To say it feels odd to make a phone call home as a patient in a mental institution is an understatement. Yet not too long ago, that’s exactly what I found myself doing. I was calling my mom in Los Angeles from McLean Hospital in Boston to let her know I had safely checked in. I was a patient in its Obsessive Compulsive Disorder Institute, a residential facility where people whose lives are severely hampered by Obsessive Compulsive Disorder (OCD) come to hopefully get better. One has to apply to McLean’s OCD Institute and if a review panel deems you qualified, meaning in serious need of treatment, then you are granted one of their twenty residential spots. Having been a Los....continue reading

        I turned up the air-conditioning in my car as I drove to work. It was nearing that time of year – summer days: lack of compunction, ease of thought, lightness of clothing and being. Sadly summer takes on a very different meaning in the context of young adulthood and early career. No family trips, no endless TV viewing and leisurely reading. No break from mandatory labor. Work is the daily routine. A painful, mundane, soul-draining, daily routine.         Then there’s having to perform this routine – “The Wasting of Life” – in Los Angeles. L.A. is not an easy city to waste away in. Its architecture isn’t really attractive. Converted warehouses....continue reading

        The door to Peete’s Coffee had to be pulled open, so I waited there until another would-be-customer arrived to open it for me. Public door handles are almost septic. After one minute, twenty-nine seconds of standing idle a few feet away from the door and scanning the street for approaching customers, I noticed a man seemingly walking toward the Peete’s Coffee entrance. I took out my cell phone and pretended I was occupied reading something on it as I sauntered up to be right behind him. He was indeed entering Peete’s Coffee. He pulled open the door and I pretended to absently reach for the door as if I was about to open it myself and then looked up from my cell....continue reading

        We didn’t have a room. It was my responsibility to book the rooms. That’s how we divvied it up when we planned our trip in L.A.; Joe was responsible for transportation to the wedding, Mike would handle transportation post wedding, and I would book rooms for our travels after the wedding. I did make an earnest effort. Actually I spent way too much time researching our options. It’s what I did during any spare time of my work day as it got closer to the wedding date. I agonized over it. I searched every five star and four star hotel I could to find a price that was reasonable. All my suggestions were too pricey and vetoed by Joe and Mike. They wanted to take over....continue reading

Whoever designed Charles De Gaul airport should be shot. It’s a convoluted maze that bears no practical and certainly no aesthetic justification as to why it’s so confusing. The whole airport is just an ugly mind-fuck. This was my second time in ten days at this airport, but I was just as confused this time as when I flew in for my friend’s wedding. Thankfully this time I was here to fly back home to L.A. and leave the social disorganization that is Europe. After a few bouts of sprinting in the wrong direction and misreading of gate information, I had, thankfully at last, finally found my departure gate. Catching my breath, there I stood, scoping out the passenger....continue reading

        I was having some difficulty keeping track of the rules of quidditch. JK Rowling had concocted a rather complicated game and, paired with my ever-present unwanted ruminations, grasping the fast-paced action of the unfamiliar fictitious match wasn’t proving easy. It was past midnight and I was drinking hot chocolate in the lobby of the very upscale Shutters on the Beach Hotel in Los Angeles and nearly half done with the first book of the Harry Potter series. As it was a beach hotel, the lobby wasn’t grandiose or intimidatingly ornate. Rather it had a cozy beach cottage feel to it and I was sitting close to the large, wood-burning fireplace which afforded just the kind....continue reading