Adventures of The Yellow Peril

STARTING UP AGAIN

After having a really raucous laugh last night with some 1L friends and a prospective student, I'm back...kind of. 

Here are some photos of my trip last month to London and Paris.  I had an unfortunate incident in a Louis Vuitton store, the trauma of which continues to haunt me.  If you're a "Sex and the City" fan, it's in the vein of when Carrie fell in Dior.  Anyway, here goes:

The miso black cod at Nobu.  If Helen had the face that could sink ships, this cod has the taste that people should marry.

This is the sis and me at St. John's formal hall dinner.  The dinner itself was probably one of the most heinous meals I've ever eaten -- a mackerel covered in what I can only be led to believe is the English answer to puttanesca sauce.  Afterwards, I wandered the lawns of St. John's searching in vain for a bathroom to vomit in and ended up instead at a bar insulting my sister's Dutch friend.  There's only two things I hate in this world; the first is people who are intolerant of other cultures ... and the Dutch.

This is a photo of everything that's wrong with England.  The top right corner is part of a variety pack of cheeses I purchased at the Sainsbury's in Cambridge, which was fine, except that one of the cheeses was named "Chuckles."  Now, I'm no dairy farmer, but I'm pretty sure that if, when naming your cheese, the best you can come up with is a type of laughter, something's missing from your cheese.  The Rennies and Gaviscon are England's answer to Pepcid AC and Rolaids.  Believe me, after three days in the Queen's land, I needed it.  In terms of food, England...how do I say it?  Oh yes.  Sucks.

This is the first waiter we had in Paris.  He had a great ass.  I tried to get a better photo for about 20 minutes, but this is the best I could do.  It helped that his jeans were ridiculously tight and Euro-trashy. 

Vive le France!  This protest wasn't part of the ones everyone has been talking about with the employment laws (although we did see those later -- yay bonfire!).  These particular French people are really, really pissed off that the physical education classes in schools are not of a higher quality and greater variety.  The irony in this situation is, by marching angrily through the streets, aren't you essentially just going on a really long walk?  Through Paris, the architectural capitol of the world?  Now I don't know about you, but that sounds like quality physical education to me.

Oh, Hugue, we hardly knew ye.  This is a photo taken at Fauchon, a gourmet food store in Paris, which is pretty much like my mecca.  Hugue was the sommelier there, and he took us on a fantastical journey vis-a-vis the wines in France.  Instead of touring the Louvre, I spent a second day with Hugue.  Instead of becoming a lawyer, I'd be happy to move to France and become Hugue's expatriat love interest.

We met up with my English friend AC for a few days, and this photo was taken at Ice Bar, which was easily one of the coolest places we went.  Get it?  The joke I just made there, with the ice, and the "cool" reference?  I'm funny.

PS - We didn't get to keep the parkas. 

This picture was taken at the end of my trip, right after I realized that my digital camera had a swivel display that lets you take pictures of yourself without the guesswork.  We're giggling because we'd been using guesswork all week to take pictures of ourselves at basically every major tourist attraction in Paris.

Reunion!  The English UT'ers, another 3L, and me.  Notice how TP (the only dude) is wearing a sweatshirt that has embroidered "Ho ho ho"s all over it.  I complimented him on his festive yet completely out of season attire.  He paused, looked down, and said, "Oh shit.  Am I wearing a Christmas jumper?"

Yes, Tom, yes.  Unless somewhere there's a green and white sweatshirt with the word "bitches" tattooed all over it, I'm pretty sure the sweatshirt's referring to the noise Santa makes when he rides his sleigh.

ANALYZING MY STRIDE

I'm off to London and Paris for the week. 

When I return, expect much photo uploading.  Topics will probably be limited to:

- What I ate

- Who I saw

- Why it's funny

See ya.

LONDON, BABY!

I know, I know, I'm way overdue and I should've gone last semester, but the flight's been booked and we're going to France also to drive through the countryside.

March 10-19.  If you're in the area, give us a holla. 

BACK IN AUSTIN...FINALLY

Ugh.  Let me tell you about my day.

I woke up 7:00 AM this morning to catch a flight back to Austin.  Actually, make that two flights, because for some reason I had to connect in Atlanta AND Dallas today.  Apparently, the airline industry and the good people of South Carolina do not believe in making it easy for you to leave.  While I agree with this sentiment, I think it's cumbersome for commerce and, more generally, the 21st century.

I have the usual gripes about flying -- fat man sitting next to me incited both sympathy and anger, the plane air is stale and smells like the inside of a wet box, etc.  Once I boarded my plane to Dallas, however, my trip began the first of a series of missteps that is fitting only for the awkward struggle that I am.

