1/4

Before I begin a prosaic “running from responsibility” post and proceed to spew nonsense that is runner’s high, let me first suggest a few other means in which to view my current situation:

I am:

• complaining
• missing this:
• terribly out of shape
• fatigued from a 3.2 mile run, quite breathless

And running from:

• 40 hour work weeks. Or rather, to work in the morning, and from it at exactly 530
• Impending doom on the LSAT
• incomprehensible bandwidth limits
• being more shockingly boring on everything and anything, including Skype.

Past two weeks in LA:

Wake up at 740, throw on some of the “business casual,” make a cup of coffee, fulfill all negative stereotypes of Asian drivers, waste gas by constantly accelerating and braking, tailgate, throw my keys at the valet, take two elevators to the 39th floor, throw my stuff on the ground and go take advantage of what I come to work for:

I actually debated to walk in to work with a suit the first day. That was not too bad of a contemplation, considering that only recently has the new dress code been implemented.

Upon completing two tutorials on sexual harassment and insider trading, I was assigned my first reading: the company dress code:

• “Over the past several months, we have seen many of our clients, and the business world at large, begin to adopt casual dress polices. In fact, as you have probably noticed, members of our own firm have been electing to leave their suits and other more formal clothing at home for some time now. With this in mind, we feel that it is time to officially announce a new business casual dress code.”
• Business casual attire apparently does not include stirrups or rubber flip flops. Good to know.

Apart from drafting memos for banks, doing research, powerpoint research, social media research, I pretty much have my LSAT books wit

h me to keep me company.

Today:

• Received my first paycheck. Not tax exempt. At least I have an office with a view:

Tomorrow:

• Going to brave “Carmageddon.” Sitting in traffic will help me bulk up. Call it a reverse-Jonah Hill process.

Upon concluding, it’s not too difficult to note the irony of my distaste in prosaicness. These past two weeks has been everything that the word entails.

Unimaginative. Dull. Commonplace. That’s what I’ve come to. A 3.2 mile run to break the mundane.

Wailing aside, I know that I’ll be able to catch my breath upon the completion of three more 25%. That is, August 27th. No, that’s not when it all ends. Not the LSAT, not work.

But definitely a homecoming of all sorts, a reinjection of spontaneity and joy.

It’ll be a different form of running, this one taking place at the airport. And it’ll be everything that running now can’t provide.

mem•o•ry

noun \ˈmem-rē, ˈme-mə-\

1a : the power or process of reproducing or recalling what has been learned and retained especially through associative mechanisms b : the store of things learned and retained from an organism's activity or experience as evidenced by modification of structure or behavior or by recall and recognition

2a : commemorative remembrance

3a : a particular act of recall or recollection b : an image or impression of one that is remembered

*****

Friday Night Lights, Track 19/20:
When my story's told, how will they tell it?
Will they say I was a giver or will they say I was selfish
Will they say I was a sinner or pretend I was a saint
Will I go down as a winner, what's the picture they gon paint

*****

J. Cole questions how he will be remembered in “Farewell,” a track off his newest mixtape. It’s a universal fear I think we all have. Of being judged, being forgotten (which could be a good thing) or being remembered (which also, very well could be a bad thing).

Sitting in class last Friday, a girl arrives late, yet is obviously not flustered. She takes her time to make her way to the back of the class and sits a row behind and a seat to the right behind me. Now, I am not a notetaker for no reason. I take good notes, even though sending and receiving text messages always take precedence. But this girl, unashamedly, immediately arms herself with a Blackberry (yes one with a ostentatiously glittery, jeweled case) and snaps a photo of my notes, holding the phone over my right shoulder.

How do I know she took a photo?

1. Her phone was not on silent, and the phone made the not-so-subtle shutter sound upon the press of the button.
2. Flash.

I hope her photo turned out well. I know my notes did.

So I may remember this weird woman for a while. For the wrong reason I guess.

There are certain things that we think we will forget or things we suppress simply for convenience. It's not so bad though, if there's a someone (possibly holding your pathetic penguin hand all along).

7.7.10 - 7.11.10 v. 2.19.11 - 2.23.11

Going to the All-Star Practice reminds me of a day in England, after a week and more of hard-searching:

Today I found a basketball court in Cambridge.

There, I played for two some hours with Alex, Caitlin, and Jas. It looks like we will be making more trips here in the very near future.
I guarded Caitlin most of the time. No knock on that though. She plays for Harvard: http://thecrimson.harvard.edu/blog/the-back-page/article/2010/7/26/play-game-team-harvard/
Later went to eat some Korean food, passed by Parker’s Piece since Day 1 and saw many restaurants that I have never seen before, including some tempting pubs.

But then it was back to King's College to watch the Spain-Germany game. All the Englishmen were out in full force to root against the Germans, who had previously ousted their homeland by an embarrassing 4-1 margin.

Watching it in the floor of the King's College Bar was something that I had to remember, but the game was less than that. It was a slow paced game, with both teams measuring their potential opportunities to score.

Puyol put the ball in the back of the net. Done. Spain against Netherlands for it all on Sunday..too bad we had to go to London for Arts Journalism otherwise we definitely would have gone to Amsterdam for the weekend.

During the final championship match, I had my laptop with me to decide to either embark on a journey to Amsterdam or Barcelona. I decided to book Amsterdam half-way in, and Spain closed the deal. I guess Amsterdam would have to do.

Now, I think back on that and reflect on that summer as a whole. Added to all the decisions that I have made up to this point, just tells me again, to live with no regret.