The Reo World: Outgrowing Reo

To sleep, perchance...

2010-01-24T22:03:00.006-05:00

(From my journal, 1/14/2010-1/18/2010)

The dream begins in a subway car, or maybe a bus--anyway one of those places where people are crowded close together but nobody looks anyone else in the eye. My eye is staring at an ad for the ballet, some rendition of Swan Lake with an intriguingly modern twist. I stare endlessly at the muscular legs of the male dancer, and as I stare he begins to throw the swan princess into a twirl.

I blink and suddenly I find myself in the dark theater, staring straight at the dancer-prince. His eyes peer into mine in what seems an unlikely and almost impossible stare. But as I slowly recognize the brilliant green of his irises, I can't quite shake the thought that he is signaling me, his eyes pointing to the back corner of the theater. I turn to my left, just in time to catch a darkly-dressed, rather ominous man jolting out of the rear entrance. Thankful I brought my silenced pistol, I move swiftly to the edge of the aisle and calmly, careful not to arouse the suspicion of the ushers, exit through rear door.

When I get outside it is blindingly bright, and just as I am about to turn my head to figure out where the ominous man had gone, a large metal object hits my forehead. I feel myself falling to the ground, floating, as if on a cloud, stars dangling in a dark-red abyss inside my eyelids.

Awaking I find myself in a bright room with walls painted red, the strong and intense red of a darting cardinal in an otherwise drab forest. A hand is dribbling water from a rag just above my forehead, its cold and sudden splashes jolting me awake. A series of uncontrollable jitters take hold of my body, making it rather difficult to make out the face hovering just over me, sitting on what seems to be the edge of a standard-issue hospital bed. But this is clearly not a hospital. I try to say something, but though I feel my mouth move and my vocal chords seem to be working, no sound escapes from my throat. I sit up at the urging of the arm of my water-carrying companion.

As I sit up his eyes slowly come into focus, and their warm gaze seems oddly familiar, though I can't yet place them exactly. As his face comes into view, I realize that he is my long-estranged cousin J. Tears begin flowing down my face, as I somehow realize that everything makes sense: since high school, J. has been a secret DEA spy, and his drug use was just a cover, while jail time was a ruse used to hid him from the series of drug cartels chasing him across the country after he was ousted as a mole his senior year of high school. As I gaze at the new man before me, I begin to question what, if anything, I know about him.

Our conversation--if that is what it can be called, although I register no speech actually occurring--is quick but strikingly different from our typical vague exchanges. Through a series of brief scenes and still images that play a bit like a movie montage, I learn that J. has been working on a plot involving hard drugs infiltrating the nation's top university campuses. It turns out he needs someone inside the top schools, which of course turns out to be me. Putting aside my questionable moral support of his campaign and an uncertain background, I agree, or at least it seems I do when I find myself on the campus of my alma matter, following another ominous man, this one in dark glasses.

The man, upon further inspection, seems to be the dancer-prince from the ballet, and I quickly realize (although where the information comes from escapes me) that he is the kingpin of the local cartel. I determine to use my powers of seduction, larger-than-life as they are in this dream, to get close to him and work my way in. I follow him into the library building, but as I walk through the door I find, to my dismay, that he is looking right at me, apparently aware of my presence.

"Are you following me?" He says, coyly, with a smirk on his face that bewilders me.

He responds before I have time to recover from my momentary mute state onset by a slight jolt of shock. "It's fine," he says, his eyes appearing suddenly calm. "I just wish you would let me know so I can show off my good side." He winks.

"Oh," I mumble, hearing my voice for the first time in what seems like days. "Well, in that case, yes, I am following you. I've been thinking I might be able to, maybe, get your number."

"You can get a lot more than that," he says, fiddling with the collar of his shirt.

Suddenly the scene cuts to the two of us, squeezed into an aisle of the library stacks, the sweat of our bodies and the pulse of our hearts too fast for us to realize that there is hardly any space to get out of our clothes. His hand reaches up my thigh as mine grabs at his surprisingly muscular back. I shiver slightly, however, as I hear a shake in the nearby aisle, quickly shushing him and pulling my fly back closed. As I rush to thrown on my t-shirt, a book from the top shelf begins to teeter over the edge. I look up just as it falls directly on my face.

--

I awake to find myself in my bed, a cold sweat dripping from my brow as my alarm beeps anxiously in my ear. I curse my alarm for always waking me at the best part!

(All rights reserved)

The Undemocratic Planning Process

2009-11-18T19:49:00.003-05:00

Urban planning is an interesting field, one in which it is hard to see society but through the lens of the planner. This is a good and a bad thing; for example, it means that I am staunchly liberal because there is no means by which to shape good cities but by a liberal (i.e. socialist, not the weak stuff of the "Democratic Party" which is only liberal in that it is one degree separated from center) agenda. Likewise, I am forced to realize that the goals and aspirations of our cities--say, more sustainable development or better transit networks--are slow processes to come into being, processes which run into major funding hurdles, community opposition, and, of course, political heckling.

Now that I am just about done with my first semester in planning school, though, I thought it might be fun to take a (somewhat humorous) look back on the lessons I've learned this semester. So, without further ado...

5 Lessons I Have Learned in Planning School...

Democracy is the enemy of the equitable city. Now, I know, experts will often tell you it is important as a planner to consider all voices when planning for a neighborhood, and citizen participation is probably one of the greatest innovations of the Jane Jacobs era. But, let's be honest, we've taken the principle a bit to far. There is a difference between hearing all sides and giving each side time for a three hour diatribe on why allowing dogs to run free in your local park will ruin the fabric of the neighborhood, or why the data (thoroughly researched and quadruple checked) on economic impact is actually wrong because you didn't consider Sally Smith's 75 year old Victorian awning. Point is, democratic principles can be obtained through other means. And most planners today have been trained to obsessively worry about every interest group, so maybe we should just leave the planning to the experts? Sure, physical space affects us all, but we're also not all qualified to understand the economic, ecological and equitable impacts of a proposed development. Sometimes a little dictatorship goes a long way (cases in point: Curitiba, Bogota).
Money ruins everything. Once you realize how much it costs to pave new roads, plot new parks, or develop a new school, it becomes clear that cities should all be running into huge debt (and in fact, most of them are). But here's the problem: their ONLY source of revenue (in the US) is local taxes--i.e. sales taxes, utility taxes, and most importantly property taxes. That doesn't amount to very much money. Unfortunately, since the 80s (and, go figure, the predominantly Republican administrations and Congressional leadership along with the period) federal funding for local development has decreased markedly. Certainly I'll admit that this country was built on decentralized government, so there is reason for this--but at what cost? As cities face greater competition for business investment on the international stage, New York and LA need not only compete with their suburbs, but they also need to be competitive with Dubai, Hong Kong and London to stay ahead and attract the talent they count on.
Planners are salesman, first and foremost. While having visionary ideas and innovative approaches to development is certainly laudable, ultimately it takes a great deal of political support and public backing (not to mention, money...see above) to get a plan implemented. So having the ability to make a great presentation, learning graphical conventions, and understanding the intricacies of the political process is an invaluable skill. Of course, it doesn't hurt to actually believe in your plan if you want to sell it well.
Life is an endless cycle of ebbs and flows. Planning, especially, needs to be aware of this. For example, what one day may be the hottest thing may tomorrow result in very undesirable consequences (see: Urban Renewal, Public Housing). Likewise, economic markets shift endlessly, and plans that are proposed with 80-100 year build outs (like most district plans) have to face many downturns as well as frenzied activity in boom years. It's hard to predict what will happen, and a big question is how to incorporate flexibility and shifting tastes into plans aimed, say, at sustainability (a temporary, albeit very important, goal).
The most important skill in life is an ability to fudge a little and improvise. Planners are expected to be proficient in too many fields to count (including geography, economics, ecology and biology, architecture, graphic design, sociology/anthropology, and the list goes on...), so of course there is not enough time to learn them all. As such, it becomes really handy to pick up a skill on the fly--say, to read and understand an econometric analysis of existing conditions in downtown Boston. Oh yeah, I'll get right on that. Not. It's a skill much mocked, but frankly it's probably the most important one there is, in any field. No one is an expert on everything, and admitting that will at least get rid of that personal expectation of perfection, and ultimately that is the key to success.

Alright, so what have we learned today class? Basically, planning, like any field, is not about picking up a specific skill set, but about learning to become a certain type of person. I guess in the end being a professional is always about learning to fit the profession (unless, of course, you are Willy Loman and were born to be a salesman). It's certainly fun to see the person I am becoming, but sometimes I wonder--what am I losing? It's all a part of specializing, something we all have to do at some point. Good thing I've chosen just about the least specific field there is!

25 Things to do in SoCal

2009-05-07T02:35:00.013-04:00

[EDIT: Updated 8/11/09...Almost done ;-)]

So I was driving today, as we are oft wont to do in this area, when a thought occurred to me: I'm leaving Southern California in four months! And when I leave, it is entirely possible that I will never be able to experience SoCal as a resident again, but only as its occasional guest. I do not mean to sound resentful of the area, mind you--SoCal, despite how hard I have tried to escape it, leaves quite a strong impression on me and will always have a special place as my one and only real "home." The fact of the matter is, though, that after I go away to grad school next fall, I will probably never move back, since jobs in my field are few and far between in this area and since, to be honest, I hate driving! But I digress; people like me are trying hard to change the car culture of this area.

Anyway, I was thinking, there are a number of things that I can do in SoCal that I can't do anywhere else during the summer, and as such I am working on a "List of 25 Things to Do Before Leaving Southern California." Now, while 25 is the number given, I claim the right to, at my discretion, increase or decrease the number of tasks as I see fit. Without further ado:

1. ~~Go camping! It's been forever since I have done this in general, and SoCal has some of the best campsites in the nation. What better time than now? And it's cheap!~~ [done! See photos: http://bit.ly/fN37Y. Thanks to Mr. NEO for posting.]
2. Go to as many happy hours as I possibly can. My favorite happy hour so far: JT Schmid's in Tustin (also in Anaheim), who sells pitchers (approx 4 beers) of their proprietary brews for $6, not to mention super cheap appetizers that are really good! For ideas: http://www.ocregister.com/entertainment/happy_hour/ [done: JT Schmid's, TGI Fridays, Dave & Busters, Lazy Dog Cafe, Alcatraz Brewing Co., Memphis Cafe]
3. Use my remaining gift cards for Coffee Bean & Tea Leaf, which only has locations in SoCal. Right now I have about $32 to spend. What is that, like, two coffees or a latte a week? [UGH...still at $17.30]
4. Go on a cruise. This is a hope of mine. But, they're only like $200 and there are some good last-minute deals that Carnival sends me. And when else will I ever get to go on a Booze Cruise with hundreds of college co-eds? Again, that is. [yeah...not gonna happen THIS summer. Maybe soon?]
5. Road trip to NorCal. Does this count? I think it does! [tragedy]
6. Hotel party. Need I say more? This has been planned for many many years, and has yet to actually happen. I believe it's time. [going away party idea?]
7. ~~Use my Disneyland AP as much as humanly possible, aside from going every single day. Devote trips just to riding one or two rides or seeing a show, especially as summer crowds begin.~~
8. ~~Go to Disney's Food and Wine Festival at California Adventure. Enjoy free wine-tastings and amazing food.~~
9. Go to Disneyland, ride Winnie the Pooh and Alice with the aid of a beverage or two. Experience the maximum of trippiness.
10. ~~After having been to Disneyland 800 times, avoid Disneyland for a year. Ok, it's not a real task, but I'm pretty sure I will have had my fill. Although, my birthday may be worth coming back for...~~ [Yeah, pretty much...]
11. Watch the California Supreme Court overturn Prop 8. One can hope, no? [edit: guess not :-/. retry in 2010?]
12. ~~Go to the Improv. One of them. At least.~~ [does comedy night at Memphis Cafe count?]
13. Spend a few hours at each of the major shopping centers: ~~South Coast Plaza (inc. Metro Pointe)~~, Irvine Spectrum, Brea Mall, ~~The Block~~, Downtown Disney, ~~The Marketplace (Tustin/Irvine)~~ [edit: I'm actually working right next door now, on Wednesdays], ~~Fashion Island.~~ After waiting an hour to find parking, buy nothing. Remark on the overwhelming number of people there who are much younger than I am. Feel extremely old.
14. See Terminator: ROTM, ~~Up!, Star Trek~~, and one to two other summer blockbusters. Granted, this is not an exclusively SoCal activity. But I'm pretty sure there are few other places you can pay so much to do it. New York, here I come! [Side note: DISTRICT 9!!! Kthx]
15. ~~Beach Bonfire. It's tradition!~~
16. While I'm on the subject: go running along the beach.
17. ~~Get a gourmet cupcake with a gourmet cup of coffee at a drive thru cupcake place. Park and eat it in the car. Any suggestions on such a place (perhaps this is only the stuff of dreams).~~ [K, well it wasn't drive-thru, but it was picked up at Sprinkles and brought to my office for my co-worker's b-day, so I think this counts]
18. ~~Go to In-n-out. Like 4 times. You remember the commercials with the guy who goes to college in Boston? Yeah, think about that.~~ [Easier than it seems]
19. Bring a picnic to a summer concert.
20. ~~Have a picnic in general. Especially those that involve bread and cheese and beer and Jason. The last ingredient is critical.~~ [Happening today!]
21. ~~Run at Mile Square, again. Wonder why my ankles are destroyed when I'm 50.~~
22. Eat Ebisu, about 5 or more times. This is more essential than In-N-Out. [edit: current count, 3]
23. Eat Pho, probably at the place on the corner. Or the one across the street. Or the one down the street. Or the 50 in Little Saigon. Or...
24. Eat Red Mango, followed by Pinkberry. Preferably somewhere where they are across the street from each other. Compare. Eat Golden Spoon and remember why the flavored stuff is always best.
25. Going away party? There's a lot I will miss here, but I think there is one thing I will miss most: friends. I know, corny, but despite all of the above, my friends (& family, of course) are probably the only reason I'll keep coming back. Unless they all move to Boston...(nudge nudge).

