Completed Category: Documentary Feature

My second-to-last completed category!  One more nominee to see after this. 

Documentary Feature Film
Black Box Diaries
No Other Land
Porcelain War
Soundtrack To A Coup d'Etat
Sugarcane

Let me just say, once again, that whether a documentary is interesting or good is not based on the topic.

 There can be an amazing documentary about a subject in which I have no interest that has me riveted. Or, the opposite: a topic I would love to know more about can be covered in a terrible documentary, making for an excruciating 2.5 hours, such as is the case with Soundtrack To A Coup d'Etat.  Holy cow is this a boring look at the mid-twentieth century tragic and murderous foreign policy of Belgium and the U.S., and political shenanigans in the Congo, up to and including the murder of Patrice Lumumba. I am deeply interested in this history! This documentary bored me immensely. Also, it was irritating. There's this whole jazz motif going on, and it drove me straight up a wall.  I really don't like jazz and I'm pretty sure that's related to how much I hate this film.  The film is constructed of various jazz music that is sometimes lyrically appropriate and sometimes relevant because the film at that time is talking about when Louis Armstrong or whoever traveled to Africa at that time -- so many layers, like a piece of jazz music, right?  Ugh. It was awful. There were actually close-ups of people singing where you could see their saliva - gross, shudder.  And the shots of Dizzy Gillespie's puffy cheeks gave me the fantods. Now, on the other hand, the frequent clips of Malcolm X talking were by far a highlight of this film - more of that, please. Less of everything else.  Side note: this is not solely about "We Didn't Start the Fire" (Belgians in the Congo!) but also a fair bit of Car 54 Where Are You?  (Khrushchev's due at Idlewild!) 

Anyway. Onto the four good documentaries! 

Black Box Diaries - haunting, stunning achievement, quite personal while being globally relevant, as one woman documents her pursuit of justice in the aftermath of a sexual assault. Why are men. 

No Other Land -  depressing, infuriating look at oppressively macho Israeli military posturing over a bit of land that they would like to forbid Palestinians to live on, for no discernible reason.  

Porcelain War - still more depressing stuff, with art and nature and beauty struggling to keep their heads above the mass of violent warfare that is the Russian invasion of and war in Ukraine.  

Sugarcane -  another personal depiction that meanders through major trauma and its effects years and decades later on the survivors of "Indian schools" in Canada as well as on their descendants. I really thought this was well done, with the weaving of one personal search for healing amid the wider community and even world search for healing related to this horrible bit of history. 

There is really only one that I can't bear to see win, but my order in which I'd like to see them win:  Sugarcane, Black Box Diaries, Porcelain War  (really, any of those three!), then No Other Land

Order in which I think they'll win: 
Maybe Porcelain War? Or Black Box Diaries.  I might like Sugarcane more than some other people do, but I did notice Lily Gladstone's name as an Executive Producer, which probably means she'll have  successfully campaigned it to some extent.  No Other Land probably won't work for some people. I don't know who votes for Soundtrack to a Coup d'Etat ... Steely Dan fans? Overwrought fever dreaming men? I don't know. 

Which documentary did you think was the best? 

Calling 'Dibs!' on Dibs

You might have heard that Chicago experienced a huge snowstorm the first weekend in February, on Super Bowl Sunday, in fact. Some hungover people even got a snow day Monday! It was the fifth largest snowstorm on record (inches in a certain period of time), such-and-such amount fell at O'Hare, there were train delays, reporters checking out the commute, and so on..snow, snow, snow. And when the Chicago Tribune ran out of things to write about (because actually, the post-storm recovery was going pretty smoothly), they started writing daily about "Dibs."

"Dibs on parking spaces after snow is the Chicago Way," said one editorial headline. It's a "quaint custom" and a "Chicago winter tradition" whereby vehicle owners shovel out their street parking spot, drive off somewhere (assuredly it must be to work, what with the Chicago Midwest work ethic that undoubtedly is behind all things that happen here in the land of friendly earnest Midwesterners) (did we mention we're in the Midwest?), and leave in the newly shoveled-out spot a chair, or a plastic stool, or maybe some crates from the porch, even an ironing board. Thus, "Dibs!" has been called, and no pesky driver who didn't shovel the spot can violate the code of Dibs and park there. Is it legal? Is it libertarian? Is it great? These and other questions have been discussed for more than a week now in the opinion pages of the Tribune, and now we're in the public-weighing-in phase of the discourse with letters to the editor extolling the lovely communal spirit of Dibs that is just a "quirky Chicago attribute" and a symbol of the ever-great neighborly Midwest. And a cursory internet search reveals that this same self-congratulatory discussion has launched itself in the news pages in previous winters as well. 

One small problem, Chicago: Dibs is not unique to you.

What?! Sputter, gasp, the friendly Midwesterners of the neighborly vibe, earnest work ethic, and pathetic NFL team spit out their coffee (often Dunkin' Donuts, it must be said -- they do have that good sense) and choke on their deep dish "pizza" and ketchup-free hot dogs. But it's true. Citizens of other cities respond to their own snowy deluges by digging out their cars and then claiming the space with a folding lawn chair that would otherwise go unused for another few months. Dibs. I, for one,  learned about the practice when I witnessed it in Medford, Massachusetts. (Boston, another city that is proud of itself from time to time, also experiences a fair amount of snow, as you may know.)

I was passing over most of the Dibs talk with no more than mild interest for a few days but this morning the bit I read in a letter published in the Trib was over-the-top in its delight about this so very Chicago tradition, and this one was from someone who isn't even from here. The letter didn't specify the writer's original home; it just cakcled with delight about moving to Chicago a year ago and discovering Dibs.

Chicago, you're on thin ice here (<--- see what I did there?). I moved to the "Second" City (sort of) to get away from this attitude of specialness, or, as I like to call it, New York. I am forever telling anyone who will listen (all three of them) that Chicago gives New York a run for its money in offering up art, music, literature, theater, dance, people, crowds, liveliness, and anything else a city dweller could want, sometimes at half the rent. (And almost twice the rats.) I am forever reveling in the experience of life in this big, famous city that isn't so full of, well, New Yorkers...the annoying ones, I mean. The ones who have never been anywhere else, the ones who can't really distinguish between Colorado and California, the ones who are entirely convinced that New York is the one and only place in the world worth living. It's not, those people are dumb, and the attitude of specialness threatens to undo the specialness. Don't let this happen to you, Chicago.

So I commented about this particular letter to the editor and its effusive praise for the quirky Chicago attribute (which is not that at all), and Brian's response, besides just disagreeing with me that this is a problem or issue to be noted, was along the lines of, well, how can the Chicagoans be expected to know what goes on in other cities?

Gaaaaaahh! This! This!!! THIS is what I hate the most about the specialness. If you don't know what goes on in other cities, then now is not the time to talk about how quaint and quirky and special yours is.

I love bemused, self-deprecating geographical humor. I loved reading the "Only in L.A." columns as much as the next person. I re-Tweet all the great "10 Things Arizona Natives Have to Explain to the New People" pieces. It's all a good time. But in order to make the comparisons, you're going to have to know about the other place, too. "How can they be expected to know?" Nuh-uh. But if you don't know, then you can be expected not to talk.

You can't get dibs on "Dibs!" by calling Dibs!-dibs. That's like a giant, living Möbius strip or something. It's like trying to mail yourself to the post office. The world just doesn't work that way.

States

If I am not careful, I am going to reach the point of having spent more of my total lifetime in Michigan than in Utah! That is just wrong. I am *definitely* closing in on having spent more time in Michigan than Illinois. I might even be passing it right about now...

Obviously, the states where I've spent the most time are the states where I've lived. So the top eight are, in order:
1. Arizona
2. California
3. Massachusetts
4. New York
5. Wyoming
6. Utah
7. Illinois
8. Michigan

But, see, I haven't really actually lived in Michigan, like lived-lived, and yet I kind of transitionally in progress have. And that's why it's annoying. Because of the not-really-ness of it.

FYI, the two states I have not been to, and which I really need to get to, are Alaska and Hawaii. As for the other forty states in the middle, between my eight lived-in/"lived"-ins and my far-flung unseens? There are a few where I've spent a fair amount of time (at least several weeks in a row, if not more, with multiple stints):
Virginia * Maryland *Pennsylvania
(also, D.C.)

