The Iceman Cometh
Again, it's cold. People, I can't shop like this.
I like how the new McDonald's breakfast sandwich is wrapped by two griddle cakes which have the Golden Arches stamped into the tops. Adorable.
2004
December, don't come. I'm not ready for you. I'm not ready to let go of any more time, even though I am so curious about what 2005 is like. Will you give me a hint? Do you know? Is 2005 kind, fun, a good dinner companion?
Maybe it was a mistake to go reading my old blog entries so late into the night, so early into the morning. The trusty optical mouse, sometimes so much like a Ouija board triangle, temptingly led me to the entries from the summer of 2002. It was a time of immeasurable hope and fanciful living, of positivity and inspiration. And then the next two years slowly trudged along, bringing me other kinds of glorious highs and formidable lows. I look back and realize that so much has changed, and even if my life has improved, I don't know where this leaden sadness comes from.
Is it a person or a place I am longing for? I don't feel like doing it over again -- oh, that would be so much work -- and I'm glad that I'm here. But when you switch on your Palm Pilot or your Outlook or your Blackberry and look at the day's events, the technology isn't so advanced that it can remind you of a soul you used to have, or of the heart you used to wear on your sleeve. It does not play the music that made you nor does it recite the poetry that touched you. They'll show you the things you have to do. These things, this minutiae, the rocks and rubble that buried your
spirit into the quarry that is now your life.
If every morning, I could wake and be shown briefly a reel of what my life has been, so far... and remember that beauty and be able to carry it through. Just a little longer. Like November.
Cold
Come to me, run to me, do and be done with me.
Cold, cold, cold.
Don't I exist for you, don't I still live for you?
Cold, cold, cold.
Everything I possess given with tenderness,
Wrapped in a ribbon of glass.
Time it may take us, but God only knows
How I've paid for those things in the past.
Dying is easy, it's living that scares me to death.
I could be so content hearing the sound of your breath.
Cold is the color of crystal, the snowlight that falls from the heavenly skies.
Catch me and let me dive under for I want to swim in the pools of your eyes.
I want to be with you, baby.
Slip me inside of your heart.
Don't I belong to you baby, don't you know that nothing can tear us apart?
Come on now, come on now, come on now,
Telling you that I loved you right from the start.
But the more I want you, the less I get.
Ain't that just the way things are?
Winter has frozen us, let love take hold of us.
Cold, cold, cold.
Now we are shivering, blue ice is glittering.
Cold, cold, cold.
Cold is the color of crystal, the snowlight that falls from the heavenly skies.
Catch me and let me dive under, for I want to swim in the pools of your eyes.
- A. Lennox
Movie Night
Frankly, Thanksgiving generally brings me down because my family is so blase about it. I always look forward to the fancy Chinese lunch we have, because not being at home makes it so rare to have really excellent Chinese cuisine. But I mean, my dad even had some day laborers over at the house helping him finish some construction, my sister and her fiance took off pretty early, and I even had to summon Jose out to get milk tea in order to fill up some of those hours. The day seems to drag and I end up feeling bereft. That's why it is so important to me to be able to see a movie on Thanksgiving. I'll deal with the crowds. I'll deal with the pandemonium. I just want to take part in one thing that everybody else is doing.
In those down, low-traffic hours, I know I can always call on Ramon (if he's not sick or sleepy). He gamely accompanied me to see
The Incredibles and it ended up being one of the better Thanksgivings I've ever had. For all of our many ups and downs, it's always been very easy hanging out with him. I must have pointed out about 18 Bond elements in the movie to him and he knew everything that I alluded to -- which for some reason, was refreshing and therapeutic. It's nice to be with people who will humor the things you're fanatic about, and have the points of reference to understand.
