Halaby in Cambodia

You can never go home again

2011-06-10T12:18:00.006-04:00

And yet, here I am, back at good ol HiC instead of its Wordpress surrogate. This place is just so easy. Not better, just different. Still therapeutic, we'll see.

In case you were wondering

2010-02-07T17:24:00.004-05:00

Reader,

I moved. I now live in Amman, Jordan, and I blog (in theory) here: Jebel Amman. Of course, I haven't been doing much of that. Nope, I write long emails about boys, and I don't publish them to the general reading public. That's it. Someday I will tell you more.

Long time no talk

2009-07-15T00:37:00.008-04:00

Hello Reader,

I'm sorry; it's been a while and I have been neglectful. Too busy with the minutiae of a life that still feels in transit - somewhere between DC, Cambodia, Menlo Park and Brooklyn - and soon to relocate again, to somewhere not very far, but with more square footage. I have been taciturn (discreet? can I claim discretion on a personal blog?) also because I've been censoring the stream from brain to page - which means what I most want to discuss must be unsaid, along with anything and everything else. Ruminations on my last few (ish) relationships are absent, along with the almost absurdly typical New York City adjustment debauchery phase I am apparently experiencing. And you have no idea the things I want to tell you, so you and I can commiserate and cocelebrate all these "lessons" and jesuschristhowdidthathappen moments that have impressed and appalled Small Town Me. My college roommate, dearest Lauren B, would not be surprised that I still brush my teeth and hang up my clothes when I get home at 3 or 4, even if the rest of the evening's decisions were less responsible or otherwise insane. I didn't know there was a Small Town Me. The Big City will learn you but quick.

What I am getting at is here I am at this point of inflection, and a lot of what I expected to define my life and livelihood is still undetermined - is this relatively stable? In some ways I am in extended adolescence, a kind of retrograde where I am hanging out with 24 year olds and semi-unemployed and testing my limits, changing my hairstyles. I can still smell the fumes of the high I rode last Fall, when I was convinced I had discovered the secret recipe for my own happiness and I was unshakable and brilliant. It's there, if less exhilarating. But I will allow a little bit of emo now and again. I return to this question of character and identifying qualities - whatever immutable things you can know about a person, or yourself. What would I never do? What do I know you will always do? These thoughts can trend melancholic and are overwhelmingly self-absorbed, but I think I have them in check. I think so until I have told the nth person about the shady colleague or thoughtless friend who behaved "out of character," and I see I am still thinking about it.

But there is the fun stuff, too, I swear! I am chatty with a tattooed waitress because I am a regular at her restaurant! I can do roll ups in pilates now! I went to England, and I went to Miami, and I met the world's hipsteriest, swarthiest, hottest Chilean blogger! I regularly attend literary panels and cultural events! I impress people at karaoke! I put together hip and interesting outfits on an almost daily basis and I can do complex word problems in under two minutes. I can read html and Spanish. I feel so much love.

We're famous, Ma!

2009-06-01T13:17:00.006-04:00

The NYTimes sees transparently into my soul in its Real Estate section article on Greenpoint. Link to slideshow here. The shots of Lomzynianka restaurant, the G train exit and Matchless are each located "around" various corners of my home location. The "Matchless... attracts newcomers to the area" line is especially cruel.

Note the omnipresence of both tattooed youth and the robustly Polish, which contributes to my growing urge to ink myself, or purchase red, white and bird gear to fit in.

I'm struggling with the parallelism and subject-verb agreements in these sentences. GMAT, you and I have a long way to go.

The G train - take it to not go to Manhattan or most of the rest of Brooklyn, love it for the Al Harrington shoe ad:

Blaudungs, blaudungs

2009-05-25T19:34:00.005-04:00

The household is coming apart in August, which makes me feel like this:

Can't blame a kid for wanting to live in Manhattan and the renter's market should mean Molly and I find a much nicer two-bedroom (maybe in Ft Greene!) without having to pay more. But I'll miss Xinxin. And it's his birthday today.

UPDATE: Don't worry, they caught the guy

2009-05-12T14:55:00.003-04:00

I ran into some cops at a bodega on Manhattan Ave last night who confirmed that the perpetrator of the failed carjacking/smashing of church/hit and run was caught. When I related this story to the boys downstairs their principle concern was that I had initiated contact with police officers. I'm comfortable with public servants in uniform, OK?

Screech bang squeal

2009-05-11T17:53:00.007-04:00

This just happened in front of my house:

Guy leaves his keys in his car while he visits the pharmacy on our corner. Other guy sees opportunity, steals car, screeches away the length of 6 parked cars, sideswipes the next one and crashes into the front of the church two doors down from my own. Carjacker flees scene on foot while car owner chases after, screaming "STOP! STOP!"

That was dramatic. Despite my really wanting them to be so, none of the firefighters were actually hot.

Our place is the third floor of the gray building, church is on the other side of the wacky pinkish fake stone building.

Sad:

"Is capitalism evil?" she wondered, in a room full of emerging market entrepreneurs

2009-05-07T12:22:00.005-04:00

Awesome site discovered today: Strange Maps.

Especially this one: The Palestine Archipelago.

For a while there my life was all Palestine all the time. Combine that with extended exposure to liberal arts doctoral students (read: Marxists), and I'm experiencing a Spring Awakening. Might even rouse some rabble.

Sorry, Caroline, more gossip soon!

It's called exploitation of others and it's why I'm here

2009-04-03T14:22:00.000-04:00

2:21 PM
me: ha
it is so rainy
it is def weather to be in bed for
Xin: yes
snuggling with a novel
and a dog
and tea
2:21 PM
me: oh god that sounds wonderful
Xin: we should a dog
that will obey us
me: we should Be a dog? is that what you mean?
Xin: yes
me: cause i like where you are going with that
we should be one dog
together
One Dog
Xin: yeah, good idea
2:22 PM
me: i need to blog this
Xin: do it now

Better versions, just to prove I was there

2009-02-12T13:05:00.000-05:00

Wide shot of Inaugural crowd:

De la de la de la! (Soul):

The Obamas are hot.

Obama's brain is hot.

Elvis takes the stage at the Creative Coalition (this is right around the time I looked up ticket prices on the iPhone and realized we had walked into a $10,000/ticket event).

So we had to hit the red (but it was blue) carpet on the way out:

Show not tell

2009-02-07T20:17:00.000-05:00

Oy. I've gotten bad at this. There are lots of great stories, including the one where I was within sniper range of the Presidential Caddy, and the time I was urged to sneak off to a bedroom in the British (Deputy) Ambassador's residence (but of course didn't, which is why I'm mentioning it on the blog), but I've run out of steam to transcribe them.

Here are some illustrative inaugural weekend shots instead.

From the Lincoln Memorial Concert:

Crowds upon crowds a the Inauguration ceremony:

It wasn't until hours later that I got a glimpse of Michelle's dress on TV, and days later that the Facebook news feed alerted me to the fan-worthiness of Aretha's bespangled headpiece.

Security guard on stage at the MoveOn.org party:

Adrien Grenier brushed against me, and Josh Lucas and I had several moments of meaningful eye contact, but I did not see Kate Moss or Moby or Tim Robbins. Guess I was distracted by all the Hope Art.

I verbal vom on Connie Britton

2009-01-23T18:46:00.000-05:00

Hi kids, remember my obsession with Friday Night Lights? Something magical happened in Washington, DC on Tuesday and no, I don't mean the coronation of hope. My posse crashed the Creative Coalition Gala around midnight, just in time to catch the end of Sting and Elvis Costello's set, followed by a tear-inducing rendition of "Amazing Grace," and then, this moment:

Oh. My. God. It's Connie Britton. And then, this:

CANIJUSTSAYTHATILOVEYOURWORKONFNL??

There were plenty of other recognizable faces there but only Tami herself made me lose my cool. Appreciation to the photographer for surreptitiously capturing my dork out.

First, a moment

2009-01-21T23:09:00.000-05:00

The Inauguration stories are going to come in, but first, an image from the first (of maybe 2 or 3) want-to-cry moments. (I very obviously did not take this picture):

Thanks for speaking truth to power on Palestine, Bono.

I feel really uncomfortable thanking Bono, or anyone who insists on wearing pink shades at all times. But when he reminded the crowd at the Lincoln Memorial Sunday that freedom is not just an American dream, not just an Irish or European or African (or Israeli) dream, but (pause. pause) "and also a Palestinian dream," I and the small crowd of stateless Arabs I was with hollered. Woo.

You gotta give 'em hope

2009-01-12T02:40:00.000-05:00

I'm not dead. I am coming back. Hello, 2009, etc.

Soon.

Smells like happiness

2008-12-12T14:17:00.000-05:00

The funniest thing happened the other day. I became deathly ill, in a whoa-what-is-wrong-with-me-does-dengue-recur-or-maybe-that-was-malaria-after-all kind of way. It was great because I don’t have health insurance? And I live in the US? Specifically New York City, she of the imploding economy and the glut of young, over-educated, high-self-regarding types, and the obscene cost of living, and (I’m sure I mentioned) I am without steady employment! You think I’m complaining but you’re wrong!

It reminds me of how I feel about hummus lately. To be sure, hummus is one of the best foods, and a dominant staple of my diet. But part of my freak illness is a sickly sweet taste in my mouth, which means the last time I ate hummus it was DISGUSTING. So now I gag at the thought of delicious, tahini-rich garbanzo puree, despite my love for it. It's the cruel irony of desiring what makes you sick (OR VERY ANGRY), like my increasingly feeble laptop, the breeze from the Greenpoint Superfund site, or All My Children.

I can only laugh at the new threats to my personal solvency and well-being. What else is there to do? On fait ce qu’on peut, as Arthur used to say.

Liveblogging CLT

2008-11-26T14:36:00.000-05:00

My plane landed an hour ago and now I'm waiting for the fam to arrive here in Charlotte. CLT is a pretty great airport - free WiFi, rocking chairs, live culture frozen yogurt. I'm not actually doing anything worthy of a liveblog, but I like to take advantage of free internet when it's available, out of principle. So let's catch up.

I went to the Game with Sam and Dan last weekend. We lost. Again. And the air was as cold as a Cantab's Puritan heart. I thought I was going to lose some toes.

I met up with two long-time neglected old friends in Chinatown. After 4 years of zero contact and a few recent facebook exchanges the reconnection still managed to feel impulsive. It was good, though. Things change and don't change, you know?

Coming up after Thanksgiving is an "official" reunion of my mother's mother's family, the Alexandres.

Oh, and they're here. I have to go.

My iPod is trying to tell me something

2008-11-25T15:32:00.001-05:00

Soon after wiping out spectacularly on the pavement outside the NYU Near East Studies Center this morning, after a late night of cover letters and personal statement procrastination, the following songs came up on my shuffle function:

Don't Let it Bring You Down
You Can Have it All
What Else is There?
Requiem
Not if You Were the Last Junkie on Earth
Sleep
Demon Days
The Boss
I Don't Blame You

A warning? Not subtle, iPod.

Love

2008-11-24T18:26:00.000-05:00

I burst into tears watching this video today.

That is all.

It's cool, we can still be friends

2008-11-12T11:19:00.000-05:00

Alright, yes I am being silly. We have a black president-elect! Suck it, cynics! The long national nightmare that was the Sarah Palin news cycle is over. America - fuck yeah! I will not be unemployed forever, and in the meantime I have time to do things like walk across the Brooklyn Bridge with out of town guests. And search Little Italy for pig candy. And drink wine with my grandmother at her ladies' club. And take in an Abstract Expressionist show at a gallery called Haunch of Venison. All free!

Also, come on, this is Brooklyn! Molly runs into Timothy Busfield all the time. The friend's birthday party I attended on Monday featured a concert with members of Beirut and The Arcade Fire and Zach Condon was there! We love our neighbors and Fall is lasting forever and I run into Darnell on the subway. What I was saying in July about anticipatory household joy, and Xin and Molly being good for mental stability and whatnot - all true! So I've got that going for me, which is nice.

No need to call, folks, I'm cool.

Election hangover

2008-11-11T12:00:00.000-05:00

I have this post-partum thing going on. I was so ready for cathartic joy on Election Night. Instead I was too physically exhausted to even cry, much less celebrate. I really wanted to cry. And celebrate the whole victory of hope and the future and history. It's great we won and all, and I suppose in the future I will feel pride for having spent four days in Philly getting out the vote, doing my part for a renewed America, but the overall experience was a little underwhelming.

