Relay for Life

Thanks to the persistent persuasion of my friend and colleague, David, I have recently found myself co-captaining a relay team in the American Cancer Society's Relay for Life. What is Relay for Life, you ask? Let me tell you.

Relay for Life is a 24 hour event held in cities across the globe. Each year, more than 3.5 million people participate in some way. Our team, which is sponsored by my firm and comprised mainly of my coworkers and our friends and spouses, will camp out at the event and take turns walking laps around the San Diego Embarcadero throughout the day and night to raise money and awareness to support the American Cancer Society's life-saving mission.

These days, sadly, it's hard to find someone whose life hasn't been touched by cancer. In my own family, talking about breast cancer has been as common as asking what you ate for lunch. My grandmother was diagnosed when I was still a teenager (she recently celebrated ten years in remission!). In her forties, my mom began having surgeries to remove suspicious growths. And beginning last fall, I personally became a regular patient at UCSD's Moores Cancer Center when my doctor found a lump that shouldn't have been there.

And that's just the beginning. There was also my grandfather's colon cancer. Another grandfather's mouth cancer. My dad's skin cancer. An aunt's lung cancer. An uncle's prostate cancer. The list doesn't seem to end, though I desperately, desperately want it to.

So when David (who is a member of the San Diego Relay's planning committee) approached me about co-captaining a Relay team, I didn't even hesitate to get on board. Much like the Susan G. Komen Race for the Cure, which my mom and I have participated in for many years and in multiple cities, this was an event I knew I could get behind.

Beginning at 9:00am on Saturday, August 15, we will camp out for 24 hours and walk the San Diego North Embarcadero in support of this cause. As night falls, the track will be lit entirely by luminaria to honor our loved ones who've fought this battle and won (Granny Betty, there will be a candle-lit bag with your name on it!) and to remember those we've lost. If you're in the San Diego area and haven't already joined my team, please come out even just for an hour to walk with us. And if you're not in the San Diego area but still want to support this cause, I would be grateful and honored to receive your donation toward our cause (it's quick, easy, and tax deductible!). You can contribute to my personal fundraising efforts on Facebook, or I am happy to send you a direct link to my donation site, Jack's donation site, or our team donation site (for privacy reasons, I am not posting the links here, though I'd be glad to send them to you in an email if you're interested).

I'm Relaying for my Granny Betty, and because I want to fight back against a disease that has already taken too much from my family and friends. Will you help me?

A Toast to Tara and Craig

On July 11 I had the honor of standing next to my best friend and college roommate, Tara, as she married the most perfect man I could ever have imagined for her. I am truly elated to see Tara and Craig starting their life together, and I couldn't have been more proud to be Tara's matron of honor. But instead of typing out a whole post about all the reasons their wedding day was such an amazing thing for everyone involved, I thought it might make more sense to just let you all hear the toast I gave at the reception!



By posting this, I don't mean to suggest that it's a stellar speech or anything truly brag-worthy. More than anything else, I'm posting it because I know my mom wants to check it out and it was easier to put it here than to get the private YouTube link to work! But for those of you who have already told me how much you enjoyed it, my sincerest thanks.

Don't Judge Me For My Fearlessness

I have a confession: Those flimsy little toilet seat covers that are all the rage in ladies' rooms these days annoy me. Personally, I see little use for them beyond occasionally blotting my face with a piece of one when I'm out of pressed powder or those nifty Clean & Clear oil-blotting sheets. (Bet you didn't know that trick, huh? Yeah, it's just a little beauty secret SJP and I share.)

