Weekend in the Big City

E and I left the city for the suburbs years ago. The suburbs fit our personalities. And, I can't say that the 20 minute commute is something that I don't silently gloat about at work -- the majority of the lawyers I work with live in The City while working in The Valley. I feel their pain because I was ridiculed for doing the opposite while a student. My fellow students went out for bar nights while I sat in the commute. They slept while I drove to AM class. It was their turn to be the efficient ones. But, for the most part, when you compare me against 1st and 2nd-year associates in the valley, I'm continuing my role as an anomoly. I *gasp* choose to live on the *peninsula* just a few towns short of the perceived cultural wasteland of the South Bay. Mind you, I think they are wrong. I think there is just as much culture on the peninsula and in the south bay if you know where to look. But, then again, I'm biased.

Anyways, the merits of the peninsula and the south bay are not the point of this post.

This post is all about our San Francisco weekend. Every once in a while, we revert to our youthful San Franciscan high-rent, no-parking, angstier and more-cultured than thou days and spend a weekend in the city. It's always fun, nostalgic, and reminds us that there are many reasons why SF is considered the best city in the world by many (If it weren't for the fog and the artier-than-thous, I'd probably agree.)

So, this weekend, we did the whole shebang. It was awesome.

Saturday, we drove to the city and ate ourselves silly on Dim Sum. It was delicious. MG and V introduced us to Shanghai pork steam rolls for the first time. Soup! In a steam roll! Engineering at its finest, I tell you. Good thing they went to China last year -- better living through your friends' travels -- it's something I do my best to embrace whenever possible. Plus, we got to love the uncomfortable reality of being in the backdrop of what was slowly becoming someone's Wedding Buffet while wanting to continue eating at a restaurant that honestly scheduled the wedding set-up and Dim Sum hour close enough that you could be *that* table. And we were.

From there, I dropped E at the new Bloomingdale's portion of the Market & Powell Mall to buy us tickets to Borat. I drove towards Fisherman's Wharf where I couldn't find parking, so I filled the car with gas at the station across the street and and ran across to pick up my race packet for today's half marathon.

Borat was sold out before E could buy tickets. Story of our lives in SF -- never quite fast enough on the cool kids' draw. We're valley folk (dorky, nerdy, and wanna be cool...).

So, instead, we went to the Japanese Tea Garden. It was wonderfully relaxing and decadent to be tourists in our own region. We volunteered to take pictures of the Fijian family. We smiled at the Spanish group with their Castilliano accents. We drank strong green tea and tried not to eat snacks. We failed and were full before dinner.

For dinner, we met friends at a delicious and small word-of-mouth-only vegan sushi joint in the Mission (the 4 of them stuck to veggie fare, E and I like fish, thank you very much). The vegan eel substitute was good, although it didn't taste anything like Eel, not that the vegans would know.

From there, we had a drink with friends at their home in SF and drove home so I could sleep before today's race.

Today, I had high hopes of being fast. Last weekend, I ran a leisurely 2h10 at the Silicon Valley Half marathon. I figured I had tons of juice to spare. My hopes were dashed when I parked 2 minutes after the start. I sprinted to the start line and breathlessly ran my chip over the start and hit begin on my garmin. My garmin never even had a chance to sync with the satellites, so my garmin functioned as the world's largest stop-watch. I never had a chance to intelligently plan my race after sprinting to the start for 3/4 of a mile. At the end, I ran 1h57ish according to my watch.

This year's race hurt (physically) much less than last year's. But I also had much less humility. I honestly thought 1h50 was a reasonable goal. When you are 2 miles out at 1h37 and exhausted with uphill miles in front of you, it becomes VERY clear that you are an idiot for thinking 1h50 was gonna happen.

So, while I'm not in as much pain as last year, my pride hurts. I really would have liked to clear 1h55 and think I should try to do that before my marathon. Whatever. I ran across the bridge on both sides. I ran through the Presidio. I enjoyed some of the most gorgeous views that our wonderful city by the bay can offer. So I'm content.

And I can't wait for next year. Weekend of City Happiness -- HERE I COME.

In a pattern

I am a creature of schedules. Of regularity. Of discipline.

I was shocked to realize I didn't have to be anywhere until 9 AM tomorrow, and even that was a soft limit.

Woo hoo.

Celebration.

Then I remembered the appointment I'd scheduled.

Damn it. I can't wait 'til my new toy gets here and I can have one calendar instead of this bastardized two-calendar system I've got going on right now. Turns out the old Zaurus is getting ready to go to pasture and I'm slowly migrating my calendar to big, bad, outlook.

Yeah. I see what I've become. I get it. I still want my damn phone to arrive.

Choco-riffic recipe #1

The first chocolate attempt was Toffee-Chocolate Candy, for halloween.

I was exhausted on Monday night, but I forced myself to make Toffee because I knew it would be worth it. To do so, I dragged my post 3-hour-from-scratch-white-bean-soup and 1-hr-of-yoga while the soup cooked butt back into the kitchen after dinner. I was in search of chocolate happiness. And I found it. I even fucked the recipe up pretty royally. But it's sugar and butter and vanilla and chocolate. And I took it to our friends where 6 of us ate dinner, drank wine and champagne, heckled and/or got sappy over the trick-or-treaters, and enjoyed toffee and pumpkin bars. So it was fabulous.

Fucked Up Toffee-Chocolate Candy

6 oz semisweet chocolate (I used Hershey's -- is it just me, or is it wrong that they have a "solution center?"), chopped
6 oz bittersweet chocolate (I used 72% cacao Sharffen Berger), chopped
1 oz bitter chocolate (99% Sharffen Berger), chopped (I added this because I LOVE dark chocolate and 50/50 semisweet/bitter just didn't seem right with all the sugar in the toffee).
1 cup unsalted butter
1/4 cup water
1 tsp light corn syrup
1/2 tsp. kosher salt
1 tsp. vanilla
1/2 cup pecans, chopped

1. Put all the chocolate chopped goodness in a bowl and mix it together, let it soften near the stove while you cook.

2. Put a bowl of water and a pastry brush by the stove so that when the toffee starts to crystalize on the edges you can brush it with water to reabsorb the sugar.

3. Apparently, you're supposed to combine the butter, sugar, water, corn syrup and salt over medium heat. I put my 1/4 cup of water in the bowl mentioned in #2. I also added the vanilla at this stage. My toffee ended up very buttery and slightly granular. I suspect the missing water is at least partially to blame for this.

4. You're supposed to slowly stir this concoction over medium heat until your candy thermometer measures 300F. Well, I've only got a meat thermometer and it tops out at 190F. So, I just kind of winged it, when it started to be this viscous liquid that wouldn't drip from the spoon and most of the butter was absorbed by the stubborn sugar, I poured it into a 9X11 baking pan. (For those of you that follow directions, you would do this at 300F, when the toffee is brown, approximately 18-20 minutes after you put the mixture on the stovetop. Also, you'd wait 'til just before pouring it to add the vanilla).

5. Tilt the pan 'til the toffee covers the pan evenly. My version had quite a bit of butter grease at the extremeties, but it was evenly covered and the sugar mixture that hardened on the spoon was damn good, so I wasn't too upset.

6. Layer the chocolate on top of the toffee and cover 'til the chocolate is melted. Spatula to an even layer, sprinkle with pecans and let it cool.

7. My version needs to be frozen to have the consistency of toffee candy. Otherwise it's a little soft, but still delicious.

The devil will not be wearing Prada

I thought I had a great idea for a costume. The devil wears Prada. I bought some devil stuff on Sunday after running a half marathon and hitting a local mexican joint for barbacoa. Mmmmm....

Today, I headed over to Nordstrom after work to pick up some Prada. I had done some searching on-line and figured I could get something at a ridiculous, but not completely absurd price. Right, try again. Nordstrom doesn't even carry it. They sent me to Nieman Marcus, you know the place that only takes cash or american express. Raaaaaiiiiiiigggghhhht.

But I persevered. What price fashion? What price winning the halloween costume for 1st year associates?

Oh, $310 for the shittiest nylon piece of crap "purse"? That's the price? Well, that price is just too steep. Sure, I love some of the shoes. But, I'm not in the market for shoes that cost more than a weekend vacation. Come to think of it, there are very few articles of clothing I'd be interested in that cost that much. It would have to be some sort of wonder mateial that was going to last forever. But I digress.

Keep an eye out for me. I will be the devil wearing a hand drawn FRADA emblem of some sort. I'm going to claim fair use & parody.

Happy Halloween.

More than one way to cook a squash

E was suprised to learn that spaghetti squash wasn't a meal involving spaghetti topped with some sort of squash sauce.

Nope, it's stringy, delicious, healthy, and fun squash that looks like spaghetti when you pull it from the shell. If you are looking for a slightly labor-intensive but relatively healthy dinner, serve the spaghetti squash pancakes below with salad. As a post-salad course, one 7-inch squash makes enough pancakes for 3 hungry or 4 dainty eaters (none of those 'round here...). Even lazier? Just bake the squash, cut it in half, remove the seeds, and separate with a fork until it looks like spaghetti. You can serve each half topped with salt and pepper, or if you've got it laying around: pasta sauce, olive oil and garlic salt & pepper, or salsa.

Spaghetti squash pancakes

1. Pre-heat the oven to 375.
2. Stab the squash over a dozen times with a knife.
3. Bake for an hour.
4. Cut in half, take out the seeds and pull out the strands of squash with a fork.
5. Mix squash strands, 1/2 cup or so grated parmigiano cheese & 1 cup of flour or so.
6. Form 1.5 inch diameter patties.
7. Fry in a sauce pan drizzled with olive oil on each side until dark brown.
8. Serve warm with salt, pepper, and hot sauce.