All of it is underwhelming somehow. You'd think I was a McCain supporter with the ennui I'm working right now. Part of it is the continued joblessness, mild loneliness, boredom, therapy-withdrawal, but there is a greater disconnect. Like the instant we won my blind optimism was replaced with circa 2007 baseline cynicism. What to do with that? What about Hope?

Feh, it's there. No worries.

I'm crying a little

2008-10-30T00:05:00.000-04:00

I drank the kool-aid, this is not a secret. I watched the Obama-mercial tonight and even though it's not particularly sophisticated or appealing to my demographic, or relevant even, because I've been in the tank for a while and this hasn't been in question, but still. Still. I have such heart-swelling. Such ache. Such pride. Because maybe, maybe there will be a national leadership I can claim as my own, as representing me and my friends and our values and the things that are important to me. Maybe soon Canadians will sew American flags onto their backpacks when they travel in Europe so that they will be associated with our astonishing return to grace, with the overwhelming joy that is imminent. God, I hope it is imminent. I believe. I hope. I must not count chickens.

My tutee told me about his mother's friend, who last time around in 2004 said he would bring Canadian immigration papers with him to the election night party. This year he is bringing a hand gun because there is no consolation prize. There is nothing to turn to. We must win.

Now, personally, emigrating North is no longer an option. Please, American electorate, do not defy the polls, do not fail me now. I tear up a little because I love. Because I am not lost. Because I am so cynical and too cool for school and smarter than idealism and still I love. Still, I want. I hope. Jesus, I am the last person to buy what they're selling and yet I have. I do. I hope.

My promise to me

2008-10-23T19:20:00.000-04:00

Let's make something clear. I am not talking about dates, not in the last post nor any others. I will not talk about dates. I may express some thoughts and observations re: boys generally, but I will not talk about (current) romances. The reasons are two-fold. One, I want to minimize internet evidence of feelings or relationships that will most likely change, and two, it's just lame. Lamer even than the concept of blogging in the first place. My narcissism does not extend to blogging about my love life like it's entertaining on its own merits. That's what Slut Machine is (was) for. So maybe feelings are fair game, but narration is not, is what I'm saying. Also, less exploitation.

I'm really going to try.

Today, as I rode down the elevator in the United Federation of Teachers' building where the Obama office is, I encountered an interesting scene. On the third floor an Orthodox Jewish family got on, followed by a young woman wearing a keffiyeh (not the fashiony kind) and escorting a deaf kid. I thought at first that they were together and coming from some sort of peace and coexistence meeting. But I think it was just an odd confluence of costume-identified minorities in an unlikely place that resulted in something close to situational irony.

So, keep the scandalizing to a minimum, that's the idea. And prepare for sister time at Davidson this weekend. I think this photo illustrates both.

When a door is closed, God opens a window, however, our old radiators cannot compensate for the heat loss

2008-10-22T13:40:00.001-04:00

Boy, it's drafty. While one nightmare slowly comes to an end (construction is done, fixtures don't quite work), another begins. Reader, I am sick. Obviously, I blame the dengue. I would like to stay on the couch and recuperate, but there's still a lot of dust in the air and home is not so comfortable for vegging.

I am also sick at heart, or more accurately, sick at professional ambition. It seems likely that the financial crisis will make finding a real job much more difficult. It feels like everyone is on a hiring freeze. Or maybe they just don't like me and that's why I'm not hearing back. When does the personal panic kick in, by Christmas maybe? I certainly intended to be employed by Thanksgiving, but, I don't know, man, I don't know.

In other news, I went out on Saturday night with an old, old friend - middle school vintage - who I hadn't seen in at least 5 years. We reminisced about the good times (our Barbie soap opera video for 9th grade bio, Larry the Mole), the bad times (8th grade love triangles, French trip heartbreak) and discovered all the things we have in common today, like Brooklyn, remarried moms, and a love of Toronto. I also spent half an hour monologuing about what makes The Wire so sophisticated and unique and upsetting and intimidating for someone ostensibly "writing" a "screenplay."

Finally, as we have less than 2 weeks until the election for President, I urge you, dear Reader, to go to a phone bank. Make some calls to your fellow Americans in Colorado, Nevada, Ohio, Pennsylvania, Virginia, or North Carolina. Put your mouth where your heart is and tell the country why they should support Senators Barack Obama and Joe Biden. If we give them 2 weeks of focussed effort they will give us 8 years of something better.

It's a freakin' nightmare

2008-10-16T00:29:00.000-04:00

Our home is covered in a thick patina of grime and white dust. It is choking, horrific, overwhelming. What the hell, man?

Also, what is with the awkwardness in the debates, this grimace-smile of McCain's? Punch him in the face, facts! He must be put to pasture! I am so ready for this all to be over, for the ultimate, cathartic, orgasmic finality of election night. Finally finally finally.

Uhoh

2008-10-13T23:16:00.000-04:00

The men came today to take our shower away. Then they put the sink and toilet in the kitchen. They put the toilet "back" at the end of the day but right now 257 out of the 800 square feet of our apartment is shower-related wreckage. Debate night this week might take place entirely at the bar. And we'll shower downstairs?

Barack is playing at my house, my house!

2008-10-08T12:09:00.000-04:00

The CormanYu Commune has been hosting the debates lately, enjoying the candidates in high-def with neighbors and friends. Tuesday night was a Nixon-Kennedy redux, what with the handsomest, presidentialy-est of presidential candidates and some old, waxen-faced crank side by side, don't you think?

The VP debate last week has been my favorite thus far, as it reminded me how good I feel about not being a member of the Republican base (when Palin opened with the "I learn about the economy by attending children's SOCCER GAMES" bit I nearly hurled). She is the fucking Antichrist. And we are winning the culture war.

Also, thanks to the special crazy they brew at MSNBC, this adorable moment of sibling silliness was inspired:

Molly is the wolverine attacking the pantleg of a passerby (Ben), just like the Governor of Alaska. Props on the metaphor, Howard Fineman.

I've been trying to work "Halaby" into "CormanYu Commune," but it's not happening. CormanYu rolls off the tongue so nicely. I take comfort that I am represented by the mere fact that I invented it. The name and the Commune.

I love you, world, now hire me!

"I didn't know I was a hippy til you started drumming!"

2008-10-06T01:18:00.000-04:00

Finally, a post deserving of the "religious experiences on a farm" tag. It's been a whole year since my time with the kibbutzniks at CADP, and I guess I never really explained what was so holy about it. Something about the greenery and children in a rural setting, and wine with ex-military multinationals, and motorbike lessons and putting hands in the dirt with Ariel, and mosquito netting. Last weekend's farm was very, very different. There was scenery and community and beer and a rope bed to sleep on. Contradancing (different from line dancing!) til my feet went numb and my calves gave out. THEN the drumming circle started. My legs could carry me no more but I stayed awake long enough to watch Paige dance over to the table where the potluck had been spread earlier in the evening, fetch a large cauldron-type thing and a wooden spoon and proceed to bang the shit out of it in time with the fellows on bongos, etc, well into the wee hours. She is truly la señora de la hacienda.

The next morning, after what felt like a full night's rest (oddly), I was treated to a farm-fresh breakfast and a tour of the property. Man, the Adirondacks in September are outrageous. There is no other word for the maple trees in full flagrante, mixed in with the still-greens and the rock, and the rolling, low mountains. The 18th century farmhouse and salad plants were pretty too. If it were way easier and less time-consuming to grow food I would ask Paige to teach me how to do it. It is delicious.

Also of note, and this is maybe a little gossipy (sorry!), but I drove up with a mutual friend who happens to be Paige's college bf and they are such good, genuine buds these days. It is awe/jealousy-inspiring. Or affirming of one's faith in humanity. I will call it affirming. That is all.

What else.... so much...tbd

Let's talk about more metaphors

2008-09-24T23:25:00.002-04:00

This is a photograph from the first week of our apartment and this is what it means:

Maybe you can't see, but that's 6 dollar organic peanut butter = we live in Brooklyn near an organic foods store, and far from a reasonably priced supermarket.

The jam is Polish jam = we live in Greenpoint, home to the Poles!

The Red Cow Cheese, whose ad campaigns are targeted to young women who want to be thin = we are young women!

Granny Smith apple = the bittersweet, tangy tastiness of eking out a hip single girl lifestyle while jobless in New York in 2008.

Cups and bowls = presence of IKEA in our lives.

Peanut butter and jam on toast = I'm unemployed!

Ok, the apple is a stretch, but I forget what I had in mind for the apple when I was documenting lunch.

It's 1am and David Blaine has blessed me with Magic

2008-09-24T01:10:00.000-04:00

So hard to keep up when so much and so little is going on! I've been drinking with family for three straight weekends and it's been wonderful. My dad and I had a little come to Jesus session that, so far, has led to better relations. My cousin took me to a dance club in DC where I was the only white girl. I reconnected with my WASP heritage at my great aunt's birthday in Lawrence, NY. I made out in front of my mom. All enriching experiences.

Tonight I met up with another family connection - the friend of my maternal step-cousin whom I met once in a hot tub in Vermont in 2006. Thanks to thefacebook.com and good social skills, now we are buds in Brooklyn and we spent an hour this evening watching David Blaine sort of hang upside down in Central Park. It was entirely unamazing.

I'm beginning to feel nervous about the job hunt. I'm not sure I'm getting anywhere. I don't have much to do each day except scramble (on the Internet) to find jobs to apply for and people to email. So I'm both free and very busy. Still with the contrast of things and feelings about most things. Funny thing, feelings.

More on Nicole and Jake's wedding, Tata's 90th, nesting and loving Brooklyn later. Still on West Coast time and I need SLEEP.

A syzygy

2008-09-16T18:55:00.000-04:00

That is what is going on right now, Reader, a syzygy of emotion, contrast, and activity. The home is coming together, the nation may be falling apart, and my unwavering commitment to positivity remains just that. I. Will. Not. Waver. But I sure hope the polls do.

In other news: our apartment building is like Friends, except a fraction of the size of course and the boy girl ratio is more in mine and Molly's favor. We've discovered a special friend scurrying in the kitchen, whom Molly alternately calls "Pappy" or "our white whale" and all I will say is he is too big to squish so Xin has fashioned a bludgeon out of a knife handle and duct tape. However, Pappy remains at large.

My job search consists of "networking" like the shameless Ivy League grad I am.

I've got this great photo that illustrates the first few weeks here so perfectly. It's full of symbolism and many layers of meaning as well as Polish foodstuffs and I'll upload it soonish.

I still have some burny feeling in my gut/heart area.

Relocation rigamarole, it's a Friggin' Fiesta! (TM Herrera)

2008-08-27T18:14:00.000-04:00

Reader! So much, so very, very much...

New York Cares: So many ironic mustaches, so many finance dorks trying so hard to get laid, so many crazies at the Starbucks, so much odor! Molly goes to H&H, mystifying Tata, and Dan is the welcome committee, obviously, to Thai lunch on the UWS. Aspirational living among the brownstones in the "Burlingame of Brooklyn," Brooklyn Heights, perilous pink ladders to the unsanctioned rooftop in Greenpoint (are you thinking of a PJ Harvey song? me too!). Strange formations of hipsters surrounding our neighborhood park (they're, uh, flocking this way), later revealed to be a line-up for free tickets to Yo La Tengo at the pool (obvs). [Next week it's an outdoor screening of Rushmore (double obvs).] Listening to the YLT concert later, on aforementioned rooftop. Welcome to Williamsburg night = Sex Panthers on the DUMBO waterfront, followed by bar Connect 4 with a dude I'm fairly sure just finished his stint with the IDF. The Israelis, man, they always find me.

Bed shopping, bed hopping around the boroughs until the lease starts. Getting things homey for Xin, waiting til he returns from Burning Man. Online window shopping for "deals" on Danish mid-century pieces. Resting up way out on Lon Gisland, looking forward to a Labor Day weekend in West Egg, all while I blog from my beloved green-trimmed college apartment desk, where I did work on my computer before Facebook existed. Oh, that heady time.

Frakkin-a, Reader, I haven't even moved in yet! Best. Life. Ever.*

*Yes, I'm slightly nauseated at myself, too.

