They Got Machines That Momma I Can't Figure

Although the future may be filled with possibilities, today has been a brick wall.

Old Moon Fades Into The New

So today, I had lunch with someone leaving Biglaw;
found out that two folks at my prior Biglaw quit;
saw the first girl I ever fell for in a Biglaw cross the Avenue of the Stars bridge (given that she originally worked up in SF when I worked in SV and we're now in LA, that's a weird co-inkidink -oh, and she's a lesbian);
found out that LA Chick is single again.

Destiny (Photek Remix)

Remixes are tough. On the one hand, you want to make the song sound fresh and new. The best remixes remind you of why you loved the song in the first place - taking the smooth vocals from a song as warm as a down comforter and a glass of wine on a November day, placing them with a deep base and dark beats so it's now sexy and sultry as that leggy brunette in that black strapless number giving you the eye in the club. Same vocals, different but equally deep reactions. On the other hand, you don't want to make the song wholly unrecognizable, or even worse, a parody of the original (c'mon, who needs to hear Bryan Adams via a fifteen year old chick with a nasal problem at 200 bpms?)

Anyway, I'm still glad that I moved back down to L.A. My friends are all great. But my life has become, well, stagnant. I'm not going out. The in-folks at SmallLaw have decided I'm not part of the Scooby Gang and have pulled the "Let's not tell Marty Stark about any goings on." Call me Rudolph.

What I need is my life remixed.

Waiting For My Real Life To Begin

I found out that the BigLaw I interviewed with about a month ago just lost two major rainmaking partners. (Yeah, I see that dangling participle there, but you're not gonna be findin' this homeboy saying "with whom I interviewed" on the weekend - what, you wanna cap in yo ass?) Things aren't looking too good for that BigLaw. In fact, there's an unofficial deathwatch on the Greedy Associates board. Yup, a very Keanu Reeves dodging the bullets in slo-mo sitch.

As much as I'm grateful for whatever karmic influence got me dinged from that BigLaw, I'm getting a bit tired of this life as a cautionary tale mode.

They Fly Over The Blue

I spent the last five days back in Jersey visiting the folks. Sis and my brother-in-law flew in from Chicago, so the whole immediate Stark Clan was home. (Sis is a second-year OB/GYN resident, and my brother-in-law is a fellow lawyer). What I remember the most wasn't the dinner at Morimoto's in Philadelphia (great neo-lounge ambiance, excellent selection of background music, meh food) or just chillin' wid da fam, but rather a photo album.

My sister and I used to rifle through photo albums everytime we went home to remind ourselves what we were like before we had jobs and bills and workaday "issues." Sweet little pictures of Asian tykes, running on stubby legs through yards or smiles with chubby cheeks on a goddawful striped couch. Sis found a photo album neither of us had seen before - the closest American analogy would be a wedding album (my folks met through a half-traditional arranged marriage / half-hip dating service thing, so the album including photos of the first setup). You could tell it was "professionally" arranged because all the photos were of cheezy poses, and the first page had heart-shaped stickers with syrupy sayings like "I Love You" and "Will You Marry Me."

Surprisingly, I don't have anything cynical or snarky to say about the album. In fact, in a weird way, it made me feel better about myself. The photos showed my parents when they were 28 (dad) and 27 (mom). Dad was a very sharp looker and mom was a dish, which was quite a shock for me. All I saw of my parents growing up were two beaten down folks not knowing what to make of America or their strange kids who didn't follow the way they grew up. Most of my life was trying not to be like them. My parents are now happy in the wane of their professional life - dad has taken up golf and mom exercises - a sporty Asian Ward and June Cleaver. Bitter and frustrated or content and harmless, but never as folks my age.

Seeing the photos showed me that they weren't bad folks, or unattractive folks. Something in me clicked -- that with the bad traits I inherited from them there might be good traits. OK, so I don't forgive them through all the guilt-trips and ego-burn outs they put me through growing up, but I think I hate myself a little less than I did before, and that isn't a bad thing.