Quarter Life Crisis?

Football Season!

2007-08-27T11:35:00.000-07:00

I have so many half-written articles to post - but in lieu of actually finishing one, I thought I would instead share my favorite Cal commercial of all time to commemorate my visit home to see Cal play Tennessee this weekend.

http://youtube.com/watch?v=ztu4OKCSSe8

Legally Blonde

2007-07-04T08:30:00.000-07:00

Little did I know one could create a lyric out of, "Omigod! Omigod you guys!" But this is indeed what I learned this past Sunday afternoon when I saw a matinée performance of Legally Blonde: The Musical, with Kim. Up for the weekend from DC, I knew she was one of a small number of people I would ever be able to convince to see the musical - because as reluctant as we are to admit it, we were in the same sorority at Berkeley. However, the way I like to look at it is that we both similarly have a mutual appreciation for high and pop culture. While the musical lacked a certain cohesion at times, we laughed from the rafters (literally - we're poor) and only feigned embarrassment a few times so as to preserve a facade of dignity.

http://youtube.com/watch?v=MzWXtstA6_w&mode=related&search=

Left Alone Long Enough and I Might Actually Write That Book

2007-06-26T04:17:00.000-07:00

After previous trips to visit Kim in DC, I often found myself writing blog articles with a similar theme: West Coast girl meets new/slightly bizarre culture on the East Coast. Of course, I would lovingly make fun of their obsession with flip cup, conservative dress and political schmoozing and then I would happily return to the Bay Area, and life in flip flops and jeans. So when I suddenly decided to move to New York, I knew I didn't want to immediately write about my experiences. While there have already been plenty of "West meets East" misadventures to fill this blog, I wanted to be able to give you a true sense of my life here rather than a play by play of my encounters with rats, celebrity sightings, the subway, critter embroidered shorts and tourists.

In the bay area my weekends were often scheduled to the brim, and if they weren't, I had seven roommates, a car and hundreds of books - enough to keep a girl occupied. My first weekend here was Memorial Day and I literally had no plans. Everyone I already knew was out of town and I was left to explore the city with the tourists. So on Saturday, I just started walking. From my apartment in the East Village I headed West and then up Fifth Avenue. I made some obligatory stops at Anthropologie and H&M and then continued north. After the most overwhelming walk through Time Square, I arrived at Central Park about five hours later. Especially in the beginning, I hardly felt alone - caught up in the excitement/newness of it all.

But also, this town just fits me right. Maybe it is my obsession with jewish intellectuals and literary culture - but the history of this place overwhelms me. Where my place is here - how I can add to this rich history - so far the answer to that question is very unclear. All I know is that I turn a corner and am drawn to a new path. For example...

1. I met up with some friends freelancing for magazines and I wanted a part time job copy editing.
2. I saw Frost/Nixon the other night and wanted to get a side job doing stage production work.
3. I saw Lion King with Marie this past weekend, and desperately wanted to play clarinet in an off-off-broadway pit.
4. I saw Eddie Murphy filming a movie in Time Square yesterday and wanted to become a PA on a movie set.
5. I walk around aimlessly or drift off into space at work and I think about the popular intellectual and cultural history book I am going to write that finally sheds light on the cultural and intellectual state of my generation - kind of a call to arms to reinvigorate public culture, pragmatism and the importance of learning from past generations.

I am the picture of indecision - I am the poster child for the "what are you going to do with that liberal arts degree (in my case degrees)?" question. And that the opportunities are now literally endless doesn't seem to help me find my calling any sooner.

Marie left this morning - leaving me to reluctantly return to work (and my diet of cereal and yogurt as opposed to yummy meals out). I think having Marie visit made me finally realize that I live here - or maybe it was that my 30-day subway pass ran out which led to the subsequent realization that I had been here for 30 days! But having a buddy to pal around town with was great, and now that she has gone, it is only the second time I have felt a large void here. The first time happened a few weeks ago when Nicki returned from Europe and then I remembered I wouldn't see her upon her return - or celebrate her birthday with her. But this time, with Marie gone, I truly understand what I want to find here but do not already have. All the cultural events and tasty restaurants cannot make up for the family I left behind out west - the one in Redding and the one in Berkeley. Social opportunities are endless here too, but the comfort of home - of time-tested confidantes, people who understand my oddities so well they don't even notice them anymore - it will be a long time before I find that here.

I love New York - but I miss you!

The Resurrection

2007-03-06T22:19:00.000-08:00

My blog hiatus began with the graduate class I took last semester while working full time and applying to PhD programs. Then the waiting period began. Nothing to write about there – just lots of nail biting and exercising because frankly that is the only way I know how to handle stress. And then the gods of academia answered my applications in the form of three consecutive small envelopes – and my fate was known. No PhD program for me – at least for now.

Maybe I seem flippant, but I have had a lot of time to deal with this. Two years ago I was devastated to be rejected. Being a historian was my identity and I felt it had been torn from me. It still stings a little this time around – but the experience I have gained from working these past two years teaches me that these rejections are not measures of my intellectual capabilities or accomplishments. But that is not even the big news…

My inspiration for resurrecting this blog – I am moving to New York! I am taking a job in Manhattan, working with my current boss, but in a more dynamic capacity – both admin and research. And while I have no doubt that much of this job will similarly entail assistant-ish work, I am looking forward to exploring some seriously uncharted territory. The last and ONLY time I have ever been to New York was on a one-day bus tour in the eighth grade. We visited the Statue of Liberty, the United Nations and I recall someone pointed out ABC Studios from the window of the bus. This is the knowledge base I am taking with me. This is the knowledge base I use when I look up rentals incessantly on craigslist (I can’t stop refreshing the browser), however, I did learn all about boroughs and neighborhoods on wikipedia, so I am practically an expert, right? ;-)

More than anything, I can’t stop thinking what a cliché I am. Tall, sweet, blonde young Californian moves to New York (only to be hardened by the harsh realities of big city life). Some craigslist ads specifically request roommates who already have New York experience under their belt. What – are they tired of teaching people how to use the subway and listen to them cry about missing their families? ;-) I guess I understand where they are coming from – kinda like me living with a Berkeley freshman. And in some ways that is what I am. I have lived in the Bay Area for eight years. The people I see here on a weekly basis are my second family. And now I am leaving again. It is a huge opportunity, but with some major costs. Now when I come back to visit, I will be juggling two families rather than one.

But I feel the benefits outweigh the drawbacks. Right now, the idea of living in the Bay Area and not being a student just doesn’t make sense for me. The Bay Area is a great place to end up, but while you are tying to make a place for yourself – whether in writing, or international relations or general politics – the center of this world is not San Francisco. The big opportunities in these fields are on the east coast. To have made a commitment to move is almost a huge weight off my shoulders because I know I won’t allow the Bay Area to hold me back any longer. So many things keep me here – my friends, my family nearby, my new great roommates in my new great house and the cats that come with it, the healthy lifestyles, not to mention the natural beauty of everything around me. But the reality is, I will always wonder about the intellectual life in New York unless I try it for myself. I have been interested in the literary culture and history of the “New York Intellectuals” for almost a decade now, and while I know I am not going to step off the plane and make friends with the editor of The New York Review of Books, I do look forward to experiencing a little of the intellectual culture for myself in present time – rather than confining myself to study it from a library carrel. Maybe that is what I was supposed to learn from the little envelopes.

So like the last “quarter-life crisis” that started this blog two year ago – this one isn’t really a crisis at all. Rather, a new opportunity to experience and try something completely different. And I know this sounds quite optimistic and overly touching, but I am embracing my inner cliché – this is my chance to be wide-eyed in the big city. I will miss everything about this place but I can’t wait.

Coastal Changes

2006-12-13T14:54:00.000-08:00

You know you aren't applying for a school on the west coast anymore when you are asked on the application...

Please check if you are a lineal or collateral descendant of:

John Austin Amort, A.B., '07
John W. Appel of Lancaster, PA
Henry Bright, Jr. of Watertown, MA
Robert Pennoyer...
(names continue to continue)
A member of the Harvard class of 1889

Please indicate if you have a family surname of:

Baxendale
Downer
Hudson
Thayer

I want Hudson jeans does that count?

I Should be Working on my Paper

2006-10-09T21:11:00.000-07:00

How awesome was the Cal/Oregon football game this weekend? Words cannot describe. But numbers can: 45-24 Cal! Watching in the stands with my parents was also a blast, and a nice respite from crazy tailgates and their residual lazy Sundays.

I am not a fan of Time magazine, but this cover speaks to me:

I am not the only one saying this, but I feel it bears repeating...

With this Foley scandal I feel we may have reached a turning point. But what does it say about our society that we can go blindly and arrogantly into wars without end, manufacture future "civilizational" discontent and terrorism, and it is the actions of gay pedophilic congressman that finally forces the issue? I don't think I will understand this anytime soon, but am sure understanding the motivations and ideologies driving our society will keep future historians and sociologists busy for millenia...

This Elated Girl is a Stress Case!

2006-10-05T19:25:00.000-07:00

Guess which event Leah is most excited about this weekend?

a. Homecoming football game versus Oregon
b. Parents and little sis coming to visit for the game
c. Six-week anniversary of my broken toe

No offense family, but my toe is officially cleared for take-off as of this weekend, and I have never been so excited. I am not going to hop right back on the triathlon bandwagon again - and not only because I realized how cold the Bay water will be by November when the race was scheduled. I am going to take it easy, because ideally I learned some lessons in moderation while I was out sick. Lessons like, sometimes it is ok to take a day off exercising - especially when you are taking a graduate seminar and working a full time job. And, I also learned that when you are in really great shape, you can pretty much sit on your ass for a good month before you see obvious physical signs. These last two weeks have tested the strength of my mental health. I simply tried to embrace my newly pudgy arms and fuller cheeks (you can guess which ones I am talking about) but it was tough, especially when my crazy co-worker caught me eating the communal chocolate and asked if I was gaining weight in my sedentary life. Arrgh! I am used to being the young co-worker whose bad snack habits annoy everyone because I don't gain weight - I don't like being the co-worker who gets chided for eating chocolates! But it was out of my control: I couldn't exercise and I can't stop eating candy - so maybe I have learned to accept my limitations...ha!

Tonight was really shaping up to be a downer. I have been getting really tired around the late afternoon lately. I feel queasy, tired, dehydrated... More or less, I have taken on too much trying to research for this seminar and work full time. My mind is elsewhere at work, my social life is non-existent (except at football games when I let out a little too much pent up energy) and recently the stress has started to actually make me sick. Tonight after work I again felt horrible. I took a few hours off in the afternoon to dig through the archives at the Bancroft for my research - and usually that makes me feel a lot better. But even though I was completely engrossed in my research, I still wanted to puke. And let me tell you, the Bancroft staff would not have enjoyed that since you are only allowed to enter with a notebook and pencil. After eating and re-hydrating myself I sat moping in my room until I finally got sick of my bad mood and decided to try going for a run. This past weekend I cut up an old sneaker so that I can use it without putting any pressure on my toe, and since my toe has been feeling really good lately I decided to give it a shot. Obviously, I needed to relieve some stress.

I will start with the disclaimer that I did not make it very far - but it was an unbelievable rush. If my toe was in any pain, I was oblivious to it. I have missed this adrenaline. If running gave me such a rush, then I can't wait to get back on my bike. So I ran a little less than a mile, but my whole mindset has changed - and this evening is all of a sudden shaping up nicely. I think I will listen to Justin Timberlake's "My Love" a few more times and then call it a night study-wise. Then off to watch Grey's and I can go to sleep content...and slightly less stressed out.

Retirement and New Beginnings

2006-09-17T23:17:00.000-07:00

Miraculously, I have made it halfway through my toe recovery cycle and I haven’t gone completely crazy yet. In fact, after a slight adjustment, I have taken quite nicely to my new sedentary lifestyle. A week ago, I finally started sleeping in my new place – with my seven new roommates – sounds like a Real World ad doesn’t it? But so far, we seem pretty drama free, so I am sure we won’t be optioned for a reality show anytime soon. The house is a seven bedroom, three story home in the Montclair hills of Oakland – and most importantly doesn’t come along with any babysitting requirements. While I already miss Sami and Jo, I am happy in my nanny retirement.

Along with my new living situation, I also am now fully entrenched in the graduate seminar I am taking this fall. With class, work, moving and of course Cal football, I am starting to wonder how I ever planned to train for a triathlon.

Football Saturdays have become my singular socializing opportunity – otherwise I am at work or at home studying. My poor roommates must think they asked a hermit to move in because all I do while at home is sit around with my reading. However, the first Sunday I stayed at the house I was horribly hung over from the first Cal home game – so I think they know there is a partier hidden somewhere beneath my bookworm exterior. Speaking of being a bookworm – I guess I haven’t been so diligent because my professor references all of these seminal American texts – and I haven’t read any of them. Moby Dick? Catch-22? Native Son (ooh, skimmed that one!) ugh… When references in class frequently invoke Henry James and Proust (no, he isn’t American) I wonder how I got through AP English in high school without reading these books. Is it not enough that I love Henry’s brother William? My shelves are filled with rows of non-fiction and I am finally paying the price. Intellectual history is more than philosophy and literary criticism, I guess I finally have to sit down and read the fiction.

It seems this semester (I get to use collegial time references again now that I am taking a class) will only get busier. I am out of town or have visitors for the next month and a half – and at some point I actually have to formally apply for grad school again – the bane of my existence. I am looking forward to Kim’s visit this coming weekend – I have to get a lot done in the next few days, because that weekend will be a big black hole of productivity. Elena, Matt and I have another wiffle ball game planned. This time closed toe shoes are mandatory. I am the new safety monitor.

Last but not least, this Tuesday is my mom’s birthday – which this year also marks her retirement from teaching - slightly more momentous than my nanny retirement. As with my dad’s retirement last year, I question what exactly she will do with all of her free time. However, since my dad and most of her girlfriends are already retired, I know she looks forward to joining the club. Relaxing, coffee klatching, traveling, reading – doesn’t sound to bad to me. Maybe I will put her to work reading and summarizing those great American novels I don’t have time to read… Congratulations Mom! I am jealous – my generation is never going to retire.

How the Mighty Have Fallen

2006-08-30T21:26:00.000-07:00

Wednesday night a week ago, I wrote this in my blog but never finished editing it for publication:

These next few months are going to be a pretty big experiment for me. In hopes of promoting greater discipline in my life while I write PhD applications and take a graduate level history class, I am also training for an Olympic-distance triathlon. This will definitely put a damper on the post-football game debauchery. The training is eleven weeks long and began earlier this week. On Sunday I participated in an organized bike ride in Napa. While my friends rode a century (100 miles), I did the 65-mile ride. For me, it was a personal best and an awesome experience – although I have a 72-mile ride around Lake Tahoe planned for September 10. When the first day of my triathlon training called for rest on Monday, I eagerly obliged. Tuesday I began my first official day of double exercise with a three-mile run and 400m swim. Wednesday, I was commanded by the regimen I am following to ride 6 miles on my bike, but I did about 16 because six seemed silly after the 65 I pulled off this weekend. However, getting back on the bike after the long ride was not so easy – and the residual soreness left something to be desired. I am about to go for today’s run and then a quick swim again. Trying to re-energize my academic alter-ego and complete daily workouts can be quite taxing, but it is all extremely invigorating…

You get the picture. However, in attempting to turn my body and mind into a machine, I forgot one very important piece of the equation – I am not in control of every variable affecting me.

On Saturday after going for another run and officially finishing my first week of triathlon training I was playing a friendly game of wiffle ball with some friends at the park near my new home (that I have not moved into yet). Upon rounding second base, I stubbed the three little toes of my left foot on my friend Rob’s leg. It hurt, but I felt pretty lame having to sit out with a stubbed toe so after a break I continued to play. After the little toe turned completely purple and doubled in size I realized it might be more serious than I realized and decided to listen to the pain I was feeling and end the game. On Sunday when it still hurt, I scrapped the bike ride I had planned and on Monday I decided to go see a doctor. The doctor hurried me off to radiology where I was x-rayed and after many hours I was given the verdict – I broke my little toe!

Both my Tahoe bike ride and triathlon plans have been derailed by the six-week hiatus I have been forced to take from any form of exercise. Just this past weekend I was feeling like I was in the best shape of my life – so this rapid reversal into what is now a sedentary lifestyle has proved quite difficult. My self-reliant nature is having a hard time asking for help – this doesn’t bode well for my future elderly self. The frustration I feel trying to do everyday tasks is both mentally and physically exhausting – yet at the same time, I am craving the release I normally get at the end of the day from a good run or bike ride. However, more than ever, I need to push through this frustration because I did officially start my first graduate history class yesterday – and it has never been more important that I perform well on that front. So this miniature existential crisis I am currently undergoing is serving many purposes. It reminds me how connected my body is to my mind. But it also reminds me that I can’t control everything (although by no means will I give up trying) and that I quickly need to disassociate my physical health from my mental health because I have a fat 600 page book to read by next Tuesday. This pity party needs to end – however, I think I will wait one more night and get in a good episode of Laguna Beach before I don’t have a good excuse anymore.