Please don't do shots at frat parties

2008-08-18T19:53:00.000-04:00

Fuuuuuuuck! It's actually here. My sister is leaving for college tomorrow! Is it weird that I feel a mixture of sadness, vicarious excitement, and jealousy? I want so much for her, and want so much that she be spared the mishaps/tragedies I went through. I can't enunciate it - the right advice - to protect her and embolden her and pass down whatever wisdom I have acquired. I think there's a part of me that sees her life as an opportunity for a do-over of my own.

I remember this night for me. My closest friends came over to watch me pack into the wee hours. The last one to leave lingered in the front hall, but I wanted him out so I could run back to my room and cry. I felt lonely instantly. 36 hours later I was on the train to New Haven, in the same car as Xin, who, 8 years later, is soon to be my roommate. That's a lovely little continuity arc, eh?

Now all that's left is to burn the ubiquitous farewell mix CD (which started as a woe-is-me mix and is heavy on The Magnetic Fields) before Mom and Caroline head to the airport. Then back to packing up boxes for my own imminent departure. It's just like I'm going off to school, too! Except instead of picking classes I'll be job-hunting in a recession! And instead of battling over dorm suite space with a sullen Turk and an artsy Texan, I'll be negotiating the placement of mid-century furniture with a librarian and a lawyer in a "cozy" apartment in Greenpoint. Sheeeeeeeeyit!

Honorable Mention

2008-08-17T03:22:00.000-04:00

Also, because he is yet another hot swimmer and also Arabi, I must add Ous Mellouli, winner of Tunisia's first ever swimming gold medal (1500m free).

Given that Kristin has facebook friended mini man-gymnast Jon Horton, who are my Olympic ogling objects?

2008-08-16T03:41:00.000-04:00

Unsurprisingly, my little sister thinks monkey-face swim champ Michael Phelps is hot. I get that the swimmer body can make any average dude hotter. But still, the ears, the bad teeth? Eh. There's better.

My Olympic crushes are as follows:

1. Ryan Lochte, who is no longer a secret I must admit, is a stone fox. Look at how happy he is next to Monkey Face!
Need more proof?

Now that's a hot torso.

2. My girl crush, Chinese diving megastar Guo Jing Jing. She's so pretty! She's so friggin' dominant! Apparently the government gave her a hard time for her "commercial activity," and she had to stop lending her face to ad campaigns or risk getting kicked out of practice. Imagine if American athletes were made to tone down the endorsements. How would NBC sell all that ad space to Visa?

3. And, of course, because I am the very epitome of a female sports fan, I LOVE Nastia Liukin.

I joined in her teariness during the All-Around medal ceremony. Also, she looks a whole lot like my girl Kristen Bell:

Alright, Phelps finally broke. He cried for NBC after wrapping up the hunt for 8 gold medals. He's a little adorable. Still very simian.

Your busted heart will be fine

2008-08-14T10:29:00.000-04:00

I'm still trying to work out the true story of my last relationship, to explain definitively the how and why, like there is a logic game in there I can solve. Many times over many months (years? since the beginning?) I've come up with theories that were later abandoned, had faith that was proven naïve, or despaired over angst I can't even remember. The one thing I know for sure is that my feelings are mixed. That's where I am with all the therapy, folks, "my feelings are mixed." Marvel at the mastery of personal insight.

And I'm right on schedule, according to the strategy I developed circa 1995. My adolescent plan for a lifetime free of divorce (with my parents as cautionary tale) called for the failure of a serious relationship in my early 20s. I figured if I did away with romantic naïveté before getting married, and then I'd never leave my husband for greener grass, or because things were hard. Check and check. At 13, it sounded simple enough.

Then there is the glass-half-full analysis, supplied by Molly, which says if you can love somebody, then you can do it again. Let the truth be about potential and growth, not loss or failure.

Better to go with that then obsess over all my asshole behavior. I am exhausted.

There's something in the air in Hollywood

2008-08-06T02:38:00.000-04:00

I think Nicole had a pretty good time.

As did I.

Highlights of bachelorette debauchery:

1. Quizzing Hollywood horsetop cops on the differences between horses and cruisers, arresting the drunk & disorderly v. prostitutes, and the reality of their lives v. The Wire.
2. The guys who approached us at the Mondrian to ask if we'd like to accompany them on their party bus to the "best karaoke bar in Santa Monica." They tried to sweeten the pot by name-dropping LeBeef and insisting there were "many kegs" on board. I 'm almost sad we missed out on The Shia LeBeouf Memorial Bus Tour of 08. Get well soon!
3. Molly recognizing the bad guy from 10 Things I Hate About You (Andrew Keegan). He was short and wearing a manheadband.
4. The love, the laughs, the togetherness. The whole Sisterhood of the Traveling Pants thing.

The Lost Year

2008-08-05T21:03:00.000-04:00

We've passed the one year anniversary here at HiC, which means... clip show!

When we started out we felt a little silly, but then we got comfortable complaining. There was Cambodia story time and kibbutzim. There was more complaining and nostalgia. Then, DENGUE. We got a little judgy, and tried to make the weirdness funny, and succumbed to dramatics. Which infamously led to quitting, followed by planning!

Before the end of Asia, we learned something about evil, and loved Vietnam, and maybe felt some regret. We knew we'd miss Lara and the cats, Bri, Fi, Al, Suz, Luke and dearest Rabia.

Once home, we retreated into The Cave, flirted with career angst, sports (by the way, fuck you Baron) and politics, went off the deep end, and then: radio silence.

Six months and many untold stories later, we checked in and things were not so cheery. In the midst of the brain scramble we were disappointed, and a little pissed. Maybe we overshared, and tried to explain depression without sounding like some sad teenager's livejournal. Magically, thrillingly, life became good again, despite tragedy, and we felt joy. The sad-sackery receded and we looked forward.

So much of the last year has felt like passing through fire, a chemical peel of the soul, if you will. What's the right metaphor for this experience - a test, a rebirth, an excavation? I feel new. Once again, all the clichés are true!

There are so many mistakes I'll never make again. So much I didn't know, but now have proven. Pain and shittiness that is so crushing, once it recedes, feels a weird kind of good. Relief is euphoric, the best feeling, as regret is the worst. I said in Cambodia that I had jumped off a bridge, and maybe I jumped off the wrong one. But of course now I know that failure is freeing, and the leap is not scary.

Keep Tahoe Blue

2008-07-31T00:36:00.000-04:00

This is the blue, blue water of Lake Tahoe, California's greatest vacation destination.

And this is Molly imitating Maisie (RIP), her Springer Spaniel.

Music is my boyfriend

2008-07-30T19:08:00.000-04:00

I have been toying with the idea of doing a little writing exercise/experiment wherein I post in the style of my favorite blogs. I could do a Go Fug Yourself homage, recap a show à la TWoP, or impersonate a pretentious music critic using a Pitchfork thesaurus. Maybe it will be a once in a while thing, just to stretch and for god's sake talk about something other than my own goddamned life. Or! I could experiment with style and tone while talking about my own goddamned life!

I thought I'd start out with a concert review, but there really isn't much to say about the

Coldplay concert. They played against backing tracks. Can anything more be said? I am as big a fan of indie electronica/dance/new new wave whathaveyou as the next hipster-lite but when every performer on stage is waiting for the string solo that is coming out of the speakers to be over before playing their instruments again then I have a problem. If you are going to write sweeping, romantic über-anthems, Mr Gwyneth, then you need to tour with a couple violinists, yea?

That said, when the crowd swelled with the "waaaaooooo oh oh" on "Viva La Vida" I was definitely singing along. Indeed, I sang along with all the songs I knew. And when Chris introduced "The Scientist" with a little self-effacement ("Thanks for coming out to see an aging British pop rock band when there's lots of good TV on and strip clubs to go to. This is what we call, ahem, a ballad.") I could somewhat forgive the use of Liberty Leading the People (projected on an enormous screen) as their backdrop. What does that even mean??

In my fantasy future life in New York I'm going to see live music all the time. I'm getting out of the house every night, at least until Winter gets into full swing. I'm going to trivia nights, and laptop wars-type stuff, and obscure film festivals, and free nights at the museum, and good and weird theatre of all kinds. I'm also going to cook more and join a team (it will not involve frisbee or kickball) and really nest and plug in and have my whole life in one place.

All this happy excitement starts with the household. Wish Xin luck with the apartment-hunting this weekend!

Can I embed?

2008-07-30T19:03:00.000-04:00

Liveblogging the Land of Enchantment

2008-07-23T14:20:00.000-04:00

I'm here in lovely Taos, NM with the fam plus Emma, still catching up on my lost hours of sleep from last week. The mesa silence and world's most comfortable bed help.

We hiked to Williams Lake yesterday. I am sad to report that, despite all the aerobicizing and muscle-building I've been doing lately, the 2 mile uphill climb had me pretty winded. I'm comfortable blaming the altitude, however.

The days ahead promise chile rellenos, Never Have I Ever with 18 year olds, rolling black outs, Rio Grande swims, and bighorn sheep sightings. What I'd really like to do is head North.

Stay tuned for a Coldplay run-down once I get home. I wouldn't say they rocked, but boy does Chris Martin put on the charm. I would even call him winning.

I want to live in a wooden house

2008-07-18T14:24:00.000-04:00

I guess I'm embarrassed to admit this, but I'm also blogging it so I must not actually be embarrassed. I'm going to a Coldplay concert tonight. This makes me somewhere between standard level and advanced level white. I did review Parachutes for the Yale Daily News when it came out, so, you know, I am kind of obligated to see them live to have a fully formed critical perspective. (?) Also, ok, yes, "The Scientist" has been soundtrack to some emotional moments. But really it's just that my Dad has tickets. And I'm chaperoning Caroline. That's it.

The pelican poops anyway

2008-07-16T18:07:00.000-04:00

If you've spent as much time as I have researching on IMDb then you are probably familiar with a certain gem from Elijiah Wood's oeuvre, The Bumblebee Flies Anyway. If you watch any of the lesser Encore or Starz! channels available on Comcast Premium Movies package then you may even have seen it. Maybe, like me, you encountered the mysteriously-titled film while browsing at a non-virtual Blockbuster store (so 2003, am I right?) and you had to know "who are the ad wizards who came up with this one??" The plot summary asks "what if, like the bumblebee, who flies not knowing its wings are too small to allow flight, the impossible might be possible?" Turns out the "impossible" is surviving terminal cancer, which becomes "possible" when Janeane Garofalo does a Clockwork Orange on Elijiah's brain so that he forgets to die. Hilaarious.

I think Molly was present for that moment at Blockbuster, though she may have missed out on an 11am showing on Encore Drama a few years later. Hence, the movie (as well as EJ and his gay hobbit sex appeal, which predates being cast as Frodo) has become a running gag between us.

Last weekend we accidentally drove to Hayward and on our way back over the bridge we noticed a triad of pelicans doing the bird hover, wherein their wing-flapping is equal to the headwind so that they fly in place (brainwave! "Treadmill in the Sky" has just become the first single Obviously Incarcerated will release off their debut LP Objectively Cuter). Molly, in earnest Hollywood copywriter cadence, observed that "the pelican poops, too," an adorable Freudian mash-up of our favorite worst movie title ever and the syntax of Everyone Poops.

Yea yea, this is a total had-to-be-there story but I nearly died of laughter. If I had been driving we would have crashed. I laughed harder than when Mr Longyear made a "back when submarines had screen doors" joke in 9th grade bio. I convulsed for a solid two minutes. It felt so good.

It's good that Molly is coming with me (yes, I know, it's more like I am following her) to New York. Not only is she an endless source of a specific and priceless form of entertainment - best friend inside jokes - but she's pretty essential to my mental stability. Xin, my other future roommate and sure to feature prominently in many upcoming posts, is also good for that. I am looking forward to my future household with unconditional joy.

You know how I'm saying no to nostalgia? (And it's not even nostalgia when you see the person every day.) Sometimes nostalgia is the greatest thing ever. My 14ish years of friendship with Molly means we have a shared history that is long and deep and irreplaceable. I can't know what my stepmother is going through but I am deeply afraid of it. Losing a long-term best friend is a catastrophe. You can't make a new one. It's worse than divorce.

Molly, on the serious, you are not allowed to die.

