So I've been asked, "How was Boston?" It was capital.
My little brother tried to explain to me what it is exactly that he does at work. He gave me and the family a little tour of his campus. But we didn't come to see school! No sir! We went to abduct my bro from his little lab job and do touristy things!
I love Boston. The weather cooperated beautifully, revealing all of its Federal/Colonial beauty for us tourists. I love the Smoots on the bridge. I love the sight of people in sailboats on the Charles, bobbing in a giant bathtub.
I also love the libraries. Besides boasting a seemingly endless room of books, The Boston Public Library contains a courtyard complete with fountain, attractive French women, and lots of little birds eager to pounce on your coffee cake. On the walls, you'll find earthy murals dedicated to the muses, who are all draped and stately. The execution of the murals reminds me so much of the lovely art deco murals dedicated to knowledge at my alma mater; I wonder if they were painted by the same artist? But this is a more outright pretty setting; no gargoyles. The library doesn't just have books; it sponsors music performances and has a GREAT FANTASTIC exhibit on vintage travel posters. The colors and forms are so intense and glamorous. It totally made me want to go around the world again in a steamliner. Forget that in that time, it took days to cross the Panama Canal. I was thinking about wall art to decorate the very pronounced, almost tropical teal walls that I'd painted recently; what else would be better? I loved them. I couldn't find the exact posters displayed in the exhibit, but many online galleries have similar examples for two of my fave promos: the Chicago Columbia Exposition and the New Haven railroad.
I wish there was a book on the exhibition that I could keep; it was the coolness.
At the supercool John Adams House, which costs only $10 for my gigantic family (students may visit for free) including a shuttle from the historical visitor's center, to the Adams' original house, to the Big house, I was THRILLED to learn that the Adamses (John and Q.) had a separate room from the largest family house just to house their book collection. Luca Turin once said that the aging lignin of old books eventually smells like good vanilla, a serendipitous phenomenon that can only explained by some cosmic sense of humor. He might be right; inside the Adams library, it smells strongly of old leather and something else. My siblings said it first, "fig Newtons". It's a family collection; there are tons of maps and atlases reflecting the family's diplomatic line, but some quirky philosophical selections, like Karl Marx's Das Kapital on the shelf; maybe it belonged to a later Adams? Going inside, being surrounded by books stacked two rows deep in a little house designed for that purpose, is a dream come true for any bookworm. Surrounding the library is a kinda freely-structured garden composed of pincushion flowers, bleeding hearts, and several varieties of dahlia big and small growing in happy little jumbles around a square. My mom got a real kick out of the garden, but she's more into structure.
After that, it was off to Harvard! It is a sweet place in my memory, literally. My family and I spent some quality time at L.A. Burdick, fine purveyor of chocolate mice and penguins. My sisters and I poked around the highly-successful thrift store Second Time Around. For the little one's 16th, we went to Sweet, a local cupcake place. For a little over $12, I got four cupcakes for her to pick from: red velvet, carrot cake, pina colada (sweet vanilla bean cake, with a shot of pineapple preserves and topped with coconut infused buttercream frosting. Comes with its own umbrella), and cappucino. Littlest one just really wanted the cupcake box, which said "Sweet" in curly script. She added "16" after the "Sweet." There were many great eats in Boston. The Autumn moon festival happened to fall during the time we were there, and we watched a lion dance in Boston's Chinatown. They had an impressive 15-person dragon. We went to Peach Farm for the amazing Hong-Kong style roast duck. My dad was pretty happy with it. :)
Before we left, we all had to stop by Mike's pastry in little Italy during the annual Fisherman's Feast. Follow the many people you'll see with "Mike's" boxes in their hands. The line is worth it. They serve cannoli that is touched by angels: deep-fried yet completely greaseless. The ganache is tempered perfectly. Iunno how they do it, but I'm so glad that they do.
Aside from the food, I loved the quaint little streets and the many, many students. And the lack of snow. :)
Wednesday, August 25, 2010
Monday, August 23, 2010
Hello school
Part of going back to school means dealing with actual, external expectations and my own expectations of my own performance. When it comes to school, I have hung somewhere between two schools of thought: study what makes you tick, and what does not kill you makes you stronger. But law school is something new altogether. People are really chill and, although stressed a bit, everyone seems nice. Law school is just another phase. No pendulums.
In college, I learned the importance of looking up citations and just generally being on my game. After four hours of prep on my first outline (admittedly a little too much for just 10 pages) I felt comfortable with the materials, at least enough to be cold called. The people in my class vary hugely in terms of preparation and time.
