2009 May ramblings May 15, 2009 8:39 am 1083 Views May must be the traveling month. I start out with a business/pleasure trip to Washington, D.C. and New Jersey in early May, and then only a week after I get back, I am off to Chicago with my mom, eldest daughter and my wife for my second daughter's college graduation. I was so happy that she made some very wonderful friends in Chicago. The weather was okay. Chicago is a wonderful city, an architecturally robust place some of the world's greatest buildings are here - Sears tower, John Hancock building and so forth. Millenium park is handsome. And my eldest daughter is now bickering with her mother, and her grandmom is talking to her to calm her down. Now, the eldest daughter is giving the cold eye to her sister. She is at the center of all sorts of squabbles. My wife is ready to butt heads. And believe me, you don't want to be the object of my wife's wrath. One day, I called my eldest daughter an "a. . .hole", and she did not say anything. The next day, she told me, "You know dad, remember when you called me an 'a . . hole' the other day?" "Yes. I apologize for that. . . I just couldn't control myself becaue the tension you were creating was so difficult for everyone." "No. No. No. When you called me that, . . . I kinda liked it." "What! You liked being called an 'a . . . hole'?" "Yes." - Who, what am I dealing with here? While in Chicago, we visited my long lost cousin living in Waukegen, about 30 minutes north of Chicago. His life story would be the suject of a separate blog entry, but it was sooo good to see him and his wife - very gentle, salt-of-the-earth people. I would have gone to see him, had I known that he lived that close to Chicago. He is 63 years old, but my mom kept telling me he lived in Wisconsin somewhere and I automatically assumed that he lived in northern Wisconsin (why do we make such baseless assumptions?) - and Wisconsin seemed far away anyway - and so I hever made an effort to contact him whenever we were visiting Chicago. In fact, Waukegen is located close to the border of Wisconsin and Illlinois on the Illinois side. Such sad loss of opportunity to build our relationship. My mother had not seen her nephew in 15 years. They talked on the phone and they are very close, so there was simply no excuse, no excuse at all. Well. . . caring for my brother . . . Just a few days after I got back from Chicago, I am now in San Diego/Coronado attending a lawyers conference at the Hotel Del Coronado. This place is soooo relaxing. I step out of the stuffy meetings into the cool sea breeze. How refreshing. I should just move here and forsake all of my responsibilities of life. I often wondered where I would most like to live if I were ever homeless. Places such as Santa Monica (not bad), San Francisco (too cold), Palos Verdes (too cold), Santa Barbara (not bad – but maybe too cold), San Diego (may be best), Tijuana (never been there, but I think it is probably pretty good), Orlando (near Disney World – Epcot center and travel the world) – come to mind. I just don’t understand these homeless people in Chicago or New York. They must be crazy. They should just pack up their belongings and walk over to one of these parasidical enclaves of human existence. The meetings here are good because I got to network with other solo lawyers to share our concerns and to support each other. In my life, I have been so blessed with meeting so many wonderful people. I wonder just what is it that I have ever done to deserve all of this good will and thoughtfulness. Whom do I repay? How do I repay? On Sunday, I go to Atlanta for the annual BIO meeting there. It should be interesting with all of the stem cell controversy, drug affordability controversy, patenting genes controversy, swine flu worry. And then, a week after I get back, I was going to go to Korea, but I canceled. It was ridiculous. I would be a “pah kim chi” if I did that. 2 Comments

Walking the city May 7, 2009 9:44 am 973 Views For a long time, we lived in Maryland and Virginia. Although Washington, D.C. has one of the greatest collection of valuable cultural artifacts, we were too busy raising our kids to partake. Couple weeks ago, my wife tagged along with me on my business trip to Rockville, Maryland. We landed in Dulles airport, saw old friends, and drove up to New Jersey to see our son. We thought we were going to meet his new (first) girlfriend, short blonde sophomore. Turns out they were on a “break”. Good thing. My wife was not in favor of a high school kid having girlfriends. “You should be studying, not dating.” But when she found out that the girl had asked for the break, she suddenly became incensed. “What! How could she do that? What is wrong with my son.” Well, we had a nice talk and he was happy. We drove down to Washington, D.C., and slept in town. We got up, and began walking the city. We walked from M St. and 22nd to the Smithsonian museums, and it was wonderful. An overcast day in the 70’s – a great day for walking. Saw the Renwick Museum, Hirschorn and the National Gallery. Fantastic stuff. D.C. does not have the feel of a large city like New York, but nevertheless, it invigorates. Will do it again, I am sure. There is so much to see and do in D.C. Walking the city is the best way. 0 Comments