Mormors Fodelsedag i Redding

2006-08-03T17:41:00.000-07:00

Two weekends back, I picked up my sister at the Oakland Airport yet again - and we drove home to Redding. This time, our visit was not for the purposes of "rest and relaxation" but rather to celebrate Mormor's 85th birthday. For those of you who have not caught on yet, Mormor means mother's mother in Swedish. In preparation for the weekend I bought an overpriced pair of "formal shorts." Not only was the expected temperture 117 degrees, but Mormor has a deep-seeded dislike of all things denim (jeans and skirts) and I felt the least I could do on her birthday was buy myself an overpriced pair of shorts. What a thoughtful "lilla alskling" I am.

On Saturday, Nicki also drove into the heat to celebrate Mormor's birthday with the Thompson clan - but she served a dual purpose of rescuing me from the insanity that was my mother's inability to stop cleaning. Don't even consider putting your cup of water down for five minutes - within two it has been spirited away to the dishwasher, never to be seen again. Even an evening at the Redding hot spot, The Martini Bar, couldn't fully relax her. Finally, following the birthday party on Sunday afternoon, my mom returned to her normal self - whatever that means.

As for me - and I believe this to be the case with most young adults - my maturity level regressed like ten years while I was home with my family. I don't know what it is. In Berkeley I am one of the more chill people I know. I favor sincerity over sarcasm in how I interact with people, but there seems to be a thirty-mile radius extending from Redding that somehow activates a normally dormant sarcastic side of my personality. By Sunday morning of the party I had fully morphed into a cynical version of myself - I don't think Nicki recognized me. I think the transformation is a by-product of two things:

1. The overwhelling aura of positivity and organization that emenates from my mom and sister when they are together - I think I seek to balance the environment by providing some much needed cynicism. If I was my normally happy and productive self, I think the space that the three of us occupied would implode.
2. My dad's sarcasm rubs off on me - At home I truly become my father's daughter.

Overall, I can't complain about the weekend. It was hot - but in Redding at least everyone has air-conditioning - and lakes filled with taunting drunkards (but that's a story for another day). Mormor seemed pleased with her party - and after it ended the fam, Nicki and I listened to tapes of me and Mormor singing Swedish songs way back in 1983 - doesn't get much better than that! To top it off, two of my favorite people, Nicki and Danika, got to know each other better and commiserate about being friends with me. Plus, it is fun to be the sarcastic one every now and again.

The Elusive Declaration - A DC Recap

2006-07-21T14:14:00.000-07:00

This past January I visited Kim for the second winter in a row - and this is what it looked like...

To see The Mall we bundled up in wool coats, gloves, running shoes and earmuffs.

So this time things were a little different...

Instead of following current trends in tourist wear (visible all over US metropolitan centers this summer) we donned workout clothes for our two long walks around the city. Don't we look like cheerleaders? - though not for the current occupants of the house behind us!

Childhood memories of east coast humidity combined with Kim's warnings led me to pack a suitcase of ten tank tops. I guess I brought nice California temperatures with me, however, because my trip was bookended by an apocalyptic flood and humid thunderstorms - while I was there, the weather was perfect. Unfortunately, the flood that preceeded my visit did derail what is now the most anticipated trip to the National Archives...

After three trips to DC in the past 2 years, the Archives have never been open when I have tried to visit - and the third try was not charming. God forbid this history student EVER see the Declaration of Independence - or the map on its backside moreover ;-)

After napping off the effects of my red-eye flight, I met up with Kim at her work for a quick bite to eat. Later that evening, in what has turned out to be an inexcusable offense (jk) she ditched me for a Kelly Clarkson concert in Virginia while I went to visit Tony who is interning in DC for the summer.

Over the next few days Kim and I took many long walks around the city – alternately sightseeing and discussing politics, dating, history, life goals and of course the unavoidable tourist wear around us (Kim: “12 o’clock, red socks” Leah: “ouch”). It was great to catch up – because I think we have both gotten tired of the phone of late – managing multiple friendships in different time zones while trying to have a life on your own coast can be difficult.

We went paddle boating on the Potomac so my bike muscles could get some exercise (hra hra), visited the Jefferson and FDR memorials...

Kim even fully endorsed my nerdy desire to see Lafyette Park, the setting of a history book I am reading, Patricia O'Toole's, The Five of Hearts: An Intimate Portrait of Henry Adams and his Friends.

The book, celebrated as a popular intellectual history, has actually been a slight disappointment, but the historical characters recounted are fascinating. That cliched feeling of walking in the footsteps of history happened to me in that square more than any other place in DC.

Meeting friends of friends was as usual, a highlight of my trip. We had a big dinner with Kim and Libby's friends. Aside from pre-dinner problems regarding my un-popular vegetarian status, the bi-coastal friend meeting was a lot of fun. This picture cracks me up - Someone must have said something hysterical - or it could possibly have been the wine, but Kim and I both seem to be cowing similarly in a fit of laughter...

Of course, outings with Kim and trips to DC always seem to produce blog/cringe-worthy moments. And this trip seems to be no different, even though we didn't make it to TomTom. So I will limit myself and only mention two silly occurances.

1. Bloggers: Please Come Out of the Closet or I Will Forcibly Remove You...oops!

I guess when you start dating someone, your blog is not the first thing you tell them about - or so I have now learned. I accidentally mentioned Libby's blog in front of her boyfriend and Kim's blog in front of her new boyfriend - both were unaware their girlfriends were blogging-inclined. It was kinda funny after I did it the first time (while slightly drunk off white wine), but the next day when I outed Kim as well, it was just bizarre. Blogs are super cool - I don't know why you wouldn't want them to know about your habit? [enter dripping sarcasm here]

2. Flip Cup: I Always Wanted to be a Prodigy

Kim plays kickball for not just one, but TWO teams. And after her games she plays another (probably tougher) game called "flip cup." Flip cup involves drinking shots of beer and flipping your cup upside down as part of a relay with other member of your (in this case, kickball) team. The Saturday I was in town, there was a flip cup tournament. When "The Kickbrawlers" asked me to be a ringer for their team that Saturday I was less than excited about it. I haven't drank much lately and I had drunk the past two nights - shots of beer wasn't high on my priority list. Plus when I walked in the bar (at 4PM - the same one we had been in at 2AM the night before!) and saw people flipping cups in a dingy/sticky atmosphere - my initial reaction was to judge the game as 1. LAME! and 2. beyond my usual hand-eye coordination skills - especially while intoxicated. Plus, I thought the game was going to be lighthearted - I mean, how could you possibly take a game that revolves around flipping a plastic cup over seriously, right? But they did. They were completely serious, competitive, and asked me questions like "you aren't going to screw up right?" They would add a slight chuckle at the end of the question, but I knew the pressure was on - I was mildly intimidated. One guy had a shirt on that read "In the world of flip cup, I am kinda a big deal" - ha! But let me tell you, there is something addicting about the game. I don't know if it was the team spirit, the competition, the deceptive size of the amount of beer you chug - but within minutes I was immersed within the game and invested in our victory. Oh, and in case you didn't guess by the headline of this segment, I am a flip cup natural. I kinda kid - it was probably beginners luck. And anyways, I had a great mentor (even if her performance that night lacked its usual luster).

Till next time DC - Kickbrawlers Rule, Go Dems in 2008, and thank you to Kim and Libby for putting me up (and putting up with me)!

Midsummer Cold, or How I Learned to Take a Break

2006-07-14T19:39:00.000-07:00

My summer has been completely overbooked – mostly in a good/fun way, but I often feel hurried and rushed, like I am not doing anything “one-hundred percent” – whatever that means. Without fail, DC last weekend was a blast. I have been attempting to do a blog re-cap, but have failed miserably thus far to complete it – hopefully I will produce something of merit soon.

Unfortunately I returned from DC a tad worse for wear. Was it the germ-infested game of “flip cup,” the plane flight, or the cold Nicki had before I left for the east coast? We may never know just who is to blame – but the outcome has been significantly crappy. I almost never get sick, and when I do I usually put myself on an over-the-top Airborne/Cold-eze regimen that rarely fails. Well, my plan is not foolproof, because as I stepped back onto California soil, my souvenir was a full-blown debilitating cold.

It is strange how fast you become accustomed to having certain people in your life. After a few days with Kim, I get used to having her around – and the realization that my visit with her (and other friends out east) is indeed ephemeral, leads to a brief but persuasive sadness. And while I don’t necessarily excel at sharing small spaces (I kinda like to spread my stuff about) the relief of having my own room again does not make up for their absence. And the cold didn’t help this time – as I couldn’t throw myself back into my normal routine: biking, running, reading, writing. Instead, upon my return, I slept, missed my friends, daydreamed and attempted to entertain myself from the confines of my little room.

Yesterday I felt like the worst of my cold was over – it no longer seemed to affect my energy level. Back to my old self, I quickly became frustrated with the lack of hours in a day. I have been drawn into this great novel that won the Booker prize about a decade ago, A.S. Byatt’s Possession. While I would like to pretend some of the other novels I have been reading of late (Twins of Tribeca and The Secret History of the Pink Carnation) have some literary merit – in the end these fluffy pieces pale in comparison to Possession. Finally, a guilt-free novel where I don’t feel like I am simply doing the reading equivalent of watching television. Byatt stretches my mind – discussing fake yet realistic Victorian poets, literary deconstruction, academic politics in the feminist years and parallel Victorian and post-modern romances all at once. But at the same time, it wasn’t guilt-free. Now that I had my energy back I wanted to go for a bike ride, a run and also get caught up on all my pre-PhD application reading that I seem to have let slide since I rediscovered novels. So I prioritized and decided that I could only deign to put Possession down for a short run outside – no time for a bike ride, no time for a car ride to the gym. I was truly engrossed. And after my run I got right back into my bed again with my book – because the truth is, I jumped the gun on the physical exercise front and have been coughing up a lung ever since.

So this lovely quiet Friday evening, while my friends are out and about, I am socializing with Harriet (the cat I live with) and her owners – taking it easy, writing for my blog in the beautiful backyard I will soon no longer occupy, trying to learn how to enjoy downtime, and thinking about the rest of the summer. Every weekend is planned from here on out – two more weddings, Sen’s coming visit (otherwise known as a month of 80-hr weeks in rotation at the Children’s Hospital), Mormor’s 85th birthday party next weekend in Redding and a major bike ride in Napa. Speaking of bike rides, I better get back in bed soon because I promised Elena (see engagement announcement) that I would meet her for a bike ride to (not up) Mt. Diablo and back tomorrow morning at 8AM. 50 miles on my bike – just what the doctor ordered!

Engagement Announcement: Elena Mary Birch-Carl, William Matthew Ayers (slightly less formal than they do it in the NYTimes)

2006-07-11T15:45:00.000-07:00

Four summers ago, Sen, Elena and I set off on a backpacking journey across Europe. We had met four years prior in that lovably cultish organization known as the Cal Band and were celebrating our graduation with a vacation.

Left behind in Berkeley as we jaunted off to explore the Mediterranean was Elena’s new boyfriend Matt. So when Elena (definitely the mellow member of our threesome) was visibly excited and anxious about seeing him again – this was definitely a sign he was going to be around for a while.

Last week Matt and Elena were engaged! Watching their relationship develop over the past few years has made me happy for them – but I can honestly say it has also made me happy for me. In Matt I have found another friend – and one who always has strong opinions about my personal life ☺. I have also witnessed the growth of a great relationship – a model I can only hope to emulate in my own life (that is, whenever I decide to catch up to Elena maturity-wise). Not only do they obviously care deeply for one another, Matt’s silliness challenges Elena’s more reserved behavior – and this is really fun to watch. Plus while Elena and I struggled through grad school together (her with problem sets, me history books) Matt often slaved away at the stove to keep us energized for studying. Needless to say, I am very happy to officially announce to my blog readers that these two will be together for the long haul. I can only hope their kitchen remains open to me when I start school again in a year.

Might I also mention that while on the same trip to Europe I was casually beginning to study GRE vocabulary, wherein I came across the word “penurious” – which basically means thrifty – although I think the connotation leans more toward the negative, as in stingy – but I digress. Because Elena was (and remains) much more inclined to budgeting her money on the trip than either Sen or I, when coming up with sentences to remember my vocab, I jokingly decided upon “Elena is penurious.” Well look who is laughing now? Elena and Matt also started the process of purchasing a home the same night they were engaged. I hear it is a 2-bedroom – looking for a squatter, Elena? I have housesitting experience – hehe. Congratulations to my favorite home owning, pie-eating, vegetarian cooking, cycling and penurious (except when it comes to bike gear) couple!

And to commemorate their engagement, an adorable photo of them last Halloween, dressed as the bulter and maid who were caught compromised in the broom closet.

No Organic Ingredients Were Harmed in the Baking of this Birthday Cake

2006-06-15T13:41:00.000-07:00

No, the message on this cake is not written in a secret language created by Nicki and I when we lived together for four years. Inverted and below the shiny saran-wrap, the message says in "elegant" yellow-red letters, "Happy 28th Birthday Nicki!"

Last week while with my little friends Sami and Jo, we read the children's book, "The Bake Shop Ghost." The story follows a baker whose cakes are much loved. Upon her death, the baker returns to haunt her bake shop and its unworthy new inhabitants. One new baker finally takes on the ghost's challenge to bake a cake that will bring tears to her eyes. After a year of baking impressive but non-tear inducing cakes, the new baker discovers that the ghost's birthday is approaching. She bakes a birthday cake for the ghost and it brings tears to her eyes. Long story short - no one bakes birthday cakes for the baker.

With Nicki's birthday approaching, this book struck a chord and I decided not to let my friend (who always bakes cakes on my birthday, and other yummy things year-round) go without a cake on her birthday. My first idea was to try to bake something really fancy and use every ounce of domestic energy I have been saving up all year on this one cake. But then, we all have our gifts, and baking is not mine - anyways, I still have two scars on my hand from the last time I baked (I burned myself baking Swedish rolls for the Chrismukkah party), and Nicki wouldn't want me to harm myself in the process of showing her I care ;-)

So I decided to bake the old-fashioned way, with a box mix. Now that's more like it! But this wasn't just any box mix, it was funfetti - the white cake has food coloring inside to make it colorful! Then I covered it with a jar of "fudge" frosting, topped it with sprinkles, decorated flowers with purple, green and yellow sugar gels and my birthday greeting and wa-lah! - the perfect birthday cake for my foodie friend who appreciates slumming it every once in awhile ;-)

Happy Birthday Nicki! In honor of your birthday I decided not to blog about how months ago you gave me gift suggestions to relay to your boyfriend if he was to perchance ask me for gift advice - and how he now thinks I am materialistic for pointing him towards the Coach and Tiffany websites.

Family Weekend

2006-06-13T22:23:00.000-07:00

My sister flew in from Long Beach last Friday. We planned to immediately get on the road and head North to the family in Redding, but we were sidetracked as usual.

The previous night, Nicki had forced me to purge my closet of all clothes I had not worn in six months. What a ridiculous idea, I thought - but looking into my now managably full closet, I realize she was right, I didn't need fifty tank tops (she actually counted once a few years back). But my sister and I constantly trade clothes as we shrink things and decide our style has changed- and on this Friday, my sister had a field day in the botique o' leah that covered my couch.

Then it was off to the Nordic House. What a gem in the middle of downtown Oakland. The Nordic House is south of the MacArthur and Telegraph intersection in Oakland - not exactly where you expect to find a store dedicated to providing the Scandinavian population of the Bay Area with swedish, danish and norweigian food and gift items. I had been given a mission, to purchase Vademakem (a Swedish mouthwash) for min mormor (swedish grandma), but a stop at the Nordic House always takes longer than expected - nostalgic memories of last summer and sad attempts to translate phrases printed on magnates ensue. By the time we left, we had the two sacred bottles of Vademakem, a few precious bags of gummy candies (they aren't called Swedish Fish for nothing), marsipan chocolates to be quickly consumed by me and my mom upon our arrival home, and a new licsence plate holder for my sister that reads, "Caution: Swedish Driver." My dad thought that last one was for my mom, and was disappointed we hadn't gotten one for her too - so it looks like the Nordic House hasn't seen the last of me yet.

Below is a picture of me and my sister looking a little ragged after a day of familial visitation and errands (I got new brakes for my car - and locked my keys in my car at the shop) . But despite our fatigue - and a strong food coma that set in after partaking of my dad's enchilladas - we made it to the (in)famous Sundial Bridge for a short after dinner stroll.

