Also why Palin is a brilliant choice...

Not just because of the unhappy die-hard Hillary fans,
Not just because she excites the Republican base,

But because she gives people further permission to vote for a white man over a black man.


Maybe I'm too cynical, but I believe that private racism is still alive and well in the US. Yes we've all but stamped it out in our institutions and laws (at least facially), but one cannot easily dissolve such an insidious practice that goes to the heart of the human condition.

Since the days of Cain and Abel, man has hated man--and will probably continue to do so until kingdom come. Whether over family, tribe, race, or religion, it is human nature to hate the "other."

Although we may "evolve" gradually, I don't believe that after decades of slavery, a mere fifty years of Civil Rights progress have radically changed the private hearts and minds of a significant number of white Americans.

So Palin gives people a free moral pass: I'm not racist, I voted for the white guy because I'm pro-woman!

But as politically brilliant a choice as Palin may be, I don't think it's enough for McCain to stop the Obama-train.

Anyone who gets more viewership than the American Idol Finale is pretty much unstoppable at this point!

(p.s. I don't by any means want to imply that people who vote for McCain are racist. In fact that's the beauty of choosing Palin, that's the whole point: It further obscures the race factor by putting the gender card in play.)

Hot Meals

We all know how food and cooking can be rife with double entendres (Swetty Balls anyone?) But nowhere is that more blatant than on Down Home with the Neelys on the Food Network.


At first the Neelys appear to be the black couple version of Paula Deen--big comfort food with a generous helping of Southern charm. But a few minutes into the show, you realize it's more like hour-long foreplay with bacon toppings.

I couldn't stop watching cuz I couldn't believe how ridiculously overt the romance'n was! To wit:

Pat (husband--while getting a meatloaf from the oven): Mmmm...I always got the meat baby, and you always my sauce, oh yeah.

Gina (while measuring out ingredients for cupcakes): Can you pass me the sugar baby?
Pat: Oh yeah, I got your sugar. I always got your sugar.

Gina (while adding cheese to a sauce): Come over here and taste this sauce Pat.
Pat: Mmmm...I know now I've been a good boy.
Gina: Oh yeah, you've been a very good boy. See it pays to be a good boy. (To tv audience) See, you got to hit your man 3 ways: the heart, the ???, and the stomach!

I expected them to start ripping each others' clothes off halfway through the show!

There's obviously something very sensual about the cooking process (which would explain why the French and Italians are so good at it)...

So for all you guys out there who think the kitchen is only for the ladies, I'll end this post with a parting insight/double entendre from Gina: "See men, it pays to cook with your woman!"

Where the Forest Meets the Ocean

I just spent 4 days camping in one of the most beautiful and breath-taking environments in the world: Limekiln State Park in Big Sur.




Camping is a first for Michael and I, but thank goodness we had the expertise of Brian (Bryan?) and Peggy to help us out.


Peggy did an excellent job with the food... (Mmmm camp food--bbq, sausages, pancakes, and smores every night!)


and I helped make salads :-)


We played tons of board games--including the 2008 Best Geek Game of the year: Agricola (that's what happens when both your brothers own a game store),


...read books (And I realized I don't like reading, again. I blame tivo.),


...and went on some amazing hikes.

One of the best features of Limekiln are the several babbling brooks and streams that flowed throughout the hiking trails and even right by our tents. Talk about having a great white-noise maker while you sleep!


And another fun feature was the numerous fallen trees that criss-crossed the streams. Michael and I ventured out on some high logs...


and quickly lost our courage to stand back up.


Peggy and Brian got much further out.


So much fun--thanks Enderles!

The Old Couple

You know how you sometimes see an elderly couple on tv, still holding hands, taking a walk, etc. and you think: that's so sweet, I want to grow old with someone I love?

Well, it's all sweet and nice until you start becoming that old couple with all the old people aches and pains that comes with it.


Although Michael and I are only near our thirties, we constantly tell ourselves, "We are not young anymore!" How do you know you're getting old? Two words: chronic injury. Your body just doesn't heal as quickly or completely as it used to.