Wall-E Redux

2008-07-14T03:23:00.000-04:00

Jesus, I need to stop watching this movie. But Molly hadn't seen it and it's worth another 10 dollars and so I was done in again - what with the robot courting and the triumph of community and connectedness and whatnot. So of course it takes me back to what I have been thinking of not thinking about. All this romantic ritual, the falling in love that looks so familiar, is happening to someone else.

I think the hardest part of the end-for-real is letting go of the version of yourself that you loved when you were loved by that person. Because it's like giving up a real part of you, a part you liked. Letting go of believing you were the kind of person who had found their match - who would only truly love once, who was sacred to one person - sucks. It's stupid and insane and young and largely influenced by all your many friends who are marrying their college boyfriends, but still. It's sad when best friends become people who used to know each other. And this is where Elliott Smith takes over, folks, so I better jump tracks.

I read some blog snark today blaming the generation of self-obsessed faux writers clogging up the internets on a certain female overshare-blogger. But that is bullshit. It's the fault of A Heartbreaking Work of Staggering Genius, obvs.

Blog clog. Log.

What kind of day has it been?

2008-07-10T14:44:00.000-04:00

Sometimes it doesn't matter. No matter what the reality, the facts on the ground so to speak, mood is still like surfing a wave. It takes its own shape. I've been trying to find a pattern, but I think there is none.

My Buddhist former boss told me the three essences of being - physical, emotional and mental - balance and influence each other in equal measure. Exercising makes your heart lighter, thinking positive speeds healing, feeling content aids in decision-making, etc. It's the theory behind meditation and probably some kinds of yoga, too. It's almost scary how much it's true. In Cambodia I'd come home from work feeling hot and awkward and lonely and I'd listen to music on my little speakers and not even remember feeling bad 20 minutes later. Even if I was listening to sadbastard music! Thinking about sucking it up, rationalizing the pros and cons of my situation, even trying to think happy thoughts wouldn't improve my mood. But distracting my brain through my ears turned my frown upside down. I'd still be alone and hot, but I wouldn't feel bothered. Of course, there's always a danger of the inverse, which is why Sigur Ros should come with a warning label.

Working around whatever is bugging you by targeting another "essence" is a good strategy, but it's also so frustrating! Why isn't happiness just a little more rational, or based on actual events? Why can't I convince myself to get in a better mood? Why can't the runner's high (from running, or sometimes from social activity) extend to buffer your mood for the day? Why doesn't talking to a friend work? I want to do good things and feel good, feel better when things are better and only feel worse when something goes wrong. That my mood is often beholden to caprice makes me feel crazy, or like a child.

I'm thinking about this now because a few months ago I was at home, without a real job, without much figured out, without much of a social network and feeling bent out of shape about it. Now I'm still at home, unemployed and 3000 miles from most of my friends, but I just don't worry as much. It could be because I'm moving to New York or just, uh, maturing generally, but Big Life Things - dream job, love, future goals - are still unknown and unsatisfied. And I'm OK with that? Weird.

City mouse, country mouse

2008-07-08T17:44:00.000-04:00

Is that the story where one of them drowns in a bucket of cream and the other makes butter and escapes, or something? Or is that a different mouse parable altogether? Whatever it is, it's also the beta title for the blog I'm convincing Agronomist Paige (of the Ecuador trip, not to be confused with Aljazeera Paige of the Bangkok trip) to write with me.

Paige is an agronomist, which is like being a farmer except it's so much more. Also, it translates into Spanish better so the Ecuadorians we met could understand that Paige is into growing food, and not actually a peasant. She grows healthy food of the plant and animal variety in upstate New York and I especially recommend the carrots. Paige is one of the few young people I know to have some shit really figured out, like what she loves and what she is good at. She didn't learn it in a classroom or have it handed down to her by her parents. She followed her interests, tried things, and found a calling. Wow, do I envy that. So she is the country mouse.

I'm about to move to New York City. I have no job (yet!) and there's no particular opportunity or dream I'm chasing. I've always had a deep ambivalence about New York. I reject the idea that "The City" is the only city worth living in, or that it's somehow the A-Team American city (except for weather! they will never claim superior weather!). But I'm also drawn to the energy, the constant activity and the prospect of running into Conan O'Brien. I used to have a fair amount of trepidation about the A-Team aspect - would I just feel not cool enough all the time? Would my suburban roots belie my hipster affectations? Of course! But I don't care anymore. Everyone will be cooler, prettier and more interesting than me. Except actually I am more interesting. Fuck it. So I'm the city mouse.

What do we have to learn from each other? I plan to join Zip-Car, drive to Essex, NY and find out, hopefully in time for the Harvest. Which is in October-ish? Earlier? When do the lambs get slaughtered? I'll just come before then.

No one should ever question my patriotism

2008-07-07T14:41:00.000-04:00

Fourth of July, Santa Cruz, CA with best boarding school buds Amanda and Beth Ann. Thanks to Katie Simpkins for art direction and photography.

For God's sake, let us sit upon the ground and tell sad stories

2008-07-04T17:40:00.000-04:00

A few weeks ago my stepmother's best friend was killed in a car accident - a freak injury sustained when a Kia ran a red and broadsided her sturdy, German-built station wagon on a bright afternoon - the kind of accident that seems crazy, that makes a joke of the precautions we take to make ourselves safe. Out of nowhere. Dumb luck.

I was scared to get in my car for a few days, and sad for my stepmom, and, predictably, morbidly meditative.

We can comfort ourselves knowing she lived well, made a difference in people's lives, was loved, and went quickly without pain. This kind of death teaches us to cherish each day, settle old arguments, be kind. Everyone's time comes and everyone will lose loved ones. But there is no absolute value as to the how of life or death; all deaths are not equal. So how are they relative?

If we trust Six Feet Under, then "death exists to give life meaning." That's too much a platitude to feel true. What about murder victims? What about friendly fire? What about 7-year-olds with leukemia? What's the difference between a car accident, cancer, and dying of starvation in a prison cell or refugee camp? What if there's no lesson in death? What if there is no one around to appreciate life more deeply now that someone has died?

I worry sometimes that grieving is just a process by which we convince ourselves of life's meaning, despite there being no evidence as such, so that we don't go to each day in fear of our own oblivion. I worry that every adjustment we make to tolerate pain is just a way of acquiring ignorance, to position new blinders to block realities we are too weak to accept. If whatever doesn't kill you doesn't make you stronger, when there are no lessons, then suffering is meaningless, too. And, if that's all true, can you conceive of mortality in a way that is both comforting and authentic?

I am so full of shit.

One is the loneliest robot

2008-06-30T23:14:00.000-04:00

Joining my voice to the chorus: WALL-E is awesome. It's incredibly beautiful, poignant, important, and satisfying. The end credits alone are worth the price of admission (even worth watching it in a room full of restless children). The animation, the nuance and expression imbued in dialogue-free sequences of robot love, yes it's all you have read and more. And it frickin' killed me.

Earlier in the weekend I made a tour of iconic Bay Area subcultures, flitting from Berkeley hippie party to Dyke March Dolores Park madness to Karaoke Revolution with software engineers. What did I learn? Vegan mint cupcakes taste like toothpaste, Arab lesbians rule SF, and "Fame" is really hard to sing. Also, avoid special cookies in Dolores Park.

After all that exhausting activity, I made it home to start a re-read of Harry Potter 7. It's been a little less than a year since my first read, but I have found Harry to be therapeutic in the past and it beats Degrassi marathons on The N. Oh, who am I kidding? Nothing beats Degrassi marathons! Programming executives at The N who have chosen to make episodes of Degrassi: The Next Generation 40% of all content shown on the channel, thank you. I will never be sated. Teen melodrama will never get old.

And then, this afternoon, despite all the friendliness of the weekend, I told my therapist why WALL-E made me so sad.

"So, you feel like you are the lonely robot," she shrinktalked (which is not quite asking, not quite stating). I nodded, tearing up remembering WALL-E's little robot pincers miming human hand-holding.

Pause. "And we need to stop for today."

"But you should really see the movie," I told her as I shuffled off the couch, "it's really good."

It's all the same oatbag

2008-06-27T04:23:00.000-04:00

Here in this "space" I like to call my "blog" there are a couple built-in assumptions. First, here I am the center of the universe (the corollary therefore is it's all about ME and it's not about YOU), and, b) I aim to entertain, in some small way, all of humanity. That means I am occasionally guilty of generalizations for dramatic effect. As always, it's a dish best served with salt.

It's all over now, Susie Q.

2008-06-25T14:37:00.001-04:00

This should be surprising to no one, since I have always counseled my friends to maintain periods of distance from exes before trying to be friends, but man, did this one blow up in my face. I tried to do it all the right way, did my best to keep anything awkward or hurtful out of conversation, to preserve the deep friendship at the root of the relationship, but there is no right way.

When the break-up happened, it seemed like there were almost as many reasons for us to stay friends as there were to break up. It was so mutual, so heartfelt. And we stayed friends, close friends, friends that weren't really friends for a while, but then friends that were friends. Friends who knew each other better than most, who cared more than most. That's just as much a dangerous situation. Because you think you're in on a secret, a testament to your shared past, and you think you're looking out for each other just a little bit more than the average person. And that means when the trust - the expectation of that mutual consideration - is let down, it's the most crushing disappointment.

When this kind of friend treats you poorly, it's like losing ten best friends at once. You're disbelieving yet painfully aware of the truth. It's like watching a car accident in slow motion, knowing there will be no survivors.

Suddenly every idea you had about love, the kind that lasts beyond romance, is so naïve. Suddenly there is nothing to show for your 5 years of caring about someone else. You're speechless. The lasting warm feelings about "love justly wagered and lost," of knowing you'll always be there for each other, are replaced with bitterness, with the shock that you don't know him at all, that your situation is not special, that you're walking away with nothing.

Great, now I get to be Fiona Apple!

2008-06-24T02:10:00.000-04:00

Boys, you guys. Boys are the WORST. What is with that? If it's not leaving the seat up, or crumbs everywhere, or smelly feet, or, you know, intentional cruelty, then it's just plain thickheadedness and lack-of-clue-itude. They're worthless. I wish sexual orientation were a choice.

So what do we do about boys? Tear our hair out, cry in the shower, listen to music of the dejected/embittered female singer-songwriter genre? Those are the obvious choices. What do we do when they're small, petty, or mean-spirited? What do we do when they disappoint us?

Taking suggestions:

This is outrageous, this is contagious

2008-06-23T18:16:00.001-04:00

Lifestyles of the unemployed include:

ER reruns (currently on season 4), mornings on TNT
Coffee
Skimming the pool
Email networking
The Jeannie Tate Show
Talking to myself while I drive
Debating the likelihood of dying alone
Walking

Most of the above items are enjoyed in solitude, except when Molly is there.

I throw my arms out in exultation

2008-06-19T21:24:00.000-04:00

I've been told (by my sole Gentle Reader) that the picture in the Tuesday post looks like a stock image and that it's not clear that it's actually me in the photo. So, yes, that's me. And that's a stork's nest, which makes the overall effect a bit Willow, if you know what I'm saying.

This is also me (standing).

Sissy!

Who could fear dying alone with this one around?

There are two kinds of people in this world

2008-06-17T20:04:00.000-04:00

The kind that drown in nostalgia and the kind that don't. The ones who bump over potholes big and small, and the ones who drive wholly off-road, on switchbacks, in an old Jeep Wrangler with no brakes. The neutrons, tucked in with the protons, all stable and shit in the center of the atom, and the electrons, negative charges swinging around, jumping off, never still.

Jeez, me and the metaphors...

Pete says no to nostalgia. I'm trying.

That is all.

What it's like

2008-06-15T23:06:00.001-04:00

Wow, I sound optimistic there below. I was going places! Now I've lost the map. This feels like a Jeff Buckley song, tragic, absurdist even. Job-like, Sisyphusian? Maybe I'm overselling it. I don't know what happened and I don't know where to start.

Seriously, what the fuck?

Where did the time go? A year ago I moved out of my apartment, left my job and friends behind, in pursuit of adventure. It didn't work out. OK, I'll forgive myself that one. But the months since I came home long ago started to bleed together into a mass of time I can barely distinguish. There was Ecuador in there. There was NAMM. There were the Build kids, that's something. I think I remember feeling good about things. But what were those things? What were those feelings? It's all alien.

