pseudo-sanctuary

i never promised you a rose garden

There is a wee little rose garden next to the law school where I am taking my Bar prep class. Thankfully, the powers that be at BarBri know exactly how long my attention span is - we get breaks every 50 minutes. I always find myself here. Two strips of roses separated by concrete and grates, an odd combination of urban grit and delicacy. It's my little connection with the world - I won't always have a schedule that involves 12 hours of studying, there will come a day where I'm not up to my hairline in the parol evidence rule, bona fide purchasers, and strict liability.

(yeah, okay, so I'm not doing 12 hours of studying - I should be.)

Why an evening with DTG adds years to your life and life to your years

Previous episode:

After I identified the aria* playing in the cheesy Italian chain restaurant we were in, DTG called me refined. Hilarious because (1) I called him not 15 minutes earlier and opened with, "Yo, b!tch ass...", and (2) because we were having a late dinner in order to catch Revenge of the Sith(the night it came out, thank you very much.) Neither of these things says "refined" to me. I did, however, write the word "raffiné(e)" (French) for him on the paper cloth with the provided crayons. (Yes - that kind of restaurant.)

Actual conversation last night:

Me: So are you having dinner with me?
DTG: Uh, no.
DTG: Blah blah blah (I think he was talking about his new job, but who knows?)
Me: Seriously, are we having dinner or what?
DTG: Blah blah blah. Oh, I got my first paycheck today!
Me: Oh good, so dinner is on you!
DTG: Wow, way to strong arm me! And we're not even dating!
Me: Well, according to us, at least.

Shortly thereafter, walking to dinner (I won), DTG was a little concerned because the back pocket of his pants ripped a teeny hole in his pants.

DTG: Does it look okay??
Me: It's not noticeable.
DTG: Are you sure?
Me: Yeah, looks fine.
DTG: Seriously?
Me: I don't want to look at your butt anymore!
DTG: But you kinda do.

Ah, good times...good times.


* "La Donna é Mobile" from Verdi's "The Rigoletto." Nearly everyone knows this tune - it was in a Pillsbury commercial, for crying out loud. (I think Doughboy sang about dinner rolls, or some such.)

Metro Observations...

• DC natives always start walking in the same direction as the train when it pulls into the station. I think the theory is that there are more available seats at the front of the train. I'm not really sure what it is, but I do it too. One of my friends will NOT walk with the train. Since he reports on trains - I defer to him, although it kills me.
• Kids get so excited about riding Metro. To them it's a "real train." My friend's son Caleb, train enthusiast age 4, was rendered silent by the awe and wonder of being on the Metro. - nose pressed to the glass, whispering "train" every few seconds, his words clouding the window. The absolute best Metro stop for kids: National Airport. Both trains and planes - it's nearly too much. Kids come pretty damn close to levitating. I wish I could get that excited about simple things. Maybe I do - I get a little thrill when I travel by air. It's the whole thing, leaving responsibilities and worries behind - at least for a little while. Feeling like an adult (for once, I might add.) My parents travelled with us A LOT while we were young, and I'm thankful that they did. As worrywartish as they both are, they instilled that when you're travelling as long as you have your passport, a toothbrush, and access to a source of money - you're good to go. (Apparently, I have the formula down cold, since I emailed it practically word-for-word to a friend.)
• Public transportation cultivates the cult of anonymity. Most people treat their commute as a little oasis of silence. Time to catch up on a book, read the newspaper (to the motor skill-challenged who can't do this without throwing 'bows - seriously, read The Express - it was designed for you), listening to music, or in some other way acting like you're the only person on the train. Subways compromise personal space and I think retreating into a silent bubble is a way of recreating that space. In an odd way, it's the polite thing to do.
• I love that Metro riders wait for people to exit the train before boarding. You can always tell when someone is from out of town. Recently, one woman commented to her husband and two kids, "Look! They wait for people to get off first!" Then she turned to me and said, "We're from New York." You don't say.
• Johnny Depp is SO much prettier than me

And so it begins...