Despite the craziness that ensues when the whole family gets together (my eyebrows aren't weird, Marie! and I promise to consolidate my loan, Mom! and I will someday remember to check my oil and tires, Dad!) it was really hard to leave on Sunday evening. I miss you crazy people - even you Marie-bee!

Thoreau Stole My Idea, and other long overdue musings

2006-06-12T16:30:00.000-07:00

Summer has officially started since I last posted that beautiful picture of myself working at 3AM.

Breanne got married! We unfortunately haven’t seen each other too often in the past few years (but since she just moved to the Bay Area this will quickly be remedied) but there is something to be said for knowing someone throughout your childhood – before you are cognizant of image – before you are even remotely cool. At the reception I sat next to my fifth and seventh grade teachers who recalled how Breanne and I walked around elementary and middle school as two mismatched peas in a pod – with almost of foot of height difference between us. According to Tom (formerly known to me as Mr. A.) I was extremely shy and giggled a lot. In that moment I felt both how much, and how little, has changed. My shyness is not so debilitating these days, but I am still no natural extrovert. I may be socialite material after having imbibed a Redbull Vodka or two, but my innate (and sober) inclination leads me to create close knit groups of friends wherein I feel comfortable enough to be the “loud-and-obnoxious” Leah that lies dormant around unsuspecting acquaintances.

Speaking of “L-and-O” Leah – she has been MIA of late. Following one night of debauchery to signify the end of the climate conference, I have slipped into social-scene hibernation in favor of triathlon training and familial visitation. However, with trips to DC next month, Boston in the fall and football season just around the corner, I can assure you all that my inner socialite will re-emerge soon. Tom-tom and Havhad prove too powerful to stay on my best behavior.

Recent forays into the great outdoors have been invigorating but not satisfying. I was under the impression that for weekend warriors, the outdoor adventures that comprise Saturday and Sunday were supposed to propel you through the lulls of the workweek. Upon finishing our weekend trip to Tahoe last Sunday, John and Christian shared the sentiment that after such an adventurous weekend, they would be fine working in their offices for the next month. I have not found this to be the case. One taste of the outdoors, of active travel, and I am hooked – I want to read books about training for long bike rides, to make my dad teach me how to drive a boat, to go on long river trail walks with Danika, to learn how to start a fire without a Duraflame log – and I don’t want to go sit in my office from 8-5 Monday through Friday! There is nothing satisfying for me about the traveling and the outdoors – but it is overwhelmingly compelling and addicting. Funny, I feel the same way about reading academic history books. I made the mistake of visiting the library during my lunch hour last week – it was very hard to leave. If only I could combine the outdoors and my intellectual curiosity…damn, Thoreau stole my idea.

Caution - 5'11'' Sleep Deprived Woman Breaks Out of North Gate Hall!

2006-05-23T10:32:00.000-07:00

You might have wondered why I haven't blogged in awhile.

Wonder no longer! This is me at work at 3AM! The caution tape was no joke - stay back 500 feet, I am not pleasant to be around ;-)

Dedicated to Citizens (of Humanity Jeans)

2006-05-05T14:53:00.000-07:00

A little less than two weeks ago the following was the opening to a blog entry I decided not to post:

Less than four months ago I was living amongst a sea of single people. Today, the sea has dried up, my friends have paired off and I am thinking of throwing myself a pity party. The single friends I still have unfortunately seem to live in different time zones, southern hemispheres or way across the Bay Bridge. And while I hope to someday join this chummy club of couple-dom, it is not my restricted entry that has me down. Rather, it is the rapid-fire pace at which many of my friends coupled off, and my inability to keep pace and adjust to the changes. As my friends redefine their priorities, balancing my personal sense of loss with my genuine happiness and desire to be a supportive friend is quite the internal struggle – one that often strikes on days like today – the overcast lazy Sunday.

The rest of my blog entry simultaneously embodied my proposed “pity party” as well as my hope that in time everyone (myself included) would adjust to the new coupled terrain. Today I am happy to report that some semblance of status quo has indeed been restored.

A sense of calm has returned to other aspects of my life as well. The onset of a cold left me tired and unable to workout for quite a few days a week ago – a recipe for a moody Leah. Finally, really exciting days at work (that I wish I was allowed to blog about) have been intermingling with extremely monotonous days, and that had my energy levels all over the map. You would think a day with little to do at work would be nice and relaxing, but I crave the craze, the deadlines – and after a day of staring dumbfounded at my computer I often leave work as a zombie, crashing into my bed rather than re-energyzing for the coming evening. A high level of excitement is steady at work these days – stressful but fun.

And despite this inner feeling of calm and satisfaction, much is changing all around me.

The school year is ending, and for the first time in my life this isn’t supposed to mean anything to me – although my internal clock still beats in time with the school-year calendar. Unfortunately all the students who entertain me at work will pack up for summer, some that I enjoy will not return, and I will be forced to bother Kim on instant messenger more that I do already.

Many of my friends will start or restart graduate programs in the fall. Two friends are off to Seattle, one to Denver, one to Boston (Cardinal and Crimson Danika?). Who is going to rock climb with me? Watching friends get ready for school combined with my own renewed excitement about returning for a PhD makes for an antsy Leah.

My oldest friend, Breanne, is getting married in a few weeks. It doesn't feel so long ago that we plastered our lockers with holiday countdown calendars featuring the likes of Leo, Matt Damon, Chipper Jones, and Garfield (9th-12th grade) or played name that country music tune on the Manzanita Playground (2nd grade). She can't get married - we never finished our screenplay about the Russian Revolution. We weren't nerds, really!

My friend Kevin returned from “the ice” this past weekend. While the work sounds exhausting, his description of our southernmost continent leads me to believe it resembles The Cal Band on steroids – probably with a smaller inter-marriage percentage. Spending the past weekend with Kevin, Travis and The Hunz reminded me of “the good ole days” (if I am old enough to say that) but also reminded me why I can’t hang with the boys so often anymore. Not only can I no longer keep up with their alcohol intake, I also have a hard time differentiating between poker and blackjack while intoxicated and as fun as “Guitar Hero” is on Playstation, it just doesn’t do it for me as an activity to be repeated for three hours. In the past few years I finally gave up trying to be “one of the guys” because I realized that when you have “dated” (and I use this word loosely) one or many of the guys in your immediate friend group, you kinda forfeit that status. But if there ever was someone capable of dating the guys whilst being one of them, it would be me. I say this like I am proud, but when I think about it, that might explain my single status – oh well.

I think this might just be the most discursive entry I have written yet. Good luck finding a common theme amongst this jumble. But finally, before I rush off to cure my bout of overcaffienation, I wanted to dedicate this entry to my Citizens Jeans. Two nights ago, an era ended – I discovered a hole in my original pair of designer jeans. Yes, they were about an inch shorter than ideal and their color was fading, but they were perfect in their own special way.

Anyone Want to Watch "Arguing the World?"

2006-04-20T09:00:00.000-07:00

For once my couch isn’t covered with laundry and this evening I am sitting on it, enjoying the feeling of a room warmed by the day’s sun, reading the third installment of the “Shopaholic” book series and trying to break out of a melancholy mood. I skipped the gym because I am trying to actually listen to my cold-infested body, and thus I am missing the endorphins I rely quite heavily upon – however, this is not the cause of my unrest. Nor, for once, is it boy drama – shocking, I know.

Again the cause of my funny mood is academia – the looming yearlong process of reapplying to PhD programs and the dual notions of uncertainty and possibility that this entails. Despite the daunting five-year commitment and my desire to affect change beyond the confines of the academe, my specific research interests and methods draw me back to the possibility of entering a PhD program, and place my fate yet again in the hands of admissions committees.

I am certain this second time around I will be accepted into history programs. So much has changed in the past year – I am published, I have presented, my commitment has been tested by both time and the lure of the paycheck – but most importantly, my area of interest has been refined and my confidence in talking about this interest has grown immensely. Over the past few weeks, I have started to understand the commonalities intertwining my past papers and potential research interests. This process of realization has overwhelmed me, but in a positive way. The melancholy feelings come from yet again feeling so close to something yet still not there – being so excited by the prospect of something so uncertain. I know what I want, I know where to get it, but it is not mine yet and I don’t know if I will be able to effectively articulate my interests and merit to the gatekeepers. In hopes of learning how to best express my interests in a personal statement, I apologize ahead of time if this blog becomes a brainstorming center for my ideas about ideas – ha!

Which brings me to the biggest reason of them all for re-entering graduate school: in a history PhD program, I wouldn’t have to apologize for my interests. And I know I don’t actually have to apologize to my friends and family when I go off on a long-winded tangent about pragmatism, or force one of you to watch Arguing the World (a great documentary about the NY Intellectuals), but I see that glazed over look – it is the same one I get when Nicki and Justin debate the intricacies of classical music – my ability to participate in that conversation ends when the jokes move beyond the mispronunciations of Wagner and Shostakovich.

Many of my friends tolerate my pragmatic ramblings, but that is most likely because they have love for me rather than for my research. This cannot be represented better than by my sister’s attendance at the history conference last month – she listened to me practice my talk twice, understood little of the arcane babble I discussed, yet sat through eight hours of a conference because she is really supportive (not because she thought it was interesting). But it was nice to have her there, for her to see a window into a separate world of mine – that even I am just beginning to truly see myself in.

I know a lot of people have interests and experiences in their lives they wish they could share with more people, and for me, intellectual history is just that. Often it will be our desire to meet like-minded people that propels us to make decisions regarding our life’s work, whether it be a trek across country to medical school, DC, or the start of a divinity program. I spend so much time reading books and articles, researching and writing about this topic – yet I don’t share this interest with anyone I know. I think that people who end up fulfilled in life are those who share their passions. This is not meant to belittle the many wonderful experiences and interests I share with the people already in my life, but I know a part of me currently lies unfulfilled. This is as concrete of a reason I can give for putting myself through this agonizing application process yet again. God help me!

A Nuclear Front to the War on Terror?

2006-04-12T12:57:00.000-07:00

A few months ago, I had the pleasure of hearing Seymour Hersh speak at the J-School. I encourage everyone to read his most recent article linked here from The New Yorker.

Most recently Hersh broke the story of Abu Ghraib, but was also the investigative reporter responsible for uncovering the My Lai Massacre during the Vietnam War. Just sitting in the same room with him, I felt like a priviledged insider.

Having recently posted to this blog in commemoration of the third anniversary of the War in Iraq, I am horrified to think that the Bush team thinks another front - and a nuclear one at that - is possible.

The Undomestic Goddess

2006-04-05T16:58:00.000-07:00

I have a long list of books I would love to review for this blog:

George Packer’s Assassin’s Gate
Chris Hedges’ War is a Force that Gives Us Meaning
Cornell West’s The American Evasion of Philosophy: A Geneology of Pragmatism

But today I would like to discuss Sophie Kinsella’s The Undomestic Goddess.

No, this is not the latest in popular sociology or a neo-feminist book. Rather, The Undomestic Goddess is a novel, the kind often categorized in the realm of “chick lit” and the latest book to remind me that there is a world of books beyond non-fiction – a world slightly more sophisticated than your average sitcom – that can be a lot of fun.

Upon finishing my masters, I set out with the help of friends, to rediscover the fictional word. I wasn't easy for me, and often a tinge of guilt creeps forth if I cannot find some semblance of social relevance in the book. For example: Phillip Roth's The Human Stain - a fictional narrative on the complexities of race in America = guilt free reading. But this sort of social commentary fiction strays very little from current non-fiction cultural/political commentary, that the whole concept of me reading fiction in order to escape is lost.

The Undomestic Goddess is just that - pure escapist fiction. Where there could be commentary (she leaves a job in a law firm and accidentally becomes a maid) Kinsella skirts the issue, arguing the character is choosing her personal preferrence rather than making an argument that is pro or anti-feminist. There is absolutely nothing to take away from this novel - the plot is improbable, the character unlikely, and yet I loved EVERY minute of it!

That is - every minute but those when I had to put down the book because the predicament the character had gotten herself into was so painful I couldn't take it anymore. These cringeworthy moments reminded me of watching reality television, when the situation becomes so disasterous (or reminiscent of an embarrasing memory of my own) that I feel a need to run and hide behind the doorway to peak in at the tv (I actually do this) rather than calmly watching from the sofa or bed. Never have I had this feeling so accurately recreated in a book until now.

So if you actually want to laugh outloud alone in your room, completely forget the more pressing issues of our day for a few hours, and accidentally stay up till 3AM on a work night because you can't put the pointless book down until you know how the character resolves the impossible predicament - then The Undomestic Goddess is the book for you. Enjoy!

Three Years Later

2006-04-02T22:27:00.000-07:00

March 18th, I awoke with a profound headache and the sound of breathing next to me. Had my life morphed into an episode of Sex and the City? Please… It was Nicki – my wonderful friend who thankfully picked me up from my ill-fated St. Patrick’s Day festivities. Outside of football season, my tolerance was lacking and my vegetarian status rendered me unable to eat the Irish dinner of choice, corned beef and cabbage. Thus, the alcohol hit me hard and fast. And while the night was crazy, I was still home in bed by midnight – thanks to Nicki.

I had an early morning appointment to keep in the city – that all-important hair highlighting session so I didn’t have two-toned hair at my history conference. So after emerging from my bed, and scarfing down a yummy cheese roll from The Cheese Board, I made my way into the city – dark sunglasses plied to my face.

Exiting the salon as a reinstated blonde, I strolled through Maiden Lane, home of expensive shops I will never enter, past the larger gentleman who belts Pavarotti’s favorites on a daily basis, and into Union Square where I had parked my car. I had noticed a larger police presence as I drove into Union Square earlier in the day, but thought little of it until I checked my voicemail when leaving the salon. Justin had called to see if I wanted to go into the city to protest the third anniversary of the war in Iraq. A nameless emotion began to mix with the hangover in the pit of my stomach.

It wasn’t guilt that I felt as much as a deeply sad recognition of how living with war has changed my life.

By March 20th, 2003, Justin, Destry and I had already logged many hours of protesting the war Bush promised in his September 11, 2002 speech. However, on March 20th, the war was no longer an idea but a reality and our response would transform from sanctioned marching to direct action. On the 19th of March we had a sleepover in my Berkeley apartment and woke early the next day to shut down San Francisco on the first day of war. I brought with me a brand new Canon GL2 and videotaped the events of the day. First we watched as protestors were arrested and removed outside of the Bechtel Engineering building, a firm set to make big money rebuilding Iraq’s infrastructure after the war. Then Destry and Justin sat defiantly in an intersection with a large group. One by one the police forcibly removed all of them. The scene was too much for me. I sobbed from behind the camera. After Destry and Justin were driven away in a makeshift paddy wagon, I was consumed by a sense of isolation.

Protesting for me was a group activity. I did it as much for the cause as for myself. I didn’t know how to comprehend the war, and I took comfort in the company of like-minded friends and felt some semblance of empowerment from the activity – no matter how indirect. Left to return to Berkeley alone, the façade of empowerment exposed itself and when I returned to SF later that evening to reunite with the recently released Destry and Justin – new and less organized protest tactics alienated me and without a badge of arrest, I wondered if I would feel the empowerment of group action again.

I would. A year later, Justin had moved to Colorado, I had started grad school and gave up my full-time protester (otherwise known as unemployed) status. I had made a music video with my footage from March 20th and thus realized one of the ways I could be effective in fighting war. When the first-anniversary of the start of the war came around, the three of us reunited in San Francisco to march in opposition. It was my type of protest – children against war sitting on the shoulders of their parents and the always-adorable Raging Grannies (of which my friend Matt’s grandma is a member).

For two consecutive war anniversaries now I have missed the San Francisco marches in opposition to the war. What does this say about me? My belief that this war is unjust and unnecessary is as strong now as it was before. However, my motivation has changed as have the outlets for my frustration. At the onset of the war in both Afghanistan and Iraq, my emotional reaction to war drove my desire to action. Three years later, the continued war has dulled my emotions, and the knowledge I have accumulated about the war, rather than feelings, moves me to act. Now, however, I have found a new outlet for my frustration. I respect protests and direct action, but political books, my job, our Iraq-centered events and discussions, and even this blog have given me a new forum to discuss my feelings about the war in a way that makes my pragmatic mind feel more useful and empowered.

Three years have passed since this war began and while my personal tactics for dealing with the uncertain chaos of it all has changed, the reality of war has not. It needs to end – NOW.

Music Moods

2006-03-27T19:16:00.000-08:00

During graduate school I started listening to hip-hop – that is, when I wanted a complete break from studying. Usually this respite from academic work also coincided with a trip to a club and probably an alcoholic beverage or two. Since then, hip-hop has been the soundtrack of a more reckless version of myself.

When I am moody or looking to be productive in an intense sort of way, I turn towards more independent rock.

