I HAVE WRITER'S BLOG

Book #3: Before I Go To Sleep

2012-01-17T00:00:00.000-08:00

Before I Go to Sleep by S.J. Watson

My rating: 3.5 or 4 of 5 stars
Book #3 for my fiftyfifty.me!

Fact: I could only read this book with all the lights on and never right before sleep. Tonight I stayed up reading because I couldn't bear the thought of having it haunt me any longer!

Additional fact: when I described the plot to my mom, she was sure she had seen it on Lifetime at some point. So just so you have a sense of what we're dealing with here.

To that end, it meets the definition of a good thriller: a great hook, strong pacing, and it scares the daylights out of you. The setup reminded me a little bit of Wait Until Dark, a movie you should see if you haven't. Same as in that film, here a woman is deprived of a main sense/function- here, her memory. Every day she learns, and every night when she sleeps, she will forget.

See what I'm talking about?!

It definitely held my interest- it's at least a solid 3.5, probably a 4. I found myself rushing forward, needing to know just what the hell was going on! You get points for that, people.

I should probably read this next.

I imagine it's a challenge for a novelist to write the novel of an amnesiac and not bore your reader to tears as the days are repeated; it's well done here. Good mass market-style fiction. Oh, and try not to compare it to the movie Momento: That'll be a losing bet.

For those of you not inclined to the literary arts, I did check and thankfully this is not a Lifetime movie (that I know of, or at least by this title). It is categorized as "in development" on IMDB. But secretly, part of me is hoping Lifetime does make a movie even sooner. And if it could star Nancy McKeon or Meredith Baxter Birney, all the better! When I'm done posting this I'll write Lifetime a letter.

Anyhow, it kept me on the edge of my seat with heart palpitations for 3 days straight. I'm considering this book my cardiovascular activity for the week!

Book #2: Knowing Your Value

2012-01-16T06:50:00.000-08:00

Knowing Your Value: Negotiating Your Way to the Salary You Deserve by Mika Brzezinski

My rating: 4 of 5 stars

A friend recommended this to me on our Colombia trip. Because she's a writer whose career I admire, I decided to pick it up. But let's be clear: I wasn't really looking forward to it. I thought of it as medicine I should take along the way for my career. I picked up my copy at the local library (yay library!) and was impressed by the fierce woman on the cover. And so I began... and just a few pages in, I knew this was one of those books I'd be talking about for ages to come.

Knowing Your Value should be required reading for any woman who plans on, you know, ever having a job. It isn't about putting a # on your value but on realizing that the traditional ways that women communicate and relate- which often serve us well in our daily lives - actually work very much against us in the work environment. And an important point: it's not about men vs. women, it's about women as their own worst enemy.

First of all, Mika is extremely likeable and easy to identify with. I knew nothing about her, but now have set my tv to record her show, that sort of thing. Her analysis isn't written from a patronizing point of view (memo to every other advice author) but rather from the angle of someone who has been through a lot and had to earn her lesson-learning the hard way. Her humility is engaging, and inspiring (hey, if she ends up sitting on the desk for her book cover, so could you!)

Secondly, she pulls in a pool of high profile executives who corroborate what she says in their own ways. So the book ends up feeling like a star-studded focus group, complete with Carol Bartz's foul language, or Trump admitting that if you ask him for too much he'll probably fire you anyhow. It gives what she says additional validity, and more scenarios you are likely to identify with. What do women say that men would never say to themselves? What do men ask for that gets them the higher salaries? What are the possible reasons for those payment disparities we always hear about? How does motherhood affect the equation?

There were so many quotable passages in here. I found myself constantly bringing it up in conversation as I came to terms with how obvious some of the scenarios were, and yet I'd never really noticed them. I will be buying copies and gifting this for a long time to come.

Girls, get your read on.

Book #1: The Murder of Roger Ackroyd

2012-01-13T22:21:00.000-08:00

FINALLY! Ever since Jon and I created fiftyfifty.me, a reading/movie challenge, go figure that we got so busy administrating that we haven't gotten a moment to read. And by "we", I mean the royal We here.

The good news is that I just turned the last page of The Murder of Roger Ackroyd by Agatha Christie.

Book #1, done!
The bad news: only giving it 2 of 5 stars. This means "eh".

I have loved other Agatha Christie mysteries but this wasn't a favorite. Too many moving pieces, to begin with. I kept flipping forward to refer to the cast of characters; only a few stood out to me and to the very end I couldn't really tell the butler from the secretary, for example. It barreled forward throwing in details out of left field. Somehow it skidded to a halt that was completely predictable but based on nothing I could have predicted. Sounds odd to say, but if you read it you'll immediately know what I mean.

I spent more of the time being confounded and retracing my steps/trying to visualize what was going on than getting to sink into the story or even have a hope of getting my own guesses going. That said, I enjoyed her writing along the way, even in my complete confusion.

The book setup calls to mind ever-beloved Clue; a mansion, a muuuuuurder, and maps of the layout that you have to ponder over. However, in the end it just didn't deliver for me. That said, I believe the book is famous for introducing certain writing devices into mystery. Click here if (and ONLY if) you want a spoiler, ok?

Hercule Poirot is a memorable literary character with a pretty awesome name, but I'll stick to the film/tv versions of his subset of Christie tales if they're all like this.

Will definitely be reading other Agatha Christies for the challenge, I'm sure, but this wasn't the running start I was hoping for! Oh well, I suppose it sets the bar low- my next 49 books better deliver or else.

Resolve This.

2012-01-07T09:12:00.000-08:00

Happy first week of the year down!

Have I mentioned how much I love making New Year's resolutions? I LOVE MAKING NEW YEAR'S RESOLUTIONS. Sometimes my resolutions overlap with my bucket list, which as you know by now, I am slightly obsessed with. I think this is all a symptom of my larger list-making obsession. I make resolutions for the regular new year, for Persian New Year/Norooz (March) and on an ongoing basis with friends; any excuse, really. I'm the kind of person who would put "Make new year's resolutions" on my list.

I used to put my resolutions up on my refrigerator, but one year I had "Learn to knit baby blankets" on my list because so many girlfriends were having kids and I thought they would make cute gifts. Note to self: this is not appropriate decor when a date is over. I had a little explaining to do. So now I'm keeping it between me and my blog (and you, I guess).

In past years, resolutions have included travel, going out more, drinking more water & wine than soda (I should probably revive that one), stepping it up with the fitness, keeping in better touch with people, making more girlfriends in my city, etc. I've been pretty good about holding myself to them in the past and I hope the pattern will continue this year, but I also hope I will pick more interesting resolutions. The key is really picking things you'll actually do. As I like to point out, certain things are just never gonna happen. I'm not going to give up being sarcastic or quit coffee. I'm not going to magically remember to include attachments when I send emails. So why set myself up for failure?

This year's list is working out nicely so far, although there aren't too many surprises yet:

2012 Resolutions:
1) Do more yoga.
Specifically, to learn to do a proper headstand in yoga without collapsing, knocking the wind out of me (and possibly the person next to me)

2) Don't eat standing up.
This is a symptom of my life, which is led largely on the run, like a refugee from the law but much less interesting. So either I need to become that interesting, or I need to sit down and properly get to enjoy my meals.

3) Do fiftyfifty.me.
50 books, 50 movies, all new to me, to be torn through this year. This is the resolution I am by far most excited about. I'm all signed up- are you? I tend to read a lot every year and in the back of my mind aim for 50 books, but haven't ever been able to nail it. Movies, however, are a whole other story. I've only started to become a movie fan in the past few years, and devote little to no time to it. Subresolution: to finish reading Milan Kundera's bibliography. He's my favorite writer by far, and I've saved a few of his books to read on a rainy day (or if ever in the hospital in traction, etc. And yes, I save books for this.) On the off chance the world ends in 2012, I need to probably get to the last few of these ;)

4) Go new places.
This is always on my list. Last year landed me in Nashville and Colombia, two of my favorite vacations, for example. I'm excited to see what opportunities come up this year. New Orleans is definitely in the cards, but I'm worried you'll never be able to tear me out of a jazz bar once I'm seated. I am trying to find a way to get over to Africa, specifically to Senegal. I haven't been to some of the beautiful parks in California. Stuff like that. I don't know where this year will take me, but I've found that actually promising yourself to try new venues leads you to, you know, actually do it. I'm open to suggestions if you have 'em!

5) Find somewhere new to volunteer.
Step it up. I do volunteer communications work with Real Medicine Foundation and I support mAss Kickers Foundation, but I miss hands-on experience working with clients and seeing the first-hand effects of volunteering. So some of that. Perhaps this will be the year I become a Big Sister and formally pass my 80s music knowledge to the next generation?

6) Respond to emails within 24 hours.
This is beyond impossible, but it's nice to have goals! I heard this from an executive I work with - and he really does keep to it. Granted, his emails are to the extent of "Thanks" "Sounds good", etc. and I tend to write War and Peace: The Sequel in my emails, but I'd like to get back to people while the content of their emails is still relevant.

7) Use the phone more, email less.
Remember back when we had personal contact? Yeah, that.

8) Entertain in the home more.
I'm constantly out, which is fun but not totally personal and, sure, expensive. I love it but I think this year I'll try to mix it up and make use of my place more- cook dinners, gather friends, just lounge around and make it even more homey. Homie?

9) Travel guy.
I didn't even know this was a resolution for me, but we were babbling about resolutions when we hiked to the waterfall in Colombia and this one came tumbling out of my mouth. Apparently (says my subconscious?) I want to be with a guy I am excited to travel with, and to go ahead and travel with him. Traveling well together is obviously a great way to assess how you guys fare generally, but I love travel and I realize it's something I need someone else to be into- exploring places, going beyond your limits. From his love of travel I would apparently be able to draw sweeping generalizations about his understanding of his place in the world. Ok, but if we're being honest, there's also the little fact that there are places I want to go that would be a lot of fun with my girlfriends, but a male bodyguard would be nice and/or necessary (for one thing). Plus, as great of a time as we have, I have to stop accidentally going on romantic-destination vacations with my best girlfriends. See also: Mexico, Paris, Greece, cruises, the Caribbean. I mean, seriously.

10) Develop a new talent.
Obviously I don't know what this one is gonna be, but knowing me it will be a little off the wall. Archery, anyone?

11) Write more.
And here we are.

fiftyfiftyme: Movie #2, Absurdistan

2012-01-03T23:33:00.000-08:00

Ok, apparently we're living in bizarro world, because I just watched my second movie of the challenge, but have yet to finish a single book.

I visited my sis and we popped in a random comedy we found on Netflix, Absurdistan. I assumed it was the film from the Gary Shteyngart book of the same name (which I haven't read) - turns out I'm wrong. It's a Russian flick and we went into it pretty much blind.

The premise of the movie is simple- young lovers are finally going to have their first night together, but it coincides with the women of the town going on strike against the men (read: no sex) for continuing to neglect the water shortage in the town. So it's up to our young hero to sort out water for the village and set the gender relations back on track if he wants a night of his own. 'Tis a lot to saddle a young teen with, no?

The movie is beautifully shot- the sets are colorful and engaging, and the story is told with so little dialogue and so much facial expression. It has the feeling of a (slightly raunchy) folk tale, and is a total escape.

It picked up awards at a few festivals, and I can see why. While this movie takes place in a world none of us can imagine, the gender wars surpass cultural, economical, or linguistic boundaries to be both identifiable and hilarious. My sole complaint is that I felt bad for the guy. To the very end I wasn't entirely convinced why he liked her so much (maybe his miming was better than hers?) I would have kicked her to the curb. But hey, that's what makes it romantic I guess!

The best thing about it, I researched later, is that it's not entirely absurd. In fact, the movie is based on a true story! Veit Helmer, the writer and director, was inspired by "a 2001 newspaper account of women in the Turkish village of Sirt refusing to accommodate their husbands until they fixed a broken pipeline."

If I rated movies, this would get a B, but mostly only because I'm stingy with A's.

2 for 2, people!

My fiftyfifty.me Begins! (2012)

2012-01-02T19:03:00.000-08:00

Once upon a time, Jon had this great idea to try and watch 50 movies and read 50 books in the year 2012. But I've already told you that part.

Fast forward to January 1st, when I watched my first movie of 2012. I decided to set a light tone for the year and start with a romantic comedy. I got a few minutes into Love and Other Disasters, starring Brittany Murphy, and it was, true to its name, pretty disastrous, mostly in the British accent department. I decided rather than waste time on something I'm not enjoying (hopefully a habit I will keep up throughout the year), I'd try something else. So I started to watch TiMER, which I had saved in my Netflix queue but am not quite sure how I found it. I tend to be willing to watch anything that's a romantic comedy. It's like candy for my little brain. I have a million foreign films and documentaries lined up (just trying to save my street cred here, can you blame me?) but I wanted something easy to slide right into the new year.

MOVIE #1: TiMER
Now, I don't remember how I came across the movie TiMER, but the concept stuck in my head- it's about a company creating chips they can implant in you that will begin counting down to when you'll meet your soulmate (once that person, too, has a chip). I won't give you the whole synopsis, it's probably worth watching. I identified with more of the dialogue than I expected to, and the characters were all very likeable. But what I enjoyed most was that it had a smart sense of humor and opened up the age-old discussion of whether it's better to know your fate, good or bad, or if you should just wing it. And is there only one person for you?

Let's be honest, it's not common for romantic comedies to get you thinking. I found myself wondering what I would do, if I would get a bracelet, how it would change things to know that someone was/not coming into your life. Where does timing play into your life? What do you do when, like one character, you find out that your soulmate IS out there... but it'll be approximately 5000+ days until you guys cross paths (apparently the answer is: you sleep around).
A lot of girls (myself included) tend to eyeball whether something is worth their time; we don't, especially in our 30s, do as much of dating because someone is interesting or just funny to be around. We'll move on if we don't see it going somewhere. The irony is that we end things and we don't know if, in a parallel world, it would be the person you end up with, because you close that dorr. In the movie romance quickly becomes subjected to the timer litmus test. In fact, the opening scene is a girl dragging her new (1 month) boyfriend in to get timers so they can figure out if this is worth their time.

I guess on some level, women already do this, blurting out questions about long-term goals and needs on first dates. (Thanks simply to the bad advice of a dating guru whose butt landed on Oprah's couch) Women often put out awkward feelers early on to figure out if they have the information they need to proceed (or not) with a guy they're seeing. TiMER effectively offers the scientific scenario (hm...perhaps it should be filed under "fantasy" for women??) -- where you could just, with the press of a timer, identify if you're investing your time in the "right" person.

Ultimately the question becomes whether experience for experience's sake has any value in a world where you could move straight to point B. With a timer it becomes about the destination, not the journey. So pick your side. And having the timer/not becomes somewhat of a social statement in the movie, a ready identifier of people who live by different philosophies regarding fate and romance.

Would you get a timer if they really existed? After devoting more time to pondering a romantic comedy than I ever have or ever will again, I can safely say that I don't think I would. I don't know that I could handle the pressure or the disappointment of its certainty. I read the horoscope in line at the coffee shop and that's enough to rattle me, so do I really need to know the facts about my long-term future? Nope!

Anyhow, I was excited to watch my first movie of the year and the fiftyfifty.me challenge, and it got me thinking that I might explore a "sci-fi romantic comedy" major. (Yeah, I didn't know that existed until yesterday either.) It might end up being a minor, because there really aren't that many options. But so far I've found another couple of movies that might fit in my sci fi romcom category, Peggy Sue Got Married (which I've never seen) and Happy Accidents (which I'd never heard of). The key is to see how they can work comedy into it. They always throw a hot chick into sci fi movies to keep the boys entertained, so the challenge is in making it cute.

By the way, am I the only person who sees "romantic comedy" and automatically thinks "Meg Ryan"? Just wondering.

As for Book #1, I'm slogging through The Tiger's Wife by Tea Obrecht. The book is covered in praise, which can be hit or miss. Usually I'm skeptical, but right now my defenses are down because last year I read Jennifer Egan's Visit From the Goon Squad, equally decorated with accolades, and it totally delivered. The writing in Tiger is good, but not keeping me up at night. I'm hoping it picks up- I have lots to do! The last time I put so many holds on books/movies at the library I was 12. In the meantime, I will probably diversify and read something else, just so I don't, you know, lose all my enthusiasm about reading. Ok, slightly dramatic.

If you guys are fiftyfifty'ing, rest assured that I'm trawling your blogs and goodreads lists for suggestions. The question isn't whether I'll get 50/50 done- I think I will. The key is to actually enjoy what I dive into. I can safely say that on movies, I'm 1 for 1 so far. Hooray!

My Year in Books (2011)

2011-12-26T13:21:00.000-08:00

I want this life.

The end of the year is a time to look back and try to be reflective. Good for you if you look back and try to figure out if you've been a good person, blah blah blah. What I really care about is: What Did I Read?

Every year I start with lofty intentions. This year, yet again, I promised myself that I would read War and Peace. I even bought it! And, surprise surprise, I didn't read it - yet again. I did, however, use it as an extremely useful bedroom doorstop during windy days (true story). I plan on reading it one day, but that's the thing about reading -what you intend to read, and where you actually go with it is completely different.

Some brilliant writers have taken on this topic, including the hilarious Sara Nelson in her book So Many Books, So Little Time, or my hero Nick Hornby, in his columns What I'm Reading, where he documents what he has bought vs. what he is reading. (Funny how the two never match up). I bought tons of books this year; it was certainly a year of good intentions. But now I look back at my shelves and they are loaded down with serious books like Ingrid Bettancourt's memoir or The Count of Monte Cristo all the way through impulse buys like James Franco's short story collection, all unread. I have to wonder what I really did with my time.

To date (I have a week left) I have read 37 books. So how did 2011, A Year In Books, work out?

Books Read in 2011:
Think and Grow Rich, Napoleon Hill (gift from a friend. first book of a year that did not end prosperously, fyi)
Mating, Norman Rush (not instructional)
One Day, David Nicholls
Me, Ricky Martin (any celeb bio that doesn't include a personal photo montage is a shame to the genre)
The Faithful Spy, Alex Berenson
War on Error, Melody Moezzi
No Lifeguard on Duty, Janice Dickinson
Attached, Amir Levine & Rachel Heller
Reinventing Mona, Jennifer Coburn
The Big Love, Sarah Dunn
Who the Hell is Pansy O'Hara?, Jenny Bond and Chris Sheedy (Who the hell IS that? I can't remember)
Why Men Love Bitches, Sherry Argov
The Confessions of Rick James, Rick James
I Am the Messenger, Mark Zusak
You Have to Kiss a Lot of Frogs, Laurie Graff
The Art of Seduction, Robert Greene
Love and Other Impossible Pursuits, Ayelet Waldman
Eating the Dinosaur, Chuck Klosterman
LaToya, LaToya Jackson
Harry Potter and the Chamber of Secrets, JK Rowling
Book of Illusions, Paul Auster (proof that friends can make stellar recommendations)
Boy Meets Girl, Meg Cabot (she never fails. EVER.)
The Male Brain, Louann Brizendine (there is one!)
Cloud Atlas, David Mitchell
The Maze Runner, James Dashner (precursor to The Hunger Games phenomenon. meh)
Life As I Know It Has Been "Finger Lickin Good", Colonel Sanders (best title)
The Boy Next Door, Meg Cabot
Donut Days, Lara Zielin
Bossypants, Tina Fey (great writer. weird cover)
The First Time, Cher
Everyone Loves You When You're Dead, Neil Strauss (great concept- "outtakes" from famous interviews)
A Visit From the Goon Squad, Jennifer Egan
The Shadow of the Wind, Carlos Ruiz Zafon
Happy Birthday or Whatever..., Annie Choi
Memoirs of My Melancholy Whores, Gabriel Garcia Marquez (read in Colombia!)
My Booky Wook, Russell Brand
Sky of Red Poppies, Zohreh Ghahremani

Now, I'm not saying I was a brain trust this year. I alternated between heavy heavy lit and books so light I'm almost embarrassed to list them here. For example, a solid chunk of the books were for Celebrity Trash Bio Book Club, the greatest book club of all time. Now twelve times a year I now read the life of a celebrity I wouldn't otherwise care about. These are always embarrassingly absorbing page-turners that leave me liking someone who the public disdains for some reason or another, and being able to defend them in conversation with minutae that requires me to then admit my sources. Shameful. But they make reading fun, and that's what it's about.

WORST BOOK: One Day, David Nicholls. I had this recommended and had picked it up and put it back down so many times, then dove in. I wanted to love it. Girl meets boy. Ooooh! Wait, girl is slightly nerdy and guy is wild child and guys doesn't notice she's there and she slides into girl best friend role? Cool, I could have saved $15 and read my own diary. Jeez. But this is more the worst book of the year for false hopes and expectations, and an eventual movie adaptation starring Anne Hathaway.

BEST FICTION: Cloud Atlas by David Mitchell simply blew my mind. Someone had described it as a Russian doll of novels, and that's exactly what it is. This was closely followed by Visit from the Goon Squad, which was a more widely recognized, perhaps more easily digestible novel using some of the same techniques. Both books excited me about the potential of good literature all over again. Mating was also fantastic, but is a lot of work (as is Cloud Atlas). But very smart, and very underlineable; a play on anthropologist studying a relationship (see quotes below).

BEST NONFICTION: War on Error by Melody Moezzi. I had met Melody, a frequent writer for Ms Magazine, The Huffington Post, and a zillion other places, through friends and finally got to sit down and read her book front to back. And that's how it happened because it's a swift, highly intelligent read. A compilation of interviews, it paints an eloquent and engaging view of the breadth of Muslims; how people personalize the faith and interpret it in their lives across the country. It couldn't be more timely or more well-written.

Also (and on the complete end of the spectrum), The Art of Seduction by Robert Greene. A friend had recommended it and it was absolutely fantastic. It studies the greatest lovers and seducers through history- whether literal or politicians, etc., and breaks the tales down for analysis. Equal parts history, inspiration, and how-to. Incredibly readable.

SURPRISE BOOK OF THE YEAR: My mom's SKY OF RED POPPIES. True story. I had read many early drafts and finally got to sit down with the published, final, completely edited, bound version of the book this year. I was engaged by learning more about the hushed society of Iran in the 1960s, and I found myself laughing out loud or being engaged by passages I had read time and again. Then I turned the last page in tears. It's so rare for fiction to be touching in that way. It's humbling when you know the person who wrote it.

MOST EMBARRASSING READ: Uh... anything from celebrity trash bio book club? With honorable mention to LaToya Jackson's biography. And yes, I read it in public. And yes, I'd do it all over again.

WRITERS I'LL KEEP READING: In addition to those mentioned in these shout-outs, Ayelet Waldman and Paul Auster impressed. I finished both of their books sure that at some point I would pick up others by them.

BOOKS BY OTHER PEOPLE THAT I WILL PICK UP INSPIRED BY THIS YEAR AS A RESULT OF THESE READS: Oriana Fallaci, an Italian journalist mentioned in The Art of Seduction; I want to read more about her. Will read Michael Chabon (finally) now that I've read his wife Waldman. After reading Rick James trash talk Prince (he says he stole all his moves), I will pick up the unauthorized Prince bio for sure and see what he has to say about Rick. Will read about the Branch Davidians/Waco (c/o Klosterman's essay about it)

QUOTES I LOVED:

"The closest you can come in life to experiencing free will is when you do things at random." Mating, p13

"He would say only slightly facetiously that the main effort of arranging your life should be to progressively reduce the amount of time required to decently maintain yourself so that you can have all the time you want for reading." Mating, Norman Rush, p 194.