Speak No Evil

2009-04-24T01:41:00.015-04:00

Those teenage hopes who have tears in their eyes
Too scared to own up to one little lie. (Feist)

(In light of the recent upsurge in arguments over same-sex marriage due to Iowa and Vermont's decisions, I thought it apt to give a little insight into my own views. Take what you will, you have been warned.)

Probably the most common question anyone ever asks a gay or lesbian person upon the disclosure of their sexuality is something to the effect of, "How long have you known?" It's a funny question that sounds more and more absurd the more and more you are asked it, something akin to being asked "How long have you known you were a man?" or "When did you first realize you could eat?" For me, being gay is something so tied into my consciousness that the best response I can give to a question is the approximate (and vague) time of my full acceptance of my homosexuality: sometime around age 15 (there is a reason I give this number; I'll get into it shortly). But to tell the truth, I have never known the world or viewed it through any other lens than as a gay man: since the start of puberty at least I have never been attracted to anyone of the female sex, and even before then I am pretty sure that my fascination lay exclusively with uncovering the male form and body (e.g.: my childhood collection of Ken dolls). So to give a frank answer of how long I have known I would truly have to say something to the effect of "always." After all, I doubt that a heterosexual person ever has a staunch realization that he or she is straight; rather, they simply develop a natural attraction to members of the opposite sex.

But I suppose being gay makes you a bit of an outsider, someone with a slightly divergent perspective on life but a pretty whole view of people and their idiosyncrasies. After all, the idiosyncrasy you yourself possess is one of the most talked about and hotly contested concepts today. And let me tell you, growing up gay is not an easy feat, even if you were raised in the most open-minded or impartial family (certainly not the case for me).

As a child I had a pretty ideal life. My mom raised me by herself since I was about four, when she and my father divorced as the result of what was a pretty shoddy marriage (can anyone say shotgun wedding?). To her I was a bit of a miracle child: she had been told pretty early on that she would never be able to bear children. As such, I was pretty spoiled: from McDonalds lunches with my Omi (grandma, for those of you who don't know German) to frequent trips to Disneyland to a private school education, I had it pretty good. I was raised in a Christian home, although my mom has always had a very open mind about religion and encouraged me to explore and discover on my own. But throughout childhood I attended summer camp and Sunday school at my local Methodist church, and it was there that I really came into being in many ways. As a child in that church, I developed a very strong attachment to Christianity and to Christian values, following wholeheartedly its message of love, its moral system and, most importantly, the belief in the golden rule. But at the time camp only ran through age twelve, which, coincidentally, was also the time I transitioned from one school to another. But most importantly, age twelve is when I went full swing into puberty, discovering all the joys and, well, heartaches that it would entail.

I developed my first crush shortly after that, although I'm a little vague on the details on when it really began. Sparing the specifics, suffice it to say that this crush was on a girl: a very likable and certainly an attractive girl. I also had developed sexual attraction, but I found something very odd--I was only aroused by men. At this early stage I passed it off. "Whatever," I found myself wont to think, "I still have a crush on a girl. It's probably just a phase, it'll go away when I grow up a little." So I kept my crush, believing that one day I would be able to find women not only emotionally but also physically attractive. And in the privacy of my bedroom, I believed myself to just have a quirky fetish, an interest that would change with time. It was hard to reconcile these two, not to mention my belief that my God, the one I had known so well, had

Time passed. Sooner or later I learned that the feelings I had were not reciprocated, and I came to realize that what I had thought to be simply feelings of tender friendship with a male friend actually were more. I decided it unwise to pursue those feelings, and as I became more and more aware of my strongly homosexual identity, and the unusual nature that entailed, I sunk deeper and deeper into hiding.Yes , being gay makes you an outsider. It also makes you an extremely talented liar, great at covering up your true identity. From age 15 to about 18 I became so used to feigning a disinterest in relationships that I almost began to believe it was true (to this day I am still dealing with this belief, but that's another story). My days became harder and harder, as each day I faced questions that were common to teenage boys, questions of who I was taking to Winter Formal or whether I had a crush and discussions of the latest hot actress or model or whoever. And I had friends who probably talked less about these things than most groups of male friends at that age. With each question I dug myself deeper and deeper into a hole, making it harder and harder to find the courage to tell someone--anyone--what I felt and what I knew to be the truth of my identity. To boot, my church and my God, I was told, and in many ways my culture too, were saying that my desires and my vision of what love meant was not only incorrect but immoral. I could not reconcile my childhood morality with how I felt, and so I turned inward and hid--I avoided church altogether telling my mom that I no longer felt engaged in the church.

Then senior year things got complicated. Through a complex interplay of emotions and a latent desire to still find acceptance, I ended up dating a close female friend of mine while in Paris--a story many of my friends remember well. When she asked whether this would continue when we returned home, I avoided the question with vague answers like "We'll see" or "let's play it by ear," never admitting to myself the confusion I felt. But as things became more involved, it became clear to me that I would have to face facts: either I could in fact date a woman and have it work out well, or I would have to admit that I needed to pursue relationships with men exclusively. Considering my feelings for my date one night, I realized that I was, in fact, exclusively gay. I had no problem with cuddling and holding hands with a woman, but when it came to actual intimacy--to a kiss or a hug--I felt it only felt possible to share these things with a man. Ask a straight man to kiss another man, and perhaps you might have a glimmer of what the thought of kissing a woman was to me. So we called it off, and I had my first coming out experience. A year later I finally built up the courage to come out to my friends from high school, and with time I have become more comfortable in the skin I have been given. But I still carry a lot of the scars from the hiding, the secrets, and the lies I held inside each and every day for at least three years.

So what is the point of all this, why do I take you through this story? Well, of late, a lot of debate has arisen over gay marriage and over the gay community--is homosexuality a sin, for example, and does the right to gay marriage desecrate the value of the institution of marriage? Now, I understand where those who seek to deny the right of marriage to homosexuals (or, alternatively, to preserve the sanctity of traditional marriage) come from. I understand the fear that such a change can inspire, the thoughts of how this change could break down the fundamental standing of our moral system. And I even understand--although I disagree--the argument about marriage as a fundamental guarantor of our society's interests in child-rearing. And I understand how it feels like the acceptance of gay marriage goes against God's law and against the Bible or any other number of religious texts. But here is the thing: is it worth it?

After all, my story is no where near unique, nor is it anywhere near the hardest anyone has ever faced as a gay or lesbian teen. Every year hundreds of young people consider suicide as a way to escape the pain of hiding the truth of who they are, with churches and their parents and their friends telling them that what they believe is wrong. But here's the thing: it's not wrong. What I came to realize myself is that this is just one aspect of who I am, a small piece of the puzzle. And if God or the church wanted to tell me it was wrong, then why did He create me this way--I had certainly tried my hardest to "outgrow" this part of myself. And I can't help but think that if our society was to fully accept homosexuals, young people like me would not face as much self-torture and self-loathing as they grew up. So while civil unions or domestic partnerships are nice, they still say to gay people: "Hey, your relationship is not as valid as ours." And until everyone has the same rights (and I'm fine with everyone having the civil right to a union, as long as it is the same for everyone), I don't see how our society can say it fully embraces all of its citizens and views them as true equals. Until then, stories like mine will continue to be commonplace at every high school and in every neighborhood. To the majority this may be a political issue, but to the gay man or lesbian woman it is a reminder of that friend who stopped calling after you came out, that pastor who called you a sinner and threw you out, or that parent that disowned you upon finding you kissing your "best friend."

We may have our moral convictions and our beliefs, but sometimes I think its more important to consider how what we say and what we espouse sounds to someone else. I don't mean to offend or to humiliate or to desecrate; I simply mean to give a little insight into how this whole debate sounds to the millions of individuals caught in the middle of this tug-o-war.

Inauguration Nation

2009-01-20T02:31:00.004-05:00

Everybody's talking about it, CNN is covering it non-stop, Colbert and Stewart are joking about it, some are celebrating it and others are bemoaning the end of an era, but it's true what they say: tomorrow everything changes. Barack Obama is soon to be inaugurated as the 44th President of the United States, and whatever he does or faces, whatever his administration decides, whatever new policies greet us in the new day, this much is clear: it is a momentous occasion. But as we consider the momentous nature of tomorrow's event and the sense of "hope" and oncoming "change" that drew millions of first-time voters to the polls in November, I think it's important to consider the thing that is on the tip of everyone's mind but hardly ever discussed: who are we?

Now, I don't mean to suggest a mass existential crisis or widespread searching for ancestry or genetic records; what I mean to ask is who are we as a nation? With the election of Barack Obama and his arrival as President of the Union, are we the same nation that we have been since 2001? Clearly, the answer is no. But this is a larger question than just which administration is in power; it is a question hinted at by the latest Pepsi commercials and the massive turn-out among young voters. The unique thing about the United States of America--a quality it alone can claim among the many nations of this planet--is that it is a nation of no majority ethnic or racial makeup. From Native Americans to the early Pilgrims, the descendants of slavery-era Blacks to the Quakers fleeing persecution by order of the Crown, and Irish, Italian, German, Chinese, Japanese, Mexican, and the hundreds of other immigrant groups, each and every one of us has a unique ancestry that rarely comes close to those around us. It is at once our blessing, the thing that makes us the nation of opportunity whether the economy is strong or not, and our curse, our great divider. And with the eve of this election, I think (and correct me if you think I'm wrong) that we as a people have moved one tiny step closer to accepting our sort of multiple identity disorder.

In what was probably my best class in college, loosely titled Race and Politics in the United States, one class section was devoted to this very question of who we are as a nation and, more importantly, as a culture. Having just returned from a six-month sejour in Paris when I took the class, I found the question particularly compelling as I and my compatriots [pun intended] faced questions of what it meant to be an American abroad--who were we, for example, to the waiter in the cafe, to the guy across from us on the metro, and to ourselves? I have to admit that in Paris was one of the first times I truly contemplated what it meant to be mixed race--as well as to be black--in the United States. In the US we cling to our ethnic and racial identity, trying to be a part of as many minorities (or majorities, as the case may be) as possible. I myself can claim at least 4 minority statuses (each of which has an associated lobbying group), statuses to do with my racial make-up, my sexual orientation, and my health issues (if I really searched I'm sure I could find many more). The question becomes, though, if we are so focused on what makes us different, what makes us unique, how are we ever going to find out what we have in common?

For example, is it more American to eat a hamburger and fries from McDonalds or to eat a prime New York steak with peppercorn gorgonzola glaze, long-grain rice and fresh picked vegetables? Is it more American to offer schooling and temporary work permits to immigrants, or to build a wall to keep them out? Is it more American to pursue a policy of active, pre-emptive invasion of purported enemy territory or to pursue multi-lateral negotiations mediated by UN representatives? Is it more American to embrace prayer in the classroom or to take the word God out of all public speeches, writings and displays?

These questions are just a few of the examples of the types of questions that we divide ourselves over these days, but, as we've learned recently, as a divided nation we stand to go nowhere. Critics and skeptics have decried the laziness of the younger generation, the inactivity of college students when it came to the Iraq war and Katrina (as opposed to the violence surrounding Vietnam), and our seeming disengagement with the real world in favor of the Internet. But what our elders oft fail to see is that the Internet and increased communication and access to information have brought about something that has taken nearly a decade to arrive but is now arriving with full force: the arrival of diversity as our defining principle. As we embrace our new President, I think it's time we throw out questions like what it means to be American and instead embrace one defining principle: to be American is to be whoever you are. Until we accept every American for who he or she is, we will never achieve what I believe to be the dream of our greatest historical figures from the founding fathers to Abraham Lincoln and Frederick Douglass and Martin Luther King, Jr., from Susan B. Anthony to Hillary Clinton, and from Vietnam to Iraq: a nation that does not judge and does not discriminate, but that gives the right to citizenship and to the rights of our Constitution to all who want them. After it all, do we, "The People of the United States of America," still hold those eternal truths to be self-evident.

"Religulous"

2008-11-21T02:43:00.002-05:00

I don't normally review movies because, well, I don't like my writing enough (nor am I particularly good at expressing opinions). But I couldn't pass up the opportunity, especially with the controversy surrounding this documentary...
--

Let me state this right out: I'm not much of a fan of Bill Maher's style of discourse. I never really found him to allow for real debate on "Politically Incorrect," and even in his latest documentary Religulous, I find his style to be overly biased and at times sarcastic. I have never believed that the point of a documentary was to promote one's personal views, but rather to objectively bring light to a problem or to raise an issue for your thought. Flat out, don't like it. Reminds me of Michael Moore, who I think we can all agree (if we are free thinkers) is not a real documentarian.

But the point of this documentary, its true value (as I find it) is not in its message, which comes through quite strongly, but at the dialogue it (seeks to) inspire. Now, I'm religious, a pretty committed Christian. But, like many religious individuals, I have had moments of extreme doubt and abandonment when it came to my religion, my God, my faith, and, most of all, the Bible. Bill Maher is basically, in Religulous, chronicaling his own decision to explore religion, to humbly examine its beliefs from the perspective of a non-believer trying to grasp at why people believe.

There is, however, a curse in this world, a dark storm brewing its behemoth might and threatening to tear humanity and the planet apart. It is called, organized religion. Yes, I said it, organized religion is the bane of human existence; if we ever collapse as a civilization it will be the doing solely of our attachment to the religious leaders that direct our will. Through a journey that takes him from the streets of LA to Salt Lake City, Orlando, the Bible Belt and ultimately to Amsterdam and Jerusalem, Maher explores a number of organized religions and their leaders, questioning their attachment to what he views to be almost insane beliefs. What he finds, however, is perhaps not that the messages are necessarily wrong, but that it is the ever-flawed human element behind them that threatens to destroy everything humanity has worked to create since the Enlightenment.