The save May 7, 2009 9:29 am 1153 Views I saw something fantastic today. My wife and I, wishing to take a break from life and work, drove down to Detweiler Beach in L.A., just about a half hour from where we live. Just the two of us, strolling, not talking, just staring at the dark blue waters under the afternoon sun and . . . breathing. Got blisters on my baby skin feet from walking barefoot all the way to Marina Del Ray on the concrete bike path. Took a break . . . from stress of work . . . a sweet old woman, saw my problems and the mounting pressures of overwork . . . “got any due dates today?” “No, but lot of work to do.” She ordered me out. This was to be a mandatory break . . . but, but, I have work to do . . . no, we are leaving . . . where to mister? Desert? Beach? Mountains? . . . don’t care . . . cannot go. . . mountain. And we end up in the chilly breeze of Detweiler beach. Suddenly, we hear a hollow yelp, “Help! Help!” I heard it twice. And I saw waving arms on the beach. A group of kids wave and point at a bobbing brother being carried away into the infinite ocean. Other onlookers stare in the general direction. My glance quickly shifts to the lifeguard station. And within a blink of an eye, I see the lifeguard tearing out of his station and driving to the site, gets out and swims to the boy. He was fast. Incredibly fast. I do not remember seeing a human being so quick. I saw him swim powerfully gracefully to the boy, and when he finally reached the boy and locked his arms around him, which took only maybe 30 seconds, tears streamed down my eyes. It was majestic. The human condition – how fragile it is, how easy it is to lose its value – but how majestic and glorious it is to save it, even just one. 3 Comments

An evening with maestro Lorin Maazel Feb 20, 2009 7:32 pm 1427 Views I went to an awards dinner yesterday in Los Angeles for a non-profit organization that was set up to bridge American and Asian cultures. This year, the award recipient was maestro Lorin Maazel. It was a rather intimate affair. About 200 people were there, I think. I was delighted that they seated me at the very front table. I was going to see this great musician up close as he gives his acceptance speech. Seated next to me at the table were two young investment banker types. I turned to them and in my excited voice, told them how excited I was that Lorin Maazel was talking tonight. And to my utter stupefaction, they did not know who he was! Lest I further embarrass myself, Lorin Maazel is an icon of the music world. He is about 80 years old now. He was the conductor of the New York Philharmonic for the last seven years, and in February of 2008, took his orchestra to PyoungYang, North Korea for the first concert ever by an American orchestra there. He said that when the orchestra played the respective national anthems of both countries, the US national anthem was played and heard for the first time ever . . . ever . . . in North Korea. It was an amazing evening. The man exemplifies humanity. 5 Comments

meeting my mentor Feb 20, 2009 7:19 pm 1491 Views I had lunch with my mentor today that lasted three hours. Why is he my mentor? I don’t think he thinks he is my mentor but I look to him for all sorts of advice. What are his qualities that I admire so much? He is sharp, level-headed, logical, able to simplify seemingly complex issues, accessible, humble, and is a man of faith. Right out of law school in Virginia, I joined a law firm. He was a partner there, and immediately I recognized that he was a great guy to go to for solid advice, businesslike yet accessible. In short, I wanted to be this kind of lawyer, indeed this kind of person, possessed with the character to be able to weather the storms of conflict while firmly seated at the head mast without being pulled over into the water or swayed by the inevitable unexpected momentary gust, and seeing things with eyes wide open and simplifying the seemingly unsolvable issues. He moved out to San Diego about twelve years ago. I moved out to L.A. about seven years ago. In the meantime, I had already left his firm sometime ago, but I always kept in touch with him calling him ever so often for advice. He was always cordial and glad to hear from me. When I started my own practice about six years ago, I began to actively ask him to have lunch to catch up on the law and the business of lawyering as well as family life. So, we would meet about half way between San Diego and Los Angeles in Irvine area generally. We talked mostly about family, what he is doing at home away from work, how his kids are doing, asking me how my wife and kids are doing and so forth. I wanted to talk to him this time because I was feeling down about all sorts of issues. And he agreed to meet. We talked for about three hours. Today was a bit different than others. On other meetings, he had seemed to be a bit aloof but today he was very personable, and as I shared my story we talked through it and he was of immense help. I feel better now. 5 Comments

