Travelblogue: Week 2 of 13

Monday: Went to work for about 7 hours.
Lost my keys when I hid them to go jogging.

Tuesday: Went to work for about 7 hours.
Had a "review" with the partner that assigned me a project. Thought it went ok.
Went to a firm happy hour after work.

Wednesday: Went to work for about 7 hours.
Don't really remember much about the day, except that I had a delicious lunch (on the company dime of course, as all my lunches have been thus far) at a Mexican restaurant. Drank agua fresca with bits of choppeed up strawberries in it. Mmmm.

Thursday: Went to work for another 7 hours (This is bad. I need to get in earlier).
After work we had a Summer Associate event: A trip to MoMA to view the Picasso in America exhibit and dinner at a french bistro. Mmmm.


The exhibit was showing how Picasso influenced American artists and thus displayed more of other artist's works and less of Picasso. It was deep. Our group had a docent and she was excellent. I don't ever want to look at art again without a docent.

Friday: Went to work for almost 8 hours today! Very proud of myself for waking up a little earlier. Had another brief "review" with the partner and it went ok again. And by ok, I don't mean great, just ok.
Had a late lunch with Tammy, friend from junior high, highschool, and college! Kicked myself for forgetting to get a picture with her.
Went to parent's house for the weekend.

Saturday: Hung out with parents. They like to be physcally active so I basically spent the entire day "working out." Did exercise videos with mom. Played ping pong with dad. Then spent the evening with their kronies playing badminton.




Sunday: Saw Jenny for the first time in over a year. So happy we're both working in the Bay Area this Summer! She, like me, is leaving behind her other half on the East Coast. Went shopping for four hours after lunch. Bought only a shirt and sunglasses. Such paltry purchases means it was not a successful shopping expidition. Felt exhausted fighting the Memorial Day weekend crowds.

Will today be the day I'm raped?

Since my apartment keys were stolen yesterday I've been living in probabilities.

What are the chances that the thief knows where I live?
What are the chances that he will follow me into my apartment?
What are the chances he's waiting for me when I enter my apartment?
What are the chances that I will be raped tonight?

Tonight I did something that I've only seen on tv and I hope to God it works.

I carefully balanced a chair on its back legs and lodged it under the front door. That way if the bastard tries to get in I can at least buy myself a few seconds to grab a knife.

I would feel a lot better if I could watch the security surveillance tape and see what the actual bastard looks like. But bureaucratic red tape and working all day seems to prevent that from happening indefinitely.

Moving to a new city is hard.

No one cares about you enough to stay with you during your times of need.

Travelblogue: Week 1 of 13

Monday, May 14 was a day I had nervously dreaded since January. That day I hauled some suitcases through Boston airport to board a plane and start my new Summer job in San Francisco.



Upon arriving, I visited with some of my brother's friends: Tim (medium-size guy) and Dean (bigger guy). We visited their joint-venture game store: Eudemonia



Had some dessert. Kiwi sorbet for me.



Thursday I arrived at my gorgeous and spacious office with typical floor-to-ceiling vanity windows.



With a view like this it's goodbye eyestrain! (Can you see the Golden Gate Bridge in the back? If not, you can click on the picture to enlarge it.)



Everyday so far I've had gourmet 2-hour lunches and dinner events to attend. This event was a fundraising event for the Asian Legal Aid Bureau.* A room full of Asian lawyers and politicians. Gavin Newsome was there, for whatever that's worth.




Am I nervous about impressing the firm? Sure.
Do I miss Michael a lot? Definitely.
Am I in strange and uncomfortable situations all the time? Yup.

But on a brighter note, all this discomfort has driven me into the arms of Roald Dahl's short stories for comfort. And that's not too bad of a place to be.

Why blog

To say hello,
to create,
to express,
regardless of whether it is done well or poorly.

To know that this was the first time someone saw this.
Before you wrote it, it didn't exist.