Beginning, as it were, with the story of his own experience with religion as the son of a devoutly Catholic father and a Jewish mother who attended Catholic school until age 13, Maher suggests that what many of us find in religion has to do with our insecurities and our fallibilities. In a particularly poignant--albeit hilarious--interview with his mother and sister, Maher tries to find out why it was one day that his father suddenly quit the Catholic church when he was 13, and why religion no longer became an important issue in their household (it seems the church's condemnation of birth control did the trick). He then explores Christian fundamentalism in America, and many of its leaders prove themselves simply unable to have a rational conversation. I mean, I still wonder how you can talk of a loving, charitable God yet plug your best-selling book and homophobia (and the occasional racism) at the same time. Neither does Maher. What ultimately develops is a picture of a religion, one based around its founder Jesus Christ, a religion that is totally at odds with the message and principles of that founder.

And then there was Mormonism. Now, don't get me wrong, nothing against Mormons--I've generally found them to be kind and very loving people (unless you tell them you're gay, then, well, shit). But, as Maher points out, the Mormon church has some pretty, well, mysticism-esque beliefs. For example, like Scientology (another religion that is often openly mocked), Mormonism believes that our creator lives on another planet. Of course, there is nothing to do with self-auditing, but there is posthumous baptism of such individuals as Adolf Hitler (really, Mormonism? REALLY?!?) and Joan of Arc (ok, pretty sure she spoke to God as well so she's covered I'd say). But dogma is dogma and your choice of belief is certainly yours to make.

Finally he discusses the other two of the big three: Judaism and Islam. Again, as before, the fundamentalists show themselves at odds with the reality of modern life, even as they answer text messages and claim their right to freedom of speech while bemoaning that right in others (even killing, in some cases, to take it away). But Maher is quick to avoid nitpicking on any single religion or sect, but instead to point out the greatest issue with much of fundamentalist religion: its focus, like early Catholicism, on a complete lack of thought. Fundamentalist leaders thrive off of their ability to tell their followers what to do: how to vote (a great clip comes to mind of a woman at a festival of some sort: "I vote for George Bush because, well...I don't really know much about his policies but I share his faith so that's all that matters."), where to invest their money, even what movies to see or what music to listen to. Frankly, I think any God who has watched humanity developed would be heartbroken to see it exploit and use in such a way, to completely abandon its God-given intellect to follow such leaders.

And therein lies the value in this film. It is not a exclusively a critique of (or worse, a tirade against) organized religion, but a sincere call for honest thought about the issue. I personally believe that everyone should follow whatever faith (or lack thereof) they find to be true, but I hesitate to accept the ability of those who follow fundamentalist sects to go on that ever-important search for that truth. Throughout my teen years I had an outright battle against my religion and my God, much like Maher who ultimately rejected his religion. But if you are going to be religious, as I have chosen to be, I think it is also vital to go through that questioning, to honestly and genuinely search for your truth and your values and your reasons to believe. If you can't find that, then why do you believe at all, and how can you say that you have true faith? Faith has never meant blindness to questioning; faith is, rather, an acceptance of doubt and an understanding that there will always be doubt, but the rational and informed decision to jump past that doubt and just accept something. We have faith in our friends even though we know they could easily hurt us, because through that faith we know that they never would. But it would be dumb to trust a total stranger with your bank account information, for example. In much the same way, it's completely dumb to trust someone who sounds great and who promises that all of your questions will be answered and all your problems taken care of, without ever questioning that person and his or her right to speak on behalf of your creator.

So I hope that Maher's film can pique more than one person's interest, and can start a real conversation. Unfortunately, those who most need to see it, to inject a little bit of doubt (and willingness to do so) into their lives and their beliefs, never will even give one ear. But I, well, I will gladly doubt and question the tenets of my religion everyday, especially those tenets written in the Bible, because that is the only way I know to arrive at a deeper understanding of what it means to be faith. I am not afraid to watch a documentary like this, to have my beliefs questioned and thrown into a trash compactor, because I have seen them hold up, and because I believe that is what I am supposed to do. But, hey, if you're afraid to question your beliefs, afraid to let them stand the test of threat from outside, then don't see this movie. Otherwise, go see it right now, and let's have a conversation about the place of religion in the modern world.

Case in point: is it right to condemn loving relationships and to create unnecessary legal hiccups just because the Bible (and only the Old Testament, mind you) allegedly condemns homosexual acts? Frankly, I don't want to worship a God who believes that love should be denied in any form. Do you? Therein lies the challenge of modern religion: whether to change to accomodate modern life, or to cling to a 2000-year old mysticism that would, were it claimed as fact today, seem to be utter insanity?

A Non-Issue: or why we shouldn't care about same-sex marriage

2008-10-07T02:39:00.013-04:00

You know, generally I am somewhat apathetic when it comes to presidential races (or gubernatorial, senatorial or congressional races) because, frankly, I could care less about a candidate's record and his or her likely success as "leader of the free world" (I use that phrase with irony, in case that's not clear). Politics, to me, is quite generally an actor's game, built on creating an image and appearing to believe what you say you believe, whether or not those beliefs are true. It is a game of who can stay most consistent with a set of principles outlined in his or her platform nine months before the election (as if a person's mind cannot, under any circumstances, be changed in that time span). I encourage intelligent voting and informed decision-making, but there's a level at which information becomes too excessive, somewhere around the point when every single word a candidate says--in a speech, in a conversation at a cafe, or in his own bedroom--can be held against him.

But there is one thing, this election, that really gets me riled up and pissed off. Perhaps it is a bit stereotypical, ok, but California's Proposition 8 (on which I will be voting no, clearly) not only enrages me but also confounds and bewilders me. I am a child of the 1990s (although I am proud to say I was born in the 1980s), raised to believe that equality of opportunity is an inalienable truth and that any person born in this country or brought to its shores with the hope of partaking of its valor was entitled to that equality. Proposition 8, which attempts to repeal the state supreme court's finding that defining marriage as between a man and a woman fundamentally denies equality to same-sex couples, makes me question whether modern society actually has reached that point. Civil rights, it seems, is more a political tool--the workings of a Kennedy/Johnson administration interested in winning a growing political constituency--than a fundamental national value.

Now, I truly believe that any rational human being who believes in the right to equal opportunity for all individuals cannot support the denial of same-sex marriage rights. This belief is based on two lines of reasoning that I find to be logically sound and infallible. First, marriage, as bestowed by the state, is at its core NOT a religious issue but a civil issue; it is the right of two consenting adults to form a union recognized by civil society (a "civil union," if you will) and to obtain all of the rights and benefits of that union (i.e. joint taxes, shared healthcare, and the essential recognition by the state of this couple's status as members of one joint family). Considering this fact, to argue that the Bible or God's will has any bearing on the state's choice of how to decide marriage is a disrespect to the First Amendment's guarantee of the separation of church and state.

Based on that reasoning comes my second point, which is that, as a civil right, marriage cannot be denied to anyone who willingly seeks to have one bestowed. A part of the civil rights struggle of the sixties was, believe it or not, marriage equality; that is, the right of two individuals of two different races to marry without risk of harm or retribution. I am proud to say that I am a product of the recognition of that right, and although my parents are divorced, without the granting of marriage equality it's entirely possible that I would not exist. Now, I am a gay man, yes, but, frankly, I don't care about this issue because I want to be able to get married or because I necessarily intend to. Rather, I know, based on personal experience and the passionate feelings of those arguing against same-sex marriage that until same-sex marriage is recognized as legitimate, same-sex couples will never be able to feel welcome or accepted in American society. And, frankly, I don't want to live in a world that denies anyone--whether it is me or not--the right to live their life without unnecessary intervention from the state.

So perhaps you have religious beliefs that tell you that homosexuality is a sin or you believe based on Darwinian theories of biology that homosexuals should not exist because sexual attraction between members of the same sex is unnatural (we can have that discussion, you and I, another time if so), and I'll leave you to those beliefs. But, if you believe that the state should interpret its definition of what amounts to a civil right based on a religious, traditional or personal belief, just consider this: what would happen if the same decision were held true in the civil rights era? Was it not a religious, traditional or personal belief that Black Americans and White Americans cannot have equal access to education or to buses or to bathroom facilities? And as to the claim that people would be prosecuted for their personal beliefs with this decision, I'm sorry, but I believe that those people should be prosecuted when they seek to use those beliefs to deny rights to individuals based only on one quality of who that person is. Remember, this decision says nothing about whether or not churches have to grant these marriages, only that state institutions have to recognize them and bestow rights accordingly. I hope, with that in mind, that if you can vote in California that you will, and that you will vote a vehement NO on Prop 8. However else you vote is no concern of mine; but, in this case, this issue is about whether or not our society supports equal civil rights. Same-sex marriage is not a political issue; it is a right. I'm sorry, but politicians are using it--and have been using it for years--to divide the country along religious lines. It's time these needless issues give way to the real ones (like, say, economic policy or energy). And frankly, this country has made no progress if this measure passes, and I hope (yeah, I said it, I hope) that that's not true.

A Frightening World

2008-06-27T03:08:00.003-04:00

The most frightening thing about dystopias is that while they are imagined and, in a certain light, fantasy worlds they are based on and build off of our modern world. Now, I've never been much of one to take to conspiracy theories and to distrust of the powers at hand, but of late I've been noticing a few similarities between your average 1984 world and the one we live in now. Don't get me wrong, modern life is wonderful; but, I wonder how much of it we're willing to take before we give up the idea of a "personal" life and give ourselves over to mass-marketing and technology-controlled lifestyles.

Right about now this all sounds like a bunch of garbled lingo, but in all honesty I think it is time we take a step back and realize how absurd our lives and our media and our government have become. For example: I was watching CNN yesterday--a well-respected news source, mind you--and as Wolf Blitzer raised the issue of Congress' proposal to dump nuclear waste in the deserts of Nevada, a reporter was called to comment on the political sentiment around the controversy at-hand. Nevada residents, of course, object to the dumping considering the potential health hazards and the general sketchiness of nuclear waste, while experts claimed it was the most appropriate, least populated area in the country. But, what was interesting was not the perspectives given, but they way the reporter presented them in a conversational tone, making the debate out almost to some sort of political farce with characters falling into the typical caricatures of their roles. The absurdity of the whole moment lies here: while it is a serious issue, it was presented almost jovially, and as a viewer I personally took it in almost as something that I could skip over on the way to another, more important issue--the Obama/McCain battle. And then I did a double-take...is this really minor news that should be summarized in 30 seconds? I mean, this is NUCLEAR WASTE we are talking about, something not to be treated like a local debate over a stop sign or speed limits.

But worst of all, later the show presented a debate between two senators relating to the recent questions over the Patriot Act (and Obama's potential support of the act...wtf?). I mean, it's pretty clear that the Patriot Act violates the right to privacy and probably the right to free speech as guaranteed by our Bill of Rights, but still a senator (or a president) can throw the War on Terror into anything and suddenly we have an acceptable piece of legislation. Our nation's fear of terrorism, while justified, seems to be turning a little towards the Big Brother style. Maybe this is why so many movies have been released of late questioning these sorts of ideas: Children of Men, V for Vendetta, or Minority Report come to mind, among others. It's right to take measures to protect ourselves, but how far should those measures go? Is it worth living a life when that life is lived in constant fear of attack?

So I don't know how we got here exactly, but I do know that it alarms me. If Orwell saw our modern world, I don't think he would be pleased of our progress. It's quite possible he would be even more fearful of life today than he was of Post-War Europe, which, while frightening, at least wasn't characterized by the constant risk of monitoring and tracking. That's the world we live in, though. What can we do, now that we've come this far? Progress is a tricky thing...

Quarter-Life Crisis

2008-03-19T00:25:00.002-04:00

I applied to graduate today. It was a rather unceremonious event that felt more like paying your gas bill than starting the wheel turning on one of life's most momentous events. Likewise, I powered through three more pages of my thesis and spent an afternoon working in the office (doing, so-to-speak, actual work). It seems more and more that being a student should be my full-time job, but instead I'm paying upwards of $15,000 a year (after aid) for this opportunity. I'm beginning to think, though, that the business of universities as they function today is increasingly backwards, especially as these institutions of higher learning compete to attract the ever more competitive classes of 2012 and beyond, each cohort more a group of achieved than the last, each putting the senior class to shame for their accomplishments. Rather than viewing a university education as an investment in one's future, perhaps it is time universities began to see the value in investing in our young minds.

Personally, I have little idea, standing now a little over three months away from that ever-touted day when I walk, bedecked in cap-and-gown, to receive the diploma I've slaved the last four years over. It will be a simple piece of paper, a ceremonious hand shake, and a few photographs to represent the past four years. In the reflective mood I find myself, I am increasingly questioning what it is I have learned over those years, what this journey to the eventual stage has meant. This piece of paper will represent, among other things, the awkwardness of arriving in Lag at 8AM on a Sunday morning to be cheered by my RAs (who, stalkers that they were, knew my name already). It will represent the starts of a number of life-long friendships and four years of glimmers of love and broken hearts. It will represent six-months in Paris, six-months in a place that felt completely foreign--nay, alien--at the beginning and now feels in many ways more like home than the original. It will represent literal days-upon-days of reading, paper-writing, problem-setting, and, of course, crazy partying to counterbalance the stress of it all. Last of all, it will represent a young man who was little more than an adolescent when he arrived and leaves fully aware not only of himself but also assured of his identity.

But I can't shake a nagging feeling that something is missing in all of this: namely, a sense of direction. I'm getting ready to, some might say, embark on the beginning of my fully-realized life, to begin that ominous search for a fulfilling and exciting "career." But I have no idea where to start!

To be honest, I love my major, I love urban studies, I could see myself happy as an urban planner, yet I can't at all say whether that career path would feel more right or more satisfying than, say, working as an office assistant or something along those lines. I once thought I would never go into research, but as I get further through this whole thesis thing I'm beginning to think that maybe research would be a worthwhile pursuit. I know some of the things that I like to do: I like to write (go figure)--just not for too long, I like to be in charge of projects (because I like to have control and to work independently), I can't work for extended periods of time without breaking frequently to concentrate on something other than my work, and I love thinking, reflecting...je pense. What job can use that skill set? What career can put those passions to practice? I'm looking, but I have yet to find anything that is actually, truthfully, perfect for me.

