Blast from the past

I know I've said a lot about what it's like to be back in LA, both good and bad, but I've failed to mention the part of life that's just plain weird. For example, after five years of schooling and all the other life changes that go along with that, I'm living in my old room in my parents house, getting nagged about cleaning my room, and working part-time in the food industry. It's like the last five years just didn't happen and I'm still in high school (without that pesky requirement to go to class, which I appreciate). At least now I'm old enough to drink, though, thank God.

But as hard as it is to digest those facts of life, even weirder are the actual blasts from the past when I run into people I haven't seen since middle school. It started at Starbucks, where I ran into Daniel, a guy I'd known since first grade who is now a manager there (and part of why I decided to apply for a job there: I was afraid that, with my Master's, even Starbucks wouldn't take me, and it was nice to know someone with credibility would recommend me. Plus he turned out to be a really cool guy.) Not too long after that, I got an email from Gloria, who I'd been good friends with through elementary and middle school (and who, incidentally, Daniel used to have a crush on). She saw my profile on Friendster, which includes a picture of me with a six-foot kiwi statue, and thus learned that I'd been in New Zealand recently. Which is where she's now studying abroad for a year. We were in Christchurch at the same time and didn't know it. At then at work at Starbucks one morning, I ran into another girl from way back when, Jenny, who now works at a casting agency down the street.

That was handle-able. At work, I'd talk to Daniel a bit about other people we knew from then and what had happened to them, if we knew. I mentioned what I knew of other people I have as friends on Friendster. Hearing the names is the strangest part, because you haven't thought about them in years, and remembering them recalls your life from back then and it's the change, I think, that stops you in your tracks. It's hard to believe your life was ever different from how it is at the moment, and yet you're being presented with incontrovertible proof that it was. But names are different from flesh and blood. They're there, you've both changed, and you're trying to see both the past and the present simultaneously. Like I said, it's weird. Most people are allowed to prepare for stuff like this starting when they get an invitation to their school reunion. It's not fair to just spring that on someone.

And last night, it happened again. Friends from high school that I've kept in touch with had a party at their house. There was beer and a hot tub, and I was SO there. I went knowing I might run into a couple of their other friends from high school who I'd also known back then--it had happened at a dinner in December, too, and it stops short of weird because they were people I'd kind of known in high school, but they were a year ahead of me and were friends of friends. And I did run into a few of them, plus some other people I hadn't met before, and it was nice chatting with everyone.

And then some new people show up, and we start in with the small talk, and one is a guy who says he went to our high school, and for some reason I asked which elementary school he went to, which I wouldn't have done if I'd been thinking (chances were 99% he'd name one of the many I hadn't gone to and the line of questioning would end with an oh-so-intelligent "Oh." and then there'd be an awkward pause while we tried to think of another question). And he named mine. At which point I had to ask his name again (Matt), and almost fell over with the shock of running into someone else I hadn't seen or thought of since middle school, at a place I hadn't expected to do so. Like so many, he now works at an agency, but started in high school, skipped college, and has thus ascended to being an actual agent, as opposed to most others who are still assistants or coordinators at our age. (And for those fans of Family Guy out there, he's worked with Seth MacFarlane a bit and informed me that he's come up with another show--not American Dad--that's so wrong it'll never air, and it's called Peaches, and I'm assured that it's to be found on the internet.) So we went the round of updating each other on other people from back then, which took awhile because between the two of us, it's now a fair number of people.

Then more people came who I hadn't seen in ages, and I got to see what my reaction had looked like: another girl, Leslie (also now working at a talent agency) showed up and hung out for a bit, and while we were making introductions, I saw recognition dawn as she talked to Matt, marked by a widening of the eyes, shortly followed by her mouth dropping open, and then suddenly pointing her finger at him and saying "YOU used to work in tech!" (Both had been involved in putting on a number of musicals at the high school, she as a performer, he as a stagehand.) And while I said it wasn't that weird to run into people just from high school, I was wrong: when there are lots of them, it's weird. A blast from the past sensory overload.