Broken Promise, Broken Dreamz

The Season Finale of Survivor: Fiji Islands aired this past Sunday.

I was particularly haunted by it because one participant, Dreamz (picture left), did something incredibly deplorable: he promised to give immunity to Yao-Man (picture right) in exchange for a truck that Yao had won. But when it came time to deliver the immunity necklace to Yao, Dreamz renigged.



Why did Dreamz break his word? He claims it's because he was just "playing the game." But I think greed overcame him. Dreamz grew up extremely impoverished and was homeless for a large extent of his life. When he realized that renigging on the deal would win him a seat in the final 3 (amongst whom the jury would choose to award the 1 mill to) he could not resist the urge to betray Yao.

I think Dreamz made a bad choice. He could not hope to get the jury's votes after such a treacherous move. Now he not only looks like a malicious liar on national tv, but he did it for nothing, utterly in vain.

But this whole treachery brings up an even more interesting issue:

When you play a game, how far is too far? On one hand, a game is removed from reality so presumably the player should be removed from "real" moral culpability for his backstabbings. But on the other hand, there is an intuitive sense of morality that operates even in the midst of a game. Thus we talk about being sportsman-like and deplore cheaters.

People who think that "it's just a game" and thus their character is insulated from impugnity should remember this line of reasoning:

If you are willing to cheat me when it's just a game and the stakes are low, I can only imagine what you are willing to do when it's "for real" and the stakes are high.

A cheater in games is a cheater in life.

Do you agree?
(Caveat: The only exception is when the explicit premise of the game is to tell lies. E.g., Mafia, B.S.)

Blogging is so 2004

A lot of my blog sidelinks have bit the dust and I decided it was time to take them off.

RIP:
Semi-Serious Business
Super Ego
One Brassy Broad
An (Old) Grumpy Soul
Las Fashionistas
I Suck on Straws
And my own subsidiary blog: Law and Disorder

A moment of silence.

Of the remaining ones, most are only half alive (posting maybe 3-4 times a year!) So I've arranged my links from most frequently updated to least frequent.

Blogging is a tough business. The dropout rate has got to be pretty comparable to small businesses failing: only 39% are profitable.

Artsy Fartsy

It was imperative for participants to abstain from eating beans 24 hours prior to the all-nude photoshoot, not a small feat for 18,000 Mexico City dwellers.

I did it for the fam, I stayed for the fun.

Want to help science?
Want to help my brother?
Want to procrastinate?
Want a study break?
Want to be an all around nice guy?

Take some more linguistics quizzes here.


A message from the man behind the quiz, my brother:

Hello everyone,
Thanks to your generosity, I have some pretty compelling data -- but it was more intriguing than conclusive. In order to figure out exactly what's going on, I have had to devise 3 new surveys. Please,if you have the time, go take them, at lingsoup.com; This will certainly be the last time I ask for your participation in this project -- the semester is over next week. Thanks again, everyone.
~ Will

Tension is to be loved

Tension is to be loved,
when it is like a passing note,
to a beautiful, beautiful
chord.*

Tension is to be loved,
when it is like a thickening plot,
to a gut-wrenching, coming-of-age
redemption.

Tension is to be loved,
when it is like the dead of Winter,
bursting forth into the cacophony of
Spring.

Tension is to be loved,
when it is the price of usefulness**
that draws us out of self and towards
service.

*Sixpence None the Richer
**Tim Keller

At long long last

April showers...

Rubber ducky cheers my windowsill during a long soggy April.

...bring May flowers!

Finally the sun has come out today! This is the first time I've worn shorts in over 8 months! Hey, it's a big deal for a California girl.


I've always wanted this kind of front yard, abounding in flowers, instead of the traditional boring lawns I grew up with in the suburbs.

My Favorite Hollywood Couple

Forget Bradgelina, Posh and David Beckham, and the freaky Tom Cruise and Katie Holmes.