Ramon and I also had quite a dialogue going about what the deal is with henchmen. Firstly, who applies to those jobs? Do you find the listing on Monster or JobTrak:
WANTED: Henchman/Technician for privately wealthy mogul in world domination industry. Some knowledge required of large-scale atomic missile construction, previous experience with hand-to-hand combat and arms a plus. Must be willing to relocate to industrial compound on remote tropical island in undisclosed location, work overtime, and lift objects greater than 30 lbs. Tight-fitting jumpsuit and transportation in futuristic monorail around island confines provided. Full benefits including health, dental, and 401K. Must be willing to die or suffer extreme injury if spy or superhero breaks in.
The other great thing about seeing a movie with Ramon is that he gets things quicker than I do, and is able to explain it to me pretty adeptly. "What does it mean if the hero on the left is terminated, or the machine on the right is terminated?" "It means that the hero destroyed the robot and then Syndrome created an upgraded version." Reminds me of the time we were watching
The Godfather -- boy, did he have a lot of crap to explain in that one.
Cookiebot
I made about 100 cookies last night, trying 3 different recipes for oatmeal cookies. What I have to conclude is that you should never stray too far from what Grandma or Betty Crocker has been baking all along. The worst recipe, very unfortunately, came from the Martha Stewart website, which surprised and disappointed me. The recipe is fine if you like cakey cookies, but who likes cakey cookies? Everybody likes the kind that are chewy and slightly crisp at the edges.
I also made some that were killer to eat but difficult to look at. Sadly, good food isn't just good food. Good food has to first be good-looking food. I guess many of us apply these same principles to people, as well.
Dozer has been clinging to me for the last 24 hours. I woke up in the middle of last night with him trouncing all over my face, paws on my cheeks and forehead. I wonder if he will be as agreeable when I stuff him into a box in about 15 minutes for the hour-long ride back to Diamond Bar.
Happy Thanksgiving, my friends.
On Joint Ventures
Karen: So what do you think? We could both go in on it.
Jose: Well, let's keep it on the back burner.
Karen: We could just let it stew.
Jose: Yeah, let's just let it simmer.
Karen: I'll just let the idea marinate for awhile.
Jose: OK, I'll sleep on it.
On Cookies
Karen: (in the kitchen) Oh noooo! These cookies are too big and fat!
Tracy: (hollering from the other room) NO SUCH THING!
Another 7 Months
I feel crummy today, as I did last night when I was sitting here dejected and licking my wounds. Actually, I think I had been wound up with hope in the last couple of weeks because of my job and because of encouraging friends. But the feeling I had after the Bar exam was that I had taken it a bit prematurely for my level of preparation. When is enough enough? A pretty defeating concept, a pretty familiar one when you go to law school.
I had gotten myself mentally stable for whatever the results were. (See post below.) But the funny thing was, once I found out, I got on the phone with a friend who also found the same fate and we proceeded to scream and cry about being dumb and stupid. That's the beauty about coping -- it doesn't exactly go off without a hitch.
My friend said, "I don't want to do this again. It's like giving birth to the same baby twice."
I said, "I want to kill myself!" to which my other friend replied, "No, that won't help, then you'll never be a lawyer."
Adversity breeds the best humor, don't you think?
Ooh-weee!
I ate by myself for lunch. I wanted it that way, even though I brought a book with me in case I felt so self-conscious that I needed to use the decoy and look terribly preoccupied. But over a light lunch of rice and chicken, the book stayed in my bag, and I stared out the window instead, thinking about all the things that I would give up just to pass the Bar exam on the first try.
I must have engaged in such deep thinking for at least a couple of minutes before realizing how unhealthy it all was. Please, I wouldn't really give up anything in what is actually a very nice life. The worst that happens is that I take it again. I don't know how many times friends have cited JFK Jr.'s multiple attempts as the law student's ultimate failing freebie. But you know, it's really quite different because what does he care, he was rich and good-looking. I'm in debt and can barely achieve good looks with dim lighting and Maybelline.