Next Friday?

I'm taking a poll. What does it mean to you if I say, "See you next friday?"

If the day I say it is a Friday, clearly, I mean the next Friday. But what if it's a Thursday? What if it's a Monday?

E, on multiple occasions has asked for clarification when I say something like, "next Friday we are having dinner with so-and-so." Typically, his clarification sounds like this, "do you mean this friday, or next friday?" And I always think, if not say, "Goodness, listen to yourself, Man!"

But today, a friend called me up thinking we were hanging out tonight. My email had said, "We're free next Thursday and Friday." I meant Thursday and Friday of next week. In the future I will not be so vague.

But I can't help but wonder why anyone would think I'd use the word "next" if I could just as soon say the exact same thing without it. It's so inefficient. If someone took the time to throw in an extra word, I'd assume it had something to add to the context. But, I've decided I'm probably in the minority.

So, here's the question. If someone says "next Friday" to you and it's a Monday, how many days in advance do you think you are discussing? Please reply in the comments if you have the time. I'm curious how off I've been. Is there anyone with me? How many of you think I'm hilariously pedantic and insane?

I beseech you, help me understand, for I have no doubt I've gone wrong, I'm merely trying to measure the angle of stray.

Ritalin?

Last week, I was in the self-indulgent, unemployed, read self-help books, sleep-in, cry whenever the hell I feel like it, watch movies, pseudo-depressed-but-really-more-self-obsessed, what-the-fuck-is-up-with-my-life? mode.

This is not something BT has ever been before. Multiple hours were spent in therapy discussing why I haven't indulged in this mode in the past, how it is healthy, what's been stopping me, why it's uncomfortable but necessary at this point in my life, yadda-yadda-yadda.

At dinner the other day, an acquaintance (wife of one of E's friends) was taken aback when I explained that, no, I wasn't working, and the reasons why (kind of had a little break down, needed some time to reevaluate my life priorities, etc.). I, after hours of reading self-help books, crying, watching sad movies about people who've been through much worse and suffered much more, didn't think much of my revelation. She, however, responded, "Oh, BT, I'm sure you're exaggerating. I can't even imagine you being remotely out of control, much less 1/4 of the mess you just described."

And there my friends, though I can't quite understand why or how, lies the rub.

So, now I'm back at work and back in the swing too. I LOVE IT. I really do. In addition to starting work, it was like this major ass-kicking energy hit the rest of me as well. I finally started doing the basic life stuff I haven't touched for lack of time or lack of motivation. I made a dentist appointment, found a new doctor, called on transferring my medical records (doctor that I love had the nerve to retire!), made an appointment to see new doctor, made an eye doctor appointment, booked flights for the holidays, planned our spring vacation and made plans to see people besides the friends that were willing to put up with me over lunch during my 3 weeks of self-indulgent lunches with friends.

All of a sudden, after starting work when I'm ready to do so, I feel so alive, so full of energy, so pulled in so many directions, so ready to prove my ability to cover so many foxholes, so, so, so, so....

But, according to E, I'm a little ADHD right now. Or maybe much more than a little, but he's from the South, and very polite, you see, so he'd never say exactly how much more than a little the lot truly is. But me, I'm from California, and right now, I can't follow a conversation long enough to do calendar for the both of us the week (while looking at the damn calendar, mind you!). That shit pisses me off but also amuses me. I'd prescribe myself some medication if I was my parent right now. Gotta check out this link, think about this thing, discuss this other thing, yadda-yadda-yadda.

Because I'm an adult and not on ritalin, I get to observe this sub-mania. It's weird. I think I must have always operated at this level of high-strung. Returning to this energy level feels very comfortable. And yet, after the self-imposed slow down, I'm having trouble with something. Perhaps it's just a bit too much? Maybe this is my new self's way of saying hey, BT, watch it. Slow down. Just a bit. Your previous ridiculousness is most likely not sustainable even if you felt like a superstar while pulling it off in the past.

Moderation? Anyone?

Of course, then I think of the famous quote, "All things in moderation. Especially moderation." And, I should look that up...who said that? I bet I'd like to read their writings....

Savory Excess

Note 1: They should sell horseradish in smaller quantities. I bought the smallest one at my local store and took home a root 10 inches long ranging from 1 to 2.5 inches in diameter. It was sufficient to prepare 1/2 cup horseradish cream PLUS 3-4 cups of packed horseradish in vinegar.

Note 2: If you grate horseradish by hand, you cry. Also, it takes a very long time.

Note 3: Instead of crying, you can split the horseradish into strips and use the cuisinart's grating attachment, which does not take much time at all.

Calling for recipes! Other than the roasted squash soup with horseradish cream that I'm making this evening, the remaining 3-4 cups of horseradish are up for grabs. Sure, some of it will be great when I puree it with cream or butter for a meat accoutrement. But the rest? Please don't leave me to my own devices here, people. It won't be pretty.

Take 2

This time was much better.

I am ready to work. I am excited to be at a law firm. I can't wait to be assigned to projects and I enjoyed the conversations I had with my colleagues.

Glad I did what I needed to do.

In hindsight

E and I agreed. Last night's dinner of israeli couscous (saffron, chicken broth, scallions & pine nuts in the couscous) topped with a sauce of onion that made me cry, garlic, basil, thyme and plum tomatoes was delicious and healthy.

Unfortunately, I now have saffron stains under some of my fingernails. Those suckers aren't coming out any time soon. I discovered the stains when I realized I had that onion/garlic smell coming out of my skin, including my fingernails.

I'm post-shower and sonicare, on my way to my first real day as a new associate. I still smell and my fingernails look like they are growing a yellow/orange experiment.

Awesome.

Choco-riffic

I'm generally a lover of savory cooking. Herbs, spices, anything with garlic or onions, chiles, etc.

But, part of the whole put my life on hold adventure has been learning to accept and embrace the parts of me that I have been ignoring.

I already figured out that I was an unbalanced chef this summer and did my best to bake desserts while studying for the bar. But I never fully embraced the decadence of chocolate.

Things are about to change, my friends.

At the Bookstore, I was seduced by a magazine. The cover? Square white ramekins of dark chocolate souffle cakes filled with chocolate espresso sauce being presented to the viewer, broken, with a bit on a spoon. Inside is nothing but pictures and chocolate recipes: breakfast, cookies, cakes, brownies, mousses, sauces and more. I now own this lurid magazine. It almost feels dirty to page through it.

Last week, while at lunch with H at A.G. Ferrari I picked up about $70 worth of Italian imported happiness. On a lark, I bought a bar of 70% cacao from Baratti & Milano.

Finally, thanks to Wintermute, after my last lunch with a friend during my weeks of unemployment, I stopped in at Scharffen Berger. Thirty-two dollars later...

So, our fridge now contains $32.00 $31.00 of Scharffen Berger (I already demolished the 1 oz. nibby bar, but it wasn't for baking anyways. Those bean bits would be hell to deal with in a recipe, right?), some Guittard baking chips leftover from the summer's baking and a bar of Baratti & Milano.

Also, for those who love to read about food, I just finished Julie & Julia. No real chocolate porn to speak of. But, I still enjoyed it for the savory food porn, and would recommend it for the solid literary stuff it can offer to anyone who likes to read about the role of cooking food in a slightly unstable woman's life and how being stuck in one place in your life can lead you to find a release and somewhere to grow elsewhere. Plus, it's irreverant as hell and hilarious.

But then again, I just went through my own sort of wacky breakdown and I'm prone to taking on projects that are too big to prove to myself that I can do them and make myself grow in the process. I wish I was more irreverant and tad more unstable in my day-to-day life. You may find that her blog is more entertaining and more focused on things that interest you (each individual recipe from Julia Child's Mastering the Art of French Cooking). I wasn't a reader back when Julie was floundering her way through the project. Perhaps someday I'll go read the blog from start to finish. But for now, the book was perfect for my needs: hilarious, informative, and a very honest portrayal of someone crazy enough to take on a silly but wonderfully larger-than-life food project.

So, In the spirit of Julie and Julia tempered by the reality of starting work as a new associate on monday, my mini project is to simply use the chocolate in the fridge to make 6 chocoriffic recipes from the magazine by Thanksgiving. Stay tuned.

Celebrate good times... (come on!)

Starting October 18th, I get to sleep at home in my own bed with my husband for an entire month straight. Exactly one month, mind you. We've got somewhere else to be on 11/18, but for the next 30 days we are here. We can try and compare the local barbacoa joint, the local valley folklore joint, and the local diner for weekend breakfast/brunch. We can meet up with local friends for meals that have been in the works for months, if not years. We can eat home-cooked meals made of local ingredients from the weekend farmer's market, freezer stash that's been on the list to prepare for quite some time, and little accents from the local snotty gourmet store. I'm ecstatic.

I announced this over dinner, of which I was quite proud. In celebration of my last worknight without a job or plans to go out, I prepared a bacon-browned, quartered cornish game hen, roasted over herbed sauerkraut in wine with a side of green beans (cooked in bacon grease, onions and garlic).

Between bites and happy noises of culinary delight, E was quick to point out that it was not like a month at home was a return to normalcy. Rather, he pointed out, it was a rarity to be cherished and celebrated (preferably with more good food!).

Because I'm a data fiend, I have records, and I checked. Sure enough, the last time I had 4 weeks at home without a night away was June of 2005 (16 months ago). Before that was November 2004 and before that was (forgot about thanksgiving) February 2004. 2004, aka 1L, was quite the year of domestic tranquility, it would appear.

Here's to hoping that the return to work brings similar tranquility to the return to school in 2004. I think we've both earned it.