So I'll just sit here, at the end of Winter Quarter, and wait to hear what will come my way. I'll make a choice, I suppose, and figure out what I want to do with my life then. For now, however, life is good, and my thesis is getting written at a snail's pace, and it's almost Spring Break! And I'm blogging for the first time in months.

Weird.

Here's to not knowing where you want your life to go! Truth is, no matter how much they seem like they have a direction and a path laid out ahead of them, nobody my age, contemplating their imminent graduation from college, has any idea what they want to do with their life. I just have no direction to start with. That's the beauty of being young.

Slightly more opinion, slightly less engagement

2008-01-13T21:53:00.000-05:00

I was talking with my thesis adviser the other day about more or less random things, and, well, I can't seem to stop thinking about one of the topics we discussed: the generational divide that exists between the Boomers and Gen X-ers and my own generation. It perhaps speaks something of my generation that we are often given a name by other generations or in reference to those generations: Gen Y, the "Me" Generation, and other, perhaps more derogatory, names. So what happens when this generation grows old enough to become completely incomprehensible to its predecessors.

The reason this question came to mind, I would argue, is the seeming political apathy that many from the older generations perceive because college students of today have shown little interest in taking to the streets and starting marches in protest of the War in Iraq and our generally deplorable foreign affairs situation. While this may be the case, it may not actually be that our generation is in fact so apathetic when it comes to politics. In fact, I would purport that today's young people--especially those in college--are infinitely more informed than their predecessors and are acutely aware to a level that is almost unfathomable for older generations of the political climate and international happenings in our lives. This is the generation, lest we forget, that grew up in a world where information was readily accessible and effortlessly available at the click of a mouse. We have never known a library search that required looking through a paper catalog, nor have we ever hand-written (or even type-written) a term paper. The demands upon the academics among us have risen accordingly, and the competition to enter the ever more over-qualified workforce is only growing with time. We are, after all, the most proportionally college-educated generation yet (and, surely, the generation to follow will be even more so, should the trend continue). So we're smart, and that is pretty universally understood. But, why are we not non-violent marchers like our '60s-era counterparts? Why do we not produce the orators like our previous anti-war brethren, why are we not the incendiary rebels who make their nation aware of its flaws and errors?

Well, maybe, my elders, you haven't been paying attention (it's understandable when the medium to watch is a bit less comprehensible than those you know well). The upcoming generation, the newbies, the youth, or whoever we are, communicate in ways that our uniquely our own, just as your generation communicated in its own ways. Except for the minor detail that ours have names like AIM, MSN, Facebook, MySpace, and, yes, blogging. This generation was not raised on the streets, we were raised in front of a computer monitor and a television screen (note: this was, for the most part, a decision made by your generation--in the collective sense). And, forgive us for living outside the world of marches, marijuana and music, but we are only working in the framework that we know best.

So rather than sit back wondering where the marchers and the orators are (and, mind you, they do exist in this generation as well), perhaps it is more worth your while to just sit back and give us time to come into our own. Each generation is different than the last, and we're not here to recreate your idealistic nostalgia. Rather, we will work in the world that we know best: the world that is our own, the world that will soon be your own as well. The nostalgia is good and it has its proper place, but there is also something to be said for change and for a new modus operandi. So, maybe it's more valuable to read the blogs and to watch the Facebook updates--a new politics is brewing, and the generational divide is forcing its way through the mainstream. All it takes is an online ballot or, well, a YouTube debate. The world changes, each generation has its time in the sun. Respectfully, it seems your sun is setting and tomorrow is dawning. Only time will tell what changes will come.

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

2007-10-06T19:30:00.000-04:00

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.

Is it a chemical that makes this moment true?

2007-09-25T02:09:00.000-04:00

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.

Popcorn: or a treasure map of my consciousness

2007-09-08T01:58:00.000-04:00

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.

Foreplay, or in anticipation yet again

2007-08-30T02:11:00.000-04:00

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!

Nostalgia unfulfilled

2007-08-22T02:29:00.000-04:00

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...

I'm On My Fifteen (weeks)

2007-08-12T14:14:00.000-04:00

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."

Diatribe of a Caffeinated Mind

2007-07-30T01:35:00.001-04:00

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.

Multiplicity

2007-06-06T14:50:00.000-04:00

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.

LIFE 163: The Life Crisis

2007-05-31T17:34:00.000-04:00

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.

Pulling the cable...

2007-05-23T14:40:00.000-04:00

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!

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

2007-05-14T21:44:00.000-04:00

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.

Monotony is bliss

2007-05-07T02:47:00.000-04:00

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.

Kindergarten University

2007-04-29T23:09:00.000-04:00

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.

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

2007-04-19T22:02:00.000-04:00

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...

In any other world

2007-04-11T21:51:00.000-04:00

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!

The absurdity of normalcy

2007-04-03T22:52:00.000-04:00

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.

In memoriam...

2007-03-17T05:46:00.000-04:00

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!

Life moves too quickly when it moves in slow motion

2007-03-11T17:30:00.000-04:00

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!!!

Better seen than believed

2007-03-06T07:56:00.000-05:00

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).

C'est quoi cette ville, cette Paris?

2007-02-25T14:32:00.000-05:00

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...

Carnivale is sort of crowded...

2007-02-19T09:53:00.000-05:00

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!

Backward and forward

2007-02-13T03:44:00.000-05:00

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.

Liberated in Normandy

2007-02-05T07:25:00.000-05:00

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.

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

2007-02-02T04:57:00.000-05:00

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!

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

2007-01-24T04:19:00.000-05:00

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!

Musings of a Procrastinator

2007-01-15T14:45:00.000-05:00

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 --

Ich bin Französisch

2007-01-07T15:54:00.000-05:00

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!

Photodocumentationisme 2: le chemin

2006-12-03T14:56:00.000-05:00

Alors, voila mon chemin a l'ecole (accents omitted). Yeah, my walk to school. It's exciting, somewhat, and boring, mostly. But anyway, this is what it's like to live life as a student in Paris, supposing you live a 10 minute walk away from your school (and it is more efficient for you to walk to school than to take the metro). It's a pretty exciting journey, that took me about 2 weeks to get down to a science, but now I can practically walk it blindfolded. It can be annoying when it's raining, and I'm often tempted to take the metro in that case, but then I realise that's just dumb. Besides, rain in Paris is much more beautiful than rain anywhere else. And, of course, romantic.

Anyway, shall we start the walk. First off, here is me getting ready for school ("they grow up so fast"). Notice how attentively I am watching my computer shut down. It doesn't like to shut down. It's weird. Ooo, and also notice my sexy coat (with totally UNsexy buttons that fall off every 2 days...well, not anymore, since I triple reinforced them, but still).

Alright, so then, I go down the stairs one floor (I took a picture of the stairwell, but it didn't turn out very well), and am out on rue St-Jean-Baptiste de la Salle (yes, long name, not-so-long street). Regardez:Yay European cars! Hehe, notice how cute they are. And how they have grown by like 2.5 square cm in length (according to le Monde, that's the case with the 2007 Smart car). Ok, moving on, next we turn left onto rue du Cherche-Midi (below),Fun billboard, rue du Cherche-Midi

which we take one block to rue Jean Ferrandi: There's another sign on the other side that says that Jean Ferrandi was an "homme politique et conseil general du 6eme," and something about the military. Uninteresting I'm sure. Wikipedia him if you're interested. Anyway, more of his rue:

The building that's been under construction forever (always a complicated obstacle to navigate)

The G20 supermarket at the end of the street.

Alright, so that brings us to rue de Vaugirard, home of a Holiday Inn and a private high school, neither of which I decided to feature here (though I do have pictures of those). In any case, here's the crazy intersection of like 5 different streets at the end of Vaugirard (maybe he's the military one, I don't remember). Almost there!

Traffic!

From here, cross behind that bar on the right of the photo, straight across, past the metro station, and there's rue Notre-Dame-des-Champs, famed home of I.S.E.P., Stanford in Paris' host institution:

I.S.E.P. building, and children crossing sign. Yeah, they're the same as the ones in the U.S., basically.

Now there are some stairs to climb (unless you're just going to class, which is on the 2nd [3rd U.S.-style] floor). In any case, once you've climbed the seemingly endless way to the 6th/7th U.S. floor, you arrive in the beautiful, Mac-infested Stanford Center:

Aren't they pretty :)?

Right, so, there are infinitely more pictures than this, but it takes like 20 minutes to load each set of 5, so, don't think that's happening. Anyway, this concludes the second part of my Photodocumentationisme feature (btw, that's a made-up word, but I think it totally could exist). And, I think, that'll be the update for this week. For now. Maybe later I'll talk about Jess & Julia's visit and our amazing night at le Queen (is there any other type of night there?) We'll see. Anyway, off to correcting my paper. Good night!

Photodocumentationisme

2006-11-29T17:21:00.000-05:00

Alors, I know you're all amazingly interested in knowing about my daily life in more ways than my written accounts, so I thought, why not do a photo journal? Well, actually, I just got a new camera that I'm exceedingly excited about (say that ten times fast)! Anyway, let's start it off with, the most interesting and telling part of my life here in Paris:

MY ROOM!

(Yay!)

Alright, so, first off, my favorite photo in the selection, is the one of my desk.
Mayve you can't see very much very clearly in this reduced sized image, but there are plenty of interesting and telling things on this desk. For example: the full water glass, the empty water bottle (for travel), the endless stacks of books and papers, the picture in the left corner of someone special (hehe), the iTunes open on my computer screen. Yeah. Interesting, right? Maybe not. Ok, moving on then.

My bed:
Sexy right? I was just reading in it, that's why things look a little ruffled. Otherwise they'd be more normal. Notice the sexy lighting, the wall paintings (not my own...my host brother's), and the way it's shoved in a corner (the coldest corner in the house, I swear). I love it.

Next: the dresser!
Yeah, not much. But my entire very sexy wardrobe is in there, so, you know, don't overlook it.

And finally:
The bookshelf I use for miscellaneous items, such as laundry, medications, and whatever. The shirt on the hanger there is drying after being heavily sprayed with Febreeze after being heavily sweated in during my run this morning. Let's not talk about that. But notice all my ties. They are my pride and joy. Really. I love ties. I wish I could wear them more, but I just look out of place if I do. Maybe I will tomorrow though, for no reason. Probably not.

And finally, some pictures of me. Because you know you want to stare into my beautiful eyes. Hehe. Mostly, I just took some really good pictures testing this camera (there are more, but, I thought I should limit myself). And voila:

"C'est quoi, alors?"

"L'écran mystifiant"

Yep. So, that's about it. Now you've seen into the secret, private life that is my personal space. Maybe you saw some dark secret deep in my soul, maybe not....But look, I updated on a Wednesday! For no reason besides procrastinating. Ok, more to come, I hope. Coming soon: the walk to school, the neighborhood, and the Marais! Maybe.

The Everyday, on the other side of the world

2006-11-26T17:13:00.000-05:00

So, um, a sort of revolution has happened on Blogger. I don't know if you've been paying attention, but blogger has decided to go over to blogger beta, which in turn means you have to log in with your gmail name, which in turn means...you guessed it! Blogger pages all show up in FRENCH!!! Well, for me anyway. It's interesting, and sort of confusing. I don't know what to do with myself.

So, it's been a good weekend. A good week, I guess. I finished my paper, which is about the biggest accomplishment in about six months for me. It may not sound like much, but considering that I started writing it over three weeks ago and only finished it on Friday, well, let's just say I haven't taken that long to write a paper in ever. Naturally, that accomplishment required a little bit of celebration and a lot-a-bit of reflection on why I am so unproductive. Maybe I should have gone to Oxford, just to have to write something every week. I'm thoroughly convinced that my academism has left. Maybe it's junioritis. You remember that from high school right? The one they never told you about, that came at the most inconvenient time in your h.s. career, and left just in time for senioritis to take it's toll. Yeah, I think I have that. I'm afraid of the quarters ahead.

Anyway, after finishing my paper, I figured it was time to celebrate, to reward myself a little. Everyone else was working on a paper or project or studying for a final or something though, so a night out was not really in the picture. As a result, I spent Friday night relaxing and reading a little bit of David Sedaris, just to get a chance to reflect on my own experiences in Paris. The sad thing is, most of the experiences he describes in Me Talk Pretty One Day are very stark reminders of how banal and quotidien most of the experiences I've been having are. I mean, mine have been interspersed with the occasional crazy night out at The Queen, or the random picnic on the Seine followed the next day by mass at Notre Dame, or watching the fireworks launching behind Sacre Coeur from the base of Montmartre...but still, most of my experience in Paris is about boring things. Avoiding dog shit on my walk from the apartment to the class room, pondering the translation of "Ne mets pas tes mains sur les portes, tu risques de te faire pincer tres fort" as "Keep hands away from door," or hearing the annoyingly high-pitched cry of a passing ambulance, followed immediately by three police cars and their equally high-pitched sirens.

I mean, I guess that's what it comes down to in the end, or am I wrong? I mean, when you really come to love a place, to take it in as a part of you, is it not the minor things that remind you of it. The distinctive scent of the sea that reminds me of Orange County, or the gentle breeze knocking a few brown leaves off of tree-lined boulevards to remind me of Stanford. When a place becomes a part of you, you start to see other places in terms of it. And I have no doubt that when I return, I'll go searching (in earnest, most likely) for the things that remind me of Paris. The Camembert (which is apparently impossible to find in the same quality stateside), the 85 cent baguette (yeah, try finding that at Safeway), the (seriously) familiar scent of dog crap wafting up from the sidewalk (ALERT! Dog poo approaching. Look down!). The day-to-day, the familiar, these are the things I'll remember. I guess that's better.