Michael has a chronic injury in his wrist from too much mouse-clicking/typing, and I have a chronic ankle injury from too many twisted ankles from tripping while wearing skyscraper platforms (in my youth--while I went clubbing, ha--there's something I never ever do anymore!).

And every so often I'll beg Michael to rub my aching ankle that flares-up out of nowhere and he will graciously oblige. But inevitably, he always has to take a break because it causes his gimpy wrists to ache...

...and then he'll ask if I would go down to grab him an ice-pack for his wrist...

...and then I always so "No, because going down the stairs would exacerbate my ankle."

And there you have it: two old farts lying around the house with achy joints on a Friday night.

Not so cute.

Bi-Polar in the Bay

Since the bar exam, my vacation has been a bit of an emotional roller-coaster ride. To wit:

1. Right after the last day of the bar I was UP. It was over!!!!!! The hardest 8 weeks of my life was finally over!!!!!

2. The next morning I was DOWN. Re-adjusting to "civilian" life and facing the mountain of stuff I had left undone for 8 weeks was overwhelming. Boxes to unpack, people to see, email to catch up on, domestic duties to resume, ugh.

3. That whole week I self-medicated with hours of tv: UP while watching, DOWN when the shows ended and the sun set without any real productivity on my part.

4. Celebrating my brother's 31st birthday: UP! One of the best things about being back in the Bay is living close to my bro again. No one gets you like a sibling.


5. Visiting UC Berkeley with the Golden Ones (my nickname for the most sun-kissed, blonde, and mellowed San Diegans I know): UP

I plan to put up some black and white pics of my favorite school all around my new apartment for some tasteful and personal decor. (Shout out to Mandi for giving me the idea with her gorgeous UCLA prints).



6. Organizing 10 years worth of accumulated crap (mostly clothing and documents): DOWN

Throwing away trashbags-full of crap: UP

7. Celebrating 5 years of marital bliss at Golden Gate Park: UP


Did you know that Golden Gate Park is larger than Central Park in NYC? But the largest urban park in America is Forest Park in St. Louis. I always thought Central Park was the biggest, but now I wonder what other urban parks also beat out CP. Know of any?

A highlight of GGP: The Japanese Garden. A beautiful jewel-box from every angle.


8. Realizing that my calendar is pretty much booked-up until I start work in late Sept: DOWN

Why can't my life be like this forever? I'm so dreading work. I think it's mostly fear of the unknown although I have been told that my demeanor is not professional enough for the workplace!

I talk too loud, I laugh too much, I tell politically incorrect jokes about being the recipient of affirmative action. Blah, blah, blah.

I'm determined to transform myself into a more demure and proper automaton. I shall express myself only through fabulous shoes and handbags and the occasional funky sweater-vest.

The Olympic Boob Prize

Europeans often complain about how rude and culturally ignorant Americans are.

We "stupid" Americans are so idiotic driving our gas guzzling SUVs and shopping at gigantic Walmarts that trod on quaint stores of character and charm. We apparently don't know the first thing about geography or math (or food, sex, philosophy, foreign affairs, history, ok...anything of significance really) and couldn't even tell you who the PM of the UK is. Not Tony Blair?

But I don't think any American would be rude or ignorant enough to do what this one European team did:

Ouch. For a promo-shot in anticipation of the Olympics in Beijing? Can it get any more tacky than that? How about for a reprise, showing up to a future Olympics in an African city in blackface?!

Everytime I look at it I want to laugh at how idiotic it is, but I can't because of how idiotic it is.

There's only 2 possible interpretations. Either the Spanish men's basketball team is being maliciously racist, or they are the biggest boobs on the world scene.

Take your pick.

Eh, Wacha' Gonna Do?

Well, I finally got "Carried" away today (something I'd wanted to do since May 31, but *sigh* let's just say life wouldn't let me.)

I feel like I've watched every episode of SATC at least 3 times thanks to Netflix and reruns on basic cable, so no one could have been chomping on the bit to see the movie as much as I was. Talk about "great sexpectations."

