Succinct Announcements for a Thursday Evening
My eyes hurt. I hate law school. My hair is very straight today. Po and I cleaned out Costco. Maybe I won't really eat 35 Gardenburgers. I am tired. I love James Bond. A few things pissed me off today. I was too wishy-washy to complain about them. My eyes hurt. I hate law school.
I'm Blue
Tammy (T.Bo) sent out a mass mail with various colors corresponding to the week of your birth. I got blue:
You have high self-esteem, and very picky. You are artistic and like to fall in love, but you let your love pass by, by loving with your mind, not your heart.
OK, I'll buy that. I think that sounds fairly accurate. Love keeps evading me because at this point my standards are totally unreasonable and impractical. But I'm just not ready yet to let go of the idea that I belong with a man exactly like James Bond.
It was nice that Bobo came back to say goodbye. Vicky reminded me of the poetic justice in all of that. I hope that everybody in my family feels the same way without me having to bring up the uncomfortable topic again.
Bubble Gum at the Gate
Yesterday was a perfect day. I didn't have a perfect attitude for all of it, but all in all it was one of those activity-filled days that brought a lot of surprises, and I was reminded of why I have a great life and do a good job of enjoying it. Friday night was the semester's first Bar Review, and I can't remember seeing as many people that I recognized as I didn't recognize. I danced with abandon with old friends, had confectionery cocktails, laughed a lot, and lost my voice the next morning. I followed a good instinct and checked my mail and found all kinds of cool deliveries. At home, my dad had brought the ghost of Bobo. It was creepy and heartwarming at the same time.
And then later that night I joined my buddies in LA at Al Gelato and then the Gate, being introduced for the first time to a delightful Bubble Gum shot by Inna, letting me worry less about the curl in my hair and the tightness of my pants. In a crazy, impromptu moment, I caught with an old friend on the corner of Wilshire and Robertson as we talked about the best way to tone down hair the color of urine. Inna reminded me that one time somebody had made blueberry ice cream for me -- I was glad to be reminded of this simple, beautiful memory.
Happy Birthday, Dr. King.
Conversation During Class
It was the first day of Constitutional Law for the spring semester. Eve and Karen sat in the last row of the lecture hall, staring blankly ahead while the professor spoke animatedly about the administrative minutiae everyone feigned interest in.
Attempting to whisper, Karen asked Eve, “Did you hear about the Rossum case?” She widened her eyes just slightly to lend weight to her words. “She was convicted for murdering her husband.” Then she got to the salient portion of the information. “She was really pretty, too!” Karen passed over the week’s issue of People to offer a visual reference.
Eve leaned more closely to look at the article, but her hand stopped briefly at the celebrity photos section. Her attention was diverted. “Gwyneth Paltrow would be able to be seen in public in that awful outfit,” she commented in disgust.
Karen poorly stifled a laugh, and nodded in agreement “Her boobs look awful.”
“I wouldn’t take my trash out in that outfit, much less be seen in it at an airport!” Eve declared with the authority of a sentencing judge.
(Just to tie the whole thing back to law school.)
Things Are Looking Up
Times like this, I feel like life is great. I guess the secret to happiness is getting a good start every morning. This can take the form of waking up at a reasonable hour, taking a good shower, having the perfect cup of coffee, having a good hair day, finding parking, wearing comfortable clothes, being on time. Imagine a morning when one or a combination of these factors do not happen. That’s the recipe for hell.