Looking at others being cold-called, I thought, I guess I didn't over-prepare after all. To my surprise I was called upon by the professor who did not ask me to restate the facts, but to outline the consequences implied by the facts that I had not considered before class (nor actually, were these consequences ever explicitly stated in the opinion). Time to infer based on what we know and what the text won't say outright! Game on!
So why isn't this a malpractice case? He asked me. Deer in headlights. My immediate reaction was emotional but I scratch that. So I think about the definition of malpractice and why on earth this doesn't qualify as a malpractice case... the pieces are there. I know why this is one type of case but not sure why it's NOT another.
Not knowing what to say, I am silent for a few seconds that seem to stretch a while. I'm sure I looked petrified.
The professor seemed about to ask someone else, but then he threw me a bone. It's a procedural matter, says professor. I quickly review the motions in my head. Lightbulb goes on. Because the charge of negligence was dropped, I reply with audible relief, as though I had lifted something heavy. Okay great. Then he asks - Do you see an ethical dilemna with this case? Having read the background I say yes, the insurer is a party in the case so there is possibly some conflict of interest. He asks me whether the insurer's interest and the defendant's interests are aligned. I give my first qualified answer; initially the interests are aligned in that both parties wish to reduce damages. Based on my answer, which he sees is predicated on a specific criteria, he proceeds to draw a chart. "I've never drawn this chart before," he says, and it is full of smiley faces and frowny faces. Charts FTW. Honestly I should just give more straightforward answers. I try to offer a tangent from the case about jury rules that I think supports the professor's point about conflict of interest, which the professor gamely explains (and I'm sure some classmates were like WTF what is she talking about; get back to the case), but he notes finally that it's mostly speculation.
Then I fumbled and lost sight of the the forest for the trees when later, he asked me, What is the generally used contract interest? This is a definitive concept to contracts which endows, as he will later say, the power of contracts. And I forgot and fudge an answer that is really wrong; basically I said the equivalent of "gravity pulls things up". Nevermind that the correct answer is in the FIRST LINE OF MY NOTES. Oy. Oh well; next time I won't be so lazy as to ignore my notes when I think I have a section down. Especially in the morning.
All in all a memorable start to law school.
In college, I learned the importance of looking up citations and just generally being on my game. After four hours of prep on my first outline (admittedly a little too much for just 10 pages) I felt comfortable with the materials, at least enough to be cold called. The people in my class vary hugely in terms of preparation and time.
Looking at others being cold-called, I thought, I guess I didn't over-prepare after all. To my surprise I was called upon by the professor who did not ask me to restate the facts, but to outline the consequences implied by the facts that I had not considered before class (nor actually, were these consequences ever explicitly stated in the opinion). Time to infer based on what we know and what the text won't say outright! Game on!
So why isn't this a malpractice case? He asked me. Deer in headlights. My immediate reaction was emotional but I scratch that. So I think about the definition of malpractice and why on earth this doesn't qualify as a malpractice case... the pieces are there. I know why this is one type of case but not sure why it's NOT another.
Not knowing what to say, I am silent for a few seconds that seem to stretch a while. I'm sure I looked petrified.
The professor seemed about to ask someone else, but then he threw me a bone. It's a procedural matter, says professor. I quickly review the motions in my head. Lightbulb goes on. Because the charge of negligence was dropped, I reply with audible relief, as though I had lifted something heavy. Okay great. Then he asks - Do you see an ethical dilemna with this case? Having read the background I say yes, the insurer is a party in the case so there is possibly some conflict of interest. He asks me whether the insurer's interest and the defendant's interests are aligned. I give my first qualified answer; initially the interests are aligned in that both parties wish to reduce damages. Based on my answer, which he sees is predicated on a specific criteria, he proceeds to draw a chart. "I've never drawn this chart before," he says, and it is full of smiley faces and frowny faces. Charts FTW. Honestly I should just give more straightforward answers. I try to offer a tangent from the case about jury rules that I think supports the professor's point about conflict of interest, which the professor gamely explains (and I'm sure some classmates were like WTF what is she talking about; get back to the case), but he notes finally that it's mostly speculation.
Then I fumbled and lost sight of the the forest for the trees when later, he asked me, What is the generally used contract interest? This is a definitive concept to contracts which endows, as he will later say, the power of contracts. And I forgot and fudge an answer that is really wrong; basically I said the equivalent of "gravity pulls things up". Nevermind that the correct answer is in the FIRST LINE OF MY NOTES. Oy. Oh well; next time I won't be so lazy as to ignore my notes when I think I have a section down. Especially in the morning.