Unfortunately, balance for me is probably best signified by a heavy rotation of pop in the vein of Kelly Clarkson. Good thing I am hardly ever balanced.

Ever since my way too eventful New Years Eve, I have been in productive mode with my moody music (with one notable detour on St. Patrick’s Day). God help me, I even have downloaded a Coldplay song (“Fix You,” the only one I find even mildly palatable).

Following this past weekend’s conference I am excited to say I am most likely headed into a PhD program. More of course will be said about this change in outlook, but right now you are probably wondering what this has to do with the previous four paragraphs. Well, it seems dreams of a healthy Kelly Clarkson-filled lifestyle are again being placed on hold in favor of five more years of Seth Cohen intermixed with the occasional wild outing with my morally questionable friends The Pussy Cat Dolls and 50 Cent.

I Have A Citation!

2006-03-20T16:57:00.000-08:00

At long last, I am published in a location more significant than this blog!

You can download the article and print pages 117-131 for my contribution. The topic is esoteric, but I find it interesting. Happy reading!

Divestment

2006-03-19T19:37:00.000-08:00

Hard at work on my presentation. Will break for nothing except food, the phone, The New York Times, my laundry, Grey's Anatomy and the two friends I have over... Wait, I swear I thought I was being productive. It was the first sunny day in Berkeley in what seems like a month - so the fact that I got anything done is a miracle. Momentarily distracted by my need to see in the Cal Women's Basketball team won in the first round of the NCAA, I came upon this news item at the Berkeley website: http://www.universityofcalifornia.edu/news/2006/mar16.html

The University of California has rightly divested itself from companies doing business with the Sudanese government. I almost wrote my undergraduate history thesis on the student movement at Berkeley to end apartheid in South Africa. Student divestment movements at universities (esp. Columbia and the UCs) went a long way towards change in that country and we can only hope this might too be a turning point.

Now don't consider me a traitor, but I am quoting from Nancy Su's article in the Daily Bruin:

Now, some students and UC officials described the campaign as one of the most important student campaigns they will probably see.

"It represents student activism of the 21st century. We addressed every concern. ... We always had an answer. We always wanted to be able to say this can be done and this is how," said Adam Sterling, co-chair of the divestment taskforce.

At last week's meeting, the regents praised students for leading the way toward divestment, with some standing to applaud the students after the vote.

Rosenthal said he always knew divestment would be a very long process, but it was the students' persistence to bring the issue to the forefront of the regents' agenda that led to the divestment vote.

Cyber Sociology

2006-03-17T09:11:00.000-08:00

As the number of women writing Carrie Bradshaw-like sex and dating columns skyrockets, the percentage of op-ed political columns written by women remains depressingly low. It is in this vein that I acknowledge I have taken an extended hiatus from long-form political entries. Sorry about that! But I promise, serious politically minded Leah will return right after I finish this paper presentation. Fluff to follow;

To make the argument that the Internet has changed our communication and dating practices would seem a tad obvious at this point. But still, I can’t help but think about the hilarity and possible insight that would ensue in writing a quasi-sociological work on how the Internet has “revolutionized” the dating practices of teens and twenty-somethings.

Of course there are the more obvious ways dating life has changed: websites like match.com, J-Date, and e-Harmony. But I am less interested in these sites, and more in the subtle changes the internet has provided – the small interactions, flirtations and just as important, the confusions that the internet has brought to our single lives.

Growing up mainly before the advent of Instant Messenger, it quickly became the flirtation method of choice along the halls of my freshman year dorm. I specifically remember being ICQed an mp3 (also a newfangled concept back then in the pre-itunes era) by Barry White and wondering “is this a sign he is interested?” Boy does instant messenger open the floodgates for over-analyzing and miscommunication. Yes, he ended up being interested…but maybe I should have let the fact that we spent every waking minute together speak to that rather than his mp3 choice. From college I looked on as my sister applied IM technology to the high school dating scene. Watching her navigate the world of high school crushing from the relatively anonymous seat behind our painfully slow 56K powered Packard Bell grey box, I was jealous. Had I had instant messenger in high school would I have found the guts to ask out my silent crush of four years? Probably not, but you never know.

But looking back, I am relieved to have made it through high school before the dawn of the ipod, the internet and the cell phone (only Cher in Clueless had one). Not only did I actively engage the people around me as I walked through the halls at school, when I eventually did exchange numbers with my high school crush and call to discuss math homework, it was a big deal. I am not becoming a cultural conservative here I promise, but there is something to be said for old-fashioned (and by this I mean mid-nineties) dating practices…not that I know much about these said practices. But I hear there was a time when men and women definitively asked each other on dates and people knew what it meant – and didn’t “chat” you on IM or ask how you were doing on Friendster – their egos protected by the vagueness of it all.

Case and point: Awhile back my friend (we’ll call her C) informed me that a guy she was reintroduced to at a party had contacted her through Friendster (we’ll call him S). Paraphrasing of course, he informed her he was “bored at work, randomly surfing Friendster, found her under their mutual friend’s profile and thought he would say hi.” She actually believes this! “Do you think he’s interested,” C asks. Uhhh…, PUUULEEEEEASE! Well I guess this isn’t a good example of the trials and tribulations of online connections, because last night when I asked C when she and S were going to be comfortable enough to call each other “boyfriend” and “girlfriend,” she happened to be online scanning Friendster and discovered he had recently changed his profile status from “single” to “In a Relationship.” Guess that answered that question. So it isn’t all bad.

I may have had a personal foray into the world of email declarations of interest myself recently. However, I think from now on I will stick with the old fashioned methods – but at least I have tested out the new technology, and know for sure I prefer the old.

Feel free to comment with your more awkward online moments – including googling and away message stalking. You know who you are…

Procrastination and its Discontents

2006-03-15T09:07:00.000-08:00

Unfortunately, since that great moment of intellectual satisfaction that I wrote about on the fifth of March, I have hardly glanced at my paper presentation. Looks like working in the journalism world has deeped rather than altered my deadline driven work ethic. I don't know exactly when I will start to freak out about the nearing conference, but hopefully it will be soon.

We had a great event here on Monday night wherein I remembered what it is like to work for 15 hours in one day - haven't done that since the days of CalSO. The atmosphere in the building on an event day is full of buzz and the excitement propels me through the day. When the event eventually ended around 10PM the exhaustion set in. This exhaustion hadn't lifted until I woke up this morning - yesterday I existed in some zombie state where my most important task at work was staying awake.

So now that the event is over I have no excuse but to work on my presentation. Of course, both St. Patrick's Day and Cal's berth in the NCAA tournament threaten to derail my path to productivity. Similarly distracting is the tennis round robin tournament I have organized for my friends this Sunday. It will be the first day of real sun here in weeks and I can't wait to get out on the court and double fault most of my points ;-)

I have so many blog entries planned in my head, but they will have to wait until this presentation is over next Friday.

Until then read this: http://tomdispatch.com/index.mhtml?pid=68077

"robbed" v., 1. Al Gore, 2. Brokeback Mountain

2006-03-06T13:24:00.000-08:00

After picking up our Round Table pizza (yes, we do appreciate the finer things in life), Nicki and I drove to her mom’s house to watch the Oscars. I have only seen two movies of note this year, Brokeback Mountain and The Constant Gardener, so this doesn’t exactly qualify me as a movie critic. But I can honestly say that I know how to pick them, because Brokeback and Gardener are two of the best movies I have seen in recent years. As we drove through inclement weather to watch the Awards, I had a foreboding feeling that Crash (the LA race drama) was going to upset Brokeback. Unfortunately, my gut was right. Now I haven’t seen Crash, but I trust those close to me that have told me it is not worth my time – a surface level/ neatly packaged/ contrived look at LA race issues. In one review it is called “a feel-good film about racism.” So how did this movie win? I didn’t have a single friend recommend this movie to me, or comment on how much it made them think (let alone cry) in the hours after viewing the movie. The love stories and the larger social/political issues in both Constant Gardener and Brokeback embed themselves in their viewers for days and months. They don’t wrap themselves up nicely in the end, they don’t make you feel good – but they make you feel something. I sat stunned on the couch for about fifteen minutes – shocked by both the loss as well as by how much the news was affecting me. Nicki finally asked me, “Leah, whenever have you known the Oscars to actually award the best film correctly?” I realized she was right. However, there is some part of me that hopes each year that they might for once get it right. Something about this year’s movies (Good Night and Good Luck, Capote, Walk the Line) made me forget that this same Academy voted for the sickly-sweet A Beautiful Mind. So as of today, Brokeback Mountain enters my pop culture lexicon under "robbed," co-existing in a category once solely inhabited by Al Gore. I promise to watch Crash, but I don’t promise to like it.

A Moment of Intellectual Satisfaction

2006-03-05T15:23:00.000-08:00

It is Sunday afternoon, and like many Sundays before it, I am sitting at The Beanery (my favorite café in the Elmwood District of Berkeley). Elena and I are reliving our grad school study practices. She currently sits across from me studying for a big engineering licensing test while I work on my presentation for the history conference that is coming in less than three weeks. As per our usual habits, I am chatty but she is the study nazi that keeps me on task. It takes about an hour for me to truly warm to the idea of sitting quietly, and I am slightly daunted by the tome in front of me, a long/complex paper I wrote eight months ago. How am I supposed to immerse myself in it again when I feel like I am reading/learning it for the first time? Are these really my words on this page? But then, about eight pages in I start to recall the process of writing the paper, the terror and frustration, but also the excitement of making a new connection. And then I remember my professor telling me that my paper made him think about progressivism in a new way and I get excited – maybe I am really going to contribute something new at this conference – maybe I actually have something to say.

There is this feeling I get every once in awhile. And I am having it at this very moment, sitting across from Elena in the café. I can’t really describe it except to say there is an inner warmth inside me and my eyes start to well with small tears. The tears never fall, but they signify that I am truly connecting with what I am reading or writing. I feel so completely interested in my subject matter, and the connections being made in my head simultaneously gel and overwhelm me – I realize I am so close to doing exactly what I am meant to do.

I don’t know what has compelled me to express this today, as words cannot do this feeling justice. It is this feeling that propels me toward a PhD program but also repels me – as in these moments, nothing else matters. Are these fleeting moments of intellectual satisfaction worth the sacrifices?

Someone's Got a Case of the Mondays

2006-03-01T07:38:00.000-08:00

Written Monday:

Today my pants ripped, displaying a not-oft seen part of my body – signifying the end and representing the whole of what has been a pretty awful day. Yet another metaphor for this less than thrilling day is the weather outside. My wimpy umbrella and soon-to-be torn pants were no match for the downpour that soaked me on my normally relaxing walk to work. No cup of coffee could cheer me up – and I had three. Determined to shake my pissy mood I ate comfort foods including my usual Hershey’s Kisses, stolen from a neighboring office.

Weather and wet clothes alone don’t normally bring me down, but I am also still learning a lot at work – namely how not to get my emotions involved in office matters. Long gone are the days of student employment, where you are hired because they can tell you will benefit from the experience and the boss makes sure you are growing professionally within the environment (oh CalSO how you spoiled me). Instead I relay bad news to people who don’t want to hear it and then take on the guilt of having disappointed them. I think the secret is retaining an emotional core but realizing your limitations and power in the individual situations. For the situations I dealt with today, my power was nil – therefore I must eat my comfort food, complain to my blog, go spinning and thus hopefully retain some semblance of a de-stressed being by the end of the night.

I had a perfect weekend, and while you would think that would be a plus, it rather makes going to work even harder. Thinking about sunny days playing wiffle ball in the park (I just learned I am a left-handed batter this Saturday – I could have used this information about a decade ago!) does not make answering slews of email seem enticing.

So weekend memories, chaotic office drama and dreary weather all combined to produce a day well represented by my split pants. Now don’t worry, the comfort food hasn’t all gone to my thighs…rather I was wearing a pair of brand new pants that zip in the back (first mistake) and the zipper simply broke. It had been stubborn all day and I should have known better. I am hoping it wasn’t until my walk home that they decided to give out, but alas I will never know.

The Bay Bridged

2006-02-28T16:25:00.000-08:00

I wrote an entry yesterday, but of course, forgot to post it ;-) So until I retrieve my laptop from home, this mini-update will have to do. I have been super busy lately. Not only am I finally learning to be social after the workday has closed, I have also developed an addiction to spinning (group indoor biking). So working, babysitting, spinning and the "occasional" social outing has combined to make me a lazy blogger of late.

So until you get to read the forthcoming update about my split pants, you can check out this website two of my favorite people put together. My friends Ben and Christian are surveying the local music scene and putting together a weekly podcast downloadable through itunes. Check it out:

http://www.thebaybridged.com/

Whitsett Seminar in California History

2006-02-13T16:01:00.000-08:00

You can download the program for the conference I am speaking at by downloading the pdf file at this location: http://www.csun.edu/~jsides/whitsettseminar.pdf

I am excited to see that I am not the only person traveling from afar to speak, but my nerves are setting in, because the qualifications of the other speakers and the man who will be commenting on my paper are daunting. I guess I better get back into study mode this weekend.

More Fuel For the Fire

2006-02-10T11:43:00.000-08:00

I hope to post about the Danish Cartoons in the near distant future, since it seems the underlying racial tensions I witnessed while in Scandinavia have finally come to a head. However, my boss safely returned from Iraq yesterday and my free time has been limited. So check back soon for that.

Until then, here is a new Frontline World Online piece by two J-School grads on my activist movement of interest, the anti-union practices of Coca-Cola at their bottling plant in Columbia:
Frontline/WORLD

There is Method to this Madness: A Valentine's Blog

2006-02-07T15:27:00.000-08:00

Marathon day at work yesterday. It all started around seven in the morning when an evaluation team of sorts showed up at the school to renew its contract as a journalism program. Everyone looked a tad dressier than usual, except for me of course, who struggled to wake up in time to greet the team and the caterer who was bringing by breakfast. However, the rewards of catered breakfasts are many, and I think I refilled my coffee cup about ten times – which finally resulted in a more alert Leah. The team needed to speak to my boss who is away on assignment in Baghdad, so I attempted to utilize my international calling skills to no avail, only reaching him when he called me in response to my email request. When my mom learned he was going to Davos for the WEF she wondered why he didn’t bring me along, however, she changed her tune when I informed her that his next stop was Baghdad. So no, I am not truly included in on the action, but for me it is exhilarating enough trying to connect a conference call and receiving his email reports. By noon the excitement of being a quasi-insider had worn off, the realization I had eaten way too many cold frittatas from the breakfast buffet had set in, and the new issue of The Atlantic Monthly had arrived on my desk - so I decided to take a long lunch at home which resulted in a coma-esque nap and more unwritten blog ideas courtesy of the February issue of the magazine. After finishing my work for the day, going for a run, and then grocery shopping for the amily I work for, I finally hunkered down in my little room to watch The Bachelor Paris and write the following Valentine’s dedicated post:

With Valentines Day around the corner The Atlantic Monthly’s cover story surrounds the increasingly scientific process of online dating. More university-based psychologists are being brought into the online dating fold, attempting to understand both long-term compatibility and short-term attraction through scientific methodology. Since this magazine (one of my absolute favorites) normally overlooks such would-be fluffy pieces, I was eager to read the cover story. When the author of the piece, Lori Gottlieb, takes the 456 question eHarmony test, the database of over 4 million men returned zero matches. The founder of eHarmony explains why the author was unable to find a perspective partner on the website, stating “Just on IQ alone – people with an IQ lower than 120, say. Okay, we’ve eliminated people who are not intellectually adequate. We could do the same for people who aren’t creative enough, or don’t have your brilliant sense of humor. See, when you get on the tails of these dimensions, it’s really hard to match you. You’re too bright. You’re too thoughtful. The biggest thing you’ve got to do when you’re gifted like you are is to be patient.” Of course, Gottlieb makes a good point – who comes to online dating because they want to be patient? This interchange in the article spoke to two things on my mind of late. First, I am becoming increasingly open to the idea of a significant relationship. Secondly, however, I am at the same time becoming less optimistic that compatibility will be easy for me to find.

Maybe it is the specter of Valentine’s Day haunting my brain; maybe it is that The Bachelor is serving as white noise as I write this, but I think it is something bigger that has me changing my tune about relationships. Everyday I become more comfortable and satisfied with my job, more sure of my decision to postpone a PhD program and pursue freelance writing. With this decision comes a feeling of security and balance that was completely lacking from my chaotic grad school life. And because I never intended this blog to follow the trials and tribulations of my love life, I will simply say that the idea of a relationship seems like a complement, more than a hindrance, for the first time in my life. Using my own experiences as a catapult for a discussion of larger social issues, however, was the purpose of this blog, and so now we will return to the bigger picture and the second issue the article brought up in my mind, ones ability to meet a prospective partner compatible in both terms of physical chemistry, and the harder of the two, intellectual curiosity.