"Liars are the enemy. They transcend class, sex, and nation. They make everything impossible." Mating, p315

"You fall in love with a person because your subconscious likes something about their subconscious, and it isn't until much later that you discover that that thing your subconscious liked was the fact that this person was built to hurt you in precisely the way you most fear." The Big Love, Sarah Dunn, p146

"Keep on unfolding, no matter what." The Big Love, p 225

"Boredom is the ultimate social evil." The Art of Seduction, p130

"No one is naturally mysterious, at least not for long." The Art of Seduction, Robert Greene, p190

"People secretly yearn to be led astray by someone who knows where they are going." The Art of Seduction, p315

"No one is born timid; timidity is a protection we develop. If we never stick our necks out, if we never try, we will never have to suffer the consequences of failure or success." The Art of Seduction, p410

"Our world will not die as a result of the bomb, as the papers say, it will die of laughter, of banality, of making a joke of everything, and a lousy joke at that." The Shadow of the Wind, Carlos Ruiz Zafon, p107

"Sometimes what matters isn't what one gives but what one gives up." The Shadow of the Wind, p186

"Life has enough torturers as it is, without you going around moonlighting as a Grand Inquisitor against yourself." The Shadow of the Wind, p319

"Waiting is the rust of the soul." The Shadow of the Wind, p315

"Inspiration gives no warnings" Memoirs of My Melancholy Whores, Gabriel Garcia Marquez, p4

WHAT I LEARNED FROM BOOKS THIS YEAR: That all the rich magnates of the world had the same secret philosophy, and one beautiful leatherbound version later, I'm not sure I know what it is. That there are a lot of people writing books about playing hard to get. That I much prefer to read light chick lit about girls who don't have the slightest clue how to play hard to get and still have it work out for them. That LaToya is less Michael's sister and (as my own sister puts it) "just another crazy fan". That I must pick my YA carefully; not every book is the Hunger Games. That Tina Fey and Russell Brand are excellent writers. That sometimes when a book wins every freaking award out there, it actually deserves them. That I need to read much, much more.

I just signed up for fiftyfifty.me so there's probably gonna be a little more rhyme and reason, and even more page-turning in 2012. Can't wait!

Fiftyfifty.me : The Lazy Man's Flash Mob

2011-12-12T17:17:00.000-08:00

As you know by now, I like a good challenge. I am one of those weirdos who actually keeps a bucket list. I'm very much a "Why not?" person when it comes to trying new things (except jumping out of planes. Planes are my chosen form of transportation, people.)

My friend-author-philosopher-hero Jon mentioned to me that he was going to read 50 books and watch 50 movies in the coming year.

Are you kidding me? Are you crazy? Who has that kind of time?

Wait... I want in too.

And then I thought of a few friends I thought would enjoy it -- so we set to creating the Fifty Fifty challenge. And guess what, you're invited.

On the FiftyFifty.me website, we each offered a post about why we were doing this. Jon said he was doing it because he needs to read more. He's always reading! But, as per his post, he confessed that he doesn't finish everything he starts, and he tends to read a lot of articles instead of full books. He also confesses to having a spreadsheet about what books he's reading, but that's neither here nor there.

The thing is, everyone has their own reason for taking a challenge on. Maybe you're bored. Maybe you want cheaper entertainment. Maybe you feel guilty about all those books you bought. Maybe you have way too much time on your hands. Maybe you have insomnia. Maybe you need something to make you feel better about how many hours you spend watching E!

If something in you is inspired to join us, I hope you'll drop by the fiftyfifty.me website, add your name to the list, and skim the "rules". Introduce yourself, start prepping your list (or, don't make a list at all and see where the year takes you). Tell your friends, make them hold you to it. [For a bonus round, seal your deal with this handy little app we made. <---- shameless plug by author]

FiftyFifty.me -- a mob of people, all doing the same thing. But here's the clincher- you don't even have to leave your couch! (I know, that sold me too)

Now, I didn't say it would be easy. Even though they'd take less time, I envision myself rushing on the film side in December 2012. I am having repeated visions of someone opening my apartment door to find me holed up a la Howard Hughes, watching movie after movie in a desperate attempt to catch up before the deadline. Either way, it will be fun.

Let me know what you'll be reading/watching in 2012, and if you're up for it, tell me why.
50 books. 50 movies. 1 you. 1 year.
Let's do this.

My fiftyfifty.me post is included below.

**

Once upon a time there was a girl who read everything she said she wanted to read and watched every movie that had been recommended to her. And she lived happily ever after, or something like that.

See, it's really all about setting intentions.

Whenever people walk into my home for the first time, they say "Wow, you have so many books." There are books stacked on my kitchen counter, in stacks in my bedroom, laying by the fireplace, exploding from 2 bookshelves. There is barely enough room for everything I want to read in my life - literally (oh, the puns!). So this is the year I'm going to do it.

One day when I was being a snob and talking about how I always prefer to read, a friend stopped me and pointed out that books and films are important counterparts. The bookworm in me was horrified, but quickly realized she's right; you probably don't have a completely fulfilled cultural life if you're engaging in one and not the other. It's about finding the right movies to watch; just like it's about the books that keep you up at night.

I'm looking forward to using this challenge to inspire myself to knock things off my list that have been there forever. To finish my favorite author Milan Kundera's bibliography. To lie around and take in classic films I'm ashamed not to have seen yet (Auntie Mame and Sunset Blvd come to mind). To blow through celeb bios that I have yet to prioritize the time to read (David Hasselhoff, I'm on my way!) To read some of the classics I have never touched. To watch Gladiator and Braveheart so I can stop giving blank looks to men who refer to them constantly.

More than the challenge to myself, I'm looking forward to hearing and learning about what other people (you!) are reading and watching, 50 times over, rinse and repeat. Basically I'm in it to see what happens when we devote a year to driving ourselves absolutely berzerk trying to get it done. Let the intellectual experiments begin...

Start stretching!

Don't Mind the Gap

2011-12-12T15:07:00.000-08:00

Recently two stories have highlighted the ever-widening generation gap. I am on the losing (read: laughing) end of this.

Scene 1: Friend, in a car driving kids she volunteers with.

They put in a cd of the song Workout by J Cole. She strikes up conversation with them about it, saying "Cool that he used Paula Abdul, huh? Straight up now tell me!..."

One of the girls turns to her and says "What? Paula Abdul sings??"

**

Scene 2: A friend and I are talking about Halloween with another friend's daughter.

My friend, to the kid: "Tell Lilly about your costume- and how you were Madonna for Halloween!"

Kid: "No, I was a graveyard fairy*."
(*note: No, we do not know what this is either)

My friend: "No! I saw you!"

Kid: "I was a graveyard fairy."

My friend: "...But you had the gloves. You were Madonna!"

Kid: "I don't even know who Madonna IS!"

The Heart of Rock n Roll

2011-12-08T17:37:00.000-08:00

Some part of me thought it would be fun to run a half marathon in the month of December in the desert. The key with this sort of inspiration is to sign up before you can rethink what you're doing. Which I did. Then, before I knew it, it was the start of December. I was fresh off a vacation where I had eaten my way through my target country. I hadn't been on a treadmill in weeks. I had run 8 miles at my peak, so I had to cough up another 5 in order to cross a finish line... at night... in the freezing cold.

Well, I did it, and my badge of honor is my ghetto limp. Just in case you are so inspired, here's my shorthand guide on How to Survive a Race.

HOW TO SURVIVE A RACE

1) Pick a race that actually interests you.

I don't mean the distance- pick a course you'll enjoy seeing as you do the run. This makes all the difference when you're at mile 9 and want to die. I have done three half marathons- America's Finest City in San Diego, one across the Golden Gate Bridge in San Francisco, and (now) Rock n Roll Las Vegas. The key with RnRLV was that they close off the Strip at night and let all 40,000 of you run like madmen down the middle. It's these little perks, these unusual settings, or views you wouldn't normally get, that will motivate you to keep going.

2) Get inspired.

You need inspiration. Actually, what you need is emotional blackmail.

We accomplished this using a technique I had read about somewhere- we dedicated each of the 13 miles to someone or something. I included people I love dearly who have passed away, family members, friends who are going through tough times, friends who are just really supportive, organizations that inspire me, and of course myself (mile 13). We wrote our lists on our arms in permanent marker, so as we passed mile markers, we'd roll up our sleeves, look, and chug ahead.

3) Find someone else who has done it, ie. "the bar setter".

Find someone who has done something similar and use them to remind yourself if they can do it, you can too. For me, this person was Dawn Dais, author of The Nonrunner's Guide to Marathon Training for Women. Using herself to set the (self-proclaimed low) bar for fellow runners is completely intentional, and she uses 200+ pages of self-deprecation to remind you of what you're capable of doing if you wipe off the Cheeto dust and stand (for starters).

And it's true, so much of this is mind over matter. The book is about Dawn's journey from couch potato to marathoner, and is full of hilarious wisdom for how to get yourself over the finish line no matter who you are when you start. You will need to rehydrate, because you will laugh til you cry while reading it. The night before our race, we read aloud from it in the hotel room. Yes, it's that funny.

(By the way, the title is a misnomer, because nothing in the book is specifically for women. It's so good that I bought my brother a copy. You'll hear about him in a second.)

4) Find the right attitude.

I was running with two people (my best friend and my brother), neither of whom had run a long-distance race. They had to go on faith that when I said it's mind over matter, I meant it. (My brother: "At what point do you admit there is just more matter than mind?") At the Expo the day before the race, we played into the runner's nerves economy and purchased a number of things we probably didn't need, including some cute moisture-wicking Bondi headbands.

Cyrus picked out one that would become our motto throughout the run, inspiring not just us, but every runner we passed (or, in more cases, passed us), "Suck it up, Cupcake." For those of you paying close attention, the right attitude is just to have fun with the race. For the 6 miles that my brother and I ran in lockstep during the race, he continued to keep the right attitude, playing air drums and generally just having the time of his life. So much so that a woman found us after the race, as we were walking back into the hotel, and said that she had followed him, his hair, his headband, and his attitude, and paced herself through the race -- and thanked him.

5) Run with people who will keep you going.

My best friend and I handed each other Gu drops, jellybeans, Dixie cups of water, and doses of motivation as we hobbled along the route. My brother made me laugh with his air drumming and the huge smile across his face as he made it further than he imagined he could.

They key is to run with people who know whether they should stay with you, leave you to run your own pace, stop and stretch with your, and just how to make you feel good about the fact that you're there at all. In my case it was important to have someone who I can psychically communicate with using minimal additional motion, ie. only eyerolling. Also important: run with people who will join you in toasting your weight's worth of bacon cheeseburgers when you're done.

In addition to whoever's on the course with you, maybe you'll be lucky and have a tech-savvy satellite supporter. My sister had no interest in slogging down the Strip, but she might as well have been by my side through the race. She told me to download an app so she could track where I was and send encouragement. (as an aside: this app didn't work, and when she contacted customer service, they told her we should both reinstall- because, you know, I was really going to stop at mile 7 and REINSTALL THEIR WONKY APP)

There's something to be said for looking down at your phone (yes, it was attached to my hip. Literally this time) and seeing "woo hoo! go you!" or a picture of an adorable pet holding up motivational posters.

6) Make a good playlist.

Mine featured James Brown's Living in America. It's a no-brainer that you should lean heavily on the Rocky theme song, Eye of the Tiger, The Final Countdown, and draw liberally from the Footloose soundtrack. I have heard more than one story of people's stereos/iPods, etc getting stuck. In Dawn's book, the weekend she ran the marathon in Hawaii it just happened to be Milkshake weekend. Yikes. On our race, Jessica's iPod limited her songlist during the race to only 30 of the songs. As a result, she never wants to hear Single Ladies again (fact: I wouldn't have wanted to hear it in the first place). All I'm saying is: choose carefully.

before you know it, you'll have one of these

7) Accept what is given.

I'm not trying to be all zen here. I mean it literally- accept what is given. They don't hand out water and Gu on the course for their own good. By rehydrating periodically and injecting (not literally) carbs into your system, you will get the bursts of energy that you need when the going gets tough (the tough get going, see #6, above) Don't leave the volunteer standing there holding a cup like a chump- grab it and say thank you. Even if all you want to do is swipe the table of cups clear and lie down on it.

8) Think less, just put one foot in front of the other, press play, and go.

Girl Talk, Real Talk: The Regrets Edition

2011-12-06T23:19:00.000-08:00

After one of those weird nights where you spend too much time on Facebook and realize that 99% of the population is engaged or married or propagating the human race while you have been, um, updating your blog, tonight I confessed to one of my best girlfriends that it sometimes feels like other people move forward, and I stay in the same place.

Her: But you are not stagnate. Just bc you're not married doesn't mean you haven't had amazing life experiences along the way. You just ran a freakin marathon!

Me: You know what I mean ;) If there is a nuclear war, my marathons don't hide with me.

Her: Yeah I do know what you mean. And knowing the guys we date, they'd throw us out of the nuclear bomb shelter.

That's what your girlfriends are there for, folks. Make sure to keep them on speed dial.

Viva Colombia!

2011-12-01T23:28:00.000-08:00

If one more person had said, "You're going to COLOMBIA? Why???" I would have gone crazy. Now that I'm back, the real question is why haven't you gone yet?

Colombia has long been on my list of places to visit, so recently when some college girlfriends were batting around getaway destinations, I threw my suggestion into the list. I was beyond floored when they accepted, but I knew better than to question my luck.

The streets of Cartagena

Rarely in my life have I gone somewhere with such little frame of reference. (Frame of reference: coffee, soccer, Shakira, coffee) On the upside, we were ready to completely discover, on the downside, we didn't have much of a clue what we were doing. If you were prey to any of the lame stereotypes that exist for this country, you might be put off, or even worried. Fortunately, we were too busy extracting ourselves from work and life to marinate in misconceptions. We nailed the basics early on: our route and the places we'd stay. We decided that we would skip the major cities (Bogota and Medellin) on this trip and land directly in Cartagena. From there we would explore the city for a few days and then wander further north along the coast. All systems go.

Now, you can admit it if you're not entirely sure where Colombia is on a map. You should know before I go any further. So here you go, don't worry, I won't tell.

Colombia is the gateway for many of the continent's imports and exports (go ahead, make your coke jokes- I'll wait). We began in Cartagena, a beautiful port town at the northwest. Tourists tend to go directly into the old walled city, which is what we did for starters. It's beautiful, and it's safe, and Anthony Bourdain had been there.

Courtesy of the trusty internets, we connected with the incomparable local guide Marelvy Peña-Hall. Marelvy is a local tour expert fluent in three languages and equally able to guide you through her nation's history in any one of them. We went to La Popa for a beautiful sunset and a vantage point from which you could take in the magnitude of this port city. From up high at La Popa (which used to be a convent- 99% of what we saw in Cartagena

my first cup

was!), you could still hear the music pulsing from the city down below. Spectacular. She took us for our first cup of Juan Valdez coffee, ambled with us through Portal de los Dulces (a street of homemade sweets vendors), and showed us a few more buildings that used to be convents... We wandered the streets with Marelvy as she told us tales of Simon Bolivar, and pointed out landmarks in Gabriel Garcia Marquez tales.

Following that, we spent two more days in Cartagena "eating our way through Colombia", as I called it. You're not doing the city justice unless you do. (Details and recommendations follow)

From Cartagena we journeyed 4 hours north in a van. Transport in Colombia is privatized, so you reserve a van and they pick you up. Think of an airport shuttle, but, in this particular case, the "shuttle" was full of people who do not understand the concept of "light packing", "personal space", or "don't sing out loud in small spaces if you are not paid to do so". And you're in the van with them for hours. With no bathroom breaks. It was like a travel reality show, where the award is finding out who is going to handle being incontinent in their old age better.

To answer the questions that are probably arising in your mind about safety, it was visible that Colombia is taking steps to make the country safer for tourists. As you'd drive the country roads and highways there were soldiers/officers every so often, always with a rifle, but they looked so relaxed that there was no reason for alarm. It was a reassuring presence rather than anything else. At no point were we warned against wandering - some said to watch our purses, but even at the national park we were told it was fine to go it alone (and we did). Common sense seemed to be all you needed.

Casa de Isabella, Santa Marta

view from Eco Hostal Yuluka

We arrived in Santa Marta, the oldest city in South America. The city was a small, intimate beach town, but housed an adorable boutique hotel called Casa de Isabella, whose breakfast is, alone, worth the visit there (read my review here). Their staff redefined hospitable, as you can read in my Tripadvisor rave (always pay the recommendations forward!) Santa Marta is good for eating (a theme throughout the region, we learned), and we walked by the beach and took in the views at the port. It was a quieter town, but we enjoyed the history and the calm. We could feel ourselves inching away from tourist havens and further into the arms of an authentic Colombia (not to be confused with inching into the arms of an authentic Colombian, which did not happen despite daydreams to the contrary).

Eco Hostal Yuluka

From Santa Marta we continued a half hour north to the outskirts of Parque Tayrona. For our visit to the Parque we stayed at the incredibly unique Eco Hostal Yuluka, a set of charming, deluxe cabins (think air conditioning and Direct TV) within gorgeous plants and moments away from the entrance. It's Gilligan's Island meets a bed and breakfast. The owners, Wilmar and Nelli, are a lovely young couple who double as fantastic tour guides; without them we would have missed one of my favorite parts of the trip. There isn't a ton happening at the hotel; this is where you'll come to relax after your hike, sip some Colombian beers and play cards with your girlfriends like the cowboys you are. Note: they don't have hot water. Prepare to spongebathe!

Once our bags were dropped in our beautiful accommodations, we prepared to enter the famed national Parque Tayrona. Picture the lush green of the lush Sierra Nevadas ending in a perfectly turquoise Caribbean Ocean. Take that, Hawaii! Folks who only make it as far as Cartagena or one of the big cities, I hate to break it to you but you are missing out on a global treasure. Photos do not do this place justice - it's heaven incarnate. We hiked in through el bosque, the forest path, arriving at the first beach in about 45 minutes. The first stop is a large campground with a couple of casual restaurants and hammocks tied up in every which direction; it is common for travelers rent a hammock and sleep on the beach. (Travelers who do not like air conditioning and Direct TV, I guess.)

From there, you hike 15-30 minute intervals before arriving at another outlet to a beach. These beach stops dot the coastline -- we hiked about 4 of the beaches before turning around. Because we went at low season for tourists (November, the end of rainy season), we passed other travelers but didn't deal with the hordes we were told exist during high season. It also meant we could wear bikinis with abandon, a nice perk.

After galavanting on the beach (said galavanting was punctuated by my screams of pain as I stepped on and into every rock available in that region of the Caribbean). Once we were adequately sunburned and sea watered, we began the hike home. Rather than return the way we came, we left through la playa, the beach path. This path, contrary to name, isn't on the beach, but heads a different direction from the beach, and felt a bit more jungly than the forest, which was incredible given that it couldn't have been more than a half mile away. Rather than just trees, we walked through webs of vines to find our way back to civilization. More tips on that below.

Our second day in the Parque Tayrona region, we didn't actually go into the park. Our host at the Eco Hostal Yuluka recommended that we visit La casada, the local waterfalls. This required a walk along a river for about a half hour and some scrambling up rocks, but was worth it and was actually my favorite portion of the trip. For the afternoon we were whisked away to a private beach that we had entirely to ourselves- hammocks were tied up for us. I laid in mine reading Gabriel Garcia Marquez, rocking back and forth in the wind as another beautiful Colombian storm began to brew, and just taking it all in.

La cascada

TIPS FOR TRAVELING IN COLOMBIA

* Learn some basic Spanish. Time to dust off your high school Spanish, kids. While some people are enthusiastic about practicing their English with you, in the outlying cities English is rare and sign language will only get you so far.

* Befriend a few trusted figures, for example the concierge at your hotel- get all the details you can. The more specific you are able to be about what you want to do, the easier it will be for people to give you recommendations. Colombians are extremely warm and helpful, but don't make them do all the work.

* Be prepared to eat lots of seafood. The seafood and produce in Colombia are incredibly fresh, and chefs are eager to show it off in their cuisine. Whether it's a fancy restaurant or a casual hut in the jungle, chefs tend to be liberal with the meat portions. This is your chance to try smoked stingray, and I'm warning you that it's unexpectedly delicious. In short, if you are a vegetarian, you may want to preview your food choices or at least get comfortable asking for your food modifications in Spanish so there is no confusion.

*Take an umbrella... but be prepared to leave it there. For some reason unknown to me, I was allowed to take my umbrella IN to Colombia but it was forcibly removed upon my exit. There may actually be an umbrella shortage there. During rainy season, the storms are long and powerful. Forget whatever you've experienced before- this is the stuff flash floods are made of. For us, they tended to happen from about 5-8pm, when it was already dark. We took shelter and enjoyed wine and cheese in our hotel to kill time before late dinner (Colombian style). If you have curly hair, take a helmet or other hair-restraining device. This weather situation is serious, and your vanity should not take the potential for humidity lightly.

the walls around the old city, Cartagena

TIPS FOR CARTAGENA

* Take your time wandering the old walled city. Know going into things that the city is difficult to navigate- street names change from block to block, so you'll be working with sight more than names. Become comfortable getting lost and asking for directions.

* Consider hiring a local tour guide to maximize your experience. Actually, don't hire just any guide, book early with Marelvy Peña-Hall. Her big smile and her customized tours are an essential part of a proper visit to Cartagena. You can trust her to steer you away from the tourist traps, to help you navigate the streets of the town like a local, and to patiently answer even the most inane questions about her beautiful town and country.

Sunset at La Popa

* Catch sunset at La Popa.

* Prepare to eat. When I came back, I joked that I had "eaten my way through Colombia"... except it wasn't really a joke. We went armed with a list of restaurants, so I'll spare you and share the best of here.

Do not miss La Vitrola- make a reservation because this old world candlelight restaurant is well worth an evening, and everyone seems to know it. Book it first thing upon your arrival, perhaps as a last dinner. The seafood casserole will change your life.
* Try at least one arepa, a cornmeal patty often stuffed with egg or similar, and chorizo -- yum! Everywhere will have them. An arepa, a sausage, and a bold cup of coffee will remind you why you traveled so far and what we're missing out with when we have crappy diet yogurt for breakfast.

* The traditional drink is agua diente, which, like many knock-you-on-your-butt liquors, is licorice scented. But tradition is tradition.

* Stop by La Cevicheria for the best ceviche in town, a cuisine that highlights the freshness of the seafood available to you in Colombia. If it was good enough for Anthony Bourdain -- and me -- it's good enough for you.

* Enjoy a fun fusion dinner at San Pedro or Juan Del Mar; both restaurants have unusual dishes like curried shrimp, served in beautiful settings where you can relax and people watch to your heart's delight.

* Lounge around at the Hotel Santa Clara, the Sofitel. It's (act surprised) an old convent that has been restored into a gorgeous tropical hotel. The weekend brunch is delicious and filling, and even taking in a coffee sitting in their courtyard is beautiful. They have a bar that plays music on the weekends, but if you followed my advice you'll be too full to do anything except roll yourself back to your hotel.