I start BarBri (i.e. the Bar review tomorrow.) I have a shelf-full of materials - literally, if I started reading right now, I doubt I could read through it all by the end of July (i.e. D-day(s).) Sadly, I've been looking forward to preparing for the Bar. I've set myself a schedule and I'll be able to focus on one thing for once.

Having said that, it's not entirely accurate. In addition to taking (and PASSING) the Bar, this summer I need to sell my place, finalize and take a post-Bar trip (not that I'm complaining), and ... move. I hate, hate, hate moving. I have lived in my place for 4 years. In college, I lived in the same house for 3 years. I'm not a mover (although I am a shaker.) Luckily, the firm is paying for the move - so, hopefully, all my stuff will be magically packed and whisked away and then whisked back into place when I find new digs. Ah, elves - you gotta love them.

I'm nervous and excited about starting Bar review. The end of law school has been pretty anticlimactic. Out of the frying pan and into the fire - I'm done with law school and exams....except for the Big One. Lawyers talk about the Bar exam like veterans talk about "the War," or mothers talk about labor.

Last Issue: Full Circle

My last week or so in California was kind of a blur: lots of last-minute events, trying to spend much time as possible with people who will be going to the four corners of the earth once we stop working, etc. The last days were really an emotional rollercoaster for me: missing the people I spent all summer getting to know, and looking forward to going home and seeing my friends there.

On our last night as summers, the firm gave us a bunch of money and told us to go forth and spend it (nice, eh?) We ended up at some dive bar drinking Happy Hour specials, playing shuffleboard (!!) and the jukebox. After the smoke cleared, we still had too much money left - so we loaded up at the grocery store and settled in for a night of "The Big Lebowski" - complete with White Russians (if you've seen the movie, you know that is the Dude's drink of choice.) Big Lebowski night was fun for its spontaneity, and because it let me play one of my favorite parts - observer. Sitting back and watching people and how they interact, I realized the things I enjoy about each summer. Aaron is one of the few people I've met who "gets" my sense of humor. Whenever something strikes me as funny, I look at him, and he's already laughing and nodding. Kevin is by far the goofiest electrical engineer ever - a great combo! Stephanie is by turns naive and cynical. Maybe people are interesting because of their paradoxes (paradoci?)

My excitement about going home sky-rocketed as my last day wound down. I hit some of my favorite places in Palo Alto that night, including my current favorite restaurant, Cafe Niebaum-Coppola, and a great wine bar (Lavanda) where I was able to use one of my two Dutch phrases on the bartender. I think my favorite times with friends are when you can just wander and let the evening take you where it will. Unfortunately, with law school, I always feel like I "should" be doing something.

I spent Saturday "packing", and by packing, I mean - packing for 10 minutes, and then having to sit down for a while. The whole time, I felt like I could either burst into tears, or start jumping and down. I think it's called being "manic." I spent my last night in California at Pat's house - which is where I stayed my first night out here as well. As always, it was good to spend time with Pat. She, like no other, can read my moods from my face, from my tone of voice, etc. When I dropped off my rental car, I realized that I had no keys - very, very weird, and oddly, freeing. Kevin, who graciously gave me a ride, surmised - no keys equals no responsibilities, at least for a little while.

Flying out to SF, I flew from National (I'll never call it Reagan!) to Chicago, and on to SF. At National, across the terminal, I saw someone standing with his back to me, and I thought "that guys stands like Seth Weaver." Yeah, it was Seth Weaver. As it turns out we were on the same flight, he said hi to my mom (as usual, I was talking to my mom on my cell.) He was on his way out to Honolulu (where he worked for the summer.) Kinda funny, kinda coincidental, no biggie. On the way back, I flew the same route. Near the end of the flight from Chicago, a guy at the front of the plane stood up with his back to me, and I thought "Hey....that's Seth Weaver!" I caught up to him in the baggage claim - and it was him!! Mom came in to get me, and was able to meet him. I introduced him as "the guy you talked to on my cell when I was flying out to SF", which I knew was a lost cause since Mom can't recognize people that have lived on her street for the last 15 years.