I want to see more of Jerry Stiller and Anne Meara. Besides for exuding compassion and a great sense of humor in every off-beat character they play, they are really great comedic actors!

Who are they? You probably know Jerry Stiller as the obnoxious dad of George Costanza and the other obnoxious dad of Carrie Heffernon on King of Queens.

Anne Meara has been on TV less but is just as hilarious playing roles like Miranda's mother-in-law in Sex and the City and Spence Olchin's mom in King of Queens.

But not only are they people of exceptional moral character, they are one of the most abiding testaments to true love in our modern age.

They met in New York as struggling young actors and married in 1954 and are still happily married today! That's amazing. And as if that wasn't enough, Jerry Stiller's memoir (published in 2000) is titled: Married to Laughter: A Love Story Featuring Anne Meara. Awwwwwww.

I love you guys, sniff.

Trying to move on

I want to tell you about a recent demeaning experience I've had.

It happened a week ago and I thought I've moved on and there was no need to post about it. But my mind keeps revisiting it and each time it does, I feel a little lump in my throat and a churn in my belly. So obviously I haven't moved on.

Last week, exactly one week from this hour, I went to go get my semi-annual teeth cleaning at "the only game in town" for grad students. Seriously, this place has a monopoly because they're the only one accessible by foot, which is the quintessential student m.o.

So naturally, I begrudge them their exhorbitant monopolistic rates and question whether they are "real" dentists anyway. Many a time I've gotten estimates of how much a cavity filling would cost, only to have them inflate it by 200% when it came time to pony up. They are no better than a crooked auto-mechanic. Seriously I should sick the Feds on them and write a letter to the Dept of Health and Human Services or something.

Anyway, so I was dragging myself to the teeth cleaning and when it came my turn, I was greeted by a portly middle-aged white woman. Nothing bad so far. But I do remember wondering, "Who is she? I've never seen her before. Where's the middle-aged Hispanic woman that usually takes me to the chair?" But then...and here is what I can't stop reliving...

She sits me down on the big dentist chair and as I recline uncomfortably, she starts thrusting a sharp pick into my gums repeatedly. I can feel the blood trickling from my bludgeoned gums, down the sides of my tongue, and into my throat and I want to scream, "What the hell are you doing?!!! Is this your first time?!" But it gets even worse.

I don't scream. I politely "take it." And as she's leaning into my face, her surgical mask just millimeters away, she burps.

A wet, stinky burp.

Yeah, I'm not talking about a polite exhale of air that can be mistaken for a hiccup. Ok? I'm talking: I heard gurgling as that burp made its way as an angry peptic mass from the gut to the esophagus to the mouth, until it finally exploded into her mask.

I think I smelled a faint hint of onions.

And then she burped again. And again. And again. All in all, I probably endured five wet burp clouds exploding near my defenseless gaping mouth until she finally said, "Ok, why don't you rinse."

I spat out a mouth full of salty blood. I glared at her.


I felt so small and helpless. And dirty.

People helpin' people and science!

My brother is a linguistics student at Cal and needs help with a survey. Would you be so kind as to take the two surveys? He (and I) would be ever so grateful. They are short and fun.

Click here to get to the survey homepage.

Mergers and Acquisitions

I'm learning about those time-honored corporate transactions known as M&As in class now and thought it would provide the perfect opportunity to do a little merging of my own.

From this day forward Alice in Wonderland ("Parent-blog") will hereby merge with Law-and-Disorder ("Subsidiary-blog") because I realize that I'm just too darn lazy to keep up two blogs at once.

WITNESSETH

WHEREAS the Boards of Directors of both blogs (myself being the sole director, sole shareholder, president, CEO, CFO, COO, employee, and coffee-gopher-intern) have approved the merger;
WHEREAS the subsidiary-blog was failing in performance reviews and returned no profits, as measured by entries, since the end of Winter 2007;

The Parent-blog and Subsidiary-blog shall hereby merge at the Effective Date, Subject to the following terms and conditions:
(1) Parent-blog shall be entitled to all intellectual topics and property formerly designated as the sole domain of Subsidiary-blog;
(2) Parent-blog shall periodically, on a regular and timely basis, produce entries concerning law school and topics related to the legal field in general; and
(3) Subsidiary-blog will cease to exist as an ongoing venture and will only be accessible for archival purposes.