And states I've been to a bunch of times, where I've racked up lots of days:
Nevada * Texas * Colorado * Vermont * New Hampshire * Connecticut  * Georgia * Florida * New Mexico * Louisiana * Washington

Or where I haven't been as many times, but have still spent some quality time:
Rhode Island * Maine * New Jersey * Indiana * Ohio * Tennessee * Iowa * South Dakota * Idaho * Nebraska * Missouri * Alabama * Mississippi * Oklahoma * Arkansas * North Carolina

And states I've visited, though briefly, where I should see and do more:
South Carolina * North Dakota * Wisconsin * Minnesota * West Virginia
And the states where I've done little more than pass through and look around, and definitely need to revisit:
Kentucky * Oregon * Delaware * Kansas * Montana

I like states.

Now I have to go think about how many state capitals I've been to. It's at least thirty. I like capitals, too.

Querétaro with six weeks to go

It's a relaxing Friday evening at home. I've got the baseball game on TV (trying to decide which of the Atlanta Braves' recent playoff nemeses to root against, San Francisco or St. Louis?) and I'm attending to various tasks, both functional and creative, on my to-do list.  I'm also rather enjoying some cookies that I bought at the Mercado Escobedo earlier today. I have time to get a bit of writing and reading done.  All in all, like I said, a relaxing Friday evening at home.

And that's the weird part. We've had so many homes over the past few years, and in so many different countries, to boot! I've always moved a lot (home ownership and settling down are maybe the last two things on my list of life priorities) but I've also enjoyed my recent periods of (what passes for) stability of two to four years in the same place, in Brooklyn and in Boston. (Hmmm, B----n, coincidence? Perhaps I'm destined to settle down in ... Bhutan! Or Bahrain. Maybe Berlin?)

We've had some really great homes during these years of galvanting, Brian and I have. Even our short-term homes, like Baan Suwaan in Phuket, Thailand. (There's that B------n theme again, although in that case it's the name of the hotel/apartments.)  I wanted to stay in Baan Suwaan forever! If we hadn't made post-Phuket plans, like with an already booked plane ticket, we would very likely have kicked it there for a few months. Ahhh, Phuket.

Our main apartment in Andong, Korea was awesome, too. We really dug living in Ok-Dong (Ok-Dong kitties! and the restaurants, my goodness) and if we hadn't been moved to the new and improved digs above the new Avalon school location, we just might have been persuaded to re-up for one more year teaching at Avalon.

And Chicago...sigh. I miss living there a lot. Our apartment was in the Best. Location. Ever! (thanks, Sara and Houston) and I loved it, and I did all sorts of things and I barely scratched the surface of that city in one year. I mean, we are definitely planning to go back, but when I start thinking about Chicago I start getting really depressed, because it reminds me that there is such a big world to live in and I just want to live in all of it. I want to live in the U.S. (in Chicago, and L.A., and New York, and Boston, and sometimes Tucson and Atlanta and D.C. as well) and I want to live outside the U.S. (ZOMG! So many choices!!!)   Why is that so much to ask?

I'm sure you can tell why I'm thinking about these things. Our Mexican time is ticking, and with only six weeks until my Next Big Move, I have definitely started getting that mix of thrill and anxiety that comes with determining just what exactly the Next Big Move is.

Meanwhile, let's review. What are some of the things I have most enjoyed about living in Querétaro 

1. The PLAZAS!  We live right across the street from Querétaro's Centro Historico area, which is thanks to Brian ensuring he got us a great pad in this area, when he was here for two weeks before I came, so kudos to Brian! I love, love, love strolling across the street and wandering around the andadores amid the colored colonial architecture. I love that there is pretty much always an event happening on the Plaza de Armas -- music, art, literature, crafts, concerts, festivals, performances of some sort, all the time. And that doesn't even mention the other plazas I love, like the Jardín Zenea or "our" plaza, the one on our cross street of Ezequiel Montes, with the fountain and light show and dramatic opera-like music.  Yay, plazas!

2. The food - obviously. And I can't even try to summarize it all here, but let's just say I was clearly meant to come to Querétaro because their local specialty, enchiladas queretanas, are cheese enchiladas with potatoes. I mean, this basically screams "Linda! Eat me!"

3. It's the little things, but I sure do like it when people as they leave a restaurant/cafe say "Buen provecho!" to the other patrons who are still eating. Brian and I are pretty proud of ourselves every time we provecho our fellow diners on our way out. 

4. I could keep talking about food and restaurants for a long time, so let me just give a few shout-outs: Tacos Tucson. Our dearly departed guajolotes/enchiladas queretanas place that seems to have recently closed. Bisquets. Cafe del Fondo. Tacos El Pata. Cafeto. Tacos Goyo. Other street tacos places and holes in the wall and little random discoveries. ChilaKing (do I have that right? our local chilaquiles spot). THE BLUE MASA GORDITAS PLACE!!!! Yes, I am shouting. None of you have really lived, because you haven't been to the blue masa gorditas place. 

5. The Arcos. That's what we call Querétaro's aqueduct, because of its many 20-meter high brick arches. It's awesome. It's a symbol of the city. I see it all the time. I dig it. 

That's just a taste. I have not been a prolific blogger from Querétaro, for reasons that I shall elaborate upon once I'm out of here, but just so you know: if you're on the fence about coming to Querétaro, I do recommend it. Bring an appetite. 

Go...Texas?

Damn Yankees. I refer, of course, to the NYY. As if they weren't problematic enough, with their mega-payroll and their superstars and their snotty attitude and their just generally epitomizing the worst things about New York, namely, the belief held by all most all New Yorkers that New York is the best! the greatest city in the world! there's no other place worth living! you must be joking to say you would live somewhere else! why would I live anywhere else! I'm from here! here is great! it's New York! it's the only place worth being! I've been out West; I went to Pennsylvania once! wait, how many other states are there again? -- yeah, as if the New York Skankees weren't problematic enough just inevitably showing up in the MLB playoffs and causing me to weep and wail and gnash my teeth, my policy of rooting for whatever-team-plays-against-the-Yankees is being seriously tested for the second year in a row because starting tonight they are playing in the ALCS against Texas.

Texas? Texas?! I have a general sports policy of rooting against Texas at all times in all things. College football? The University of Texas is in serious contention to be my least favorite team, only giving me fits of neutrality if they play Alabama. Basketball? The San Antonio Spurs are pretty much the nemesis of this Phoenix Suns fan, and it certainly isn't difficult to wish losses upon the other Texas NBA teams as well. NFL? I couldn't possibly care less about the Dallas Cowboys, and I roll my eyes every time I have to hear about them or their billion dollar stadium or their fans or their claim to be "America's team." And there is never a good reason to root for any Texas team in baseball, either, least of all one that has been owned by George Dubya Bush for the love of god.

But now we find ourselves with an ALCS of the New York Yankees vs the Texas Rangers. Shudder to think. And I have to figure out whose loss I want more. And you know what? I kind of think I want the Yankees to lose more. So there you go. I mean, once the World Series comes I will be rooting for the National League, regardless, even though either the Giants or the Phillies will simply remind me that they crushed my Atlanta Braves to get there... One way or another, the Yankees just need to get off their high horse and not repeat their World Series championship.

It's such an unfamiliar position to be in, but - let's go, Texas!

The Art Institute of Chicago

On Thursday, July 1st, Brian and I visited the Art Institute of Chicago. For those of you who don't know, the Art Institute is one of Chicago's prominent sights to be seen. First of all, it's huge and gorgeous, with cool architecture and all that. It's downtown (the Loop!) near Grant Park and it is famous and has been a significant part of the art world for years and years. (Side note: I love the phrase "art world." I rather like imagining art as being a world.)

We went on Thursday because admission is free from 5 p.m. 'til it closes at 8 p.m. on Thursdays. I am a big fan of going to museums at the times they offer free admission. This is how I saw the also-famous-and-important MoMA in New York, too. I love that most museums offer free days and/or free portions of days. You should check out the museums in your town - they probably offer free admission at some point, which is entirely awesome.

So, about the Art Institute of Chicago? I was totally blown away. Lots and lots of art. Of course there is far more than one can see in a few hours, which is why I plan (I had already thought of this before going) to visit it more than once, probably one Thursday per month. If I worked downtown, I might even wander in there every Thursday after work. Wandering solo through museums and just kind of seeing what catches your eye is a great way to visit them, as opposed to trying to systematically see every piece.