Being home has been great. Some things never change - my father annoyed me in the first 15 minutes, during the drive home from the airport. My dad's conversational style is more like being deposed: "How many lawyers are at the firm? In total? At your office? What are the main practice areas? How may lawyers in each area?" etc. etc. At this point, I had been traveling all day, and I was very, very sleep-deprived.

In case you're wondering, Gia is as cute, if not cuter, than when I last saw her. She's still an ace at hide-and-seek, and fetch. I was too tired to bring her home from Mom and Dad's, so she's being doted on for a few more days. Driving my car (the Sinatra) was awesome! During the summer, I noticed that if I didn't drive the Aveo for a few days, when I got behind the wheel again, I would start off driving it like it was the Sinatra - expecting the same brake tension, etc. It's amazing how long your auto-pilot memory is: I drove home really without thinking. As usual, I was soaking in the lushness - Virginia is much greener than California. It's what I missed most when I was in Canada - the feeling that given half a chance, the foliage on the sides of the road would reclaim it. The night sounds here are also much louder than in CA. When I left, it was the beginning of cicada season, with it's odd extraterrestrial-landing, thrumming, sound, but the night is still cacophonous.

Getting reacquainted with my house was reassuring - everything is right where I left it, "interesting" - why did I leave a pair of scissors in the freezer???, and exploratory - what was I listening to right before I left? (As it turns out, Tom Petty.) I must say, there's nothing like showering in YOUR shower, and sleeping on YOUR purple couch (I didn't quite make it to bed.)
Being at home, and being back at school is an odd experience - in some ways, it feels like I never left, but I am a very different person. Maybe what Thomas Wolfe meant by "you can't go home again" is that when you do, it's not home that has changed, but you. As you know, this is my last travelogue, since I'm finally home. Normal email communications will now resume - so email me already!

Issue 10: Tapas

Our cooking class on Thursday took place at a partner’s house in the hills of Redwood City. And they’re not kidding when they call them hills. My ride was a little aggressive on the turns, and I was white-knuckled in the back seat. The organizers, a catering company that specializes in team-building, decided we would have a tapas party. (Cue the laughter about what that sounds like.) We all grabbed a glass of wine and then divided into groups. I was on the angel-food and strawberry brochettes (drizzled with chocolate ganache and served with crème fraiche.) Other groups made clams with pancetta, lamb samosas, coconut-crusted scallops, bruschetta, and spicy cumin dip. Very, very yummy. I miss cooking and entertaining. Yet another casualty of law school. I have a growing list of things I enjoy that I’m hoping to get back into once I have more time (ha ha.)

My family has friends out here from my dad’s days at Stanford. I went to Uncle Merritt and Auntie Anka’s house for a barbecue. (Note: not my actual aunt and uncle – ‘Indian’ aunt and uncle, meaning not related to me – but must use the title as a form of respect. I’ve been calling them that my whole life. Uncle Merritt’s nephew was there, and he, of course, didn’t use the title.) It’s interesting to talk with people who have a totally different perspective on your parents. My dad’s grad school friends make fun of his world view – it makes me feel a little better, i.e. that I’m not the only person who thinks he is crazy. I even feel like I’m getting to the point where I can find him amusing.

Uncle Merritt’s kids, Ricky and Johnny, are identical twins. I spent the evening chanting "Ricky – Red" in my head to keep them straight. (Ricky was wearing a red shirt.) Uncle David and Uncle Michael came – also identical twins. "Ricky – Red, David- Yellow." I started cracking up when I remembered that Uncle Merritt is a twin as well – his twin sister lives in Springfield, VA. So, one barbecue, 2.5 sets of twins.

The way I view old friends is largely shaped by an old photograph of my parents at their friends’, the Akiyamas’, wedding. We’re still friends with the family – I know their kids Tosh and Mas (in fact, they ended up coming to my high school.) I found that photograph while I was in high school, and I thought it was just amazing. It’s why I make such an effort to go to friends’ weddings, no matter how far. I want their kids to know me. It’s the same thing I always say – something about the friends you made at a certain critical period makes them the ones you follow through life.