Honestly, though, even for a little layperson like me, I know that my road has been overprivileged, and it wouldn't hurt me to get off the path of least resistance at least for another 4 months. The really bad thing is how atrociously expensive it all would be the second time around. We all agree that being a lawyer is a total dog and pony show.
Maybe the coolest thing that happened today was that, while playing "Leaving On A Jet Plane" in my car, the acoustics were so great that for a moment I thought I had Peter in the passenger seat and Paul and Mary chilling in the back. We were all having one hell of a sing-along together, cruising on the 110.
Night.
Perche' tarda la luna?
La' sui monti dell'Est,
la cicogna cantò.
Ma l'april non rifiorì,
Ma la neve non sgelò.
Dal deserto al mar non odi tu mille voci sospirar:
"Principessa, scendi a me!
Tutto fiorirà, tutto splenderà!" Ah!
There in the mountains in the East,
The stork sings.
But April will not flourish again,
And the snow will not melt.
From the desert to the sea, do not listen to thousands of voices sighing,
"Princess, come down to me!
Everything will flourish, and everything will shine!" Ah!
- G. Puccini (translated by KL)
Countdown
Just a couple of days left.
I always wonder what's going on in Dozer's mind. I often feel guilty that I brought him here to LA and took him away from my parents. I know how happy he makes my parents, but having Dozer here with me is a real luxury that I always longed for in San Diego. He's very patient with me -- and Tracy -- and is usually by my side, wherever I am in the apartment. Whenever he needs to eat, he comes up by my legs and waits until I look down. Then he'll look up at me with his big brown eyes (dialated, actually, because they're green) as if to say, "Hey, whenever you've got a minute, I could use a nosh."
Today genuinely had its highs and lows, but it's not over yet. But why does it feel like I am always waiting for something to begin? Maybe that's the way we all live, and we are just prone to taking for granted the here and now.
I had some old pictures on the blog and mistakenly brought them to Ryan's attention. He said I looked like a zombie, and then proceeded to ask if I would send him some cookies. I thought for a second and then was like, "OK, sure." Now if that's not being a sport, I don't know what is.
Today's Horoscope
Like a tree shading a delicate flower from the sun, dear Taurus, you may find that you are holding your arms so that you can protect and shelter a certain part of yourself from others. This special spot in your soul that you hide from others is probably the most beautiful, since you protect it and groom it so well. Don't give up this piece of yourself easily. Make sure you save this pristine, delicate place for someone who is most deserving.
Today's Notes, So Far
Made myself bacon, eggs, Texas toast, and coffee for breakfast.
Took some zinc, waiting for it to kick in.
Read a little bit about life in the 1940's.
Thought about going to a Clippers game; signed up instead for a fashion show.
Felt a little blue.
Sought a little guidance from JAL.
Put on my new jacket and went on my way.
Photo of the Week
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Stella and I, singing a song that we started 10 years ago.
Boardwalk 11, Los Angeles, by Ramon
Up With the Breeze
There's nothing better than a Sunday morning in LA. Parking everywhere, traffic nowhere. Optimal customer service because there is no wait, no crowds, no crankiness. And the freedom to zip around the West Side with the sun beaming through the windows.
Everybody gets excited about Thanksgiving for different reasons. Some people are big fans of turkey; others of stuffing; and some relish the array of autumn desserts, with their flaky crusts and velvety pumpkin fillings. For me, it's all about turkey gravy. I'll have it with everything and it can last me many meals past the main event. Hopefully, the promise of turkey gravy this year will dull whatever pain Bar results may bring.
My goal for today is to not engage in any conversations that last past 2 minutes. I've had my head talked off this whole weekend and I think if I have to endure feigning interest just one second longer, it will literally burst off of my neck in all bloody impatience. I love people, I really do, but sometimes, can't we just sit here together and be quiet. Thanks.
P.S. to Portland
It wasn't just bad wine and good vodka. It was also genuine appreciation for a group of people who were refreshingly laid-back and didn't cringe when I sang. Sophomoric humor, excessive cussing, and free-flowing drinks actually go a long way with a girl like me. I'm not always all up in the opera and couture.
