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.

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.

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FN1. The lyric refers to the Tears for Fears concert the Summers are attending in two weeks.

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.

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.

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.

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FN1. For the uninitiated, See's Candies is one of the most delicious reasons to live in California. Ask the Captain, he knows.

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.

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FN1. It's not hunger. I'm talking about when my stomach is full but still I want more.

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.

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.

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.

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.

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.

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.