Maybe it's because I'm married to an immunologist who insists that we need to come in contact with a fair number of germs each day to stay healthy. Maybe it's because I've read a million articles that affirm you aren't going to catch a cold through the skin on your butt cheeks. Or maybe it's because my mom instilled in me at a very young age that "a pinch of dirt never hurt anyone." But whatever the reason, I'm not the slightest bit germaphobic.**

Now, don't get me wrong. I wash my hands after using the restroom. I use bleach-based products to clean my kitchen and bathroom. And I scrub down with antibacterial soap after I pick-up after the dog, before making dinner, and after handling raw meat. But you won't find me using a paper towel or my elbow to open the bathroom door. I only use my foot to flush if the bathroom is truly vile (I figure I'm about to go wash my hands anyway, and my mom once told me the story of one of her friends who lost a flip flop in the toilet when she was trying to flush with her foot. I'd rather take my chances with touching the handle than with fishing my shoe out of the bowl, thank you!) You won't find any Purel in my purse or desk. And you definitely won't find me struggling to get one of those silly paper rings to balance on the toilet seat.

I'm slowly becoming convinced that I am one of the only women in the world who doesn't share a deep-seated fear of contracting a disease from a public restroom (Notably, most men I know don't seem to have this germaphobia thing. Do they even have those toilet seat covers in the mens room?) Many of my female friends and colleagues are very passionate in their views about not allowing their bare bum to rest on a toilet seat or permitting their purse to touch any floor. And increasingly I am feeling as though I'm being scrutinized by them for my "germy" behavior!

Just yesterday Jack and I attended a backyard BBQ at the home of one of my Junior League friends. For some reason (that coincidentally had nothing to do with us all watching twin 15-month old boys eat pita bread off the floor), we got on the topic of germaphobia and what is and isn't acceptable in terms of what we touch. I felt like a social outcast--downright judged--when I admitted that all these things that freak them out (like putting something that has so much as grazed the floor onto your countertop, or allowing a pet into one's bed) don't even phase me. The collective look of horror on the faces of the women at the table when I admitted to disliking toilet seat covers was stigmatizing. Oh my goodness, when did I become the dirty girl?

But here's the thing. Experts agree that bacteria are not always bad for us and people don't catch STDs or other ailments from toilet seats. Beyond that, germs are Ev.Er.Y.Where. That cell phone you're smooshing up against your face? Germy! The interior of your car? Way germy! (Combine occasional food spills with mold spores and bacteria being sucked in through the vents, add to that the elevated temperature of your car in summer, and your dashboard is prime for growth!) Restaurant ketchup bottles? Yep, GERMY! I've even read that your kitchen sink harbors more fecal bacteria than a toilet bowl, though I can't say I've ever seen anyone using their elbows to turn on the faucet to do the dishes.

So I say live and let live. Don't judge me for disliking paper toilet seat covers, and I won't judge you for looking like a disjointed crazy person as you maneuver around the ladies' room without touching a single surface.

**The only exception to my "I'm not germaphobic" rule is the rare occasion that I'm in a confined space with a human petri dish (aka, a sick kid). Coughing children on airplanes makes me cringe. Oh, and stories about dust mites totally creep me out. Though I can't say any such story has yet caused me to rip up my carpet or toss out my throw pillows.

Glad We Made it Out Alive!

Well this is frightening. I was just at this bar three days ago, along with my husband, my baby brother, about a dozen of my closest friends in the world, and most of Natalie and Tyson's wedding party. Many of us were staying at the hotel next door, and the rest were parked on nearby streets and adjacent parking lots. Leaving Maggie O'Brien's Friday night, we felt totally safe as we walked back to the hotel, and then later to White Castle (Mmmmm....) I had no idea this part of downtown St. Louis had gotten so sketchy! Yikes!

What's Going On in the South China Sea?

The main article on CNN.com today was about the conflict in the South China Sea between a U.S. ocean surveillance ship--the USNS Impeccable--and some Chinese ships. The Pentagon and the Chinese government are releasing competing statements regarding what happened and why it happened.

I have no doubt that this is actually a really serious issue, but this particular quote from the Pentagon made me question exactly how this whole thing went down:

"Because the vessels' intentions were not known, Impeccable sprayed its fire hoses at one of the vessels in order to protect itself," the Pentagon's statement said. "The Chinese crew members disrobed to their underwear and continued closing to within 25 feet."

