...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.
Thursday, May 31, 2007
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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