Which brings me to the distinctly familiar and completely American celebration known as Thanksgiving. French people just don't understand Americans, and I'm pretty sure the confusion goes both ways (myself included). I had an amazing Thanksgiving dinner yesterday (yes, Saturday and NOT Thursday...forgive me oh holy lord of American holidays) with an alumnus of Stanford, his wife, their amazing friends, and a Wellesley student (who was, like myself, randomly invited by the wife, who is of course a Wellesley alumna). That was amazing! Gave me a taste of, I suppose, what Thanksgiving is going to be like once I'm out of college and I or a friend or whoever is preparing the turkey, in the company of numerous friends and gratuitous servings of alcoholic beverages. Essentially, I haven't drinken so much since the summer, but it was paced over an amazing 7-hour celebration, so it was fine. And the food was, well, of course, glorious! Anyway, in the end it made me a little homesick as I realized that I haven't had Thanksgiving at home in over two years, and, well, no stuffing is ever as good as the one your grandma makes. Admit it. I did.

So now I arrive at today, a day spent walking around Paris, counting stores and cars for my "Paris by Numbers" course with Nikki. It was fun, got to see the 19th and 20th, which, while admittedly sketchy compared to the rest of Paris, offer a great deal of low-priced goods and Asian foodstuffs...making them a college student's Paridise! I vow to return at some point. And, I guess I can say I feel accomplished, since I got all of that done, and have begun reading and reflecting on the paper I will eventually (meaning, in like a month or 2) have to turn in for my independent study. After my last experience, it's always good to start early.

Alright, so that's about it. In other news, I've secured an internship working for an architectural research group (I have no idea what that means) next quarter, and my horoscope yesterday told me to go out and buy a new article of clothing (I didn't take it up on its suggestion). Also, Paris is most beautiful when the sun comes out after the rain and a chilling breeze blows through the alleyways.

Anyway, I'm off to bed so I can get up early and go running in the Jardin du Luxembourg, another one of those day-to-day's I'll take home for me (as begin the quest for every possible gravel-covered path I can find on Stanford campus - seriously, gravel is amazing, especially when it soaks up all the rain). I hope everyone else is getting as much excitement from the uninteresting and boring things in their day-to-day routine. And, in conclusion, "Happy Belated Thanksgiving," to quote Ms. Hill.

En ravanche, la vie est belle...

2006-11-19T18:34:00.000-05:00

Perhaps you don't understand what that means, but just use babelfish or some other translator, it should get it right on. Or, mostly right on.

Anyway, right now I am blogging instead of working on a paper of which I have written four of "8-10" pages. It's in French, so maybe cut me a little slack? Tomorrow will be my paper writing day. As today was, as Saturday was, as last Wednesday was, as last weekend was...yeah. Call it writer's block. Call it creative difference. I see myself as enjoying Paris, Stanford sees me as getting an education. Blah. I suppose, in the end, it's worth it. Really, I know exactly what the problem with this paper is: it is that I have not had enough time to think about and twiddle at my topic, so now it is far far far too broad and complex to tackle in an 8-10 page version. I suggest, to myself, limiting the debate a little. But I fear it is too late to turn back, seeing as I have already written 4 or 5 pages or so. Whatever.

But why am I talking about a paper when there is so much more that is infinitely more interesting happening in my life?!?!? For example, Chris, Kasey and Jocelyn came to visit this weekend!!! It was so amazing to see them, to recollect days gone by, to find friends who I've known for two years already. Time really flies. It was fun, I hope. Hehe, if you guys are reading this, I hope you enjoyed your time here! Remember how amazing Paris is, and how transformative it has been for me, hehe. The thing that I learned, though, is that I miss old me. I miss the me I was becoming on campus, the me whose development was suddenly interrupted by my shipping myself off to Paris. I suppose it's a good thing, and I know everyone back home will accept the new me just as they accepted the old me (after all, the old me is probably the weirder of the two). It was just interesting to have these external eyes look upon me, and to realize, through their gaze and their observation, that I have changed, just as they have, just as everyone has. It is missing that change that tugs the hardest. But in all honesty, I am most excited to go back and to find everyone in their new states and their new places, and to be young again for a minute, and to bring back to life Californian me. For in reality he's in here somewhere, he's just on standby for a second while Parisian me takes over, if only to not seem out of place.

But yes, the visit was a great time. I think my favorite part was picnicking along the Seine, and having these friends with whom I sort of still noticed the awkward looks, but with whom a part of me didn't care about what Parisians thought (besides, their looks really are looks of envy and not of judgment). And then, Gracimone, my illustrious ex-wife, is now in town. Tonight we saw Borat: [insert exceedingly long subtitle here]. It was, um, interesting. This may irk some people, but I don't think I really liked it, looking back. It was interesting to watch with an audience of Frenchmen, and it was an interesting expose on some of America, mostly parts of it of which I am not proud, like the rodeo man who judges all people with a certain 'look' to be terrorists, and the frat boys (yeah, that suffices). Overall I suppose the point though is to show what is really out there. And I think it's frankly hilarious that some of these people are suing the producers over their portrayal in the film. I mean, that's you, deal with it, you know? Whatever. I still love the U.S.A., but mostly parts of it that were not featured in that film.

All in all, though, it's just not my type of movie. I'm not much in to comedies of all types, and when a film just tries to push the limit of what it can do that's below the belt, well, it doesn't impress me. I see why it's funny and why it's popular, I just don't like it. Not because I'm offended, and not because I don't think this is true - mostly because I don't like that sort of comedy. But, that's just the type of person I am. I like depressing, tear-jearking movies. They're more cathartic for me.

Alright, so, perhaps I should consider working on my paper. I'm going to be up for awhile more anyway, after my 3 hour nap this afternoon. Most important thing I've learned this weekend, however: I LOVE PARIS!!!!! I wouldn't want to have studied anywhere else, in all honesty.

Learning to speak French...in Spain!

2006-11-12T16:39:00.000-05:00

Yeah, so, went to Barcelona this weekend. Big trip of the quarter, I suppose (well, big student organized trip of the quarter). Nine of us went, so, you know, quite a big deal. Hehe, it was a ton of fun, I just sort of wish I had had more time and, perhaps, more money. Money for food and museums, especially...both of which were amazing (except for the disappointing-ness of "spicy" sausage and "spicy" potatoes, which were the European definition of spicy...meaning no tat all).

So, as usual, I'm just going to write about what comes to my head. I think the best parts of going to Barcelona was, ironically, the way it helped my language. Let me explain (obviously): as many of you (if not all of you) know, Barcelona is part of the Catalonia region of Spain, which has it's own language - Catalan. And, as per Catalonia's proximity to France, the language is actually pretty close to French, except, like, if you spoke it with a Spanish pronunciation and added a bunch of x's in the place of 'ch'. Anyway, it was sort of fun to read signs and to attempt to sound like I can speak Spanish and/or Catalan, which failed miserably. But, most exciting, was being forced to use English, and to not understand the majority of what was being said and/or done.

You see, in Paris - in France, really - I can understand almost anything, and my language is pretty much at a level where I can handle virtually any situation and provide an answer to almost any question. Unless it's in slang, or l'argot, in which case - well, yeah. But, in Barcelona, there were a great number of tourists. Probably the largest proportion were English speakers, with heavy weight going to the Brits (including English, Irish, Scottish and Welsh), followed closely by French speakers. What was interesting, then, was to see French tourists, and the ways they were thrown into situations in Barcelona. In many cases it became easier to speak French to get an order or a question understood at a restaurant or store, because of all the French tourists. But nonetheless, the most important thing is that it really led me to realize and to understand the everyday - that is, vernacular - quality that defines French. I guess what going to Barcelona and seeing all of the French tourists communicating in their native tongue really did for me was to force me to see that French is more than an academic subject to be studied and practiced vigorously, but that it is a language that a specific group of people in this world feels most comfortable communicating in - that it is a method of communication.

So, Barcelona was amazing. Tons of new memories (always the best part of trips) - "fashion shoots" in the Parc Gaudi and the metro, hiking to our castle-of-a-hostel at the top of the hill, clubs (that are all free and have on entry point) on the top floor of a mall on the site of the old port, the Gaudi Cathedral, etc, etc, and so on...But I think the most important part of this trip was that it took getting out of France, after having been here for so long, to understand how the French language is now more than a subject of study for me, but it is a tool of communication. I'm hoping that means my French skills will get better. We'll see.

Now, I think I'm going to go to bed and try to sleep off this little bit of post-travel illness that I fear is coming on. Ciao!

The problem with Paris is...

2006-11-05T18:16:00.000-05:00

So, um, I didn't do anything this weekend. Like, literally. But, it's okay, because, well, I got some homework done. Not the homework I had hoped. But, well, some things. I've done a little research for my paper. I mean, how am I supposed to do work? This city offers far too much. It's times like these I long for a place like the basement of Green or the Law Library where I can just lock myself in the library and forget about how sunny and beautiful it is outside. And about how many museums and amazing buildings and wonderful restaurants and neat cafes there are to explore. Curse you Paris! Hehe.

No, but the real reason I didn't get any work done was just because my will was a little, below normal. One, I think I'm partly sick (it's minor right now, but it might be developing - something is going around all of us Stanfordians). Another reason, though, is that I've had a bit of a debacle to wrestle my way through. I can't really go into detail here, because, well, this is public and I've never been much into broadcasting my life's minor details to anyone who wants to read them. But, suffice it to say I've been doing alot of writing and alot of thinking about that, and it's been good for me. Mind-opening (not eye-opening, MIND-opening). Otherwise I've also done the following: written 11 postcards and letters between yesterday and today (a personal record, and each one of them is extremely unique and, if I do say so, a work of art in its own right); gone to the famed Musee d'Orsay, arguably the most architecturally intriguing museum in Paris (it's an old train station, but I assume you knew that, and the jury's out on whether Orsay or Pompidou are more architecturally, uh, unique); I ran this morning, as per my routine of three runs per week; I showed a couple of friends (Rachel Danford et al) around Paris a little this weekend, mostly on Wednesday, when I took them to the amazing Sacre Coeur; uh, I successfully fashioned a makeshift (read: cheap) dinner for myself tonight after spending 24.50 on dinner and chocolat chaud last night; I wrote a French article on American tourists in Paris on Friday, and transcribed a French interview, both for French class (go figure); and I wrote two one page class summaries of class meetings two and three weeks past. So, in the interest of making myself feel more accomplished, I'd say I had quite a busy and successful weekend! The only things I did not do: get reading done for my PoliSci paper, and get research done for my independent study. Whoops. Oh well, there's tomorrow, and Tuesday, and Wednesday, and Thursday, and etc, for that.

Check it: Barcelona next weekend! Who's excited? Wait, uh, hold on, uh, I think that'd be me! Yay! And then after that, Chris, Jocelyn and Kasey come to visit! AHHH!!!! I'm so excited! November is a good month.

Right, well. Happy belated Toussaints (and Halloween), everyone! Look for your letters in a mailbox near you soon.

Once upon a time in a land not that far away...

2006-10-30T07:28:00.000-05:00

This weekend was, um, how do you say? Pretty amazing.

A few friends and I decided, somewhat randomly, to go to Normandy, or, in French, Normandie. This is probably the region with the most history of all France. It's like someone decided I think France needs to have like a historyland, because it doesn't have enough history already (note the sarcasm). Seriously: the castle of William the Conquerer (disons, Guillaume le Conquerant), the famous (or infamous) Cathedral Notre Dame de Rouen, the only center of apple distilleries in the world, the beaches of the Allied invasion from WWII...I mean, what more could you ask for?

In any case, I'll try to do the rundown, but who knows how well I'll do. The five of us (myself, Jenny, Nikki, Parilee, and Killeen...yes, I was the only guy) got to our train station at the appointed meeting time of 12h30, only to be greeted by the do-do do-do-do of the SNCF announcer, and the now familiar announcement "Mesdames et messieurs: aujourd'hui, le 27 Octobre, 2006, un mouvement social a deroule tous les trains au depart du Gare St-Lazare. Veuillez consulter les centres d'acceuil pour vous renseigner." Or something along those lines. Basically, for you non-French speakers out there (which admittedly are shrinking and shrinking as a proportion of the people I know), our train (and all trains departing from that station) was cancelled due to a strike or, really, a "social movement." I, personally, was excited to be experiencing my first French social movement, something which some of you may or may not know to be commonplace around here. Just a part of le quotidien en Frane.

So anyway, we finally got out of Paris. We stayed in a hotel in Caen called the Etap hotels. They were like amazing. They're these cheap hotels that are sort of like hostels but owned by Accor, so they're everywhere. I like to refer to them as the do-it-yourself hotel. It was great fun! Hehe. And Caen was amazing, with the chateau de Guillaume le Conquerant. And Bayeux was great, as were the Norman beaches. Everything in that area looks alot like England, and there were British flags everywhere because we ended up going to Allomanches (the beaches that the British landed at during D-day). Food was fun, of course. I got a bottle of calvados to enjoy at some later point as well. In any case, all of it was great, and I have a ton of new memories and new photos on facebook (including the new fall catalogue). It was great.

I guess the thing that was best about the whole experience, though, was getting out of Paris. I mean, Paris is an amazing city, but, like with any place where you live for an extended period of time, it can get tedious and monotonous. You have to get out to remind yourself how amazing it is. The same applies to Stanford, to Orange County, to anywhere...and the key to being thankful for the places you come from and the places that characterize and define you is to escape from them and to come back. Normandie this weekend was great. It was like stepping out of the city and right into a scene from Rumpelstiltzkin (sp?) or any other fairy tale. Now it's back to the real world, with classes, and papers and tests and everything else. It was escapism if ever I've experienced it.

On the complexities of the human brain (namely, my own)

2006-10-18T08:35:00.000-04:00

So, you know when you put off writing about something for a long time, say, maybe two or three days, and then a ton of other things happen in your life, just day-to-day, and then you don't feel like writing about whatever it was anymore? Well, yeah, that kind of happened to me.