As soon as practicable after satisfaction or waiver of any conditions set forth in subsequent one-woman Board meetings, the parties hereto shall cause the Merger to be consummated by filing with Blogger, and shall to the best of their ability refrain from using this kind of nauseous legalese hereafter.

What Women Want in a Man: Every inch matters

First of all, get your mind out of the gutter. It's not about that.


Recent studies show that women prefer taller men. Duh. You don't need a researcher to tell you that!

But did you know that men can compensate for their shortness by padding their (not shoes but...) wallets? Women are willing to relax their height standards for a bigger bank account. That's probably not surprising either.

But exactly how much money makes up for each inch?

A study of 20,000 online daters by Gunter Hitsch and Ali Hortacsu of the University of Chicago and Dan Ariely of the Massachusetts Institute of Technology found that a 5-foot-8 man was just as successful in getting dates as a 6-footer if he made more money — precisely $146,000 a year more. For a 5-foot-2 man, the number was $277,000.

But short women have it good. A 5-foot-6 woman needs to make $59,000 more than a 5-foot-0 or 5-foot-2 woman to do as well. She’d need to make $50,000 more than a 5-foot-4 woman. Take that Elle McPherson! As a 5-foot-almost-5 woman I find this liberating. I'm definitely buying some trendy ballet flats now!

Overall, I find these studies to be depressing. They seem to confirm with to-the-cent accuracy that age-old truism: looks matter a lot. And therefore: life is unfair.

For more trade-offs, see nytimes.com/tierneylab.

I'm such an idiot!

Sometimes I'm so retarded I can't stand myself. Everyone gets the occasional paper-cut. But leave it to me to give myself a paper-cut on the nose! Right smack on my snauser.


What happened: so I thought it would be comfy to read a report on the couch. As I started to drift off into a nap I suddenly jerked myself awake, report in hand...and the rest is history.

Let this be a lesson to you all: Paper and naps don't mix.

No Spring in Sight

It snowed yesterday.
SNOWED!

The White White Mountains

The White Mountains is like the Yosemite of New England: a beautiful national park for campers, skiers, and day-trip hikers alike (like yours truly).


But very much unlike Yosemite, it's covered in snow even in the last week of March! Imagine our surpise as we descended from our car only to find four feet of snow everywhere and signs saying: "Closed for the season. See you in May!"


This was not the springtime conditions we anticipated...but we tried to make the best of it.

It was the best of times...it was the worst of scores

Michael and I did something new last week: went bowling with some friends.


As a couple, we were by far the saddest of the bunch.

Yours truly had the lowest total scores all night. Here I am doing the walk of shame, which I did all too often.


And here's Michael, the MDP of the night: Most Degenerated Player. While everyone else's scores improved from game 1 to game 2, Michael's deproved by a signifigant amount.


We can't wait to go again. We're gluttons for punishment!

Euphemism of the Day

Ever need to call someone out for lying without offending them? Then here's a handy euphemism for you:

Harsh version: "That never happened!"

Euphemistic version: "Well, actually I think that statement may be historically inaccurate."

Source: Inspired by the ATA v. FAA opinion written by the diplomatic Judge Henderson.

Some Sunshine from California

The single digit weather finally warmed last weekend, coinciding with the visit of my good friend Joy.


Joy and I have been friends since junior high school so seeing her again always makes me reminisce and marvel at "how old we are now!"

It's strange how so much has changed and yet nothing really has changed. The same fears, the same flaws, the same confusion plague my quiet moments now as they had then. And Joy seems as certain, optimistic, and ebullient as I've always remembered.