No One Sleeps!
Enough blogging from the self-proclaimed Blogger retiree. But I'm bored out of my mind here in the Bar, and also can't resist saying something glittering about Turandot. The whole experience just elicited so much pure, unadulerated joy from a place that I seldom remember exists. No one will possess me! cries Princess Turandot. Empowerment for women everywhere, until a single passionate kiss from Calaf knocks her into the throes of marriage and eternal commitment.
It was just ethereal and I promised myself not to be far from the opera again. There were points when the swell of the music in its full orchestral bloom literally brought me to tears. Puccini came way before P.Diddy with sampling because the score borrowed from a traditional Chinese song about a jasmine flower, and the effect of the notes against Italian libretto was moving and meaningful.
Princess Turandot had three enigmas for all who dared to marry her:
- What is born each night and dies each dawn? ... Hope!
- What flickers red and warm like a flame, yet is not fire? ... Blood!
- What is like ice but burns? ... Turandot!
The lead was sung by a Chinese man, which really impressed my mom. His "Nessun Dorma" was easily the showstopper. Now, if only there weren't so many rude Chinese patrons in the audience with their horrible side conversations and inability to suppress bodily noises, it would have made a perfect evening.
I hated to miss Jose's monthly white trash karaoke night at the Rio, but sometimes, you can't win it all. I'm disappointed missing Jose singing Rick Astley's "Never Gonna Give You Up."
San Francisco: The Epilogue
I applaud myself that it was one of the best-timed things I have ever done in my life -- to get off of a plane from LA and walk directly to meet up with friends off of a plane from Portland, just a few gates over. If I could have drawn it on a map, it would have been even more perfect -- to draw tiny little planes, and then the curvy lines with one going from Portland and one going from LA just to meet simultaneously in Oakland. OK, I'm getting carried away.
But I think the symmetry ended right there because the friends were four tall white guys and there I was, feeling more Asian, female, and petite than I usually do. Of course, those 3 characteristics are simply what I am, but my imagination generally convinces me that I inhabit all kinds of personalities. These guys didn't exactly want to talk about Manolos and the upcoming Neiman's First Call sale, so I felt a little underwhelmed in the conversation department. But I made a few compulsory jokes about getting drunk quickly and changing into something sluttier, and the tension quickly subsided.
So what does a girl need for a good Friday night with strangers in a foreign town? You get some cheap red wine, the kind that is sold in a jug and is passable, at best, as swill; you fill up your cup and never look back; and you call in your law school friend who'll be backup. I don't remember eating much over the weekend or being able to hold food down. I remember drinking bad wine and good vodka. I remember trying to dance uninhibitedly on tables in spite of my friend's apparent embarrassment. I remember the satisfaction of being a girl and being able to flounce down the street in heels. I remember seeing a Prius on the road and flashing a smile at the driver for his fine ecological consciousness. I remember cute guys, personable company, and wanting to take pictures to memorialize it all. Sometimes, it is so simple to have a good night.
Saturday brought all the best that San Francisco had to offer. Anticipating a hangover that never came, I asked Duke to take me someplace where I could have a bowl of pho. We ended up at a very clean joint named Chik-N-Doodle Do or something. I would expect nothing less harmonious from my fellow Asians. The afternoon brought on all kinds of lovely stimuli... the heady aroma of espresso roast when we were in the Italian district... the sting of the San Francisco wind on my skin as we waited for mass transit... and even the saltiness of the air when we took pictures by the Golden Gate bridge. There was the easiness of old friends and lively conversation, and flippant jokes that made me laugh so much I felt it viscerally.