Good Genes

All I'm saying is that when I'm 80, I want:

To have more than 100 people show up for my birthday party.

To select a cake that is ridiculous (equal parts white cake and whipped cream frosting, topped with toffee, anyone?). Each time I pass the cake at the party before the birthday song, I want to unabashedly take some of the topping and pop it in my mouth. I hope I'm healthy enough to have real sugar in my birthday cake (gran's cake could have given someone a case of diabetes, there was SO MUCH TOFFEE!)

To go to the casino with all of my kids and grandkids who enjoy gambling (that would be one aunt and me) and spend a full day at the slots and the tables. I want to have a hilarious system governed by superstition that involves telling my relatives where and what they must play to ensure that I receive optimum luck. I want to insist on paying for the all-you-can-eat buffet. I want to be the last one gambling when all of the young folks are worn out.

When we get home from the casino, I want to be tucked in bed for a nap that I won't take. Instead, I'll watch TV. The young folks can go pick up my dinner of choice (Round Table Garlic Lover's Pizza, in this case).

For dinner, I want to pair my selection with champagne and I want to enjoy 2 full glasses.

When I finally go to sleep, I want it to be after speaking with all of my children on the phone or in person and telling them what a great day I had.

Finally, at 1:30 in the morning after my full day of celebration, I want to wake up and insist that I want more birthday cake and champagne. I can only hope that I'll have children or grandchildren who will indulge me so we can spend just a little more time together before they leave.

Books That Heal

Part of the funk that I have been in these last few weeks stems from the fact that I never properly grieved for my father. I dealt with the details and I accepted the condolences but I never faced the deep pain of the loss. I thought I did. I cried a little bit each day. In Hawaii, I'd cry a few minutes by myself on my runs along the beach. But I never let myself cry for hours at a time for days in succession. Instead, I tried to go back to work. Yeah, that didn't go so well.

When I realized I needed to grieve, I turned to my favorite helpers: books. First, I went to the local library and cried while perusing the section on death and bereavement. There really aren't that many books in this section, which surprised me. Many of them were the "First do this. Then do this." style of self-help, which I don't handle well. I don't like anyone to tell me what to do, not even a book I can put down whenever I feel like it.

So, I took I'd Rather Laugh and Chicken Soup for the Grieving Soul. I figured I'd pick up a few other books from the store when I needed 'em.

I'd Rather Laugh was a perfect introduction to the journey. I laughed and cried my way through it and took Linda Richman's story of survival to heart. We all get through the crap of life one way or another, it's just a question of how well.

Chicken Soup for the Grieving Soul is a collection of short stories about grieving, loss, and recovery. I found it a bit sappy, but I think I needed the sappiness to help me maintain my sense of distance from the full pain of my loss. Even with the disdain I felt for some of the overly simplified stories I repeatedly found myself in tears and addressed aspects of missing my father that I wouldn't have realized without the book. I bet there's a better option out there, but in a pinch, if you just need vignettes to make you focus and grieve, this will do.

A friend recommended The Year of Magical Thinking. Much like I'd Rather Laugh, this is a very personal story of loss. Joan Didion lost her daughter and her husband in the same year. She was a journalist for years and I found that her writing was the most precise of all of the books in terms of explaining just how confusing and painful and crazy a human can feel while facing huge loss. I felt less alone while reading her book. It was perfect as the third option because I was ready to read about and face the full extent of my pain. It was a pleasure and an honor to do so alongside Ms. Didion, whose loss was different, but equally heartfelt.

Finally, on a lark, I picked up Kitchen Table Wisdom from the 3-for-2 table at Borders along with some sillier lighter pleasure books. Ms. Remen is an oncologist, a cancer and death counselor, and a 30-year sufferor of Crohn's disease. This book is a collection of stories about healing, facing death, the medical profession, judgment of the self and others, the life force, awe, mystery, spirituality, and more.

Daddy died of cancer. He experienced many of the symptoms and situations that the stories in this book address. His death also included some mystery and awe that made it beautiful. I refused to try to explain that beauty away with science, so it was wonderful to read about the common mystery of others in similar situations. Also, I needed to re-embrace the idea of the life force, spirtuality, and awe. What I really needed to do, however, was read stories about judgment and do some serious thinking about how judgmental I often am, both of myself and others. Judgment and expectations are a very strong force in our lives and I have been in the habit of applying them on autopilot. Daddy's death is not an autopilot situation. I've never been through this before. Come to think of it, I've never been through most of the stuff in my life before. Kitchen Table Wisdom helped me to recognize that letting go of my deep sorrow and moving through it was actually a way to embrace it. Along the same lines, the stories encouraged me to let go of much and relax to allow myself to change. I've studied the principles in this book in much of my Buddhist reading. But I found myself understanding the concepts at a new level while reading this book. It was profound, healing, and wonderful.

I'm very thankful that I took the time to read and be sad. I feel much more whole.

The Other Side

I'm a list-maker. A balancer of pros and cons. A calculater. A scheduler. A contingency planner.

So, I was quite surprised when my gut felt the need to jump up and take action that affected my life without my calculated decision.

Since then, I followed through. I took the action my gut knew was best even before I'd done all the sorting and math. Eventually, I am certain that I will be happy with this choice. But right now, I'm just relieved.

My gut knew something that the part of me I'd learned to trust and depend upon didn't. It was a very weird experience and, to be honest, one that really has made me reconsider my life. I'm in a serious state of re-evaluation right now.

How many other things have I been ignoring that could be offering me useful wisdom? Only time will tell.

Pleasant Surprise

Brother, sister and niece sat in traffic today to come stay the night before we drive the rest of the long drive to gran's 80th birthday. I wanted to take them out to dinner to celebrate time in my town (since ordinarily, we meet up in theirs) and my trueness to myself in my job situation. I decided that with a 4-year-old, the perfect option was Benihana.

Mind you. This is not a food destination I would have chosen without a 4-year-old in tow. But, after tonight, with the great benihana chef luck falling in our direction, I will admit that I may have been wrong. There are times, even without a 4-year-old, that Benihana may not be a bad option to consider.

My sister ordered the salmon. It was steamed in a parchment calzone-of-sorts and surpised us all by arriving with vegetables perfectly tender, delicious, and wonderful.

I ordered calamari, which was, to be honest, the second best calamari steak preparation I've ever had, second only to my very own well-researched chili-lime preparation of the baja calamari that dad caught.

Brother had the chateaubriand and it was tender as all get out. E had the Deluxe offering of lobster tail and filet mignon. The cut of filet left a bit to be desired but the lobster tail was amazing -- they have the whole garlic butter thing on lock.

My niece had the child's menu of chicken and shrimp, it was delicious and she was totally happy.

Oh, and the whole reason we went? The server was hilarious. His trickery was top notch. Many hat tricks. Many pocket tricks. Knife tricks. Onion volcanoes. We clapped. We laughed. He made us laugh with comedic jokes (clearly, we got one of the better chefs available, his name was Benito, and yes, he was very hard-core on the Mexican angle speaking 1/8 spanish despite his perfect English. Somehow, it made the meal more enjoyable, especially because niece likes to practice her Spanish.)

All in all, I expected to be mildly entertained but happy that my niece was happy. I left surprised at the quality of several of the offerings (the salmon, the calamari, the lobster and the chateaubriand) and pleased by the price tag. I dare you to find a $175 meal for 5 in the bay area that contains food that is better than the reviews make it seem plus laughs, smiles, clapping galore, and a happy and entertained 4 year old for the entire meal. Plus, the gratuitous ice cream. How can you argue? (Note: for politesse sake, put the kid in the middle of your group and insulate the poor couple who's at your hibachi on a date. Sure, you wouldn't come here on a date and glare at kids at your table, and they didn't either, but still...)

In short, color me a very surprised and content food snob. Benihana was good. Well I'll be...

Day of Decadence

Even though I've been off work, I've had chores to do every day. Mostly stuff for the estate, but some work maintenance stuff (hr forms, calls, etc.), some catching up with friends after driving to lunch.

Last night, I returned from a two-day trip to my hometown to see my brother, sister and niece as well as take care of estate stuff. Tomorrow, after brother, sister and niece arrive, we all drive to grandma's for her 80th birthday party this weekend.

But today... Today I have to do NOTHING. If I can find the motivation, I'll probably fit in some more sleep, some yoga, maybe a quick run, and the stylish costume drama that E wasn't too excited to see arrive from Netflix.

New Shit Has Come To Light


Look, man, I've got certain information, all right? Certain things have come to light. And, you know, has it ever occurred to you, that, instead of, uh, you know, running around, uh, uh, blaming me, you know, given the nature of all this new shit, you know, I-I-I-I... this could be a-a-a-a lot more, uh, uh, uh, uh, uh, uh, complex, I mean, it's not just, it might not be just such a simple... uh, you know?

--The Dude


Numismatics is a word I've never heard or seen before today. But Daddy left us some old coins, and as executor, I've got to go get 'em valued for the estate. I'm guessing most of 'em will be worth approximately 3% more than face value, but it's a fun little adventure nonetheless. I bought the blue book and am sorting through the collection. I doubt there will be anything amazing, but the history and the monotony of sorting are balm to my soul.


You don't go out and make a living dressed like that in the middle of a weekday.


Okay, you got me, I'm more or less unemployed at the moment. I didn't announce my self-imposed unpaid leave from work when I took it, but I figure my posting should clue you in. I'm not exactly living the life of a new associate.

I needed more time to mourn. I needed more time to sort out my priorities so that I could commit myself to the practice of law at the level that my job will require. I needed more time to handle the details of my dad's estate. I just needed more time. I tried to ignore this reality by sticking to the timeline I set back in August and more or less had a miniature breakdown when I arrived to find that (*gasp*) things had actually *changed* at the firm between when I accepted their offer and when I started.