Let me start by saying, I was wrong about Maureen Dowd. Dowd is the only female regular op-ed columnist for the NYTimes. The lack of female opinion writers and bloggers has created quite the debate on the Internet in the past year (I am here doing my part to upset the status quo). But I often would get frustrated with Dowd for writing less hard-hitting pieces in her bi-weekly column. After reading about a half-dozen of her pieces I gave up on her. When her new book came out a few months ago titled “Are Men Necessary?,” I rolled my eyes, even more-so after taking a peek inside the dust jacket at her sexy picture. Unexplainably, I experienced a momentary change of heart. I am a woman who wants to write – she is a woman who makes big bucks writing, maybe I should get over myself and my initial judgments and actually try to learn something from her. Dowd has one of the most sought after writing jobs in the whole country, but the NYTimes is still an old boys club, and this is one of the first things I learned from reading her book. There are a lot of social pressures that force her to sandwich her more hard-hitting editorial pieces amongst softer ones. And guess what else I learned, Dowd is single.

A forthcoming blog entry will review Dowd’s book, and comment on a few of her more scintillating accusations, however, right now I just want to relay that while her book was terribly humorous, it also honestly scared the shit out of me. In the book Dowd recounts her experience with a theater producer in New York who wanted to ask her out but came clean about being intimidated by her. She writes, “Men, he explained, prefer women who seem malleable and awed. He predicted that I would never find a mate, because if there’s one thing men fear, it’s a woman who uses her criticl faculties. Will she be critical of absolutely everything, even his manhood? He had hit on a primal fear of single successful women: that the aroma of male power is an aphrodisiac for women, but the perfume of female power is a turnoff for men.” (p.42)

Maureen’s purpose is not to arouse fear among women, but rather to point out continuing inequities that still need work. Evolution, she believes, is not keeping pace with equality. However, she did stir up some fearful feelings in this single female, and the Atlantic Monthly article did not help subdue them. Dowd goes on to add statistics to the mix, backing her would-be polemical statements with scientific evidence. A study put out by four British universities found that “a high IQ hampers a woman’s chance to get married, while it is a plus for men. The prospect of marriage increased by 35 percent for guys for each 16-point increase in IQ; for women, there is a 40 percent drop for each 16-point rise.” (p. 47)

Some women go relationship to relationship. My friends are not these women. We are extremely independent and fall into the categories that make us less likely candidates for successful relationships according to both Dowd and the Atlantic Monthly. While we are intelligent and successful (or at least on are way there), I refuse to truly worry about our relationship prospects in the long terms because I think we are also compassionate and have a good understanding of balance between work and social life. (and also because I am egotistical and like to think we are above statistics – and I also respect the men in my life more than to reduce them to biologically mandated individuals set on finding women to take care of them.) However, as I expressed to my mom the other night, I think it would be nice to make the acquaintance of a potential partner now, or soon, or at least in the near future. Of course many women spend a lot of energy looking, and I just came to the conclusion that a relationship might be nice (rather than my usual descriptions of stifling and scary) a few days ago, so I guess I can’t expect miraculous changes overnight.

Values, Economics and My Love-Hate Relationship with David Brooks

2006-01-27T10:36:00.000-08:00

At work I have full access to every newspaper imaginable - a HUGE perk. However, my dedication to this blog made me become a TimesSelect member last month so that I could cut and paste op-ed columns from the NYTimes into my blog and comment for your reading enjoyment. As usual, it is a David Brooks column that has me thinking (every leftist's favorite conservative), but I don't have much to share other than his words. I am curious what you all think of his article so feel free to comment...

The second half of David Brooks' column in the NYTimes for January 27th starts here:

Smart Democratic analysts are also taking another
look at values issues. There has been a tendency in
Democratic circles to regard values as a sideshow that
Republicans use to fool the working class into voting
against its self-interest.

But over the past year the Democratic polling firm of
Greenberg, Quinlan, Rosner has noted that voters don't
separate values issues from economic issues. They use
values issues as stand-ins and figure the candidates
they associate with traditional morality are also the
ones with sensible economic policies.

In the current issue of The American Prospect, Garance
Franke-Ruta also notes the interplay between values
and economic issues. "Traditional values have become
aspirational," she writes. "Lower-income individuals
simply live in a much more disrupted society, with
higher divorce rates, more single moms, more
abortions, and more interpersonal and interfamily
strife, than do the middle- and upper-middle-class
people they want to be like."

With these sentiments, Democrats seem to be moving
away from materialistic determinism. In past decades,
Democratic political campaigns have been based
primarily on appeals to economic interests. But
especially in the information age, social values and
cultural capital shape a person's economic destiny
more than the other way around.

If you are a middle-class woman, you have more to fear
from divorce than from outsourcing. If you have a
daughter, you're right to worry more about her having
a child before marriage than about her being a victim
of globalization. This country's prosperity is
threatened more by homes where no one reads to
children than it is by big pharmaceutical companies.

Daniel Patrick Moynihan observed that the core
conservative truth is that culture matters most, and
that the core liberal truth is that government can
reshape culture. But liberals have turned culturally
libertarian. Afraid to be judgmental about things like
family structure, they've dropped out of the core
values debate.

Conservatives, especially evangelicals, have had free
rein to offer their own recipe for social renewal:
churches that restrain male selfishness, decency
standards that check hedonism, social norms that
discourage childbearing outside wedlock.

Middle-class Americans feel social anxiety more
acutely than economic anxiety because they understand
that values matter most. Democrats are beginning to
understand this, too.

Quick Update

2006-01-26T14:11:00.000-08:00

I have failed to mention that a few days ago I found out my paper, "Pragmatism and Its Limitations: Chicago Sociologists, Protestant Missionaries and The Survey of Race Relations" has been accepted into the Whisett Conference on California history. The conference will take place in late March at CSU Northridge. I am both excited and scared out of my mind. I have to reorient myself with the research and historiography involved in my paper. But it is a great opportunity even though it will stress me out for the next month and a half. In related news, they want a short bio and picture for their publicity announcement. Unfortunately, I realized I don't have a single picture that doesn't involve party tops, smoky eye makeup or the video conferencing camera on my computer at work.

In other news, per my request, Caely (my friend and the Events Coordinator at work) will no longer be purchasing Coke products for our receptions and luncheons. Yay for baby steps...

I am off to Redding to attend my dad's retirement party this weekend. Update to follow shortly.

VT Does Not Stand For Vermont: A DC Round-Up

2006-01-23T19:15:00.000-08:00

Yesterday morning (A little over a week ago by the time I am finally publishing this article) I took an early flight from DC to Oakland, arriving just in time for work. I owe Kim not only for a great weekend, but for driving me to the Dulles airport at 4:30 in the morning. While I got to sleep for the next few hours on the plane, Kim had to go directly to work. Needless to say, she has informed me that it is time I graduate from Dulles to Reagan National, the slightly more expensive airport ten minutes from her house.

Thursday night I took a red-eye to DC, carrying two bags of luggage and one carry-on bag filled with pollo asado burritos and a chicken quesadilla from La Burrita on Berkeley’s southside. As a vegetarian, this was an indication of my love for Kim and also my deepest sympathy that she is unable to find a good burrito on the east coast (white rice doesn’t cut it). My Friday began at 7am (4am PST) and included quite a few large coffees, a nap or two, a tour of the Capitol Building. Kim’s friend Rachael led us into the Capitol rotunda and then onto the House floor where we sat discussing important political issues of the day including Barbara Boxer’s sanity, the Congressional leadership transition, as well as the state of TomKat and other pertinent Hollywood gossip. The day continued with a jeans shopping adventure (I bought jeans with a tapered leg!) and a night of “cosmic bowling” at a new DC bowling alley that came complete with a full bar and dress code.

Saturday we thankfully slept in, worked out at Kim’s gym (it’s a miracle), went to see Brokeback Mountain, had dinner with Laura (the one Cal Forester I didn’t meet in Berkeley) and then went out dancing in Adams Morgan, courtesy of Diet Red Bull. Brokeback was both sad and thought provoking, not a good pre-party video (like say Dirty Dancing), and Kim and I were baffled as usual by our inclination to discuss poverty and homophobia at dinner followed soon after by a vapid and self-absorbed marathon party top try-on/make-up application session. But I think those of us with this tendency know that we would be of little use in our chosen fields of interest if we did not know how to effectively unwind. And unwind we did, until Kim’s kick-ball friend got asked to leave the bar (he got too drunk in his devastation over the Patriots’ loss, the presence of Kim’s new man, and last but not least, his inability to remember what the “VT” in my screen name “LeaVT” stood for) at which time we cabbed back to his place (they won’t take us straight back to Capitol Hill from Adams Morgan – bad memories from my last trip ensue) and stayed up way too late making fun of him and his roommate and their libertarian world views. Pardon the excessive parentheses. By 4:30am we were safe and sound back in Kim’s room abusing the digital camera and falling quickly to sleep.

Sunday was chill, mostly because Saturday night was so crazy. Shockingly we did not make it to the gym that day and subsequently tabled the work-out concept for the duration of the trip. We “metroed” out to George Washington University and then walked to Georgetown. Halfway through our outing I thought we were going to succumb to late-onset hangovers but we persevered by way of a mid-afternoon snack at an adorable café. Europe is to the United States what Georgetown is to most of California – a reminder of how young the latter is by comparison. The cobbled streets and signs that read “since 1700-something” were quite a sight. It was restaurant week in DC, so Libby, Kim and I had reservations at a refined establishment for dinner. I am unfortunately feeling I need to revise my usual, “don’t worry, I can find something vegetarian” statement as there was officially one vegetarian item on the entire menu. Libby and Kim had mussels and steak respectively, while I ate a miniscule portion of very yummy vegetables for dinner. When the chocolate mousse came out for dessert, however, my appetite was quickly satiated – and the waiter was cute with an adorable English accent – so ‘twas all good. We quickly returned home to catch Desperate Housewives and Grey’s Anatomy and enjoyed a restful evening.

Monday we ate at Cap Lounge, where many a DC hangover has been nursed. Thankfully, we were in great shape after a night in of TV watching. Unfortunately the National Archives were closed for MLK Jr. day, so I have still yet to see the Declaration of Independence, but instead we went to the postal museum. Kim learned more than she ever wanted to know about my childhood hobby (I have now been to both the US and Swedish postal museums in the past year – NERD ALERT!) but she actually enjoyed herself. We proceeded to make and send postcards for the next hour at one of the stations (most likely geared towards people half our age), unfortunately I know two addressed by heart, so most of you are out of luck. Afterwards we took a walk down The Mall until we reached the new WWII memorial. At this time Libby picked us up and drove us back to Georgetown where they forced me to get my ears pierced. I kid, they challenged me too it Friday night and I promised I would do it. So, fifteen years after most people pierce their ears, and five years after I pierced my belly-button, my ears are finally adorned with small cubic zirconium “diamonds.” After another yummy dinner we were about to rush home to watch The Bachelor when we discovered Libby’s car had been towed. Around this point my plane fears started to set back in, and the realization that my trip was ending both relieved me (I needed tofu and yogurt desperately) and made me sad (come back to the West coast Kim!).

DC is an interesting place. I can say after two visits that while I enjoy visiting Kim, I could not see myself living there unless I was in school. It is fascinating to meet so many politically-oriented young people in the same place. However, I realize upon meeting them that I am not necessarily politically-minded. I will never be a master-mingler, and while I may think of myself as a pragmatist, I will never be a realist. Kim always mentions that in DC people are currency. For me, ideas remain currency – and so long as that is the case, I realize I belong in academic towns where books not votes rule.

Calatrava

2006-01-23T17:52:00.000-08:00

As many of you know, the city of Redding commissioned a bridge by the now famous Santiago Calatrava who is also designing the new transportation hub at the WTC's Ground Zero. Reactions to the bridge in Redding have varied. Many feel the bridge has been a huge waste of taxpayer/foundation money, however, some have come around since the Sundial Bridge opened a few years ago. My father specifically went from skeptic to believer and now joins my mom in hoping I will choose this location for my wedding (they are just a tad ahead of themselves). But Calatrava's design have been both lauded and criticized recently in both Slate (likened to kitsch) and The New York Review of Books.

So specifically for my Redding readers (there are more of you than anyone else) here is the link to the NYRB article - It is not too often Redding gets a mention in a highbrow publication:
http://www.nybooks.com/articles/18554

Catch Up

2006-01-23T17:41:00.000-08:00

It seems that yet again I am both behind and ahead of myself on the blogging front. I will refrain from making a clichéd reference to how my blogging habits reflect my actual life. While I mull over a longer piece on hip-hop in response to a thoughtful article I read in The Atlantic this month, I also find myself having saved drafts of a few other shorter articles as well as a review of my trip to DC. As I come down with a cold I have been postponing via Airborne for the past month, I am happily taking the night off the gym to nurse my cold, watch the always entertaining Bachelor: Paris Edition and catch up on blogging. Hopefully you will have a lot of happy reading on this front shortly.

Republicans of a Different Variety

2006-01-12T13:29:00.000-08:00

My dad officially retired this past Monday. While I am sure this is shocking enough for him, I too am reeling. Of course I am excited for him as he enters this new stage in his life – however, the feeling that this milestone for my dad also signifies a change in my own life overwhelms me. Yes I did just buy my first tube of Icy Hot earlier today in hopes of soothing a running injury, but I imagined I would also be a little more mature in other ways by the time my parents were retiring. Alas, that is not the case. Now I just have to work on what I will say at my dad’s retirement party/ roast. Right now I am leaning towards leading with an anecdote about when my dad asked my prom date to sign a contract, only to be asked to dance at the prom by a young fire student who wanted to be able to say he danced with Capt. Thompson’s daughter. Shocking I didn’t date more in high school I know…and why am I still single? Ha! But then I guess I will say something nice about his inspirational work ethic, and what it taught me…

Tonight I take a red-eye to Washington DC. As usual I will be medicating myself into an anxiety-free sleep as I cross the continent. Hopefully rested to start a busy Friday when Kim arrives to pick me up at Dulles. I have made a few resolutions for this trip that will remain unspoken. If you know anything about my last trip to see Kim, then you probably know there are two specific occurrences that will not be repeated. And while I got a good introduction to DC’s nightlife last February, I hope to expand beyond Adams Morgan, and hopefully participate in more daytime activities this time around. Plus, this time I don’t have to study all day in Dupont Circle. And while trying to walk in ski slope-like conditions to study while Kim went to work was an experience I will never forget, I will happily bypass the smoke-filled cafes for a day of shopping and a long-awaited trip to see the National Archives. More details regarding my trip are forthcoming… but to give you an idea of what is in store, Kim promises I can meet these elusive people called Republicans (a different variety than the type they have back home in Redding)

A Genetic Predispostion for Worrying?

2006-01-08T18:22:00.000-08:00

It was not so long ago that I was traveling through Europe with my mom, reporting our (mis)adventures in this blog, and inadvertently making my mom’s antics the comic relief to an otherwise more serious blog. Alas, living far from my family has spared them these past few months, that is, until now.

Last month I hosted a Chrismukkah party with Nicki at the home in the Berkeley hills where I live as a high-end squatter. I successfully made bullar (rolls) from Mormor’s recipe, but Nicki made everything else, including the largest vat of chili I have ever seen. For those of you who have the privilege of knowing both my mom and my mormor, you also know that the prospects for me not becoming an anxious worry-wart later in life are not looking so good. I got not one or two, but rather three not so subtle warnings from Mormor regarding the potent nature of Swedish “glogg,” (mulled wine plus vodka) and the importance of limiting one’s guests to one cup. My mom called to ask how party planning was going and to tell me how she has been having to remind Mormor that I am 25 and that most of my guests are older, some even married. However, when I joined my mom in lightly making fun of Mormor’s intense worries (sharing with her, Mormor’s strict one-cup rule), Mom immediately transformed from cool older friend to intense “future Mormor!! How this moment took me back to my trip to Europe. From trying to get me to have a drink with her in Swedish bars to freaking out that my purse was not as secure as her wear-on-her-body money pouch. In this moment I see both the fluctuating relationships between mothers and daughters as well as my own future. I think my New Year’s resolution will be to start yoga again, because as most of my friends will tell you, I am a worry-wart in the making, and my genetic predisposition isn’t helping anything.

Hope for the Holidays

2005-12-22T12:00:00.000-08:00

I am working on two separate postings right now, one from work and one from home. I wanted to add a link to Rebecca Solnit's most recent article at the end of one of the forthcoming posts, but since I am taking longer than anticipated, I am simply going to link this article here for your reading pleasure.