Parque Tayrona

TIPS FOR PARQUE TAYRONA

* Try to have someone drive you IN to the park; otherwise you're adding a few extra kilometers on to your hike by starting at the opening gate. Trust me on this one.

* Take the forest path in and the beach path out- different paths offer you completely different environments.

* Avoid walking at dark unless you want bats swooping down on your troop as you wander. Oh, and the park closes.

* Guides are available (but not necessary) to take you into the park. It's an extremely well-marked park and gives you signs to indicate what % of the way to the beach you are.

* Don't swim in the water unless it's an area they've indicated it's ok to do so. The undertow is brutal here and over 100 lives have been lost. Signs are put up every so often to warn you of the same, but in case you're busy enjoying the views and not reading signs, DO NOT SWIM unless you're explicitly told it's ok to do so.

* Use a pair of shoes you are willing to sacrifice. Somewhere in a garbage can in the innards of Colombia is a well-worn pair of Asics. The tropical rain turns the terrain here to thick mud, and you are going to come home absolutely covered in it.

* Take bug spray. Use it. Prepare to be eaten anyhow, but realize it's a fraction of what it would have been.

* Take water. There are food stands every so often, but you don't want to totally depend on them. A small bottle of water and even a snack would be good, but if you can buy fresh squeezed juice on the beach, don't miss out.

* While you're in the area, don't miss La Cascada, the local waterfalls. It's outside of the park but is well worth a few hours of your day to wander in along the beautiful river and to scramble up the rocks and take in the view. Travel lightly for that portion, or you too may donate personal belongings to gods of the waterfall (RIP Tara's glasses, 2011)


me & my Boygirlparty.com Bon Voyage Journal / Hotel Santa Clara, Cartagena

It's My Birthday, and Here's What I Know

2011-11-08T10:44:00.000-08:00

Yeah yeah yeah, on your birthday you sit down and take measure of what you've learned, where you are, where you're going.

Or, if you're procrastinating, it's when you sit down and actually write out all of the above.

So here's what I know:

1) I am 34. I know this, but hopefully you didn't, at least not when you looked at me. Right?... RIGHT?

2) Age ain't nothing but a number. It might seem self-serving as I edge further into my 30s, but it's conveniently true. I have observed this from a line of people, namely the 100 year old man who just ran a marathon. And my grandma, who, bless her, in her 90s still lives (mostly) alone and gets even more beautiful with age. And my mom, who is in her 60s and just published an incredible novel to much acclaim, just because she's always wanted to. I'm even more inspired by the previous two because we have that whole "genetics" thing going. My mom is still a social butterfly and a beauty and is excited every morning and happy about life; that's an attitude that has nothing to do with when you were born. You can be 16 going on 95 or you can be 95 going on 21. Or you can be 34 and still slightly tempted to lie about it, but that's another story for another day.

3) All you need in life is a few good friends. These good friends will put one candle, not 34, on your birthday cake. Especially if they know what's good for them. You can't choose your family, and hopefully you'll get lucky with them, but if you do, hate to break it to you but... it's not to your credit.

As life throws you more curveballs, you tend to notice who your good friends are, who steps up to bat when it's most important to you- and perhaps not so convenient to them. Having even one of these is a blessing. I have quite a few of them. When I see a new baby, I always wish them good friends (in my head, because saying it aloud is a bit psycho, I'm sure you'll agree). You can't choose so many other factors in your life, and you certainly can't predict what events will come, but you can choose who you are in the trenches with.

4) Trust your gut. The first day of law school, I went to a payphone and cried to my mom that I had made the wrong decision. Now, anyone who knows me raises an eyebrow because I am *not* a crier. And secondly, they raise an eyebrow because they can't believe that in the year 1999, I did not have a cell phone.

That was the first in a long line of times I have overridden my gut or done something because I was "supposed" to do it (or not do it). And guess what? It always backfires, sometimes in disastrous and very public ways (see: my perm, circa 1991). As in decisions, as in judgments about people, you have your instincts for a reason. I finally have learned to use them more, question them less, and save myself a lot of internal debates. I prefer to save my mental space for important things, like contemplating why no one stopped Rick Astley from wearing that trench coat-turtleneck combo in his video.

5) Complain while you're on the treadmill. A girl in high school told me she had given a friend who was complaining about weight this advice: "Complain to me while you're on the treadmill." I hate to side with logic on this one, but I agree. Rather than sit around and complain about what you don't like in your life, complain while you're trying to change it. It takes more work, but it's a tad bit more effective. It takes distinguishing what you can change and what you can't, but this isn't a philosophy lesson.

6) If you're feeling grateful, pay it forward. Every time I feel grateful for something- my health, people in my life, etc., I try to do something to pay it forward. Sitting around and appreciating things is nice, but doing something with your gratitude is more fulfilling. Everyone close to me (and, in an inappropriately-timed revelation, a recent date...) knows about my obsession with adoption and that my biggest concern is children lacking loving people to help raise them. It seems cruel and unfair, especially when I got hit with a double-dose of serious parenting. So this year for my birthday I asked that my friends (and anyone who is so inspired) to consider donating anything they can to the Mama Kevina Boarding School in Uganda, care of Real Medicine Foundation, whose work inspires me daily.

I always roll my eyes when people say it feels good to do something good. So cheezy. And yet, so true. Feel free to roll your eyes, but if you could do so after you press the Donate button, even better!

7) The more you focus on something, the more you allow it to take over your life.
See also: The Kardashian phenomenon.

8) A good cup of coffee fixes everything. I swear by this, as do my friends (at least, the ones I TRUST!) There is nothing I love more than a big cup of coffee with someone I care about, whether it's reheated coffee in my parents' kitchen or a latte with my girlfriends. Coffee has the power to heal, just maybe not heal the shakes I have when I'm done drinking it.

9) It's mind over matter. I don't know if I believe this, but I'm going to have to when I run the Rock n Roll Las Vegas half marathon, in the middle of the desert and at night in a month. This is also relevant when we consider the fame of certain pop stars and other celebrities.

10) Happiness is a choice. Writing makes me happy, so my decision to write this instead of doing my work right now was completely calculated.

In related news, I am overcaffeinated. Today is full of good decisions. Here's hoping the next 34 years are as well.

Death To The Death Penalty!

2011-09-21T20:10:00.000-07:00

Well, at least my day started out funny- I was participating in jury selection down at the Superior Court, and as I walked into the Department and saw the small swinging wooden door I actually heard the People's Court theme in my head. Fun day, right? Even funnier when you consider that I have a law degree and almost a decade of legal experience under my belt. And yet my first association is still Judge Wapner. I'm the pride of my profession, I'm sure.

On a much heavier note, today was also the day that Troy Davis was waiting to hear whether he would be granted a stay of execution for a crime he is convicted of having committed in Georgia-- in 1989. I only learned about this case recently, but it's one you can quickly become passionate about. Some witnesses recanted their testimony, there were contradictions, other suspects were repeatedly named, etc. Beyond a reasonable doubt became "not so much". But the Board didn't stay the execution and in Georgia apparently the Governor doesn't have that power.

Tonight people are holding vigils outside the Supreme Court, the last stop for a stay of execution. The news stations couldn't figure out if their sound was out or if the crowd was possibly just that quiet. It's like America suddenly woke up and remembered the ugly law it conveniently forgot about until it was too late.

As a kid raised more conservatively, I was probably for the death penalty at one point -- I'm sure I was (right around the same time I was excited my dad had a picture of Reagan in his office). But during college I studied the justice system more. I was exposed to prisoners and at one point interacted with death row inmates (via camera, mom, don't worry).

During that time in college when I was learning about the corrections system, the socio-economics of crime, and re-examining my beliefs about the potential for rehabilitation, it really began to consume me. Eventually one night I dreamed that I was on death row. I didn't know what I was being executed for, but I was on the phone pleading, begging my mom to come quickly so I could say goodbye. I remember saying (this is 15 years later, so obviously it was traumatic) "Mom, come quickly. They are going to EXTINGUISH me." I woke up in a sweat and have never once since wavered in my opinion that the death penalty is barbaric, and the type of decision we should not burden ourselves with making.

Yet, in various pockets of the country, this is what we do. We extinguish people. Forever. It's one of the completely irreversible things we do- the MOST irreversible thing. In some cases, including the Texan convict executed in Texas today for dragging a black man behind a truck, trust me, every bone in my body WANTS to support capital punishment. But another part of me is willing to give up that revenge if others will give up theirs. Because we are more civilized than that, and especially because we're not always right.

Tonight a friend asked me how I propose we make victims' families feel better. And that's just the thing- do you think you really can? I know that if God forbid something happened to one of my family members, I would want the killer dead. I *get* it. But killing someone doesn't bring someone else back, and it certainly doesn't fix a much bigger problematic system. And many victims even agree with me - read about this amazing anti-DP organization run by victims and their families, for one.

And our system is a mess. If we run the risk of killing even one innocent person (and the numbers of wrongly convicted people popping up through Innocence Projects is rising), we owe it to ourselves to revisit what we are trying to accomplish and if we're really accomplishing it. We are failing ourselves if we stop short. What the death penalty does is satisfy some people's need for revenge, while creating a new generation of suffering in the convict's family. We're shifting where the anger and the anguish reside, but we're not getting rid of it.

OH, and not sure if you heard, but we're in a recession, and the death penalty is pricey. Do we really think we have the extra change to pay for this little habit of ours? To give one example, in my state, California, the current system costs $137 million per year; it would cost $11.5 million for a system without the death penalty. (California Commission for the Fair Administration of Justice, July 2008)

Do you know what I would do with that extra $125M? A hell of a lot. I would infuse it into our education system for one thing. (You can use the Common Good Forecaster tool to examine the impact a rise of education would have in your way- a drop in crime, for one thing.)

If we're tightening our belts, America, maybe we can stop pouring our time, attention, and resources into controversy and anger, and put our money, for once, where the returns are guaranteed? Just a thought.

And in the meantime, all of you who raise a fuss (or ignore) the one time a year a jury summons shows up at your door (and I can tell you off, because I used to be one of you): Go. Sit. Listen. Participate. Do not take our system for granted. And definitely don't waste my time venting about verdicts you don't care for when you can't be troubled to take the day off work to give a verdict yourself.

The justice system is a living, breathing thing, and is powered by people in the community. So tap into your inner Judge Judy or Judge Wapner, or hell, Judge Harry Stone -- and get yourself there. People's lives actually do depend on you.

Troy Davis died at 11:08 ET this evening.

Woman, Define Thyself.

2011-07-27T23:45:00.001-07:00

So for some reason the other night I was compelled to look up my own name in Urban Dictionary. I know everyone else Googles themselves (that sounds so dirty), but in a particularly shining fit of procrastination I decided to mix it up and hit up my go-to source when I hear an unknown phrase the kids are using these days (most recently: Hot Karate, my brother's band name).

So, I looked myself up. And this is what I got:

I just wanted you to know who you were dealing with. In case you were seeking a cabbage god to worship, you can pretty much stop right here. You're welcome.

And no, I didn't write these myself. (Was the GRAMMAR not a giveaway, people?) I didn't even know about this site until recently. Although whoever wrote these makes me want to party with some other Lillys. If you know some, send them my way.

My Crystal Ball: Writing the Future of Books

2011-07-26T22:39:00.000-07:00

When word came of Borders' bankruptcy, I shrugged and went back to drinking my coffee. Go figure that the first time they'd have a proper, big sale was when they were forced into liquidation. Oh, that reminds me, should I go check my Amazon order status?

It's not my place to surmise what happened to Borders. Frankly, my dear, I don't give a damn, for a number of reasons I won't list here.

What I am excited about is the opportunities that I'm seeing pop up for publishing as a result of this and some other changes happening in ye olde book world.

When I went to get my MBA a publishing colleague laughed and said, "After you get your MBA you won't be able to work in publishing anymore!" He said that publishing model would drive someone with a true understanding of business absolutely bonkers. I probably fake smiled- how could I ever leave publishing, the love of my life? Silly boy. But he was right -- it happened exactly as he predicted (maybe we should be looking into his crystal ball, not mine). Now I watch the sport of publishing books as a spectator rather than a centerfielder.

Humble opinions bedamned, this is what I think (hope!) will happen in my beloved book world in the not-so-distant future. These are my predictions not only as a businesswoman but, more importantly, as a reader and someone who will someday have to explain to her (unborn) children that she couldn't pay for their college education because once upon a time mommy just HAD to have multiple copies of the complete works of Kundera, leatherbound Agatha Christies, and...an imported copy of Boy George's autobiography.

So, looking in my crystal ball, here's what I see for the future of books:

1) Back to the Basics.

I hope it means we will see more bookstores that are bookstores, not multimedia toy stores. Once you start selling Gaiam yoga mats and Biggest Loser DVDs, you are kinda losing your focus. If I wanted to go to Costco, I would.

2) Rise of the Indie.

People will start going back to local bookstores, both new and used. Or maybe that's just me - I was thrilled to find out about The Last Bookstore, a massive used book store, opening in downtown LA. So enthused that I trekked over the 405 and got myself there to check it out, only to find out that the shelves weren't totally up yet. Whoops.

As I already griped, Borders' liquidation prices were still above what you'd pay elsewhere. Now that we realize we aren't getting that great of a discount, maybe we'll at least request the service to be rolled in. This is the me-conomy, and we want books that are "just right" for us. And here's where local bookstores win. The mom and pop shops know what their readers enjoy reading, because, well, they talk to their readers. A good bookstore (read: an indie) can talk to you about a few books you haven't been able to put down and then recommend another handful. It becomes a really fulfilling exchange. This is something Borders was never able to accomplish just right- handselling. It's a practiced fine art at my local bookstore, Warwick's in La Jolla.

Get caught up on your local indie bookstores here!: http://www.indiebound.org/

3) The E-Books Sales Graph Will Continue To Go Up.

You don't need Miss Cleo to tell you that people will use their internet-ready eyes to read more and more e-books. I think we have gotten so used to the glare of a screen that, for lots of folks, maybe books printed on boring old paper just didn't cut it. We want instant gratification, and e-books offer that.

As an aside, I think we'll see an e-boost from all the men out there who rush to download books in immense relief. For years men have yearned to read titles like Men are From Mars, Women are From Venus or The Notebook, but didn't want to risk public ridicule to do so. Traditional publishing wisdom is that women are the bigger book buyers, but that might only be because guys didn't have a way to sneak the titles they *really* wanted to read.

I'm hearing more and more friends talk about reading on their iPhones, which is impressive to me, and probably great news to the local opthamologist. Personally, I finally broke down this year and read a book on my iPad and... I loved it. I flew through it, actually; for some reason it was a faster read than I'd anticipated. My problems with lighting/reading in bed were solved. My sole complaint was that I couldn't write and underline in the book, but won't be a problem for people who borrow it from me.

I'll always be a fan of the tactile reading experience, but e-readers aren't so shabby, folks.

4) New Platforms, New Voices.

I love that books are vetted by book publishers, but the fact is that they miss out on some great gems. Sometimes the work and the audience publishers need to sell to don't line up. And it used to be rare for authors to take matters into their own hands and continue to believe in their project. Granted, a lot of them shouldn't. I know, trust me, I've read their queries, and oh have I wanted desperately to stop them before the inevitable crash. But other times, the publisher is the one missing out. The old belief that all self-published books are ipso facto crap doesn't stand true.

Some say the book industry going the way of the dinosaur. But let's not insult dinosaurs; they didn't publish a book by Snookie.

High-level publishing has become a business, and by definition it requires business decisions that won't -- can't -- always be in alignment with artistic ideals or good, fun writing. Independent publishing and on-demand formats are filling the gap by allowing a bit more work to get out there.

Don't worry, I'm pretty sure the books that stink will continue to be sold only to 45 guilt-ridden close family members and friends, and that's fine. But as more people turn directly to sources, or to online to get their book content, and as word of mouth fuels sales and those sales are less expensive for the author to make, well, we might see some writers step up to the mic that pleasantly surprise us.

So, while I'll miss my place to stop off for a 9pm weeknight cup of coffee and scanning of the shelves, Borders will be gone and quickly forgotten by me, and probably many more people like me. Some people don't realize that the traditional publishing is heavily based on big-box stores, like Borders, having leverage before books are even *published*.

Did you know that a proposed book cover design, if it doesn't float with the Barnes & Noble buyer, gets sent back to the drawing board? So instead of books being dictated by outside forces, the rise of independent publishing means and lower costs suggests that maybe, just maybe, we'll see more people -- and publishing houses -- putting art out for art's sake.

5) Return to Library Row.

Things are changing in the media world. In an anecdote I love retelling, a friend's friend said to him "They should have a book thing like Netflix; where you rent them and then return them and someone else can read it."

Um, that's called a library.

Did I mention we're in a recession? I have this vague hope that, as our wallets tighten, we'll start to feel the outline of our library cards in there. You wanna talk about a green movement? Using your library is recycling at its sexiest.

Read about Save the Libraries here.

Must-See: Beats, Rhymes & Life

2011-07-25T19:49:00.000-07:00

I've never been to the movies by myself before. This weekend I came damn close, when no one seemed that interested in seeing Beats, Rhymes & Life: The Travels of a Tribe Called Quest with me. Yes, that's how much I wanted to see it that my compulsively social self was ready to buy a ticket and walk straight in - alone (gasp!). Eventually my kind sister took me, secured with a promise that I would return the favor and see Harry Pottah with her. The things I am willing to do for the love of a good movie.

I was late on the BR&L train; I only learned about it right around when there was some drama bubbling up over the relationship between A Tribe Called Quest, specifically Q-Tip and director Michael Rapaport. Without seeing the movie, I was quick to side against Rapaport because something about him bugs (yes, I dismiss people out of hand like that). It's probably the fact that he makes faces like this:

Going into the movie, you'd think it's going to be a light trip down memory lane. A reminder of the days when it was ok, in fact advisable, to wear baggy jean overalls in public (one strap undone, obviously). And you do get to relive a few memories- the rush of pushing RECORD-PLAY together to grab a song off the radio, or the feel of your first ghettoblaster. But the movie isn't just about the beats or the rhymes, the accent is on "life".

What's so fascinating about the film is that, yes, as has been publicized ad nauseum, Rapaport focuses in on the issues between Phife and Q-Tip. But his chosen emphasis couldn't be more timely. We live in a time when our popular music is manufactured (literally, in Sweden). We take our insight into the musical process from soundbites carefully fed to Rolling Stone or US Weekly. BR&L is much looser (Phife's attention is on the french toast he and his wife are baking, not saying the perfect thing, for example). So it ends up shedding light on the process but also the stresses of creating music when it is a collaboration and a group effort.

After we watched, my sister pointed out "What happened to hip-hop groups? Now everyone is solo." Sure, there are a few (I'm listening to Beastie Boys as I type this), but not many. ATCQ is a relic - how many major *new* hip-hop groups can you think of that have multiple emcee's? Exactly. The idea of getting three-plus groups to form a mega-group a la Native Tongues would never happen today.

It's something you don't think about- I mean, novels are written by one author. Or paintings are painted by one artist. There's no "Hold on- give me your brush. Wait, let me dip it in red. Ok, now try that." If there was, the homocide rate in the world would rise instantly. This sort of collaboration is rather unique to music, and it's something that has become more rare in the hip hop genre.

Put simply, it seems like hip hop artists just don't play as well with others as they used to. They're more likely to bag on each other than to talk them up. It's done for promotion (example: Kanye and JayZ getting ready to release an album together) but they don't melt into one group. The amazing thing about Tribe is that, growing up, most people didn't focus on (or probably even know) the individual members. It's true- you might have known Q-Tip but 99% chance that was after he made his name when he appeared on the Beastie Boys' track Get it Together.

BR&L attacks another nagging question, one that I think about a lot: What happens when you turn what you love into what you do? It's dangerous business. We forget, when we're listening to a record, happily drowning in its beats and sounds, that it took a process to get there, that someone probably stayed up at night, sleepless, trying to figure out a transition or a track list, or how to produce that particular beat just right. We're swamped with so much music now that we can barely keep up, much less on the dynamics or process of one group. We just consume and move on, music bingers. As a result, seeing a famous artist (here: Q-Tip) take his time sorting through records at a store, or sitting in his room to personally pick out a hook is incredible and pretty rare footage.

But this talent comes with risks and challenges (I didn't say I felt bad for them, I'm just observing!). At one point Q-Tip points out that for an artist, "there is no retirement". And he looks depleted when he says this. This isn't a money-making endeavor for him, it's a compulsion, and one that seems to inspire him but also weigh him down. For Jarobi there are other decisions to make; what happens when you are multi-talented?

It's a movie we debated through our lunch afterwards (and in that you have the makings of a great film, because if you can distract me from my food, that says a lot about your work.) And it's easy to talk about for a long time because the story of ATCQ serves as the backdrop to something even bigger. The movie is as much about the rise of the hip-hop scene as about friendship, about the dangers of mixing business and pleasure, the dynamics of making your own art in a commercial space, and the stressors of figuring out who you want to be when you grow up and who you're gonna take with you on that journey. Ultimately, being a Tribe fan is bonus on the journey, but if you're not already, the movie will probably make a fan out of you.

In case anyone is going to do a biopic, I've already thought about this and I'm casting Bill Cosby as Q-Tip and Cedric the Entertainer as Phife Dawg. My casting consultation services are available upon request.

Must-Read: Cloud Atlas

2011-07-25T18:46:00.000-07:00

Ironically, I rarely blog about books I love. Technically I could probably have an entire blog devoted to my love of books, my desire to consume them all day every day, and the collection I have that makes my shelves sink. For the most part I figure my Goodreads feed covers the important stuff. But in case you have other things to do, allow me to call your attention to a book I haven't been able to shut up about: Cloud Atlas by David Mitchell.

This book is a reminder of everything I love about being a passionate reader, about fellow readers, and about the potential for great writing in our day and age.

I've been trying to figure out for the past week what it was about Cloud Atlas that so mesmerized me. I barely left the house during the weekend I was reading it. If it was beautiful, I walked outside, still reading. I lay in the sun until I was a crispy red because I couldn't bear to stop mid-chapters. And I had a hard time explaining to my friends what it was that was so compelling. It's tempting to fall upon the words of reviewers - whether it's spellbinding or compelling or tour de force. All those cliches and more apply here.

So here's why you need to read Cloud Atlas:

1) Because it has a cool cover.

Guys don't go up to a girl because she has a great personality, they go up to her because she's hot. You should pick up this book, if not because of anything else I say, because the cover is really beautiful and will look nice as decoration until you heed #5 on this list and crack it open. It's a great reminder that you CAN judge a book by its cover. Whoever says otherwise hasn't talked to Susie G., book butler to the stars (me). (She can call a book based on its cover and has found me some of my favorite reads that way.)

2) Because the concept is cool.

The concept: six stories, lightly interweaving. You read one, it stops halfway, and picks up with a second story. It's been described as nesting Russian dolls, and that's the best analogy I can give you. He takes you around the universe but manages to tie it up. It's high concept but it delivers. Once the concept is laid out, he focuses back on the art of writing. So it's enough of a concept to carry you through times when the writing is harder going, but not one of those high concept/low delivery books. Because, you know, we have enough of those.

3) Because it's work, and we don't work hard enough on our reading.