Last weekend the Stanford Program went to Marseille, Aix-en-Provence and Arles in the south of France. It was a good time, naturally, mostly because of the fact that it was different from the drudgery and everyday-ness that has started to characterize Paris. Life tends to be like that. Once you get used to something, you need to escape from it just because it's too monotonous. Or maybe that's just me. I don't know.

But in any case, I think the best part of the south of France was how much it reminded me of Orange County. Now, I know, I know...I hate Orange County too. On principle, any way. But, I you see, Arles is like what Newport Beach wants to be...it's got those Mediterranean houses, the graceful hills and the peaceful sound of the empty countryside, without the unnecessary traffic and shopping centers and artificially planted palm trees (they prefer oak, here). So yeah, all was amazing. It was great to be reminded of home for a second, because, let's admit it, I am a little homesick at times (or else why go to Gap every once in awhile or sit in McDo for free internet and maybe some fries). The south of France is amazing, and if you ever get a chance to come to France, skip Paris (too touristy anyway) and go straight there. If you're into that kind of thing, anyway. Which I'm not (well, completely anyway).

So yeah, this week has been busy. I'm procrastinating right now, as perhaps Nick will remember I told him I was doing last night. Who needs to read a paper about the gender gap in voting in France when it's already been explained what that gap is (and when the paper is 20 pages long and in French and has these nice tables which are much easier to read). So yeah, la-tee-da. Had a good run this morning, my third run since arriving in Paris. I'm starting to get into the routine now, so I think things should start picking up. Another sign of progress: last night I had a moment when my host mom was speaking to me in rapid French and, as is uncharacteristic of my normal aptitude, I actually stopped being able to understand her. My brain just shut down and said in loud and screaming voix haut: I WANT ENGLISH NOW! They (our infamous authorities on everything from sex to the history of the state of Kentucky) say that's a sign that you're on your way to full fluency. I'll let you know.

Alright, so, such is my entry. I'm sorry there wasn't more about the south of France. There is more I would like to blog about, but, well, my brain is blanking and I have 20 pages of reading to do before the Opera tonight! Haha. Alright, have a great day!

Next time on The Reo World

2006-10-15T17:28:00.000-04:00

So, I had quite a good weekend. How about you? Did you go to Marseille, Aix-en-Provences, and Arles in a three day mad dash around Provence? No? I didn't think so. Hmmm. Well, maybe you at least took a boat ride (or should I say roller-coaster-on-water ride) to see the Chateau d'If (of Count of Monte Cristo Fame) and the Calanques of Marseille? Not quite? Well, that's just to bad. Because I did. And I love the Bing family, mostly because of all of the amazing food they provide us starving, uncultured Stanford students.

So yeah, I'm really tired right now. I have a lot more to say about this whole weekend, and a lot not to say about it as well. In any case, tune in next time for a more exciting post. For now, just sit back, relax, and enjoy the commercials! Wooo! Yeah commercials! You know you love them.

Still missing my camera, but even if I had one you wouldn't be able to tell how amazing it was...

2006-10-08T16:23:00.000-04:00

Yes, it's a long title. Yes, it was an amazing night. Yes, I came home at 5 in the morning last night. Yes, Paris is a crazy amazing city. Yes, yes, yes, yes...yessssssssssssss. (I have to fulfill some of the promises of the preview, don't I?)

You know what I realized? I'm never much of a person to write descriptions of what I did. I much more prefer writing about what I experienced, what I learned, how I felt, than to write sentence-by-sentence reports of what exactly went on. I guess I don't have much of a career in journalism. And I myself much prefer reading about what went on than getting someone's self-centered perceptions, but, well, you're just going to have to deal. I'll try my best to include some sort of detail.

Voila, donc. This weekend started Thursday night and ended Sunday morning. And, well, it almost ran straight through the entire thing. Anyway, let's see, to start - Thursday. Thursday I met Helena and Caroline and Daniela (Helena and Daniela are in the Sweet Briar program here, and Caroline was visiting Helena) for hookah in the Bastille area, which was great. We were all Parisian and such except for the fact that we were speaking English the whole night. But, well, we were still talking in some hole-in-the-wall bar/hookah place, which to me felt very Parisian.

Alright, so Friday: met Daniela and her friends at Bastille again (the world revolves around Bastille and St-Michel, I swear). We tried to get into a gay club, but that didn't work to well seeing as we were one guy and three girls trying to get into a male club. Oh well, there are others that are more open minded out there (or that allow women in any case). I mean, I understand the point, you know...but, gay men have friends who tend to be female. What's wrong with just wanting to have a good time, not necessarily finding some man meat? Whatever, I know for future reference to not go there, or to go there alone or with only male friends. But we had fun anyway downing a bottle of beer between three people at some karaoke bar up the street. Always fun to hear French people belting out Kelly Clarkson and Madonna as if they themselves are American (with perfect accents, might I add).

Then there was Saturday. What to say, what to say. Let me just say, it was Paris's 5th annual Nuit Blanche, which for the uninitiated means "white night" but translates to the idea of "all-nighter" (the night is "white" because you see the sun come up...get it?). Alright, so what it is like if someone took all of the artists in Paris, bundled them into a big balloon sort of thing, then stuck a huge needle in the balloon and let them explode all over the city. There were 6 main areas of focus, but it literally was like art had exploded onto Paris. I mean, there were ICE CUBES on the Champs Elysees, the Place de Concorde was lit up in blue/violet, and a movie was playing in some random back alley in le Marais. I mean, you know? It was so amazing and, at the same time, overwhelming. And there were people EVERYWHERE, which of course added to the excitement. It's hard really to choose a highlight...I mean, I saw amazing fireworks right in front of the Sacre Coeur, I saw Concorde in bleu, I saw a modern dance (and ALL MALE!!!!!) ballet in the Louvre (surrounded by Renaissance sculptures), I saw an amazingly dramatic reading in the Hotel de Ville...let's just say it was all amazing!!! I also would like to add that goal number 789,165 in my life is now to at least once perform a piece of theatre in French. The language just lends itself so well to the theatre, and it's a completely different auditory experience. It also meant that I was out until 5 in the AM. Score one for nuit blanche, and for a host mother who doesn't mind when I sleep in to 1:30PM after a nuit blanche.

Alors, enfin, only in Paris, is all I can say. I mean, other cities can rival the art collections (NY, London, SF), and other cities can have infinitely more people, but only in Paris would there be an "all-nighter" of art where what literally seems like the WHOLE CITY is out walking the streets still at 3AM (after that I'll admit it did start to teeter off a little). Suffice it to say that I am glad once again to have chosen Paris as my city of study, and to have chosen to go abroad. I can't wait to discover more and more, and to always wish I had much more time to explore. I'm definitely going to need to live here one day. Anyone wanna join?

In honor of the girl in Brazil :)

2006-10-06T16:32:00.000-04:00

The M.P.A.A. has approved the following entry for reading by all audiences.

COMING SOON, to a blog near you!

MORE S.E.X.!!!!!!
"Oh Johnny! Oh, oh, oh, oh, yeah, yes, yes, yes!!!!! Harder, faster, harder, no...wait, no, you've got it all wrong. Ugh. C'mon, you had me going, and then you had to go and do, well, that. What the hell? Gosh."

MORE VIOLENCE!!!!
"SMACK!" "BAM!" "BOOM!" "FRAP!" "ouch! That hurt."

MORE LANGUAGE!!!!
"&*(#$&(@, you &*$(#& ^&*^$*&@^er." "Get the *&() out of my ^$&#*^@&* %^&$6& you ^&$#@^* @$$ ^&$%." "And ^&$@!!!!"

With a little bit of the meaty, juicy details of my life. Don't miss it!

Paris est trop cher!

2006-10-01T15:14:00.000-04:00

So, if you were to ask a group of American students studying abroad in Paris or Berlin or London (Oxford, Cambridge, etc) or Madrid (to some extent, but not as much so) what the worst part about spending a quarter in Western Europe is, what would they tell you? They would say it's exactly that: spending a quarter in Europe. The Euro, as many of you know, is currently worth about one dollar and thirty cents give or take up to five cents on any given day. And I'm not even going to start on the pound. But nonetheless, McDonald's still sees fit to charge 5 euro 50 plus for one of their meals. Economists (or should I say The Ecconomist) often talk about the BigMac index for a comparison of prices across borders; well let me tell you - the BigMac is not equivalently priced in France. It's at least 10-15% more expensive over here than it is in the States. Granted, it does use different (read: better) beef and comes with infinitely more flavorful fries (forgive me, I had a day of American food binging), but still! Quel frustrant!

I guess that's a lesson in cultural differences for you. McDonalds is a completely different instution over here; in fact, anything with an American theme is much more popular here than it is in the U.S. While our citizens may not always like their own culture (or, say, 'fearless' leaders), our leaders have been infinitely successful at exporting Americanism worldwide. It's shocking really, and can gross the expat who isn't feeling a sense of homesickness (read: not me) to insanity. But right now, it's nice to have those little touches of home, albeit prepackaged in an easily exportable formule francaise (or, europeene), whenever I need one. I'm taking it slow, I suppose: yesterday, McDo; today, Quick (basically the French version of McDonalds or Burger King or whatever fast food chain you like...I think more Burger King than McDo though); tomorrow, La Brioche Duree (authentic French food, but fast); then finally authentic French cuisine all the time. Actually, I had some French-Chinese food today for dinner...that was a really interesting experience. Can you say MSG?

So yeah, right now I'm still a little bit in the culture shock phase, but I wouldn't call it so much a shock as an amazement. I am amazed and fascinated with French culture, more so now than ever. And I think it mostly has to do with the fact that I feel French, you know. It's like one of those feelings that you were born out of place or that you don't quite fit in your family or culture or whatever. French culture is a culture that fits me well. But, as I'm discovering more and more each day (which is probably the real "shock" about culture shock)...I'm an American, through and through.

Anyway, I love being here in Paris. It's the little things about this city that really make you appreciate it: the beautiful parks with their 5 million statues (seriously, Luxembourg must have about 5 statues per square meter), the banks of the river Seine (complete with naked sunbathers), the free admission to museums the first Sunday of every month, the plethora of places to go and things to see on a Sunday night that make you wish you weren't stuck at home reading. This is really the city, it's like what every other city aspires to be. Neighborhood charm, big city opportunities, and everything easily accessible. It's amazing, and I look forward to what lies ahead!

In brief

2006-09-26T06:02:00.000-04:00

So, I would like to show you lots of pictures of the crazy time I had in Munich, and of the beautiful cathedral in Cologne, but someone stole my camera. That is all. Now I am still mad, and feeling somewhat irresponsible. Oh well. I still got wayyyyy drunk and had a huge deal of fun. More later, maybe.

Travelling 1

2006-09-19T07:51:00.000-04:00

Right now, I am sitting in the train station in Brussels, awaiting my train at 14:28 for Cologne, and bored as hell because I had to wait two hours because I got off of my original train because I couldn't find my seat, which was really easy to find all along except for the fact that I had thought my seat was 01 when it was actually 098. In any case, it's a long and confusing story, but suffice it to say changing trains is really easy and convenient.

In any case, this is the life of the traveller, I guess. I've been in Europe for 5 days now, and in that time I've gone from Paris to Brussels and spent three days in Brussels. That was a fun experience, especially because I got to spend most of my time trying to figure out how to find things, until eventually I got to know my way around. I almost feel like I lived in Brussels now. I mean, I sort of did, for three days. In any case, some highlights:

My first day was sort of dull. I explored the Grand Place and the Bourse area, which are mostly one big tourist trap, as evidenced by the numerous stores selling souvenirs and the twenty or so groups of about 50 high school students or elderly retirees. It was fun, that day, to learn how well I know French and to see how well I come across as French. Especially interesting was the train ride, during which the man next to me, an American, couldn't tell until I spoke English that I wasn't in fact French. This happened a few other times when I was buying a ticket or ordering at a restaurant, when someone would first speak to me in French. Most of the time I could get by without a problem. Reasurring, I guess.

My second day I decided to actually go see something, so I went to the Parc de Bruxelles, the park that sits in front of the royal palace. A picture of the park is at left. I have some pictures of the palace too, but I'll save those until later, maybe. Or post them on facebook. Whatever works.

Anyway, after the park, I rode the metro out to the atomium, famed building from the 1958 world's fair. It's quite an amazing building to see, maybe worth the 6 euros it costs a student to get in, and definitely a tourist trap. Despite all that, it was probably the highlight of my time here, since I got to see the views from up high and just relax for a second. See the photo below:

And for my third day, I pretty much just relaxed, having lunch at a restaurant that had a really good flavored beer, and spending my evening resting and relaxing. So, that brings us to today, and to my trip to Cologne. Hopefully I'll be able to update on that soon. For now, Reo out!

Escape is not an option

2006-09-09T02:39:00.000-04:00

Being home is so amazing. I mean, in the initial rush of everything, I really only have time right now to remember how much I missed everyone down south, and I feel like come my departure, I might hit tears at some point because of all the emotion that will hit me when I realize how many people and how many places I'm leaving behind. I'm in such a flurry right now, juggling seeing everyone and getting prep'd to go (which will eventually include packing) and just generally getting adjusted to the new life that is rapidly approaching in under one week. I mean, come this time next week, it will be 8:38 in the morning and I will be waking up in Paris! AHHHH!!!!

So, to be honest, I'm filled with so much hope and confidence and excitement to go to Paris and so much doubt and fear and confusion at what I'm leaving behind that it's just too much to handle anything else. Had a great Thursday-into-Friday...Jason and I went up to visit Vincent at his new apartment in Upland. The highlight was probably the, I think we determined, four-and-a-half hour conversation Vincent and I had from 11:30-4 last night - a conversation that was epic in proportion and reminded me of the types of conversations we used to have as teenagers riding home from school, the conversations that really cemented our friendship. One thing has changed, though - I think at this point both of us are really much much much more open to listening to what the other has to say, because we know how much we each have been through and we've been through it all together. I'm so grateful to have that. It sounds corny, yes, but I am grateful.