Surprise!

Ok, I think I've met my quota for headlines with exclamation points. Like forever. (With the possible exception of life-changing announcements, etc.) But it was brought to my attention by a certain Mac-owning friend of mine that my blog wasn't all that cooperative with Safari. I'm nothing if not accommodating, at least when the perfect excuse to do something I'd been thinking about doing anyway comes along, and so I thought an update to the look and feel was in order. (I think that *ahem* some others would be well-served to follow my lead...)

I would also like to announce that blog-dom has claimed another victim: another exceedingly pensive acquaintance of mine, a friend from high school, finally caved and started his own blog here.

Wahoo!

Everyone, I would like to announce that... (drum roll please)... I have another interview! For those who were counting, like me, this will bring the total number up to 2. But that's depressing, I don't want to think about that. What I do want to think about is how much meeting random people in bars rocks... um, that sounds wrong... but whatever, that's what happened. I was hanging out at a sports bar in Westwood, sitting at the bar and watching the Dodger game (and the super hot bartender who had inspired me to stay and sit there in the first place, despite the fact that the person I'd hung out with earlier had gone home). And I made the discovery that, if you're just hanging out and drinking your beer, you start talking to the people next to you, who are doing about the same thing. I ended up chatting with the girl sitting to my left who'd come there with her boyfriend to watch the Michigan State game (and who looked a lot like Catherine Keener in Being John Malkovich, now that I think about it), and we did the small talk thing, which always includes occupation. I told her I was looking for a job in marketing, blah blah blah: it's actually a subject I've come to dislike intensely, but you've gotta have some answer when people ask what you do and I haven't gotten to the point yet where I'll just start making shit up. And as much as I hate the topic, I recognize the advantages of telling as many people as possible that you're looking for a job, because you never know who might be able to help you.

And then she pulled out her business card. She works at the Los Angeles division of Campbell-Ewald, which is primarily concerned with the production of Chevrolet retail advertising (retail advertising refers to the cheesy car commercials that talk about no money down, etc. to bring in buyers to meet that month's quota, as opposed to more brand-focused advertising, which has a lot more imagery and much less information, usually just the MSRP). She said that they really need assistants to help everyone because there's so much work that needs doing. It'd be entry-level work, but it'd be a way to get agency experience. I told her that sounded good to me; I was currently working at Starbucks. I sent her my resume the following morning, she responded right away and said she'd forward it to her supervisor, and then I got a call from his assistant this afternoon scheduling me for an interview on Friday morning.

An interview! With Campbell-Ewald! I'm interested in agency work and am excited to have an interview at a place I've actually heard of. The funniest part is how I heard of them to begin with: not because of their relationship with GM or Chevrolet (for whom they did a great commercial for the Super Bowl last year, for the SSR), but because of their relationship with the U.S. Navy, an organization to which I devoted most of my winter quarter last year in an effort to devise a recruiting strategy for their medical forces. One of their account executives at Campbell-Ewald is an IMC alumnus and he brought the project to us last spring.

And regardless of the job possibility, the girl I met seems pretty cool, and plays golf at about the same level I do. So now I've got a golfing buddy to go to the driving range with. Those lessons are already paying off.

Damn, I can hear the I told you so's from a mile away...

Of princes and paupers

Despite my constant complaints about being broke (which certainly feel true, for the record), I am not what one could call, by any stretch of the definition, poor. Maybe I could squeak by with middle class, but my judges would (and have) amend that with an 'upper'. And yet growing up in Los Angeles, going to school in Beverly Hills, I came to the conclusion that our family wasn't too well off. In my defense, I was probably 11 or 12 when that happened and I never really reexamined it until I hit college, and was made to see that 11 or 12 year-olds are idiots, along with people of just about every other age with the exception of 17 through 22 year-olds, and we laid plenty of traps for them too. Morons.

Anyway, I met someone yesterday who made me think that my 11 or 12 year-old self wasn't just making the s-word up. I was at my parents' country club (and for the record, we didn't become members of that until a few years ago) for my second golf lesson--and a smashing success it was! I learned how to hit balls and was hitting them over 120 yards and it was awesome! I'm sure it was God's April Fool's joke on me--and afterwards went up to meet my mom, who was still there after a tournament against women from another country club. (She'd shot an 86, her best score ever, particularly considering she hadn't broken 100 within the past six months--God's April Fool's joke on her.) Country clubs in general are quite nice, but even there you have tiers, and the club she'd played against was posh. In fact, you can almost tell how nice a club is based on how short the end of the stick is that women there get. At some places women are only allowed to even be on the premises a few days per week. They're required to wear skirts when they play. They have trouble scheduling tournaments there against women from other country clubs. Basically, the nicer the club, the further back in time you go.

There were still a couple of members from the other country club there with them, and I began talking to one of them. First, picture me, wearing the clothes I'd worn since 6:30 that morning when I'd gone to work at Starbucks. The khakis cost $20 at Target (and even then I think they were a rip; they fit poorly, and they're already falling apart) and my collared shirt cost less; not that cost really mattered, in this case, as it still had a few whipped cream stains on the left shoulder, which add their own kind of style. I'd exchanged my Starbucks hat for a USC hat to hide my gross hair, which stuck out on either side in pigtails. My makeup had resigned long ago. And I became more and more conscious of all this while I sat talking to this woman about her new orange Porsche 911 Turbo, their house in Bel Air, their office on Rodeo Drive, the 7-carat diamond on her finger, what a crime it was that UCLA's golf team wouldn't let her son practice with them because he had two country club memberships, how Chris O'Donnell's older brother is soooo cute (he won the championship last year at Bel Air Country Club, at which they have one of their memberships), and finally on to how I should meet her kids, especially her son, who's also a Taurus.

In all, she seemed like a very nice, well-meaning woman, though my end of the conversation consisted mostly of nodding and smiling. What I really wanted to do was lean over, narrow my eyes, and ask, "Are you for real?" Maybe accompany that with a poke or two. I did not tell her that I used to work just down the street from their office, at Jamba Juice, and that, 2 degrees later, I've been promoted to working in a Starbucks not far from there. I got the feeling she might wrinkle her brow (or at least momentarily try to fight off her investments in plastic surgery and botox with an attempt to do so) and look at me and say, "Work?"

Things I've learned since starting work at Starbucks:

1. No one looks cute in a big green apron and baseball cap.
2. Not even me.
3. Particularly not at 7 in the morning.
4. In fact, I can't think of anyone that looks cute at 7 in the morning. And I've seen a few.
5. Who the hell are all these people coming to Starbucks at 7 in the morning?!
6. And why are they all wearing cell phone headsets?!
7. People in Beverly Hills totally match the stereotypes.
8. Not me, though. No sirree.
9. I mean, just because I have a tan and highlights and my parents have a membership at a country club...
10. Whatever.
11. The Spanish are totally onto something with that siesta idea. Getting up at 6 a.m. with only five or six hours of sleep has led to a few involuntary naps.
12. Now I get grouchy if I miss my nap.
13. If by 'grouchy' you mean...
14. People actually order regular coffee at Starbucks.
15. That coffee is served hot.
16. They must know something I don't about how to cool it down before drinking it. That or they've killed all the nerve endings in their mouths and that's why they don't bother paying for anything fancier than coffee.
17. I have absolutely no idea what I'm doing behind the espresso bar.
18. Or the cash register.
19. But smiling and acting like I do seems to be working.
20. My clothes smell like coffee when I go home.
21. I have ceased to enjoy the smell of coffee.
22. I have not, however, ceased to enjoy any of Starbucks' beverages.
23. It totally rocks to be able to get all the chai tea lattes and mochas and frappucinos that I want for free.
24. Even if that is an unhealthy amount of caffiene. I need it.
25. Damn, I'm tired.

