Hi and bye

So.

It's been a while. I have a bunch of excuses, and some of them are even legitimate, but the truth of the matter is, I gave up. Somewhere around Thanksgiving I just lost my motivation. Lucky for me, however, the Captain came up with a great new idea so I have yet another - yes ANOTHER - blog to write in. Lucky for you, I've already introduced the url before, so you don't have to go anywhere new.

Here's the deal: I'm moving to San Diego after the New Year, the Captain is not, and that is general downer. As a way of an upper, we're making a joint blog at http://fortunesfeast.wordpress.com, where we'll blog about books and recipes that we would have shared with each other were we, you know, still living together. Since I'll be spending the holidays with him I don't expect the updates to be all that frequent in the next couple days, but once the new year rolls around, expect of lot of word and food. We've already selected our first "book club" selection, but for that, you'll have to go on over.

And with that, I bid you farewell.

More genius

The Captain's modest proposal.

http://toobig2fail.blogspot.com/2008/12/auto-bailout-christmas-carol-edition.html

I find him wickedly clever, and not just because I love him. It's more the other way around, actually.

Yuletide Carol

Now that the turkey's been eaten, I've been singing nonstop to get ready for Christmas. The Captain and I are hosting a Christmas party so I've been learning some very basic carols on the guitar for everyone to sing. I know only four chords, but apparently that's all I need to know.

As I was "practicing" this evening the Captain said to me he was surprised he hadn't heard me sing more often in law school. I gave him a knowing look and laughed at the thought. He replied, "So you're saying law school took the song in your soul and stomped on it?"

Precisely.

Thinking too much

Today at church I had a revelation. Not the kind you're thinking of.

No, my revelation was much more mundane than the kind of epiphany you'd expect during Advent. It came as I was listening to the choir and thinking for 199th time that I ought to join the choir. Midway through that 199th thought it occurred to me: if I join the choir, then I have to go to worship every single Sunday. That could be a problem. As much as I love church, I can't make that commitment.

So that got me thinking even further: I should have just signed up and been done with it. Everything I have done of which I am proud I have done without thinking. At age six I signed up for violin lessons because I wanted to be like my cousin. At age sixteen I applied to Brown because, well, it was there. At age nineteen I founded a campus chapter of Habitat for Humanity because I felt like it. Also at age nineteen I volunteered to be a resident counselor, which any former resident advisor knows is definitely not a rational decision. And at age twenty-five I matriculated at Boston College Law School because there was just something about it that made it different from anywhere else. So I got to meet the Captain and all my other cherished lawyer friends, as well as pass the bar. I did all these without too much thinking, and there's got to be something to that. All my thinking today just led to my not doing something, rather than forging ahead.

Maybe I'm just getting old.

Mindless diversion

So...Jenski had this going on at her blog, and since I'm usually a sucker for this sort of thing, I'll do it, too. I don't know who came up with these ninety-nine items, but they're neat in their variety and it's cool to see just how much you and your friends have done. Items I have accomplished are italicized in bold, with notes below.

1. Started your own blog
2. Slept under the stars
3. Played in a band
4. Visited Hawaii
5. Watched a meteor shower
6. Given more than you can afford to charity
7. Been to Disneyland/world
8. Climbed a mountain
9. Held a praying mantis
10. Sang a solo
11. Bungee jumped
12. Visited Paris
13. Watched a lightning storm at sea
14. Taught yourself an art from scratch
15. Adopted a child
16. Had food poisoning
17. Walked to the top of the Statue of Liberty
18. Grown your own vegetables
19. Seen the Mona Lisa in France
20. Slept on an overnight train
21. Had a pillow fight
22. Hitch hiked
23. Taken a sick day when you’re not ill
24. Built a snow fort
25. Held a lamb
26. Gone skinny dipping
27. Run a Marathon
28. Ridden in a gondola in Venice
29. Seen a total eclipse
30. Watched a sunrise or sunset
31. Hit a home run
32. Been on a cruise
33. Seen Niagara Falls in person
34. Visited the birthplace of your ancestors
35. Seen an Amish community
36. Taught yourself a new language
37. Had enough money to be truly satisfied
38. Seen the Leaning Tower of Pisa in person
39. Gone rock climbing
40. Seen Michelangelo’s David
41. Sung karaoke
42. Seen Old Faithful geyser erupt
43. Bought a stranger a meal at a restaurant
44. Visited Africa
45. Walked on a beach by moonlight
46. Been transported in an ambulance
47. Had your portrait painted
48. Gone deep sea fishing
49. Seen the Sistine Chapel in person
50. Been to the top of the Eiffel Tower in Paris
51. Gone scuba diving or snorkeling
52. Kissed in the rain
53. Played in the mud
54. Gone to a drive-in theater
55. Been in a movie
56. Visited the Great Wall of China
57. Started a business
58. Taken a martial arts class
59. Visited Russia
60. Served at a soup kitchen
61. Sold Girl Scout Cookies
62. Gone whale watching
63. Got flowers for no reason
64. Donated blood, platelets or plasma
65. Gone sky diving
66. Visited a Nazi Concentration Camp
67. Bounced a check
68. Flown in a helicopter
69. Saved a favorite childhood toy
70. Visited the Lincoln Memorial
71. Eaten Caviar
72. Pieced a quilt
73. Stood in Times Square
74. Toured the Everglades
75. Been fired from a job
76. Seen the Changing of the Guards in London
77. Broken a bone
78. Been on a speeding motorcycle
79. Seen the Grand Canyon in person
80. Published a book
81. Visited the Vatican
82. Bought a brand new car
83. Walked in Jerusalem
84. Had your picture in the newspaper
85. Read the entire Bible
86. Visited the White House
87. Killed and prepared an animal for eating
88. Had chickenpox
89. Saved someone’s life
90. Sat on a jury
91. Met someone famous
92. Joined a book club
93. Lost a loved one
94. Had a baby
95. Seen the Alamo in person
96. Swam in the Great Salt Lake
97. Been involved in a law suit
98. Owned a cell phone
99. Been stung by a bee

The only note I feel is worth making is 97. I myself never have been party to a lawsuit, but since I've worked on a few, I think that counts as being involved.
Read entire post...

License to idiocy

In the week that has followed my Very Best Day (So Far), I've been reminded that just because I'm a lawyer doesn't mean I'm not an idiot. To wit, the day immediately after the Very Best Day (So Far), the Captain and I boarded a bus to Charlottesville, where Mr. and Mrs. Priest hosted us in their lovely home. Before the Captain and I could board the bus, however, we had to locate the bus station. This proved to be a challenge for this newly minted California attorney. Who knew that in Washington, the bus station isn't the same as the train station?

Then later that week, the Captain and I decided to indulge ourselves with a truly expensive - and sumptuous - meal at the Blue Duck Tavern. The restaurant's unfortunate name notwithstanding, the experience was superb.[FN1] Truly exquisite. But, again, we had to find the tavern before we could eat there, and that also proved difficult for me. It didn't help that the restaurant's website said "24th and M"as its address, but still, I could have done a little research.

Perhaps I'll chalk it all up to a residual euphoria after the Very Best Day (So Far).

------
FN1. It is an odd coincidence that in the Captain's favorite book (and I mean FAVORITE book), the villain's name is Blue Duck. And for those of you familiar with Larry McMurtry, you know that Blue Duck is one dastardly dude.

Passed.

Giddy-up.

Low-grade fever

YIKES.

Earlier in the week I told the Captain I'd need to occupy myself - heavily - the day the bar results came out so I wouldn't be a complete wreck. He thought that was a good idea, so in a little bit we're headed out to the National Portrait Gallery and the Air & Space Museum. As much as I love renegade portraits of Stephen Colbert, however, it doesn't eliminate the fact that I've had a chronic, low-grade anxiety all week. I didn't realize it at first, but sometime on Wednesday I noticed that my neck was stiff and sore. Since I haven't been hunched over a book for nearly four months, I knew something was up. Then I noticed yesterday some other bodily manifestations of anxiety, and I figured it out: I'm freaking out. November 21 has been burned into my mind for the last several months, and it's finally here. At the moment I'm sitting in a cafe trying to upload some videos of the Genius' choir concert two nights ago, and I'm so wigged out I don't even care that everyone around me can 1) see I am blogging, and 2) read what I'm blogging.

YIKES.

T minus one day

The Captain: What should we have for dinner tomorrow night? Chop SUEy?

Honest living

A few short hours from now, the Captain and I will be enjoying Bizet at the Kennedy Center. We're going to Carmen at the National Opera and I cannot wait. I bought the tickets months ago and the performance is finally here.