At times while reading this book you will feel like you're in a graduate class, accomplishing something by getting through the pages (see also: Special Topics in Calamity Physics by Marisha Pessl, another favorite). He uses words you won't know, refers to times and places you may not have thought about, and creates future worlds you had never imagined. End result: you will feel smarter. And you should, because you're reading six story lines at once.

4) Because Mitchell doesn't dumb down his writing for anyone.

While I love that certain books encourage readers to read, I fear that more and more people are writing for the lowest common denominator. It's true: simple books are easy reads, and so lots of people read them. If you want a book to sell like Twilight, apparently you need to write as if an ambitious 7th grader took pen to paper. (For a fantastic send-up of the writing in Twilight, check this out- you can thank me later.)

Sophistication makes for awards, not bestsellers. Now that everyone has figured that out, they don't bother writing in a style even a notch more complicated if they can avoid it. But you can tell that Mitchell can't help it. He *is* smart, so his book is smart. His story simply couldn't be told any other way.

5) Because you should learn from my mistakes.

Cloud Atlas was recommended to me years ago by a great bookseller in the Village in NY. I am kicking myself that I can't remember the name of the store or the girl, because I ended up liking the books she sold me very much. And then I'd see it recommended over and over again at my favorite indie bookstore in San Diego, Warwick's. I love bookstores that take the time to personally recommend books, and their recommendations are always, always on point. So on a recent visit I grabbed this and finally done what I should have years ago.

Or maybe you should just read it because I said so.

Look What the Inbox Dragged In.

2011-07-11T23:13:00.001-07:00

Once upon a time many years ago a little sister found herself not a big fan of her older sister's dating choices. So rather than roll her eyes, she rolled up her sleeves and quietly stepped in to see if SHE couldn't do better...

Cleaning my inbox tonight, I found a Craigslist post...about me... that my sister had put up moments before admitting the same to me (the admission came via IM. smart girl)

In honor of our sisterly mutual admiration of Millionaire Matchmaker, and mostly because I don't want to ever lose track of this entertaining piece of history, I'm sharing it with you here.

*******

i have a sister who is awesome (and 28 years old). she's been single for awhile, and i feel like all the guys she dates are eye candy/dumb/just not right or nice to her (she usually goes out with hunky tall, dark and handsome assholes - if you're tall, dark and handsome, please keep reading, but if you're an asshole, then there's no need to continue.)

i hereby am holding auditions for the role of 'potential future boyfriend', which may develop into the role of 'potential future friend' or 'potential future funny story to tell everyone we know' to apply for the position concerning my awesome sister who does not know i am writing this, please read the following.

things you need to know about her:

1. she has an irrefutable love of madonna that you can attempt to hold against her, but if you do, then you should probably stop reading at this point.

2. she has sarcasm and wit to boot, so be on top of your email and your comebacks because no one can dish it like her. i would also venture to say that she's probably the funniest person on the planet.

3. she also has an irrefutable love of books: milan kundera is one of her favorites, she likes salman rushdie and rainer maria rilke and 'the prophet', lots of middle eastern literature, david sedaris, etc.etc. her aforementioned wit and humor are a product of her love for books. can you read? do you read? let's start there!

4. she loves to do stuff. i feel like she's always out and about. she runs, she dances, she gets really big groups of friends together to do ridiculous fun things like bar crawls complete with scorecards and 'rex kwon do' lessons. she is always up for adventure, laughs a lot, and has a good time everywhere she goes.

5. she really does not like guys who are players. you must return her phone calls, and you must not annoy her little sister (me) because i will vote you off the island. you must treasure the art of the mixtape, even when it has things like britney spears "toxic" on it and maybe have a really funny blog that she can read when she misses you or wants to be reminded of how awesome you are.

interested? give me the 5 things she'll need to know about you.

p.s. if you own a faux silk shirt that you usually wear unbuttoned exposing all your jeri-curl'ed chest hair, i think you need not apply.

this is in or around san diego, ca
no -- it's NOT ok to contact this poster with services or other commercial interests

What You Should Read This Summer.

2011-06-30T11:31:00.000-07:00

Summer's here! Even though we're not out of school, we all act like it- spending a little more time surfing the internet, a little less time inside at our desks. Right around this time of year people start to ask me what to read.

As anyone who's been to a bookstore with me knows, I could go on about the topic of book recommendations forever. Fortunately for you, my hand eventually cramps as I type, so here's the shortlist.

If you really want some page-turners, well, you should have already started a Celebrity Trash Bio Book Club like I told you to a few weeks back. The selections are just getting better and better. If you had ever told me I'd be holding my breath waiting for part 2 of LaToya Jackson's autobiography, I would have told you to shut your dirty mouth.

My Go-To Summer Reading Recommendations:

To understand this list, know that it's based on how quickly your pages will turn, how cool you'll look reading it, and the fact that these reads go hand in hand with the enjoyment of a beautiful summer.

Special Topics in Calamity Physics by Marisha Pessl

I always describe this book as "the thinking person's Twilight". You want the story of a girl who lives with her single dad in a town she doesn't quite fit into? Done and done. Minus the cheesy vampire crap, plus the mystery of a young teacher who has a hold on the smartest kids in school.

Pessl realizes she's brilliant even as she's writing (her citations, both true and fictional, will blow your mind), but once you get used to her style, you can go ahead and shun all socializing for the next 2 days.

Immortality by Milan Kundera

Maybe I like this one for a summer read because the opening scene takes place at a pool. Or maybe I like it because Milan Kundera is one of the most brilliant writers I've ever been so lucky to read (we meaning me... and now you). Maybe I've thought about naming my imaginary child Milan. Maybe I've thought about the fact that he's always in the answer to the "who would you invite to dinner, dead or alive?" question.

Kundera's books always leave me reminded that life is beautiful. And if that's not grounds for a summer read, what is?

Forget The Unbearable Lightness of Being; this is his best, and I will never forgive myself for having lent my loved and well-worn copy to the barista at Urban Grind, because I never saw it again. (Emile, if you're out there, can I have it back please?)

The Hunger Games by Suzanne Collins

What? You haven't heard of The Hunger Games? Cool, so should we just forward your mail to under the rock?

Here's why this one makes my list -- it's scenario-specific: You know when it's so hot that you want to stay outside and tan but you can't suffer any longer? You need something to hold you in your chair. This book is it.

The rest of the trilogy is meh, but The Hunger Games has been a crowd-pleaser for everyone I've recommended it to, young and not-young. It's a great reminder of why YA ("young adult") books can have immense crossover appeal (see also: The Book Thief). For people who aren't big readers or have taken a lil break from their reading habits, this is always the book I recommend.

I may or may not have found myself looking up archery lessons after reading it. For those of you who might be camping this summer, this will inspire you to learn something besides how far it is from your campsite to the nearest Denny's.

Anything by Meg Cabot

"Anything" is not the name of the book, it's a general statement -- I just love how she writes. In some literary circles (including my own) I could be assassinated for putting Kundera and Cabot on the same list, but here it is.

If you're going to dive into a light summer read, she's the place to start. She tells her tales in this series through IM/email/voicemails/etc. So she doesn't use filler prose and as a result the stories move quickly, with characters you wouldn't mind being friends with.

This is an author I'd recommend to most women I know; her sarcasm and style make for the perfect beach read for any girl (huge stereotype, and yes, I'm fine with that). But I guess it's not gender-specific. Last weekend I conned my 20something brother to take a photo posing reading the book with this girly cover... and next thing I knew he was 20 pages in, and he finished it.

Cabot never fails.

Fargo Rock City or Klosterman IV by Chuck Klosterman

I have a love-hate relationship with Klosterman. I love the things he thinks and writes about, and I hate that he thought to do it before I did. Fargo Rock City goes hand in hand with the resurgence of 80s/early 90s metal; check the local listings and odds are Motley Crue, Poison, and co. are playing some open-aired pavilion by you. So this is the book to remind you why we loved those bands to begin with. It talks about why music is important to us as teenagers, specifically to him, living out in the booneys of Fargo. I'm always fascinated with stories told through music or using music as a device (see also: Nick Hornby's High Fidelity) Klosterman will tell you trivia you never thought you wanted to know about the leaders of glam rock/metal. My guess is you might just find yourself buying a ticket to see them and relive the good old days.

I'm always surprised by the fact that more people aren't familiar with his work; they really should be. People seem to know his Sex, Drugs and Cocoa Puffs book, but it doesn't hold a candle to these two if you ask me.

Klosterman IV is a collection of essays. In total it ends up being a great portfolio of his range and abilities. I'm a fan of his interviews of famous people in particular. What ever happened to Val Kilmer, anyway?

Need more book recommendations?

Nancy Pearl Presents 10 Terrific Summer Reads
LA Times' Summer Reading List
What I've already read (my Goodreads list)

Must-See: Incendies (2010)

2011-06-14T09:58:00.000-07:00

It’s amazing how playing hooky in your thirties has the same enjoyment it did as a teenager. That is, if you had had the nerve to ever step outside the lines during said teenagehood. Yesterday my mom wanted to go see Incendies and I could only make a matinee, so I shut down the laptop and we snuck into a rare almost-empty theater to watch it. (ugh, the only time I played hooky it’s with my mom. I don’t even want to know what that says about me). It’s difficult to write this without providing spoilers, so I’ll keep it short and say that some movies are just important to see, and I think Incendies may be one of them.

There’s something to be said for watching a movie about the immigrant mother’s experience with your parent, who happens to be an immigrant herself. Specifically, Incendies is about a woman whose death prompts (ok, the death doesn’t, the letters she leaves behind do) her children to realize that maybe they didn’t know her at all.

The movie is gorgeous shot after shot of a country in the Middle East. It’s a country torn by violence. Check. And prejudice. Check. It’s set against beautiful views. Check. And troubled history. Check. The truth is, it could be anywhere in the Arabic-speaking Middle East. The fact that this country is never named is as important as any other element of the movie. The acting, as in most powerful films, is as much in its silent moments as in its dialogue. Against this background, the story operates with flashbacks to the mother’s history moving forward while the children retrace her steps.

Seeing this movie reminded me how lazy we can be with our family history. By “we” I mean the children of parents who immigrated to the United States, gave us our Nintendos and our Michael Jackson posters, and didn’t require us to become fluent in their history. Without them spoon feeding it to us, how connected do we choose to be with the lives they led before us?

While every parent can have secrets or a past their kids don’t quite get, parents who have immigrated add another layer to this mystery. The mystery comes from the fact that they have to communicate not only their stories and experiences, but set against a backdrop their children can hardly imagine. A lot of them choose not to take on the challenge of describing a world they know their children can’t envision. So they play along with the new lives they have created here.

As the daughter walked her mother’s village I realized that is an experience many people never have- it takes a trip to the motherland and escaping constant family eating marathons in order to see landmarks that meant something to your parents. We rarely get to meet people who knew our parents in a non-family context. While I have friends who debated pledging the same sorority as generations in her family, I struggle to remember the names of my parents’ colleges.

In the case of Iranian children, our parents’ own memories are further challenged by the fact that, since they left, the street names have changed, as if the country doesn’t want them to be able to remember.

Immigration is a tough experience, particularly when people don’t always choose it. I can’t imagine up and moving to Japan, even though I’ve heard great things about it; getting fluent in Japanese and raising my children so that’s what we speak at home. I can’t imagine them telling me they’re not in a rush to see the United States and that they consider themselves Japanese. It’s unfathomable to me, but that’s basically what happened to my parents.

As the daughter in the film continued moving forward, uncovering step after step of her mother’s secret life, I wondered: was it a question of her not having asked enough questions? Or the right questions? Do we assume if something is important that our parent will bring it up? In many cases, I think we are guilty of thinking it’s easier to just let things be.

For NonBlondes: The Plight of the Brunette

2011-06-12T12:05:00.000-07:00

Are brunettes making a comeback?

I sure as hell hope so. Because I have been waiting for this whole curves thing to be in, and it hasn’t happened for me quite yet.

Brace yourselves; Twitter actually made me think.

The other night my friend posted on Twitter that she was tired of short smart brunettes being portrayed as clever but not desirable in movies. HA! I laughed. Then I laughed again. Then I stopped laughing.

FROM THE DESK OF A MOSTLY-BRUNETTE

This is a topic that interests me mostly because I am arguably a smart brunette (the brunette is not arguable). I love being a brunette and it's something I've only changed on very rare occasions. Three, to be specific:

1: When I came home from college my first semester. My mom randomly suggested lightening my hair over Thanksgiving break while I was home. I now realize it was to distract from what was going on everywhere south of my head, ie. I had become a total porker. Good lookin' out Mom.

2: Blonde highlights. There is a reason people with black hair do not get blonde highlights, and now I understand why. The hairdresser and I argued over my natural hair color and as a result he gave me blonde highlights that were in fact white. They were complemented by really long violet acrylic nails. This was not a high point in my physical appearance history.

3: Red stripes, circa 2000. I wanted to get some rebellion out of my system and had my hair dyed with stripes of magenta when I lived in Argentina. The fact that my rebellious phase came during and after law school is another story for another day.

The short, smart brunette has been the bane of my existence ever since I realized I’m a dead ringer (or so I’m told) for Janeane Garofalo. Which would be fine, except shortly after realizing that, she starred in a movie about how short, smart brunettes are sooooo unattractive to men that they pretend to be gorgeous tall blonds (Uma Thurman) in order to not ruin a good thing. The smart brunette is the girl the dream guy talks to about his conquests, not the target of affection herself. Hollywood being what it is, they gave us the ending where the guy picks the little sarcastic brunette over the tall model (literally) blonde, but who actually SAW that movie? Exactly. And where is Janeane now? Exactly. No one believes it.

EXCEPTIONS TO THE RULE

As Jon Yang helped me identify, men DO like brunettes… in indie movies. You know, the ones most of America doesn’t want to see. Brunettes like Mila Kunis or Natalie Portman (ideally together. In a sex scene.) But he didn't seem to think brunettes were as shunned as I thought they were.

MISS CLAIROL

Last year I actually wrote down my bucket list. One thing on there was to try going blonde, just to see what it was all about. But it’s way harder to go to blonde from brunette than the reverse.

Going brunette has become de rigeur, and all over San Diego you can find beautiful women with light green and blue eyes and pitch black hair or brown hair. Going dark is something people try on. Everyone does it for a little while, then they go back to blonde, especially in Hollywood, as I am reminded every time I refresh my US Magazine homepage (which is done often, I assure you). Going dark is something pretty blondes try on the way celebrities try on fat suits or being ugly to try and win an Oscar.

The hair dying trend is so rampant that once I walked into my parents’ kitchen and my dad stopped in his tracks. The conversation went like this:

Dad: “What happened to your hair? Why is it so DARK?”

Me: “Um… because you’re my dad?... And I was born that way?”

I’ve had hairstylists accuse me of dying my naturally black hair black. Which now I’m actually going to have to do. Because finally nature has decided to honor my wish to become blonde... by giving me greys. Ha ha mother nature, haha. Very cute.

BORROW THIS

The short smart brunette plays the lead in the movie Something Borrowed. And maybe I get what I deserve by even seeing a movie based on chick lit. Fine. But [warning --spoilers!] in it, said short brunette lives out every girl’s fantasy by not only getting the guy but winning the guy from her blonde friend. But she can only win him over after overcoming her bad self esteem.

Hey world, you know WHY she had bad self esteem? Because little brunettes know their place in society. Ginnifer Goodwin > Kate Hudson?! Short witty brunettes around the world were stunned.

What? Didn’t hear about the movie?

My point exactly.

Now, I have lots of guy friends who say they prefer brunettes. But do they really prefer brunettes, or do they just go for the girls they think they can get? Or if they like the brunette, would they like them a little bit more if their hair was a liiiiittle bit lighter? I'm just saying.

I’ve dreamt of going to other countries, Nordic countries where I would walk off the plane and be greeted by a sea of adoring blondes who would touch my hair and ooh and ahh (or whatever the Swedish equivalent is) over me. Perhaps they would crown me (my dream, I choose what happens). But I have recently been assured by a friend from the region that those countries actually find brunettes even less attractive than over here. And that, my friends, is what we call a reality check.

The good news is that there seems to be a rallying cry, at least from the ethnic corner. A shout out to the Kardashian coven. Oh wait. I said SMART little brunettes.

For the avoidance of doubt, any woman who says she’d rather be considered smart than hot is lying to you. And I’ll put $ on it she’s a short brunette who has spent years teaching herself to spit out that answer.

I know I have.

I know, I know, the short brunettes around me are steaming out their cute little ears. This post is one big betrayal of the sisterhood. Just callin' it how I see it folks. I’m not saying I don’t want to be a brunette, but if you want me to say it’s easy street, I’m gonna say you’re having a blonde moment.

So I asked (out loud)…is the plight of the brunette coming to an end?

Guy friend 1: “I think it’s…”

Guy friend 2: “Yeah uh- I don’t think so.”

Exactly.

The Art of Celebrity Trash Bio Book Club(R)

2011-06-07T08:51:00.000-07:00

When I first moved to San Diego, I was intent on finding fellow readers. So I decided to form a book club. I put an ad on Craigslist and called for Literate Urbanites to join me (this name later popped up on another book club in town; how creative). Thus began our book club adventures that created friendships and actually logged one marriage (hey, at least someone got something out of it). But as the years rolled on, and the book selections thickened and wandered into the sciences, I noticed that fewer and fewer people were coming to the meetings and even fewer were actually reading the book.

So, one night on the drive home from a Journey concert (where else to discuss haute literature?) I asked a couple of friends why it was that they never came to book club, and what it would take to get them to come? One of them answered "hey, if you read celebrity bios, then I'd be there". And suddenly it dawned on me- we weren't reading things people, deep down, really wanted to read! And so CELEBRITY TRASH BIO BOOK CLUB(r) was born.

I am happy to report that, one year later, attendance is at an all-time high. People are *adding* other people to the book club list, not asking to be removed. People from other cities are on our mailing list just because they like to read along.

Disclaimers
Before you start your very own Celebrity Trash Bio Book Club, it is important to recognize that you are not reading these books for literary merit. Truth be told, very few of them are likely to have any. In some cases you will resist picking up a pen and editing as you read along. Remember, these folks are not famous for being good writers, they are famous because they live outrageous lives and get paid to do so. By lowering your expectations you are likely to enhance your reading experience. You will find that CTBBC quickly weeds out literary snobs, who will not be able to handle things like Janice Dickinson's need. To shorten every sentence. With. Dramatic. Pauses.

Now, let's get to it - here are the basic provisions of running your own successful Celebrity Trash Book Club:

1) Pick a trashy book. A really trashy one.

The trashier, the better. And autobiographies > biographies, as we discovered after reading 4oo pages about Scientology and NOT Tom Cruise, as previously anticipated.

Also- our studies show the more random the celebrity, the better the book. Maybe it's because you have lower expectations for them, maybe it's because they know THIS is their chance to grab at the limelight, so they try harder.

**Tip for Beginners: I always suggest that people begin their club with Motley Crue/Neil Strauss's The Dirt. Whether or not you're a hard rock fan (chances are you aren't, I mean, you are in a book club) -- it sets the bar for complete dishing but through good writing. It's the gateway drug of trash bios.

2) Serve alcohol. Lots of it.

We all talk more $hit when we've had a little something to sip on. Well, you'll be able to fully throw yourself into the ring to discuss Jenna's rise to porn stardom or Michael Jackson's awkward relationship with Brooke Shields if you've had a sippy cup of happiness.

We usually open a few bottles of wine, although some like to mix it up - for Ricky Martin month, we had two moms on the floor with babies, sipping their rum and cokes (Puerto Rican style!). Do what you need to do, but this is another opportunity to set yourself apart from the cafe-book-club set.

3) Consider doing a themed event or dressing up to freak out your fellow readers.

For the Andre Agassi meeting, I decided to put an old mullet wig (that has come in handy more times than I'd like to admit) to use. I answered the door dressed as Andre.

Exhibit A

For Ricky Martin, we themed it a fiesta - Latin wines, chips and salsa, and any other un-PC stereotype we could think of (author's note: much as I love Ricky, his bio was not trashy at all- he's apparently all into "being a good person" and "not dishing dirt" and "not naming names", thereby violating all the ground rules of Celebrity Trash Book Club.)

For Jenna Jameson, we discussed holding our meeting in a local jacuzzi suite. Get creative, it's the least you can do to honor these fine writers.

4. Use multimedia presentations.

Celebrities are overexposed. Which means that, at your meeting, you can tie in multimedia sources to enhance the trashy book club experience. For Andre Agassi, I entertained fellow bookclub attendees by reenacting famous Andre Agassi photographs.

Exhibit B

Then for the Superfreak's autobiography, we watched the Dave Chappelle skits about Rick James. During the Ricky Martin meeting I kept Ricky Martin: Unplugged playing in the background throughout our fiesta, etc. Having a laptop on hand during Celebrity Trash Bio Bookclub is handy, as you can look up rumors, cross-check tales they have told you, and read up on peripheral figures.

5. Have read-alouds.

Read alouds are not just for kindergarten, folks. Some of these books demand to be read out loud to adoring crowds of your 5 closest (and drunkest) friends. Janice Dickinson's autobiography has a particularly salacious passage involving her dressed as a nun and some guy dressed as a priest... in a church in Italy. You get the idea -- the writing is absolutely Shakespearean.

Or, you could revert to the audio book. Andre Agassi's "Open" audiobook features a reader who somehow thought that raising his voice to imitate a woman talking would enhance the listener's experience. Enjoy.

6. Don't give up. Ever.

This item simply refers to my ongoing (one woman) lobby for Don't Hassel the Hoff. We (I) haven't won yet, but if there's one thing I have learned from these celebrities, it's that merit doesn't count for much... perseverance is key.

*****
THE OFFICIAL READING LIST OF CELEBRITY TRASH BIO BOOK CLUB:

Kathy Griffin Official Book Club Selection
Andre Agassi Open
Tom Cruise: An Unauthorized Biography
Chelsea Handler My Horizontal Life
Motley Crue & Neil Strauss The Dirt
Ozzy I Am Ozzy
Sarah Silverman The Bedwetter
Anthony Bourdain Kitchen Confidential
Jenna Jameson How to Make Love Like a Porn Star
Ricky Martin Me
Janice Dickinson No Lifeguard On Duty
The Confessions of Rick James: Memoirs of a Superfreak
LaToya Jackson (in progress)

All Rights Reserved.

2011-06-01T10:12:00.000-07:00

I have a friend who likes to say "I reserve the right to change my mind at any time." I believe it came up when she was challenged by her husband on having changed her point of view regarding someone else. What? You can change your mind?! This was news to me. For years I have felt like I need to go down with the ship (see also: my endless defenses of Madonna). But my friend has created space so that -- *snap* -- she can change her mind, and through this little clause (she is a lawyer, after all), avoid public ridicule for changing her mind.

Then the other day I was reading Chuck Klosterman's essay about ABBA and that led me to think about a few examples of things that I've changed my mind about through time...

1. ABBA

I'm one of those people you have to tear off the dance floor. Until the DJ goes home, I can be found front and center. Forget drinks, forget talking to people, I'm a sucker for music. There are a few songs though that will clear me off the floor in no time ("I Will Survive" and "YMCA" come to mind). In college I recall actively protesting on the dancefloor with my best friend if "Dancing Queen" came on (we'd do a "sit in" just to be dramatic and really prove our point). I'd roll my eyes when I found ABBA in girlfriends' CD collections. To be fair, I still don't like the song, but as it turns out, I now have a soft spot for ABBA.

