Saturday, October 06, 2007

From Anaheim to Main Street, U.S.A.

I'm making progress on my thesis, and for the time being I'm very euphoric about the fact that my research is becoming so developed and that I could make a significant contribution to the research community--and to my intellectual development. Not only that, but doing this research is helping me to refine the sorts of ideas that excite me and the sorts of areas in which I would prefer to be employed.
(Disneyland City Hall, Main Street, U.S.A.)

Essentially there are four main areas that I will be examining as I look at Disneyland's aesthetic influence in Anaheim. First is the formal pressure the Disneyland Resort (as it is known today) has exercised on the functions and powers of the Anaheim government bodies (mostly the City Council and the Planning Commission). This includes things like recent pressures from SOAR (Save Our Anaheim Resort, a Disney-formed and funded lobbying group) to block the proposal by SunCal (a real-estate developer) to construct a housing complex (which includes affordable housing) on a lot that stands within the currently designated resort area. This relationship has changed rather drastically in recent years with this housing proposal, which represents one of the first times the city has not automatically given a concession to Disneyland as a sign of the importance the park has played in the local area.

Second is the informal aesthetic influence that Disneyland has had over the local area, primarily over businesses, hotels, and the relatively new "Anaheim Resort District." The resort district, as its name suggests, is a large area surrounding Disneyland, the Anaheim Convention Center, and numerous hotels and tourist businesses that was completely revolutionized in 1998 when the Anaheim City Council passed new aesthetic regulations for zoning in the area to create a uniform appearance throughout the resort. The idea, allegedly, was to make tourists feel that they are experiencing a purely resort experience and to encourage longer stays in the area. Whether that works is, of course, up for debate.
(The zoning requirements of the Anaheim Resort District)

Third is the influence Disney has on what I'm calling the "Disneyland Sphere of Influence" - that is, the businesses in the tourist area surrounding the resort. In this way I'm looking mostly on the fact that production industries that used to exist in the area have more or less disappeared in recent years, giving way to a purely tourist area within a triangular area south of the 5 freeway and bounded by the boundaries of the city of Anaheim. Another aspect is the theming that occurs among the majority of the businesses in the area - the hotels that look like Alpine Chalets, European Castles, and Tahitian Resorts. Clearly to appeal to tourists in the area, you have to be somewhat kitschy, and the Disneyland influence is visible less directly than in the previous two cases.

(The Castle Inn Hotel, on Harbor Blvd., across from Disneyland)

The final aspect is Disneyland's influence on blending reality and the entertainment media in city planning. Not only in the Anaheim Resort but throughout Anaheim there exist businesses that build of Hollywood blockbusters and television successes to create a commercial experience, and without a doubt Disneyland was one of the earliest examples of such a project. Walt Disney literally wanted to build a giant movie set - complete with its "Castmembers," "Backstage," and performance protocol - to take "Guests" into his movies and imagination. More than an experiment in escapism, the park is also an ingenious (and multi-million dollar) marketing tool. This technique has been copied a number of times over, but never duplicated with quite the success and acumen of the Disney name.
(Main Street Hotel, which, at one point, actually offered accomodations)

With these directions in mind, I'm beginning to pour over my notes and data sets to find examples of these trends (and potentially of others). Disneyland is really quite the interesting phenomenon, and for all the criticism it gets it is important to recognize the park for the genius that went into its creation (by Walt, Roy, and all their peers). Disney and the Disney Park have had influence far beyond the tourism industry, not only forever altering the model of that industry but also redirecting the goals of urban planners, architects, advertisers, politicians, businessmen, and redefining American culture as we know it. He may have been a bit of an idealist when he spoke, but as Walt said on that hot July day in 1955: "Disneyland is dedicated to the ideals, the dreams and the hard facts that have created America...with the hope that it will be a source of joy and inspiration to all the world."


All images are my own, taken in July and August, 2007. All rights reserved.

Tuesday, September 25, 2007

Is it a chemical that makes this moment true?

Starting a new school year, at home, abroad, wherever, is always such a difficult time. It's absurd, really. I just imagining an alien exploratory study vessel watching as 17,000 people almost arbitrarily, but in patterns of agreed-upon times and periods, spontaneously walk between a number of outlying buildings and a smaller number of buildings that are located near the center of the other buildings. In the mean time they all stop to acknowledge the presence of a variety of other individuals, saying hello to a select number of individuals but walking by the majority of passers-by.

But maybe I'm just a little strange. This whole start of classes thing is rather overwhelming, because not only are classes starting but the deluge of emotions and stresses associated with starting those classes and seeing people you haven't seen in 3 years and trying to find a job and trying to plan 18 events all at the same time...well, you get the picture. In all honesty, it's not unusual, it's just going to take me a little while to get into the swing of things, since last year was sort of a bit of a free ride (well, in the nothing-to-do sense, not in the cost sense).

Nonetheless, it's a lot of fun, you know, having these first few weeks. Right now is the time when it feels like you have to see everyone and do everything or else you'll miss it all (so it's really easy to get motivated). I wish I could take some of this energy, store it up, and tap into it at the end of the quarter when I literally am forced to lock myself up in the library and write and write and write. Actually, it's not this bad this quarter. Spring quarter will be hell...but I'll deal with that when it comes.

Point is, life is a little absurd right now. Give it time and at some point it may actually seem back-to-normal. This first week, though, while everything is still in chaos and I worry that I won't be able to enroll in enough units since really I only have classes that I have to take in the spring left to finish my major, I've just got to push through. Things will work themselves out, I'm sure.

But, alas, new experiences are always fun. Life goes on.

Saturday, September 08, 2007

Popcorn: or a treasure map of my consciousness

So, summer's over. It's official, in some circles. Well, almost. Labor Day is the "unofficial end of summer," but it might as well be the end. I don't really know what to say about that. On the one hand, I'm excited. On the other, I'm sort of sad to be changing environments. I'm also anxious that I and everyone on campus have changed a lot over the summer and that it will take a while to get back into the normal groove of seeing each other all the time. But that's what going back is all about.

Is it weird that listening to songs about home the first thing that popped into my head was being on campus?

I went to Disneyland again. It was better this time, even though the rides were shut down for an entire morning because of a (very minor) earthquake. I think the key, though, was that it wasn't as random an excursion but was more planned as a day between friends, and that we watched Fantasmik! (sp?) That show always gets me. I don't know what it is about all it's hoopla about imagination and looking into your mind and such, but it just speaks to me. It obviously speaks to a lot of other people as well, or else it wouldn't be the most popular show at the park.

I regret that I have yet to make it to Seal Beach this summer. I might stop there for breakfast or something before heading up on Monday. Or go there Sunday if I can. In any case, it's more of a nostalgia thing than a Seal Beach is great thing. I'll get there sometime.

Ever have one of those days? No? Neither did I. But still.

This is your brain. This is your brain on overdrive. This is your brain in a frying pan. Any questions? Yes, um, you there, in front...

A million lights are dancing and there you are, a shooting star. An everlasting world and you're here with me, so let it be.

Xanadu.

Thursday, August 30, 2007

Foreplay, or in anticipation yet again

Anticipation is a glorious thing. I mean, I think people generally have it all wrong when they think about how to make themselves happy. The way I see it, the best part about anything--whether it be the "Holidays" (capital H), an exciting party, moving day, the start of a new school year, a visit from friends, or even (oh no don't go there!) sex. I mean, it's not about the climax, it's not about the actual experience...the best part of anything is the anticipation of the end of that event before it has happened.

If I could, I think I would live my entire life "in anticipation." But, then, there is something to be said about knowing you have completed some things in your life, even if the completion leaves you feeling empty and rather useless. This week I've kicked into anticipation mode, if you will, largely as it were set off by the preparation of my room for its latest redecoration.

And, really, I don't think I want to leave this flurry of activity and all that it entails behind. I'll be driving up to campus in a couple of weeks (well, less) and by that time my life will be packed into a single car and driven all the way north. And, I guess I'm excited, you know? I'm excited for all the possibilities the new year offers. I'm excited for the talk of insane parties that are to take place, for the development of amazingly exciting events, for probably my best class schedule ever, for meeting the new (and re-encountering) some old residents, for old friends, for senior year, for all that senior year entails, and for the big C-word (Commencement, just to be clear). I'm excited, you know. I'm also hopeful that it will be an accomplished year, that it will outdo the amazingness that was last year (a very tough challenge), and that I will find some sort of job or something to occupy my time after I (ack!) graduate. I'm also, well, a little fearful about not accomplishing some of my goals, about sinking into a familiar lull and losing the excitement of the anticipation.

And for what it's worth that's why anticipation is really the best part. When you're anticipating, you're escaping, you're dreaming, you're envisioning. There is no one there to tell you that your dreams are unrealistic, no past to tell you that you haven't accomplished your goals or that you're going to have to put it off a little longer. There is no negotiating, no improvising, no changing of plans. Life is clear and you know how things are going to be. Until a week and a half from now, all that lies ahead of me is a sunny campus overrun with young and attractive people living out their transition from adolescence to adulthood in celebration of youth and all that it encompasses. Two weeks from today, though, there will be training and there will be millions of errands to run and shopping (yay!) to do for my new room. I will be busy. And then classes will start. And then the holiday will end and life will return to its normal pattern. (I really wonder if I'll be able to do any work again; I guess I'll learn--I'm going to have to).