But this is not another post about how I am so very much a liberal cliche.

It is, instead, a reflection on my experiences at the bakery. It is a composite sketch of how I have begun to understand what Sarah Palin getting at when she was jeering us in the fake America. Seriously. I've been wanting to write this post for a while, ever since I served coffee to a classmate of mine from Brown a few weeks ago, but I haven't been able to because, well, I was working.

So yes, several weeks ago a woman from my class at Brown walked into the bakery and ordered a coffee. She recognized me immediately so I reintroduced myself and said hello. We then had a painfully polite exchange about what we had been up to since college. I told her I'd just graduated from law school and she, perhaps with a bit of relief, mentioned she was a lawyer, too. I wanted to elaborate that the bakery gig was just a temporary thing but other customers were waiting so I couldn't explain why I was serving cupcakes rather than billing hours. She was left to assume whatever she wanted, and I'm slightly ashamed I even wanted to explain myself. Yes, I am about to head out to a cushy job in a lovely place, but what if I weren't? What if I hadn't done as well as I had in law school and talked my way into biglaw? What if I'd had to take a part-time job to pay the bills until I'd found a "real" job? There would have been nothing wrong with that. That I felt the need to remind myself there's nothing wrong with that, however, smacks of intense elitism.

Because if there is one thing I have learned from working with my co-workers, then it is that I am supremely privileged to work alongside them. They struggle to get ahead, but they still keep going. They scrimp and they save and they ride their bikes from Virginia so they can open at 6:30; they hustle for tips so they can pay tuition. They work the holidays because they want to, and they refrain from visiting family until they can afford to. I am honored to be near their motivation because it makes me just a little bit better. It reminds me of just how hungry everyone is for success, and that I have been very lucky to land where I have. My co-workers have fires in their bellies, and so do I.

Savvy marketing

A children's clothing store in Georgetown.

Vive le capitalisme.

Part of the neighborhood

The bakery customers are starting to remember me!

Today I noticed a customer wearing a BAA 2007 Boston Marathon jacket. I asked her about it, she started to answer, but then she interrupted herself and said, "Wait, you're a marathoner, too! The Marine Corps. You have that really cool hat." Indeed, I do!

And later, an older gentlemen took a look at my plain white tee and remarked, "You're not wearing one of your funny t-shirts." To his buddy, "She has all these funny t-shirts." Like the sexy one below.

So great.

Loving President Bush

At church yesterday, we prayed for President Bush. I should mention that I was at my home church, a bastion of liberalism that didn't support Al Gore in the 2000 primaries because he wasn't liberal enough. (We wanted Bill Bradley.) Lest you think I was raised in a commune of impractical hippies, I wasn't. I grew up in lovely, academic Princeton, NJ where my Sunday school teachers were professors at the seminary and where my friends' parents were professors at the university. So, yeah, maybe I was raised in a commune of impractical hippies.

Anyway, I was surprised to hear the prayer for President Bush. Maybe I shouldn't have been so surprised because, you know, we're supposed to love everyone, but I was. The liturgist prayed that the President would have wisdom and courage in the last days of his administration and that he would be able to effect positive change for the country. A reasonable prayer, I thought, but still I was surprised.

Then she started praying for President-elect Obama, and suddenly I understood. She'd just wanted to say those words out loud in church. "President-elect Obama." Crazy liberals - so predictable.

Caramel apples and a new food blog

Behold, caramel apples. Last week I saw this recipe at 101 Cookbooks, and since there were only three ingredients on it, I gave it a try. It's super easy, but the one catch is that the caramel needs to be heated to just the right temperature. Since I don't have a candy thermometer, it turned out kinda soupy, so I will have to keep trying. In the meantime there is nothing wrong with scooping up melted caramel and eating it off the silpat. Yum.

Which reminds me: I have a new blog. Well, semi-new. It's at Fortune's Feast, and describes my attempts to teach myself Chinese cooking. As some of you know, I've long been conflicted about how "Chinese" I am, if identity even is something quantifiable. I speak Chinese, I lived in Taipei, but I have very few Chinese friends. I had all sorts of friends as a child, but somewhere around middle school is when all the Asian kids started hanging out with each other - and nobody else. This bothered me. It bothered me because I thought the practice exclusive and discriminatory. Maybe they weren't actively segregating themselves, but at one point one of my Chinese American classmates came over to my lunch table and asked, "Why don't you sit with the Asian kids?"

That bothered me. I didn't want to be exclusionary, but it seemed to be the only way to be "Asian" where I grew up.[FN1] So my response was to be not "Asian" and to befriend people of all ethnicities. Somewhere along the line, though, I think I overcompensated, because soon I had no Asian friends. That also bothered me. So I was conflicted.

Anyway, this is all a long way of saying that I have a new food blog, where I try to reconnect with a heritage I once dismissed because I didn't want to be exclusive. I write about recipes, challenges, identity, and family. Mostly it's an excuse to eat more.

----
FN1. Looking back I realize the absurdity of this all, even the very idea of "Asian." It's a wholly American concept - nobody in China actually wants to hang out with anybody in Korea. So really the attempt to be more "Asian" was something inauthentic to begin with.

God bless America

When the results came in last night, I knew I'd want to write something, but I wasn't sure what. What could possibly describe the sheer magnificence of it all? What words could I use? As it got later and later, I realized I was growing too tired to think of anything compelling, so my reflections would have to wait.

Today, however, a day after the most exciting campaign I have had the privilege to see, I've started to put my finger on it. Just now I was playing "Yes We Can," on the YouTube (because, as you know, I find continuous loops to be soothing), and I started to cry. Hard. As if it had been left up to me cry all the tears left in heaven: heaving shoulders, hiccups, a very scrunched up face. The Captain was initially amused because he's always amused by how sensitive I am (I can't watch an Army recruiting commercial without shedding a tear), but then he noticed there was something more and came over to hold me.

Because there was something more - so much more. There was the very idea of a politics of hope, the idea that despite all the cynicism and special interests and real-world practicalities, the United States is a country firmly rooted in its belief that its people can, and will, do better. The idea that this is not a country that leaves its weak and poor behind, but takes care of its own and sends them out to do better. The idea that, yes, anyone can be President, even a skinny kid with a funny name who someday promises his two little girls a puppy once they move into the White House.

And the idea that two Chinese immigrants, who spoke only passable English when they first arrived, could provide their daughter with the best education money could buy, and all the opportunities she could want. The idea that through hard work and determination, anything is possible.

God bless America.

Doxology

Alleluia, Alleluia
Alleluia, Alleluia, Alleluuuuuuuuuia.

Continuous loop

I have will.i.am's "Yes We Can" playing on continuous loop. I find it soothing.

Happy Election Day.

Another life goal: check

Two days ago I got a phone call from that mid-level retailer (not J. Crew) offering me a position at their Georgetown shop. I turned them down. But not after thinking about it. Part of me really wanted to take it because it had been my dream, when I was sixteen, to work at this mid-level retailer. My friend Andrew worked for them at the time and I thought he was the coolest kid ever - 30% discounts and a fantastic wardrobe. Finally, at age twenty-nine, I had achieved my teenage dream. Talk about a dream deferred.

When I thought about it some more, though, the prospect of working retail in Georgetown during the holidays wasn't all that appealing. Furthermore, the Captain brought up the salient point, "You'll be working two jobs, which adds up to full-time, and you don't even really need the work."

Touche.

What to wear

Like some of my friends, I don't know how to dress for work. Unlike these friends, I work at an indie, hippie coffee shop/bakery where I am the only one without body art. In other words, I work at a place completely opposite of what I've been preparing for the last three years. My closet is full to bursting with business casual; if my firm hadn't deferred me I wouldn't even be writing this post.

Defer me they did, however, so now I have to find something that's cupcake-appropriate. I can't wear my office stuff because, well, coffee spills and I am clumsy. Nor can I wear my work-out stuff because I have a bad habit of cutting my t-shirts too short. (And really, I can do better than my five hundred GoldmanSachs CommunityTeamWorks t-shirts.) So lately I've been perusing some fantastically hipster t-shirt vendors.

I like best the one below.

Done and done

On Sunday I ran a marathon. My list of life goals just got a little shorter.

I had been wanting to do a marathon ever since I saw my first one in person: New York, 2002. It is now 2008. Six years is a long time to have thought about doing something. Imagine how different I felt on Monday morning, then, when I didn't have to think about marathons any more. I was a whole new person. I was triumphant.