I’ve been contemplating over the last few days – what is the meaning of life? Aside from the ponderous reasons, of course. I mean, in its crudest, most simplified form, why do we get up in the mornings, and what are we interested in? What I have concluded is dull and disappointing. It’s to make money. More euphemistically, it’s to make a living, but that just translates into making money. We think up ways to make our lives meaningful, and more profitable, and that inevitably involves expense. I know nobody who is like Buddha, who can just chill on a deserted island somewhere with all the rations they’ll need, and simply exist with the lilting natural scenery and believe that it is enough just to see the sun rise and set every day. No, my typical friend would eventually yearn for a television so that they can watch just one more episode of “Friends” or “Joe Millionaire” or “TRL Live.” They would start to wonder how the “Lord of the Rings” trilogy eventually panned out; and if Maxis developed another expansion pack yet for “The Sims.” Then they would say, “I can’t eat these damned coconuts, I want a Zone bar,” or, “This water is intolerable, where is my Volvic?” Another friend would say, “The sun damage is destroying me – the first thing I’m going to do when I see land is make an appointment with my facialist and get some of this hair growth waxed.”
So then you say, well, if this friend did not know of the existence of entertainment, or gaming, or fad diets, or beauty treatments, then the yen for it would also not exist. And that is exactly the point. Our demands accumulate and accumulate, and there is now no possibility that we can truly strip ourselves of all the luxuries that are a part of normal life as we see it. You’d think that all you need to live is food, water, air, and shelter. And then after that, intangible necessities like companionship, love, and a few interests. But I know nobody, myself included, who can subsist merely with these elements. In fact, to make anybody to do so nowadays would be to unjustly deny them of their natural right to life and liberty and the pursuit of happiness – in other words, the constitutional meaning of life. I can just see the whining now.
The Best Bond Song Ever
... hauntingly private, inexplicably intimate, passionate and forceful, and truly elicits the spellbinding secrets of love.
For Your Eyes Only
For your eyes only can see me through the night.
For your eyes only, I never need to hide.
You can see so much in me, so much in me that's new.
I never felt until I looked at you.
For your eyes only,
Only for you.
You see what no one else can see
And now I'm breaking free.
For your eyes only,
Only for you.
The love I know you need in me,
The fantasy you freed in me,
Only for you,
Only for you.
For your eyes only the nights are never cold.
You really know me, that's all I need to know.
Maybe I'm an open book because I know you're mine,
But you won't need to read between the lines.
For your eyes only,
Only for you.
You see what no one else can see
And now I'm breaking free.
For your eyes only,
Only for you,
The passions that collide me,
The wild abaondon inside of me,
Only for you,
For your eyes only.
Nice San Diego
Curious, isn't it? How good Tuna Helper tastes?
I was only away for 2 weeks but when I returned I was struck again by how nice San Diegans are. When I'm at the supermarket, shoppers wheel their carts around staring straight ahead with a half-smile plastered on their lips. All merchants and shopkeepers are overly attentive to "how I am" and everyone is hellbent on me "having a great day." The clerk at the hair salon seemed genuinely sorry that I was leaving, with the slight tilt of her head and the longing look in her eyes, and a cutesy wave that seemed to say, "I totally don't know you but two months is really too long until our next visit." The owner of the secondhand furniture shop shook my hand with a little squeeze and looked me directly into the eyes as if he owed me total honesty. And I made eye contact with another driver on the road, and he automatically raised his hand to me in cheerful salute.
However, this pervasive congeniality does not seem to have touched my roommate. But my only rationale is that she is from Sacramento and probably imposes some kind of political superiority on herself just because she is from the capital city. Ach, to hell with her!
It's A Pleasure to Serve
Today really had its highs and lows, the most eventful day thus far of my vacation.
Highs:
1. The inimitable Janet Canon, seeing her sister again, and meeting her very sweet friend.
2. A fantastic manicure during my jury service lunch, just the way I like it. The manicurist's daughter gave me a Skittles.
3. Picking up some free body oil at Bath and Body Works.
4. Coming home to Dozer massaging me with his paws.
5. Complaining to Jose about the injustices of jury service: waking up before 11:00 AM, having to do your leisure reading in a strange place, being asked simple questions about your occupation and area of residence.
6. The very nice judge excusing me.
7. Being introduced to the works of Ian Fleming.
Lows:
1. Being accosted by Orange County scrubs at Sing Sing and Rock Bottom; then getting lost for 20 minutes in the parking lot.