So, let me end this pointless blabber. Anticipation is a really great thing, and I really wish I could live with it all the time. Life would be like one long visit to Disneyland (well, with the escapism effect in full force). But, unfortunately, at some point the park has to close and get ready for tomorrow's crowds. Unfortunately, at some point, the time to anticipate runs out and the actual holiday arrives. And then all you've got is a flurry of organizing family members and serving turkeys and running to pick up a last-minute package of heavy cream (which someone always seems to forget). Or, well, you get the picture. Life comes at you full force. And all you've got is a quickened heart rate, a shortness of breath and some wetness. But god was it worth it!

Wednesday, August 22, 2007

Nostalgia unfulfilled

It's surprising really how the world changes as we do. We grow up, we get older, and eventually childhood becomes merely a thing of the past. I don't know exactly when (or whether) that happened for me, but now it seems that I have grown up, and it's about time that I say goodbye to childhood.

It happens to everyone around this age--I mean, why do you think Disney songs are so popular among college students? Maybe something is going on in our brains, preparing us to face the big-bad adult world. Maybe not. Maybe we're just collectively reacting to our independence away from home and the protected environment of our parents' residence and, as a result, clinging to those vague reminders of what it meant to be a child. It's tempting, after all, to just curl back up into that ball and believe someone else will take care of you again.

Unfortunately, that's not the way things were meant to be.

So let me get to the point: I went to Disneyland today. I've been conducting research (and I know, it sounds b.s., but believe me when I say it's been quite in depth) on Disneyland this summer, and today was the first time I went to the park this summer. Or, for two years, in all truth. I've been researching this park, trying to grasp what it is that makes it special, trying to put a name to what Disney does to Anaheim and to Orange County, and why so many tourists flock here. Trying to understand whether Anaheim is truly the city of Disneyland, or whether Disneyland is just some tourist trap in the middle of the budding metropolis known as Anaheim. Needless to say, it was difficult--I was dealing largely in vagueness and uncertainties because I was relying largely on a Disneyland I had known in my memory. Suffice it to say, that Disneyland is drastically different from the one I saw today.

I think most disappointing is that everything--and, yes, I mean everything--has been updated to reflect the newest Disney blockbusters and such. Pirates of the Caribbean has become, well, Pirates of the Caribbean--ironically, much as Eco would see it, a copy of a copy of something that never existed. I mean, does it not seem absurd to the Imagineers that they are, in essence, turning a ride that inspired a movie into a ride based on that very movie? And then of course the submarines have recently reopened to reflect Finding Nemo, which, while a great movie, does not exactly fit well to the concept of the Submarine Voyage without a little smoothing over of details. Similarly, High School Musical, the bane of all things kitsch, Disney, and pop culture has come to invade the park and turn a generation of 'tweens into, well, I'm not quite sure what they are. Singing zombies? Close, perhaps.

Ok, I'm being a little harsh. But the point is not that the park has been redone. That happened quite frequently while I was young as well--one year it was the Swiss Family Robinson Treehouse, the next it was Tarzan. Or, perhaps more aptly, one year it was empty space, the next it was the Indiana Jones Adventure (also known as the greatest amusement park attraction of its era). But, you know, I didn't seem to mind those changes. Perhaps because the marketing and the product pushing weren't so widespread back then. Aladdin could just hang out in Adventureland and you didn't have to be bombarded with 10,000 plastic-bottle genies or Aladdin-red vests. But now you wait in line for Finding Nemo Submarine Voyage and all you see are Nemo hats and Dorie t-shirts. I mean, give it up already, just let kids have fun without turning them into mindless consumers, gosh.

But, you know, I don't really care that they want to do all of that. I mean, Disney is a business, they have to make money. And they're doing it quite well right now and, well, go figure they've found a cash cow in High School Musical. Good for them. What is most upsetting to me, personally, is seeing this park that I remembered one way overrun with a completely different generation of children. The Disneyland of my childhood is officially gone. In its place is a castle that seems a fraction of its former height, a Space Mountain that--despite its smoother, faster, darker upgrade--seems slower than I remember it, and a trip down Splash Mountain's final plunge that seems, well, anything but the long and scary drop it once was. It seems that, somehow, I have outgrown Disney. Or Disney has outgrown me. In either case, walking around the park today was fun, yes, it was entertaining and all of that, but it was an experience in analysis and in letting go. Rather than take things at their surface value, I couldn't help but question every sign and decoration and trick in the park's details. Rather than experience a return to my childhood, I had to face the fact that I am no longer a child.

That is the most upsetting realization there is. I don't know why it is so hard to transition out of childhood, why it is such a challenge to face the fact that you are an adult. After all, when we're children adulthood can't come fast enough. But sooner or later childhood is gone, and all it can be is a memory, a glimmer in your eye when you hear the first chords of "A Whole New World," or a belief, just for a minute, that through your imagination all your dreams really will come true. Eventually, though, you have to leave the park gates and return to a world that doesn't give a shit about your imagination...

Sunday, August 12, 2007

I'm On My Fifteen (weeks)

You know, a few weeks ago, I thought I was going to have the most boring summer ever. All I'd be doing is sitting at home, with the occasional jaunt to Anaheim or somewhere else to work on my research and the sporadic social event. I mean, let's be honest, in Orange County you pretty much have to drive to go anywhere, and when you go somewhere you're there. There's no taking the metro to the Rodin museum, then walking over to les Invalides because it's right there, and then walking back through the winding roads of St-Germain with expensive and fine boutiques worth ogling at endlessly. No, once you go to South Coast Plaza or Newport Center you're there, and there's no where to go down the street.

But, you know, despite my initial thoughts, despite all my desires to find some day job to get me out of the house regularly and earn a couple extra bucks, and despite all my thoughts of how boring it would be to sit around the house, I actually am sort of enjoying it. Is it wrong that I actually desire laziness in some part of myself, that my body wasn't wired to work 9 hours straight day-in-day-out with overtime on Wednesday and Friday nights and the occasional Saturday afternoon in the office? I'm sorry, but that's just not me, and if that's what the modern workplace will require of me, well, maybe I'm just not cut out for that. I mean, if the work was mostly doing things I enjoy, like imagining future communities or designing walkable cityscapes, well, I might be OK with it. But data entry, phone answering, and the regular office mini-drama just don't inspire me. I know, I've been there.

Needless to say, I don't think I'm going to be pursuing a position on Wall Street any time soon. Or Madison Avenue. Or Fifth Avenue, even. But no matter what street or avenue (or boulevard or highway or, God forbid, US Route) I find myself on in the oh-so near future, I am content to have had this summer. Call it a summer of soul-searching. Call it a voyage of self-discovery. Call it a return to my roots. Heck, call it my lazy-bum summer. In the end, this summer has been much more appropriate, much more of what I need than any other summer I've ever had. I mean, if summer, time of bright and sunny, excruciatingly hot days is meant for productivity and resume-boosting, well, let's just say something is very backward with our culture. I mean, why do you think Paris is occupied by more tourists than it is by actual locals during the summer? Because the locals don't want to be home working their butts off in hot and humid weather, they'd rather get away while they still can. And, well, the government gives them 6 weeks vacation in order to do that.

So, excuse me for being into relaxation, for treasuring the moments of bliss that occur when you get a steaming hot cup of coffee with a friend and just take a break for conversation. Or the times when you get to sleep until your awakened by the sun breaking through the marine layer at about 11. I mean, I know it's only temporary, I know I'll have to return to stress and work and classes and grades and deadlines and all that come September. But for now, it's nice to have the time to recharge.

And, well, go figure, despite it being summer and a time of relation, I've somehow come to be in the best physical shape in my life. So, I don't know, maybe torturing yourself with endless work for the dollar is not all that important in the end. One way or another I know I'll be comfortable later in life, and that's all I really need. Besides, I can't say that I really need that new CLK 500 more than the homeless vet at the 22 offramp, if his sign is correct, needs a burger or a beer or whatever. Relaxation, contentedness, and satisfaction that I am living a life fulfilled--well, as a MasterCard ad would tell me (somewhere up in those buildings on Madison)..."priceless."

Monday, July 30, 2007

Diatribe of a Caffeinated Mind

A few weeks ago, I came to the realization that my life is largely without any definite direction. Unlike many of my peers (but like the large majority of my true friends), I do not know where I am going in the future--I am not planning to go to med school immediately after graduation and become a doctor in 5-7 years. Nor am I planning to become a corporate lawyer working for a 7-figure salary, nor even a consultant for a non-profit or some Wall Street firm in New York. I have no goals. But, I'm not ashamed of that. That doesn't upset me. In fact, I would be more concerned if I had found a definite direction that I was determined never to stray from.

