daily life

Other news

In other news… yes, I am still in California – but I have plane tickets to Indonesia – I’m leaving in just under two weeks! Things have been… very… family. Holidays involved eleven people sleeping at our house on Christmas Eve. What else?

  • A crazy part-time money-earning-thing: I have been ghostwriting a screenplay, which makes for a great-can-only-be-told-in-person story – ie, the ghost part of the ghost writing – but suffice it to say, it has been a most amusing and educational experience – not to mention also, I think, by representing my official involvement with the film industry, unequivocally makes me a Los Angelino.
  • Crashing a car: I was responsible for the unfortunate introduction of a cement pole and a car in a parking structure – other than ripping off a side mirror, there was minimal damage – but it’s still, you know, a damaged car – and it wasn’t mine to begin with, either – and I think I am, from this point on, retiring myself from urban driving.
  • And, as of last week, preparing to leave for Borneo… for sometime between an entire year or maybe I’ll be coming back in March…
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    daily life

    I graduated!

    This would be everyone. At my graduation!

    This is what it looks like when (almost all of) your entire family comes to your graduation. From halfway across the world. (Because they’re just that amazing.)
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    travel

    All dressed up and nowhere to go… Parisian edition.

    We got all dressed up for dinner – a dinner we were late for – at a place that wasn’t where we thought it was – that wasn’t where we were – that closed at a different time, anyway. The only holiday picture with all four members of my family in it… and aren’t we cute? I’m not sure what decade we think we’re in. We were staying in this house (in Paris – family friends) that had this formal sitting room. And we sort of just had to – the room made us! (Sit down and pose, that is.) Oh well. At least we got a picture?
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    personal essay travel

    Mon frère habitera à Paris. Or, Expatriating with grace.

    My brother has a "phobia" of looking like a foreigner. (He told me so himself.)

    Now, I can almost understand. I hate looking like a tourist. I get self-conscious with my accent echoing in my own ears and all the wrong currencies falling out of my pockets.  I feel single-handedly responsible for over-turning all the stereotypes about loud Americans. I refuse to patronise international chains and I've been known to duck into a doorway to surreptitiously peer at the directions that I've discretely scrawled on my hand. I don't carry a guide-book in public. (Actually, I don't carry one at all.)

    My brother takes "not standing out" to an entirely new level. He takes my simile and turns it into a metaphor. He is dignity and assimilation.

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