I enjoy a good-ole-fashioned commercialized Christmas just like the next person, but the situation in the world often makes feeling secure and happy at this time of year rather hard. The other night I sat talking with some long-lost friends at The Bitter End (an SF bar with a really fun pub quiz) and I realized just how widespread feelings of political hopelessness have become amongst my peer group. The issues seem insurmountable, and individuals feel they lack agency (the ability to affect change). I am thankful for my ability to remain hopeful and attribute these qualities to my upbringing, my introspective friends that listen to me babble, and my faith that there is a pragmatic middle ground within this seemingly polarized world - we just need to shed light upon it! So here, to bring you all a little hope during this holiday season is a very thoughtful article by Rebecca Solnit, published in Mother Jones.

2005: Bad Year for Goliath. How About David?

I have been following the Taco Bell strike she discusses since college, and the news that it ended successfully thrills me. However, I don't think I am going to start eating at Taco Bell any time soon. Happy Holidays

My Confidence Emerges From A Momentary Hiatus: It's Called Quarter Life Crisis for a Reason

2005-12-20T15:05:00.000-08:00

Chrismukkah and a slew of reunions with long lost college friends have been leading the list of distractions in my life of late - not to mention this "job-thing" that takes up about eight hours-a-day. Post-football season, however, my social engagements have actually been on the backburner - having recently submitted a paper for a historical conference, my brain has shifted back into the academic world it left behind last May. By July, during my trip to Sweden, I was ready to swear the "academe" off forever, finding the liberty of reading/studying whatever I wanted to be of greater satisfaction. As I find myself using my free time at work to read Intellectual History syllabi and sneakily print articles on pragmatism from the American Historical Review off of JSTOR, I know I cannot just leave academia behind.

I have spent a lot of time lately thinking about the working world and my place in it, and moreover, why I felt restless even as I hold the entry-level job of any aspiring political-historical writer's dream. My transition from school to work was abrupt, unexpected, and more or less, quite traumatizing. To those around me, I think it seemed natural enough - especially since I was handed an amazing job. However, as the fall semester comes to a close, and I continue to sit at my desk across from a now deserted library, I realize I finally have actually transitioned into the working world enough to recognize why I still feel anxious here. There are three forces at work concurrently in my work life: idol worship, external perception and internal self-perception.

I am meeting/talking on the phone with all of my idols. I used to really want to be a film director - and Hollywood-types fascinated me. At the end of my junior year of college my political leanings were radicalized, I fell in love with Noam Chomsky, rekindled a love for Howard Zinn and began to subscribe to The Nation. Since then, my poltical world has broadened, and while I still am on the far left of a normal spectrum, I take great interest in leftists who subscribe to a pragmatic world-view. So while I meet writers and editors of The Nation and Mother Jones at this job, they are not coming through the office to meet me, but rather my boss. I have a case of "so close to my goal, yet SO far away."

This brings me to my second issue - external perception. I sit behind a desk, dressed in twenty-something business casual, blonde hair often pulled back to promote some sense of authority. As people walk by I smile and giggle - the Leah--esk mannerisms you know and love ;-) It is easy to stereotype, and if ever I am reminded to suspend judgement on others, it is when I experience the ramifications of fitting an easily stereotyped mold myself. But I have recently remembered that I do not need to feel such a huge need to immediately defy people's assumptions, but rather remind myself that in time, my own interests and ambitions will come across to others and allow people to see beyond my external perky persona. It is my own injured self-perception in the wake of PhD rejections that has made me so anxious, rather than the actual perception of others. This realization has allowed for a new calm to re-enter my life...a feeling I haven't experienced since before last March when my "historian" identity was somewhat squashed by small envelopes from elite schools.

Swarovski-encrusted Rock 'n Republics, not Head Wounds!

2005-12-19T15:13:00.000-08:00

I find this piece LA’s True Religion Is Overpaying For Jeans in Defamer hysterical even though I know I am semi-representative of the trend-followers they are making fun of... I swear I would never want a Swarovski-encrusted head wound!

Killer Coke

2005-12-12T15:24:00.000-08:00

I am a Diet Coke addict. On a warm day, there is almost nothing I like more than a fizzy, straight from tap, Diet Coke to cool me down and wake me up. I have been following the "Killer Coke" campaign for awhile, and today have finally decided my conscience can overlook this ethical issue no longer. As of today I am no longer purchasing Coca-Cola products.

Last Friday, New York University officially banned Coke
distribution from its campus (http://www.nyunews.com/vnews/display.v/ART/2005/12/09/4399264e25c89), and I am going to stop purchasing their products in solidarity with the student/faculty organizers who have worked hard to bring about this partially symbolic yet significant change.

Please consider looking at the Global Exchange's brief report on corporate human rights violations: http://www.globalexchange.org/getInvolved/corporateHRviolators.html

Tis the Season to be Single

2005-12-09T21:33:00.000-08:00

Speaking of growing up...I think I have simultaneously evolved and regressed of recent in my interactions with the opposite sex. As you all probably know, "Leah" and "committed relationship" do not often refer to each other, and more often than not seem to be polar opposites, repelling each other at every turn. Somewhere along the line I think I convinced myself that when the right person came along I would miraculously get over my fears, but I realize now that I feel extremely productive as a single individual and don't want my goals to be filtered by the needs of another person right now. When I am confident enough as an individual, I will no longer fear becoming stagnant in the presence of another person's needs.

Slowly but surely I am getting there, and I see this because the type of person I am interested in is changing. While this observation certainly has not yet passed the test of time, I feel my interest in the unattainable ending. By pursuing fellow commitment-phobes I ensure I will never be weakened in my determination to remain single for I am not given the choice. Recently, I have developed an interest in someone who seems to be the commitment-type and has an intellectual depth that I am completely drawn to. But what was it I was saying about regression? Maybe I should mention that I don't know this person. I guess you could say it is a different type of unattainable. Backwards sure, but for someone like me, it is progress none the less. ;-)

Ah, being alone during the holidays is so peaceful. I am obviously not ready yet.

God Jul and the joy of entertaining

2005-12-09T19:46:00.000-08:00

Wednesday this past week I took my Swedish test to pass out of my language requirement and finally formally receive my masters in history. For three hours I sat alone in the Scandinavian Studies Library at Berkeley with the largest Swedish-English dictionary I have even seen, translating a passage on Scandinavian media imperialism in the new Baltic States. I left feeling exhausted (as I haven’t concentrated that hard since I took my Masters Culminating Exam in May), slightly demoralized, and definitely frustrated with myself for having too much of a moral compass and not calling Mormor, Mom or Justin with the few questions I had. While I might not pass, I am excited about the progress I have made with the language, and am looking forward to possibly traveling with Danika to Sweden this summer. I feel I am finally making the commitment to really learn the language. Not only that, but I also feel I am making a commitment to keeping in touch with my Swedish heritage, and continuing the traditions of my childhood in the lives of my family’s future generations.

I don’t know what it is about this specific year that has put me in the holiday spirit, but I definitely have some sort of Christmas fever. Some of Sweden’s best traditions surround Christmas, and courtesy of “min lilla mormor,” I learned every Swedish Christmas song growing up. In this state of holiday cheer, Nicki and I decided to throw a Christmakkah party later this month. Chrismakkah is Seth Cohen’s favorite hybrid-holiday on The OC, and even though Nicki and I are as WASPy as they come (with some Catholicism mixed in), we wanted to honor the spirit of inclusion as well as The OC (just kidding) and throw a festive (atheist-friendly) party. We (and by we I mean, Nicki) are baking lots of cookies for the event including some of Mormor’s best recipes. Maybe it is the season, maybe it is that we are actually growing up, but there is something so appealing to me right now about entertaining – the only domestic skill I have taken to.

Required Reading

2005-12-06T10:49:00.000-08:00

Fun with the web cam at work! Did I pull off the smokek eye look, or am I just tired? I have so much to write, but I have actually been working hard recently on getting myself back into academic mood, working on turning my resume into a Cirriculum Vitae and writing an abstract to enter a paper I wrote last year into a conference on Californian history. What am I getting myself back into you may ask? Since one of my closest friends just dropped out of an ivy history program, I certainly am questioning my sanity. But I feel it is right, academic research is what I am "meant to do" if such a thing exists.

So until I have time to write all about my Swedish qualifying exam and my trip to the Swedish Holiday Cultural Festival, I am simply going to share the abstract I am submitting to the history conference with you all. It is an example of the type of research I hope to continue...

PRAGMATISM AND ITS LIMITATIONS: CHICAGO SOCIOLOGISTS, PROTESTANT MISSIONARIES AND THE SURVEY OF RACE RELATIONS

The Scopes trial of the 1920s is often utilized to represent the growing struggle between modernity and fundamentalism, science and God. Few histories focus on the rich gray area between this dichotomy. When missionaries commissioned a sociological survey of the “Oriental Problem” on the west coast in the early 1920s, this proposed project represented the height of the intellectual tenets of pragmatism, progressive cooperation between science and the increasingly modern theology of the social gospel. However, by 1925 the failure of this project to satisfy the needs of either the Chicago sociologists who led the survey or the missionaries, who commissioned it, signified a larger disillusioned turn away from a religious-scientific middle ground. The sociological field aligned itself more closely with science, attempting to strip itself of its reform-oriented roots. The California missionaries, however, remained committed to social engineering and the liberal Christian theology strongly associated with the progressive tradition. In the wake of the Survey on Race Relations, religious intellectuals strengthened the social reach of faith-based organizations to continue the work they previously pursued in tandem with sociology.

Henry Yu’s "Thinking Orientals" is the first monograph to deal extensively with the Survey on Race Relations on the West Coast. Focusing on the division between the white and Asian players in the Survey, Yu separates the “oriental” object of white curiosity from the “collectors of the exotic,” missionaries and sociologists influenced by Enlightenment thought. This categorization, while important, overlooks intellectual historical trends driving the Survey and the significant division simultaneously occurring between the sociological field and missionary work in the 1920s. Greater cooperation and understanding between theology and sociology marked the early twenties, and the Survey of Race Relations should be seen as a pragmatic experiment, an experiment that failed as the alignment between these fields broke down.

"because every once in a while life actually becomes a made-for-TV movie"

2005-11-22T08:42:00.000-08:00

I am looking forward to Thanksgiving Break for the opportunity to write something of substance, but until then, I will let Ratto speak for me. I can't say I didn't shed a few tears on the way to work while reading this article. Big Game was fun as always (since we started winning that is) and it made it even more rewarding that Danika was finally there to see Call take down her precious Cardinal (Enter evil cackle here)

http://www.sfgate.com/cgi-bin/article.cgi?file=/c/a/2005/11/20/SPGS5FRH7I1.DTL

2005-11-10T15:46:00.000-08:00

With my twenty-something female friends the topic of nuance and choice comes up quite often. Can we be "girlie" and taken seriously? Are we innocent or experienced? Adults or some post-college pre-adulthood? Is it possible to be emotional and driven? Potential mothers or career-minded? Can we appreciate luxury and be cognizant of poverty? Am I doomed to be categorized, or can I walk the nuanced line between stark contrast?

Many of you know I love my designer jeans... and when I read this article on Slate I was fascinated with the ingeniously cogent analysis Louisa Thomas put forth. I am but one of many young women struggling to define a personal identity in a world that constantly attempts to define it for me. Young women are drawn to objects/commodities that similarly live within a gray area, defying simple categorization. I like the way Thomas deconstructs the designer jean fad to show how their use serves two purposes in two worlds, thus allowing women to co-exist in both. Thomas notes both the lure of celebrity and superior fit as surface level reasons for designer jean appeal and then moves on to the crux of her analysis...

"But the real appeal of designer jeans may be that they are at once egalitarian and exclusive, lowbrow and high-end. They transform their wearer into a social chameleon of sorts, allowing her to look like any other American while signaling her status-consciousness to those in the know. Celebrities can thus wear $675 Dolce & Gabbana jeans and project a down-to-earth image. College freshmen can emulate celebrities without seeming like they're trying—and without worry about fitting in, since everybody's wearing the same thing. Indeed, jeans have become the staple item, acceptable almost anywhere, day and night. This is true in part because dress has generally become less formal, but also because the thinking seems to be: If jeans cost as much as a Vera Wang dress, shouldn't they be good enough for a movie premiere? And anyone who pays this much for jeans can trust that the price won't go unnoticed. Like a Mercedes medallion or the print of a Louis Vuitton bag, the symbol on the back pocket sends a signal to those versed in identifying labels. This is consumption conspicuous only to those whom conspicuous consumption doesn't offend."

Fascinating.

Questioning Conventions

2005-10-24T16:35:00.000-07:00

Now that I have started this job, I feel a few of my favorite topics are off limits. For example, I have a lot to say about the Judith Miller case simply based upon what I have read but don’t feel it is appropriate since people in my office have business relationships with her. Often I feel like all of my potential blog topics are within this grey area and I become frustrated. However, recently there is so much to write about and never enough hours in the day – especially if you party/sleep your weekends away like I just did. Two major things are currently taking up space in my brain. One regards my trip to a spa/salon in the city Saturday morning and the other, my friend’s withdrawal from a PhD program in history. I’ll start today with the first one.

Saturday morning I reinstated my “blonde” status at Maiden Lane Salon and Spa in San Francisco. In the past year Nicki has introduced me to the concept of the expensive haircut – and as would be expected, I took to it easily. As for my highlights (for those of you who don’t know – I haven’t been a natural blonde since high school) I always get them done cheaply in Redding. Unfortunately I am not able to go home much anymore and was forced to bite the bullet and pay an exorbitant Bay Area price for my artificial color as well.

Trips to a salon, designer jeans…are all luxury items I enjoy more or less guilt free because I believe that I can be a politically aware/conscientious individual without feeling a need to deny myself the occasional luxury. Whether I am deluding myself or can actually make a good case for this ethical belief could be discussed at length and probably serve as the topic for a future blog entry.

Events at the salon this weekend, however, caused me to question the innocent-nature of a once-in-a-while pampering. As my hair glaze was setting I entertained myself by listening in on the conversation occurring next to me by a customer and her colorist. The customer, I can only assume, worked for a high-end fashion label, because they were discussing Giselle’s spread for her company in the fashion mag she was reading. The colorist asked, “Doesn’t that specific piece only go up to size eight?” The customer responded in the affirmative and acknowledged that even though the style would actually look quite good on a larger woman, the label doesn’t want to be represented by that demographic. Ouch! Larger than size eight my friends does not a large woman make. However, it is not their numerical delineation of what is and is not acceptable for their label that truly bothers me, it is that they define a standard at all. Sure, I guess all brands including the mainstream like Gap (size 14) or the slightly higher-end like Citizens of Humanity (size 32) draw the line somewhere and maybe a conversation should be had about that too… but I am going to assume they draw a line because the demand does not make larger sizes cost-effective in the mass-produced clothing world (not that I think cost-effectiveness is a good measurement either). However, I guess it becomes harder to swallow/ more problematic in my mind with the high end brands because they aren’t mass-producing their clothes and because they are openly stating (inside the salon) that a larger than size 8 woman does not fit their branded image.

Later in the conversation, the colorist relayed a related-story to her customer. Basically she made fun of another client she has who approached the salespeople at a popular new store, Zara, to ask why they didn’t sell clothing in her size. The colorist continued to make fun of her client (not present) along with her current customer, both of whom relayed comments like “its not their fault she has a problem.” Whoa! I liked the colorist I had at the salon, and I also like feeling pampered every once in awhile by the surroundings (being offered unlimited coffee while having my head massaged is my idea of a good time), but I don’t know if I am comfortable there anymore. I may fit into their standards, but that doesn’t mean I should buy into them as well. It was one of those moments that caused me to question if the lifestyle I lead is as innocuous as I like to believe. As I have talked to many of you about before, often lengthy process of analyzation that goes on in my head (weighing the consequences of my behaviors) before I decide to change my actions… but I think the discussion itself, or that moment of disconnect in itself is important for it is at least forcing me to confront that fact that my behavior has social consequences. My actions (dying my hair, watching The OC, dancing to hip-hop) have become habits that seem natural. Often it is in those jarring moments that we have the opportunity to disconnect from our habits and see that there is actually a decision being made that might not be so harmless. Whether or not I actually decide to change salons or go back to my roots has yet to be seen. But I will ask the age-old question here: what image am I buying into? who is not allowed to belong? This line of questioning reminds me of another lengthy blog I want to write regarding women and “liberation.”

Out on the Town - Leah Style

2005-10-21T14:47:00.000-07:00

I wouldn’t call my evening out at the opera sophisticated. Instead the night embodied a crazier than usual version of my normally harried existence with a three-hour opera added in. I should have known I am incapable of having a refined evening. No dinner out or limo (let alone taxi) ride for me.

