 2007
Eh
Today was a little unfocused. I woke up later than usual (8:30), and found myself thoroughly puzzled by what I should do with myself, alone, without any friends in a completely new city.
I started with some errands, but once those were done I didn't know how to kill time before lunch. Happily, the Abstract Concept called and we got to chat a little bit. The AC is one of my closest friends from law school. I also occasionally hate him. Several theories abound as to why this is so, and so far the best is that there's something about his scent. Indeed, he gave up deodorant in college. At any rate, it was nice to hear from him and to find out what everyone is doing, or not doing, in Beantown.
Once I returned home, I saw that my second roommate and her dog (who is effectively my third roommate) had returned from their weekend away. Second Roomie is also a rising 3L and is heavily into Brazilian Jiu Jitsu. She proved this by having her trainer over for snacks. We also got to chat a little bit, and I found out that she's a year older than I, which was nice to hear because yes, I'm obsessed with my age. I assume everyone in law school is younger than I am, and therefore ahead of the game. Silly, I know, but the silliest thoughts are often the toughest to shake.
As for the dog, he is an energetic little Shih Tzu who yaps at strangers. Sometimes I wish I could yap at strangers.
I started with some errands, but once those were done I didn't know how to kill time before lunch. Happily, the Abstract Concept called and we got to chat a little bit. The AC is one of my closest friends from law school. I also occasionally hate him. Several theories abound as to why this is so, and so far the best is that there's something about his scent. Indeed, he gave up deodorant in college. At any rate, it was nice to hear from him and to find out what everyone is doing, or not doing, in Beantown.
Once I returned home, I saw that my second roommate and her dog (who is effectively my third roommate) had returned from their weekend away. Second Roomie is also a rising 3L and is heavily into Brazilian Jiu Jitsu. She proved this by having her trainer over for snacks. We also got to chat a little bit, and I found out that she's a year older than I, which was nice to hear because yes, I'm obsessed with my age. I assume everyone in law school is younger than I am, and therefore ahead of the game. Silly, I know, but the silliest thoughts are often the toughest to shake.
As for the dog, he is an energetic little Shih Tzu who yaps at strangers. Sometimes I wish I could yap at strangers.
I'm a dummy
I was so excited about my blog that I sent a message to all my friends to tell them about it. But I didn't send the URL.
The upside, however, is that I got a dozen emails this morning telling me that I had, in fact, forgotten the link. My friends are so charmingly polite. I gladly would be a dummy for them again.
The upside, however, is that I got a dozen emails this morning telling me that I had, in fact, forgotten the link. My friends are so charmingly polite. I gladly would be a dummy for them again.
Monday, May 21, 2007
Public Transport
Today I embarked on what some people call the dry run, but what the Captain calls Leader's Recon: I rode the trolley to my office. It was fun, and not unreasonably time-consuming (forty-five minutes door-to-door).
A few things. First, the trolley is not so much a trolley but a light rail. Cars are spacious and clean, and the stations all look like they have been recently renovated. I had to transfer lines on the way, but the transfer was across-platform, and the new lines were there to meet me, both ways.
Second, the trolley is underused. I rode during rush hour and I was able to get a double seat to myself the entire way.
Third, the trolley drops me off in front my office. It also stops at my gym, the outlet mall, and the regular mall that the locals call "Fashion Valley." Given my skittishness on the freeway and the exorbitant price of gas, I'm wondering how long I can go without having to fill up the tank.
This will be a fun game.
A few things. First, the trolley is not so much a trolley but a light rail. Cars are spacious and clean, and the stations all look like they have been recently renovated. I had to transfer lines on the way, but the transfer was across-platform, and the new lines were there to meet me, both ways.
Second, the trolley is underused. I rode during rush hour and I was able to get a double seat to myself the entire way.
Third, the trolley drops me off in front my office. It also stops at my gym, the outlet mall, and the regular mall that the locals call "Fashion Valley." Given my skittishness on the freeway and the exorbitant price of gas, I'm wondering how long I can go without having to fill up the tank.
This will be a fun game.
