Last night I finished my book club book for this month, "The Boys of My Youth." I won't get too into it since I want to save that for after my book club, but I really enjoyed it. It wasn't what I expected and yet it was still fantastic. Very well written, shocking, sad, and yet comforting, too. And familiar despite the fact that in many, many, ways the author's life is very different from my own. But I loved this last bit (not entirely a plot spoiler, but it is sort of a spiritual-ending-of-the-book spoiler, so as a warning -- Sarah, I'm looking at you), when she and her best friend from middle school are listening to a voicemail from a new man in her life:
"Hi, Jo Ann, this is X," he says and then leaves a long, rambling, totally coherent message and hangs up. Oh man. He's shimmering in my living room like a genie released from a bottle. I don't know whether to faint or kill myself. Elizabeth laughs unbecomingly. I put both hands around my own neck. We do our silent screaming routine. We are no longer bored.
I feel pretty good about the women in my life these days, and I think it's in small part to moments like that one. I guess maybe all of us feel that way, at least sometimes, but maybe it's all the time, and maybe it never goes away, and I'll feel that way when I'm 50 as much as I do now. I think that is comforting... it's sort of scary, but comforting, just because I'm not alone.
More on this later.
Showing posts with label love. Show all posts
Showing posts with label love. Show all posts
Tuesday, July 01, 2008
Wednesday, May 14, 2008
Standing in Love
I thought this little bit was lovely... it's about the difference between "falling in love" and "standing in love." In some ways it's what we always have known, that the giddy feeling of falling in love must at some point give way to a different kind of love, blah blah blah. But what I liked best about it (besides that idea of "standing in love" with someone) was this:
When you fall in love, you want your partner to be faithful to you because if they are not it threatens your loneliness again. They might leave you, and leave you alone. This is possessiveness. So it is quite possible to find two people who are apparently in love with each other and who actually feel no love for anybody else. These are the kind of lovers who are completely annoying to be with. They are so involved with each other that they do not notice the rest of the world. They make you feel alone when you are with them. They think of love as luck and that their luck is in – and conversely, that everyone else’s luck is not.
(via)
When you fall in love, you want your partner to be faithful to you because if they are not it threatens your loneliness again. They might leave you, and leave you alone. This is possessiveness. So it is quite possible to find two people who are apparently in love with each other and who actually feel no love for anybody else. These are the kind of lovers who are completely annoying to be with. They are so involved with each other that they do not notice the rest of the world. They make you feel alone when you are with them. They think of love as luck and that their luck is in – and conversely, that everyone else’s luck is not.
There [sic] luck is not in, though, because their love is, in fact, what Fromm calls ‘an egoism together’; they are two people who identify themselves with each other, and who solve the problem of separateness by enlarging the single individual into two. It is in fact narcissism – they love themselves in each other; they see each other as Narcissus starred into the lake. They have the experience of overcoming aloneness, yet, they are separated from the rest of humankind – which is why you feel lonely or annoyed in their presence. In fact, they too remain separated from each other and alienated from themselves, though they daren’t admit it and so become even more absorbed in each other. Their experience of union is an illusion.
When you stand in love, though, you want your partner to be faithful to you but not because you cannot be alone but because it represents to you the faithfulness that must exist between all human beings who are to relate well to each other. In other words, it is not an exclusive possessiveness but an expression of an inclusive love for all humankind, potentially at least. Thus, the nicest people to know who are in love with each other are those who make you feel part of their love, whose love generates a welcoming home, brings out the best in you and so on. They have learnt the art of love with each other and it results in generating love that they have for others.
I have always tried to make the argument that best couples are those who are additive -- who you can spend time with in a group and who don't suck the energy out, but instead add to the room, add their own energy, which is from two people but not only for two people. This puts it a bit better than I've been able to -- additive is such an non-lovey word: turns out the kinds of couples I like, and the kind of couple I want to be a part of, are those who are "standing in love." This really comes back to the essential issue of balance in relationships that I've been struggling with for the past year -- the lameness of codependence and the sweet spot of independence yet coupleness that as far as I can tell is incredibly, incredibly hard to find. Worth looking for, though.(via)
Wednesday, April 09, 2008
The Grapes of Wrath
I reread the Grapes of Wrath for the first time on the plane home from Belize. (I love plane reading, I finish whole books all the time.) I am now all filled with thoughts from it. It fits in so perfectly with my crazy love of other people. I have three main books/movies that reinforce what should be the obvious ground rule of life, which is that other people are what matter and your relationships with other people are what is sacred in this life. I had dinner with a friend the other night who has just been broken up with, and it was a sad dinner, but it was a happy one too because I felt like I was building another relationship, and like I was being part of a support network for someone. I believe so strongly in the support network. At therapy, just prior to my dinner with my friend, I went on a mini-rant about it, and I kind of feel like the conversations I have with my support network are infinitely more valuable and productive than the ones I have with my therapist. (You may say that perhaps I should get a different therapist, and I agree with you.) But anyway, the point is there are three books that I believe in.
In About a Boy, in the movie at least (I haven't read the book in ages), Marcus decides that "Two people aren't enough. You need backup. You need three at least." Wholeheartedly, I concur. You can never pour all of your anxiety and worry and need into one person, and you can't keep it to yourself either. You need backup.
Then there is Kurt Vonnegut. The advocate for the extended family. I believe in many ways I achieve that with my own "urban family." I need to reread Slapstick so I can find the precise moment where the main character declares that everyone in the country will be assigned new middle names which will connect them to other folks in an artificial family. But really, all of Vonnegut's book reinforce the same point, which is why I love him.
And then there is the Grapes of Wrath. When I read it this time I was shocked by how much more it stood out to me than the last time I read it. It just meant more, resonated more, glowed more, was more luminous. Anyway, so I am about to quote away:
"Before I knowed it, I was sayin' out loud, 'The hell with it! There ain't no sin and there ain't no virtue. There's just stuff people do. It's all part of the same thing. And some of the things folks do is nice, and some ain't nice, but that's as far as any man got a right to say.'...I says, 'What's this call, this sperit?' An' I says, 'It's love. I love people so much I'm fit to bust, sometimes.' An' I says, 'Don't you love Jesus?' Well, I thought an' thought, an' finally I says, 'No, I don't know nobody name' Jesus. I know a bunch of stories, but I only love people. An' sometimes I love 'em fit to bust, an' I want to make 'em happy, so I been preachin' somepin I thought would make 'em happy.'...Anyways, I'll tell you one more thing I thought out; an' from a preacher it's the most unreligious thing, and I can't be a preacher no more because I thought it an' I believe it...I figgered about the Holy Sperit and the Jesus road. I figgered, 'Why do we got to hang it on God and Jesus? Maybe,' I figgered, 'maybe it's all men an' all women we love; maybe that's the Holy Sperit--the human sperit--the whole shebang. Maybe all men got one big soul ever'body's a part of.' Now I sat there thinkin' it, an' all of a suddent--I knew it. I knew it so deep down that it was true, and I still know it."
In About a Boy, in the movie at least (I haven't read the book in ages), Marcus decides that "Two people aren't enough. You need backup. You need three at least." Wholeheartedly, I concur. You can never pour all of your anxiety and worry and need into one person, and you can't keep it to yourself either. You need backup.
Then there is Kurt Vonnegut. The advocate for the extended family. I believe in many ways I achieve that with my own "urban family." I need to reread Slapstick so I can find the precise moment where the main character declares that everyone in the country will be assigned new middle names which will connect them to other folks in an artificial family. But really, all of Vonnegut's book reinforce the same point, which is why I love him.
And then there is the Grapes of Wrath. When I read it this time I was shocked by how much more it stood out to me than the last time I read it. It just meant more, resonated more, glowed more, was more luminous. Anyway, so I am about to quote away:
"Before I knowed it, I was sayin' out loud, 'The hell with it! There ain't no sin and there ain't no virtue. There's just stuff people do. It's all part of the same thing. And some of the things folks do is nice, and some ain't nice, but that's as far as any man got a right to say.'...I says, 'What's this call, this sperit?' An' I says, 'It's love. I love people so much I'm fit to bust, sometimes.' An' I says, 'Don't you love Jesus?' Well, I thought an' thought, an' finally I says, 'No, I don't know nobody name' Jesus. I know a bunch of stories, but I only love people. An' sometimes I love 'em fit to bust, an' I want to make 'em happy, so I been preachin' somepin I thought would make 'em happy.'...Anyways, I'll tell you one more thing I thought out; an' from a preacher it's the most unreligious thing, and I can't be a preacher no more because I thought it an' I believe it...I figgered about the Holy Sperit and the Jesus road. I figgered, 'Why do we got to hang it on God and Jesus? Maybe,' I figgered, 'maybe it's all men an' all women we love; maybe that's the Holy Sperit--the human sperit--the whole shebang. Maybe all men got one big soul ever'body's a part of.' Now I sat there thinkin' it, an' all of a suddent--I knew it. I knew it so deep down that it was true, and I still know it."
-- the Reverend Casy
Sometimes I don't know why I bother writing much because some people have written things so much better than I have already. (These are the times I want this to be more like a Tumblr, so I can just post quotes and things and not feel the inadequacy of my own writing compared to people like Steinbeck. But when it comes down to it, I can't keep quiet and I need to write my mangled prose anyway. Can't keep me quiet, I guess.
Friday, February 15, 2008
Fondue
Last night was a great success. The only hitch was the fact that we started eating around 10pm. Some shopping slowdowns and the incredibly amount of time it takes to chop tons of dippers and shred two pounds of cheese, plus the fact that I forgot the fennel and broccoli in my garden and had to go back, and then forgot the fondue pot and sent Dan running back (it is so useful to have a marathoner roommate). Still, the end result was luxurious and awesome. I used this recipe and it was perfect. There was a moment when I thought it was too liquid, but it goo-ed up very well with a little more patience. Basically I could live off of last night's menu. We had cheese fondue (with pears, apples, salami, bread, carrots, prosciutto and coppa from our charcuterie plate, blanched broccoli and white asparagus, and endive for dippers) and chocolate (with angel food cake, pears, apples, dried persimmons and mangos, pineapple, strawberries, and raspberries). My particular genius (if I do say so myself) was a butter lettuce salad with blood oranges, avocado, fennel and champagne vinegar. Then we had a variety of beverages, mostly champagne, with Chambord and rosewater and creme de cassis in it (not all together, obviously). Ace and I bought yellow roses for the table, and in general we all had a great time. I definitely felt privileged to spend this holiday of love with such a great group of friends. One of my favorite V-days.
Monday, February 11, 2008
Monday, December 24, 2007
Once
Finally, after months of wanting to (when it came out I had about one friend in the city, and it was my roommate, and he kept saying he wanted to save it for a date, the bastard), I watched "Once" just now. I am actually glad I waited to watch it by myself (in the dark, on a laptop, after everyone else was asleep, which is actually my preferred way to watch most things these days). I'm not really sure what to say about it, really, just that it was pretty devastating. Some people told me it made them feel good about love. I don't know if it made me feel good or bad. I think it would depend on my mood, which right now is sort of in a purgatory of neutrality, and also my willingness to base my opinion on my learned English major rationale versus on my incurable overemotion. (The same mood/willingness is what makes me so fickle on the Laurie/Professor Bhaer debate that I've written about before.) I know for sure that the music will be stuck in my head for days (I had sort of resisted listening to the soundtrack until I saw the movie, but now I guess I'll dig it out of my mp3 folders).
I liked that it was just a little, sweet, plain movie, no pretensions. Sort of comforting that way.
I liked that it was just a little, sweet, plain movie, no pretensions. Sort of comforting that way.
Thursday, November 08, 2007
Coming to conclusions, for today. (There is always tomorrow.)
Today is a reminisce about childhood day.
I don't mean that in a gloomy way, more of a contemplative way. I was thinking about how when I was in high school and it was gray and cloudy out I would just go home after school (i.e. before 3pm), make myself a cup of tea, and sit around the house. Did I do that? It's getting hard to remember but I feel like I did... sat at the kitchen table, likely cluttered with newspapers and bills, and read my book and ate toast. That's a funny memory because it should feel really warm and cozy but in reality it feels sort of cool and gray, the way those days were. Still, I would prefer it to sitting at a desk all day in fluorescent lighting staring at a computer screen.
Then I was thinking about the simplicity of some things. Home cooked food -- I know it sounds cheesy but honestly, sometimes all I really want is spaghetti or something. At Google, the food is overwhelmingly complex and fascinating and unusual and to be honest, sometimes it's frustratingly gourmet. (Oh yes, Emily, please, complain about your free lunches.) Choice can be baffling.
It's interesting to thing about the "base state" of your life. Like, what you would do with no outside influences. Obviously that's impossible -- you're beset by outside influences from the moment you're born, and if you want to get into human behavioral biology, you're sort of stuck with them even earlier -- but I mean on a daily basis. What if you lived in a city you didn't know anyone? What would you do?
I know what I would do, and I know it with a mixture of shame and longing. I find that when other people have plans, when I have a night on my own, I sit in my house and I do nothing. That's not a particularly bad thing sometimes, but it would be terrible if it happened all the time. One thing I like about living with Dan is that he doesn't really allow for the sitting-at-home thing. Meaning, he doesn't think that you should, by default, choose sitting at home over doing something fabulous in the city. Neither do I, but sometimes it's good to have him remind me of what's out there.
Still, tonight is a sitting-at-home night. I had Campbell's split pea soup with Saltines for dinner (talk about childhood, eh?) and I'm sitting here blogging and downloading some music and doing silly things like reading Self magazine and watching The Office. I like to call these nights in "dates with myself," which is probably some cheesy phrase from a dumb magazine like Self or maybe something like Sex and the City but the reality is that that's a really good way to look at it. Take yourself out, or in. You know, treat yourself like you are worth it, blah blah. I know I'm sounding even more cliched as this paragraph goes on but it is good to remind yourself of these things sometimes. When my sister was here we got into a discussion (abstractly) about our relationships with men. It was brief but my conclusion was, sometimes it is hard to be a girl. You are fighting a lot of weird, deep-seated societal habits. Not even pressures, not even oppression, but just habit, I think, most of the time. So I think I get in the habit of being unhappy with myself, my body, my brain, whatever it is... and the key is reminding yourself to break the habit.
Last thought. Today I mentioned to Justin that I was really glad that he could "deal with my crazy." (On a serious note, I am. I know he reads this, at least occasionally, so this is rather silly, but one of the most surprising things about moving to the city was my friendship with him which I'm now really grateful for. And that makes me think about how surprising friendships are... I'm still surprised that Dan and I are such good friends, I'm thrilled and surprised about how wonderfully Ace is as a roommate and friend, I am constantly flattered and amazed by the friendships I have and the loyalty that those people have and their patience and brilliance and ridiculousness and uniqueness. I will stop this parenthetical here!!) His response was "Don't get too caught up in your crazy. We've all got some of that." Suddenly I remembered that, paradoxically, the strongest I've ever felt, the sanest, the most sure of myself, was when ---- and I were breaking up and there was a moment he actually asked me if I was sure I wasn't just crazy -- because he felt like he couldn't recognize me. But that lack of recognition was because right then, I was being really strong. And I knew myself better than anyone else could. And so it's strange, but that is the strongest I've ever felt and the proudest of myself I have been, for anything. And right now I would like to find that strength, not for anything in particular but just because it was a great feeling, and I felt empowered and happy and brave. I think that is how you should approach every day. (I hadn't thought about this until Justin made that comment and it reminded me that I should never think I am crazy. Because everyone is, a little bit, and because the idea that women are insane is far too common, and because I'm not.)
It is good to have little victories like this. One of the best things about life is stumbling across things in your past that inform your present, lessons you forgot you learned, channeling old emotions or feelings or what have you into your present and using them for future good. That is, in a way, the upside of nostalgia... I find that if I can tap into the visceral feeling of something -- coming home from school and having a cup of tea and a book, feeling strong, feeling smart, feeling creative, feeling in love, feeling comfortable, liberated, whatever memory you have that you can grab ahold of, that is like a medium or a path to achieving that again, or avoiding it, or whatever it is. It's not just a matter of learning from mistakes, it's a matter of literally feeling that again, down to your bones, and hanging onto that, even if you can't replicate it exactly (you wouldn't want to). It's like a shortcut to yourself.
So I guess I have a position on the boundaries of blogging and Facebook and what have you. I guess I'll just be honest. I don't think it can hurt. I think I yam what I yam. I have things to say and I will say them.
I don't mean that in a gloomy way, more of a contemplative way. I was thinking about how when I was in high school and it was gray and cloudy out I would just go home after school (i.e. before 3pm), make myself a cup of tea, and sit around the house. Did I do that? It's getting hard to remember but I feel like I did... sat at the kitchen table, likely cluttered with newspapers and bills, and read my book and ate toast. That's a funny memory because it should feel really warm and cozy but in reality it feels sort of cool and gray, the way those days were. Still, I would prefer it to sitting at a desk all day in fluorescent lighting staring at a computer screen.
Then I was thinking about the simplicity of some things. Home cooked food -- I know it sounds cheesy but honestly, sometimes all I really want is spaghetti or something. At Google, the food is overwhelmingly complex and fascinating and unusual and to be honest, sometimes it's frustratingly gourmet. (Oh yes, Emily, please, complain about your free lunches.) Choice can be baffling.
It's interesting to thing about the "base state" of your life. Like, what you would do with no outside influences. Obviously that's impossible -- you're beset by outside influences from the moment you're born, and if you want to get into human behavioral biology, you're sort of stuck with them even earlier -- but I mean on a daily basis. What if you lived in a city you didn't know anyone? What would you do?
I know what I would do, and I know it with a mixture of shame and longing. I find that when other people have plans, when I have a night on my own, I sit in my house and I do nothing. That's not a particularly bad thing sometimes, but it would be terrible if it happened all the time. One thing I like about living with Dan is that he doesn't really allow for the sitting-at-home thing. Meaning, he doesn't think that you should, by default, choose sitting at home over doing something fabulous in the city. Neither do I, but sometimes it's good to have him remind me of what's out there.
Still, tonight is a sitting-at-home night. I had Campbell's split pea soup with Saltines for dinner (talk about childhood, eh?) and I'm sitting here blogging and downloading some music and doing silly things like reading Self magazine and watching The Office. I like to call these nights in "dates with myself," which is probably some cheesy phrase from a dumb magazine like Self or maybe something like Sex and the City but the reality is that that's a really good way to look at it. Take yourself out, or in. You know, treat yourself like you are worth it, blah blah. I know I'm sounding even more cliched as this paragraph goes on but it is good to remind yourself of these things sometimes. When my sister was here we got into a discussion (abstractly) about our relationships with men. It was brief but my conclusion was, sometimes it is hard to be a girl. You are fighting a lot of weird, deep-seated societal habits. Not even pressures, not even oppression, but just habit, I think, most of the time. So I think I get in the habit of being unhappy with myself, my body, my brain, whatever it is... and the key is reminding yourself to break the habit.
Last thought. Today I mentioned to Justin that I was really glad that he could "deal with my crazy." (On a serious note, I am. I know he reads this, at least occasionally, so this is rather silly, but one of the most surprising things about moving to the city was my friendship with him which I'm now really grateful for. And that makes me think about how surprising friendships are... I'm still surprised that Dan and I are such good friends, I'm thrilled and surprised about how wonderfully Ace is as a roommate and friend, I am constantly flattered and amazed by the friendships I have and the loyalty that those people have and their patience and brilliance and ridiculousness and uniqueness. I will stop this parenthetical here!!) His response was "Don't get too caught up in your crazy. We've all got some of that." Suddenly I remembered that, paradoxically, the strongest I've ever felt, the sanest, the most sure of myself, was when ---- and I were breaking up and there was a moment he actually asked me if I was sure I wasn't just crazy -- because he felt like he couldn't recognize me. But that lack of recognition was because right then, I was being really strong. And I knew myself better than anyone else could. And so it's strange, but that is the strongest I've ever felt and the proudest of myself I have been, for anything. And right now I would like to find that strength, not for anything in particular but just because it was a great feeling, and I felt empowered and happy and brave. I think that is how you should approach every day. (I hadn't thought about this until Justin made that comment and it reminded me that I should never think I am crazy. Because everyone is, a little bit, and because the idea that women are insane is far too common, and because I'm not.)
It is good to have little victories like this. One of the best things about life is stumbling across things in your past that inform your present, lessons you forgot you learned, channeling old emotions or feelings or what have you into your present and using them for future good. That is, in a way, the upside of nostalgia... I find that if I can tap into the visceral feeling of something -- coming home from school and having a cup of tea and a book, feeling strong, feeling smart, feeling creative, feeling in love, feeling comfortable, liberated, whatever memory you have that you can grab ahold of, that is like a medium or a path to achieving that again, or avoiding it, or whatever it is. It's not just a matter of learning from mistakes, it's a matter of literally feeling that again, down to your bones, and hanging onto that, even if you can't replicate it exactly (you wouldn't want to). It's like a shortcut to yourself.
So I guess I have a position on the boundaries of blogging and Facebook and what have you. I guess I'll just be honest. I don't think it can hurt. I think I yam what I yam. I have things to say and I will say them.
Friday, July 20, 2007
Thinking
I was going to write something angry. Actually I did. And I just deleted it. Instead.
One thing I love about Northern California (one of many!): the dusty smell of oak trees at night, when it's finally cooled off after a very hot day. It's sort of funny because I'm highly allergic to oak, but I love it just the same. I was putting the mini-fridge (ok, beer fridge) out to defrost tonight and got a big whiff of it and I felt like I was a little kid again at my grandparents' house in Redding, where it's insanely awfully hot all day but at night it's finally bearable. And that's what oak makes me remember - that immense relief from the heat, that laziness of a summer night, the comforts and frustrations of family. The stones in the backyard, the strangeness of the sunroom, the cool leather chairs in the living room, all these very tangible, inexplicable feelings I won't ever feel again - that's what oak is to me, and that's why I love it. It's so enduring and fleeting at once.
It makes me feel good about moving. (Something I am in the middle of writing about right now and will hopefully post on tomorrow.)
And it makes me feel good about life.
One thing I love about Northern California (one of many!): the dusty smell of oak trees at night, when it's finally cooled off after a very hot day. It's sort of funny because I'm highly allergic to oak, but I love it just the same. I was putting the mini-fridge (ok, beer fridge) out to defrost tonight and got a big whiff of it and I felt like I was a little kid again at my grandparents' house in Redding, where it's insanely awfully hot all day but at night it's finally bearable. And that's what oak makes me remember - that immense relief from the heat, that laziness of a summer night, the comforts and frustrations of family. The stones in the backyard, the strangeness of the sunroom, the cool leather chairs in the living room, all these very tangible, inexplicable feelings I won't ever feel again - that's what oak is to me, and that's why I love it. It's so enduring and fleeting at once.
It makes me feel good about moving. (Something I am in the middle of writing about right now and will hopefully post on tomorrow.)
And it makes me feel good about life.
Saturday, June 30, 2007
Silicon Valley is such a weird place to live or work or spend any time in. Now that I am working for what is in many ways *the* Silicon Valley company, I really know it. Yesterday after work, a bunch of people ended up at the local bar, the place where everyone goes after work. I am loosely acquainted with the people I went there with, but most of them I don't particularly know well and rarely work with - it was just the accident of having champagne at someone's birthday party which inspired people to go out. The combination of people was weird - it wasn't a bunch of higher-ups but it was all people who work behind the scenes of the company and therefore kind of have the power. People you need to know if you're someone like me and needs to get stuff done. Anyway. So we just hung out there, talked about random things including but not limited to work. I shared my theory about how it really is true that men playing hard to get/being oblivious/uninterested can get the girl (if they decided they wanted to), because at a certain point you're just frustrated enough that you want to prove that you're not insane. This is true. And I oh-so-tactfully informed my friend that she should break up with her boyfriend. That sounds worse than it is.
Tina met me there and we went to some tapas place in downtown Palo Alto for dinner. We wanted light food, so we ate about 2 full baguettes worth of bread and butter and ordered two little dishes - a tuna tartare with taro chips and some crab cakes. I love me some crab cakes. We also got a bottle of wine, which for me after the previously mentioned bar outing pushed me beyond the legal limit, so afterwards we needed something to do to sober up before driving. What did we do? We went to the Apple store. There was a line of people waiting to get in, because a bunch of employees were keeping the crowd inside the store at a reasonable level (actually it was pretty open still and not insanely crowded, which is a very Appley thing to do). First we just wanted to witness the spectacle of the line, but then it was suddenly short so we hopped to the front of it and got in. There was a split where you could either walk over and play with the phone, or walk straight up and buy one. I was shocked that they were still in stock. They didn't have the 8GB but they had the 4. I started talking to these two Apple employees - one who works at the store, and another who actually works for Apple in what is called the "Executive Relations" team. Which is, as far as I can tell, the team that does customer service for the people who are pissed off or delusional enough to e-mail Steve Jobs directly. He claims Steve reads every e-mail he gets (any permutation of stevejobs at apple dot com or sjobs or steve.jobs or whatever) and then if for some reason he doesn't answer them (insert editorial comment here: he doesn't answer any of them) he passes them to this team. My personal theory is of course that his beleaguered executive assistant reads his e-mail, but that's just my opinion. Anyway so I basically challenged these Apple guys to sell me on the iPhone. And they couldn't do it! One guy was like "I'm on a family plan with Verizon so I'm not switching. Maybe later." And the other guy is getting one for free, because by the end of the month of July, any employee of Apple who has worked there for more than a year is getting a phone.
After a bit of this, I walked over to the phone and was waiting to play with it. These two guys were taking their sweet time with it, and after a bit, I noticed one of them had a Google badge in his pocket and he turns out to be a Google intern. So I made friends with them as well. It's just insane how you run into all these people out who work for these companies and you can have lame conversations like "Ah, YouTube, one of the front page applications on the iPhone." Which we did, and I did play with the iPhone and it is pretty sweet I have to say, although that keyboard definitely does take some getting used to. Or, would take. I didn't buy one. I may just wait and see if we get some at work (even if we do, I won't, because everyone wants one) or if it ever goes to Verizon. Because I do my research and I hear the data plan sucks. BUT it is revolutionary.
Then Tina and I really liked the bags that people were walking out with - the iPhone bags. So we asked the two guys at the counter if we could have the bags, and they gave them to us with minor grumbling. We said bye to Peter (the family phone plan Apple store employee who is going to be an art student next year) and then before we left we asked the guys outside the store manning the line to take a picture of us with the giant iPhone display. We held up our bags and they totally thought we had bought iPhones and were just so jazzed we had to commemorate the occasion. What IS this place?
We went to Tina's house, which is tricked out because her roommate has his own design company and he has designed most of the stuff in the house, from random gadgets to wall decorations to the giant contraption with a swing on it over the pool to the lighting scheme and to some of the lamps themselves. I am a little obsessed with the lamps but apparently he charges a lot. Tina and I hung out in the hot tub and I jumped in the pool off the swing and it was really an amazing end to the evening. I quite love the random things that happen in my life and the random people I meet. And I love California - for some reason I feel like my life here is singularly awesome. I love jumping from a hot tub to a cold swimming pool. And ending up at a house that is decorated by a self-employed genius artist. And being able to talk about anything with almost anyone you meet, and meeting new people all the time who are interesting and interested.
Now, to read Harry Potter, attempt to clean my room, find myself breakfast, and then to later on barbecue and drink margaritas ("fresh margs" as Kirsten Cohen would say) on my friend Julia's front lawn, provided the two of us can figure out how to get the grill started.
Tina met me there and we went to some tapas place in downtown Palo Alto for dinner. We wanted light food, so we ate about 2 full baguettes worth of bread and butter and ordered two little dishes - a tuna tartare with taro chips and some crab cakes. I love me some crab cakes. We also got a bottle of wine, which for me after the previously mentioned bar outing pushed me beyond the legal limit, so afterwards we needed something to do to sober up before driving. What did we do? We went to the Apple store. There was a line of people waiting to get in, because a bunch of employees were keeping the crowd inside the store at a reasonable level (actually it was pretty open still and not insanely crowded, which is a very Appley thing to do). First we just wanted to witness the spectacle of the line, but then it was suddenly short so we hopped to the front of it and got in. There was a split where you could either walk over and play with the phone, or walk straight up and buy one. I was shocked that they were still in stock. They didn't have the 8GB but they had the 4. I started talking to these two Apple employees - one who works at the store, and another who actually works for Apple in what is called the "Executive Relations" team. Which is, as far as I can tell, the team that does customer service for the people who are pissed off or delusional enough to e-mail Steve Jobs directly. He claims Steve reads every e-mail he gets (any permutation of stevejobs at apple dot com or sjobs or steve.jobs or whatever) and then if for some reason he doesn't answer them (insert editorial comment here: he doesn't answer any of them) he passes them to this team. My personal theory is of course that his beleaguered executive assistant reads his e-mail, but that's just my opinion. Anyway so I basically challenged these Apple guys to sell me on the iPhone. And they couldn't do it! One guy was like "I'm on a family plan with Verizon so I'm not switching. Maybe later." And the other guy is getting one for free, because by the end of the month of July, any employee of Apple who has worked there for more than a year is getting a phone.
