high school friends

I had dinner with Kristina tonight. We went to Santana Row, and she saw Dena Wang working in a restaurant and I spotted a girl I knew in elementary school. Why I bother to mention that may or may not become clear as I go on. Afterwards we drove through downtown San Jose--and Kristina was driving! After all those times I drove us to dances--what a role reversal. It was nicely strange to be taking in familiar sights in an unfamiliar setting. Talking about college, careers and jobs (and reality television and cheesy movies) with my high school friends has been so easy and natural to do, and I think it's not because our friendships have remained the same but because they've evolved in a way that complements the changes in our individual lives. In high school we became friends because of the things we had in common, which is always true in high school but even more so at a small one like Notre Dame. We were in all the same classes, we liked doing the same things, we enjoyed similar conversations (and we all knew Richard--though who didn't?). I felt lucky to have found a group of people whose qualities and interests aligned with mine. Now I'm amazed at how diverse we are. From a small group of people comes such a wide range of paths and ambitions--architecture, marine biology, psychology, academia, medicine, art/graphic design, law. It's a lot like driving together by the Tech Museum, Il Fornaio, the art museum, Notre Dame, and Johnny Rocket's in downtown--things we all still remember and appreciate--but now with Kristina in the driver's seat and me in the passenger's. The things that brought us together in the first place persist, but we're not in the same places anymore. It's nice to be able to feel that there is a still core experience that we share, and that the fact that this experience occurs in different locations and contexts for each person doesn't detract from our friendships but makes them stronger.

And to know that I can always count on Kristina to make me weepy and corny, when I'm not already.

nothing, really

I like finding intimate details about the real people behind fictional characters. Not necessarily the actual people who play the characters, and not intimate details of the tabloid variety. For example, Mike Newell must really love the song Love is All Around, because he uses it in Love, Actually and Four Weddings and a Funeral. The writers of Friends must have some kind of attachment to The Velveteen Rabbit and lilies. Chandler's girlfriend Kathy loved the book, and a few seasons later it's his favorite book and Monica has him dress up as the velveteen rabbit for Halloween. Phoebe's mother's name is Lily; at one point she wants to get a tattoo of a lily for that reason, and it's Rachel's favorite flower. Director Neil Jordan and actor Stephen Rea may not have a high profile Q & U relationship, but they must share the same mutual respect and talent because they did two great movies together, The Crying Game and the End of the Affair. Such are the wonderfully useless observations that leave little room for so-called matters of consequence.

father's day

father's day

The Godfather Part II was on television yesterday, and I watched the last hour with my dad, which is so odd because an incident occurred on Father's Day that reminded me of the movie. This led to a chain of memories, traversing through last Christmas, our family photograph adventure, my brother, and this picture of my dad and Al Pacino. The connections, both natural and self-created, have occupied my thoughts for the past week. My brothers and I got this poster for my youngest brother for Christmas because he mistakenly believes that Scarface is the best gangster movie (and the second best Pacino movie; he wasn't ashamed to admit that Scent of a Woman was his number one). I like this picture because of the parallel between Tony Montana and my dad. My dad's nothing like him, and our family is not affiliated with the mafia. But it's like playing six degrees of separation with the characters Pacino has played. Tony Montana reminds me of Michael Corleone, which then reminds me of the conversation my family had likening ourselves to the Corleone family. I took this picture during Christmas, which is also when we went to take our first family photograph in which every member was present. It was amidst the attempts to coordinate seven (at least somewhat genuine) smiles that we had this discussion. Obviously, my dad had to be Vito, the original head of the family, my mom was...the mother, and being the only girl I was relegated to the least interesting character of the sister, Connie. No one wanted to be dim-witted (but lovable, I feel) Fredo; everyone wanted to be cool-headed Michael even though I insisted that they were all different versions of hot-tempered Sonny. I love the memory of this argument because it is one of the few we've had in pure jest and fun, and because besides Christmas presents and the Lakers, the Godfather is the only interest my family shares.

But one of the things I love about the films are how honestly and accurately they show that a strong familial structure can actually contribute to barriers between the individuals in the family. When the family as a unit protects itself from everything else, it seems that all that's left to fight is itself. Not that my family is immune to whatever "everything else" may be, but sometimes our dynamic is so reminiscent of the way the movie depicts family--stronger in concept than in practice. As for how this relates to what happened on Father's Day, I was ready to write this after the incident, when I was still angry about it. It is harder, but probably better, to write now because I'm less angry and more hurt. So, my parents, my brother and I drove to San Francisco for dinner. The fight between my brother and me began over air conditioning. As usual, this exploded into larger issues, issues that I've never been naive enough to think were resolved but I did think they were at the very least forgiven. I was sitting in the back seat, he was driving. He was wearing a coat and blasting the air conditioner, so I asked him to turn it down. He told me to put on my jacket. I told him to take off his jacket, which he understandably felt was an unreasonable request since he was driving. But it was just so typical of him to wear a winter coat during a California summer and then to expect me to accommodate his thoughtlessness. Somehow this made him so angry that he turned a fight about air conditioning into a tirade on how I always get what I want (all the while it was still freezing). The least profane but most hurtful thing he called me was a selfish, spoiled brat. I've been called spoiled all my life, mostly as a joke when people discover that I'm the youngest and only girl in a family of five kids and often as a real accusation during arguments like this one. It bothers me because I see two interpretations of the word and most people only see one. There's a difference between being given a lot and expecting to be given a lot without reciprocation, without cause, or without awareness of what's being given. In some ways the former is true about me. The support, friendship and company that my other brothers have given me are not things everyone is lucky enough to have. But I hope that I've grown to deserve all of that and that I provide the same things rather than just blindly accepting them. And to be fair to my family, they have always known the importance of being well-grounded even during the rare opportunities to betray that virtue. So I can honestly say that the double faults involved in being spoiled--the one on the part of the people who perpetuate the act and the other on the part of the person being spoiled--are, for the most part, lacking. Still--deep down, I can understand why he resents that he didn't receive the same, and I can't claim to know exactly how it would feel if I hadn't been raised this way and how I would then act towards a sibling who had been.