2. Jury service and its municipal idea of efficiency -- moving at the rate of continental drift.
3. Being lost among the hopelessly misled and bored youth crowding the Puente Hills Mall.
4. Coming home and wishing your parents could get along with each other when you're not around.
5. Enduring your friends' dull, apathetic confessions, and being misunderstood by them.
6. The very mean jury service clerk telling me to "take it up with the judge."
7. Trying to reconcile Fleming's Bond with Connery's Bond -- they're not the same guy!
It's a horrible thing, to have so many people around you, to care about so many people, but feel utterly alone. Today was the first in a series of days when I felt anything at all -- after a period of stagnant listlessness -- but it was at a painful, masochistic expense. I'm not making much sense. Better not to, I guess, on something available for public consumption. But the truth of it is, today I felt that the truest words I had ever heard in my life were, "Where there is no sadness, there is no happiness."
I like the fact that I have a joyfulness about me, that I can be so young and unfettered, that I have a contagious mirth. But I'm also very troubled, almost haunted, by the fact that I often feel like I carry around a dirty secret of shamefulness, fear, and unspeakable loneliness. Last year, I remember riding this amazing high, always feeling very alive and as if life could not get any better. I don't understand where along the way that crest was clipped. I don't remember when things started sinking. I like to think that maybe they didn't -- that it's all in my head -- but I can't ignore the fact that I don't feel the same way today as I did a year ago.
Maybe I worry so much for others, and how others think of me, that I never really learned how to worry for myself. That's more than a possibility -- it's practically the gospel preached to me by all my intimate confidantes. Unfortunately, right now, it's still too early for me to adopt complete selfishness.
The Gin is Cold, But the Piano's Hot
I saw "Chicago" tonight with Vicky. The standout from that movie is definitely Renee Zellweger and John C. Reilly's voice. Surprised, aren't you? You were expecting rave reviews for Catherine Zeta-Jones and Richard Gere. Catherine Zeta-Jones is fine, but her voice is too deep from smoking so much, and she's certainly no Bebe Neuwirth. The part of Roxie Hart is much more expendable, more open for interpretation by any actress. But Bebe Neuwirth has her place with the Sean Connerys, Vivien Leighs, and Dick Yorks of the world.
Perhaps the real star of the evening was Bice Ristorante in Pasadena. The information on the back of the matchbox says that there are some other 12 locations in the world, the original one having been opened in Milan in 1926. As usual, my knowledge of the Italian language proved indispensable with another restaurant manager.
"Si, parlo un po'." (Yes, I speak a little.)
"L'ho studiato all'universita' e abbiamo dei parenti in Italia." (I studied it in college and we have some relatives in Italy.)
"Si, sono cinese... Grazie mille." (Yes, I'm Chinese... thank you very much.)
These are the only three phrases I should have ever learned in my 4 years at UCLA. They're all my abilities have been reduced to; the only reason I ever have to use the Italian language. Every conversation with every Italian restaurant waiter or manager results in a conversation like this one. So much for a job at the United Nations.
I think maybe I should start writing a book, channeling my creative talent into something, instead of just which wallpaper looks best in the Sims' house. I'm letting myself turn into a vegetable. A jaded vegetable with a bad attitude. Like a really sullen-looking carrot.
Buon Capodanno
I realize that my greatest wish has finally been granted: I have adopted the lifestyle of my cat, Dozer.
And yet, I see that it's not all that it's cracked up to be. You look forward to nothing. You don't get excited about anything. You consistently prefer sleep over food, company, and entertainment. When you hear adults' footsteps treading your way, you gear yourself for harassment. You're lethargic and the days just lapse into night.
Dozer and I lounge around, waiting to be fed, dreading the moment when John or Pam comes over barking some order to mobilize.
Happy New Year, everybody. I saw only a few friends over this holiday and was full of holiday jeers. Sorry about that.