Which is why it doesn't (really) bother me that I came in thirty-eight seconds slower than my goal time. In my mind, thirty-eight seconds is my goal time. I could be negative and think to myself, "I'm always just shy of everything I want." Or I could be positive and remember, "Hey, I just ran a marathon - and I feel amazing." Because I do.

(And for those who are curious, yes, I had one of those days on the course. It was everything I could have hoped for and more. Naturally I'm planning to do another as soon as I can. San Diego 2009, anyone?)

Waddle on

Tomorrow I "run" my first marathon. To say that I am scared is an understatement.

I am petrified.

My last long "run" was three weeks ago and I did the last five miles in interminable pain. All I wanted to do was curl up and depreciate on the side of the trail. If I'd done that, though, I still would've had to get home, and since there wasn't any other way to get home, I just kept on walking. (Yes, by that point I was walking. Hence my terrible fear.) Marathoners often have mantras to keep themselves going, things like, "Yes! We! Can!" or "Almost there!". My mantra on my last run was, "Ignore the pain."

Rather than dwell on my fear, though (or snap at the Captain and seethe at our houseguests), I've decided to remind myself of why I run as a kind of reassurance.

I run because I want to. I run because I can. I run because if I don't, I develop a kind of depression so subtle I don't even notice - until I run again and feel exhilarated. Earlier this year I had to sit out two months and I entered a period of mourning. I grieved for the pleasure of running, of finding that a distance once impossible was later no big deal. I grieved for the sense of accomplishment of pushing myself - and succeeding.

When I finally started running again I thought I had been reborn. I had bad days and slow days and walked-more-than-I-wanted-to days, but I also had good days. Days when my legs were strong and my body was fast. Days when fourteen miles were like a walk in the park. Days when I felt so coordinated and perfect I felt closer to God. Truly. On days like that I rejoiced in the wonder of creation and the gift of the human body. On days like that my running was prayer.

It is unlikely that tomorrow will be one of those days. But it might. And those moments of joy are so pure they are worth chasing.

Respect

After a long day on my feet, all I can say is...tip your servers. Serving coffee and cupcakes, while fun and enjoyable, is nonetheless hard work.

Yeesh.

First day of work

KHC: Gah, I look emaciated.
The Captain: Good thing you're working at a cupcake bakery.

Boston, you're my home

Yeah, yeah, the Sox lost, but whatever. I still love that dirty water and I always will.

Saturday morning the Captain and I arose at an ungodly hour for our flight to Boston. As we made our descent into New England, I saw the fiery treescape beneath me and I started to cry. Really. I was that happy to be back. And it was good thing, too, because our trip was so tightly scheduled there was no room for ambivalence.

Our first stop was flour bakery because, well, just follow the link. And because Joanne Chang is my hero. She quit management consulting so she could open up a bakery, and now everyone is better off because of it. She forsake a steady paycheck in a lucrative field just so she could do what she loved, and she's excelled. In this gloomy and uncertain climate, I find that nothing short of heroic, even revolutionary. And yes, the sticky buns mean that much to me.

Next we went to the Head of the Charles, where we did our best to walk off the eight million calories we’d just ingested. (We got close.) The Captain’s former rowers had just purchased a new boat and named one of its seats in his honor, so they invited him to the boat’s dedication. When we showed up they were absolutely. thrilled. to see him again - hugs and smiles all around. Even though he coached the kids for only a season, the impact he had was real. He'd been their coach, their disciplinarian, and their friend, and they loved him because of it. It was a pleasure to watch.

Later that evening we went to a potluck held in our honor by First Friend and her husband, Dr. First Friend. First Friend was the first friend I ever made in law school and I am so lucky to count her as one of my friends still. She’d assembled a great group of former classmates to eat together and to watch the ALCS on a beautifully large flat-screen TV, but what truly stood out was the fellowship and the affection. It was a delight to be back with our friends from BC, and all night I kept saying, “This is the best weekend ever!”

And it was true. There was a whole second day to go, full of more friends and more reuning and more caloric intake. But that would make too long a post, and I think you get the picture.

Customer Service

Since my baking gig is only part-time, I've reached out to other, just-as-stimulating opportunities. Yesterday, I had an interview at a mid-level clothing retailer. (Not J. Crew.)

Much to my surprise, it was an actual interview. As in, "Why are you interested in [Mid-level retailer]?" and "What does customer service mean to you?" I was wholly unprepared for the question. Which might have been a good thing because the answer I came up with was pretty awesome. I thought, where was this during OCI?

So it got me thinking, maybe I tried too hard at OCI. Before every interview I had, I'd read up on the firm, practice some answers, and role-play with my sister or the Captain. Practicing gave me confidence, so I walked into every interview with a (marginal) sense of calm. Every interview except one: the one in which I was taken completely by surprise, in which the interviewer asked, "So what is your interest in San Diego?" Namely, the one which led ultimately to my best offer.

Yeah, I worked too hard.

Tellin' my mom

KHC: Ma, I got a job!
Ma: Oh? Where?
KHC: At a coffee place and bakery in Georgetown!
Ma:...
KHC: Hello?
Ma: What about J. Crew?

(It's funnier if you imagine the conversation in Chinese, except for the words "Georgetown" and "J. Crew". That I still can disappoint my Chinese mother, however, is funny enough.)

Livin' the dream

The ongoing financial collapse notwithstanding, I still managed to find part-time work.

Friends, you're looking at your next neighborhood cupcake pusher/barista/latte artist.

I got a job. At a cupcake place. Where people drink coffee and use Macs. It's gonna be hard but I'm gonna love it. And I feel like I've finally grown into my role as an angst-laden twentysomething; I really can own it now.

Cue the indie rock.

Really, really cliche

Upon reading my last post, the Captain remarked, "You didn't mention the Obama stickers I put on the windows."

Sorry, honey.

Liberal cliche

Most of the time, I like to think I am a nice, normal, Main Street type of gal.

The fact that I can hear you laughing is indication enough I am nowhere near Main Street. But at least I try. I bake my own cookies, I watch football, I take the bus. And I like it.

But every so often I'll find myself in a situation where there's no use pretending. To wit, I noticed last night as I was reading myself to sleep, in a Georgetown townhouse, where I live with my boyfriend, whom I met in private school, where I got the second of my advanced degrees, that we both were reading...Murakami.

Time to go break out the pearls.

Ain't nothin' but a number

The Captain is thirty! How exciting. Thing is, he looks exactly the same as he did at twenty-nine.

His actual birthday was yesterday, but the festivities started early. Little Captain [FN1] and her fiance the Cowboy Soldier [FN2] flew in Thursday evening and started celebrating with us pretty much the moment they got off the plane. Well, I didn’t get to join them at first because I had to "run" twenty miles, but I caught up eventually. There’s nothing like a power nap after dinner and drinks to get you out the door at 1AM so you can meet up with everyone else. And then close the bar at 3AM. And then have a slumber party in the basement until 5:30AM. During which the Captain might crash into a stationary object (my dresser). But the crashing part is totally optional. Yes, I do this every weekend.[FN3]

Even better, though, was the actual party we had on Saturday. I hadn’t planned on or expected to spend the entire day in the kitchen, but now I can say I have had the experience. Who knew that devil’s food cake with raspberry filling and white chocolate cream cheese frosting could be so time consuming? It was definitely worth the effort, however, as the roomful of silence clearly showed. How nice it is when everyone knows not to talk with his/her mouth full. The Captain’s dad also was in town and decided that every party-goer needed his/her own large bag of chips and appetizers. So now I am back to staring at an overflowing pantry and wondering if I’ll ever get to see the back of it.

----------

FN1. The Captain’s sister who also was a Captain in the U.S. Army
FN2. Yes, another veteran
FN3. Not really.

Fashion Don'ts

Said the Captain to me this afternoon, "Sometimes I can't tell if girls are wearing skinny jeans or leggings. I mean, gah, that's got to be really uncomfortable."

Amen.

Aging

I am twenty-eight years old. I can say that for only so much longer, so I am saying it as much as I can. Twenty-eight, twenty-eight, twenty-eight.

The Captain's thirtieth birthday is also this week; his day has taken precedence over mine, of course. Twenty-nine is still a significant number, [FN1] however, so I offer some reflections on my twenty-eighth year:

It was pretty good! Lots of great things happened: I ran my first half-marathon, the Red Sox won the World Series, I achieved anonymous fame by way of this blog, I graduated from law school, and I moved in with the Captain.

(I took the bar, too, but that wasn't a great thing. Here's hoping that twenty-nine will bring news of my admission.)

