My Life, As Told Between (Baby Cakes') Naps

Someone please pry me away from my TV. 

Why, oh why did I get Tivo?  Whereas before, TV was a passive experience for me (as in, I’d watch whatever’s on Comedy Central when I had time), its now become an all consuming obsession.  With Tivo, you can watch all your favorite shows all the time!!   There’s no excuse NOT to be watching television!  (Aside from the whole having a life thing.)  Sigh.  I just hope that, as with all my obessions, I quickly lose interest.  If not, please stop me before I become a morbidly-obese shut-in.  Um, not that there’s anything wrong with that.

Luckily, the whole having to work or else starve to death thing gets me out of the apartment most days.  I’ve also been pretty successful at dragging myself to Santa Monica for marathon training every Saturday (moment of bragging:  I did last Saturday’s 10 mile run in an hour and forty-two minutes without injury!!).  Unfortunately, I haven’t quite managed to make my mid-week runs (moment of seriousness:  if I don’t start training mid-week there is no way I’m going to make it to 26.2  miles).  I’m hoping the time change will help, since it was the last time change that put a stop to my working out in the first place (moment of prayer:  please let me get up early to go running tomorrow!). 

When not running or vapidly watching TV (I believe I sunk to a new low when I actually watched Disney’s Twitches this weekend – I’m not ready to talk about it), I managed to make it out for Halloween with some of my friends.  We went as a troop of Brownies.*  KA – Thanks again for organizing the outfits!  I had a great time.  Sensible Brownie signing out.  (Yes, that’s right, I get all the sexy nicknames.)

* And for those of you who are thinking it, yes, yes, I realize this costume may be somewhat problematic (in the same way that Abercrombie & Fitch ads featuring young children/teens are problematic), but in the name of not over-analyzing, let’s leave it at the fact that I recognize the problems inherent in the costume.  But I don’t like thinking too hard.  It hurts my brain. 

Celebrated JL’s 27th birthday, and over 15 years of friendship, while I was home. JL is one of my Quad friends (a name that seemed very clever back in high school). It constantly amazes me how the four of us have weathered this much time together. We’ve all spent more than half our lives with each other, although it’s rare to have the four of us in the same city nowadays. The last time we were all able to meet up was in Vegas this June, where, in increasingly typical Quad fashion, two of us bailed on the first day. Me for work and another member for a bridal shower. I showed up sick and tired but put on my best face – which was horrible to say the least. I am not good at faking being well, although I excel at exaggerating being sick.

Got sick again this weekend while out and about in the artic tundra that is northern California. (Seriously, what has LA done to me?) I spent all weekend shivering. Am a little proud of the fact that I risked frostbite to go running on Friday, something, by the way, one does not do in San Jose if one is not prepared to face an onslaught of staring strangers. Running outside the confines of a gym is not a particularly common phenomenon in San Jose.

Being at home always makes me think about the passage of time and, somewhat oddly yet maybe understandably, makes me want to read T.S. Eliot (whom I do not profess to understand at all). Anyways, with that in mind, I thought I’d share one of my favorite passages from one of my favorite poems, The Love Song of J. Alfred Prufrock.

If I actually did have time, I’d write pages and pages about why I love this poem and its imagery and allusions, how it applies to this post in particular, and why it’s sad and beautiful in its entirety, but I have to get back to billing. (Plus, I try to remain somewhat aware of everyone’s attention span!)

I’ve always liked the idea of chivalry, although I think it has to be flexible and change with the times.  I realize some gestures are without much meaning nowadays, such as walking on a certain side of the street,* however, holding doors open and holding chairs out will always be appreciated (at least by me).  I like the idea behind chivalry, the idea of putting someone else’s comfort and convenience above your own.  The form is irrelevant.  

This weekend, I saw a perfect example of how chivalry adapts and changes with the times.  While tailgating at a country concert (no comments please!), a cry of distress caught my attention.  The girl next to us had somehow ended up with a lapful of beer and was noticebly upset by it.  Her boyfriend, likely also very drunk, promptly poured his own beer into his lap.  He then looked into her woebegone face and asked in all seeming sincerity, “Feeling better now, Honey?”  Now that’s chivalry.  Stupid, yes.  But also a little sweet.

On a non-chivalrous note, I traded in my bubble-gum pink shoes for a purple pair, which will hopefully give my foot better support and possibly prevent pesky foot problems.  Sadly, I also returned my new brown purse, which, as I feared, did not look as good on my short frame as it did on the freaking six foot tall model (what does?).  Sigh.  I’ve put an order in for another brown bag, so we’ll see how this one turns out. 

* As I’ve heard it, this tradition supposedly originated with the man walking on the inside of the street to protect a woman from garbage thrown out of windows.  Adopted for more modern times, when garbage isn’t often flung from building windows, the man is supposed to walk on the traffic side of the street (um, to protect a woman from oncoming traffic?).  Personally, I’ve found that while the thought may be nice, the execution is highly annoying as it oftentimes necessitates switching sides mid-stroll.

This past Tuesday I celebrated the anniversary of my first full year of working, ever.  Only the rest of my life to go. 

Also, I got Tivo yesterday (neat!) and finally subscribed to The Economist today.  So now I’ll have all these shows I won’t have time to watch and all this reading I won’t have time to do.  Yay!

Two of the three other associates on my litigation team are young women (actually, the majority of the associates in my office are young women).  They’re both funny, cute, and quirky.  I adore them.  Let’s call them A1 and A2. 

Last week, the three of us chipped in to buy SP flowers for her birthday.  It didn’t occur to any of us to ask the one older (by over twenty years) male associate (A3) on our team if he wanted to contribute. . . or to even inform him of our plans.  At least it didn’t until he asked that we include him on future gifts to SP or the JP’s.  Worse yet, my initial reaction (which I thankfully kept to myself) was, “Oh, but it was just from the Girls!”  