Early yesterday morning I took a dress to the cleaners. I got off work around 4:45, walked home, fixed hair, packed up big bag of crap so that I could change at Christian’s house and then went to pick up his new bike. For some reason the bike shop had not put the lock/light on the bike yet (even though they knew I would be coming by to get it), and only begin working on it around 5:45 when I get there. Half an hour later it is finally ready. Of course this throws off my “never an extra second” schedule. I was supposed to pick up a black sweater from Nicki at her place before heading to the dry cleaners, then to Christian's work, then his place to change and finally to the opera: all by 7:30. I now have a little over an hour to accomplish all of that. Nicki starts calling me warning, "you are going to be late!"I am increasingly aware of this on my own, but the tense voice on her end of the line subconsciously informs me she doesn't want me to disrespect the opera. She meets me downstairs outside her apartment with the sweater, and I fly off to the dry cleaners. It is now approaching 6:30 and I get a call from Nicki that the bridge is wall to wall traffic and that Mindy has been on it for an hour. Yikes!!! She redirects me to BART, and I now have three minutes to park, get this massive bike off the rack of my car, collect all of my belongings in my big bag, try not to wrinkle my dress and buy a Bart ticket. I have never moved so fast in my life. Miraculously I made it on time only to discover I had lost my phone. Now there is no way for Christian to contact me. We had decided to meet at his place since I was running about an hour behind schedule, and so as I got off BART I was about to climb on his (way too big for me) bike and ride off when I hear my name. I guess he called me a few less than 50 times to tell me he would meet me at BART. When I saw him he informed me we were getting right back on BART towards Civic Center because by now it was 7:10 and the opera does not seat late. If late we would be standing for over an hour until the first intermission. I desperately wanted to change into my dress. I pouted, he reasoned...at least I already had a skirt on from work. On BART we realized those Mike's Bikes folks had forgotten to give us the keys to the bike lock!!! Christian had a cord lock with him, but that is certainly not enough to keep bike thieves away in Berkeley. I suggested valet parking. Luckily, the BART station was well lit and the BART monitor person was right next to the bike area. But I thought he was taking a HUGE risk locking up a brand new bike. Here’s where the night gets really glamorous. We ran from the station to the opera house, me carrying a purse, large tweed coat and big bag which now contains a useless and heavy bike lock. Of course I was excited to have a chance to wear the discounted Manolos I found at Jeremy's but I didn't intend to run a mile in them. However, I can now report after my brisk run through the city, that they are built quite sturdily. We arrived at the Opera House "perspiring" in the most refined way of course, with about three minutes to spare! When I returned to my car at Rockeridge BART at the end of the night, my phone was right where I left it, on the roof of my car!!!! I guess we just aren't ready for a sophisticated night on the town just yet...give us another decade and we'll be taking a limo.

To the Opera

2005-10-20T16:27:00.000-07:00

Tonight I am off to see the opera, Dr. Atomic. I hear it is a tad on the slow side, so I am disappointed I didn't get to nap today. While musically I might not be completely enthralled, I am interested in the historical moment portrayed in Dr. Atomic as well as the potential of the arts to find common ground between often disparate disciplines. Therefore it is fitting I (the wanna-be historian) attend the opera with Christian, a bio-physicist. That way he can attempt to explain all the physics formulas they sing about to me afterward. Really, I hate to admit it, but I am mostly looking forward to dressing up and going out for a refined event in the city.

The Enlightenment Tradition

2005-10-12T16:15:00.000-07:00

http://www.talkingpointsmemo.com/archives/week_2005_10_09.php#006741

Rock Star Dreams and Cal Football

2005-10-10T12:03:00.000-07:00

Sunday morning I woke up in a funk. This brief malaise had few plausible explanations. The previous evening I imbibed sangria and cooked up a yummy eggplant sandwich for myself at a football viewing barbeque with some of my closest friends. This gathering was followed by the awesome experience of sitting in the 11th row at Shoreline for a Killers concert. Nicki scored us good seats thanks to her connections and we happily disregarded Modest Mouse (surprisingly boring live) for overly-priced garlic fries and t-shirt shopping. The Killers show rocked, and I don’t normally use language like that. The hour-plus it took to leave Shoreline did not rock, and sadly our post-concert slumber party was cancelled when we discovered our friends (depressed by Cal’s loss) had drank themselves into an early oblivion and passed out before our return.

With such an eventful night I couldn’t rationalize why on Sunday morning I woke up in a bad mood. Sure my mind was dealing with mild boy drama (he sure didn’t act like he had a girlfriend), but life has been unusually calm in that respect lately, so this was not the likely cause. A late afternoon five-mile run finally lifted my internal tension, and with it now being another day, I have narrowed down the cause of my pissy mood to two possibilities.

Losing the football game to UCLA:
Was I not in the Cal Band during the Holmoe years? I marched/cheered my way through a 1-10 season, where the game we won was away at Rutgers and one of the only games I did not attend! Who would have thought that we (Cal fans) would become accustomed to winning? But that is exactly what has happened. I expect to win. The only acceptable loss is versus USC, but I thought we would go into that game undefeated. This Saturday’s loss has thrown my whole football world-view into a tailspin and I am being forced to reassess everything. In a few weeks I am headed up to Oregon for the game at Autzen Stadium – guess what…we might not win. I don’t know if I am prepared to deal with that new reality. I know this sounds trivial, but it was a definite let down. My head is now a spin machine and I am trying to convince myself it is more exciting when the outcome of the game is not secured. I’ll let you know how this method of coping works out. Long talks with girlfriends and running with the Killers in my iPod are no longer simply methods for dealing with breakups, but now also the heartache from losing a football game.

Speaking of the Killers:
When Brandon Flowers announced they would be retiring "Hot Fuss" after their next three concerts Nicki and expressed a mutual sadness. Sure we have now seen them in concert twice, and we are definitely excited about what their next album will explore. But can their second album even come close to rivaling the power of their first? Most likely not. No one is more surprised than yours truly that I enjoying rocking out to the tunes of a Mormon Las Vegan, but the power present when Flowers sings “All These Things I’ve Done” live is undeniable. The energy he puts forth is intoxicating and makes me miss performing. Not only am I lamenting the fact that I will never again hear "Hot Fuss" again in its entirety, my melancholy state also reflected my own desire to perform/ create something so positive on a massive scale.

As of today I am not a rock star, and it doesn’t look like Cal will be off to a BCS game anytime soon… I am a proponent of lofty goals, but sometimes we have to be prepared to deal with the fallout of failure.

Dr. Atomic

2005-10-03T15:53:00.000-07:00

Last Monday night I attended a campus forum, “Science and the Soul: J. Robert Oppenheimer and Dr. Atomic.” Dr. Atomic is the new opera premiering this weekend by John Adams and Peter Sellars. While I profess to know little about the intricacies and significance of this work as a musical achievement (I will leave that argument to Nicki and Justin) I was fascinated by the forum that featured Adams and Sellars in conversation (or dialogue if you will) with a renowned Berkeley physicist, Marvin Cohen. The opera takes place in the hours before the summer 1945 atomic tests in the New Mexico desert. As the bomb tests are postponed a few hours due to an electrical storm, Oppenheimer is depicted asking all the ethical questions about the bomb that he did not have time for when the test was on schedule. Sellars, who I now completely admire, spoke of how he hoped the opera “made space” for the alternatives that have seemed less possible since the bombs were tested. Science, specifically how atomic technology could be utilized for political ends became the dominant paradigm, and Sellars believe his new opera and arts in general offer alternatives to the era of nuclear proliferation we find ourselves in.

For me, this forum embodied what I see as pragmatic possibility. A conversation among disciplines, the pinnacle of the purpose of the liberal arts education. Arts in this case stands in for the usual counter to science, religion or spirituality. Dr. Atomic shows how science and the arts can work together and produce more viable options then possible when disciplines work alone.

New Job

2005-09-22T16:18:00.000-07:00

I finally started my new job, and let's be honest, Cal football season has started again... therefore, my posting has been quite delayed. I know you all keep checking my site to see what interesting/original things I have to opine, but you will have to wait a little longer for my next installment. I may provide initial impressions of the 8-5 experience; however, it gets easier every day and my angst-silled complaints grow weaker.

Racial Representations of a Disaster

2005-08-31T08:54:00.000-07:00

Check this out.

http://www.gawker.com/news/ap/index.php#you-are-a-thief-i-stole-a-loaf-of-bread-123155

Discovering "Paju-time" in Estonia

2005-08-30T11:20:00.000-07:00

On a whim of mine, my mother and I decided to visit Estonia, the home of the maternal-grandfather. This whim brought us across the Baltic by way of the now-infamous Regina Baltica ferry. After sightseeing in Tallinn for a day, we traveled two hours by bus (where my foot was almost puked on by a sick little girl) to Parnu, the summer vacation capital of Estonia. Unfortunately, we were not spending the day sunning on the beach. After dropping our bags a Hotel Parnu, a Soviet-era hotel turned questionable Best Western, we embarked on a search for a “Coca-Cola Light and a bus to Ikla, a small town 65 km south on the Estonian-Latvian border. Seeing a bus for Ikla as we entered the station, we decided to simply hop on instead of checking the schedule – trusting another passenger who informed us it would take about an hour. About two-and-a-half hours later we arrived in Ikla. We knew it would be small, but Ikla surpassed my expectations.

I expected a bus depot, as it was the final destination of our bus, but we only encountered a bus sign. We joked before leaving Parnu that maybe we should find lunch before traveling to Ikla because there might not be any food there. Of course we did not heed our light-hearted warnings, and soon the joke became a reality. There was no restaurant, no town center – simply a small fishing village on the Baltic Sea with a small general store and Latvian-Estonian passport station. After using the universal word “toilet” at the general store, we enjoyed a hearty lunch of melted Swedish chocolate and rye bread. The woman in the store did not recognize any of the last names we threw at her and neither did the border guard. So we began to walk.

We came to Estonia armed with very little information. My grandfather Erich Paju lived in Ikla, 2.5 km north of the Latvian border with his brothers Johannes, Arnold, Vela and sister Salma. The Paju family head, my great-grandfather Christian, was a sea-captain. When we left for our trip, the only living brother Arnold was living in Florida and instructed my mom to ask locals where the Pajus lived, “they will know.” Arnold was the only brother to survive the Soviets and visited in the late-nineties. Salma stayed behind in Estonia throughout Soviet-rule with the parents while the brothers all eventually made it to the United States by way of either South American or Scandinavia. We were under the impression Salma had sold the property to a Finnish man before she died, but did not know if he had sold the land.

Although discouraged by our inability to communicate with the locals, we were determined to at least journey a few kilometers north and see what we came upon. We had two hours according to the bus driver who moved the hands on his watch to communicate our deadline to us.

We passed a few locals before we came upon a group of three older men who seemed approachable. No one spoke English, so again we tried our method of saying names. Paju (mom points to herself) Salma Paju (the sister that died over ten years ago in Ikla) Finnish man… you get the idea. Incomprehensible words were exchanged amongst the men, and finally an agreement was reached that they knew where the Paju homestead lay. My mom asked if any of them could drive us – she shocked me with this move. My overly cautious mom was going to have strangers drive us?

One man pointed to the beer in his hand and gave a hearty laugh – explaining why he couldn’t drive. The large man next to him (also quite red in the face if I do say so myself) told us to follow him, offering to drive. In English (which was our own personal code in Ikla) mom asks me, “You think we’re doing the right thing?” “HA!” I replied. I don’t always have the most reassuring responses. As we walked through the backyard we learned the man was a bee-keeper, and he showed us how the bees did not sting him. Although I was sure he had put a few back, he was rather large and seemed cognizant (although, I can’t say I would know if he was slurring his Estonian). Behind the bee-feeders, a small shed produced a Volkswagen Golf and down the road we went.

During the short ride I was sure we had gone much farther than the expected three-kilometers and that this man was driving us to our death in the remote forest never to be seen again, but fortunately my genetically predisposed paranoia was proved wrong. Soon we turned down a path and he said, “Paju.” As we reached the house, we noticed that the owners of the house had just arrived before us, in a massive Dodge Ram van no less. Our driver and the owner shared some Estonian words and the homeowner looked at me and said in near-perfect English, “How are you?”

It was as if they expected us all these years. Salma had will the property to a friend who sold the property to the Lehtinens, a Finnish family who used it as a summer vacation home.

I could go on forever about the generosity and kindness of the Lehtinen family. We found out our bee-keeping driver was also a local fisherman who sold fish twice a week to the Lehtinens. The words “Paju” and “Finland” had thus connected correctly in his head to bring us here. Raimo and Maria-Leena invited us into their home after we said our goodbyes to the fisher. They both understood English and Swedish (along with their native Finnish and Estonian) and translated our conversation into sign-language for their hearing-impaired son. Amazing people.

What struck me most was the interest and knowledge they possessed about the Paju family. When they purchased the house, letters and pictures were strewn about like trash, but they collected everything and took it to Finland to keep it safe from drunk locals who loot the house while they are home. In a secret location, however, they kept a few things. As both a historian and a descendent of the Paju family, I was blown away by their forethought. Why didn’t they just throw everything away? Most people would. This is the excuse I needed for a trip to Finland.

The Lehtinens met Arnold when he visited in 1996 so they were quickly able to understand who we were. Raimo told my mom he had something hidden for her, sat her down and told her not to cry. At this point I let out another audible smirk, “yeah right.” My mom almost cried on the ferry when she saw an older man speaking Swedish with an Estonian accent as her father used to do. Any actual relic of “Paju-time,” as Raimo called it, was certain to open the floodgates. He presented a small name placard to her that said E. Paju. No suspense here, mom started to cry. So did I. I couldn’t believe we were actually finding this…the land, the house, the people, the proof.

The house the Lehtinens lived in was built during or after the time the boys left the country. The house Erich lived in was in the back, currently being remodeled into a sauna (how Scandinavian is that!). We walked through an overgrown path to the old house. Raimo told us of Arnold’s visit in 1996. Arnold stood on the porch and began to cry. For fifty years he had not been allowed to see his home.

This house also had a later addition, but we could see what it had been like when my grandfather lived there: one small kitchen and a big “living” room. In the main room Arnold and Erich shared a bed in the corner, the younger boys in another and finally the parents and Salma is the third. Raimo produced a worn, glass-covered photograph of my great-grandfather’s ship. Also given to us was a picture of my great-grandfather’s parents taken in 1918.

Two hours later, after many pictures, email and address exchange and a great cup of coffee, we were on the bus back to Parnu. Here I have flushed out the broader details of our journey, but I feel I have yet to comprehend the meaning of it all. I cannot understand what my grandfather experienced, leaving his home and never returning. The Soviets did not let letters in or out of the country, so when one of his parents died someone smuggled a photo of the burial to one of his brothers. My grandfather was an intellectual and a civil engineer. It was obvious there was not enough to occupy his mind in Ikla and with the foreboding promise of either Nazi or Soviet rule, there was little for him in all of Estonia. I am thankful these are not choices I face. As more history articles get translated from Estonian to English, I hope to learn more about the occupation history.

Raimo and his family had been in Latvia all day until ten minutes before the fisher dropped us off. He told us he felt an angel guided us to the Paju land. Feeling a connection to the grandfather I never met but am often compared to, even the cynic in me hoped Raimo was right. When we arrived home after our trip, my mom received a letter from Florida informing us that her uncle Arnold had passed away the day before we left for Sweden, only a day or two after my mom had asked him advice regarding our trip to Ikla. I am glad he died with the knowledge that his past, the Paju’s collective past, would be remembered by its descendents.

Wonder if he's even heard of Darfur?

2005-08-24T18:58:00.000-07:00

This is why I love Talking Points Memo.

http://www.talkingpointsmemo.com/archives/week_2005_08_21.php#006340

Pragmatic Possibility

2005-08-23T11:13:00.000-07:00

I hoped writing here would develop a personal editorial style appropriate for the op-ed columns I seek to write in my later days. However, the authoritative voice does not come naturally to me. I blame my postmodern historical education in general and more specifically, my interest in pragmatic theory for denying me the ability to take a strong stance with confidence in its continued validity. While postmodernism is often dismissed as cultural relativism, I believe its historical precursor pragmatism, can be applied effectively and avoids the nihilistic tendencies of postmodernism. I have been deeply enthralled by pragmatic philosophy and its social and cultural implications since exposed to William James during my junior year of college. Pragmatism allows us to view beliefs as social habits, and emphasizes the importance of collective democratic decision-making based upon the consequences of action. Refuting the trend towards absolutes, pragmatism offers our current world a method for solving conflict.

Here is a link to William James’ “On a Certain Blindness in Human Beings.” This essay by James deals less with pragmatic theory than some of his other works, but I feel it explicates pragmatism’s ethical base.

http://www.des.emory.edu/mfp/jcertain.html

Civilizational Ideology

2005-08-04T21:50:00.000-07:00

Back from Sweden, I still need to type out my long entry from Estonia, but I thought I would make my first attempt to transition this blog into what I hope to be its post-trip format. The following is a excerpt from a longer essay I wrote reviewing Samuel Huntington's theories in The Clash of Civilizations...