Previous Stance: Annoying disco'y pop. Complete mystery to me. Central reason for not watching Muriel's Wedding.

Tipping Point: Finding out that my brother likes them. seeing Mamma Mia (the movie). The fact that the movie was a turning point for me is embarrassing in and of itself.

Current Status: Love them, am annoyed with Madonna (previous hero) for sampling. Cook while listening to ABBA Pandora station.

2. Country Music

Previously: Made me want to tear my hair out. sound associated with long roadtrips and carsickness for lack of anything else on the radio in the midwest (somehow no matter where you are, the country station ALWAYS works)

Turning Point: Hearing Dixie Chicks' "Cowboy Take Me Away". Buying a signature red cowboy hat in LA. And then- the coupe de grace- finding myself enjoying Taylor Swift being played during a ballet workout; after being horrified i came to terms with the pop country movement.

But really, it was the trip to Nashville this year that cemented it. Nothing like raising a beer in a Honky Tonk bar on Broadway to turn you right around.

Current Status: I won't put it on by choice but when I hear it I get nostalgic for that awesome trip and maybe even a bit patriotic.

3. Cher

It pains me to write this, but I also appear to have been wrong about Cher.

Previously: Dorky 60s singer who tried too hard to stay young and unnecessarily subjected me to her thonged butt in fishnet stockings during a music video.

Turning Point: Believe album, which I loved against my own will. Her performance in Burlesque, during which I wondered if I could get the name of her plastic surgeon, because she looks younger than I do. Becoming impressed with her fitness.

Current Status: I still don't love her singing, but she's fun and she owns it. I can't avoid imitating her when I sing along, thereby sounding like a drag queen, but it's fun. Aspiring to have her body at 40, forget 60.

4. Being Republican

Just kidding!

5. LOST

Previously: Didn't understand why people stayed home to watch this. Didn't even bother asking what it was about. Figured someone from Party of Five couldn't indicate anything good.

Turning Point: It came out on DVD. Had a friend cancel dinner with me on a Friday so she could finish watching. I couldn't believe that someone would cancel on me for a stupid tv show. I decided to see what the fuss was about and prove my point. I was thwarted and was soon doing pretty much the same thing to other people.

Current Status: Couldn't get through the last season, but continue to evangelize about the first season and find new addicts. Ongoing imaginary relationship with Josh Holloway.

There are many more examples (I'm sure my siblings and friends would be happy to call me on them) but this is a start. It's interesting to see how your taste evolves even against your own will. That said...

On a related note - Things I Will Never Change My Mind About Hating:

Seinfeld. The theme song alone sends me into convulsions.
Natalie Portman. While I found Black Swan bearable, I continue find her anything but.
Twilight. See this hilarious NPR book review article I wish I'd written.

I won't change my mind about those, but just in case, I reserve the right to.

My PhD in Useless Pop Knowledge

2011-05-19T17:34:00.000-07:00

When I really want to get everyone around me up in arms, I’ll talk about going back to school. You see, I have this thing where I love going to school. Most people hate it but I’ve always loved it- I’ve loved buying the books, reading them, taking notes, learning random useless things I’d then get tested on.

In college, I studied everything I could, working my way through departments. While I graduated University of Michigan with an English degree (Dad: “Why English? We know you speak English!”), I racked up courses in Medieval French Literature, Congolese dance, and the statistics of statistics. Then I went to law school. Then, for good measure, I went to business school (I did not just walk to the buildings, I attended and graduated. Thanks for asking, with a moment of silence for the guy who ended our first date when he found out I was educated.)

Now let me tell you about the degree I am most proud of, which is interesting because I never “got” it. It is my self-study degree in pop culture. Because, let’s be honest, more than asking me for marketing advice or help negotiating a tricky contract, my friends call upon me for crucial lifeline-style pop culture answers. I always enjoy getting a call when a friend is at a bookstore and needs a recommendation, or when there is an item on the news and they ask for my commentary because surely I know the trivia behind it. But it really hit home on IM last week.

Jon popped up on my IM nonchalantly:

Sent at 4:34 PM on Thursday

jon: what is nelson's biggest hit?

me: I LOVE THAT YOU ASKED ME THAT!

well jon, they had TWO

"after the rain" is probably numero uno

and love and affection was another.

now, fun fact- their sister (tracy?) was the nun on father dowling's mysteries.

i'm so glad i could play that piece of useless knowledge.

wow. i think you just gave me my next blog post.

(To be clear, I knew from the instinctive quickening of my heart as I prepared to answer that I was being a loser, which is why I answered his question like that)

It’s actually compulsive, this sharing of information. It’s a bit Rain Man of me, but I like to think it’s somewhat charming in that at least I recognize that I’m a dork and that this behavior is in no way normal.

The question is, what do you do with this sort of knowledge? Some have found great journalistic careers and have channeled their information into witty commentary. I’m thinking specifically of Cintra Wilson and Chuck Klosterman. My problem, however, is that I can’t envision making this my life and feeling fulfilled. Ok, let’s be honest, I could totally be fulfilled, I just can’t envision someone would want to pay to hear my thoughts on what really went on between Rick James and Prince or to hear me explain the history of the band Heart.

My bigger problem is that a lot of $ (not always mine) has been sunken (sunk?) into my education (love that I got an English degree and don’t know the right verb tense to use). So when I pause on a legal question but can readily rap It’s Tricky by Run DMC to you, there may be a problem.

I fear that I’m at “Memory Almost Full” (like the Paul McCartney album. He just got engaged for the third time. And yes, this is how my train of thought works.) Something about pop culture factoids stick with me in a way the finer points of due process case law never did. I don’t even remember passages from books I loved as well. The dumber the information, the more likely it is to be stored in my memory bank. See also: lyrics of every Madonna song ever written. When you know the lyrics of her song “I’m Going Bananas” by heart, you have really and truly hit rock bottom.

To be clear, I realize that this habit of mine is highly annoying (I assume) to those around me. I can’t help but pipe in with a factoid (and I hate the word factoid) about a movie or while we’re at a concert. My mind works on a constant cycle of six degrees of useless pop information, and then I say it. I’m like human pop-up video but for everything around me. I mean, I get annoyed just describing my behavior to you.

But what else can I do with this collection of information? I mean, should I really keep it to myself when I know that Kathy Griffin supposedly hooked up with Jack Black back in the day? Or when I know that Rosanna by Toto is named after Rosanna Arquette (who lived with Peter Gabriel as well)? Should I assume you don’t want to know that Lenny Kravitz later produced a really good song for an actress who had been on his ex-wife Lisa Bonet’s show A Different World?

I know what you’re thinking- I really need to just apply for a job with E! and call it a day. And maybe I would, but I think I’d be ostracized by my colleagues for being too into it. And no one wants turf war with Ryan Seacrest (Who is dating Julianne Hough. Who followed her dance career on DWTS with a country singing career. Ryan is exec producer of the Kardashians… You see what I mean? SERIOUSLY. GET ME HELP.)

It would be scary if someone could ever see inside my mind. The other day I was watching Community and laughing at Abed, a character so consumed with pop culture that he’s almost cartoonish. But then I realized there was nothing to laugh at, what I was looking at him with was sheer admiration because his movie knowledge was on lock in a way mine isn’t… yet.

I’m realizing this is just my blessing and my curse, this talent for knowing and retaining, often against my own will, the completely useless. For now, I will continue to collect this information subconsciously (and, through Celebrity Trash Book Club, consciously) just in case any friends end up on a quiz show and need a lifeline, and to establish first draft pick status for 80’s Trivial Pursuit or bar trivia.

I may not know what to do with it yet, but I will find a good use for this superpower.

Wedding Season: The Plus One Conundrum

2011-05-09T21:31:00.000-07:00

The wave of weddings in my late twenties (not my weddings, other peoples') passed over us as quickly as it came. But like a tsunami, I've noticed another wave coming. Lately with each week's mail there's been another beautifully done invitation, another announcement of happiness, and... another "& Guest" to answer to.

WE BEGIN WITH CONFESSIONS
I should preface by saying this: I have never taken a date to a wedding. Never. While I have gone as people's dates, I have never taken someone myself. Not to my best friends' weddings, including the one where I was Maid of Honor. Not even to my own sister's wedding. At major events like these I have always preferred to fly solo, which allows me to do my social butterfly thing, catch up with old friends, and be free of the obligation to cast a backwards glance at a guy who may or may not become miserable when I can not be torn from the dance floor, which guilt on my part would only be compounded if he has done me the courtesy of wearing a suit, eating hotel chicken, and doing a stream of disgusting kamikaze shots at the bar with my always-hyper friends.

Now, until recently this "free agent" policy was a smart strategy. In many cases it was de facto, i.e. I wasn't invited with a date, and thus the paradox of choice was removed. Being "plus zero" often sucked in that, after moving across the country, attending weddings of old friends or family required much travel and someone to carry my stuff would have been nice. I'll admit it, it sometimes irked me to not be invited with a date, the implication being that I could socialize well with people I had not glued to myself. The nerve! But ultimately it wasn't a huge deal- I'd show up at the wedding and sit at the table with a bunch of other single friends, and be the loud, fun table, and make a great weekend of it.

THE TURNING POINT
I'd say the turning point on my no-date policy came at a cousin's wedding where I was older than everyone seated with me... by a decade. At one point a relative who thought he was being very cute began to lay into me about having seen me "hit on" a guy at my table. I snapped back that I was just making conversation with the guy who by the way was the only one at the table who had graduated high school. Give me a freaking break. But there was a crack in my always-perfect plan, and it had begun to reveal itself.

My policy took another hit when my sister got married a year and half ago. While I could have brought a date, the thought of taking one to my younger sister's wedding would have put too much heat on the poor guy (Persians being how they are, they might have panicked on my behalf and maybe tried to throw me in for a two-for-one ceremony.)

Anyways, preceding the wedding, my younger brother and I had a conversation that went like this:

Me: "Are you bringing a date?"
Him: "No. Are you?"
Me: "No. Ok good."

So imagine my surprise when the evening of the wedding I'm sitting with friends, enjoying the festivities, and my brother strolls in late with, not just a date, but a gorgeous model-amazon of a girl. Not only had he brought a date, but he had brought the type of date that makes you NOTICE that he had a date. And I didn't. The closest I came was my parents' dog Toby, who was wandering the lawn dressed in his finest tuxedo tee shirt.

At this point, I began to be more thoughtful about the purpose of the "and Guest" portion of wedding invitations.

Well now that The Second Wave of Weddingism is happening, it's time to readjust my strategy. And to add to that, I've been invited to upcoming weddings in the most gorgeous of places. The prettiest inn in San Diego! Or wine country! I think the time has come to take a partner in crime to enjoy these magnificent events my friends put on. But I don't want to just do this on the fly. Picking a date out of thin air is a habit I hope I left behind in my sorority date party days.

So, for these purposes, I am devising a Potential Wedding Date Questionnaire. It's a work in progress, but here's where I am with it so far:

POTENTIAL WEDDING DATE QUESTIONNAIRE

1) Do you own a suit?

2) Does it still fit you?

3) Can you hold your liquor?

4) Can you hold mine?

5) If presented with a situation where 100 people around you rise and do the Electric Slide, what would you do?

6) Do you have weird eating restrictions that might hamper my ability to respond to an RSVP card with dignity?

7) Do you know/have you slept with the bride? (insert name)

8) Do you promise not to push me onto the dancefloor when the bouquet toss happens? Do you agree with me that that part of the night is not funny?

9) Can you make conversation with strangers just enough to be comfortable, but not so much that you pick up someone else while on a date with me?

10) If I promise you freedom to use the bathroom or wander the premises as needed, do YOU promise never to choose to leave me at a juncture in the night that happens to be a slow dance when all other couples have gotten up from our table?

Since I'm still tweaking it, I might end it with a few open-ended questions if I'm feeling whimsical... What makes you feel like you are the right applicant for this position?

How Do I Love Thee? Let Me Text the Ways.

2011-05-06T09:42:00.000-07:00

I've said I’d write about this before, and here it is:

Technology will be the downfall of romance.

I’m sure I’m not the first to say it, but hopefully someone soon will be the last. It's something I've thought about a lot, and finally was motivated to put down (ironically in e-format). I needed to address the situation after hearing an ongoing stream of horror stories: Reading a tone wrong. Realizing that the guy you have so admired doesn’t have basic spelling on lock. Being sent a text clearly meant for someone else. Being sent a photo that begs to be forwarded to your entire address book.

I am particularly sensitive to the intersection of technology and romance for two reasons- one, I myself am guilty of relying (too) heavily on electronics for communications. And two – I am extremely sensitive to the way people communicate. Whether it's because I pick my own words carefully or if I’m just the sensitive type, I choose every word I use specifically because it’s the word to use, and I assume others do too. (This is a really, really bad idea. Just trust me.)

Someone already established that men and women hail from different planets, and adding techno-translation is frankly a problem we all don’t need. Yet, we increasingly rely on technology to communicate with the people we are bringing into the innermost parts of our lives. On the one hand, we over-rely on it, and on the other, we ourselves become guilty of the over-reveal. Can we preserve a little mystery, people?

The following is (sadly) only a partial list of electronic communications that are throwing a wrench in it for all of us.

TEXTING

The most common guilty pleasure. You know you do it. Texts can be cute, we think! They’re a way to tell someone, in a limited number of characters, how you’re thinking about them. They’re offhanded, they’re fun! But here are the catches:

a. Technology is not reliable.
Now, I think a lot of people use this fact as an excuse (“Sorry! Never got your message!”), but it’s gotten so bad that recently my friend and I had to decide to “roger” this or that so we know our texts went through (cough cough, SPRINT). Sad state of affairs for 2011, but it is what it is. So when you send a text, it’s become a little more of a message in a bottle than we previously anticipated. Which creates a dilemma when there is an awkward pause. Did you make an off-color joke and get silence back? Now you’ll never know if you pissed someone off or if they didn’t get it at all.
b. You are minimized to a few sentences.
Bcuz u b turning women off with u letters instead of words.

Look at how dumb Twitter can make people look. Texting does that for you every day. Writing on the fly is the quickest way to show someone that, if you aren’t paying attention or if you're limited for space, you can look ignorant of basic grammatical rules. Ok, that’s not a dating dealbreaker (for most people), but I’m just saying, it doesn’t help. And don't even get me started on sexting.

And then there’s the whole tone thing. No one has developed sarcasm font, which I have been pushing for for ages. Women in particular are guilty of hanging on those sentences, unable to read tone. Was he kidding? Was he serious? Now she won't know, but she'll save the text and ask 23 of her closes friends. Ay.

Some men try to convey tone with emoticons, but we all know that is really just tough territory. Note: avoid putting noses in your smiley faces at all costs.

EMAIL

Email represents a problem that exists with technology as a whole. That is: not everyone is on email the same amount. Someone told me about a teenager they know who sleeps with her phone ACROSS HER EYES so if it buzzes with news (text, email) she will wake up. The point is, we’re all connected to a different extent.

I have a desk job and many people I know do too. So we respond quickly to most emails. They are a welcome break from spreadsheets, powerpoints, and emails that make your eyes roll. So yeah, given the choice between reviewing someone’s latest report and reading a juicy email from a friend, I’m no dummy. I’m gonna hear that “bing” on my personal email and get happy. And the fact that I type 100+ wpm makes it easy for me to respond quickly - and sometimes, at length – to you. It doesn’t mean I’m in love with you. Well, it might. The problem being that it probably gives that impression regardless.

Last weekend my friend and I discussed the intersection of technology and dating at length. We imagined (remembered?) what it was like dating back in a day when people went on dates, then had a week of silence in between and didn’t think anything of it. Because it was NORMAL. She pointed out that, back in the day, a you would never expect the other person to check on you in the middle of her workday. People had their own lives, which they could then discuss on a scheduled date. They did not have a constant thread connecting them to the boring minutae of each others' days.

No matter how busy a person is these days, you could be a surgeon on the fields in Africa, and the person you’re dating expects that, since you have a phone on you, you will be connected. Today, knowing that you can reach someone at virtually any point, there is an expectation there. The fact is, yeah, sometimes we leave our phones on the dinner table, sometimes it's on our desks, but not always. Having access to someone's phone isn't the same as having 24/7 access to them. Or is it?

As if we aren’t all reading too much into everything anyway, non-communication becomes a void, a failure, if someone we like isn’t responding. If someone texts someone else and doesn’t hear back for 4 hours, it becomes an implicit statement of disinterest. Which is, frankly, insane. Check yo’self before you wreck yo’self. And yes, I just said that.

THE WEB IN GENERAL: RESEARCH TOOL OF THE MASSES

Stalking is a fine line, my friends. My people and I have debated at length the propriety of doing a Google search on someone before a date. I am anti. When I have Googled (rare) it has been because someone told me to or because I need a picture. Ok, and maybe to check that there’s no outstanding criminal situation.

The technodilemma we’re facing in the day of Google is that much of the fun of first dating-- the revelation stage - is taken away. When someone tells me where they’re from or their education or about their travels, I get to enjoy exhibiting genuine surprise. My friends cannot always say the same. (I’m sure they fake it well) But what Google has you doing is creating even more preconceived notions, one way or another, about the person. The organic getting to know you process is totally obliterated.

And don’t even get me started on the Facebook friend add. You don’t bring your high school yearbook on a first dinner date, do you?

SOCIAL MEDIA, OR AFTERMATH REPORTING

I think we can all agree that, in the day of social media, privacy is gone. One girl I know decided to break up with a guy because he "checked in" somewhere with another girl while they were dating (in her defense, he’s obviously an idiot). Social media gives us a venue to cross-check what someone tells us about themselves, because most people don't even realize where they are inconsistent.

This becomes highly problematic after a date, after a relationship, if someone posts something vague but unpromising. You will automatically read into what it means. (“You’re so vain” is about all of us, honey.) Even worse if they are blatant about it. And yes, for a minute I felt a wave of regret for the blog posts I’ve written about certain dates. But just for a minute.

BACK TO THE BASICS

Well, the good news is I can identify the problem. We are relying on modern technology to communicate where we’re all still getting the hang of said technology, much of which has only appeared in our lives in the last decade. The bad news is I’m not sure I have a solution in a world where online dating is on the rise, everyone has a laptop, and the new iPhone model is like crack on the streets. Obviously we’re online all the time, we’re on our phones all the time.

I don’t want to get crazy, but maybe we can mix it up and go old school once in a while. Didn’t you hear? The ringing of the phone is the new mating call.

Don't Criticize Your Parents- You're Becoming Them.

2011-04-22T08:22:00.000-07:00

So last weekend I had a startling revelation. I was pulling a little trolley cart thing through the crowded aisles of a popular nursery (I'm choking over many of the things I just said, don't worry) and I realized that I have become my parents.

Now, don't get me wrong, I love my parents. I should be so lucky as to become my parents. But suddenly I was a GROWNUP. And a grownup version of them. It dawned upon me when I realized that it was a beautiful Saturday and I had chosen to get up at 7am, meet a friend for coffee on my patio, workout together, and then head to the nursery. All voluntarily.

I had flashbacks to when my mom was my age- I would have been 4 years old. I would quite possibly have been running the aisles of the plant nursery while she shopped, or I could have requested to stay in the car (don't get your panties in a bunch DCFS, parents didn't know that was a no-no back then). But the days of choosing to go look at plants, much less take them home and repot them into new soil and spend hours doing so, didn't even register on my little horizon.

And yet there, I was. And before I knew it, I was crouched on my patio, wearing GARDENING GLOVES, hands deep in soil, tapping pots and focused completely on finding them a new home.

Sometimes you have these moments, where you notice yourself becoming your parents. My patio potting moment reminded me of every spring, when my parents would buy annuals and sit and replant THEIR ENTIRE GARDEN because the Chicago weather required them to do so. They'd be out there for hours, handing marigolds and petunias to each other, lining hedge after hedge. I'd help with weeds for 20 minutes and then retire inside to air conditioning and a Nintendo. It seemed like craziness to me, I couldn't imagine needing beauty around you that much. BOOOOORING. And here I was, manifesting the gene.

That just led me to think about the other little habits I've picked up from my parents. Some are cute, many might be admirable, and some are ones I've harassed them about for years and now find myself sneakily doing:

1) reheating coffee in the microwave. maybe 3 times. [BOTH]
2) highlighting mail. ok, i don't highlight my mail but i write on it so i know what it is. [DAD]
3) tapping my nails on the keyboard/table [MOM]
4) raising my eyebrows while dropping a frown in dramatic "no kidding!" fashion [DAD]
5) putting makeup on without needing a mirror [MOM]
6) feeling the need to provide audio accompaniment to a big arm stretch [DAD]
7) buying lotto regularly -- and being convinced i'm going to win [DAD]
8) underlining in books [MOM]

These are just a few off the top of my head. (Ok, and the ones I feel like posting to the world at large.)

We always think about the big habits/physical traits we inherit, but recently I've been noticing the littler ones. The funnier part is when it's things I remember yelling at them about ("throw that OUT!" "just make a new pot!"). And the truth is, everyone has them. Look beyond the eye color, the hair color, the generosity or the brains or the other major traits your parent formally handed down to you, and you'll start to see the little habits, tics, and quirks that made their way into you. It's ok, you're in a safe space. You eat the burned popcorn? You make up songs to go with housework? You ring doorbells three times? Whatever it is, there's something reassuring about it all. As I press 1:00 min on my microwave for the second time this morning I realize that genetics makes some sort of sense to me in an otherwise crazy world.

What I Want To Be When I Grow Up. And Justin Bieber.

2011-02-24T09:22:00.000-08:00

If you had told me a year ago that I would reflect on my life while watching a Justin Bieber anything, I would have quickly answered "yeah, maybe to END IT."

A while back I saw a poster for the (then) upcoming Justin Bieber movie "Never Say Never" and made a crack to a friend that we should go. The irony was that, in the months to follow our setting of that plan, I would actually become a fan of his music. It started with an adorable 2 year old playing it and dancing for me when I Skyped with her family, and then grew into me sticking his CD on the bottom of a stack of albums bought at Target, putting it in my car, and keeping my guilty pleasure to myself. What can I say - it's light, it's poppy, he has a voice that reminds me of Jackson 5-era Michael (oh no she didn't. oh yes she did!).

Anyhow, when the day of the movie release drew closer, we decided to make a girls' day of it and shop, eat, and see it on the sly. We didn't expect other high-functioning adults to understand why we would put the time -- much less the money for 3D glasses -- into seeing this. I knew nothing about the movie- at all - and only heard the week we were going that it was a documentary. I had no idea what I was getting into, but I know that Bieber likes his mom, and that makes me like the Beebs.

What I did not expect, however, was to actually enjoy the movie. For those of you who don't get internet reception under your rock, it's about how he was discovered, how his career has progressed, and the network around him that puts things in motion and makes the machine run (in addition to his strong work ethic). On some level it's about how quickly fame comes, and how immense it can be when it does.

So when I left, why did I feel a sinking feeling? And no, it wasn't about me not being the right age for him. (Ick) It was the fact that this kid had such a clarity of purpose. He never (on camera, at least) debated being a basketball player, a fighter pilot, a banker. He banged away on a chair, using it as a drum as a toddler, and just went from there to playing on the streets (literally), playing in church events, playing anywhere he possibly could get noticed. And with that intention he become a young gazillionaire doing what he loves all day every day. He can't buy lotto, he can't buy a beer, but he could probably buy the companies that produce both.