As always Faulkner rings true: The past is not dead. In fact it's not even past. That's kind of a terrifying thought for those who grew up as I did...but thank God I believe in redemption. I have to.

You know you're depressed when...

As I plopped my butt down in front of the boobtube, as is my wont, guess what I chanced to see?

An entire hour of The View dedicated to the topic of women and depression. Their guest was saying how she knew she was depressed because of her extremely low-energy and the fact that she watched a lot of QVC.

That sentence struck me like a lightening bolt.

Meet some of my best friends:


Ever since last year I've been a newly converted devotee of HSN, the local cable counterpart of QVC. Instead of quickly flipping past Channel 70 with slight annoyance, like any sane person would do, I started to just let my fingers pause on the remote and let the sound of the snakeoil salesmen and women wash over me like a warm stream of sunshine in a cold dark living room.


It's something about their tone of voice. So cheerful, so optimistic, so concerned for us to enhance our lives by buying their products. Is it wrong to be attracted to such love and joy exuding from a fellow human being?


Many times I just leave the tv on as I do other chores simply to have that positive energy flowing around the apartment at all times.

(Shivan's my favorite. When people ask her how she's doing she always responds: Happy happy!)

It's exactly what a depressed person needs.

Oh Trenchie, I hardly knew you.

I spent all winter anticipating the day when I would don a beautiful new trench coat in the Spring. Since December, I have been scouting catalogue after catalogue, shopping-site after shopping-site, in hunt for the perfect trench.

From cheap to sleek, nice to nouveau, cotton to polyester, I've seen them all. And after months of searching, I can announce that I've finally found IT. The One. Perfect price point. Perfect construction. Perfect details.

Behold, the trench of my dreams:

Notice the tortoise shell buttons and buckles, the traditional double-breasted trench styling, the on-seam side slash pockets. Ah, at last, the holy grail, the stairway to heaven, nirvana, eureka!

But a funny thing happened on the way to perfection.

In the end, I could not bring myself to buy it.

Why? At first I could not explain it. Why? Why, after months of pouring time, money, and effort into finding this coveted object, would I just let it slip away?!! All the previous duds I had purchased and returned...was it all for nought?!

I can think of two minor reasons and one major one:
(1) It's a wee bit too pricey.
(2) Michael thinks it's too fancy-pants.
(3) What social psychologists call, the theory of reactance: When our sense of freedom is threatened, we attempt to restore it.

I can't bring myself to own a trench coat because after scouring the fashion retail world for months, I realized they are one of the top 10 trends for Spring. I hate following trends! I want to assert my individuality and autonomy! No marketing ploy is going to make me buy anything! No trench, no leggings, no cropped jackets, no jewel-colored tights, and no ballet flats! (Ok, maybe just one pair of ballet flats).

So in the end I returned it,
the trench of my dreams,
the shortest love affair that never was.

A Better Way

Anna Mae, born to Chinese parents, was adopted by an American family nearly 8 years ago. Very soon after the adoption (3 months I think) Anna Mae's biological parents said they wanted her back again. The Bakers said No.


Thus began a long custody battle (8 years!!!) that ended recently with the Tennessee Supreme Court ordering Anna Mae to be returned to her birth parents.

The Bakers are devastated and claim that Anna Mae is too. After living all her life in Tennessee, she may have to move all the way to China where she knows no one and does not even speak the language.

What was the cause of this tragic controversy?

Apparently it was some horrible miscommunication. Some unfortunate ambiguity. The birth parents thought they were placing their child in temporary foster care from which they could retrieve her soon thereafter. The Bakers thought it was permanent adoption.

Of course the real tragedy is: Why couldn't they have just settled this 8 years ago?!!!!! Now it's a lose-lose situation.

This kind of case really brings out the Mediator in me. After taking the Negotiation Clinic I feel the kind of crazy optimism that all negotiators feel: We can work this out. There is a better way.