THE QUEST TO BE “X”: THE CLASH OF CIVILIZATIONAL IDEOLOGY

In 1947, George Kennan’s now famous article outlining a plan for containment was released by Foreign Affairs and signed anonymously with an “X.” Kennan, the Truman administration’s ambassador to the Soviet Union, formulated a paradigm defining foreign relations between the United States and the Soviet Union for over forty years utilizing moral and ideological distinctions. At the end of the twentieth century, communism collapsed in Eastern Europe and the Soviet Union, and the paradigm Kennan and the Truman administration developed for conducting American foreign policy, no longer pertained to the emerging world. Political theorists scrambled to write the next Kennan article and explain the new world order. Visions of a new universal state quickly succumbed to a seemingly chaotic turn in world politics. Despite great criticism, Samuel P. Huntington found meaning and order in this chaos in his Foreign Affairs article on the “Clash of Civilizations.” After the events of September 11, 2001, Huntington’s thesis gained newfound respect and notoriety, and Huntington was praised for his prescient theory. While Huntington’s proposed paradigm serves well to show the flaws of competing models, and reminds scholars of the importance of culture, his prescription for the West and conceptualization of culture are problematic and dangerous.

George Kennan’s “X” article provided a structure through which Cold War Era – Americans could identify and organize themselves within the world around them. In the post-Cold War world, Huntington attempted to do the same. The 1990s was a global identity crisis. Huntington argued, “Alignments defined by ideology and superpower relations are giving way to alignments defined by culture and civilization.”(1) While balance of power alignments will sometimes lead to cross-civilizational alliances, Huntington believed reinvigorated old antagonisms and affiliations would be quite powerful in this new order. Huntington argued, “The civilizational ‘us’ and the extra-civilizational ‘them’ is a constant in human history.”(2) Cultural issues produce “zero-sum” choices, whereas one can more easily debate or resolve differences of secular ideology and material interest. Lisa Wedeen warns, however, against such culturally essentialist explanations of political outcomes which “tend to naturalize categories of group identity, rather than exploring the conditions under which such experiences of group identity come to seem natural.”(3) Viewing culture in a constant state of becoming, as part of a historical process, these zero sum choices no longer exist, rendering Huntington’s theory problematic.

Huntington believes the world increasingly identifies along civilizational lines, and calls for greater civilizational unity in the West. He despises the multicultural tendency of the United States and wishes we would reinvigorate our relationship with Europe. Huntington should be critiqued for his irresponsible prescription; calling for a hard-line civilizational ideology at home, while warning against the coming clash of hard line civilizational ideologies in the world.

Huntington’s models can aide politicians and foreign policy analysts in designing policy but it is a simplistic predictive model, not an explanation of events. The Clash of Civilizations is a work of political science, and of civilizational ideology, but it is not a work of history. It gives little, if any, significance to the possibility of change over time. Civilizational ideology is problematic because it is useful on all sides, and in many ways. Huntington’s model has provided a framework within which fundamentalists from all civilizations can view their world and arouse the support of those around them. Fred Tipson wrote in verse for Foreign Affairs:

It strikes me as a dangerous form of policy confusion,
Boosting culture clashes through a self-fulfilled conclusion…
Because the final irony of Huntington's portrayal
Is that in other countries he may make his biggest sale.(4)

Fundamentalists may clash in the future, and the likelihood grows stronger when intellectual theorists rally for closed cultural spheres. However, dissenters wishing to be disassociated with fundamentalist action and thought will remain strong in every “civilization.” Samuel Huntington lost his realist theory when he promoted the concept of unity over the reality of plurality.

Huntington’s model accurately refutes Fukuyama’s theory of Western universality. However, recent United States foreign policy has created an easily identifiable enemy in Islam by utilizing Huntington’s model of clashing civilizational ideology, while ignoring his criticism of Fukuyama’s imperialistic aggressive West determined to promote Western values and interests throughout the world. This is a dangerous policy combination and an accurate portrayal of the many ways Huntington’s theories are malleable to those who seek overarching support for previously unpopular causes. Gershom Gorenberg accurately assessed, “Framing this battle as a clash of civilizations invites every Muslim from Morocco to Indonesia to take the side of the men who crashed the planes. It labels every Muslim who opposed fundamentalists, every Muslim leader willing to work with the U.S., as a traitor. It risks turning a misconception into a political fact.”(5) The quest for “X” continues.

(1) Samuel P. Huntington, The Clash of Civilizations and the Remaking of World Order (New York: Touchstone, 1996), 125.
(2) Ibid., 129.
(3) Lisa Wedeen, “Beyond the Crusades: Why Huntington , and Bin Laden, Are Wrong, “ Middle East Policy X, no. 2 (Summer 2003): 60.
(4) Frederick Tipson, “Culture Clash-ification: A Verse to Huntington’s Curse,” Foreign Affairs 76, no. 2 (March/April 1997).
(5) Gershom Gorenberg, “Clash of Civilizations? No Thanks,” The Jerusalem Report (October 22, 2001): 33.

Stockholm again - be home soon

2005-07-26T08:16:00.000-07:00

I am so sick of the clothes in my suitcase! While I have had a great trip, I think I am ready to come home. After over a week of staying with relatives throughout Sweden upon returning from Estonia, we are now back in Stockholm. Having done a large portion of the Stockholm sight-seeing the first time we were in this town at the beginning of the trip, our return to the city has been more relaxed--lunching with family-friends, visiting castles and the crowned jewels, shopping! We even peaked in on a bar made completely out of ice (you would love it, Kim). Strangely enough, my social skills have been a disappointment to my mom on this trip. I still feel like I am recovering from grad school. This combines with constantly trying to understand the Swedish being spoken around or to me. It is a lot to take in. By the end of the day when my mom wants to have a drink at a bar, I am ready for bed. I am pretty sure this is not supposed to be the order of things, but then again, before this trip my mom had never woken me up in the middle of the night because a noise scared her either.

Tomorrow is my last day in Stockholm. I love this town, and am actually already planning a return to Sweden next summer (and Finland - for reasons tba when I finally type my entry from estonia). If one thing is certain it is that I feel more ready to leave academia forever. It is hard to imagine my life without a phd, but the prestige is not worth the sacrifice. My interests are too broad to be forced to specialize. Traveling has reinforced that for me. I want to continue learning swedish and have developed a large interest in the soviet occcupation of the baltic states during my travels. Studying US history would not allow these tangential interests. Plus, thanks to Nicki and Mindy, I have finally started enjoying novels again (and have actually read a lot on this trip because I was craving English). I look forward to seeing everyone soon. Thanks for reading!

Coffee - you thought I was an addict, but it's a cultural thing

2005-07-26T08:09:00.000-07:00

Since we started staying with family, the time we spend walking around has dropped off and the time we spend eating and drinking coffee has increased exponentially. Yesterday (now, that I am typing this finally, actually over a week ago) we have coffee with goodies four times!!! Once when we said goodbye to Birgitta and Britt, once after lunch with Arne's family, once after berry picking and swimming, and once at their son Henric's house after dinner. Today (a week ago) we have already had coffee three times. With breakfast, at Gunilla's house and by the lake before we caught the train to Goteborg. I am not one to complain about coffee, but this Swedish tradition of drinking coffee and eating pastries and cookies when you meet with friends gets a little out of control when ALL YOU DO is meet with friends!

Family in Sweden - written 20 July

2005-07-26T07:45:00.000-07:00

Thanks to my "site manager" Nicki, my blog is up and running again. After typing two entries from Parnu in Estonia on a computer that was only functioning in Japanese, I pressed "delete this blog" instead of "re-publish this blog." I supressed tears and frantically emailed internet-savy Nicki for help. Since "deleting" my blog, I have not written much. While I have a long entry to type out about my adventure to Ikla to find my grandfather's old home, that will probably have to wait until I return. Staying with family in Sweden this past week has lessened my access to the internet as they have activities planned for us every second.

I am writing from the train going from Toreboda, a small town on the Gota Canal, to Goteborg (or Gothenburg in English). We spent three days in Askersund, the town of 5,000 where I spent childhood summers. It was as cute as I remembered it from my last visit at age 12. My two great uncles (brothers to "mormor") are no longer alive, but one uncle's wife, Birgitta (who visited us in California this past sept.) showed us a wonderful time. We continued to eat massive ammounts of food: fil-milk (processed sour milk, think thinner Nancy's plain yogurt!), musli, bread and cheese. I am starting to remember why I returned from Sweden as a 7 year-old with high cholesteral. Both Birgitta and her friend Britt (who also visited us in Cali) have been so kind to us, and even made vegetarian options for me at mid-afternoon dinners when everyone else is eating fish and elk meat! Glad to be a vegetarian.

In Askersund we visited Hembysgarden, a park where the locals have restored old-18th century homes (these are all over Sweden). Birgitta, my great-uncle Hugo, and great-grand parents Tobias and Agnes, have played large roles in the sucess of this park, so it was interesting to see again. The next day we traveled to Britt's home in Tiveden Forest. Tived is where the trolls live in Swedish folklore (didn't see any unfortunately). Back in Askersund I visited some of my favorite shops from my childhood, a woodworking store and Lek & Bo, the store where I purchased a large portion of my Lego collection!

We said good-bye to Birgitta and Britt after three days which was very hard.- Britt drove us to Halna where I then have had a whirlwind experience meeting relatives that my mom met five years ago. We stayed with Arne (mormor's second cousin) and his wife Iavor. Throughout the next two days we met all three of their children, visited their homes and were even introduces to their "barnbarn" (grandchildren), my fifth cousins!!

It was cloudy and probably only about 65 degrees outside but Arne and Iavor told me I was not a real Swede unless I went swimming in the lake behind their house. So I showed them! I jumped off their pier and proceeded to swim about twenty minutes. After exiting the water I quickly got a back headache and had a nap - so I guess my "real Swede" status is still open for discussion.

The Tallinn Taxi

2005-07-14T01:02:00.000-07:00

Miraculously we survived the ferry. I acclimated to the concept of the ferry, but never to the constant motion. I cannot say the same for mymom, but we arrived in Tallinn just the same. We arrived by taxi at the nicest hotel I have ever stayed in (my mom's travel agent booked a five star hotel - I think they perceive post-communist Europe as a gang-ridden war zone).

Rick Steves (travel guide book) informed my mother that taxis in Estonia overcharge, sometimes up to 35 kroner (oooh, a whole extra two dollars!) so shedecided to share the details of her father's journey from Estonia in hopes of coaxing him into charging her the non-tourist price. By the end of the ride she was finally convinced he was an honest man and felt he deserved a tip. After pulling out a five to offer him his tip, she sensed she had made a faux-pas and in front of the hotel, declared to all with her hands above her head, "I don't know the value of this money!" In a less flustered tone she added, "...but I am sure I will learn." Some good that will do the taxi driver who she tipped 40 cents!

In the future I promise to make an effort to equally cover my own blunders, so as to convince my mom this blog doesnät exist solely at her expense. I have so much more written, but no more time to copy it onto computer.

The Ferry of Doom - written 11 July

2005-07-14T00:37:00.000-07:00

When I was busy studying for my master's exam, my mom was hard at work planning our trip to Scandinavia. My reward for finishing the program. Only when we stepped aboard the plane diid I learn many of the details regarding our itinerary. Earlier in the year I had suggested we "drop by" Estonia, where my grandfather grew up. He fled by fishing boat to Stockholm to escape Stalin in the early 1940s.

I am deathly afraid of flying, and as my mom shared our itinerary with me, she relayed how she infact identified with me - she was scared of our ferry ride to Estonia. Well that was new - a whole new fear I had never considered.

As our trip to Estonia grew closer these past few days, the impending ferry ride drew nearer. Mom told me that she tried to book "the Victoria," the new luxorious liner stocked with amenities - but it was full. Instead of four star hotel quality accomodations, we would be aboard the cheaper ship. I have bow learned that this ship transports Swedes to Estonia, often so they can stock up and smuggle back cheaper cigarettes and booze, free from the high taxes of the Swedish government.

When I stepped onboard the Regina Baltica, I was immediately tole my room was in the belly of the ship and two forward men in the elevator beconed me in. Using my slow mom (awkwardly pulling her would-be backpack) as my way out,I averted their advances. Unfortunately, this moment gave way to my increased paranoia at being confined to a ship with 1500 people seeking cheap booze.

The room isthe size of a large walk+in closet and includes a mini-toilet/shower combo, an interesting contraption I am not sure I am comfortable with yet. There ar eno windows and I feel like my world is very small. My mom immediately asks the woman outside where "we" can have a safety orientation. My new fears are momentarily overshadowed by embarassment. She likes to use the pronoun "we." I would prefer she use "I." I do not want an orientation - I want to sulk in my bunk and live off protein bars - who needs dinner anyways.

After discovering there was an hour time different in the timezones of Sweden and Estonia, there was a brief "freak-out" where we thought our ship left in 15 minutes rather than an hour and fifteen minutes, but alas we were right all along. Of course we were VERY prepared and VERY early, as is every activity with my mom. I may come back to Berkeley programmed to be ontime!

She finally coaxed me out of the room - and I actually readily agreed because I needed to see a window. After a quick "tour" of the four levels of stairs to the emergency exit I am writing this fromm the bar where my mom is drinking a mohito. We are on our adventure to Estonia. We hear it is beautiful (and cheap). However, we also know we may come only to find out why my grandfather left and never returned. Here's to our journey across the Baltic (quite luxorious compared to the fishing boat my grandfather crossed in). If this gets posted, I arrived safely in the capital city, Tallinn and am happily recuperating from my sea faring journey in my five star Radisson.

Future entry topics

2005-07-10T07:36:00.000-07:00

Not much time for an entry today, but I thought I would publish a brief list of forthcoming entry topics regarding my trip to Sweden.

1. The many intovert of Sweden - a superficial cultural observation
2. Two-ply toilet paper and toilet seat covers - under appreciated Californian customs
3. The sun - no longer a good alarm clock. Sets at 10pm, rises at 3:30!
4. Buffets - my own personal hell.

Hej fran Sverige

2005-07-09T13:26:00.000-07:00

Hej fran Sverige! I have been in Stockholm now for a little over two days and am enjoying this beautiful city and the relaxed pace of my trip. My mother and I are approaching this excursion more as an experience than a tour of the sites. Thank goodness, for I think I am still recovering from graduate school. After sleeping seven hours on the plane, we arrived in Sweden at 9pm and I slept another full night of sleep. We have woken early both days to large Swedish breakfasts. At breakfast I make meager attempts to read Dagens Nyheter, the newspaper, and drink obsceneamountss of coffee. While meat is a large part of many meals, the Swedish breakfast caters to my taste and thus I partake of it in massive quantities. Sour milk reminiscent of Nancy's plain yogurt and musli, as well as rose hip soup andSwedishh pancakes are in unlimited supply..Heaven! As for lunches and dinners, that is a different story...and I usually eat salad, although tonight I surprisingly found a tofu dish. As for our non-food adventures, we are having a lot of fun exploring, getting lost and arriving too late for the attractions we hoped to see. Yesterday we happened accidentally upon the Changing of the Guard at the palace, and while interesting, was a little too touristy for my taste. Most importantly, through all our misadventures, I am hearing a lot ofSwedishh and feel good about my prospects for learning the language.

First Entry

2005-07-02T12:17:00.000-07:00

Studying for my masters culminating exam in US history, I often procrastinated within the blogosphere, reading everyone from Jonathan Michael Marshall (talkingpointsmemo.com) to Swarthmore history prof, Timothy Burke (http://weblogs.swarthmore.edu/burke/) and my daily favorite, gawker.com. Now that I am done studying, my blog reading habit has yet to desist. Finally convinced to give blogging a try, this blog begins as I look toward my idols with great reverence and humbly begin my own ego-driven journal that hopefully at least my friends will find interesting. Can't make any promises though.

Overtime, I hope this blog will address more important social and cultural issues, basically a practice space for writing future op-ed columns and such. However, that is the final ideal state of its evolution. In the meantime, realistically this blog will be a posting of my daily readings, commentary on other people's more insightful blog postings and columns. And maybe even some non-fiction book reviews!! You are as excited as me, aren't you? I also look forward to hearing from my readers (aka friends) in the comments section of this blog - because you all will be fully compelled to respond, I know it!

Wednesday I leave for Sweden where I will be for the next three weeks, immersed in the language - struggling to express myself in a foreign language. Until I learn some more adjectives, everything is going to be "bra" (good) or "dalig" (bad). While I am in Sweden, this blog will be more of a travel journal with the occasional historical cultural insight. More likely, it will chronicle my attempts to track down the Swedish prince or Joachim Johansson, a pro-tennis player. You will have to gauge on your own, my level of sarcasm in that last statement.