We Don't Need No Education

Crap. Two nights in a row that I've dreamt I'm back in college. Crap.

Chemicals Captured In A Winter's Grip

The body likes stasis. Throw too much of one thing at it, the body will compensate by producing that thing less. That's how addiction starts -- the drug makes the body produce too much of one thing way too fast. When the drug is gone, the body will react by producing much less. It takes more and more of the drug to compensate. The body in return starts producing less and less.

So last week I was feeling good finally. I'm sure the serotonin and endorphin levels were way up high. My body isn't used to that, so it probably started producing less and less serotonin and endorphin to compensate. I'm beginning to feel like I'm back in the negative loop. I'm trying hard to stop it. You don't become a marathon runner by sprinting a few laps.

I can't care about what's happening with a Certain Someone.

Inertia Creeps

I had a rather disturbing dream last night. I was walking along a wilderness trail with a group of people, just hitting the section at the middle of a mountain, when I ran into the popular section of the trail. For some reason, people hiking with dogs chose this particular spot as the shitting area for their pets. This really pissed me off because they never cleaned up the area. The area was literally full of shit -- chunky shit, runny shit. I was doing my best to avoid getting feces all over my khakis. Some poor park ranger had to pick up the shit with his hands (though, lucky for him, his hands were covered with plastic bags). I got some splatter on my khakis, which further pissed me off.

Eventually, I got to the commercial area of the trail. It was basically an outdoor mall in the middle of the wilderness. The group I was with got hungry, so we hit a burger joint. It was starting to get dark. We decided to get a table outside. The busboys had not cleared everything yet, so there were plates with leftovers - fries, a half eaten chicken - still on the table. One guy started eating the leftovers. I was disgusted. Geez, couldn't the guy wait until a menu was brought? Then my cell phone rang. My dad called to tell me that they were planning on staying at camp for four more days. I was uber pissed now. I only came on the trip because my folks told me they were staying for the weekend, and they knew that I had to be somewhere in four days. Then I woke up.

Sound and fury meaning nothing? Maybe not.

Today was a bit of a backslide. Maybe it's the weather. Maybe it's the fatigue. Maybe it's a little bit of A, a little bit of B. A bit of jealousy. A bit of anger. There's a part of me that still cares what a Certain Someone thinks. And a larger part of me that's still angry as hell. So what does this have to do with the dream?

One theory holds that every person you see in a dream is part of you. So, the guy eating the leftovers? That's me still dwelling on the past. What are leftovers but stuff left behind? I'm pissed off that I'm still caring about what everyone at the office thinks of me. All the shit? Well, I'm not the only person with issues in the office, and I'm letting that affect me as well. I guess I need to keep on moving.

Today Is Whatever I Want It To Be

Obviously, I'm not conducting a purely scientific experiment based on the most current, rigourous lab protocols. That would entail daily reports of findings written contemporaneous with results as they occur. Each entry would have to be signed off by at least two witnesses. However, I never could stand lab work (hate the smell of butane and burning plastic), and I don't think I need two folks saying, "Yup, Marty seems to be happier." Anyway, much like a pitcher doesn't need to know the calculus for the trajectory of a ball to throw a no-hitter, I don't need to measure my serotonin levels to know that I'm feeling better.

Signal to Noise (Redux)

I see LA Chick and I find out I have an interview lined up at MidLaw on the same day. Hmmmmm.

There She Was Just A Walkin' Down the Street

It was bound to happen sometime. I saw LA Chick over at Century City. No, my little heart didn't go pitter pat, though she has a great figure. At most, I felt the surprise of recognition. Is there a lesson here? That time heals all wounds? That this whole experience may be a byproduct of the experiment? That there is no lesson?

But I Feel Good, But I Feel Fine

Feeling better about things, though I'm not sure if it's a result of the experiment or if it's me doing the fortress of solitude thing today.

All the World Come and Satisfy Me

For the next month, we'll be conducting an experiment. A little bit of chaos magick. A little bit of music therapy. If it works, I won't be me.

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.

When You Work It Out I'm Worse Than You

I had another flash that my faith in karma might not be misplaced. Golden Boy/Scumbag Associate blew a deadline. Blew it big. Now there are certain deadlines that a court can waive - you file a 473 motion saying mea culpa, I screwed up. The court goes tsk tsk, but since judges were once first year associates as well, the court lets it go, you file your motion/brief/legal thingy late and get told don't do it again. In fact, most deadlines are like that.

Then there are jurisdictional deadlines which the court has absolutely NO discretion to waive. Why are they called jurisdictional deadlines? Because before that date, the court has jurisdiction to hear the matter. After that date, it doesn't. If the court doesn't have jurisdiction, well, it can't hear your plea to waive the deadline, can it?

Golden Boy/Scumbag Associate comes into my office around noon-ish looking all panicked and says, "Hey Marty, I need your help to figure out if I committed malpractice." Without breaking any work product confidentiality, the bottom line is that a jurisdictional deadline passed. Had he been practicing 5 years, he probably would've realized this, but he been working as an associate for 3 months (and officially as a lawyer for 1 month). OK, that's the understanding the "but for the grace of God go I" part of me has. The "when I was a first year associate" part of me, however, says when I was an associate of 3 months, I would've caught this. Within 5 minutes, I checked the treatise that I checked as a first year associate and found the correct answer.

At the end of the day, Golden Boy/Scumbag Associate was able to figure out a colorable argument why we hadn't hit the jurisdictional deadline. However, he shouldn't have had to make any argument in the first place. Oh, and this is about a month after he told his girlfriend to stay in San Diego so he could screw his ex to celebrate passing the bar.

Yup, karma at work.

The Girl Who Fell Through The Ice

My number one New Years' Resolution: To fall for a woman who doesn't make me feel like an asshole for liking her.