My time in California is winding down, only two more weeks to go. On the one hand, I’m definitely looking forward to coming home, sleeping in my own bed, seeing my friends, and my precious Gia. To a lesser extent, I’m also excited about starting my last year of law school. I deal with the ends of things so badly… doesn’t matter how long I see it coming, doesn’t matter how excited I might be about what’s coming up. I had a similar kind of sulking fit (as many of you know) before coming out here. I’ve had mini-sulks already this summer - when a few summer associates dropped off because they were splitting their summer.

Issue 9: Santa Cruz

The Firm’s big summer trip is a weekend in Santa Cruz, a beach town an hour and a bit from San Francisco. Santa Cruz is known for surfers, fish tacos, and it’s laid-back vibe.

I drove down Friday afternoon, and I was surly by the time I got there because I hit beach traffic. Luckily, the early birds had been busy setting the mood – beers on ice, tunes, sombreros (??) everywhere. The firm rented out the whole inn, and it was utterly fitting – seashells on the windowsills, weathered wood, a big patio with lawn chairs. From the patio, walk down 8 stairs and you’re on the beach in less than 30 seconds. The beach is essentially private because it is nearly closed off by rock outcroppings on either side.

People trickled in. Rebecca and Danny taught me the proper way to drink a Tecate – lime juice, salt and Tapatio hot sauce on the tab top, pop it open and drink as much as you can. Much yummier than you’d think. (Then again, Danny bailed on kayaking the next morning by calling Rebecca on her cell because he was too sick to leave the bathroom.) By dark, nearly everyone had showed up, so we took the show to the beach and built a bonfire (legal in Santa Cruz.) If I remember correctly, upon request, I taught Tom the sun salutation yoga series. There’s nothing like doing Seven Points Pose in the sand.

Half the group went kayaking the next morning (minus a few people who were "not up to it.") We saw sea otters (so cute! the puppies of the sea), an inquisitive seal, and dolphins (I spotted them!) We had to stay at least 100 feet away from marine mammals, great in theory – but they don’t know the rules, so, for example, the seal kept trying to check us out. Either you stop paddling and stare down the seal, or you try and casually paddle away.

We all retired to the inn to nap and prepare for the big event: KARAOKE! The festivities began before dark. Wayne started us off with "The Copacabana", a bold selection. More libations. Matt can actually sing. More beverages. Mike and James, both summers, performed "Baby Got Back" – another gutsy move. More. I flipped through the song book with Kevin and ended up singing bits and pieces of practically every song in there – thereby proving the accuracy of my college roommate’s claim that my superpower is knowing the words to every bad song every recorded. More drinks. I sing "backup", i.e. I hold the microphone and try to back away as much as possible, on "All My Exes Live in Texas", and "Material Girl" (Kevin’s eventual selection.) We all sang "Imagine" – as cheesy as it sounds, it was a really touching moment for me. I love that song, and it made me feel close to everyone there. More drinky-poos. And big karaoke finale (which I participated in) – BOHEMIAN RHAPSODY!

I woke up early the next morning and had the beach all to myself. I spent some time with my journal and reflected on what the summer has meant to me. It’s been one of the best summers of my life, and also one of the most solitary. That’s not necessarily a bad thing, and it’s definitely not a complaint. In some ways, the way I view the world has shifted, and in other ways it has just solidified.

After breakfast, everyone packed up and checked out. Kevin and I decided to "cruise Santa Cruz" and drove around getting lost. We found the boardwalk, took pictures of the surfing monument, picked out our dream houses. I’ve come to know my fellow summers so well – from his face, I can tell when Kev wants to ask a question, is lying, or disagrees. (He’d make a lousy poker player.) Aaron and I know not to make eye contact if something funny happens in a meeting because we’re the worst gigglers in the bunch. James has such an off-kilter pacing to his stories – it keeps you guessing. Andrea has the easiest laugh, and that makes you feel like the funniest person alive. It’s going to be hard to leave them … like the end of so many other eras, I know it will never again be like it is right now, this particular mix. I’ll see Andrea and Mike in DC, and I know all of us will keep in touch. Hopefully, most of us will end up at the firm, but it will still be a change.