However, there are definitely more than a few destination pieces in the Art Institute of Chicago. Among them is American Gothic. I was so excited to see it! It's SO famous. And, as Brian pointed out while we were looking at it, it's so often parodied that it's interesting to see it and remember what their actual faces really look like in the painting. His face is so - set. And she's kind of gazing off to the side. There are lots of emotions captured in the work. As we wandered through the rooms of the Art Institute, I knew we were about to enter the room with American Gothic but you don't even have to wonder where it is, because first you see the obligatory crowd in a semi-circle, standing in front of it taking pictures with their cell phones. It was the same thing with Vincent Van Gogh's Starry Night in MOMA. I rather liked standing in front of American Gothic, surrounded by people looking at it and discussing it in multiple European languages.

Speaking of Van Gogh, a few of my boy's paintings are at the Art Institute of Chicago. I swoon! I loved looking at more of his stuff. I totally get him so much. All my feelings of reverence and connection for him and his life and his madness and his art came flooding back to me as I wandered through the Van Gogh room. There are tons and tons of European and impressionist and Monet and other paintings, too - and that was just a small part of the entire Art Institute.

I really liked Monet's Haystacks series. And we spent a while in the O'Keefe/Stieglitz room, where I discovered that I rather enjoy Marsden Hartley's paintings.

Oh, and we saw two other mega-famous paintings there, Edward Hopper's Nighthawks and Georges Seurat's A Sunday on the Grande Jatte. They're big. A Sunday on the Grande Jatte is really big.

I like the Art Institute of Chicago!

Want to read more things about art?

• About Feminist Art
• Miriam Schapiro
• Womanhouse

Vice Versa

I would just like to state once again for the record that I have never, ever heard anyone from/in Los Angeles who has never been to New York say that they hate New York.

Am I implying that the reverse can be heard? Why, yes. Yes I am.

And every time it happens, my respect for New Yorkers goes down a little bit. I guess it's like any wackjob extremist; you bring dishonor on your whole group when you say and do dumb stuff.

If someone told us they like a city where they have never been, we would think they were delusional. Why the hell isn't that true for dislike?

Seasons change, but animated chickens are constant

I know, I know, I haven't been blogging. Where have I been? Probably off trying to get warm somewhere. It's not that I don't like winter (Boston world, I miss you!) and snow. I love the snow! For example right now I am sitting in a Biggby Coffee shop working on freelance stuff, and I am right by a big window through which I can gaze at the wintry view of white-gray sky, bare branch silhouettes, and little snow bits swirling about without sticking. To my right is a fireplace, and people are scattered in here sipping their coffee and working on their laptops. This I love. It's just the whole living in a cold house thing that hurts my bones. Anyway, where was I? Oh, right. Not blogging. But you know I will have to ramp up the bloggage soon, because a new season is upon us, and that is of course AWARDS SEASON!

Ahhhhh, film. Can you believe it is already December? The National Board of Review has announced its top 2009 films, the Gotham Independent Film Awards have been awarded, the British Independent Film Awards have chosen nominees and winners, and the always-a-good-time Independent Spirit Award nominees are here. And boy do I have some moviegoing to do!

I have been trying my best. We are particularly fond of the $3.99 Celebration! Cinema down the street, and we also go to the only AMC in Grand Rapids of course. (Yes, I said the only AMC. I know, it's as if I had only one Starbucks or something! But the Celebration! Cinema chain here has an awards program too, so I manage.) There are good films -- like, good good, you know, independent or offbeat or arthousy -- at the Urban Institute for Contemporary Arts every week, and we frequent that theater as well.

But the bottom line is, I am in Grand Rapids. Middle America. Not a coast for miles. And all the films just aren't playing here yet! Example? You want an example? I'll give you an example. The Road, I tell you. I read the book last year, and it moved me. I've devoured news about the film. I long for it. Some nights I watch the trailer online again just to keep myself going. I read my trusty Entertainment Weekly reviews that assure me it's here -- only it's not here here. Not yet. And so I wait.

Sure, sure, I've been spoiled by years of living in Boston, New York, and of course Los Angeles. There was my long dark Oscar winter in Korea to prepare me for this. But Korea was different. I basically just saw whatever was playing in English, one or maybe two movies per week, and then waited for another poster to appear announcing a movie that I could understand. Here in Grand Rapids, there are other movies playing, but I just don't want to see them, because they are stupid. (Or they are not stupid and we have already seen them.) I had truly forgotten what this is like.

Maybe those of you who haven't had the privilege of living in one of those Select Cities find this normal and see nothing wrong with my plight. Those of you in Select Cities, have pity on me. You know the ones. Besides L.A. and New York, they are the cities you see on that list in your magazine ads: "If you live in one of these cities, enter to win passes to an advance screening..." Boston, of course, is often on there. San Francisco, Atlanta, Chicago, Philadelphia, you know, all the places I want to live. Not so much the G Rap. Sigh. I'm just not about going to see Planet 51, or Ninja Assassin (speaking of Korea, eh), or god forbid Old Dogs. We went to The Blind Side and that fabulous comedy 2012, what more can you ask of me?

And don't even talk to me about The Twilight Saga: New Moon on two screens at my local AMC. Seriously. Don't. Don't even suggest it. I don't think I would have stooped to that, even in Daegu. Sure, when I lived in Asia I was desperate enough to hear English dialogue that I indulged in Harry Potter and the Quittich Tournament or whatever it was (Goblet of Fire, I believe), and yes, I may have paid my 6,000 won to see Chicken Little. But the animated chicken is as low as I go. It is still many steps above the shoegazing swan with her sparkly vampire and Lamanite werewolf.

Never fear. I am making the most of it, and really I'm being melodramatic for the purposes of this blog entry, of course. Recently we have had the pleasure of attending truly awesome films: A Serious Man and The Men Who Stare at Goats. You must not heed EW's shamefully off-base review of TMWSaG for a second. That flick is satirical, philosophical, and sarcastic, with a lot of brilliance just under the surface, so you have to pay attention.

But the Oscars are coming! The Oscars are coming! We are less than two months from the nominations. (February 2nd) We are one week from the Golden Globe nominations. One week, people!!!

Citizens of Grand Rapids, unite! We demanded Paranormal Activity -- now why can't we demand the good stuff?!

Adventures

So about this whole not-taking-the-bar-exam thing: I find it really funny how quickly law school has gone out-of-sight-out-of-mind for me. Every day I read messages or status updates from (former) classmates who are back in New York slogging through their bar review courses, and each time I have to sort of remind myself that a mere fifty or sixty days ago I was right there with them, in that elitist club of misery known as law school, staring at computer screens and cases and cites and convoluted phrases, questioning my sanity. And now here I am in the Southwest desert, a place that will always be home for me on many levels no matter how far I roam, and the whole law school thing just seems so far, far away.

But the thing is, I don't think it's just the physical distance from Long Island that makes Hofstra seem so far off. It's not that. It's more like driving down a freeway. Everyone is going 65 or 70 mph, and I took an exit. They are out of sight and off in the distance in mere seconds.

This would probably be a good time to have some profound looking-back-on-all-I've-learned kind of moment, but it's really not that simple, nor that grandiose. But I am trying to regroup, recharge, and rethink what to do next. Those who knew me three years+ ago, which is most of my adoring fans? I think, should recall my m.o.: always thinking about what could be next, always dreaming about what's around the corner, always listing a dozen adventures that I want to pursue in the next year and then kind of letting them fall and float and sift through themselves until something emerges on top.

As for the practical realities, Brian and I did have to move out of our adored Brooklyn 'hood and our lovely Box It Up existence, at least for the summer. That was a funding issue, not an all-out rejection of New York City. However, I am considering being employed elsewhere this fall, with the usual chief contenders: Washington D.C. (the city to which I've always meant to move, although I keep accidentally moving to other East Coast cities instead), Chicago (the obvious choice, it seems, after stints in Los Angeles and New York), San Francisco (California - swoon! - but still a place I haven't lived), and Abroad (just in general - more on that in a second). Of course those top choices are followed by my favorite destination: anywhere!

I have a certain freedom I haven't had in a while. I want to throw a dart at the map and move to the city where it lands. There are two things stopping me from doing exactly that tomorrow: 1)I don't have a car, so I have to either move to a public transportation city or wait until I buy a car and then fling that dart 2)I'm not certain Brian wants to throw a dart. At least not literally. He's adventurous and tries new things (such as Ethiopian food - more on that in a second, too) but he is slightly more meticulous than just literally throwing a dart. But I would do it literally, see. I really would. Maybe I will throw the dart, just for amusement's sake, the same way I take Facebook quizzes about "What ___ suits you best?" You know, just to see what the dart oracle has to say.

