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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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.

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

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.