Sunday, May 20, 2007
Going to church
This morning I looked for God. Since I don't have a church in Boston, I've been eager to find a new church just about anywhere. The Internet told me there was a church just five minutes away.
It was...
Well, the mean age must have been 57. And it was that low only because there were a few teenagers and grade school kids skewing the sample. Still, it was a full congregation and I was hopeful. But then we started singing praise songs and I was no longer hopeful. I am not a praise song singer. I am a hymnal-toting worshipper. I am Maggie Smith from Sister Act. I am, in a word, Princetonian.
Still, all was not lost. Announcement Time was terrific; this was a tight-knit community. When congregants wanted to make announcements, the Pastor called on them by name. When the Youth Group leader made his announcement, he singled out a lady who "hooks us up with candy every week" to thank her in front of everyone. That's community.
And the Sermon wasn't shabby, either. They called it the "Message" rather than the "Sermon", but by this point, the SoCal aesthetic (Flip-flops? In church?!) had already told me not to split hairs. The topic was patience, a particularly timely topic given my late-twenties rush to get life started yesterday. More importantly, the preacher avoided a pat, simplistic sermon and delivered an intelligent message. Patience is not passive submission, but persistence, and when necessary, active indignation. I was impressed.
But then we sang some more praise songs.
It was...
Well, the mean age must have been 57. And it was that low only because there were a few teenagers and grade school kids skewing the sample. Still, it was a full congregation and I was hopeful. But then we started singing praise songs and I was no longer hopeful. I am not a praise song singer. I am a hymnal-toting worshipper. I am Maggie Smith from Sister Act. I am, in a word, Princetonian.
Still, all was not lost. Announcement Time was terrific; this was a tight-knit community. When congregants wanted to make announcements, the Pastor called on them by name. When the Youth Group leader made his announcement, he singled out a lady who "hooks us up with candy every week" to thank her in front of everyone. That's community.
And the Sermon wasn't shabby, either. They called it the "Message" rather than the "Sermon", but by this point, the SoCal aesthetic (Flip-flops? In church?!) had already told me not to split hairs. The topic was patience, a particularly timely topic given my late-twenties rush to get life started yesterday. More importantly, the preacher avoided a pat, simplistic sermon and delivered an intelligent message. Patience is not passive submission, but persistence, and when necessary, active indignation. I was impressed.
But then we sang some more praise songs.
Saturday, May 19, 2007
Settling in
Bienvenidos.
I'm here in San Diego, and despite arriving three days ago, it still doesn't seem quite real. It doesn't seem possible that I traveled 2600 miles in search of a job, but I did, and here I am.
A few things of note:
1. I am homesick.
2. But my apartment has perks: a pool, free parking, and free laundry.
3. The air is remarkably dry, and it's colder than I would have expected.
4. But strangers are friendly - they make eye contact and smile.
5. Driving is stressful because the freeway is both fast and intense. Zoom! Yikes.
6. On the other hand, driving is simple. The city is a grid and everything, everything is signed.
7. I am the tidiest (read: fussiest) of my roommates.
8. My roommates have hung a full-length mirror right outside the shower, so the first thing I see when I open the shower door is the metabolic slowdown of my late twenties. Not pretty.
9. But I am looking forward to starting work.
10. And I cannot wait until my first fish taco.
More observations to come.
I'm here in San Diego, and despite arriving three days ago, it still doesn't seem quite real. It doesn't seem possible that I traveled 2600 miles in search of a job, but I did, and here I am.
A few things of note:
1. I am homesick.
2. But my apartment has perks: a pool, free parking, and free laundry.
3. The air is remarkably dry, and it's colder than I would have expected.
4. But strangers are friendly - they make eye contact and smile.
5. Driving is stressful because the freeway is both fast and intense. Zoom! Yikes.
6. On the other hand, driving is simple. The city is a grid and everything, everything is signed.
7. I am the tidiest (read: fussiest) of my roommates.
8. My roommates have hung a full-length mirror right outside the shower, so the first thing I see when I open the shower door is the metabolic slowdown of my late twenties. Not pretty.
9. But I am looking forward to starting work.
10. And I cannot wait until my first fish taco.
More observations to come.
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