I'm guilty of saying "I could do anything if I only knew what it was!" In fact, my mom once bought me a book by that title which I never bothered to read because it felt patronizing. I mean, who *doesn't* know what they want to be? What a freak! Oh yeah, that freak is me, I realized... ten years later.

I thought of the people around me who have that focus, and suddenly started to feel a bit alone. The examples within even my family are astounding. My sister debated two artistic paths but was drawn to illustration. I remember my mom giving her receipts and a pen to keep her busy in restaurants when we were little. My brother? We have footage of him banging away on the piano at one year old, he was born a musician and has the hair to prove it. My mom wrote a novel at age 12 -- and just published her first novel in English last year.

I have friends who chose their majors coming into college, sure they wanted to be doctors or lawyers. They knew at 18 what they would be 15 years later. That's insane- amazing - and nothing I can identify with. I went in wanting a double major in sociology and French, and came out with English. In between? I studied everything from statistics to Spanish to...Congolese dance. And then I went to law school because, well, that's what you do if you can do it. And then I went to business school because, well, 10 letters in my last name wasn't enough for me.

So here I am, twice the Biebs's age (gags, gasps, curls into a ball and weeps at how old writing that makes her feel). Shouldn't I know by now? Should I really be career and life purpose shopping around in my 30s? I mean, this is the age when cavemen's lives would *end*!

In my head, I run through the list of what I wanted to be at various stages of my life:

1) pop star

To be clear, I spent more of my time growing up listening to Madonna than any child should. So I wasn't aiming to be a necessarily talented musician so much as a singer/dancer/entertainer. I guess I should be glad this one didn't pan out, because most of them have ended up with shotgun weddings, kids with weird names, and rehab stints. I think my dad is also glad this didn't pan out, because there are only so many choreographed shows in a basement that a grown man should be subjected to.

2) dental office manager

Kids all play something up in their rooms. I played office manager. (yes, other kids played "doctor" with each other, and I focused on scheduling. Let's not call this prophectic, ok?) I worshipped my mom's office manager Paula. So I didn't want to be the dentist, I wanted to book the appointments for her! Socialize with the patients! Take the calls! I would spend hours organizing patients by half-hour "recall" time slots, or if they needed a bigger procedure, I'd block off more time. I liked organizing other people I guess, something I still do (and has earned me the not-quite-flattering nickname "Monica"...)

3) stock broker

I didn't want to sit at a desk. I wanted the job where you're on the floor at the Exchange, yelling and trading. I believe I thought this was a fit because I was good at yelling loudly when things so required. I had proven this talent time and time again at day camp, and I thought it made a natural jumping off point for my career. My dad pointed out that you don't see many women on the floor (or didn't back in the late 80s). He was kind enough not to note that I would not physically be visible on the floor of an exchange. Oh yeah, and I don't like math.

4) translator

I like learning languages and I tend to learn them quickly. My mom's friend was a translator and I thought that could be fun. I don't remember why I dropped this one but it probably had to do with the fact that I wouldn't be part of the conversations ;)

5) run an orphanage. or a day care.

I was inspired by the movie Annie, ok? I love kids and my mom and I discussed the possibility of getting licensed and having a day care. Actually, the one job I had in college was working at a day care just because I liked being around little kids since I didn't have my own. It wouldn't take long for that reasoning to sound really, really creepy on job interviews! My mom grew up without parents and it's always been a cause close to my heart. I will be like Angelina, with smaller lips and a Middle Eastern kid thrown in there for good mix! This is one I am intent on revisiting.

6) run a record label.

I have always loved sending people new music I thought they would enjoy, or promoting music that I was enjoying myself. To some friends this gets overbearing, I'm sure, but then they can say they listened to (Lady Gaga, D'Angelo, etc etc) years before the person became huge. You're welcome, people. Anyhow, long ago I thought running a record label would be interesting. To influence what artists the world is exposed to. I read Richard Branson's books, felt inspired, promised myself I'd apply to his company, and never did. When I lived in LA I worked at a music law firm and then realized that I didn't enjoy doing the contracts, I wanted to be closer to the music. Oh yeah, and the time I had to go after Special Olympics to pay us for using a certain multimillionaire artist's music was pretty much my sign to go.

Funny how things work. There were other jobs I entertained in my mind, but those are the six that I kept coming back to. Interesting that nowhere in that list was being a writer or working in publishing -- much less healthcare and alternative energy -- and yet that's exactly what I did. Maybe it's like how they say you never end up marrying someone who looks how you thought your "person" would. Maybe it's like that with jobs too. Don't get me wrong- I've enjoyed (and enjoy) my work, but I haven't been able to say "Oh yeah, I knew at age 10 that I wanted to write marketing plans and turn out a REALLY good press release from time to time." I guess that's how it is with most grownup jobs though.

But who says I'm a grownup?! Certainly not the hi tops and Silly Bandz that were worn for the viewing of said film. And maybe I need to put on my hi tops and gummy bracelets a bit more often is all I'm saying.

Singles' Guilt: Admitting is the First Step

2011-02-21T14:09:00.000-08:00

Some people discover hidden planets. They give it a name, and they live on in whatever scientists' version of fame and fortune is.

I have discovered a phenomenon myself. And I named it. It's called "Singles' Guilt".

Maybe I should have been a sociologist- I like examining social phenomena and giving it a name, and then making people around me use it whenever they talk to me about an applicable situation (see also: Friend Poaching).

DEFINING IT.

This weekend I was having fun hanging out with a friend and promised her I would finally set my latest theory/find to paper - so here it is: Singles' Guilt. The punctuation is intentional; it refers to the situation in which a single/singles make themselves feel guilty for being single.

The consequences of Singles' Guilt can be mild to severe, depending on the stage of affliction. It can begin with a poorly thought-out visit to an ex, or it can end with a tearful, sloppy rendition of Love is a Battlefield. By educating yourself, you can best protect yourself and those around you.

WHY ROMANTIC MATH IS ANNOYING.

Singles' Guilt is endorsed and perpetuated by society. I think of this every time I get pushed onto the floor at a wedding to catch a bouquet -- which by the way, is pretty much a feminine gladiator ring (those girls throw 'bows!). And let's be honest- Singles' Guilt is visibly nurtured in society by the modern day tarring-and-feathering that is bridesmaid dresses. It's like a scarlet letter A, but scarlet at least goes with my skin tone.

Social mathematics is also at fault- by which I mean the simple equation: Single + Single = Couple! Many people believe this math (for example, a certain someone who mentioned a guy to me with the sole descriptors "over 30 and looking for a wife). But since the singles are too busy reading self-help books and being set up on awkward dates to take the time to disprove mathematic hypotheses, people around the world continue to believe said equation and throw singles together in the hopes they will spontaneously mate. It's like the "only two people left on the planet" theory in action. If two people are STILL single after so long, they must be drawn to one another, no?

I, for one, know that even if I was left on the planet with only one man and if that man was disgusting to me in some way (ex. Tea Party candidate, wearer of strappy man-sandals, racist, or a fan of Andie MacDowell- not in that order), that nothing could shake my vow to stay single in that situation. I could disprove the couple equation of social math, but we have more important work to do here, folks.

SIGNS AND SYMPTOMS OF SINGLES' GUILT.

Lately I've noticed lots of girlfriends (in particular) going on dates because they feel like they're supposed to. Giving a guy a second shot because, again, they feel like they're supposed to. What is this "supposed to" business? Well, they're doing it because they feel Singles' Guilt (when you use it, remember to capitalize, 'kay?)

I'm not saying women shouldn't be open-minded- we ALL should-- Mr. Awesome may show up on date two or three, when the guy you've been dating drops his guard a little and stops talking about himself and making forced jokes. I definitely believe in staying open minded... but you owe it to yourself to have that *curiosity* about the person. If you take a deep breath of relief after you close your door and lock yourself into your house for the night, then methinks this isn't the match for you. If you force yourself to march forward, that's not dating, that's a modern-day form of arranged marriage, but instead of parents (or in some cases, including them), you're being nudged by your own "guilty" conscience.

AND THEN THERE WAS ONE.

Singles' Guilt is apparent to me in how so many people around me (and sometimes even myself) act like they did something *wrong* by not settling down yet. It's as if we are playing a game of musical chairs and we are really, really bad at it. Everyone else got a chair! You're still standing! LOSER! Maybe you're standing because you were still enjoying the music. If there was a chair, I would have taken it! we cry.

So then the single finds themselves self-flagellating (as soon as they look up what that means) -- they didn't "pick" someone in time, therefore they lose the lovely option of choice. They start forcing themselves to hurry up, like it's a romantic freakin clearance sale. That is just sad, people.

SINGLE AND PICKY AREN'T ALWAYS THE SAME THING.

Let's be clear. In some cases they are. But a lot of times they aren't. Sometimes you're just single because it's not your time to be dating someone. Sometimes there is something else you should be doing. Sometimes there is someone coming your way and you won't meet them at 22 like your college roommate did.

SYMPTOM: THE SEARCH FOR AN ALIBI.

On more than one Friday night I've talked to friends who almost whisper their whereabouts into the phone.

Me: "Where are you?"

Them: "...home?...I think I um... I might be getting sick?... or... I might have to work?"

What they have is a case of the Singles' Guilt. They FEEL like they should be out that night because they are not paired off. They are tired, they had a long week, they have family drama, maybe they are getting over a breakup. But in their Singles' Guilt-ridden minds, they (ahem, WE) are slacking...slacking on their part-time job of finding someone to propagate the species with by staying home with their ice cream and comfy blanket on the couch. You know Singles' Guilt because you really do start to feel like it's a part-time job to de-single yourself. You feel like you're playing hooky by staying in, cooking dinner, and having the nerve to enjoy your own company.

THE SHOWMANSHIP OF SINGLES.

Singles' Guilt also manifests itself in what the lovely Carrie Bradshaw in one episode described as "singing for your supper" when around married friends. In that episode, Carrie talks about how couples almost expect singles to regale them with tales of dating. I confess I am one such storyteller (trust me, my stories are GOOD) but Singles' Guilt takes an angle on this. Sometimes you, oh victim of Singles' Guilt, find yourself rattling off your list of dates and stories just so that people will know you are TRYING, therefore "not guilty."

Believe it or not, I've found that my friends are just as interested to hear about my latest tour of the world, my stack of books, my hobbies, and my other adventures that don't center on dating. Try it, you might be surprised.

BYE BYE, GUILT!

Well, as Miss Diana says (and later, Phil Collins, thereby violating my fatwa on his doing covers of other people's songs), You Can't Hurry Love.

So if you're gonna feel guilty about something, do me a favor and let it be about the fact that, deep down, you actually like his version of "True Colors".

Because that, my friend, is the only thing you should *really* lose sleep over.

Battle Callback of the Tiger Cub

2011-01-17T08:43:00.001-08:00

Right now, all across America, there are Iranian-American parents printing out and framing copies of the Wall Street Journal excerpt of Amy Chua's "Battle Hymn of the Tiger Mother", a book about her experience raising children in America according to extremely strict Chinese parenting standards.

The Iranian parents I know (not least of all my own) are probably dancing in circles around their kids with in gleeful validation. They now have written proof - in the Wall Street Journal, no less! -- that:

1) they weren't as strict as some other people

2) someone finally defended the immigrant style of parenting

In fact, some of them may even have gotten new ideas ;)

Before I go any further, it's worth pointing out that the excerpt is from a part of Chua's life when she's extremely hard on her kids (ahem, "disciplined"). The excerpt, just a snippet of the book, did a great job in garnering publicity- except it publicized a book that frankly isn't. Many who read only the short excerpt assumed she had written basically a parenting manual -- but the book is about an unusual parenting model in the US environment and ultimately she, as a parent, transforms, as any good book protagonist does.

But we live in a time and place where people don't have the time to trouble themselves with context - and now she's getting death threats. It reminds me of Once Upon a Time when I turned a rant about not feeling like working out into a funny blog post called "I Hate Skinny People". My "fan mail" was something for the books... did you know I was obese? Yeah, neither did I ;)

Publicity: can't live with it, can't live without it!

The Tiger Mother Debates have led me to these thoughts:

1) Chinese people take the hit.

That's the thing about Tiger Mothers... they exist in many, many cultures, not just certain Asian cultures. Strictness was something that bonded me to people quickly when we were growing up; although our parents' homelands were worlds apart, my friends whose parents were Korean or Greek or Indian always "got it". I never had to explain to them why I had to go home right after school and why I didn't talk back to my parents and why when I got a B+ I sunk in my chair. It's a way of life that exists around the world that only raises eyebrows when it happens here.

2) The book/excerpt is intriguing because it is extreme.

Um, hello, that's the POINT -- Chua takes it to another level. Now, the book is interesting because she (Chua) is extreme and she knows it. No one wants to read about a hiker who accomplishes their trip; we want to read about the one who has to cut off his own arm. They say in gambling that you should pick your strategy and stick to it; in Blackjack if you are going to hit on a certain number, then always do it.

Part of what is fascinating about Chua's approach is that she appears to do just that -- she is unbending in how she approaches parenting. She does not seem susceptible to the homework one day, tv/friend's house negotiation the next day that 99.9999% of American parents fall prey to.

3) My mom wasn't the biggest tiger. (But she could roar!)

Obviously, as you read you reflect on your own life. My sister and I give my mom a lot of grief for the strictness with which we were raised. But on second thought my mom (who was definitely the disciplinarian between my two parents) falls squarely between Amy Chua and western parents like Ayelet Waldman, whose counterpoint "In Defense of the Guilty, Ambivalent, Preoccupied Western Mom" is an entertaining read. She never made me sit at the piano and play whatever that white donkey song was; she, like a normal human being, would have gone bonkers if we had sat at the piano and played some kiddy tune ad nauseum.

Sometimes I think she (mom) wished she'd leaned one way or the other instead of wavering between the two, which is what she ultimately did. When recently I saw a performance by Lang Lang and told her I wanted to take up piano again, I could swear I could see her smack her hand to her forehead, thinking of how she let 16 year old me drop classical piano and take up... hip hop dance... instead. But I have this to say: if and when I take up piano again, it will be because I want to; and when I play it will be with a passion and joy all my own. And that's what it's all about, homey! (here: homey=Mom)

4) Tiger mothers sacrifice.

She would never admit it, but I'm sure my mom laughed out loud at Waldman's wish to avoid ever attending another piano recital. I shudder to think of the performances we put our parents through. And the sheer horror of coming home from a six day workweek to help your kid learn a BS version of American history or make a diorama, much less pretending you cared when there is a new episode of Dallas on that you could be watching instead. I don't know how she did it, and I should probably take notes.

But that's what Tiger Mothers do- they don't just point and tell you to do something, they are engaged. (I swear, to this day my mom remembers more than I do from my classes.) The tiger mother suffers alongside the child; it sucks as much for them as it does for the kid.

Another point I don't believe was brought up in the article but is true in my case is that many Tiger Mothers are probably successful themselves. Tiger Mothers may know what they're doing because they themselves are accomplished and confident and so they are passing on the rites of passage of what they felt worked for them. If my mom was lying around eating bon bons and subsisting off a sugar(my)daddy, that would be one thing for her to tell me to go do my homework, but she was busting her butt to run a practice and teach at Northwestern University's dental school. Chua is a law professor, so she's no slouch either.

Maybe this is a passing-the-TypeA-torch. Some people really, really want their kids to be into sports and the kids aren't. I'm not entirely sure how it's different, but in the west you'd never criticize a parent for putting a kid in a tee ball class if they cry and say they want to go home or they don't want to play with other people. We prioritize building different skills in the US, but sometimes similar methods are used to get there.

Add to the time investment that tiger mothers frankly sacrifice their run in the popularity contest. As a kid, It's really hard to be buddies with the person who tells you to stop goofing around and go do your homework, the person who acts as your conscience, pointing out that you could do better. Once someone asked me how I did two graduate degrees; to this day I swear high school was harder for me, possibly because I had the shadow of the Tiger Mother over me.

For sure the Tiger Mother loses against their candidate in the popularity primaries, ie. your other parent (if they're around). My dad sat back and reaped the benefits of us being hard workers and studiers, but my mom was the one barricading herself in the dining room reviewing vocab words with us most of the time (she's a published author now, so Mom, you're welcome ;).

5) Anyone who says your parents are the basis of your self esteem needs to make more friends.

Parents do affect your self-esteem, absolutely. The other day I reminded my mom of my first kiss and how when he decided he didn't want to date, her response was to look up from the kitchen counter and shrug: "Well, maybe you weren't a good kisser!"

But ultimately you're with your parents a fraction of the day and you are with your schoolmates the rest of it. Your parent can tell you the sun shines out of your a$$ but if your classmates call you ugly or stupid or say you have funny hair, you're screwed. I would argue that your self esteem and subsequent self-conduct takes a way bigger hit from the treatment (and encouragement) of your peers; how else to explain the perpetuation of stirrup pants?

I was borderline midget size in elementary school (<--not joking) and my mom told me I was "big inside". Well, kids at my school called me a shrimp. Guess whose opinion hit home.

Joking aside, the Tiger parenting itself affected my self confidence a lot less than the friends who made me uncomfortable about it.

6) To each their own.

I loved Ayelet Waldman's response for so many reasons, not only because she was honest about being a relaxed western parent. But I specifically loved her point that, as a parent, you ultimately do what will work best for that child. My parents' relaxed parenting of my brother, who is 10 years younger than me, was met with dramatic dropped jaws and eye rolling by my sister and myself. If they had told him to be home by 10:30pm, which, for the record, was my curfew my senior year of high school, he would have laughed in their faces. Maybe pointed.

They were strictest with me and had my brother later in life. My mom liked to joke "We didn't know if you would give us grandkids - so we had our own!"

My sister and I got spanked, my parents wouldn't so much as lift a hand on the golden child (ok, and maybe we asked them not to). Maybe they felt we required a different level of supervision and nudging in order to accomplish what we (my sister & I) were able to; my brother didn't need it-- nor did he want it.

Ultimately, parents have to decide what will be best for their children. And here's the part the people making death threats to author Chua are forgetting: it's their right to raise their kids however the heck they want to. (Granted... maybe next time don't write a book about it.)

I like to think my parents could be tough on me because I was born with a big dose of suck it up. I could handle it; it didn't crumble me for my mom to tell me I could do better- where it was possible, I did better. The end. I love her, she loves me, we are able to sit over coffee and discuss the Tiger Mother article and both laugh about it. If that's not a sign of the fact that how they raised me worked fine, I don't know what is.

I have to say, it's a lot of fun writing and philosophizing about raising kids, seeing as I have none yet. I quite enjoy the armchair quarterbacking of the whole thing.

Let it be said that my hat's off to the parents all around the world who raise kids, especially teenagers. The fact that we have all made it to adulthood is a testament to their good will, I assure you.

My Bucket List

2011-01-12T09:27:00.000-08:00

I've made progress since I started my Bucket List 9/16/09 or reflected on it later that same year. Crossed a few things off and added many many more. I took two things off of it too, realizing that you're setting yourself up for failure when you depend on other people to make them happen. The bucket list is about daydreams you have that you can make happen if you really want to, right? So here goes nothing:

My Bucket List (started 9/16/09)

Learn to sail (DONE- Oct 09)
Learn to sing a song in Portuguese
Learn Italian
Go to Senegal
Learn fluent Spanish
Adopt a kid
Become a parent
Be able to do a freestanding handstand & hold it
Do lotus pose
Learn tango (Done in 2010...ok, in progress ;)
Tango in Buenos Aires (now that I actually can)
Do yoga in India
Pet a lion
Sing in a jazz club
Be listed in 50 under 50 or a woman to watch, etc. make some list
Record a song
Microfinance a woman’s business abroad
Visit every country in the world
Ride an elephant
Experience 0 gravity
Try veganism (Done, 3 weeks in 2010. Not so hard after a few days. Liked it.)
Go to Germany (again) or Iran with my dad
Sleep in a castle
Wear an 18^th century costume a la Marie Antoinette, etc.
Drink foreign wine while sitting where I can see the vineyard (Done- Tuscany, May 2010)
Make friends with an old person I’m not related to
Get a 6 pack
Go to Macchu Picchu
Go whale watching and actually see a whale
Go to NashVegas
Hear jazz in a New Orleans bar
Sleep overnight on a small boat
Sleep on a beach
Learn how to make my mom's fesenjoon
Watch sunrise at the beach
Go blonde
Flirt with a handsome foreigner fluently in his native language
Show up at the airport and just GO
Learn how to spin (DJ)
Host a radio show
Sail in a submarine
Learn to fence
Read War and Peace
Get a belt in a martial art

The Goodbye Girl

2011-01-07T22:18:00.000-08:00

I hate saying goodbye.

I think the first time I realized how much I hated it was when I was leaving a summer program in my early teens. I had fallen for a guy and he stood by the window of the bus waving as we pulled out for the airport, and I sobbed like I'd never cried in my life. Now it's funny, because in retrospect I realize I had spent a whopping 3 weeks with him -- by which I mean hanging out with him in large groups of people. Only. And yet I cried as if the Montagues and the Capulets were keeping us apart. I mean, HYSTERICS. I distinctly remember sniffing and sobbing into the bus window and watching it steam up, and dramatically placing my hand there, absolutely SURE I would never be the same. (If I could find my journal from those days I'm sure I would put the folks in Mortified to shame.)

It happened over and over again. I was quick to make friends on one week vacations, and then would spend months depressed that we'd had to split up; we'd keep in touch for years, and write letters (yes, people born after 1985, we used to write letters), but those goodbyes were the worst. When people talk about their favorite songs from hair bands, it's probably telling that one of mine is of course Tuff's I Hate Kissing You Goodbye. For the record, I was rarely kissing anyone, much less goodbye, but I sang that song with heart when I was a teen. I hated goodbyes, so naturally I was going to hate kissing someone goodbye, you know, someday.

With time, I stopped being melodramatic about it and shifted to a tactic I'm quite fond of: avoidance.

Maybe it's a conditioned response. I grew up without any family nearby; we were in the midwest with our closest cousins in California or Canada and the rest of the family was international. I quickly discovered that the counterpart of energetic, hilarious reunions was tearful, aching goodbyes; watching my mom and her sisters or brothers agonize over having to part ways. Goodbye meant a descent from loud laughter in the middle of the night to horrible silence. Or seeing how sad my parents were to put my grandma back on a flight to Iran, worrying about her and the distance between them. Persians have a phrase "Jaht khalee" meaning "your place is empty". Goodbye meant someone's place was going to be empty. Goodbye meant acknowledging the void to come.

Yes, over time I've simply avoided saying goodbye. In fact, I avoid events that even relate to goodbye. I prefer to have friends drop me off really (read: 4+ hours) early at the airport so we can talk by phone or whatever else and phase into the parting of ways. Better yet, I will leave them and take public transportation and spend the last day alone. I don't do curbside anything. If someone is moving, I will see them at some point before they leave but not right before; I skip the sendoff party.

It's true, I don't even like watching other people say goodbye. Even fictional people. You know the ending of The Breakfast Club, where they all walk different ways home but you know they'll SEE EACH OTHER AGAIN AT SCHOOL ON MONDAY? Yeah, I usually turn off the movie before their letter gets read.