And then I had to contend with fucking mass transit again. The peculiar paranoia of being amidst teenagers dressed in suspiciously baggy clothing, the disorientation of not being alert enough to understand whatever was being muttered on the intercom. Acting like a Republican princess and clutching my pink calfskin Marc Jacobs territorially to myself. I would have never expected that braving the elements to get back to Berkeley to meet up with the party would only yield the reward of a McDonald's double cheeseburger. And so the Saturday night ended rather unceremoniously.
It is certainly worth mentioning that the hotel we stayed at had one of the most novel approaches to customer service that I had ever encountered, and I've stayed at some pits. When I asked for an extra towel (singular), the concierge deadpanned that I should go buy one at Walgreen's at the corner. When I asked for an extra pillow (just one would be
fine), I was told that I could possibly get one in the morning. Oh, sure, bitch, hand it to me as I'm checking the hell out!
The thing with goodbyes is that they are either the most heartwrenching or the most insipid things ever. I always remember the time I was with Jose at Heathrow and, after running through all hell in London so we could make our planes, we sort of gave each other a high-five and headed our separate ways. Maybe I'll remember Sunday morning in San Francisco the same way. Kind of staring at each other and shrugging a goodbye. We all wished each other safe flights. See you at the next good party.
And then it was back to the city. I remember taking a note during brunch that chervil in a Hollandaise sauce was pretty damn effective. I remember appreciating my coffee if only because I liked the white cup it was served in. I remember telling stories with gusto. I remember marveling at the paper screen doors in Pete's room, the crisp sheets, and the abundance of towels
and pillows. I remember the kindness of old friends and new alike.
Back home, I retold it all half-awake, half-alive. I remembered the characters of my weekend as if they were part of some grand comic strip. And, like the mystery man on the train, I wondered when I would see them again.
Nine
When do things stop mattering?
Both Sides Now
Notes on a Sunday night...
- If you listen to enough songs, whatever it is will go away.
- Sometimes, you really do have to take the plastic cover off of your small electronics. Even if it's uncalled for teasing that hastens the move.
- Fatigue is bad for you, but it's worse on your friends.
- There's comfort in knowing that it's simply too late to ruin your life -- and that you can only potentially ruin a night of rest.
The trip to San Francisco went swimmingly. My signature deja vu move is always being alone on a train en route to the unexpected, even when this same scene invariably plays out the same way. There was a Mystery Man On the Train. He had on a pale green striped shirt whose collar peeked out of his darker green cashmere sweater, which was well-fitted. He had on brown slacks and brown shoes, with curly brown hair and a southern European profile. His shoes were well-polished and there was a furrow in his brow as he read the New York Times. He looked totally unaffected and preoccupied. I admired his outfit and wondered where he was from, and where he was going.
On the 45-minute flight home, I looked out the window the whole time, across the sheets of billowy white clouds so artfully suspended in the clear California air. And then, in one of those unplanned but well-timed moments that life sometimes has to offer, my iPod played a song that I found very fitting if I imagined that a soundtrack always played in the background of my life.
Rows and flows of angel hair
And ice cream castles in the air,
And feather canyons everywhere.
I've looked at clouds that way.
But now they only block the sun.
They rain and snow on everyone.
So many things I would have done
But clouds got in my way.
I've looked at clouds from both sides now,
From up and down
And still somehow it's cloud illusions I recall.
I really don't know clouds at all.
Moons and Junes and ferris wheels,
The dizzy dancing way you feel
As every fairy tale comes real.
I've looked at love that way.
But now it's just another show.
You leave 'em laughing when you go.
And if you care, don't let them know.
Don't give yourself away.
I've looked at love from both sides now.
From give and take
And still somehow it's love's illusions I recall.
I really don't know love at all.
Tears and fears and feeling proud
To say, "I love you" right out loud,
Dreams and schemes and circus crowds --
I've looked at life that way.
But now old friends are acting strange.
They shake their heads, they say I've changed.
Well something's lost, but something's gained
In living every day.
I've looked at life from both sides now.
From win and lose,
And still somehow it's life's illusions I recall.
I really don't know life at all.
- J. Mitchell