I paid attention to that warning sign -- I should have been able to handle the changes. When I realized that I wasn't dealing rationally with them, I made the difficult decision to walk into my supervising partner's office after 1 week of work to ask for some time off.

It's my life. And I needed to recover from it. I wasn't ready to do good work and I owe it to myself to do good work. I also owe it to those for whom I work. Thankfully, they understood, because I was ready to quit if they didn't.

It turns out, at least some law firms are staffed by attorneys that are human. Everyone I spoke with at the firm recognized that I'd been through quite a bit in the last year and they appreciated my honesty with myself and them about my capacity to do quality work. They all supported my decision.

So here I am. Unemployed, more or less. Taking time to heal even though it's not the best thing for my career. I'm okay with the fact that I'm the one that stopped showing up at the firm after orientation week. Let 'em say what they are gonna say. I know why I'm here.

I stay home. I read books on mourning on the couch in my pajamas. I cry. I go to lunch with friends. I work out. I cook. Each day, I handle a few details of the estate and the load gets lighter. Finally, 2 months after my father's death, I'm taking time to take care of myself emotionally.

As someone who never put much stock in emotional intelligence, I'm amazed at how much I needed this. It took a breakdown to get me to do this. How smart my emotions were to force my hand. I can only imagine what I'd be like if they hadn't.

So, yeah. Numismatics & Recognizing that my gut may know a thing or two that my logic can't figure out...

Well, okay, you're not privy to all the new shit, so uh, you know, but that's what you pay me for.

Embrace the Happy

Things are looking up for BT. The career bumbs in the road are smaller than expected. Dinner was a delicious and improved by improvisation red lentil, tomato, vinegar soup with accompanying herb-roasted potatoes. Man I love having time to cook.

And, bonus:

Shaun of the Dead was not as zombie-state-inducing as expected.

I actually enjoyed it.

I think it might have had something to do with the general stress relief associated with knowing what the hell is going on in an least one aspect of my life.

Antsy

I've made motions to make some major changes in my life. Plus the bar results could work some additional major changes if they were ugly.

So, I must wait. I'm not a very patient person. Must be time to do some baking.

Spicy Risotto-Like Heaven

This, a last-minute concoction from things in the fridge and pantry after a weekend away, was homey and delicious. Enjoy:


1 cup starchy white rice (arborio, or, in a pinch, sushi rice)
Olive Oil for cooking (exactly how good this oil needs to be is a personal call and a much longer blog entry...)
1/4 large yellow onion, diced
4 cloves garlic, diced
1 plastic container of mexican hot salsa left over from Friday's takeout
1 can chicken broth + water as needed
2 Tablespoons habanero pickled salsa from a friend with a talent for preserves
1/2 cup chopped 6 month aged cow cheese from the farmer's market
Parmigiano, for grating
black pepper

1. Sautee onions and garlic in olive oil until onions are partially clear. Add rice and stir until rice is fully covered and slightly translucent.
2. Add broth, bring to a low simmer, stir and let evaporate slowly 'til rice is al dente. Add water if necessary.
3. When broth is almost all evaporated, add salsas and stir.
4. When the liquid is almost entirely evaporated, add the cow's milk cheese and stir until melted and mixed throughout.
5. Remove from heat and let set for 5 minutes. Serve with grated parmigiano on top along with a sprinkling of black pepper.


I'm toying with turning this blog into solely a food blog. Or perhaps a food & running blog.

My personal life is, well, overly personal and introspective as of late (read: not very interesting to anyone except me). My professional life, is, well, too professional to be available for the entertainment of the anonymous masses. And, to be frank, the remainder of my life isn't very ink-worthy. I'd love to keep up on legal or technical or even silicon valley trends. But, let's be honest, in any of those categories, I'll be lucky to find time to do the reading of people who do the aggregation of info for me.

But Food! Ahhh... I could write for hours and hours about food. Conveniently, my title lends itself to an oral fixation of some sort, so it wouldn't be that difficult of a transition. So, 'til I decide what to do, I'll try to post more and more of my foody thoughts/experiences and see how that treats me. I welcome your comments.

Rolling

I took all the change we found in my dad's house to the bank to deposit it into the estate account. I figured they'd have some sort of machine or something. Nope.

We only accept rolled coins.

So, in case you were wondering, it takes approximately 1 hour to roll $60.92 worth of coins if there is $6.00+ in pennies.

Oddly, I found it comforting to sit there and smile at the folks who took their seats in the lobby and waited to be called to the bankers. I sat through at least 6 customers and found myself enjoying the slow methodical use of my time.

Also, I had a hilarious thought. I tried to imagine the treatment I would have gotten if I had enough paper money that it took me an hour to lay it out in piles, sort it, and count it. You know, in the lobby of the bank. On the coffee table. Imagine!

Instead of the chaos from greenbacks, my piles of silver and copper brought inquisitive smiles and a few fun conversations with people who wondered where I got all the change. It was pleasant. I think Dad would have liked that I stayed there to do it and made the small talk.

I don't know where I'm going... but I sure know where I've been

Little Hint:

If you incorrectly address a postcard by putting the recipient's name and address on the top and your return address on the bottom, you can't just write TO: and FROM: in front of the addresses and underline them.

If you do, you will receive your own postmarked postcards one to two days after you mail them.

Good Grief

I'm a bit of a mess right now. It was bound to happen, I suppose. Nice timing, though, huh? Right as I start work as an associate. Awesome.

Anyways, I'm engaging in some bibliotherapy and found I'd rather laugh by Linda Richman to be a good use of time.

I laughed. I cried. Literally, while reading. And I do feel a little better.

Baby Steps, I suppose.

Yuck

I have a cold that turned into a deep-chested cough. I also have racing thoughts and nightmares. They combined forces to become insomnia. At least I'm finally updating my online photo albums.

Fall

Autumn is always a mixed bag for me. I feel cheated by the cold air and white cover. After summer, I need blue skies and sun to be happy, or, at least, I need to ease out of my sunshine addiction and fall is never good about politely laying off. But then, there's the food! The tomatoes, so many squash and so little time! The return to cooking warm comfort food is one of my favorite events of the year.

For the last several years, I've made it a habit of getting fat and happy over the summer (I blame BBQ season). You'd think that when autumn arrives, bringing chilly weather, bulkier clothes, and an excuse to make rich warm dishes, the trend would continue until spring.

But fall also tends to brings other things. It also brings the ripeness of the healthier food, the beginning of soup season, and, for me, it seems to always bring stress due to the beginning of something new in my life. So, despite my love for autumn food, I generally lose the summer padding while coping with the inevitable newness and weather of October.

In October of 2000, I started dating E which was wonderful and scary and exciting at the same time. In October of 2001, I decided to take the LSAT and go to law school. In 2002, it was October when I began the house hunt with E that eventually resulted in us becoming co-home-owners. In 2003, it was October when the reality of 1L hit me and I fully understood the impact of my decision to go to law school. In 2004, it was October when I stretched myself to the extreme with a full load of classes, OCI, journal, and a moot court competition in another state. In 2005, it was October when I struggled and finally made a decision about my future as a lawyer.

And here I am again. October 2006. The blues. Depression and the reality of my father's death are finally with me. I kept them at bay by keeping busy until I started work. But with the reality of work came many surprises, and now the sunny weather is gone. So, in keeping with the October theme, I'm in a new spot yet again: new career, and new emotions of loss. The sky looks like it wants to rain today, and I can relate because I am busy, overwhelmed, and sad.

So, to stave off the bad part of October, I went to the farmer's market this morning. I hadn't been in at least 9 months and didn't know it had been moved down the street. I almost cried when I drove by the parking lot where it used to be and saw only cars. With the help of the signs, I found the market and was delighted to find it bigger and better than before. I smiled and made a goofy grin as I walked amongst the gorgeous potatoes, roots, and roughage. I was saddened that there is not enough time to cook with all the wonderful foods that I saw before they will be out of season.

I bought butternut squash, 7 breeds of heirloom tomatoes, italian broccoli, and gorgeous flowers. And my simple visit to the market did the trick. I came home happy, thankful for good food and ready to face this week of October, which, no doubt will be difficult. Thank goodness for fall harvest and the healing power of soup.

It begins

I started my job today. Weird. Some people that used to work there are gone. Others are new. People have moved offices. But other than that, not much is different.

I have hours at the office, where I am paid to do work. Then, I come home and I don't have to do work. Today, "work" involved filling out a bajillion forms and figuring out how to login to a million different accounts. Someday, work will involve stress and tasks that are too complex to complete in the allocated time. Despite my best efforts, I will probably bring them home and take them with me when I'm "not at work."

But not today. Today was a fresh beginning full of possibility. And it's been a long time since my time was worth money to others and I didn't feel like they were bribing me. Somehow, the rest of my time, which I chose not to sell today (there were no buyers -- first day!) and took home with me tonight was all the more precious. Mine. Gloriously all mine. It was a feeling I haven't felt in years, and most certainly not one I've felt in the last 6 months.

I can't wait to read another book in my spare time.

Familiar Territory

Saturday, I wanted dessert.

But, since we haven't been home for 6 weeks, we didn't really have ingredients to make anything in the house. All of the perishables had long since been banished. No cream. No milk. No eggs. It's kind of hard to bake dessert without eggs.