That's it, China. If you come any closer with your boats we're gonna spray you with water! Yeah, you heard me. WATER! We're not afraid of you or your tighty whities!

Being Stalked by the Statue of Liberty, and Other Signs One Has Lost One's Mind

A couple weeks ago I was driving to a court appearance in the far northern reaches of San Diego County. As I'm pulling into the court complex, I notice that the Statute of Liberty is standing on the corner. Not a steel and copper replica of NYC's famous tourist attraction, mind you, but a real, living, breathing, moving Lady of the Harbor. She didn't speak. She didn't offer me a flier or pamphlet. She wasn't holding any signs. She didn't appear to be directing people to any sort of mattress sale down the street. She simply stood there with her torch and smiled at me. Although this particular northern San Diego County suburb isn't known for its throngs of lunatics roaming the streets, I dismissed this incident as the musing of some hyper-vigilant crusader for justice who felt that standing in costume outside the local branch of the San Diego County Superior Court might make some sort of a statement. I kinda thought that a Lady Justice costume might have been more appropriate and that statements are more effective when actually stated, but who am I to judge?

Imagine my surprise when, a few days later, I see Lady Liberty standing outside my office building (which is 45 miles south of where I previously spotted her). As before, she didn't speak. The whole world of downtown San Diego business people was hurriedly moving around her, and she stood still and silent. And smiling.

I kept hoping for an explanation...a news story talking about the merry band of statues of liberty who have been stationed around San Diego to spread some sort of political message, or even just confirmation from one of my coworkers that they, too, had seen her standing there so I'd know it wasn't a figment of my imagination. So far, no dice.

In the meantime, however, I have spotted a man in our apartment complex walking his pet bird on a leash, and I've witnessed a guy in the grocery store parking lot having a long, soulful conversation with his car (in his defense, his arms were full of grocery bags and he appeared to be begging the car to open its trunk, but I had to question whether he understood that no amount of saying "please" was going to make that happen unless he produced keys).

In the words of Carrie Bradshaw...
I couldn't help but wonder, have we all lost our damn minds?

The Billable Hour

It is after 10:00pm on a Saturday night. I am at the office because, alas, today is the last day of January which means my time for the month is due. Naturally, our fancy web-based system for entering time is malfunctioning so I'm writing everything out by hand, but that's a whole other story.

Back to my point...
The only lawyers who don't hate billable hours are the ones who don't have billable hours. For the rest of us, the notion of having to keep track of every last thing we do--in six minute increments nonetheless--is perhaps one of the worst parts of this job. Worse than the stress. Worse than the long hours (though, I submit, the long hours are causally related to this inane practice of billing time because you're rewarded for sacrificing your family and social life to stay later and bill more hours).

The amount of hours you bill determines when you make partner, whether you get a bonus or a raise (and how much it will be), and often it determines whether or not you even get to keep your job. At my firm, the bare minimum is 1,900 hours per year (roughly 160 per month, 38 per week, or 8 per day). Compared to that which is expected of most lawyers in Manhattan, where a yearly requirement of 2,200 or more isn't unheard of, I've got it easy.

And sure, it sounds easy enough, right? Eight hours a day is what everyone works. But if you've ever had to bill time in a law firm, you know that it often takes ten hours in the office to actually bill eight hours. And then there are days where you mysteriously bill only four hours, or something else equally embarrassing. So that means that the next week, instead of working from 9am-7pm so you can try to bill eight hours just to stay on target, you're working from 9am-9pm to try to bill ten hours to make up for that day you had your head in the clouds. The cycle is vicious and neverending.

Yet in these economic times, there is apparently a rapidly spreading notion that the end of the billable hour is near. [insert two strains of the Hallelujah Chorus here] After all, why are we asking our clients--who already struggle just to be able to afford the cost of litigation--to pay us more money when it takes us longer to get the job done?

For a more insightful take on this development than I'm able to give right now (given that I still have five more days worth of time to enter before I go home tonight), check out this New York Times article from last week.