You see, one thing that college teaches you (if nothing else) is that what you study as an undergrad has little relevance to your life after graduation--whether that involves grad school, professional school, a regular day job, or (God forbid) long-term unemployment. College is another one of those equalizers that is designed to knock you off of that pedestal you had built for yourself in high school and to teach you that everybody is fundamentally the same. In one way or another.

But then it hit me. Watching, of all things, Stranger than Fiction (or, as I know it, L'incroyable destin de Harold Crick), I found myself particularly engaged by the random and incredibly detailed shots the camera would occasionally hold during the film. For example, every once in awhile you'll get a close-up of Harold's watch or a pan shot of the city in all its modernist drabness or a POV shot of Miss Pascal's bakery from Harold's place outside the window. The shots that happen in the movie, like the shots that happen in any movie, are carefully executed and captured only after however many tries it takes to get exactly the vision the director wants perfectly right. They are designed to capture the beauty in the everyday objects we collect around us--the watch, yes, but similarly the iPod headphones strewn on the floor, the empty water glass on the bedside table, the lifeguard's whistle symbolically tossed on the floor before a dive in the water. To capture these moments is a difficult pursuit, to be sure, but it is perhaps one of the most rewarding experiences out there. It is almost as if you had been able to capture, just for that one moment, a glimpse of holiness, pure and true. It's the same feeling as the actor who is able to perfectly capture a moment of desperation or of pure joy when portraying a character, or a musician finding that exact combination of tones that was in his or her head, or a writer looking at the perfect combination of words--the "perfect sentence" that is so elusive but almost within reach at any moment.

That's when I came to the conclusion that modern life has lost touch with that element of purity, of beauty, of perfection, leaning instead toward practical and calculated choices based on which direction is safest and the least involved. It's why the most popular majors on many college campuses these days are those most related to high-paying jobs: engineering, economics or business, and other such courses in practicality. Which is not to say that these paths are not justified in their own right and that some individuals do choose them because they see the beauty in an economic system or a circuit board. Two things I will never see. But what is tragic, what is worst, is to make a decision of your life's goal, your life's direction based on practicality, based on how much money you will make or how likely you are to find a job out of school. The way things are going, it's going to be competitive no matter where you go, and it's going to be a tough search in every direction you can choose. All the more reason to find something exciting, to take the time to explore yourself and find a direction that you think can open your eyes to that beauty and that perfection in its pure and real form.

Which is why I sometimes worry that I've gone the wrong path. You know, Urban Studies has been a lot of fun, but what I wonder is where I'm going to find the type of work that will excite me with an Urban Studies degree. Perhaps a good sign is that I am passionate about my major and deeply interested in the classes I take. But I don't really think that working for a real estate developer is my ultimate dream in life. Unfortunately I'm afflicted with a passion for beauty, an interest in those little moments that can be so exciting and so eye-opening in three seconds or less. Some may not see the rationality in trying to get a camera shot exactly perfect, passing the director's three-hundred tries off to his OCD. And perhaps it is a little obsessive; but then again, what could be more rational than the search for perfection?

Correct me if I'm wrong, but I believe that is the highest pursuit there is. Plato and Aristotle didn't argue about empty ideas; beauty is the one idea that really is true.

Wednesday, June 06, 2007

Multiplicity

There is only one more entry left in the "Reconstructing Reo" series. Somewhat sad, I suppose. I guess the main point is that Reo has been successfully reconstructed; however, to say that he is the same as he was before I went to Paris is quite the overstatement. Reo, as me, is no where near the person he was before those epic six months, and the return has been a real lesson in integrating that individual with all that is the United States.

But as I think about how different I am, how changed I have become, it is just that integration, that reentry into America that has been the biggest lesson this whole experience has had to offer. Let me explain, borrowing a little from Prof. Fraga's lecture yesterday...

You see, to call oneself American, especially today, comes with a great deal of ambiguities and uncertainties. If you think about it, no matter how you identify, it is probably very hard for you to pin down a concrete definition of what an American is--culturally, ethnically (yes, unfortunately that is part of it), spiritually, physically, or otherwise. In today's America we are more of an amalgam of multiple different Americas--Mexican America, African America, Asian America, Gay America, Evangelist America, Consumer America, Capitalist America, Libertarian America, Bleeding heart liberal America, I could go on and on, but you get the point...Our identity today has so little to do with unifying ourselves as a whole and forming a singular identity.

And you know, for all that we berate France and for all the mockery Americans tend to throw to our cheese-loving, wine-guzzling, chimney smoking friends from the continent, all we really have to give them is envy. The French, while not exactly the most equilibrated or egalitarian of cultures, do partake of one principle which we in the US could stand to learn from. In France, no matter whether you come from Algeria, Tunisia, Martinique, the DRC, or are a native-born Frenchman, under the law if you are a citizen, you are French. You are not French-Algerian, you are not French-Canadian (ok, but still)...you are simply and undeniably French. In practice this is not always the case, but nonetheless, you are French, and that is all.

Perhaps in America we need to get over our fear of the other. We need to form an identity that is more unified, more comprehensive, and perhaps to decrease our fear of integrating outsiders. Mexican, Chinese, or whatever immigrants may be illegal by our current laws, but they can integrate over time, over generations. If we are so afraid of becoming a nation of brown-skinned people, perhaps we should have thought of that before we moved to a brown-skinned continent. America will still be America, it just will look a little different. But America today looks nothing like America in 1787, so what difference does it make?

I am proud to be an American, however. I am proud, after it all, to say that I am a member of the most exportable, and, by extension, the most integrative culture in the world. If only that culture would realize that this is its most defining quality.

Thursday, May 31, 2007

LIFE 163: The Life Crisis

So I may only be a junior in college at this point, and I may be worrying a bit overly about something that will work itself out in the end, but it's worth noting anyway: I feel old. I don't mean, of course, that my head is balding or that my joints feel more and more brittle. Granted, I'm still pretty young in that respect. But being on the eve of my senior year and feeling the daunting task that is going to be graduating (including thesis-writing and class-passing), finding a job, and leaving Stanford, it's starting to worry me.

I'm sure I am no where near as frightened or worried as some of the seniors are right now. And, of course, I don't blame them. Naturally, I am also a little bit tired of this campus, feeling a bit underwhelmed by what it has to offer me and taking every opportunity I can to escape from it. The environment here is just too tense and too pressured, sometimes it really makes me wonder how tough the pressure must be in places where it isn't always sunny and 75 degrees. But perhaps in those places it is easier to get off campus. Unless you go to Cornell. But, that's another story.

The point is that being at this point, this cusp, if you will, and about to enter my senior year and to prepare for the outside (or "real") world can be a frightening affair. Case in point: I was walking to class today, humming along faintly to my iPod, carrying my Nalgene and my over-the-shoulder bag, trying to avoid direct glances at the sun or at people I know but don't really want to say hi to, and just generally being a college student when I had a flashback to Paris. In Paris, you don't look at anyone. Saying hi, even to someone you know, is rare because neither one of you is concentrated enough on examining the crowd to realize that someone is familiar. Or, really, you are too busy avoiding gazes from other people to realize that one of them is not just any "other" person. But then it dawned on me: this is all going to end, very soon.

In about a year's time, I'll be contemplating the fact that in two weeks I'll never be able to walk out of my dorm room and head to the library or the CoHo to study--I mean, why would I study anyway? In a year's time, the random encounters with friends sitting on lawns outside their houses will not happen: where I hope to go no one will even have a lawn or, if they do, they'd never sit outside and sunbathe on it. And, of course, in a year's time I will not be surrounded by overachievers, do-gooders, and extremely philosophical hippies, but rather by business people or tech geeks or maybe even your average joe. The real question, though, is how will the social scene work? How will I meet new people if I don't live with them? How will I find friends to go out to a bar with on a Friday night or to chat over coffees with in the middle of the afternoon? Most of all, how will I meet Mr. Right?

I kid somewhat on that last one, but it is a concern occasionally in my mind. I mean, in college you have your frat parties or your house events or your friends-of-friends who are people they lived with last year or had a class with this spring or were in X and Y organization with for the past 3 years. But in New York, in Paris, in LA, in Philadelphia, in Frankfurt...wherever, you don't have "classes" with people, and your housemates/roommates/neighbors aren't that likely to have lived with 40 other potential new friends last year. Maybe your co-workers are a good bet, but unless you work at a major organization with thousands of employees (not likely in my case), it's got to get boring hanging out with them and only them all the time. So what do you do on a Friday night? Is there anything good on TV?

So maybe I'm in the middle of another quarter-life crisis. Then again, college is all about facing one daunting task after another, at least in my experience. Moving on to regular life and navigating its lonely paths is probably the most daunting of them all. In the end, though, what better way to conclude your time in college than to suddenly lose all of the safety nets it had set up for you?

I'm game.

Wednesday, May 23, 2007

Pulling the cable...

Maybe TV is an evil machine that rots your brain and steals away your imagination. I mean, it's possible. So long as we accept that radio and cinema did the same, just as the video games and the Internet are doing the same now, just as Victorian novels once ruined our delicate youth and Shakespearean plays put dirt into the minds of the masses. But, on the other hand, perhaps TV is much like these other things, perhaps it too is an art form, when driven to extremes. Perhaps even Jerry Springer has something to say about our modern lives and about the struggles of the popular masses.