Or so I thought, 'til I had the awesome thought of: RICE PUDDING. I looked up the recipe in my trusty HTBADG and was pleased to find instructions like, "throw in the muscat (much as you would wine in a risotto)". Ah-hah! Rice pudding is like risotto, not baking. You can experiment and estimate and it doesn't go limp and die. Instead it'll turn out fine. So, in celebration of a delicious dessert, cooking in my own kitchen for friends, and improvising with the random bits I found in the pantry, I present:

Rice Pudding From the Kitchen Without Perishables

1 can condensed milk (replaced the 2 1/4 cups whole milk)
1 can coconut milk (replaced the 1 1/4 cups heavy cream)
Slightly more than 1/2 a cup of sugar
Slightly more than 1/2 a cup of sushi rice (didn't have arborio)
3 tablespoons unsalted butter (keeps in the fridge, thankfully)
1 - 1.5 cups of sherry (replaced the muscat)
nutmeg and cinnamon (replaced the fresh nutmeg)
1 capful of vanilla (why not?)

Preheat oven to 300F. Melt butter over medium heat in a casserole dish. Toss in rice and coat for a minute or two. Add sherry and cook down. Add condensed milk, coconut milk, bring to a low boil. Mix in sugar and vanilla. Remove from heat. Sprinkle nutmeg and cinnamon on top. Bake for an hour or so. Could probably stand even longer in the oven. Remove from the heat and let cool/set. Serve in bowls with spoons. Mmmmm...

Two things I did that were smart

1. I bought the double issue of People entitled "best dressed." I had ample time to whip it out over the last couple of days while sitting in banks and waiting for clerks to verify that all the estate paperwork was in order. Yay adorable clothes. Boo 2.5 hours to close and transfer a bank account.

2. I don't really enjoy shopping, so I tend to do it on-line for immediate needs and once or twice a year for the big closet upkeep. Unbeknownst to me, I decided to use the birthday gift certificate that E's parents sent me for Ann Taylor during their "wardrobing event." Apparently, twice a year AT sends out invitations to certain AT shoppers. When you go in, they bring the clothes to you in your size while you wait in the dressing room. "Do you like this or this?" My girl was very good at figuring out my preferences from my rejections and made a few recommendations I wouldn't have tried that I ended up buying. Plus, if you spend money during the event, you get discounts up to 25% depending on how much you spend. Better service and lower prices? Count in me.

So, I spent less than I normally do on the big shopping trip, only hit one store, and now have a decent wardrobe of winter/fall work clothes (which I needed since I haven't worked in the winter since I externed for the judge during 2L). Woo hoo!

Good News, Bad News

Ahhh... my life is pseduo-normal today. I spent the majority of the day sorting through estate crap, writing up and filling out legal documents, researching tax crap and reading, reading, reading. I even made homemade italian dinner from scratch (which was particularly impressive given the bare state of our kitchen cabinets!) But, at the end of the night, I had to admit that something had gone wrong.

After almost 2 years, today, I finally managed to kill my widget (aka the Garmin Forerunner 201). I recall the documentation saying that it was waterproof. Something about 30 and 1. Like 30 meters for 1 hour. Or 1 meter for 30 minutes. Or something. Whatever, I took it in the water whenever I went after a run and it was great -- it even told me how far I swam.

But, it has exposed copper at the junction to the charger. So, really, I should have known better than to take it in the ocean even once. Salt water and corrosion, yeah I recall something about that from my materials science class. Instead, I dunked it in the Pacific and the Atlantic from California to Australia, not to mention from Mexico (3 times) to Hawaii.

Unfortunately, the battery doesn't want to hold a charge that well after this last bit of vacation. D-E-A-D upon arrival. But I charged it like crazy upon return and went for my run this morning. It seemed to work, but then, well, it kind of made this *screaming* noise when I try to turn it off. Apparently, it now screams 'til it's no longer charged.

So, yeah, its time has come. But it was easily the best $120 I spent in the last 2 years -- the return on investment was ridiculous. So I just figured I'd just get a new one.

The good news:

Thanks to my new buddy John Sun, I will be buying an upgrade. Garmin Forerunner 205, here I come. John addressed so many of my concerns -- the form factor (it's more comfortable!); the accuracy (it's an improvement, which is much appreciated, E and I lost the sattelites in the trees on our hike up the sleeping giant and I couldn't say with certainty whether we were near the top or not. This did not go over well since I didn't bring the water and the cloud cover wasn't cooperating for what was later termed, "the death march.") Anyways, back to the 205, the web-interface software with mapping and training capabilities has advanced substantially since I last looked at it. Add USB synching and well, I'm excited. I feel like I may be returning to a life where I have hobbies.

Ahh, the sweetness of tech gadgetry to pursue a hobby (here's to hoping that I may be able to continue in this vein once I am a lawyer).

Stroke, stroke, stroke, breathe...

I think I forgot about the breathing part for a while back there. Thankfully, the beauty of Hawaii reminded me that I needed to take some time out.

Sure, I'm back and already overloaded with family issues, estate issues, my soon to be start as a proto-lawyer, my husband's new career, the slow crumbling of the relationships that I haven't had the emotional strength to tend to, a stack of bills a mile high, and more.

But, for a week there, after some false starts, I remembered how to chill. Every morning (except one), I slept until I couldn't anymore. Then I ran along the crashing surf of Kauai and Oahu (a different beach each day!). I'd jump in the ocean to cool off. I'd shower and eat to start the day with my husband.

On the most decadent days, the entire day with the husband meant lazing by the pool, listening to the surf, and at times beckoning adorable waiters to bring me another mojito while reading. I escaped via a spy novel, a delightfully trashy and surprisingly feminist paperback drama, and half of a hilarious childhood memoir (that I can't wait to finish). I also need to finish the classic Flatland, which I started and found entertaining until I acquired "Lipstick Jungle." Somehow, maybe because Candace Bushnell is that entertaining, or maybe it was the help of the mojitos, but regardless of how, I managed to completely forgot about the math book 'til the plane ride home.

I also enjoyed meals with E. I enjoyed time *alone* with E. I enjoyed myself.

While Mexico was great, it was emotionally draining to be doing my Dad's favorite activity with my siblings. It was necessary and fun, but it felt more like a stepping stone in the grieving process than a vacation. Hawaii, on the other hand, actually did relax me.

Good thing, too. I think I might have been approaching the "too wound up" state. The about to implode from the pressure state. I could feel it on the horizon. It was scaring me, keeping me up at night, making me worry and work hard, every moment. The horizon, it turns out, is much prettier when it's just surf.

And now, my friends, I return to the long lists and responsibilities from which I needed escape. But I do so tan, relaxed, and broke. One of the interviewers for OCI told me that no matter what else I did, I should be sure to show up for my first day of work as a lawyer broke and tan. I am happy to say that I will be doing so.

And the take home lesson is: No matter how hard I must pull, let me please remember to breathe, no matter what.

Flashback

Eddie Murphy raw is an excellent sample of the 80's. His act includes pop-culture references of the day. His purple leather suit and black finger gloves... damn.

And of course, the fashion in the audience. Wow. Vintage 1987. Amazing.

Okay, I fell asleep 1/4 of the way through. That's why I have not much to say about the actual content. E told me it was funny but not hilarious.

I was exhausted last night. My sister, brother and I packed and moved my Father's house this weekend. My sister had been living there so we moved her as well. Plus, there were extended-family drama/issues that we needed to discuss. By the end of the weekend, everyone was physically tired, emotionally drained, and pretty sick of one another. But it's a big relief to have it done. In a week or two we won't be sick of one another and we'll be able to hang out without the weight of Dad's stuff hanging over our heads.

Soon, very soon, I will have a pseudo-normal life. I will go to work. I will come home and cook dinner with food that I bought. I will sleep in my own bed. I will have a regular work out schedule.

Redistribution

The weight of the world has moved, at least partially, from my shoulders to my stomach and butt. Vacation. You didn't do it right if you don't gain weight. That's what I always say.

A week in playa del carmen was just what the doctor ordered.

We spent two days in an all-inclusive resort in order to stay at the same hotel as sister and brother. Weird, but fun, and glad we experienced it. Instead of the frat party we feared we found a 20- and 30-something Euro-American party. Made lots of friends. The all-you-can eat food and drink were approximately the quality you'd expect -- not so great.

We spent the remaining time in one of 6 condos in a small building in downtown PDC. The star of the vacation was the outdoor shower on the balcony. E probably took 10 showers on the hottest day. I wasn't far behind him in number. We'd get wet, dry off in the heat and stare at the lights of Cozumel over the ocean while listening to the surf.

Deep sea fishing was wonderful. It's powerful: the ocean, the storms, the fish (I caught a barracuda and an darkfin jack), you, and the wind. There's not much space for stress. I can see why it was one of my dad's favorite things to do.

We also spent one day driving around Quintana Roo and Yucatan. Toll roads through the jungle between Cancun and Chichen Itza? $23 US. Open roads back via Tulum -- no tolls, a bit more time, but much more to see including many mayan villages selling their wares. Unfortunately, chichen Itza was closed to the climbers on the day we were there. But, it was probably for the best since it was a billion degrees and 1000% humidity. Had we climbed, we probably would have been the next sacrifices to Quetzalcoatl.

Another day, we took the ferry from PDC to Cozumel. The ferry was much more modern than the last time I took a ferry between Oakland and San Francisco. We expected Cozumel to be horrifically touristy and over-developed. We were surpised to find that the majority of the island is undeveloped and that the downtown is fairly small. We found that PDC was much more bustling and tourist-laden than Cozumel, which was counter to what we'd heard from previous visitors. During our vacation, I spoke to several people who live and work in PDC and apparently it is changing at a very rapid pace. The bartender at one of the bars told me that you wouldn't recognize today's PDC against the one of 5 years ago. The women who did my manicure at the spa told me that she didn't know the population of PDC, but that it was shrinking every year and that soon she wouldn't be able to afford to live in town despite growing up there. What was particularly striking to me was the amount of private, all-inclusive, compound/resort developments. They have guards. You check in. You experience the resort version of Mexico that they provide you with, and you leave. You may not give any money back to the local community if you make all of your purchases at the resort.