Meanwhile, back to those thats about which I promised more in a second... OK, Destination Abroad. I am definitely thinking about living abroad again, which would then coincide nicely with my plan in which I give myself permission to move back to California only if I first live abroad again for an entire year. While I am fully aware that the next item on my Life's Things to Do List after "Teach English in Asia" and "Go to law school" is "Join the Peace Corps," that one is also sort of simmering on the back burner for some of the reasons mentioned above but also because I am leaning more towards working abroad and not just volunteering. What I mean by that of course is earning more than just a volunteer's stipend. I am still very pro-Peace Corps, though, hence the simmering. But I would not mind a job abroad and to that end, I have taken the Foreign Service exam, and am waiting to hear if Hillary wants to hire me to re-establish diplomatic relations with Cuba (that is, if I passed the written test and get to move on to the next stage). I am all kinds of ready to get hired by the State Department and have my first gig at an overseas post. I just need them to see that they really want to hire me.

About the trying new things, such as Ethiopian food. Today Lesley (my sister), Brian and I went out to lunch at Taste of India, our go-to Indian lunch buffet restaurant when I come to Phoenix. Well, at least ever since our first go-to Indian lunch buffet restaurant closed down. Lesley and I both adore Indian food, and Lesley is surrounded here by people who won't eat it, such as her husband, his entire family, our parents, her kids, and so on. When I come to town, we make it a point to go eat it. Yum! Of course, Brian also likes Indian food so now that he is also here in Phoenix, we all went as a trio. While we were there we got to talking about the adventure of trying new cuisines. My sister and I have long been known to seek out the various ethnic restaurants in Phoenix (that's how we discovered our love for Indian food), and on two of my recent trips here we sampled an Ethiopian restaurant near ASU and the simply and to-the-pointly titled Baghdad Food. We were telling Brian about those places as well as some of the places we went in high school/college when we first began sampling all Phoenix has to offer, and then Lesley shared a story.

One of Lesley's nephews who went on a mission to West Africa and served in Togo, Benin, Ivory Coast, and maybe another country or two, I forget what all she said. Probably Ghana, since it's right in the middle of the countries I just mentioned. Anyway, he came back after two years doing West Africa things and a little while ago he was here in Arizona among my brother-in-law's large, Mormon, somewhat sheltered family. Not all of them, and not totally sheltered, but, well, yeah. Somewhat sheltered. So returned missionary nephew found a market in Phoenix somewhere with all the African goods, bought the requisite ingredients and spices, and made some undoubtedly intriguing and possibly delicious dish he had learned to make while there. And what do you think happened? My sister and only about three others could be persuaded to even try it. UGH.

I mean, picky eaters are one thing. (My sister's kids, ages three and five, are kind of ridiculous on that score. But I harbor hopes that they will outgrow at least some of their picky tastes. They're young yet.) And avoiding, say, one item or maybe two is acceptable. Like being allergic to seaweed, for example. But this was actually more than that, and the more-than-that was my sister's point in telling us the story in the first place. Here was this giant family (my brother-in-law has lots of siblings and they all have kids, and his parents each has even more siblings, and so forth) and yet only a handful of people can shake off the fear of trying something exotic. That's the crux of this, and the thing that bugs me. Kids avoid trying new foods. Snobs avoid trying unhealthy or inorganic or whatever foods. But sheltered people avoid trying foods that they perceive to be exotic. But why?

No, really. Why?

If we accept such jingoism in our palates I don't suppose we should ever be surprised by any national belligerence in political attitudes, either.

On the Move

I am out of touch! Breathlessly, I check in with you my adoring fans to say I am in Michigan. We have cleared out of our beloved Brooklyn Box Street for at least the summer as we attempt to: 1)find jobs 2)find out what's next. Not a bad list of goals for the summer. Of course, moving proved to be a major pain, with much U-Hauling and best laid plans ganging oft agley, etc. Let's just say I am intimately acquainted with every Arby's between Toledo and the Delaware Water Gap.

But, we have been able to get in a few days of Michiganing, including the Grand Rapids Festival of the Arts (I think that's what it's called...it was really just referred to as Festival the whole time) which consisted of walking around downtown Grand Rapids eating and listening to live music. Perfect. Also I looked at some handbags in the arts and crafts tent and this reminds me that I need to just generally announce to the world: help! I want to buy a tiny Going Out Purse.

In my life I have had a few Going Out Purses, but all have eventually spread their wings to fly from the nest, either by being stolen off of my body in Cuba, or just by wearing out and reaching the end of their straps. My latest, greatest Going Out Purse gave up the ghost in Curacao or shortly thereafter. Here is what is required of a Going Out Purse: a small flat rectangle of a soft usually cloth material, slightly taller than it is wide (perhaps 4 x 6 or 4 x 7 inches?), with a long strap to be worn over the shoulder across the body with the purse part resting on the opposite hip, and generally one flap to close it with a snap, velcro, or other fastening, although I wouldn't be opposed to a zipper. I'm not entirely sure why I am unable to find a Going Out Purse right now, unless it may be due to the fact that lately everyone seems to be buying/carrying these atrocious, giant purses that are really bags masquerading as purses or possibly vice-versa. The only thing I like less than annoying, expensive, jeweled, leather handbags are giant, annoying, expensive, jeweled leather handbags. Ugh. Does no one want to meet my needs of a suitable Going Out Purse? Minimalist, hands free, lightweight, and just big enough for keys, phone, cash, i.d. and possibly some feminine goodies.

Enough about that! We also saw Lake Michigan today, as we spent last night and today at Brian's family's "cottage" in Holland. It's always good to see a Great Lake. After another day and a half here we will be jetting off to Phoenix to reclaim my desert soul, save some money, and visit the Grand Canyon, among other summer activities. (Such as, Brian reminded me just as I was about to publish this post, eating at In-N'-Out Burger!!!)

What's on my mind

The end of law school sneaks up on you. I know some people who have been counting the days all semester, but I didn't plunge into the countdown as early as them because 1.I have a tendency to get kind of all-consumed by the countdown once I am in it (see e.g. Korea) and 2.I do like to live in the moment, actually.

I mean, we're already going to look back at law school and wonder where it all went so there's no point in wishing it away even faster!

That said, I do have a sense of impending freedom and I am telling myself "Only two more weeks" when I think about having to write papers -- because that means in only two more weeks I don't have to write any more of these papers.

Mostly, though, I have a giant case of the Now What?s. Lots of my classmates have the same thing, apparently because they are trying to find jobs and not having any luck due to the economy, the legal profession, and the entire New York job market just sort of imploding. Since I am not looking at law practice jobs and not necessarily looking in New York I mostly just worry about the fact that there are so many opportunities in the world and things to do that it is hard to pick one and it feels like in deciding I am letting others slip away! So, that is the same as before law school.

I am getting, to speak frankly, a lot of shit from people who don't understand why I am not taking the bar exam. I am so tired of hearing about the bar exam. It is for people who want to practice law -- isn't it? So, then.

There seems to be particularly no reason to take the bar exam in New York when one has no way to pay rent in New York for the two and a half months from graduation until bar exam. Let alone when one has no intention of practicing law in New York after wasting that time and money. It is so hard to find good advice about this.

I want to go everywhere!

And I am rather dismayed at how many people have slacked off on their blogging.

There you have it, folks. That's what's on my mind.

Doom and gloom and bar examinings

Dismal. I am shaping up to have quite the dismal track record this year of blogging great thoughts. Sadly, I fear it is because I am lacking in great thoughts altogether; it's not that I'm not thinking them and just keeping them from my adoring fans. (ha) And, I know, who wants to start yet another blog entry lamenting that I've gone a week since the last post again? But ugh. So, why have I done it? What great and marvelous acts are keeping me from the bloggage? It is spring break. But that can't be why.

I am pretty excited about spring break, though. I previously mentioned how ridiculous the timing of our spring break is this semester, but it's finally here and I am SO thrilled to be on vacation that I have even started to stop being bitter about not being able to travel anywhere. (Started to stop? Hmmm.) I am SO thrilled, in fact, that I am seriously considering not looking at Facebook for the rest of the week because there are too many law school people on there, who continue to blather about law school -- even on spring break!