Where is the joy? That's the question I keep coming back to. It must be in the future, because "you can't go back to somewhere that doesn't exist anymore." All the most tired clichés - they're true!

There's no distraction, not even for a moment. It's the weight on your shoulders every night you fall asleep and every morning as soon as you wake up. It's 100,000 tiny meathooks pulling you apart. It's a flint sparking in your gut that means you never want to eat (so, thanks for that). It's like in The Abyss when the bad guy in the mini-sub that slips off the ledge is crushed, imploded by ocean pressure. It's a million bad metaphors. It's an endless stream of suddenly, terribly meaningful song lyrics. It's shitty.

What's it all about?

2008-06-01T17:02:00.000-04:00

Now is the time on HiC when we unpack and reflect, 6 months later. It's time for a new mission statement, a new plan. This thing (me) is going somewhere. If I were 14 I'd probably feel the need to change my hair color. Hm, except I did that at age 24 too, so I'm still a teenager inside.

You all remember the angst of deciding to come home from Cambodia, followed by the euphoria of nest re-entrance. It was a trying time, one I passed through in a daze, so only now do I recognize the tryingness of it. Tryingness is not a word - maybe confusion works as well.

I often say (complain) that my life has "gotten smaller." I feel overwhelmed with evidence that I don't know as many people as I used to, I make fewer plans, move around in smaller and smaller circles of habit, and explore less. I feel lame. This has been a recurring theme since I moved home, which, HELLO, makes a ton of sense. This shrinking is in direct opposition to the standing atop a waterfall, endless potential before me feeling I had at 18, at 21. That has been elusive for years.

I am going to reverse this trend, recapture the accelerating expansion sensation, jump.

Clear Eyes, Full Hearts, CAN'T LOSE!

2007-12-18T16:13:00.000-05:00

Mom loves Friday Night Lights! I knew it would happen, just as I knew Caroline's pick of the man candy on the show would be bashful second string QB Saracen. They think Lyla's annoying and Jason's heartbreaking and they don't yet understand that Riggins is sex on legs (but they will) and they understand the Awesomeness of Tami. I hope you all will, too. Friday Night Lights is the cheapest season of television DVD box set out there (less than $20 at Target) and makes a great gift to any fan of quality TV, sports, beautiful people, Texas, excellence in all things. DO IT!

Why I don't blog more

2007-12-17T18:02:00.000-05:00

It's because of gchat and because my stream of consciousness ramblings/attempts at witty commentary go directly to Molly and then I never "flesh them out" into "blog posts."
Example:
me: i wish you were coming (to NAMM)

i wish there were a sad monkey face

Molly: why aren't there anymore?

Sent at 2:44 PM on Monday

me: well there is monkey face

but i want monkey face +lone tear
Sent at 2:47 PM on Monday

me: awesome air remix

Sent at 2:50 PM on Monday

me: whoa! why does andrew bird look exactly like Steve Cooney?

Sent at 2:53 PM on Monday

me: wow, zach condon looks 15

its not that he looks ugly, he just looks like a 120 lb 15 yr old

Sent at 2:56 PM on Monday

me: there is too much

too many blogs to read

tooo manY!

Sent at 2:58 PM on Monday

me: i think i like les savy fav

Uncut and virtually unedited. Note the lack of response in between my chats to Molly, and that not quite enough time has passed for me to be accomplishing tasks in between chats.
I just published a gchat on the internet. Clearly I am suffering from an overload of information, and an underload of intellect.

What's new, pussycat?

2007-12-12T02:21:00.000-05:00

1. I work part-time for my dad. Come check out the Receptor at the Muse booth at NAMM in Anaheim, CA January 17-20, 2008.

2. I tutor in English and college essays at Build a few evenings a week. It keeps me sane. No one ever got depressed helping other people. It's true.

3. In theory, I am one of three captains of the Atherton team of Obama for America. This is exciting, and also frightening because I don't usually get involved in these things. The last time I got personally involved in an election I lost (damn you Florida!) and had to do a dip (chewing tobacco) and that is SICK. By the way, I say "in theory" because I missed the first meeting and we're not starting at the phone banking until after the holidays. So what did I do for Barack today? I mentioned him in my blog.

4. I have been receiving visitors: Kristin, David, and soon Rasha and then Azalea (shout out!). It's been really nice, and reminds me I may one day emerge from my cave into my peer group again.

5. I'm going to Ecuador! Ticket confirmed today. Jan 22-Feb 6. I guess most people go to Ecuador to tour the Galapagos but that is not on the itinerary. What is? Villages, mountain scenery, some form of local brew, photography, blogography, classic Shakira perhaps.

Oh, just calm the frack down

2007-12-05T15:15:00.000-05:00

HiC, despite widespread perception, is, in fact, still online. And I have one particularly loyal reader who has emailed me a few times to complain about the lack of daily updates, grammar and syntax errors, not enough Obama-love, etc. I thought I would need to build a bigger readership before the backlash began! But so it is. This is an open letter to my critics(no s): you must chill!

What is it you are looking for here, Reader? My thoughts on Puffins v. Honey Bunches of Oats for breakfast? A transcript of my notes on Caroline's college essays (fewer adverbs=better)? An analysis of my White Liberal Guilt-derived weirdness over tutoring ESL students at Build? Links to funny videos? How about reviews of the best ANTM, Project Runway, and Tila Tequila marathons (starving bitches, hilarious gays and batshit insane "lesbians" - the best of unscripted TV!). Or, uh, Razor...

My life is small right now. I'm more than fine with that. But it doesn't make for compelling reading.

Really, my daily life is a combination of "soccer mom" routine and child-like recidivism. I drive around (in a wagon, no less) to do errands like shuttling my sister and picking up the dry cleaning. I work in the mornings, nap around 4pm and then am fed dinner by my parents. It is AWESOME. This past week we've been Christmas-decorating, gingerbread house-making, and I've launched phase 2 of my campaign for a puppy. Phase 3 is when I present my stepdad with a lightly sedated pup in a box on Christmas morning! Shh!

My commitment to you, Reader: near-future posts will concern Grassroots Obama for America gossip (registered Democrats in Atherton, prepare for my call!), further career angst navel-gazing, stories from Claremont, LA, Taos, updates on the train of visitors from Yale, DC, NYC, et ceterata, celery soup.

Hey guys, remember when I lived in Asia? Me neither!

5 and 6, or a digression on my other boyfriend, BD

2007-11-29T13:39:00.000-05:00

5. I think I might legitimately put my mom on this list, because, as much as she might feel overworked and frustrated, she is really good at her job and people love her. Her art docent trainees freak out worship her. She is like the mascot over at Art in Action. Or a cult-leader for subversive-hip suburban moms. I don't actually want her career, but I admire how after 15 years of volunteering and hanging out with us kids "in the home" she turned her skill set, interests, and educational background into a real job. All of my parentals have cool and admirable professional things going on. I don't think they get fan mail like my mom does, though.

6. I was going to put Tina Landon, choreographer to Janet, etc, on this list until I realized she was involved with White Chicks, the worst movie I have ever watched for 20 minutes on an airplane in my life. Instead, I'll say "people who play with puppies" and segue immediately into talking about Baron Davis, who is a Warrior and rocks the beard right into my heart (see above). He's there to play basketball, works for Don Nelson, my own personal Coach Taylor, and he lights up the court (with his smile, hee).

You can catch me 3 rows up from center court in a "We Believe" tee-shirt tonight in Oakland, trashtalking Yao Ming in Chinese.
Golden State!

PS This list of career heroes has long since passed from the realm of reality so consider it a beta and I'll release a more thoughtful version once feedback has been examined.

PPS How do you scream "brick" in Mandarin?

Assignment: The 6 People Whose Careers I Want

2007-11-27T16:02:00.000-05:00

1. Mindy Kaling - she writes/acts for The Office (well, not lately, aaaaaargh). She's hilarious and brilliant and Indian-American. I wish I was her. Even though she went to Dartmouth.

2. Wing Chun, aka Tara Ariano, of TelevisionWithoutPity.com (and Toronto). She hated Dawson's Creek so much she had to blog about it. This summer she sold her site to Bravo and that means she is pretty successful. On that note I add the Fug Girls, who are hilarious bitches to be sure, and independently owned and operated, for whatever that's worth.

3. William Langewiesche, previously of The Atlantic (ew, I know), now of Vanity Fair (don't you "ew" me, punk!). Gorgeous stylist, profound, intuitive feeler, and my favorite living writer.

4. I am supposed to put Paul Farmer on this list. But I'm too cynical to think any do-gooder with national recognition could possibly be worth the worship they get. It's like a karmic thing. There is too much love going in one direction, so I must staunch the tide with my own indifference. I have known a lot of great and worthy people battling poverty and injustice in the world. But it is not my dream career path, so not even Mr Famous Friend of Bono can inspire me.

5 and 6 are going to require a lot more digging...

Low-tech living in a high-tech world

2007-11-27T15:36:00.000-05:00

So, I don't have a cell phone. Correction, I have a cell phone and it has all my numbers in it and sometimes I carry it around to give my purse the right weight, but I do not have a plan, or a number, or a way of being reached in real time beyond the evening hours (PST) on my mother's sturdy landline. Dial it up. It's not scary.

I seem to be the only one not inconvenienced by me not having a cell phone. It troubles nearly everyone in my life, but, given that I seldom socialize outside the home and don't drive much outside the Menlo Park-Atherton region, I feel I am appropriately reachable. Mostly I like the convenience of not paying $50 a month for a phone contract. Yes, fine! I am very cheap! I am minimally employed! Just pretend it's 1997 and call me at home outside the dinner hour!

PS. There is a lot of dialogue en espanol (by the way, spell check wants to turn that into "bespangles") happening at the Music Annex today. I think Los Tigres may be in the casa!

PPS Pensando en espanol, I am contemplating a visit to Ecuador in early 08 with one Ms Paige Atkinson. Question: is it worth flying through Bogotá to avoid Miami International to make this possible?

Ready to be heartbroken

2007-11-15T13:50:00.000-05:00

Obamania was "fired up" last night, just as promised. The man is more handsome in person and, despite a sometimes awkward mix of law school professor and Baptist preacher in his on-stage presence, got the crowd going into a dither of excitement. I found myself screaming wildly when he promised to make health insurance accessible and affordable to all Americans, and when he reminded us: "George W. Bush will not be on the ballot in 2008, neither will my cousin, Dick Cheney. Everyone's got a black sheep in the family." He's funny!

Hence the title of this post. I'm probably too cynical to become a true believer like my stepdad Rick, who is attending rallies and writing letters for the first time in his 35 years as a voter. But I think an Obama Presidency would be the sea change to save my generation and also possibly the only way to avert the Apocalypse. So if I believed in belief I would believe in the Obama Campaign. And because, despite my stated non-belief, my heart beats for Barack's potential, and I mean that in a totally non-sexual way.

Plans with (one of) my boyfriend(s)

2007-11-12T17:48:00.000-05:00

Catherine --

I'm coming to see you.

I wanted to make sure you've heard that I'll be at the Bill Graham Civic Auditorium this Wednesday, November 14.

You can get tickets here:

https://donate.barackobama.com/sanfran

I love San Francisco, and I can't wait to come back. It'll be a good time.

Hope to see you there,

Barack

Return to Witch Mountain

2007-11-12T15:46:00.000-05:00

I am currently freezing to death in my new job - as a part-time doer of things for my Dad at Muse Research. Located in lovely East Menlo Park at historic Music Annex Studios (Los Tigres! George Winston!), Muse combines the best of my childhood with the tech boom - casual, crumbly, techy, lacking decent heating. Ok, it's sort of hard to explain how my childhood is involved, but my dad is at a computer in the next room, and that sure feels familiar. Of all the things I have called bosses in the past - hosebeast, guru, Belgian - Dad is the weirdest. Also weird is this new concept of "revenue-generation," not to mention "ad sales." Oh, the world of making money instead of less poor people - how quaint. The atmosphere is not all that different, actually, since Muse is small and creative and staffed by subculturalists. In this case the subculture is keyboardists and sound engineers, instead of public health enthusiasts and RPCVs.

Since I have been home there has been:
an earthquake
an oil spill
a WGA strike, threatening that which we hold most dear, television.

Clearly my movements impact the universe.