Twenty-eight, twenty-eight, twenty-eight...
---------
FN1. The Chinese, for example, consider the nines (19, 29, 39) more auspicious than the whole decades. The word for nine, jiu, sounds like a word meaning longevity and long duration. On the other hand, the word for the decades, shi, sounds like the word for death. I think that's all I really need to say about that.

Grad student redux

I am sitting in a cafe and I am blogging.

How cliched is that?

In truth I am surprised it has taken this long for me to do this. The sweltering heat probably has something to do with that; I was a prisoner of central air-conditioning until about a week ago. Now that I don't need to bring a handkerchief wherever I go, though, I've found the neighborhood to be pleasant indeed. At the moment I am sitting beneath a bookcase stocked with back-issues of Bon Appetit, Food&Wine, and Gourmet Magazine. More importantly, a collection of delicious cupcakes sits on the other side of the wall. It could be a long time before I head back to P St...

As an aside, I note that I am only one of many people sitting with a laptop. There must be seven or eight of us; there are definitely more laptop-users than plain old coffee drinkers. When it comes to computer make, however, I am definitely in the minority. That's right, almost everyone else has a Mac.

It's a brand new world.

Get a job

Two days ago I applied for a job...at Banana Republic. I saw they were hiring, and thinking my rotted brain could handle retail at least, I filled out an application.

I'm not optimistic.

The manager was very friendly, but as he scanned my employment history, he got a very quizzical look on his face. He thought he saw some retail experience, but dummy that I am, I swiftly corrected him, "I'm a lawyer." Then I explained that my full-time job didn't start until January and that I was just looking for short-term work. He seemed to understand, but I left feeling...well, dumb. Especially because I do have retail experience, at that fabled Princetonian institution, Thomas Sweet. I just conveniently forgot to mention it either on my application or to the manager in person.

It's all right. On my way home I saw that the Gap, Zara, and Restoration Hardware are hiring, too.

Yeowww!

Per CaliSeaStar's suggestion, I took an ice bath yesterday after my long run. Lucky for me she sent along an article instructing me how to do it correctly and even luckier for me, I read it.

Truth 1: It's an ice bath in name only; the water needs to be between 50 and 60F. I'm a fairly literal person; without proper instruction I probably would have unloaded my ice trays into the bath tub and then suffered the consequences.

Truth 2: There can be consequences. When I mentioned to the Captain I was doing an ice bath, he told me that crew kids have died when jumping into rivers after long, hard races. Great.

Truth 3: It's better with a lifeguard. While most people don't die upon taking their ice baths, some people do faint, so having a buddy nearby is a good idea. This was a particular concern for me, as I have been known to faint, in public, without so much as a drop of cold water - or alcohol! - nearby.

Truth 4: Yeowwww! Ice baths are cold. But I am feeling much better today, so thanks Cali. See you soon.

Badge of Honor

There is a lot of time between taking the bar and starting my job. To kill all this time, I chose to run a marathon. Some people travel, some people stay on the couch, but I, I chose to run twenty-six miles. Because I wanted to.

This makes me wonder about myself.

It takes a certain amount of nerve to run a distance associated with a soldier who died after running it. It also takes a certain amount of denial, which I am not so sure is different from nerve. When my knees and my ankles ache at the end of the run and when I barely can climb the stairs at the end of the day, for example, I practice a form of denial.

Whatever.

The marathon is at the end of October, and I have been training since...not enough ago. But I’ve been working hard and I have the hat to prove it. I almost don’t want to wash it.

Living with Boys

Several nights ago, I went out to dinner with a large group of friends, and as often happens with large groups of friends, some of us got our entrees before others. I got my entree fairly early, while the man seated next to me got his fairly late. He urged the rest of us to start, saying he was a fast eater so we didn't have to worry. He told us he'd grown up in a house with two brothers, where the only way to get seconds was to get them first.

I didn't grow up with two brothers. I also try to eat slowly so I don't overeat. Now that I am living with TWO big boys, however, I need to pick up my game. Food just has a way of disappearing around here.

Smarty pants

Tonight we celebrated Dr. Caro's birthday. She was my roommate in college and is now a rocket scientist.[FN1] Sixteen of her friends assembled for the festivities, and at some point over dinner, someone noticed that of us sixteen, six had PhDs.

I thought this tremendous. Having been questioned over and over again for getting not one but two advanced degrees, I found it absolutely. refreshing. to be one of the less-educated people at dinner.

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FN1. More or less. Her card doesn't say "Rocket Scientist," but her department is Space Exploration, so good enough.

In Memoriam

The legal world has lost a shining star.

Charlie Whitebread was a legend, a very present help in times of trouble (i.e., BarBri). Without him, I never would have known about glib understanding, and this blog never would have had all the traffic it had.

Thanks, Charlie.

Smile and wave

Today I crossed a street.

I mention this because any Bostonian knows that pedestrians have the right of way when crossing the street. It could be rush hour in Harvard Square with cars bumper to bumper behind innumerable red lights, but if an uppity little undergraduate wants to cross the street, then everything must - and will - stop for her. Any Bostonian knows this. Any guest of a Bostonian knows this as well. When I took a group of friends around Boston this spring, one of them marveled, "You're just gonna walk into traffic?!" Well, yeah.

Conversely, any non-Bostonian knows that pedestrians don't have the right of way. Maybe the statutes say otherwise, but the reality is that cars rarely, if ever, yield to crossing pedestrians. This can spell trouble for former Bostonians. Georgetown is riddled with four-way stop signs but cars rarely ever stop. So far, I have not been deterred. My Bostonian feet just walk into traffic. I'm sure this will result in some sort of honk-and-scream, and today I thought it had come.

With no cars in sight, I stepped into the crosswalk. An SUV pulled up right as I reached the middle. It honked. I looked up and expected to see a red-faced shirt type furious with my audacity (even though, when I looked, I hadn't seen anybody). Instead I saw four young and very handsome Georgetown students, each smiling and waving. Not knowing what to do, I smiled and waved back.

Later I asked the Captain, a Georgetown graduate himself, was that just a custom? Some sort of south-of-the-Mason-Dixon courtesy everyone learns at orientation? Or had I somehow crossed the line into cougar-ville and those fine young men had taken notice?

He said cougar. Thanks, honey.

Rah, rah, Brunonia.

Sarah Rosenthal '11: The Palin-ization of Brown - Columns

Putting aside the fact that the author is from the Class of 2011, her piece is a clever satire.

Well done, Ms. Rosenthal. And hey, at least we're the same reunion year.

Feeling at home

Right now, the Captain and the Genius are downstairs in the living room and watching a movie together. I am upstairs in my bed and thinking about how much fun I had today and how much more at home at feel in my new environs.

It probably helped my mood that today was a rest day on my marathon training regimen.

Even if I'd had to do a training run, though, today couldn't be beat. To start, and as I said before, the Captain and the Genius are downstairs watching a movie together. I find this adorable. The Captain might be fixing up a beat-up house and trying to find a job, but he still takes time to take care of his little brother. Reason #49810 I am glad I went to that bar review two years ago.

Second, I found a fantastic, delicious, affordable sushi place in DuPont circle. Ms. J dreams of someday eating sushi with impunity, and I definitely resonate with that dream. Today, however, I needn't have worried about cost because the lunch special I had was so fresh and so expertly executed I thought I had died and gone to gustatory heaven. Even better than the food itself, though, was the discovery of the restaurant. It was packed...with locals. Scarcely a tourist in the joint; it was filled to the gills with professionals on their lunch hours. I felt so proud to have found a place claimed by the locals. It's only been two weeks for me, but I'm trying to learn as quickly as I can.

Things you don't think about

After living by myself for three years, I was apprehensive about moving into a place with two, soon to be three, new roommates. I was worried about all the usual roommate worries: dishes in the sink, leaving on the lights, late rent payments.

So far, it's been all right. (It's also only been one week.) But there is at least one thing I didn't think about, when moving from a studio apartment to a three-story townhouse: having to lock the door when I'm in the bathroom. That's a habit I'll have to revive.

My ride

I love public transport. Really. Even with its interminable delays and innumerable service interruptions, I love public transport because when it is working well, which is more often than you think, it offers a valuable, valuable service. It is a service so valuable I cannot believe I get to use it. It is, to me, magic.