Speaking of not talking about law school, I have to continue to talk about it to explain part of why I'm so happy not thinking about it. That doesn't really make any sense, but just go with it. About a week and a half ago I finally decided realized that I am not going to take the New York bar exam this summer. And it was like a moment of clarity. A thing of beauty. I felt like a new person. Really, I felt lighter. I felt like I knew myself again. It has been very difficult for me to get anything resembling advice from anyone at Hofstra about whether to take the bar exam and whether to take the New York bar exam , because they are so caught up in law world that they can't objectively determine whether it is the right choice for any one person. It's just what everyone does: graduate from law school, begin reviewing for bar exam the next day. But if everyone jumped off a cliff, etc. Add to that the dose of Long Island Syndrome which prevents about 60% of my school (maybe more) from realizing there are in fact about 45,000 other places to live in the world and REALLY no one can understand why not take the New York bar exam. But I - I have never wanted to be a lawyer, really. I just wanted to study international law. And I have done that. And I have said from the beginning that I don't want to be a lawyer. So why did I get so caught up in the bar exam frenzy? And the New York inertia?

I feel like I got the best advice from a friend who is no part of Hofstra but who has been working as a big firm corporate lawyer in Manhattan for eight years. She stated, "If you are even thinking of not practicing law in New York, you probably shouldn't take the New York bar exam. Why would you suffer through that and then just leave?" It sounds simple, but try getting anyone in a law school to say it. They have a lot invested in people passing the bar exam. But that's just because they want to have higher bar passage rates so they move up in the U.S. News law school rankings and make more money. Law schools are all about making a profit.

Anyway, the point is that I make more sense to myself when I think about not wasting three months and not borrowing six thousand more dollars just to do something that has no purpose. When I could be finding a job. A job that I actually can do. Hello, McFly?

So spring break. Not so springy, I might add. We did have one lovely weather day, on Sunday. Brian's parents visited for a couple days and we took advantage of the nice day with a trip to the Brooklyn Botanic Garden, near Prospect Park. That is a good part of Brooklyn. I like the park and I adore botanic gardens, and it was lovely to stroll there.

Also dismal, Michigan State's loss last night in the national championship game. It was dismal partly because we watched the game at Blondie's and then when it was over the regular game-watching excursions to Blondie's also ended, and all the Michigan State alumni left, depressed, saying, "See you in football season." Brian and I were two of the last group left sitting there, not feeling compelled to rush out in the mass people-who-have-to-get-up-for-9-to-5-jobs exodus. And that probably made me feel even more dismal, maybe even pathetic: it was as if I were willing there to be a celebration where in fact there was none. And then the usually reliable 7 train took forever when we were going home. Dismal.

But today is another day, another vacation day, another day of National Poetry Month (I'm writing a poem a day, as are hundreds of others), and another chance at productivity and sunshine.

Hipsters tossing coasters

Well, needless to say, when the Trojans and Spartans finally meet after all these centuries, only one team can walk away victorious. Sadly, this time it was Brian's MSU Spartans. On the bright side, that means they advanced to the next round, which means we'll watch another of their games at Blondie's, which means I get another meltdown. The Blondie's meltdown is pretty much my favorite sandwich in the world. It is totally a big part of why I continue to be a lapsed vegetarian in New York, too.

Speaking of half-assed vegetarians, there's another bar in which we have enjoyed ourselves a couple of times, this one in Williamsburg. I can never remember the name of it. Maracuja is the name of it. I just had to ask Brian. Anyway, so the last time we were at Maracuja was a couple of weeks ago for a friend's birthday. As the night wore on, it came time for Brian and me to stroll over to the jukebox. While we were selecting our songs -- don't gloss over that clause, it's important, here, I'll repeat it -- while we were selecting our songs, I felt something hit my leg but I ignored it in the way you might ignore anything short of a major touch when you are in a crowded bar. Then I felt a distinctly similar something hit my leg distinctly similarly. I'm not sure if it was after the third time, or after I turned and saw two people at the bar specifically not looking at me, or after I said, "What was that?" or after Brian felt something hit him too, but at some point in that chain of events, we realized there were coasters on the floor around us, which had fallen there shortly after hitting our legs, having been tossed at said legs, frisbee style.

Next, we did what any normal person selecting songs on a jukebox would do when s/he suspects some childish drunk person s/he doesn't know has tossed a coaster at her/him: we ignored them, because we weren't sure what was going on. Then, another coaster hit us. And the jig was up.

Really? You're throwing cheap, cardboard-paper like round bar coasters at me? Number one, why? Number two, who the hell do you think you are? Who does that? It's the kind of thing that would make me want to get in someone's face and tell them how stupid I think they are, if only it were worth my time to do so.

At some point, the Ms Thang half of the Ms Thang-Douchebag hipster couple came over to us and said something to the effect of "no Britney" songs. Britney had been playing earlier, and she didn't want to hear any more.

Now, I was really intrigued. First of all, I was wondering precisely which part of me looks like a Britney Spears fan. I imagine that Britney fans come in all shapes and sizes, as she has sold many, many albums, but I am terribly curious as to which aspect of me seemed to coalesce in the addled hipster brain to make it say, "Ahh! That girl there! She is going to play Britney!" (Especially seeing as I don't think I could even tell you the name of any Britney song since the "Oops..." or "Hit Me..." days.)

Secondly, even if one hated what was playing in a bar, and even if for some unknown reason one felt entitled to tell someone else what to put/not put on the jukebox, how does it become OK to THROW THINGS at that someone else to deliver this message?

And finally, HELLO DUMB-ASS!!! If I am now selecting songs, that means that MY SONGS AREN'T PLAYING YET. You stupid, self-centered, idiotic, reactionary, pitiful fool, you have no idea what I am playing. Don't lay your Britney issues on me!

Usually in our little Brooklyn lifestyle it's Brian who bags on the hipsters and I tend to defend them, but not this time.

Final two (months)

Less than two months! Why, until I graduate of course. That is, assuming that I pass at least five-sixths of my classes this final semester. I will probably do that. But one never knows. Speaking of never knowing, it's bracket time! Already let down by the Mormons (BYU lost its first-round game to Texas A&M. Eww), I nevertheless am looking forward to a fun-filled weekend of basketball, even with a bracket that is flawed right off the bat.

The best part is that if both USC and Michigan State win their first-round games they will play each other on Sunday! Brian and I are super stoked about that one. We've been waiting for our teams to meet up here or in the Rose Bowl or SOMEwhere ever since we started dating. And now's our chance, as long as we don't do anything stupid Friday night. (Which, both of our teams have been known to do -- something stupid.) "Our" game is really fun, because it's the Trojans versus the Spartans. Get it?! Fun and historic(al).

So, two months away from the graduation moment I'm just, you know, doing some reading, procrastinating writing papers, running here and there (but kind of slacking on the 5-6 days a week requested by the 25K training schedule), watching Lost on Wednesdays (seriously: who does not watch that show? And just - why not?) That's about the size of it. We made it up to Boston this past weekend and I finally got the last few lingering items of mine that were at my old house with the girls. (Only one girl of whom still lives there.) The whole weekend I pretty much thought I should still live in Boston/Somerville. Like, why-not-take-the-bar-exam-in-Massachusetts-this-summer? style, even. But I'll tell you why not: I have even fewer reasons to take the bar exam in Massachusetts than I do to take the bar exam in New York. So, inertia it is. Ugh. Another summer of paying thousands in rent. Boring. So over it. The idea of taking a gigantic mammoth exam is at least a little stimulating, however.

On the literary supplement front, I'm getting close to the end of The Satanic Verses and remain unimpressed -- but mostly I cannot think of words strong enough with which to mock the vile, hateful killers who declared/attempted the fatwa against Salman Rushdie. What losers.

Part of the problem with this whole semester is that our spring break is ridiculously late. Good ol' Hofstra -- they "have to" have spring break coincide with Passover and Good Friday, or else they would "have to" give extra days off for those religious holidays, in which case they would "have to" have fewer reading days (which, hello -- we have, like, one) or else we would "have to" start the semester earlier because we "have to" give the professors enough time to get in the grades and such because we "have to" finish everything by May 17, the day Hofstra the actual university tells the law school it "has to" have graduation. Uh-huh. Bunch of nonsense if you ask me. Ugh.

That's about all around here. Here's to dramatic finishes, preferably with overtime!
(Uh...I'm talking about the basketball.)

Stockard, irrational human behavior, and me

So. Then. This has been a doozy of a last few days, only I just realized it today. For those who don't know this about me (uh--is there anyone?), I like to think about things. And I also like to think about myself and how I relate to things. This would explain why figuring out what to do with my life is for me more of a hobby than any sort of finite goal. Anyway, in reading for my Negotiation Seminar today (I love that class) I was confronted with a clear demonstration of the sort of eternal puzzle that is human interaction.