But in any case, I was reminded these past few weeks of what a struggle television writing is, what a difficult task it is to come up with an original idea in a media form steeped in cliches and overused plot tactics and recurring character types (if only because so many television shows have developed over the years). I watched three major season finales, which is to say I watched them the day after they aired on the websites of their respective networks, and all I have to say is, you win some, and you lose some.

What is the valor in writing about season finales? Well, you know, I ask myself the same question. But in the end everyone is a critic, and why not give the writers some credit for trying to be original. That in mind, quick assessments of each (trying as much as I can to avoid revealing any major details).

1. Grey's Anatomy. If I were the professor in a class on television writing, I think this finale would get maybe a B, probably a B-. In comparison to the work of other season finales, it seems to have come out well. But it is not high quality. If you really think about the season finale, absolutely nothing happened. No loose ends were tied. No characters (who we all know will have their own spinoff in the fall) have left the hospital...well, okay, so one character did leave the hospital, but still. A new chief was NOT chosen. A wedding did NOT happen. A relationship did NOT end nor recommence. NOTHING. You can't have a season lead up to a season finale, and then leave the season with the same loose ends left unsettled. Rewrite, and return to me on Monday.

2. Ugly Betty. Now, this one had some real promise. As a finale, things were actually getting resolved and new developments were actually occurring. However, potentially killing off practically every character (by my assessment) is not a good way to end a season finale, nor really a single episode. That's just lazy conclusion writing from my assessment. In the end, I was somewhat disappointed, because it was somewhat evident that the writers only decided to take a turn for the worst because they needed some way to end the season. No, this is not how a season ends. Sorry.

3. Heroes. By far the best season finale I have seen in awhile. There was an ultimate conclusion to the plot the entire season has been developing, and there was an opening to further plot development. Basically, everything was well concluded, and I have regained my faith that this is one of the best-written series on television (I have to admit, I was having some doubts the past few episodes).

So that's what I've been doing with my life the past few days. If you think that I am rotting my brain by absorbing myself in all this television...well, perhaps you are correct. But I only will watch a show if it is verifiable quality. It's a hard task, and I think in the near future television writers will be pushed to even further extremes, trying now more than ever to come up with original plot lines and to throw original stories into their shows.

In any case, it's time for me to get back and try to work on my own season finale. Look out for that. It's coming, in only about 4 weeks. Look out!

Monday, May 14, 2007

Procrastination is not a bad habit, it's a way of life!

I had a day like yesterday once. It started around 11, when I went out for a bite to eat at the sandwich shop down the street. From there I met a good friend for some shopping, starting at the wine shop, of course. We walked a few blocks, went to the biggest super market in the city to buy some hand-made jam and some fine important chocolate powder (they were gifts). When we stepped outside the sun was peaking behind a couple of buildings down at the end of the block, burning our eyes a little (a surprise after so many days of cloudy chances of rain). We kept walking past the fine premium shops, the local designers and the international conglomerates side-by-side. We made our way to the river where we bought some ice cream, then we sat and stared at a church.

Except, the church was Notre-Dame de Paris, the river was la Seine, the ice cream was Berthillon, the super market was La Grande Epicerie de Paris, and the neighborhood was St-Germain de Pres. But, despite all that gradiosity, despite all the celebrity that accompanies some of the most famous institutions of food and of culture that Paris has to offer, the day was actually a lot like my yesterday. Equally amazing, equally worthwhile.

The point is, I guess, that you can travel all over the world and see the most amazing places in order to get a change of scenery or to have a new experience. There's a lot out there to see. But there's equally as much to see around you, equally as incredible a world right around the corner.

I guess I shouldn't speak: I do go to school in Paradise. But still, I had an amazing day yesterday despite the normalcy and mediocrity that Stanford can at times embody. I started with a hummus plate lunch on California Ave with Courtney (yeah, Mother's Day crowds sort of make brunch difficult...go figure). Always amazing, but that goes without saying. Then, I got all of my work done at the library in 2 hours, leaving me enough time to rent a couple of movies to take home and watch in the evening. Subsequently (yeah, weird word...look at it, admire it), I went to White Plaza to, surprise, go watch Chris and Jocelyn (aka the Red Stone Tea Forest) perform amidst the Spring Faire. Then, a meeting, a tamale dinner, an after-dinner food coma time-of-goodness, an evening of accomplishment, and all before bedtime! And I watched Mysterious Skin.

Perhaps my day was unusually amazing, but it can't be coincidence that I've been having more and more amazing days lately. I don't think it's that I've made them more incredible though, I think it's that Paris has taught me to appreciate them a little more. You see, it's hard to remember to take time out for a little fun, for a little break once in awhile. Our teachers and the posters on their walls used to tell us that procrastination is the least responsible practice out there, that efficiency is about starting early and finishing ahead of time so that you can relax when your done. I used to buy into it all, used to think all that was true. But you know what, it turns out it's complete and utter crap. Life isn't about working hard so that you can relax later. Wake up...you don't get to relax later! Finish and they'll just pile on more work, until you've become a lean, mean and efficient machine.

Sorry for the tirade, but it's true. No, my life is no longer about working first and relaxing later. My priorities have switched, and I think that's the part of France that I've adopted the best. Relaxation is of primary importance, work is for the last minute. After all, if you are skilled at the last minute, then you're definitely overly skilled at the on time work. And if you ever wonder, well, look for me taking a walk instead of working on my 10-page paper that's due tomorrow and is currently only an idea in my head (that's a lie, but it could happen). I'm the one getting the fun out of everything, saying screw you to all the deadlines and due dates piling up in my mind.

Man, Paris was incredible. But so is Stanford. So is Orange County. So is all of it.

Monday, May 07, 2007

Monotony is bliss

There is something to be said for the routine, for the usual, for the comfortable. I mean, most of the time in life you've heard your friends tell you to step outside your confort zone, or your parents told you that there's nothing to be afraid of, or your high school teacher told you to just give it a try. "What the heck?" runs through your head, somehow you build up your nerve and you do something you've never done before. And that's all well and good and very important.

But you know, sometimes it's important to recognize the routine. We spend our lives passing through the day-to-day, getting it done because it's meant to get done, falling into line with our schedules and our plans and our stress. But when does the routine become the routine? When do your new classes become your classes, when does your new workout schedule become your regular workout, when does life cross into that line of boring regularity? Maybe that's why so many of us find ourselves at a point where we've just grown tired, where the new classes each quarter have just become the new quarter, which in turn has become just another quarter. And it doesn't matter where you go to school or how much you were in love with the place when you got there, at some point it becomes routine, life gets boring. I mean, heck, I went to Paris. "What the heck?" I thought. Why not?

And perhaps it was a good decision. Perhaps it was the best experience of my life. But eventually the new and the exciting has to end and you have to return to the routine. I dreaded that return, I thought that I would become exceedingly bored again and never be able to see Stanford in the same light. Everyone goes through that, everyone does change the way they see Stanford (even if they stayed on campus). Nothing new, nothing original. The hard part, however, is getting through it. The hard part is realizing that no matter how menial and how tedious the routine can get, it was at one point exciting and new and it always has potential to be just as exciting and just as new (and just as shiny) again.

The point, I guess, of this entire rant is that allowing the routine to get you down is not really worthwhile. It's important to throw some variety in there, yes, but to always accept that the routine is the starting point. It may be menial and it may be boring, but it's only a routine for a little while. And once it's gone, you're going to miss it, so why not cherish it while you can? What the heck? Why not get enjoyment out of classes and have fun going to the gym. I mean, in the end it's not about chores and about tediousness. In the end, it's your routine, the one you chose, because at some point way back when as a naive and uncertain seventeen-year-old you thought it was the right thing to do.

I guess I'll just stick it out. I've never left anything unfinished, and there's no reason to start now. I miss Paris, I loved my time there, but it's time to get back to life, until I go back and find newness in everything around me again.

Sunday, April 29, 2007

Kindergarten University

I hate feeling incapable. It doesn't agree with me at all. But lately, it's been a lot of what I've feeling. Incapable of starting a literature review (writer's block, or mental block?), for example, which is what I'm feeling right now. But alas, class deadlines don't wait for me, so I should probably get to starting that.

Seems to me that the biggest struggle of getting back has been getting through the work, learning again to balance work and play (with a heavy bent toward play), and procrastinating like crazy. But you know, probably the most important thing I learned in Paris is that the education you get through classes, the version they feed to you so that you can look academic, is not really all that valuable. I mean, let's be honest, college--even at an elite institution such my (our) own--is not about the information you absorb by reading a book. I mean, that's interesting, and discussions can be lively and exciting, especially if you engage in them. But, it's not the point. The point is to be surrounded by amazing people, to have access to resources you couldn't normally access were you studying on your own, but ultimately to take your education into your own hands. Which is to say, to refine your ability to learn, all over again. It's sort of like kindergarten, redux. Except with reading and papers and exams.

