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

Went to my 10 year reunion this weekend.  My Quad friends bought me a ticket behind my back so I was forced to go against my will.  To be honest, while I joke about how I was forced to go, I’m also incredibly touched that I have friends who care enough about me being there with them to force my hand.

My salient thought throughout the night was that we really were all growed up.  Despite having lived on my own for the last decade and having been a lawyer for the last two years, more often than not, I don’t feel like a real, actual adult.  But looking around at my old classmates and recognizing that they were adults - married, divorced, moms, dads, homeowners – made me realize that I was one too (although I was neither married, divorced, a mom nor a homeowner).  Going to graduate school really delayed the onset of adulthood for me, but sooner or later I guess I had to come to grips with it.  And I think I’m okay with it.  Mostly.

It was incredible seeing everyone out of their high school shells.  I don’t think I fully realized what a weird, awkward and painful experience adolescence was until last night, when I saw the real people who inhibited those shells.  It was a chance to give depth and substance to some of the background people in my life.  I was surprised at how many people didn’t enjoy high school and how many people felt they were misunderstood.  It’s a common story, played out in hundreds of ways in books, movies, and television shows, but to face that fact oneself is still somehow shocking.  I didn’t hate high school, but I also didn’t feel like I really came into myself until late in college.  I’m comfortable with who I am now and like who I’ve become.  I just didn’t realize how different the me I am now is from the me who was until last night – when the upteenth person commented on it.  

My core values and beliefs haven’t changed.  I still tend towards dry, sarcastic humor.  I’m still left-leaning.  I still love learning and reading.  I think I’m just more comfortable expressing all that now.  I guess I didn’t realize the shape my shell took until last night.  I didn’t hate high school, but I am profoundly glad that it’s behind me.     

It’s surprising, the weight of things people carry.  Sometimes you’ll see it in their eyes, before they can hide it.  Sometimes you’ll feel it in a quick nervous gesture or hear it in a half spoken thought.  Most of the time though, you won’t know anything’s there at all. 

If you know me, or have ever met me, you’ll know I complain a lot.  Mostly about trivial things.  It’s what I do.  And it’s mostly in jest.  I’ve been described as stoic.  Also in jest.  I’m anything but, except when it comes to things that actually matter.  I’m coming across something that actually matters and I’d forgotten how hard silence is.  Not that one has to carry heavy things in silence, but some things are too hard to carry if you always have to acknowledge that they’re there.  You can’t really talk about it until it’s almost gone.  You walk around with it, feeling its weight at times and ignoring it as best you can, until one day it feels lighter and you realize you’re ready to let it go.  And if you’re lucky, there’s someone there to listen.

(Sorry, I didn’t mean for this post to be as cryptic as it ended up being. Just some things floating around my head and details I don’t want to get into – either because they aren’t my details to share or because I’m just not ready to get into them.  And I know I’m very fortunate in that I have a lot of amazing someones to listen.)

I haven’t written anything beyond a superficial entry in entirely too long.  The Frog’s frequently thoughtful, reflective posts have inspired me to write one (or at least attempt to).  So this is it – a brief look into the state of my life at the moment.

I can’t believe I graduated from law school almost two years ago and have been living and working in Los Angeles for a year and a half now.  I realized recently that I’m growing comfortable in this city.  It almost feels like home.  I’ve made new friends, reconnected with old ones, made career connections and picked up a hobby.  I have an actual apartment and not a dorm, a savings account comprised of more than student loans, a nice office with a great view.  I feel more settled than I have in years, maybe ever.  That restlessly itch to pack up and move somewhere, anywhere has passed and I can see myself here for a few more years.  Maybe indefinitely.  I’m sad but resigned to seeing my friends from northern California infrequently and my friends on the East Coast virtually not at all.  It’s weird – this sense of complacency.  I never imagined I’d feel it in this foreign city when I was an undergraduate at UCLA.  But I do. 

Yes, LA is still brutal in many respects.  The hard water’s still drying out my hair.  The smog still makes me break out.  The air’s still drying out my eyes.  The traffic still drives me crazy.  I still feel fat here.  But I’m adjusting.  Filter for the shower.  Different cleanser and moisturizer.  Drops for my eyes.  Music for the endless hours spent in my car.  Acceptance that while I will never been super thin, I’m thin enough.

There are definitely things I’d like to change about the state of my life, but I don’t think that lingering feeling will ever really go away.  I don’t think it does for anyone.  On the whole, I’m good.  Things are good.  Thanks for asking.  And for reading.     

(I didn’t mean this to be a smug post about how great my life is.  There’s plenty that’s not great.  I just wanted to take a moment to remind myself that overall, I’m happy.  That overall, I shouldn’t let the not so great things get in the way of that.)

