listening to Louis Armstrong's "Dream a little dream of me."

went out to Wanchai yesterday, watched some friends play pool. didn't drink because i have been drinking too much lately. ended up in a very, very seedy bar that kind of freaked me out, what with all the prostitutes and all, so I left. The place just isn't the same when you're not blind-drunk.

the star of a long string of recurring dreams i had last night was grey goose vodka. someone had invented a way to make the label some sort of LCD screen sticker, where geese cascaded down in an endless stream, iridiscent and changing color from white to blue, even bright pink. everywhere i went in my dreams, all night, there was a bottle of grey goose vodka.

sweet dreams till sunbeams find you
sweet dreams that leave all worries behind you
but in your dreams whatever they be
dream a little dream of me

defeat.

deeee-licious! 

illiterate literature major

Today was my first day at work. It's so funny feeling like an illiterate fool...I can't read any of the signs posted anywhere, get the "send" and "cancel" buttons reversed on the fax machine, and have to get someone else to type in people's Chinese names for me on documents.

Another thing I am surprised at is the almost universal weakness of handshakes around these parts. I feel like I'm breaking their fingerbones. It goes like this: both of us reach out to shake hands, and while I have just begun a firm, don't-mess-with-me-i-am-small-but-i-will-CRUSH-you shake, I realize that they have commenced the why-you-precious-lotus-blossom-i-am-sure-your-hands-are-made-of-jelly-hence-i-will-emulate-that-consistency-with-my-own-hand shake, causing me to immediately withdraw pressure to compensate for the disequilibrium of handshaking force. This results in a strange, dual-phase handshake on my part, starting out firm and ending weakly. Not a very good impression either way.

It's good to be thrown in the midst of law I don't understand. Makes me grope around for similarities and reinforces my own knowledge through comparing the differences.

Today, I drafted a will. I didn't tell them I haven't taken Wills & Trusts yet.

The view from my bedroom window 

Sometimes when I'm wandering around Hong Kong, in some back alley, squeezing papayas at fruit stands and recoiling from the chicken feet on styrofoam pallets set out for sale, or just staring up, up, up at the buildings all around me, I think:

What the hell am I doing here? How did I end up here?

A few years ago I made it a personal goal of mine to constantly push my own boundaries. Law school was a result of that decision, and even though I'm always complaining about it, I can't deny that it's been a real eye-opener for me. The decision to work abroad this summer, instead of going the summer associate route in california, is likewise a product of my desire to do things differently--to put myelf in unexpected situations and see how much I can grow. It's also why I am, at the end of my internships, packing one small backpack and travelling for two weeks in search of whatever in laos, cambodia, and northern thailand.

Sometimes though, I wonder of this wanderlust is not in fact a form of escapism, in which case my perceived courage is instead cowardice at facing up to the inevitable routine I will have to settle in to at some point in life-probably sooner than later.

It's going to be an amazing adventure this summer.

scientists create gay fruit fly

intriguing! read about it here.

home for the next 2 months 

homesick

How much does a man live, after all?
Does he live for a thousand days, or one only?
For a week, or for several centuries?
How long does a man spend dying?
What does it mean to say “for ever?”
--Pablo Neruda

Perhaps I travel as much as I do because I feel that when I am displaced…is the only time I am truly living. Yet, after so much time in different places, where does one place the point of reference from which one is displaced?

Where is home for me now?

Traveling to new places, wandering around cities where nobody knows me…the anonymity makes me feel alive. But I am also struck with a longing for a constant place, one that disappeared somehow between leaving my parent’s house, perhaps stuffed in some cardboard box during a move from apartment to apartment—a place that perhaps exists now only in my heart—a place to call home.

My driver 

Getting off the ferry from Hong Kong, I was approached by a number of taxi drivers and bicycle-with-carriages-behind-them operators offering me tours of the city. One old man was particularly persistent so I ended up paying him HK$50 to take me to the ruins of St. Paul. HK$120 would have gotten me a 2-hour tour of the city, but as I was riding in the carriage, I quickly realized I had made a good decision not to do the 2-hour tour. The poor old guy was sweating profusely and clearly laboring under the effort and the oppressive heat. I could feel the stares of passerby, probably wondering what kind of heartless soul—clearly an American!—would make this poor old man drag her around town in a bike carriage. I wanted to stop him but I didn’t want to offend him, since he was telling me how he had been doing this for many decades. Luckily the church wasn’t too far away. I slinked off the carriage in embarrassment.

St. Paul's 

Ruins of St. Paul’s Cathedral, Macau

The intricate concrete façade looms over the city, standing like a doorway to nowhere. As when visiting all ruins, I am overcome by the mutability of life—how the works of whole communities can disappear. Sometimes over the passing of many years; sometimes in the blink of an eye. The heat of a fire. The roar of a wave.

I am drenched in sweat. I wish I were not wearing a bra—it’s like a sweat receptacle and goes squish-squish when I move. Probably the only time my diminutive boobs will be doing squishing of any kind. Sigh.

There is a terrifying chatter coming from the trees above—terrifying because I know it comes from the collective hum of a thousand giant shiny black bugs that live there. Giant black flying beetles the size of half m closed fist.