And I'm link-happy because the Internet is robust and free (thanks, parentals) everywhere, lalalalala!

Home! Where my thoughts escape me

2007-11-02T13:07:00.000-04:00

I have made it home to Atherton, CA, where I've been splitting time between my parent's houses (less than a mile apart) like a 15 year old. I say like a 15 year old because I can drive, but I don't have a car. It's not too bad, actually, and is made better by the total freedom I have to wear pyjamas all day and nap at will. One of my two checked bags is still on a multi-airport tour of Asia, or rather is getting to know the SFO baggage holding area quite well, while United gets to know how pissed off I am about being separated from everything I bought in Asia, for no reason other than their own inability to put my bag on a truck and deliver it to me.

Loads of pictures are now up on facebook, if that's your kind of thing. Check it out. Here is a taster:
Yea, that is my arm a few days after the sadist at SOS used a needle as a shovel in an attempt to draw blood. I bet that was the pic you were waiting for! The bruising was worse before.

Great things about home: revisiting academia by helping Caroline write papers, ministering to Molly's broken foot, INTERNET! and Goldfish 'til I'm sick.

PS. Gossip Girl really is entertaining, all y'all who knew it would be my new favorite show. At least it will hold me til the new Battlestar miniseries in January. TV has not disappointed!

Changi is my new favorite word

2007-10-28T11:21:00.000-04:00

Here I am blogging at a public (free!) internet terminal in the Singapore Changi Airport Transit Hall. How very weirdly-cheery-final-scene-of-"The Beach." I might next take in a movie or exciting cable TV on one of the lounges' LCD projection screens or find some Asian kids to play XBox with, also advertised as free and open 24 hours in my handy airport guide. Well, the kids might not be free, given as it's after 11pm. My next flight is at 7am and I've already passed my first layover of the multi-airport tour of Asia in Bangkok.

Leaving Cambodia from Siem Reap this afternoon was a little weird, and not without some heartstring-tugging regret. Even though it has been a week since I left Phnom Penh and my "life" there it was still sad to bid my final "sua s'dey!" to the goofball riverside moppets and my final "aw kuhn" to the customs officials at the departure gate. I've gotten used to some things, and been privileged with some special experiences that I won't get in the States. I have more debriefing to do and a backlog of travel stories to post so never fear, dear HiC readers, I'll keep filling in the blanks from my mother's kitchen table in Atherton.

For more details on my Thailand trip, as well as the somewhat more drunken companion piece to "Liveblogging Koh Samet" please click "Paige in Doha" at the top of my links list.

I might come back later and sleepblog and/or loveblog once I've lorazepamed, depending on my serotonin levels.

Liveblogging Koh Samet

2007-10-22T10:52:00.000-04:00

On an island in the Gulf of Thailand with Paige.

After some excellent shopping, sightseeing and non-sensual massage in Bangkok we are now doing the margaritas on the beach thing at Thai springbreak headquarters, Koh Samet.

Paige lives in Doha and we both are from Atherton, CA, went to boarding school and Yale, studied in Morocco, etc. So conversation is peppered with "yaani, mish muhtaram," "no no, I mean the Vietnamese place on University," and "dude, Josh Drimmer was the naked guy on a cell phone in the West Village!" We are also both experiencing an onslaught of culture after the drought of living in the Gulf and Phnom Penh, respectively. Paige thrills at seeing alcohol freely available and I rhapsodize over the joy of locally sourced products, functioning infrastructure, sharing leisure activities with locals, etc. It's a good time. Except for when we saw The Kingdom at the movie theatre. Peter Berg, I love you for Friday Night Lights and bringing more Kyle Chandler into my life but I don't need to see Jennifer Garner stifle her weepiness beneath the steely resolve of a government counter-terrorism agent. It's been done.

Right now the fire-throwing show on the beach has wrapped up and we're searching for another watering hole before trekking home to our bungalow up the jungly slope.

Also, I found a purple leather bag!

Debriefing

2007-10-19T02:57:00.000-04:00

Top 5 Work Moments:

5. "Date night"my first week on the job in Sihanoukville. The "show" was young men pummeling each other during 5 hours of kickboxing (interspersed with 'hey! don't torture monkeys!' public messaging). The dinner was candlelit, beachside, pepper fried prawns for 4: my boss, her boyfriend and Swifty (my age, male coworker) and me. My boss is the one who made the double-date joke. Just the first of many instances of borderline (and often prosecutable) sexual harrassment in the workplace.

4. After reviewing tons of resumes, interviews, and reference checks I make the call on which candidates are hired for 3 key managerial positions. Lump the two or three other moments when I accomplished actual work and contributed in some way in with this one.

3. Sharing the big room with Sathy and Saven and occasionally Samal, especially when they trashtalk each other about their upcoming snooker games: "So far I have fattened him like a chicken and tonight I will make the slaughter" - Samal re: Sathy.

2. Spending the day with Nick and Cheata at Phnom Tamao Wildlife Rescue Center, meeting the lady elephants and Baby Chhou, meaningful eye contact with Mr Macaque, etc.

1. My sojourn at CADP, a.k.a. religious experiences on a farm. Motorcycle lessons and being pseudo-courted by 2 20 year old Israeli youths among the careful tracts of cucumbers and ground nuts.

Top 5 Cambodia Slices of Life:

5. The ferry at Sre Ambel, i.e. canoes tied together, covered in planks, powered by a couple outboards, loaded with trucks and people, puttering across the river next to the bridge that is 99% constructed but not in service unless your car has Armed Forces "special" plates.

4. The time Kimhour, our nightguard, had his brothers and friends over for a fishhead soup and rice wine party in the front of our house. 8 men drunk in under 10 minutes. Fi brought out fruit and I held off the Dengue another day to toast with them.

3. Wandering Sorya Mall - where you can rollerskate on the top floor, eat Swensen's ice cream on the ground floor and nowhere buy branded goods that aren't fake.

2. Walking the three blocks home from work to the big house, past the open field of drug use to the little lane that leads to my street, where the construction worker families live. Literally being greeted by joyful children yelling hello! every day.

1. Mixing with the local scene at the Red Cow beer garden (appropriating the Laughing Cow cheese label), where the uniformed representatives of Tiger, Anchor and Angkor serve their brews on ice, accompanying the spicy eel, chicken larb and sweet and sour fish. Mmm.

Oh wait

2007-10-19T02:46:00.000-04:00

This is fun. I have friends. This is an interesting opportunity. Work is not so bad when I actually have things to do. Exactly 3 months in and the corner is finally turned. How much of my current good mood is because I'm going home and how much is truly a settled in good-feeling from life in Phnom Penh is impossible to know. I'm leaving, though, and that won't be changing. I guess I am leaving on a high note, still looking forward to my next attempt, glad I was here. Truly glad I came and a little wistful at leaving.

Too long a time to be a blip, too short to be a stint.

More adventures with Uncle Ho

2007-10-18T00:36:00.000-04:00

We got our pho fix on Thursday, though my 100% veggie travel buddies were not thrilled when I suggested all pho in Asia is made with beef stock. Duh. Friday night we took our new layered Asian hipster haricuts to the upscale downtown area, Dong Khoi. We ate tasty fusion cuisine (you know, like wasabi mashed potatoes and mango margaritas), and found ourselves digesting and sipping our first 6 dollar drinks (no guff!) at the swank gay club down the street. Like any straight, underdressed gal in boyztown I could only justify my presence by dancing up a storm. To my great joy they played the dance version of Yes' "Owner of a Lonely Heart."
We shut the bar down there and headed to the famous/infamous HCMC nightclub Apocalypse Now. Did you really think there wasn't a cheesy backpacker/local/expat dancefloor makeout club in S. Vietnam called Apocalypse Now? You're so naive! It was all silly and fun until the inexplicably popular "I Will Survive" with all the lo-los and the line dancing at the end came on. I'm sorry, it's not seven years ago in Ibiza and I cannot take that shit anymore and it was bedtime.

In addition to the glories of orderliness, world-class cuisine, and expat/local mixing, Ho Chi Minh City has some fascinating touristy places on offer. I considered my responsibility as an American to go to the War Crimes Museum (to be honest, Vietnam's major beef continues to be with the Chinese; French and American atrocities are less resented, I guess because the West was eventually whupped.). I think my companions were less keen for more atrocity tourism, however, so we opted for the Museum of Ho Chi Minh City instead. Pictures will be posted as soon as I am able- of everything from a terrifying, poorly taxidermied tiger corpse, to a GI Joe-sized mock-up of the tunnels of Cu Chi, to a 2' model of the American Embassy in 1975 (nothing's going on in the replica, it's just the building...?) to the MiG parked in the front garden. Not to mention all the 80% scaled size mannequin protesters everywhere.

Just walking around was refreshing, despite the heat. Saigon has public parks and sidewalks (both lacking in PP) and a coconut vendor is never far if you get low on electrolytes. While enjoying crepes chocolats and veggie spring rolls one afternoon we were talked into some purchases from a book vendor (5 foot tall woman + 5 foot tall stack of illegally printed Lonely Planets and Life of Pi's on her shoulder). So now, naturally, I'm reading The Quiet American for the first time. I figure Graham Greene doesn't need my royalty dollars cause he's dead.

The reason I'm so bursting with happiness after the Vietnam trip is I finally felt like I was having an adventure. I was reaffirmed in my love of travel and my ability to be flexible and enjoy new things. I felt immediately like I could have a life in Saigon, like I could find a segment of the local scene to fit into. The brief smile I shared with a Vietnamese woman when I was almost killed by an onslaught of motorbikes as I crossed the road felt like a more significant cross-cultrual connection than I have experienced in 3 months in Phnom Penh. It's truly a bummer- the weird halfway between familiar and foreign, comfortable and uncomfortable that is life as an expat in PP - and I think it's unique to this city.

Speaking of the contrast between the comfortable and the hugely awkward, tonight I am being feted by my boss for working at WildAid for 3 months and quitting. I think she's still really excited that I figured out she almost screwed up her tax return. I don't think I deserve a party but cases of beer have been ordered and a Khmer party is happening on the far side of the river. I suppose I'll be asked to give a speech.

Coming soon - Best/Worst of, Top 5s, Highs/Lows and further debriefing.

Saigon is the answer

2007-10-16T06:13:00.000-04:00

Sometime in the pm on Monday my roommate Briony and I decided to go to Ho Chi Minh City, Vietnam instead of the Cambodian beach town Sihanoukville. Miraculously, visas were arranged in under an hour the next morning (the last day before a 3 day public holiday, Pchum Benh) and good ol Bri secured us bus tickets for Thursday morning by greasing a few palms. The rest of Phnom Penh had already bought up every other ticket out of town. And let me tell you why... it's because Vietnam is awesome!

Even though we stayed in a backpacker ghetto and I was mysteriously parted from my $100 bill at our hotel I had the best weekend ever. Everything was exciting, wonderful, and beautiful. And HCMC is meant to be the uglier, noisier sister to Hanoi. If that's true then Hanoi is a dreamland of flowers and sausages and I will die of joy if I go there. From our PP-skewered perspectives HCMC was glamourous, cosmopolitan, clean, organized, orderly, accessible, full of things to do and tasty, varied food. We were country bumpkins all weekend, awed by the modernity and functionality around us.

First stop: Diamond Plaza - a department store whose cosmetics and accessories ground floor is indistinguishable from any Nordstrom or Bloomingdale's in the States. On the top floor, after getting soaked in a particularly nasty rainstorm (the rainstorms in this part of the world are usually short bursts of torrential downpour that lighten up after a half hour or so. On Thursday it was Hollywood rain for hours and we had to wade through knee deep water in the streets to get to a restaurant, then into a cab to Diamond. Yes, a metered taxi!) we took in a film in a real movie theatre! The film we treated ourselves to? Hell yea we paid to see Evan Almighty! It was so cold in there I had to buy golf socks in the men's shoe department!

More tomorrow!

The past week

2007-10-08T00:42:00.000-04:00

The internet connection, along with the barking dogs, the recurrent funeral next door, the heat and the many noises interrupting my sleep, has been making me a little crazy. It's also prevented me from posting about my adventures, and oh they have been multitudinous.

