Sunday, November 25, 2007

A Bedtime Tradition

I am lying on my right side. Mike is reading, and over my left shoulder his bedside light glows soft orange. My right hand is under my cheek. My left hand rests on my right bicep and my left elbow rests on my hip. My eyes are closed. I am going to sleep.

My left foot is an obtuse angle to my shin. I move my ankle, and my heel touches Mike's knee. I stretch out my leg, but my knee won't extend far enough to release the building tension in my calf. I pull my legs back up, and now my knees are touching each other. My left leg is bent up. Too high. My right leg is bent up. Perfect.

My right wrist needs to rotate. I pull it from under my cheek and now my fingers need to be extended. I grip the air. I ignore the growing fear in my chest. I am ok. I am ok. I breathe in and out and now the angle of my left arm is too acute.

I lie on my back. "Everything ok?" No. "Yes, I'm just getting anxious." The blanket is too heavy on my toes and my wrist still needs to rotate. I flex my calves and I can feel the fear spreading to my shoulders. I can breathe. I can still breathe.

I can't close my eyes tight enough. I can feel my contact lenses, and I can't blink hard enough to stop my irises from itching. My arms are too close to my body.

This is anxiety. I close my fists, and I open my fists again. I can feel my fingers and I feel my toes and my hair is tickling on the back of my neck and everything else is tight, tight, and I am afraid that I won't ever fall asleep because as much as I try to forget it the angle of my legs is still all wrong and I am squeezing my eyes tight and they are itching.

Breathe in. Breathe out.

I will wake up in the morning and I will have slept. And tomorrow night, I will have another chance to make it on my first try. For now, I only have to slow down my heart and pull my hair back and then my knees will be right and it will be ok.

Breathe in.

I am ok.

Breathe out.

I am ok.

Monday, October 29, 2007

SPOddities.

I'm about a month into my new position at Borders. Officially, I've moved from being a bookseller to a member of IPT, the group o kids who are in charge of taking stuff out of boxes and putting it on shelves. Actually, my new job is rather specialized: I get my own email address and my own desk full of interesting treasures (such as a dozen box cutters, a phone list for employees from when the store first opened, gold stickers with 79¢ printed on them), and lots of random responsibilities without any more money than I was making when I spent two hours of my average day leaning on the register, staring into space. Ah well.

One thing that's turned out to be a little weird about the SPO job is how much I now know about our regular customers. There's the obvious: emails, phone numbers, and preferred spellings of ridiculous names. But then there's the odd trivia. There's a lady who buys only cowboy romances, usually with three or four open orders at any given time. There's an old woman who seems to order based on the "I remember this, I should buy it" logic. Last time I talked to her on the phone, she described some generic plot points to me with the hope that I could name the movie for her. There's a guy who orders books about meditation that always arrive smelling of Nag Champa.

And then there's this guy:

I imagine him to be a tall, scrawny Indian fellow from England whose hair is a little to slicky and whose laugh is 40% brash and 60% mortified. And he's obsessed with Mariah Carey. Over the past two weeks he has placed about 15 orders for Mariah Carey products. Sometimes he orders twice to make sure he gets what he wants. There are the CDs you'd expect, of course: albums, best of's and the like. And there are DVDs: movies she's starred in, live concerts, and cheaply produced documentaries of her career from random music channels. And then there are the books. These books are almost all in what we in the biz call "Library Binding." Unlike normal hardcovers, with usually come with a dust jacket or something equally classy, these books have the cover art imprinted on the cardboard and then shellacked for protection. They have identical pictures of Mariah on the front and bear titles like Mariah Carey: Her Story. I imagine they are meant to inspire young girls, little divas-in-training. I do not know what my English Indian gentleman wants with them.

And, not knowing, I feel as if I know far too much.

Monday, October 15, 2007

Read my friends!

As I'm sure every single person reading this blarg knows, while Mike was at CSULB he spent a lot of his time and energy in the office of The Union Weekly, the student-run newspaper on campus. While there, he (and I) made a slew of awesome and extremely talented friends. How awesome? Well, four out of the ten members of our combined wedding party were Unionites. How talented? Well, they are, as a group, some of the best writers I've read. They're also really really funny and stupidly intelligent. They're also frustratingly underrated by the world outside the campus doors.

Take our good friend and favorite bud-bud J.J. Fiddler. When he took over the Union sports section in 2005, he revitalized a previously worthless page and made it one of the pages I turned to most eagerly each week. In 2006 he single-handedly, through the power of his editorials and a healthy amount of sheer determination, made CSULB basketball something to fill the student section over. And besides being the kind of guy people in college gear want to follow into gymnasiums, J.J. is a flat-out exceptional writer.

When The District Weekly started up in Long Beach approximately 27 weeks ago, it seemed like the perfect fit for a lot of Union alums. Their whole mission statement revolves around reporting culture and life in a Long Beach-specific context. And who knows better about Long Beach life than the amazing writers who'd spent their college careers talking about it? Certainly the editorial staff of the District, who produce a great publication, don't get me wrong, seem to miss out on some of the big things that make Long Beach not only great, but unique. It's not just all about cool hole-in-the-wall bars or art galleries. Sometimes it's stuff that makes the cover of one of the nation's most popular magazines.

In 2005 Sports Illustrated named Long Beach Poly High the top sports high school in America. Generally, my alma mater has a great athletics department that has produced national legends. Billie Jean King and Tony Gwynn both came through Poly's gates. But it would be impossible to talk about Poly sports without leaving 90% of the talking time for the Poly varsity football team which, as a public school, has sent more players to the NFL than any other high school in the country. And, though Poly is far and away the best football team in Long Beach (no bias here), it certainly isn't the only school playing the game.