First, the weekend. Well, specifically Sunday: Jenn, Brian, and I attended a Broadway show, Pal Joey, starring Stockard Channing and Martha Plimpton. I thoroughly enjoyed it. I thought they were both amazing, as was the star Matthew Risch, who played Joey. He was an understudy, who took over during previews when the star was injured! How amazing for him! Anyway, fyi, Martha Plimpton can SING. And Stockard Channing, well, she is just fantastic all the time and I was so excited after we got seriously cheap theater tickets to find out I'd be seeing her show.

Probably the most famous song from Pal Joey is "Bewitched, Bothered and Bewildered," although I hereby confess I did not even know it was from this musical, or any musical. It made so much more sense to us in context. In the playbill profile of Stockard Channing she talks about what it was like to sing this famous song that everybody knows as "just a song," whether sung by Doris Day or Rosemary Clooney or whoever, and she talks about approaching it as her character, Vera's, monologue, and that the audience should be following her every line and seeing the conflict in her. Boy, does she pull it off. She is in bed with this man and she knows, she knows, that he is no good and she mustn't fall for him, and even going in with eyes wide open, as it were, she still falls for him and, specifically, mistakenly, lets him get to her.

Good drama. Back to Negotiation: we study in this seminar the ways in which people bargain, get what they want, and try to resolve conflict. I have a million interesting stories from the readings in there, but I'll stick to just one today. In a study people were presented with the question of an impending disease outbreak, let's say an Asian bird flu type of thing, that is expected to kill 600 people. Which of these two alternative programs would you favor? If Program A is adopted, 200 will be saved. If Program B is adopted, there's a one-third probability all will be saved and a two-thirds probability none will be saved.

Well, 76% chose Program A, and 24% chose Program B. In other words, saving 200 lives for certain was more highly valued than taking a risk, even though the risk has the same "expected value" (I often loathe those economics terms, but meaning that the value of a 1/3 chance of saving all = 1/3 of all = 200 out of 600, that is, the same as the definite # in A. The subjects of the study did not want to take a risk.

But here's the good part! Ready? They also asked a group of subjects the same premise, with the following two options: If Program A is adopted, 400 people will die. If Program B is adopted, there is a one-third probability no one will die and a two-thirds probability all will die. And this time, only 13% chose A and 87% chose B! These subjects chose the risk-taking alternative.

Why? Objectively they are the same. But when it is framed differently, in terms of lives saved (gains) or lives lost (losses), it was enough to shift the majority of the people from risk-averse to risk-taking. Why?

So then I thought about this in terms of myself. Negotiation professor is always encouraging us to look at the negotiations in our lives that happen every day, from "Where are we going for dinner?" to hiring someone to do the flowers at your wedding. Today when I read that story, I thought about myself, my rational/irrational behavior, and whether I take risks. When I read the choices the first time around, I -- unlike apparently 76% of people -- was inclined to choose Program B, and take the risk. Does that make me risk-seeking? Irrational? Is there any difference for me between my willingness to risk when there are losses and not gains at stake?

Personalizing, let's say my student loan is running out, Brian is unemployed, and we've got to do amazing feats of budgeting in order to be able to pay rent for the rest of the semester. Meanwhile, my spring break is coming up and I really want to be able to go on a trip for my last spring break of law school, and I want Brian to come with me. It upsets me greatly to have to cover more than my share of the rent, but I am perfectly OK with paying for Brian's "share" of a spring break trip so that we can go.

Is this irrational? I didn't think it was, and I said as much: my wanting Brian to come on the trip is selfish, not just paying "for" him. I want us to go a-traveling. So, even the economists should be pleased: it's my rational self-interest. But who "wants" to pay the rent, any share of it? Except to avoid the alternative: not having a place to live.

So today while I read, I tried to fit my behavior into this risk-averse/risk-taking analysis. Is it because I am in the minority? That I'll gamble on something and spend big when I see there's something to gain, no problem, but when it's something to lose (i.e. our abode) I kick and scream and fight against it?

And what would Stockard Channing-as-Vera say...

I'm wild again
Beguiled again
A simpering, whimpering child again
Bewitched, bothered, and bewildered am I...

But then at the end of the show, in the reprise, after she has seen the light or come to her senses or stopped this irrational affair, she sings:

Burned a lot
But learned a lot
And now you are broke though you earned a lot
Bewitched, bothered and bewildered no more

Interesting. And I can't even tell you how interesting I find it every week when we talk about so-called rational human behavior in our Negotiation Seminar. One is supposed to stop behaving like that simpering, whimpering child. And yet, in order to please the economists, who like to describe rational behavior, one is supposed to act in one's self-interest. Economists hate it when people don't act in their own rational self-interest. But I propose that it's all the same, and it doesn't have to be pegged as rational or irrational: we are trying to get what we want.

Or maybe I just like how my Girls put it best:

But now you feel that you've got nothing left.
If there's nothing to lose babe,
Ah babe, don't you know by now?
Then there's nothing to gain.

--indigo girls, 'walk away'

Come Monday...

Today in a fitting end to the summer we totally Brooklyned it up by checking out the scenes in Red Hook and Coney Island. (Turning "Brooklyn" into a verb is troublesome because it looks wrong whether I put one 'n' or two when adding "ed" for the past tense there.)

Red Hook is the location of the new IKEA. (Finally! NYC has IKEA!) We stopped by there but didn't find the futon cover we sought. It was predictably scary, being Saturday; I had soooo wanted to go there weekdays only but it just worked out this way. The real draw in Red Hook were the Latino food vendors gathered around the park, selling tacos, pupusas, enchiladas, juices and horchatas, empanadas, you name it. It's quite the festive atmosphere, with soccer games, picnics, birthday parties, and a mix of ethnicities, ages, families, young singles, etc.

Unfortunately, I am outraged because I guess before this year there were MORE vendors and they sold out of tents but this year they were delayed in starting back up and had to get trucks due to the public health officials getting involved. I'm not sure the details, but I really can't see why they'd have to get those food vendor trucks (ice-cream man style) to sell food. Because now you've got engine noise, pollution, and a waste of gas and lots of their money on gas, and in this fuel economy? There are fewer vendors this year because they can't all afford the trucks. It's utter crap! Get outraged with me! I think it's a conspiracy between NYC officials and oil companies.

We did, however, get to see a soccer game come to an end in dramatic fashion, including one man punching another spectator. We stayed around to watch the next soccer game for a while, then left for Coney Island.

As we arrived on the subway, at the very end of the F line (or as the case may be with today's track work, the G train taking the F's place), I remarked that Coney Island is one of the most famous places in the U.S.A. that I haven't hadn't visited. I was excited to finally see it!

It is all that I thought it would be, and more. It is all that I thought because it had the boardwalk, roller coaster, ferris wheel, cotton candy, pier, boardwalk, sand, water, and loads of sketchy people. It was more because it was fun! And, I daresay, charming.

When I first moved to New York, in fall 2006, and was living my unfortunate incarceration on Long Island, I started hearing about how the famed Coney Island of Americana lore would soon be to nothing, or rather, be replaced by condos and more upscale development. Apparently the amusement park is officially closing at the end of this season. This is an outrage!

Why do we need hotel, resort, water park, restaurants, shopping? Why do we need them inSTEAD of older buildings, the famous roller coaster, Nathan's Famous Hot Dogs, random dance party on the pier, and assorted freaks?

Actually people were on the whole decidedly un-freaky. Although there was a little game of "Shoot the Freak," which was basically paintball and for $5 you could buy five shots or something, maybe 30 for $10, I forget the amounts. A dude stood there with the helmet, shield, and knee pads. I've never paintballed a day in my life, but was nonetheless captivated for a moment or two watching Shoot the Freak. There's no particular reason why it was called that, a the guy was just a guy wearing a helmet and probably switched off with the dude taking the money. The great thing about it was that unlike even the shooting the duck or the water into the clowns' mouths for a stuffed animal or whatever this was plunked down in the dirt and weeds between two food stand/drink places. What ingenuity! What entrepreneurship! What low overhead! How can some developer's condos (not Trump, by the way) or whatever possibly replace this?

Other than one multiply pierced guy who was carefully eyeing everyone at pocket level, I really only encountered one sketchball. On the pier (which was brimming with sketchballs whom I didn't precisely encounter) as Brian and I leaned over the side watching a guy a few yards away chucked a can into the water. (Like, a food can, not a pop can.) Then he tossed another. This annoyed me, not the least reason of which was that were trash cans placed regularly along the pier and one was eight feet, maybe, away from him. So I went over and politely told him and the woman with him that I didn't think they needed to throw the cans in the water and I pointed out the trash can a few feet away.