I know, it sounds stupid and cliche. But, I mean, most cliches tend to actually have some truth to them when you think about it. So if college were measured in that sort of GPA, well I'd say I'd probably be doing pretty well in GPA, considering where I started. Of course there would be the occassional lesson that I don't tend to learn very well, or those "exams" of sorts that I fail miserably. But, I'd like to think that I'm making progress. Improving. Learning. You know.

The point of this all is that...well, I don't really know what the point is. I guess the point is that if I were to summarize the last week of my life in one major thought, that would be it. I have direction, I have a goal, and I'm sticking to it. It's amazing the value that can add, the sense of purpose you can feel. In the end, life will not send you signals, there will be no bricks dropped on your head to point down the right (or wrong) path. You just have to sort of guess. There's always time to make up for mistakes, to try to change directions later on. But you'll get nowhere if you constantly decide to go back, and take the other road.

Sometimes, though, your wireless cuts out and forces you to work on your paper. Sometimes the signs are there. But that's only if you're being really dumb. Unfortunately, that happens alot for me. Fine, God or overarching force of reason or whatever you are, I'll work. If you insist.

Thursday, April 19, 2007

Life in "John" pace (gotta love inside jokes)

Life has kicked into full swing. It's sort of tragic, you know, the phase of rushing around trying to balance everything has faded into normalcy. On the other hand, it's quite reassuring to know that the transition is that quick, and to know that it's possible to leave but there are always people you can see with whom it will feel like you just saw each other yesterday, even if yesterday was 5 years ago.

I've had a busy week this week. I guess that means that I've had a lot to do for classes, a lot of things to deal with (I started a new job, for example), and it's felt a little like I've been rushing from one thing to another. Fortunately for me, when I feel like I'm rushing, I'm really just moving at a faster rate with the same amount of time at my disposal. I just think I need to rush. In any case, now I'm hoping my econ problem set is good to go, worrying that I'm forgetting something I was supposed to turn in, and looking forward to beach trip this weekend.

But that's all boring. In fact, that's I guess the point of this return. Life has become normal. I'm working on it, and hopefully soon there will be more interesting things to talk about.

For now, and for always, I'm taking pleasure in those little moments that make a day. The random run-ins with old friends on a campus that is infinitely smaller than it should seem, the sly smiles to a cute passer-by, the chill factor on a cloudy day (that actually has double meaning), and the comfort of my dorm bed. Life is good, as long as you take the time to notice it. God really is in the details...

Wednesday, April 11, 2007

In any other world

Begin phase two. So to speak. I've definitely begun to feel it, that sense that you have changed, the feeling that you are completely different, unable to explain to people how you changed and unable to really illustrate to them (though they clearly can tell it's there) that you're not the same person you were when you left. This is just about the most exciting experience I've ever had!

Sounds weird, right? It may sound like I'm feeling constrained, feeling surrounded by a sense of alien-ness, a sense of disconnection. To some extent, this would be true. But not in a bad way. It's good to feel alien every once in awhile, to feel foreign, to not understand what you're looking at. Teaches you to deal with situations (which will come, over and over again) where you are thrown into a new environment completely alone. And here I'm lucky: I'm not alone. 60-some other people this year, and hundreds (or thousands) of others in years before have been through this whole transition.

But the truth of the matter is that, if I were to throw back to SOC 1 last Spring, I've been able, by going abroad, to gain the "eye of the sociologist." What they don't tell you in that class is that the eye of the sociologist is really just the eye of the foreigner. It's like when you walk into a new country, a different culture, how the littlest things throw you off and make you think, "why the hell would someone do that like that?" After living for a substantial amount of time in that country, though, you start to understand it. Then you come back to the US and you wonder why everyone seems to look you in the eyes (sketchy???), and why people are always done with their meals before you are (did I really start on a French diet?), and why your alcohol tolerance is suddenly SO LOW (wtf, mate???). But, you know, life is one constant movement from culture to culture. We all did it when we left high school and came to college, and even before when we switched from junior high to high and all the other transitions we've made. Ultimately, there is no such thing as culture shock. It's impossible. There is just a transition, an adaptation, that can be gradual or quick by degrees, but that, in the end, is nothing more than what it is: a transition. It is not a shock. It is not deadly. It is human.

So, blogging on this thing has become less interesting, naturally, as a result of the fact that life does not offer new random experiences of cultural adjustment. But alas, I will keep it up, for it is my mission, my heroic goal in life. Or just because I want to torture everyone with the boring diatribe that is this blog. Either way, why kill the fun? Cheers to boring transitions!

Tuesday, April 03, 2007

The absurdity of normalcy

So, it's been a few weeks. Quick summary: past two weeks I went home, I saw most everybody (yay!!!), then I came up to campus Sunday, moved in, and started classes today. It's an interesting experience, you know, coming back to the US. I thought that it would be difficult, but to be honest it wasn't that hard, until now. In SoCal there was a lot of time at home, a lot of hanging with friends, a lot of feeling like I was back home. Here on campus, though, things feel very foreign, very different, very new, like I'm coming back to somewhere vaguely familiar but also somewhat bizarre.

So what does that mean? Well, primarily it means that I am feeling reverse cultural shock, yes. It's usually manifest as a "why do people do that like that" or an occasional "whoa, I actually understand how this works" every few minutes. Also a lot of over-analyzing the way people interact and then quickly telling myself to forget about analyzing things. But alas, such is the process, and I figure it'll pass in a couple weeks once I'm out of this whole process and settle back into life at Stanford (but I doubt I will get over dressing more Parisian anytime soon).

In any case, life is slowly getting back into a rhythm. Classes are fun, meeting people and adjusting to the new house is exciting. And I really don't have much of anything else to say. So yeah, here's to America, and to the "honeymoon phase" as that return adjustment thing Estelle gave us once said. Onward!

P.S. Blogger still says things in French for me. My computer apparently is adjusting a little more slowly than I am. Lucas, we're in America, you're not in France anymore. Sorry, deal with it.

Saturday, March 17, 2007

In memoriam...

This entry is titled in memoriam for two reasons. One, I'm about to pack up and leave France, and these past six months will slip quickly from the realm of active experience to passive memories of the good times and an intense longing to return back. Two, however, and perhaps more importantly, it is a brief and mostly unsatisfactory tribute to a 21-year-old young woman from Orange, taken from this earth a bit early but angelic in all that she was. Linda, may you rest with the angels tonight and feel a peace that none of us on this earth can ever comprehend.

How to really summarize the emotions and thoughts that are running through my head right now? On the one hand my brain is trying to prepare itself, ever so feably, for the coming shock that will be the return home. They say, and I'm sure they're right, that many times the cultural shock is much worse when you go back, when you return feeling completely different but unable to express and to explain what exactly that difference means. I've been trying to wrap my head around the person I am now, to try to compare him at least in degrees to the person I was before I left. But the truth is, the warp has been a complete 180 degree turn. I mean, on the surface I am still the same man with most of the same beliefs and values, but on the inside the thoughts I have now are completely different, my excitement and interest in the world is infinitely higher, and I just can't even begin to determine how far I've come. I've grown, and for the first time I saw it happen right before my eyes, in a brief span of only 6 months. I mean, you know, how often does something like that happen? I fear intensely that life will be normal again when I get back, that my excitement will die and that my interest will wither and that in the end all I will be left with is a longing to return.

But of course, I will do everything in my power to stop that from happening.

In other news, I can't quite understand how to get a grasp of what happens when a young person dies. It seems so unnatural, so illogical, so unfair. But then, it seems like there's no reason to fret over it, nothing to do that could make anything better. And, I don't want to write a blabber about this situation, don't want to act like I have the right to really summarize what has happened, don't want to be the one to talk when so many others are in so much more pain than I am. So, in the end, I am not qualified. All I can say is that the world will never be the same. Never is, is it?

Yes, but right now those are basically the thoughts running through my head. I hope that Paris will remember me, I hope that I will always remember Paris. And of course, I will never forget Linda, and hope what I've done on this earth can only be at least a little bit as amazing as what she has done herself. Here's to life, and to all it brings us, and to all it is!

Sunday, March 11, 2007

Life moves too quickly when it moves in slow motion

The more and more I reflect on Paris (mostly in the form of my self-reflexive rapport du stage...ew), the more I realize how much this place has changed me. In physical form, I'm pretty much the same in appearance and such as I was when I left, sure, but my outlook on life, my way of seeing events in the US (especially of the political variety), and my perceptions of myself have been completely revolutionized, basically. I'm sort of afraid that I won't be recognizable when I get back, at least in the way I act and the person I am. But then again, do people really change? Put me back in the same environment, I'll probably be mostly the same. Hehe.

