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.

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.

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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.

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.

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.