I've been running errands - like buying plane tickets and finally hemming the jeans I've owned for 10 months. I started Christmas shopping and I went to the monthly Euro rave at Elsewhere - where every white expat and fancy gay Khmer dude in Phnom Penh comes to get naked in the pool or lounge and lecherize. The house music leaned more toward Pink Floyd dance remix than spoken word drum and bass, thank god. At least there was no cover.

Mom's birthday was Friday and she was so excited about it she called me when it was still Thursday in California (to remind me?). Living in the future is so cool.

Also on Friday I got my first "Chinese" massage. It involved some violent pummeling, some forced stretching of my limbs over my head, and me in old man pyjamas the whole time. My massage therapist was I think Chinese or perhaps Vietnamese . Her ringtone was a popsong in an Eastern Asian language. While Master Kang's Health Center certainly caters to a certain Asian businessman elite and I'm sure a happy ending could have been requested, the facilities seemed fancy enough that hopefully my masseuse was not a victim of trafficking or exploitation. I gave her a 10% tip which amounted to one dollar.

I planned my trip to Bangkok with one Ms. Paige Austin and my trip to Siem Reap with my periodically enraging father. Now there also may be a plan afoot to see a circus in Vietnam instead of going to the beach on Wednesday? I'm getting out of this city within 48 hours or I'm acquiring a dependancy on painkillers and Cornettos and that's not healthy.

It is inappropriate to ROFL

2007-10-01T04:04:00.001-04:00

Rabia and I went to the Killing Fields (Choeung Ek Genocide Center) on Saturday morning. The site is about 13km from Phnom Penh in the midst of farms, open green space, and factories. There is a tall glass and concrete stupa and a small information pavilion and the rest is open pits, pieces of people, and painted signs pointing out which tree was used for beating children's skulls in and which was used to slice open people's throats. I didn't realize the experience of thirty-year old murder would be so immediate. The stupa has nine stories of skulls from the 9000 odd people who have been exhumed from the mass graves since the early 80s but many thousands of bodies were left in the graves and bones are still visible all around you, sticking out of the mud, collected in a pile near a tree. Not buried, not behind glass or barricades of any kind. Even weirder is the half buried clothing that's everywhere. You don't know if it's just the sleeve of a shirt, or the shirtsleeve plus the ulna, if it leads to another skull just under the dirt.

Our guide, Sol, expertly rattled off the highlights: here is the steel bar used to bind people into a line so they could wait to be bludgeoned one by one; here is a skull with a machete fracture; here is where all the naked women's bodies were found together with their young children; this is where the loudspeaker was hung so the screams of the victims could be drowned out by louder noises.

Though we were too shy to ask him about his own experience from the Khmer Rouge period, we gleaned some of the local perspective on the genocide from Sol's comments. He expressed bewilderment that such a thing could happen, that a people would kill themselves instead of an outside enemy in a "normal" war. It sounded as though he felt shame that this regime could come to power in Cambodia and frequently explained why people did not think to escape or fight back. I asked if people in Cambodia studied genocides in other countries as part of their history classes and he seemed vague on the relevance. It was as though the Nazi genocide campaign could be explained because it was against an "other," while Cambodia's killing was brother on brother and wholly less rational.

The pictures will go up someday.

Ooooo get me away from here I'm dying

2007-09-27T06:01:00.000-04:00

Misery is an uninteresting topic so I haven't been writing much. Wouldn't want to bore you guys. All you many numerous people reading this. The last few days have been rough and I don't really know why. I'm having several mini-meltdowns a day and last night found myself furiously pushing the cork into a bottle of red wine because I couldn't find the corkscrew and I needed a goddamned glass of wine. Or five. And it was so stifling in the kitchen I had to pause to dowse myself in lukewarm tapwater like some porny nightmare. Earlier I had fantasies of beating the crap out of other motorists who swerved too close to my motodup. Just like my umbrella beat-down fantasies back in the day, walking home after a long day of working for the hosebeast at NDI. Am I alone in having these thoughts?

Life is so much harder than I will ever imagine for most people in this country - why am I such a goddamned whiner?

I bought a plane ticket. I managed to screw up the timing through sheer carelessness, however, so I'll be spending 20 odd hours in Singapore. Is that enough time to go to the zoo? Although, after forming a deep, personal bond with 3 lady elephants, can any zoo compare?

Please do not murder the fish

2007-09-25T04:13:00.001-04:00

Funny picture from Sre Ambel, on the way to Koh Kong.

I think the Khmer says "do not wage war on the fish, please." I love public messaging campaigns.

Things to do in Phnom Penh traffic

2007-09-25T03:04:00.000-04:00

On a motodup taxi:

Text message

Pick your teeth

Pretend you are flying on a broomstick

On your colleague Eddy's gigantic, un-muffled, 8 foot tall motorcycle:

Fear for your life

Fear for your shoulder muscles as you grip your seat to prevent toppling off backwards during gear shifting

Think about how weird it is that your thighs are pressed so closely to your boss' boyfriend's because you can't sit side saddle on his bike

Some of the above activities are more fun stoned, so I am told.

Hour 6 of the funeral next door

2007-09-24T03:38:00.000-04:00

I've been at my desk all day listening to a Khmer funeral on the loudspeakers next door. Not so much "listening," actually as suffering through, attempting to ignore, and ultimately going every so slightly more insane thanks to. Sometimes it's tinny, tuneless music being played over blown-out speakers, sometimes it's chanting, sometimes it's just one guy yelling a lot. But it's all very, very loud. Head-filling loud. October 28th cannot come quickly enough.

I''m going to go to Bangkok after my last day at work, before Dad arrives for the temple tour. I'll go for a few days to hang out with myself, see the Asian Metropolis I've been looking for. Wander around an air conditioned mall. Look for a Goldfish proprietor. Then I will have had my fill.

"Cambodia" will soon be metaphorical

2007-09-20T06:25:00.000-04:00

If you read to the bottom of my last post you may have noticed my mini-bombshell. Yes, I quit. My job and the fellowship. I'm a quitter.

If you've been paying attention or been one of the dozens privy to my angsty emails over the last 2 months you're not surprised. I'm still a little surprised, however.

It came about suddenly, actually. My first day back after the dengue (and my boss' first day in the office after her second 1 month vacation of the summer) she just asked if it was true I was unhappy and that ''it might not be working out?" All I could do was tell the truth. And then it was out there. It didn't follow the schedule of how I planned on working all of this out, but it's done and I feel just a little less burdened with indecision.

I had a moment, over copious wine and samosas at Simply Blue (the swanky new Norodom Blvd bar owned by the oddest forensic psychiatrist/spook/braggart/DC native I have ever met) with coworker/lifesaver Swifty about whether I shouldn't just stick it out cause I probably could. It's true. I could just suck it up and sit here for a year. But damnitol, that is not what I want for the next year of my life. Plus Swifty's last day was yesterday. And I'm sick again. And my TiVo awaits.

I had another moment, too, this time over ginger chicken (Thai food is usually the tastiest option in Phnom Penh) with my dear roommate Fi wherein I was talking about how ''once my job is over, I'll..." And I paused. I literally did that slow realization thing where you start smiling to yourself because you realize you're happy about something you didn't know you were happy about. Like all those times Dawson "the Head" realized he really did love Joey. Just like that.

I am forward-looking. I am progressing. I am getting to somewhere I'd like to be. And soon enough I will be reunited with some of my favorite people in the world, including maybe Koko the Gorilla. She lives in Woodside, don't you know.

I worship my brother

2007-09-17T06:42:00.000-04:00

And he's 22! Happy Birthday, Snedly! Snedward, it's your birthday! Happy birthday, Neddo! Nedpeeb, it's your birthday!

In other news I ate some snake on a stick the other day and forgot to mention it. It occurred pre-dengue and therefore millenia ago. Also, the non-rat gifting cat, Belle, despite general misanthropy has taken me as a nursemaid. She has now attempted to suckle from a button on my shirt and random sections of my pyjamas on three occasions. I smell like a mama cat I guess. Gross. Who remembers suckling cat face? Ned? Mom? Molly?

What else? I met an Australian girl who got a boob job in Thailand this summer. She was pretty happy with the results.

And I have some friends, including a nice household of roommates. 2 of whom I think are sleeping together again. Don't worry, Kris, no one in this country reads my blog.

And! I quit.

Internet, you're killing me

2007-09-17T04:45:00.000-04:00

Schedule of third world horrors:

Obvious prostitution: weekly

Street intravenous drug use: twice a week

Naked children + garbage: 3 times/week

Evidence of families living in squalor/public/on a construction site: 3-4 times/week

Very public urination: daily to hourly

Foreigner co-workers celebrate cheapness/freedom of their lifestyle: daily

Kept awake by barking dogs and/or construction: nightly

Heat, intense sun, and no relief: hourly

Tortured by slow and/or broken internet connection: every other minute

Oh, it's not all that bad. I thought hey, I haven't written much about the fact that I currently live in the poorest country in SE Asia so I'd share some slice of life details. Also I'm overtired (see dogs, heat). When your valium won't even put you to sleep you're in trouble.

What have we learned?

2007-09-12T05:59:00.000-04:00

I fought the protozoa and the protozoa lost. It's like I have an inhuman ability to heal myself! I came back from a 74 platelet count and barely any white blood cells to speak of without a transfusion (or required medevac to Bangkok for said transfusion). It would make anyone feel special. Also, the purple, yellow and green bruise blossoms surrounding my track marks make me feel good about my choice to never, ever become an intravenous drug user. Except for saline solution. Sweet, life-giving 4 bags of saline on Day 4. That was good, after I stopped crying. Not good? Needles. And the incompetent male nurses who wield them at SOS Clinic when digging around INSIDE your arm looking for veins. And failing! Making me cry and cry and reinforcing my needlephobia just when I was starting to get over it.

To be honest, now that I feel tons better, I don't know what to say about the dengue. You sleep and writhe a lot. There's not much to do beside writhe when you're awake because you have no energy and no appetite. Tylenol is surprisingly powerful stuff. Not eating hurts your stomach. Water tastes bad and trying to suck down too many electrolyte solutions when you are dehydrated and undernourished doesn't work and you will feel better once you go to the clinic and let them IV you for a while, even though IVs are scary. Your coworkers and roommates will realize they are your only friends and will rise to the occasion, keeping you supplied with Royal D (it's basically Tang), Saltines, baby food, and bottled water. They will listen to your feverish ramblings about what you were like in high school, how your mom makes toast, apple sauce and scrambled eggs for dinner when you're sick, and how you want to travel across the Arctic with Bear Grylls because he's hot and it's cold there. You'll despair and fear bleeding from the eyeballs.

Now that I have survived a tropical disease that has no cure, does this make me superior somehow? Like maybe a superhero? Ned survived amoebic dysentery, but really, isn't that just a fancy term for shitstorm? Dengue's kinda fun to say, and since most of my memories were destroyed by low blood sugar and febrile malaise I guess I don't feel that bad about it. Still don't want to bleed from my eyeballs, though. That's what happens when you get it again.

BREAKING NEWS!!! (One week old) I HAVE DENGUE

2007-09-06T06:11:00.000-04:00

I joked. I feared. I cursed the mosquitoes that haunt my every move. It was all for a laugh. Until last Thursday night when I suddenly felt very faint. The pounding headache and fever followed the next day and here we are, one week later. I have dengue fever. That is all.

It's raining, it's pouring, metaphorically speaking

2007-08-30T04:27:00.000-04:00

No, actually, it's just raining like it pays outside. My feet are muddy and so, so, so grossly mosquitofied. What's up, dengue? Are you happening or not? I'm starting to feel unglamorous. I have three dollars and assorted riel on my person and nothing in the fridge. I saw an apartment today which would have high ceilings if you were a 4 foot 2 Khmer lady. It's like a brand new, tiled, barred window rabbit warren. Or mole hole. Mole hole? Mmmm, molé. Larry the mole! Where's Darnell when you need him?

My tum is full of yummy Thai food from lunch.

I remember it was pretty hard to feed myself at first in Fez. That is, until I moved into the riad and enjoyed Gerby's rabbit-orange-cinnamon-okra stews every night. We didn't have a fridge or a pantry yet I cooked more often than I do here. I have made Korean ramen twice, per HLP's tutelage (and the instructions on the bag) and that is it. Oh wait, I heated up day-old Indian take out twice. Mmm Indian. Dan/Sam, I should have joined you in the Bombay Commune. That would have been the thing.