Drool.

Finally, someone on the O.C. that I actually think is hot. That's male, I mean (Rachel Bilson had been in the lead, but the being female thing is kind of holding her back now). They got someone new to play Ryan's brother Trey, and I must say, well done. His name is Logan Marshall-Green, and I hope he sticks around awhile.

Employment gods don't hate local woman; Scrabble gods totally do, though

BEVERLY HILLS, CA--While yesterday marked a turning-point in the post-graduate life of local resident Adrienne Graves as she filled out tax forms for her new job as a Starbucks barista, it seems her luck did not extend to a game of Scrabble against her dad.

"Like, I breathed a sigh of relief when I filled out all the paperwork necessary for Starbucks to actually consider paying me, but I guess it was beginner's luck or something. Cuz, like, that was at the beginning of the day, because I'd overslept until the time I was actually supposed to be there, and then at the end of the day things totally didn't go as well."

Ms. Graves began what she hopes will be a short-term employment as a part-time employee at a local Starbucks, despite coming close to "fucking it all up" by arriving late for her very first day. "I dunno what happened... my cat woke me up at like 6 a.m. and I was awake till 7, but when the alarm actually went off at 8 I turned it off or something because next thing I knew my cell phone was ringing and woke me up at 10:30. At which point I was like, 'Oh shit, I was supposed to be at Starbucks, like, now.' "

Luck was with the local Integrated Marketing Communications Master of Science, however, and her verbal job offer of the previous day was not revoked. She begins formal training in the barista arts tomorrow at 11, presuming a timely arrival.

Unfortunately, it seems she blew all her good luck early in the day. When she returned from a dinner out with her parents that evening, they discovered that a power outage had occurred, and were reduced to doing "whatever it was people in the olden days did when they didn't have, like, light."

In this particular instance, the Graves family agreed upon a candle-lit game of Scrabble. Neither Adrienne nor her father had played in some years, when Adrienne's younger brother had incurred a constant reminder of his humiliation when he attempted to add the letters 'D', 'E' and 'F', in that order, to the preexisting word 'blast.' He had since refused to play and thus obstructed any familial attempts at the pasttime. Mrs. Graves had reportedly never been a fan of the game and had abstained since any of the participants could remember.

Adrienne might have done well to have chosen that particular course of action in this instance.
"I don't know what she was thinking; except for that one game when her brother tried to do the word 'defblast', I don't think I've ever lost to either of my kids," Mr. Graves said.

Things started out promisingly enough for Adrienne, as she was allowed the double word score benefit of placing the first word, 'doves', on the board. However, she soon fell behind, a fact that was made all too clear when Mr. Graves earned 69 points from a single word by exploiting one she'd just added. "Noooooo!" and "Oh my God!" constituted the bulk of her reaction.

"We basically thought the game was over right then," Mr. Graves said. "I was very surprised when she made a comeback not too long after that."

It seems luck did not completely abandon Ms. Graves; it only stayed with her long enough to get her hopes up. "I couldn't even believe how I lucked out with those three letters," she said. "Both of us were convinced there was nothing else to be done, that there wasn't even anywhere else to put a word, and all of a sudden I notice that putting 'jig' [vertically] next to 'rope' [horizontally] makes an actual word, 'grope.' And I got 57 points out of it. Too bad I wasn't able to maintain my lead, though."

Indeed, despite an admirable effort on Adrienne's part, her language skills proved no match for those of her father, who eventually won the game. "It was a good game," he said. "We both used up all the letters, and the final score was only 265 to 276." Nonetheless, it is evident that "the Scrabble gods totally had it in for me," Adrienne said. "I mean, after a comeback like that, how do you still lose?! Sure, it's no match for that one-word 69-pointer, but that's just unnatural. What're the odds of getting a double letter score on a 'Z' and then getting a triple word score?! That's crap."

It seems the Graves family will suffer another Scrabble drought. "Dude, I'm never playing that game again," Adrienne reported. "That's bullshit."