Author: Jamie Walker Ball

Boredom

Jamie Walker Ball5 Comments

I missed the memo about boredom.

It happened.  After a weekend cooped up at home due to illness, my nearly three-year old son pronounced that he was bored.  In fewer than 36 months, he had seen it all, done it all, and had exhausted his imagination.  He was bored. 

After torturing my own parents with similar pronouncements throughout my childhood, I finally got the memo about boredom in French class.  In French, the verb “ennuyer,” which means “to bore” is reflexive.  In French, you have to say, “Je m’ennuie” which means “I bore myself.”  Boredom isn’t a passive state of being, it’s something you’re actively doing to yourself.  If you’re bored, it’s your fault.  Oh, snap! 

I remember dutifully practicing the conjugation of the verb…I bore myself, you bore yourself, they bore themselves…and I thought to myself that it’s pretty embarrassing to be a bored French person.  If you have to say “I bore myself” then you have to acknowledge that you’re boring. 

From that day in French class, I began thinking about boredom differently and it was actually pretty empowering.  I began thinking of boredom as a character flaw that could be corrected with the right kind action and the right kind of attitude.   It also meant that I didn’t have to wait for something interesting to happen, I could make my own fun. 

Then, a few years later, I was watching a movie wherein some sexy brunette says, “Only stupid people get bored.”  (Salma Hayek? Penelope Cruz?..for the life of me, I cannot correctly recall which movie it was….extra credit to any reader who identifies it!)

Yikes.  So, if you’re bored, you’re not only boring, you’re dumb to boot.  But again, I felt a bit empowered at the suggestion that I could combat boredom with intellect.  Stuck in the airport with nothing good to read? No problem…I’ll just flip through my cranial Rolodex of amusements to keep myself occupied.

Maybe when my son is a little older, I’ll give him a lesson in French grammar and then tell him to go read a book or go outside and play.  Je ne m’ennuie plus.  Memo received.

My Hair

Jamie Walker Ball8 Comments

I missed the memo about how to deal with my hair.

(Left to right…age 5, nice bangs, thanks Mom…9th grade…again with the bangs, this time my fault, and for extra new wave credit, it’s crimped…couple of years ago–this is my hair in its natural state, note that its poofiness exceeds the frame…and alas, me with an “appropriate” hair cut and professional blow out.)

This might seem like a bit of vanity and folly, but I think I have what amounts to a serious disability when it comes to my hair.  I have kind of a Samson Complex combined with a congenital klutziness when it comes to using blow dryers and other gizmos which are designed to keep one well-coiffed. 

While many women enjoy their trips to the hair salon, I dread them.  Nothing about the experience of getting a hair cut is pleasant for me.  As a consequence, I get about two hair cuts a year.  For a few weeks after the hair cut, I look polished and presentable.  I vow that I will go back for trims and maintain my “look.”  But as the weeks tick by, my resolve weakens.  I begin to resemble a caucasian Diana Ross.  And I’ll let you in on a little secret… I like looking like that.  I like having long, crazy looking, curly hair.  I feel more natural.  I feel more feminine.  I feel sexier.

Early in my professional life, though, I got the memo that my big, sexy hair was probably sending the wrong message.  When I was a freshly minted lawyer, one day I came to work without torturing my hair into straightness and submission.  A male attorney said to me, “Your hair looks wild…I like it!”  And we all know that’s code for “You look like a whore…come to papa!”  I don’t want people getting the wrong idea, so especially for big meetings and court, out comes the blow dryer and the flat iron. 

But when I get home, the scene is something like this, except instead of a star-spangled bustier, it’s an old Oglethorpe University T-shirt and yoga pants:

The neat-haired girl is just the alter-ego I put on to disguise my true identity…

But perhaps some day I’ll ascend the bench and then I’ll have to care less what colleagues and clients think of me.  Then I’ll just let my crazy locks fall where they may. 

(Remember Dyan Cannon as the Hon. Jennifer “Whipper” Cone on Ally McBeal?  I could sooooo rock this look.)

“Judge Jamie” does have a nice ring to it, don’t you think?  Memo received.

© 2011 Jamie Walker Ball

Parkinson’s Law

Jamie Walker Ball4 Comments

I missed the memo about Parkinson’s Law.