The first step in negotiation is identifying a common ground. In this case, it's easy and powerful: Anna Mae's best interest.

No party wants her to be miserable in a foreign land or estranged from the deepest sources of her identity, her biological parents.

The next step is to brainstorm options. Lots of options. Creative options with no ownership and may be completely impractical but will get the juices of cooperation flowing. They say Clinton was very good at this. He would relentlessly spitball for hours until something stuck.

Could the birth parents stay in America and live close by? Could the birth parents share custody with the Bakers, like divorced spouses? Could a neutral-third-party child psychologist give the final say?

The beginning of the solution is when the parties realize that this is a JOINT problem. It's not YOU versus ME like good versus bad, as if there will be a winner versus a loser. It's not a zero sum game in which a pie is being split. The child needs BOTH sets of parents. As most divorces know, when a child is involved, either we all win, or we all lose.

More info on Wikipedia.

Mommy, what's a scrotum?

That is something I would never want to hear from my 10 year old child. So why did award winning children's author, Susan Patron, put that word in her newest book, The Higher Power of Lucky?

She says the word is, "delicious..."

Hmmm...I think that explanation actually makes everything worse.

Read more about this bizzaro controversy here.

Ice-capades

A recent ice storm has provided the perfect platform for Michael's own rendition of Happy Feet: (the disembodied chuckling voice is mine, obviously)

Love is in the air...

All this talk about love makes me think...

I haven't lived that long or experienced that much, but this I know. The sweetest love of all for a woman is: SisterLove.

Sure the love of a man is nice. But Men are from Mars. They don't and can't and frankly shouldn't be able to understand "everything." There are parts of our psyches that only fellow Venusians can ever really get. And who's going to be there for you when you and your man have issues?

And sure it's great to have a loving family. But they love you without any real choice in the matter. Heck, you share their genes, so it's like loving an extension of themselves. But girlfriends choose you. They really really like...YOU.

It's the purest love there is. It's not because of euphoric chemicals, hard-wired by evolution to help us procreate. It's not an addiction, a compulsion, a convenience, or a social convention.

It is the truest form of human compassion.

So why is it so hard to find SisterLove? We've all heard (and unfortunately experienced) that women are catty and jealous. They all compete to be the Queen Bee and fake being nice only to stab their "friends" behind their backs first chance they get. That's a pity. And that's why SisterLove is so precious.

To find sisters whom you trust completely,
who will tell you the Truth,
who *genuinely* care,
I have been blessed.


To three great loves who need serious work on their "sexy" poses
(I said sexy! Not bored, not lost, and not confused!):

Happy Valentine's Day.

Law and Disorder Updated

Ok, old habits die hard. I've done such a bad job keeping up my lawschool blog that I can't shake the need to announce I've updated it. So sue me, I lied. New entry:

Everything I Need to Know About Corps I Learned From Dr. Seuss.

"Black Don't Crack," said Oprah.

Can you guess how old this woman is? Bet you can't!

After watching a recent Oprah show on aging, I am convinced that 50 is the new 30. (To clarify: this woman is NOT 50.) The show was a virtual panoply of post-menopausal women looking fabulous and fit and feeling vibrant and energetic.

I used to think my life would basically start heading downhill by 35, but these women have given me a new lease on life. I used to think I have only 8 good years left in me (and resented the fact that 4 of those precious years would have to be taken up with pesky child-rearing). But since learning the stay-young secrets of these youthful grandmas, I've taken my one proverbial foot out of the grave.

What are their secrets?

Well, I think the common denominator is serious devotion to exercise. Oprah wanted to make it sound all "spiritual" and "deep" by saying that the common denominator was that they all "loved themselves" and felt "open to experiences." But that would be putting the cart before the horse. Exercising and being fit produces feelings of competence and confidance, which then leads you to positive experiences. Oh yeah, and another secret is A LOT of moisturizer.

So how old was that woman?