My love for public transport stems directly from my hatred for driving. I love public transport so much because I get to have someone else do what I most abhor, and for a paltry, paltry sum at that. With me, riding the bus has nothing to do with not being able to afford a car of my own, but everything to do with not being able to afford another minute of road rage. Indeed, I road the bus to church yesterday in all of my newfound Georgetown splendor: silk dress, patent flats, cashmere wrap, pearls. Did I look a little out of place? Maybe, but only because it was my first time on that particular bus and I didn’t know exactly where it picked up.

I love public transport.

Church

Today I went to church, and it was great. As some of you know, one of the only disappointments I had with Boston was that I never found a suitable church. I more or less grew up Presbyterian, and Boston is so Catholic a town that few people even know what a Presbyterian is. Week after week I would try various Protestant churches, some as far as Wellesley, in hopes that I’d find a new church home. I never did, and I gave up somewhere around final exams 1L year.

Imagine my delight, then, when I found online a Presbyterian church near Metro Center that described itself as all-inclusive and outlined its homeless ministries right on its home page. I found that incredibly telling, that the church’s mission to the needy was so important it appeared front and center, rather than behind a link. To Metro Center I went.

I loved it. It was a small, [FN1] but robust congregation. A man with a beautiful tenor voice sat down next to me and sang the hymns with such sincerity I thought his singing another form of prayer. An elderly woman on the other side of me asked me if I ever had been to that church before, and whether I had met any of their “young people.” The Associate Pastor was a young woman, perhaps even younger than I, whose updates about the life of the church were so thorough and so earnest I was inspired. The only downside was that the preaching was mediocre, and had any of my mentors from Princeton been there with me, they probably would have turned up their noses. Thankfully, I am not so exacting after three years without a church home.

To Metro Center I’ll return.

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FN1. My idea of small is probably skewed. My church in New York had 3,400 members.

Only in Washington

The Captain and I went to dinner the other night with the Coxswains, two of his friends from college and now two of my friends as well. As we were making our way to the Tombs (I put that in for the Hoyas), we saw a young man wearing a bright red hat walking towards us. We paid him no mind as we passed him by, but he immediately recognized Mr. Cox and wanted to catch up. By now I was close enough to see that the friendly young man was wearing no ordinary hat, but... a hat for McCain.

I think it shows how thoroughly flawed the Republican nominee is this year that my Captain, a gun-toting, Bronze star veteran who voted for the President - both times - said to me later, "At first I thought that hat was ironic, because surely, no one would have actually worn that in public."

All-American Family

As I mentioned last night, the Captain and I have moved into a townhouse with his youngest brother, the Genius. What I didn't mention is that the Genius has special needs which warrant some supervision. He's remarkably intelligent, hence his alias, but he still benefits from the occasional reminder about social norms and the like.

He also benefits from the Captain's supervision of his homework. The Genius is a math major so he doesn't require any actual help from either of us. But when the Captain asked the Genius about whether he'd reviewed his homework, the Genius paused, then replied, "I'll be back." Next he proceeded up the stairs to prepare more thoroughly for class.

Which prompted me, of course, to remark that our new set-up felt like the all-American family: a house, a college-aged "son," a (potential) dog.

It's good practice.

My new digs

I'm a Washingtonienne! This morning I boarded the train from NJ to DC and officially moved into the townhouse in Georgetown. I've moved in with the Captain, and even though we've been planning this for weeks, only today did it occur to me that we were moving in together. The Captain's baby brother lives here, too, so I suppose that's why I hadn't thought of it as moving in together - I was just getting two new roommates. When my feet crossed the threshold, however, it hit me: the Captain and I are a cohabitating couple.

Wowie.

This new reality will sink in over time. Until then, some reflections on my new digs:
I love it. There's free transportation to the center of town, and I'm walking distance from all sorts of fun amenities: the gym (yes, I already have a gym), a running shop, two bike shops, a shopping mall, a cupcake shop, and...A RED SOX BAR.

There is a Red Sox bar just blocks from my house. I am thrilled. The Captain already has warned me that it's really a meat market, but I'm a tough cookie. I'll keep my eye on the ball.

The skin of my teeth

Tonight I blog from central New Jersey. I am at my mother's house, where it is leafy and green and where I don't have to lock my car every time I park it. The last post notwithstanding, I had a particularly pleasant day yesterday, the day of my move. The movers, the tow truck, the shipping company - they all showed up at the same time. My movers were superb; they made quick work of my apartment and somehow fit it all into a small little storage vault. The shipping company took away my stuff and sent it all out to California. I finally got my tax refund. Everything came together.

Naturally, I was suspicious. I knew my luck would have to run out. Mollybee suggested that perhaps the perfection of the move was my reward for previous karmic suffering, and that my luck, in fact, would not run out. Perhaps, but still I was suspicious.

Imagine my relief, then, when I got a frantic knock on my door this morning. It was the super, telling me to move my car before it got towed away for street cleaning. In my haste to move I had forgotten it was Thursday, my street's day for cleaning. The super told me I had gotten a ticket already (Love you, too, City of Boston), but if I hurried I could move it before the tow truck appeared.

I hustled down the stairs and whisked my car, which already had been packed for the drive to DC, away from the clutches of my favorite tow truck. With this near miss, I thought the other foot had come down.

Or had it? I had, after all, avoided the tow. Hm.

Ghosts in this house

The problem with an empty apartment, aside from the lack of seating, is that the walls are now bare and therefore amplify the sound of my crying.

I have loved Boston.

UPDATE: Actually, there is one place to sit, thankfully: the toilet.

Bookends

A couple nights ago the Captain and I dined at a "Mexican" place near his (former) apartment. He had had his first meal in Boston at that place so he thought it fitting to have his last meal there, too. Plus, we had been given two free dinners in exchange for doing a survey so we figured it couldn't be beat.

This morning I had a similar bookend experience. During my first week in Boston I crashed into a stationary object and wrecked my car. While I remain unscathed, my car was stuck and had to be towed - off the green line tracks. (I promise, I'm an excellent driver. I have the highest safety rating by the insurance companies.) But since I wasn't yet a member of AAA, the police had to call their go-to towing company, and the nice man Dan took me and my car to the Honda dealership two blocks away.

When I had to get a car towed out of my loading zone today, then, I noticed that the towing company was the same as the company that expertly extracted my car from the crash three years ago, almost to the day. As soon as I saw them, I knew everything was going to be all right.

SUCCESS!!!!!!!!!!!!

I got my tax refund today! Along with my stimulus! (As Mo would say, I got stimulated.)

And, I even got to tow an offending vehicle out of my loading zone.

Things are looking up.

Fancy that

This afternoon I delivered two bags and a box of groceries to my neighborhood food pantry. (My movers are coming tomorrow and I really don't want them sending all my unopened food to sit in a storage container for four months.) When I called the church to ask if I could bring the food over in the first place, I was worried they might not want the food I had because, frankly, food pantries and soup kitchens can be picky. Having volunteered at soup kitchens and food pantries before, I fully understand why they are picky; I often was the one sorting the keepers from the trash.

Imagine my delight, then, when the lady on the other end of the phone, who later turned out to be the Pastor, said she had just gotten a phone call from a family saying they were in desperate need of food. (Note, I was not delighted that a family needed food so badly they had to call a food pantry.) Instead my delight stemmed from the fact that even in my bedraggled, sweaty, mopey state, I still could be of use to somebody. That somehow, things had worked out just in the nick of time for the family.

Fancy that.

Mindless and loving it

This afternoon I took break from packing and took a peek at "The Hills" online to see what all the fuss is about.

It's mindless, shallow, and frivolous.

In a word, it's AWESOME. Would that I could be so blissfully stupid.

Trash and treasure

Yesterday I made myself take the first step to packing things up: throwing stuff out.

I went through the pile of Important Papers that had been festering on my bookshelf and I threw out (nay, recycled) a whole bunch of law school notes, outlines, notices, and bills. Since I don't have a shredder it took me a while to rip up each individual piece of paper that had my name or SSN on it, but having had my identity stolen once already, I made the effort. When I finished I was pleased to see a mountain of paper in my recycling bin instead of on my shelf. What pleased me even more, however, were the unexpected treasures I had forgotten I was saving: letters from my sister, letters from my friends, my college ID. Letters I had written but never sent, birthday cards that sustained me during my year abroad when everything was foreign. I didn't linger long on every item, but I smiled each time I ran across something I had previously loved.

Which is probably the last time I'll smile before I've finished moving.

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UPDATE: I not only smiled again, but I laughed at myself. I ran across letters from an old boyfriend but I had forgotten which boyfriend. I take this to mean 1) I am a pack rat, and 2) I am so besotted with the Captain that I don't even remember who's who.