Essentially, Parkinson’s Law states that work expands to fill the time available for its completion.  Let that sink in for a second…

I think I was just dinking around on the internet when I first stumbled across Parkinson’s Law.  As a tragic procrastinator and dilly-dally-er, I understood the powerful truthfulness of this law immediately.   When deadlines are upon me, I can somehow manage to focus my efforts and pare down a project to its very essential components.  Whereas when I have seemingly unlimited time, I wander around thinking about this idea and that idea, losing focus and not making much forward progress. 

Never before had I experienced such a nauseating and exhilarating manifestation of this phenomenon as when I sat for the California Bar Exam in the summer of 2004.  *post-traumatic stress shudder*

I’d like to think that it takes a truly exceptionally intelligent person to be a lawyer, but I don’t really think that’s true.  You do, however, have to be relatively quick-witted.  And maybe that’s why the Bar Exam is a timed test.  Tick Toc, Tick Toc….read, think, write…go, go, go.  Heavens, it was stressful. 

 

After three days, I emerged from the Bar Exam twitchy and tired, but I was pretty sure that I had passed.  And mercifully, I did.  As I think back now, I think the pressure of the time limit actually helped me to do better.  If I had months to ruminate about each question, I would have over-thought  and second-guessed my way into muddled and incorrect answers.  But as the clock ticked down the minutes, I was forced to get very clear about the task at hand and to answer quickly and decisively. 

In real life, I feel Parkinson’s Law working on me all the time.  A little pressure gives me a kick in the ass and brings some focus and clarity to what might otherwise be an enormous and amorphous task.  But here’s the rub…when my boss or the court gives me a deadline, no problem.  But the deadlines I place on myself?  They start feeling arbitrary and movable as they approach.   As I get older,  I do feel like my personal deadlines are a little less arbitrary, though.  It calls to mind this image from “Gone With The Wind”…

 

Maybe it’s time to live by the deadlines.  Memo received.

How Not to Get Fat

Jamie Walker Ball8 Comments

I missed the memo on how not to get fat. 

I noted previously that in the enduring battle between my face and my ass, my face is winning.   This was affirmed this weekend when I took the walk of shame back to Weight Watchers and one of the ladies guessed my age as 10 years younger than I actually am. 

I’ve never been one of those super skinny girls, and I actually like my big butt, and I cannot lie.   I don’t need to be a stick, I just need to fit into my suits.  I didn’t gain a crazy amount of weight with my pregnancy, and was actually below my pre-pregnancy weight within six weeks of my son’s birth.  I credit breastfeeding for this quick weight loss, and I completely exploited the metabolic benefits of breastfeeding and pretty much ate whatever I wanted.  However, I ignored the memo that said that once your baby weans, you’re supposed to stop eating like a trucker.  So in recent months, I’ve become a softer, but not gentler version of myself.  I’m definitely pushing maximum density and it sucks. 

For anyone who’s ever tried Weight Watchers, you know it’s commercially packaged common sense and accountability.  There’s no rocket surgery about it…eat healthier food, less of it, get some exercise, lather, rinse, repeat.  For someone like me who can completely rationalize and deny crappy food choices, it helps.

Because I’m now completely pre-occupied with my food choices, when Netflix suggested the documentary Fat Head the other night, I dutifully added it to my queue.  If you haven’t seen it, it’s worth a look.  The DVD cover art tells you a lot:

Filmmaker Tom Naughton undertakes his own experiment with fast food, setting out to see if he could actually lose weight by eating an all fast food diet.  In a light-hearted way,  he skewers the methodology and agenda of Super Size Me‘s protagonist, Morgan Spurlock.   And along the way, he points out all the “bologna” that we’ve been fed about nutritional information in this country.  Several interesting and articulate people are interviewed in the film, and some of them even wear schnazzy white lab coats.  They make a lot of interesting points about the political, economic, social and psychological forces which shape how and what we eat.  Please pardon the obvious pun, but it really was food for thought. 

I still don’t know what it is that I’m “supposed” to eat.  McDonald’s every day?  Probably not.  McDonald’s every once in a while?  Probably.  Memo received. 

© 2011 Jamie Walker Ball

Gregory Peck

Jamie Walker Ball2 Comments

I missed the memo about Gregory Peck.