Seventy years old. I kid you not.

A Feat of Supernatural Strength

Sometimes you're up,

mostly I'm down.

I've been free falling,
and today I hope the brakes go on.


Do you know how hard it is
to stop the descent of a heavy heart,
accelerating as it gathers velocity?

Getting Paid Forward

2002 was a bad year for me as a driver.

(1) In early March I crashed into a man at the intersection because I was studying a map while driving.

(2) The very next week I bumped into another man because I failed to realize the light had turned red. He stopped his car to see if his baby was ok.

(3) The week after that I knocked a woman's driver-side mirror out when I was backing out of a parking space.

(4) A few months later I totalled my car on a busy L.A. freeway, fishtailing into three lanes and finally ended up facing oncoming traffic as my car slammed into the center divide.

(5) And last but not least I dented another guy's car a few months later as I pulled into my church's parking lot. He told me it was his wedding day that day.

The amazing thing about all of this is that each person whose car I damaged decided not to make me pay. I can't explain it, but my insurance record remained as pristine as a mountain lake that year...as pure as the fresh driven snow.

I feel like I owe the universe.

Perv-o-vision?

Did someone send me a beautiful jewelry box and forget to tell me about it?

Seriously. Last week I opened my front door to find a package waiting for me and inside was a beautiful wood jewelry box that plays music and everything. The package had my name and address on it but no note or return address. I think it was shipped straight from the manufacturer.

I unwrapped it and put it on my dresser but Michael made me put it back in the box and stuffed it in our junk closet. He was suspicious. "What if some perv sent it to you and installed a hidden camera in it?"

Normally I would just laugh off a comment like that but I had just finished watcing a Dr. Phil show on crazy stalkers.

The most likely identity of my mysterious donor is my father-in-law's wife. She's given me a couple jewelry boxes in the past (in person) and maybe just forgot the card.

The Age of Miracles is Over

Now that I'm back in the law-blog-updating groove I won't be announcing the times I update it anymore. You're on your own.

Features of this semester will include:

Administrative Law: boring but ubiquitous
Corporations: aka, business for lawyers
Mediation and Concensus Building: aka, why can't we all just get along and not go to court?

Still waiting...

The first time I could read the teacher comments on my report card I was eight. The only critical comment was: Alice lacks initiative.

I didn't know what the word 'initiative' meant so I asked my teacher to explain it to me. She told me to go look it up. But I didn't because that takes too much initiative.

I just kept that word in my head until many months later someone, probably my brother, let slip that word in a conversation and told me what it meant.

It means my life is a spectator sport.

It means I'm always waiting for someone to rescue me.

It means I'm too pessimistic to strike out on my own, naysayers be damned.

And it means I may never get up the gumption to finally do what I really love, pragmatism and socialist tendencies be damned.

An Inconvenient Pastime

Before the new semester begins (in 2 days) I have managed to sqeeze in some more movies. I saw:

A rather wooden man with a Joker-esque face on a mission to right the wrongs of a government ignoring its moral imperatives. Rating: 5 out of 10.



Another rather wooden man with a Joker-esque face on a mission to right the wrongs of a government ignoring its moral imperatives. Rating: 9 out of 10.

Another minor miracle

I updated my law blog: Negotiation workshop is over. What did we learn?

Overheard

Me: I wonder what 'Otto' is short for?

Michael: Otto isn't short for anything.

Me: Don't you think it should be short for something a little more dignified sounding?

Michael: Like, Ottototto?

Me: (laughing) I said more dignified sounding!

I've been busy lately...

In the last month I've watched the following:

A luchador with expensive "recreation clothes" and no ability to control his gas-passing when making sudden movements. Rating: 7 out of 10.

A world where there are no people or any other living organisms except for vegetable life. Rating: 6 out of 10.

What can only be described as a wet-dream sequence for conspiracy theorists, but headache for historians and theologians. Rating: 6 out of 10.