melancholy Feb 13, 2009 8:32 pm 1956 Views I never had anything. I do not expect anything. I live my life in a mundane place, looking inward and contracting to within myself. I should see life as nothing at all, working everyday and earning money to pay for my very existence. I am loved, no doubt, but my love is reserved. My heart is hollow and empty. It is a deep place to hide from all things unpleasant and crawl within to a nourishing place. Do I exist even? I know I exist meagerly. Keep to myself, burn a hole in my age ruler and snuff it out when appropriate. I gave and I gave, but never do I recall receiving as much I gave. And I will give and give, and will expect nothing because I can live on nothing at all. Do I deserve happiness? I don’t think anyone deserves anything. You are given what you have, and so you have what you have and you use what you have. It is the nature of things. 6 Comments

mentor Sep 20, 2008 4:59 pm 2618 Views My dad wanted to buy me lunch. There was a time when my dad always paid for lunch, well into my thirties. But at some point, probably when I got a real job, I began to pay for all of our meals together. He was happy today. A seminary student had e-mailed him and wanted to know if he could look upon my dad as his mentor. This was all it took to make him happy, at least happy enough to buy me lunch. We all need mentors. I have a mentor professionally as well as personally. Even if I were 80 years old, I know I would still need a mentor. Find a mentor. Learn the philosophy of living from your mentor, and share your life with him. The enrichment is effortless and yet so powerful – both ways. 6 Comments

Not done with the sauce Sep 17, 2008 9:18 am 2614 Views I heard a nifty phrase a few weeks ago. I was at a biotechnology networking conference at a hotel in Maryland, where a typical hotel banquet type lunch is served. We were seated at a round table and directly across from me was a good friend whom I hadn’t seen in awhile. We were all tired from the bad and boring speeches since early morning, and perhaps this is why my ears were attuned to a good turn of words. The salad came first and we were almost finished. My head was down buttering the roll. The waiter came by and took my salad plate, and was about to take his plate, too, then I heard him uttering a phrase that took me at once by surprise and delight: “Don’t take it. I’m not done with the sauce. Can we make it tomorrow?” He loved their salad dressing. Analysis: “I’m not done with the sauce.” Doesn’t it simply and effortlessly roll off your tongue? And doesn’t it have metaphysical meaning? I am laying on my deathbed, and I speak to God in my halting voice, “No, God. Don’t take me now. I’m not done with the sauce. Can we make it tomorrow?” “Can we make it tomorrow?” When my friend said this, he was actually talking to a different person whom I did not see because I had my head down, but he said it with such rhythmic continuity that I thought he was talking to the waiter the whole time, and it did not make sense to me, which made me look up. 3 Comments