It’s Oscar night, so I thought it appropriate to think and write about, Oscar winner and former president of the Academy, Gregory Peck.

Like most people of my generation, my first experience of Gregory Peck was sitting in English class and watching him as Atticus Finch in the film adaptation of  “To Kill A Mockingbird.”   I’m thinking that if Gregory Peck had never made a film before or since, his performance in TKAM would have easily placed him in the Hollywood firmament as an enduring star.  But his role as Atticus Finch was just one of dozens; and thanks to Netflix, I’m slowly working my way through his body of work.

I blame credit Gregory Peck with planting the seed which ultimately germinated in my decision to attend law school.  I don’t do the kind of life-or-death work that Atticus Finch was doing, but sometimes, I get a tiny glimpse of how empowering and humbling it is to be an advocate.  Someone says, “Here…I have this problem that I can’t handle by myself.  I need someone to help me figure this out and be my voice.”  Wow.  

If that were the only memo that Gregory Peck helped to deliver, that would have been more than enough.  But there’s more.  Recently I happened upon a broadcast of “A Conversation With Gregory Peck” on PBS.  I was spellbound by his grace, his humility, and his quiet wisdom.  And even as a septuagenarian, he was still gorgeous.

Hearing  Gregory Peck reflect on his long life and some of his extraordinary experiences was pretty amazing.  It makes me mindful that it’s not quite enough just to live a good life,  you also have to connect with other people and share the things you know.  As a famous movie star, Gregory Peck had easy access to a platform for talking about all the things that he had and hadn’t figured out.  I’m just me, but I’ve got this little blog, so I’ll do my best. 

In the meantime, I’ll look forward to watching “To Kill A Mockingbird” about a hundred more times and I’ll hope my little Atticus gets the memo, too.

Memo received.

© 2011 Jamie Walker Ball

The Hollywood Bowl

Jamie Walker Ball1 Comment

I missed the memo about The Hollywood Bowl.

(Ahh…low res cell phone pictures…It’s 21st century Impressionism…)

I’ve missed so many memos about Los Angeles…Since moving here a decade ago, I have been delighted, dismayed, dazzled, discouraged, and lots of verbs that start with “d”.  But let’s talk about the Hollywood Bowl.  It’s that iconic amphitheatre nestled in the Hollywood Hills.  My first memorable glimpse of it was in “Some Kind of Wonderful“:

(Poor Watts…she stares forlornly down at the stage, where Keith and Amanda enjoy their “perfect” date…)

Despite living in the L.A. area since 2001, I didn’t get to the Hollywood Bowl until 2010.  It was The Flight of the Conchords which finally induced me to go.  We got a babysitter, packed a picnic dinner and hopped on a shuttle bus which dropped us right at the venue.  It was a beautiful night and as the sun began to set, we enjoyed the most gorgeous view as the Hollywood Hills went from green, to gold, to pink, to blue, to black. 

We were surrounded by a glorious assortment of hipsters and bon vivants, so the people watching was nearly as fun as the concert itself.  There is something about sitting in the open air with thousands of drunken strangers that just puts you in a good mood.  We had an absolute blast. 

The obvious lesson from this lovely evening is this:  When you live in a big city full of cool stuff, get out there and enjoy some it, for Pete’s sake.  This stuff ain’t just for tourists.  I think this applies no matter where you live…just about everywhere, there are wonderful places to explore and experiences to have…you just have to overcome your inertia and go.

Another obvious and important lesson is that sometimes fun is spontaneous, but sometimes it takes a little effort.  In this instance, we had to:

1.  Buy tickets
2.  Arrange for a babysitter
3.  Tidy up the house
4.  Plan and prepare a picnic dinner for us
5.  Plan and prepare a  dinner for our little guy and his date
6.  Get ourselves dressed and out the door on time

Doesn’t sound like much, but somehow it is.  But here’s the thing…all that planning and preparation can be part of the fun.   As I scrubbed the toilet to ensure that the babysitter had reasonably sanitary facilities at her disposal, I was happily looking forward to the enjoyable evening ahead.  That bit  of anticipation can actually transform drudgery into foreplay to fun. 

So this weekend, get out there and do something cool, and be undaunted by the effort.  Memo received. 

© 2011 Jamie Walker Ball

Onsie-ectomies

Jamie Walker Ball3 Comments

I missed the memo about onsie-ectomies.

