Happy Birthday, Cirrus!
We're having a Persian birthday celebration tonight for the girl from Maryland, Ms. Cirrus Alpert. We're going to Bandar in downtown San Diego. Afterward, drinks at the Onyx Room.
You know what, I have nothing to say.
Olympic Blues
I was cranky all day. Eve cheered me up, and Po was very understanding. She appreciated me giving her fair warning around 10:45 AM. When I finally got back to school I had a killer nap that corrected every pisser the day (or my head) was offering. I had a dream last night that Dozer was a snake. He was very cute, though, affectionate and slithering everywhere in my old house, 2068. Again, I was at the old house and wielding defensive weaponry. Last night, it was machine guns. God, I shouldn't say so much on public space, even if there are only 3 of you who read this.
Today, as I was driving home from school, I entertained delusions of grandeur. I thought about what a sad genius I am and how tortured I feel living in layman's space, having my wits dulled by their lackluster jokes, limited intellect, mundane perceptions of a world too beautiful for them. I felt so alone, suffocating in their mediocrity. It was a very empowering moment until I flipped the sun visor down and caught my reflection. Such a bad hair day. All the delusions dissipated into the crisp San Diego breeze and I returned to my normal, underachieving, please-talk-slowly self.
I didn't know what was making me so blue today. In my lawyering skills class Eve leaned over and whispered, "What's wrong, hon? Is it skating?"
And I realized that it was. 3 people pissed me off today, on separate occasions, having said something totally visionless about Michelle Kwan. I dismissed all 3 of these people but their cruelty stayed with me. Somebody else said, "It's OK that Canada beat us in hockey. At least the Russians didn't win." I was appalled. The Cold War is over, everybody. Please put Rocky IV back on the shelf.
Earlier this evening I missed places I had been, things I had seen, people I had been with. It was surreal.
Oh yeah, I've got the blues. Olympic-sized Olympic blues.
Late Night Starvation
I could really use a cheeseburger right about now.
Here is today's secret: I danced all over my room to all sorts of music for a good 30 minutes tonight. It was so liberating!
The new phrase I will overuse on everybody: "Sure, sign me up. Can Dozer go?"
Leaving Las Vegas
... was a good and fun experience. When it was my turn to drive, I got the stretch of the trip where the sun was blazing directly into my line of sight, which no visor could fend. 6 hours later, my eyes are still sore.
The whole weekend was out of control, filled with raucous debauchery. My luck at blackjack was nonexistent but I learned to play pai gow poker with the help of 6 men I met at the table. I first mistook the table for blackjack, and being drunk, I announced, "Oh! I thought this was blackjack. Forget it!" They persuaded me to stay -- they said they needed a lady's luck. I said, "One hand, and if I lose, I'm outta here. I'm not even gonna sit down." I stayed for 3 hours. I did sit down.
Memorable lines:
"OK, counter-clockwise... clockwise... now criss-cross!"
"Is that a real grass skirt?"
"Is that his wife?"
"You're just like a puppet."
"Girls gone wild!"
"Whatever happens in Las Vegas,
stays in Las Vegas!"
"Dude, those are big-ass sunglasses."
"Make a steeple..."
"Look, it's just a preview of Cirque du Soleil -- O, everybody!"
"How many pairs of perfect tits can we see?"
"I hope you have a pile-of-shit hand. Pai gow!"
"It's Canal Thalia!"
"OK, OK, coal mine mouth!"
"I love you guys... thanks... thanks... I love you guys... bye... awww...awww... awww..."
"So what's Calico like?"
"Your food smells armpitty."
We ate at Hotel San Remo more times than we should have. The Island Buffet at Tropicana features a pasta bar with many possibilities. Same thing with the mirror on the ceiling over the king-sized bed in the Tropicana suite. Rumjungle is a fantastic spectacle more than it is an accessible bar. A chocolate cake shot really does taste like it. The Cheeseburger Stand at the Aladdin maintains a lot of false advertising. Baker, with the World's Largest Thermometer, is a veritable hole. 99.5 is the only radio station between Las Vegas and Barstow.
I'm glad I didn't miss the closing ceremonies of the Olympics. The Italian part was particularly appealing to me, and I was so pleased to see Elisa and Irene Grandi perform. I was very moved by the whole thing. I read a scathing article on Michelle Kwan online opining that she has a very sketchy future following these Games, basically saying she's too old to continue and she's always buckled when it mattered. The press has been continuously harsh and has been both a boon and detriment to her career. I'm trying to redirect this negative energy, this depression, into studying more. I just need to get obsessed over something else.
See you in Torino, 2006!
