Posted in June 2008

They’re not “aliens;” they’re people.

In general, I know what the meaning of the word “alien” is. In the broadest sense, we can extrapolate the definition to mean “strange,” “foreign,” or, more positively, “exotic.” Something or someone that is particularly different in nature. But when you think of the word “alien” (go ahead, think about it right now), the gut reaction that occurs isn’t necessarily an embodiment of those aforementioned benign terms. As perpetuated by countless Hollywood flicks in conjunction with the sci-fi industry, the modern connotation of the word “alien” indicates a concept very different than what Merriam-Webster suggests. We equate the word “alien” to mean, at best, an “other worldliness,” or, at worst, having a subhuman aspect or lacking human qualities. The word, in the most common and pejorative sense, indicates an extreme difference from us – the human race, that is – and what we are fundamentally.

Yet, it is universally acceptable to refer to “immigrants” – human beings merely leaving one country to live in another, mind you – as “aliens.” When this terminology became so widely used, I’m not sure. But one thing is for certain: “immigrants” are not the functional equivalent of “aliens.”

Immigrants are people. Immigrants are human beings. Immigrants are you, and immigrants are me – especially in the United States. All of our ancestors originally hailed from another country during the past 200 years or so. We can’t quite write off that history, now can we? I mean, don’t we consider our descendants “people”? Don’t we consider ourselves “people”? How can we consider other individuals in the identical situation any differently than we see ourselves or our lineage?

Cognitively, labeling “immigrants” as anything other than “people from other lands” makes no sense. And yet, the United States, as of late, has been treating these “people from other lands” as if they actually meet the subhuman suggestion of the word “alien.”

The video above is one such example of what’s inherently wrong with the continued usage of the word “alien,” because it depicts the inhumane treatment of individuals that are given these subhuman attributes. In the excerpt, June Everett claims that Immigration & Customs Enforcement (ICE) officials had information about the special health conditions of Sandra Kenley, her detained sister. Sandra had high blood pressure and high cholesterol, and she required specific medication in order to keep these health issues under control. ICE was acutely aware of this, and yet, officials didn’t regard these concerns as crucial. Instead, they carelessly issued her the wrong pills, and in the 50 minutes that transpired between the time emergency services were summoned until the time they arrived, Sandra died. Yet ICE claimed she died as a result of a heart attack from high blood pressure, without any mention of the misadministration of her medication.

Oh, and by the way, Sandra? She was a 52 year old grandmother who had been living legally in the United States for 33 years. Yeah. Could’ve been your grandmother, couldn’t it? It very easily could’ve been mine.

The ICE official in the video claims that “deportable aliens” are receiving “the best healthcare” while in custody. My question is simply: Really? Because – correct me if I’m wrong – “the best” would usually entail delivering the proper medication for a known, documented ailment, right? I mean, normally, you’d think so. “The best” would also entail a high degree of accuracy, wouldn’t you argue? I mean, I would. Unless the detainees were viewed as unworthy of “the best” available care, and thus, “the best” is mere lip service to what actually occurred and is occurring. You know, treatment reserved for those that are perhaps viewed as “inhuman” – nay, “alien” – in the eyes of the government.

According to the further testimony of the ICE representative, while one million individuals have passed through ICE custody, only 66 of them have died. While that number barely equals one percent of all individuals detained (if we truly believe this statistic), it still strikes me as questionable. Why do any detainees have to die while in custody at all? Further, what is ICE doing to these individuals to precipitate their deaths? And would these detainees have died had they not been taken into custody? It seems that in Sandra’s case, we can speculate that she would not have perished, unless she regularly made the mistake or was predisposed to making the mistake of taking the wrong medication for a chronic medical condition on her own accord.

Lest we forget, there’s a fundamental issue here: these are lives of human beings we’re talking about. Not subhuman creatures and most certainly not numbers. And 66 of these lives shouldn’t be taken lightly, no matter what the ratio of survival. Are these lives being treated as sacred as they should be? Or is there – more likely – another component to these deaths than the sweeping explanations we’re receiving?

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So, uh, yeah. Boys are weird.

You can speculate all you want on the reasoning behind excessive, competitive chile pepper eating. I mean, you’d never find me engaging in such behavior, and I love hot peppers. All of ‘em, in everything, from eggs to rice to sandwiches to bagels. Make it spicy, baby, and make it ache! To the point where it burns my lips, makes my nose run, and forces unrecognizability upon my poor, unsuspecting tongue. However, all bets are off once those itty bitty vegetables of fire take a toll on my tummy, and I surrender before it hits the point where my derreire is glued to the toilet seat. Um, ahem.

But for some of us, namely the boy version of the species? Well, they just don’t know when to quit.

As a result, the above video features a Chile Pepper Eating Contest. Oh, thank goodness, a contest. To see who can ruin their bellies the fastest. I mean, what?

The premise? Ramit‘s birthday, and hence, the Ram-It Olympics (get it?). Stocked with equal parts competitive spirit, raging testosterone, and varying levels of intoxication, from a little buzzed to full-on shrieking inebriation, the Ram-It Olympics could be nothing but a side-splitting success. The attending menfolk in particular, when presented with the slightest opportunity to flex their proverbial muscles, have a machismo that I will never seem to understand; one that they seek to capitalize upon almost daily. Good thing we women were blessed with bigger, sharper brains and more common sense in order to exploit their idiocy. Um, did I say idiocy? I meant gallantry. Yes, that’s what I meant.

Featured in the video above, we have a case in point study of said valiant deeds. Ask a woman why you’d want to chow on the equivalent of gastrointestinal knives at the highest speed possible, and you’d get the only answer that makes any sense: “I wouldn’t.” But the men, oh, those men heave-ho with everything they’ve got, and such a response remains a mystery to me.

But no bother. It made for some interesting spectator activities, at the very least.

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They kicked and they balled.

Ustream reigned supreme after their match.Yesterday evening, a gaggle of Web 2.0′s finest geeks and I headed to Hippie Hill in Golden Gate Park for the inaugural Friday round of Kickball for Geeks 2008. My favorite Community Evangelist, Kristine of PBwiki, orchestrated the entire event, and six teams participated in the post-work festivities. The sting of the [ridiculously chilly] weather was eased by cases of booze for each team before and throughout, and the sting of bruised egos and severed limbs (kidding!) was eased by wings, nachos, and guacamole at Kezar Pub after.

Social lubricant notwithstanding, quite a few rivalries were rekindled, rearing their ugly heads during the course of the activities. However, as the mere photographer, I’m not going to be the one to fan the flames. There’s a time and a place for smack talk. Let this neutral observer be. But you can check the photos and stir the pot yourself.

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I can’t get no satisfaction.

Can you hear them bells a-ringin’? It’s ’cause the times they are a-changin’, my friend, and a new day is a-comin’. That’s right. Yeah, yeah, of course I’m being a bit dramatic, but the ides of the year are upon us again. Screw March; ’tis the season for life-related upheavals!

Yes, you read that right. Life-related upheavals. Allow me to explain.

It seems that, en masse, quite a few of my friends are demanding – and taking – more out of their lives at this particular time of year. Not that this occurs with any sort of regularity, but when it happens, it really strikes the ground with the loudest of thwacks. And as a result, there have been countless earth-shattering breakups, engagements, monumental career changes, fulfillments of life goals, and relocations. For example.

Last night was a celebration of one such occasion. After three satisfying years in the Bay Area, a dear friend of mine will be packing his rucksack and heading off to Chicago, the Midwestern mecca of wind and snow. While a somber event in terms of our friendship, I can’t quite complain too loudly, as I am prone to doing the same on a more regular basis than most. Besides, with the advent of Twitter, Facebook, and blogging, well, you’re never as far away as you think you are anymore.

However, that’s not really my point. My point is, while at this shindig, I met (well, re-met – we most certainly had been introduced before under more inebriated circumstances) a friend of a friend who was a practicing attorney. The lives of practicing attorneys are always of some interest to me, simply because, as a graduate of law school myself, it allows me a small glimpse of who I could’ve been, or who I had the chance to be. You know, how the traditional law graduate lives his/her life post-law school.

In the eyes of the law school gods, this particular attorney had done everything right. She summered (read: was a summer associate) at a BigLaw firm after her second year, accepted a six-figure-plus job offer with said BigLaw firm immediately out of law school, passed the bar, and has been working at her firm for the past four years. On paper, she had the law student’s dream come true. Especially compared to me, an unlicensed law school graduate who has dabbled in almost every field in the three years since she graduated. Except the practice of law, that is.

But ever so oddly enough, in the middle of that dusky bar, with all of our career differences splayed between us, we two legal minds found common ground. Ironically, despite the drastically contrasting paths we’d pursued since graduation, the two of us completely saw eye-to-eye regarding the state of our careers. Isn’t that remarkable?

She and I – the seasoned, practicing attorney and the law-shunning techie do-gooder – somehow commiserated on the most rudimentary of career concerns; namely, that we weren’t getting satisfaction out of our salaried choices. And, try as we might, we seemingly couldn’t find the inroad to our true path to professional happiness. And neither one of us had even an inkling of an idea where to even look when it came to our next feasible step.

The similarities between us truly shocked me. Here we were, scholars of the law that had taken two completely different professional paths, only to end up equally as disappointed with the law and the opportunities (or lack thereof) afforded to us in the end. Does that sound like I’m looking a gift horse in the mouth? I’m not.

Here’s the thing – the people that end up in law school are the type that expect to work hard for the rest of their lives. We are the types that want work to become us, overtake us, and define us. We anticipate it, and we relish its onset. We are used to long hours of studying and we are used to sleepless nights, weekends, even weeks without proper respite. These sorts of challenges don’t faze us, because, after all, we are training to become the gatekeepers of the law, formally or informally. We realize that the responsibility is great, and we realize that becoming an attorney means shedding your old self, for better or for worse, and slipping into this new skin for all eternity.

But ask any attorney my age if they like what they’re doing, and you’ll get a surprisingly half-hearted response, preceded by a deep sigh and a long sound laden with uncertainty on how to diplomatically approach the question without sounding utterly miserable.

This level of career discontent is acutely obvious and exampled within my personal sphere of friends. Three years post-law school, almost all of my friends are squarely confronting the fact that their legal careers have been less than satisfying in almost all regards. Many of them have switched employers in the past three years, and although only a few of them have left the practice of law entirely, the doubts about law are sentiments that have been expressed more than twice:

  • The insurance litigation attorney fantasizing about careers in merchandise buying and higher education administration;
  • The landlord-tenant attorney tenaciously attempting to bridge her way into intellectual property with every new application submitted;
  • The intellectual property litigation attorney looking to shun BigLaw by heavily researching the possibility of solo practice;
  • The general litigation attorney that ditched the field for employee benefits;
  • The big city BigLaw attorney that disappeared to a ranch and waiting tables in the American West, only to abandon her hopes of opening a bar, admit her dependence, and reluctantly return to BigLaw;
  • The licensed attorney doing tax consulting and glorifying the day he’ll get a chance to apply for jobs in litigation; and
  • The government attorney wishing she could get a shot at BigLaw.

And the list goes on and on and on.

So, where do we find satisfaction in this field? We, the disillusioned, the dissatisfied, the once-idealistic, budding doctors of the law? Or, perhaps the better question is, can we find satisfaction in this field? And if not, then what?

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Here We Are, Face to Face

This is it, guys.

Tomorrow I leave for Anchorage for my half-marathon.

I’m already crying, don’t worry. This is so emotional for me!

It’s hard for me to not to be a bit disappointed in myself. Five months ago, I set out to run a marathon to raise money and awareness for blood cancers. I was only able to meet half that goal, and it still stings a little that I failed to do what I set out to do.

But when I think about what it has taken for me to even get to this point, then I am very proud. Because what a ridiculous roller coaster these past few months have been for me since I began training in February:

I got the flu while traveling for work, and as a result, I began training two weeks late.

I ran a 10K – my very first race since high school!

However, I overtrained, and suffered from iliotibial band syndrome (one of the most painful “injuries” I’ve ever experienced), which would define my training endeavors for the rest of the season.

I battled iliotibial band syndrome, and found my workaround – swimming, spinning, and the elliptical machine.

I managed to run 10.5 miles without massive pain over a month and a half before my event, which included running over the Golden Gate Bridge!

I raised over $4,000 (and still have so many wonderful people to thank!) for blood cancer research.

I was hospitalized (for an afternoon) with a kidney stone due to dehydration less than a month before the race.

Did I fail to mention that I moved from Houston to San Francisco without a job? Oh yes, there was that, too.

I redefined who I was in terms of stamina, endurance, and self-worth. Over and over and over again.

    And yet, none of that compares to what those battling blood cancers have to deal with on a daily basis.

    ***

    So, while I might still carry residual disappointment about not being able to run the full marathon, that’s only when I look backwards and think about what I can’t and couldn’t do. What I’ve come to realize – right now – is that when I look ahead of me, there’s a lot that I have done and can do and will do for blood cancer research and myself.

    And I’ve done amazing, amazing things. Which makes me an amazing, amazing person. Backed by an amazing, amazing cause.

    Full speed ahead! Anchorage tomorrow! GO TEAM!

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