I just don’t get it. I’m utterly and completely baffled by socially conservative ideology.* Admittedly, I tend to be overly logical (believe it or not) and am devotedly non-religious, so maybe that explains my fundamental inability to grasp what I perceive to be logical loopholes. My most recent, “Huh?” moment came today as I was reading about the Supreme Court’s decision regarding Oregon’s assisted suicide law (oh, and it most definitely looks like the Roberts, Thomas, Scalia bloc is quickly solidifying – scary!). Anyways, I just don’t understand those on the right who vehemently oppose assisted suicide but whole-hearted embrace the death penalty (*cough* Bush administration *cough*). Nothing I’ve ever read (which admittedly hasn’t been that much) has done anything to resolve this apparent contradiction to me. Anyone?

* I realize that I’m painting with a very broad brush and that even within the group I’m loosely defining as social conservatives, there are varying viewpoints. I also realize most people reading this are probably in my camp and are similarly baffled, but if anyone could shed some light, it would be greatly appreciated. Otherwise, feel free to rant with me. =) Oh, and yes, it is sad that I can no longer write anything without multiple disclaimers. D*mn you law school/legal career!

** And as a complete non-sequitur (which is really my goal for this blog), has anyone seen Banana Republic’s new premier purses line? Part of me winces because some of them are blatant rip offs of “It” bags, but part of me simply rejoices in the cuteness of it all. There are some seriously cute, almost affordable bags (it’s all relative after all) in their collection.

A few days ago I was having lunch with two of my co-workers when a girl approached our table.  After staring at me for a bit, she blinked and said, “Y?  Is that you?”

I had no idea who she was.

Halfway through our forced conversation, one in which I tried to mask the confusion on my face and awkwardly avoided introducing her to my co-workers, she revealed that she was my suitemate during my last year of law school.  Apparently I didn’t hide my confusion well enough.  (Although it was a good thing she said something  because I was just about to guess that she was one of my former LSAT students!)  Sadly, even with this bit of information, it wasn’t until we exchanged cards and promises to meet up for lunch that I remembered her name.  And by “remembered,” I mean I looked at her business card.

I feel bad about it.  I lived next door to this girl for a year.  I remember now that she always had her television blasting and walked around with face cream on all the time.  She was friendly, but definitely a peripheral part of my law school life.  Still, I should have remembered her. 

The incident made me think of all the people that have flitted in and out of my life.  I like to think I remember the important ones, but there are so many blank faces and nameless shadows floating in the murky darkness that passes for my memory that I wonder if I’m wrong.  In the past couple of days, I’ve been trying to recall all the other people in my life I’ve forgotten.  I realize many people have much better memories than I do, but I imagine that we all must have them – those people that occupied the background of our lives for short periods, that flickered in our field of vision between blinks.  People who certainly exist but who don’t feel real, who haven’t acquired the substance of a friend or loved one.  Childhood playmates formed before memory was even a possibility, friends of friends who never became more than that, brief crushes who only evoke flashes of feeling but no real memory, classmates who were transitory fixtures for months at a time.  Odd to think that in someone’s mind, I’m one of those unreal background people.

I know I’ve mentioned a couple of times that I don’t do diamonds.  Mostly because it’s easy.  They don’t really tempt me.  I’m too practical to be deeply enamored of jewelry and I don’t like being manipulated by DeBeers (the blood diamonds thing aside).  I don’t advertise it, but anyone who knows me well knows I won’t buy and don’t wear diamonds.  Anyone who doesn’t know me well certainly wouldn’t be buying me diamonds.  Or so I thought. 

Today, SP, the best boss and possibly best person in the world, surprised A1, A2, and I with diamond earrings.  I seriously love this woman.  Anyways,  I just hope she never notices I never wear them.

So I know I promised to keep this blog relatively content-free (which is why I’m not linking to any articles or discussing Robertson’s resignation), but I have to ask -  at this point, if the New York Times broke the news that Bush ate babies for breakfast, would the nation even blink?

Sigh. Looks like the Solomon Amendment, which withholds federal grants from universities that don’t open their doors to military recruiters, is here to stay despite vigorous protest from law schools, which generally have nondiscrimination policies covering sexual orientation. Why am I not surprised?

And is it bad that every quote from Roberts in this article makes me grit my teeth? Add to that Geeky Chic’s recent posts about Alito and I think we’re doomed.