Turn 'em on, turn on those sad songs

Today I woke up sad.

This has been an unfortunate pattern of late, but I am leaving town in less than a week and it's finally sunk in. Deeply. To the point where I was playing sad, sad songs on the iTunes. Break-up music, unrequited love music, saying good-bye music, praying to God for redemption music. It was all there on my iPod, all under a playlist titled, "Sad."

That's right, I had taken time out to create a playlist specifically for moods such as mine this morning, when the only thing that would make me feel better was hearing how cruddy everyone else's life was. And feel better I did, because how else could I react to Jeff Buckley's "Hallelujah" than to rejoice in the beauty and simplicity of his recording?

And then Alison Krauss came on with "Ghost in this House" and I was positively sprightly. (Sing it, Alison, sing about those hearts on fire.) So I started to wonder, what is it about feeling sad that feels so good? I recalled an old song by Elton John which speaks to that exact question.

If someone else is suffering enough to write it down
When every single word makes sense
Then it's easier to have those songs around
The kick inside is in the line that finally gets to you
and it feels so good to hurt so bad
And suffer just enough to sing the blues

Thing is, if you know this song, it's actually quite upbeat. In fact it sounds nothing like what it describes. Which led me to another imponderable, namely, why is it that songs about sadness don't themselves sound sad? To wit, "Breakin' Up is Hard to Do." You try to keep from smiling when you sing to yourself, "Doobie doobie dum doobie do dum dum, doobie doobie dum doobie do dum dum..."

See?

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Poll: what's your favorite sad song? My playlist can be expanded, after all.

UPDATED: I've added YouTube links to the songs I've mentioned above. They're all worth going to, if only to get a taste of some fantastic music. But if you're really pressed for time, just go to Alison Krauss. Adorable.

Progress?

Sen. Kennedy's office just called; they want me to write in a formal letter so they can proceed with my case.

Even though they're making me jump through yet another hoop, this is the first time anybody's referred to all this as "case." Maybe that's promising?

New low?

As part of my quest to find new Something Elses, I might have sunk to a new low.

I just made an anonymous post to a celebrity gossip blog.

Really.

Fascinating

Beauty is truly in the eye of the beholder.

Last night the Captain and I had a genuine disagreement...about which Bush twin was better-looking. I kid you not. This is the degree to which our brains have rotted.

I always thought the new Mrs. Hager was the prettier twin, but the Captain insisted that Ms. Bush is the more attractive. We each tried to justify our opinions, and we each, surprisingly, had a somewhat fleshed-out analysis of each twin's appearance. What fascinated me was that both of us sincerely believed we were right. And it wasn't because the Captain is the type of guy who's always right. Nor was it because he had mixed the twins up. Nay, it was because he sincerely believed Ms. Bush was prettier. It made me wonder if there are just some fundamental, biological differences between men and women when it comes to assessing beauty.

Curious.

How to Wait

When I was in seventh grade, a long-time family friend showed me a fortune he had saved in his wallet. "The secret to patience is doing something else in the meantime," it read. The tasteless cookie long gone, its message endured, not only in my friend's wallet but in my impressionable twelve year-old mind.

Sixteen years later, I find myself in a situation where all there is left to do is wait. Accordingly, I have started looking for Something Elses. When I first returned from the bar I was content to let my mind rot by engaging it as rarely as possible. Continual viewing of the Olympics was conducive to that, and I did my best to keep it going. And it wasn't even the fact that I found myself watching online streaming of equestrian eventing that suggested I might want to use my brain once in a while.

No, it was my continual BarBri nightmares which convinced me that "doing something else" required actual doing. One night it was Richard Conviser himself, reminding me of what's required for injunctive relief. The next night was David Epstein, making fun of Richard Conviser to drive home the sales of goods rules. The third night I deliberately had too much wine with dinner so I'd be too busy peeing all through the night to have time for any nightmares.

Thinking I had started down the road to alcoholic self-medication, I have since resolved to do other stuff. So far I have I cranked up the speed in the kitchen (I have a lot of butter and flour left and it needs to go), gotten a haircut, taken my bike in to be fixed, finished Jhumpa Lahiri's Unaccustomed Earth (you must read this), began Min Jin Lee's Free Food for Millionaires, and weighed the pros and cons of taking a Duck Tour.

Oh, and laughed heartedly and appreciatively at the NYTimes' fashion police. Good taste is universal.

What a difference

...a week makes. This time last week, I had just begun the second performance test and I hadn't read the weekend section to the Boston Globe in quite some time.

Today, however, not only have I read the weekend section but I already have planned ahead to September, October, and November at the Kennedy Center, where I will be a frequent visitor this fall. (There is some good. stuff. Renee Fleming, Denyce Graves. You should come with.) Yes, the Captain and I are moving to Washington, per the Fabulous Plan B, and I am so excited. It is my time to be a kept woman and it's gonna rock.

In the meantime, I'll be packing up and getting ready to go. My firm has spoiled me not only with movers but with movers who will pack up my stuff. So the next several weeks will be full of all the fun things I never got to do in Boston, as well as regular phone calls to the IRS. And, per Munch's suggestion, to Sen. Kennedy. How can the IRS say no to the legislative lion (read: cancer patient)?

Waiting game

And now, I wait.

When the head proctor called time this afternoon, the entire room broke into applause, and even our normally stoic proctor had to crack a smile. She let us blow off a little steam, then continued with her closing instructions. A few moments later, I was free to go.

Those first few moments after the exam I was so overwhelmed I didn't even know it. I was drained and exhausted - too spent even to realize that I was done. When I called my mother, she kept trying to get me to say I felt good about it, but I wouldn't, couldn't commit. It's all out of my hands, but neither do I want to tempt fate.

In the meantime, a few reflections from my week here in Oakland:

1. Bad fashion knows no bounds. I understand that we are taking an excruciating exam and that we are stuck in a convention center, cattle-style, for six hours a day. Still, I find that no excuse to wear velour sweatsuits, even if they do say "Juicy" on the butt. Even if someone spent hundreds of dollars on her velour outfit, she's still wearing sweatpants. In public. People can, and should, do better than that.

2. Oakland is the city in which to take the bar. The convention center is located downtown, right in the middle of plenty of places to eat and places to stay. When I took the BarBri MBE in Boston, the test was at the Boston World Trade Center, which is located next to nothing. Nothing. The Massachusetts bar at least permits its applicants to bring food into the exam (California's does not), but if given the option, I'd want to get away from test site during lunch. And get away I would, if only to sit in my hotel room for an hour and a half to veg. At dinner I'd collect with my friends in the lobby of my hotel and walk to one of any number of fun places to eat. (Tonight, Thai. YUM.) I even found the time to run (are you surprised?), and the hotel staff directed me to a lovely lake just a five minutes' run away. So if you're taking the California bar, and you want to use your laptop, take it in Oakland. (There's even a grocery store next to the test site. I got a fridge for my room and stocked it full of fresh veggies.)

3. There's value to registering early. I registered not four hours after registration was available, and as a result I was seated in the very front row. I took the test in a 48,000 sq.-ft. room with what must have been 1,000 other applicants, but for all I knew I had only a Marine on my right and a Boaltie on my left. Never was I distracted by applicants who cut out of the MBE twenty minutes early, never was I bothered by the doofus who'd neglected to download the exam from SofTest and was subsequently running around the 48,000 sq.-ft. room looking for a wireless signal. Didn't see any of that.

4. Post-it flags aren't on the list of items permitted into the test site, but highlighters are, so who's to say that highlighters that come with post-it flags shouldn't be allowed into the test site? I found the flags to be indispensable during the performance tests. Since I was sitting in the very front row, right where the proctors could see me, I doubt that my post-it flags truly were contraband. But just in case, I removed the flags from my test booklet when I handed everything in, and no one was the wiser.

5. The California bar takes its water seriously. We aren't allowed water in the testing room, but the bar examiners sprang for an endless supply of cooler water that sat right outside the doors. The gaggle of applicants on water breaks did lend to a feeling of collective nursing, but at least we didn't have to wait in line to drink sludge from the water fountain.

6. Take the test with a buddy, if you can. I was supremely fortunate to have both the Captain and Good Neighbor along with me in Oakland. I didn't need much, so two buddies were enough, if only to blow off steam at the end of the day and talk about how the Sox traded Manny this afternoon.

7. When it's over, let it go. We'll see just how good at that I am.

Til next time. Which I hope will not come along.
Read entire post...

Done.

Debriefing to follow.

Decompressing at present.