The territory was colonized by the Portuguese, and the buildings are a delightful mix of European and Asian. The mosaics on the floor remind me of the undulating pattern on Las Ramblas in Barcelona. Macau also reminds me of rural Taiwan. I wonder if it is because of the mopeds, street food and papaya milk.

Kites for sale in Macau 

book reviews

So far I have read:

Fingerprints of the Gods: Amazing book…long (500+ pages with rather complicated astronomical data and laboriously footnoted) but immensely rewarding and keeps you interested the whole time. Definitely recommended if you liked The Da Vinci Code. It’s nonfiction, and the premise is that a highly developed civilization existed before all known civilizations—it is this civilization that built the pyramids, the sphinx, and macchu-picchu. Sounds crazy, but you won’t think so after you read the section on ancient myths and the geometry and mathematics behind the pyramids. It boggles the mind! I’m convinced.

Fear and Loathing in Las Vegas: A joy to read. A book you can pack in your bag and read again and again, the sentences are that enjoyable. The drug-addled ramblings of Thompson are hilarious and the reasoning all too familiar. I wish I would have read this book earlier.

arthur andersen conviction overturned

This is interesting.

hongkong

I arrived after a tortuous plane ride and horrible, horrible, awful plane food (note to self: always bring own food when flying Japan Airlines). Still recovering from the jetlag. Currently I am forced to stay in my apartment, as it is way, way too hot outside to go exploring. Will venture out when it gets cooler.

My apartment is really cute! Perfect location and really charmingly decorated. My room is tiny, but I don't have too much stuff with me so it's just fine. I live right above Man Mo Temple on Hollywood Road. It's a little temple filled with coils of incense that hang over your head. I want to get my fortune told there sometime soon.

I stopped by work today to learn that my visa has been delayed until the day after tomorrow, so I don't need to go to work until then! In order to activate my work visa I will need to leave the country, so I'm headed off to Macau in two days to sightsee. I'm glad I never made it to Macau last summer, so I still have stuff left to see.

It's such a trip being here. Walking around, just stopping to stare at the throngs of people everyhere, occasionally looking up and realizing I'm on the bottom level of a city that extends up countless skyscrapers. I feel like I've been transplanted into a whole different world...but I guess that was the point.

Shop in Sheung Wan, near my apartment 

countdown

Leaving for Hong Kong via Toyko in 72 hours.

sunday afternoon

The weather is perfect.

Yesterday I met up with two friends, went to Coronado, ate a $25 Reuben sandwich (!!!!!!!) at the Hotel Del, and wandered onto the beach eating ice cream. Then we went to Mister A's in downtown to have a martini and watch the sunset. The view from there was phenomenal--you could see all of downtown, the ocean, the bay, mountains, and the planes landing at the airport.

Today, I woke up early (before 11am on a Sunday is early for me), swam some laps at my school's really nice pool, laid out, got a tan.

Came home and made myself: Broiled halibut filet with lime, garlic, and butter; accompanied with roasted hot peppers and a steamed artichoke. I also made myself a huge salad of Romaine, carrots, tomatoes, cucumbers, kidney beans, garbanzo beans, and cilantro-lime-pepper-ranch dressing.

Right now I am watching Robin Hood: Prince of thieves on TV, sipping OJ and eating the rest of the artichoke. Almost to the heart...mmmmmmmm.

finissimo!

It is 4:45am and I am officially done with my last exam, a 24 hour take-home. My answer is 17 pages of initially intelligent-sounding analysis that ended in rambling, mindless drivel.

I'm freeeeeeeeeeeeee!

US Border Patrol: better watch out!

Condom dispenser in a club, Mallorca, Spain, 2003. 

summer reading

I was soooo excited when my books arrived today! Having unread literature around reminds me that somewhere under all the layers of memorized analytical methods and lawlawlaw, lurks a ravenous bibliophile.

Here are the books I am bringing with me to Hong Kong:

The House of the Spirits by Isabel Allende
Life of Pi by Yann Martel
The Fabric of the Cosmos by Brian Greene
Chronicle of a Death Foretold by Gabriel Garcia-Marquez
Number 9 Dream by David Mitchell
Living to Tell the Tale by Gabriel Garcia Marquez
Southeast Asia: The Graphic Guide by Mark Elliott
Fear and Loathing in Las Vegas by Hunter S. Thompson
Fingerprints of the Gods by Graham Hancock
The Crying of Lot 49 by Thomas Pynchon


But I want more...

I feel really, really guilty for not buying the following books to read this summer, but I can't lug around any more books with me lest I be mistaken for a traveling librarian:

I am deeply embarrased at not having read these yet...

Slaughterhouse-Five by Kurt Vonnegut
The Essential Neruda: Selected Poems by Pablo Neruda

Edit:
Shit. The longer I sit and stare at these lists, the more books make it up from the bottom list to the top list, and the richer Amazon.com gets. How am I even going to be able to fit all this in my suitcase?

Until about five minutes ago, I was not aware that only 24.4 percent of Americans have a college degree or higher. 3 percent of Americans have professional or doctorate degrees.

The numbers are definitely a lot lower than I had expected, so I checked the stats for California and found that we only deviate from the national average by about 3 percentage points.

It sounds so sheltered, but I guess I've always operated under the assumption that everyone who wants to graduate from college, could do so. The statistics, however, seem to paint a different picture.

Near where I will be living this summer