It was hard to leave Santa Cruz, and the beach traffic didn’t help. I could easily see myself living there: walking on the beach in the morning with my dog, living by the ocean. If Santa Cruz could be bottled, it would be pure relaxation: sun, sand, and the odd comfort the ocean always gives: you are so small in the world.

Issue 8: Adventures in Driving, etc.

The Firm has a small library that I enjoy using when I really need to concentrate (Our office is so social that sometimes my office isn’t the best place for getting work done.) In the library, I always chose the same seat – huge table, comfy chair. In the far distance, there are two skinny, tall palm trees that always remind me of Dr. Seuss books (the Lorax, maybe?) I’ve been looking at those trees for weeks, so you can imagine my surprise when I was driving to work on the 101, and out of the corner of my eye, glimpsed the two trees – on the left side of the 101, right next to the highway!! I’ve been passing them twice a day for literally months and never noticed.

On Gilbert Street, there is a tree that is growing in the middle of the street. Literally. The base of the tree is about 4 feet from the sidewalk, and the asphalt goes right up to its trunk. I wish that someone had hung a little plaque on the tree, or that there was some other kind of explanatory sign. I want to know it’s history, and how it came to be spared.

I’m getting a little better about orienting myself here. It’s all about resetting your parameters. In DC, when you get on the Beltway or the Metro, you think about which direction you’re heading to set your end points. Richmond or Tysons? Vienna or New Carrolton? Here, going north-south it’s San Francisco and San Jose. On the 92, it’s Half Moon Bay (to the west) and the San Mateo Bridge (crossing over into the East Bay.) The El Camino Real stretches from San Diego up to Sonoma county and connects 21 missions founded by the Spanish in the 18th century. (It’s not the only El Camino Real, the El Camino Real de Tierra Adentro. runs between Santa Fe, NM and Mexico City, and another one that runs in Mexico to northern Louisiana.) The Spanish names of streets still intrigue me – my new favorite, Junipero Serra. I am still enjoying Alameda de las Pulgas – which sounds so fascinating, but apparently means Avenue of the Fleas.

Bay area radio is an interesting thing. Because it stretches from San Jose up to Marin (north of SF), and over to the East Bay (Oakland, etc.), some radio stations broadcast from different places on different frequencies. Which would explain why I was blessed with "She’s like the Wind" by Patrick Swayze on three different stations on my drive home earlier this week. I also managed to catch a version of Shania Twain’s "Still the One" in Spanish, complete with tuba.

Issue 7: Nuestra Senora la Reyna de Los Angeles de Porciuncula

For those who don’t make it all the way through my posts, I’ll open up with the two highlights of my trip to LA. The first occurred before I even left the airport! Some guys who were on the flight with me were picked up by their friends in what can only be described as a home-made limousine. From what I saw, I think that they took some beat-up Lincolns, cut them apart, and welded them together. Not to worry, they didn’t mask their handiwork by painting their creation – it rolled by in all of its glory. It was unexpected, tacky, ostentatious and utterly LA.

The second highlight: Fourth of July. After a few beers, my friend’s partner’s brother (did you follow that?) asked me if I was a Hari Krishna. The evidence: I don’t eat red meat, and I was wearing a purple scarf. (This reminded me of being asked by a good friend (you know who you are!) whether I was a lesbian. Evidence: I had lesbian friends in college, and I used to have short hair.) Friend’s partner was sort of embarrassed, but I thought it was hilarious. But it’s a good thing that he said it to me at this point in my life – if someone had asked me that in college, I would have flipped out.