Doesn't this seem like something The District, the self-proclaimed voice of the people of Long Beach, should be talking about? Or rather, since J.J. has been covering Moore League games since the start of the season, shouldn't it be something The District and its readers should be reading and paying attention to? As opposed to, say, ignoring and/or talking shit on?

Yeah, I think so too. Check J.J. out over at the Long Beach Post where he gives his mid-season Moore League report. And read him at The District too. He's doing a great job with not a lot of room to run. If this were the Union, I'd be all over that message board. Since it's not, I'll rant here instead and send my droves of readers to do my work for me.

Thursday, October 4, 2007

The prices of things

So, I'm almost done with my second week back at work. It's an odd, but mostly pleasant experience to be back to a daily grind-esque sort of schedule with the wonderful addition of a real live hubby to come home to. The daily grind part is odd. I'm working 9-5 now, as opposed to the random assortment of 8 hour shifts starting at 7 am on some days and ending at midnight on others. While I was gone, there were about 6 new hires, and about 4 of the people I had expected to see again have quit. So it's a different place than it was when I left, but that's ok. I'm different too, after all.

This week I started training for my new position: Special Orders Troll of Borders at the Pike. I'm pretty sure that's the official title, although it might be "goblin." Turns out a lot of this new job involves waiting around for things to happen. There are orders to be processed in the morning, and then it's mostly waiting for shipments to arrive, usually around the middle of the day. So I think I'm going to be bored, probably a lot. We'll see... training is a lot different than the real thing.

Today I found a book called something like Long Beach in Vintage Postcards or somesuch. Flipping it open, I was struck by what a bustling area downtown Long Beach, especially the Pike and its surroundings used to be. Now, of course, not so much the case. It breaks my heart to direct inquisitive customers to the Wal-Mart up the street, but it's by far the closest music store, electronics store, clothing store, and office supply store. Lame.

Here's something that's not so lame: there was a postcard of a beautiful downtown Long Beach building that rented out apartments for $32 a month. A buddy at work pays $800 a month for his studio apartment. Bored, I figured it out. The 1925 apartment cost 4% of what the 2007 apartment does. For shits & giggles, I estimated the cost of a gallon of milk, a pack of cigarettes, and a few other common items. Then I performed the essential calculation:

5318008 x .04 = 212720.32

That's right. In 1925, the approximate cost of seeing "boobies" upside-down in the calculator was just a tad over 200 thousand. Amazing.

Boobies.

Saturday, September 29, 2007

Scene: Saturday morning, breakfast

[Mike's cell phone rings]
Mike: Hello?
Tiny Asian Lady Caller: Is Shar there?
Mike: Um... yeah. Hold on.
[Mike hands his cell phone to Shar]
Shar: Hello?
TALC: Is Shar there?
Shar: This is Shar.
TALC: Wrong number. [hangs up]

Saturday, September 1, 2007

Wedding Disc 2: Shar's Music

We got married yesterday! There will be much more on that later. Mike and I made (with the help, and more importantly, the laptops) of many of our friends, two mix CDs of music that's been important to us for all our guests to take home. The first disc was (mostly) songs he's given to me. He wrote about them over at his blarg. The second disc was (mostly) songs I've given to him. Here's the tracklist and the story behind each song.

1. Broken Things- Lucy Kaplansky
When Mike and I were first falling in love, this song played in my head and on my stereo a lot. The line "you walked right into my darkness, speaking words so sweet..." perfectly describes how wonderful it was to find someone who was brave enough to stand by me when things weren't just happy sunshiny picnics for me.

2. Homeward Bound- Simon & Garfunkel
Throughout the five years we've been together, there have been many times I've been away, whether for a family trip, a singing responsibility, or just school. This song speaks to the frustration of being gone when everything you want is back at home waiting for you. As soon as I turned the corner and started the return trip, this song would be on my mind.

3. At Last- Etta James
One of those lovely jazz standards that gets played at weddings so often that it would be cliché if everyone who'd ever fallen in love didn't still get teary-eyed when they heard it. Last year, I sang this at a wedding reception and caught Mike's eye across the room.

4. Please Be Kind- Jane Monheit
This was on the first mix I made for Mike. When we first started going out, neither of us had a clue what we were doing. We just had to be careful with all of the trust and love we were giving to each other, making sure not to take anything for granted. I think it turned out okay.

5. I Know Why (And So Do You)- The Manhattan Transfer
This was also on that first mix. I remember a couple years ago, I was really upset because it was raining on my birthday. Mike and I walked down to Westwood, had a great dinner, and walked back in the downpour dancing and singing at the top of our (my) lungs. "I can see the sun when it's raining, hiding every cloud from my view..."

6. Come Away With Me- Norah Jones
The first time we heard this song was during an otherwise uninteresting episode of Saturday Night Live. We'd propped up on pillows on my dorm-room floor and were talking about other things when we both noticed, at the same moment, the beautiful song coming through our tiny TV's speakers. If ever we were to run away together, to live in a tiny cabin with just room for the two of us, this is the song we'd run to.

7. Radio Sweethearts- Kate Rusby
My whole time at UCLA, I shared a room with my roomie (and maid of honor) Robyn, whom Mike and I both adore. But it was tough having four years of not very much time spent just the two of us. When we had evenings together, we sometimes liked to push the tables and couches out of the way and dance. A lot of the time, it was to this song. Listen to it, I'm sure it's obvious why.