The woman said, in a somewhat apologetic matter, "Oh I didn't know the cans went into the water." The cans were, like, Chef Boyardee or something...they were pouring things on bread for dinner on paper plates. It was pretty sketchtacular. The man, a piece of work, was more spaced out. "What happened?" he asked me. I repeated myself, again pointing to the can, and then he repeated himself, "Wha hap un?"

To give you an idea, this guy was basically Carlos Santana's crack baby. He was around 40 (you'll see next paragraph how I know this) but looked closer to sixty. Wild-eyed, wild-haired, and wild speeched, I can't remember which clothes he was missing, but the ratty ones he had did little for him. The wife was a bit more put together. I went back over to Brian and resumed gazing at the water/beach/amusements.

Soon, dude ambled over and began talking about what I'd said. This was not an easy man to understand. He started out saying he'd been here 33 years, no, make that 37 years...but then he moved on to how he didn't throw the cans -- the wind blew them, and who am I to go talk to his wife, and so on. The last bit was interesting, because I didn't go over to talk to his wife, I just ended up talking to her because he was too drunk to understand me. I think he wanted to start a fight with us but he was too spaced out to do so, so I didn't really fear him much. Within a couple minutes he had started talking to Brian instead of me, which is funny in such a faux-machismo way. I was completely not interested in arguing with him, but it was hard to resist whenever he ended a segment of his rant with "You understand me?!" saying actually, no, I really didn't get all that. Finally, the conversation devolved into this man saying he was going to jump in the water to go get the cans.

The cans, by the way, were long gone at this point. Kind of like this man's mind. However, the four gentlemen next to us were now also involved, because when wild-eyes said (as he did a few times) "What business is it of yours?" and Brian said "It IS our business" the man next to us piped up, "It's our planet!" which is exactly where I was coming from so I knew we were all on the same page.

The crazy man who has spent his life here throwing cans into the sea eventually got his shoes off and was trying to gear up for his jump in, but something finally persuaded him this was a terrible idea. I was pretty amused the whole time. I also told him we were basically ready to leave and might not stay for his little show, but I don't think he heard me. He finally returned to his wife and -- horrors! -- the two small children who materialized from running around to eat dinner off the paper plates with them and then, I might add, threw out trash in the wastebasket. Ahh, hope for the next generation!? Those poor kids...

The four men next to us turned out to be tourists from Atlanta. We chatted for a little while about the pier, craziness, and so on. I like to think I contributed a little something to their New York experience. And it's nice to have some good ol' boys who've got your back in a little pier encounter. Plus, the teenage son's post-encounter imitation of drunk removal of shoes was priceless!

I definitely recommend visiting Coney Island before its "warts and all" feel is made over.

A couple hours later as we strolled back to the subway at the end of our satisfying day, we passed an outdoor bar with tables and chairs in the sand where I heard the strains of Jimmy Buffett's "Come Monday." First of all, who doesn't love a little Jimmy Buffett at the beach? But secondly, I start school on Monday. My third and final year of law school. And that's weird. So who doesn't love a contemplative Jimmy Buffett song for such a moment?

"Yes, it's been quite a summer
Rent-a-cars and westbound trains..."

I just love the wistfulness in that song. And I've been thinking a lot about California lately. But starting my last year of law school this Monday just made the phrase ring in my ears. I even paused on the sidewalk to listen to all of it. Of course, when you pause on the sidewalk between the boardwalk and the subway, you get to not only listen to the end of the Jimmy Buffett song but also see a stray cat roaming around the trash cans (I love the kitty! Hope it got a mouse) and a man relieving himself in the bushes. What was that Jimmy Buffett sang about enjoyin' the scenery...?

Entertainment and spectacle

What am I totally looking forward to watching? What inspires me and makes me feel enthusiasm, anticipation, and the like? The Olympics! Yeah! Starting tomorrow.

What makes me say ugh, I am not looking forward to you at all, you are not interesting to me, go away? The Republican and Democrat national conventions. Whatever, both parties. Go away.

Meanwhile, many other parties have already held their conventions, but a lot you care about the Green, Libertarian, and Reform parties.

Did I mention that I have to start school soon? Way too soon this year. Apropos of nothing, I learned tonight that Long Island is up there in the top few most popular U.S. places for breast augmentation.

Finally, I have been disappointed by pretty much every movie I've seen this summer. That list includes Sex and the City, Indiana Jones and whatever he's after now, Wall-E, The Dark Knight, and for the love of god Mamma Mia. Oh, summer movies, wherefore art thou summer movies?

By the way, that's a JOKE. I know that Indy was after a crystal skull. Or was that some ridiculous, multiplying, not-even-trying-to-seem-real swarms of large shiny ants?

Emergency is in the eye of the beholder

OK, so I admit that we made some mistakes. Well, a critical one: we looked away from our personal property in Central Park. Yes, Central Park, possibly THE most famously feared site of being mugged, or something. You grow up hearing tales of the dangers of big bad New York City, and while obviously crime is down here I suppose I should hang my head a little to have not been vigilant in Central Park of all places, to have been lulled into a sense of complacency now that I live in the Greatest City in the World. But that's not the point.

I've played softball in a bunch of parks around NYC. Not just Central Park, but also Brooklyn's Prospect Park, two different fields on Rooselvelt Island, and some other random fields around the city. The thing is, there's always an opposing team on the bench when you're in the field, and so there's always someone generally keeping an eye on everyone's stuff, just like any other softball game anywhere. Yesterday, however, the opposing team didn't show up so after some batting practice we just arranged a 4-on-4 scrimmage against ourselves (which, in itself, should impress you with our skill and ingenuity and stalwart..uh..stalwartness? is that a word? why yes it is), as softball was never really meant to be four on four. Anyway: that's not the point either.

Nor is it the point that a suspicious-looking character lurked behind the backstop around our bags, and immediately after the following out we headed over to move our bags, now suddenly aware that with no one on the bench they were quite unattended but it was too late and one guy's bag had already been stolen. I feel quite bad for Rich, and that could be the point of another lament, but it is not the point of this one.

Here's the point: so, after our initial sort of "Oh my god! What do we do?" it just so happened that I called the police on my cell phone. So we called 911 and after establishing that we were in Central Park and no one was hurt but there had been a theft, that's when the fun began.

First, the 911 operator wanted to know where in Central Park. I gave her what I thought was a helpful and specific piece of information, that we were on Softball Field #1 on the Great Lawn. It was, in fact, this info that had led us all there to play softball, so it should definitely be enough for the police to come to us. But not this lady. "No, no, no," she chided me, "first I need to know Central Park East or Central Park West." Well, I said, we're not on a street on either side of the park. We're in the middle of the park. Exasperated, she said, "Well then are you on the east side or the west side of the park?" I was kind of conferring with my fellow softball peoples on the side, like, 'Aren't we just in the middle? She's demanding whether we're on the east or west side of the park?'

After a bit of this, and a lot more typing sounds, I again said that we were on softball field #1 on the Great Lawn. She said, "I need a street." There was no street! We were in the middle of the park! One of my softball friends pointed out we were near the Belvedere Castle, so I mentioned that. Now, seriously, two or three minutes had to have gone by. I suggested that any cop on the Central Park beat would definitely know where to find the softball fields on the Great Lawn -- and I had even told her which field! To which she replied, with a healthy dose of attitude, "Well, no, I need to put it in the computer first."

I would like to think that this requirement to "put it in the computer first" before dispatching the police was only necessary because it was not an emergency, but I have my doubts even about that, based largely on the rest of the call. Let's continue. So, along about now amid her typing she appeared to have moved onto another field on her screen and she said, "OK, so you're on the south field #1?" And I said, well, that's softball field #1. And she said, "What kind of field is it? Soccer fields?" Softball! Baseball, I corrected myself. Whatever it took, geez. So then she's like, "Oh, OK." More typing. Meanwhile, I am trying to explain why I am still on this phone call, why no cop who is probably fifty yards from us has been sent to us, and so on.

Then she asked, "OK, now what borough are you in?"

Really? Really?! You can get hired as a 911 operator in New York City (or, frankly, anywhere), to be called on in an emergency, without knowing that Central Park is in Manhattan? And if so, then who on earth thought that nonsense of pinning us down to a street first was a good idea? Wtf?!?!?! Since I had been silenced by my shock at this question, she loudly said, "Ma'am, hellooooo? I said, what borough are you in? Are you in Manhattan, are you in Brooklyn?" and I just sort of mumbled that we were in Manhattan. Yes, that Central Park. The world-freaking-famous one in Manhattan.