Olympic Post-Show Commentary, Last Day
I was very depressed last night about Michelle Kwan's bronze and was quite certain it was directly correlated to me dyeing my hair. Around 3:00 PM I still had my blondish, "gold" color, and after a box of Feria at 5:00 PM I had a brownish, "bronze" color. So much for telling others not to dabble in the Occult when through voodoo intervention I dyed the color of Michelle's medal. I'm sorry, Michelle, but when I went out last night to Ole Madrid in downtown San Diego, I talked to so many people who were sad about the upset. Joe told me he decided to come out just because the whole thing was bringing him down so much. I gave him a hug and told him we would see therapists on Monday.
This, for me, should be sadder than when Kim Zmeskal did not win in 1992. But I'm mature now and able to handle this. Plus, my most profound concern is hoping that Michelle is not disappointed in herself and knows that she is still regarded as perhaps the greatest figure skater of all time.
I had a fabulous time at Ole Madrid last night, notwithstanding the circumtances. I talked a bit to Stefan and spent some good, quality time with Lindsay, her sister, and their friend Nicole.
It's Vegas weekend, at last!
Olympic Post-Show Commentary, Day Blah
The title is inaccurate. I'm commenting on the programming I saw last night and have not yet seen tonight's. It's worth mentioning that Michelle skated brilliantly. Scott Hamilton's call on the triple flip was a bit ambitious -- the "takeoff" was not that big of a deal and she still got 5.9s and 5.8s for technical merit from some of the judges. She was cute in a subsequent interview, "5-4 split for first place... we've been seeing a lot of those! [giggle]" referring to the fiasco in pairs'.
Today is a good day. There is no specific reason for it, just one of those days when the stress is minimal and the weather is excellent. I'm pleased with myself even if I may gag at my hair color and despite a too-heavy In N' Out lunch, I don't feel like a heifer. San Diego is good for one's nerves even if it's hopelessly boring. I play Jagged Edge featuring Nelly's "Where Da Party At" on the way home from school because it is the perfect cooldown after a day of legal education. "Girls is on the way, where da Bacardi at?" Aptly put.
I love abercrombie jeans! That's the kid's store, not the big Abercrombie & Fitch.
LA Story
"Worlds collided" today as I met up with some San Diego friends and family in Los Angeles. We ate at Fu Rai Bo on Sawtelle and then met up with some Diamond Bar/UCLA homies at Al Gelato on Robertson. I was sitting in the middle of the table, happy as a lark, and it reminded me of my birthday in 1999, after the Chinese culture show, when my UCLA and Diamond Bar friends were all with me at New Japan. I just love those extraordinary circumstances when you can have your cake and eat it, too -- when I can have friends from different crowds all around me. However, it does lend to awkwardness when those people don't know quite what to make of each other. Nothing critical, just the improbability of being miraculously bridged together by the mutual friend. Anyway, I love my friends and family, individually and as a group.
Fu Rai Bo was a nice surprise. Many Japanese favorites a la carte, at prices reasonable enough for you to have a small smorgasbord. I had cappuccino and pineapple flavored gelato, respectively, at Al Gelato. I haven't been that upbeat for awhile and it was completely because I was excited to be in LA again. It almost felt like I never left.
There were 3 Mikes in our party. "Karen, this is Mike, Mike, and Mike."
Skippy is quite the unsung character on "Family Ties." He's a lot funnier than people give him credit for.
Legal Soiree
That's what Jose termed the little party I threw last night, here on Asher Street in Bay Park. Not as fancy as martinis and hor d'oevres, and not as casual as beer and snacks; we were right in between with wine and appetizers. We played Dirty Minds, Taboo, and Trivial Pursuit, which is no easy feat considering law students are all very competitive and contentious and tend to analyze everything. Everybody was very receptive to some fried wontons I prepared on a whim. I love cooking and entertaining. I don't really mind the cleaning part much, unless it's red wine spilled on the white carpet, which at 3:00 AM I was on hands and knees trying to get out with a sponge soaked in Woolite.
Finally, justice for the Canadians as Jamie Sale and David Pelletier get to share the gold medal. I think it's as good a solution as any, one which did not occur to me. In such a situation, nothing was going to be resolved properly. The Russians now feel like their victory was illegitimate and the Canadians never reaped in the full gratification of a crowning Olympic moment. It's like they say, it's a win that will go down in history books with an asterisk. But I like seeing the Canadian pair beaming in all the pictures, rather than stoic or having their faces buried in their hands.
I'm very glad for Alexei Yagudin's gold medal win, and I hope the judges are that gracious with Michelle Kwan's marks later this week.