I wonder how some words are born and where they go to die?  I can see the birth of slang and the birth of new words to describe new phenomenons, but what about variations of words to describe common concepts?  For example, there are multiple means of describing people with great or varied learning.  Among other things, one could have had an “eclectic education.”  One can be “well-rounded,” “erudite,” “learned,” or a “Renaissance man” (or woman).  All these are different ways to describe what is essentially the same idea, so why do we have (recently discovered WOTWIFLI) polymath?  Were the distinctions between these terms important enough to merit the creation of another word entirely?  When did the English language decide that no pre-existing description, either singularly or in some combination, sufficed?  

Do obscure words add to or take away from our ability to communicate?  Words can be snapshots of complicated concepts and ideas, but if they’re so far from common parlance that no one understands them, what’s their purpose?*  (Even in writing this, I’m wondering:  Is “parlance” understandable?  Would the phrase “common speech” have been just as good?  Am I just being pretentious?) 

Okay, I’m done rambling about words now.  Sorry, it’s late and I’m obviously delirious.  We’ll see how long this post survives before I read it and go, “Huh.  What was I on?”  =)  Night all.

* Not to be presumption and assume that if I didn’t know a word, it must be obscure.  

Anyone else tired of models who put on fat suits to see what it’s like to be overweight in America and discover to their shock and horror that (*gasp*) they’re not treated as well as when they were thin and, you know, MODELS?  Tyra Banks did this recently.  While at the gym this morning (yay!), I caught a “news” segment (I was a captive audience, I had no choice!) where another model donned a fat suit and walked the streets of New York to see what it was like.  Apparently it (surprise!) sucked and she (surprise!) was not treated as nicely as when she was thin and beautiful.*

My favorite part of the segment was when she said, “It’s tragic that people are still judged on their weight in America” and followed it up with something along the lines of “beauty is on the inside.”  Um, hello?  Cog in the wheel of the modeling industry?  What with the whole contributing to the problem thing?  I’d like to see a segment where a beautiful model just tones it down for a day and sees what life is like for an average, non-5’11″ woman.  Now THAT might be mildly interesting.**

While we’re on the subject of fat, has anyone tried the Peppermint Ice Blendeds at the Coffee Bean?  =) Yummmm…

*Not to say that being beautiful requires being thin, but that’s certainly the norm in most societies nowadays.  Also, I realize weight can send certain socio-economic signs which might tie into her preferential treatment when she was thin, but those socio-economic cues are related to concepts of beauty so it really does come down to thin = beautiful.  (For an interesting discussion on how thin = pedophelia = beautiful, i.e., the sexualization of children and their bodies and the emulation of this corporeal ideal by women, you should talk to my brilliant Roomie.) 

**Fairness requires that I add there was one comment she made that I actually did find interesting.  She had thought that being in the fat suit would call a lot of negative attention to her, but found that she was rendered virtully invisible by the suit.  Made me think of the way we deal with individuals who are different in any way – we attempt to ignore the difference, which draws more attention to it than anything else could.  An interesting juxtaposition of the obvious and the ignored.  The (absolutely no wisecrack intended) white elephant in the room.

Am I missing something? How are there not more people offended by Gwen Stefani’s Harajuku Girls? She has four seemingly subservient asian women at her bleach blonde beck and call, bestows idiotic names on them (Love, Angel, Music, Baby), purportedly doesn’t allow them to speak English in public . . . and it’s supposed to be cute? Seriously?

Margaret Cho has an interesting, and slightly sad, comment about it on her blog.

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 recently learned of an interesting burgeoning cultural phenonema - a new species propagating the middle and upper echelons of society (well, they’ve probably been around for awhile, but have been newly christened).  They are known as Bobos, based on the term “bourgeois bohemian” and popularized by David Brooks’ book.  A quick web search pulled up the following definitions, mostly taken from Brooks’ book:

• Talks like a hippy but walks like a yuppy, decrying materialism while indulging in all manner of luxuries
• Combining bohemian-style environmental tendencies with successful careers
• Blending the mainstream and the countercultural 
• Mingling 1960s rebellion with 1980s achievement

I’ve always been slightly concerned about my own laziness and lack of action in the face of such a troubled world.  I couldn’t plead ignorance, yet complete indifference didn’t quite describe it either.  I know.  I care.  Unfortunately, I just don’t know or care enough to do anything about it.  I toyed with the idea of being an activist, but having tried a brief stint of activisim in college, quickly realized that it’s exhausting to care that much about anything.  Instead, I settled for being morally opposed to diamonds I can’t afford anyways and wanting to be a vegetarian who can still eat chicken and wear leather guilt-free.  At least I now know I’m not alone. 

Hello.  My name is Y. and I’m a Bobo. 

Does anyone want to form a support group to discuss our problem?  Preferably while drinking a hot beverage brewed from responsibly picked Costa Rican beans and fashioned into a $4 latte?  Maybe we can have t-shirts made too!  Think it over.  I’ll get started on the group charter.