8. When I'm Sixty-Four- The Beatles
One of the top things I love about Mike's family (it's a long list) is his lovely grandparents. Just a few months after we started going out, Mike took me up to visit them, and we've shared countless meals and a few theater outings with them since then. They recently celebrated their 60th wedding anniversary. Their love is an inspiration to us. I'm happy to have such a wonderful growing-old partner.

9. The Promise- Tracy Chapman
This song has gotten us through some hard times. No matter how far we seem to get away from each other, no matter how long or difficult the low times are, we're always going to be coming back to each other.

10. You're My Soul and Inspiration- The Righteous Brothers

This is just a great love song we love to sing along to. So much of our relationship has been built on times in the car, listening to oldies radio stations and singing along. This is one of our favorites.

11. If You Only Knew- Kara's Flowers
The first time I heard this song, by the L.A. band that would eventually become Maroon 5, I knew I had to play it for Mike. It's talking about all of the little things that become big deals when in a relationship with any geographical distance involved-- especially when that distance has to be traveled on the 405 freeway.

12. I Believe- Stevie Wonder
I couldn't tell you why Stevie Wonder has been such a crucial part of our relationship. Part of it's gotta be that he does great Christmas music, and Christmas is our favorite holiday together. Whatever the reason, this song has all the classic Stevie, and it gets us every time.

13. Don't Mind Me- Lucy Kaplansky
Another song off that first mix. The line "I'm just a bit maniacal about you, and derailed when I'm without you" pretty much perfectly describes the insanity of falling in love at the end of summer, when free time spent together is about to become a rare and precious luxury.

14. Wild Honey- U2
I've always found the idea of eternal love, reincarnating since the beginning of time, to be a little out there (think Hawkman and Hawkgirl). But I love the idea of Mike and me being monkeys too much to not love this song.

15. Heavenly Day- Patty Griffin
This is off Patty Griffin's newest album, which just happened to be on overhead play for the first month of my job at Borders. It was a rough transition for us to go from seeing each other all day every day to having to schedule our lives around work. But every time I heard this song (which was probably five times a day) I got the gentle reminder that we don't need anything other than to be together to make it a perfect day.

16. Just You Tonight- Lucy Kaplansky
One of the benefits to having a humble beginning to our relationship is that we don't easily get distracted by the trappings of romance. There were no clinking champagne glasses or fancy dinnerware to help us along the way. It was just the two of us, and that turned out to be more than enough to build on.

17. Our Love is Here to Stay- Ella Fitzgerald & Louis Armstrong
I have always had a soft spot for vocal jazz, ever since my middle school choir teacher first told me I would love Lambert, Hendricks, and Ross. Ella & Louis have some of my favorite vocal duets ever. "The radio and the telephone and the movies that we know may just be passing fancies, and in time may go..." has been a fun line to think about as a whirlwind of technology swirls around us. Our relationship started with a dial-up modem and a landline phone. Right now, we're writing on our bed with our Apple laptops propped up in front of us. Who knows where we'll be in another five years? But we'll be next to each other, so it'll be great.

18. I've Got My Love to Keep Me Warm- Ella Fitzgerald & Louis Armstrong
Ella & Louis again. It's more or less literal-- I get cold really easily, and there's nothing like snuggling up to the man I love, under the arm that's molded itself to fit my shoulders, to make me feel all wrapped up and cozy.

19. Danny's Song- Anne Murray
One of my favorite songs to sing at the top of my lungs. Besides the beautiful chorus, I love the line "if you find he helps your mind, better take him home." Long, long conversations with Mike about everything we can think of have made me think about life in a hundred new ways. He's probably the smartest guy I know, and we're going to have hairy little genius babies.

20. Two of Us- Aimee Mann & Michael Penn
It's a Beatles song, but I think I might like it better the way it is on the I Am Sam soundtrack, as a duet between a man and his lady. I don't care where we're going-- life is better with a Mike in the seat beside you. We're lucky enough to have had a cross-country road trip and thousands of miscellaneous other miles of adventures together. And we have so much road still ahead of us.

21. The Luckiest- Ben Folds
This is our song. It's what was playing when Mike first said he loved me. It's what we clear the furniture away for on every anniversary, and it's what we danced our first dance to at our wedding reception. And it says for us so many things that we have spent the past five years showing to each other. I am so lucky to have Mike, and we are lucky to have each other. I'll never forget that. But it's not just luck. He is such my perfect match that I have to believe that, instead of as high school sophomores, if we met for the first time in sixty years as old, old people, we'd look at each other then in our wrinkly old eyes and we'd still know. Instead, we get to spend all that time together, and, because of that, I count myself the luckiest.

Friday, August 24, 2007

An Anniversary Blarg

Today is a special day for me and Mike! Five years ago today, Mike and I had what we later decided was our first date. Since Mike was more-or-less bedridden after his ankle surgery and was certainly wheelchair-ridden (wheelchair-riding?), our first date actually consisted of us sitting in his living room watching Lord of the Rings. It might not have been glamorous, but I think it turned out alright. Here's what we looked like that year:


Today also marks two years since Mike proposed. We'd gone up to Arrowhead for our third anniversary. Mike, who's terrible at keeping secrets, had had "gonna propose to Shar" written all over his face for weeks. It wasn't a surprise, but it was still sweet and wonderful and all of those lovely things a marriage proposal is supposed to be. Plus, I pretended it was a surprise, so that was great too. This is us that year:


And today is the official seven-day countdown till the wedding. I'm sitting on the couch watching Mike play Mario Strikers right now, but at this time next week, we'll probably be leaving the reception, having been pronounced husband and wife several hours earlier. It's been a crazy last few months, and next week is gonna be insane, but it's really nice to have today to relax a little and just reflect on who we are and where we came from. We've got quite a nice little history together so far, and I sure can't wait to see what's coming up next. There's nothing quite as wonderful as knowing that, whatever the adventure ahead of us in the years to come, we're going to be adventuring together. And, when we're old old people, if we haven't already evolved away from computers by then, maybe I'll have some really neat pictures to post up here so you can see how much we've grown together.

I'm pretty sure they have a secret club.

"They" in this case being Ornery Old Ladies. Further, I think the Ornery Liberal Old Lady from my last post must have sent out some sort of vaguely lavender-scented Old Lady newsletter, because boy-oh-boy did we have an encounter today. I also suspect that she sent out a mass email to the Ornery Old Ladies' Junior Division to get the rotten teenaged girls in on it too.

Let me preface this by pointing out that today is our anniversary. I'm going to be posting about that in a moment, but let me just set the scene a bit. Today is our anniversary. We lifted our holiday ban on wedding-related stresses long enough to go on an incredibly pleasant trip to the florist with Mike's awesome mom to finalize the deets. Afterwards, we stopped by Trader Joe's to pick up some sundries. Imagine:

Standing in line behind Mike's mom, Mike and I have an arm each around each other. He's whispering in my ear something sweet about loving me and not being able to wait to marry me. There is an Ornery Old Lady behind us in line. She says "Get a room!" and then rams her shopping cart into my heel.

Now, the comment itself was unbelievably rude. It was also completely unjustified. There was no excessiveness in our displays of affection. We weren't even kissing. Besides, Mike and I are freakin' adorable. Doubt me? Check it out. The ramming part? Well, that's just new levels of amazing. You've got to be pretty ecstatic with your life to think that other people's happiness is a violence-worthy crime. Luckily, Mike and his mom only heard the comment, and I only felt the cart. If any of the three of us had been aware that both things had happened, there would definitely have been a show-down.

A couple hours later, Mike and I decide to treat ourselves to some anniversary ice cream. Rather than walk to the Baskin Robbins down the street, we really decide to go all out and drive to Cold Stone. There, we are delighted to help pay the salary of one of the bitchiest, most eye-rollingest ice cream scooper ever to chop up Heath bars. Observe:

Girl Who, Despite How Highly She Thinks of Herself, is Still Just an Ice Cream Scooper: Yes?
Mike: Can I get a regular-size strawberry with--
Ice Cream Scooper: I don't understand you.
Mike: A reguler-sized strawberry?
Ice Cream Scooper: [points angrily at the "Like It," "Love It," and "Gotta Have It"-sized cups on the counter, indicating through jabs and eye-rolls that she only understands these categories]
Mike: Oh. Well, the "Love It" size please? Strawberry with Heath bars and fudge sauce--
Ice Cream Scooper: With what?
Mike: Fudge sauce? Like, the fudge syrup that--
Ice Cream Scooper: Oh.
[She plops Mike's ice cream into a regular-size container and then looks at me.]
Ice Cream Scooper: And?
Me: Can I have a "Love It" coffee with Heath bars and Oreos?
Ice Cream Scooper: [Chops up my ingredients with all the finesse of a petulant seven-year-old kicking a bottle cap, then hands me my regular-size container]
Me: Thanks.
Ice Cream Scooper: (to Mike) How are you paying?
[transaction continues][Exeunt]

As someone who deals with people all day, both in my customer-service-oriented job and in the fact that I live among other human beings, I really can't understand how someone can be so unpleasant. Hey! Here's an idea! If you don't like people, how about you take a job where you can just sit alone in your home and just scoop ice cream for yourself and the few smelly dullards who have nothing better to do with their lives than swoon at your sub-par Heath chopping skills? And you, Old Lady! How about you take some of the money you're saving by not buying snacks and cheap toys for the grandchildren who never want to come visit you because they can't scrub the vaguely lavender smell of Ornery Old Lady off themselves for weeks afterward and the spongy feel of Ornery Old Lady kisses haunts their nightmares for months and, instead, hire someone more pleasant to do your grocery shopping for you? If two young people talking to each other is enough to really push you over the edge into violence, isn't it about time you reevaluated whether or not you should go outside ever again? I happen to know a eye-rolling young lady who would probably love to mash your pills into your sherbet for you.

And on our anniversary, too!

Wednesday, August 22, 2007

Reading By 9 Book Drive

So, I think I can pretty much promise that this is the last time I'll advertise a Borders promotion on my blarg. "This" here refers to what will make up the remainder of this blarg, not my mentioning of the fact that, starting on the 28th, the bags of Lindor balls (yum!) will be 75% their regular price, and thus only a buck and some change. Oh sweet, delicious heavens (or, as the official Lindt chocolate website describes it: "endlessly smooth and creamy... Lindor")!

The real reason for this blarg is to discuss one of the hands-down coolest things I've been a part of at Borders since I started. It's the Reading By 9 Book Drive, and it's a means by which customers can donate books to Los Angeles-local schools in an effort to promote literacy. Borders is partnering with the LA Times and Scholastic Publishing (which is matching book donations 1-to-1) to try and answer the staggering statistic that four out of every five third-graders in SoCal can't read at their grade level. I think it's a pretty great program, and it's been awesome to watch box after box fill up with donations of The Berenstein Bears and Dr. Seuss. My favorite thing is getting to pick a book for a customer who is willing to donate but doesn't feel like picking a book for themselves-- I'm putting books that helped make me love reading into boxes to send to kids who haven't yet gotten the bug.

My favorite customer response so far has been this one:
Me: We're having a book drive this month, trying to help kids in the area start reading by nine. Would you be able to help us out by donating a book for about 4 bucks?
Stressed Mother: Well...
Adorable Daughter: Do it! You should do it!
Stressed: Okay, what book do you want to donate?
Me: We've got some Magic Tree House books here. Do you like those?
Adorable: Yeah! Magic Tree House!
Me: Hmm... we've got one about pirates. How about that?
Adorable: (gasps!) No...
Me: What about dinosaurs? Do you like dinosaurs?
Adorable: Yeah! Dinosaurs!
[I ring up the purchase and give the mom a sticker that reads "I shared the joy of reading"]
Stressed: (smiles at daughter) You did a very nice thing today, honey. You helped someone else learn to read.
[Adorable smiles][Exeunt]

My least favorite customer response?
Me: We're having a book drive this month, trying to help kids in the area start reading by nine. Would you be able to help us out by donating a book for about 4 bucks?
Ornery Liberal Old Lady: No.
Me: Okay...
Ornery: The government should be giving the schools books, not us.
[transaction continues as per normal][Exeunt]

I hate to tie things together that aren't necessarily really related [she lied], but this reminded me a lot of that pesky third Noble Truth. Adorable and her mother recognized a problem and did something small to help. Sure, one $3.99 book is probably not going to change a life (although it very well could). But think of how much positivity was generated by that interaction! Adorable got a sweet sticker and got two adults asking for her opinion on something Important. Stressed got to think that her daughter was really, excitingly awesome and Good (plus, she racked up some valuable Borders Rewards points). The cockles of My heart were glowing buttery golden by the end of the conversation. And this is all besides the book donation itself, which generated a book in the hands of a kid, a matched book donation from Scholastic and a percentage-of-sales cash donation from Borders, Inc. By contrast, Ornery saw the same problem and talked herself out of doing anything about it. She got upset because of The Way Things Are and left the register stickerless and in a classic Liberal Old Lady huff. I was generally annoyed at the situation because Ornery, under the guise of social awareness, had passed the buck, leaving the hypothetical kid bookless just because she didn't think it was a situation she could (or should) change. Yeah, realizing there is a problem is the first step. Realizing that the problem has a cause is the second. But unless you're willing to recognize that something can be done to solve the problem, we're just going to be stuck in a golf cart with stuck in the mud, inventing new fuels to keep the wheels spinning endlessly, but refusing to get out and push.

This is a cheap, easy, and convenient way to generate a little positivity in the world. Plus, you get a sweet sticker. Do it! And pick up some Lindor balls while you're at it.

Friday, August 17, 2007

Oh, the things I have forgotten!

One thing I do enjoy about my job is the people I work with. One of my supervisors is always really willing and (gasp!) actually interested whenever I lecture him on why, exactly, his reference to some aspect of Eastern religion is horribly misinformed. The first time this happened was when he teased that his karma had run over my dogma and I refused to let it go until we were spending our lunch hour discussing why time is like an apple.

Today, he described himself as a fat and happy, like Buddha. I sighed and rolled my eyes dramatically. Yes, I'm an annoying jerk like that. But (honestly!) only with people who secretly, on some level, enjoy it. I explained that the "fat and happy Buddha" was actually a bodhisattva named Budai, a Chinese version of Maitreya, the buddha-in-waiting for our world system. The obese joviality of Budai was no accident of the glands; he acted the clown to make his lessons all the more meaningful when they finally hit home to all of the I-know-betters out there. Then we talked about all of the vastly different ways to be a Buddhist. Buddhism, the Middle Path, is an umbrella for extreme ascetics and those who use sex and other worldy delights to keep the body occupied and set the mind free. "In order to be considered a Buddhist," I said, "one only needs to be believe in the Four Noble Truths, even if it's a unique interpretation of them."

I followed that rather learned-sounding statement up by listing these truths. Or, rather, I tried to. But (oh horror!) I could only remember three of them! Blarg! I've been out of school for too long! Hours later, I was finally able to recall the one I'd missed. It was the third one. The first two state that 1) Life is suffering and 2) Suffering is caused by desire. The fourth says that the way to end suffering is the Eight-fold Path. This leaves the one I'd forgotten: 3) There is a way to end suffering.

When I first remembered it, I scoffed. My first thought was: well, that barely counts as a separate one! But the more I thought about it, the more I realized that it's really just as crucial as the others. It doesn't take much to explain the first two. Just a good hard look around is enough to see what's meant by the first. People are sad and lonely, sick and in pain, and (and this is a maxim!) "that's life." And, if you never wanted happiness, it wouldn't hurt so much when you didn't get it. And the fourth truth? Well, that's just religion. That's the pamphlet once you've got your proselytizing foot in the old widow (or recent immigrant)'s door. But the third truth is the crucial balance between blissful ignorance and despair. This isn't a religion of hellfire and brimstone. It's not about groveling and wishing in the hopes of not being condemned to eternal teeth-gnashing. Life is suffering, yes, but there's a way out! Suffering isn't the end-all of existence. It's not the final victor. Or, at least, it doesn't have to be. The fourth truth tells you the solution, but telling you there is a solution in the first place is maybe even more important.

I left a note explaining all this in my supervisor's mailbox, so he'll have plenty to think about before I get to work at 4 tomorrow. As for me: I realized today that I miss learning. I miss school and having to add new knowledge to existing foundations. I think my existing foundations are losing their structural integrity. I think I might have to crack open some old textbooks before my next lecture.

Thursday, August 9, 2007

Shar Party!

So, Monday morning, Mike goes out to check the mailbox. This has lately become a very exciting part of our day, as each trip usually yields some pretty green rsvp cards letting us know that Yes! some cherished friend or relative is coming to see us get married. Anyway, on this particular day, Mike comes back in with a big grin on his face. "Not many rsvp's, but you got something exciting..."

Yes friends!! A letter arrived from UCLA's diploma processing center announcing that finally, over a year since I walked across the stage in Royce Hall all be-decked in gown and cap, my graduation is finally official. After over a year of fretful optimism and crushing disappointment, my diploma has started its two-month-long journey to my mailbox!

So yeah, great day. Dan and Beef came over for dinner & hang out time and it was pleasant all around. Until I realized that it was after two in the morning and I had work at 7 am the next day...

Blarg. Three hours of anxious sleep later, and I was getting ready for my day. I put up an away message on AIM: "i am not expecting today to be particularly fantastic. go ahead, tuesday! prove me wrong!" It didn't start out well. Three people called out on the busiest Tuesday of the month: over 30 new hardcovers and almost 40 new paperbacks to put on display, as well as big changes for all the other displays and tables in the store. A surprise lunch with the boss (a "business lunch" at Boston's for the GM and the employee of the month!), a closed-door meeting with one of my other managers about a full-time job I think I might take, and some surly customers rounded out a very very busy day. I called Mike when I clocked out to let him know I was staying at work for an extra 22 mins to wind down with an episode of Arrested Development in the break room. "Okay! Take your time. I'll see you when you get home." Forty minutes later, I opened the kitchen door, put my leftovers in the fridge, rounded the corner into the living room to see...

A Shar Party!!

So sorry for all of you that missed out! There were balloons and presents and some delicious treats. Oh, and there were even party decorations on the wall! I am sorry for those who missed out... alas, it was a very exclusive guest list. Just me and my hub2be! Here he is, looking very pleased with himself:

And here's me, equally pleased and super happy:
Did I mention there were party hats? Cuz there were! I literally got cheek cramps from smiling so big. Long story short: my hub2be is the best. We watched The Princess Bride (cuz I'm a princess, evidently) and then I fell asleep on the couch until it was time for a delicious steak dinner at the future-in-laws'.

What could be better?

Thursday, August 2, 2007

"A trip down memory lane"


That's the subject of the email Wesley sent me a few days ago. The content of the email was a poem I'd written on the occasion of our graduation from high school. And a trip down memory lane it was, indeed. I'm not really much of a poet. In fact, the only poem I've ever really been proud of now hangs over the sink at Mike's mom's house: a little piece filled with slapstick humor, pratfalls, and doggy doo.

Here's what I wrote in a card congratulating Wesley on his graduation from Long Beach Poly in 2002:

And so it ends.
Not with marches, flowers or ceremony.
Not loudly, not all at once.
Slowly we sneak away.
We fly, we drive, we run
away.

We leave, but we don't forget.
We mature, but not too much.

And we remember the years together:
the months spent confused
in walls, desks, and body paragraphs.
the precious weeks of freedom
when we pretended not to miss each other.

And we think of the days ahead.
Of the days days days days days
ahead----
When it will be harder to remember
who we were
what we've left behind
where we've come from.

And still we sneak away into the future
faster now!!
Until the faces have grown faint.
And all we see when we look back
are vague images of happiness.
Then our hearts will smile and remember.

Because we won't let them forget.


High school was awesome. And weird. But the weirdest part of it was it ending. Because I don't think there was ever a time while I was in it that I really believed that all of its ups, downs, and odd in-betweens would ever be just a memory.

Monday, July 16, 2007

Cinematic moment narrowly averted

A few days ago, my manager switched out the Shrek 3 soundtrack for the Beatles' Love album in our queue of 5 overhead play CDs. On the one hand, the Love album is almost a year old, and thus cycling it through the store's speakers isn't necessarily gonna encourage people to buy it. On the other hand, if you're coming into my Borders looking for a CD, you're already in the wrong store. And Love is awesome, whereas Fergie singing "Barracuda" gets old real, real quick.

Last night I was shelving in the religion section, in a pretty rotten mood. One of those moods where I'm just slightly annoyed at everyone and, since I had to spend the first two hours of my breakless 5 hour shift on registers, I had already had about enough of smiling customer service. If I recall correctly, at the time I was grumbling to myself about how quickly the Buddhism books had gone from their aesthetically immaculate alphabetization to a jumble of misplacements and inconsiderate stashings.

Then the Beatles started singing "All You Need is Love."

Behind me, over my right shoulder, a girl started singing the chorus. Not quietly, either. In full, joyful voice. And, a moment later, another voice joined in, this one a pleasing tenor. And there was another moment, pregnant with anticipation, in which I was sure that the whole store was going to start singing. Laughing, tears forming and spilling, we'd all join hands and be glad to be human. We'd realize that it's easy to love one another, all it took was the willingness to do so. And we'd sing, probably in perfect harmony, again and again: "All you need is love. All you need is love. All you need is love. Love. Love is all you need."

Instead, the moment passed. The two singers, who had evidently come in together, moved down the aisle and their voices faded, lost in the jumble of a busy Sunday night. And it left me to wonder: how many other voices would it have taken for me to join in the song? How many smiling, loving faces would have had to turn my way before I joined in the celebration as it paraded out the café door, spreading into the night and into the world?

Would I have needed a bag check from a service manager before I left?

Tuesday, July 3, 2007

Quality Paper #8: 1000 Places to See Before You Die

The title is pretty self-explanatory, don't you think? This book and its cousin, 1000 Places in the USA & Canada to See Before You Die, both by Patricia Schultz, are hopping on and off the bestseller bay like fleas in a Long Beach apartment. On the one hand, it's a pretty cool travel guide outlining the must-see destinations that might otherwise pass you by. On the other hand, it's creepily a part of that odd niche in the market pandering to, encouraging, and encouraged by those who feel like, if they could just check off enough boxes on their to-do list, they could finally be content. As a side note, today we added to the new QP table Eat This!: 1001 Things to Eat Before You Diet. I hate puns, so I didn't laugh loudly at this for several minutes.

So today is July 3rd, 2007. It is officially 59 days until the wedding. I was thinking about this the other day, back in the blissful calm of a full 62 days of planning and prep, and I realized that this kind of anticipation is kind of a new one for me. Part of it, of course, is that I've never gotten married before. That's obvious. But I think an even bigger part is that I've never really counted down the days until something started before. In recent years, I've counted the months and weeks and days until the end of the term or graduation means leaving friends-- the end of an era. There's been the baited breath waiting for an upcoming release: a book, movie, or album that when I was finally basking in its presence, would make the next few weeks sparkle a little more brightly-- the end of anticipation.

And here I am, half-nervously, half-excitedly, half-disbelievingly (I'm multiracial. I'm allowed.) watching the weeks march off my calendar. And it's amazing because what I'm waiting for isn't really the wedding. The wedding's just one day. It's gonna be rad, don't get me wrong. But what it really is is the start of something new-- a new phase of life that I'm completely stoked on entering into with the awesomest guy in the world. I couldn't ask for a better Lewis to my Clark and, luckily, I don't have to. It's kind of neat that I'm not trying to stuff a bunch of "last times" into the next 59 days. I'm not counting down to the end of anything. What I'm really looking forward to is standing at the top of a mountain with my best bud at my side and looking around for a bit, then stepping together in a direction that's ours to discover.

What a lucky duck I am! What a great set of explorers we'll make!

$19.95

Saturday, June 30, 2007

Cloth Fiction #1: Lean Mean Thirteen

It's called Lean Mean Thirteen and it's the new Stephanie Plum novel by Janet Evanovich. We shelve them in Mystery/Thriller, and they're all got hideously garish covers and titles playing on the number the book is in the series (beginning with One for the Money). This week it knocked A Thousand Splendid Suns off the number 1 spot. I guess folks like numbers.

So, Anime Expo has come to the Long Beach convention center. This means that, along with the normal crazies (haha) of downtown LB, along with the normal weekend rush, we now are also flooded with hyperactive teens in their cosplay outfits raiding the manga section and lounging in the walkways throughout the store.

It's not that I hate them, per se. I get it. I really do. I'm not going to get down on someone for being a nerd. I like math, I like to read, and I've been in choir since fourth grade. And I love comics. Not just the high-brow literary stuff either. I love seeing guys in capes dodging blasts from ray guns, I love watching epic spandex v. spandex rooftop battles. No, anime kids, I don't hate you for being nerds. I hate you because you suck. You really, really suck, and that makes me sad.

A girl that I work with asked over the walkie today: "Are half-naked men allowed in the store?" It's cosplay, I know... but if your favorite character is Man in Speedo, can't you bring a bathrobe so you can at least pretend to be a decent human being when you're walking through my store, rubbing your who knows whats on everything and everyone in sight?

Or, wait. No, I'm sorry. This is the weekend where all of your fantasies come to life, right? Man in Speedo, if your fantasy is 13 year old girls in short skirts and knee-highs, then welcome to heaven. They come in groups of three or more, and they're all super giggly to be away from their parents for the weekend. Tee hee!

It's not that I hate them. Not exactly. I hate how they descend upon the store like some sort of locust swarm, where the locusts think they're Japanese and think we're smiling at their elaborate hats because we're bummed we didn't think of them first and we're staring at their nerdy locust boobs because they are so damned provocative. You are wrong, locusts. No one thinks your sunburned locust boobs are provocative.

If I sound bitter it's only because they smell bad.

$27.95

Sunday, June 17, 2007

Cloth Fiction #1: A Thousand Splendid Suns

The book is A Thousand Splendid Suns, the highly anticipated second novel by Khaled Hosseini, author of The Kite Runner. The story is of two Afghani women, elder and younger wives of an abusive husband, who become family to one another in a hopelessly war-torn country.

in stories, things tend to work out. even if there's no neat, happy ending, you can pretty much bet that problems that are brought up are going to be addressed, if not solved. if you learn a character's name, chances are he's going to be a cog in the machine leading towards the climax, the denouement, and the end of the book. the phrase "she finds [love, help, danger, etc] in the most unexpected place" is thrown about a lot on dust jackets, but, in reality, if there are details in a book that don't turn out to be some sort of foreshadowing, the prose often seems a bit messy.

maybe it's the curse of an avid and early reader, but it sometimes gives me pause to realize that that's not even remotely true in life. if daily life were a series of short plays, each one would have a huge dramatis personae, and it's often hard to predict when a character is exeunt-ing for the day to return several years later or tomorrow or never. at any point a complete stranger can be the Big Difference.

the other day, a girl i hadn't really thought about since middle school came into my Borders and changed my mindset for the rest of the day with our short interaction. the weird thing is that it wasn't that weird... this is Long Beach, after all. who knows how many lives i've changes by interactions i didn't even know were happening? and how different my own life would have been if i hadn't, senior year of high school, accepted a ride home a then-auxiliary player, a friend-of-a-friend who, in two months, will be my husband?


in a cliché sort of way, it's chaos theory. it's also a staple of buddhist philosophy: everything's interconnected, and the course of that system of "cause and effect" can only be predicted by very naive junior monks who are then to be whapped on the back of the neck into enlightenment. handing a mud pie to a man who will, lifetimes later, be the Buddha changes the course of history. and those things that seem so ever so important can just as easily fall by the wayside. who can tell?

and my point? i dunno, i guess it's that, no matter how much you hate them, you shouldn't wish for the eradication of all bees in the world. Mike.