Now I think my thing might be finding a village out in the provinces and staying there for a few weeks. No internet, no boring underperforming job, no constant emailing to everyone I know of "what do I doooooo??!" I'll take my laptop, my doxycycline, and my bright green raingear and blend in with the foliage. I'll eat rice and whatever. I'll write a novel. It will be called The Rainy Season and it will be angsty and orientalist and feature a strong female protagonist.

When we put Maddy down I imagined I'd aimlessly drive South and be alone and mourn my dog or something. Instead, I stayed around the house, babysat and don't remember much of the summer. In the Fall, I watched a lot of Animal Planet (Animal Cops, Animal Precinct) and bonded with my poetry professor over our common recent loss. 5 years later I'm in Cambodia, feeling the same instinct to retreat.

Bob LoBlaw fishcakes

2007-08-29T06:23:00.000-04:00

Miss Teen South Carolina believes she has "a good character" and was raised well and, despite a total inability to form coherent sentences, won 4th place in Miss Teen USA 2007. She is dumb as rocks and believes stomping around in a bikini is a competition. And yet, "she has a good character." Which is better? Would I be happier with a smart child or a simple one who had "good character?" Can that mean anything if you are too dumb to be self-aware? Are we talking about robots?

I'm meeting another PiA affiliated person for dinner and waiting for my Phonecall of Judgment and Failed Expectations.

Minimum Operating Standards

2007-08-28T04:49:00.000-04:00

Cambodia has not solely been a vanity suck-fest. I have to have something else to show for this. For the money and the investment and the IWentToTheOtherSideOfTheWorldAndOnlyWantedToComeBack-ness. I think it's the wanting to come back. The wanting of something. The finding the right cliff and jumping off it. I am too old for this shit.
This is what I know:

I need a network
I am bad at being bored
I am limited by nothing

In the interest of entertainment: I was roused from a possible dengue febrile delirium yesterday evening by the nightguard, Kimhour, and his 6 buddies having a soup and sugarcane liquor party during some serious monsoon rains. I'm not going to make any general statements about Asians, but yo they were toasted in 5 minutes. Literally. Doing the whole "we toast to....Sopheap from Ratnakiri, yea! And to....the soup guy, yea! And to...tasty cow ankle parts, woo!" and getting sloppy but quick after a cup and a half. Meanwhile, my roommate told the story of sleeping with the other roommate and now his previously unmentioned girlfriend is visiting from America on Friday and no one can tell her. Yeesh.

Also, never email me. I thought maybe you all were concerned, but seriously, I am not in need of confirmation of my self-worth or anything. Total radio silence is preferred.

I feel tired and weak but my elephant memories sustain me

2007-08-27T03:55:00.000-04:00

Future posted photo captions:

A) Blowing into an elephant's trunk.
B) Communing with a macaque
C) Cambodian Bambi
D) Leopards at the edge of their forested enclosure eye-kill the caged macaque on the back of our truck
E) Mr. Asiatic Black Bear waiting for the bus (or a coconut)
F) I scratch the shoulders of a frickin' huge tiger, aka, "Eponymous."

Phnom Tamao was awesome. So very hot. I have never wanted so badly to bathe with an elephant but their ginormous size and the likely high bilharzia concentration in their pond prevented it.

The photo uploading takes forever so it may be a while before the shots described above go up here. Also, this weekend I hung out with some HIV+ orphans and made a new life plan. Details to follow.

My Vietnam, my historical memory

2007-08-24T00:18:00.000-04:00

If I left here early, would it be "an ignominious end to a misguided [trip to a] war [-torn country]?" What would the record show? Since I can't get out of the conditional mood inside my own head (until I do), I can only find new questions to ask. Would a different job help? Is staying for the sake of not quitting virtuous? Would I feel guilty no matter what? Will I run out of time if I wait until I am 26 to come back to America to find the job I want? Will property values in Leslieville survive the market crash?

Sidebar - the IT guy working on the printers has "Don't Stop Believin'" as his ringtone. Awesome.

One of these days soon I'll write something descriptive about Phnom Penh. In the meantime, because I won't have internet tomorrow (going to see Chhouk the baby elephant at Phnom Tamao Wildlife Rescue Center with Socheata), HAPPY BIRTHDAY SARAH! You're a JD. You're on your way. I salute you.

Little by little the bird builds its nest

2007-08-22T04:18:00.000-04:00

Oh! Hedgehog Man:
Moroccan crazy with a deep knowledge of flight attendant monologues, in search of the English translations of your curious personal mottoes - How I long for an avocado shake and your infinite wisdom in the comfort of a Fassi love cafe. I would settle even for an over-sweetened Nescafe in a man cafe. Or a piss-water Flag Speciale in the Zalagh man bar. Then the bleach guy loudly making his rounds through the medina at 5am, inexplicably. Sigh! - the shower of doom, where every ablution began with the panic-inducing lighting of the gas water heater. Rocks through the kitchen window, those pen-loving neighborhood kids. Winter, the cold, barbary ape in my hair instead of dead mouse. Red team, Gerby and Goon, couscous party. Applying Arabic grammar constructions to English speech. John, you sa-understand. Night train, gin-rummy, Magic Bark. Birthday twin, the war when it started, before Nathan enlisted and was killed.

What I mean to say is I looked at apartments today and didn't want to live here.

Hey guys, come back!

2007-08-20T23:18:00.000-04:00

I'm sorry. I didn't mean to be such a downer! It's cool, I'll be fine. I'll try to swear less.

I'm going to do some things before I leave. I suspect I will leave anyway, but I'm going to do some things first. Things like maybe give blood (to the children). And wait for my boss to return from her second extended vacation of the summer so I can write about the ridiculous things that come from her botoxed lips. And set other goals.

First, I have to share this, though, because, as promised, it gave me a hearty laugh to start my day. Thanks, Dad.

Knowns, known and unknown

2007-08-20T05:45:00.000-04:00

The bullshit continues...

I am seriously considering packing it in and saying goodbye to this place. It feels like the right thing to do, but also kind of shitty. I think there are a million places I'd rather be and things I'd rather be doing and I have already figured that so what in the name of squat am I doing here? IT IS SO GODDAMNED BORING!

I could pretend it's boot camp or some sort of test or obstacle to overcome but it's not and I think I am wasting my life.

Also, I will die alone.

I warned about the bullshit.

In and out of the belljar

2007-08-18T05:41:00.000-04:00

I haven't posted since Wednesday since I try not to blog angry/depressed/bored. I just had three cups of coffee in a bar that has occasionally functioning internet so I am PUMPED right now and ready for story-time.

Last night I had Khmer night at the mall. It all happened by accident and was totally awkward but in the end, as I waited for my Khmer coworker Socheata's dad to pick us up outside Paragon mall and remembered the awesome old days of shame train trips to Del Monte Center and middle school nights at Borrones, I had a bit of a moment. After work, Jules the office casanova, Socheata (pretty, young Khmer gal that works with Jules, has two rhinestones on her front teeth) and I piled onto his orange vespa (that's cozy), and headed across the Japanese Friendship Bridge to Snowe's, a darkly lit, bell-filled shack tipping into the river that is my favorite bar in town.

After, Jules and the gf were heading home with take out so I awkwardly asked to be dropped off where I could get a moto home and then awkwardly got let out at Paragon (Thai mall chain) with Socheata and then awkwardly went into the Black Coffee Hut to get pad thai take out and then awkwardly ended up sitting down with her and awkwardly realized she was eating there so awkwardly changed my order to eat-in and awkwardly rambled about how she should go to the Youth Congress something or other in Quebec City cause Canada is awesome, awkward. But it was nice and then her dad came and I got a ride home and maybe a Khmer friend??

Also - custard apple:

This was the moment at CADP however many days ago. I wanted to memorialize it. That's my hunk of custard apple (tastes like an apple flavored spaghetti squash). Those are my toes in my fabulously comfortable Earth Shoes. And I think those are radish plants near my hand. Not exactly food porn, but better than Man Band?

For today, I am looking up.

The things I did today

2007-08-15T05:37:00.000-04:00

I contemplated going to rehab in India. To, like, diet and yoga and stuff.

I looked at airfare from here to Delhi ($363!) and Chennai ($466!) and San Francisco ($931).

I almost applied to several jobs at Google CA.

I read the recaps of a VH1 reality television series called Man Band that features over the hill former Boy Band fatties like Chris Kirkpatrick and one of the non-Lacheys from 98 Degrees. Oh, that was funny.

I ate ginger chicken and rolled my eyes at my coworker's version of "rape jokes as button-pushing sense of humor" at lunch.

I imagined the DVDs I will consume this evening and the mild guilt I will feel for participating in the piracy of artistic product.

But I'm not one of these guys, so I guess it's OK.

I am bored. I am hot.

2007-08-14T06:30:00.000-04:00

Remember the good times?

The puppies! The herd of puppies!

Puppies don't have rabies!

My religious experience

2007-08-10T05:37:00.000-04:00

So I went to CADP in Koh Kong for a few days and I don't know if I can really talk about it yet. I learned to ride a motorcycle and encountered swarms of puppies. There was monsoon and cold showers and wooden plank bed and ground nuts and custard apples and naked babies and so much Hebrew. I was told I "belong there." By an Israeli! When does that happen, eh? I think it happens when they are trying to recruit more women. I'll post photos tomorrow. On Saturday. When I am in the office.

Pete: yes, Zack totally pwns this blog name.

Also, at dinner they played "Hello, is it me you're looking for?" at least 3 times. And my favorite Israeli band, Keveret, playing my favorite song "Hey Yo Ya!"

Hipsters but no trivia? No guff!

2007-08-07T04:50:00.000-04:00

Man, I meant this to be the content for my first post, since it had just happened when I founded HiC (does that brand of juicebox still exist?), but I kept forgetting and so here it is now:

Last week I met up with a friend of a friend of a friend from Yale (that is an exact calculation) for drinks/dinner at an honest to god Phnom Penh hipster bar. It's called Cafe Ya, it's tiny and down the street from sketchy-looking guesthouses, and the owners were doing needlepoint at the table next to us. The other patrons: A middle-aged tattoed dude, a permanent expat/journalist who looked like Stanley Tucci, and an Asian-American chick with an asymmetrical haircut who asked me to be in her punk band. Need I say more?

It was awesome and we're hanging out again! Friend!

Part 2: after such monumental coolitude, a disappointment was sure to follow. I rallied my housemates to triv it up at the Lazy Gecko at the lakefront (backpackerville) on Thursday. While my veggie burger was tasty and the crowd inittowinit-looking, the "registration handout" was my first hint of dissatisfaction. It explained the format: 5 rounds, 10 questions each with "categories" like "TV and Movies," "Geography," and, worst of all for its sheer lack of elan, "Random Trivia." At least they asked for team names. I could tell I didn't have the groundswell of support necessary to name us LGBT Soundsystem, though it's now my permanent default in all competitive situations requiring self-nomenclature, so we went with Dr Rithy's Rejects, a nod to the questionable level of care offered at the "western" "clinic" in town.

You know what? The level of disdain I am feeling for the content of this post so far is requiring me to cut it short. I'll give you two exemplary questions and 2 quotes from the organizers.

1. What is the name of James Blunt's debut album?

2. What does a somnambulist do?

1. "We get the questions from a book and the book says Greenland's a country."

2. "After __ round(s), __ points for 'An Idiot Says What'...what!" (every time!)

I worked myself up pretty good and was thoroughly let down by the PP trivia scene. There's another bar in town that is apparently much better but I think perhaps nothing beats home.

Koh Kong delayed, afternoon diversion

2007-08-07T04:41:00.001-04:00

Ping Serey, who is kind of like the office Danny Concannon character on Studio 60, with less Black List-era infotainment content (food coma...inhibiting reference ability), just sent me a video clip of a young girl bashing her dad in the balls with a baseball bat. It's less than 10 seconds long and from the UK. I don't know what to skypechat back. That was funny? That was...an education? Yeah. Yeah? Yeah.

Off to Koh Kong

2007-08-06T23:35:00.000-04:00

In a complete 180 from yesterday I have something cool to do at work. I'm going down to the CADP site (Community Agriculture and Development Project) in Koh Kong Province to do their 3 month report for USAID. I'm riding down with the kibbutzniks this afternoon.

And, just cause I miss Carl and nice boys in general, here's this: