Carly White for California

In the red

I’ve been grumpy since last week. And I know when you hear why, you will think Carly White, you have no grounds to feel that way! That’s part of the reason I’m so grumpy.

When you work for an Investment firm, you receive an annual “substantial bonus”. This “substantial bonus” is supposedly calculated by gnomes in an underground, under-lit, secret compound. Like the Fight Club, no one is to speak of their substantial bonus. It appears in your bank account – and that is that.

The deposit into my bank account last week was the largest deposit I have ever received into my crappy, no-interest earning, Washington Mutual Checking Account. In the big scheme of things, it’s not that much money. It’s certainly not “f-you” money, unfortunately. But, it is enough to make the tellers at the bank ask me about my “exciting investment opportunities”.

I am grumpy for a multitude of reasons. First of all, despite the balance in my checking account, I am too practical to buy the Burberry scarf I’ve been pining for, a 31mm Role of my own-e, or even the brand name products at the grocery store. I took my motorcycle safety class this weekend, passed, and haven’t stepped foot into the Vespa store to purchase my little buddy. I sure can, but I just can’t seem to do it. Secondly, a large portion of the money is already spent – OSU got a check, Mom and Dad got a check and various other silly things were paid. Easy come, easy go. Thirdly, I should be renewed and re-motivated and grateful, and I am not. I don’t feel free. I had this feeling in High School when a boy who liked me brought me flowers. I wanted the flowers, I liked the idea of getting flowers, but I didn’t like him. I didn’t feel free until the flowers turned brown and were thrown away.

Thanks to this bonus situation, I can never go back to Student Affairs where I made $38k in one year. My bank account is like a meth user whose brain has been altered after just one hit. You can’t buy happy, and a bonus does not confirm a job well done. And all of these things make me feel very much unbalanced.

Wealthy is doing poorly

When you take a class through City College, you find yourself sitting in Middle School classrooms late at night. While attempting to speak french, I noticed this chart on the wall. For those of you who’ve read Freakonomics, you’ll get this joke beyond the simple irony. If you haven’t freaking read Freakonomics, stop reading my blog and go freaking buy it!

It’s Super, Fat, Tuesday

In High School, Mr. Lloyd was my Government teacher and my friend. When he was in High School, his father was a Senator and Mr. Lloyd was a hellraiser. He had a podium that he would lean on, and a pencil (or a cigarette) that he always held in his right hand. When I was a senior, I earned the highly coveted role of being his first period aide. My duties included bringing coffee, the paper, and my juvenile views of the days news and politics to him by 9am. Those mornings were the highlights of my high school days.

Many people called him Captain America. However, unlike many teachers and many politicians, it wasn’t his exact ideas and views that he wanted to inoculate you with. In addition to teaching and taking students to Washington DC, he taught us how to think critically, engage in proper discourse and to always have at least ten reasons for what you believe in. He would count your reasons, and if you came up short – he would tap his pencil on the podium until you came up with one. And you better make it a good one.

If I could have coffee with my dear friend this morning, I would proudly tell him that I voted for Obama, and here are eleven reason why:

1. Obama has the right kind of experience – and the ability to say many things with very few words. All over Iowa, he used a one quote and two sentences when he told audiences, “experience is important, but there is the wrong kind of experiences and the right kind of experience. My experience is working in the real lives of real people, and I will bring real results if we have the courage to bring about change. I’ll have to admit that these are not my words, but Bill Clinton’s words when he was running for president in 1992. Bill Clinton was right then, and Barack Obama is right now”. 35 years of experience, my ass.
2. I think for myself, but you cannot negate the old adage that birds of a feather, flock together. My activist and musician buddy Dave Matthews has endorsed Obama. Oprah, one of the most powerful women of our era, has stopped giving away free cars and opening schools to support a fellow proponent of positive change. The legitimate Kennedy’s revised their “Christmas Card List”… and George Clooney, and all his sexiness, is for Obama as well. And pretty much everyone who voted for Al Gore, and then John Kerry…is for Obama.
3. His Early Childhood Education Plan makes me want to have kids so they can experience his Zero to Five plan.
4. Obama may not be a war hero, but he has been the peoples hero by repeatedly demonstrating his good judgment. My Grandfather served in the Army, fought in wars, earned a Silver Star and a Purple Heart with a cluster. He’s lost countless nights of sleep, and so has Grandma. His experience did not solely make him a Lieutenant Colonel. His experience did not save him during moments of attack. It was his good judgment and his ability to lead others that earned him the ability to make change and to this day be saluted when he buys groceries at the commissary. And for the record, Grandma has never considered herdelf to be a war hero.
5. I support national security and the Department of Defense efforts. I understand the unavoidable costs of freedom. However, I am certain that we may have had other options in 2002. Obama accurately predicted that the war would lead to “an occupation of undetermined length, with undetermined costs and for undetermined lengths”. His plan to get us out might just work.
6. He’s not Hillary.
7. He never supported George Bush’s War.
8. Unlike McCain, Obama supports Roe v Wade.
9. Money does talk, and Obama has raised a lot of it. Specifically, $6.9 – almost a third this quarter- has come from 50,000 donors on the internet. Almost 90% of those donations were for $100 – or less. In total, he’s collected donations totaling almost $32 million dollars from over 100,000 people. The people want Obama.
10. Having the Supreme Court Justices all on the far right scares me tremendously. The next President of the United States will appoint a minimum of three Superior Court justices, who will serve for at least the next 40 years. That would change our world and our children’s world, and not for the better.
11. He wants to be President; he does not need to be President. There is a very big difference.

The Pickle

There is “Carly the Professional” and “Carly the laid back, fleece wearing, semi-crunchy / semi-yuppy who saves pickles in her timbuk2 bag”. Both personas clash on occasion, causing a sort of different pickle for the “Carly of the Moment” to deal with.

example 1. When we train leasing consultants, we provide them with bottled water. Bottled water during meetings is Corporate World Standard M.O. The green side of me weeps a little every time a bottle is opened. All requests for an alternative hydration approach have been denied.

example 2. Today I had to run through the airport OJ Simpson style in order to catch my flight. It’s not typical to see a blonde, 5’10, suit sprinting with a purse and laptop in tow. It is a good thing that I have been running lately, and that I had my ecco heels on. Judging by the looks that the sedentary suits gave me - they don’t keep the hope alive and make a run for it.

example 3. I save food for later, in an attempt to not be wasteful and to regulate my blood sugar levels. Just now, as I am flying to Garden Grove to give a presentation, I’ve discovered a pickle wrapped in a napkin, in my bag. It should be noted that I am truly, in no way, a lackadaisical slob. I had wrapped the aforementioned pickle in a napkin on Sunday, with the intention to eat it after my workout. I had even mentioned on Monday to Mary, “I can’t seem to find my pickle…”

Clearly there is too much going on… As you can imagine, the “real pickle” is much larger than the one in my purse - and more involved to clean up.

Highlights of a Hundred

Why hello, all you regular readers. This is the 100th post on CarlyWhite.com. Over the last few weeks I have pondered how to make the 100th post special. In 1995, Seinfeld celebrated their 100th episode by sharing the highlights of the previous 99 episodes. In the following, I will do the same.

Since the first post back in July, a lot has happened. You’ve learned a lot about me. I’ve shared about Craigslist perusings. I narrowly escaped going to jail after celebrating Michael’s Phd completion. I also sold my A4.

I celebrated iday, Max became Maxzilla for Halloween, and I developed the best damn whip cream recipe you’ve ever tastedon Thanksgiving day. (Imani has read this post so many times, she can recite the words in an instant). I cheered for theRaiders with James, and watched OSU beat Cal with papa. And of course, Randell fully bounced back. Most recently I have spent time in Southern California, meeting old family friends and expensive seahorses in person for the first time.

The posts have evolved and improved since July. They get better not because I am doing cooler things or talking about recent issues more prevalent in your mind. They get better because I tell the story more honestly and more readily. And, most importantly, with less and less concern for the repercussions. I also find that the stories are no longer whispering in my ear, they are SHOUTING to my fingers to type them out.

Since July, I have been grateful for the regular readers and the clever commentators. It’s quite satisfying to feel that the blog is about something, rather than nothing.

Register to Vote

If you want to vote in the February 5th Presidential Primary Election, today is the last day to register or change your voting status. You have two options:

1. You can locate your local elections office by clicking here.
2. You can print a National Voter Registration Form and postmark it today by clicking here.

For all you non-Californians, go here

Six Degrees

Grandma, Mom and I lunched at Sarduccis in San Juan Capistrano. We did not even need to discuss where we would lunch, nor what we would order once we got there. As we approached the restaurant, which is now next to the Depot, we ran into Steve Bukich. He was a couple years behind Dad at Newport Harbor High School and a good friend. He was awaiting the arrival of the train, which was bringing his father, Rudy Bukich. Rudy was a father figure to my Dad during those years of running around Bayshore and Lido. Rudy also was responsible for getting both of the boys into Construction… as well as Professional Football. He was a quarterback at USC, and for the Bears in 1963 when they won a few games and earned the NFL championship. He was also my Dad’s Best Man. I saw the 78-year-old man, the championship ring, and the validity of all those stories, from all those years ago – for the first time. He told my Mom that she was more beautiful than he remembered. The Seafood Cobb was better than I had remembered it too.

We swung by the Cadillac dealership because Mom wants to trade the Escalade in for something that is more fuel-efficient. She does realize that almost every car on the road would be more fuel-efficient. I like the Escal-awwwd, don’t get me wrong. However, we don’t have an entourage/posse/driver, and gas is no longer $1.24 a gallon. We estimated that over the years, our family has purchased almost 10 Caddy’s (trucks and cars) from this same dealership. Don’t calculate the fuel consumption on that. It turns out that Allen (of ALLEN CADILLAC) was the father of the boys who presently run the dealership. We initially met the Allen Caddy Clan when my Dad coached the boys in West Newport. The boys were 9 years old at the time. Relationships, sports, cars… there is a theme here. It wasn’t that Dad was a great car-buying negotiator, he was a really great baseball coach in the early 70’s.

I had my nails done. I don’t always have my nails done. Having my nails done for me usually occurs when I realize that my nails look like I’ve been digging myself out of a cave with my bare hands and I have no ability to focus the 11 minutes required to do them myself. I am concerned about proper salon sanitation and the things that they are saying…presumably about me. I almost peed my pants when “Jenny” said, “Are you married? Do you have buoy-friiiiend? You work too much. You need paraffin wax. Make soofffft. You need find yourself a buoy-friiiiend”. If you’ve ever had your nails done at a place called something like The Nail Resort, Beautiful Nail, Nails for You or Expert Touch, then you can fully relate to this video. “Honey, why you no liiike?!”

Mom: You know, if someone wants to be a swinger, that’s fine. It’s better than if they went around killing people. I’ve never been a swinger- and I don’t want to be, but you know, if that’s what some people need to get excited, so be it!

Carly: What size diamonds should I wear? 
Jeweler: Nothing more than a .96 TCW. You want to attract a nice boy who will buy you even larger ones.
Carly: Why can’t he buy me earrings that are even larger than 1.2 TCW?
Jeweler: You are scaring me.

Carly: If I have a boy, I’m returning it.
Grandma: Are you expecting?
Carly: No, but I am expecting to pop out a girl somehow, someday!

Mom: Those Cadillac Margaritas were strong! Did I hug your father? Are you okay to drive? (as we are halfway home, after leaving Olamendi’s)

Wipe-out

When learning to surf, a skill worth mastering is how to hold your breath for an extended period of time when pushed deep below the surface. You remain calm, you watch the wave pass, and check for any other surfers who’ve spun out of control above in the waves wake. You have to believe that you will always surface, or else panic sets in and your shit will go awry.

For the last week, I’ve been waiting for the turbulence to pass before coming up for air.

When I was in Hawaii in 2003 to witness my parents get married for the second time (long story), I learned how waves can differ immensely. I duck dived a wave on the north shore, only to discover that the coral reefs have something to say about wave wussies. A chunk of my right foot and a large portion of my pride was left out in the water that day.

Our third roomie moved out last week. Yes, there is way more to this story, we actually “asked” her to move out. She moved out last Thursday after eight days of sending us ridiculous emails. Actually, the movers Mary and I hired moved her out on Thursday because that was the breaking point. In the last week we had to arrange with the owners to get new carpet in her room. Her dog defecated, daily, on the $55 a yard Norwegian white wool carpet that was in her room. Did you know that most carpet costs $20 a yard, yet Norwegian white wool costs $55 a yard? Originally, we hoped that she would move out by the first of February. But then we bought her out by giving her more than her share of the rent back. If she were a wave, before reaching the shore, she would have rolled out in all different directions in a current of crazy. No “high tide” or “low tides”, just a sea of f’ing crazy.

I’m in a hotel in Orange County (not to be referred to as “the OC”). This is, of course, where I am from. I was born at Hoag Hospital, and raised up and down the coast of The County. I flew in and met my Dad at the ‘buck because it just so happened that he was getting his afternoon green tea latte (birds of a feather…). I had dinner near South Coast Plaza, which is where my Mom worked when she was in high school and where we shopped when I was a kid. I’m driving the rental car down roads I’ve driven down for years. By the way, never buy a car from a rental company. Roll a few miles with me in my hot Hertz and you’ll know what I mean.

I just started reading Sex, Drugs and Cocoa Puffs by Chuck Klosterman. He starts the book by writing:

There are two ways to look at life. Actually, that’s not accurate; I suppose there are thousands of ways to look at life. But I tend to dwell on two of them. The first view is that nothing stays the same and that nothing is inherently connected, and that the only driving force in anyone’s life is entropy. The second is that everything pretty much stays the same (more or less) and that everything is completely connected, even if we don’t realize it.

I of course, adamantly believe, the latter. Everything is connected, everything.

Fortunately, this doesn’t mean that we must remain connected to certain things. Like the 452 cds that I sold this weekend on Craigslist. Or, like our old roomie and her un-trained, neglected, malnourished dog who’s been removed from the lease and who has a key that won’t open our front door.

I am confident that my eye can assess the surf conditions much more accurately now. I’m never paddling out into a sea of crazy again.

Happiness is…

Shanghaiing plane tickets, and then drinking all the wine at District.

Having a wingman named Mary.

My Grandparents celebrating their 65th wedding anniversary. I’ve only been around for 25 of those years, but I cannot imagine sharing a life with someone, for so long. They were married after only knowing each other two weeks. Big Love.

The flip camera that serendipitously landed in my life  bed on Friday. I’ve captured stunning footage of cab rides, Max the dog, and goofy friends comparing tongue lengths. You too should have one – you’ll love the quirkey sounds it makes, the simplicity and useability, and it’s small size.

A Macbook and a Prius. Walter converted from the PC side and ditched the Range Rover. Things do not make you happy, but Walter having these things, oddly makes me happy.

Having good friends. I’ve spent time this weekend thinking about ways I can be a better friend. Expect your phone to ring more often.

Dear 2007,

I wanted to write and thank you for the goodtimes we shared over the course of the last twelve months together. There were a few curve balls, but that is what makes life interesting, right?

Thank you for everything that you taught me. You introduced me to a different sort of pace that I haven’t always been accustomed too. You made me slow down and create boundaries with my work. You introduced me to people and ideas and a social life that I probably would not have sought on my own. You created perfect complexities and painted my walls and days so many shades of beautiful grey. Thank you for the moments where you urged me to let go and fling my hands into the air and fully experience the thrill of the ride.

By now you have packed your things and left. I quietly let you go, I think we both know that it’s time to move on. We had a small, demure dinner party here at the house. We toasted you, and then within the hour I quietly crawled into my crisp sheets. I dreamt of 2005/2006, and riding my bike down the hill through the puffs of fog to the surfers and joggers of west cliff. It seems like worlds away, but it was just before you.

In the coming twelve months I plan on doing a few things differently. I intend on saying no, frequently and proudly. It’s time I start protecting me and my time more cautiously. I intend on placing the large rocks in the jar first, rather than first trying to place the bazillion little precarious pebbles. I want a big life, with little means. I’m going to continue using my voice and sharing it with others. I might even ride that bike of mine from Napa to LA or Rosarito to Ensenada, just for the thrill of it all!

Thank you again,

c.

3x5

I’ve been on the road. In a very Kerouac fashion, I have been traveling and hopping and transporting (along with way too much luggage) through three different states. There have been other “states” too that I have found myself in… nostalgia, happiness, relaxation, doubt, optimism…

If this were a postcard that I was sending you, I would write:Having a great time! Wish you were here!

and I do mean that.

But of course, there is so much more to say about it all.

I visited the seventh ring of hell (by way of my possessed thermostat in AZ). I saw a couple old friends, in new places, just like old times. I joined Michael for a few days and we collected books, furniture for France and new memories. I spent Christmas with the family in SoCal at the Grandparents house (see picture below). I would describe our personalities to be similar to The Osborne Family, yet imagine a setting similar to The Cleaver Family. Have the predicted “unpredictable events” occur (it’s like Groundhogs Day!) and that is how Christmas 2007 played out. It should be noted that this year there were no car wrecks, runaways or family interventions. It was unsettling tame. I am not sure if this is indication of a new leaf turned - or rather the calm before the storm (Christmas 2008?) 25 years ago I had my first Christmas in that house. Each winter, as Christmas approaches, so does the desire to return home to my Grandparents house for Christmas. Elves make toys at the North Pole, and we have Christmas at “504”.

In the morning, I am flying with my parents and brother to the Bay-Area home. We will attend the Bowl Game at SBC and cheer on the Beavs. We’ll eat Pho on Polk and rock out to ALO and also fit a little Raider Nation action in. We will embrace public transportation (life without an Escalade?!), ethnic food and the SF uniqueness that only a city 7x7 can encompass.