In any case, more on what I will miss about Paris. This weeks abstract concept will be, I suppose, um, well what's the best way to put this...the vitality, nay, the accessibility that is city life. I mean, I can get city life most anywhere in the world, but Paris is unique, you know. It's a city where everybody is walking the streets, even if it's pourring rain outside, and where you can always find a boulangerie that's open even on Sunday (unlike most everything else). On that note, it's a city where things close randomly (the owner didn't feel like coming in? ok, no big...), where strikes block off city streets and prevent you from following the path you had planned on (especially if you're driving), and where metro stations and lines close at least once a day do to a malfunction or a protest or (worst of all) a suicide or attempted suicide--and where you just go with the flow. Even in California, famed state of "going-with-the-flow" laid-back beaches and sunny days, life is not this laid-back. Even at Stanford, campus of discussion sections having trouble finding space on the grass because every other discussion section is there, or of slip-and-slides on the front lawn on a breezy April afternoon, the stress can feel daunting and the rush between places can become more overwhelming. In Paris, if you show up an hour late to work, nobody faults you for it, and if you miss the bus and have to wait 20 minutes for the next one--hey, just another opportunity to enjoy the scenery and the company of 10 other people who missed the bus when you did.

I mean, this attitude is certainly not unique to Paris. In fact, Paris is sort of behind when you compare the laid-back to feel to, say, a Barcelona or an Athens or much of Italy. But the unique way it manifests itself in Paris--which is to say, mostly in the form of "manifs" (i.e., manifestations = protests)--is perfect, and I'm afraid somewhat that with the influx of a global economy and its accompanying work demands that will change. Once the 35 hour work week is abolished (which is admittedly probably a good thing) and once the 6 weeks of vacation are shortened to four, I fear for the joie de vivre parisienne, but alas, we'll see what happens. In any case, I'll be able to say, ten years from now, I once knew a Paris where the metro broke down and you just took it for granted, where friends would always show up 15 minutes (minimum) after the agreed on meeting time and it was expected, and where things still closed down on Sundays and (sometimes) Mondays. Alas, nostalgia is very agreable bedfellow.

So yeah, with one week to go, only one more entry before I leave, I'm starting to feel sad. I had a day dream today of my plane taking off from CDG, the feeling I'll have as the landing gear close in and the countryside around Paris fades away. The feeling of getting in the taxi to the airport, of leaving peripherique on my way out, of driving along Blvd St-Michel for a last time, saying goodbye to all the places where I used to drink beer and find cheap dinners, to all the memories of meeting "at the fountain"! It's almost unbearable, so I'm going to try to live in denial and stop thinking about it for now. In the mean time, I'll be having the best last-week-in-Paris of my life, so don't be surprised if I'm constantly in and out of contact!!!

Tuesday, March 06, 2007

Better seen than believed

Ok, so, I set out to come up with things that I am going to miss about France, and at this point in time I'm still having a bit of difficulty thinking about things. I don't think it is so much that there is nothing to miss, but mainly that I'm just not in the position right now to realize what I'll miss. Basically, what it comes down to is that the things I most take for granted are the things that I will miss the most, and I can't quite get my finger on what those things are, because, well, I don't think about them (that is what taking something for granted means, no?).

So anyway, some potential candidates: the metro, in all it's close-at-12:45 glory, because, well, how else would I get anywhere; the architecture, which I'm sure will become idealized in my head the moment I set foot in Orange County; the little discoveries, like discovering this morning that the bus I take to work passes the house where Manet was born, not to mention the Louvre, the Comedie Francaise, St-Germain, and the Academie Francaise; the activity, like always being able to find a bar to go to or a restaurant to eat at wherever you are. I mean, it's so hard to just quantify how much of Paris has gotten ingrained into me, has seeped its way under my pores, whether in the form of harmful bacteria or in slightly less corporeal manifestations. For example, the fact that my hand automatically types an "e" after the suffixes "and" and "end," especially words that have French counterparts, like demand(e). In any case, I may not have intended it to happen, and I may have resisted quite strongly at first, but France has gotten inside of me, and I'm pretty sure that I won't be the same again. That's a good thing.

Which brings me to the last point. I can't say that I'm actually going to miss France, because in all honesty missing to me usually implies that there is something that you feel was incomplete about the experience. When you miss a friend, it's because you wish you could talk to them about everything and nothing going on in your life. When you miss a restaurant (or your grandma's cooking), it's because your taste buds can't quite bring themselves to somehow align with your memory and bring back the particular flavors and experience that made that meal great. With France, I can't say that I have that feeling. Sure, there are buildings I haven't seen, museums I haven't been to, a theme park I might feel sad to have not seen, foods I have not tried. But in the grand scheme, France is everything I wanted it to be, which is to say nothing like I expected it to be. In the end, for me experiencing Paris has become less about checking off that always expanding list of cafes to pass an afternoon at, museum exhibits to ponder, and second-hand bookstores to revel in (though it is a noble cause), and more about the changes I have gone through, the maturity I have gained, and the indescribable sense of pride I know I'll feel to have conquered being abroad for so long.

So yeah, my body and my brain are going to miss Paris. They're going to go through their little withdrawals when my hand finds itself shocked to learn that B813A is not the code to every apartment building, when my legs start to veg out from not having to walk around cobblestone streets, and when my reflexes start to slow when it comes to navigating my way through a crowded street. But I won't miss Paris. No, better than that, I will be forever indebted to this city, to its residents (from the hot guy on the bus this morning to my host mom), and to its incredibly powerful ability as muse and as inspiration. I wondered before I got here why Paris was such a powerhouse when it came to turning out artists, philosophers, writers, and all those other creative types; now I know, it's all you can do in a city so inspiring. You'll forgive me, I hope, if after Paris I come home a chain-smoking, caffeine-infused cafe dweller with a penchant for waxing poetic from four in the afternoon until dinner time (around 9).

Sunday, February 25, 2007

C'est quoi cette ville, cette Paris?

As the days get longer, and as time grows shorter (especially as my leisure-time approaches zero like a limit out of hell), I think it would be appropriate to begin the reflection phase, in order to not leave everything until the day I'm leaving and the 12 hour flight home. Granted, 12 hours is a lot of time to think about something, but there are movies to watch and "sleep" to catch, so, why bother thinking?

In any case, there are only three more weeks left here in the city of lights, the city of Sartre and de Beauvoir, of the Bastille and of the Grands Boulevards. In the city of me. I mean, you never know until you start thinking about it how much you're going to miss a place, and perhaps I should take heed that I've started to feel homesick. After all, my homesickness is not so much homesickness as it is a sense of hyper-regularity and total normalcy that has become life in Paris. Weird, right, that life can become "normal" even in a city as unusual, as cutting-edge, as vivante as Paris. And ultimately the wanderlust inside of me I think has caught up with me, to such an extent that Orange County seems almost exotic (I have been away from it for forever), or at least comfortable. But the point is, when you start to feel homesick, that's a sign that you're going to miss the place your in infinately more than you know.

That in mind, I have been doing my best to go out and see the city, to see the museums and the cafes and the people and all the things that I idealized in my mind before coming here but never really got to know. Mostly, this means an attempt to find good food. Because there is no better way to experience a foreign place than through it's food, even if that food is decidedly foreign from that place itself. So, the highlights of me week thus far? Well, yesterday was pretty amazing: dinner at a classy Indian restaurant in Montmartre for 28 euro, which really is quite affordable when it includes a bottle of wine. On top of that there was this morning's "American breakfast" at Coffee parisien (a sort of a mix between everything Franglish and a New York diner)...there were pancakes, which is really all that matters. (For future reference to French people learning English: A crèpe is not a pancake, it is a crepe! We know what crepes are in America, and in England, so...you know, stop calling them pancakes!!!) So yeah, good eats. I also saw La Vie des autres (Das Leben der Anderen, The Lives of Others) avec Colleen on Friday night. That was exceedingly, uh, "cute." Shut up, cute is a totally masculine word. It was fun to watch a German movie subtitled in French though, without any English context at all. I love German, I wish I spoke it.


Right, so back to the point. It's about time I start compiling a list of the things I will miss most/the things I love most about Paris. So, with that in mind, entry number one: les courses. For the English-speaking public out there, this means grocery shopping. Granted, I didn't get to go shopping that often, since dinner is provided for me and I'm not supposed to use (read: I don't really feel comfortable using) my host mother's cookware. But what I do know is this: if I had an apartment on my own in Paris, grocery shopping would be so much more enjoyable than it would be stateside, even in New York or any other walkable city. For one people cart around their little grocery bags on wheels, or if you spend over 50 euro you can have the menial labor at the super market take your groceries to your door (supposing you live within like a reasonable walking distance). And, once you've bought the meat (that you need to cook today or else it will literally expire...no freezing will help), the milk (which on the contrary will last in your cabinet until March 2029), the flour (which is heavily sifted and very pure), and the fruits and vegetables (which you had to weigh yourself and print out your own label for...cheating? never!) at the supermarket, you then have to go out and get the carbs and fats! So, off to the boulangerie at the corner (which happens to make the best bread in Paris according to Fromer's 2006), to the patisserie next store (sorry, the former shop was not a boulanger/patissier, like so many places), and to the fromagerie for some nice Camembert to go with the pain de tradition. If you were really hardcore you actually would have bought your meat at the boucherie too, but that is a frightful place, so you stick to the supermarche. Then you can whip up a quick dinner of potage, chicken and rice (whoops, gotta get that too), cheese & bread, and finally tarte au noix de coco or some sliced fruit or that patisserie for dessert. And of course there's wine on the side, which you picked up at Nicolas a couple days ago. Life is really hard in Paris.