For the uninitiated, a onsie is a little bodysuit with a snaps at the crotch.  It’s what all the cool babies are wearing these days, either as an undergarment on chilly days or as an outfit onto itself when it’s warm.   If you ever get knocked up and have a baby shower, you’ll get approximately 576 onesies as gifts.   

I went back to work when my perfect baby was about 9 weeks old.  The stars had aligned to allow my husband to be a stay at home dad, but I missed my baby desperately, so one afternoon my husband brought our darling boy to my office for a visit.  My sweet son chose this auspicious occasion to show us a new trick…pooping so prodigiously that the byproducts of his digestion escaped his diaper and migrated up his onesie–front and back. 

Faced with this mess (and with no changing table in the ladies’ room…fancy office towers hate babies…) I laid down a changing pad on the plush carpet and assessed the situation.  Usually, a onesie goes on and off over the baby’s head.  In this instance, that maneuver would have resulted in extensive cross-contamination.  So, I’ve done what parents in this situation have done since time immemorial. I grabbed a pair of scissors, and with surgical precision, I cut that onesie up the front and extricated my son from his poopy situation. 

I gotta admit…it was kind of fun.  I’d seen doctors and nurses cutting the clothing off of accident victims on medical TV shows, and I felt like I was reenacting a very low-stakes version of one of those scenarios. I had a nearly uncontrollable urge to say “STAT”!  (Seriously, it was a Code Brown!)

The lessons from this experience were many.  First, and most importantly, never underestimate the productivity of  a 2 month old baby.  Second, sometimes you have to cut your losses.  Literally.  Third, disgusting and hilarious are often two sides of the same coin.  I find that laughter suppresses the urge to vomit, so I recommend it as a coping strategy whenever you have to clean up something gross.  And finally, and most obviously, shit happens, so you can’t let it get you down.   Memo received.

© 2011 Jamie Walker Ball

Jason Mraz & Amos Lee

Jamie Walker Ball5 Comments

I missed the memos about Jason Mraz & Amos Lee. 

Thanks to my dad, I was raised on a steady diet of classic and Southern rock.  I still have lots of affection for Eric Clapton, Boston, Lynyrd Skynyrd, and lots and lots of Credence.  When I was about 10, it seemed time for me to cultivate my own musical tastes and coincidentally, that’s when the British New Wave came crashing upon our Yankee shores.

I spent my formative years swimming around in a soup of synth pop. (Kajagoogoo, anyone? Seriously.)  And my love for Duran Duran could not be fully expressed in words; it could only be expressed in tears.  So it was until my teen years, when the Seattle Sound started dominating the music scene.  I am just too damn perky for grunge, so I think that’s when I started tuning out. 

With the exception of the odd U2 or REM album, I’ve bought very little new music in the last couple of decades.  I just couldn’t find a way to connect to new artists.   It all just seemed like noise. More recently, I was beginning to fear that since the music seemed too loud, I was getting too old.  I even heard “Jessie’s Girl” on the oldies station, and that seemed like a sign from the radio gods that the world of new music might be closed to me forever. 

Just when I thought I was resigned to an iPod full of old favorites only, I got the memo about Jason Mraz.  I’m guessing Jason melted the hearts of many mommies when he appeared on Sesame Street; he certainly melted mine. 

And just recently I got the memo about Amos Lee.  He recently gave an interview on NPR (there goes NPR, enriching my life again) and as I listened, I was just delighted.  Take a listen…

I’m guessing most people don’t get that excited about “discovering” a new musician that they really like. But for me to connect with any artist from this millennium is a big deal. Seriously, I feel a bit like Captain Von Trapp once Maria thaws him out. 

When I hear a new song that strikes a chord, it’s kind of like falling in love. It’s a rush of excitement at the newness of it all, and it’s the intimacy of feeling like the singer somehow knows part of my life.  These days my ears and heart are open to lots of new music and while I’m sure my new favorites will eventually become old favorites, I hope I never stop having new favorites again.  Memo received.

Excedrin

Jamie Walker Ball3 Comments

I missed the memo about Excedrin. 