Sometimes saying goodbye to someone isn't about saying goodbye to *them* forever, but what hits us is that we're saying goodbye to a particular era. See also: me slumped over the passenger's seat in my mom's car driving away from my last house at University of Michigan. (Ironically, during college my favorite song was the *ultimate* goodbye song, Jeff Buckley's Last Goodbye.) The way I acted, you would have thought the University, with all my friends, had detonated and I was left alone in the rubble (ok, when I said I had left melodramatics behind me, they still occasionally peek out from time to time).

When someone has had a unique impact on you in some way, and when you say goodbye to that whole experience, maybe that's what makes it so heavy. You'll keep the lessons of it and the fun memories and blah blah blah, but something is changing and that alone is hard. I think it's the person + experience combo that makes it so hard.

All of this came up because tonight I broke my rules and said a proper goodbye to a great friend who is moving and has no plans of turning back. I really have no idea when this person and I will get ourselves together in the same city, or even country, again, so I had to break down and do it. This is someone I look up to in many ways, and I think we had surprised ourselves by becoming closer right before the move. We sat around bouncing ideas about our lives and what we should do with them, getting advice from each other, and he even helped me cut my caffeine intake (which alone is a reason to bring a tear to my eye ;) I was spoiled with easy access to his insights and support and ideas and friendship.

The goodbye rule was broken tonight because I knew I would regret it if I didn't. So we chatted and we said the goodbyes. I surprised (impressed!) myself with how cheerful and light I was able to be, joking and yelling down the hall after him that I wanted Cracker Barrel updates from the road.

And when I closed the door behind him and heard it click, my little heart just sank.

There are a lot of things I am happy to say goodbye to: bad haircuts, obnoxious flight companions, Natalie Portman's trim waistline, and 2010... But this "people" thing is going to take some work.

Yearbook, Minus The Ugly Pictures: Bye Bye 2010

2010-12-30T11:29:00.000-08:00

Today I told someone that my motto was now "2011: Better than 2010". I have been wishing everyone that 2011 be their best year yet, but maybe that's just setting the expectation too high? Normally I say I had a good year, but let's be honest, there were a lot of reasons 2010 kinda sucked, and not just because for half of it any time I turned the TV on, I was greeted by the Cabbage-Patch-Kid-as-grownup face of Snookie. Ugh. A quick recap:

What Was Junky About 2010:

*Many friends' loved ones passed away. More than any year year before. Realizing that maybe that's just what happens when you get older, and not liking it one bit; it was too much tragedy everywhere we turned. I was constantly being reminded of how short life is and that we are not owed time, and more importantly, I was being reminded that there is some pain I can't take away for people, and feeling helpless in that regard. The obsessive optimist in me tried to turn it into living it up a bit more and expressing my love for people -- especially those friends -- more often.

*My neighbor who reads my garbage decided NOT to move after all. As a result, daydreams of hot new straight (in my building you have to specify) neighbor moving in did not pan out.

*Realized I needed to part ways with some people in my life. Broke my own heart doing so. It was kinda like the heart version of what Aron Ralston had to do.

*Working myself sick. Literally. Realized I'm not invincible. Disappointment.

*Realizing I need to prioritize better in my life.

There's more, but that gives you the idea.

What I Loved in 2010:

*Traveled tons, as I had promised myself - I rang in the new year in Hong Kong and jetted to Indonesia that morning. Later in the year I did a road trip through Tuscany with hilarious girlfriends. Visited new cities including Houston and Atlanta. And in the fall I went on a Caribbean cruise (in theory). I am ending the year in Vegas, my home away from home.

*Watching my mom publish Sky of Red Poppies, her novel that she has been working on for 23 years. Throwing her book launch party. Watching this gorgeous novel be received by people all over the country who responded to and have supported it beyond my wildest dreams.

*Spending time with friends who make me laugh til it hurts. I'm not naming names, they know who they are.

*Working on my bucket list and my travel list.

*Knocking "Learn to sail" off said bucket list.

*Helping promote Real Medicine Foundation's work around the world and specifically in Haiti. Feeling for once that I wasn't just watching a world disaster, I was doing something to help.

*Reading my face off. A smashing year for Celebrity Trash Bio Book Club, for one thing, by far the best-attended book club in history. Reading The Hunger Games, the first book to completely suck me in in a while; made me gasp out loud and talk back to the book, etc. Recommending it to friends who don't have time to read but made time to, and then loved it too.

*Got way stronger. Can almost do the splits. (It's the little things.)

*Out of town visitors. Old friends, including my old roomie and one of my best friends from high school, came through San Diego. Whoever said old friends are the best friends had it right.

*Seeing an issue that had been plaguing my sister come to an end. Seeing how empowered her art makes her.

*Cooking tons more. Feel so comfy in the kitchen these days. Not ashamed to wear onion goggles in front of other people.

*Seeing so many friends become wonderful new moms. Getting to know my friends' kids. Whispering in their ears that they should come back to me in 18 years for the real dirt.

Favorite moments in 2010:

*Lying in the sun at the resort in Kuta, Indonesia the first week of 2010. Specifically, the part where, in the blazing sun, I carried on a debate with my travel partners over whether the European guy lying on the chair next to us was a member of a-ha. Letting myself think it was.

*Looking around and realizing I was the only woman in conference room on the Exec team and realizing that it took me about two years to even notice.

*The moment when I decided to officially burn my boats.

*Any and all of my hikes with friends at Torrey Pines or walks in PB along the boardwalk with JG, recapping our weeks and strategizing fun and mayhem for days to come.

*Lying in the sun on my pool deck reading the day after I got back from the cruise from hell. Realizing that I pretty much live a vacation life and perhaps I should never leave again.

*Having one of my best friends (my freshman year, rooming-blind roommate from U of M) move across the street in San Diego.

*Jessica's birthday weekend, which gave us occasion to round up a few college girlfriends who and hit a newer club in town. Realizing through said escapade that as much as everything changes, nothing does. (hazing with drinks, giggling about boys, and stories that will be retold for years) Shortly thereafter, describing my life to someone as "just like college, but with more disposable income", perhaps one of the best highlights of my year, that quote.

*Going to Faith No More with my brother. Feeling like he's not my baby brother but a really freakin fun friend. Seeing FNM sing Reunited and Easy live. Loving them as much as I did when I was 16, and not feeling a day older.

*Christmas dinner, sitting around my parents' dining table listening to my parents and their friends tell endless stories about their fathers' bad driving back in Iran. Laughing til we were all crying.

Resolutions 2011 (a work in progress):

*make it to Nashvegas

*listen to jazz in a New Orleans jazz bar

*read War and Peace, to prove it isn't just a doorstop in my house

*take up guitar again

*plan a trip to central or south america. go.

*sleep on the beach (once, not regularly)

*take up yoga again

*cook the perfect steak

*learn more about the history of classical music

*give more unexpected gifts

*learn how to conjugate Spanish beyond present tense

*read Acide Sulfurique (in French)

*learn how to make one of my mom's best dishes from her (fesenjoon?)

*blog more

I Saw 127 Hours & Read The Hunger Games... and Now I Know I'm a Wimp

2010-12-05T16:33:00.000-08:00

My new rule is that the less I know about or anticipate a movie, the more likely I am to enjoy it. The opposite is definitely true; the movies you wait forever to see (see also: Sex and the City 2) pin you to your theater chair in absolute despair as the admission price and sheer will keep you from getting up and salvaging the rest of your day.

The other night I was meeting up with with old friends and we wanted to catch a movie. The thing is, much as we're friends, we've never gone to a movie together. So what would we see? I suggested a movie I had heard good things about and thought at least one of the other two was likely to like- 127 Hours starring James Franco. The description you hear on that one is "the movie about the hiker who cut off his arm", which is not much of a pitch/movie trailer. But, per my new rule, that made it a more likely selection for me. And let's be honest, James Franco on screen for 90 minutes? It could have been a freakin screensaver (which coincidentally is Susie's assessment of Lawrence of Arabia) and I would be in.

I was interested to see how the director would make this story of Aron Ralston's struggle between a rock and a hard place (literally) something the rest of us would want to watch. Would it be Cast Away: Part Deux, with less Wilson, more Clif Bar? The idea of a 90 minute monologue worried me, but again, relying on James Franco's beauty and ability to make even the smallest role interesting, off we went.

As it turns out, 127 Hours is creatively done, telling the story through gorgeous cinematography, flashbacks, and intriguing fantasy interludes. It flew by, and there was a good soundtrack to boot. A few hours (his time) into the ordeal, my mind started to wander. What if that had been me?

As the movie went on, I was more and more impressed with Ralston's resourcefulness. Is that learned, or is it something that comes to you in a moment of crisis? Setting up a pulley to create suspensions so he could dangle and sleep, for example. I never would have done it. So, that begs the question: what would I have done?

Well, I would have probably started by feeling really bad for myself. Then I would have thought about who I could possibly blame for the predicament I was in. In the movie he seemed to go right to self-blame, which I'm sure I'd eventually circle to, but then you're cutting out the fun part of pinning your troubles on someone who isn't there to defend themselves. I would have probably yelled until I was hoarse. And then I would have probably died of a heart attack because I have incurable fear of the dark and particularly the intersection of animals and the dark. Also, I don't do cold.

These same questions came to the surface when I read The Hunger Games trilogy recently. Long story short, a group of kids 12-18 are put in a biodome to fight to the death, with only one surviving. My strategy in the Games was clear to me, because I worked it out as I turned the pages of the books. While everyone duked it out, I would have grabbed provisions and run for the hills. So, even as a thirtysomething, I am aware that I basically would have played a very hopeful game of Hide and Go Seek with my life on the line.

Although, who knows, maybe I would surprise myself in a similar situation to the one in 127 Hours. Maybe I could be like one of those women who lifts a car off her child, surprised by her strength. It would be ideal to be one of those people who has incredible survival skills (MacGyver), since I'm in awe of them, but I'm probably not *like* them at my core. Partially because I'm lazy and partially because I'm curious about what comes next and I believe in fate, so if I got such a cue that it was time for my exit I'm not sure I'd *know* to fight for survival. I could actually die of just being too dumb to realize I didn't have to. I probably would have misread the cue of the falling rock as "the end" rather than "there's a way out". This is an aspect of myself that perhaps I should work on now ;)

I'm trying to write this without spoilers, because I really do want anyone who sees this to take the time to watch it. There aren't very many movies that make you think or make you feel good or inspire you these days, so I don't want to ruin anything. But, generally speaking, what was amazing was that not only did Ralston find creative ways to keep his cool (he was very aware that if he lost it it was bad news), but he stayed positive and realized what he was meant to learn from the experience. Somehow that felt more than inspiring, it felt miraculous. And the benefit of seeing the movie was to experience, on some level, his predicament, and learn lessons through his experience *without* having to go through it yourself. I'm always grateful for those stories... Although it did make my Torrey Pines hike the next morning a bit tense.

When we left, Tina noted that she had felt too guilty to drink her bottle of water during the movie. Same here. The good news is that my new ability to forgo water made me feel a step closer to those survival instincts I was craving just a paragraph ago.

Solidarity and inspiration, not bad for a Friday night.

Knock Knock.

2010-11-16T08:59:00.001-08:00

Last night I opened my work email to a little visit from an old friend. And by "friend" I mean "guy who broke my heart". I won't go into the gory details, but suffice it to say that this person knew they should not be writing me. In fact, he tried before. And guess what he got? Um, not a response. That was six years ago. You say "grudge", I say "consistent".

The fact that he's married with child (children?) should be enough to keep him from saying hello, don't you think? Or maybe not. Boundaries are apparently subjective, as I've learned in this life. The last time he wrote he threw in that maybe someday I could agent his book. You know, because the allure of that would be SO much that I would jump at the chance. Emmmm thanks but no thanks.

I guess that's what happens in the electronic age. First, people can find anything they want about you on the internet (including the semi-flattering pictures you post, aware that this sort of thing could happen). And then they can *act* on it. They can make you their screensaver, they can track your contact information, they can bypass your personal email (where you deleted them) and show up in your work inbox at 10pm on a Monday night (yet another reminder that shame on she who checks work email before going to bed).

No one knocks on email. Don't you wish they did?

Friend Poaching: The Social Crime of Friend Theft

2010-11-03T11:29:00.001-07:00

Recently I was presented with two cases of severe friend poaching by friends suffering, as many of us have, at the hands of people who don't seem to check their rearview social mirrors when making their moves.

You've probably done it and don't even realize it. The time you spend not hanging out with a friend who was recently snatched from under your nose is a good opportunity to reflect on your past behavior in a new light. Watching my friends go through this recently has brought to mind my own experiences with this, as a poacher, a poachee, and of course the third-party victim of this sneaky art.

It seems there's some question as to the etiquette of befriending other people's friends, and over the course of the past few years I've re-examined what I think the Friend Poaching Bylaws should be. And we need Friending Bylaws because, let's be honest, the internet has put our social graces in the pooper. Society probably didn't need Bylaws before because people interacted in person in the past; now, the use of phone/Facebook/email has made it easier to sidle up to a new person instantly rather than earning that company through time and effort. It gives you access, after a quick Google stalking or similar, to someone who you wouldn't have seen back in the day until another event, where the Original Friend would be on watch.

As for the recent Cases of Friend Poachery that I heard about:

Situation A: The person had introduced a friend to their larger circle of friends a couple of times. That second person then planned an event to which all of Friend #1's social circle were invited. It was essentially a luncheon composed of people you might expect at, say, Friend #1's surprise birthday party... But it wasn't.

Situation B: This one was a double-whammy because, not only were friends poached, but ethics of female loyalty were crossed. A best friend was poached by another close girlfriend, who then proceeded to set up said new friend with castaways that the Hub Friend hadn't worked as setups. Ouch.

Now, as anyone who has ever come to any event I've thrown can tell, I LOVE mixing my friends. I do it all the time; which is why my college friends know my grad school friends, know my family friends, know my random friends. It's just what I do, almost a game in my head to figure out how I can connect people and who might enjoy each other's company. But there are ethics to befriending the friends of your loved ones. And here they are. Print it out and keep it handy.

1. Before poaching, ascertain status
Thou shalt not poach new friends, exes, or people your friend is currently on the skids with (romantically or socially). We have all watched many seasons of Beverly Hills 90210, and accordingly, we know these rules forward and backwards, so I won't go into them.

2. Ease into it
What is the hurry?

These days I will go to a party and come home to a 2am Facebook add. Is that really necessary? When you're befriending someone through an existing friend, determine whether you need to become instant best friends with that person. Because those are the most egregious poachings.

Connectors (aka. Hub Friends) are connectors because on some level, they *like* introducing people. Their ultimate intent (I say this as a Hub Friend) is for everyone to get along. No one is saying don't go to dinner or a movie or hang out with a new friend. But when it happens quickly or when it's done in a shady manner (which I'm not defining, because the short rule is if you have to ask, it's probably shady) is when it's a no-no. By cutting out Hubbers, it removes the fun for them, and then we'll have less of them. And God knows we already have enough selfish people.

Connectors want to build and expand the network, not create grounds for a disassociated rebel camp elsewhere, which is often what happens. To properly poach/acquire a new friend, it is helpful to retain respect for the original friendship, because no matter at what point you join in, by definition you can never have the history the others have.

The goal is to grow your social network, not steal it.

3. Exemption: friends in close geographic proximity to one another.
When a friend moves to a new town, I will often try to introduce them to locals. Logic dictates that those people might become close or that they will hang out more than the distanced friend is able to. My first group of San Diego friends (the ones who set me up blogging, actually) is based on friend poaching, something I constantly acknowledge and thank Hub Friend Amit for.

4. If you poach friends, there are consequences.
There always are. And you have to know this, because when you befriend someone else's friend, a quick calculation can be done in your head to figure out if it's worth it. It's cost-benefit analysis, with people on the scales.

There are people I would have loved to get to know, but out of respect for the friend who introduced us, I keep a distance until I get the signal that they're cool with it- or I ask. If an assessment of other people's feelings doesn't come naturally to you, err on the side of caution. Wait it out. You do not want to be the leader of a rebel camp, nor do you want your life story to read like cheesy US Magazine tabloid fodder.

In the cases where I have poached too quickly (Rule #2, above), the Hub Friend became more distant. Likewise, when my friendship grounds are poached upon, I tend to lose interest in both of the people involved, whether it's to a degree, or completely.

Now, this morning a friend mentioned a poaching situation in which a friend started dating a sibling... Being a romantic, I think some of these rules go out the window for love. But the distance is gonna happen and you better be prepared for it.

We all get excited about new people; the crime (and consequences) appear to come in two forms:

1) becoming so excited that you neglect your original friendship

2) moving in so closely/intensely that you railroad the Hub Friend (aka. The 7th Grade Popularity Contest poach maneuver)

I could write a book on this, but I have Facebook friend adds to attend to.

A Final Note

Most legislation has notes at the bottom, where Congress or whoever talks about the reasoning or the way the laws should be interpreted. For the avoidance of doubt, Friend Poaching isn't the same thing as "Befriending". You befriend a new person with time, shared effort, and generally some level of inclusion of the person who introduced you. If you notice yourself cutting someone out of the loop, chances are you are friend poaching. If you mumble the Poachee's name in conversation with the person who introduced you, chances are you're friend stealing. Maybe you're doing so because you're retaliating ("Poaching Warfare"), or maybe you're doing it because you don't think they'd be interested in whatever you are proposing to do with your shiny new friend. As always, err on the side of caution. Maybe Sid doesn't want to go get a pedicure with you and Nancy, but it's nice to ask.

Most of us have down pat the social etiquette of not moving in romantically on other people's crushes, exes and such. We don't think twice about the fact that it's wrong. The Anti-Friend Poaching concept is the corollary of that.

In closing, be nice to your friends, and enjoy their friends... But don't poach them, for the only things that should be poached are eggs. Because they are mm mm good.

La Jolla Holiday

2010-08-13T14:03:00.001-07:00

"I hate this nightgown. I hate all my nightgowns... and I hate all my underwear too!!!"

So last night I finally saw Roman Holiday . My friend got us tickets to see "Flicks on the Bricks" at the Atheneum; they sit you outside, this particular night with a Bellini in hand, and you get to watch classic movies thrown up on a big white wall out in the summer air.

I loved the movie, to pieces. The script was impeccable, the acting was fabulous, and Gregory Peck was oh so easy on the eyes. Which brings me to the evergreen question : Why do movies suck these days? Dinner With Schmucks, I'm talking to you.

The movie is awesome for a number of reasons:
1) Audrey Hepburn's impulsive haircut. This moment rings in the hearts of women worldwide, I assure you.

2) The script was impeccable.
Princess Ann: I've never been alone with a man before, even with my dress on... With my dress off, it's MOST unusual.

3) You can take a moment to envision what it would be like to be royalty. I can't be the only person who sat there imagining if I could get away with telling my friends things like "You may be seated." I'm halfway there though, I leave the house without my wallet all the time.

4) Classic men.
I've said it before and I'll say it again, but classic leading men are something else. I was raised on the likes of Jimmy Stewart and Cary Grant. I would love to be a fly on the wall when any of them were sent the Twilight script. Mad Men is trying to bring back the classic leading man, but they still have to make him a little bit scuzzy to compete with Jersey Shore and other fine television fare. So as for revising the classic man, it just can't be done.

On a related note, let's be clear, we're being misled on some of this movie: I just got back from Rome in June and I didn't meet anyone looking even vaguely like Gregory Peck. I didn't even see anyone who looked like that if I drank fast and squinted my eyes. Looks aside, the charm was lacking too - the closest I've come in Italy was meeting some googly-eyed Italian guys who told me I looked like a famous actress... then clarified for me that they meant "the comedian! Whoopi Goldberg!"

For those of you who don't know me, I'm not black. Also, I have eyebrows.

As for last night, I left with a mixed feeling of happiness (because I'd had such a fun night) and complete dread (at the cultural wasteland that surrounds me). But to be fair, I realize that I play a part in this machine, refreshing my "US Weekly Blog" screen as regularly as I do.

Escaping is nice. I'm sure you got the same takeaway I did - May we all pass out on a bench in a strange city and hope for the best!

Ole ole ole ole!

2010-07-10T23:34:00.000-07:00

There's nothing I love more than the sound of vuvuzelas in the morning.

Unfortunately, tomorrow will be the last time I hear them for a long time. Partially because World Cup is about to end and partially because I will be really, really surprised if FIFA does another WC in Africa in my lifetime. The good news is I think the vuvuzela market had a boom this year, so for all you shareholders, you should be making some serious dolla dolla bills y'all. I personally didn't mind them at all; I think it made everything more festive. I even had one blown in my ear at a Spanish bar one fine morning. I wouldn't mind getting my own so that if someone pissed me off I could just pull out my vuvuzela and blow. I may do it.

It seems like just yesterday I was excitedly filling out my brackets for this event. I filled out two; one allowed me to select how it would all go down from start to finish; you had to fill every single bracket for the entire tournament (on ESPN.com). The other (Yahoo) drew out the pain, having you pick winners for each individual match. Now, there has to be some sort of award for the fact that I came in at the bottom of both pools I was in; and my selections, if you really lined them up next to each other, weren't even consistent. I felt like this accomplishment on my part was actually impressive. Unfortunately my poolmates don't seem to agree.

It's just been that kinda World Cup. Here we are, two European teams going into the final, Brazil nowhere to be seen, Argentina nowhere to be seen, the French and the Italians out after round one? Sacre Bleu! The Americans placing above the English? It's like Bizarro World Cup.

A few takeaways:

1) World Cup teaches everyone a little geography.
You know how many times I heard about Ghana over the past decade? Exactly.

2) World Cup solves world problems.
No one has been able to explain to me what language the referees and players speak together. During an Argentina-Germany game, for example, when the ref comes up and confers with disputing players, what the hell are they speaking? No one knows. But they need to find out, because then everyone else can use it and stop bitching about not understanding each other.

3) The First Law of soccer: the team with the better celebration dance will win. I think the African teams had more potential and that's why I was sure (as demonstrated by the aforementioned brackets) that they would progress; but they were so nervous in the group rounds that they didn't demonstrate a la Roger Milla. They forgot to do it! I sincerely believe this is half the problem. For this reason I believe it's safe to say the Spanish will win based on this video alone. Because, let's be honest, it doesn't get worse.

4) I wasn't going to post about dating in this one, but I'll just make a little note from present me to future me: don't date guys who are psycho about their sports. Future me, I know you're gonna be attracted to a guy who knows more about soccer than you do; you want a guy who gets up to watch the games and stops his day to see what's going on, a guy who is obsessive about it. During World Cup season you are prone to fall for such a guy, but trust present you: it's a bad idea.

Two guys I know absolutely lost it during World Cup. One became drunk sports guy (which is such a sad and pathetic thing to become if you're not, well, one of the players). The other became depressed sports guy (which is sad when, again, you don't play for the team you're upset lost, and oh yeah, you're not from their country either). He seriously became the Droopy of the sports world. This guy actually told me after his team lost that this was the end of the road for him; he couldn't "bring himself to watch any more games, or to even hear about them at all." Did I mention this was the first week of the tournament?