So yeah, if I were to do this again, I'd get my own apartment. It'd be expensive, but really it's the only way to function when so much is at your fingertips. So what will I miss first about Paris, even though I didn't get to do it that often? Les courses, plain and simple. You have to go shopping everyday, but that way you aren't oversupplied with food. It's a clever concept really. It would never sell in the US.

But that's why they are two different cultures, is it not? Alright, off to paper-writing...

Monday, February 19, 2007

Carnivale is sort of crowded...

This weekend I travelled again. It was fun, except for the fact that I was pretty much dying of sickness the night before I left. But for the 100 euros I spent on that flight, I think it was worth it. Especially since I ended up not paying much else on the trip (thanks to a few ironically opportune mishaps and some well-coordinated sneaky moves). In any case, all of it worked out well, and the experience was great, just to get out, to get a change of scenery, to see an old friend, all of that.

So, I think the best part of the weekend is hard to identify. Bologna was nice, pretty much just a college town with the normal college town characteristics: not much to do except party on weekends (which would be nice were I and later Grace not sick), lots of young people, blah blah. Except it was in Italy, so the buildings were really cool and the streets were really twisty and confusing. Then we went to Venice, which is exactly like everything they've ever shown you of it, especially like the Venetian hotel in Las Vegas (which for some reason I keep wanting to call Paris). And Carnivale (hope I spelled it right...) was going on in Venice, which mostly involved an extremely crowded train station and people dressed in masks and tons of touristy items for sale (which I would assume is the norm, but perhaps slightly increased for Carnivale). But all in all, it was a great time, a big rush around, two sick college kids, and lots of Italyness.

Um, so that was my weekend. It was really nice to see Grace again, forgot how great our conversations can be. Yeah, not going into that, but let's just say Friday night's conversation was probably the best one I've had in awhile, if not centered around one of the most taboo topics out there. Conversations are really what make life amazing. Anyway, here's to a weekend away from home, to counting down the remaining weekends, and to getting started on three weeks of overworked hell! This is Reo...good day!

Tuesday, February 13, 2007

Backward and forward

It's been an interesting week. I had my first weekend in Paris in three weeks or so, always refreshing to "stay home" for the weekend. And I'm really tired, with no idea why.

But, perhaps more interesting than your run-of-the-mill weekend in Paris (read: day 1 going to a bar playing YMCA and other American classics and later walking home at 1:30am because you missed the last metro, day 2 having a vegetarian dinner and partying at la Loco, and day 3 brunch in St Germain and dinner party at the Fondation until late), was the fact that I am becoming more and more American as the days go by. Let me explain.

Last quarter what tended to get me most excited (no, not like that) and most thrilled about being in Paris was the fact that every once in awhile, usually after a "plateau" period as Patrick (French prof last quarter) called it, my French would improve and I would get closer and closer to being understood. At lunch lines or at the movie theatre I'd be able to order anything without needing to repeat myself once or twice (or more). And that was great. I was feeling more and more integrated into Parisian society each time I was mistaken for a local and asked for directions or each time my American accent (which apparently was there, though I couldn't hear it) was ignored.

Lately though, after a winter vacation in Germany that vastly improved my French (don't ask how that works), I've become lazy and uninterested in improving the language any more. I have stopped becoming annoyed when someone at the boulangerie will immediately address me in English even though I spoke to them in French, and I have even gotten to the point where I asked a if a shoe saleswoman spoke English before asking to try on shoes. Quite the change, I'd say. I don't know what it is, but somehow in my mind assimilating to the Paris culture and trying to break away from my Americanness just doesn't seem as appealing. I suppose I've come to see the Parisian tendency to dress in boring neutral colors, to never make eye contact with anyone, and to gawk when someone speaks a language other than French as foolish and as a sign of low confidence. I mean, perhaps most convincing is that many Parisians themselves walk around in bright yellow coats or wearing orange dress shirts or something equally "outrageous" and just don't give a damn about the stares and the onlookers. Or they stare straight back, confronting gazes with a certain forcefulness and rancor. Perhaps they know that the onlookers are only envious.

In any case, when it comes down to the problems and the struggles in French society and the mess-ups and the wrong turns in American culture, well, let's just say at least I can get a handle on the American ones. Immigration and race issues are divisive issues in France as in the US, but at least stateside we can admit that certain racial groups are less favored than others because we can find survey data based on race. I mean, maybe it is best that all cultures be able to mix rather than carving out their own territory (the French ideal), but how can they mix if they're not even allowed to talk about their cultural identity. Likewise, maybe there are some things that the government should stay out of and leave a little open, rather than create infinitely more bureaucracy and confusion by trying to intervene. I mean, sometimes American government is the model, and for good reason, even if it is led by GW.

So how does this play out for me? Well, on the one hand I'm feeling increasingly more homesick for the ability to dress how I like and to be able to communicate readily without thinking through every word before I say it. Don't get me wrong, Paris is an amazing city, probably the most amazing I have ever known, but being here is starting to feel constratining. It's nice to know I've made progress in French, and the experience of being here has I'm sure made me like 20 times more confident and self-aware than I was before in addition to radically changing the way I see the world, but I think I've just about reached the point where enough is enough. So, I'll get through the next five weeks I assume focusing mostly on the overwhelming amount of work I have to do, and then I'll get home and revel in Americanism. But then again, perhaps this is just another plateau, one I will hopefully break through just in time to get the most out of my last few weeks in this city. Because in the end, leaving Paris is like leaving a dear friend: there's an incompleteness and a sense of detachment that will keep you trying as hard as you can to come back. Don't be surprised if one day I end up working in Paris, at least for a few years. It's just the way it goes.

Monday, February 05, 2007

Liberated in Normandy

Have you ever been somewhere and known it to be perhaps the most unhappy place you have ever seen, only to be reminded of the horrors that exist elsewhere around the world, horrors that you are too untravelled or too naive or too close-minded to have seen? It has been only a couple of months since I last went to Normandy, and going back I found it to be just as sad and heartwrenching a place as it was last time. It's not that the people there aren't happy (they are quite joyful, in fact) nor that the countryside is desolate and boring (rolling hills, dramatic cliffscapes, the most beautifully rain-nourished grass anywhere...), nor is it that anything horrible has happened there recently. Throughout it's history, though, Normandy has been at the center of the conflicts that have defined Europe, conflicts from William the Conquerer and his ride to the British Isles through almost every great war of history. Of course, worst of all was Normandy's involvement in WWII, Normandy's complete destruction by the bombings from it's "liberators" the Allies, the deaths of thousands of men on it's beaches and in it's ravaged villages.

In any case, the trip to Normandy was really quite enjoyable, but perhaps not in the normal sense of how you enjoy something. You see, I'm the type--and I'm pretty sure I'm not alone in this--who likes to experience things the way they were, to experience the horrible and the inhuman for what they were, to try to understand somehow how something so terrible could arise. I'm not talking about Hitler and the Holocaust, because that's hard enough to find in Germany let alone in Normandy, but more so about how young men can be driven so directly not only to kill and to destroy but also to criminalize and dehumanize an enemy in their minds to the extent that that killing becomes justifiable and right. I have trouble doing that in my mind, but I have to admit that if I had been told of Hitler's atrocities, I can't say that I wouldn't turn into a brutal killing machine myself (or, perhaps better, be killed 10 seconds after getting out of the boat on the beach at Omaha). Interestingly enough, the double viewing of Saving Private Ryan on our bus and the Caen Memorial and all of it were my favorite experiences in awhile because there were a few moments in there when I really felt a small hint of what it must have been like to be in that situation, to face that horror and fear and adrenaline. Then again, maybe I'm just a masochist.

Anyway, Normandy was, is, will always be amazing. It really reminds people like me, people of my generation how untouched by difficulty our lives have been. Since we were born, there has been no major threat from a Hitler or a Mussolini or any type like that, though numerous dictators have risen to power and ruthlessly killed their own countrymen just the same. The threat of nuclear warfare does not hang over our heads in the way it did during the Cold War, in the way that a major power seriously threatened to wipe out an entire landscape, though the situation with nuclear weapons has by no means become peaceful. The greatest fear we have faced is probably that of terrorism, but we do not have an enemy to focus all our rage on (despite what officials might say), we do not seriously need to adjust our lifestyle because we might go down in a plane crash...there's really nothing to do to prevent it, and if it does, oh well. I guess in the end, I feel like my generation is extremely lucky, but in some light we are also extremely unsure of what to do should something arise. Would we really recognize it, if something did come up? Would we really rise to the call, should we be called to defend abstract ideas like "Democracy" and "Liberty"? Or has the blunder of wars like Vietnam and now Iraq driven the unconditional belief in such ideas out of our heads? Would it be worth it to send all of our resources or all of our young men into a conflict, or have we reached an era and a technological advancement where that's no longer necessary? Is anything even in black and white, divided clearly between good and evil, anymore?