Finally, she said, "Now, what happened?" So I repeated that someone had stolen our friend's bag. I did not add that this thief was probably in New Jersey by now. This is the part where I just gave up on her entirely. Had she even heard me already tell her (five minutes earlier) what had happened? What if i had been mugged/chased/stabbed/what have you? What if someone was having a heart attack? What if for the love of god she could have sent out the description we'd given her ten minutes earlier so cops might have seen the guy on the way to the subway?

But, just when you think there's nothing else she could say to shock me, she apparently got to her description of the suspect field because she asked me, "OK, was he black or Hispanic?" If it had been anyone else I would have thought I couldn't possibly have heard her correctly and I might have started thinking about racial profiling or social justice or something. But I swear I just wanted off this phone call. This useless, ridiculous phone call.

A few minutes later, the cops -- a much smarter lot -- showed up. And then another car, and another, plus then the detectives. I am pleased to report that they asked intelligent questions, were capable people, and made sense. And, as I figured they would, they sure knew their way around Central Park, their beat, and their precincts. Not much hope of recovering the bag, of course, but off they went to the police station with victim and a witness or two (I didn't really observe the guy at all; I'm so terrible at that) and the rest of us went on our merry ways.

Bummer. But, really, lady? Really? Thanks for your help. All 7 minutes and 32 seconds of it. I thought I was in a Saturday Night Live sketch or something. But it was just another real-life day in the Greatest City in the World. Goooooo, homeland security!

The big apple of my eyeliner

Today, like most days, I signed on to Hotmail and skimmed one of the headline MSN lifestyle articles. (For "lifestyle" read "generally useless crap about things like fashion, celebrities, or weird news.") I'm so not putting a link to it here, because that would just encourage you to give it more hits, and it should not get more hits. It should die a lonely, terrible web death, because of a line which I will share below.

The article is called "The Dirty Dozen: 12 Makeup Mistakes You May Be Making." In the first tip (the first!), which is "Wearing too much (or too little) makeup," it offers up this gem:

"Your makeup should be time and place appropriate--so what looks perfect for a big evening event shouldn't be the same as what you put on to go to the grocery store or the gym."

I should not have to point out to any of you what is wrong with that sentence. I think anyone to whom I would have to point out what I find ridiculous in that sentence is no blog reader of mine. I will add one more thing, though, for all of those (and this latter category does include blog readers of mine) who like to say L.A. is the superficial capital of the world. This bit of advice did not emanate from the City of Angels, but rather from NEW YORK CITY makeup artist Jessica Liebeskind. Well, well.

Dude, maybe people in California are more naturally beautiful, and more relaxed, and they are definitely more into the gym. At any rate, they have sunshine and a carefree lifestyle and they do not need to be as stressed out about their dumb faces as Jessica Liebeskind.

UGH.

Farewell Chicken

Have I mentioned how great it is to live across the river from Manhattan? Have I also mentioned the awesomeness that is Water Taxi Beach? Well, I'll mention them again; I know none of you read each and every blog post anyway. *smirk*

Almost every day I walk across the Pulaski Bridge, which links Brooklyn and Queens, and from said bridge I gaze over the water and am treated to a great view of the Greatest City in the World. There was this ad I saw in the subway a while back (I really might have mentioned this already) admonishing people to come live in such-and-such high-rise condos which are across the river over here, in one of the "other boroughs." Here's how the ad did it: it had side-by-side panels and one said "the price here" and it was, say, a third of the figure in the "the price in Manhattan" panel. It also had "the view from here" and showed the amazing, lit up Manhattan skyline, and then it showed "the view from Manhattan" and it was, like, Queens, and some crap expanse of randomness and rail and warehouses and such. The ad makes a great point. Only those of us on the outside have the killer views.

As I have patiently tried to explain to my Manhattan friends since last fall, we are one subway stop (one!) from Manhattan. I am literally closer to some of them than they are to, for example, Central Park. But the die-hard Manhattan peeps don't hear it. They just stay on their little island at all times, unless they're running the marathon.

But the Water Taxi Beach...it's so wonderful! It's over in Queens, specifically in Long Island City, and it's on the water (duh) on the East River. So what you do is you go there and hang around in the sand and have a beer and listen to music and watch the sunsets and then look at all the light of the Greatest City in the World. (Have you picked up my sardonic tone in that phrase yet?)

It's really out of the way and from the outside you would seriously think you're looking at another nondescript warehouse across from some Long Island Rail Road tracks and a few under-construction buildings. But then you go around and across a parking lot (I know! a parking lot!) and then you step into some sand and you're on the beach.

As you can guess, we've gone there a few times. But tonight we went for the free BBQ party. Free food! Because the Water Taxi Beach is so awesome that they just randomly have a party on a Wednesday night with free entry and free barbecued chicken. (Or grilled, if you will.) Now, I have totally decided that my whole "Oh, I'm a lapsed vegetarian who occasionally eats poultry" thing has got totally out of control. I am beyond lapsed; I am heathen. I have had beef lately. Like, more than once.

Also, I have been really mood swingy lately. By "lately" I mean the past six months, or roughly since the beginning of my second 2L semester, also known as the semester I anguished through doing a clinic, also known as my Worst Semester Ever. By "really moodswingy" I mean crying jags that are a force to be reckoned with. I don't say "moody" because to me that implies a sort of temper, irritability, or kind of lashing out. Mine isn't really a lashing out. More like a lashing in. An exquisite suffering. A sudden, intense need to suddenly bawl my eyes out to the person next to me, who 99 times out of 100 is Brian; pity him. Not that this has happened 100 times -- shudder to think -- but you get my drift. It's kind of bizarre and even I'm fairly shocked by it when it happens but it's really deeply felt at the time. It can also go away just as fast.

Now, I totally want to chalk up the moodiness to the aforementioned clinic and Worst Semester Ever. It was often law school or something like it that precipitated the dissolving into tears. But it has also been Taxi to the Dark Side, the fear that Greyhound lost all my belongings forever, or even a simple misunderstanding. And a million other things. Lately I thought the malaria pills had made it worse. There's even a sticker that came with my pills that says "call your doctor if you feel sad, or have changes in mood." I laughed when I saw that the other day, but then I thought maybe it's not so funny. I have had the promised vivid dreams, after all, since taking the malaria pills. (I'm so totally done taking them now, by the way. But I have no idea what the half life is and I'm still having some vivid dreams.) So maybe they've also messed with my moods?

Anyway, lately I've been considering another possible culprit: meat. When I became a vegetarian around age 16 I remember that I started to feel a lot better, physically but also psychologically. And so right now I am considering this: all the chickens and cows we eat around here (the U.S.) are totally shot up with hormones, right? So doesn't it make sense that eating them when you totally used to not eat them would up the level of hormones in your body and throw things out of whack? These past few months in which I have become all moodified happen to coincide with when I started eating (a lot) more meat, after Brian and I got our household and kitchen equipped. The reason is a little complicated, but it boils down to: he cooks. I don't. (Especially during the Worst Semester Ever.) And he is a mega-carnivore. And I am not often known to turn down food offered to me, especially when all I have to do is warm the tortillas.

But I've got to see if this connection I've imagined between the meat and the out-of-whack mood swings is legit. So I am waving bye-bye to the chicken, beef, and so on, and returning to my non-meat-eating ways. Just like I was for a decade, without fail. Which I wanted to return to anyway but ... but ... et cetera. So I am totally going pesco-vegetarian again, and today we went to the free bbq chicken party and I danced and ate my last chicken for a while. Remember when I went vegetarian in high school and my farewell meat was a hot dog at Lollapalooza? Everyone I knew was appalled by that; rightly so!

Also, I'm fat right now. Seriously! I'm kind of horrified by it. Even though I got my big orange bag back from Greyhound eventually, half the jeans in it don't even fit at the moment. I'm sure sitting around in Michigan doing nothing for three weeks didn't help. It is so time to get back on the horse. Horse = running, exercising, gym, pilates, softball and so forth.

In summary:
1. Water Taxi Beach rules, even though the Lord sends down thunderous rain upon us when we try to go there to get free food meat.
2. I'm not sure which sucks more, doing a law school clinic or getting malaria.
3. "Eat food. Not too much. Mostly plants." -- Michael Pollan