Stripping away the inessential

In her much-discussed Commencement address at Harvard this June, J.K. Rowling submitted that a mere seven years after her own college graduation, she was the biggest failure she knew. She was jobless, a lone parent, and "as poor as it is possible to be in modern Britain, without being homeless." While she was careful not to glamorize her poverty, she maintained nonetheless that her failure had benefited her by stripping away the inessential. She stopped trying to be what other people wanted her to be, and she began, in earnest, the only work that mattered to her.

Tomorrow I will begin what I hope will be my last meeting ever with the California state bar examiners. After two long days, the third day is a test as much of my endurance as it is of my legal knowledge. This entire exam, in a sense, has been a stripping away of the inessential. No more fretting, no more wondering - nothing but me and my opportunity to show just how much I want it.

One day more.

Earthquake

Yikes.

One hour ago, LA had a 5.4 magnitude earthquake. No reports of major injury or damage have been reported as of yet, but it hit at 11:42am, i.e., during the third essay. The Captain and I are lucky to be in Oakland which is far, far away from LA, but our pal the Mad Dog is in LA and he's kinda jumpy overall. So we're feeling for our SoCal bar applicants today. Send them good thoughts - they need them more than the rest of us.

Jesus, take the wheel

And that's all I really have to say about that.

See you on the other side.

Live-blogging the Captain's arrival

3:52PM PDT: The Captain finally - after two failed attempts where he actually got on planes and then had to get off - got a flight out of New York. According to delta.com, he's supposed to arrive in Salt Lake by 8:30PM MDT. Keep your fingers crossed that that happens because the last flight out of Salt Lake to Oakland is at 9:15PM MDT. One nice thing about delta.com is that they have a nifty flight tracker where you can see where the flight is along a map. Right now, he's somewhere above the Great Lakes.

As for me, I've been in Oakland nearly four hours but I have yet to do any studying. I have instead, among other things, watched a good portion of the late Prof. Pausch's "Last Lecture." (If you haven't seen it yet, it is worth a look. It's a bit long, so to fellow bar applicants I recommend watching it in portions.) As I watch it, I can't help but feel enormous, vicarious pride because Prof. Pausch also graduated from Brown and he seems never to have given up the fearless creativity and courage that so defined my undergraduate education. That inspires me. Even though creativity should not be on my agenda at the moment, I'm still excited for what lies beyond the next four days. There is a world of possibility out there and I cannot wait to be reacquainted with it.

In the meantime, time to start taking care of "the matter at hand."

6:29PM PDT: Delta Flight 141 is flying over Wyoming, which borders Utah. I just checked the weather forecast, however, and there are rainstorms over Salt Lake so don't get your hopes up. As for me, I'm still tired and cranky.

7:35PM PDT: He's touched down in Salt Lake! Even better, he was seated in business class so he got to have dinner. That's good because there's not much for food at the motel. Small victories.

8:29PM PDT: His flight from Salt Lake has taken off! Cautious optimism, people. As an illustrative analogy: it's the top of the eighth at Fenway and the Sox are up 9-2. Xavier Nady just hit into a double play. But are we going to call it a game? NO.

8:45PM PDT: Top of the ninth, Timlin on the mound. Now we can call it a game.

10:15PM PDT: LANDED!!! He will be arriving to the motel shortly. Thank goodness. And good night.

Mnfsouyre - UPDATED, again!

It is 5:11am. I am at my gate at Logan and already people are yakking away on their cellphones. At FIVE IN THE MORNING. What could people possibly have to talk about at five in the morning? Even with the 24 hour news cycle, it's Sunday. There aren't any markets open, anywhere.

(As you can see, I am thrilled to be up at this hour on my way to the bar. My flight doesn't even board for another hour and a half. Usually I'd blame the Captain and how he's inherited his father's 'Get to the airport eight hours in advance' gene, but this time I can't lay the blame on genetics. No, I lay the blame on a cab company that actually showed up when we called them, a highway completely free of traffic, a checked bag that came in just under the weight limit, and a security check that I'm not sure even happened it was so fast. Who knew.)

And so begins the end. When I got up this morning I looked at my BarBri books and thought, "How weird it will be to come home and throw all these out." Because everyday for the last three, arguably four, years has led up to this. Three years, $140,000, the same five pounds gained and lost and gained (and hopefully lost) again - it's all led up to this exam.

Bring it.

UPDATE: And we're off to a fantastic start. After I spilled Dunkin' Donuts all down my front I went to the bathroom to try to mitigate the damages. Now I have a huge wet spot in the middle of my chest. That's cool.

UPDATED, AGAIN! I am in Oakland! But the Captain is not. We didn't get the same flight out here because of logistical reasons, and somehow my flight made it out of Boston just fine but his had some trouble. So he missed his connection when he got to New York, and there he is still even after numerous attempts to get him to California. We're hoping he'll make it to Oakland by this evening, but even if he doesn't, there's still all day tomorrow. It's a big cramp in the studying, but snafus such as this are why we planned to get here two days in advance, anyway.

Nice to see things are going to plan.

Long good-bye

Another long day of studying done. Check.

As I march inexorably, if reluctantly, towards July 29, I'm starting to notice that the BAR is not the only thing on my mind. Which is probably a good, even healthy thing. But the other things which occupy my mind aren't necessarily happy in and of themselves. Which leads to a lot of sublimated tension, anger, and anxiety. If you're wondering whether that means the Captain got another stressed out phone call today, the answer is yes.

Today I said good-bye to my friend the Elite Racer, one of my few remaining friends from my 1L section. She and her wife are taking off on their bar trip before I return from California, so today was the last time I'll get to see her for a while. She's staying in Boston, but I am not, and even though several of my friends already have moved away, today was another reminder that my time here is almost up.

Boston is my home. It didn't start out that way but it has, undeniably, become my home. Despite my aversion to driving and my failure to find a church, I still managed to carve out
an easy, familiar existence in this city of locals. The day after I graduated from law school, for instance, I stepped into one of my neighborhood cafes for breakfast. Even though I hadn't been there in months, the owner still recognized me, said hello, and then congratulated me on my graduation. I was astonished. He explained he had a friend in my class so he had attended the ceremony on her account, but once he was there he recognized me as one of his regular customers. We chatted for a bit more, but all the while I kept thinking, "Huh. I really do spend too much money in this place."

At least it was worth it. Which is pretty much all there needs to be said about law school, too. I recently recalled that I turned down a hefty scholarship to a school in Los Angeles because I couldn't imagine myself ever moving to southern California. (And because the Dean sent me a letter extolling the conservative, evangelical values of the school. That was the real deal-breaker, but the bit about not anticipating a move to Cali makes for a better story.) At any rate, southern California is exactly where I'm headed, three years and $140,000 in debt later.

For certain, law school made me cry a lot and doubt myself and wonder if I ever would be confident in my abilities again, but still I regret nothing. I met the Captain, I made extraordinary friends, and I found that I was capable of clawing my way out of all sorts of despair.[FN1] There is value in that, and perhaps that is why I am so loathe to leave this town. This is the town where I discovered that growth still occurs, even in your mid- to late twenties, and, lo, how beautiful that new perspective can be.

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FN1. At this point I acknowledge that I exaggerate. Anyone who has lined up a cushy firm job in San Diego is, by rights, not a failure. But having made it this far by working, working, always working for perfection, I find the mindset tough to break.

Progress

No, not in the bar exam sense, but in the recovery of my identity sense.

As some of you recall, somebody stole my identity and caused me great vexation. In April, the IRS told me I'd get my tax refund by June. In June, they told me they needed authentication from me, even though I'd already sent that authentication in April. Seeing that the IRS was not going to help me unless I helped myself, I declared Wednesdays to be "Call the IRS Day." (And after the bar, EVERY EFFING DAY WILL BE 'CALL THE IRS DAY.')

Anyway, it is July 23, and I now have a caseworker to follow up with. I hadn't been able to follow up with her before because she hadn't been assigned to the case until last Friday.

Whatever. She and I are going to be good friends.

I shall not be moved

My senior year of high school, I was a peer group leader. Why I tried out for an activity usually reserved for the professionally popular (jocks, cheerleaders - i.e., NON-orchestra geeks) I don't know. But somehow I made the roster and found myself on a weekend training retreat somewhere in the woods of New Jersey. With the professionally popular.