I don't know what that means, and I don't know if it's even necessary to reflect on it. Ideally war would just be erased from the human consciousness. But somehow I doubt that is possible. But I wonder, have we advanced further toward a lasting peacefulness, if not a denial of tensions? Or have we gone backward, unwilling to defend our core values because we no longer know how core they are? I'm not pro-war by any means, but I do sort of wonder what it means to truly believe that democracy, liberty, and hell even capitalism are the undeniably right way to live. Normands today still question the value of a a liberation that destroyed most of the historical buildings and towns of their region. Perhaps liberty isn't always the most important thing. Perhaps the outsider's judgement isn't always right. But then again, what would Europe today be like had the liberation failed? I don't want to know, that's for sure.

Friday, February 02, 2007

Gone for the weekend, be back Monday...as usual

It's been quite awhile since I've seen this thing, and like most old acquaintances and long forgotten toys it's just like it was before. Well, okay, so maybe it's not that amazing that the interface of a blog has remained the same, but still, it's still important to note that things from the past have their ways of staying the same...

Yeah, that was totally unphilosophical in every way. So, let's just get on with it. Last weekend was an amazing weekend! It's hard to look back on it now and write about it in detail, but suffice it to say that the French Alps are probably the most amazing of places on earth. I mean, for one you have snow, two there's amazingly fulfilling food that's perfect for the cold (mostly composed of cheese and vin chaud), and three, well, it's the Alps! I mean, c'mon. Yeah, so needless to say, Stanford (unofficial) trip to the Alps was sort of like a ski trip back home, except it took nine hours in a cramped bus to get there (though a TGV exists) and it was in Europe, so infinitely better than Tahoe, which in itself is infinitely better than the mountains in SoCal (Big Bear, what???). Yeah, so amidst days skiing on semi-icy slopes (talk about a bad place to be a true beginner), nights cooking and eating the most amazing group meals on record, and late nights either drinking in house or (over) drinking at the "welcome drink" provided free by our host company...well, let's just say it was a whirlwind of craziness.

So yeah, now I'm currently packing to go to Normandy, for which we will depart, on our Bing trip, in an hour. I've been to every single place we're going to before, so I'm not looking forward to seeing much in the way of new stuff, but still...the food and the people and all that should make it. And, I mean, Normandy is probably the best part of France so what's there to lose? And there's always Calvados and cidre and sandwiches americains to get me by. Like the Alps, Normandy has mastered one thing and mastered it well: unhealthy food.

So, I hope everyone stateside is having as exciting a time as I am here, but I am inclined to believe that that is not the case. Nonetheless, enjoy your homework and midterms and frat parties and all that, and think of me exploring the Alps, or Normandy, or in two weeks Bologna. Yeah, why isn't travel this easy in the US? In California, I should say. That would be ideal. Right, en tout cas, bon week-end! A toute!

Wednesday, January 24, 2007

Ramble ramble ramble, with a side of b.s.

Hi. No really, hi. What? Is something on my face? Is there something between my teeth? Seriously, what is it?!?!

Hehe, now I have your attention. Maybe. Anyway, it's been quite an eventful week. I guess really quite an eventful weekend, not so much an eventful week, per se. Where did we leave off? I think it was around Tuesday of last week when I last wrote something, so just to get up to speed, I spent Wednesday, Thursday, Friday, and Saturday procrastinating, just like before. I'm really bad at the whole, uh, getting work done before it's due thing. But I mean, c'mon, it's the start of the quarter. I can't really be blamed, can I? And I did finish a map sort of thing on Thursday, so, I didn't procrastinate the whole time.

Nonetheless, come Sunday I was quite on top of things, if only because I had to be. I basically locked myself in my room and forced myself to write, even if it meant lying in bed under the covers practically in a sleeping position. I still got it done. I ate meals that came in plastic containers (Chinese take out) and cardboard boxes (microwave dinner), which was fun. I went running for an hour, which was refreshing. But you know, that's how things go. Sometimes you have to lock yourself up like the hunchback in his bell tower, hide your face from the world...but only to be more productive of course.

So I finished that. I then had the Monday of all Monday's, with a marathon health policy class that covered nothing but medical terms--irrelevant to all but the two future doctors in the class. That was fun... It was followed, 7 hours later (I didn't go home, but instead worked on proofreading my paper and wasting time, along with a bout of ski-clothes shopping) by my EU class, which was good times. It's so depressing though to have class start just after the sun rises and to go home after the sun sets. That is not how life should be. Sun is important, you know? Otherwise, I dunno, you could go crazy.

Right, so, now I'm at work, "researching" environmental policy in the US, mostly just waiting until my boss comes in so I can show him the outline I came up with. Life is so entertaining. Anyway, looking forward to going skiing this weekend, in the Alps (check item number 437 off my things to do in my life list). So yeah, should be a good weekend, even if it turns out to be quite the sleep-deprived experience. Here we go again!

Monday, January 15, 2007

Musings of a Procrastinator

So, Paris is amazing. Too amazing, really. It prevents me from doing work, it makes me feel great even when I'm locked in my room trying to finish a 15 page (NOT 30 page thank you very much!) paper. Why do I have a 15 page (NOT 30 page...) paper to finish, you may ask? Well, to put it quite bluntly, and, well, if I were to really tell the truth, precisely because of the sole and undeniable reason that, in actuality, and being completely honest, I was, um, in a sense lazy last quarter too, in a certain sense of the word.

So now I am still procrastinating. I think rather than work on my paper and rather than actually accomplish anything else tonight, I'm going to watch another episode of the 4400 season 2 (once you start watching, it's hard to think of anything else). Needless to say, I'm having a hell of a time this quarter! Being completely unproductive :). Anyway, that is all. Nothing else really new to report. Life in Paris becomes life as usual at some point, just like anywhere else. Reo, out.

P.S. That building that's always under construction on my walk to school (see picture below) is now done! The scaffolding was removed sometime between 9 AM and 7 PM today. It's a miracle! I think this is the sign of good things to come.

-- Transmission terminated --

Sunday, January 07, 2007

Ich bin Französisch

Alright, so, here I am, sitting back in "my" bedroom (which is actually my hostess's son's former room) in Paris, trying to reflect on the month that has just ended with my return to this city. In some ways I'm somewhat sad to come back, and in many others I'm excited as ever!

Anyway, I'll try to give a brief rundown just to impress you with my travel skills (skillz). I suppose it all started one cloudy day back in December, the 10th to be exact, when a tired mother of mine and I made our way to Charles de Gaulle Airport, not to fly, but to pick up our one-month rental car. From there, we set out, bravely and exhaustedly. Destination: Germany. Nay, Deutscheland. But first, to Strasbourg we went!

And from Strasbourg we left (but not without catching the famous Marche de Noel/Chriskindelmarkt that city had to offer, and getting a slight taste that left me wanting to go back). Jolly good times!

Then, we continued on our merry way to the glorious city of Munich (with its equally glorious/upsetting memories in my mind - remember my camera? yeah...) There we spent a few days with the wonderfully accomodating Munn family (Jim Munn and my mother were old work chums) and toured the city a little (though I already knew it well enough). That was quite fun, but right now it was a long time in the past. Oh, but good Italian food!

Next, we made our way up the Rhine to Frankfurt, well, to Neu-Isenberg, where we spent a few days with my mother's Uncle Ernst and his wife. Much fun again, considering Frankfurt is quite an amazing city. Then, we had a whirlwind of family meetings as we went to the Giessen area, about 60 km north of Frankfurt, site of my mother's past in Germany (she grew up in Giessen, my grandparents in some of the outlying towns). Everybody was there, and there were so many people who were all so excited to meet me! And I couldn't say a word to them! Hehe, but alas, all was fun, and now I can know who my mom is talking about (or at least have a face come to mind) when she talks about family members.

Then, we went to see my mom's childhood friend Harold and his wife, Ilena. They were fun, and slept in late which was great for me! Harold is also quite the successful architect, and needless to say he showed me a lot buildings and told a lot of the history of Braunshweig, the university town where they live. Harold and Ilena also took me to Berlin for my b-day (oh yeah, I turned 21, I forgot), and that was, you know, great. I mean, what can compare to Berlin, you know?

Anyway, after that, and after having being virtually unable to speak and follow conversations except through the occassional translations from my mom for about a month, the mother and I went to someplace where neither one of us could speak the local language: Athens! We spent the new year there, celebrating midnight before most of Europe and of course before the U.S., and saw a ton of old buildings and columns and such. And, we had amazing food, because everybody knows Greek food is glorious!

Then, we went back to the Frankfurt/Giessen area, met about 50 more new relatives (including my mom's aunt Heidi and uncle Heini), and two days later drove back Paris-ward. Now, after a 6 hour drive (which was actually quite pleasant) and a relatively light headache from navigating Paris by car, and after a dinner in a nice restaurant in Gobelins which had a menu for 14.50 euro (I almost died! And it tasted amazing!), I am back here, immediately on the internet, and about to pass out from exhaustion. Anyway, hope everyone is having a great 2007! I look forward to hearing from you soon (now that I'm back in internet contact...I'm tied to this thing, this "computer," like a drug). Tscheuss!