We watched the fireworks from the street – we could see a number of "official" shows, and more than a few "amateur" shows. Not so amateur, really. While we had the legal kind, a lot of people in the neighborhood had bought fireworks from Tijuana – to my eye, exactly like the professional kind. It’s a little unnerving looking up at big (DRY) palm trees, and watching fireworks burst just above them.

It was weird to be in LA for the fireworks – I missed DC: the warm wet blanket of humidity, the monuments. Maybe you just want holidays the way they were while you were growing up. Somehow, I’ve managed to spend the big holidays away from home recently. Christmas in Granada, New Year’s in London, the 4th of July in LA. I love travelling, but in some ways – I want to wake up Christmas morning in the uncomfortable twin bed in my parents’ house, spend New Year’s with the ever-youthful Dick Clarke, etc.

I came down to LA to visit my college friend ILTSAE. Saturday, I spent going on a cheesy bus tour of LA – the Hollywood Bowl, Grauman’s Chinese Theatre, Rodeo Drive, you name it. I need to do cheesy tourist stuff more often. Sunday, I went to ILTSAE’s softball tournament, and Monday (after recovering from July 4th) – we spent at the mall! We saw "Spiderman 2" in the nicest theater I’ve ever been in (and I’m picky), and spent an inordinate amount of time in Borders (another of my favorite things – although I’m enough of a snob to prefer independent book stores.) At dinner, I saw my high school friend Scarlet who is moving to New York later in the week. I have the best timing. Overall, a weekend with old friends. I’ve been developing a new theory on friendship – I think the friends who knew you during certain critical phases of your life, such as high school & college, have deeper insight into you than people you meet at other (happier?) times in your life.

I can’t believe the summer is half over…before I know it, I’ll be back in DC complaining about school and missing the people here.

Issue 6: Yoshi’s

We get invited to a lot of fun dinners etc. for groups that the firm is involved with, or sponsors. Jeet (the Indian partner I've mentioned before) sent out an invite to a pro bono group's cocktail hour. It was lovely - good wine, etc. etc. Here's the point of the story - I was trying to duck out, so I found Jeet to say goodbye. He introduced me to one of the pro bono group types, that guy's wife came over and we all chatted for a bit, and I left. The next day, Jeet told me that guy's wife had thought that we (Jeet and I) were married. That's right - the two Indian people in the joint HAVE to be married to each other. I had a good laugh, but apparently, she was mortified, doubly so because she's an employment lawyer.

Saturday, I headed up to Oakland to Yoshi's - world famous Japanese steakhouse and jazz joint. I somehow forgot how much I love live music. Actually, I seem to remember that every time I see someone live, and then I forget it again. (I'm the same way about submarine sandwiches: I always think I don't like them, but I don't mind them when I do have them.) All music is expressive, of course, but jazz seems more so...the phrasing, the improvisation, etc. Dee Dee Bridgewater was phenomenal. The show was very intimate - small venue, and the music was too - in the middle of "La Belle Vie", Dee Dee started crying. During the last song, Yoshi (the proprietress) came out and did some kind of interpretive dance (scarf and all.)
We had a "luau" at work - not really, just kitschy "Hawaiian" stuff. Most important: a hula hoop competition! One of my secret shames: I can not hula-hoop to save my life. So, of course, I did not compete. But, I did manage to semi-permanently borrow the hula-hoop for my office. People drop by to visit, and hula hoop - very fun. I've been practicing every day, and so far no luck (although, I do manage to crack myself up a lot. I'm not giving up! By the end of the summer (hopefully), I will have overcome my inability to 'hoop.' Next thing you know, I'll be able to ice skate (yet another no-longer-so-secret shame.)

I had too many after school activities this week. The gamblers in the summer associate group organized a poker night. Just as I was far behind the curve re: blackjack, it seems that everyone has more of a notion as to how to play poker. The firm took us, along with some associates and partners, to Malibu Grand Prix! Mini-golf (which I suck at)! Go-carts! Little race-cars (which I also suck at.) Arcade games (which I was smart enough not to go near)!

Next week: the 4th of July report from LA!