I'm not really sure why I get so consumed by soccer. I love it, but I wouldn't throw myself off a bridge for it, you know? So why this love. Well, part of it is that I love to soak in the internationalism of it. My first match was Norway vs. US Women's soccer when I was about 16 years old. Then when I was 21 I went to World Cup in Lyons, France and saw Iran play the US. A group of American men were running around playing bongos and carrying a "Great Satan" banner, and by the end of the night we were all dancing together (even though Iran had won). There was a good spirit to it that I had never experienced before, and it stuck with me. Yeah, sadly, it took me an international soccer tournament to resolve my biculturalism. What of it? ;)

I love the way World Cup takes over my life. In the summer 2002 I could be quoted as saying "the Bar exam happens 2 times a year; World Cup only happens once every four years!" to justify getting up at crazy hours to catch the games instead of studying my civil procedure outlines. I like to think I have clear priorities.

I love the excitement, the games to look forward to, reading up on them, friendly wagers with friends on them. I want to be that into sports year round, but try as I might, I can't get absorbed the same way by my other options. I gave football a shake, but it didn't take. After attending college football games with season tickets (for 4 years, I migth add) one day I asked why I couldn't see my friend on the field; someone else said he was off, that offense was playing. And I said "No no! He was just there... hold on, I'll find him." Then the people in the room explained to me... in small syllables... that offense & defense aren't on the field at the same time (keep reading when you've picked yourself up off the floor).

World Cup really does take over my life. I'm not ashamed to admit (well, mostly because my colleagues don't read this) that this year, in my thirties, I rescheduled conference calls in order to watch games. I started wearing a knuckle ring (like my hero) and reminding people that I'm half serious about naming my firstborn Maradona. I had in depth conversations about how much Ghanaian player Prince's neck tattoo would have hurt to get. And I waxed nostalgic about the bald ref who used to ref World Cup, and how I missed him.

Basically I become "that guy"; but I'm a girl.

But there were upsides too; at a recent meeting with an older team of male executives and colleagues, I was able to participate in the conversation. Usually the one to sit there and smile, I was able to steer conversation and drop points (sure, some of them shamelessly pillaged from the previous night's ESPN broadcast, but whatever, you all do it too!)

And, in what was perhaps my crowning achievement of the past month, I was able to spin game enthusiasm into a series of bets with a coworker that ultimately ended with me earning a week's control of his Facebook profile. Whether or not you are the gambling type, I assure you this was one of the most rewarding things I have ever won.

At first I thought, hey, it's work, I'll be professional and just post about soccer. But it was like the freaking Stanford Experiments; I became evil; I couldn't do anything but carry out the evil intent of posting worse and worse things. I would send him posts which he had to then turn around and immediately post to Facebook as his status -- no explanation given. It might help to know this guy is slightly older than me, an accomplished and well-networked executive, and that several of his former employees are on his FB page.

It began with posts about how he couldn't wait to see Germany play Argentina, he loves soccer "almost as much as I lOvE MiLeY!!!!"; and his joy at the new Twilight film ("On my way to see Eclipse for the third time...they should have frequent viewers cards for Twilight fans...Team Edward!") Then "he" posted "Can't wait to see Spain play on Sunday. I love burritos and tequila! Yay!"

Then he posted a rave review of the new Justin Bieber album "My World: sweet gym tunes!!!". Most recently I had him describing details of the new Sex and the City 2 movie that no straight man would know or give a damn about ("Sex and the City 2 was overrated. and um WHAT was Carrie wearing on her head at Stanford's wedding?!?"). I almost threw up laughing when I read a coworker's response "M, did you take a purse too? To put your balls in?"

He was a good sport about it, but the personal stakes I was able to add onto each match just made it that much more delicious to watch. I'm telling you, by the end of this month I'd become a complete soccer monster, chattering on about it and spouting trivia like a crackhead at any given opportunity. My sister banned discussion of soccer at the family dinner table. I am sincerely worried that by Monday morning I'll look like that heroin withdrawal scene from The Basketball Diaries.

So I realize this is it; soccer is my sport. Until kickball becomes the international phenomenon I keep hoping for, I will just have to hold my breath and try other hobbies and interests outside the sports realm. As you may realize by now, I always find something new to entertain me; so we'll just have to see what it is.

A Tale of Two Italians

2010-05-06T00:16:00.000-07:00

I slump over and sigh when I think of the idea of typing up my recent dating adventures, it's true. But I continue to remind myself that my (mis)adventures are to someone's great, great entertainment in the cyberworld. Without further ado I'll entertain you with my latest and greatest.

Date #1 (Wednesday) was with a guy who sounded promising on paper- a mix of my people and Italians (I figure when you add Italian genes to anything it can only be good!).

When I first got matched with him I almost deleted just on the basis of his name, which is an old man name, the equivalent of "Stanley" or "Melvin" or "Milton". Our emails were brief and text banter was funny, example: I had texted that he was "confirmed" for Wednesday night and he responded with a confirmation code.

So, fast forward to the date. Upon walking in, it was immediately clear to me that he was slightly cuter than his pics, more... "petite" somehow than he had appeared in two dimensions. Luckily I knew that lots of guys lie about their height in general, so I didn't wear my big clonker platforms and went with more conservative heels. But that always throws me off. Once a guy said he was something like 5'6 and I wore my clunkers and I spent all afternoon looking at the top of his head while we walked through the museum. I'm not saying don't be short, I'm just saying 1) give me a heads up and 2) I'd have to really, really like you to put my future kids through that genetic sandtrap.

I will now share with you the pro/con list I have made for the entertainment of my friends about said date.

Pro:
*self-motivated, successful, friendly
*thoughtful (suggested we meet for Chicago style pizza when he heard I was from there)
*multicultured (half Persian, half Italian)
*likes to travel (!)
*polite (!!)

Con:
*bottom braces. Ironically, these were not the problem (I realize beggars can't be choosers) until at the end of the meal, when he announced "I have bottom braces, so sorry if there's a garage sale in them". (gagging as i type)

*said Chicago pizzeria was chosen because it's across the street from his house. he has a tab there

*when i commented on his unusual bicultural background and said there must be a fun story to his parents' meeting, he answered that his mom had died when he was 9 and so he didn't know. Um, there are a LOT of reasons you don't have to know, but tossing that out as your reply 40 min into the date is just awkward. Naturally I tried to steer the conversation to something less probing. Silly me. I asked if he had siblings (which, can we agree, is a VERY fair first date question) and he said "I was afraid you were going to ask that..."

Talk about down on his luck: "my sister died too. Of an overdose..." I know right now you're thinking I'm a monster, the Barbara Walters of the dating world, cornering her innocent interviewee until they burst into tears. But rest assured that promptly the phrase "In a lot of ways it was was a relief" was used in reference to said sibling passing. Also said: "When someone dies, you just go 'Ok, they're dead, moving on." Um. Someone call Dr. Phil.

CONs, continued:
*repeatedly commented on the fact that I was his first eH date. fine. but standing on the streetcorner repeatedly saying "YOU POPPED MY EHARMONY CHERRY! POP!" is not ok.

*recent travel = Dubai. Which was fine until I asked him what he liked about it and he said "The women were really pretty, with just their eyes showing. It was cool" When i pointed out that it probably wasn't fun for the women and that, as a women, wearing a burka might be, I dunno, disturbing, he was genuinely surprised, and sat back taking in my counterpoint. UM YEAH.

*politesse involved insisting he walk me to my car and repeatedly saying "Don't worry, i won't try to suck face with you". Did i mention he was 36?

Saturday I tried to bounce back with Date #2. Now, Patti, the Millionaire Matchmaker, is quick to warn that coffee dates aren't dates - "they're auditions". But I thought it was fine; the guy was native Italian, so maybe that's just how Italians roll! When with Romans, etc., right?

My date showed up and looked much like his photos, albeit something inside me kept saying "Jay Leno, Jay Leno" to me, which I wasn't happy about. He smiled a lot and had very pretty eyes, and I'd like to send a shout out to the waitress (thanks a lot tramp!) who stopped by our table to lean over and compliment him on them. We got into a talk about art licensing and he asked how I knew so much about it/how I got into licensing and of course found out I was a lawyer, at which point I felt interest wane a little, but realize that may just be my sensitivity to the fact that how attracted a guy is to me is inversely proportionate to how much he knows about my education.

He was very friendly but after a while I noticed he was not into asking me about myself AT ALL. We talked about his art hobby and his job for the most part. If you quizzed Mr. #2 about me, I think he could tell you that I like sitting in the chair facing the sun and that I have black hair.

That said, I like learning about people and I was interested to hear what he had to say. He did ask me about my sister's art. Like, a lot. The optimist in me says "this is a guy who is family oriented!" the realist in me says "this is a guy who wants suggestions on how to sell his art successfully!"

So the truth is I didn't meet my future husband tonight, but look Ma, I'm trying! And about Date #2 I'll leave with these parting words of wisdom: "Hint: heterosexual male looking to make positive impression on female hereby advised against Cirque du Soleil tee shirt"

Accept No Substitutes!

2010-03-29T18:15:00.000-07:00

Slightly disheartened that I came across www.ihavewritersblog.com today. A website with MY blog name!

I think I just understood for the first time what my darling artist sister experiences pretty much every hour of the day with major companies publishing work that looks alarmingly (to me) like her unique, stylized art. You think you're carving a space for yourself being creative, but people are always on your heels. I'm not creative very often, so it's not something I usually deal with. It happens sometimes with fashion. I dress so weird that when someone dresses like me it stands out (see also: Skirt-over-pants, 1997).

I'd probably write him a Passive/Aggressive Lilly Letter(R), but he's an aspiring writer, and God knows it's the one population I have a weak spot for, so I'll let him be.

The good news is whoever bought the website eventual succumbed to the self-titled issue; he just wrote a few posts, and then left. A quick skim of the website tells me he wrote fan letters to Carol Burnett (whereas I wrote them to Jason Priestly). Other than that, we aren't very similar, so don't be confused. Accept no substitutes! The Original! The one and only! Basically if you hit a website and it's not talking about the wilderness of dating, the misbehavior of other people, or useless pop culture, you have been FAKEROLLED!

Getting the website and abandoning it? The horror. It's like salt in the wound.

It's one thing to take my cute little handle, another to not even do it justice! LE SIIIIIIIIGH.

Ok, I feel better now.

Just Because It's Pink Don't Make It a Valentine

2010-03-26T18:23:00.000-07:00

I loved the movie Up in the Air. I didn't like the ending, but I loved the writing. And the corporate culture of firing is something I have never ("Tanks God!") been privy to.

Now: a dating story.

It went like this- I met a guy online, and we set up a date. I didn't actually want to go on said date, because the guy seemed like a dud, BUT he had a picture of himself with a painting and a picture of himself in the role of a volunteer Big Brother, so I decided not to judge. We obviously know where not following my gut instinct has taken me before, but OH WELL...

So anyhow, our phone conversation, when we finally connected, was such a dud that I rushed to set the date. He asked for a weekend date, so I gave him my happy hour Friday slot- it seemed like the right thing to do. Don't bank too much on him, don't give him a whole weekend night when I knew barely anything about him (except that he had stood in front of a painting in Dayton and that he passed some sort of volunteer screening test and children don't run screaming from him). I offered to let him pick the place and his suggestion was "Ok! How's Cozymel?"

Um, Cozymel is fine. In the same way El Torito is fine. In the same way ChiChis is fine. In the same way TGIFriday's is fine. As in, it's fine if you're 16, not so much if you're 40. Which he was. And we'll find out why he was 40 and single after the jump...

So anyhow, I show up for the date and to my surprise he's better looking than his pictures. Dude was apparently not photogenic and/or he had posted pictures from 10 years ago and had aged better. He looked good. The kind of all-American good where the waitress leaned in a lot when talking to him.

We started talking and while we had a lot to talk about, we had zero chemistry. We got along, but there was none of the playful banter one might hope for on a date. To be honest, at points I was afraid to make jokes, worried they might go a little over his head. He was a successful businessman and was obviously a sharp guy. I gasped audibly when he said he was a Republican, but was distracted by the fact that this conversation came up in the context of him revealing he'd been at the last Madonna concert. (Come on, people, you know my weaknesses).

Anyhow, it was going FINE. First dates are awkward, we all know that. But I knew things were going ok, because he had already mentioned that we should go downtown for our next date, etc etc. So I just went with it, figuring that there was enough interesting material there that I should stay open to date 2. Plus he had a nice smile, and I'm a sucker for a smile.

He asked a lot of questions, so I would answer. He asked about my background and what languages I spoke, so I told him. We found out we did the same MBA Marketing program. Then he asked me if I remember how tough the GMAT was. I'm not one to lie, so I told him "I don't know". He asked why and I confessed that I waived out of that requirement. He kept pressing - HOW did I waive out? I told him I was a lawyer.

At this point he sat back, and crossed his arms. I am not exaggerating, this was his actual physical reaction. And then he said -- in a voice that was none too approving -- "Well aren't YOU accomplished? A lawyer, an MBA, you speak 4 languages..." This was followed, in no short order, by him asking the waitress for the check.
Yikes. I felt like I was on a game show and I'd given the wrong answer! I even tried to backpedal and explain that I never tell people I'm a lawyer because I don't have that personality and people always assume this or that based on knowing it. But dude was checked OUT.

I received an email the next day. It read (AND I QUOTE)

"I'm glad I had the chance to meet you. While it was clear that you have many virtuous qualities, I am seeking intangibles that can only be assessed upon meeting in person... I wish you the best of luck with your search."

Seriously, he might as well have added "We will keep your resume on file..."

I was FIRED!

I wish I could say this was the first time I was dumped by someone who I wasn't dating, but sadly, it isn't. Maybe someone somewhere out there in cyberworld has insight into this phenomenon.

I wonder if he thought I'd tell people he's the owner of a prominent yoga studio in La Jolla and that I'd smear campaign him. But I'm not into smearing, lucky for him. Plus he didn't wrong me. I don't mind that we didn't click (and hellz yeah was I quick to reply that "I felt the same way!") BUT such a formal rejection note was a bit much for my taste. Presumptive, don't you think? I got pink slipped from a job I never applied for! The least they could have done was send George Clooney over to fire me, sheesh.

So here's the lesson: you can't judge a book by its cover, but you sure as hell can judge a guy by where he takes you on the first date! Buyer beware.

Pole Position

2010-03-25T20:19:00.000-07:00

I know my last post was about tango, but I like to mix it up. God forbid I keep up that class act. In my last class my dance partner said to me "YOU ARE NOT THE PILOT!" I put it in caps because this little Argentinian was truly flustered by me. I can't blame him. I've realized that, while I love tango and intend to continue my lessons, I am not a born follower. I can follow if a guy reallllllly knows how to lead, and quite enjoy doing it (following) but some guys think a nudge here or there equals leading, and then I just find myself taking over. These guys I was dancing with were the dance equivalent of a limp handshake.

So this week I decided it was time to go partner dance with an inanimate object. Groupon sent us the option to buy 4 poledancing classes for a steal, and I forwarded it to a some girlfriends, the ones I had a sneaking suspicion would be interested. I meant it as a joke/dare more than anything, but then the first email response "I got mine! When are we going?" showed up in my inbox. Before I knew it, 5 of us were set up and we began class.

Now, I really tried not to judge. Sure, there were jokes being emailed back and forth about going to "Stripper High" and debating exactly what one should wear for this form of "fitness". But I was open minded about it.
The night of our debut class we eventually found our way to the studio, which was a small, one-room office backed up to a cheap Chinese restaurant, a car dealership, and Denny's. It wasn't promising, but again, trying not to judge. I also tried not to judge when the door opened and we walked in and the "office" was a card table. I mean, not even a $25 craigslist desk, a straight up card table. I thought, hey, maybe they're renovating! But let's just say the ambiance did little to make us feel that we weren't, well, strippers.

I filled out the Emergency Contact form and handed it over before realizing I had put my father as the point of contact. Um, oops.

We put on our high heels and workout clothes and lined up at the poles. I'm sure you'll be happy to hear that my shoes were 4 inch gold heels. When in Rome, people.

Before beginning, we were quickly instructed to clean the poles off. Now, sadly, I know this is what strippers actually have to do - I once cheered a depressed friend up by taking him to a strip club on a Monday night. Apparently Monday night is amateur night (that's a joke, but only slightly). In between dancers each girl would walk up with her bottle of Windex and paper towel. There's something to be said for ambiance, I'll say it again.

So there we were, wiping down the poles with rubbing alcohol. Which leads me to wonder, um, exactly *who* is taking these classes? I take all sorts of athletic and dance classes, but this is the first time I've been asked to formally disinfect the equipment (and nevermind that we were using the same 4 washcloths every other girl had used, so not really sure I see the point).

Class begins.

The instructor walks up, and isn't quite what I imagined she'd look like, but she had beautiful legs. The rest of her was busted street. Honestly, she might have been cute, but she refused to smile, so I will continue to call her Busted Street. I have to confess there was some discussion as to whether she was possibly pregnant. I say that not to judge her body type but because we were in actual amazement if she could flip upside down and in and around with a baby in there. But we decided (courtesy of 2 of my friends, doctors on hand) that she was just "not holding it in". She was wearing stripper shoes and offered us a good deal on a pair if we wanted them. Talk about putting the platform before the pole!

The first move we learned was "Sexy Walk". And here's what I have to say about that: if you have to call it Sexy Walk, chances are it ISN'T. There's nothing like watching yourself in a full length mirror, with dim lighting for an hour to realize how sexy you are or are not. Then we moved to swinging around the pole (easier than it looks). My friend later remarked to me that "I just spent an hour realizing how sexy I'm not. This was a beginner class?? I should be in remedial then."

I did alright, a few spins here, some smooth moves there. But I fully lost it when we got to floor moves. For 20 minutes we were basically recreating scenes from glam rock videos. ("Goddess pose!" she'd yell, without a drop of irony) I mean, we were a step short of going out to the parking lot and rolling around the sports cars at the dealership next door.

Our instructor was ornery, which of course just made me laugh more. We'd crack jokes, but she wasn't having it. She wanted us to pole dance like our lives depended on it. Unfortunately just a peek to my left would reveal my friend (a doctor by day) swinging around the pole hollering "I wanna be a stripppppppppeeeeeeer! I wanna beeeeeee a strippeeeeeeer!" like a kid who'd been let loose after eating a Costco size bag of sugar. The instructor didn't laugh. Apparently there is a line between pole fitness and stripping. Who knew?

Toward the end, our instructor proudly informed us that she'd be competing in a reality show. "Just like American Idol!" Um, but *not*?! Reality tv at its best, I'm sure. Oh so sorry I missed it.

So the good news is that pole dancing is really fun. The bad news is people who do this actually take themselves seriously. And now I might have to too.

It Takes Two.

2010-02-15T01:27:00.000-08:00

So this year while blissfully flitting around the pool in Indonesia ("Resolution 1: Travel more") the first week of January, I worked on my New Year's Resolutions list. Most people make one, but I like to make a list, so I can cross a few off during the year and feel good about myself for the rest of it. Basically.

As I discussed with my girlfriends what my goals for 2010 would be, I announced "Learn to tango!" I realized, swimming around, complimentary tropical drink in hand, tempting sunstroke, that as soon as I returned, the tango class I had signed up for would begin. So I retroactively put "Learn to tango" on the resolutions list.

To be honest, I didn't have much of a sense of what tango would be like. It looks like a dramatic, passionate dance from what I've seen (which, granted, is 90% "Dancing With the Stars"). My reasons for taking it on weren't that I was inviting drama into my life (although passion, please note, you're welcome anytime). It was because although I have been a dancer my whole life, the forms of dance I have gravitated to were all individual or company dance. Nothing duetty. I did the normal suburban American kid dance classes (jazz, ballet, tap, oh my!) and when I was old enough to choose I went for hip hop. There was no hand holding and certainly no following anyone else's lead. I choreographed, I was the boss.

I decided that for 2010 I wanted to learn to let someone *else* handle the decisionmaking. In this way, tango was perfect for me. You get into your hold and then follow the male lead as they turn you this way or that, directing you with their torso and the slightest of gestures.

Now, I'm only about a month into the class, going once a week, but I have already learned so much. Yeah, of course I"ve learned the dance stuff- frame, balance, and my favorite new move, aka "clean your shoe on his leg" (yes, this is what they call that seductive footsie move when you are in a beginner class). Here's what I've learned -- so far.

1) Much like the Transformers, there's more than meets the eye. I'm taking my class at UCSD, so I expected a high percentage of nerdage. I'm not gonna say I was disappointed BUT I will tell you that the nerdy, sweet, unsuspecting guy could very well be the best dancer in class. And the macho looking men who you'd think would be the best dancers are (in my experience) just bossy dancers. Um, I'm paying the instructor, not you, so no need to tutor me Mr. He's Been in Class Two Weeks Longer Than Me. My dance partner the first week Li Ming, a quiet guy, led me with great posture and noted that "when we dance together it's like a ballet!" At first I laughed, but then I realized he was kinda right.

2) Everyone wants to be a professional tango dancer. Self-explanatory. There are a few people in the class who are there because they're intent on becoming professional tango dancers. Keep in mind we're taking what is basically a community class. I just thought that was notable. I mean, I've gone my whole life without meeting a single person whose aspirations involved professional tangoage, but now it's very de rigeur.

3) Tango dance students are the worst dressers. Possibly on the planet. I'm showing some restraint here, but let's just say that the first week's class involved a girl in a pair of hot pink cotton gaucho pants that looked like they were made for someone 7 feet tall. And I thought of forgiving them... until they caught wind and lifted to reveal...black clogs.

4) My teacher came to class the first week in two different shoes. I don't mean she changed shoes the way Diana Ross, ahem, Beyonce, changes costumes at an award show. I mean she had one shoe on her left foot and a completely different one on her right.

5) The tango mirrors male-female relationships. I'd go into this more, but Gloria Steinem's on the other line, so I'm going to choose my words carefully and revisit this one.

6) Tango is the only place where men can wear shoes with a slight heel and look ok. Oh wait, no they don't. I'm sure you're a great dancer, tango-shod guy who I danced with the first week, but your footwear also makes me feel slightly like I'm dancing with another woman.

7) People's interest in tango is inversely proportional to their interest in brushing their teeth.

8) Tango people suck at math. NO they really do. I thought they were all science people, but now I'm sensing the liberal arts because whenever the teachers tell us to pair off there is mass confusion. I don't mean for a second, I mean there is confusion where the teachers have to stop class and line us up... in TWO LINES. You would never in a million years think you were dealing with a group of functioning, professional adults. Which is fine, because I'm always game for mild entertainment. It's like kickball-team-selection-mayhem all over again.

For many weeks there has been a serious man shortage. It's like WWII all over again (I imagine, not having lived through the era myself). However, with every week the deficit is being addressed, and in last week's class, we were only one guy short.

Time after time I found myself dancing alone (and by alone I mean not even my teacher would stay to pity dance with me before rushing off to check form). I figured that's no big deal for one dance, and that when the song changed to a new one, I'd rotate into a new partner, as per the format of the class. However, everyone would move around, partner up, and I was STILL DANCING ALONE. This happened for an hour straight. At one point I even walked up to a couple and said "Hate to break you guys up!" because everyone else was rotating and this was clearly a college couple not ready to part. So they looked down and then to the wall until I walked away.

Suffice it to say that for the rest of the night, I just tried to look very very busy while everyone stayed paired off.

I'm not even going to go to expand on the analogies for this one. Suffice it to say next week I'll be bringing a friend.