As far as hurtful adjectives go, spoiled is only second to selfish. For awhile I was just in shock that he could so easily call me that. Not because I'm selfless; I'm as far from that as anyone. But he's the one who made me so afraid of being a selfish person in the first place. All this time I've been thinking that I was a horrible sister because I couldn't forgive him enough to build a strong relationship with him. But really, he doesn't think he needs my forgiveness or that there's anything to forgive; he thinks it's the other way around, that there's something I should apologize for. Even if he's right to some degree (not about his lack of fault but about the presence of mine), I still feel that so much of his anger is unfairly misplaced upon me. Though, as I'm writing this, I realize--people naturally want to associate emotions with concrete people, incidents or situations, if only to make them a bit easier to understand, a bit easier to cope with, a bit easier to express. I can empathize with that, and this was never intended to be a complaint or an accusation though it might resemble one or the other.

Yesterday I told Audrey I'd gotten into a big fight with my brother; she asked me what it was about. When I replied, "Air conditioning," we both cracked up. Somehow just talking about it in passing put it in better pespective, and I'm past it now. I also think that when arguments arise past resentments will always resurface, and maybe I shouldn't take that as a sign that they still persist. After all, I do feel that we've come to appreciate each other more as siblings; it will just be a long way before we can understand each other as different people.

life soundtrack

Kim: Joni Mitchell

1. are you male or female: woman of heart and mind
is it all books and words/or do you really feel it

2. describe yourself: blue
blue, here is a shell for you/inside you’ll hear a sigh/a foggy lullaby

3. how do some people feel about you: fiction
elusive dreams and vague desires

4. how do you feel about yourself: straw-flower me
could you love a blue straw-flower/with no mystic magic power

5. describe what you want to be: cold blue steel and sweet fire
sparks fly up from sweet fire

6. describe how you live: both sides now
moons and junes and ferris wheels/the dizzy dancing way you feel/as every fairy tale comes real

7. describe how you love: a case of you
you taste so bitter and you taste so sweet/i could drink a case of you/still i'd be on my feet

8. share a few words of wisdom: talk to me
any old theme you choose/just come and talk to me/you could talk like a fool--i'd listen

the arrival of summer

I've been in California for a week now. I came back late last Friday night, spent the weekend with my friends, and started work on Monday so I haven't had a chance to get really settled until now. It already seems like I've been here for months. Nothing ever changes in Fremont, except for the occasional new restaurant or video rental store. I still remember the drama of the video/liquor store half a mile from my house struggling against the new Blockbuster around the corner. My brother and I miss that little place so much. For a store that sold beer as well as rented videos, it had some really good little-known movies. That's where we got "Oscar and Lucinda" for the first and only time. As indicated by numerous neon colored fliers around the store, it was "open until midnight--365 days a year!!" This personally attached me to it all the more; it was comforting and sad at the same time--on the one hand because we could come there late Christmas Eve to get un-Christmas-like movies like the Godfather, and on the other hand because, well, we could come there late Christmas Eve to get the Godfather. At that time my parents still had their store, and though my dad usually did come home by eight or so on Christmas Eve, the video/liquor store reminded me of his tired, workaholic ways. What I've been getting at is that when I think about changes in Fremont, that's what I think about--the closing down of a family run video/liquor store.

Speaking of deceptively inconsequential changes, Au Bon Pain doesn't sell the Thai chicken sandwich anymore!! That was practically the only thing there I was willing to shell out five dollars for. It's what I ate the first time I went there; it's what I ate that time Amy and I spent the day in the library, mealtimes included. Well, with this coupled with the fact that I'm not on the East Coast anymore, at least I won't be tempted by the convenience of buying expensive pseudo-Asian food at a pseudo-French cafe.

This also seems like ages ago, but the DC-NYC trip with my parents and Duy was wonderful. It was a strangely patriotic trip, for many reasons. I only say this is strange because I wouldn't consider myself very patriotic or the extreme opposite either. It's not even about America; I suppose it's more about the artificiality of grouping people into countries in the first place. Anyway, so many things have happened (most notably, I've grown older) since my first DC-NYC trip five years ago. I've always loved DC's Vietnam Memorial; it's so simple and touching. This time around, it was even more so because it was Memorial Weekend; the crowd of veterans, tourists and locals in tears was amazing. It made me wonder what incited my own response besides the natural sadness of lives lost. After all, it's a monument to something most of the people there lament but also something to which my family is indebted.

Then we went to the Arlington National Cemetary and saw the Eternal Flame for the first time. Down the steps from where Robert Kennedy lies, I saw Tom Hanks! I actually first looked at him not because I thought he was a celebrity but because he was dressed up in a nice suit. In sunglasses and outside the context of other celebrities, he looked so "normal" that it took me awhile to recognize him.

After DC we took road trips to Philadelphia and Atlantic City. Duy then went back to Boston and I went to New York City with my parents. I love that city so much. It reminds me a lot of Montmartre, obviously not because it looks anything like it, but both cities provoke a similar feeling. I remember I loved Montmartre because we visited the really elegant Sacre Coeur and the Place du Tertre with all the French artists painting outdoors, and then we walked just a couple of blocks to get to the red light district and Moulin Rouge. How many places exist where you can find things so completely different but so equally beautiful right next to each other?

NYC was also patriotic. The first time I visited it I went to top of the World Trade Center, and this time we saw Ground Zero. The thing that struck me most was that there weren't many elaborate memorials around the actual area; on the fences surrounding it there were names of people, pictures and things like that, but nothing substantial. This made the emptiness of the place all the more noticeable. Right afterwards, we went to the Statue of Liberty which I've never visited (I've only seen it from afar--from the top of the Twin Towers, actually), and I don't think it could have possibly been more poignant than at that certain time and in that certain context. I like to think I'm immune to these things but I'm such a sap, most of the time.

After that, I took the Chinatown bus back to Boston and then flew from Boston to home. The summer has started with some really good books and movies. On the way to and during DC, I finally read "The Da Vinci Code" (which Melkis got for me for my birthday). It lived up to its reputation as a page-turner, and I loved the descriptions of all the art and Paris. Honestly, I don't have anything new to say about it so I'll stop there. In NYC and on the way back to home, I read "Winesburg, Ohio" by Sherwood Anderson (which I gave to myself for my birthday). I've wanted to read it for a long time now but somehow I kept managing to put other books before it. I think the main reason I put it first this time is because the copy I found had a picture of Wyeth's "Christina's World" on the cover--the painting that Steph bought a poster of freshman year and the one we always argued about because she thought it was really depressing and I thought it didn't necessarily have to be. I think our different interpretations would apply to the book itself, which is now one of my all time favorite books. I'm also glad I read it at this particular time because I don't think it would have meant as much at another time. Bill Murray said that the conversation Bob and Charlotte have during the bed scene in "Lost in Translation" is the moment when the viewer realizes he likes the movie. I enjoyed "Winesburg, Ohio" from the beginning but I can pinpoint the exact line I was reading when I realized I loved the book: "Deep within her there was something that would not be cheated by fantasies and demanded some definite answer from life." Can anything better describe my own outlook right now? I think I was talking about this with Sarah--about how we admire and envy at the same time the ability of writers to articulate exactly what we're feeling and can't ourselves express. Also on the way home and then at home, I read "Flaubert's Parrot" by Julian Barnes, a book I bought because we were supposed to read it for 20th-century Fiction but then didn't. Yesterday I finished the "Jane Austen Book Club" by Karen Joy Fowler (which Victoria got for me for my birthday). I'm going to sound like the book's back cover, but honestly, for anyone who's read all of Austen's books and is looking for something reminiscent but also entirely different, it's a good choice. Each chapter deals with a particular book club member and the Austen novel that the club is currently discussing, and it's fun to see how the plot of the Austen book replays itself, with new twists, in the lives of the characters.

Sarah and I have started our weekly movies. Our first was "Slaughter Rule," which I think Sarah chose because Ryan Gosling is in it. It has some good moments but overall a little inaccessible to both of us, although I think that might be the point. Anyway, I wanted to mention it because I wanted to say again that Ryan Gosling is the most beautiful, most talented, smartest young actor I've seen. Which is why we're going to see "The Notebook" despite that it's based on a Nicholas Sparks novel. I can't say enough about how much we love him, but I doubt anyone wants to hear it. So our second movie was "All About My Mother," which was amazing. It fulfilled the high expectations I had for "Talk to Her" which I didn't enjoy nearly as much. It's described as a "screwball drama." That it requires a new genre just goes to show how incredibly unique everything about it is--plot, character, writing, cinematography; everything was so good. Looking ahead--I don't usually look forward to any summer movies since, more often that not, they're not very good. But there are some this year I'm excited about--Ocean's Twelve, Before Sunset, and Bridget Jones's Diary 2 (although, I'm not sure, is that coming out this summer or later?).

I'll write about work next time, as this is long enough, and I also haven't started at City Lights yet so I'll wait for that to report on both jobs. For everyone who's reading this who's not in or near Fremont (most of you), I hope you're having a good time and I miss you.