In other news, I finished just about the greatest novel I've read this year - Michael Chabon's The Amazing Adventures of Kavalier & Clay. I don't think that since A Home at the End of the World have I read a novel with characters I can so directly identify with and that I can so view as completely human and come to life. Middlesex had that quality for me too, and (ironically) Pride and Prejudice. I don't know how these authors do it, and I know that it's probably a pretty unique thing for each person and that different characters become real to different people, but wow. It's like reading about yourself, which makes the failures of the main characters that much harder to take and makes their successes so much more thrilling and relieving. It's almost like someone had said to you, "Here is a glimpse into your future - here's where you'll learn about heartbreak, here's where you'll find your self-confidence, here's where you'll grow up," and you just read along, astonished at how much of the past the tale has predicted and worried a little about the mistakes you're going to make in the future. Anyway, if you haven't already read it (I mean, c'mon, it won the Pulitzer - where have you been? where have I been?) I highly highly recommend it.

Yes, well, that said, it's 11:48 PM, and I need to go to bed to get ready to see my dad tomorrow and perhaps to reveal to him some big news (I mean, the chances are getting rarer and rarer). So, I hope everyone is as excited about what lies ahead as I am, and I bid you a humble and appreciative adieu. Until next time...when, it is entirely possible, I could be somewhere in Europe!

A climax, of sorts...

2006-09-02T18:26:00.000-04:00

So, it's Labor Day Weekend, and, for once I can actually say that summer is really ending on Labor Day weekend. You know, most of my life (at least my recent life), I've started school before or way after Labor Day, so I'm not used to it actually meaning the end of summer. But this year I finished work yesterday and am moving off campus tomorrow (hopefully), so Labor Day Weekend is truly the end of what was my summer.

I guess it would be nice if I could reflect on the summer at this point, but, well, I'm not going to do that. I mean, my jobs were good, I learned a great deal in both cases, and now I'm done with them. Living on campus was great, though not as social as living on campus during the year (or, for that matter, in any undergrad residence except Mirrielees). I had some good times, had some trying times, am still sort of stressing about my impending departure, and am ready to end the summer for good.

That said, I am glad to have made the decision to stay on campus this summer. I regret not getting the chance to see my friends around Orange County as much as I would have liked, but absence makes the heart grow stronger as they say. So cliche. Olay! But yeah, it was fun, and, you know, I really fit a bit better in the Bay Area than I do in Orange County. It's come to feel so much more homely, so much more comfortable. It's only been two years, so I guess it's about time. Now I know how long it takes me to warm up to a place. I am Bay Area now, unfortunately, and fortunately, and Orange County is slowly fading into my past. Of course, as always, it's really the people from a place who matter, and the people from Orange County are what truly mean the most to me. The place - well, you have to admit, it's sort of boring. It has it's nice features, but not as many as a place like the Bay Area or Paris or New York. I guess I'm just more cosmopolitan than I would have thought. Such is youth.

Anyway, I decided to donate blood today, before I quickly become ineligible (either because I've been in France for six months or for other reasons which would more permanently bar me from donating). I'm glad to have done it - at least I can say I once gave blood now. Who knows if I'll ever be able to again. It's kind of a freaky feeling. Frustrating, you know, when you want to help out, but when you're told you're ineligible because you once had sex. Oh well.

And in the end, the summer is making a nice little conclusion of itself. I look forward to two weeks in Orange County, and to my 11 hour flight to Paris, and to a few days in Brussels and a few in Madrid and/or London, and to meeting my host mother, and to meeting French people, and to meeting new people in general, and to whatever life brings me. Here we go again!

All you have to do is think one happy thought...

2006-08-28T01:21:00.000-04:00

This whole leaving thing is really starting to catch up with me. In a way I never could have expected. I mean, I guess that's the way it always goes, you can never really expect what's going to happen, it just happens. That's not that deep, but still.

The rundown, you ask? Well, it's quite simple really. This weekend, I drank, I partied, I dined out about 5 times, and I just generally had the most amazing weekend possible, the first one I've had on campus in awhile. Probably most amazing was that Jason showed up, with Josh, Shawn and John, three of his friends, and drank a little of the exorbitant amounts of alcohol that are still lingering in this here apartment. It was amazing, especially to discover that, well, Stanford is incredibly liberal on the amount of regulation of alcohol compared to other schools. The nice thing about that is that Stanford students are honestly more responsible, because there's no one staring over their shoulder telling them alcohol can do bad things to you. No - that's something we here learn for ourselves fast enough, thank you very much. Hehe.

Anyway, after the glories and crazy latenight shenanigans of Friday night, I had a wonderful Saturday, watching two enjoyable movies. First was Brick, which somewhat confused me but was amazingly hilarious because of how surrealistic it was. And naturally great because it featured the very dreamy Joseph Gordon Levitt, who I am about 90% sure is gay. Score one for the good guys! In any case, after that, Courtney and I watched Hook, and now I really really really want to be a father. I forgot how amazing that movie was, and how perfectly childish. Hehe. I'm such a little kid sometimes. I wish I could go to Neverland, eat imaginary food, fight imaginary pirates, live life like a little kid again. Whoops.

Alright, so yeah, today I spent mostly playing SimCity 4 and watching movies on TV, but Mao, Courtney and I also had the glorious experience of Stacks for brunch. That was, well, like tasting heaven. Or something that better fits the simile. Whatever. And the 4400 was just on! Season finale baby. I feel a little, unsatisfied. But it'll keep me content until next summer.

So yeah, it's been a good weekend. Now, Courtney is packing and getting ready to leave, and I am sitting here contemplating how I'm going to get by when I get to France, and what things are going to be like in 6 months, and where we're both going to be after that time. It's weird, it's like, these past 9 months we've been almost joined at the hip like some sort of siamese twin deal, and now we're splitting up. I really do feel a little like I'm leaving my twin, and like we're going to be separated but do that weird thing twins do sometimes when they can sense the other is in trouble or sad from 10 million miles away. I don't know. In any case, I'm excited to go to France, worried I'm going to lose myself in all the rush, and ready to face whatever comes my way. God, only 18 days...then I'll be on a jetplane. Don't know when I'll get back again. Ever feel like your life is a series of song lyrics? Well, maybe it is. I guess that's not half bad.

Now it's time to go to bed, and lie awake thinking about what I would do if given the chance to have a 4400 ability, wondering if I'd ever take that risk. For the record, probably not.

That's it! I've had it with these motherfing clones of these motherfing Vincents!

2006-08-24T00:12:00.000-04:00

So, I don't know, in all the rush that has led me to today, I forgot to blog about the previous weekend. As in, August 18-20, also known as...the glory days. So, whoops...here it is! Just pretend I'm writing as if it's Monday, and not Wednesday.

I went home this weekend. As usual, it was quite the roller coaster ride from start to finish. Now, we all know how much I love roller coasters (if we don't, then, well, how do we even call ourselves my friend? hehe, unless you've been unfortunate enough to have met me in my transitional period, a.k.a. the last year or so, in which case, it's excusable). But, well, I don't much like the metaphorical kind of roller coaster - in general.

It all started out with the stresses of (or should I say as a result of) the Stanford Financial Aid Office. Every year it seems my mother and I must bicker over the tiniest of details in the financial aid award, which is why I dread the coming of that plain white envelope at the end of every summer. As usual, my mom had some questions, I had some feelings of being treated like a child, and we worked through it. But it put a bit of a damper on my weekend, making me feel a bit more standoffish with my mother than I really should have been. What can I say? Post-teenage angst? I don't know, whatever. I am growing up, it is alleged.

So, with that in mind, I wasn't able to be as helpful as I would have liked to have been in the whole party surrounding the premiere of the glorious film Vincent Lin Must Die. If you haven't heard of it, I pity you, but some day, when Nick is a famous multi-millionaire director, many will look back into his past and find this gem of a film. (No pressure, Mr. Ochoa). So yeah, because I got to mostly sit back and enjoy the party, I feel I had a better time than I should have. But in any case, I did my best to help out, and the party went off quite charmingly, thanks to the Viano family as well as the planning efforts of Nick, Leslie, Jon and Matt. And myself, I'd like to think. And, well, the movie was just, well, unspeakably hilarious, funny beyond my wildest dreams, and - to think - the product of my friends. Really, it was amazing. If you get a chance, you should look up the preview on YouTube!, and maybe buy the DVD (when Nick gets around to it), since it'll be all the rage in only a few years.

So yeah, that was my weekend. I guess I'm going to take to writing about my weekends mostly, because, well, I think it's pretty clear what my week days are filled with. Work, some down time, and sleeping. Oh, and seeing Courtney as much as I friggin' can because, well, she's leaving this weekend!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! I think I'm about to die. Six months in France might not be such a good idea any more. I don't know. I've committed to it, though, and, well, you may not know this about me, but once I've committed to something, it's about 99% guaranteed that I'll follow it to the end. Man, though, France will be an experience. I get all jittery just thinking about it. So, at the risk of sounding trite and boring...here goes nothing!

Only a week and a half of work left. The summer goes by way too quickly.

Musings on Santa Rosa, and friends...

2006-08-14T01:47:00.000-04:00

This weekend was amazing! Based on a decision made about a week ago, I drove up to Santa Rosa, to visit my bestest friend of eternity, Melissa. Some of you readers (I kid myself to think that there are more than, like, 3 people who read this) may have heard of her, and of our friendship that has endured 16 years, a moving away, another moving, college, different schools, and the virtually insurmountable obstacle to childhood friendships that is adolescence. As you can tell, we are quite good friends, and, well, what's great about it is that distances don't really matter, because you just get us together and it's like old times again.

In any case, rediscovering my past like that has lead me to the revelation that all of my friends are such amazing people! I mean, I don't mean to brag, but, let's be honest, my friends are better than yours. (Damn right, they're better than yours. I could teach you, but I'd have to charge.) I mean, take for example the fact that I'm going through all sorts of changes to do with this whole maturing thing, including coming out and a variety of other things. Have I lost a single friend in all the changes? Well, the correct answer, dear reader, would be, no! I have not. And frankly, to have a group of friends that is that amazing is just, well, it's overwhelming. Sometimes it's just whelming, but most of the time, it's overwhelming.

In any case, Santa Rosa is an amazing place. If you've never been, you should definitely check it out. It's like the place where all the hippies went to raise their kids, and for that reason it is, essentially, spectacular! Really laid-back and easy going, like what San Francisco wanted to be before it got all big-city and business-y. So yeah, I had another spectacular weekend. Each one seems to be striving to outdo and outperform the last. I mean, I have trouble believing that I could possibly have a better weekend than this one. But then again, next weekend is THE BIG PARTY!!!! AHHHHH!!!!!!!!! WOOOOO!!!!! Alright, yes, well, this is where I leave to go to bed. Goodnight, you beautiful people.

Bohemia unleashed...or the travails of a day to myself.

2006-08-06T00:49:00.000-04:00

I don't know if you've ever had one of these days, but if you haven't, you should certainly try it out. Sometimes it's just a great idea to have some time to yourself, to just do some self-pampering and screw the finances to hell. Lately, I've been realizing that my busy work schedule has been getting me more stressed, and thus, I determined, it was time for a day all to myself. Likewise, what a day it has been!

So, the rundown. What did I do today? I'm sure that's the question that's on your head. It's certainly on mine. In due time, my dear reader, in due time. Ok, it's due time. I started the day getting up around 10, at which time I made pancakes and watched the thoroughly entertaining if not exceedingly mind-numbing film Anaconda! Yes, that's right, the amazingly horrific (in a hilarious way) and amazingly intelligent (with undertones of idiodicy) film - nay, masterpiece! - starring the blindingly talented Jennifer Lopez (some of you may know her as J-Lo) and the dashing and talented Ice Cube. Oh, it was glorious!

In any case, if it is possible to top such a feature, I then further numbed my half-asleep brain watching the engaging film 10 Things I Hate About You, which, despite Heath Ledger's (cough) dashing (cough cough) good looks (cough - can you tell I'm being ironic? - cough), was mostly entertaining for its eye-candy (of the Joseph Gordon-Levitt variety - what, nerdy types are hot!).

Now, I'm sure you're all very engaged by my day thus far, as I was as well. In any case, at 2 PM, I decided I had already put in too much effort. So, naturally, I took a nap! It was spectacular, as I slept for an hour. Then I decided it was time to be productive, go do something, get some personal fulfillment. Well, in any case, once that was done, I went into Palo Alto!

I did some reading at the illustrious Coupa Cafe (for those of you around campus, if you've never studied there, I highly recommend it. They have free wireless!). While there, I had a cafe milano, which outed me $4.25 but was worth every cent. Presently, you may be saying - but Reo (or whatever you call me), what did you do after that? Well, good question! After two hours reading at the cafe, I decided it was time for some dinner. So, I went to another cafe - the Cafe 220 - for some Mediterranean food. It was good, you know, Cafe 220 style. Then, I decided...drumroll please...to see LITTLE MISS SUNSHINE!

Yeah, it was the perfect way to cap off such a relaxing and me-centered day. I saw the movie while being surrounded by about 149 old and pretentious types from Palo Alto - you know, the money-donating liberal types that populate the hills and tree-lined streets around this campus - who could not stop chattering about how Robin Williams was so great in that movie - oh, what was it called - The Night something or another...ah, yes, Listener - thank you Marge! God...I just wished one of them had stopped talking about the latest expansion of the Stanford Business School or Toni Collette's breakdown scene or the differences in the novel and the movie or the amazing reviews Little Miss Sunshine was getting despite it's "horrible" trailer. Ugh. In any case, I showed them! I promptly bought a ticket and caught them all off guard as I sat in a seat in the corner. Right. Yeah. Nobody noticed, but oh well. I had a good time, a few laughs, and clearly made the woman sitting next to me uneasy by virtue of my being there. Sometimes I really just feel like the young bohemian I'm sure to become in Europe.