$25.95

Thursday, June 14, 2007

something i think i may start doing!

since graduating from ucla and moving back to Long Beach, the question i get asked most often is "so, what are you doing now?" i guess i should kinda take it as a compliment. people characterize me as the Type Of Person Who Does Things, and are thus curious as to What I Am Up To Now. well, the truth is, i'm not really up to much. there's planning for the wedding, of course, and that's taking a lot of time and energy and is generally rather exciting. and there's trying to figure out what to do with the rest of my life... yeah, we'll get to that later. what's really taking up my waking hours (and many hours that should rightly be spent sleeping) is working at Borders down at the Pike.

it's not the best job in the world. there's lots of crazies, there's the general lameness that comes anytime one is required to spend 8 hours a day doing something. but, at the end of the day, i'm working with pretty neat people and i'm always surrounded by books. so that's rad. one of the cool things that comes with the territory is thinking constantly about books i've read, books i'd like to read, and completely unrelated things that leap into my head prompted by some word or image on the cover of a book i'm shelving.

here's what i'm thinking: every day i stare the Borders Bestsellers display, which faces the registers where i stand uncomfortably and wait for a customer to deposit their manga or self help dribble uponst my scanner. i'm gonna start writing based on what's staring back at me. if it amuses me, i may keep it up for a while. if it fails to amuse me? let's be honest. i've got a shorter attention span than you. i'll think of something else.

Sunday, June 10, 2007

further thoughts on that which is important

a few weeks ago, i sang for Frank Manaka's 100th birthday party. i called him a few days before to go over last-minute details and, not surprisingly, the conversation wasn't the smoothest. i was driving in traffic and he didn't have his hearing aid in. it took me a good minute of shouting into the phone for him to realize who i was. he told me that, what he really wanted, was a sing-along. he wanted me to lead his friends and family in singing songs that meant something to him. and he especially wanted me to learn "Let Me Call You Sweetheart," which had been the song he and his wife used to sing to one another. when we sang it at the party, he was smiling behind his harmonica, with tears in his eyes.

here's a story i wrote:

He left the funeral quietly. Her friends were huddled in clumps, chatting darkly and laughing brightly. A widow caught his eye and smiled sadly, sweetly. He nodded and slipped away. His right side was cold as he stepped out of the church and, as the street zipped by the little parking lot, as good folks with important things to take care of marched past in loud pairs and trios, he missed her. He walked to his deep blue sedan and sank into the driver's seat, struck with the sudden desire to go somewhere, to do anything but live the life he'd lived for the past forty years, only with a little coldness on his right side. But then he was pulling into his driveway and walking up the front steps. He was turning the key in the door and walking in to his living-room. He saw two chairs at the table and an extra phone handset for when their grandson called. There were unopened videos stacked next to the television console and a CD leaning against the stereo: gifts from family who remembered the things they had enjoyed over the decades and had forgotten that what they really loved to do now, now that they had time and before they lost the energy, was sit on the couch and chat mindlessly with one another. He went into his bedroom and took out his hearing aid.

Thursday, June 7, 2007

wherein shar concludes that, while some things are important only relatively, some things are objectively Pretty Noteworthy.


so i've had this domain name and this blog-shell up for a while now (a week at least, maybe more) but i haven't been able to think of exactly what to fill it with. mike over at astoriedyear has this rad project going where he's putting up a new short (sometimes short short) story every day for a year. i've got nothing as creative in mind, and, if i did, i prolly wouldn't be able to birth it uponst the world quite so eloquently.

so this blog-shell has been sitting here, empty. gosh, i don't ever think anything that's worth being the first post, with all of the historical importance that title carries with it.

and then, there's this: for the past month-or-so mike and i have played host to a rad gentleman of a cat known affectionately as Stumps the Cat, on accounta his half-a-tail. pretty immediately after he demanded to be let into our apartment one 2 am in early May, we fell in love with him. we spent the following weeks alternating pretty much daily between wanting to get rid of him and wanting to make him a permanent addition to our little family. on the one side, he was loud and annoying and made us both sneeze and the bathroom floor a sandpit of misplaced litter. on the other hand, he liked to curl up on our toes and would sometimes bite our chins gently when he was really really happy with a petting he was getting. so we continued to grumbly grow more and more attached to him.

tonight, i let Stumps in when i came home from L.A. he lept up into my lap as i tried to type on my computer and wouldn't shut up till he was scratched to his content. then he sat in a shoe box. then i let him back out. shortly after mike came home, we heard him meowing alarmingly outside, like he was scared or being hurt. and i heard voices outside on the sidewalk. i ran out the door and approached the people, two girls and a guy. "have you seen our cat?" "actually... he's our cat. we lost him about a month ago. we've had him since he was a kitten."

goodbye, Stumps the almost-was-our Cat! we were happy to have you and glad to have been a safe place for you while you explored the world beyond your own apartment complex. the apartment that was just a little too small for the three of us will now be a little too spacious without you underfoot.

a buddhist lesson about non-attachment here would be trite. i'm glad i loved that cat, even though it hurts that he couldn't stay forever. when i started writing this blog, i had something entirely different in mind for it. something about how something doesn't need to be really important to be noteworthy. it's all a matter of perspective, after all. but, Stumps, you are truly a cat to be remembered. so this first post is for you. and especially for your half-a-tail with the seahorse hook on the end. i love you still.