First of all, my IPod froze while playing a song.  I fiddled with it for a good hour, trying to get it to skip to the next song, to turn off, to do ANYTHING except remain permanently in the "on" position with the backlight on.  I say this because I had fallen asleep to Nada Surf's rendition of "If You Leave," and I really didn't like the idea that my unhealthy obsession with alt-rock remakes from "The O.C." be broadcast while I furiously banged my IPod against the seatback in front of me.

Once I got to Dallas, however, things got worse.  I got in line at Au Bon Pain because my dad had made me this amazing oyster omelet with tomatillo sauce, and I needed a paper plate because, as uncouth as I have been in the New Year, I wasn't about to eat this delectable lunch out of a ziploc bag.  While I'm in line, this dude behind me taps me on the shoulder and says, "I absolutely LOVE the Arizona Chicken Sandwich.  I get it every time I come through here, which is like 3 or 4 times a week.  Are you from around here?  Because I'd get that sandwich for you if you were."

This little stunner of a speech presents me with two dilemmas: 1) I really want to eat my omelet, so I'm going to have to indirectly turn this guy down; and 2) I'm not from here, but I could lie and get a free sandwich out of it. 

For once, I took the moral high ground and politely refused his offer of a stale sandwich from a tired, faux-French airport chain.  I mean, let's get serious.  I'm not here to make a love connection.  I just want a damn paper plate so I can eat my oyster omelet with tomatillo sauce.

Afterwards, while in the waiting area in front of the gate, I call T to discuss the following topics, in no particular order: 1) SBA; 2) my dad; 3) why certain people are insane and others are not; 4) photos of the boys on 6th Street after the National Championship win last week.  I'm laughing joyously at describing the photos I saw when this guy sitting a row in front of me with his back to me leans backwards over the seat so that his face is upside-down.

And he starts yelling at me.

I mean, we're not talking about a few unpleasantries exchanged between strangers.  What this man did was unleash probably 27 years of pent-up rage about society, technological advancements, and women.  Somewhere along the road of life, this man hit a pothole, and it pissed him off bad.

"NO ONE WANTS TO BE A PART OF YOUR CONVERSATION!  WHY ARE YOU SO F***ING LOUD!  GET OVER YOURSELF!  I DON'T CARE ABOUT YOUR FRIENDS!"

At least, I think this is what he said.  The guy looked exactly like a teeny tiny version of Billy Corgan, so I just started laughing my ass off.  While staring and laughing, I said to T, "Hey, T, sorry to interrupt, but this guy in front of me is YELLING HIS HEAD OFF AT ME!" 

"I'M NOT YELLING AT YOU, I'M JUST SICK OF BEING A PART OF YOUR F***ING CONVERSATION!" yelled the Billy Corgan/Luddite/teeny man.

I stayed on the phone for another 5 minutes or so just to piss him off, figuring we were about to get on the plane.  Unfortunately, we weren't, so I was stuck staring at the angry man's head for the next 3 hours while our plane decided it had a technical malfunction of some kind.  How ironic.

Anyway, in addition to the delay, I missed my first training session for the 10K J & I are running together in March.  I'm okay, though -- he's coming by to get me soon so's we can eat at Eddie V's.  In the meantime, I'm heading to the shower so that I can wash this day off.  It sucked, in case you're wondering.

CHICAGO, BABY!

I spent last weekend in Chicago for the ABA's annual conference, a shindig that pretty much amounts to three days of Embracing Your Inner Geek -- and Maybe Your Bluebook, Too.  Some highlights:

- Chicago deep dish pizza.  My exact quote as I ate my first-ever slice of real Giordano's pizza was, "I want to take this sauce, smear it all over my face, and lick it off nice and slow." 

- Free stuff.  Who said celebrities are the only ones who get great loot?  I don't know about you, but this girl's not running out of highlighters or cheap ballpoint pens anytime soon.  Plus, I got two light-up bouncy balls and one manicure kit, and no, I will not share with you.

- Beautiful filet mignon.  Chicago.  A good glass of red wine.  Enough said.

My favorite part of the weekend, though, has to do with the free stuff.  After filling my tote bag chock full of crap, I went to a session called "The Supreme Court in Review," which was basically a panel of lawyers talking about significant cases from the last term.  I sat down in the front row, right next to this really nice lady, and I started chatting with her and showing her all my free stuff. 

"You should really go to the expo," I said to her.  "You're missing out on some great freebies!"