After a bit of this, I walked over to the phone and was waiting to play with it. These two guys were taking their sweet time with it, and after a bit, I noticed one of them had a Google badge in his pocket and he turns out to be a Google intern. So I made friends with them as well. It's just insane how you run into all these people out who work for these companies and you can have lame conversations like "Ah, YouTube, one of the front page applications on the iPhone." Which we did, and I did play with the iPhone and it is pretty sweet I have to say, although that keyboard definitely does take some getting used to. Or, would take. I didn't buy one. I may just wait and see if we get some at work (even if we do, I won't, because everyone wants one) or if it ever goes to Verizon. Because I do my research and I hear the data plan sucks. BUT it is revolutionary.
Then Tina and I really liked the bags that people were walking out with - the iPhone bags. So we asked the two guys at the counter if we could have the bags, and they gave them to us with minor grumbling. We said bye to Peter (the family phone plan Apple store employee who is going to be an art student next year) and then before we left we asked the guys outside the store manning the line to take a picture of us with the giant iPhone display. We held up our bags and they totally thought we had bought iPhones and were just so jazzed we had to commemorate the occasion. What IS this place?
We went to Tina's house, which is tricked out because her roommate has his own design company and he has designed most of the stuff in the house, from random gadgets to wall decorations to the giant contraption with a swing on it over the pool to the lighting scheme and to some of the lamps themselves. I am a little obsessed with the lamps but apparently he charges a lot. Tina and I hung out in the hot tub and I jumped in the pool off the swing and it was really an amazing end to the evening. I quite love the random things that happen in my life and the random people I meet. And I love California - for some reason I feel like my life here is singularly awesome. I love jumping from a hot tub to a cold swimming pool. And ending up at a house that is decorated by a self-employed genius artist. And being able to talk about anything with almost anyone you meet, and meeting new people all the time who are interesting and interested.
Now, to read Harry Potter, attempt to clean my room, find myself breakfast, and then to later on barbecue and drink margaritas ("fresh margs" as Kirsten Cohen would say) on my friend Julia's front lawn, provided the two of us can figure out how to get the grill started.
Friday, June 29, 2007
Life, love and the pursuit of San Francisco
So!
I am moving. My roommate Kelly is moving to San Diego for grad school (PhD, neurology, scary) and I decided I wanted to be closer to my new love in life, San Francisco. Seriously, I'm not kidding when I say that I'm in love with that city. I'm actually sort of obsessed with it, and the idea of living there is still kind of feeling too good to be true. I know there are the annoying city things but seriously, spend one full weekend there and tell me you don't love it.
Dan and I found a place in the Mission that is pretty much perfect. The apartment is small and quirky, in that Victorian San Francisco way, and the street it's on is adorable. All the trees have decorations on them and apparently they have block parties. And you know your neighbors. After two years in an apartment where the most vivid memory of my neighbors was the time the fire alarm went off at 6am, I really can't wait to get to a street/neighborhood that feels like a community. We have a little backyard and a little "front yard" which is more like a concrete square with a fence around it, but we're going to pot some plants and herbs and put them there where they will get the (admittedly so-not-daily) sunshine. It's a three bedroom, so in theory Dan's current roommate Sarah is going to move with us as well (somewhat unconfirmed at the moment). I am so very excited for this!
Here's my new street:
And my house is this one on the right, the bottom floor:
I am moving. My roommate Kelly is moving to San Diego for grad school (PhD, neurology, scary) and I decided I wanted to be closer to my new love in life, San Francisco. Seriously, I'm not kidding when I say that I'm in love with that city. I'm actually sort of obsessed with it, and the idea of living there is still kind of feeling too good to be true. I know there are the annoying city things but seriously, spend one full weekend there and tell me you don't love it.
Dan and I found a place in the Mission that is pretty much perfect. The apartment is small and quirky, in that Victorian San Francisco way, and the street it's on is adorable. All the trees have decorations on them and apparently they have block parties. And you know your neighbors. After two years in an apartment where the most vivid memory of my neighbors was the time the fire alarm went off at 6am, I really can't wait to get to a street/neighborhood that feels like a community. We have a little backyard and a little "front yard" which is more like a concrete square with a fence around it, but we're going to pot some plants and herbs and put them there where they will get the (admittedly so-not-daily) sunshine. It's a three bedroom, so in theory Dan's current roommate Sarah is going to move with us as well (somewhat unconfirmed at the moment). I am so very excited for this!
Here's my new street:
And my house is this one on the right, the bottom floor:
Saturday, June 09, 2007
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