All in all a memorable start to law school.
Sunday, August 1, 2010
Hong Kong and How a Pork Bun is Like John Denver
The last station on the Asia express line was Hong Kong.
Sunday afternoons in Hong Kong mean walking through covered subway overpasses filled with people just sitting around. These campers, who line their "spots" with cleverly folded cardboard boxes, blankets, and vinyl tarp, are almost entirely female, youngish, sturdy, and speak many languages besides the standard Cantonese. I think they make up the army of domestic workers in Hong Kong island who get Sunday off.
Hong Kong, with its impeccable English signage, open vibe, and plethora of dining options, is primarily a working person's city. I met with a friend in investment banking and another friend working with some bureau. Both put in long hours to maintain a decent standard of living in a city that is, shall we say, very space efficient.
My MO was to ride the ferry a bunch (yay ferries!) and eat dimsum. The mission was entirely successful.
TimeOut Hong Kong pointed me to a great corner dimsum place near our hotel in Mongkok, a little whiles away from the hustle and bustle of Nathan Road. And so it was that I decisively ordered the pork buns at Tim Ho Wan, after reading about them in a very fine TO article that described these buns as something special. If you are in Mongkok, I urge you to try it out. Don't worry about the line; it moves faster than it looks.
Wow, these were not like any other pork buns. But they were very familiar nonetheless. Instead of fluffy yeast bread, this "bun" was a shortening and buttermilk biscuit. With pork inside. And a sugar topping. It was at once Dixie and Cantonese. I don't speak with the drawl, but growing up with real biscuits and gravy is a privilege; so is cutting one's teeth on char siu. I told my partner in crime that I would never, ever eat a pork bun that was as good. It was a perfect reconciliation of my love for Southern food and my love of dimsum. And the next time I make buttermilk biscuits, I see no reason why I shouldn't also throw in some cantonese bbq pork. Such a combo makes me happy to be alive.
If Chinese culture and American culture were circles of a Venn Diagram, I think "country: banjos, mountain people, fallen confederations" would be in the intersecting section of both. Having biscuits in China made me recall the first time I met a friend's dad, who is very proud to be Chinese. I asked him who his favorite musician is, expecting to hear of a Shanghainese or maybe a mainland singer. He said, with no irony, John Denver. It's a small world.
Sunday afternoons in Hong Kong mean walking through covered subway overpasses filled with people just sitting around. These campers, who line their "spots" with cleverly folded cardboard boxes, blankets, and vinyl tarp, are almost entirely female, youngish, sturdy, and speak many languages besides the standard Cantonese. I think they make up the army of domestic workers in Hong Kong island who get Sunday off.
Hong Kong, with its impeccable English signage, open vibe, and plethora of dining options, is primarily a working person's city. I met with a friend in investment banking and another friend working with some bureau. Both put in long hours to maintain a decent standard of living in a city that is, shall we say, very space efficient.
My MO was to ride the ferry a bunch (yay ferries!) and eat dimsum. The mission was entirely successful.
TimeOut Hong Kong pointed me to a great corner dimsum place near our hotel in Mongkok, a little whiles away from the hustle and bustle of Nathan Road. And so it was that I decisively ordered the pork buns at Tim Ho Wan, after reading about them in a very fine TO article that described these buns as something special. If you are in Mongkok, I urge you to try it out. Don't worry about the line; it moves faster than it looks.
Wow, these were not like any other pork buns. But they were very familiar nonetheless. Instead of fluffy yeast bread, this "bun" was a shortening and buttermilk biscuit. With pork inside. And a sugar topping. It was at once Dixie and Cantonese. I don't speak with the drawl, but growing up with real biscuits and gravy is a privilege; so is cutting one's teeth on char siu. I told my partner in crime that I would never, ever eat a pork bun that was as good. It was a perfect reconciliation of my love for Southern food and my love of dimsum. And the next time I make buttermilk biscuits, I see no reason why I shouldn't also throw in some cantonese bbq pork. Such a combo makes me happy to be alive.
If Chinese culture and American culture were circles of a Venn Diagram, I think "country: banjos, mountain people, fallen confederations" would be in the intersecting section of both. Having biscuits in China made me recall the first time I met a friend's dad, who is very proud to be Chinese. I asked him who his favorite musician is, expecting to hear of a Shanghainese or maybe a mainland singer. He said, with no irony, John Denver. It's a small world.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)