She smiled politely and turned back to chatting with her friend.  Then I looked up at the panel, and saw that Kenneth Starr was one of the panelists. 

In the same sense that seeing O.J. Simpson in public, I had mixed feelings about seeing Mr. Starr.  Still, I nudged DC, who was sitting on my other side.

"LOOK UP THERE -- IT'S KENNETH STARR!"  I whispered loudly.  I repeated myself to CG, who was sitting on the other side of DC, two seats away from me.  So basically, I was louder the second time.

Then the moderator spoke up, introducing everyone on the panel.  When he got to Kenneth Starr, he mentioned his many accomplishments -- but not his role in the Clinton impeachment proceedings, notably -- and then said, "And I especially would like to welcome his wife, who has graciously joined us for today's session."

And then he pointed to me.  Actually, next to me.

I'd been talking to Ken Starr's wife about looting the ABA.

Sweeet.

IF ONLY EVERYONE WERE THIS EASY

Today is my friend Mambo's birthday.  He's traveling somewhere in Africa right now, and has been for quite a while.  When I e-mailed him to wish him a happy birthday, all he wanted from me was a shout-out on my blog.

So here it is.  I know you've had 3 birthdays since this photo was taken, but it was a good one, wasn't it?

AND WE'RE THERE YET...FINALLY

Three days. 

Less than 15 hours of sleep -- total.

One VW Jetta.

Two Asians -- related, father-daughter.

1600+ miles.

Two barbecue restaurants.

The Clinton Presidential Library.

One younger sister, graduating from college.

The other younger sister, needing non-lesbian, steel-toed work boots.

Oxymoron.

Three Australians, one German named Ziggy, his wife, and their son (my dear friend).

Three hours of great conversation, reminiscing about backpacking through China, especially about the prostitute in Xi'an.

The Grove Park Inn in Asheville.

One 8-hour discussion with dad about why we're better than they are at ____.

One great quote: "This hotel sucks, because it's downtown, and it's old.  People your age stay in hotels like this.  I know what you people do in these places.  You get drunk, and then you puke all over the place, and you...you...poop on the carpet.  That's why it stinks like shit in here."  Spoken by my dad.

One late-night, 5-hour car ride with my sister, talking about the past four years and speculating about 4 more...

...and I'm spent.

TRAVEL BUG

Generally speaking, I don't really have that same itch to travel anymore.  I think it's probably because I was fortunate to go to so many cool places in college.  Today is one of those days I'm really feeling like I should really strap my backpack on and take off, though, especially because I have less than 4 hours left until my paper is due.

Also, I've been chatting with this guy that I mentored while he was in high school who is now a senior in college and traveling the world.  Check out his blog; while I've been bemoaning about which law firm to sell out to, he's been in the middle of something totally amazing. 

Well, at this point, given how little sleep I've had and how long I've been locked in my house writing this paper, eating lunch seems like something totally amazing.  I guess it's all a matter of perspective.

PS - Do I get extra points on my paper if I correct all of my footnotes while pantsless?

GOLDEN JUBILEE REDUX

DC people -- I just booked my plane ticket on the Southeast's new discount airline, flyi. Seeing as this ticket was as cheap as your mother, I'm assuming that I will also have to bring my own seat belt (fashioned from good ol'fashioned nylon rope) and assist with the in-flight beverage service ("No, lady, there ain't no soda on this plane, just tepid tap water. Take it or leave it.")

So, barring any major beverage disasters, I'll be in DC from July 3-7. For the London people now living in DC, I was thinking we should relive our glory days of the Golden Jubilee challenge back in 2002 and commemorate my visit with the Ronald Reagan National Drink-Off. In honor of this graceful and gallant man's death, I think we should have to drink one alcoholic beverage for every year he was alive.

93 beverages. 4 days. And all in the honor of a very, very conservative man.

Who's in?

RELAUNCH

My friend Mambo is re-starting a blog. He's leaving for Zambia in August to work with a nonprofit that promotes AIDS education to young people through sports. I've prodded him to start a blog on his work there, mainly because I want to keep tabs on the kid and make sure he's not overthrowing the government or anything. Of course, I'm also ridiculously happy for him for getting such an awesome job.

Anyway, after suggesting many blog names (including "playsports-don'tgetAIDS.blogspot.com"), he finally accepted one of my ideas. Check out his new blog at:

http://www.playahatin.blogspot.com

I'm really not sure how much it's going to have to do with the AIDS epidemic in Africa and more with just hatin' the playas, but hey, you do what you gotta do.