Broken wine bottles Sep 16, 2008 4:14 pm 2728 Views Some time ago, my wife went to Smart and Final and bought a few bottles of wine in the mid-10 dollar range. On the way home, she picked me up in our silver BMW and as we were driving home, I kept hearing this clanging sound in the trunk. I asked her what it was. She said they were wine bottles. I asked her if they were secured. She said they should be fine. As she made a sharp turn into our driveway, I heard this ‘thud’ coming from the trunk, and I could smell soured grapes. I did not think much of it until I opened the trunk, and there was a liquid pile of wine amidst shards of glass from the broken wine bottles. I jumped to action immediately and pulled out the dripping plastic bag in which the two wine bottles had been bagged, and wrapped it up in a thick swath of newspaper and threw the entire bag in the trash can, and went inside to get paper towel to wipe the inside of the trunk. My wife, who was now inside the house oblivious to the calamity outside asked what was going on. I told her that the wine bottles banged into each other and broke. And following is our conversation that ensued. Her: (in calm and measured tone): Well, we should return the broken bottles back to the store so we can exchange them for new bottles. What did you do with the broken bottles? Me: I threw them out in the trash can. Her: Go get them out of the trash can. Me: Forget it. Her: It’s their fault for not individually bagging the wine bottles. Me: Come on. Are you kidding me? No way. We broke the bottles. Her: We have to return them and get our money back. Me: You return it, then. Her: Fine! I’ll go myself. Get it out of the trash can. Me: Are you really going to take that bag and return it? Her: Yes. I’m serious. Me: Fine. You go. Her: Just tell me what I have to say. The next day, she took the bag with the broken bottles, which was now wrapped in a newspaper, shards and all, back to Smart and Final, and brought back home two unbroken bottles of wine, which we have enjoyed. We went to dinner with some friends afterwards, and told them this story without telling them the outcome. All the women agreed with my wife, and all the men agreed with me. Since then, we have been back to Smart and Final. We bought a few bottles of our favorite wine again. We asked the cashier to individually wrap them please. We brought them back, and in her infinite cuteness as to how her mind thinks, she brought the bottles out of the cart and gingerly placed them in our backseat, and wrapped a seat belt around them. The bottles did not raise a peep all the way home. They probably never had a smoother ride. 7 Comments

Reality check Sep 16, 2008 9:12 am 2723 Views I just have to tell this story. People tell me I look young for my age. I must say that I agree with them. Once in a while, I look in the mirror with completely objectified mindset, and I do see that I do not look like a 47 year old man. This is crazy but last year, I was in Korea having a typical barbecue and soju dinner with a bunch of lawyers (man, lawyers drink like fish), and one of the junior guys was asked by my friend to guess my age. The junior lawyer (perhaps he had a little too much soju) believed that I was about his age but that perhaps I was a little younger than him. So I asked him, “How old are you?”. “27” came the reply. A few months ago, when my daughter was a college student at UCLA, she asked me if I wanted to go to this breakfast café in West Hollywood with her. The pancakes there are ridiculously good – one of the defining moments of my culinary experience – the place is called Griddle Café. You must visit before you die. My wife was out of town, so the two of us drove over there for a nice father-daughter bonding brunch on a rainy Saturday morning. We were feeling relaxed and enjoying each other’s company and talking about this and that. We arrive, find parking, which is not easy and walk up to the place. Outside, there is a crowd of people waiting to be seated. This place is known as a celebrity hang-out, also a place replete with wannabe actors and screenwriters who are waiters. My daughter saunters up to the counter, and this is how the conversation went. Head Waiter: How many? Daughter: Two, please. Head Waiter: Oh, you and your friend? Daughter: Who, you mean him? No. He’s my dad. Head Waiter: (looks at me, does a double-take and triple-take – walks up to me, thrusts his hand out, and pumps my hand vigorously)Congratulations, sir! I can’t believe it. You are her father!? Hey, Bill, (pointing to another waiter) can you believe this!? He’s her dad. (Turns to me) I can’t believe how young you look. What’s your secret? Me: Haha. Okay. Thanks. By this time, I notice that the noise level of this raucous Saturday morning crowd had died down significantly. It felt as if they were wondering who this celebrity is? Why is the waiter shaking this man’s hand so vigorously? He must be somebody. Who is he? I can hear some of the whispers. I am feeling very self-conscious and embarassed now. We step outside to wait our turn and wade into the crowd who have no idea what just occurred inside. For one brief moment, I was afraid the paparazzi would be after me. Later, on the drive home, I turned to my daughter, “Can you believe all that commotion? I must be really young-looking.” The reality check daughter’s reply, “No, dad. It’s not about you. It’s more a reflection of the fact that I am looking older.” I suppose everything is relative. 5 Comments

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