Painful flash-forwards of what I anticipate my life will be like slaving away in a law firm. Rating: 6 out of 10.


Alias, the movie, except instead of Jennifer Garner, the super-spy is a crazy middle-aged male scientologist. But plot lines, characters, and settings all pretty much stay the same. Rating: 5 out of 10.

Let this be a cautionary tale to you all: Don't get Blockbuster's AND Netflix unless you've got this kind of serious commitment to vegging.

Cinna-Buddies

My first taste of the deliciousness that is Cinnabons.
Alaberi's first trip to the funness that is Cambridgeside Mall.

And I'll refer you to Alaberi's blog for the nitty gritty since I couldn't have said it better myself, in prose or poetry.

Disturbing News of the World

CNN recently reported on the continuing feud between Donald Trump and Rosie O'Donnell.

Today all the major news sources carried stories about David Beckham and Posh moving to LA.

Why are these things major news? What happened to the good old days when stuff like this was simply on page 10 of the living section? Seriously, does anyone else think this is disturbing?

When 'Them' is You

I hate them.

In the days I was working minimum wage I hated people who earned over $40,000 a year. Smug, selfish bastards who should be giving people like me a hand instead of buying espresso-stained living room sets from Crate and Barrel, I cursed in my head.

Although I don't earn any salary, I am the humbled owner of an espresso-stained living room set from Crate and Barrel. It was on clearance sale! And it was the display set! Don't hate me.

In the days I was overweight and binging on chocolate as my anti-depressant of choice I used to loathe skinny girls. Smug, self-satisfied biatches who think they're so great just because they wear a size 2 and still eat cheeseburgers and milkshakes, I cursed.

And now I am the humbled wearer of size 2 jeans that stay buttoned whilst I consume cheeseburgers and milkshakes. Don't hate me. Seriously, all clothing sizes have been modified for vanity's sake since 1990 so, really, my jeans are probably the equivalent of a size 6 in 1992. I'm just not that depressed anymore, ok? That's all. And big is beautiful too...

And I could go on and on about the multiple categories of people I hated, loathed, cursed, and derided in my petty little mind, only to find myself "one of them." [Insert commentary here with the word "chagrin" worked in and something about God having a sense of humor.]

But the category I dread falling into the most is the one of Mother.

I've always had a special dark little hole in my heart for mothers, especially expectant ones.

Who do they think they are? Demanding special treatment just because they're pregnant. Totally absorbed in every little burp and slurp that comes out of the various orifices of their infant. Finding various ways of displaying as many pictures of their precious bundle of joy as they can. On their desk, on their walls, on their blogs, on and on and on.

WE DON'T CARE! We don't want to talk about junior all the live-long-day. We don't want your precious bundle monopolizing the conversation when we're having lunch or coffee. We don't give a flip about your pride and joy anywhere NEAR the magnitude that you do! It's a kid. Like any billion number of kids on this earth. Its no more and no less special than any other human being, despite your obviously biased perspective.

Oh God, this will be the largest most disgusting slice of humble pie I will have to eat now that I'm pretty committed to having children. I never wanted to have kids but apparently, you have to take into account the preferences of another party when you're married. At least I have a few years to prepare myself mentally.

And now that I have officially alienated all my friends with kids or are planning to have kids in the near future, let me just say: Present company accepted! I didn't mean YOU, I meant THEM.

A minor miracle

I updated my Law & Disorder blog finally.

Read about the schizophrenic maniac I've become due to 8-hour-a-day negotiations with blood-thirsty wolves...er, I mean, my fellow law students.

Love at Harvard

This Korean mini-series is the WORST thing I have ever seen. Period.

I've been watching it regularly to improve my Chinese (it's dubbed in Mandarin so, yes, the mouths don't match the voices). But I find myself getting oddly addicted to it...


It's like a train-wreck, so horrible, you can't look away. Anyone looking for a good guffaw and endless chuckles, look no further.