Mornings when we had nothing planned, I'd do my favorite thing: run in the sun and then jump in the ocean. E would also do his favorite thing: sleep. Other than that we ate and we were lazy. We took lots of balcony showers. We read. We learned about the hurricane after it decided not to hit us. In short, vacation.

Finally, because I live for food, for those who are interested, I present my favorite meals:

1. The barbacoa shack just outside of Cancun city on the 385(?). E2 had raved about barbacoa for so long that I just pulled the car over. I think sister and E were a little scared by the shack and the lack of menus, but they were polite and waited to pass judgment. We navigated the all verbal menu and ordered barbacoa tacos, nopales and beer. We received a soup that was to die for and two tacos of heaven each. The nopales were raw, so we erred on the side of safety and didn't eat 'em. (FYI: Another surprise was that driving through downtown Cancun, away from the beach resorts, felt much more like Mexico than navigating the ever-expanding euro-american town of downtown PDC)

2. The hole-in-the wall taqueria outside of PDC center that we found with our new-found Belgian food-aid friend. E probably got sick from the Chorizo tacos since the next day he was a little rough, gastrointestinally-speaking. But, he said it was worth it. I had a stuffed potato (beef, chorizo, cheese, fresh cream instead of butter for some reason and chives) and it was heavenly. I swear, Mexican taqueria food is my favorite food in the world. Good thing I live in California.

3. The Italian-run restaurant just outside the front door called "La Siesta." I stopped in for take-out the night after E got sick from everyone's number one restaurant recommendation (La Cueva del Chango -- if you think the Tuna's bad, it probably is). I chatted with the manager and he recommended papas al horno y sopa de verduras. He was friendly and helped me with my spanish while I waited for the food. E was better the next day. As a gesture of thanks, we went back on our last night. The salsa was this wonderfully Italian take on salsa: it tasted like cooked down tomatoes, spiced with oregano, and pureed with habaneros and olive oil. It was amazing on the chips. We chatted with the manager again and ordered pizza and grilled octopus. Yes, it was Mexico. But the Italians just do the best damn food -- so we compromised, I had a "mexican pizza" and E had grilled octopus, which we decided was a local catch even if it was prepared in the Italian style.

4. The gazpacho and margarita lunch we had on La Quinta at 2 PM one lazy afternoon. It was siesta. We were the only ones in the restaurant. We watched the town slowly wake up and come alive. The tourists took to the streets and we listened to the melodious mixture of Italian, French, Spanish, English, German and Northern European languages. Then we went home, took a shower on the balcony, and relaxed some more.

5. The "La Parilla" stereotypically mexican grill dinner with brother and sister. Yes, they cater to tourists. But they also make damn good nopales and beef tacos. Arrachera Monterrey was awesome too. But the local bacon-wrapped shrimp specialty in an orange-colored tangy sauce made at the table with tequila, etc. was the winner. Plus, we had tall beers. It was a fun stereotypically touristic experience.

6. Ignoring that E got sick from the Tuna, La Cueva del Chango was good too. The appetizers were amazing. We were prepared for it to be our favorite meal. Grilled curd cheese in olive oil with oregano and the habanero cream soup both were crowd-pleasers. But the dinner was a bit of a let down after that. Just okay. Except for E, who got sick. Plus, there were many bugs that ate sister and E alive. Overall, just not the awesome experience that everyone promised it to be. But cute, and fun, and if I could do it again, I'd eat nothing but appetizers.

Weight of the World

My life is very heavy right now. Full. Almost bloated. I overflow with all emotions: sadness, guilt, grief, happiness, elation, amazement, and more.

Funerals. Parties. Dinners with friends and family. Good memories of Dad that make me cry. Uncomfortable conversations with extended family resulting from his death and the reality that many more are to come. Time with E where it fits and guilt that there is not more. A new career that begins shortly. A possible passing bar score balanced against the very real reality that I, like many noble warriors, may be asked to attempt to slay that dragon once again.

I leave for vacation soon. It is absolutely necessary. I look forward to my normal, lighter life like a dream. I am excited for its return and hope that I can appreciate it at a level that I never did before.

Homecoming

Tonight, I'm home in my own home for the first night in over 3 weeks after what I thought would be a weekend away. I've got some observations.

I *really* miss sleeping in my own bed with my own husband. I wanted to go to bed and fall asleep immediately upon arrival. Too bad it was 3 PM.

I missed my sonicare more than I would have thought. Just brushed my teeth, and *damn*...

Gangs of New York is the perfect excuse to sit on your own couch for hours on end. Literally. Hours. Like 5. Or, if you are us, and take breaks, 6. Note, much to E's surprise, this is *not* about gangs in New York in the '80s. If you think it is, you will be quite surprised.

The local sushi joint is oddly comforting. Overwhelmingly comforting. It made me cry.

It really is funny how much of a planner I am and how much life goes out of its way to make it clear that I should not be. Yet still, I persist. I'm cartoonish in my stubborness.

Today's Treasures

Today was a productive day. But at the end of it all, I was agitated. Many of the details associated with a loved one's death are painful and stressful.

At 6 PM, my sister and I met my mother for pedicures. I sat there, anxious, while my feet soaked in the water and the chair massaged me. All of a sudden, a feeling of peace washed over me.

I *had* to let it go. I was getting a pedicure. What was the point if I couldn't enjoy it? This is life. If I can't enjoy a pedicure, I'm not doing a good job of being alive. Slowly, with each massaging motion of the chair and with each little bit of work on my feet that transformed them from ugly to cute, I relaxed. I smiled. I was happy.

I was happy I could be happy. Plus, my feet look MUCH better.

I think it is not an exaggeration to say that I had a spiritual awakening of sorts in the pedicure chair today. Silly. But true. I feel more awake. I feel more at ease with the world and all of its harshness. Bad things happen. But so do pedicures.

As a bonus, I made a food discovery. I asked the salon owner if there was any good vietnamese food in my very suburban hometown. Here in whitey-ville, I'm surrounded by friends and family and I'm where I'm supposed to be given all of the stuff I need to be handling. But, I can't help craving the culinary diversity of my more metropolitan life in the bay area.

Imagine my shock when she informed me that there was a new vietnamese restaurant that had just opened and that it was *good*. Sis and I took Mom to experienc pho for the first time tonight. We followed the advice of the salon owner and discovered a delicious vietnamese deli/grocery/restaurant. Still in the euphoria of the pedicure, I savored the whole experience as divine intervention and enjoyed my meal to the fullest.

All in all, I'm finding this process surprising. I find deep sorrow in surprising nooks and crannies where I least expect it. And, I find comfort in equally strange places.

Recollecting Myself

My dad passed away. As per his wishes, we threw one hell of a party. Now, I'm spending time with my brother, sister and E as well as all of the supportive friends and family as we slowly deal with all of the details.

There are many things to take care of, and most of it is very personal and private, so I expect to be fairly quiet on the blogfront for a while.

However, I plan to post about the lighter things to remind myself to relish them, to laugh, and to enjoy life even in this time of pain.

So, the first happy thing I have to post is that brother, sister and I are going on a vacation away from home together for the first time in at least 15 years. (E is coming as well.) We're going to relax, deep sea fish (we expect dad to pull some strings and get us some good fish), and enjoy our memories before we finish packing up all of dad's things and move everything out of his house.

Second, on an even lighter note, E and I made reservations at The Madonna Inn for one of our trips around the state to deal with everything. While there, we will be taking advantage of the waterfall shower in our very kitschy room. Unfortunately, the cave man room is booked 6 months to a year in advance, so we'll be spending the evening in slightly lessor splendor. Regardless, it's going to be memorable.

New Frying Pan

The bar is over.

Daddy is sick.

I'm at the hospital.

He had the stubborness to wait 'til after the bar, after my birthday, and after a good visit where he appeared to be in improving health and we could all laugh together to get sick.

I can't believe how strong the power of human will is when it comes to pushing back the forces that eventually overtake us.

I'm also overwhelmed at the strength of my father's love for me.

I think I'm going to be MIA from blogland for a while.

Bar: My take

I've heard many people describe the bar as an endurance test. I disagree. An endurance test is merely one of length and stubborness. It's you versus something you know and have the will to endure.

The bar on the other hand isn't actually that long. Maybe the studying is an endurance test. But, after 2.5 months of studying, the 6 hours a day of testing and 1 hour of listening to instructions for 3 days isn't that taxing. Sure, it's tiring, but it's not the test itself that's tiring you out.

What is taxing, instead, is the mental warfare. BarBri will succeed in their best efforts to freak you out -- that's how they make their money -- off the paranoia. I hate them. There are plenty of strategies that could help people learn about and understand how to take this test for exactly what it is -- a stupid test of tactics and a little bit of knowledge. BarBri does not teach any of those things. Instead, they will assign you to do things you are bound to fail at, which will freak you out. They will assign too much work and not enough strategy. Your fellow test takers will add to your stress levels with their comments and demeanor as well as the tales of their mishaps. And no matter how serene you generally are, you will wage mental warfare with yourself.

Finally, you should expect the worst because some of it will probably happen. How you handle these things is much more indicative of whether you will keep it together than how many of the BarBri assigned questions you did.

So, for what it's worth, in hindsight, myself and/or people I know would have been better off if we had made the following assumptions:

1. They will start the test late and you will be surrounded by 1800 freaking out JDs waiting outside the doors that won't open. For an hour. With no explanation. In the heat wave.
   