The summer of 1999 was The Summer of Pain.   As part of my orthodontic treatment plan, I had two teeth pulled. Then, about a week after the extractions, I wiped out on my bike and broke my arm.  Then, the following week, the braces went on.  All the while, there was a church group living in the residence hall I was then managing.  They loved to sing and had a full drum kit set up about 15 feet from my bedroom wall. While  the church group was singing about Jesus,  I was talking to Jesus as my face and arm throbbed in time with the beat of their hymns.   Between getting the teeth yanked, the broken arm, and the new braces, I was insufferably cranky from all the pain. 

What made me even crankier is that I couldn’t take the Vicodin that my doctors prescribed.  The resulting stomach ache was way worse than the other pain.  For me, taking Vicodin wasn’t as fun as they make it look like on TV.

I tried a few different over-the-counter pain relievers which offered no relief.  Then finally,  I tried Excedrin, and Bingo.   I wasn’t pain-free, but I felt a lot better.  I’m not sure why Excedrin works for me, but it does.   And now, it’s my Panacea–headaches, muscle strains, whatever…if it hurts, I take Excedrin.

The lessons I l learned from The Summer of Pain were simple, but important to me.  First, trial and error is sometimes the best way to make a choice.  I had to kiss a few pain reliever frogs before I found my pain relief prince.  Second, never underestimate the placebo effect.  Excedrin isn’t magic, but I think I’ve invested it with some magical properties.  Since it worked for me when I really needed it to work, I have confidence that it’s going to work every time I take it.  The mind-body connection is trippy, ain’t it?  Memo received.

© 2011 Jamie Walker Ball

Pedicures

Jamie Walker Ball1 Comment

I missed the memo about pedicures.

My mom worked in the beauty business when I was a kid, so I suppose the idea of going to a nail salon on her day off didn’t seem like fun.  No mother-daughter mani-pedis for us.  Strike one.

I have some weird working-class sensibilities about things.  For a long time, the idea of paying someone to literally sit at my feet and pamper me just seemed elitist and wrong.  Strike two.

I hate feet.  I hate my feet, I hate other people’s feet.  I don’t really like my feet to be touched, I don’t like touching other people’s feet, and if someone touches me with their feet, I have a little freak out.  Strike three. 

As a consequence of the foregoing, I was well into my adult life before I ever got a professional pedicure.  Like me, Liam Neeson, was also late to the pedicure party, and he recently told Jay Leno all about it:

The Unknown star told NBC’s The Tonight Show With Jay Leno on Tuesday that he was a “late convert” to the treatment but credited it with helping ease pain in his feet.

“This gorgeous woman called Jackie in New York who is from Brazil used to come and do my wife’s feet and fingers, and she now still comes and does my mother-in-law’s feet and fingers,” he explained.

“Every time I passed the room I’d see this incredible process going on and the look of bliss on my mother-in-law’s face, and I thought, ‘I’ve got to try this!'”

He added: “It’s changed my life around. I used to have ingrown toe nails for 30 years. This gorgeous little creature just gouged them out. It was instant relief after 20 minutes!”

Liam Neeson is all kinds of awesome and I give him props for spreading the pedicure gospel.  When I finally got a professional pedicure, it wasn’t life changing, but it was very nice.  It took me a while to get over my initial discomfort and ticklish-ness but now I look forward to pedicures more than I look forward to Christmas. 

Here’s the thing about pedicures that I didn’t understand before:  It’s not just the process, which can be very comfortable and nurturing when it’s done by a skillful and gentle nail tech, but it’s also the product.  My feet look and feel a gazillion times better when their maintenance is entrusted to a professional.  Bust out those strappy sandals and show off those toes!

And here’s something else.  For me, getting pedicures was a little lesson in the benefits of vulnerability.  When I finally (and literally) dipped my toes in the pedicure pool, I didn’t feel haughty, I felt humbled.  I’m not much of a Bible scholar, but I guess I felt kind of like Peter when Jesus offered to wash his feet. 

Peter initially resisted when Jesus offered to wash his feet.  I mean, Peter was just this lowly fisherman and Jesus, was, you know, Jesus.  But the thing about foot washing  is that it’s not just a humbling act of servitude for the washer, it’s a humbling act of stillness and acceptance for the washee.  Pedicures have been good for my feet, and they’ve been good for my soul, too. 

So pedicures as religious experience?  Yep.  Memo received.

© 2011 Jamie Walker Ball