In any case, that was my glorious day. Did some thinking, did some reading, did some soul searching, and felt independent. Sometimes it's great to just have a day to yourself - to do things you want to do, and to know that you are perfectly capable of eating alone in a restaurant or sitting alone in a movie theatre. I think I'm ready to face another work week, finally.

Random Sense of Foreboding

2006-08-04T01:29:00.000-04:00

I don't think Paris will be all I hope for it to be. It will be different, not spectacular, not unspectacular. Amazing just the same. I'll be there for six whole months! I mean, once the splendor and awe of first arrival wears off, what will it be like? I suppose no one will know until I'm there. Let's just give it a gander.

"I think I'll go to Boston." Or Paris.

Best Day in a Damn Long Time

2006-07-30T15:41:00.000-04:00

So, Courtney and I had a record-length day date yesterday. It was based around the premise of our seeing Rent on stage (as in the musical, made obscenely famous by the release of the film version and it's astonishing popularity on Broadway). That was amazing, infinitely better than the movie, simply because so much more was explained, and it was much more interesting to see how things played out on stage as opposed to in film, where backgrounds actually are Santa Fe or New York City, instead of a stage resembling an abandoned and graffitied warehouse with people dancing in amazingly choreographed numbers. I don't know, somehow when everythings not spelled out for you in hyperreal, two-dimensional picture form and you have to use your imagination it's just infinitely more engaging. Go figure!

That said, following the musical and our mutual 4th weekends in a row in the city (yeah, we decided we've really become more San Franciscan than Stanfordian on weekends), we came home and ate at Janta (a.k.a. best restuarant in Palo Alto) and watched Imagine Me & You, Courtney's current favorite movie (in case you haven't heard). That was enjoyable, and got the Turtles stuck in our heads for awhile (as if we didn't already have the songs from Rent running through our heads). It also got me thinking about the characters I tend to identify with in movies, which is naturally a reflection of my character. But then, a movie about discovering lesbianism is always going to be entertaining. Especially if one of the girls has a hot and exceedingly sensative husband.

Following this film, we went to see...you guessed it! Another movie! Hehe, it was amazing! It was Scoop! It was Woody Allen! So yeah, if you haven't thought about seeing it, first off - where have you been? - and second - it should be your highest priority next movie to see! It's a hilarious movie, with Scarlett Johanssen and Hugh Jackman (who, without the Wolverine hair, actually has a surprisingly small head). Ms. Johanssen is amazing, as always, as an awkward American journalism student. I mean, need I say more? It's Scarlett Johanssen for "Bob's" sake!

So, what can I say to summarize this amazing day, except that it was amazing in every way! I haven't had a day so fun in awhile, which is proof yet again that Courtney is leading a double life as Courtney Hill by day and Batman (woman) by night. Now it's time for me to spend a day vegging, in order to recover from, well, you know...

Time

2006-07-23T00:57:00.000-04:00

It's 83 degrees at 9:53 PM.

That's just crazy. So crazy I can't even think to write anything.

I think I'll just go lie in my bed, and never fall asleep.

PART II:

It's now 11:11 PM the next day, and we've just broken the sixties people! 69 degrees! Let's have a party!

Make a wish before it's 11:12.

Life as a Tourist

2006-07-17T01:23:00.000-04:00

So Nick and Jon came up this weekend. It was good times, we went to the city for a night, hung out with a friend of Nick's, did some toursity things. We saw North Beach, and I was really excited to go to City Lights! We also walked our asses off, Jon and Nick more than me, but still. It's kind of strange, I mean, being a tourist but not really being one. It's like hypocritical. I felt like I was a tourist in the city, but at the same time I feel like a local resident. I wonder if that ever goes away. Maybe if I actually lived in the city it would be different. We'll see if that ever happens.

Right. Well, I don't have much to say. All I can really say is that it's really good to know you have some good friends, friends who just seem like the type you could never get tired of, the type that you can have a good time with no matter where you are. I dunno, I mean, it's like, the three of us - in fact, the majority of my Orange County friends - grew up together and, well, now we just know so much about each other and are so much a staple in each others' lives that we have no where to grow but closer. Now I'm being all sappy and weird, so I'm gonna stop. But, well, Nick I know you can see this, and Jon, if you read it, I'm glad to have spent this weekend with you guys. It was a great time. Makes me realize how much I miss Orange County - or, well, the people there.

Alright, well, here's looking forward to being a tourist over again and going to Paris! In all truth, though, you have to get the toursity things out of the way before you can really come to know a city. It's all about the discovery; and alot of the time that's the best part. So, while I utterly detest the sight of toursity-types fumbling with their maps and questioning the MUNI driver as to how to pay the fare and what the transfer does and whether they should go to Pier 39 or to Ghirardelli Square or to Alcatraz, well, I realize I did that at one point not to long ago myself. Only after you've done all those things can you discover the real special parts of a city, and, this weekend, I guess the lesson for me is to let the tourists do their thing, since, well, they just want to learn. Something we all do.

Je suis en train d'ecriver sur mon blog...

2006-07-08T23:06:00.000-04:00

This is, I think, the first time I've written on a weekend. I don't know. It's Saturday right now, and I'm currently in the process of writing this entry, while simultaneously watching Mao play Tetris thingamagig on the SNES and waiting for John to finish dinner (emphasis added). In case you are wondering, the title of this post means, "I am in the middle of writing on my blog." Yep.

So, the rundown: let's see, since last time, I have gone to work three days. Lately (well, since I started working) I've been going in mostly in the mornings, then getting to leave in the afternoon since there's not much for me to do. There are two possible explanations for this: one, I'm just lazy and don't want to take on other things, or two, I work much more efficiently than either of my employers had expected. I think it's really some combination of the two, about equally split both ways.

In any case, yesterday (a.k.a. Friday) I got out of work around noon. I had to give a presentation to one of the senior groups in Millbrae in the morning, which went well...the group seemed to enjoy it and they gave me free eclairs! They were so good. The pastries in France will really be the death of me when I get there. But let's deal with that later. Alright, so after work, came home, sat around for a few hours, then Mirrielees went to see Pirates of the Caribbean: Dead Man's Chest. I just had to type the whole title, for the effect of it. In any case, it was an interesting movie; entertaining, in any case. Good? Well, I can't really say. So much of it was just hilariously absurd that I ended up having a good time. Which, when you come down to it, is the point of seeing a movie, is it not? Too often I feel people go to the movies looking to learn something new or to gain some new insight through the movie, but when it comes down to it, movies are about entertainment. They're about escapism and whatever emotion you want to feel when you see a movie. Last night for me that emotion or experience or whatever was just to have a good time, and Pirates did that for me. So, yes, I enjoyed it. (Though, on a side note, I do love it when a movie has some deep and insightful message, even if I don't agree with that message or idea. Sometimes I feel like insight, sometimes I lean more towards escapism. Blah.)

So, dear friends, we now find ourselves on today. Today, I got up at like 10:30, then had to take my car in to Pep Boys because, well, I discovered, driving to AMC Mercado last night, that I only had one functional headlight! Fortunately, I wasn't pulled over. But, I did have to go through the ordeal of driving to San Jose to find the nearest Pep Boys and waiting "2" (it turned out to only take about 1, but John, Adrian & I had walked to Santana Row, so we didn't want to go back right away) hours for my car. In any case, got some new threads from Urban Outfitters (I feel they are fitting of the description threads) and am now, post-nap, sitting, typing this blog. Yep. It's been an exciting week, as you can tell. Just another episode in the extremely normal life of Reo. Alors, j'ai fini!

So Orange County...

2006-07-05T01:43:00.000-04:00

So I went home for the weekend. It was, essentially, amazing. You never realize how much you miss a place, how much that place defines you, how much you want to go back to it and feel safe and at home every day. I already miss Orange County, which is really hard to explain, especially since Orange County (some of you may know it as the OC, an objectionable name) is basically the center of all things horrible. I felt so out of place, being the NorCal-ian that I have become over this past year. But still, it's home. It's the place where I can drive around freeways and feel like I can actually drive, the place where I can go to the beach because it's only 15 minutes away, and, most importantly, the place where the friends I grew up with are, the friends who mean so much to me I would go home just to see them, even if I never saw the rest of the county.

In any case, on Sunday the amigos and I had a bonfire at Huntington Beach, which, as always, was good times. Bonfires are like the culmination of everything in me that is Orange County. This one was special, though, because, well, all of us have just grown up so much. It was fun to chill and smoke a cigar in the twilight and lit by the reddish-glow of a burning blaze, to be offered a hookah by some nearby fire-admirers, and to go down to the ocean late at night to see the glow of the moon or to, well, be one with the ocean...if that makes any sense. I stayed up sunday night until like 4AM, as I had Saturday night, just for the heck of it, just 'cause Vincent and Jason and I are basically inseperable when you get us together.

So yeah, I had a great time. Got to relieve a little bit of the longing that I was having to get back home. You know, it's strange how many times home can redefine itself in your lifetime. Maybe not redefine, so much as add more locations that you can call home. For me, home is Orange County, home is Stanford, home is the L.A. Basin, home is the Bay Area - and, in a few months, I'm hoping home will also be Paris. I carry a little piece of each everywhere I go, and that's why each one is home. That's why I am so Orange County, whether or not I want to be.

(This post is dedicated to Hannah, who is rediscovering her home in Latin America, and who insists that I update. Hehe.)

His name is Reo and he dances in the sand...

2006-06-25T02:48:00.000-04:00

So, today has been an interesting day, to say the least. Courtney and I went to SF Pride, which was fun...lot's of gay people in one place. It's nice to see what the community really is, you know, instead of the Stanford Bubble's exceedingly exclusive community. I had an interesting realization, though, when I was there. It was like a real, actual, realization that I am part of this community, you know, that I don't have to act it or dress it or talk it or look it, but, deep down, I am it. Just like everyone else there. Ok, well, it's idealistic and naive, maybe, of me to say that...but it's true. I've never really felt like I fit into the community, mostly because I'm so so so so so so so focused on being an individual and never being a stereotype. But in the end, stereotypes are really just a first step to finding your individuality and identity...right?

So yeah, that was fun. Enlightening, if you will. I'm glad, I think, to say that I belong to a sexual minority, because it just makes life so much...I don't know, something. You get a better perspective on everything, a more open mind, and so on.

In any case, just got done watching Latter Days, the movie about the gay mormon missionary. If you haven't seen it, you really should check it out. It's a great sappy gay love story...and equally as corny as the description I just provided sound. SO GOOD! I wish I could meet a gay mormon. Yeah, not gonna happen. But I like the whole everything-is-interconnected/ God-is-sending-you-messages-in-everything/ fate-is-leading-you-to-your-destiny message the movie had. I know it's cheesy, but sometimes, I really just want to buy into that bull. Just believe that everything I do, every thing I believe, everything I see, every choice I make is leading me to one place...which is the love of my life. I'm such a hopeless romantic sometimes.

Alright, so, concluding remarks: pride is fun if your gay/lesbian/trans/queer, more fun if you are already part of the community (or have a boyfriend/date/whatever); the enlightenment is coming, just wait; and the LDS community is a huge, untapped pool of gay men. Oh, and, my name is Reo and I'm dancing in the sand, just like that river twisting through a dusty land...

The Unbearable Hotness of Being (my apologies to Kundera)

2006-06-23T00:41:00.000-04:00

It is soooo incessantly hot. It's been, like, the first two days of summer, and, well, summer's here with a bang. I can't stand the heat, it just makes me want to go home and lie around in my underwear, but, of course, that's not always easy, especially when you're working the 9-5.

In any case, if anyone knows where the AC is, or how to replace scorching heat with sleet, snow, and rain, let me know. Whoever came up with the concept of summer, well, let's just say they didn't have their thinking cap on when they made it.

Sun, sun go away
Come again some other day...or never.

The Working Man

2006-06-22T02:03:00.000-04:00

So, I started work today. It was a great time. I have a commute! And an apartment! And a credit card! And I'm buying my own laptop, with my own money! And...well, that's about it. But, you know, working man style.

I've moved into the apartment in Mirrielees, with my three roommates (one of which is not here) - Adrian, John, and Eric, and our temporary guest - Abel. It's good times, we had home-cooked burgers for dinner tonight. Which might sound bad, but consider our dinner last night of...you guessed it! PIZZA! We are real college students now.

Anyway, then this morning, at the UNGODLY hour of 7:00AM I got up, to get ready for my morning commute. I was out the door around 8, and, thanks to their being no traffic (and the really annoying and boring shows that plague so many radio stations) I was there in about 35 minutes. Which is surprising, considering I felt lost for about half of the trip. But, turns out I know my way around.

Then, after working for a few hours in the morning, I went to downtown (in my proper working-man attire: an olive green dress shirt and pleated khakis) to have lunch at Round Table...yes, more pizza. But actually, I got a sandwhich. Still.

In any case, on the way home, I stopped by the supermarket, got a few things for the family (and myself) and came home. Then, a bunch of us (me, Adrian, Eric, Courtney) went and got a ton of food (well, not a ton, but still) and came back and got dinner. Then I went down the street (I'm really psyched to be able to drive around this campus) to visit Courtney (who had left one of her grocery bags behind from the earlier trip) and to watch the end of The Wedding Date with Mao! It was good times. Really, driving is the way to go on this campus. I would avoid driving only if we had an underground subway system really, which would then be just as fast. but, well, that's not gonna happen any time soon.

So, now, here I am. Staring out my window at people carrying grocery bags to their room. Damn it feels good to be a yuppy!

Welcome

2006-06-18T17:45:00.000-04:00

This is the true story of one stranger
Picked to live abroad and have his life blogged
Find out what happens, when people stop being normal
And start being...REO!

The Reo World, Stanford 2 Paris

(Thanks to Nick for the inspiration to this entry.)