2. Your 3 least favorite subjects are going to come up 1-3 on the first day of essays.
   



3. You will realize halfway through a performance exam that you are doing it ALL WRONG. If you keep your cool, you will have time to fix it. If you don't...
   



4. At times, the air conditioning system will suck, alternatively cooking you and freezing you.
   



5. Some proctors will think it's funny to make jokes like, "how do you think you are going to pass this test if you can't even get the right form in the right envelope?"
   



6. Your computer will freak out and you will have to hand-write.
   



7. You will get food poisoning on the night after the first day and you will puke all night, getting no sleep.
   



8. You will be completely unable to sleep the night before the first day, no matter how well you handle stress.
   



9. You will get in a car accident on the drive home from the bar exam (This one is a serious one to consider. Think about getting a ride. Many of my friends and I were brain dead and had tales of almost causing accidents. One of us did.)
   

This is not a test of anything other than your ability to put up with shit that sucks, a bit of legal knowledge, and your ability to write for people who aren't reading (a skill I'm betting most of us never really tried to develop before). I'd say it's 1/3, 1/3, 1/3.

BarBri and the California Bar would have you believe this test is mostly about the law. They lie. You can get the law wrong and pass. You just have to spot the issues they want you to spot, keep your cool, and get lucky on your MBE guesses and the grader who reads your essays. What a great filter for entrance to the noble profession! NOT!

Of course, if I pass, I'll probably move on with my life without doing a single thing to fight the obviously horrid process and make it better for those who come after me. Life is just too short. Sorry guys.

Thirty

I'm feeling pretty cool. The cops showed up at my impromptu post-bar 30th birthday party.

Never in my wildest dreams did I think this would be the person I'd become. Amused does not begin to describe the feeling.

Oh, and also, the bar sucks. But it's over. More on that shite later. For now, I'm home, still in shock at the idea of having a life again, and apparently, working my way towards being a private nuisance.

Bar: Reality

After 9 weeks of straight studying, even if you've done everything you personally could have done, you did not, could not have, done it all.

So two nights before the exam, I keep studying, but lightly, and I'm doing my best to maintain the confidence that it's going to be okay.

Unfortunately, tonight is where I have to let it go and realize that there is a large element of luck in all of this.

Because all of what is necessary to ensure success will not fit in my brain. So I'm reduced to hoping that the stuff that's in there is enough to be okay.

I think it's healthy to face the demons. I'm glad I'm doing it tonight.

Here's to hoping tomorrow, or at least Tuesday, I'll be back in the zone.

Bar: in the zone

A week from now, I'll be on vacation.

I've just got to go through the motions of studying for 4 days and the test for 3. It's all scheduled except for packing and possibly buying one of the allowed timepieces.

I'm calm. It's the comfortable hyper-calm from sports.

I've never felt this way about an exam before. The forced high-performance calm had previously been reserved for sports where I could break my neck if I fucked up.

I can take the bar exam again. I know this. And yet, my body/brain complex has apparently been put under enough stress in this whole process to think it deserves the same level of controlled adrenaline as competing a trick on your own that you've never done without a crash mat and a spotter to save you.

I always understood how much of a mental game sports were. There were always a few people who were so confident and had so much mind-over-body control that they could return from a 3-month hiatus, 10 pounds heavy and out of shape, only to kick the ass of those who had been in the gym 6 days a week. In diving, the hiatus could be years (water hurts much less than ground).

Why could these bad-asses do this? Sure some of it was raw talent. But one thing they all had in common was knowing that they could do it. Those kids, they had this serene confidence that at times could be more important than preparation and strength. We often thought they were stupid for trying tricks that they clearly weren't in good enough shape to pull. They always landed and grinned.

It's fascinating that the bar is just as much of a mind game as successfully flipping and twisting your body in ways it shouldn't be torqued. It's just contorting your brain to store way more than is remotely comfortable in a way that you can access it all. And believing that a) the stuff is in there; b) you can get to it; and c) when you can't you're gonna fake it well enough that no one's gonna notice.

So my take home point is this: now that we're running out of time to prepare, it's time to believe.

Is this normal?

My mom's husband left me a voicemail this morning. He was somewhat frantic because he couldn't find my mom, didn't know where she was, and was concerned that perhaps something happened with my dad, or, uh... she just left, and, well, he'd called everyone, and, uhh...

Needless to say, when I got the message I immediately called my mom.

She was fine.

Her husband had found her hours ago. He'd forgotten that she'd told him goodbye this AM and she was at the meeting she'd told him she would be attending.

Is this going to happen to me when I get to be their age?

Bar: countdown

1 week from right now, I'll be in the stupid exam.

Thank goodness. It's about time to end this madness. I want my life back.

7 days. I'm so relieved. For me, the hard part is over. I found it difficult to motivate myself to put in the time to finish what I wanted to do for the last few weeks, but somehow I dug deep and managed to get most of it done.

And now, the motivation isn't a problem. This morning, I feel like how I feel with half a mile left on a run and I decide to finish at some ridiculous pace that I can't really sustain. I tell myself, you can do *anything* for half a mile, let's just get this over with. Then I just focus on my breathing, and before I know it, I'm done.

Bar: A pleasant surprise?

A few weeks back, I had to face the fact that I really needed help on the essays, so I ordered some more materials and added some additional essays to the already jam-packed schedule.

Unfortunately, something had to give.

So, I substituted bar essays for training for and running in a gorgeous half-marathon in wine country. This was the second year in a row where I'd paid the entrance fee to that race and then had to bail because life got in the way. (You can guarantee I'll try to do it next year, now it's personal...)

But, I found a way to replace my runs and study by doing walks and flashcards. Initially, I did it alone, babbling out loud to myself, and no doubt making my neighbors certain that I was crazy.

More recently, A and I go together. Every day, we quiz each other, we walk, and we vent. On average, we do about 1-2 hours of good solid review per day. It's a nice way to break up the day. And oddly, stuff seems to stick better with the change of scenery and the physical exertion.

Apparently, it's a nice way to get more exercise than I realized as well. I added up my mileage for last week and was shocked to find that although I only went for two runs, I managed to clock in 33.9 miles on the shoes.

At this rate, I should be on track to be able to run a half-marathon within a few weeks of the bar without any problem. What a pleasant surprise.

Bar: This sucks

I think this is another low point.

I can see the bar coming. It's close enough to have me mildly stressed. It's still far enough away, however, that I'm daunted at the idea of keeping this up for the remaining 8 days. Those 8 days seem very long.

Plus, my dad is still in the hospital and I'm just generally bummed about that. He's slowly getting better, but he's depressed and not as healthy as he wants to be.

I found out through the family grapevine that he got some mildly bad news a few days ago, which he has been hiding from me. Ordinarily, I'm in constant contact with the nurses and I know about his health better than he does. But right now, I can't do the multiple phone calls, the waiting on hold, the sweet-talking of the stressed out nurses. So I'm in the dark.

Even in the hospital, he wants to take care of me. He's my dad.

And I want to be there to take care of him. Being there seems more important than this daily onslaught of cramming and spewing law that wouldn't pass muster in any acceptable legal practice anywhere.

But, he's not in any state where I can do anything for him. I want to go for selfish reasons, to assuage my guilt, and to get away from all of this. He wants me here. Studying.

Like I said. This sucks.

Good Quote


Live your life each day as you would climb a mountain. An occasional glance toward the summit keeps the goal in mind, but many beautiful scenes are to be observed from each new vantage point. climb slowly, steadily, enjoying each passing moment; and the view from the summit will serve as a fitting climax for the journey.


-- Harold V. Melchert, courtesy of Jeff Adachi's intro to the contracts chapter.

Bar: New Least Favorite Subject

Dear California Bar Examiners:

Constitutional law is an extremely inappropriate subject to test under the "memorize an outline and spit it out" approach. You may have noticed that con law is a big grey box of wishy-washiness.

Unfortunately, your graders have 2.5 minutes per essay and need bold headings, tests with 3 prongs, and conclusive answers.

This makes Con Law my new least favorite subject.

Just thought you might want to know.

Sincerely,

BT

Awww...

Our neighbor across the street is turning 15 today. He's out in his front yard with all of his friends. The boys are vaguely identical, each with black T-shirts that are two sizes too big and longish hair that falls in their faces. There are also a few girls who look about 5 years older than all of the boys.

Earlier this week, I found a piece of paper sticking out of the mailbox. Basically, it said:

"My band will be playing at my birthday party at 3 PM. Please come check us out. If you don't come, please note that the drums will be loud. Please do not call the police."

I'm all for it. I'm bummed I'm locked in the house. I think it would be fun to go watch and listen to a band of 15-year-olds play music. From what I've heard of his practice, they should be somewhat decent. Plus, for once, it's not us making the annoying noise.

Too bad I've got to stay inside and study Con Law. Which, by the way, contains WAY too many intricate details to fit nicely into the remaining open space in my brain.

Oh, there goes the band. Boy, they are loud. He wasn't kidding. At least I can listen and study...

Surprise!

The doorbell just rang. I'm looking pretty hot these days (Why yes, these are the same men's boxer shorts that I was wearing all day yesterday. Thank you for noticing.)

Needless to say, I didn't make the FedEx guy's day.

But he made mine. Big box full of candy, cookies, etc, from the firm!

I heart unexpected indulgence food while I'm studying.

Okay. Back to property.

Asian-inspired BBQ

In celebration of the night off I took last night, I present the beef recipe I made/adapted, which along with the spicy soba salad and macaroons made for a wonderful day of cooking study breaks. Today, the day of leftovers, promises to be more focused.