One of our workshops was designed to show us how positive reinforcement can yield different results from negative reinforcement. (We were about to be trusted with fourteen year-olds - the school didn't want us making them cry.) The workshop leaders lay down a line of masking tape along the length of a room, and everyone else took a seat along the line, except for two volunteers. The volunteers took turns donning blindfolds and walking down the room, while trying to keep as close to the line on the floor as possible. For the first guy, everyone shouted words of encouragement, no matter if he was actually on the line or veering off into oblivion. For the second guy, the group shouted insults and words of...well, let's just say frustration.

As you probably have figured out, I was one of those brilliant, blindfolded volunteers. And as you also probably have figured out, I volunteered to be insulted. By the professionally popular. But even though I knew I was going to be insulted and that nobody actually meant all the horrible things they shouted at me, I still remember being confused and hurt as I walked down the room. But I also remember a tiny, tiny laser beam pointing me in the right direction, and an even tinier voice telling me to ignore the very loud yelling. And so I walked.

When I reached the end of the line, I took off my blindfold and was told that I had just beaten the positively reinforced volunteer by eleven steps (out of a total of thirteen). So not only did I totally frustrate the workshop, I also gave a big, imaginary middle finger to the professionally popular.

I remain proud.

But I still remember how conflicted I was as I walked down the line. Every bone in my body was telling me to give in and to give up, and that's exactly what I would have liked to have done. Instead I kept on walking. It was very confusing, this internal tug-of-war.

So as the days wind down to the bar, and as I grow more and more tired and sad, I'll have to remember that tiny little voice. I shall not be moved. Read entire post...

:-(

When my sister Schmoopy was writing her honors thesis at Stanford, she sent me and her boyfriend a picture of herself wearing a very sad face. The caption read, "This is how my thesis makes me feel."

If I weren't so paranoid about privacy (yes, I recognize the cognitive dissonance of 'privacy' on a blog), I'd post a similar photo of myself. My caption would read, "This is how the bar makes me feel."

Instead, I'll just say this: today I got so sick of studying and missing the Captain that I almost got in my car. But then I hopped on the T to go to the library. Where I continued to be sad.

Strategery

Today I had the pleasure of lunching with Ms. J, something we used to do almost everyday but not since we graduated. This happens when you've been banished across the river like I was, but thankfully I am no longer in exile. (In case you are wondering, no, we did not schedule a "fun" lunch. We were breaking between the morning and afternoon sessions of yet another simulated multistate exam.)

While we were eating I mentioned to her that I admired how she, a married woman, could balance her family life and her bar life so well. The Captain and I have "broken up" until the bar so we can devote more time to studying, but Ms. J doesn't have that option. Mr. J lives with her. She acknowledged that keeping the balance was a challenge, but she reminded me that she was lucky to have a husband to support her (i.e., do the cooking) while she studied.

It got me thinking about my friends' various coping strategies. Ms. J leans on Mr. J a little more. The Captain is broken up with me six days a week. Lawyer Mom took her one year-old, kissed her husband good-bye (I imagine) and shipped off to the homeland (New Jersey) so she could study undisturbed while her mother looked after the baby. And I...I cook.

I can't help it. Last week I loaded up on packaged meals from Trader Joe's just so I wouldn't have to cook, but after I sign off here I'm headed for the kitchen where I will make Mark Bittman's chilled avocado soup. I know I said I'd try to stop grocery shopping so much, but I'm an addict.

At least it's not drugs.

[And, I'm doing just fine after the simulated multistate. I scored my answers and I'm...not distraught. It's a start.]

UPDATED: The soup was...okay. I'm not over the moon about it. Serves me right for straying from my time-only-for-prepared-foods path.

Serenity now

...insanity later. (Ah, George.)

The Captain texted me Reinhold Niehbuhr's [FN1] serenity prayer this afternoon. This after I told him 1) it is possible, after all, to have road rage on the T, 2) BC's main campus was crawling with tourists, and 3) lots of F-bombs sprinkled throughout. The Captain's point is well-taken now, nine hours after the fact, but at the time I was in a sweaty frenzy. Waiting thirty-six minutes for the T in 90F weather will do that to a person.

But the truth is, the Captain is just naturally more serene than I ever will be. (Or maybe I need to go "defend our country's freedoms" in 140F heat like he did.) I have been counting only since yesterday, but so far I have called him while very upset everyday this week. Superstar he is, he has taken everything in stride. He is a very good sport. He's even anticipated future meltdowns by taking the tried-and-true route of procuring me sweets. Holding aside the threat of an expanded midsection, I cherish his care and aspire to his equanimity.

Big hugs.

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FN1. Yes, yes, I know the authorship is recently in dispute. I read The New York Times just like you.



UPDATE: The whoopie pies arrived today. If you look closely, that's a dozen delicious pies. Plus a card that says, "Happy PMBR!" I chuckle to myself when I imagine what the Whoopie people must have thought when writing that card. Probably thought it was some cute inside joke. Would that it were.

Nuts and Bolts

Per Mrs. Priest's request, here is a summary of what the bar exam is:

The exam is held twice a year in February and July, and it is held the same week across all fifty states. This year the July administration is 7/29-31/08. The exam varies in length between two and three days, but the vast majority of states have two days of testing. The first day is six hours of multiple choice questions (100 mults in the morning, 100 in the afternoon) which cover law that is common to the majority of the fifty states. Every state gives the same exact set of multiple choice questions. The second day is essays, the number of which varies from state to state. The essays cover state-specific law. (States also vary on which they give first, the essays or the mults, but more on that later.)

California, however, has decided to throw in a third day. Day One is three hours of essays in the morning, then three hours of what they call the Performance Test in the afternoon. The performance test does not test any substantive knowledge. Rather, the PT tests your ability to follow directions. This sounds easier than it is. You're given an assignment ranging from anything to "write a memo" to "draft a will" to submit to a fictitious supervising attorney. You're also given a set of facts and fictitious law to shape your answer. This can be tricky because the fictitious law you're given is not necessarily what the law is in the real world. So you could know a real rule but be told that it's the opposite rule on the PT. On the PT, you apply the fake rule despite what you've learned in law school and despite what you've filled your head with studying for the bar. What's even trickier is that very, very few law school graduates ever have done the things asked for on the PT. I, for one, never have had to draft an affidavit or a business contract, but the PT doesn't care. If affidavits are what they want, then affidavits are what I'll give, even though I've never even seen one. To date, California is the only state in the union that has a three-hour PT. Thirty other states also have a PT, but theirs are only 90 minutes each. Massachusetts does not have a PT, and I like to remind my MA friends about that.[FN1]

Anyway, back to the schedule. CA's Day One is essays and the PT, Day Two is the multiple choice, and Day Three is essays and the PT, just like Day One. What's interesting about Day Two is that every other state in the country is ALSO giving their multiple choice exams that very same day. Why? Because some people want to take two exams at once. (People do this. Really.) They can do this if the two states they've picked 1) give two-day exams, and 2) have test schedules such that the state-specific essay days don't coincide.

Here's an example: Start in NY, where you take the NY essays on the first day and the national mults on the second day. The night of the second day, drive to MA so you can take the MA essays on the third day. (Since you've already taken the national multiple choice questions in NY, you don't have to take them again in MA.) Again, this works out only if the two states you've picked don't hold their essay days on the same day. NY and MA do not hold their essays on the same day because, well, we have lots of crazy people up in here. MA and NJ do hold their essays on the same day, however, so if you want to practice in both states, you'll have to wait until the next time the test is held to take the exam.

Oddly enough, you would think this works only when the states are contiguous, too. Nuh-uh. Ms. J has told me of a student in her class who is taking the Florida essays on Day 1 and the national mults on Day 2, then flying up to Massachusetts for the MA essays on Day 3. I suppose some people just don't want to have to study for the bar more than once.

I respect that.


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FN1. MA does have to hand-write their exams, though. CA gets to type. Thank God. Read entire post...

Attitude

Last week I had the pleasure of actually seeing some of my friends at Mr. J's (Ms. J's husband) thirtieth birthday party. It was at this party that Ms. J informed me that Massachusetts BarBri isn't nearly as supportive of her class as California BarBri is mine, and that all of the various confidence boosters that BarBri's been feeding me are completely alien to her. I was surprised. Because my BarBri class makes a regular habit of reminding us that we're competent and that's all we need to be. (In fact I anticipate only more of that tomorrow, when Prof. Honigsberg, Superstar, delivers our lecture.)

Really? I asked. No apocryphal stories of just how little competence you need to show in order to pass? No reassurances that the bar exam is not that hard, none at all?

None, Ms. J replied.

So I concluded, naturally, that the California bar exam really IS that hard, because why else would BarBri be taking the time to psych us all up?

Holy. moly.