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.

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.

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.

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

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?

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.

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

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.)

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.

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.

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.

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.

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.

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.

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.

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.)

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.

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.