One Day Early
I'm a very lucky girl, and today I received enough surprises to last me until next Valentine's. I had dinner at Dick's Last Resort in downtown San Diego, which is a place where their main gimmick is treating you rudely. Since you know they are clearly going out of their way to shock you, I think you just end up dismissing it. I went to a very cool car show and oohed and ahhed over all sorts of new models and makes for 2002. I received orange leather loafers from Tod's in Italy in the mail. I had an early Valentine's card, and another letter. All of this was unexpected.
I feel very calm right now. It's nice not to feel nervous, or blue, or lonely.
I'm glad that people in this figure skating controversy are fessing up. There is a reason why I rambled on and on in that previous entry.
Olympic Post-Show Commentary, Day Three
Today I witnessed one of the most disheartening Olympic moments ever. I hate what these Games do to me. I've had heartbreak in every one of the Olympics I've watched now:
1988 - I desperately wanted Debi Thomas's Carmen to bitch slap a gold over Katarina Witt's.
1992 - I was bummed that Kim Zmeskal couldn't boogie out an all-around gold after coming in as the World Champion.
1994 - I wanted figure skating's battered princess Nancy Kerrigan to spin gold when Oksana Baiul two-footed a triple toe loop.
1996 - I wanted the Romanian American dynamo Dominique Moceanu to charm her way into a medal.
1998 - I was appalled that a disgusting little elf named Tara Lipinski had the luckiest day of her life when one judge stole Michelle Kwan's gold medal and tossed it into her grubby, greedy little hands.
2000 - I sullenly watched the American women's gymnastics team make a dismal and forgettable showing after being the defending champions.
And today, in 2002, I watched how politicized and biased figure skating judging really is. Referring to
Commentary, Day One, below, I raved about Berezhnaya and Sikharulidze, and I slammed Sale and Pelletier. Tonight, it was totally irritating and embarassing to witness the NBC commentators' partisanship towards the Canadian team. The history here is that the Russian pairs have dominated the sport for the past 10 Olympics and coming in as the World Champions, the Canadian pair was set to break that streak. While the Russians were up, Sandra Bezic and Scott Hamilton were unabashed in criticizing and exaggerating every possible mistake they could have made. But to some extent, they were right. As breathtaking as their chemistry is, Sikharulidze flubbed a double axel and there was a bit of a frenetic quality to their usually agile, fluid movements. When the scores showed a slew of 5.7s, the Canadians stepped onto the ice with a lot of positive energy and hope. I didn't like them on Saturday. But today, I was enthralled. Every jump was perfect, every throw landed so artfully that it was soft and silent. There was drama, athleticism, precision, and grace -- it was all there. Sometimes I felt like my heart stopped. You have to remember, I didn't like this pair. When it was over, every person in the arena was on his or her feet. Sale and Pelletier cried with the immense gratification of every struggle being redeemed in 4 1/2 minutes. All that accomplished, and not a hair was out of place and not one drop of sweat. They made the moment.
And then 5 of the 4 judges put them second. On what basis? That they came into the competition in second place? Tara Lipinski did that in 1998. Oksana Baiul did that in 1994. Both went on to win gold medals. Sikharulidze had deductible technical errors that in all fairness should have put the team behind several of the contenders. But, alas, the winners are chosen by the judges before anybody even steps on the ice.
I felt really awful for Sale and Pelletier, as their heartbreak was being photographed and presented to Olympic fans all over. It was such a private and public moment, all at once. I felt really cheated to be a fan of the sport, because what's the damn point? It's all someone else's game.
And I'm really worried for Michelle Kwan. They did this to her before and she smiled and emerged as a noble queen. But that's not the crown she's here for.
So yeah, if anybody who read this (the few of you who read this), followed it and cared, I've got it all on tape.
Reasonable Suspicion
From the moment that I decided to alienate myself from the world, I've been enjoying a lot of emotional ups and downs. I'll go from a lot of self-love to a lot of self-hate, in a matter of minutes. Sometimes all it takes is a little bit of preening to make me feel better, or a few bites of food to make me feel like an unmotivated slouch.
It's hard being lonely, even if it's a choice I made. I just don't think I'm very good with people.
I'm going to have some coffee or mango now.
Let the Games Begin
Jose and I were so hopelessly bored today that we both called each other 4 times -- that's 8 conversations, total. In conversation #5 we were both a bit unnerved by Patti LaBelle's rendition of "The Star-Spangled Banner" at the NBA All-Star Game. Jose said he covered his ears; I later told him I'd download it and burn it on a CD to present him for his birthday. I think Ms. LaBelle felt a hefty obligation to impress everyone and, redefined "giving it your all" as "wailing like a bloated cat having the life squeezed out of it."