Lemon grass beef skewers

1 lb sirloin, trimmed and sliced into 1/8 inch strips
1/4 white onion, chopped into pieces that will fit on skewers (Approx 1/2 in X 1/2 in)
1 green bell pepper, seeded and chopped into similar size pieces as onion
2 serrano chiles, seeded (or unseeded if you are a spice lover)
rice vinegar
olive oil
splash of red and white wine (if you have it laying around)
1 bunch of cilantro
2 stocks of lemon grass, outer layer peeled off and chopped
1-2 tsp sugar.

Directions: Put sirloin strips, onion and bell pepper pieces into a dish for marinating. Puree remaining ingredients in food processor and pour over meat and vegetables. Let sit in the fridge for a few hours. Prepare skewers by sticking the skewer through the meat at one end, then a piece of vegetable, then accordion the meat back, then another vegetable and so on until you need to use another piece of meat. Grill until the meat is done to your desired amount. Remove from skewers and enjoy.

Happy Friday!

Bar: hints for those who are dense like me

Say it with me now: DO NOT THINK.

The California bar wants to see that you can memorize an outline and do a cursory recitation and cut-and-paste.

Issue spotting is really just pasting an outline into the answer and filling in half of the items with, "this is not an issue because there are no facts to indicate..."

Take for example, an essay question that says, "Bob moves for summary judgment on the grounds that he was not legally responsible for Peter's injuries. Did the court properly grant his motion?"

Please forget about every motion for summary judgment you've ever read or written. This is not a motion for summary judgment on the grounds of lack of "legal causation." Sure, it might look like that is the issue of law upon which relief is requested. But no.

In bar land, a motion for summary judgment says to the court, "I say there are no issues of triable fact, tell me otherwise." The whole burden on the moving party thing... yeah, ignore that. The burden is never on the bar examiners.

Just follow the outline, do one paragraph with a heading for every element of negligence and ignore the fact that an MSJ usually asks the court to find identified and argued issues to be true or false as a matter of law. They wanna see their duty, breach, causation, and damages even if they don't ask for 'em.

They wanna see their outlines. I'm supposed to give 'em back their outlines. Why is this so hard for me to understand?

Bar: Multiple Choice Questions Question

Do any of you have an opinion about the "released questions?"

Seems to me like they are the easiest set of questions I've done for every subject that I've done 'em for. Easier than the BarBri simulated exam. Way easier than the PMBR questions, along the lines of the BarBri introductory questions for the topic, if not easier.

I've heard many people claim that PMBR questions are more indicative of the type of questions you will see on the MBE. But I was under the impression that the released questions in the Barbri MDR were actually NCBE questions.

So, I'd love some feedback from those of you who are in this madness or who've been there before.

If I only have time to do one set, should I take solace in the released questions or keep pushing through on the PMBR questions?

Thanks in advance.

**UPDATE: So, thanks to Frolics & Detours we have a theory: the released questions are easy because NCBE doesn't release their tricks. Makes sense. Also, I thought you could order actual MBE questions from them, but it turns out, you can only order "sample" exams, one of which is reproduced in the released questions in the MDR. So, PMBR it is.

Bar: the final ascent

Today was the last BarBri lecture. Now it's just me, enough books to load 2 llamas, and 336 hours 'til the exam.

Overall, I'm okay. Grumpy. Tired. Not excited about the next 14 days. But, I will do what I can do and that will be that.

On the bright side, I can already imagine what it's going to be like to have a life again. Evenings. Vacation. Cooking. Just not right now.

Pop Culture

I kind of missed the world cup.

But, I think I saw the cartoon version a while ago:


Hank Scorpio: By the way, Homer, what's your least favorite country? Italy or France?

Homer: France.

[Hank adjusts a giant laser]

Hank Scorpio: Heh heh. Nobody ever says Italy.

Bar: You're Kidding Me

Just got another essay back from the good old barbri graders. I passed! There's a first time for everything, I guess.

Only, I'm fairly certain I should have failed. Compared to the sample answer, I went off on quite a few tangents and didn't spend as much time on the "big issues." This has been the reason I've failed in the past and what I need to avoid doing on the bar.

Thanks for the positive feedback barbri grader, but I'm not buying it. Back to learning how to be a clone.

What you need?

Apparently, there was a piece on NPR about Bonobos. A stopped by last night and gave us her rendition of the interview. We laughed with E2 (who leaves for China today!) 'til it hurt.

The woman was crazy. She believed she was one with the Bonobos. They substitute sex for aggression. They throw feces. She taught them to give her their feces. So they did. Every time they saw her for 4 years. I'm thinkin' they were doing a little experimentation of their own...

Happy, Happy, Joy, Joy

Last night was the best night I've had in a while. My top 10 favorite things?

1. A dream where I got to hang out with my Papa.
2. No studying after 5 PM!
3. A 4-mile run with E2.
4. Friends.
5. Cowboy Caviar.
6. Carne Asada Tacos with home-made guacamole from E2.
7. Spicy shrimp from D.
8. A sour cream chocolate cake.
9. Dark chocolate icing (in hindsight, I should have used the sour cream dark/milk icing recommended by Nigella, but I didn't have enough sour cream).
10. Staying up talking 'til 1 AM and then sleeping in my own bed with E.

I'm ready to put in a few good days of attack now (starting with a nap this afternoon...)

Introspection

I am, you see, what some would refer to as wound up. Overly protective. I'm an introvert who often successfully masquerades as an extrovert. But even at my most extroverted, I have to think about the majority of the things I communicate before I let them go free. I'm often jealous of the spontaneous joy and sadness that my extroverted friends express in public.

But. I do not work that way. For the most part, I like to think about how I feel before I express it.

Which is why this whole spill my guts about the bar on the blog thing is weird. Often, I'm expressing my thoughts and feelings before I've had a chance to fully process them. I find my response to the bar is very human, the way I write about it on the blog.

I read my posts to see that I am being selfish. That I am focused on me and my life to the exclusion of humor or the news. I'm overly concerned with details that won't matter in the future and I'm talking about them. I'm silly. I over-react. I'm not thinking enough. I'm boring. And what I write doesn't sound like how I want my words to sound.

I'm sure this is a combination of many things (what I'm doing with my life on a daily basis isn't how I'd like to spend it, stress, and the fact that my filters aren't on when it comes to bar posts, to name a few...).

Regardless, I think one of the hardest things about the bar study period is that it brings out some of your worst qualities. On top of everything else. Who needs to deal with their failings as a human in the middle of this mess?

Oh. Right. That's how we grow into better people. Fun. Please excuse me while I go grow some more.

Bar: Sigh

Happy Fourth of July. I'm home. Exhausted, but happy to be home, despite the holiday of studying.

I take a small bit of pleasure in the knowledge that at least the poor folks at BarBri are working too. I received an emailed response to yet another essay.

Fail.

At least I'm failing in the same way. I'm actually gratified to see that I think I've identified my problem correctly. This grader actually came right out and said,


"ADVERSE POSSESSION IS A BIG ISSUE HERE - YOU NEEDED TO RECOGNIZE THAT, AND GIVE EACH OF THE REQUIREMENTS FOR IT A HEADING, AND AN IRAC TREATMENT."


Oh. Right. Silly me. I only gave it a general heading and two paragraphs. I wrote this essay back when I thought "BIG ISSUE" meant something that could go either way and was worthy of discussion. I thought they were looking for issues that were actually interesting to discuss, like something that would actually change the outcome of the case or go to court instead of settle.

But now, I'm slowly getting the point. "BIG ISSUE" means a big black heading in the BarBri outline towards the front of the topic. If I see one of those, I am to devote much time to its discussion, even if it's apparent from the facts that the issue is truly a non-issue.

Slowly, slowly, my practice exams are metamorphosizing into outlines with blanks filled in by a monkey with a typewriter. It's too bad a monkey isn't on the list of crap you're allowed to bring into the exam.

Bar: kick me while I'm down, why don't ya?

I think I've established that I suck at the essays. I've got a plan that involves much outlining, many practice essays, and much reading of sample answers.

But I thought I could at least relax about the MBEs. Guess Again. I just graded a chunk of 50 PMBR questions. I was looking forward to the break. It was one of my favorite topics. One of my strengths.

Or so I thought.

Try 44%.

Not 44% wrong. 44% correct.

Looks like I won't be swapping out the multiple choice for more essays after all...

***UPDATE: I counted wrong. The good news is, I'm back in the comfort land of passing this subject. The bad news is, I've lost the ability to count and do simple math, and I'm clearly lacking the skill required to evaluate things that seem out of the ordinary and look for facts that would explain their existence. Which brings me back to why I suck at the essays...

Bar: Romance

Last night, I drove to the nearest big city to my hometown to pick up E from the Amtrack station. From there, we drove to the cute old town area and picked a restaurant on the river for a late dinner.

A night off! A date with my husband! It was glorious.

Towards the end of dinner, we took our wine glasses outside to the balcony on the river to watch the fireworks display. We silently looked at the sky and held hands, basking in the sweet romance of the moment.

That is, 'til I busted out with,


You know...back in the day, fireworks were considered an ultrahazardous activity and so you were strictly liable for any harm that resulted from their use. But now, they are so common place that they are governed by ordinary negligence standards.


Do I know how to whisper sweet nothings, or what?

Quote of the day: Ecstasy-fed pumas

Valleywag's take on Marissa Mayer's (VP at Google) Businessweek interview:


[Google VP Marissa] Mayer says:

There certainly are some engineers who tire of working on one
particular task and want to move on to a new task.

Mayer means: "You've heard of Geek A.D.D.? Add that to a PhD and a sense
of entitlement, and 'herding cats' becomes a woefully inadequate
metaphor. Try 'herding ecstasy-fed pumas.'"