He’s all too often unintentionally left out on that basis.  A1, A2 and I have different interests than A3, we spend a lot more time socializing with each other than we do with him, we talk and gossip and look to each other for advice and support.  I consider them friends as well as co-workers (as I do most of the associates in this office).  A1 pointed out recently that we’re probably guilty of reverse discrimination.  I think she’s right.  It’s sadly and surprisingly easy to thoughtlessly discriminate and to use friendship to justify it, all the while ignoring its insidious side.

*Hangs head in shame.* 

Of course, it’s more complicated than I’m making it out to be.  There are personalities and group dynamics involved, but it boils down to making the person who doesn’t fit the mold of a young associate feel left out.  As a young asian woman in what is generally a white male dominated field, I really should know better.   

Nope, it’s not capable of works of art.  Instead, I’ve just managed to do something funky to it so it’s been in pain for over a week now.  The thirteen mile run this weekend probably didn’t help (although I technically only ran eleven of those miles and limped the other two).  I thought buying new running shoes would cheer it up.  Unfortunately, the only color Top to Top (great running store in Santa Monica) had left in my shoe style was “bubblegum pink.”  Too lazy to go elsewhere, I bought them anyways.  I’ll be the embarrassed looking one running in Santa Monica next week. 

Am still looking for a brownish purse.  Saw some beautiful leather ones by Mulberry this weekend, all of which were at least $1,000 – well over my splurge spending limit.  It’s a sad, sick world we’re living in when beautiful things made from dead animals cost over $1,000.  There was a New York Times article recently about the high-end purse phenomenon (it’s archived so I won’t bother linking to it).  Favorite quotes from the article include:  “For some women, finding the right bag is as important as oxygen” and “A bag is sort of like a portable house.  It represents you.”*  Seriously though?  Seriously? 

I picked up an FDR biography this weekend.  It’s over 1,300 pages so there’s a good likelihood I’ll never finish it.  I think I’m a pretty fast reader, but my fickleness will almost gaurantee that I’ll be finished with my FDR obession long before I actually finish this biography.

Oh, and speaking of obsessions, I saw Serenity again.  Don’t laugh.

*I wonder what this Dooney & Bourke bag says about its owner?  Caution:  This is a link to what is possibly the ugliest bag I’ve ever seen.

Yesterday, my roomie raised the possibility of airborne mold in the apartment.  Although her expertise is limited to having seen an episode of King of the Hill in which the Hill house is “contaminated” by mold (this later turns out to be a racket by which the mold removal industry generates lots of money), it might explain why our two pitiful houseplants were smothered to death by mold at their roots and why any fruit left out in the open has a two days life-span before succumbing to mold.  I think it may be a bad sign when every living thing in the apartment dies.

Of course, this mold scare could be a product of our over-active imaginations (especially as there do not appear to be any other signs – like actual mold in the apartment), but having briefly looked into the side effects of a mold-infestation (many admittedly serious), this problem may be enough to really render our apartment uninhabitable.  I may actually have to do something about this, which truly tests the depths of my laziness.  Possible death and serious illness or investigate further and possible move?  Stay tuned…

See this movie.  Even if you’re not a sci-fi geek and have never seen Firefly, please see this movie.  It kicks ass.  I think Joss Whedon (Serenity writer/director, creator of Buffy/Angel, etc.) may walk on water.  Just sayin’.

Since I started working last October, I’ve taken two days of vacation time.  I took a Friday off to go to Cabo over Memorial Day weekend and a Friday off recently to go to Oregon.  While at lunch today, I mentioned that I was looking forward to my upcoming trip to London this December.  JP commented, “Wow, you’ve taken a lot of vacations this year.” 

Lesson:  If you work in a law firm, never tell people when you go out of town and never, ever use the word “vacation” for three day weekends. 

This time of year is supposed to be Chicago at its best.  The humid days of summer are over and the biting cold of winter hasn’t settled in yet.  Rather than occupying a happy medium though, the weather oscillated between a boiling heat and a sharp cold, with the occasional rain and thunderstorm inbetween.  The schizophrenic weather resulted in ten hours at O’Hare, a cancelled flight, and much frustrated sobbing.  While at O’Hare, I picked up Erik Larson’s The Devil in the White City – an account of the events surrounding the 1893 Chicago’s World Fair, with some interesting insight into American culture and architecture at the turn of the century.  It’s a true crime novel which reads more like a work of fiction (think Caleb Carr’s The Alienist).  Next on my reading list is something more lighthearted, maybe David Sedaris’ Dress Your Family in Corduroy and Denim (which I originally started while at the airport but put aside because I was too grumpy to appreciate humor) or Jasper Fforde’s The Big Over Easy.

The litigation training session itself turned out to be much better than I expected, especially in that it left me with lots of time to catch up with some old friends and explore Chicago.  Went to a fantastic jazz club and an awful dance club.  Had drinks on top of Hancock Tower, overlooking Chicago, and deep dish pizza at Giordanos.  Visited Millenium Park, saw the Bean, did some requisite shopping on Michigan Ave (H&M!!), and became an FDR groupie.  I caught part of a great HBO movie about him right before I headed to the airport.  It was enough to trigger a mild obsession – easy enough to do since I’m usually poised on the edge between complete apathy or mild obsession anyways.  If anyone can recommend a good biography about him, let me know. . .  

Oh, and speaking of movies, I am so excited about Wallace & Gromit:  The Curse of the Were-Rabbit!  I saw The Corpse Bride recently and loved it.  As you can no doubt tell, I have the tastes of a 10 year old girl when it comes to movies.  =)