Conversation #7 was online and Jose expressed dismay that the Winter Olympics were turning into the X-Games. I got angry at him for not explaining to me what they were; I had a vague idea it was related to ESPN and all things fast and jazzy. In conversation #8 I warned Jose not to give me any more his prophecies about who would take home gold medals this year. Of course, I was referring to the ladies' figure skating competition. In '98 he predicted the unsettling occurrence that Tara Lipinski would win, which of course, nobody expected -- and when that happened, I blamed it wholly on Jose. I can't remember what he messed up for me in '92 and '00 but I do remember in '96 he paged me in alphanumerics that the American gymnastics team won the gold, before I got to see it myself. Today I told him very firmly, "You are not giving me any of your lame-ass prophecies this year. This is our fourth Olympics together and you are not ruining it for me." There was a quick pause, and then he conceded, "Fine, I won't dabble in the Occult."
We laughed for a little while after that.
Out and About
I am spoiled, overprivileged, and supremely bratty. I miss my parents and my cat.
I realized that I treat each individual friend the way that they treat me. To some, I am upbeat, warm, and caring; to others, I am listless, dull, and nonchalant; and to another group I am loud, wacky, and uninhibited. Please, do not classify yourself within the second group because they are definitely in the minority and more likely than not it was not referring to you. Or does it? In any event, the only real determinant is how you treat me. Then you can figure this out pretty easily.
I bought hair products in the following scents: papaya, primrose, and almond. Weekday mornings now will be an olfactory extravaganza with kind of a Southeast Asian and British twist.
Olympic Post-Show Commentary, Day One
Pairs' Figure Skating, Short Program: Berezhnaya and Sikharulidze were stunning. Perfect, precise, and they absolutely set the standard for all the pairs to follow. The Canadians were ridiculous. There's all this hullabaloo for Sale and Pelletier to break the 10-Olympic Russian domination, but you can't do it when your program is silly and you drop your partner on the final pose. The Chinese couple almost made Scott Hamilton lose another testicle with the height on their throw triple loop.
Ladies' Mogul: Tae Satoya, the little Japanese girl who won gold in Nagano, is adorable -- the kind of girl you'd find on Third Street Promenade paying a lot of money for a Benetton sweater. I love the helicopter things they do off the ramps, which reminds me of a game Ramon and I used to play on his PS2. Jose and I couldn't understand the Cirque du Soleil setup for the medal ceremony.
Bob Costas: Corniest Man in America, and during Olympic season, the World. On the Cirque du Soleil thing: "If they do this for every ceremony, we'll have to go straight to Athens when this is all over." On last night's opening ceremony: "It's 20 degrees here but the goosebumps are for another reason."
Blogger virgin no more, and on this first day I've done it four times. I wish I was that enthusiastic about other first-time endeavors. I'm off to Po's now for some late night junk food snacking and girl talk. On the road to being a Golden Girl!
Nausea
Only 3 hours later, I find myself totally incapacitated by a sudden spell of nausea. Was it the Pick-Up Stix that was to last me for the weekend? Is this my body's way of telling me that we will not eat Americanized Chinese, only the real deal? Was it because I had a leftover mocha with 1% milk? Is this my body's way of telling me that we will only tolerate nonfat? Was it because I splashed on Dolce e Gabbana Light Blue in 3 places? Is this my body's way of telling me, hey, we need to breathe in fresh air instead of designer toxic fumes? I finally cracked the window open to let oxygen in, after weeks of incubating myself in a constantly heated room [see
Welcome To My World, below] inhaling recycled carbon dioxide.
If I don't make it through today, somebody please tell Reyna that I won't need a ride to Vegas.
Dream A Little Dream Of... Heavy Metal?
Mary and I were en route to getting boba on Sawtelle when we spotted a charming but empty bookstore/coffee house. No, it was not Borders. She found a heavy metal collector's doll, which was basically a big-ass Ken doll with voluminous and feathery hair wearing some leather get-up. I think I was mixing up my Forrest sisters here. Well, I did talk to all 3 of them yesterday.
Question of the day: join the rest of the group at Tropicana, or seek liberte' at Paris Las Vegas?
I called Jose this morning and he was hitting tennis balls against a wall. I asked him, "Where the hell are you? Why is there a horse carriage in the background?" So he neighed.
Welcome To My World
I'm trying to adapt to not always having the heater on. I'm shivering through this, which I guess is preferable to waking up with half the blanket thrown off of me and feeling like a baby chick in a industrially heated henhouse.