And it wasn't really disappointing. I don't know. I have mixed feelings. It might take a while for me to sort this through--perhaps as long as it took Carrie to sort out her feelings for Big (aka Mr. Preston, ugh--dumb name).

The only strong feeling I had after the viewing was emotional trauma. I felt like my heart had been ripped from my body and put in a blender for 2.5 hours. How much excruciating ups and downs can a person take in an afternoon?!

And I definitely didn't like the "dark" Carrie--her Alanis Morissette phase, if you will. That's not the Carrie I know and love. Carrie is bright, and witty, and a chin-up kind of gal. The tv Carrie never had a problem a few martinis and some pot couldn't solve! (cf. the time when she got broken up with by a post-it).

But I did love the Miranda and Steve story arch. I thought it did pretty good justice to, what I imagine, a jilted spouse might feel like and go through without taking either spouse's side.

But all in all, I left the theatre feeling pretty sad.

I've always hated romantic movies of all kinds--comedies, dramas, animation. They always seem to make "Love" seem bigger than life, impossible, unattainable, and desperately missing from everyone's life but the heroine's. It's like "Love" is more exclusive than even haute couture, but also a thousand times more enviable. The sine qua non of existence. The Holy Grail.

Pish posh.

There's more to life than love. And "Love" doesn't exist. I believe in love, just not "Love."

Why can't there be a romantic movie with that point of view? Cuz that movie I think I would like!

Going for Bronze

Inspired by the upcoming Games, I've analogized my post-bar experience thus far to the bronze medal. Not the best, not exhilirating, but not bad either.

While my classmates are off to the far-flung corners of the earth--Mount Kilimanjaro, China, Tibet, etc--revelling in their last free moments before The Man chains them to a desk for life, I've just been a lazy bum/homebody.

My days have been filled with organizing, organizing, and organizing. And a lot of tv breaks. (Tivo + Cable TV = the end to productivity as I knew it, aka, TV on crack).

We just moved into a new abode and it's finally time to purge the apartment of all the crap we really didn't need to lug all the way from Boston. And then fill it up with new crap from Ikea!

I think I'm finally starting to get over the trauma of the whole bar "experience." I did have a mini-panic attack as I was storing away all my bar materials and I did have nightmares about the bar for five straight nights in a row AFTER the last day of the bar.

But now I think I mostly got it out of my system, so to speak. Although, I still have a strong visceral aversion to it--it's like Voldemort--he whose name must not be spoken. Just blogging about it now made me throw up a little in my mouth.

Blankity Blank

Well, I'm out.

The test was three blurry days, blurred into one blurry haze. Punctuated with bad homemade sandwiches, a fried egg slapped on wheat bread. A handful of almonds.

And a lot of sweaty biking to and fro from the test site.

And some short excerpts from Wicked: The Life and Times of the Wicked Witch of the West, to help me sleep at night. (Love that book! Good writing!)

And horribly bad breath from dehydration. Can't waste precious test time on trips to the bathroom!

I definitely didn't do the level of work I wanted to. I definitely missed at least one big chunk of points in my last performance test. I definitely guessed on more than half of my multiple-choice questions.

So, it's kind of a crapshoot.

And now the prophecy is true: the worst part of the bar is the time between now and November 21 when the results get posted.

Passively waiting is the hardest thing to do. I imagine this must be what the cancer patient feels like, waiting for his biopsy results. Or the defendant waiting for the jury verdict. Except of course there's less on the line.

But now I have to face "real life" again. And I found myself completely unable to orient myself to life without the bar.

It's like a mild exam-version of the Stockholm Syndrome. Afterall, the bar has held me captive for over 2 months now. We had a symbiotic relationship. The bar told me what to do everyday for hours at a time. The bar flooded my mind, my dreams, my every waking moment.

How do I live without it? Who am I without the bar? What do I do now? It's too overwhelming. I have no more excuses to not live responsibly.

Is this how newly released prisoners feel like? No wonder they deliberately commit a crime to get thrown back in. Life on the outside is too strange.

So far I'm coping the only way I know how: endless reruns of Project Runway on my tivo.

Aufwiederzehn.